۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ obey(✧), body affirmation (✧), aggressive(✧), chow time (✧), sick reader (fluff)
chrisnxtdoor
۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ its lewd but look (✧)
iamdaviss
۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ wakey wakey (✧)
duke dennis
۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ bad pt i (✧), pt ii (✧), pt iii(✧), im fried, duke breaks his celibacy (✧), duke is upset w you (✧) its lewd but look (✧)
fanum
۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ let me make it up to you (✧), eater (✧)
nfl:
ceedee lamb
۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ cellular centiment | i , ii , iii , iv , v (✧)
frank castle
۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ neighbor!frank headcanons, neighbor!frank breaks in, neighbor!frank helps move a couch, neighbor!frank x reader who smokes, frank does doordash with you
sum. new year, new you? well you definitely pick up a new kink or two after a visit to the ultra-trendy fitness club, limitless, with personal trainer!sukuna. but when you can't afford another session, will you get your fix with a new obsession?
cw. mdni. major scent kink + sweat kink. reader is down HORRENDOUS. semi-public sex. semi-public masturbation. humiliation. reader is a perv. stalking. reader is a lil degen towel stealing goblin. piv. minor choking/headlocks. gojo is a goof. creampies. unprotected. dry humping. dirty talk. [art by sab_xcvii & sakimenz]
an. so happy to say this was inspired by my bbgirl @tojiscreampie beautifully nasty toji sweat-kink fic so check it out! i know im supposed to be working on other things and tried to toss this over to @yenayaps but she told me i had to write it myself 💞😭 buuuut i am excited to post this on the day of the return of jjk s3 we are soooo back my lil ecchi angels! wc. 7.4k idk how.
The only reason your broke ass is stepping foot into Limitless—the ultra-chic, LED-lit, influencer-infested gym—is because your rich aunt gifted you a year-long membership for Christmas.
You clocked the look she gave you at Thanksgiving—that side-eye scrutiny of you squeezed into a dress that used to fit you perfectly last summer. Let’s just say... the turkey wasn’t the only thing stuffed at the table this year.
But whatever. You’re not complaining about anything that’s free‑99. As a struggling grad student, you’ve been surviving off ramen, iced coffee, and vibes for a year now.
But the second you walk through Limitless’s sleek steel doors, two things hit you—
You’re being sonically assaulted by the unce-unce-unce of euro-house bangers vibrating through the walls like some nightclub in Amsterdam.
The man behind the front desk is unreasonably hot.
Like, offensively hot.
Lounging behind the counter in a black dry-fit shirt that's cropped to showcase his washboard abs, while his toused white hair and stupidly perfect complexion make him look like he's headed to a photoshoot rather than a workout.
Tipping his sunglasses just low enough for you to catch the flash of icy blue eyes, his grin widens as you approach—like he already knows just how completely out of your depth you are.
“Welcome to Limitless!” he chirps. “I’m the owner, Gojo Satoru.”
Like you don’t already know.
Even a ramen-fueled, overworked shut-in like you knows about @ SixPackGod—TikTok’s reigning fitness thirst trap.
Gojo’s got 5 million followers and a cult-like fanbase—naturally, he monetized it by opening a gym. You’ve definitely seen his videos—stretching in ways that should get him banned and somehow making kettlebell swings look erotic.
As if on cue, a group of girls swish by in matching Lulu, Alo, and Vuori sets—tan, toned, and giggling as they wave at him. He winks back, weaponized charm turned up to 100 earning him shrill squees and coos as they exit.
It makes you want to book it the hell out of there. You clearly had no idea what you were getting yourself into, suddenly becoming painfully aware of your ratty anime tee and faded track shorts from high school.
Gojo turns back to you excitedly, completely unbothered by the fact that you look practically homeless. He launches into a rapid-fire tour, rattling off all the high-tech equipment and renovations—some already done, some still on the way.
You nod, clueless, too busy tracing the slope of his arms, the stretch of his shirt, the twitch of long fingers as he talks with his whole body.
Looking back, Gojo catches your totally glazed-over expression.
“Y’know,” he says, flashing you a panty-evaporating grin, “all new members get one free personal training session. Helps you get the most out of the place.”
Gojo steps in closer, charm dialed up to max and absolutely zero concept of personal space.
“Oh—no, thank you,” you say quickly, hands going up in half-surrender, half-subtle plea for him to back the hell up. “I—I can’t afford that. I mean, to continue after.”
You wouldn’t even be in here if your aunt hadn’t paid for your membership. One session probably costs your rent.
And in this economy?
You can barely afford to heat your apartment in the winter.
Gojo just shrugs, all smiles. “It’s freeeeee though! C’mon cutie.”
Cutie!? You!?
“I-I just don’t wanna waste your time,” you mumble, flustered and trying to keep your shit together.
“I don’t mind, you wouldn’t be the first,” Gojo flirts with a wink. “Buuuut, if it eases your worries, I’ll set you up with a girl trainer. Yuki. She’s great! Won’t yell at you… well, much. No strings. Promise. C’monnnnnn babe.”
The drawn-out plea and puppy-dog eyes are ridiculous—but the ‘babe’ seals it.
You fold faster than a wet paper towel in a hurricane, agreeing to sign up for a session on the spot.
What harm could one free session with a girl trainer do?
Except you don’t get Yuki.
Two days later, you show up—and Yuki’s “out sick.”
Instead, standing in front of you is Personal Trainer!Sukuna.
And holy shit—he’s fucking massive.
Like someone compressed chaotic aggression and carved it into pure muscle. Black tribal tattoos snake across his arms and chest, flexing under his tight “trainer” shirt like every inch of him is lethal.
Your gaze drags from the cut of his shoulders to his chest—and lower, to thighs thick enough to crush a watermelon. And is that—? Oh fuck. There's a heavy print stretching his sweats.
You suddenly get what SZA meant about needing a big boy for winter.
What would it feel like—being pinned under all that weight? Back arched against the mat—
"AYE!"
Sukuna snaps your name like a whip, yanking you out of your fantasy and causing you to flinch so hard your heels lift out of your shoes.
He just looks at you like you’re stupid.
Which, to be fair, at this moment, you absolutely are.
You start babbling, fast and frantic—sputtering about how this is a bad idea, how you’re not going to book more sessions, how you’re probably just wasting his—
He rolls his eyes and gives you a look that screams: I don’t get paid to hear your bullshit.
That shuts you up immediately.
Sukuna’s red eyes then skim over you in a brutally clinical fashion. Unlike your ogling, his glance catalogs every weak point, every soft roll, every underdeveloped muscle in under fifteen seconds.
“Sukuna,” he says flatly. “Your PT.”
That’s it. That’s all the intro he gives you.
“You’re mine for the next sixty minutes—now move!”
You nod like a bobblehead, eyes wide—but he’s already walking away.
Scrambling after him, heart pounding, you try not to trip over your own feet Sukuna leads you deeper into the gym.
Not surprisingly, Sukuna’s intensity is so fierce that you can barely look at him the entire session. He runs you like a drill sergeant—efficient and merciless.
There's zero flirting, no coddling and definitely no encouraging bullshit beyond clipped commands.
When he needs to correct you, he does it physically—grabbing your hips, waist and shoulders with rough, unapologetic hands. Sukuna moves you into position like you’re a piece of gym equipment needing to be adjusted for his use.
His fingers press into muscle and bone like he already knows exactly how your weak little body is supposed to work for him, and it does, struggling yet ultimately bending to his will.
You can only sort of be thankful that Sukuna doesn’t seem to give a fuck that you freeze under his every touch. He certainly doesn’t blink nor acknowledge when you suck in a sharp breath or let out a shaky, humiliating little sound of anguish when his fingers trace over your ribs to correct your posture.
He just keeps going, dishing out relentless commands that push you harder than you’ve ever worked out in your entire life.
“Stop trying to cheat, brat” Sukuna growls, tapping your soft belly—right over your abs—with just enough force to make you squeak like the Pillsbury Doughboy.
“You’re weak here. Engage it. Squeeze tighter. That’s it, good girl.”
Good girl!?
Little does Sukuna know it’s not your core that’s responding but your pelvic muscles, your pussy fluttering wildly at the command like he's addressing her directly.
By the end of the session, every muscle in your body is cooked. Lungs on fire, like you’ve never worked out a day in your life.
And honestly—if this is what real training entails?
Then yeah. You definitely haven’t. Not even close.
Still, for a one‑off session, Sukuna gave you more than enough to continue on your own—form breakdowns, weak points to target, enough structure to build a routine from scratch.
Not that you’re thinking about fitness anymore. You just want to crawl out of here—and into bed.
You’re so worn down, so light-headed, that you don’t even notice you’ve grabbed the wrong towel—Sukuna’s, damp and still warm from use—instead of one of the cool eucalyptus-scented ones the gym provides. You sling it over your shoulders without thinking, wobbling toward the water fountain.
By the time you bend down for a much-needed drink, it practically slaps you across the face.
The aroma of salty sandalwood and heat, along with a musk so dark and undeniably masculine it makes your belly tingle.
Oh sweet fuck!
Warmth floods your senses, spreading through you all the way down to your toes. Your legs begin to quake once more—worse than they did during the three-minute wall squats Sukuna forced you to hold.
You’re no virgin—but you’ve never been affected by a man’s scent like this.
Ever.
You spot the laundry bin the moment you step into the women’s locker room—your rational brain whispering to just drop the towel in and walk away.
Your hand hovers over the bin… but lingers a second too long. Voices now echo behind you as a group of women enter.
Snatching the towel back on instinct, your pulse spikes as you run to shove it into your locker like illicit contraband. There's no time to think more about it as you rush to the showers, hoping cold water can cool off whatever the hell is happening in your brain.
The shower soothes your muscles but it does nothing for the fire in your belly rapidly increasing.
Already weak, you slide down the cool tile. Water beats against your body as your fingers slip between your thighs. You circle your clit once, twice, then trail lower, pushing two fingers into your cunt with shaking hands.
You bite your lip hard, trying to stay quiet, acutely aware of how thin the walls are, how public and just wrong this is.
Yet no matter how hard you work your fingers, you can’t scratch the itch.
Even angling yourself so the water beats directly against your clit doesn’t get you there.
Shiiiit. You can’t even get off properly. Argh!
Frustrated and flustered, you finally give up. Shutting off the shower, you towel off in record time and book it out of the locker room—but not before stuffing Sukuna’s sweat-drenched towel deep into your duffel.
