Cw: Nsfw. Fem! Reader & Afab!reader Minors Dni (block My Nsfw Tag) Ageless Blogs Dni

cw: nsfw. fem! reader & afab!reader minors dni (block my nsfw tag) ageless blogs dni

thinking about 20-year-old megumi who looks so much like his dad that of course the boy has girls staring at him everywhere he goes. he’s got the same brownish green eyes as his dad, the same dark hair, and the same face—and it doesn’t help that his stoic personality is like a flame to a swarm of moths. he’s tall, well-built from his years of training, and essentially a carbon copy of toji—maybe a little bit of gojo, too, because he’d been raised by the eccentric white-haired sorcerer.

“you look so much like your dad,” gojo says every chance he gets. he shivers and then scowls st the memory of toji.

everyone else claims he looks like gojo—only because he’s so pretty that it makes sense to be compared to the man who had raised him and not the sorcerer killer.

but what everyone doesn’t know is that megumi isn’t a carbon copy of toji or gojo. he’s got one thing that sets him apart physically and it’s his hands.

megumi’s hands are gorgeous. his fingers are long and a little thin. they’re a bit veiny too, which makes you drool even though you hate to admit it. he’s got piano hands and you shamelessly stare at them whenever he taps his fingers on surfaces. his cuticles are always moisturized and his nails are trimmed—he claims it’s because his shadows need to be accurate in order for him to summon them, but you know he’s just secretly into self care.

he lets you paint his fingernails black, admiring the way your tongue sticks out in concentration as you try to not get any nail polish on his skin.

when he holds your hand, he’s always rubbing patterns into your skin. it’s like he can’t physically touch you without savoring you as much as he can! his hands are everywhere—your hips, your arm, tucked on your lower belly for some odd, perhaps primal reason.

he likes to move you out of the way (you’re usually unaware of your surroundings when he’s with you because he’s just so safe to be around!) by gently pulling you to his chest with his smooth fingertips, his hand being large enough to nearly cover your entire side.

when you cry, he brushes underneath your eyes with his thumb, wiping off your salty tears before kissing you. his hands are large enough to cup your face and cover it at the same time, which he likes to do when you’re acting a little difficult.

megumi likes to wrap his hands around your neck, not ever squeezing enough to cut any airflow—he just likes the way his fingers look when they’re gripping your smooth skin. he likes trailing his fingertips over each of the possessive bruises that he tends to leave on your sensitive skin. it’s like a reminder to him (and you) that you’re his.

you love the way his hands look when they’re digging into your skin, squeezing your plush thighs as he greedily laps up your release. your cunt spasms at the sight of his fingers wrapped tightly around your thighs. “n-no more! ‘s too much, gumi! can’t—!” he only caresses your skin and forces your legs apart with those pretty hands of his, holding your soft thighs apart. your skin dips around his fingers and the view is so pretty that you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t release all over his face again.

your favorite sight—and his too—is when his long digits are pumping in and out of your cunt. you’re breathless and mewling his name, watching as his fingers break you down into mush. “cum for me, baby, i know you can do it. such a greedy girl sucking my fingers right in, hm?” sometimes he wishes he could see the way his fingers curl inside your body, pressing up against the spots he knows has you shuddering for him. after you finish from his fingers alone, he loves to slowly pull his them out, admiring the glistening slick coating them. “see this, baby? just from my fingers, you sensitive little thing. do you like my hands that much?”

you love megumi’s hands. that’s one thing about him that’s strictly him—you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

hello!!:3 i love your bunny reader x megumi and x yuuji fics<3

would you consider yuuji x kitty reader?🤍

hello thank u !! <3 uh huh sure , she isn't yuji's kitty tho xx

yuji x kitty hybrid girl. nsfw cw ; strip teasing ! pussy eating :p dick suckin' , 69 ! aged up characters 21+ wc: 1.2k hybrid fics

"Are you sure it's okay?"

"Mmhm," you nod sweetly, "my owner said it's fine... for you to touch me."

He bites his lip and continues undoing your shirt.

"Only Yuji, though," you add with a little smile, making him blush as his big fingers and thumbs fumble with your tiny buttons.

You see him getting frustrated so you stand up and start stripping for him.

You're not in heat right now, so you're feeling more under control of your urges and you think you might be able to tease him a little.

