Archive of Our Own ^omega

He wasn’t a superstitious man, but he was a logical one. And logically, he should have been dead a dozen times over. There was the time the scaffolding collapsed at the construction site he walked past in middle school; it had creaked, groaned, and then landed a precise three inches from his heels. There was the slick patch of ice on the mountain road last winter where his car had spun 360 degrees, only to come to a gentle, impossible halt against a snowbank instead of plummeting off the ridge.

Megumi chalked it up to a morbidly consistent streak of luck. He went about his life cold, solitary, and focused on his work as a freelance researcher never realizing that his "luck" had a name, a face, and a pair of golden-brown eyes that watched him from the ether.

It happened on a Tuesday. A mundane, drizzling afternoon in Tokyo.

Megumi was crossing a busy intersection in Shibuya, his mind occupied by a translation error in an old manuscript. He didn’t see the delivery truck the driver asleep at the wheel, the vehicle careening through a red light at sixty miles per hour.

He didn't see the truck, but he felt the impact. Not of metal on bone, but of a sudden, violent displacement of air.

For the first time in twenty-four years, the barrier between the seen and the unseen shattered. There was a sound like breaking glass, a blinding flash of white light, and then a heavy thud as something, someone slammed into the asphalt in front of him.

The truck swerved, crashing into a concrete pillar yards away, but Megumi didn't look at it. His eyes were locked on the boy kneeling in the middle of the street.

The boy looked human, save for the fact that he was glowing with a fading, iridescent light. He had spiky pink hair, a sturdy build, and a pair of tattered, shimmering wings that looked like they had been dragged through a thresher. Blood not crimson, but a strange, shimmering gold was seeping through his white hoodie.

"You..." Megumi gasped, his breath hitching. "Who are you?"

The boy looked up. His face was etched with exhaustion, his eyes wide with a mixture of pain and relief. "Oh, man," he croaked, a lopsided grin touching his lips despite the blood. "You can see me. That’s… probably not good."

Then, the boy collapsed.

Megumi did something entirely uncharacteristic: he scooped the stranger into his arms and ran. He didn't go to a hospital, instinct told him no human doctor could stitch up wings but to the apartment of an old family friend, Shoko Ieiri, who dealt in the "unusual."

Three hours later, the boy was unconscious on a medical cot, his wings folded awkwardly beneath him, bound in glowing gauze.

"He's an Angel of Providence, Megumi," Shoko said, lighting a cigarette despite the 'No Smoking' signs. "But he’s a mess. Look at these scars."

She peeled back the boy's shirt. Megumi’s heart plummeted. The boy’s back and chest were a roadmap of jagged white lines, burns, and puncture marks.

"These aren't from today," Megumi whispered.

"No," Shoko said grimly. "An Angel of Providence is assigned to one soul. Their job isn't just to 'watch.' They take the hit. Every time you almost died, every 'miracle' you experienced. It’s because he threw his body in front of the scythe. He’s been your literal shield since the day you were born. And today? Today he gave up his invisibility to stop that truck. He’s 'Fallen' now, Megumi. He chose you over Heaven."

Megumi reached out, his fingers trembling as he touched the boy’s hand. It was warm. Terribly, vulnerably warm. For twenty-four years, this person had bled in silence so Megumi could live a quiet life.

The guilt was a physical weight, crushing and hot. But beneath it, a new, fierce instinct was taking root. A possessiveness he had never felt before.

When Yuji Itadori finally woke up, he was greeted by the sight of Megumi Fushiguro sitting in a chair by his bed, staring at him with an intensity that could melt lead.

"You're awake," Megumi said. His voice was low, vibrating with an emotion Yuji couldn't quite place.

"Hey," Yuji chirped, trying to sit up. He winced, his face scrunching. "Ouch. Guess I'm not as bouncy as I used to be."

"Don't move," Megumi commanded. It wasn't a suggestion. He was at Yuji's side in a second, his hands hovering over Yuji's shoulders, wanting to touch but terrified of causing more pain. "Shoko told me everything. Why didn't you let me know? Why did you let yourself get hurt like this for me?"

Yuji blinked, looking confused. "That's the job, Megumi. Besides," he softened, a genuine, warm light reflecting in his eyes, "it was never a chore. Watching you grow up... seeing you read your books and feed the stray cats... it was the best part of being alive. Even if I wasn't technically 'alive'."

