Work Text:
“Oh, Itadori just texted me.”
Megumi takes a bored sip of his bubble tea, grabs his phone on the table, and slides open the newly received message. It’s probably something like fushiguro bring me back some food please! because while Itadori was out battling a grade 2 curse, Kugisaki dragged Megumi to downtown Tokyo for some new blue boots she saw online.
What he doesn’t expect is an image attachment.
What he really doesn’t expect is it to be of a mirror photo of tousled, pink, bloody locks and Itadori’s bare torso in the dirty reflection, the navy bottom hem of their jujutsu uniform in between his teeth, showing off a perfectly sculpted waist, slightly twisted to display healed scars and a new one, worked flesh outlining adonis-cut muscles and the hint of a deep adonis belt leading ⸺
“What did Itadori say?”
“W—what?”
“I said,” Kugisaki speaks slower for emphasis, “what did Itadori say? Earth to Fushiguro. Is he okay? Did something happen?”
Megumi has to physically rip his eyes away from his phone. He actually doesn’t even muster up the cursed energy to look away; his phone darkens and does the job for him. When he looks up at Kugisaki he makes the point to touch his chin, as though there’s a subconscious fear that he’s drooled a little, or fallen asleep, or that this is a nightmarish domain expansion where he’s lost half of his rationality because of one photo.
Megumi needs to pull it together because Kugisaki asked him a question and he knows she’s waiting, and she knows he knows and ⸺
“Okay, for the love of god..” Kugisaki doesn’t even finish her sentence before she grabs the phone out of his hand.
The three of them don’t keep passcodes for emergency purposes and not hiding secrets from each other or something like that, although Megumi wishes he could hide the picture that Itadori just sent him. In the part of his brain that’s still managing to function right now, he’s just happy that his hair is long enough to cover the tips of his ears that are surely turning red.
“He said: look at this nasty wound i got fushiguro. Well, okay, the idiot is still alive,” Kugisaki mumbles as she hands the phone back to him. She’s wearing an incredulous look. “What? Embarrassed to show me the picture or something? I’ve seen shirtless men before, Fushiguro. I’m not a child.”
He sighs. “I didn’t say that.”
Megumi taps his phone screen. When it lights up he finally sees the slash scrawled across Itadori’s abdomen to his ribs. Ouch. That looks pretty deep and painful, and Megumi is a bit surprised he didn’t notice it before. His eyes trace over the drying blood in the picture and how it seems to pool along the lining of Itadori’s pants ⸺ right where the valley sharpens ⸺
He shoves his phone into his jacket pocket.
“You’re not going to text him back?”
“No. He looks fine.”
“Well, ask if he wants us to bring him back some food or something.”
“You have a phone, Kugisaki. You text him.”
Kugisaki looks unimpressed. “Fushiguro.”
“What?” He strongly dislikes when Kugisaki uses this tone on him because he knows he isn’t fooling anyone.
“What’s your deal, huh? Don’t tell me that’s the first thirst trap Itadori has ever sent you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nevermind.” Kugisaki sounds a mixture of exasperated and bored. “Let’s just go back to school. If he complains about us not bringing back food, I am blaming you.”
Megumi frowns but doesn’t push back. He simply stands, throws out his half-empty bubble tea, buys a taiyaki to go, and lets her lead the way.
Halfway through their walk home he realizes he’s still thirsty.
Megumi searches the meaning of a thirst trap.
A sexy photograph or flirty message posted on social media for the intent of causing others to publicly profess their attraction. This is done not to actually respond or satisfy any of this attraction, but to feed the posters ego or need for attention, at the expense of the time, reputation and sexual frustration of those who view the image or reply.
He groans into his pillow afterwards.
“Tell me what a thirst trap is.”
It’s been eating away at him all morning. At breakfast, on his walk, while Panda threw him across the field like a ragdoll during training twenty minutes ago: all morning.
He knows the technical definition and doesn’t understand why Itadori would do that. So the logical conclusion is that he wouldn’t, and Kugisaki is just trying to push his buttons. Well, it worked. Buttons have been pushed and now Megumi can’t look at Itadori without noticing the way his shirt lifts every time he stretches his arms up over his head.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Kugisaki bites back because she’s tired and somewhat sympathetic. If there's anything Kugisaki hates, it is pitying people, and right now she’s looking at Megumi like he is some abandoned puppy ⸺ or worse: someone who's never had his dick touched.
“I'm not.” And sometimes Megumi will bite as well, at least, only when it comes to Itadori. When it comes to dumb, stupid, built like a god Itadori.
Was he built like that before he had the king of curses living inside of him?
