Hey! First of all, I love your writing, I'm in love how you write Megumi 💕 I was wondering if you could take this request: Megumi is obsessed with his girlfriend ass, he maybe didn't notice at first, when started to date, he wasn't even aware a lot about women's body, but when he realized his gf has a big booty, this man started to losing his mind, trying always to not stare too much, his hands twitching at the idea of touching, pinching and even feeling a bit guilty about dreaming of slapping, until it happened (he maybe even just come to think something like "well, Itadori has a point with linking big ass")
I'm not sure if you're comfy describing sizes when it comes to the reader's body, if u not just let it go hehe thank you <3
Megumi can only think about his girlfriends ass
Ever since he’d met you, Megumi had been quietly, irrevocably losing his composure.
He didn’t notice it at first—how his eyes would find you even when you weren’t saying anything, how his replies softened in tone whenever you spoke to him, how he started remembering the little things you mentioned offhand.
Everything came in small, almost invisible shifts.
You were his classmate, his friend, sometimes his headache when you pushed him to far or skip studying for an hour to do something reckless like buy ice cream at three in the morning.
You were loud where he was quiet; warmth where he was deliberate. And he made peace with admiring you from a calm, safe distance.
He told himself it was fine. That he could handle just being near you, even if his pulse stuttered every time you smiled at him. It wasn’t like you noticed—at least, he hoped you didn’t.
But you did. You noticed the way his voice softened around you, how his eyes followed unconsciously whenever you were in the room. How sometimes, when you teased him, he turned away just a little too fast, cheeks dusted with a faint, embarrassed pink.
The shift wasn’t sudden, but it was steady. He started walking you home more often, started keeping snacks you liked tucked away in his bag. He tolerated your chaos with a kind of quiet patience no one else could ever get from him.
And then one day, it just slipped out.
You were sitting on the curb outside the convenience store, sharing a carton of ice cream at an hour when the city had finally gone quiet. He looked at you—really looked—and the thought came so naturally it almost startled him.
“Would you want to… maybe go out sometime?”
You blinked, spoon halfway to your mouth. “Like—go out go out?”
He sighed, already regretting opening his mouth. “Yeah. Like a date.”
The corners of your mouth curved just slightly before the laugh bubbled out, warm and soft. “Took you long enough, Fushiguro.”
He rolled his eyes, but his hand found yours anyway. Calloused fingers, hesitant touch—but real. Solid.
From then, nothing changed and everything did. He still grumbled when you teased him, still frowned when you forgot your jacket—but now his hand always lingered a bit longer when he passed it to you. You still made him lose his composure, but now, he didn’t mind losing it to you.
A few months slipped by before either of you really noticed. Not because it wasn’t different—if anything, it was—but because it felt so natural you didn’t realize how easily it settled in.
Dating Megumi wasn’t some whirlwind sort of thing. It was quiet, steady, familiar. He still pretended to be annoyed when you showed up unannounced, but now he let you stay. He still grumbled about your bad habits, but somehow always ended up doing them with you.
There were new things, too—like the way he’d rest his hand at the small of your back when you walked together, or how his texts sometimes ended with small, awkward hearts he wouldn’t acknowledge later. You didn’t push him to say much; you didn’t need to.
This was just… you and him. Easy and unhurried. A rhythm you’d both fallen into without thinking. And if he still lost his composure sometimes when you looked at him too long—well, he was fine with that now.
Until one afternoon by the beach.
The sun had already dipped past its peak, the air clinging to skin in lazy waves of heat. Itadori had insisted a swim day would help everyone relax after the week’s training, and somehow, even Gojo had agreed.
Megumi hadn’t wanted to come—it was too hot, too loud, too everything.
You stepped out from behind the towel rack, still laughing about something Nobara said, and he forgot what it meant to breathe.
It wasn’t as if he’d never seen someone in a bikini before.
But he’d never seen you in one.
Everything about that moment forced him to see you differently. The way the afternoon light traced across your shoulders, droplets slid slow down your spine, pooling at the dip of your lower back before tracing over the swell of your ass.
That perfect, soft roundness, the way it moved with every shift of your weight, firm yet yielding under the thin tie of your bikini bottoms... it undid him.
The casual sway when you adjusted your stance, the subtle flex as you pushed hair from your face — it was effortless, hypnotic.
He imagined gripping there, pulling you flush against him, your breath hitching as his thumbs dug into the plush give of it.
Your ass was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, full and begging to be claimed, and the realization burned through his usual restraint like paper.
And when you turned, catching his gaze—it ruined him a little.
His gaze dragged up slow when you glanced back, catching him mid-stare. Heat crawled up his neck, but he didn’t drop it this time.
You tilted your head, lips curving into something teasing, knowing. “You’re staring.”
“Yeah.” His voice came out rougher than he meant, low and edged with hunger
Megumi had always been disciplined when it came to emotions. He knew how to close off, compartmentalize, redirect.
But that day, his focus fractured.
His mind went somewhere warm, curious, and almost reverent. Because it wasn’t just about attraction—it was the realization that he wanted to know you in every way a person could be known.
You waved him over. “You’re standing there like you’ve never seen water before, megumi.”
Your voice tugged him back, but not fully. His ears burned. “I’m fine.”
“Then get in. We’re not leaving you to brood in the shade.”
He exhaled slowly, hooking his fingers at the hem of his T-shirt before pulling it off in one smooth motion. When your gaze flickered down his torso and back up—quick, but not missed—that was the first time he realized you might not be as unaffected as he thought.
You grinned as he waded into the water. “See? Not so bad.”
If only you knew what kind of storm you’d just stirred inside him.
That day stayed with him far longer than it should have.
He found himself catching glimpses of you in memory when he was supposed to be meditating; hearing your laughter when he lay awake at night staring at the ceiling. The feeling wasn’t just desire—it was something gentler, threaded with confusion.
