"one man's trash is another man's treasure!" — f. megumi
feat. -> brother’sbestfriend!megumi x fem!reader
synopsis -> of course, yuji’s younger sisteraka you never failed to be the talk of the very small town you’d grown up in; multiple boys friends in the span of a few months wasn’t a good look, you were seen as the a-typical girl in town any and everyone could get a piece of. well, everyone but yuji’s lifelong best friend megumi, that is. it was hard for megumi to see you as anything but the cute younger sibling his friend always trudged with him when they did odd jobs around town, trying to save up for the mediocre drums and bass guitar setup in your grandmothers garage. so — what happens when you suddenly approach megumi for some relationship advice and he finds out a devastatingly shocking secret you’d kept from him all this time; none of your boyfriends had ever gone down on you. what kind of friend would megumi be to let you live a life like that?
WARNINGS -> porn without plot, JUST writing of sex, squirting, cum eating, p in v, oral (fem!rec), no protection used (pls don’t be dumb, wrap it before u let him tap it), dirty talk, pet names, misogynistic slang, shitty bf’s, cheating (oop!), megumi being a munch (cannon btw idc), much more, not proofread!
authors note -> how exactly I came from kpop to anime, i dunno. hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. my requests r open, and horny thoughts are always welcome. also, feedback is appreciated unless it’s bitchy, pls keep the bullshit to urself, thanks! 😘
you’re slouched deep into the corner of your parents garage, dingy cough sinking down underneath your weight with one leg tucked under you, the other kicking out every few seconds like you can’t sit still. your phone’s face-down on your thigh, screen still glowing from the latest shitty text from naoya. you roll the near-empty beer can between your palms, condensation slicking your fingers, then tip it back for the last swallow and crush it a little too hard in your fist.
megumi’s across the room packing his bass into its case. he zips it slow, eyes flicking to you every couple seconds, when yuji bangs out the side door with a quick “back in ten!”.
the sudden quiet feels heavier than normal. megumi grabs a fresh beer from the fridge, cracks it, and drops onto the couch right next to you — close enough that his thigh presses against yours. he stretches one arm along the back of the couch behind your shoulders, not quite touching you, but you feel the heat of it anyway; always testing, always too close to just call it a casual distance, but too far to do anything about it.
he takes a long drink, throat working, then turns his head. “you’ve been twitching and huffing like a pissed-off cat since you walked in,” he says, voice low, a little amused. “either tell me what’s wrong or stop making that face.”
classic megumi, calling you out when you moped around. after all, this is the same guy that your brother had been friends with for god knows how long. the same guy who always had something rude to say about the guys you fucked, always was there when you got broken up with, and was always pushing the boundaries of a typical friendly relationship.
you blow out a breath, drop your head back against the cushion, and stare at the ceiling. your fingers drum on your bare thigh.
“it’s naoya,” you mutter. “same old shit.”
megumi stays quiet, just waits, dark eyes fixed on your profile.
you shift again, thighs squeezing together once before you force them apart. “he still won’t go down on me. not once. i’ve asked straight-up, dropped every hint, even begged one time when i was drunk. nothing. just excuses — tired, not in the mood, or some smug ass comment about how girls should be grateful he even bothers fucking them.” you sigh, tossing the empty can of beer onto the nearest battered coffee table, “it’s just ironic, ‘specially considering i suck his dick practically left and right, but can’t even get the same back.”
megumi’s eyebrows shoot up. he turns fully toward you now, one knee pulling up on the couch so he’s angled in. “you’re serious. naoya fucking zen’in?”
“shut up, don’t start the judgy shit.” you sigh, cheeks hot. “but yeah, dead serious. i go down on him whenever he snaps his fingers, but me? apparently my pussy’s not worth the effort to a guy like him.”
he lets out a short, rough laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. his fingers tighten around the beer bottle in his hand, fingers littered with roughened pads, palm battered with calluses.
“i always thought you were with that piece of shit because you just didn’t give a fuck who you dated,” he says, voice quieter now, eyes narrowing. “didn’t know even naoya zen’in — the walking definition of a huge ego with mediocre dick —was this fucking useless in bed. figures though. guy’s always been a selfish prick.”
you shrug one shoulder, bitter. “dick’s not bad, but it’s nothing to write home about. but i’m too far in to do shit about it.”
megumi’s gaze drops — slow, obvious — down your body, lingering where your shorts have ridden up, then dragging back up to your face. he leans in just a fraction, close enough you can smell the beer on his breath. “any guy who gets you naked and doesn’t drop to his knees is a fucking moron,” he mutters. “especially naoya. any man with sense knows pussy is fine dining, type of shit you should be eating every chance you get. just bury my face in it till your legs are shaking, pussy drooling down my chin, that kinda shit.”
your breath catches. he smirks, noticing how your thighs press together again, the way you shift on the couch like you’re trying to hide how much his words are getting to you.
megumi’s voice drops, softer now, but still rough around the edges, the way it gets when he’s trying not to sound too intense.
