megumi can’t help but to cock warm his girlfriend
megumi had a terrible habit of needing you close.
not in a cute way.
in the way that made your breath catch when he got too quiet, too heavy, too warm at your back.
he was always like this when he was tired.
when work had drained him down to the bone and left him moving like sleep itself had gotten caught on his shoulders.
all slow blinks because the world had finally worn him down enough to make him greedy for something soft.
and you were soft.
too soft for a man like him to keep his hands off for long.
Tonight, you were propped up against your pillow, the blue light of your phone illuminating the dark room as you scrolled aimlessly through TikTok.
Megumi was a heavy, radiating weight behind you, his large frame curled around your side. His hands, calloused and scarred from years of combat, were wandering, sliding possessively over the curve of your waist and the soft pudge of your stomach, his fingers digging in just enough to let you know he was there.
He was breathing heavily, a ragged, rhythmic sound that puffed hot against the crook of your neck. It sounded almost like he was in heat, his face buried deep in your hair, inhaling your scent as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.
You felt the friction of his joggers against your thigh as he began to dry hump you, a slow, desperate grind that spoke of a bone deep hunger he was too exhausted to fully act on.
He leaned in, pressing a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the back of your shoulder, his stubble grazing your skin.
Then, without a word, you felt him shift. The sound of his boxers being tugged down was followed by the sharp snap of your panties being hooked by his thumb and dragged ruthlessly to the side.
You gasped, your thumb hovering over the screen as he guided himself to your entrance.
He didn’t wait; he just pushed, a slow, heavy invasion that filled and stretched you to the absolute hilt. A deep, guttural sigh of pure relief escaped him…a sound that vibrated through your entire body as he finally planted himself fully inside your pussy.
To open you up further, he hooked a large hand under your knee, dragging your leg over his thick thigh. You waited for the first thrust, your body tensing in anticipation of the feeling of him fucking you, but it never came.
Megumi just went still.
He stayed buried deep, his cock pulsing and twitching inside your tight, soaking walls as his breathing began to even out. He wasn’t looking for a climax; he just wanted to be inside you, anchored by your softness.
You let out a soft breath, realizing he was already drifting off. Shifting slightly to get comfortable, you went back to your phone, the quiet sounds of TikTok videos filling the room while Megumi remained rooted inside you, his heavy weight pinning you to the mattress.
I mean .. he pays the bills ( and ofccc u lauveee himm ) so if letting his cock sit inside of you eases his stress, you couldn’t be more glad.
It became a habit after that.
Every time he came home drained, his shadows heavy and his eyes dark with fatigue, he would seek you out. It didn’t matter if you were reading, scrolling, or trying to sleep; he would find his way into you, sliding his thick length into your pussy just to feel the soft throb of your pulse against his own.
Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night, his cock having softened inside you, only to grow hard again the moment he felt you move. He’d grunt, a low, possessive sound, and shift his weight to bury himself even deeper, his hands never leaving the soft flesh of your stomach.
It reached a point where you didn’t even have to look up from your screen anymore.
You’d be halfway through a video, the tinny sound of a trending song filling the quiet bedroom, when the mattress would dip with a familiar, heavy gravity. Megumi didn’t announce himself; he just arrived, a silent shadow that smelled of rain and the faint, metallic tang of blood.
His hands were always the first thing you felt—large, blunt fingered, and possessive. They’d slide under the hem of your oversized shirt, seeking out the soft, vulnerable skin of your stomach. He’d knead the pudge there, his thumbs digging in with a grounding pressure that made your breath hitch.
He was greedy for your softness, his face already buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling you like you were the only clean air left in the world.
“Megumi,” you’d murmur, your thumb pausing over the scroll.
He wouldn’t answer with words. Just a low, vibrating grunt against your skin, his breathing turning ragged and hot. You could feel the rigid, pulsing length of him through his joggers, a hard line of heat pressing into the back of your thigh as he began that slow, desperate grind.
He was like a man in a fever, his hips stuttering against yours in a dry hump that was more about friction and proximity than actual sex.
Then came the shift you’d grown to expect.
The rustle of fabric as he shoved his joggers down, the cool air hitting your skin for a split second before his hand hooked into the side of your panties. He didn’t pull them off; he just dragged the lace to the side, exposing your clit to the night air and his own searing heat.
He’d guide himself to your entrance, the broad, blunt head of his cock already weeping with precum, and then he’d just… sink.
It was a slow, agonizingly deep invasion. He didn’t thrust; he just leaned his entire body weight into the movement, burying himself until he bottomed out against your cervix. A long, shuddering sigh of pure, unadulterated relief would leave his lungs, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder blade.
“Babe…,” he’d rasp, his voice so thin and exhausted it barely sounded like him. “Don’t move.”
He’d reach down, hooking his arm under your knee to hike your leg over his thick, corded thigh, opening you up so he could settle even deeper. And then, he’d just stop.
You’d go back to your phone, the blue light reflecting in your eyes as you scrolled past memes and dance trends, while Megumi remained rooted inside you. You could feel every throb of his pulse against your internal walls, his cock twitching and expanding as it soaked up your juices.
Sometimes, you’d lose track of time. You’d be twenty minutes deep into a thread when you’d realize his breathing had changed—turning deep, slow, and sleepy. He was out cold, his heavy weight pinning you to the bed, his cock still thick and buried deep inside your soaking heat.
It was a strange, silent intimacy. To anyone else, Megumi Fushiguro was the stoic, formidable head of the Zenin clan, a man of shadows and sharp edges. But here, in the dark, he was just a man who was so hollowed out by his duties that he needed to be physically anchored inside you just to feel whole enough to sleep.
He’d wake up hours later, the room pitch black, and the first thing he’d do wasn’t pull away. He’d feel you shift, feel the way your pussy clenched around him in your sleep, and he’d just groan—a sweet, possessive sound—and bury himself even deeper, his hands tightening on your stomach as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go for even a second.
You were his sanctuary, and as long as he was inside you, the rest of the world couldn’t touch him.
Bro yall im actually so hungry rn and im craving a seafood boil
@andysgarden , @mershyjershy , @fleurlockk , @belchyra , @yxo7 , @leightonnn
@ami-s-k , @mow6li , @scenic236 , @celestesolace , @bibbidibobbidibooos
