𝟏𝟖+ 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 | he sends you a voice message while he’s away.
“hey sweet thing. missing ya’.”
his voice erupted, you could only hear the sound of his breathing, imagining the slow rise and fall of his chest.
“how have you been, mm? eating well? hydrating? you best be taking care of yourself while ’m gone.” he laughed, that squeaky one where you could tell his throat was tight from holding something in.
“wish you could feel how much i’m missing you.” you heard his breath shake at the last syllable, then the tell-tale sound of his zipper slipping down rang out. a loud zzziipp like he wasn’t even trying to hide it.
a moment of silence then a harsh hiss came from his side as he wrapped a hand around his aching member, stroking it to full mast. “shit baby, i’m so hard just thinkin’ about you.” he groaned, then a rustle of clothes came as he shoved his pants down to his ankles.
he shifted his phone so that it was placed right beneath his cock, you could hear it slap against his phone screen, hot and heavy. “listen to it. listen to what you do to me.” he panted, beginning to pump himself, every tug of his length drawing a throaty sigh from him.
“wish you were here. y’know, sucking me off.” he paused to breath, stifling a whine as he imagined the scene in his head. “gosh, you’d look so pretty, mouth full of me. choking on me.” he continued.
“or you could just sit on it. let me hump you ‘til you pass out, all dumbed out on my dick.” he rasped, voice dropping a milky octave. you could hear him spit down on his cock, smearing the glob of saliva over his length.
“if you were here, i’d bend you right over this desk and fuck—” he sped up his strokes, you could tell he was close with how whiny he got. “i’d do so much to you darling, but you’re just not here. and it’s killing me.”
“miss you, so fuckin’ bad.” his voice cracked, you could hear the lewd fap-fap-fap of him fisting his cock ruthlessly, teetering on the edge of release.
“bet you’re touching yourself too, huh?” you could hear his smirk through the phone, “bet you’re getting off at seeing me so desperate and needy. you’re evil.” he grunted.
“shit, i’m close.” he cursed through gritted teeth, you could hear his chair creak under his weight as he pumped his cock, chasing his orgasm.
“this one’s for you.” he panted, the sounds of his fist becoming slicker. after a couple more strokes, he came all over himself with a muffled groan, making a mess everywhere.
“it’s so much.” he grumbled, already regretting what he did knowing he would have to get up and clean off. “and i blame it on you.” he chuckled, you could hear him tucking himself back into his pants.
“anyway. i’ll be back soon. love you, byee.” he spoke before blowing an obnoxious kiss to the phone and cutting the voice message.
This is my reaction when I find a cool fanfic but don't look at the header. And then I realise it's unfinished and the last chapter came out several years ago.
dealing with frat bf!sukuna after him and frat!toji got in a fight
“gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” you scold, dabbing an alcohol wipe along his rough, blood ridden cheek. he sits upon your dorm bed, pout spreading across his face.
“i leave you alone for five motherfucking seconds and you pull this shit—i mean fighting toji?” you snarl, face contorting in anger—partial confusion. “what is wrong with you?” your voice gets louder—you’re yelling now. it’s a genuine question. of all his shit you’ve put up with, this takes the cake.
it was a party—god why is it always a fucking party. you walked to the bathroom to fix your lip liner—smudged from sukuna’s lips practically attacking yours—and hear indistinct commotion. yelling, banging, the screech of the coffee table moving along the sticky-from-beer flooring. so naturally, you step out. and there it is—there he is.
“i step into the bathroom for—what— a minute? and i comeback to find you and toji fighting like fuckin’ animals.” you’ve stepped away from his hunched over state, now pacing about your room, discarding cleaning him up for now. “do i need you on a leash?”
he grabs your wrist, gently pulling you closer to him as he speaks low. “‘s not that big ‘a deal—” he brings his hand up to cup at the curve of your ass, drawing you even closer so you’re staring right down at him—him and his stupid, swollen face. “just chill, babe.”
you push his head away when he tries to snuggle up to your titties like a kindergartener aiming for pity from their mother.
