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nanamiskentos · 5 months ago

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MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #toji x you #jjk toji #works #daphworks

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bahablastplz · 3 months ago

Text

BF! SKZ finding out you've never cum

Pairing: OT8 x Reader Warnings: Explicit content! MDNI WC: 5200

Bang Chan:

“Oh really?” he asks, ears going red. He looks away, staring at the ceiling before glancing back at you. “Never?” you shook your head. He tongues the inside of his cheek and you fidget under his sudden intense gaze.

“Do you wanna…” you bite your lip, thinking for a moment. “Would you want to help me try?” His eyes go wide for a second before looking at you.

“You want me to?” he asks, shy. You nod your head and press your thighs together.

Your boyfriend is hot. There’s no denying that fact, even now as he sits across from you in a black tank top and a pair of grey sweats. Even without trying, he’s effortlessly sexy. Though the relationship is new, you aren’t a stranger to makeout sessions and Chan, well it’s just in his nature to walk around and sleep naked. So, even though this would be your first time… you’ve wanted him. Craved his touch from the first moment he kissed you. So when he asks “Are you sure?” You don’t even hesitate before answering “Yes.”

He pulls you to his chest. You immediately get chills as you feel his breath on your neck, your back pressed against his front. You can feel the sizeable bulge in his sweats pressed against you and as much as you want to press against it, to turn this onto him, when his hand snakes down your front you throw your head back and focus on the pleasure he’s giving you. His mouth is on your jaw and your neck and long gone is that shy act–you know exactly who you’re dealing with now. The man who isn’t afraid to take his shirt off on stage. The man who shamelessly flirts with Stays.

“You already look so pretty for me,” he says into your ear. You can tell he’s smiling without looking at him. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already so wrecked for me?” You nod fervently as he hikes your shirt up, revealing you to him. “Say stop at any time,” he tells you with a kiss. The ever-caring lover you’ve fallen in love with, even when at his sexiest can’t not check in with you. He makes you watch every movement, every flick of his hand against your nipples. His warm breath and tongue against your skin, the absolutely filthy words he whispers in your ears when you aren’t looking him in the eyes.

It feels so natural when his hand connects with your core and you’re already soaking wet. It takes him by surprise and he almost pulls his hands out of your shorts but you close your thighs around him, needy and desperate for his touch.

“Please,” you say, looking up and blinking at him. You can tell a comment is on the tip of his tongue, something about you being so wet or needy for him but you silence him with a kiss. His deft, knobby fingers slide into you then and he smirks, smirks at the effect he has on you. His fingers are long, skillful in the way that every touch is purposeful. He reaches spots that you couldn’t possibly reach with your own fingers and he touches your body as if he has memorized every inch of you already.

“Chris,” you whine, and that affects him in ways you don’t even know. You can feel him grow even harder behind you and he even ruts his hips into your back, groaning at the friction. He focuses on you though, one hand snaking up to rest on your neck.

You’re close. You’re close and he knows it and he touches you now with the intent of getting you to finish. He whispers and groans the filthiest shit in your ear until you’re burning up, absolutely flushed from all the things he tells you he wants to do to you.

You’re not surprised with how little effort it takes for him to push you over the edge. You pulse around his fingers as he keeps the same pace. He made you cum and he didn’t even have to take off your pants. You’re impressed but you know he would never take the compliment, that he would brush it off and turn red as if he didn’t just wreck you. He pulls his fingers from your center once you’ve come down from your high, sticking them into his mouth and moaning around his fingers.

“God that was hot,” he laughs.

You throw your arm over your face in embarrassment and he showers your face with kisses.

His arms tighten around you and he rocks you back and forth, giddy until you’re both a giggling mess.

Lee Know:

“Ahhh,” he nods. “I see.” He looks at you and where his hands rest underneath your shirt, playing with the hem. He thinks for a moment, biting his lip as he thinks of a way that he can help you without making you uncomfortable. An idea pops in his head and he looks at you and smirks, eyes dark with mischief.