He started noticing the curve of your back when you stretched, how your voice dropped when you were tired, the small, unguarded smiles that broke through when you were proud of yourself. Every piece of you built a new kind of gravity around him.
And he didn’t know what to do with it.
Because Megumi Fushiguro was not someone who fell easily. Affection, to him, was soft, terrifying territory—and when it came to you, every small look, every accidental touch, felt dangerously close to something irreversible.
Months later, he found himself right back where he started.
The beach house had been a bad idea from the beginning—especially with everyone staying at a guest house for a few days.
Too much time with nothing to do but think.
And you — always there, in every room, every corner, pulling his attention without even trying.
Megumi had liked you long before the bikini.
It started small: the way you listened when he talked about his sister, really listened, eyes soft and steady. How you’d text him at 2 a.m. when you couldn’t sleep, sharing dumb memes or deep questions until he drifted off mid-reply.
You made him feel seen, not just tolerated.
That was enough. More than enough. He’d been content keeping it locked down, admiring from afar.
Then you walked out onto the deck in that bikini.
Black. Simple strings. Tied loose at your hips.
He was leaning on the railing, staring at the waves, when your footsteps hit the wood behind him.
Water from your morning swim still beaded on your skin, catching the light.
But it was your ass that killed him.
Round, full, the kind of curve that begged to be grabbed, to sink fingers into and pull tight.
The bikini bottoms hugged it just right, fabric stretched smooth, leaving nothing to guess at. He wanted to drop to his knees right there, bury his face between, taste salt and sun and you.
His jaw locked. Wrong. You weren’t some fantasy. You were real — laughing with Yuji inside, helping him braid his hair, the same girl who’d stayed up with him last week when a mission went south.
Staring felt dirty. Disrespectful. Like he was reducing you to meat when all he’d ever wanted was your heart first.
Next morning, you’re in the kitchen, reaching for coffee on a high shelf. Shirt rides up. There it is again — that perfect shape under thin shorts, flexing as you stretch. His mug burns his hand. He sets it down too hard, ceramic clinking loud. You glance over, smiling. “Sleep okay?”
“Yeah.” Lies. He’d jerked off in the shower at dawn, your image burned behind his eyelids, cumming with your name silent on his lips. Guilt hit right after, sour in his gut.
You turn, hips swaying natural as you grab cream. Oblivious. Always oblivious. Pouring, stirring, chatting about the tide pools you want to check later. He nods, eyes dipping to your lower back, imagining pressing there, bending you over the counter, sliding those shorts down slow. Stop.
Afternoon, you’re napping on a towel by the water. Layed on your stomach, bikini untied at the back for no tan lines—Tits spilling from the side. Ass up, round and gleaming under sunscreen. He walks past with a book he won’t read, forces himself to keep going. Sits fifty feet away, staring at pages that blur. Every wave crashing sounds like his pulse. He wants to wake you with his mouth, trail teeth over that curve, hear you gasp his name.
You stir, sit up, wave him over. He goes — because of course he does. You pat the sand beside you. “Join. It’s nice.” Your thigh brushes his when he sits. Warm. Soft. He smells coconut on you. Nods, silent, praying you don’t notice how his hands shake.
Nighttime’s worse. Shared bathroom, you’re brushing teeth side by side. Mirror shows everything — the way your sleep shorts cling damp from a shower, outlining every inch. His brush slows. He’s half-hard already, imagining flipping you against the sink, gripping your ass hard enough to bruise, fucking you deep while you moan into the glass.
You spit, rinse, grin. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“Just thinking.” About how beautiful you are. How natural it feels to want you everywhere. How he hates himself for it.
You shrug, pad off to bed. He stays, gripping the sink, breathing hard. You’ll never know. He’ll bury it. But god, that ass — soft, perfect, his weakness — owns him now. And you smile like nothing’s changed.
Nights at the beach house stretched long and heavy, salt air thick through cracked windows. Megumi avoided you after that bathroom moment — took walks alone, read the same page ten times, anything to keep distance. But the house was small. Inevitable.
You found him on the deck past midnight, moon high and waves whispering below. He sat on the edge, bare feet dangling, shirtless in the humidity. Thinking you’d gone to bed. Wrong.
“Hey.” Your voice soft behind him, bare feet padding close. He tensed but didn’t turn. You dropped beside him, legs swinging next to his, wearing just an oversized tee that barely skimmed your thighs. No bikini now, but those sleep shorts underneath — thin, riding up as you settled. His eyes flicked down once. Caught the curve peeking out. Full. Perfect. His stomach dropped.
“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, head tilting toward him.
He grunted. Noncommittal. Truth was, he hadn’t slept right since the bikini. Your body invaded every quiet space — replayed in flashes when he closed his eyes. Ass arched in sunlight, flexing under shorts, swaying past him in the hall. He’d touch himself to the thought most nights, quick and guilty under the spray, then hate the stickiness left behind.
You nudged his shoulder. “You’ve been weird since we got here. Quiet even for you.”
“I’m fine.” Lie. His hands gripped the deck edge too tight, knuckles white. You shifted closer, thigh pressing warm against his. Scent of your lotion hit him — coconut, faint and dizzying. He swallowed, gaze dropping to where your shirt gaped at the hem.
There — that shape he couldn’t shake. Round, soft, begging for his hands. He imagined hauling you onto his lap right there, grinding you down slow, feeling it fill his palms as you rocked against him.
You didn’t move away. Stared out at the dark water instead. “Missed you today. You ditched the tide pools.”
“Had stuff to do.” More lies. Truth: watching you wade in, water lapping at your hips, ass breaking the surface with every step. Nearly lost it behind his book.
Silence fell, comfortable but charged. Your pinky brushed his on the wood. Accidental? He didn’t pull back. Neither did you. Heat climbed his neck.