So you tug off your top and reveal your pretty bra, exposing your body to him. All that remains on your gorgeous frame is your underwear and a tiny skirt.

Yuji leans forward on the sofa, smiling from ear to ear and checking you out from head to toe.

Your skirt zipper comes down and you tease it off, slowly revealing a matching thong that's wrapped snugly around you like you're his present. There's even a little bow at the front.

You give him a twirl and you hear a gasp from his mouth.

"O-oh, sweetie... you look hot!"

You look down over your body with quiet confidence, your cheeks heating up under his intense gaze.

"Turn around, kitten, let me see your ass again."

He gets his hands on you and swivels you around gently, bringing your body closer. He covers your plumpy ass in big, wet kisses, sucking and licking. Your tail starts twitching and it slinks around Yuji's chin, guiding him further down between your legs.

"Oh," he gives you a cheeky grin as he presses on your back, getting you bent over perfectly, "want me here, kitten?"

"Mm, mm," you nod and pull his face closer with your tail.

"So impatient, sweetie," he coos and sinks his tongue in, unable to deny you for even a second. And he watches you grip your thighs as you let out a loud and satisfied moan.

He tongues you really messy, moving his head from side to side and thoroughly enjoying all of your cute noises. Kitty girls just sound so fucking adorable he can't get enough. So he starts nibbling your folds, which you seem to like too, then he suddenly bites and you let out a shrill "meow!" leaving you totally embarrassed and trying to escape his strong hands.

"No, no kitty, hang on," but he's not done yet, "come back here."

He lies down flat on the sofa and grabs your hips, pulling you where he wants you.

"Up here, come on."

Your knees are either side of his shoulders and you slam your hand to your mouth when he tugs you down. You land on his chin hard, and you can feel the prickles of his stubble rubbing you as he opens his mouth and starts eating your pussy in this new position. He has much better access to your clit now, which he plays with relentlessly, sliding his tongue around the little pearl, making you squirm all over his face. And he loves every second, especially when you start moving your hips.

"Grind on my face, kitten," he pants his sweet encouragements, "fuck my face, please~"

He begs you and you start moving some more, sliding up and down his chin, taking his tongue in and out of your creamy pussy.

He shoves his tongue particularly deep and your body falls forward, your hands landing either side of his hips. Now you realise, when your face is inches from his stomach, that Yuji is all pent up too.

"Yuu~ a-are you hard?"

"Yeah, baby," he replies, sounding a little strained, with your ass in his hands, "'m hard, really hard-"

"You... want me to..." you trail off and paw at his crotch through his loose shorts. He groans and moves his head up and down between your legs.

"Yeah, yeah, pl-" but he barely has to ask before you're slipping his giant, swollen cock out and licking his gorgeous tip.

Now, with your lips around his darkened head that looks like it's about to burst, he starts moaning into your pussy and telling you that you're a good fucking kitty and he wants you to suck him.

"Suck me, put it in your mouth plea- please~"

He's not even trying to be patient with you anymore. He's too far gone and his brain is melting down into mushy, horny thoughts. All he needs is to get his dick wet and have your cream on his tongue. Nothing else really matters.

So when you take him in your mouth and start bobbing up and down, just like he asked, he grunts and starts fucking you deeper with his tongue. He goes wild down there, grabbing your cheeks and making the hottest, deepest noises from his chest that you've ever heard from the sweet man. He sounds like an animal. He licks and sucks your clit till your body hums with your long awaited orgasm. He flicks you with his tongue, guiding you through what feels like an eternity of pleasure. You ride it out on his face and your body goes all slack and relaxed, which he takes advantage of, bucking his hips to get his cock a little deeper.

You recover and compose yourself again, restarting your regular rhythm and taking him down your throat, where Yuji quickly learns that you have no gag reflex.

"Kitten, h-how, how are you doing that-"

You're doing that because it's how your owner trained you to suck dick. If he's going to have a perfect kitty girl who wants his attention, he wants you to know how to do it right.

And Yuji is amazed at your skills, as you take him right to his base, breathing through your nose and closing your eyes with concentration. His face is still buried in your pussy but he's just sliding his tongue in and out lazily, barely able to think.

"Nobody's sucked me like that before- fuck-"

You guide him down your throat till his hips are stuttering.