Glancing around you attempt to play it cool as you make your exit… only to duck your head a little too obviously as you pass the front desk.
Gojo, of course, spots you anyway. He waves at you cheerily and you try not to flinch as you force a smile and wave back, doing your best to look inconspicuous.
Nothing at all like the perverted little horn-dog thief you actually are.
You drive home like a woman possessed. The second your door clicks shut behind you, you’re already bolting for your room.
Shoes kicked off in a hurry, your duffel lands on the bed with a heavy thud. Your hands shake as you fumble with the zipper, pulse pounding with the insanity of what you’re about to do.
There it is.
The stolen towel, still damp and filthy. Lifting it to your face, you inhale like it’s oxygen itself.
God, that hits!
Your eyes lodge into your skull as the odor particles hit your brain, your mouth and pussy watering instantly.
This is wrong.
Disgusting.
Depraved.
And yet—you can’t remember the last time you were this fucking horny.
You don’t even undress properly—just shove your shorts down, kicking them off with your panties as you hurriedly reach into your nightstand.
Got it!
The suction vibrator hums to life in your hand as you collapse back against the pillows, towel pressed over your face.
The second the toy clasps over your clit, a gasp punches out of your chest, your eyes flying open.
Embarrassingly slick and oversensitive, your body reacts like it’s been waiting for this since his hands were on you. Your hips grind into the suction with helpless little thrusts.
The crumpled towel muffles your moans as your brain fills in the blanks—his voice, his hands, his tongue in place of the toy.
His gruff voice berates your thoughts.
Push harder, brat.
Hold it. Take it.
Good fucking girl.
As far as your delusions are concerned the soreness in your muscles isn’t from the workout, but from him folding you over the bench, stretching you open with this hefty cock and working you over until you’re shaking for an entirely different reason.
Trembling, your hand almost slips as your orgasm builds, causing you to arch into the vibrations.
Engage it! You hear him growl.
And you do—just like he taught you as you bury your face deeper into the towel and flick the button increasing the pulsing suction on your throbbing button.
When you come, it hits you all at once.
A breathless cry tears out of you as your body locks up—pleasure tearing through you. You cling to his scent, hips jerking as you ride the overstimulation until you finally go limp.
Lying there afterward, dazed, sweaty, staring at the ceiling in quiet horror because even through your shame the hard truth is—you want more.
And like an addict after the first hit—you’re already clicking the wand back on.
By morning, to your horror, the scent has already started to fade from the towel and the panic that claws up your throat is immediate.
You know you can’t afford another session...
But an unhealthy obsession?
That, you can manage.
After that, the gym doesn’t just become part of your routine—it is the routine. You start showing up religiously, like you’re worshipping at the altar of your own filthy fixations.
Well, for your workouts too. But mostly?
You come for him. Sukuna.
Like a fucking weirdo you start watching Sukuna from a distance.
In mirror reflections. From across the floor. From behind machines.
You just… observe—quietly and patiently—drinking him in like a thirst you can’t quite quench.
You never try to make eye contact though, nor dare to try to make conversation.
Hell no, you’re too terrified of him for that.
Plus Sukuna didn’t seem like the small talk type.
On the rare occasion your eyes do meet in the gym in close passing, you barely manage a stiff and squeaky, “Hi” before darting your eyes away, like you’ve been caught doing something illegal.
Which, honestly, feels kinda accurate.
But you weren’t really doing anything bad right?
You were a gym member. He worked there.
Of course you’d see him. It’s normal.
Super casual.
Just like you casually timing your workouts to use machines near wherever he is training clients. Hoping to get close enough to maybe, just maybe, catch another whiff of those musky pheromones that rewired your brain chemistry and wrecked your sense of normalcy in a single afternoon.
Your jealousy hits fast when those bubbly influencer girls, all high-ponytails and matching sets, laugh way too loud at things he definitely meant as insults and actually have the nerve to try to cling to his adonis-like form.
The only consolation is they are usually crying by the end and few rebook in return, making Sukuna's regulars mainly men who want him to tear them apart so they can have even a fraction of the physique he does.
Yet man or woman, Sukuna runs them into the ground. He doesn’t care how attractive they are or how hard they flirt or how much they protest.
It doesn’t take long to realize something else, either:
Sukuna’s harder to book than Gojo.
You only got him that day by pure fluke—Yuki was out and someone canceled.
Sure, Gojo’s the golden boy. Content king, the face of the gym and the main draw to why people sign up for the ridiculously expensive membership in the first place.
But Gojo’s sessions are all vibes. He jokes, flirts, counts a few reps, and always films a cute reel for your socials—just as long as you make sure to tag him and the gym.
But Sukuna? Sukuna doesn’t even have social media.
You only go to Sukuna if you’re serious. Or masochistic.
Or just plain obsessed.
Like you.
No one leaves his sessions looking camera-ready. They leave wrecked.
And goddamn—that just makes you want him even more.
Once, while leaving the gym, you spot the personal trainer shift schedule—just left out on the front desk.
Plain as day, just sitting there in the open.
You don’t mean to look. You really don’t.
But the next thing you know, you’re pretending to scan a QR code on a sign advertising the gym app (which you downloaded weeks ago), while sneakily snapping a photo of Sukuna’s hours instead.
You nearly shit yourself when Gojo pops up out of nowhere.
Grinning, smoothie in hand, he starts chatting you up like you didn’t just commit a minor felony.
Panicked, you mumble something about catching your bus—
…while holding your car keys in plain view like a dumbass.
Then you bolt outta there like your name is Usain.
But minor mortification aside, from that day on, your visits become a lot more strategic.
You realize Sukuna comes in at the ass crack of dawn to train before his shift.
So, naturally, you start showing up even earlier—just to watch.
Today’s upper body, apparently.
You find Sukuna posted up at the shoulder press, casually repping weights that are triple your mass. His black tank clings to him, sweat-darkened and stretched across his chest like it’s trying to merge with his skin. You swear it looks just as desperate as you are to be pressed against him.
Getting visibly annoyed at the clingy fabric, Sukuna rips the tank off one-handed, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the floor like it had personally offended him.
You nearly fall off the elliptical at the sight.
His bare chest is on full display now—tatted pecs glistening, thick and meaty, bouncing slightly as he pumps out reps like it’s nothing.
You’re barely moving.
The machine beeps at you, flashing “INACTIVITY DETECTED.”
Chile, you don't even notice.
You’re too busy imagining burying your face in those muscular mounds, tits squishing against your cheeks while he presses you in deep and lets you suffocate in nirvana.
God, you just want to motorboat your face into them until you pass tf out.
Unknowingly, a soft whine slips out of you.
Louder than it should in the mostly empty gym, even with music pumping.
Sukuna’s eyes flick over toward you.
Fuckkkk.
Caught, your neck twinges from how fast you whip your head away.
You don’t dare look back, but you feel Sukuna watching you. His stare scorches a hole straight through your soul.
You don’t look anywhere other than the ellipticals display until Gojo’s obnoxiously loud voice calls Sukuna over from the back office, waving encouragingly like he’s summoning a particularly grumpy doberman.
Leaving all his stuff at the machine, there's a distinct growl of annoyance from Sukuna as he rolls his eyes and stomps away.
Alone now, your gaze slides back to the shoulder press machine.
The black leather shines under the overhead lights—drenched, shining like a fucking beacon, soaked through with Sukuna’s delicious man‑sweat.
Practically calling to you like an obscene siren song.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re already in front of the machine.
You’ve never even used it before—but that’s not about to stop you now.
Under the pretense of adjusting the weights, you crouch down and press your nose to the seat where Sukuna had been sitting.
A salty musk clings to the cushion.
Mmm, pungent. It’s so fresh. God, it’s been too long since you’ve smelled him this intensely.
A shudder rips through your spine as you inhale deep, chest stuttering.
Quickly, you glance around, checking to make sure the coast is clear. It is. Then you do something you never would have considered doing just a few weeks ago—you lean forward, tongue peeking out of your drool glossed lips and lick a lingering bead of sweat straight off the backrest.
Oh damn, Oh fuck!
This must be what heaven tastes like.
Suddenly, a door booms open from the back. You hear Gojo’s laughter, in near hysterics as and Sukuna’s grumbling something you can't quite make out.
Startled, you bolt upright, heart slamming into your ribs.
You don’t think, you just know you can’t get caught licking seats like a freakazoid so—you book it.
By the time you stumble into the locker room, panting you notice something in your hand—
It's practically saturated with sweat, beads dripping down onto your sneakers. Biting your lip, you know you just can't walk out there and give it back to him.
You'd look bonkers.
And worse—you can still feel his warmth in the fabric.
Shit! Darting into the nearest bathroom stall, you slam the door shut, sitting on the toilet lid as you stare at the dirtied tank in your hands.
You are absolutely fucking disgusting.
And you don’t give a solitary fuck.
Without hesitation, you wring the fabric out over your open mouth, catching the salty drip on your tongue. A moan fumbles from your lips as you lick them, before you stuff the fabric into your mouth and slurp it down glutinously like its holy water.
From there, it only escalates further.
A few days later, a long sock falls out of Sukuna’s bag in the lobby.
You bend down like you’re tying your shoe and swipe it when no one’s looking. At home, you loop it around your head—hands‑free—covering your nose while you grind against a pillow until your thighs ache.
You steal water bottles.
Sweatbands.
Once, you even snag a pen he’d been chewing on—lift it straight off his clipboard and stuff it into your pocket. Later, you suck on it like it’s his tongue while your fingers work between your legs in the women’s locker‑room showers.
Yeah. You get over the embarrassment of getting off in the private stalls pretty fast.
It goes on like this for weeks.
No matter how much you take, telling yourself it's the last time. It never is.
It's never enough.
When Sunday rolls around, you show up at 5:30 bright and early—well, not bright exactly.
The sun isn’t even out yet, but as expected the gym’s a ghost town.
Just Gojo behind the front desk, humming to himself as he uploads another fitness thirst trap video, sipping an energy drink he definitely doesn’t need.
“Morning, cutie. You’ve been looking good lately,” he calls out as you enter, flashing a devilish grin that throws you off before you’ve even cleared the threshold. “Reconsider any personal training yet? Sorry again about Yuki bailing. But you enjoyed Sukuna, riiiiight?”
You freeze mid-step.
Gojo hasn’t brought up training since that first—and only—session.
He doesn’t know anything… right? So then why bring it up now?
