Work Text:
Megumi had witnessed you scribbling away in the book since you excitedly brought it home one April afternoon from one of your "self-care" shopping sprees for the past three months. The diary never left your side. He'd be a government official liar if he said curiosity didn't scuff the edges of his conscience anytime your brows furrowed in the midst of your writing, or the few moments you'd groan in frustration, head tilted back with your eyes squeezed shut as if to hold a fleeting image in front of you just a second longer.
he'd watched your fingers grip plenty mechanical pencils 'till they cramped, penning furiously in the mornings your free time wasn't consumed by mission work....like the thoughts were only presented to you on borrowed time. It was a mystery to him but he normally wasn't one to dig around for answers, so he’d left it alone.
The curiosity lingered over him until one fateful Sunday night when you weren't home for the weekly deep-clean, leaving him by his lonesome to wipe down all the nooks and crannies in the house until they sparked to his liking.
Your beloved diary had been missing for about a week by then and you’d spent most of your time frantically searching all the places you'd have normally rested it, but to no avail was it recovered. He remembered the frustration bringing you to tears the Monday prior, and the fit of sullen, anxiety brimmed moping that overtook you the following days.
a week you had been searching.
And there the little shit was. Tucked awkwardly between the cushions of his dark grey couch. Megumi's fingers twitched against the trigger of the febreeze bottle....the brown leather stared back at him, taunting his perversions, encouraging the worst in him to take a peek.
he had always wondered what secrets the journal held. He knew you were a talented writer. It was your major for crying out loud and yet the noiret never got more than a few lines of poetry (poetry that was breathtaking, might he add) out of you before you'd clam up and wave his audience off.
"no-...i'm better than that" he grumbled to himself.
Still, Megumi peered around the empty apartment, sceptically checking for any hidden cameras amongst the bookshelves and picture frames, propped up to catch a reel of him sleuthing for some stupid prank. But a minute of contemplation had passed and there was no jump scare or any indication he was being watched for that matter. Megumi cleared his throat as if excusing himself for his next move before tugging the book out of its entrapment. He half expected it to burn him or something, but it was surprisingly dense and smooth in his grip. Loose papers stuck out from between the pages that added to the already rustic, mysterious aesthetic. It was all so painfully enticing, he could crack open a page and see what lay inside. The desire was hot on his neck but he steeled his resolve, grunted in frustration and padded to the kitchen, self-restraint seizing his muscles painfully. Then he obediently set it on the breakfast bar for you to find later....
'or maybe I should put it on their bedside table? no, that'd be too intrusive' he reasoned.
"Kitchen counter it is."
Either way, no matter where he'd have put it, the temptation continued to rake his ears and cheeks so often through the night that he had to turn the volume on the stereo up. Megumi grilled the book for the rest of his cleaning frenzy, he managed to tidy through two whole loops of his playlist, touching up everything twice over in a desperate attempt to get his mind off the golden opportunity sitting right in front of him on dark, polished granite. Later on after moving from the living room your roommate, elbow deep in contemplation, didn't even realise the kitchen tile had begun chafing his knuckles as he vigorously scrubbed away at the surface until the teal gloves he had on tore from the friction, and his skin was waxed clean off.
"Shit!" Megumi yelped and retracted, rearing himself up onto his knees with force. Thick steam billowed from his ears, this was all because of some stupid fixation on a dumb book that didn't concern him.
"Fuckin’ hell—FINE!" he shouts to no one in particular.
The evil had won him over with a villainous quell, he all but lunged at your diary when he finished shoving the cleaning supplies away. With his heart hammering in his chest, he greedily untied the leather binding and skimmed through the pages, a twisted soft serving of relief and fear churned in his gut. Your friend expected you to return home any second, so he faced the doorway and leant his bum against the granite counter in hopes of hearing your keys jangling in the lock if you returned from your outing any time soon, it'd buy him enough time to put the journal back where it was on the tabletop. Fushiguro nodded to himself, satisfied with his plan of evasion. Then, not even bothering to remove the forest green apron around his neck, he dove right in.
Gumi shifted giddily from foot to foot, thumbing through the tan parchment, catching mouthfuls of different phrases as he allowed his hungry eyes to dart over the ink, drinking in what had been kept from him all this time. Unexpectedly there were some pretty illustrations amongst the neat handwriting that he stopped to admire. "I didn't know you could draw" he whispers in astonishment. Some of the drawings were of people he knew, in fact he was surprised to find a half-done portrait of a man that looked just like him....except this version of him was barely clothed and had a hand wrapped around his—
Megumi gasped and shut the book, slamming it down against the counter behind him to catch his hitched breath. “What the fuck?—“ he hissed in disbelief.