“Megumi.” Your voice lower now, testing. He finally looked — met your eyes, steady and searching. Moonlight carved your face soft. Beautiful. Always beautiful. But lower... fuck. The tee had slipped higher, exposing the full line of your thigh, edge of those shorts. His breath hitched.
“What.” Rough. Barely a word.
“You’re staring again.” Not accusing. Curious. A small smile tugged your lips.
He froze. Busted. No denial this time — too tired, too wound up. “Yeah.”
Your head tilted. “At what?”
You. Specifically your ass that ruined him. But he couldn’t say it. Not to your face. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” You laughed quiet, shifted to face him fully. Knee knocked his hip. Closer now. Too close. “Tell me.”
Pulse thundered in his ears. Your eyes held his, patient but intent. Waiting. He cracked. “You… you’re just really…pretty.”
Your brows lifted. Not shocked — intrigued. “Oh?”
He exhaled sharp, looking away.
“Well, I think you’re also super pretty” You leaned in, voice a murmur.
He was disappointed in himself for lying; he’s afraid you would mind but god, he wanted you to not.
Wanted to peel those shorts down, spread you over his lap, sink teeth into that plush curve till you whined.
You touched his arm. Light. Electric. “Megumi. Look at me.”
He did. Your shirt had twisted, riding up one hip. Full view — the swell of your ass against the deck, perfect under thin fabric. His mouth went dry. Cock twitched in his shorts.
“I don’t mind,” you said simple. Honest. “You looking.”
Air punched out of him. “You should.”
“Why?” Your hand stayed, thumb brushing his skin.“Don’t stop. I like it. Knowing you see me...that way”
Morning sun burned brutal through the beach house windows. Megumi woke late, sheets tangled, body still humming from last night’s conversation.
Your “i don’t mind” echoed in his head — soft, inviting, a crack in his armor he couldn’t seal. He avoided the deck replay, grabbed coffee black and bolted for the sand alone. Needed space. Air. Anything to kill the ache you’d left throbbing low.
But you were there anyway.
You and Nobara, sprawled on towels midway down the beach. She was loud — laughing, slathering more sunscreen, yelling about waves. You? Quiet focus. Facedown on your stomach, bikini top untied loose across your back.
Legs bent at the knees, feet kicking lazy air.
Arched just so, full cheeks spilling soft against the thin black fabric, glistening under oil and sun. Every shift rocked it gentle — perfect, round, begging for pressure. His steps faltered fifty yards out. Cock jumped hard in his pants, instant and painful. Thickening fast against his thigh.
He turned sharp inland, pulse slamming, hating it.
Hating his body for betraying him again — traitor, animal, reducing you to this when you’d been nothing but open last night.
He stormed back to the house, empty and cool, slamming his bedroom door.
Pants shoved down in one yank, fist wrapping tight around himself before he could think.
Leaned against the wall, head thudded back. Eyes shut. There you were — burned in from the beach. Ass up, oiled and gleaming. He stroked slow first, base to tip, thumb swiping the bead already leaking there.
Imagined flipping you over that towel, Nobara gone, spreading those cheeks wide. Sliding in deep, watching them bounce with every thrust.
Your voice in his head — that “Don’t stop” from last night twisted filthier, imagining you were moaning for him, Harder, Megumi. His grip tightened, pace picking up, slick sounds filling the room.
Hips bucked forward into his hand, chasing the clench of you around him. Precome slicked his palm, fist pumping faster — rough, desperate. Picturing your moans muffled in sand, ass rippling under his slaps, him buried to the hilt while you begged. Breath ragged, abs tight, so close —
You stood there, frozen. Towel over shoulder, bikini still loose. Eyes wide on his fist, his cock — flushed red, twitching in mid-stroke, slick and obvious.
“Shit—” He yanked his hand off, stumbled, pants tangled at his ankles. You slapped both hands over your eyes quick, cheeks flaming, backing out fast. “Sorry! Didn’t — door wasn’t locked, I thought —” Door clicked shut.
Megumi cursed low, yanking trunks up over the mess he hadn’t finished. Face burned. Cock still throbbed, angry and unsatisfied. He splashed water on his face, pulled a shirt on, cracked the door. You waited in the hall, hands fidgeting, staring at the floor.
“Uh.” He cleared his throat. Awkward heavy between you. “You okay?”
“Yeah! God, sorry.” You peeked up, eyes kind despite the pink on your cheeks. “Should’ve knocked. Was just... looking for sunscreen.”
He rubbed his neck, mortified. “Does this... make us… in a weird position?”
Your head snapped up. Soft laugh broke the tension. “No. Megumi, no.” Stepped closer, hesitant. “Just a bad moment. Bodies do that. You’re fine.”
Relief hit, but guilt lingered. Before he could speak, you rose on toes — pressed a kiss light to his cheek. Warm. Quick. Lingering scent of salt and coconut. “Finish if you need to,” you murmured, voice gentle.“I’ll wait outside.”
You turned, padded down the hall. Left him standing there, heart pounding, half-hard still, cheek tingling where your lips touched.
He shut the door again. Locked it proper this time.
Back at the dorms: Rain trapped everyone inside that Thursday, common room dim and hushed under gray light.
You were stomach-down on the couch, notes scattered, legs kicking idle air behind you.
Those gray sweatshorts rode up just enough — clinging to the full swell of your ass, fabric dimpling soft into the cleft, every curve outlined like a secret he wasn’t supposed to know.
The dip where thigh met cheek.
The subtle jiggle when you shifted for a pen. Beautiful in a way that clawed at him — raw, unfiltered, pulling his gaze low despite the book in his lap.
He’d flipped the same page three times. Useless.
Bodies passed — blurred and faceless, all sharp collarbones and long legs, classmates and strangers alike. Fine. Whatever. They didn’t stick. They didn’t stir anything.
But you — you were different.
Your ass had started haunting every quiet space in his head, perfect and plush, taking up room he didn’t give easily.