He spreads his legs then, his muscular thighs straining the fabric of his jeans. You would be blind to not notice the large bulge straining for some relief but he tsks and guides your vision to his face. You go red-hot from being caught staring and he all but coos, grabbing your waist so that you’re straddling one, muscular thigh.

“Min–”

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he prefaces and he blows a strand of hair away from his face. God he’s so gorgeous that it’s lethal, knocking your breath out from your chest with one stare. “But, if you want, you can grind your pretty pussy on my thigh. You do all the work and I’ll just watch you, yeah?”

You feel shy from his gaze all of a sudden and he silences your thoughts with a kiss to your lips, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth. He can’t stop his mouth from connecting to your skin, leaving hot wet kisses along your jaw, neck, and ear. When he nibbles on your ear and you feel his hot breath against you, you can’t help it when your hips kick forward desperate to get some friction.

“That’s it,” he groans. “Just like that.” Tentatively you roll your hips against the fabric again, head lolling back at the delicious friction it causes between your legs. True to his word he lets you do all the work, arms crossed behind his head and eyes heavy as he drinks you in. He smiles a familiar grin that causes you to heat up, one that’s smug but offensively gorgeous.

You feel spurred on by the look he’s giving you and the feeling between your legs and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips when he tenses his thigh.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” he says softly. You’re rocking yourself back and forth on him in earnest now, feeling your high start to build up. But you’re sensitive now and you’re starting to lose your rhythm, your hips becoming tired.

“Min I can’t,” you whine, losing that feeling that had slowly started to build.

“I gotcha,” he says, grabbing your hips for you. He rocks you back and forth using his own strength, not forgetting to push his thigh harder against your core. He works you back up embarrassingly fast and before you know it you’re spilling over the edge with your back arched and a loud cry. Just as he allows you to slow down he presses a kiss against your lips, breathing in your moans. You slump against his shoulder then and he strokes your back. “Beautiful,” he whispers.

Changbin: Changbin doesn’t react at all when you tell him. His arms are full of you, who is currently straddling his lap happily. Your makeout session was starting to get a little intense and you could tell that it was likely to escalate–which you had no problem with, but you couldn’t stop the confession from releasing from your lips.

He stares at you. No acknowledgement whatsoever. You gulp nervously… any reaction would be better than no reaction, you think.

“Bin?” you ask, breaking his focus. You’re worried that you ruined the mood, suddenly anxious. “Should I not have said that? We can stop,” you say, lifting your hips to get off of him when he grabs your waist, setting you down flush against his hips.

“Sorry,” he smiles sheepishly. “I think… I was flustered.”

“Huh?”

“That turned me on more than it should have,” he admits with a small smile, staring at the wall next to him. You coo at the blush on his face, his ears turning suddenly red. His bulge pressing into your clothed core further proves his point–he wasn’t lying. You hate to admit how turned on you are now too, his thick cock pressing against you making less-than-pure thoughts run through your head.

Your lips reattach to his in a messy kiss and your hands are everywhere, feeling his broad, toned pecs, his muscular shoulders, his tummy… You press kisses against his throat, his collarbone, his sternum and you can feel his cock twitch in his sweats. The thought that he’s just as aroused as you are, with your panties probably soaked from your arousal, pushes you even further. You rock yourself against his clothed cock, relishing in the way it presses against your clit just right. The groan he lets out is heavenly, his head thrown back in bliss. This gives you the perfect opportunity to lean forward and bite the junction between his neck and shoulder, sucking a pretty purplish-red mark in its wake.

His hips thrust up on instinct and you whine… This must have been the breaking point, you think, because he grabs your hips so tightly you think they will bruise… and he thrusts his hips up into yours so harshly that you let out a shriek in surprise.

“Fuck… is this okay?” he asks, looking utterly debauched. You nod, trying to rock your hips in tandem but his grip is too tight–he’s in control. He’s lifted you up off of him a few inches and pistons his hard bulge into your core, the same way he would if he were fucking you. His cock slides deliciously against your clit every time and though you don’t know the feeling, you think your high is starting to build up.

“Just like that, Bin,” you tell him, scrunching your eyes shut and throwing your head back.