"C-close- baby- sweetie, oh, oh! Fuck me, I- I'm gunna- gunna---"

His pelvis comes right to your face and you hum and drink him up, every drop pouring straight down your throat. You ease yourself off slowly, gently. Seeing how flushed his cock is makes you smile, and it flops down but barely reduces in size now he's done.

And you turn around to see his face covered in the most adorable pink blush. His eyes are all hazy and half lidded and he bites his lip when he feels your hands run under his t-shirt. He strips it off and pulls you down to rest your body on his, getting his arms around you and whispering sweet thank yous in your ear all night. Flicking on the TV, he lies right here with you until your owner arrives to collect you.

You're sleeping soundly on Yuji's muscly torso by now with his hands wrapped around your back, and when Megumi sees him shirtless and you in your underwear, he cocks an eyebrow at his friend and assumes you must've had a fun evening. 

yuji | m.list

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

I need people to stop buying into the idea that "small business" = "ethical business." Many small businesses are wonderful, and absolutely deserve your support, but plenty others aren't. If you're genuinely concerned about where you spend your money, you have to do your due diligence even if a business isn't a mega-corporation.

The lady who owned the small business I used to work at was horrible to work for, gave free coffee to cops, treated us all like shit, and got pissed if you didn't worship the ground she walked on for giving you a job. I would never work for her again, and if someone asked me if they should apply to work for her, I'd tell them to run for the fucking hills. The turnover rate was atrocious when I worked there, and I wouldn't be surprised if she still burns through employees at an unholy rate.

Small businesses are just as capable of worker abuse as big businesses, and they frequently get away with it because people refuse to believe that their beloved Mom & Pop Shop is run by rancid assholes who think Jeff Bezos has the right idea about how to run a business.

Small business owners CAN be better! They CAN be pro-worker and pro-union! But it's not inherent, and small business owners can be some of the most abusive pieces of shit you've met in your life.

𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

request; Hello I was wondering if you could do a Liam Mairi x reader where involving the side-effects of having bonded mated dragons pair so they absolutely go feral with eachother while using the prompt "That's it, fuck, that's a good girl."

synopsis; you and liam discover the trouble with mated dragons when you wind up in his bed. hidden feelings threaten to come to light.

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; smut (18+ only), p in v, soft sex w feels

word count; 2.6k

Reaching out blindly until your hand snags against the soft fabric of Liam’s sleep shirt, you take a shuddering breath as a surge of arousal locks you on the spot, every muscle coiling tight when you press your forehead to the wall and tug him closer. His thighs are bare and they flex when he stumbles towards you, bracing himself by means of a hand either side of your head, corded biceps caging you in when a ragged pant rips through you and you grit your teeth.

“Easy,” he murmurs, though his voice is strained, the veins that wrap the lengths of his forearms like vines protruding from the creamy skin. You suppress a pathetic little noise that bubbles from the base of your throat, tipping your head back as Liam’s hand makes contact with the skin there. “Shh, shh.”

“Li-“ you whisper through gritted teeth. “I need you to tell me to go away. I can’t- can’t control myself.”

“No-“ he says, quickly – too quickly, desperation lining his every syllable. You’re all too familiar with the feeling, the panic that seeps into his voice at the prospect of you leaving in search of another man’s bed. He’s not too proud to beg you. “No. Stay, please.”

The thought of you leaving is near unbearable now he’s close enough to touch you — feel you. Close enough to smell the shampoo in the wisps of hair that fall around your flushed face, close enough that the scent of you cloys in his nostrils and throws all inhibitions out the window.

His body presses against yours and the contact sets every nerve ending you possess alight. You tremble when he glides steady fingers - much steadier than you’re feeling right now - over your half-bare shoulder where your t-shirt has slipped downward, coming to a halt over your skittering pulse. His head falls forward into the juncture of your neck.

“Fuck.” His voice is rasping, barely there in your ears as Deigh does something Áine particularly likes and a crusade of need slams through him.

You thread your fingers through the blond tresses that tickle at your skin, pointedly ignoring the obvious disparity of your bodies, how his dwarfs your own, the way it makes your head spin with the need to get closer, to claw your way into his skin and feel every inch of him.