The young sorcerer was blushing a violent rouge. Though balmy with sweat and on high alert from the thrill of lurking where he shouldn't have before, he found himself bordered on hyperventilation from shock.
Is that me? he wondered.
The introvert straightened to pinched himself for being stupid; of course it was him, who else had that tattoo? He knew himself well enough to recognise a portrait when he saw it...but why was he in your fucking diary and why was he naked?
Dark eyes lapped up the continuation of words for answers when he lifted the book to pick up where he left off.
“.....he watches me.
lithe fingers dip below the waistband of his trousers. He's being deliberate now, as if the cherry-liqueur glare wasn't enough to taunt my desire, pulling me into heat with each languid tug of his thickening manhood. his voice is like warm sand...
‘i told you not to wear that dress.’ he tuts.
Megumi paused his reading to think...dress? The only memorable time he could remember feeling possessive over what you wore was when—
oh!
The satin body-con you ordered online...with the sweetheart neckline and slit up the side. You had bought it for Nobara’s birthday party and he found himself gawking at you the entire night. Had you noticed? he recounted keeping as stoic and indifferent as he possibly could towards you that evening….but maybe you knew him better than he gave you credit for.
That realisation alone stirred hot pleasure in his abdomen evoking a growl from deep within his chest to rumble in his throat. Intrigued, he then shifts into a more comfortable position, left hand folded under his right arm to better hug himself and slouching against the fridge to support his broad shoulders.
the drabble continued—
"your legs look so pretty when they're spread for me, hmm?"
the cadence sends shivers through me. Megumi speaks like I've already done what he's asked, only opening his mouth to kindly fill the thickening silence in a way I could not.
"i shift my gaze below his belly button to watch his tip swell until it glows pink, slick with pre-cum that instinctively makes my mouth water.
‘you never behave,’ he scoffs.
‘and you love it,’ i whisper in return.”
Once again, Megumi has to flip the cover over and look away. He finds himself grinning bashfully despite the peculiarity of it all, his teeth clamped around his pointer finger to release the tension and keep himself in place. It's arousing, furthermore amusing and entirely confusing because you're right...you DO misbehave, and until this moment he never realised how much he truly enjoyed it.
The banter? the constant teasing, poking and prodding at his humour just the way he liked. the pouting and bratty behaviour when he'd tell you to do something and you simply wouldn't; just like Yuuji used to do, before he settled down with someone who could give him more than Megumi was comfortable offering at the time. He had shut himself down after that blow...afraid he'd open himself up to more hurt if he let someone in again. but you’d done it without him even knowing. Your sharp wit, awkward comedic timing, dark satire and sarcasm—it was perfect. So perfect, he didn't notice you slipped through the cracks in his armour and settled deep in the comfort of his mind until just now. There was a deafening silence as the epiphany crested over his head.
All at once, a bubble he never cared to notice surrounding him, burst.
Megumi Fushiguro liked you. not only did he like you, but he also wanted to fuck the shit out of you. And you had been writing explicit stories about him while lounging in the same room for months on end. The 20-year-old presumed it was the voyeur in his character but that realisation alone encouraged his cock to swell. Then he remembered all the times you’d sat a few feet away from him with that very same book demanding your attention.
The way your legs kept closed, squeezed tight to presumably relieve the buzzing in your core. Your flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, low lids and plump bottom lip clipped between your teeth.....all normal at the time under the pretence that whatever held your focus was stressful or too difficult to articulate. He'd accepted it was so private and he was right, but in that moment he finally understood why....
“You little minx.” your roommate's smile was painted with wild desire while he laughed quietly to himself.
It was all too much and too little at the same time. the handful of new information left Megumi bordering on rock hard, standing dumbfounded in the shared kitchen, now spotless and scented with lemon. It was too risky to continue reading the contraband erotica in plain sight on the chance you’d walk through the threshold to find him planted in one spot with a raging boner and your diary in his hand. No- that would be too awkward and he knew he wasn't quite ready to confront you yet, he needed time to figure out how.
On the other hand, it would be unethical to keep the book for his own selfish reasons, to continue reading in the privacy of his bedroom but his lust bargained that he'd probably find more passages just like the one he'd begun reading deeper in the manilla pages. He concluded it'd be best to snoop with selfish intent somewhere you wouldn't find him immersing himself in your fantasies….
The pros and cons were barely weighed long enough to be considered well thought out before he tugged off his cleaning apron and shuffled to the safety of his bedroom.
You'd been without the precious possession for a whole week, he was sure you could go another night worrying while he indulged in your dirty little secrets; touching his intimate parts the same way you dreamed of.
The same way he'd soon dream of touching you...