𓂃 ⭒ Megumi wants to wait until you are both adults
“Not even a blowjob?” you pout, leaning into his shoulder.
Megumi sighs, the kind of long, resigned sound that says he’s already been through this conversation in his head a hundred times before.
“Yes… even that.”
You groan dramatically, throwing your head back against the couch. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m responsible,” he corrects, deadpan, but there’s a flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t look at you right away, eyes fixed on the muted TV light flickering across the room. “We’re not old enough for that kind of stuff. It’s—” he pauses, brow tightening, “—inappropriate.”
His voice carries that quiet seriousness that’s so him. The same tone he uses when explaining a curse technique or when he thinks you’re about to do something reckless. You can tell he’s set on this—not out of coldness, but because he really believes it’s the right thing to do.
You nudge his arm with your knee, half teasing, half earnest. “What about kisses?”
That gets his attention. His eyes finally meet yours, dark and steady. Then, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders soften. “I guess those are fine,” he mutters.
You grin, already scooting closer. “Fine enough for one right now?”
Megumi lets out another sigh—this one softer, almost fond—and leans down just enough so your lips meet. It’s slow and warm and cautious, everything unspoken hanging between you.
“See?” you whisper, smiling. “Nothing inappropriate about that.”
He brushes his thumb against your cheek, eyes half-lidded. “Let’s just keep it that way,” he says quietly. But the way his lips linger near yours…
Over the next few years, it turned out to be a lot harder for Megumi than he expected.
You really had believed him back then every word about waiting, about being “responsible,” about things being inappropriate for your age. You’d agreed, because it made sense, because you loved how seriously he took things.
But what Megumi didn’t account for was how that trust, that comfort of knowing he’d never cross a line, made you feel safe enough to get comfortable… maybe a little too comfortable.
The shorts got shorter. The sleepovers started happening more often. Sometimes you’d climb into his bed without thinking, hair messy, wearing an oversized shirt and little else, stretching out beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was until he’d catch your thigh brushing his or notice the steady rise and fall of your breathing, and suddenly all that quiet composure would start to crack.
He told himself it was fine. You weren’t doing anything wrong. You still had those same soft, innocent smiles, still fell asleep tangled in the blankets before midnight. It was just that he wasn’t as unaffected as he used to be.
He’d thought you’d be the one struggling with waiting. Turns out, it’s Megumi who lies awake longer these nights trying to remember why “inappropriate” had ever sounded so simple.
It wasn’t just about rules anymore. Somewhere along the way, things began to change quietly, naturally, almost without either of you noticing.
Megumi started to feel it in the smallest of moments: the way your voice softened when you said his name, or how your hand lingered on his arm just a moment too long. Sometimes, when you leaned in close enough that your breath brushed his neck, he’d forget how to breathe entirely.
You never did anything overtly bold, but you didn’t have to. The warmth of your skin when your legs touched beneath the blankets, the soft scent of your shampoo, the way your shirt would slip off one shoulder while you read beside him.
it all piled up, until every inch of space between you felt alive with something unsaid.
He still told himself that waiting was the right thing. That it mattered. But lately, it wasn’t easy to rest his hand beside yours without his pulse quickening, or to look at you too long without his thoughts wandering somewhere he shouldn’t let them go.
You could tell he was fraying at the edges, even if he’d never admit it. When you caught his eyes lingering, you almost asked him if he still thought it was “inappropriate.” But you didn’t. You just smiled, leaned a little closer, and let the silence balance between you
His eighteenth birthday came quietly, just like him. A small dinner with Yuji, Nobara, and you, nothing elaborate, just laughter, a cake Nobara nearly dropped, and the warmth of being surrounded by people who had grown up together through too much.
But all night, Megumi couldn’t stop looking at you.
You’d done nothing different—just worn that soft sweater he always liked, hair tied up loosely—but it was enough to undo him in small ways he tried not to show. Every time you smiled across the table, every time your knee brushed his under it, something tightened in his chest.
Later, when everyone had gone to bed or disappeared into separate rooms, you were lying on your stomach, scrolling on your phone. He walked in quietly, the floor creaking just enough to catch your attention. Before you could say anything, he lay down on top of you, his weight warm against your back.
“Megumi—” you started, laughing when his breath brushed your neck.
Then he kissed you there—just a soft press, almost shy—and you froze for a second before your laughter melted into something quieter.
He lifted himself just enough to turn you onto your back, his eyes searching yours before his lips met yours again. This time it wasn’t gentle. It was deeper… slower… certain. You felt his heartbeat racing, his hand trembling slightly against your waist.
It wasn’t unusual for him to react like that—he’d always been affectionate in his own careful way—but what was unusual was that he didn’t stop right away. For a moment, he allowed himself to stay there, breathing you in, caught between control and something new.
Then, that familiar pull of restraint hit him like a wave. With a low sound—half frustration, half discipline—he pulled back completely, pressing his forehead to yours for a heartbeat, then standing up. No words. Just the sound of his footsteps leaving the room.
You didn’t go after him; you both knew he wouldn’t want to talk about it. And somehow, that silence said everything.
