summary: when he's with you, nanami kento is soft. warnings: suggestive content (MDNI!), wayyy too many metal metaphors, dom/sub themes if you rly rly squint (?) wc: 1.3k a/n: nanami kento WHIMPERS!!!!! / this isn't canon compliant bc nanami is alive and well in my mind, but just imagine this happening b4 shibuya EUGHHFH

nanami kento is a metal man. with nerves of steel and an iron will, there isn't much that manages to shake him. he is meticulous and rigid; coffee with one milk and no sugar, outside clothes aren't allowed on the bed, no electronics an hour before shut-eye. militaristic, authoritarian, utterly inflexible—nanami kento is a hardass who hates to have fun. this is what people think of nanami kento. but, he lets these misconceptions roll off of him like rain falling from a galvanized barn roof. he knows they are cave-dwellers, seeing only shadows of him and mistaking a part for the whole. prisoners of their own, myopic realities—nanami pities them.

because he is exceptionally deep, but they will never be granted the privilege of knowing. they will remain chained, unbeknownst to the fact that nanami kento sheds his armor at the threshold of your shared apartment. pieces of him are strewn about as he follows the gentle, alluring glow of the bedroom lamp; shoes toed off at the door, suit jacket hung on the rack, tie placed carefully on the back of the couch. nanami is almost finished with the buttons of his shirt when he reaches you.

18+ MDNI, smut - bf!toji fingers virgin!reader for the first time

you’ve always hated your own fingers.

too small. too hesitant.

no matter how many “how to make yourself come” threads on reddit you devoured. how many angled wrist tutorials you tried in the dark. nothing ever built the way people swore it would.

you’d get close (maybe), then fizzle out into frustration. with nothing but a slick hand, an unfinished ache and the quiet shame of giving up again.

so when toji finally gets you spread out on his bed with your shirt rucked up to your ribs, panties shoved to one side, and his huge scarred palm cups your bare pussy for the first time. you freeze like prey.

he feels it instantly. the way your thighs tense against his forearm.

“hey.” his voice is low, gravel-rough. thumb brushing the crease of your hip. “you good, baby?”

you manage a tiny nod. barely.

“nervous,” you admit, voice cracking.

his hand doesn’t move away. just stays there, warm and heavy, letting you feel the heat of his skin against your dripping folds.

“talk to me.”

you swallow. eyes flicking down to where his fingers - thick, calloused, scarred from years of violence - are cradling the most vulnerable part of you.

“i’ve… never really liked it. when i touch myself.” the confession comes out small. “it never feels… good. not like it’s supposed to.”

toji doesn’t laugh. doesn’t smirk. he just hums, deep in his chest, like he’s filing that information away.

“yeah?” he murmurs, pressing the lightest kiss to the corner of your mouth. “that’s ’cause no one’s ever touched this pretty little cunt the way it deserves.”

before you can process the words, he’s kissing you properly - slow, filthy, tongue sliding against yours while the pad of his middle finger finally drags up the center of your slit.

you jolt. gasp into his mouth.

he pulls back just enough to watch your face. “there she is.”

one slow circle around your clit - barely any pressure - and your hips buck like you’ve been shocked. it’s already better. embarrassingly better.

“fuck- toji- ”

“shhh. let me.” he kisses you again, swallowing the little whimpers that keep slipping out. “been dying to get my hands on this pussy. gonna make it feel so fuckin’ good, baby. promise.”

his thumb stays on your clit, rubbing lazy circles while his middle finger slides lower, teasing your entrance. you’re so wet it’s actually obscene, coating him to the knuckle without even pushing in yet.

“can i put it in?” he asks against your lips, voice wrecked. “wanna feel how tight my girl is.”

you nod frantically. “p-please.”

he presses in slow.

one thick finger. stretching you open in a way your own never could. the difference is immediate. it's hotter, fuller and the slight roughness of his skin catching every sensitive ridge inside. your walls flutter hard around the intrusion.

“fuuuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours. “so goddamn tight. virgin pussy grippin’ me like it’s scared I’ll leave.”

he doesn’t rush. just fucks you with that single finger - slow, deep drags in and out, letting you feel every inch, every vein, every scar. his thumb never leaves your clit. the dual sensation makes your thighs shake.