The memory that hit hardest was the beach — how the strings cut soft into tan skin, how light chased the bounce of your walk when you headed back up the sand.
Mornings, the shower would run hot while his fist moved slow, slick from base to tip, thumb pressing the slit until precome mixed with water.
His hips would stutter, breath catching as he pictured your shorts sliding down, the slow reveal, the way he’d spread you over his knee just to hear you gasp.
Imagining you arched for him, cheeks bouncing as he fucked up into you raw.
Nights were worse. Sheets tangled low, his cock throbbing in a bruising grip, strokes long and deliberate.
He’d imagine the weight of it hitting your stomach, your breathy sounds filling the dark, the quiver that came right before it spilled.
Every time he came, it hit hard — hot over his fist, lungs hollowed, your image seared in deeper.
You shifted, shorts riding higher. His stare locked. Unblinking.
You’d twisted, chin on hand, eyes amused but warm. No anger. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what.” Voice flat. Caught red-handed.
“Staring.” You smiled small, no tease — just fact.
Sat up slow, legs dangling off the couch edge. Shorts tugged back down casual, but damage done. His pulse kicked.
“At your notes?” Weak dodge.
You patted the cushion beside you.
He moved, stiff, dropping next to you. Thigh pressed yours — warm, steady. Your hand found his knee, light.
He exhaled sharp. “Shouldn’t. Feels… off. I don’t — bodies aren’t … I’m sorry ”
“ hey.. I like it… I like you “
Dorm nights stretched lazy those days, your rhythm with him soft as ever — stealing his hoodies for class, knees bumping under breakfast tables, easy laughs when you beat him at stupid phone games.
You’d crash in his room late, scrolling together till eyes drooped, nothing new.
Sweet normalcy. But your body carved him open nightly. That ass — full, soft-edged glory he’d never craved in anyone.
Yours rewired him stupid. Jerked off to it constant now, fist pumping slow under covers, thumb teasing the head wet with precome, hips lifting as he pictured spreading those cheeks wide, sinking in raw.
Plush cheeks he pictured gripping raw, spreading slow, tongue tracing the deep cleft till you shook.
Stretch marks sealed it — threads fanning your stomach soft, tiger stripes on inner thighs from life, growth, curves earned.
He’d worship those lines, thumbs brushing pale scars while your ass bounced under him. Jerked off ruthless to it, fist slick and tight.
Respect kept him good. Barely.
Movie night left you drowsy. Everyone from his dorm had emptied out hours ago, leaving only the low hum of the horror flick playing in the background and the two of you tangled up on his bed. Your back fit naturally against his chest, the position so familiar it didn’t even need thought. His arm rested lazily over your waist, hand settled flat on your stomach, your breaths falling into the same steady rhythm.
Until you sighed in your sleep, body shifting closer — your hips pressing back just right, the soft curve of your ass finding him with unthinking precision. Plush warmth met the thin barrier of fabric, molding against his crotch, and before he could even process it — heat bloomed.
He went hard instantly. The thick, unrelenting pulse of arousal trapped between your body and his, twitching helplessly against the curve of you. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Grinding against you wasn’t an option, not when you were trust and warmth and the kind of peace he’d never risk breaking.
The press of you was torture. The way your body seemed to fit, to know, wasn’t fair. Sweat gathered along his hairline and his breath hitched every time your breathing shifted, every time your hips gave the faintest nudge against him. His cock throbbed painfully, a steady ache that only grew until he felt wetness begin to spot through his sweats. He couldn’t take it anymore.
He slipped out carefully, the bed dipping as he pulled away, padding to the bathroom and closing the door with a quiet click. Lock engaged. The moment the sound sealed, restraint disappeared.
Pants shoved down. Fist wrapped tight around the base, his cock already flushed and slick at the tip. He stroked slow at first — base to tip, deliberate — thumb circling the slit rough until the faint slick turned to a steady slide. His grip shifted punishing, veins standing hard beneath his palm, slick sounds swallowed by his breathing.
Hips snapping. Muscles tight. The fantasy too close now — the image of you just how you’d felt in his arms: back arched, ass moving slow, taking him deep while your breath hitched the same way it had when you’d exhaled in sleep. The thought alone wrecked him.
Hips bucked silent, chasing the ghost of you: ass arched back, cheeks bouncing slow if he ever got to fuck it proper.
His pace turned desperate, every motion chasing a ghost. He came hard, hot spurts spilling over his hand, knuckles glistening as his knees hit the edge of the sink. He smothered a groan in the crook of his elbow, biting back your name.
His voice came out low, rough. “Yeah.” A cough. “Yeah — I’m fine.”
He washed up fast, the cold water shock against flushed skin. Pants up. Breath steady. Mirror avoided.
When he stepped back into the room, you were waiting. Eyes still hazy with sleep but warm, no judgment there, no questions. Just concern.
“Yeah,” he managed again. Voice steadier this time.
You nodded, a small smile that reached your eyes, before turning back toward the bedroom. He followed, brushing past you — clean slate fragile but intact. You curled close again as if nothing had happened, the faint brush of your ass grazing him once more.
He lay awake in the dark, heartbeat finally calming, staring at the ceiling while the warmth of you pressed close. The ache faded slow. You slept easy, unbothered. Still there, still trusting him.
He didn’t deserve it, but god — he hoped he always would.
Your relationship with him shifted quiet between you after the dorm — not big declarations, just closer orbits.
Hands held proper now on walks back from missions, your fingers lacing his tight till knuckles brushed.
You’d tug him into empty classrooms for quick pecks between classes, lips soft and giggling against his.
Your beauty hit harder in the open — that ass still his undoing, full plush cheeks swaying under skirts, stretch marks along your stomach and thighs like badges he wanted to kiss slow.
Jerked off to the thought of you more constant now, fist slick and desperate, imagining tongue tracing those tiger stripes while your ass ground back needy.