“do not tell me to fucking ‘chill’, ryomen.”
“shi wasn’t even my fault,” he complains, “fought him ‘cause he started talking about you.”
“yea, sure. fuck could he have said for you to charge at him like—”
“he literally said he’d fuck you.” he defends, putting his arms up as to signify ‘case and point’.
“sukuna—”
“and he described it—in. motherfucking. detail. i’m not gon’ let him say that shit.” he puts his arms on you again, gentle and soft.
you don’t speak, letting the silence lie there in the room—well until now, when he looks up at you with a stupidly smug face, knowing he won.
“take that smug look of your face before i slap it off, asshole.” you scold, cupping his face in your hands. he tries to kiss up at your neck, but you meet him with “stop trying to kiss me—” as you try and pull away. “still mad at you, by the way!” you struggle away from him but he still manages to nibble along your jaw.
“i’m s’pposed to be cleaning you up still—there’s blood still all over your fuckin’ face and hands.” you mutter. his hands continue to wander up the hem of your dress, tracing up your skin.
“should record and send it to toj—”
“yeah not a fucking chance.”
not proofread. concept wise, my fav fratkuna work, writing wise my least favorite.
while your brain is frying at the edges, every nerve alight, nanami is asking you to do the impossible.
"cum for me again."
you want to, of course, but your sweat slicked body has other plans. no matter how much he grinds, fucks or rubs you at just the right angle, it's not enough to send you over the edge.
he's got you lying on your side, back pressed to him. his heartbeat is hammering against you in time with his thrusts, precise and controlled.
he notices the way you press your ass against him, chasing that high that's just out of reach. "tell me what you need, darling."
"your voice, kento." so quietly, so pathetic it's barely more than a whisper.
but he obeys regardless. pushing your leg up, his tip reaches even deeper, has your cunt gripping him in pleasure. "fuck," he groans. "there you go. taking my cock so well."
that has you mewling, head thrown back on a silent cry. the coil low in your belly tightens, but it's still not enough to make you cum.
"more!" you beg, chanting it over and over, brain clouded with lust.
"moan for me, darling. let it all out."
aided by his praise, you moan freely. your sinful noises echo off the walls into his ears. he joins you in making impassioned groans of his own. composure breaking, he hikes one of your legs up, hand gliding down to rub at your clit.
the coil grows tighter, threads of pleasure threatening to break into your peak. it's embarrassing how easily he can turn you on with just his words, and that's exactly why you need him more.
"s-shitt, i'm close," you moan. one more thrust and you'll be gushing around him, ecstasy just out of reach.
"you need permission," he cuts himself off with a groan. "don't you?"
"yesyesyes— please let me cum!"
he shifts your position slightly, leg hugged even tighter against your chest and your face pushed into the pillows. the circles on your clit are smaller, sparks of pleasure lighting in your belly.
"cum for me, darling."
your orgasm racks through you without pause. toes curling, body locked up, vision whited out, you're at the complete mercy of it. you're screaming and creaming on him before you realize. through the haze, you can hear nanami groaning behind you, trying (and failing) to stay in control.
thrusts going sloppy, he fucks you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you can barely take it. "fuck, ken!"
he spills inside you, flooding your hole with opaline waves. for every tremor of your walls, he's pistoning into you.
finally, both of you finish. rolling onto your back, his cock is free to slip out. his cum cascades out your sopping hole, sticking to your sweaty thighs. silence and the scent of sex hangs in the air for a while. right now, it's just you and him.
shifting to face him, you see he's already looking back, eyes glinting with pure adoration.
"i'll never get tired of your voice."
"same to you, darling."
masterlist | @orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred
a/n: i should've said this ages ago but i have a taglist now! it's linked in my bio. tell me if it doesn't work. hope u enjoyed the fic and ur day luvs <3
18+ MDNI, aged up!megumi, perv!megumi, established relationship, solo masturbation, panty kink.
abstract, fushiguro megumi was doing a perfectly fine job at being your boyfriend. normal, respectful, composed. unfortunately, his dreams, his shikigami, and one very cute missing pair had other plans.