“more?” he rasps when your hips start chasing his hand.

you nod, panting. “more. please - another.”

he adds the second finger. scissoring gently at first, stretching you wider, then curling both up hard against that spot that makes your vision white out.

your back bows off the mattress. a broken moan tears out of you.

“there it is,” he growls, kissing your throat, teeth grazing. “that’s the spot, huh? gonna make you come all over my fingers, baby. first time anyone’s ever made this little cunt come.”

the heel of his palm grinds against your clit with every thrust. wet, filthy sounds fill the room - your slick coating his wrist, dripping down to the sheets.

“toji- i’m- oh god- ”

“yeah you are. let it happen. come on my fingers like a good girl. make a fuckin’ mess.”

you do.

it hits like a freight train - sharp, blinding, your whole body locking up as you come harder than you ever have. walls clamping down on his fingers so tight he curses under his breath. you gush around him, slick running down his hand, soaking the bed.

he doesn’t stop. works you through every shudder, every aftershock, murmuring filthy praise into your ear.

“that’s it… fuckin’ beautiful… look at you squirting for me… never gonna get tired of this pussy, baby.”

when you finally collapse, boneless and trembling, he eases his fingers out slow. brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean while staring right into your dazed eyes.

you whimper at the sight.

he grins - dangerous, smug, soft all at once.

leans down and kisses you deep so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips:

“still think you hate being touched?”

you hide your burning face in his neck.

“…shut up.”

he chuckles, low and dark.

“nah. next time i’m using my mouth. then my cock. gonna ruin you for your own fingers forever, sweetheart.”

you squeak.

he just laughs again - and pulls you closer.

based on this request

choso kamo- such a sweet little soul for a half-curse.

stuttering out his gratitude for you all the time in between half-lidded glances to your figure, eyes dark with hunger not for violence but for worship.

cute how he thinks you don't notice.

but you see him. you see every missing pair of panties, the way his poor dick hardens every time you lay a hand on him.

choso kamo- so fun to tease when he can't tell the difference between friendship and... more.

"It's okay cho', friends can feel attracted to one another- just means we're close."

and fuck if that wasn't a green light to his friendly desires

he already felt all hot 'n silly around you, but the more you encourage him to hug you 'n be touchy, the feelings get worse- not better like you said it would :(

he couldn't help the way his body would react when you were around- just that he couldn't pull his eyes away from your lips no matter how hard he tried until he got all achey 'n red for you.

"...do you wanna kiss me, cho'?"

'n suddenly your pretty arms are wrapped around his neck and you're so warm 'n hot and-

your lips are on his.

and his are on yours.

'n he doesn't know what he's doing but it feels so good he can't stop- just taking more and more and more.

choso kamo- so fucking wet 'n whiny when you kiss him you'd think you're fucking him already- every desperate swipe of his tongue so hungry that it's making your pussy all hungry too :(

he doesn't even register the way his hands have clawed into your hair like a grapple- guiding 'n pressing you right against the kitchen counter.

the first nudge is a warning- his leaky bulge teasing just where you want him so gently it's almost infuriating.

the second is a death sentence, a rut straight onto your needy core that has him whimpering into your mouth.

now he really can't stop-

choso kamo- who ruts against you so fucking desperate something else leaks from his eyes.

but when you take to his neck like a leech? kissing 'n sucking 'n biting- oh he's never felt so fucking good.

"w-wait fuck- i- I can't stop- nghhplease-pleasepleaseplease"

"s-something feels weird... I can't-can't stop p-please don't stop..."

his sanity breaks when he cums- sobbing 'n pleading as his hips stutter ruthlessly against you- voice all broken 'n high and wrecked.

head falling into the crook of your neck- nails leaving crescents in your hips like an anchor, he mumbles against your skin like a confession.

"was... are you okay? 's this a friend thing too?"

"y-yeah, cho', friends can fuck."

choso kamo- still so needy when he pulls back to cradle your face- still so pretty despite the smudged eyeliner 'n the mess you made of him.

