requests for my one 1k special are officially CLOSED. Thank you all so much for the requests, i will work on them throughout the week. Thank you guys all again for 1k
Daisy is starting pred allegations against me because I started talking to guy two years younger than me.. I think he's one year or two years younger than me..
Help papa help
PRED. PREDDDDD. arent u like 18… isnt two years younger… yk… 16…?
‧₊˚ ꒰ cw: aged up au :: inexperienced!megumi :: experienced!reader :: nipple play :: dry humping :: praise :: overstim
a/n: tsym for this req🫶🏼 i had a lot of fun writing this. i hope you enjoy!
Megumi lays on his back, heart hammering against his ribs as you straddle his hips, your weight pressing him into the mattress. You were still fully dressed but the friction of denim against his own jeans made his breath catch.
You leaned forward, bracing your hands on either side of his head, your hair falling around them like a curtain. “Just like this, okay?” you murmur, a lazy smile playing on your lips. “Follow my lead.”
Megumi nodded, swallowing hard. His hands hovered awkwardly at your waist, unsure where to settle. You grabbed one of them and guided it to your chest, pressing his palm flat against the curve of your breast through your shirt.
You shift your hips, grinding down hard, the seam of your pants pressing directly against the swell of his cock through his jeans. A sharp gasp escapes him—high and breathy, almost like a whimper.
“Sensitive?” you tease, voice low and amused. You don’t wait for an answer. Your hand leaves his, sliding up to cup the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. You give it a tug, watching his face contort into a mix of pain and pleasure. You pull him closer as you roll your hips in a slow circle against his.
Megumi’s hips jerk involuntarily, erratic and uncoordinated, and he’s panting like he’s run a mile. His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, knuckles white. “Fuck,” he hisses, voice cracking slightly.
“You like that? Feels good?” you ask, speeding up the grind.
“Yes—fuck—yes,” he babbles. “Feels so—I’m gonna—ah—please don’t stop.”
His hips stutter. He’s rutting up against you now, completely out of control, and his eyes are glazed, mouth hanging open. A thin line of drool escapes the corner of his lips. He doesn’t even seem to notice.
The friction is maddening—rough and hot, with just enough pressure to make his whole body tremble with every roll of your hips. Your hands find his chest, rubbing his pecs through the thin material of his t-shirt. You rub your thumb across his hardened nipple in slow circles, and he bucks again, a broken moan tumbling from his throat.
“Please,” he chokes out, not even sure what he’s begging for. More. Less. Stop. Don’t stop.
You lean down, lips brushing his ear. “Please what, baby?”
“I—I can’t.” His voice is a wreck. The pressure builds hot and tight in his groin, coiling low in his stomach. His cock throbs painfully inside his jeans, soaked with pre-cum that darkens the denim.
You notice, a smile making its way to your face. “You gonna cum in your pants like a virgin, Megs?” Your voice is honey and venom, the condescending tone making him toss his head back into the pillow, throwing his arm over his eyes with a moan. “Go ahead. I want to see it.”
His face flushes scarlet, but his body obeys before his mind can catch up. You roll his nipple between your index and thumb one last time, watching his back arch into your touch as a sob-like broken whimper tears from his throat. His hips stutter and the first hot pulse shoots into his underwear—thick and uncomfortable. He groans; long and broken, as wave after wave spills into his jeans, his body shuddering like a leaf beneath you.
You don’t stop your movements. You ride him through it, pressing down harder, making him take every last spasm. His hands fly to your hips, not pushing you away but clinging, fingers digging hard into your skin.
“Oh God—oh fuck—please—I’m sorry.” The words dissolve into a pathetic, whimpering mess. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corner from the overwhelming pleasure. He feels you shift, your hand sliding down to the bulge of his soaked jeans, squeezing gently.
“Shh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “That’s my good boy.”
He whimpers again, resting his head to your shoulder. His body is limp and trembling, still throbbing weakly as you keep him pinned beneath you, warm and unrelenting.
“Again?” you ask, smiling.
He nods, face hidden, still crying a little, and whispers, “Yes. Please. Please.”
a/n: pushing the whimpering bottom megumi agenda with this one🔥🔥
‧₊˚ ꒰ cw: aged up au :: inexperienced!megumi :: experienced!reader :: nipple play :: dry humping :: praise :: overstim
a/n: tsym for this req🫶🏼 i had a lot of fun writing this. i hope you enjoy!
Megumi lays on his back, heart hammering against his ribs as you straddle his hips, your weight pressing him into the mattress. You were still fully dressed but the friction of denim against his own jeans made his breath catch.