“Liam,” you whine softly, arching into him as those thick arms twine around your waist, pulling your torso flush to his own. He squeezes you, hands slipping beneath the t-shirt you’re clad in, palming and groping at every bump and ridge, every hill and valley of flesh he can reach. He ventures lower; your fingers tense where they still lay in his soft hair, and when his palms flatten and tap firmly at the backs of your thighs, you know what he wants.

You oblige the clear instruction, pushing yourself up from the balls of your feet until you’re in Liam’s arms, legs looped around his waist and ankles crossed at the base of his spine. Your back hits the wall as he surges forward to nose at your jugular. His lips part, tongue flicking forward to lave at your balmy skin. As his head dips, trailing a hot, wet path of half moons in the wake of his lips, you shudder.

“I know, my girl. I know,” he coos, sympathetic. His words slur and jumble, each sound melting into the next as though he’s drunk from the feel - the taste - of you alone.

The pet name would be enough to have you melting with affection under usual circumstances— now, it’s enough to have you whining, craning your head to slant your lips hungrily over his own, uncaring if it’s messy or filthy or downright sinful. Your only mission is to feel him, to get closer, to roam every inch of him with your ravenous tongue and teeth and lips— greedy for his touch.

If anyone were to walk in they’d certainly blanch at the sight; you pinned against the wall closest to the door of Liam’s room, his eager fingers splayed over your ass as you breathe into each other’s mouths. You’re unconsciously grinding down into him in quick, fervent bursts, and he reciprocates the movement appreciatively, letting you slide down the cold wall until the thick length of him presses to your wet cunt— hindered only by the fabric of his boxers and the lace of your panties.

The material is almost translucent, soaked through with your arousal. Liam coos something sympathetic that you can’t quite decipher for the fog that clouds your every nerve ending, for the hand that slips between your bodies until his thumb is rubbing tight circles into your swollen clit through the ruined fabric. Tears burn at the backs of your eyes and you tremble round him, the pleasure everything you need and somehow nowhere near enough, all at once.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs. “‘ve got you, angel. ‘S okay.”

You gasp wetly against his kiss-bitten lips, the only warning you give as you begin shuddering against him, your climax ripping through you before you even have time to think. Everything is so sensitive, every brush and graze of his skin against your own amplified tenfold— it’s too much but still, you greedily accept everything he’s willing to give you, teary eyes trained to his throat that works around a swallow as he watches you cum with heavy lidded eyes. Babbling around a sob, you part your lips from his in favour of sinking down into the juncture of his neck, your hot cheeks searing against the cooler skin that greets you like a soothing balm.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

“Liam,” you hiccup, grabbing large fistfuls of his t-shirt, the flimsy material the only thing that separates you from miles of toned skin and muscle. That lopsided grin cracks across his face, a dimple cratering onto the centre of his cheek as his teeth flash in an amused smile; his chest heaves, even more so when you slip your hands underneath his tee to palm at bare skin.

Setting you down on shaking legs, his hand encircles one of your wrists and tugs, leading you until you’re perched at the edge of the bed. He turns, elbows flaring wide as he pulls at the neckline of his shirt and drags the material over his head in one fluid motion. The planes of his back are bared to you, each individual muscle rolling and moving with one another as though they’re cogs in a well oiled machine. You want your mouth on every inch of that skin– no corner, no crevice left untouched.

And then he’s on you, prowling with a predatory glint in those cerulean eyes as his pupils swallow the bright hue of his irises; all he sees is you– the way you shrink and tremble at the fervent way he surveys you.

A wide palm slips beneath your own tee and curls around your ribcage, frantically rising and falling with every laboured breath. He shucks the fabric upward to expose your soft breasts to the cool air of the room, and watches with rapt fascination as your nipples harden into peaks under his attention.

You shift until you’re propped up on your elbows to allow him space to discard the item of clothing, complying when he nudges you until you’re flat against the mattress, legs hooked over his hips. Your head turns, face burning at the wolfish way his eyes rake over you, a great contrast to the flattened hands that scrub sweeping lines over the tops of your thighs to soothe your nerves.

“Don’t hide from me, angel,” he murmurs, folding at the waist to smear a kiss against the curve of your jaw. His next words are a rumble against your skin that seep into your pores, into your very bones. “If it gets too much for you, all you have to do is tell me. And we’ll stop. Okay?”