“i’d eat your pussy,” he says, eyes locked on yours, steady. “that cunt deserves to know what it feels like to be worshipped, not ignored. why the hell are you getting on your knees for someone who isn’t begging to get down on his own?”
he lets the words hang there, quiet, serious. no cocky grin, no push—just the truth, low and certain, like he’s stating a fact.
your heart slams against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoes in your ears. the garage feels smaller suddenly, the air thicker, charged with something you’ve never let yourself name. naoya’s face flashes in your mind—his smug smirk, the way he’d roll his eyes if he knew you were even considering this. this is wrong, the thought screams. you’re still with him. yuji’s your brother. megumi’s... megumi. but your body betrays you, a warm ache pooling low in your belly, your thighs clenching involuntarily as his words sink in.
you swallow hard, fingers twisting in the hem of your shorts. “we shouldn’t,” you whisper, voice shaky, barely audible. “naoya…is still my boyfriend, and yuji could be back any second. this is—”
megumi’s eyes soften just a fraction, but he doesn’t look away. he shifts closer on the couch, his knee pressing firmer against yours, grounding, solid. his hand lifts slow, hesitant at first, then brushes a strand of hair from your face, thumb lingering on your cheek. “i know,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, like an anchor in the storm swirling inside you. “we shouldn’t. but you deserve to feel good. not begged for, not ignored. just...taken care of. i won’t force you though.”
his touch is warm, calloused from guitar strings, and it sends a shiver down your spine. you lean into it without meaning to, your breath hitching. stop, your mind pleads. get up, leave, text naoya you’re fine. but you don’t move. instead, your eyes drop to his mouth, full and serious, and the nervousness twists tighter in your chest.
your heart stutters. you try to look away, but his gaze holds yours—dark, intense, but not overwhelming. just... there. solid.
“megumi,” you whisper, and it comes out shaky, half warning, half something else entirely. your hands unclench from your shorts, hovering uncertainly before settling on his chest—pushing weakly, not really pushing at all. you feel the steady thump of his heart under your palms, faster than you expected.
he leans in slower, forehead resting gently against yours. his breath fans warm across your lips—faint beer, mint, something clean and just him.
“tell me to stop,” he says again, softer this time, lips barely brushing yours as he speaks. “one word and i back off. no questions. no weirdness after.”
you should say it. you open your mouth to say it.
but the word doesn’t come.
instead, your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling just a fraction closer. that’s all the answer he needs. his mouth meets yours gentle, testing, asking. the kiss is soft at first, almost careful, like he’s giving you one last out. but when you sigh into it, lips parting, he deepens it slow and deliberate. his tongue slides against yours, warm and unhurried, tasting you like he’s been waiting years. one hand cups the back of your neck, thumb stroking the sensitive skin there; the other settles on your waist, pulling you closer until you’re half in his lap.
you melt into it, turmoil spinning wild in your head—this is cheating, this is insane, yuji’s keys could jingle any second—but megumi’s kiss is steady, grounding, drowning the noise. his body is solid against yours, broad shoulders blocking out the garage, the world, everything but him.
he pulls back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours. “still shouldn’t,” he whispers, voice rougher now, but there’s a tiny, rueful smile in it. “but you taste better than i imagined.”
your cheeks burn hotter. “we really can’t—”
“i know,” he says again, cutting you off gentle, forehead pressing to yours. his hand slides down your side, slow, resting on your bare thigh just under the hem of your shorts. his thumb traces small circles, innocent but not, sending sparks straight to your already dripping pussy. “tell me to stop touching you.”
you don’t.
his fingers slip higher, teasing the edge of your shorts, then under, ghosting over the damp fabric of your panties. you’re already soaked, embarrassingly so, and when his fingertips brush the wet spot of your patnies, just above your throbbing clit, you jolt, a tiny gasp escaping.
megumi stills, eyes searching yours. “fuck,” he breathes, reverent. “you’re dripping through your panties.” his voice is quiet awe, not smug, just honest. “all this because i said i’d take care of you?”