You leaned forward, bracing your hands on either side of his head, your hair falling around them like a curtain. “Just like this, okay?” you murmur, a lazy smile playing on your lips. “Follow my lead.”
Megumi nodded, swallowing hard. His hands hovered awkwardly at your waist, unsure where to settle. You grabbed one of them and guided it to your chest, pressing his palm flat against the curve of your breast through your shirt.
You shift your hips, grinding down hard, the seam of your pants pressing directly against the swell of his cock through his jeans. A sharp gasp escapes him—high and breathy, almost like a whimper.
“Sensitive?” you tease, voice low and amused. You don’t wait for an answer. Your hand leaves his, sliding up to cup the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. You give it a tug, watching his face contort into a mix of pain and pleasure. You pull him closer as you roll your hips in a slow circle against his.
Megumi’s hips jerk involuntarily, erratic and uncoordinated, and he’s panting like he’s run a mile. His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, knuckles white. “Fuck,” he hisses, voice cracking slightly.
“You like that? Feels good?” you ask, speeding up the grind.
“Yes—fuck—yes,” he babbles. “Feels so—I’m gonna—ah—please don’t stop.”
His hips stutter. He’s rutting up against you now, completely out of control, and his eyes are glazed, mouth hanging open. A thin line of drool escapes the corner of his lips. He doesn’t even seem to notice.
The friction is maddening—rough and hot, with just enough pressure to make his whole body tremble with every roll of your hips. Your hands find his chest, rubbing his pecs through the thin material of his t-shirt. You rub your thumb across his hardened nipple in slow circles, and he bucks again, a broken moan tumbling from his throat.
“Please,” he chokes out, not even sure what he’s begging for. More. Less. Stop. Don’t stop.
You lean down, lips brushing his ear. “Please what, baby?”
“I—I can’t.” His voice is a wreck. The pressure builds hot and tight in his groin, coiling low in his stomach. His cock throbs painfully inside his jeans, soaked with pre-cum that darkens the denim.
You notice, a smile making its way to your face. “You gonna cum in your pants like a virgin, Megs?” Your voice is honey and venom, the condescending tone making him toss his head back into the pillow, throwing his arm over his eyes with a moan. “Go ahead. I want to see it.”
His face flushes scarlet, but his body obeys before his mind can catch up. You roll his nipple between your index and thumb one last time, watching his back arch into your touch as a sob-like broken whimper tears from his throat. His hips stutter and the first hot pulse shoots into his underwear—thick and uncomfortable. He groans; long and broken, as wave after wave spills into his jeans, his body shuddering like a leaf beneath you.
You don’t stop your movements. You ride him through it, pressing down harder, making him take every last spasm. His hands fly to your hips, not pushing you away but clinging, fingers digging hard into your skin.
“Oh God—oh fuck—please—I’m sorry.” The words dissolve into a pathetic, whimpering mess. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corner from the overwhelming pleasure. He feels you shift, your hand sliding down to the bulge of his soaked jeans, squeezing gently.
“Shh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “That’s my good boy.”
He whimpers again, resting his head to your shoulder. His body is limp and trembling, still throbbing weakly as you keep him pinned beneath you, warm and unrelenting.
“Again?” you ask, smiling.
He nods, face hidden, still crying a little, and whispers, “Yes. Please. Please.”
a/n: pushing the whimpering bottom megumi agenda with this one🔥🔥
‧₊˚ ꒰ cw: aged up au :: nerd!megumi :: smut :: p in v :: fingering :: praise :: degradation :: overstim :: cr**mp** (my favorite word😒)
a/n: tysm for this request💗 u actly cooked ts up
The heavy textbook snaps shut, the sound echoing in the quiet of your dorm room. Megumi pushes his glasses up his nose, a thin smile playing at his lips.
“Ninety-two percent. Not bad.”
He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head, the loose collar of his button-up shifting to reveal the sharp lines of his collarbone. His eyes, dark and calculating, rake over you where you sit cross-legged on the bed.
“Seems like you earned a reward,” he mumbles, shaky hands reaching to push his glasses up again. He won’t meet your eyes. His gaze darts from the paper to the wall to the floor, cheeks flushing a deep crimson. His thumb rubs the edge of the test nervously.
You slide off the bed, knees pressing into the thin carpet, and crawl the few feet to where he’s sitting. His hand finds your hair, gripping at the roots.
“You did so well. I’m so proud of you,” he mumbles, fingers threading through your hair mindlessly. “Let me show you how proud I am, please?”