First real tongue kiss came rainy Tuesday night.
His dorm, thunder rolling low, you cross-legged on his bed sharing takeout.
Laugh mid-bite, you leaned in playful — lips catching his sweet, then parting slow.
Tongues met tentative at first — a soft, testing glide that turned hungry fast. Your taste flooded him: mint and soy and something sweet he couldn’t name, all tangled with the sound of your shallow breaths spilling into his mouth.
His hands found your jaw, fingers tracing the line of it with care before tilting you closer. The kiss deepened, slow licks against your tongue until spit slicked across both your lips. Heat spiked through him, sharp and sudden. He could feel himself harden, the pressure building full against his sweats, pressing right where your thigh rested over his lap.
You shifted without thinking, hips adjusting, the soft weight of your ass settling closer. Every move dragged the curve of you against him — innocent, maybe, but maddening. The stretch of your thighs around him, warm and strong, only pulled him deeper into it, breath catching rough in his throat.
The next night, it was the rooftop at dusk. The city hummed below, soft wind chasing the last streaks of light as you caught his shirt and pulled him down into another kiss — this one open-mouthed, unguarded. Your tongues tangled messy; your nails traced light lines at the back of his neck that sent a shiver down his spine.
It got heated fast. Your body moved on instinct, hips rocking forward until your core pressed against his lap — deliberate but just barely. The soft fullness of your ass molded against his jeans, and through that thin barrier he could feel the exact shape of you. His palms found your waist, steady but trembling, thumbs brushing the faint dips of your stomach. The skin there was smooth, stretch marks peeking at the crest of your hips when your shirt rode up — the kind of real that made his chest ache.
His cock throbbed hard, wet already at the tip, hips twitching faint against the hold he forced himself to keep. The urge to move — to drag you closer, to lose himself — hit sharp. But then came the fear. Too far. Too fast. You were his now — his partner — but you were sacred. He couldn’t be the one to ruin that line.
“Wait,” he breathed, voice wrecked, forehead pressing to yours.
You blinked up at him, eyes hazy, lips pink and kiss-bruised. The pause hung between you, heavy but safe. Then you nodded, gentle.
Just that. No question. No push.
And somehow, that made him fall even harder.
Hallway makeouts followed — pinned gentle to walls between dorms, tongues fucking slow and deep, your body arching into his.
One time, your ass brushed his hard-on full as you turned — cheeks bouncing plush against him.
Heat clawed low, hands itching to grab, spread, take.
He kisses harder instead, licking your mouth desperate, swallowing moans.
Cock strained painful, precome damp.
He always stopped before things got out of hand — easing you off gentle, breath ragged. “Not yet.” Afraid of ruining.
You took it calm. Kissed his cheek after, curled close innocent. Accepted the edge he walked. Tension choked thick.. He just needed time.
Storm rolled in ugly that Friday night — rain smacking dorm windows like it had a grudge, thunder growling low and mean, power cutting out floor by floor till his room went full black.
You'd just went out for dinner, both soaked from running through it, peeling off wet shoes and socks by the building entrance
"Mind if I crash?" you'd asked casual, tank top clinging damp to your stomach, shorts riding that full curve he couldn't unsee.
You knew exactly what you wanted to do — tongue kisses stolen quick in hallways, your lips parting his soft and warm, tongues sliding lazy before he pulled back scared of the heat.
His hands always stayed tame, one on your neck or waist, never lower or higher.
Your body wrecked him too bad — that ass full and a shaped, plush cheeks he pictured gripping desperate every night, stretch marks threading your stomach and inner thighs like faint like lightning, real and earned and so fucking beautiful.
Once you made it to his dorm
You flopped stomach-down on his bed first, elbows propping you up, phone screen glowing dim while you scrolled dumb videos. Ass up natural, shorts hugging the deep dip between cheeks, fabric stretched just enough to show the soft spill at your hips.
He sat on the edge close, knee bumping your thigh light, heart already thudding stupid. "This storm sucks," he muttered, voice quieter than he meant.
"Tell me about it." You didn't turn, just wiggled your legs comfy, thighs parting a little.
He laid down beside you slow, facing the dark wall, arm draping your waist like always. Palm settled flat on your tank over your stomach — soft give there, breathing rising falling under his fingers.
Thumb found a stretch mark under your tits, stroking it up and down through damp cotton, feather-light, like touching something holy. Waited ten seconds. Twenty.
You let out a sleepy hum, body sinking heavier into the mattress as you turn your phone screen off.
Minutes passed with just rain pounding — his hand stayed, fingers spreading slow over your waist, tracing two more threads where they fanned out soft toward your hips.
Felt the texture faint through fabric, bumpy and real. "You good?" he whispered rough, sheet tugged higher over you both.
"Warm." Your voice muffled half in pillow, face still turned away. Ass shifted once, cheek brushing his hip accidental.
It was just a moment — a full, plush graze — but it vanished too fast. The contact lingered in his nerves even after it was gone, warm and dangerous. His cock twitched before he could help it, blood rushing south in one hard, traitorous pulse. Breath hitched sharp, chest rising slow as he tried to play it off, but the reaction was already there — instant, uncontrollable.
The heat curled low in his stomach, heavy and unmistakable, spreading until it left every breath uneven. A single brush of you, and he was undone.
Lightning cracked across the sky, flashing white through the room.
For a heartbeat, the light caught your skin—the faint lines tracing your puffy stomach and thighs, pale glimmers against warm tone, curving where leg met hip. Then darkness rushed back in.
He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade. His lips lingered, warm against damp skin, the faint taste of sweat and storm air on his tongue.
He moved lower, following the hem of your tank, lifting it a little to bare more skin—a quiet touch more curious than bold.
Her breath shivered through the silence when his nose brushed against your stomach, his mouth tracing the faint scars that shimmered there like threads of lightning.