“Ah, um—no, I did,” you stammer. “It… it was great. Amazing, even. B-but like I said, budget is so tight it’s nonexistent.”
You laugh nervously and Gojo hums like he's thinking something he’s not outright saying. “Mmhmm. Got it.”
Before you can slip past the desk though, he continues: “Oh! We just installed an infrared sauna, you should check it out! No one’s even used it yet, give it a test go for me will ya?”
Gripping your bag tighter, you offer a weak noncommittal smile, eager to get away from Gojo’s amused eyes.
But upon entering the main workout area your mood dips immediately.
No sign of Sukuna.
Goddamn it.
Early Sundays are usually your favorite—You always get a front-row seat to Sukuna’s infamous leg day routine. Full of squats that show off just how dummy thick his ass is.
Still, if you dragged yourself out here, you might as well make it count.
Surprisingly, when you pick up the 25lb dumbbell you used to struggle with, it feels light. Stalking clearly is a workout—your gains speak for themselves.
Usually, your “sessions” don’t last long—mostly an excuse to ogle—but today you grab a towel and decide to hit the new sauna tucked in the back.
You might as well do Gojo the solid, your study group isn’t until noon.
Besides, you’ve never tried the regular Saunas—too self-conscious to sit half-naked next to glossy, influencer types. But the gym’s a empty and the new one is down a quiet, empty hall.
Perfect.
Stripping down in the locker room, you wrap the towel around yourself and head down the corridor.
There’s only one sauna, but a paper sign slapped on the door reads Women’s, so you don’t think twice.
Stepping inside, the noise from the main floor vanishes, sealed off by thick walls. The red glow of infrared lights paints the wooden heatbox in a soft, sultry rouge.
It’s oddly peaceful.
You breathe deep, lowering yourself onto one of the benches. Your limbs still ache from your half-hearted workout, but the heat is a balm. Eyes fluttering shut, you let it melt into your muscles, loosening tension you didn’t even realize you were carrying.
But your mind refuses to settle. Ten minutes, maybe less, go by, and all you can think about is Sukuna.
That wild pink hair. That gruff voice. Those hands. And of course—that stench.
You squirm slightly on the hard wooden bench, warmth pressing in from all sides. The silence thickens around you, humid and still. Your legs part just a little. A hand slips beneath your towel, nudging it up past your hips.
Sure, this is way more public than the showers… But no one’s around. Just Gojo up front—too busy refreshing his comments section to do any actual work.
Relaxing, as soon as your fingers dip into your folds—
Creak.
The door swings open.
Scrambling, you snap your legs shut, crossing them tight. Your hands fold in your lap like you’ve been sitting politely this entire time.
Adrenaline in overdrive, just when you think it can’t get worse—Sukuna steps in.
Shirtless, only in swim trunks, with a towel slung over one shoulder, Sukuna's torso gleams. The visible temperature of the sauna makes him look like a tempting mirage.
Pool? Since when does he swim? Also, you didn’t even realize the gym had one.
Breath stuttering you clutch your towel tighter around you.
“Um, e-excuse me, M-Mr. S-Sukuna?” you mumble, refusing to meet his eyes, “T-This is the women’s sauna”
Sukuna just looks at you incredulously.
“Cut that Mister shit out right now brat—tsk, but who the fuck said that?” he huffs, “There’s only one. It’s unisex.”
There’s plenty of room across from you, even on one of the upper levels. But Sukuna sits next to you, the bench creaking under his hefty bulk.
You swallow hard. “Ah, er… b-but the sign—?”
“What sign, you dizzy brat?” he smirks, flashing a single sharp canine.
Scrambling to your feet, you crack the door open and scan the hallway.
You blink at the walls, the floor, the door itself but the sign is nowhere to be seen.
Where the hell did it go!?
“Get your ass back in here and close the damn door,” Sukuna grumbles. “You’re letting all the hot air out.”
You straighten, nearly dropping your towel as you scurry back inside to avoid his wrath. Still mumbling apologies, you hover near the door—until Sukuna throws you a look.
You flinch, then shuffle back to your seat beside him.
Okay, girl, be calm.
But that's near impossible when you are internally freaking the fuck out.
Your thoughts race to find an excuse to leave. But the moment you turn toward Sukuna to speak, every thought evaporates—unlike the thick sweat beading along his tanned skin, your gaze zeroing in on a drop rolling lazily between his sculpted pecs.
You’d kill for a taste of that right now.
“You look good,” he finally says, causing you to jump, which only seems to amuse him.
You blink. He means you!?
Well… you suppose you can slip on your thanksgiving dress without a fight now. But you hadn’t really noticed—too busy splitting your time between school, the gym, and gooning yourself stupid over Sukuna.
Somehow, you’ve turned into a regular gym rat.
“You’ve been doing the sets I taught you, yeah?”
You nod quickly.
Sukuna doesn’t respond, his gaze unreadable as silence stretches between you. But you are stuck, frozen like a deer in headlights—fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
Unfortunately for you though, patience has never been a virtue of his.
“Tch.” Sukuna clicks his tongue, clearly fed up.
“Is that it? That all you’re gonna say for yourself?” His questions are intense as he eyes you down. “Didn’t take a freaky lil’ brat like you to be so damn shy.”
Hello!?
“Um, what—?”
Sukuna’s expression hardens further, his teeth sucking sharply as he leans in.
“Don’t bullshit me, brat. You’re into some kinda perverted stalker shit, right?”
Well…tea but damn, saying it like that makes you sound crazy.
“I—I don’t—what are you talking—”
“Careful.” Sukuna cuts you off with a sneer. “Lying’s not your strong suit.”
He shifts closer, thigh brushing yours, arm on the upper level bench draping behind you.
Dear god, he's so close you can smell him now.
The scent of his sweat curls around you like a chain, thick and oppressive in the heat, seeping into your pores.
The same scent that lives in the sock under your pillow. The tank you sleep in. The towel on your nightstand. The water bottle. All the stupid little trophies you stole like a greedy hoarding goblin.
“There are cameras in the gym,” Sukuna says casually—like he’s reciting policy, although his eyes never leave yours. “When my shit started going missing, I checked the footage.”
You would die on the spot right now if that was actually a viable option.
“I saw everything, woman” Sukuna spits, “You’re a fuckin’ freak. You should be locked up.”
Shitshitshit—is he actually going to call the cops!?
The sauna feels a thousand degrees hotter. Your instinct screams run—but you know you wouldn’t make it to the door if he decided to stop you.
“Ha, you know…Gojo called me into the office that day on purpose,” Sukuna adds, clicking his tongue, “He didn’t believe me that a quiet lil thing like you would be such a fuckin' weirdo at first, so he’d thought it’d be funny set a lil trap for ya.”
Your stomach drops… trap? Oh god, that day…
"Tch, a'course you fuckin' fell for it too—just like I knew you would…licked that groadie bench down like a slut."
But Sukuna, is unbothered by your falling apart, not softening his blows.
“You think I didn’t see you sniffing benches?”
“Licking the rim of my shaker bottle?”
“And that sock I dropped?” He snorts. “Wore that shit for five days straight. Smelled like rank ass.”
A broken sound slips out of you—half gasp, half whimper as you bury your face in your knees, trying to scrunch up in the tightest ball possible.
You can feel Sukuna looming closer though, his aura utterly overwhelming.
“Just admit.” Sukuna’s voice lowers, a bit gentler but not by much.
“You’ve been stealing my shit to flick your slutty little bean for three months straight. Figured you’d own it, now that I’m giving you a chance.”
Peer up at him from your knees, you look puzzled.
A chance??
“You, um… mean you're not mad?”
His grin widens, sharp teeth flashing.
“Oh, I’m fuckin’ pissed,” he says easily. “That some greedy, perverted brat’s too cheap to pay for more sessions, so she creeps on me and steals my shit like a freaked out leprechaun…”
You grip the edge of the bench, ready to run. Out of the sauna. Out of the gym. Out of the goddamn country. Nine months of prepaid membership? You’d flush it down the drain and never look back.
“…but,” Sukuna interrupts your spiral, licking his lips, “I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working. Like you’ve got my voice in that nasty little head of yours… telling you what to do.”
He leans in just slightly, voice dropping with heat.
“And that? That gets me hard as fuck.”
Your eyes drop. His shorts are tented—thick, obscene, stretching toward his thigh.
Pulling away from you, Sukuna leans back, spreading his arms along the bench behind you like he owns the place.
“Come here, brat.”
You freeze, just a beat too long—long enough to piss him off and before you know it Sukuna is grabbing you by the scruff of the neck, hauling you into his lap. Your towel slips in the process, falling around your hips.
But you don’t even care as his thumb presses beneath your jaw, tilting your face up to focus solely on him.
“Look at me, woman.”
Your throat tightens, holding his gaze, forced and trembling as your palms press flat to his chest and your bare pussy rests on his thick cock, still caged in his shorts—yet you still feel the twitch of it through the material.
The contact hits you like a fever, soaking into your naked body like fire. At long last, you are skin to sin, you imagined this more times in the last few weeks than you can count.
You can’t help the tremor that ripples through you.
Sukuna’s lip curls.
“So…”
SMACK.
His palm cracks against your ass, the punishing blow, has you biting down on your lip not to scream.
“You like the way I stink, huh, slut?”
Your bottom lip quivers and sick of holding it in, your degeneracy boils over in your admission.
“Oh fuckfuckfuck… yesss!”
God, that felt good. Like confession—but instead of relief, all it does is stoke the heat rolling through your body. You’re no sinner seeking redemption—you’re reveling in your own depravity.
Sukuna chuckles, pleased at your admission as his grip tightens at the back of your neck, yanking you forward until your face is buried in the thick curve of his raised arm.
Right into his funky pit. The epicenter of everything you’ve been chasing.
“Then get a good whiff, freaky-ass brat.”
And you do. Eyes fluttering shut, you bury your face in the muggy pocket of sweat and inhale—deep, greedy lungfuls that make your pussy clench helplessly around nothing.
Sukuna reeks of unfiltered masculinity. No deodorant. No pretense. Just thick heady pheomones—raw, musky and pungent.
You don’t care that you’re naked. Don’t care that you’re in public.
All you care about is getting more. More of him. More of that addictive stench that’s already rewired your addict brain.
“That’s it,” Sukuna says, “Just like that. Fucking knew a nasty brat like you’d melt.”
You whimper against his skin, but shame doesn’t stand a chance anymore—choked out by sheer, throbbing need.