"then... i- I need more... please?"

mdni div creds to @cafekitsune

taglist :: @sweethearticism @sonicthedinosaur | ask to be added <33

You tell yourself you need to get over whatever is going on with Suguru, especially after that night you cried in his arms. There can be no more of that.

synopsis: You and Suguru were high school sweethearts turned young parents, married before either of you knew how not to break the dishes when you were angry. Now divorced, you co-parent your daughters with a fragile truce that splinters whenever you’re in the same room too long. It’s been two years since the divorce, but the past won’t stay dead. The weekends are where it all unravels and comes back together, over and over again.

content/warnings: divorced parents au, suguru x reader, modern au, suburban setting, cosy messy lives, angst, slow burn, second-chance trope, family drama, fluff, hints of mental illness, eventual smut, each chap own warnings

a/n: sorry i took soo long to release, it's rlly short but i promise i have good things coming for chapter 5 ;)) (ps i posted this when i was high sorry if it’s assss lol)

04 - “the morning moves without you”

You wake up before you mean to. 

The gradual awareness of sound bleeding into your sleep, not enough though. Noise layers itself gently over you until rest becomes impossible to cling to. A drawer slammed shut, followed by a distinctly offended noise that can only belong to Nanako. Mimiko laughs immediately after. You won’t open your eyes. You stay where you are, curled on your side, knees tucked close to your chest. The sheets are cool where they touch your legs, twisted from a night spent half-awake.  You register all of it distantly, like your body is a place you haven’t fully returned to yet. 

Suguru’s voice yells from the kitchen. “Backpacks first!”

It surprises you, that small involuntary lift at the corner of your mouth. Your chest warms, something soft unfolding there, familiar and almost painful in its tenderness. The ineffable beauty of your kids, who could always attempt to ameliorate your day. You love them. You love them so much it’s overwhelming. This morning sound is safety.You think about how Nanako’s voice has changed recently, how it cracks into something older when she’s annoyed. Mimiko still laughs the same way she always has. 

They’re growing. They’re becoming themselves in ways that are beautiful and terrifying all at once. 

Suguru is up, he’s handling it. The morning is moving forward without needing you to steer it, and that fact is both comforting and unsettling. The door to your room opens suddenly. 

“Mama!”

Nanako throws herself onto the bed without hesitation, knees digging into the mattress. Mimiko scrambles up after her, climbing over you. Hands grab your arms, your shoulders, your hair. Kisses are pressed everywhere. You laugh quietly, sounds pulling from you without effort. “Good morning, my babies.” 

They smell like toothpaste and shampoo and warmth. You hold them close for just a second longer, pressing yourself into Nana’s hair, inhaling deeply like you’re trying to anchor yourself to the moment.

“Daddy says we’re going to be late,” Nana announces. 

Mimiko snorts. “He always says that!”

“Because you are,” Suguru calls from down the hall. 

The girls scamper away, calling out their goodbyes to you. You listen to their footsteps fade, and the murmuring of Suguru’s voice, to the front door opening. Then closing. 

You lie there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle around you. Eventually, you push yourself up, movements slow and uncoordinated. You don’t want to enter the day, yet you must. You always do. Today. Then tomorrow. Then the day after, and the day after, and the day after, and the day after. 

There’s no urgency. Your limbs feel heavy, your head feels foggy. You shuffle down the hallway, rubbing your eyes, breathing in. The kitchen greets you with soft light spilling across the counters. Everything looks untouched, the world itself has paused for you. Your eyes drift to the kitchen island without conscious decision. 

Two plates sit there.

Used…neatly placed.

No third plate. No mug. No…

You stop.

You understand immediately. Suguru made breakfast for Nanako and Mimiko. Well, of course. It’s his daughters too. It’s just…

He didn’t make anything for you. You’re not shocked and there’s no spike of anger. It makes sense. You two aren’t together and you won’t be ever again. This is what it’s supposed to be like, this is space.  You turn away before you can linger on it. 

The drive comes next. Streets passing by in a blur of familiarity. You don’t plan where you’re going, just let instinct guide you until you’re pulling into the parking lot of a small café you’ve been to a hundred times before. It feels neutral. Safe. Inside, it’s warm and softly lit. You order a hot caramel latte with marshmallows, it feels almost childish but it’s you. You wrap your hands around the cup when it arrives, savouring the heat, the sweetness.

You scroll on your phone. Mindlessly. Posts blur together—people moving forward, lives continuing. You don’t have a job waiting for you, no schedule pulling you back. Your parents made sure of that long ago. Funded comfort. 

You could sit here all day if you wanted.

No one is waiting.

The thought feels hollow, not freeing.

You’re mid-sip when someone says your name.