His cadence is low and rasping, and the feel of the bridge of his nose pressed to your cheek sending a wave of affection through you that knocks the breath from your lungs. You nod.

“Words, sweet girl.”

“Okay,” you croak.

“Good girl.”

Your pussy aches with a sharp throb when he reaches down to press his thumb back to your swollen bundle of nerves; you whine, hips canting up into his touch unconsciously as he slips the wet material down your legs and discards them somewhere behind him.

He presses a kiss to your tummy, your knee, your ankle, and then pushes your legs up and back until they’re folded atop your chest. You gasp when his warm breath fans over your bare sex.

“Liam.”

“I know, angel,” he grunts. His voice patters out into breathless silence as you part your thighs, splaying a hand across his thrumming pulse to wrench him upwards and towards you. He doesn’t resist, putty in your hands. Absolutely, wholly yours.

“Please,” you whisper; his nose brushes yours. “Need you.”

He parts your lips with his own, slaking his hunger on you. He revels in every noise he pulls from your slick lips, every whine and gasp and plead for him to give you what you want. He swallows them all greedily and when - and only when - he’s decided you’ve begged him prettily enough, does he free his weeping cock and line up with your entrance.

He sinks in slowly, every thick inch of him splitting you wider than the previous. He’s thick, cock twitching against your cunt as the flushed head practically begs to be buried inside of you. The colour bleeds from your knuckles as you clutch his biceps, leaving crescent moon indents in the wake of your cruel touch; he hisses, and when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, he sweeps down again to press wet, ardent kisses to your face and neck. He hooks your legs up against his hips, pulling back to rock back into the tight clutch of your cunt with slow, rhythmic movements.

He hits every spot inside of you without trying, the spongy head of him rubbing continuously over a particular spot you haven’t discovered yet; it has you keening, sobbing out a broken moan against his balmy cheek as he coos gentle praises against the shell of your ear.

His entire focus is fixated on him desperately trying to not blow his load at the first feel of your cunt clasping him, breathing deeply through his nostrils as he props a forearm either side of your head.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasps, picking up his pace as your enthusiasm starts to peak, your shaking fingers tangling in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Your body arches beneath him, head tipping back when a soft whine spills from your swollen lips.

The lewd sound of slapping skin and heavy breathing encases your senses, drives you further to that edge that you’ve been aching for since you entered the room.

He’s so beautiful like this it sets you alight with adoration— and arousal: blond hair mussed and falling over his eyes, face flushed as he dips down to brush his nose with your own, plush, pink lips parted into a gasp when you clench around him.

“‘M so close, Li,” you croak, tightening your fingers where they’re carding through his hair.

“I know, angel. I know.” Deft fingers slide between your bodies as he works over your clit rhythmically— sweeping movements that alternate between tight circles and up and down motions as he places pressure on that bundle of nerves.

A sweet, quiet little gasp spills from your lips, and Liam doesn’t miss the way you tense, clinging to him harder as you shatter.

He coaxes you through it, movements never slowing as you ride out your peak, whining against his lips when he swallows your sounds with his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until you’re squirming and writhing beneath him, kicking your legs feebly to push him away; he shudders at the movement, back bowing in the centre until he’s spilling into you with a groan. He braces himself with his head buried in the juncture of your neck, arms hooking around the base of your spine to hold you flush to him.

You both collapse in a haphazard mound of limbs and you roll onto your side to face Liam, his cheek still pressed to yours. He brushes the bridge of his nose along the length of your cheekbone, his smile imprinted into your skin as you hum and needle your way closer into his chest.

You don’t know what to say— neither does he. This silence is comfortable regardless, the gentle, lulling energy encasing the pair of you in this bubble.

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your sticky forehead, smearing a kiss along the crown of your skull. Your lashes flutter, body soft and lax against his own as you greedily seep up his warmth. You’re weightless, your head pleasantly blank when he pulls the blankets over you, pressing a final kiss to your cheek before he’s pushing himself out of the bed and to the bathroom.

There’s some shuffling and then emerges seconds later, clad in a clean pair of boxers and clutching a t-shirt for you to take. You’re still how he left you, laying on your side and dozing, cheek smushed against the back of your hand.