This is your sickest fantasy made flesh.
You nuzzle deeper, nosing through the soaked pit, surprised by how smooth the skin is—just a faint dusting of pink fuzz tickling your cheek. The texture alone makes your clit throb.
A needy moan slips from your throat as your hips roll forward on instinct, grinding against the fat stiff ridge straining in his shorts.
Already dizzy and feral, you rut shamelessly—slick soaking through the fabric—like you’ve long since forgotten what the concept of dignity even is.
Sukuna growls, teeth clenched as your soppy cunny smears across his cock.
“Shiiit,” he grits out, voice rough as gravel. One big hand slips between your legs, fingers sliding languidly through your messy folds, far too composed compared to the frantic buck of your hips.
“You’ve been this wet the whole time?”
He snorts at the pitiful sound you make.
“What—never thought to get your fix straight from the source, huh? Fuckin’ scent junkie?”
You whine, helpless, hips jerking as he pushes a thick finger inside your perverted lil’ pussy.
“Where’s your shame, slut?” Sukuna jeers teasingly, “You want someone to walk in here and see you like this?”
You couldn’t care less.
You could die like this. And die happy.
Eager to show your gratitude your tongue drags wet and slow through the sweaty hollow of his pit, flicking, swirling and sucking at the flesh.
Your tongue swirls more obscenely at his praise—devouring the taste of him like you’ll never get another chance.
Exhaling hard, Sukuna knows if he doesn’t stop you, he’s going to fucking bust soon, just from your vulgar lil’ tongue in his pit and from the feral way you dry hump his cock like a deranged, funk-drunk perv.
“Say, brat?” Sukuna’s tone is laced with something dangerous but you’re too far gone to register, only groaning into his skin.
Sukuna loosens his grip on your neck just slightly to stroke the back of it, deceptively gentle.
“You do your warm-ups today? The ones I showed you?”
“Mmm—ah—” Your mouth breaks from his skin just long enough to mumble a blissed-out, “Always do~!”
“Good,” Sukuna chuckles, shaking his head “This shouldn’t break you then.”
Before you can blink, Sukuna yanks you from his pit.
He manhandles you face-down, ass-up on the bench, forcing your spine into a brutal arch.
There’s a rustle behind you—the sound of fabric hitting the floor.
That’s the only warning you get.
Then he slams in.
One brutal, bottomed-out thrust—balls deep—and the air rips straight from your lungs.
“Ngghh!—F-FUH!”
Your thighs spasm, cunt clenching tight as Sukuna rams straight into your G‑spot, slick pulsing out around his cock and soaking him to the heavy sack.
“Called it,” Sukuna snorts, smacking your ass, watching it ripple. “The crazy ones are always fuckin’ gushers.”
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Completely incapacitated, you quiver beneath him—already fucked too dumb by his veiny girth splitting you open. No time to brace. No chance to adjust.
Just reduced to a shell, a fucktoy for his use—and fuck, it feels sooo good.
“Quit squirmin’, woman,” Sukuna growls, landing another smack—harder this time—making even the cheek he didn’t hit jiggle.
You’re desperate to follow orders—but you barely know where you are anymore. The sauna’s heat blurs your vision, your brain melted by the fire in your core and the way Sukuna’s cock throbs inside you, turning your guts to mush.
“Tsk. Not stable enough—looks like you need a spot.”
Sukuna plants one foot, swinging the other up to rest on the center of your back, pinning you in a shape exactly to his liking. Locked into position at the perfect depth, angle, and tilt to pound into your spongy walls and pound straight into your womb.
“There,” he grunts satisfied, “Perfect fuckin' form.”
The sauna fills with the sound of sloshing flesh. You’re leaking from everywhere—sweat slicking your skin, tits dripping, cunt gushing around his cock. The bench beneath you is drenched, an obscene puddle collecting under your trembling limbs and dripping onto the floor.
It’s messy, it’s vile and it’s the hottest sex you'd ever had,
“Take it,” Sukuna roars. Spreading your ass cheeks wider, he hunches over you, crescent moons digging into your flesh for leverage lest he slips out of your slick cunt entirely.
“That’s it. Fuckin’—tight little thing, *puh*” Sukuna grits, spitting.
The fat wad of fluids hits the top of your crack, pooling with the sweat dripping off his brow and your own, rolling in rivulets down your back, dribbling down—all messily coalescing in the crack of your ass. The mixture bubbles over your hole as it flutters, struggling to take it in, but Sukuna’s thumbs keep it stretched open, ensuring it does.
Fuck what a filthy sight—it hasn’t even been that long and already his balls are tightening, wanting to explode in your crazy, stalker coochie.
“Look at you,” Sukuna pants, muscles twitching, the sauna’s heat finally catching up to even him. “This is the real training ya needed. Been too long since this freaked-out pussy had a good workout.”
“YESSSSS!” you cry, it feels so good, but it’s all too much. You’re seconds from blacking out.
Your hands claw at the bench, nails leaving streaks in the wood as Sukuna, removes his foot from your back, grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you upright, putting you in a headlock.
Each brutal thrust snaps your body forward, cheeks stinging with every slap of his hips against your ass.
“Sniff,” he orders. Thrusting harder with each word. “Breathe. It. All. In.”
But his arm's tight around your throat—you can’t breathe.
Everything collapses into sensation: the choke of his hold, his scent pouring over you, the heavy weight of his body pressing down, the wet flick of his tongue in your ear before he bites the shell just to hear you squeal.
“You wanted this,” he mocks, voice ragged. “Earned every inch, creepin’ on me like a filthy lil’ perv.”
The moment his palm smacks your swollen clit, your orgasm detonates.
Bruttally ripping through your body, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.
You’re sobbing in pleasure, helpless, as Sukuna swears under his breath—but doesn’t slow.
He fucks you through the aftershocks, pussy squeezing him in erratic, wet pulses that has him coming undone.
With a final, guttural grunt, Sukuna’s cockhead presses flush to your cervix, thick, hot ropes of white flood your womb, searing your insides until you’re dazed and seeing galaxies behind your lids. Keeping you pinned in the headlock, Sukuna holds you there until the worst of your spams subside, finally pulling out with a wet, heavy pop.
You’re half-conscious, limp from exertion—but Sukuna isn’t finished.
He lowers you onto your back, spreads your trembling legs, and drops between them to survey the looks of your battered, swollen cunt, still plugged full of his cum.
“You know,” Sukuna smirks, “You’re not the only one into musky shit, slut.”
You shiver as he licks his lips—then dives in, hungrily sucking his own cum out of your pussy, groaning low as the cocktail of scents flood his senses.
You have no idea how much time passes. Surely there’s no cum left—yet Sukuna’s still down there face buried deep like your folds like your pussy juice was the much needed recovery electrolytes his body craved after fucking you into the bench.
If you had the strength, you’d push him away.
But you don’t.
You just lie there, ruined and twitching, as he rips another body racking orgasm out of you.
Click.
Unexpectedly, the sauna door creaks open.
You can barely see now with all the sweat dripping into your eyes—but the voice is unmistakable.
“…Well, well.”
Gojo.
He’s standing in the doorway, a green smoothie in one hand, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“Oh,” he says, sipping through his straw. “Thought I heard some suspicious moaning through the vents. Wanted to make sure no one was dying back here.”
Panicked, you try to sit up—but Sukuna doesn’t let you. His arms lock tight around your thighs, dragging your ass back down onto the bench with a scowl.
He doesn't even look at Gojo.
Gojo snickers, lounging in the doorway. “I know I of all people shouldn’t judge but, Sukuna, buddy. The women’s sauna?”
“Unisex,” Sukuna grunts into your cunt. “You labeled it wrong on purpose, dickhead.”
“Guil-ty~,” Gojo sing-songs. “But hey—look at you! Finally got your dick wet in some crazy stalker pussy. I definitely did you a favor.”
“The both of you actually,” he drawls on, swirling the straw of his smoothie like a martini, “I did leave that trainer schedule out on purpose. Didn’t think you’d go full gremlin though, girliepop, but hey—looks like it paid off!”
A pathetic sob escapes you—half humiliation, half pleasure—especially when Sukuna tightens his grip on your thighs, holding you down like a meal that won’t stay still.
“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna snaps, surfacing just long enough to glare at Gojo’s smug ass. “You’ll scare her off. She’s jumpy enough.”
Gojo merely laughs it off.
“Nah, not this one,” he says, eyes glittering with mischief. “After indulging that freaky lil appetite? You’re the one who should be scared, Kuna~.”
But Sukuna clearly doesn’t give a fuck—he’s already back between your legs, this time sliding his thumb into your ass.
You jolt, thighs shaking violently, muffling a cry behind your hands as your body bucks against his mouth. Although, given the situation, you still are considering skipping town when all of this is over.
“Well, don’t stop on my account.” Gojo hums. “I’ll throw a cone outside so no one wanders in on your little… aroma therapy session~”
Just before disappearing, Gojo pauses in the doorway, faux-pouting.
“Oh—and next time, you fuck little miss agora hills? Invite me. Or I’m docking your pay for unauthorized client sessions—okay toodles~~!”
Click. The door swings shut behind him.
Sukuna doesn’t even look up.
Tch. Like hell he’s inviting that fruity-smelling bastard.
an. this was a hyperfocus brain obsession i had to thug out, soz. going back to work on elevator p2, freddy!sukuna and incel!naoya [if i didnt mention it no im not working on it right at this second, yes i do plan to finish it, please don't bug me about it :) ]
𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼? then please 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 or 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! you can also join my gen. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 or contribute to the 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨$𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐝.
synopsis . In which flirting with your tutors goes oh so horribly right wrong.
content . afab!reader, oral sex (f!receiving), forgotten tutoring sesh, dirty talk, a "hint" of chojo, they both talk you through it, squirting, inappropriate use of glasses(?), praise, degrading, men kissing, fake confidence, loots of teasing, hot guys w glasses, a bit of cockiness here and there, overstim, jealousy, they kinda fight over you (just a lil bit), flirting, etc.
word count . 7.4k || author's note: This is a repost from kamitv, if it looks familiar, that's why. banner art from "Hachisuka's Family Kotoribako".
With a soft clack to your kitchen countertop, your pencil couldn't have fallen from your fingers any faster. You can't do it anymore. You can't focus.
You should’ve known better than to invite two hot guys over to your place to study.