Recognition comes too late. A parent from school stands there, smiling politely, already pulling out the chair across from you. 

“Oh—hi! I didn’t know you came here. How are you doing?”

You answer, politely. You smile at the right moments, nod where appropriate. You tell her you’re doing fine. That the girls are great. That everything’s okay. Inside, it’s chaos. Thoughts overlapping, emotions flipping too fast to track. Annoyance gives way to guilt, defensiveness edged with something almost like humour at the absurdity of it. You know your reaction is too much. You can’t stop it.

She mentions seeing Suguru at the drop-off. Says the girls seem happy lately. Smiles warmly and adds, “It’s nice you’re still around.”

When she finally leaves, the cafe feels different. Smaller. Exposed. Your latte sits half-finished, cold now. You stare at it, overstimulated and buzzing. Why did you let her sit there? She talked non-sense. ‘It’s nice to see you’re still around’ what does that even mean?

You let out a breath through your nose. Okay…your reactions feel too big for the moment. You tell yourself to chill, breathe, relax. Stop turning everything into a referendum on your existence. You push the chair back and stand. The latte is still warm enough to smell sweet, caramel clinging to the rim, marshmallows half-melted and sad-looking now. You stare at it for a second longer, then pick it up and dump it into the trash.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and leave the cafe. 

The air is dull, and today calls for just a long nap with stuffing yourself while the TV plays useless shows you’re never going back to watch. You’re going home. You’re going to skip the rest of the day and let it pass without you.

Suguru

France is so warm on his skin. 

The hotel room smells like soap and clean linen, the sweetness of baked bread and flowers drifting in from the windows. 

You’re moving around the room barefoot, hair still damp from the shower, humming to yourself without realising it. Naked, completely unbothered by it. Suguru watches you from the edge of the bed, towel slung low around his hips, heart thudding with stunned joy. 

My wife, the word still feels unreal in his head. 

“What?”

He shakes his head, laughing. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. 

You roll your eyes fondly and cross the room, climbing onto the bed with him. Your knees bumps his thigh and your hand settles easily on his shoulders. It amazes him how quickly your bodies learned each other, how little hesitation there is between you now. 

“The city of love, where else would we go?”

He smiles at you. “You’re happy?” 

“I’ve never been happier.”

His hands find your hips, thumbs tracing slow circles into it. You sigh softly, leaning into him, your forehead pressing to his collarbone and your fingers slipping into the damp ends of his hair. His hands cup you of a sculptor. You melt against him, spine curving as your body already knows where his hands want you. There’s no hesitation in it. “I love this part of you.” Every part, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t have to.  

He draws you closer until your hips settle into his lap, and rock just enough to feel how solid he is beneath you. 

It’s unhurried, the way he tilts his head, the way his thumb stills at your hip. You kiss like newlyweds do: slow, indulgent, drunk, maybe. All the time in the world, and you chose it with him. Your husband’s mouth curves against yours, smiling mid-kiss, deepening it gradually. Your fingers curl tighter in his hair, strands slipping between your knuckles. Your sigh turns into a soft purr as the kiss lingers, Suguru’s tongue tracing the seam of your lips before delving back in, tasting the champagne from earlier. His hands now slide up your back, pulling you flush against his chest, the towel loosening around his hips with the shift. You swear you can feel him burning through the thin fabric, his arousal evident. 

The thought strikes you suddenly. You break the kiss, nipping at his lower lip before sliding back down his body, your hands pressing against his thighs for leverage. Suguru groans as he watches you, propping himself up on one elbow, the other hand tugging the towel away entirely. His cock springs free, curving slightly upward with a girth that has always made your core clench. It’s impressively long, veined along the shaft, the head flushed a deep pink and already glistening with a bead of precum. Biigggg, just like you’d whispered the night of your first time. 

You lick your lips, leaning in to drape your tongue along the underside from the base to the tip; Suguru sits up fully now, his back against the headboard, knees parting wider to give you access. His hand finds your hair. “Yes, like that,” he breathes. “Take it slow, baby.”

You obey, parting your lips to take the head into your mouth, sucking lightly as your tongue swirls around the sensitive ridge. You hollow your cheeks, sliding down further, your jaw relaxing to accommodate his size. Inch by inch, you work him in, the stretch making your eyes water slightly, but the thrill of it sends heat pooling between your thighs. He moans your name long and drawn out, his free hand drifting to your ass, exposed as you kneel between his legs. He gives it a firm smack, the sting blooming into warmth that makes you gasp around his length. 

