megumi likes to go stupid.
✴︎ content : bsf!megumi x reader, smut, body worship, grinding, nipple play, he busts in his pants, gray sweats :0, slight angst?? mentions of depression + anxiety, gooner!megumi
megumi has no clue how he got here.
all he remembers is watching a movie—a movie with you, and suddenly two of the characters are making out and you’re tense and he’s tense and you’re asking if he’s ever done that before.
if he’s ever thought about it.
he wasn’t expecting it from you.
sheepish, sweet you who didn’t know he’s thought about it. a lot.
and then suddenly his hands are shaking and he can’t control his breathing and your lips are on his and it just feels so good.
your warm hands are on his chest and every touch feels so sensitive and he’s pulling you closer and kissing you harder and his slender fingers are digging into your hips.
maybe it was a fit of unexpected hormones that led him here. all he knew is that you were touching him and he wanted it so badly.
and now it’s really pathetic—your legs are bracketing the sharp lines of his hips, he threw his shirt on the floor a long time ago, just laying there and letting you run your hands all over him.
you don’t know he’s sensitive. he didn’t really think he was either. but when the opportunity presents itself—body worship by the prettiest girl he thinks he’s ever seen? yeah, he’s twitching like crazy.
his face is so flushed you’d think he was straight out of some porn-for-plot hentai panel, and for fucks sake, he can’t control his breathing.
chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths, one arm flexed and gripping the sheets below him for dear life while the other is thrown over his eyes in any attempt to shield his face, the dark lighting of his room casting shadows over the sharp lines of his bicep.
his body dysmorphia was something he covered well. people often made offhand comments about how skinny he was. he wasn’t skin and bones, but any idea of a sleeper build on him?? he didn’t think it was a possibility.
and yet, the way you’re touching him right now, he feels like the prettiest boy alive.
he’s well aware you can feel him under you. bricked up through those gray sweatpants (which admittedly turn you on everytime he wears them), the desperate heat of him seeping through all your layers of clothing.
he’s choosing to ignore it.
he’s succeeding at that. all his thoughts are blending together and he can feel himself going dumb.
because who would’ve thought—the quiet, brooding boy who manipulates shadows, uses sarcasm like a shield and has never scored below 90% is a boyslut who likes to go stupid.
usually its late at night.
when he can’t stop thinking about you.
maybe he’s upset about something. a mission—people he couldn’t save, things he was forced to do by the higher-ups just to succeed. maybe he’s feeling shitty. anxiety spiking, and honestly he doesn’t want to be awake.
and then he thinks about you and how you could probably lift him out of any mood.
he’s guilty—so, so guilty. the absolute disrespect he feels when he thinks that way about you is almost unforgivable. but it’s too good.
every thought leaves his head. he loves that he can just.. forget. about everything. feel good for a few hours.
he flinches as your hand trails up the pale line of his neck, turning his head to the side on instinct.
“feels nice?” you murmur idly, borderline fascinated by his reactions and how easily he gives in.
he doesn’t trust his voice, deciding to just nod and pray he doesn’t cum right then and there.
arm still thrown across his eyes, slumped against his headboard, and he think he’s about to die when you shift in his lap, rubbing him just right.
his lips part in a little gasp and you’re not sure you can’t help yourself.
your hands move down—brushing over his collarbones, before sliding down… down to his sides, which you learn are very sensitive, watching him squirm like that. down to his flat stomach, lined with those abs you’ve only seen when he stretches, and have so desperately wanted to touch since then.
you watch the muscles over his stomach clench and twitch, and at first you think the area itself is sensitive until you feel him twitch—sharp and hot—under his sweats.
you grin, hands sliding to hold his pretty waist.
his lips part slightly, voice wavering; “shhh—shut up..” he’s speaking quieter, trying not to embarrass himself too much.
the second you shift over him, a deliberate grind disguised as a nonchalant change of position, a small, almost imperceptible whimper leaves his throat.
your adoration for this boy increases tenfold.
you watch in awe as he genuinely buries his face into the pillow next to him, ears burning scarlet.