Then came your eighteenth birthday.
Your eighteenth birthday came on a quiet night too, though everything felt different this time. Maybe it was the way Megumi couldn’t seem to relax, even when Yuji and Nobara were teasing you both about being “the old ones now.” Maybe it was the way his hand lingered against the small of your back when he passed behind you, how his eyes kept finding yours and then darting away like he was afraid to get caught.
By the time everyone had gone home, the air between you two felt thick with something neither of you could name.
You were sitting on the edge of his bed when he came in, hair still a little mussed from the shower, shirt loose at the collar. He stopped in front of you, looking down with that same mix of calm and uncertainty that always seemed to exist in him at once.
“Happy birthday,” he said softly.
You smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
He hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t trust himself to. His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally gave in to impulse and reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair off your face.
“Did you make a wish?” he asked.
You nodded, smiling faintly. “Maybe.”
“What was it?”
You tipped your head, pretending to think, even though you both knew you wouldn’t tell him. “If I say it, it won’t come true.”
He huffed a soft laugh, the kind that barely made it past his throat. Then he sat beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, your knees almost touching.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The clock on the nightstand ticked quietly. His eyes flicked to your lips, once, then away again and your pulse jumped.
“Megumi,” you said, barely above a whisper.
He looked at you then, really looked. Like he was searching for a sign, a word, anything to justify the way his hand slid to rest against your thigh, tentative but steady.
“It doesn’t feel wrong anymore… I hope,” you murmured.
He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for years. “No,” he said, voice rough, quiet, “It doesn’t.”
When he kissed you this time, there was no hesitation
His mouth moved against yours slow, like he was memorizing the shape of it all over again.
One of his hands stayed on your thigh, thumb brushing lazy half circles over the inside seam of your shorts, warm through the thin cotton.
The other came up to cradle the side of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, holding you.
You shifted closer without really meaning to, knee sliding against his, and he made a low sound in the back of his throat—barely there, but enough to send heat curling low in your stomach.
When you finally parted—just enough to breathe—he didn’t go far. Forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded and dark.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly, not mocking. Just noticing.
You let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “So are you.”
He didn’t deny it. Instead he kissed you again, softer this time, lips catching yours in little pulls and releases until your mouth parted on its own.
His tongue brushed yours, tentative at first, then deeper when you sighed into it, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.
The hand on your thigh slid higher, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted. You didn’t. Your legs parted just a fraction and his palm settled fully against the warmth there, not pressing, just resting, like he was giving you time to feel how badly he wanted to touch more.
You broke the kiss to catch your breath, foreheads still touching. “Megumi…”
He hummed, low, waiting.
“Take them off,” you whispered.
His fingers paused, then hooked under the waistband of your shorts. He tugged gently, waiting for you to lift your hips before he slid them down your thighs, past your knees, letting them drop to the floor.
Cool air hit your skin and you shivered; his hand immediately returned, warmer now, cupping you through your underwear.
You reached for the hem of his shirt next, tugging it up. He helped you pull it off, muscles shifting under your palms as you ran your hands over his chest, his sides, feeling the way his breath hitched when your nails grazed lightly down his stomach.
When your fingers found the strings of his joggers he caught your wrist, not stopping you, just holding for a second. His eyes searched yours again, quieter this time.
“You sure?” he asked, voice rougher than before.
You nodded, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been sure for a long time.”
He exhaled through his nose, something almost like relief, then let go of your wrist. You worked the ties, and he lifted his hips so you could push the joggers and boxers down far enough. He kicked them off the rest of the way himself.
Then it was just his skin against your skin.
He pulled you into his lap carefully, your knees bracketing his hips, and for a long moment neither of you moved…just breathing, foreheads pressed together, feeling each other.
His cock rested warm and heavy against your inner thigh; you could feel how hard he was, how much he was trying not to rush.
His hands settled on your waist, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just under your ribs.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured.
You kissed him instead of answering and rocked your hips once, just enough to slide against him. He groaned softly into your mouth, fingers tightening on your waist.
You did it again, slower this time, dragging yourself along his length until the head nudged your clit through the damp cotton still between you. His head dropped to your shoulder, breath ragged against your neck.
“Fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself.
You smiled against his hair, reached down between you, and tugged your underwear to the side.
When you sank down onto him it was careful—despite the pain—until he was buried deep and you both went still, breathing hard.
He pressed a shaky kiss to your throat. “You okay?”
You nodded, fingers threading through his dark hair. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”
He did. Just held you close, one arm wrapped around your lower back, the other hand cradling your face so he could kiss you again
When you finally rolled your hips, testing, he groaned low in his chest and matched your small, shallow thrusts that made your breath catch every time he bottomed out.
It stayed slow like that for a long while with no rush.
The pace stayed gentle for a while longer with your slow rolls of your hips meeting his careful upward thrusts.
The room was quiet except for your shared breathing and the soft, wet sounds your bodies made each time you sank down onto him fully
little noises that filled the space between you every time you lifted and slid back down.