you nod, biting your lip, nervousness and want twisting tighter. “it’s...it’s you,” you admit, voice barely there. “fuck, ‘gumi….i’m…”
“don’t call me that unless you want me to fuck you before i get to taste this pretty pussy…” he kisses you again, deeper this time, swallowing the rest of his sentence. his fingers press firmer, rubbing slow circles over your clit through the fabric of your panties, precise and patient. every stroke makes your hips roll, chasing more, slick soaking through faster until you feel it smear on his fingers, on your thighs, starting to drip onto the couch cushion beneath you. “let me make you feel good.” his other hand slips under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, thumb brushing the underside of your bra. he doesn’t push further, just holds you, steady and warm, while his fingers under your shorts keep that maddening rhythm.
you whimper, head falling back. “megumi... someone could come in…”
“i’ll hear the door,” he says calm, kissing down your neck soft, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “i’ve got you.”
his fingers hook the edge of your panties now, tugging them aside slowly. cool air hits your bare skin, then his fingertips: warm, deliberate, sliding through your folds. you’re slick enough that he groans low, forehead dropping to your shoulder in an attempt to hold himself back.
“god fucking damn, i’m gonna cum just from feeling how wet you are…” he whispers, voice husky with restraint. “naoya never made you this desperate, did he?”
you shake your head, fingers digging into his shoulders.
he circles your clit once, twice, then slides one finger inside slow, curling gently. your hips buck, a quiet moan slipping out. he smirks, before speaking. “want more?” he asks, lips against your ear, manly and calm even as his own breathing roughens. “want me to eat this wet pussy? suck on this pretty little clit and make you cum?”
you nod, frantic now, turmoil drowned under need. megumi was barely holding his own composure, pulling his finger out with a wet squelch, and bringing it up to his mouth. his lips sucked on his finger, before he moaned out loud, cock twitching in his pants at the aftertaste of your pussy.
“fucking hell, i needed this so bad. im not letting you go after this.” he grumbles as he guides you back gently until you’re perched on the edge of the pool table, shorts and panties tugged down and pooled around your ankles. he kneels between your legs, hands spreading your thighs careful, eyes on yours the whole time.
“still okay?” he asks, voice soft.
you nod again, whispering, “please.”
he leans in, presses a kiss to your inner thigh first, tender, gentle. just as soon, his tongue was flat and dragging around the expanse of your folds, pulling and sucking your skin into his mouth, slick already coating his lips — then his tongue met your clit, a soft lick at first, then a wide, hard drag of his fat muscle through your aching pussy.
the moan you let out was unlike any you’d ever produced before, it was loud, shaky, breathless.
the groan he lets out vibrates through you. “fuck...so perfect.”
then his mouth is on you fully, tongue slow and worshipful, lapping every drop, learning you with every soft hum and flick. you’re dripping even more now—onto his tongue, his chin, the green felt of the pool table beneath you — and he takes it all like it’s a gift, a blessing, like he’s the sacrificial lamb and you’re the deity he’s bowed down to.
he pulls back just long enough to murmur, lips glistening, “mm’first time doin’ this..mm...”
you blink down, hazy. “…what?”
he meets your eyes, a rare flush on his cheeks. “only ever wanted to with you.”
then he’s back without giving you a chance to reply, tongue circling steady, sucking, spitting, coating his face in your arousal. messy doesn’t even cover it. he’s licking broad stripes up your slit, gathering your slick like he’s starving, then spitting it back onto your clit before sucking it between his lips with wet, obscene sounds that echo in the empty garage. his saliva mixes with your arousal until it’s dripping off his chin in thin strings, pooling on the felt under your ass, dark stains spreading. every time you buck he hums deeper, nose buried against you, breathing you in like he can’t get enough.
your hands fist tighter in his dark hair, pulling him closer, hips grinding shamelessly against his face. the pressure is building fast, coiling hot and tight low in your belly, and you’re right there—right fucking there—when you choke out, voice wrecked, “megumi, fuck! i’m so close , fuck, just like that…fuck you make me feel so good…megumi…,” you moan, crying almost, “wait—i wanna come with you inside me, please—!”
he freezes for half a second, breath hot against your soaked folds. then he pulls back slow, face shiny with you, lips swollen and red. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils blown wide.
“yeah,” he rasps, voice hoarse. “yeah, okay.”
he stands, hands shaking just a little as he shoves his jeans and boxers down in one rough motion. his cock springs free—heavy, thick, flushed dark at the tip and already dripping precum in a long, clear string that sways when he moves. it’s big. stupidly big. a vein along the underside, the head slick and glistening, another fat bead of precum welling up and spilling over as he fists himself once, twice, spreading it down the length.
you stare, mouth dry, pussy clenching around nothing at the sight. “fuck,” you whisper.
he steps between your spread thighs again, one hand gripping the base of his cock, the other sliding under your shirt to palm your breast, thumb flicking your nipple. he leans over you, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.
"still okay?” he asks, low and urgent, the head of his cock nudging your entrance, sliding through your folds, coating himself in the mess he made. you nod frantically, wrapping your legs around his hips.