With Gojo sitting so closely to your right, lanky leg brushing over yours every now 'n then, his perfect hands soothing just past yours to point at something, and voice as calming and directive as they come. Not to mention how good he smelled. Whatever he was wearing oozed in this rich scent that made your head spin and your figure shift against the island stool you sat on..
Being the most recently spoken, he’s the first to notice your wavering focus. Looking at you with a gentle tilt of his head, "You uh, you alright?"
Your eyes flicker over to his own the moment he decides to part those naturally glossed lips of his again—gaze focusing solely on the faint, but evermore pretty curve that lifts the corners of his lips into a soft grin. Staring, gaping almost, your words come sputtering out past your lips, “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Jus’ can’t seem to focus.”
“Why’s that?” Comes chiming in from the man sitting to your left in a rasped tone that makes your back stiffen. If Gojo’s presence wasn't distracting enough, then you should maybe just ignore the way Choso's equally as curious about your lack of focus as he is.
One hot tutor is fine, but two? Yeah, you were fucked—and not in the way you’d like (yet).
“Well,” You roll your eyes over to your left and make contact with Choso’s curious pupils, one of his brows quirking just barely over the reading glasses sitting center at the bridge of his tattooed nose. “We’ve been at it for like two hours with no break.” You explain to the duo.
Gojo slips a notably scarred hand up to the bridge of his glasses and gives them the faintest push upward along his sharp nose. It was such a subtle adjustment and yet even more of your attention was captured anyway. Which is why you look back over to him and nearly flinch at the instant eye contact.
Those cerulean eyes of his are as sharp as ever as they scan over the entirety of your face. Gojo’s got scratches and scars all over his face, trailing down to his neck, and it makes you wonder what the hell he’s doing outside of class…
“We took a break earlier, no?” He asked, tipping his head further to the side to meet eyes with Choso for a hot second.
The brunette shrugs in agreement, “Pretty sure we did.”
Then both of them look at you and you sink back into your chair, crossing your arms over one another and searching the counter ahead for something-, anything else to settle your gaze onto instead of them. You felt like you were being stripped of every flimsy fabric clinging to your person and neither of them had even done anything aside from look at you, expecting some kind of logical explanation to come from you any moment now.
Though, you didn’t exactly have one. What are you supposed to say? ‘Oh, I can’t focus because both of you smell and look ridiculously good.’ As if.
Instead, you reply to them with a shrug of your own and lift your eyes upward in thought, “The break wasn’t long enough,” You explain with an irritated exhale. “All this studying is overworking my brain.”
Poking his lower lip out a bit, Gojo tuts, “Hmph. So, you wanna do something else?”
Your head turns to him and you blink. “Like what?”
A shade of pink instantly coats his cheeks and now he’s the one finding something on the table to focus his eyes on, “W-Well I dunno, I didn’t exactly have anything in mind…”
You let off a scoff and then quickly turn over to your left.
“Don’t look at me, I’m not the one who needed a break or suggested we do anything else.” Choso quickly breathes out before dropping his eyes to the book in front of him.
And this is exactly what you dealt with almost every other day for the past few weeks—both of them getting weirdly shy at the most absurd moments. It never made any sense to you. You didn’t even do anything; why were they the shy ones? Perhaps it was because they were in your apartment this time? Who knows.
With a sassed roll of your eyes, you push to stand up, “Well, you two should go ahead ‘n leave then...”
“What?” Gojo’s heard gasping dramatically as his head lifts to trail your every movement with his cerulean gaze, “But you have four hours with us.”
Then, before you could even try to get any sort of reply out past your lips, here comes Choso, lightly nudging you on your leg with the end of his pencil as he too looks up at you, “Yeah, you can’t just tap out on us halfway through.”
His words ring throughout the air for a hot second before you slowly look at him with perked brows, eyes searching his own for a direct clarification regarding the context in which he meant that.
Gulping, a shade of red coats the tips of his ears as he quickly turns his head to the side, “I-I don’t mean it like that, I just…”
While his words fade off, Gojo comes back in and suavely keeps up with whatever vibe had just entered the atmosphere between you three just now. “He could mean it like that if you wanted him to though,” He says with a shrug while leaning back against his rather uncomfortable stool.
Choso chokes and his doe-like brown eyes frantically fawn over to his tutoring partner, “What—”
“Seriously?” You breathe out, glancing back and forth between the two.
Both of them lock eyes with one another before redirecting their eyes back to you. Gojo’s got a smirk on his face but Choso looks nervous.
A soft exhale leaves Gojo’s nose and he leans up, moving to rest his head against his knuckles as he props his arm up against the countertop—glasses slipping down a bit with his movements, “Why do you look interested?”
You focus on him for a second and you think your brain begins to lag, “I-I’m not—”
“Oh.” Choso hums, sounding almost disappointed.
You redirect back over to him, “No, I mean-, oh my God,” Your eyes roll and you lift a single hand to wipe over your face, “Can you guys not do this?”
“Do what?” They ask in sync.
With an almost defeated sigh, you simply plop back down into your seat. It’s almost annoying how they can be so hot and yet so clueless at the same time. Or perhaps they were just pretending to be oblivious, who knows.
“Tappin’ back in?” Gojo teases, earning a glare from you. To which his lips curve up into a smirk and his eyes lower a little, “So you really are interested then?”
Well, it’s not like you ever said you weren’t, right? Honestly, look at the two guys for a second. Who wouldn’t be interested? On one hand, you have Gojo Satoru, a staggering six feet three inches tall, as clumsy as they come, eyes bluer than the Pacific, hair as soft ‘n fluffy as ever, and above all else; as sexy as a man could ever be.
Then… there was Choso. The complete opposite in terms of aesthetics. Long dark hair, chocolatey brown eyes, an inked face, a bit less clumsy but definitely looks shy as hell, and of course, just as handsome as your other tutor.
And of course, they both wore these annoyingly whorish frames—you weren’t sure if they were even prescribed or not but either way, the display of those slutty glasses resting so perfectly on both of their faces did nothing more than intrigue you to no end. Which is why you always leave these sessions feeling oh so distracted.
Eventually, you sigh and move to pull out your phone, checking the time briefly. “We have two hours left, right?” You ask softly.
“Sure do,” Choso replies, a sudden confidence sparking within his tone.
“Okay, so… let’s say I am interested,” You suggest with a gentle voice, the sound almost careful as you glance between the two guys. Their entire undivided attention was focused solely on you and fuck was it just as nerve-wracking as any other time they stared at you in sync. “...Now what?”
It’s quiet for a few beats, as if both men were trying to process what you just said and wrap their minds around it. The fact that your question came out so genuine took them both by surprise, despite their teasing.
Gojo’s the first to crack the silence since he’s the one who’s been egging this on the most, “Wait, w-what?” He stammers all of a sudden, trying not to flinch out of nervousness when you focus on him, and clearing his throat afterwards.
You lean toward him and crack a smirk. He’s kinda cute when he’s nervous, you could practically read it all over his face that he wasn’t expecting you to agree, “You heard me. I asked what happens now that I am interested?”
“Oh, I was uh,” He averts his eyes elsewhere, “I was just fuckin’ with you…”
Your expression falls flat, and you almost immediately grow irritated by the way he led you on like that. “Really? But, you were just so confident a few seconds ago,” The way you’re still looking directly at him is making this bothersome wave of heat creep up against his neck, blood rushing to his cheeks again as he unknowingly blushes, hard. “What happened, Satoru?”
“Please,” Gojo breathes out, clearing his throat to hide the near-submissive tone he’d just taken, “Don’t… don’t say my name like that.”
You blink. “Like what?”
Grumbling something beneath his breath, Gojo turns his head to look past you and at Choso—as if to silently request his help. Choso meets his gaze instantly and then your head turns back to the brunette, who feels his breath hitching in his throat with the intimidating eye contact you greet him with.
“What?” You breathe out, trying to figure out why both of them keep looking at each other like that. “One second you two are teasing me but then when I wanna go through with it, you both back out. Why?”
Bashfully, Choso moves a calloused hand to scratch at the back of his neck, “It was just some harmless teasing, we didn’t expect you to uhm… Well, I didn’t think you’d actually be interested.”
“Me neither,” Gojo throws in, “I just saw that look on your face and started saying whatever came to mind…”
You turn to him, “What look?”
A lump is suddenly caught in his throat and for whatever reason, talking to you is so hard now that he knows you’re interested in pressing forward with all the teasing. “It’s in your eyes,” He murmurs to you, “You start looking away from us and then your tone softens as if you’re afraid to get the words out—like you’re afraid to let us hear you.”
Batting your lashes at the man, you can’t help but sit there and stare at him all dumbfoundedly. He… pays attention to you that much? This is the same guy who was just blushing like an idiot two seconds ago, right?
“Y-Yeah,” Of course Choso’s throwing his two cents in next, as if he only gains confidence after Gojo says something worth piggybacking off of. “But then you’ll do that thing with your eyes and look at us like you wanna…”
“Wanna what?” You press. You were finally getting somewhere with this. It seemed like acting clueless here would be your best bet.
He rolls his shoulders back a bit in an attempt at maintaining his confidence before just barely meeting your expectant eyes, “You give this, like, seductive look. Like you wanna eat us alive, and not in a cannibalistic way.”
Snorting, you can’t help but break out a smile at that. “You can just say I look at you like I wanna fuck, y’know.”
His head turns away entirely, and you catch just how reddened his ears are.
“...It’s a bit intimidating,” Gojo tells you, “I prefer the other way you look at me.”
You go to turn back to him, but just as you do, you’re met with him standing now, towering over you in a way that makes you feel small—despite the pink still decorating that angelic face of his.
Gojo leans down a little to you and tilts his head, “Like that, I like that expression.”
You simply gape up at him, “Why?”
You can see his confidence faltering a bit once your question hits his ears but, he's trying… “Well,” Gojo lets his eyes trail along your face before shrugging, giving his best attempt at sounding like he knows what he’s doing. “It’s hot.”
“Yeah?” You suddenly purr, making him want to fall to his knees before you all over again. One change in your tone, and he’s ready to adhere to your every wish and desire in the blink of an eye.
You open your mouth to tease him some more but the sound of your chair moving against the floor behind you makes you angle your head back to see Choso standing and drawing himself closer to the two of you. “That’s not fair,” He pouts a little, leaning in closer to you. “I wanna see the expression Satoru gets to see.”
It can be a bit overwhelming to have two hot guys standing so close to you like this, both gazing at you as if your every faint facial shift was the thread holding together their very lifeline. Slowly, Choso moves a hand around to tip your head back to him fully and his body grazes your backside in the process.