Lightning cracked sharp across the sky, flooding the room in that brutal white flash—just long enough to etch you into his vision forever.
Your stretch marks glowed perfect there on your stomach and thighs, delicate pale lines snaking against warm tan skin, dipping soft and teasing into the crease where your leg melted into that sinful curve of hip.
Then blackness swallowed it all again, leaving only the afterimage burned behind his eyelids and the patter of rain against the window like a heartbeat.
He couldn’t help it. Shifting closer on the bed, still tangled in sheets that smelled like you and and that faint vanilla from your lotion.
His lips found the slope of your shoulder blade, pressing a kiss so soft it was more breath than anything—lingering there on your damp skin, tongue daring just the barest flick to taste the clean salt of sweat mixed with rain that clung to you from earlier.
Not when every nerve in him was screaming to savor this, to make it last.
His mouth trailed down one more careful inch, chasing the hem of your tank top—nudging the worn fabric up a bare millimeter with his nose, enough to expose one lone stretch mark.
Lips brushed it feather light, nose nudging into the soft pudge.
warm and real under him. Then his tongue flattened against it, slow drag pulling salt blooming sharp across his tastebuds—addictive, like the first hit of something forbidden.
You shivered for real, legs flexing instinctive under the sheets, thighs parting just a little wider like your body knew exactly what it wanted. Those stripes stretched taut across the muscle, shimmering ghostlike in the next faint glow from outside, pulling his gaze like magnets.
More minutes bled by like that, the storm's low growl filling the quiet, air gone thick with humidity and the scent of you.
His hand finally drifted to your outer thigh, palm gliding up the side in these unhurried, worshipful sweeps—thumb pressing gentle into a whole cluster of those marks, feeling the faint raised edges give way under his skin like tiny secrets begging to be read.
He mapped them deliberate, like braille under hungry fingers:
this one curved lazy left from the sharp jut of your hip bone,
that one fanned out thin and fragile across the inner thigh where it all went impossibly plush, soft enough to drown in.
Your breaths picked up, faint but ragged now, hitching every time his touch lingered; hips wiggled like you were settling deeper into the mattress—ass lifting that maddening half-inch, the seam of your shorts digging just a little further into the cleft, outlining everything he was dying to uncover.
“Megumi..."It slipped out bare as anything, the first real sound past those soft little hums vibrating in your throat—your voice all sleepy-warm and needy, gone straight to his blood.
His throat closed up dry, pulse jackhammering in his ears. Fingers hooked into your shorts' waistband—not yanking, god no, he'd never rush this—just his thumb tugging the elastic down millimeter by torturous millimeter, starting with one hip first to test the waters.
The air between you hung thick as honey, electric. Bare skin emerged slow, deliberate: the top swell of one cheek peeking free, smooth at first then dimpled whisper-soft, a stretch mark from your thigh creeping lazy up to frame it like some artist's signature on perfection.
"Can I?" His voice cracked low, absolutely wrecked, barely holding together.
"Mhm. Please." you, face now buried in the pillow,
your ass arched back that tiny, deliberate bit—invitation quiet as a shared secret, hips canting just enough to make his head spin.
The shorts peeled away slowly after that, inching over both cheeks now—full roundness finally freed into the heavy blackout, so fucking perfect it hurt, glowing in the next lightning flash like it was carved from moonlight.
He’d killed for this view in his head a hundred nights — imagining it shaking slow under his palms, cheeks wobbling plush when you walked, bouncing desperate if he ever got to fuck it right.
His palms cupped the outer edges first, sinking deep into the warm, endless give—so much softer bare like this, plush heaven under his hands. Thumbs inched toward the deep cleft patient, reverent, parting you slow as a prayer while he watched every twitch, every yield. Your muscles fluttered under the hold, trusting him completely, and it wrecked him.
His nose brushed the inner curve then, breathing you in deep—musk heady and clean, earthy-sweet like rain on skin,
Nose brushed the inner curve — breathing your musk deep, heady and clean, cock full-hard leaking steady in his sweats untouched, throbbing against the sheet, hips twitching faint against the mattress.
He took ten breaths like that, just breathing you, memorizing.
This wasn’t normal for him — eating ass? Never crossed his mind with anyone.
That full, jiggly dream he’d jerked off to brutal, fist flying imagining his tongue buried deep, feeling those cheeks clap soft around his face.
Hesitation clawed his gut — respect screaming ask first.
Thumb stroked one cheek slow, watching the flesh tremble light under pressure, plush ripple fading slow.
“Hey...” Voice cracked wrecked, barely above rain roar. “Do you mind if I... taste you? Here?” Palm squeezed your ass gentle, feeling the give, the shake.
“Mhm.” Your face stayed buried pillow, ass arching back tiny — no words needed, just quiet yes. Breath hitching faint.
He groaned low, hands spreading cheeks wider — watching them part slow, that tight rim winking pink/brown in dark, framed by plush walls begging touch.
His tongue flicked out at first, kind of unsure. He started low at the back of your knee, licking up along one stretch mark on your thigh. It was a flat, slow lick over the pale/dark line, tasting the taste of your skin. Your leg shook a little under his tongue as he went higher, the lick getting wider up the soft inside of your thigh. You're face down on the bed, legs spread a bit so he can reach all the way to your ass.
He barely touched the edge of your butt crack—and he felt it right away. Your cheeks jiggled soft against his thumbs holding them.
He licked again, longer this time, right up that same inner spot. Your ass shook more now, the soft parts moving a little with his tongue.
He stopped for five breaths, nose right at your hole, smelling you close—warm and a little sweaty from the rain. ( heh😬)
Then he went for it. His tongue went around the edge in slow circles. Your hole twitched under it, and your cheeks shook harder in his hands.
He pushed in deeper after that—long licks up the whole crack, face buried between your soft cheeks, tongue pressing at your hole over and over. He groaned quiet into your skin.