His eyes flicked down between you, watching where you took him in, then back up to your face. The sight seemed to pull another low groan from him, and he pressed his thumb firm against your clit, circling in time with the slow grind.
You whimpered softly at the added pressure, and the next roll of your hips drew out an especially wet, filthy squelch that made you both freeze for half a second. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging in just enough to leave the faintest sting.
His hands roamed now: one splayed wide across your lower back, guiding without forcing, the other sliding up to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your bra. His thumb brushed over the peak of your nipple once, twice, until your breath hitched and you arched into his touch.
You tugged the bar down your chest yourself, impatient suddenly, and let it sit on your rib cage.
The second his mouth found your collarbone you felt the shift in him—still careful, but hungrier. kisses trailed lower, pausing to suck softly at the swell of your breast before he closed his lips around your nipple. The wet heat of his tongue made you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair.
“Megumi—” It came out like a half-plea
He hummed against your skin, the vibration pulling another shiver out of you, then switched to the other side while his finger still played with your clit
You rocked harder without meaning to, and he groaned low against your chest
“Lie back,” you whispered.
He blinked up at you, dark lashes heavy, then nodded once.
You lifted off him carefully—both of you making small, involuntary sounds at the loss—and he let you guide him down until his shoulders hit the pillows.
The sight of him like that—hair messy across his forehead, lips swollen from kissing, chest rising and falling fast—made your stomach flip.
You straddled him again, this time facing him fully, and sank back down in one smooth glide. Deeper this time. His head tipped back, throat working on a quiet curse.
You set the pace now with slow lifts and drags that let you feel every inch of him.
His hands found your hips, just holding on like he needed the anchor. His thumbs pressed into the soft skin above your hipbones.
When your pace stuttered, he sat up suddenly, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him.
The new angle made him hit something inside you that turned your next breath into a broken moan.
“There?” he murmured against your lips.
You could only nod, forehead pressed tight to his, noses brushing, breaths coming out hot and ragged against each other’s mouths.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close, dragging him in that last little bit until there was no space left between you.
Your bare chest rubbed against his with every move, nipples scraping over his skin, the friction sharp and hot, making you shiver each time your bodies slid together.
You moved with him, keeping him buried so deep that the base of his cock pressed against you every time you rolled forward.
You felt the warm, soft weight of his balls settle right up against your skin with each grind, shifting slightly, adding that extra press of fullness that made your stomach flutter low and hard.
Your thighs trembled around his hips, muscles jumping every time you rocked down. Your feet dug into the mattress, toes curling in the sheets as you tried to pull yourself even closer, chasing every bit of contact you could get.
His hands slid down from your waist, palms rough and warm as they cupped your ass, fingers spreading wide, digging in just enough to make you gasp softly.
Then he pulled you forward, harder, guiding your hips down deeper onto him with a firm, steady push.
The motion sank him even further inside, stretching you fuller, the thick base grinding right against your entrance while his balls pressed warmer, snugger against you.
Every time he tugged you in like that, the angle shifted just right, hitting deeper, making your walls flutter around him without warning.
You whimpered into his mouth, the sound swallowed as he rocked up to meet the next pull of the short, deep thrusts that never let him slip out far, just kept grinding him in tight circles inside you.
Your fingers curled at the back of his neck, nails scratching lightly into his skin as you clung to him.
His grip on your ass stayed strong, fingers kneading the soft flesh, spreading you open a little more with each push so you took every inch without resistance. The wet sounds between you grew louder with filthy squelches every time he forced your hips down and your bodies met completely.
“Megumi,” you managed, voice cracking, nails biting into his shoulders now.
He swallowed hard, eyes half‑shut, breath stuttering. “Yeah?” he rasped, voice low and rough. “I—mhh—feel good”
He just kept pulling you deeper with those firm hands on your ass, rocking his hips up in time so the head of him dragged over that spot inside again and again.
Your chest slid against his with every movement, nipples catching and scraping over his skin, the raw friction making your breath hitch, your thighs shaking harder as everything narrowed to the stretch of him filling you, the way his palms squeezed and guided you down harder, your feet pressing into the bed like you could force him even deeper, the slick heat where you were joined so completely.
Then it broke.
You came hard, a choked moan muffled into his neck as your walls clamped down around him in pulsing waves, squeezing him tight.
He groaned low, hips jerking once—twice—his fingers digging deeper into your ass as he pushed you down one last time and spilled inside you, arms locking tight around your back like he needed to hold on just as much as you did.
For a long minute after, neither of you moved. Just clung. Breathing hard against each other’s skin. Your arms stayed around his neck, holding him close, your chest still pressed to his as you tried to catch your breath. His hands stayed on your ass, softer now, thumbs stroking slow circles over the marks he’d left.
Eventually he pressed a slow, open kiss to the side of your neck.
“When did you become such a pro” he whispered, voice hoarse.
You smiled into his hair, fingers tracing lazy patterns down his spine.
“Don’t get mad ” you said despite still trying to catch your breath . “But those fanfics you told me to stop reading helped ”
“ what “
Idk what to put here so HAPPT BIRTHDAY?