Megumi doesn’t let that thought live in his head for long. If he does, it’ll upset him. Kugisaki groans.
“Fushiguro,” she whines because she knows she’s already lost. “A thirst trap is a picture that someone sends you if they — you know. Want to trap you.”
“Into what?”
“What's up in that head of yours besides fighting curses? I don’t know. Sex, probably. In Itadori's case, he’s probably trying to trap you into marriage and a lifelong love affair. Clearly, it’s working.”
Megumi scoffs but doesn’t even get the chance to retort. “And please don’t say something like oh, Itadori doesn’t think of me that way! I have eyes okay. We all do. Sometimes I think Inumaki-senpai just wants to tell you two to get a room or something so you have no choice but to do something about it.”
“So he just wants to have sex —“
“Let me stop you right there. You’re doing that thing, Fushiguro, where you zone in on one part and it happens to be the incorrect one.” Kugisaki wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She doesn’t even bother looking at him for this next part.
“Just ask.”
ask, just ask, simple, just —
Ask Itadori if he meant to send him a somewhat suggestive photo. There are other questions they’ve asked each other that have led to late nights up talking. Future dreams, what they would be doing if they didn’t spend their whole lives running towards danger, fighting for their lives in the first place. If Megumi didn’t house millions of shadows within him; if the greatest curse and promise of death didn’t wait for Itadori — he clears his throat.
Those questions are hard but also easy because there’s only so much they can control.
This, however ⸺ well, the thought runs amuck in Megumi’s head and his pants.
But what if it isn’t a thirst trap? What if Itadori was really just showing Megumi his wound? That makes sense, right?
Yeah, because when I show off wounds I hold my shirt up with my teeth too, Kugisaki said before she stormed off, grumbling about why she has to be the one to do everything around here.
Megumi smiles at the memory and then it disappears, and the thought that Itadori could want something like that makes him spiral just a little (but only because he wants the same).
“Fu-shi-gu-rooooo,” comes the loud booming voice, toppling in from god knows where but he has about six or seven bags of different chips in his hands.
Right. It’s their weekend and their movie night and their semblance of normalcy and Megumi is going to find out whether or not Itadori meant to thirst trap him.
“I didn't know what kind of chips you wanted, because I know you like them all… So I guess I did know,” Itadori mumbles as he takes the seat next to him. Their knees knock into each other and their arms touch and there’s definitely more room on this couch, at the very least enough so that they don’t need to be pressing together like this. Megumi doesn’t move. Itadori inches closer.
“I’ve got barbecue, I've got sweet and sour, salt and vinegar, actually, I’ll save those for Inumaki-senpai. I’ve got —“
“Did you mean to send me that photo?” Megumi blurts out with little to no tact. He only now realizes that Itadori has shoved three bags of snacks into his arms.
Itadori blinks and then nods vigorously.
“I did! Do you want to see it? It’s still healing but Shoko-san did a great job at patching me up.” He abruptly stands and everything in his lap falls onto the ground, including Megumi’s dignity which is now buried underneath plastic bags priced $1.99.
Itadori lifts his shirt up and shows off the healing gash that stretches across his abdomen. All things considered, it doesn’t look that bad — all things being all the other wounds that accompany it. Megumi gulps and stares and now he isn’t sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Itadori shirtless before.
These days it feels different though.
Megumi tries to keep his eyes focused and straight and not let his gaze catch on the trail of dark hair that disappears underneath Itadori’s gray sweats, or the fact that if Megumi were to press him about it, it kind of looks like Itadori is flexing right now in the dim light of the television.
but why? why, why — thirst trap.
Megumi wants Toad to swallow him whole.
Everything feels different because he’d look and he didn’t want to touch, but now all he wants to do is reach out and — “It’s healing pretty well though if I do say so myself,” Itadori mumbles as he looks down and traces the wound, testing it out by pressing his fingers down into it. By his satisfied nod, Itadori has obviously decided he’s in good shape because he only winces a little.
Megumi watches the entire time and smiles and thinks to himself what an idiot. Who does things like that? Like poke at an open wound or sacrifice themselves for strangers to ensure they have a proper death or send photos that not only make Megumi’s pants ache but his chest. Who does that?
“Yeah, it doesn’t look that bad,” Megumi says as he leans back into the sofa and sighs. He runs a hand down his face and buries the question deep inside of him. Well that, along with the rest of his qualms about feelings, specifically feelings about Itadori.
Itadori drops his shirt, drops back onto the couch, and drops right back into the center of Megumi’s attention.
“Okay, so horror or action?”
“Thriller is a combination of the two of those, right?”