Megumi felt a lump in his throat. He sat on the edge of the bed, finally gathering the courage to take Yuji’s hand. He traced the callouses on Yuji’s palm. "You’re human now. Or close to it."

"Yeah," Yuji laughed nervously. "No wings anymore. Just me. Kind of a downgrade, huh?"

"No," Megumi said, his eyes darkening as he looked at Yuji. "It means I can finally take care of you. It means you stop being the shield, and you start being the one who is protected."

Over the next few weeks, Megumi became a man possessed. He moved Yuji into his own apartment. He researched the best nutrient-dense foods for healing. He bought the softest silk sheets so they wouldn't irritate Yuji’s scarred back.

He was overprotective to a fault. If Yuji so much as sneezed, Megumi was there with a blanket and tea. If Yuji tried to walk to the kitchen alone, Megumi was at his elbow, a steadying presence.

But more than the physical care, it was the way Megumi looked at him. It wasn't just gratitude, it was a deep, simmering adoration.

One evening, they were sitting on the couch. The rain was drumming against the window the same sound as the day of the accident. Yuji was leaning against Megumi’s chest, watching a mindless variety show.

Megumi’s hand was absentmindedly stroking Yuji’s hair, his fingers lingering on the shell of Yuji’s ear.

"Megumi?" Yuji whispered.

"Hm?"

"You don't have to do all this. I'm healed. I can go get a job, get my own place..."

The hand in Yuji’s hair stilled. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy. Megumi shifted, gently but firmly turning Yuji around so they were face-to-face. Megumi’s blue eyes were swirling with a dark, territorial hunger that made Yuji’s breath hitch.

"You aren't going anywhere," Megumi said. It wasn't a threat; it was a vow. "For twenty-four years, you belonged to me in secret. You gave up everything your divinity, your home to stay by my side. Do you really think I’m going to let you walk away now that I can finally hold you?"

Yuji’s face flushed a deep crimson. "I... I didn't do it to trap you into liking me."

"You didn't trap me," Megumi murmured, leaning in until their foreheads touched. "You saved me. Over and over. And now, I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel a moment of pain again. You are mine, Yuji. Every scar on your back is a debt I intend to pay back with interest."

Megumi’s lips brushed against Yuji’s a tentative, tasting ghost of a kiss. Yuji let out a small, shaky sigh, his fingers curling into the fabric of Megumi’s shirt.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," Yuji confessed breathlessly.

Megumi didn't wait. He tilted Yuji’s head back, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw before plunging into a deep, possessive kiss. It was the kiss of a man who had finally found his missing piece a man who was no longer content with just surviving.

The transition from "protector and charge" to "lovers" was seamless, though Megumi’s protective streak only intensified.

He didn't like it when Yuji went out alone. He didn't like it when other men looked at Yuji’s bright, sunny smile. He was constantly touching him. A hand on the small of his back, a kiss to the temple, a firm grip on his waist.

One night, in the quiet intimacy of their shared bedroom, Megumi was tracing the long, jagged scar that ran from Yuji’s shoulder to his hip. It was the mark of a demon’s claw that had tried to take Megumi when he was five.

Yuji was arched beneath him, his skin flushed, eyes hazy with love and desire. He felt so small under Megumi’s large frame, so perfectly suited to be held.

"Does it still hurt?" Megumi whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"Only when you look at it like it’s a tragedy," Yuji replied, reaching up to cup Megumi’s face. "To me, it’s a trophy. It means I succeeded. You’re here. You’re alive. And you’re mine."

Megumi leaned down, pressing his lips to the center of the scar, then moved up to Yuji’s mouth. "I used to think I was lucky," Megumi murmured against his lips. "But luck is random. This... what we have... this is destiny. I’m never letting you go, Yuji. I’ll be your guardian now."

As Megumi pulled Yuji closer, claiming him with a slow, deliberate heat, the former angel realized he hadn't fallen at all. He had simply finally come home.

The shadows in Megumi’s life were gone, replaced by the golden light of the man in his arms. And Megumi Fushiguro made a silent promise to the heavens: if they ever tried to take his angel back, he’d tear the sky down to keep him.