“nonono— don’t-“ you giggle. you fucking giggle and he’s going to pass out soon. “don’t hide from me.”
he can hear that stupid, faux pout in your voice and he’s genuinely considering glaring at you until you nuzzle into his neck and every thought he’s ever had flies out of his head.
you’re kissing him so sweetly, nibbling at the base of his neck, trying to lure him out and he’s genuinely about to fall for it.
you can feel the way he melts instantly, shaky gasping into the pillow as your hands run all over that pretty body of his while you kiss at his neck.
you suck, he thinks. do not give in.
he wants it. he wants it so, so bad.
but what if he embarrasses himself?? being a freak on the down low paired with soul crushing anxiety paired with the opportunity to get freaky with the prettiest girl ever is possibly the worst combo he has ever been presented with.
and then that thought is flicked out of his head like a fucking flea when you nibble on a certain spot under his jaw. and then your hands slowly creep up to his pecs, two fingers coming up to tweak his left nipple and suddenly he’s so dumb he doesn’t pay any mind to what he’s saying.
a muffled whine into the pillow you almost miss.
his eyes are rolling back and his body is on fire and all you can do is coax his face out of the pillow to look at you.
his eyes are blown and glazed over, hair somehow more tousled than usual, face flushed so prettily and lips swollen from tugging them between his teeth.
all he can think as he meets your eyes is prettyprettypretty.
the column of his throat shifts as he gulps, breathing still heavy and uneven.
good fucking god. he’s so sexy.
and you just can’t help yourself. your hands move up to the sides of his face, kissing him so sweetly, only the faintest of noises leaving his throat before you deliberately move your hips over his bulge and he’s whimpering.
he’s an absolute mess. taking him apart with every grind, bucking his hips up into your clothed heat like he’s trying to rut into you.
he’s panting into your mouth, letting you shove your tongue down his throat and he’s just taking it like a good boy becuase he can’t think anymore. just use me use me use me..
he thinks he’s done for when you start whimpering. he’s thought about it—god, he has—how you’d sound, what you’d do to him, what you’re into.
he’s not disappointed. murmuring sweet nothings into his mouth; “such a pretty boy…” “i didn’t think you’d be like this, megs..”
he doesn’t realize he’s cumming until you only start grinding faster, his eyes rolling back and moaning pathetically into your mouth just to make it better for him.
you’re practically bouncing on it—and for the nth time tonight he truly believes he is going to meet god. his arms lock around your waist when your back arches, grinding hard and sharp into his overstimulated cock, panting and moaning into his mouth.
hearing you cum—getting off on him—was all he’s ever needed.
you lay like that for a while. flushed, sweaty, underwear sticking to you both going from hot to uncomfortable as the afterglow develops.
his arms are still wrapped around you. because sure, you’ve wanted to have him like this, but above all you just wanted to be his. to be held by him. to know what’s really under those walls.
megumi has two walls. the first ones—reinforced, you’d imagine they were crafted from diamond or something. pretty, and unimaginably difficult to get under.
though you did. with the title of best friend.
the second walls are wooden. fragile, vulnerable. they hide his deepest secrets. desires, insecurities, the darkest parts of his head. they shield the little kid in him that just wanted a normal life. he was doomed from the beginning. they’re wood because they could be burned so easily. and then he’s broken. you haven’t quite gotten under those yet.
but you want to be his. and maybe… he’ll let you.
your voice breaks the silence. quiet, raspy from your moans.
your head snaps up and he jolts.
“that was really weird. of me. i feel like i totally just took advantage of you.”
“what the fuck are you talking about.”
“just—“ you rush. “if that was weird and you hated it and you’ll never see me the same because that’s what i’m into then i get it.”
his hands leave your waist, only to sit up. he’s scared to hold you again. his expression morphs into a scowl, at his own feelings, and he turns his head away.
“i.. i liked it.” he winces. are you baiting him? does he have to go kill himself now??
you blink. “ok. ..good. i liked it too.”
he nods, heart beating just slightly faster.
he doesn’t look at you, too embarrassed, but his arms snake around your waist once again.
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