꣑ৎ MEGUMI HAD ALWAYS THOUGHT HE WAS A DECENT PERSON :)
quiet, maybe. emotionally constipated, according to nobara, which felt rude but not entirely false. he was blunt when embarrassed, painfully calm when he didn’t know what to do with his feelings, and weirdly committed to pretending he didn’t care whenever you stole his hoodies, even though he kept leaving them in places you could easily find.
then he started dating you.
and apparently, dating you had reduced him to some sort of victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.
three months into the relationship, and megumi still acted like your touch needed a warning label. you could kiss his cheek outside the campus library and he would look away like he had just been caught committing tax fraud. you could lean against his side during movie night, warm and sleepy, and his whole body would go still for half a second before he remembered that boyfriends were, in fact, allowed to be held.
you thought it was cute.
megumi thought he needed professional help.
because it wasn’t just the soft things anymore. it was the way your shirt slipped off your shoulder when you stretched. the way your thighs pressed together when you sat on his bed. the way you looked after training, skin warm from the sun, hair messy, laughing with your water bottle pressed to your lips like you weren’t personally dragging his self-control behind a building.
he wanted to be normal about you. really, he did. you were his girlfriend, not some divine punishment sent to test whether his dignity could survive physical affection. you deserved a boyfriend who was calm, respectful, and not quietly combusting every time you hugged him a little too close.
megumi tried very hard to be that boyfriend.
unfortunately, wanting you had started eating through his self-control like a curse with expensive taste.
the dreams came first. vivid, feverish, humiliating things that left him waking up with a harsh gasp, his hips jerking up into the mattress to chase a ghost. your voice would linger near his ear. your skin would press flush against his. your mouth would be somewhere it shouldn’t be yet, sweet and needy and completely unfair. the details always blurred as reality crashed in, but the physical aftermath was painfully clear. he’d snap awake aching and rock hard, his chest heaving in the quiet dark, the front of his sleep pants ruined and uncomfortably sticky. he would just lie there, face burning into his pillow, before dragging himself out of bed to wash the evidence away, feeling like an absolute criminal by morning.
every time, it was you.
of course it was you.
you were his first serious girlfriend. the first person he actually wanted to be good for. the first person who made him think about things he immediately wanted to bury under concrete and never speak of again. maybe, hopefully, someday you would be his first in other ways too.
the thought alone made him shove his face into his pillow and silently consider becoming religious.
oh, he was so cooked.
the worst part started after evening training.
the campus field was still warm from the afternoon sun, grass damp beneath everyone’s shoes, the air filled with the sound of yuji complaining that nobara kept aiming for his head. you had dropped your gym bag near megumi’s by the benches, half-zipped because you never really closed anything properly, then wandered off to refill your water bottle.
megumi had summoned rabbit escape for control practice. nothing serious, just a few white rabbits scattering through the grass while yuji tried not to step on them and nobara accused him of weaponizing cuteness. one of the rabbits, smaller than the rest and apparently born with no morals, hopped toward your open bag.
megumi saw the flash of pink before anyone else did.
his body went very still.
the rabbit tugged something soft from the side pocket and sat there proudly, your panties caught between its little teeth like it had just won a prize.
megumi moved so fast he almost tripped.
he scooped the rabbit up, turned his back to the field, and pulled the fabric away before yuji could glance over. his heart was beating too hard for something that was, technically, laundry. just laundry. normal laundry. laundry that absolutely should have gone straight back into your bag like a normal boyfriend with a normal brain would do.
“don’t,” he whispered to the rabbit.
the rabbit blinked.
you called his name from across the field, smiling as you lifted your water bottle. “gumi, you okay?”
megumi panicked.
he shoved the fabric into the pocket of his track jacket.
“yeah,” he called back, voice flat enough to pass as normal if nobody looked too closely. “fine.”
just for now, he told himself. he would put it back later. when nobody was looking. when his pulse stopped acting like he had robbed a bank.