He growls. “You like that? You like when my cock touches your pretty pussy? You’re soaking me, fuck. I’m gonna cum, gonna cum in my pants you’re so hot, baby.”

You feel your core start to tighten and his hand tightens in your hair, grabbing your face to push your lips against his in a hard but messy kiss. The second your lips come in contact you start to cum, spasming around nothing as he continues to drill his cock against you.

It takes only a few seconds for Changbin to cum too, grabbing your hips and holding you tight against his bulge. You feel him pulsing in his pants, thick spurts of his arousal shooting out and soaking the sweats. It’s so erotic and he is a sight to behold when he cums, sweat glistening across his forehead and the veins of his forearms protruding from where he holds you tight.

When he looks up at you he has the audacity to look sheepish again. You smack his shoulder lightly with a smile. “No need to be shy on me now,” you tease. He lifts you up, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist and your arms slung around his neck.

“Wanna take this to the bedroom?” he chuckles. You answer him with a kiss.

Hyunjin: Hyunjin lets out a gasp as if what you have just told him is heresy. Ever the drama-queen, you have to remind your boyfriend to keep his voice down–you’re in public. You’re not even sure how the topic came up, honestly, and part of you wishes that you had kept this information to yourself. Hyunjin, the man that he is, cannot let you keep anything to yourself. He instantly pries for the details despite your red-hot face.

“How often have you tried?” he asks, more excited than he should be. “You have tried, right? You just can’t…” you slap a hand over his mouth, looking around you.

“We can talk about this later,” you hiss. He gives you a giddy smile. You can tell he won’t forget about this.

Sure enough, he’s back on you the moment you walk through the door.

“Why do you care so much?” you groan.

“Because that means I get to help you,” he says with a glint in his eyes. “I get to be your first.” Oh. Oh. Well, maybe you like that idea more than you’re willing to admit.

“Can I? Would you let me?”

“Hyune, how would you even–”

You let out a yelp when he rolls onto your back, rolling you on top of him.

“You could sit on my face,” he suggests. He must see your hesitation because he calms you down by rubbing your thighs. “Grind your pretty cunt all over my tongue.”

You squeeze your legs together from where you sit on top of him, ineffective due to Hyunjin’s broad frame below you.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “It’s just… what if I hurt you? What if you don’t like it, or you can’t breathe–”

“Shh, pretty,” he coos. “It only matters if you like it, but trust me I’ll like it too. I can tap your thigh if I need to breathe. You won’t hurt me, okay? You can go as crazy as you’d like.”

Reluctantly (and a bit nervously), you agree, rolling off of him to take off your pants. You’re already insanely aroused, embarrassingly so just from seeing the gorgeous man beneath you, rock hard in his pants. As you timidly straddle his face, you’re surprised when he pulls your core right onto his face.

“Hyunjin!” you cry, jerking up.

“Relax,” he smiles. “No need to be shy. Actually sit.” He lightly taps your ass and you lower yourself onto him, letting out a sigh when he swipes his tongue through your folds. He moans into your center, mumbling something akin to ‘tastes good’ and you relax. When his tongue circles your clit you think electricity has spread throughout your entire body and you lurch forward, his grip on your thighs unwavering.

“Shit, Hyune, that feels good,” you tell him, his tongue alternating between sucking and flicking your clit to shallowly fucking your hole. You can’t help but rock back and forth on his face, any inhibitions thrown out the window. He groans and sighs into your cunt, clearly enjoying himself as well. He works you up surprisingly fast and he sticks his tongue out wide, letting you ride it and pleasure yourself on it the way you want. His tongue is warm and wet and feels heavenly against your folds and you grind yourself to a finish, his grip on your hips helping to aid you to your release.

He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, releasing with a pop as he gently licks up your release. You roll off of him and catch your breath, staring at the ceiling in awe.

“Was it everything you’ve ever dreamed of?” he asks breathlessly, licking his lips of your arousal. “We’re going to need to do that again,” you laugh incredulously. “Your tongue… no wonder I couldn’t get myself off if that’s what I was missing.” He laughs and rolls on top of you, pressing a long kiss against your lips. He tastes of you and that somehow makes it even better.