Whispering, “Is this it, Satoru?” Choso asks.
Gojo tilts his head a little more to get a better look at the way you’re holding eyes with Choso and then he nods, “Yeahh, that’s the look.”
You gulp and Choso lets a hum vibrate deep against his throat, “Then you’re right,” His fingers start slipping down your jawline and to your neck as he leans in a little more, “It is hot.”
Gojo lifts a careful hand next and finds his fingers taking your chin into his hold and pulling your attention back to him. “Hey,” He coos, “Don’t forget about me, yeah?”
You swallow thickly. You could feel Choso creeping even closer behind you, the tip of his nose soon grazing the side of your neck while Gojo remained in front of you—staring down at your lips completely unashamed.
“You said you were interested, right?” Gojo asks, closing whatever distance remained between his frame and your own.
You could feel your body heating up already just from finding yourself sandwiched in between the two guys like this. How did you end up here again…?
You nod, just barely. “Yeah, but are the two of you just teasing me again or…” Gojo slips the tip of his thumb up to trace the outline of your lower lip and you almost forget to finish your statement. “Or are you ready to follow through this time?”
“Depends,” Gojo cracks a smirk you’ve never seen on him before and then weighs himself close enough so that his minty breath is tickling the skin of your lips, “Do you want us to follow through?”
Before giving you the chance to reply to that, Choso slithers his touch down to your waist and gives you a featherlight squeeze, “You really wanna know how long you can last with us before tapping out?” He asks shyly, referring to the earlier statement that started this whole thing, “Y’know we’re not gonna let you give up halfway through.”
Gulping, “I think…” Suddenly, your hands start moving, and you place one overtop of Choso’s, and the other slips up a bit to tug on Gojo’s blue cardigan. “Both of you should have a little more faith in me.”
And then you’re pushing your lips against Gojo’s and he’s letting out a whorish moan into your mouth—both caught off guard and relieved at the sensation of finally getting to feel the same lips he shamefully stares at during every study session. You kiss the man like you’re hungry for him and it makes his knees weak in seconds, mind spinning at the reality of finally being able to kiss you.
When you do pull away, it’s only to quickly turn your head back to Choso and crash your lips onto his, readjusting your hands against both of them to tug them closer to you by their shirts.
While your lips work against Choso’s, he’s letting off this whine into your mouth as if he’d never been touched before—especially with the way you were holding onto his shirt to keep him from pulling away. All as Gojo angles his focus to your neck and feels your own little groans vibrating against your throat in the midst of receiving double the attention.
Gojo fights the urge to pull your lips back to his own and you feel his mouth spread over your skin just mere seconds before he bites down. In surprise, you end up gasping in Choso’s mouth and he uses that as an opportunity to slip his tongue in. In that moment you felt like you needed some kind of control here.
Choso was pushing deeper into your mouth and Gojo was leaving marks all over your neck. Naturally, you let your hand reach down and grab the twitching bulge Gojo’s been hiding for far too long now. At that, he snatches his mouth away from your neck with a reddened face and a hitched gasp.
His lashes bat and he lets his eyes fall to your hand that’s trailing the outline of his hard cock. “Fuck,” Gojo breathes, falling right back into your neck and letting his hips rock into your hand while you touch him.
Your other arm wraps around Choso’s neck and you feel him smile into the kiss for only a split second and then his hand meets your throat to keep you from pulling away this time. Gojo adjusts slightly and presses small kisses into your shoulder before moving as far as to kiss Choso’s fingers.
It’s only because of that as to why you feel Choso’s hand leave you and he finally breaks the kiss. When your eyes open, you find Choso’s eyes focused just past you and your head oh-so-curiously turns just to see Gojo sucking on the tip of his thumb now. You unintentionally squeeze his cock through the layers of his clothing and Gojo’s moans before parting his lips and taking Choso’s thumb into his mouth fully.
“Shit,” Choso whispers, pressing the pad of his thumb against Gojo’s tongue to watch the unbelievably slutty expression the man makes in reaction.
In the midst of that, you let your hand pull away from Gojo’s crotch and try to slide it past his waistband. Just when the faintest bit of your fingers graze his bare skin, he tugs his mouth away from Choso’s hand and turns right into you to distract you with another kiss.
While his lips run over yours, he takes your wrist and instead guides you over toward Choso, who takes your hand and drags it down his body until you reach his erection. “I need your attention too, y’know,” He comments, feeling the way you respond by running your hand over his outline just like you did with Gojo.
Though, it almost seemed like you were trying to feel the difference between the two. Especially with the way you smile into your current kiss.
The moment you do, Gojo tugs away and scoffs. “You’re having too much fun with this,” He whispers.
Choso’s lightly pressing his hips into your palm but he’s nodding, “Way too much fun.” He adds on.
Despite their collective realization, both of the men are panting and blushing a bit more than they even realize. They both look as though this is the most they’ve felt of a woman in forever and the mix of starvation and desperation in their eyes is driving you insane.
You open your mouth to say something against their claims but Gojo speaks before you can, “You can feel how badly we want it but..”
Choso picks up right where Gojo leaves off, “Makes’ us wonder how worked up all this has you.”
You’re swallowing something down before you even realize you are, probably nerves as you feel your face heat up. You think you liked them both a little bit more when they were the nervous ones. Taking a deep breath, “I–”
“Show us,” Gojo cuts off.
To which Choso leans closer, “Please?”
——
It never takes much for you and you weren’t exactly the strongest soldier.
Only a few moments later and you find yourself in your living room with the two men now, in quite the position, as well.
Now sitting in Gojo's lap as he holds your legs open, you watch with heavy batted breath as Choso lowers himself down onto his knees in between your perfectly parted thighs.
Gojo's fingers soothe over the inner parts of your legs, watching the way your cunt twitches cutely against the soddened fabric of your panties and he chuckles. His warm breath tickles your ear and you're already squirming against him, "Looks like you've been cravin' this for a while now, huhh?" He utters behind the shell of your ear.
Your jaw falls open a little and all you can do is gasp at the feeling of Choso hooking his eager fingers around the lace of your panties and giving the fabric a polite tug, soon revealing your gorgeous cunt to both of their greedy eyes.
"She had to have been," Choso hums as his eyes rake over the slick dribbling so prettily out of your pulsing pussy. You just barely catch the way he stuffs your panties into his pockets before leaning in close and taking a strong inhale of your scent.
You shift in Gojo's lap again and he chuckles, "That was kinda hot, wasn't it?" He asks you. The worst thing about the situation you've found yourself in has to be the fact that you felt the wild jump of Gojo's lengthy cock under the curve of your ass.
Turning your head away, you let off another sigh, "Y-Yeah, I guess..." You murmur, earning a scoff from Gojo.
Suddenly a hand is meeting your jaw and he's turning your head back into place, "Don't do that, bring back the confidence you had earlier. C'mon, tell Cho' how pretty he looks down there, won't you?"
Choso gulps at the sound of that and his eyes so gently flick up to you, the natural plea that rests so perfectly in those dark brown pupils of his making your body react with another filthy drip of arousal. Then the brunette has the nerve to give you this innocent lil tilt of his head and you swear you can feel a sense of cockiness oozing off of him all of a sudden.
Your lips spread to try and follow Gojo's instructions but you get a bit distracted by the way Choso turns to kiss your inner thigh, trailing said kisses up until his lips are grazing over your drooling cunt.
And of course, seeing all of this, Gojo only wants to make things all the more difficult for you so he leans into your neck and kisses you too. Then his hands pull your legs up a bit more, forcing you to spread open even further. At that, Choso moves in and quickly latches his lips onto your folds, giving them one firm suck to taste.
Gojo's tongue is felt darting out against the skin of your neck and you swear your entire body is on fire right now. The moan that leaves your throat as Choso begins to drag his tongue lazily between your soaked hole and as Gojo redirects his hands up to your tits is rather pathetic.
You'd forgotten all about the little direction Gojo had given you and all you could focus on was the way Choso's mouth felt clinging onto your pussy as if it were the sweetest taste to ever hit his tongue and the way Gojo rolled and pinched your nipple in between his fingers, pressing hot kisses all into the side of your neck simultaneously.
It was too much attention in too many places all at once. And that was just the foreplay.
Soon, Gojo is messily unbuttoning your shirt and exposing your tits to the confined study room, grabbing a handful of your breasts and fondling them against his palms before his voice meets your ears again.
“I wonder how many of these tutoring sessions you’ve spent imagining this,” He whispers, tipping his head to the side a bit to get a good look at the rather starved Choso in between your legs. “All those times you were in a daze, is this what you were thinking about? Having us like this?”
Choso’s lips pry away from you and he quickly replaces them with a rude thrust of his two fingers into your squelching cunt, your arousal dripping all messily off of his skin as he lifts his head and focuses on your expression.
He watches the way you struggle to get out words instead of moans and it only makes the corner of his lips twitch.
You let out a bated breath and both men are hanging off every sound and syllable that’s leaving your lips, “N-No, I… fuck, I’ve never-”
Choso curls his thick fingers against your sopping walls and tilts his head innocently at you, “Don’t lie now. Surely you didn’t get this wet from a couple of kisses,” He hums, voice a pitch deeper than you remember. This time when you look at him, you can’t help but notice the bit of fog building up on the bottom edge of his glasses.
Your back arches up from Gojo’s chest a bit and you could practically hear him smiling behind you. “I think she did, Cho.” He chuckles right next to your ear.
Watching Choso’s fingers dive in and out of you, you’re left sitting there forced to listen to the two exchange words as if you’re not even there. Choso merely takes his free hand and pushes his frames higher up onto his tattooed nose bridge before flashing a wet smile, “Yeah? Think’ she’s that sensitive?”
Gojo lets his hands meet your legs and he stretches you out even wider, grinning, “Mhm, look at her. Falling apart over just your fingers.” He teases before turning his head to kiss the side of your face.
Your mouth was busy opening and closing every few seconds but the only sound that actually escaped your throat was one pathetic moan after the other.
Catching sight of this, Choso pouts as if he were mocking you, “She can’t even speak, aww.” He coos with a hypnotic curl of his fingers inside you, letting them caress spots you swear you could never reach on your own.
This time you let out a groan and your head falls back on one of Gojo’s shoulders, “Don’t… patronize me.. ah-, assholes.” You just barely manage out.
To which Choso scoffs, “She says while moaning.”
