Chapter Text
To most people, Jujutsu High was a school for sorcery, danger, and the constant, looming threat of death.
To you, it was a goldmine of peak athletic human anatomy.
While your classmates spent their free time studying ancient curses, barrier techniques, and weapon mastery, you sat in the common room with your nose buried in Grant’s Atlas of Anatomy. You weren’t a sorcerer; you were a specialized auxiliary member in training, sponsored by Shoko Ieiri herself. Your dream? To become the premier deep-tissue and medical massage specialist for jujutsu sorcerers.
After all, casting domain expansions and taking blows from grade-one curses had to do a number on a person’s musculoskeletal system.
"The lateral head of the triceps brachii," you whispered to yourself, tracing a beautifully illustrated diagram with a highlighter. "So robust. So essential for extension."
A heavy sigh sounded from across the room.
You blinked, looking up from your textbook. Sitting on the steps leading down to the training field was Megumi Fushiguro. He had just finished a brutal sparring session with Maki. His dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his throat was flushed a deep, warm pink. He had draped a white towel around his neck, and his uniform jacket was discarded on the bench beside him, leaving him in just his dark sleeveless training shirt.
Your breath hitched. Oh, the skeletal-muscular density.
You didn’t see Megumi Fushiguro, the quiet, brooding first-year who summoned shadow beasts. You saw a masterpiece of physical conditioning.
Look at those shoulders. The way his trapezius sloped perfectly into his deltoids. His clavicle was a work of art, and even from this distance, you could see the faint, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, highlighting the definition of his pectoralis major.
"Perfect," you murmured, your eyes sparkling with a pure, clinical, and completely obsessive light. "He is absolutely perfect."
Megumi, sensing a pair of eyes burning a hole through his side, turned his head. His dark green eyes locked onto yours. He frowned slightly, pulling the towel tighter around his neck. "What?" he muttered, his voice carrying his usual low, defensive edge.
You didn't hesitate. You slammed your textbook shut, stood up, and marched right over to him.
Megumi watched your approach, his body subtly tensing. He was used to people approaching him with problems, mission briefs, or, in Gojo’s case, irritating teasing. He wasn't prepared for you to stop right in front of him, clasp your hands together, and look down at him with wide, shining, puppy-dog eyes.
"Fushiguro-kun," you said, your voice dripping with sweet, earnest sincerity. "I have a massive, life-altering favor to ask of you."
Megumi raised an eyebrow, his stoic facade firmly in place. "A favor?"
"Yes! I need your body."
Megumi choked on his own spit.
A violent cough racked his chest as his pale cheeks instantly flared a bright, violent crimson. He stared at you, his eyes wide with utter disbelief. "You... you what?"
"I need your body," you repeated, entirely oblivious to the scandalous nature of your words. You took a step closer, gesturing excitedly to his shoulders. "For my final practical exam! I’m finishing my advanced certification in deep-tissue myofascial release, and I need a model. But not just any model. I need someone with high athletic muscle density, localized physical tension, and an active lifestyle. Fushiguro-kun, you are the most beautifully aligned specimen of physical stress I’ve ever seen!"
Megumi sat frozen, his brain struggling to process the transition from 'I need your body' to 'myofascial release'. His heart was hammering against his ribs, and the blush on his neck refused to fade.
"You... want to massage me?" he asked slowly, his voice dropping an octave as he tried to regain his composure.
"Yes! Exactly!" You beamed, taking his hands in yours. Your hands were small, soft, and warm, contrasting sharply with his calloused, battle-worn fingers. Megumi’s breath hitched at the sudden contact. "I need one hundred hours of documented practical application on a single subject to pass. I promise I’ll be incredibly professional. I’ll map out your entire muscular structure, find all your deep-seated knots, and work them out. It’ll improve your flexibility, blood flow, and curse energy circulation!"
You leaned in closer, your face mere inches from his. You were so innocent, so purely focused on your passion, that you didn't notice how Megumi's eyes flicked down to your lips, or how his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
"Please, Fushiguro-kun?" you pleaded, squeezing his hands. "You’d be doing me—and your own poor, overworked levator scapulae—a massive favor."
Megumi stared at you. He wanted to say no. He hated being touched. He was a private person who guarded his personal space fiercely. The thought of someone rubbing their hands all over him made his skin prickle.
But as he looked at your sweet, hopeful face, and felt the soft warmth of your hands squeezing his, a strange, possessive warmth bloomed in his chest.
If he said no, who would you ask next?
Itadori? Yuji would probably agree in a heartbeat, stripped down to his gym shorts, laughing and complaining about his hamstrings. Or worse... Gojo.
The mere thought of you touching someone else’s shoulders, of your soft hands rubbing oil into another guy's back, made a dark, territorial knot twist tightly in Megumi's stomach. His grip on your hands tightened instinctively.
"Just me?" Megumi asked, his voice low and suddenly very serious.
"Huh?" You blinked.
"For the hundred hours," Megumi clarified, his eyes locking onto yours with a sudden intensity that made your heart skip a beat—though you assumed it was just a cardiovascular anomaly. "You're only practicing on me? You won't ask anyone else?"
"Oh! Of course!" you said, smiling brightly. "A single-subject study is much more scientifically rigorous. I promise, Fushiguro-kun, you will be my one and only model."
My one and only.
The words echoed in Megumi’s head, tasting sweet and dangerous. A slow, quiet satisfaction settled over him. He let go of your hands, looking away to hide the small, smug tug at the corner of his lips.
"Fine," he muttered, trying to sound put-out. "I'll do it."
"Yay! Thank you so much!" You literally bounced on your heels, clapping your hands together. "We can start tonight! My room is already set up. I have the anatomical charts, the specialized table, and I just got a shipment of organic, unscented chamomile massage oil!"
Megumi paused. Tonight? In her room? With oil?
Suddenly, the reality of what he had just agreed to crashed down on him. He was going to have to strip down. In your bedroom. While you rubbed oil all over his bare skin.
"Tonight..." he echoed, his voice suddenly sounding very tight.
"Yes! Around eight? Make sure you wear loose clothing, or just shorts, so I have easy access to your lower extremities!" You gave him one last dazzling, completely naive smile, gathered your textbook, and waved. "See you tonight, Fushiguro-kun! Don't do any more heavy lifting, I want your muscles nice and tense for me!"
As you skipped away, humming a cheerful tune about the lymphatic system, Megumi buried his face in his hands.
His heart was racing, his face was burning, and he had a very, very bad feeling that he had just signed away his sanity to the sweetest, most dangerous girl in the school