Han:

You flush when he makes the suggestion. Mutual masturbation. “I have a hard time… I’ve never been able to make myself finish before, though,” you remind him.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” he says. “But it’ll be hot. And maybe it can help you…”

“But what if you finish first?” you ask him. “Won’t that be… unsexy?” “Unsexy? God no,” he laughs “If anything, I can help you finish after, if you want.”

“O…Okay,” you agree. The kisses start off messy and you find yourself wanting to wrap your hands around his waist. “No… no touching,” he tells you. “Just kissing. No touching one another’s bodies. It will make it feel better. It will be sexier if we can just… watch.” You agree with him. The wet, sloppy kisses come to an end with a string of saliva connecting you too. You watch intently as he palms himself through his sweats, grabbing his length with a groan.

“You make me so hard, baby,” he tells you. You feel entranced, lifting up your shirt and playing with your chest as he watches. You grope yourself, teasing your nipples while your gaze never leaves his, the way his eyes stare at you and each movement has you unknowingly biting your lip.

He pulls his sweats down and palms himself through his underwear before stroking his cock through the fabric, hissing at the friction. Feeling bold, you free yourself of your underwear and move so that he can get a better view. His eyes look so wide and full of lust as he finally frees his cock and starts touching himself properly. He was right. It was erotic for sure. You couldn’t help how turned on you felt as you touched yourself, shallowly fucking yourself with one finger as he watches. He’s beautiful. This is a fact you have always known but right now, as he fists his cock and his hips jump up to meet his hand you can’t help but admire how beautiful, his brows furrowed and eyes struggling to remain watching you.

This is the first time you’ve properly seen one another without clothes on, and while you have had a few intense makeout sessions and heavy petting, you have yet to go this far. You can’t say you regret it when his whines are so perfect, his neediness as he throws his head back and touches himself with such a vice grip.

“You’re so hot,” you tell him and he moans.

You fuck yourself even harder on your fingers, trying to bring yourself close to the edge. He watches when you start squelching around your fingers, so wet that the sound is borderline obscene. You can tell he’s close even though you’re struggling, but you swear you have never been closer to orgasm than when you saw Jisung cum all over himself, shooting his release on his stomach with a cry of your name. Your fingers speed up and you’re still not sure if you’re close, but before you can say anything Jisung crosses the bed. He attaches his lips to your clit without a second thought, his fingers replacing your own. He’s a sight to behold, hair sticking to his forehead and sweat glistening down his toned chest. It takes a few minutes but he doesn’t give up (even though you likely would have by now), he licks and sucks you through your first orgasm.

“God I could cum again just from that sight,” he admits with a shy chuckle once he lifts his head up from between your legs.

Felix:

It was all because of a stupid card game. Okay, maybe some alcohol was involved too. It was one of those couple’s games and in your newly relationship-state, Felix suggested you play together. A little bit too much wine and a series of giggles and here you were.

“What is the most amount of orgasms you’ve had in one day?” Felix read the card, a blush spreading across his face.

“It doesn’t say that,” you laugh, reaching for the card. Sure enough… You let out a sigh. “Truthfully?” you ask.

“Well–only if you want to,” he backtracks. “You… you don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“No, Lix, it’s fine, it’s just…” you run a hand through your hair, exasperated. “Zero. The answer is zero. I’ve never cum before.”

“But… you had a boyfriend before me, I thought?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “That doesn’t mean he made me cum.” He looks at you thoughtfully, ultimately deciding to table the conversation. You were grateful. You’re both a little too tipsy and flustered to be having this conversation. You watch a movie and curl up against his chest, game long forgotten as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. *** It’s about a week later when Felix shows up at your door with a suspiciously large package in his hands. You were expecting him for date night but not aware of what he brought with him.

“What’s that?” you ask. You don’t miss the way his ears turn red.

“This is for later,” he tells you. “It’s a surprise.” You shrug it off and almost forget about it until after dinner. He brings you into your bedroom and hands you the package.

“I remembered our conversation from last week,” he admits. “How you said you’ve never… so I bought some things that I thought you could use.”

“Use? To help me cum?”

