୨୧﹕fem!reader, meg trying to find ur gspot
megumi’s fucking relentless when he wants to be.
you didn’t expect it—not from him. cool, quiet, closed-off. the kind of guy who mumbles through compliments, blushes if you so much as kiss his neck. but now? now he’s behind you on the bed, hands tight on your hips, chest damp with sweat, cock driving into your cunt at angles so precise it’s like he’s mapping you out with surgical intent.
except he hasn’t hit it yet.
you can feel it in the way he keeps adjusting—sliding one knee forward, shifting your legs apart, reaching up to cup your tit while his other hand angles your hips higher. every thrust is different. measured. focused. calculated. he’s testing your body like a theory, chasing something he knows is there.
whimpering, breathless, soaked and shaking, confused as fuck because every time you think he’s found it—fuck—he misses by a hair. it’s so close. the pleasure is blinding, but something inside is pulsing, begging, like a button he just hasn’t pushed yet.
he groans low behind you, voice hoarse and frustrated. “it’s in here,” he pants, like he’s talking to himself more than you. “i know it is—fuck, why can’t i—”
you mewl his name, back arching, your hands clawing at the sheets. “m-megumi, what—what’re you—f-fuck—”
“trying something,” he growls, and then—
then he grabs your hips, strong and firm, and lifts them slightly, angling your ass higher, tipping your pelvis up, bringing your cunt closer to him, tighter. he shifts forward, sinks deeper—
you scream. not a cute moan. not a gasp. a full-bodied, throat-shredding scream as your body convulses. your hands slap the mattress. your legs kick. your mouth falls open with a sob as something detonates inside you, pressure exploding.
not a little trickle. not some delicate drip.
it gushes—loud, wet, uncontrollable—as megumi’s cock hits your g-spot dead-on and stays there, grinding into it while his grip on your hips keeps you locked in place.
his eyes widen, blown black, and he chokes out a groan that sounds like it’s dragged from the bottom of his lungs. “holy fuck—” his cock twitches hard inside you. “you—fucking squirted—”
you can’t speak. your voice is gone. your entire body is shaking, twitching under him, cunt spasming uncontrollably around his cock as slick pours out of you, soaking his thighs, the bed, everything.
“shit,” he pants, hips slamming forward again—same angle, same brutal grind—and you scream again, body lurching, nails digging into the mattress.
“you like that?” he hisses, his rhythm suddenly unhinged, frantic, chasing that spot with every thrust now. “that’s it, right there—fuck, i found it—look at you, fucking soaking me—”
“c-can’t—too much—megumi—!”
he doesn’t stop. not when you gush again, not when you sob and scream, not even when your legs shake like they might give out from under you. he holds you up, keeps that perfect angle, pounds your g-spot like it’s his fucking mission.
“you’re gonna cum like this,” he growls. “you’re gonna squirt all over me again. i want it. need it. give it to me.”
you cum harder than you ever have in your life, squirting again with a scream as your body collapses under him, mind blank, voice wrecked, thighs sticky and trembling.