You nod, resting your head against his thigh and drawing little circles on his other one.
Megumi stares down at you, mouth slightly open, then quickly looks away again, cheeks burning.
He sets the test paper aside on the desk with exaggerated care, then kneels down infront of you so you’re eye level.
“Can I take these off?” he asks, tugging at your shorts. He waits for your nod before helping you out of them, smiling when you gasp as the cool air hits you.
“Legs apart. Wider. I want to see how bad you want this.”
You obey, spreading your knees until you feel the carpet fibers scratch your inner thighs. He releases your hair, only to slide his palm flat against your heat, his middle finger pressing down along the slit.
“Fuck. Look at that. You’re dripping, baby.” He drags his finger through the wetness, collecting it on his knuckle, then brings it to his mouth. He sucks it clean, eyes never once leaving yours. “Sweet. And smart. My favorite combination.”
He pushes two fingers into you without warning, just a straight, deep intrusion that makes your hips jolt. Your walls clench around him, and he curls his fingers, rubbing that spongy spot inside you with practiced precision.
“That’s it. Take it. You’re so fuckin’ tight.”
His thumb finds your clit, pressing down hard in quick, harsh circles while his fingers pump, scissor, stretch. The sound is obscene—wet, rhythmic, filling the room. Your head falls back, mouth open, a string of noises slipping out.
“No. Keep your eyes on me. I wanna watch that brain of yours go blank while I ruin you.”
He adds a third finger. The stretch burns, aches, but it’s quickly replaced by something sharper, brighter. Your thighs tremble, your hips grinding against his hand. The pressure builds and you feel that familiar electric coil winding in your stomach.
“You gonna cum, tutor girl? Gonna soak my fingers because I helped you pass? Hm?” He drives deeper, harder, his thumb punishing your clit. “Do it. Cum. Now.”
The orgasm rips through you, sudden and violent. Your vision whites out, your body jerking, a guttural cry tearing from your throat. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting, rubbing, dragging the pleasure past every sane limit.
“ah—Megumi—please, I can’t—“
“Yes you can and you will. One more. Come on, don’t you wanna be my favorite tutee?”
His fingers never slow. They grind against your oversensitive clit, curl into you, and milk another orgasm from your shaking body. You sob this time, hips trying to writhe away, but his hand on your stomach holds you down. The second wave crests, weaker, but more intense in its raw pressure. You cum again, a thin stream of fluid gushing around his fingers.
Only then does he pull out. His fingers gkisten, wet to the knuckles. He brings them to your lips. “Lick them, every last drop.”
You take them in your mouth, tasting yourself, the sweetness flooding your tongue.
“Good girl.” The praise is soft, almost tender, a stark contrast to the degradation before. He pulls his hand away, grips your hips, and flips you onto your stomach on the bed before you could even blink.
Your face presses into the duvet. He straddles your thighs, and you feel the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing against your soaked, overworked entrance.
“I’m not done rewarding you yet. I’m going to fill this tight little pussy. That’s what you want, right? To be full of your tutor’s load?”
He drives in, all the way, setting a brutal pace—deep, punishing, each thrust grinding against that raw, sensitive spot. The mix of pain and pleasure is dizzying. You’re still clenching from the last orgasm, your walls milking him, trying to push him out even as you crave more.
“Answer me,” he growls, landing a rough smack to your ass.
You whimper into the pillow, tears welling in your eyes. “Yes!” you gasp out as he threads his fingers through your hair and lifts your head up, forcing you into a mean arch.
“Look at you, taking it. Taking all of me, like the perfect little student you are. I knew you could do it. So smart. So fucking filthy.”
His hips slap against your ass. The sound fills the room, joining your broken moans and his grunts. He reaches around, fingers finding your clit again, pressing just enough to push you toward a third, impossible peak.
“Cum on my cock. Now. Let me feel you squeeze me dry.”
The third orgasm is a convulsion, a full-body tremor that steals your breath. Your cunt clenches around him in violent waves, and you feel him shudder above you, hear his groan tear from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt.
Hot ropes of white flood you, thick and deep, pumping in pulse after pulse until you feel it leaking out around his shaft. He stays there, grinding small circles, milking every last drop.
Finally, he pulls out slowly, and a rush of warmth trickles down your inner thigh. He collapses beside you, breath ragged, one hand lazily tracing the wet mess spreading under your hips.
“Ninety-two percent,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Next time, I expect a hundred. And I’ll have to think of a better reward.”
A pause. His fingers trail down your slick skin, stroking the oversensitive lips of your cunt, making you jolt.