“Fushiguro,” Itadori’s smile reaches from ear to ear. “This is why you’re the wisest, huh?”
It happens again.
This time Megumi is the one away with Maki to exorcise some lower-level curses in the outskirts of Sagamihara. It’s not a far distance away from the school, but by the time they finish up their excursion, it’s late enough that Megumi and Maki stumble into a local inn. Thankfully, the grandmother there is so kind that she even brings them some tea before they fall asleep.
It’s nearing 2am when Megumi lays out his futon across from Maki’s in the large room.
Sometimes these days are so blurry and exhausting that Megumi isn’t even sure what day it is or how many curses he’s exorcised.
He’s washed up and laying on his stomach, cheek pressed against the pillow and body so flat on the floor he isn’t entirely sure where he ends and where the earth begins. Megumi turns onto his back and when he opens his phone he sees a bunch of notifications come in.
There’s the group chat with all the first and second years. Everyone is responding to the photo Maki had sent earlier. The two of them are wearing tired smiles and their faces have splotches of blood, but they're holding two thumbs up. It is late however Inumaki responds and so does Panda, but knowing Itadori and Kugisaki they’re probably well asleep.
The group chat he has with his own classmates' last text timestamps around 10:30pm, which is a motivational message from Kugisaki that says make sure you bring us back a souvenir, which is her way of saying don’t die and I better see you tomorrow, idiot. With a souvenir.
Megumi holds the phone above his face and is about to look up local shops nearby, maybe he can get them keychains or magnets or something until he sees another text come in.
Itadori Yuuji (02:16 AM): HOPE UR OK FUSHIGURO
Itadori Yuuji (02:16 AM): i had to go into your shower and use your shampoo, i’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new one when we go into town next weekend ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶
Itadori Yuuji (02:16 AM): also look, it healed pretty nicely
And Megumi does look.
All he sees is Itadori standing in front of the mirror, Megumi's mirror, because this time it’s clean and Itadori is wet. Why is he wet? Oh right. He probably used Megumi’s bathroom. But more importantly: Itadori isn’t wearing a shirt. In fact, he’s barely wearing pants. Itadori is standing in Megumi’s room with no shirt and no pants and in front of Megumi’s mirror in front of Megumi’s bed looking like this.
Megumi’s brain absolutely short circuits.
So he zooms in.
And when he does, the high definition of his new phone (technically their new phones; Itadori insisted they all get new ones for the picture quality) doesn’t disappoint. Megumi can see the water sticking to Itadori’s skin, how his broad shoulders gleam in the faint light of his room and how the water highlights the curve of his chest. And when Megumi zooms in closer he can see his dark happy trail leading down to a sight that makes his mouth dry, the nice — scratch that — the large bulge hidden underneath stretched cotton and —
He’s trapped. He’s fucking trapped.
“Megumi.”
“Wh-what, yes! Yes.” Maki startles Megumi so hard that he jumps and consequentially, his phone slips out of his hand and hits him right in between the eyes. He swears up a storm into his pillow.
And in a tone so familiar to him that Megumi almost thinks he’s on this mission with Kugisaki instead, Maki clicks her tongue.
Tch. “Idiot.”
Megumi bursts into Itadori’s room the next morning. He is a man unhinged.
“What are you doing?”
He smacks Itadori with a pillow that’s fallen off his bed. Itadori flinches awake, a rare moment where he is completely vulnerable. Funnily enough, it’s like he knows Megumi is the one who stormed into his room at 8am, and not some curse who has invaded the school. Itadori groans and props himself up on an elbow as he wipes some residual drool from the night before.
cute. Megumi screams internally.
Itadori is wearing a sweater and plaid pajama pants, which only serves to annoy Megumi more. Apparently, Itadori doesn’t sleep only in his boxers. So why is he sending pictures like that?
Megumi hits him again with the pillow. This time, in the face.
“Ow! I’m sleeping Fushiguro! What are you doing?”
“No, tell me what you’re doing.” Another blow to the back of Itadori’s head.
Now he looks less sleepy and cute, and more annoyed and confused. Which Megumi doesn’t really care about, because he’s annoyed too.
“I just told you, I'm sleeping! Are you possessed or something? Why did you just charge in here like some maniac!?”
“Shut up,” Megumi pulls his arm back in for the kill. Maybe he’ll put some cursed energy behind this one.
Before the pillow can connect with Itadori, in one swift motion, it is ripped out of his hand and Megumi is pinned down onto the bed with Itadori hovering above him. Oh, is the short and incoherent thought Megumi has before he finds brown eyes glaring down at him.