꣑ৎ DECENT PERSON, MY ASS.
that night the dorm room was too quiet. megumi sat on the edge of his bed with the lights off, only the faint glow from the campus path outside slipping through the blinds. the pink panties were still in his pocket. he hadn’t even taken his jacket off yet. his fingers brushed the soft fabric when he finally reached in, and the second he pulled them out his stomach flipped.
he should throw them back in the drawer. he should wash them. he should do anything except what he was about to do.
instead he leaned back against the pillows, breath already shaky, and unfolded the delicate pink material. the little bow caught on his thumb. the scent of you—warm skin, faint floral detergent, the ghost of your body—hit him so hard his cock twitched instantly in his sweats.
“fuck… i’m sorry,” he muttered, like you could hear him. like apologizing to the empty room would make this less pathetic.
he shoved his sweats and boxers down just enough, his cock springing free, already flushed and leaking. he wrapped the panties around his length slowly, the silky fabric cool against hot skin, and the first stroke pulled a quiet, broken sound from his throat. the little bow dragged under the head and his hips jerked up without permission.
megumi closed his eyes and let the thoughts flood in.
he imagined you in his lap, thighs spread over his, wearing nothing but that exact pair. the way you’d smile at him all teasing and fond when you felt how hard he was. the way you’d rock against him, grinding the soft fabric right against his cock while you kissed that spot under his jaw that always made him weak. your voice in his ear, low and sweet, calling him “gumi” like you knew exactly what you did to him.
his hand moved faster, twisting a little at the head, the soaked panties sliding obscenely over his shaft. pre-cum darkened the pink almost immediately. he pictured pushing the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your slick folds instead, hearing that tiny gasp you made whenever he touched you somewhere new. he wanted to bury his face between your thighs and stay there until you were shaking. wanted to hear you moan his name while he finally pushed inside you, slow and careful and so fucking deep.
“shit— you’d feel so so hng g-good,” he whispered, voice hoarse. his strokes turned messy, desperate. the wet sound of fabric and skin filled the room and it only made him harder. “so warm… so tight… f-fuck, i want you so bad—”
the guilt twisted sharp in his chest, but it only made the heat worse. he was disgusting. he was a terrible boyfriend. and still, he couldn’t stop. he pressed the panties tighter in his fist, close enough to feel the soft fabric against his palm, imagining your hand instead, your mouth, the way you’d look up at him with that bright, wicked little smile while you took him apart.
his thighs tensed. his free hand fisted the sheets. when he felt himself getting close, some ridiculous, half-functioning part of his brain still had the nerve to panic.
not on them.
megumi jerked the fabric away at the last second like it was something precious, something he had no right to ruin, and buried his face into his forearm as the feeling hit him hard and sudden. his hips stuttered, breath breaking into a choked sound he barely managed to swallow, body trembling through every shaky wave until the room went quiet again.
for a long moment, he just lay there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling like it might offer judgment. it didn’t, duh.
which was rude, honestly.
the pink panties were still clutched safely in his hand, untouched and soft, still carrying that faint trace of your perfume, your laundry soap, you. megumi looked at them through half-lidded eyes, flushed and ruined and still careful enough to fold them against his chest like that somehow made any of this less insane.
megumi, once again, told himself he would return it before this got any worse.
꣑ৎ JOKE’S ON YOU.
by the next afternoon, it had gotten worse.
not because of the drills, though they were annoying. not because yuji kept trying to turn sparring into a competition no one had agreed to. worse because you were sitting beside megumi on the bench, digging through your gym bag with a frown while he wrapped tape around his wrist and pretended the top drawer in his dorm didn’t exist.
“this is actually so annoying,” you said.
megumi kept his eyes on the tape. “what is?”
“my new pink pair is gone.” you pushed aside your towel, lip gloss, and spare shirt with growing offense. “i swear i put it in here after changing yesterday. it had a little bow and everything. very cute. now it’s missing.”
megumi’s fingers paused for one single heartbeat.
“maybe you left it in your room.”