“My perfect girl.” 

You push further, gagging softly as the head bumps the back of your throat. Saliva coats him, dripping down your chin as you bob your head, one hand wrapping around the base to stroke what you can’t swallow yet.

“That’s it—ohh shit, yes. You feel so warm, so—fuck—so wet around me. Look up at me baby, let me see those eyes while you suck me off.” another smack lands on your ass, lighter this time, his palm rubbing the spot after. He moans again, louder. “My love, you’re gonna make me lose it. Ohhh fuck yes, oh my god, just a little more, k-keep going baby…You like hearing me talk, don’t you? Telling you how—ohh fhuuck—how good you are for me.” 

His cock throbs harder in your mouth, the veins pulsing against your tongue, his breaths coming in ragged gasps that signal he’s teetering on the edge. You feel it building up, but just as his hips buck involuntarily, he growls low in his chest, fingers wrapping firmly in your hair to lift your head up. His cock slips free with a wet pop. You whine in protest, lips swollen, a string of saliva connecting you to his tip. 

“Suguru, please,” you mutter, trying to reach back. His hands slide under your arms, lifting your body effortlessly until you're straddling his chest for a moment. “I wanna taste you.”

Hesitation blooms, a flush creeping up your neck as you shake your head slightly. “What if I suffocate you?”

“I don’t care about that.” With that, he pulls you forward, positioning your thighs on either side of his head, your pussy hovering just above his mouth. His hands clamp onto your hips, dragging you down until you settle fully onto his face, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your folds. You gasp sharply as his tongue delves in without preamble, flat and broad, lapping upward through your slick lips to circle your clit with such pressure. The sensation is unreal, a jolt of pleasure that arches your spine, your hands flying to the headboard for support. He licks you ravenously, tongue thrusting inside your pussy in firm strokes, tasting your arousal with hungry moans that vibrate against your sensitive skin. One hand releases your hip to reach up, cupping your breast, fingers kneading the soft flesh before pinching your nipple sharply, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until it hardens into a peak.

“So fucking wet for me,” he mumbles against you, the words muffled, his free hand smacking your ass once more for emphasis, the sting blending with the building ecstasy. “It tastes like heaven, baby. Ride my face, grind down harder,” he muffles, though you can hardly understand through the countless moans riding out your mouth. 

You breathe his name like it’s a promise. Maybe it is.  The city doesn’t rush you. Neither does he. Time feels suspended while his touch writes you into him, while your moans dissolves into sighs and laughter; the space between you closes completely.

After you’ve done your love, Suguru presses his forehead to your stomach, eyes shut, smiling like this—this—is all he’s ever wanted.

And maybe it is.

You

You’re sprawled on your bed in an oversized hoodie that smells faintly of laundry detergent. The kids are at Suguru’s for the week—their idea. You said yes before you could think about it too hard. You told yourself it was good for them and you. You already slept hours before. The tv across from you murmurs to itself, volume turned low. You’re not even watching it, you just don’t want to admit the silence is too loud. 

You remember your friend’s voice earlier in the week, bright and well-meaning, telling you this might help. Just try it. It’s harmless. You don’t have to meet anyone. Said it like she was suggesting a new cafe, or a show to binge. So casual. 

So here you are…profile made on Tinder with your bio written and pictures chosen. Now you scroll.

Everyone in here looks like a fucking loser. 

Gym mirrors. 

Fishing, guys holding fish, guys on boats holding fish, guys biting (raw, fresh ocean) fish

Awkward smiles that look like they practised in front of a bathroom sink with their mother in the door parading how perfect their son is.

You scroll past them one by one, faces blurring together until they feel interchangeable, like mannequins dressed slightly differently in the same boring store window. 

You’re bored. Deeply, bone-achingly bored! Why are you even doing this? You pause on a profile longer than the others, then swipe left without really knowing why. Swipe right on the next one just to prove you can…you immediately regret it when you realise just how desperate people are. 

Do you just want a quick fuck? 

The question is quite crude, but honest. You sit with it, letting it rummage through your mind. Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s why you feel so doleful. Maybe you just want a body. Something warm and uncomplicated. A fuck buddy. A distraction. 