“Shut up.” You huff right back at him.
And then of course Gojo comes right back to your ear, whispering, “Shut him up, sweetheart.” Before moving his hand to yours and directing your fingers back into the dark tresses of Choso’s hair.
You feel the man’s digits falter inside you at the touch alone and a small gasp slips past his lips the moment he feels you grasping at his hair and forcing him back down in between your legs. The next thing you feel is his tongue on your clit again, greeting it with a needy lather of drool and one messy flick as if he belonged exactly there.
“There you go, atta’ girl.” Gojo’s voice is hitting you again and his hand leaves your own, “Doesn’t that feel so much better?”
You’re nodding almost dumbly for a second, mumbling a hardly coherent, “Uhuh.” Before Choso starts spelling something out with his tongue while his fingers are busy drawing out the messiest of squelches from your cunt.
Not that you ever get time to focus on only one thing with these two though, “And what about me?” Gojo starts once more, his hands at your sides now—trailing up, “Will I get the same treatment if I keep talking, hm?”
You scoff, “You’d like that too much.”
He rolls his eyes and then nods his chin at Choso, “And you think he doesn’t?”
“He-,” Just as you’re about to work out some sort of argument to that, though you’re not sure what, Choso drags his fingers out of you and quickly replaces them with the entirety of his mouth. He lets out a heavy groan against you and you lose all train of thought. “Oh fuck, right there..”
Gojo, ever the drama king, starts frowning. His hands are busy fondling your tits now but he’s far too greedy for that to give him any sort of satisfaction in all this, “I’m starting to feel left out, y’know.” He tells you.
You glance at him and with only one look into your eyes, he could tell you were far too wrapped up in pleasure to manage out any sort of solution to that. Even so, you do try to get something out even with your voice wavering with moans, “Satoru, I–”
“Are you now?” Choso’s heaving out all of a sudden.
The man who was just on the verge of locking his jaw trying to get more of your taste down his throat quickly receives the attention of both of you. He’s licking at his lips and you quickly notice how his eyes are trained entirely on Gojo like he was about to be his next object of starvation.
You hear the way Gojo gulps and his voice is almost quieter, “Just a little, yeah.”
Nodding, Choso leans down one more time to sloppily kiss your dewy pussy, “Mh.” He hums before sitting almost all the way up, “C’mere then.”
“W-What?” Gojo stammers, your tits still in his palms.
“I said come here.” The brunette repeats more sternly.
Maybe you imagined this part but you swear you feel Gojo’s cock jump against your ass. And before he can even try to move, the impatient Choso is already leaning up toward the two of you and taking Gojo’s jaw in one hand—the other not failing to make up for the lack of his mouth with two fingers diving right back into you. Brows furrowed and pout ever-so-present on your face, you watch closely as Choso presses his lips into Gojo’s.
Then, Gojo’s hips roll upward to grind into you slightly as Choso shares your taste with him.
The kiss they share is absolutely nasty and depraved on both ends. Choso’s tongue is sinking into Gojo’s mouth and you hear both of them groaning against one another. You sit there, quite literally in between the two, watching the way Gojo’s drooling into it and the way their lips glide over one another sensationally.
Choso’s fingers trash at your insides with each second his lips remain on the man behind you and you eye the way he swallows up every slutty sound that washes out of Gojo’s throat.
By the time they finally pry away from one another, you think you’ve just about soaked the entirety of Gojo’s lap.
The brunette lets out a pant and you think this is the most confident you’ve seen him since-, well, ever. “Still feeling left out, pretty boy?” He asks softly. Gojo shakes his head, cheeks as flushed out as ever, and Choso lets out a scoff. Then he glances down at his fingers and slips them out of you just to smile at the sight. “Good because someone here really enjoyed that.”
“Hm?” Gojo hums lightly, letting his eyes follow Choso’s. As he sees the sheer mess you’ve left all over Choso’s hand, he laughs breathlessly. “Ohh, you liked that huh?”
And just like that you were right back where this all started, in between the two of them and unable to focus on anything. This time, instead of studying, it was the raw attention and focus you were receiving from the two of them at the same time that made your brain feel all numb.
All you could do was nod, refusing to open your mouth in fear of whatever sinful noise was destined to pour out of you.
“Of course you did.” Gojo comments.
Choso lets out a little hum of his own and pulls away from both you and Gojo, “Good thing we’re not done with you yet.” He says before diving his fingers past his lips and licking off the mess you’d left there.
You hear Gojo gulp behind you, “...We’re not?”
To which Choso cocks a brow, “Don’t you wanna taste directly from the source? Bet’ you she’s even sweeter after she cums.”
——
And that’s roughly how you end up where you are now—lying back flat against the couch with Gojo getting his taste of you. One could argue that he’s a far messier eater than Choso is and in a way, that’s almost better.
If you thought Choso had you losing your mind, you think Gojo’s a little bit worse. Especially since he spent all that time waiting and watching. Gojo’s breath mingles hotly into the drooling folds of your cunt and he only uses a single hand to keep you spread open for his tongue to work against you.
Not only is he messier but he’s also nastier, pulling away for only seconds just to let a fat glob of spit trickle down in between your slit. And after each time, you’d watch the way he flashes this drunken smile before diving right back in.
Choso, also not wanting to be forgotten, has been busy holding your legs open and whispering softer praises into your ear. He’d taunt you with murmurs of, “Whose tongue do you like better?” and, “You’re so loud. Does it really feel that good?”
Each question goes pretty much unanswered since you’re too busy moaning and writhing around Gojo’s tongue but at some point Choso gets a bit jealous. You had enough energy to respond to Gojo before when he was talking to you.
Hence why Choso slides a hand down and starts thumbing at your clit in a slight attempt at gaining your attention again. Does it work? Not really since you feel Gojo sliding his mouth up and kissing both Choso’s recently added thumb and your clit at the same time.
The motion seems to catch Choso off guard and he glances down at Gojo, “C-Can’t you focus on one thing at a time?” He unintentionally stammers.
Instead of answering, Gojo takes that greedy mouth of his and angles it further onto Choso’s thumb before it slips past his lips and into his mouth completely. Before you could whine at the abrupt loss of attention where you were currently making a mess of your couch—Gojo’s multitasking and shoving two long fingers inside you.
Both you and Choso have the same flushed reaction as you two watch Gojo put on the sluttiest little show. His other hand meets Choso’s wrist and he starts sucking on his thumb as if he were needy for something more all whilst scissoring his digits against your sappy walls.
Choso opens his mouth to say something but he’s cut off by Gojo pulling away from his thumb all of a sudden, “If you wanted my attention so badly, you should’ve just asked for it.” He calls out, tilting his head a little, “Y’know, instead of getting in the way of my meal.”
You glance up at Choso and watch the way his face reddens as he snatches his hand away from Gojo. “I-I didn’t–”
Choso’s cut off again, this time by watching Gojo lower his mouth to you once again and give your pussy the lewdest slurp as he suckles your taste into his mouth. Gojo looks down and watches the way your body spasms in reaction and he scoffs, “See? Look at what you were interrupting, Cho.”
He grits his teeth in reaction and wants to say something snarky in response but he instead feels something wet drop onto his other hand. Looking down, Choso realizes he was drooling and quickly wipes his mouth off.
Now, whether or not he was drooling because of the way Gojo just sucked his thumb off or because of the way Gojo was now moaning into your cunt was completely unbeknownst to him. Either way, Gojo had something to do with it and it was starting to make Choso feel embarrassed.
Wiping his mouth off all aggressively, he hears a slight chuckle coming from you and his eyes fall onto your face immediately.
Letting out a small bit of laughter, you end up pointing at his face, “You’re blushing, Cho.”
Said blush only worsens when you point it out and he groans, “You have no room to speak. I just watched you cum on his tongue three times in a row.”
Gasping at a sudden smack against your cunt from Gojo’s hand, your back arches up and the hand you’ve got down in his hair gives his head a mean tug. You hear the way Gojo whines but your focus is still slightly on teasing Choso.
Breathlessly, “A-And you… hah… came untouched,” You point out.
Baffled, Choso’s brows push together and he looks down at himself just to see yet another embarrassing sight. His eyes flick up to you and he opens his mouth but you’re reaching for him and pulling him down before he can try to explain himself.
And then your lips are on his and you’re using the kiss to drown out your whines and whimpers due to Gojo’s persistent lapping. It’s all messy with the way you’re letting yourself melt onto Choso’s lips while Gojo’s thick tongue works you toward yet another orgasm.
At some point you bite on Choso’s bottom lip and he pulls away from your mouth, wincing in surprise. When his eyes open and fall on you, he’s met with the sight of your body trembling a little and you look so blissfully fucked out.
He glances down at Gojo for a moment, who looks like he hasn’t moved an inch within the past few minutes and is currently ignoring the weak push of your hand against his head.
“Choso,” You whisper, earning his eyes on you again.
He raises a brow in faint concern and lets his head weigh to the side a little, “What? Doesn’t that feel good?” He coos.
You’re gaping at the man for only a second longer before he watches your eyes roll back and your body arch off the couch, “I-It’s too much, I-I can’t… mgh, I’m gonna-”
“Again?” Choso grins.
You shake your head, “N-No-, fuck. This is-, hnngh-, d-different.”
“Different?” He repeats, quickly turning to Gojo who’s all but lost in eating you out.
He’s branding his tongue into your pussy at this point, having seared his name into it multiple times—first and last. When Choso looks at the man again, he’s met with Gojo’s pussydrunken blue eyes. Most of his face is soaked in remnants of you and he’s stuffed his tongue into you enough times to leave all of his jaw and neck soaked.
Pulling away just barely, Gojo mumbles, “She’s gonna squirt.” And then smiles and dives right back in.
You feel his tongue lull around your clit in messy circles and his drenched fingers slip right back into you again—printing his fingertips against your g-spot and grinning through every second of it.
It’s a messy repetition of tugging his fingers out, sucking every drop off of them, and then sliding them back in for a while and your legs are really trembling now. You could feel yourself clenching and slavering up just about everything in between your legs at the moment.
It’s not until Gojo removes his hand entirely and starts grinding against the couch for friction while only using his mouth again that Choso shakes out of his little daze and clears his throat.
“Shit, Satoru move over.” Without waiting for a response, he’s quickly shifting himself toward Gojo and nearly shoving the guy over just to make some room for himself—your legs flailing further open just to fit both men in between them.