He coughs, clearing his throat. “Um, yeah. I just thought… and I don’t even need to be here when you use them, but I thought that you could use some… tools? I don’t know.”

“Do you want to see me use them, Lix?” you all but purr. He looks at you sheepishly.

“I wouldn’t say no,” he laughs. “Only if you’re comfortable.”

You open the package, then. A large dildo. A smaller one. A bullet vibrator. Some things you’ve never even seen before.

“Wow, Felix, this is…” you lift up one of the larger toys to inspect it. “Was this expensive?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you. “It’s an investment.”

And that’s how you end up spread on your bed, Felix watching from a chair at the end of your bed.

“I can always take a video,” he suggests. You furrow your brow. “Y’know, that way if you have a hard time finishing, we can watch it back and review and see where it went wrong?”

“Felix I KNOW you did not just suggest having a VOD review of my masturbation session,” you laugh. “I’m not one of your games you know.” He looks away shyly. You acquiesce. “If you want to record… use my phone though.” He looks way too excited as he grabs your phone and props up the camera as you start to play with yourself, fucking yourself with one of the vibrating dildos he bought. It felt really good, and it was just an added bonus that the sexiest man alive was watching you.

“You can go deeper,” he drawls. You can tell he’s accentuating his deep voice because he knows it turns you on. “Don’t be afraid to really press the end of it against your clit.” The toys worked you up faster than you ever imagined and you squirmed beneath his gaze. Felix stands, bringing the camera even closer to your sopping entrance, really trying to get a good view of the camera. “You’re doing so good,” he tells you. You can’t help it. You cum. The vibrations from the toy, the camera, Felix’s watchful eyes and words… it was all just too much. You writhe through your orgasm until you reach overstimulation, turning off the toy and throwing an arm over your eyes.

Felix is quick to jump into the bed, peppering your face and neck with kisses.

“That was… wow,” you tell him.

“Wanna watch the video?” he asks, voice laced with excitement.

Seungmin:

“Never,” he deadpans.

“Nope,” you repeat.

“Well, like, how do you do it?”

“What do you mean?” you can’t help the blush that spreads across your face.

“You’re probably doing it wrong,” he explains. “I know you’re not mansplaining to me how to masturbate,” you roll your eyes.

“No,” he sighs, exasperated. “I’m just saying maybe I can help. It would be easier if you showed me.”

“Showed you?”

“Don’t be dense, love. Just take your pants off, if you want, and touch yourself in front of me. I can guide you, if you’d like.”

You were definitely blushing now.

“Can you kiss me first?” you ask. You don’t know why but you felt like breaking that barrier would make things a little easier. He smiles, pushing his hand through his hair before leaning forward, capturing your lips in his. His hand brushed through your hair, deepening the kiss. When you pulled apart you felt a rush of confidence, pulling your pants and panties down to reveal yourself to him. He watches you from the end of the couch with his arms crossed, lips shut tight.

You let him watch as you trail your hands down to your center, spreading your legs wider when you see him trying to get a better look. You circle your clit with one finger, dipping into your entrance to gather your arousal. You switch between fucking yourself with your finger and circling your clit, no sense of rhythm. Though Seungmin pins you with your gaze and causes your arousal to strengthen, you can’t build yourself up the way you want. You get frustrated. Seungmin takes notice.

“Lift your shirt up,” he commands. He watches as you hesitate but follow his direction, lifting up your shirt with his heavy gaze. “Use your thumb and pointer finger. Trace your nipples.” You do what he tells you, following his instruction to tease, circle, and pinch your nipples.

“Use one hand. Wet it with your tongue. Get a lot of spit–yeah, like that. Touch your clit.” He lets out a breath when you release a shaky moan. “Use one hand and circle your clit and use the other hand to touch your pretty nipples. Go back and forth between circling it and flicking it. Figure out what feels better.”

You squirm at the oversensitivity.

“Seung,” you moan. “Feels good but… can’t you just touch me? I want to feel you.”

He shakes his head. “No, baby. You need to do it yourself. I want you to know how to make yourself feel good.” You let out a frustrated sigh but continue to follow his direction.