You gasped for real—the first real noise—pushing back a little into his mouth even face down on the bed. Your ass kept shaking non-stop, cheeks kind of smacking light around his face each time he licked, stretch marks moving on your thighs when lightning flashed.
His hands shook as he held you open more, licking like he couldn't stop—saying stuff between licks like "do you feel good? “
Lightning kept flashing outside like a beat. It went on forever, super slow.
That gasp you made broke something in him—it was this breathy little sound, and your hips nudged back like you knew how bad he needed it.
He pulled back just for a second, his hands kneading your cheeks slow. They felt full and heavy in his palms, the soft fat jiggling every time he pressed in, that line down the middle closing up teasing before he spread it wide again.
Your ass was perfect, plush, the kind that shook just right when you moved, cheeks wobbling soft like they knew what they did to him.
He'd never been this into anyone—rimming wasn't even his thing before, felt kinda weird and dirty thinking about it. But with you face-down like this, ass up warm and real, it was all he could think about those nights alone, hand moving fast to the idea of this jiggle.
“You good?” he mumbled rough into your skin, nose still right there, breath hot on that tight pink/brown spot. It was already slick from his tongue, twitching a little. He hesitated, not wanting to push too far and mess up the trust.
“Yeah... don’t stop.” Your voice was small, muffled into the pillow, but your hips wiggled back clear as day—cheeks quivering more, full bounce like you were begging for it.
Inside, it felt good—warm tingles from his tongue making your stomach flip shy and needy. You bit the pillow, embarrassed but liking it too much to stop.
Back in slow—tongue flat, licking up the crack long from bottom to top. Cheeks clapped light against his face, shaking with the wet push. He circled the rim easy, spit shining it, then pushed his tongue tip in a little, tasting you deep while moaning into the jiggle. He spread you wider with thumbs, thrusting soft in and out, nose between your cheeks as they trembled. Your ass bounced plush when you pushed back. You felt buzzy inside, nerves hot, legs shaky from it. He rubbed one cheek—“This ass... fuck babe ”—and kept licking forever, breaths shaky, lightning flashing. He was lost.
Your little gasps were breaking him open — soft, shaky sounds spilling out as his tongue worked slow, ass trembling warm against his mouth, those full cheeks jiggling plush every time you nudged back just a fraction.
He eased off careful, palms still cupping that perfect curve, ass still trembling from his tongue, cheeks slick and jiggling faint when he pulled off.
Spit-warm and real, everything he’d craved in secret now right here, shaking for him.
He kissed up your spine soft, one hand stroking your hip loving, the other brushing damp hair from your neck.
“Hey,” he whispered wrecked against your ear, nose nudging skin, breathing you deep like air. Heart pounding wild — this was you, trust and warmth curled up for him, and he’d wait forever if you needed.
“Can we turn over? Wanna see you. Hold you proper.” Voice thick, thumb circling your hip bone slow, waiting on your word like gospel.
Your face lifted from pillow, turning just enough moonlight-through-rain caught your profile — eyes hazy soft, lips bitten red. “Yeah… want that too.” Hand reached back, finding his jaw, thumb tracing his lip tender. No rush.
He helped you roll slowly, sheets whispering tangle around legs — bodies close now, chest to chest in blackout dark.
falling open, tits spilling heavy out your tank — full curves bouncing once, nipples peaked tight begging touch. Cock throbbed heavy between you.
Lightning flickered once, carving your face beautiful, tank twisted up soft stomach glowing pale.
Hands framed your cheeks first, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling hot ragged. Kissed you deep and slow — tongues sliding loving, tasting yourself faint on him, moan shared quiet between lips.
His sweats nudged down clumsy with your help, cock heavy aching free — leaking desperate, brushing your thigh warm.
“You’re sure?” Last whisper, tip kissing your heat slow, feeling you flutter open just a breath. Eyes locked even blind, hand stroking your hair back endless.
“Love you. Yes.” Your legs hooked his waist soft, pulling him closer.
He pressed in so slow it hurt how bad he wanted to rush — just the tip first, your pussy sucking him in soft and tight, pulling this ragged gasp from you that hit him like a punch.
Fuck, the way you clenched around that little bit of him, fluttering hot like your body was made for this exact stretch.
He stopped dead there, not even halfway, chest heaving against yours, noses bumping clumsy in the dark.
“I love this,” he mumbled wrecked into your mouth, kissing you messy — upper lip first, then lower, tongues barely touching lazy while his hand rubbed your hip bone endless circles, waiting for you to melt open around him. Sweat slicked where your skin stuck his, air thick with rain and you.
Your tits pressed plush his chest, nipples dragging sharp with every breath. “Fuck... so tight,” rasped into your mouth, kissing sloppy while he nudged another inch, cock stretching you open warm, your whimper vibrating his lips.
Your nails bit light into his shoulders — anchor, plea — and he nudged another inch, feeling every pulse hug him tighter, your little whimper swallowed deep in that kiss.
“Too much?” Voice cracked scared real, forehead glued to yours, breath fanning your flushed cheeks blind. “No... don’t stop,” you whispered hazy, legs hitching higher soft, pulling him like trust.
He groaned broken, — minutes blurring, shallow rocks side-to-side testing if you’d whine, kisses trailing sloppy loving over your jaw, your neck, the corner of your eye, hands cradling your face like glass.
“You’re so perfect,” he rasped against your pulse, sinking deeper centimeter by stupid centimeter — halfway now, your walls gripping every vein, stretch blooming this whine from you he caught in his mouth.
Hips trembled bad urge to snap but he ironed it down, thumb stroking your thigh endless, waiting your nod in the blackout.
