“You’re not sitting on me.”

Megumi’s tone was flat, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked onto you like were an unbearable inconvenience.

“I don’t wanna sit on you, but there’s no room, dumbass!”

You snapped, throwing your hands up.

“Figure it out.”

He pressed himself against the car door, like an extra inch of space would magically appear.

“What do you expect me to do? Hover?”

You scoffed, gesturing at the packed backseat.

Nobara and Yuji were already squished together, Nobara taking up extra space just to be annoying as hell.

Up front, Satoru had claimed the passenger seat for his sweets.

Megumi exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as you loomed over him, the heat of your body already too close.

“You’re such a pain in the ass, Fushiguro.”

You huffed—and then finally dropped onto his lap with all the grace of dead weight.

His whole body jolted.

Fuck.

You wiggled slightly to get comfortable, unintentionally grinding against him, and Megumi’s breath hitched so sharply he nearly choked on air.

His hands hovered near your waist, fingers twitching, panic crawling up his spine.

“This is humiliating.”

He muttered, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. He turned to the window, willing himself not to react. Not to feel anything.

From the driver’s seat, Satoru groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“OH MY GOD. Just sit down already! It’s either Megumi’s lap or the trunk.”

“Maybe you should’ve brought a bigger car!”

You snapped.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Satoru chirped, cranking up the music.

The car rocked with every bump in the road, jostling the already limited space. Every single time the tires hit a rough patch, you bounced.

Just a little.

Just enough.

And Megumi felt everything.

The soft press of you against him, the shift of your hips as you adjusted, the slow, unbearable friction.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Then—

You froze.

Something—solid, thick, unmistakable—pressed up against you, and your breath caught in your throat.

Heat flooded your face. Slowly, carefully, your leaned in closer, whispering under your breath, voice tight and mortified.

“Megumi, there’s something poking me.”

His stomach dropped.

Every muscle in his body locked up.

No.

A sharp breath left him, and in a split second, his hand clamped over your mouth, his other gripping her hip in a silent warning to not move.

“Shut it.”

His voice was low, strained, barely audible over the music. His breath was hot against her ear, words pushed through gritted teeth.

“Just. Be. Quiet.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Satoru hummed along to the radio.

Nobara and Yuji were still oblivious.

And Megumi?

He was seconds away from throwing himself out of the moving car.

Each time he felt that sweet, sweet friction—his eyes rolled back.

"Shit."

He cursed under his breath.