Yeah.

You tell yourself you need to get over whatever is going on with Suguru, especially after that night you cried in his arms. There can be no more of that. Swipe, swipe, swipe, and swipe. It feels like shopping. Browsing. Evaluating people the way you’d evaluate furniture or shoes: does this fit, does this bore me, does this look like too much effort. You hate yourself a little for that, but not enough to stop. Intimacy reduced to an algorithm. Desire flattened into a yes or no that means nothing either way.

Your phone buzzes—It’s a match!—and the notification feels strangely embarrassing, being caught doing something you don’t actually believe in. You lock the screen without opening it and let your hand fall to your stomach. The house hums quietly around you. The kids’ rooms are empty. You stare at the ceiling and ponder that you don’t actually want anyone else. You just don’t want to feel like this. 

After a moment, you unlock your phone again…

You tap it, waiting as the profile loads in slowly. Then his face fills the screen, and your thumb stills. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

He doesn’t look like the others. No strained grin. No mirror flex. No fish, no forced bravado. The photo is taken outdoors—washed in pale light, the kind that makes everything look honest by accident. Wind-tousled hair, sharp where it needs to be, soft where it shouldn’t be. There’s something feral in the set of his eyes, like he’s perpetually halfway through a thought he’s not bothering to finish for anyone else.

You feel it immediately. That small, treacherous lurch in your stomach. You scroll.

Another photo: candid, almost careless. Sleeves rolled up, forearms corded and scarred in a way that suggests history rather than performance. He looks like someone who doesn’t explain himself often. Someone who’s been alone without being lonely. Someone who doesn’t ask permission to take up space.

His bio is short. Almost aggressively so. No jokes. No posturing. Just a few words that tell you nothing and somehow everything at once. There’s an ease to it. A confidence that doesn’t beg to be liked.

This one doesn’t feel like shopping.

This one feels…intrusive.

Your chest tightens, breath catching on something you didn’t see coming. You tell yourself it’s coincidence, maybe he didn’t mean to?

But fuck that…you send the message. 

| Hey…

18+ (everyone is adults in this)

It's a messy kiss, one that barley makes it pass the entry way of his apartment. The moment the door shut behind you, his large and warm body had you pinned up against the wall, nearly knocking down pictures. Your hands ravage every inch of him starting at the dark locks of hair, down his neck then his stomach, until finally you palm his cock over his pants.

His teeth dig deep into your bottom lip, so fierce it draws blood. Not a lot but enough for him to lick up, the copper taste exploding on his tongue. Megumi is taller than you, him needing to lower his head to capture your lips in a kiss when you start to pull away, needing a breath.

"No," he sucks on your lip, pulling you back. "Need more."

Every stroke of his tongue over yours is another stroke of his cock against your cunt, hot and throbbing. Your panties are soaked underneath your jeans, and you want nothing more than for Megumi to rip the clothes off of you. But he doesn't. He doesn't want to stop kissing you.

Teeth are clattering together, tongues shoved so far down each other's throats, and saliva coating your lips. Yes, it's messy but also hot, so fucking hot. Megumi's soft whimpers which you swallow as he continues to hump you against the wall.

Your fingers hook into the belt loops of his jeans, helping guide his strokes, as it's your turn to nip and suck on his bottom lip. Megumi's hair is a mess from you running your fingers through them, pulling at the strands until he hissed into your mouth.

"Megumi," you pant after finally breaking away from his ravenous kiss. "I need a second."

His eyes are dark, not an ounce of light inside of them, as he stars at your kiss swollen lips.

"Times up," was all the warning you had before his mouth was back on yours, attacking more feverishly than before.

Every roll of his hips against yours made Megumi whine louder, his body beginning to tense up. The familiar ache at the base of his spine burned like an inferno as he chased the feeling, wanting it to wrap around him and burn him alive.

"Shit," he muttered against your lips. "Ah-fuck."

Megumi was close to losing composure, ready to feel the warmth spread all through him, but he needed to control himself. He needed to try and keep quiet, not to wake his roommate Yuji. The last thing Megumi wanted was for Yuji to see this, how pathetic he was about to become just from kissing you.

But all it took was for your tongue licking at his bottom lip to send Megumi over the edge. With a grunt, his hips stuttered against you as he spilled inside the cotton of his boxers, his warm breath against your lips.