“Use your other hand now and push it inside. You can start with one finger. Don’t stop the momentum you’ve got on your clit but slowly fuck yourself with one finger. Good. Try curling it.” You can’t deny how good it feels–better than you’ve ever made yourself feel. You notice the bulge in his sweats and you whine. Teasing, you drag your foot up his thigh and try to press against his bulge to get a reaction from him. Before you can though he sighs and grabs your foot, harshly.

“Don’t try it,” he warns. He doesn’t release his grip from your ankle and you’re thankful for the touch. “Try adding another finger.” You do just as he tells you, curling them inside you as you continue to stimulate your clit.

“Seung, I’m… I think I’m close,” you say with a breath of surprise.

“Good,” he smiles. “Don’t let up on the pace. Try to stay as consistent as you can. You’re doing so good for me, baby. Does that feel good? You’re so pretty, you have such a pretty pussy–”

You cut him off with a loud yell as you cum all over your fingers. Your legs kick up, unable to control them but he grabs your thighs and holds you down, rubbing small circles into your skin.

When your breathing finally calms down he shoots you a grin. He opens his arms and you crawl right into them, laying your head against his chest.

“Wasn’t trying to ‘mansplain,’” he mutters against your head. “Just wanted to see if I could help.”

You laugh sleepily. “I know, Minnie. You did a good job. Thank you.”

Jeongin:

With the way he smiles at you you’re not sure if he heard you right–he looks too giddy, dimples protruding from his face in a way that makes you want to poke him.

“What–” you ask, taken aback. You were in the midst of a makeout session that had started to get a little too heated and you felt the need to confess your little problem. You were self-conscious about it and unsure how he would react but this is not what you expected.

“Can I help?” he asks.

“Help–”

“Touch you,” he clarifies. “Let me touch you?” He trails his hands up and down your cheek. Hot from his suggestion. But you’ve always loved his hands, long and veiny, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t imagine how they would feel.

“Okay,” you stutter. “But if you can’t make me finish–”

“Shhh,” he kisses you. “Let’s not worry about that now. Just let me touch you and make you feel good, and if I can get you to cum that would be amazing. If not, nobody will be offended, yeah?”

He sits up then and before you can ask what he’s doing he bends you over his lap. Your breath hitches and he runs a hand up and down your ass, grabbing and kneading the flesh. You’re glad he can’t see your face because you’re sure you’re flushed beyond belief. He touches you over your shorts and when you start to squirm he lands a warning tap to your ass that makes you yelp. He takes his time touching you through the fabric and circling your clothed clit before he lifts your hips up, pulling your shorts and panties off at the same time.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he teases, gathering your wetness with his fingers. “All this for me?”

“Mmm,” you respond unintelligently, wiggling your ass to get your point across. Still he teases, never quite touching you where you need him.

“Jeong-In… Innie, please, touch me,” you whine. He coos at the desperate tone of your voice before allowing his fingers to finally push into your entrance. You welcome the intrusion and you’re glad that he starts slow, fucking you deep and with purpose.

“Feels good,” you moan, burying your head deeper into the sheets.

“Yeah?” he asks. He fucks his fingers into at a speed that you couldn’t imagine possible, a large hand splayed onto your lower back to hold you in place. You can’t help the sounds that escape your mouth and you vaguely realize that Jeongin is talking, whispering filthy things in your ear.

“Fuck, baby… your pussy is so tight. So perfect,” he groans. “So warm and wet… this pussy is all mine, yeah?”

“Oh my GOD, fuck, Jeongin!” you cry out. His words add fuel to the fire, allowing the warmth to spread through you and speed up your impending climax. He doesn’t relent, staying at the same pace and hitting that spot deep inside of you that has you seeing stars with his long, deft fingers. He hits that same spot every time and suddenly you’re cumming, spasming around his fingers. You swear you can hear his grin but you couldn’t care, not with the intensity of your orgasm. When you’ve come down from your high he strokes your back, letting your breathing even out. He reaches a hand around to your face and shows you his wet fingers, groaning when you wrap your lips around them.

“I can make you cum in other ways,” he suggests. “Want me to show you?” ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Masterlist <3

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