The final push took forever—he slid in all the way slow, bottoming out deep until your nose touched his, both of you holding super still right there. Your hearts were pounding hard together, breaths coming out all ragged and mixed up between you. “I’m in ,” he mumbled soft, pressing little kisses to your temple one after another, while that thick tension built up like honey, heavy and sweet, until you both broke quiet with these shaky little sounds.
He started moving with tiny circles at first—super shallow, just testing, hips barely shifting while he watched your face close. Then it turned into real slow rolls, deeper now, trading low moans back and forth like secrets only you two knew. Your ass lifted warm to meet every one, eyes locked in his.
He pulled up slow from your chest, lips still wet and swollen from sucking your lips—for the first time, and it felt kinda surreal, like his heart was gonna burst.
He watched your tits bounce heavy and wild, full curves jumping with every deep roll of his hips, nipples peaked tight through your shirt. His eyes were huge, staring like he couldn't believe you were actually there with him, finally doing this.
Your legs dangled lazy beside his, loose and trembling 'cause it all felt so intense. Bodies slick with sweat sticking chest to chest hot, hearts pounding like crazy against each other.
His hands clamped your hips bruising-gentle but firm—yanking you onto him rougher, hips smashing up hard, bed frame groaning sharp under the pace like it'd break. It was clumsy and desperate, like neither of you could get enough.
Cock buried deep, dragging your walls vicious each thrust, feeling that tight clench milk him brutal while your ass lifted off sheets perfect, cheeks pressing plush his thighs every slam home. Moans ripped loud from you now—high and broke filling the blackout, tits shaking hypnotic front and center, his name gasped desperate like prayer.
Tension coiled vicious—your pussy fluttered hard around him, pulling his groan wrecked, spilling hot thick deep inside with your shuddering clench, collapsing tangled breathless, hearts slamming shared.
He hugged you close, mumbling your name shaky, eyes a little wet 'cause it hit him how much he wanted this. Sweat cooled slow, air thick with rain and sex, his cock twitching soft still buried, your tits heaving against him every pant—both shaking, whispering stuff like "fuck- I’m sorry- I came so fast - baby I’m sorry ."
Minutes dragged heavy—breaths evening ragged, fingers tracing lazy your spine while you nuzzled his neck sleepy but smirking, feeling safe and warm with him.
You stirred first, kissing him messy slow, tongue lingering tasting yourself faint, glancing at him with that shy smile.
You moved a little, playful but sneaky—swung your leg over slow to face away from him, turning reverse so your ass was right there in his view, inches from his face.
Cheeks still full and pink from all the attention earlier, heavy and soft, that deep line down the middle shadowed just right, looking way too perfect up close.
His dick perked up fast, still wet and slick from earlier, twitching and throbbing hard like it couldn't get enough—he laughed nervous under his breath, half to himself, muttering "oh my god" while his hands flexed on the sheets, eyes wide like he was still processing how lucky he was.
You lowered yourself on purpose, super slow, teasing him as you took him inch by inch—feeling every bit stretch you again, wet and warm, till he was buried all the way in.
Your ass jiggled soft when you finally settled, cheeks spreading a little against his thighs, then you started with these light claps as you picked up a steady bounce.
Hands planted firm on his knees for balance, spreading your legs wide to really jump on it, rolling your hips just right so he hit deep every time.
He grabbed your hips tight right away, fingers digging in rough but careful, pulling you down a little harder with each drop—eyes glued to the way your cheeks shook.
Soft ripples rolled through the flesh with every jump up and down, full handfuls wobbling side to side, pulling ragged breaths out of him like he was hypnotized.
"Fuck-" he groaned, voice low and totally wrecked already.
His hand slid along your ass as you hopped and without thinking—came down hard on your cheek by accident, the sharp smack echoing quick, making the flesh bounce even wilder, a faint red handprint blooming slow across the pink skin.
He stopped dead, hands freezing mid-grip, guilty as hell washing over his face, "Shit, sorry," he blurted out all shaky, breath catching like he thought you'd freak or pull away. But you just moaned bigger, louder, bounced even faster on purpose, shoving your ass back into him demanding more—peeked over your shoulder with this smirky little grin, mouthing "megumi~" your eyes locked on his to show him you meant it.
It clicked for him then—you wanted it, wanted him like this.
Both hands went right to your cheeks, grabbing greedy and spreading them rough to get a better look, kneading deep into the soft jiggle with his thumbs pressing in.
He gave a couple quick lighter smacks after that, while saying kinky things todo repeated around him , “ harder” “ yes, baby just like that “. deliberate now, watching how the ripples chased each other endless across your skin—each one making your ass bounce and clap louder against his thighs.
Thumbs grazed teasing along that shadowed spot in the middle while you rode him harder, faster, losing yourself in it. " yeah, like that," he growled low and desperate, bucking his hips up sharp to match every one of your drops, cock dragging slow and deep inside your slick walls—his other hand reached out, grabbing yours tight and lacing fingers, squeezing like he was scared this whole thing might vanish if he let go.
The pace went nuts from there, your bounces turning frantic and sloppy, ass smacking down loud on his thighs over and over, his slaps mixing in wet and sharp with the rhythm.
Sweat slicked everything up more, breaths mixing ragged in the dark room, till you clenched down hard around him—he lost it completely, busted quick and deep, groaning your name loud and broken like a prayer.
Both of you flopped down breathless after, giggling soft and shaky, wrapped up tight together feeling on top of the world, skin still buzzing from it all.
Yuji grinned over at Megumi, still catching his breath from their jog. "Dude, asses are just... pretty. Like, perfect. Don't even try to argue."
Megumi just shrugged, staring off kinda zoned out, not saying anything against it for once. No snark, no eye-roll.
Yuji blinked, leaning in. "Wait—why aren't you teasing me about this? You're never this chill—oh… OH… OHHH!!"
Megumi's eyes snapped to him, face flat. "Shut up."
I hope you enjoyed this just as much as it did!! Thank you so much genuinely for your kind words