“i checked.” you sighed like you had suffered a real tragedy. “twice. i think the campus laundry ghosts have chosen me.”
“sorry for your loss.”
“thank you. i’ll need snack compensation.”
“for underwear?”
“for emotional damage.”
he looked at you then, and you looked so genuinely annoyed that guilt twisted through him, sharp and hot. you weren’t suspicious. you weren’t accusing him. you were just talking to him the way you always did, dragging him into your little complaints because he was your boyfriend and that was supposed to mean something simple and safe.
megumi swallowed.
he would return it tonight.
probably.
training picked up again after that, saving him from having to speak. the two of you sparred under the sun until sweat slid down the side of his face and his black shirt stuck lightly to his back. you were quick today, playful, laughing whenever he dodged too easily and calling him a show-off when he pinned your wrist for half a second longer than necessary.
by the time you both stopped, megumi was warm, tired, and dangerously close to forgetting how to act normal.
he turned away and lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.
the movement exposed his stomach.
you went quiet.
megumi lowered the fabric just enough to see you staring, eyes fixed on the lean lines of muscle along his abdomen and the sharp dip disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats. your expression changed slowly, surprise melting into something bright and wicked.
“wow, ’gumi,” you said, stepping closer. “i didn’t know you had nice abs.”
his whole body locked. “don’t say it like that.”
“like what?”
“like you’re enjoying this.”
“i am enjoying this.”
that should not have affected him as much as it did.
you reached for him before he could escape, fingertips brushing the exposed skin near his ribs. megumi’s breath hitched so quietly he prayed you didn’t hear it. your touch slid lower, still teasing, still light, tracing the firm plane of his stomach until your fingers grazed the line near his hip.
his body betrayed him immediately.
megumi caught your wrist, quick but gentle, and shifted his hips back just enough to save what remained of his dignity. you blinked up at him, then smiled like you had just discovered something valuable and planned to become a menace about it.
“sensitive?” you asked.
“annoying,” he said, voice too low.
“you’re blushing.”
“it’s hot outside.”
“mhm.” your eyes flicked down for half a second. “sure.”
he was going to die on this field.
then yuji’s voice cut through the air like divine punishment. “are you two flirting or are we training?”
megumi let go of your wrist so fast it was embarrassing.
you only laughed, bright and shameless, before stepping back like you hadn’t just put him through five stages of grief in public. nobara, of course, saw enough to make her grin sharp.
“they’re flirting,” she said. “badly, but still.”
“we’re training,” megumi muttered.
“sure,” you said, attempting to tease him. “whatever helps you sleep at night.”
it did not help him sleep at night.
꣑ৎ SPICE UP UR LIFE, COME GET A FREAK LIKE ME(GUMI)...
later that day, after practice ended, megumi returned to his dorm alone and opened the top drawer. he stared at the folded pink fabric tucked beneath one of his shirts. outside his window, campus lights glowed soft and yellow. on his desk, his phone buzzed.
y/n: still mourning the pink pair </3
y/n: she was cute, she was soft, she was taken too soon ☹
y/n: snack compensation tomorrow? ✌︎㋡
megumi stared at the message until the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
then he looked at the drawer again. “i’m a terrible person,” he muttered.
from the corner of the room, one of the rabbits twitched its nose like it agreed.
he should have shut the drawer. he really should have.
instead, megumi opened it again, slow enough that the wood barely made a sound. the pink fabric sat folded beneath one of his shirts, soft and damning, carrying the faintest trace of your scent. his fingers curled around it before he could talk himself out of it, and for one shameful second, he pressed the fabric directly over his nose and mouth. his eyes fell shut as he dragged in a long desperate breath.
your scent—warm, sweet, and intoxicatingly familiar—flooded his lungs, pulling a low, ragged groan from the back of his throat. his knuckles turned white as his grip tightened.
oh, he was disgusting.
worse than that, he was hopeless.
because for all his restraint, all his discipline, all his quiet little attempts to be the perfect boyfriend you deserved, fushiguro megumi had one serious problem.