“C’mon, angel,” he murmurs, hooking an arm beneath your shoulder to hike you upright, handing you the tee; you rub at your heavy eyes with the backs of your fingers, swiping the fog away. He settles himself between your legs to clean you up, swiping a tissue between your thighs.

“You don’t have to do that, Li,” you croak. “‘M okay, I’ve got it.”

You make to loop your fingers around his wrist to halt his movements, but he only tuts and swats your hand away with a smile. Affection rises in your chest, hot and fast and blinding.

“I’ve got you, my girl.”

There’s that name again. My girl. You’re melting, sure you’re nothing but a pile of mush following those two little words; he surveys you with those cerulean eyes, laced with nothing less than adoration.

“Liam,” you whine, protesting.

“Oh, hush.” He presses a kiss to the curve of your kneecap before pushing the blankets back over your legs.

You pull the oversized tee he’s pushed into your hands over your head appreciatively, resisting the urge to bury your face into the fabric and inhale at the scent of him that cloys the room, that swirls around your face in tantalising tendrils.

You love him, you realise. The admission isn’t terrifying as you thought it would be, but rather a calm wave that washes over you and grants you a newfound clarity. You want this all the time with him. You want everything.

The bed dips as he returns to your side, an arm around your waist until you’re both propped against the headboard, your face resting in the dip of his collarbone. You feel his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

Your chest feels as though it might cave in at any moment, the sheer volume of love you hold for this boy too much for your body to hold onto. You brush your lips against his shoulder, blinking slowly in your haze. The rumble of his laugh carries right down to your bones.

“You’re beautiful,” you mumble, already half-asleep.

“You’re more beautiful,” he whispers back as though it’s a secret. Private words shared between the pair of you, for no one else to hear.

You’re asleep before you can respond, draped lazily over his torso. He shucks the blankets up until they’re covering you right up to your shoulders. Your nose scrunches unconsciously.

Fuck, he loves you.

Megumi is a thigh man. You can fight me on this idc. (Nah I’d win)

In the beginning of your relationship before you guys had done anything intimate. When you were sat down, in his car, or just over in his room. He’d always have his big hand slowly rubbing your thigh. It became a recurring gesture that he never really caught on to, but you did.

So one day when you’re in his dorm, on his bed, with your thighs on each side of his face you pop the question.

“Hey gumi?”

He hums, his hand mindlessly rubbing your thigh as he reads his book.

“Why do you like my thighs so much?”

That halts his movement against your thigh, he tried to peer up at you but concluded he probably looks stupid from his position. So he gets up and is now sat in front of you with your legs still spread.

“Dunno, they’re just nice I guess.” He’s blushing, avoiding all eye contact with you.

“That’s it hm?”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing tone.

“They’re soft, I like squeezing them.”

“More than my tits and ass?”

“Yes.”

You smirk at his reply and he huffs, returning to his position with his book and a flushed face.

Megumi is a thigh man, of course, he loves when you wear those mini skirts or thigh highs, it gets him so fucking worked up.

He’s over the moon when you let him fuck your thighs, asking shyly if you could keep on the stockings and skirt. He loses all self-control, whining and nipping at your neck. “S’good” and heavy groans leave his mouth as he finally cums on your plush skin.

He loves it when he eats you out and your thighs practically suffocate him to death. He’d die a happy man if that was a way to go. The moment your thighs encase around his head he’s humping his mattress like a bitch in heat, moans vibrating on your cunt.

Megumi fucks you in a mating press, his big hands on the back of your thighs, gripping the flesh and folding you in half as he fucks his fat dick in you.

Once he’s in between your legs he can’t help but litter the inside of your thighs with marks.

One time when you were wearing a skirt you didn’t notice that Megumi had left marks from the night before. Nobara questioned if you were okay, to which you quickly lied and said it was from training.

If it was anyone else Megumi would kill them for looking down there. He pops a vein when he sees Yuuji trying to look at what Nobara is talking about. Despite being a little irked he stands behind you and wears a smug smirk, a rare sight for the three of you.

When it’s just the two of you again, behind closed doors you confront him.

“Megs! Why didn’t you tell me?” You pout and he softly smiles, pulling you to straddle him, you can already guess where his hands are.

“Sorry, kinda forgot.” He mumbles, leading your lips to his.

“You gonna let me give you some more?”

He’ll always be a slut for your thighs♡~