"ME? You shut up! And stop hitting me! What has gotten into you?”
you!! you have gotten into me
He doesn’t say that. Megumi just growls and wrestles Itadori until they’re both writhing on the ground. It’s a little annoying that Megumi knows if Itadori was using his full strength that he wouldn’t stand a chance, but that is completely beside the point. Maybe he’ll get Toad to help pin Itadori down if he gets too rowdy.
Thankfully, he doesn’t need his shikigami. They’re panting on the wooden floor and Megumi is straddling Itadori’s hips while trying to be careful to not dig his knee into his fresh wound but, the question remains:
“Why do you keep sending me pictures of your scar?”
“What? Don’t you want to know —”
“Don’t be stupid, Yuuji,” Megumi releases one of Itadori’s wrists and uses that free hand to pinch his side, hard.
“Ow — owwwwwww, Fushiguro,” Itadori whines, but he’s also laughing now.
“Don’t laugh!”
“You’re acting like a completely crazy person, Megumi!” Itadori bursts out into a full fit of laughter. He is vibrating so much that he isn’t even swatting Megumi’s hands away, and Megumi hates that he wants to laugh too.
“Well, you’re the one making me crazy!” Megumi basically yells. He feels like he has to physically rip the words from his chest, but when they do leave him, his eyes widen and so do Itadori’s. Yup, Megumi. That’s certainly one way to put it.
He finally allows himself to catch his breath and he sits up properly, still straddling Itadori’s hips and no longer pinning him down to the floor. And now Megumi is just glaring, long and hard, as though this has ever solved any of his problems. The truth is though is that he is trying to read Itadori’s expression. Plot twist: he can't. Turns out he wasn't born with that technique.
just ask just ask just ask
“Why are you thirst trapping me?”
Silence.
And then Itadori barks out the most obnoxious cackle that Megumi has ever heard. He actually wants to dig a grave and bury himself in it.
“Why am I what?”
“Thirst trapping — it's a phrase, okay! Kugisaki told me. And that’s what you’ve been doing. You — these pictures. Why are you never wearing clothes?”
“I’m literally showing you a wound. I can’t show you a wound if it’s covered, now can I?”
“Why did you text me last night at 2am!?”
“I saw your location! Just saw you got back to the inn, so I figured you might respond and tell me how everything went. Which by the way, you didn't. Instead, you charged into my room and beat me with a pillow.”
Somehow, Megumi feels the life leaving his body and the blood rushing to his cheeks.
God damn it Kugisaki.
He shifts to get off of Itadori and he’s about to say something, anything until he feels large hands spread over his waist and keep him still.
When Megumi actually allows himself to realize what’s happening, of all things, of all times, of all places, of all people, that this is just Itadori, dumb, oblivious, just like him Itadori — he finally relaxes.
“Megumi,” he says, tone lithe and smile teasing. Megumi can’t see himself, but he’s blushing, he knows it.
Megumi’s breath does that thing where it gets stuck in his lungs, chest, throat — somewhere, anywhere except outside of him where it’s supposed to be — because Itadori is using his thumb to massage small circles into his hips. He sighs.
“Yuuji?”
“Did it work?”
“Did what work?”
“The thirst traps.”
“You just...you just said...” Megumi nearly snarls as he leans over to grab the nearest pillow so he can suffocate him. Itadori just laughs and grabs his wrist and uses the strength he was withholding to flip them around.
With his shadow no longer blocking Itadori’s face, Megumi can see he’s blushing too.
“I know what I said. I wasn’t trying to thirst trap you,” Itadori smiles down at him, pinning both of his wrists by the sides of his head. He looks thoughtful like he wants to say something.
Finally, Megumi decides he can finally win at something against Itadori. So, Megumi beats him to it.
“Well, even if you weren’t. Yeah, they worked,” he mumbles with a hint of embarrassment. “But they’re stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Yeah, a stupid way to...to tell me you like me.”
The smile on Itadori’s face spreads into a shit-eating grin. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but if I needed a thirst trap for you to finally get it...well, you’re pretty stupid, Fushiguro.”
“Stop it,” Megumi huffs a groan.
“Okay,” Itadori gives in and leans down, the tip of his nose brushing against Megumi’s. Megumi feels his heart race, slow down, and run its course until it reaches the finish line, here, on the floor with Itadori laughing, smiling, for once just enjoying.
stupid, so stupid. Sometimes they both are.
“No more need for pictures though, right? Not if I can just see it myself,” Megumi whispers, feeling bold.
Itadori just brings his lips to Megumi’s.
“Yeah. Looks better in person, too.”