“please—just—inside—”
he pushes in slow, eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker across your face. the stretch burns so good—thick, relentless, splitting you open inch by inch until you’re gasping, nails digging into his shoulders. he’s big enough that it feels impossible, but you’re so wet it’s obscene, the slide loud and slick, your arousal dripping down to where he’s disappearing inside you.
"fuck....fuckk...." you whine, your pussy clenching around him, stomach fluttering and nipples pebbling from arousal.
he hisses through gritted teeth when he bottoms out, hips flush to yours, cock buried to the hilt and throbbing. “so fucking tight—taking me so well—” his thrusts started slow, before rapidly speeding up and arching his hips to hit that spot that had you seeing stars. "gonna make this pussy cum so hard, soak me in that juice, baby. get me all fuckin wet."
the pool table rocks under you, creaking loud, balls in the pockets rattling with every thrust. it’s filth, wet slapping sounds filling the garage, your arousal squirting out in little bursts around his cock every time he pulls back, splattering his lower stomach, his thighs, running down to mix with the mess already staining the felt. his precum leaks inside you, mixing with your slick until every stroke is louder, sloppier, the obscene squelch echoing.
you’re both dripping sweat now, shirts clinging. he yanks your top up, mouth latching onto a nipple, sucking hard while he pounds into you. your back arches off the table, legs locked around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.
“megumi—fuck—i’m—” the coil snaps sudden and violent. you come with a broken cry, pussy clamping down on his huge cock in waves, and then you’re squirting— hard, messy gushes that spray out around him, soaking his dick, his balls, splashing squirt against your ass, thrusts causing it to splash your stomach and dripping off the edge of the table in thick rivulets. the felt is ruined, dark and drenched beneath you.
“that’s it—fuck—drown me in it—” he rasps, voice wrecked, eyes locked on where you’re gushing all over him.
but he’s right there with you, cock swelling impossibly thicker inside your clenching pussy. he pulls out sudden with a wet pop—his fat dick glistening with your squirt, veins pulsing hard, the head angry red and leaking precum in thick beads. he fists himself fast, rough strokes over the soaked length, aiming low.
he comes with a low, guttural groan—thick, hot ropes of cum shooting across your stomach in messy stripes. the first lands heavy from your navel up between your breasts, pooling deep in your belly button before overflowing. the next streaks across your ribs, splattering high on your chest; more follow, painting your skin in pearly white, dripping slow down the sides of your waist, mixing with the sweat and squirt already cooling there. it’s everywhere—warm, sticky, claiming.
you’re both panting hard, trembling in the aftershocks. he leans forward careful, one forearm braced beside your head to hold himself up, dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
his other hand—still shaking just a little—scoops through the warm mess on your stomach, fingers sliding deliberate through his own release.
slow, possessive, he smears it across your skin in big, clear letters: M E G U M I.
the cum clings to his fingertips, stringy and thick, dragging white trails that glisten under the garage bulb. he traces the last "I" with his thumb, pressing the mess into your skin like a brand, eyes lifting to yours—dark, intense, satisfied.
"mine,” he whispers, voice hoarse and quiet, thumb lingering on the final letter. “this pussy, this body... all mine now.”
you’re still twitching, thighs quivering, his cum slowly cooling on your stomach, your squirt drying sticky on your skin and the drenched table beneath you. the garage smells heavy—sex, sweat, salt, the sharp tang of your mixed release hanging thick in the air.
keys rattle loud in the side door.
megumi straightens quick but smooth, grabbing a random shop towel from the workbench to wipe his hands and cock before tucking himself away. he tosses your shorts and panties to you with a small, knowing tilt of his lips, “don’t think about wiping me off, leave it. want naoya to see me dried up when you fuck him again,”—the calm in his eyes somehow hotter than everything that just happened.
you scramble to tug them up over the sticky mess on your stomach, yanking your shirt down just as the door swings open.
yuji bangs in, arms full of rustling plastic bags. “finally found the spicy doritos—they were hidden behind the energy drinks.”
he drops the bags on the counter, completely oblivious to the soaked pool table, the heavy scent of sex in the air, the way you’re both flushed and breathing a little too hard.
megumi grabs his gatorade from the fridge, twists the cap slow. “nice,” he says, voice perfectly even.
you sit there on the edge of the table, legs still shaky, his name drying in his own cum across your skin beneath your shirt, heart pounding with the thrill of almost getting caught and the quiet certainty blooming warm in your chest.
naoya is already a ghost. you’re not going back—not ever. and the way megumi’s eyes flick to yours for just a second, soft and sure, tells you this is only the beginning.