Gojo’s far too drunk in lust to argue with Choso but you see the frustration in his white furrowed brows when Choso angles his head closer and takes your clit into his mouth. Gojo lets off an annoyed groan against the puffy lips of your pussy, and the two are practically fighting over space with their tongues now.
With both of them on you, you don’t have room to say anything or even speak at all since you’re left whimpering and holding onto both of their heads—weakly pushing at them and yet lifting your hips to their faces simultaneously.
Not even a minute with both of their mouths on you passes before you’re finally finally squirting like they both seemed to want you to. It’s only then that they pull their faces away a little—only enough to watch the way you shake and enough for you to quite literally wet up their glasses.
“Fuuck,” Gojo chokes out for the first time in what felt like forever, voice all husky and eyes just watching the filthy mess you’re making just a few inches away from him.
Choso’s got the same surprised expression on his face and even in your panting and huffing, you manage to catch a glimpse of the way you, quite literally, wet up the entirety of both of their glasses.
By the time you’re done, your body is quivering and your arms have found themself over your face—hiding your expression from your two tutors who were still staring at you in pure awe.
Eventually, you hear one of them chuckling and lift your arm just a little to look. Gojo’s got the biggest smile on his face and his glasses are in his hands now, using the bottom of his shirt to clean them off. “I can finally scratch that off my bucket list.”
You and Choso both blink in innocent unison. The brunette looks at you for a second and then back at Gojo, “Cross… what off of your bucket list?”
Gojo holds his glasses up and his smile seems to widen, “Using these for something other than to see.” He says with a small shrug.
Choso lifts his hand to his frames and takes them off just to look at them. He quickly finds himself admiring the wet mess you’ve made of them and it clicks in his head exactly what Gojo was talking about.
“Huh. Hey uh,” He looks over to you and squints a little so he can tell whether or not you’re still covering your face, and when he spots you looking at him, he smiles. “After we clean you up, can I take a picture of them like this?”
You don’t think your brain is all the way there yet so you find yourself just staring at him instead of answering—trying to figure out if he actually just asked you that.
“…And after he’s done with that, can I lick them off?” Gojo adds in.
At that, you let your legs fall shut and turn to face the couch instead of them. Letting out a steady reply for the first time in what had felt like forever, “You’re both sluts—do whatever you want.”
Choso smirks, “Hot.”
And Gojo bites his bottom lip, “Can we start with that during our next ‘study’ session?”
Oh yeah, that’s right. You were supposed to be studying with these two…
IT's complicated! (starring nerd!choso x boss!reader)
summary: Choso, a shy IT specialist at Jujutsu Industries, has had a crush on you for years. So when your computer breaks down and you ask him for his expertise, he is determined to try his very hardest to please (and maybe, just maybe, in more ways than one).
content: MDNI 18+, afab!reader, boss!reader, nerd!choso, alt!choso, virgin!choso, no use of “y/n”, yearning, crushing, verrrryy down bad choso, hair-down choso, pierced choso, glasses choso, nerd!gojo feature, nerd!geto feature, porn with lots of plot, choso sees your nudes and lowkey freaks out (in a good way), oral sex (m!receiving, f!receiving), handjobs (m!receiving, f!receiving), suspicious activities under the desk, squirting, messy, secretive, dumbification, office sex, semi-public sex, first times, breeding kink, etc.
word count: 9.2k (idek how this happened oops)
author's note: AHH this is my first ever post on here! I am so excited to share it with you all ☺️! all credits of the above pictures go to their creators! First picture credits is to the talented @einruji07 on X! Also, MDNI!! 18+ only. If you are not 18+ I *will* block you.
choso's friday rotation: Sleepyhead - Jutes, I Want You By My Side - Yuragi, Sextape - Deftones, Drunk in Love - Guitar Version Looped - NovaX, Chokehold - Sleep Token, The Walls - Chase Atlantic, House of Balloons / Glass Table Girls - The Weeknd
The morning genuinely could not have gone rougher.
Choso’s 6AM alarm didn't go off, which meant his meticulous morning routine (fixing his hair into its signature bun, tirelessly trying to wash the sleep from his eyes, and buying Toji’s shitty discounted coffee from the place next door) was effectively scrapped.
The train from his neighborhood to Chiyoda City was packed full, and he could’ve sworn at least six different elbows dug into his back on purpose throughout the entire ride.
And of course, the cherry on top was that it was a Friday, which meant the Tokyo branch of Jujutsu Industries was serving free breakfasts today. He knew that as soon as the clock hit 9am, employees from every department would be descending down from their respective floors and into the bumbling cafeteria.
It was ritual; it was community.
It was Kamo Choso's personal hell.
Sure, he could avoid all of this - and his natural instincts would be that he would. But there is something uniquely humbling about being an underpaid IT specialist living in one of the most ridiculously overpriced apartments in Shibuya, that his usual quiet, asocial self could set aside his general temperament for some Friday freebies.
He stepped into the already lengthy line, keeping his sleepy eyes glued to his phone screen, his music set to a concerning level, and his earbuds on noise-cancellation.
He anticipated this would take fifteen minutes max. Eight to move through the line. Two to figure out what he wanted and grab what he needed. Five to absolutely book it up the stairs to his 4th-floor cubicle. That's what he anticipated. He could do this.
What he did not anticipate was accidentally knocking into, and subsequently flat-tiring, you.
You, with your sensual curves and smooth skin and sharp eyes. You, who took one look at the scuff mark he made on your very expensive-looking heels and laughed. You, who, as you now fully turn to face him, smelled faintly of warm rice and deep vanilla, spiced quince and smoked cinnamon.
You.
You, you, you.
The girl he has been harboring the most, painful, humiliatingly pathetic crush on for the past two and a half years.
A playful grin formed on your plush lips. Your eyes began to scan him over, assessing. The small stud above his brow glinted to you as if in greeting. His hair, which normally was tied up, was down today, the thick black frames he wore slightly obscuring the pinkish scar that ran across his nose, and his dark lashes were fluttering against his pale skin in a way that made him look so… soft.
Choso could feel his eyes begin to widen as you took him in. His heart mobilized to his throat, his nape began to prick with cool droplets of sweat. Was he blushing right now or was it just hot? The bustle of the line all but faded away to him.
You began to speak, and it took him several moments before realizing that the pitched ringing in his ears were in fact, not his own deluded creations, but his headphones. His ridiculous, small, obscured headphones that were actively on noise-cancellation mode.
You were talking to him, and he couldn't hear you.
Now, this wasn't the first time you and Choso ever crossed paths. The two of you started at the company on the same day, and the both of you were partners during the week-long onboarding program. You captivated him with your casual boldness, magnetic presence, and how just one word from you could command the attention of the entire group.
He surprised you with his low voice, observing eyes, sharp features, and the way that he spoke his words with the kind of deep earnestness of someone who has never been burned.
You were intrigued.
He was captivated.
By the time the onboarding week finished, all the new hires went around the room stating their departments and their title. When it came your time to speak, and the words "Portfolio Management Director" left your oh, so pretty lips, Choso could feel the barriers going up before he could even fully comprehend it.
When everyone began to filter out of the room, mingling with the peers they grew acquainted with during the program, all he could do was keep his head down. At the time, all he could think about was how foolish he was to hope that there could ever even be a small possibility with you.
He ended up leaving without saying goodbye (admittedly not his best decision), and you watched him go with the smallest traces of hurt squeezing your chest.
And so that's why Choso finds himself here, on this Friday morning two and a half years later, flustered, embarrassed, and scrambling to string together one coherent sentence for you.
This was worse than his own personal hell. This was abuse and torture wrapped up in one single, harrowing blow.
Choso could see you had stopped talking and were looking at him expectantly now.
And honestly? You could handle scuff marks and damaged shoes. You could handle snarky colleagues and misogynistic execs. You've fought for your spot (if only everyone could've seen the state you left Zenin Naoya in...) and swiftly climbed your way up the corporate ladder. You were one of the youngest, and most favored, female directors at the company. You could handle your own and pretty much anything thrown at you - but that did not mean you took kindly to being ignored, especially by the regretfully attractive IT geek that somehow left such an impression on you all those years ago.
The easy smile you wore slowly began to fall with every passing second of his silence. Behind you, the line began to march forward.
Choso was immobilized. He had to act, and fast. In his fantasies, he would've approached you with the kind of slickness and sex-appeal that Sukuna Ryomen (the notorious office rake) was said to employ at the weekly happy hours (allegedly, according to Satoru). Choso would have wow'd you with his intellect, he would have made you laugh. He would've apologized for his initial lameness after the onboarding debacle all those years ago. He would've found a way to finally get your number, dammit!
Instead, all the words he wanted to say were competing for a spot of your attention, and something halfway between a choked groan and garbled sputtering was all that could escape his mouth.
Your eyes slightly widened.
Choso wished for death to strike him.
He could feel the light tapping of the people behind him, urging him to move.
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. A mix of something halfway between sympathy and disappointment flashed in your eyes, but you turned around too quickly before he could decipher it. And so he was left standing there, in the middle of the cafeteria with bated breath and a palpitating heart, as you walked up to the continental buffet without so much as a glance back.
God, he was truly pathetic. And also so, so incredibly fucked.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
"Oh now that's fuckin' gold-" Satoru was barking at this point, laughing so hard his glasses slid down his nose, "-even I'm not THAT bad" his howls echoed throughout the entirety of the IT department's floor. Even Suguru, who was always so neutral in these situations, was chuckling and nodding in agreement as he listened to Choso's embarrassing retelling of this morning's encounter.
Choso's face twisted in misery.
If he was lamer than Gojo Satoru, who was generally considered as the office's "lamest", then he should just resign the rest of his life to virgin-hood now.
Gojo: +10
Choso: -67
With a grumble of the most unsavory curses he knew, and a swift kick to Gojo's long shins (that, satisfyingly, shut him up), Choso got up from his desk for his shift at the tenth-floor IT help station.
Which, to both his happiness and dismay, was where all the higher-ups worked. Where you worked.
He rubbed his face once, his glasses lifting under his fingers, before staring up at the elevator ceiling.
"Please pull yourself together, man" he whispered under his breath.
The tenth floor IT "station" was moreso a glorified closet, in his opinion. The only attribute that made it a “station” was the one, small service window that one would normally see at drive-thru’s. All Choso had to do for the next 3-hours was sit behind the window and wait for the digital clock to hit 5pm. And normally, his time at the counter would go as it always did: quiet and uneventful.
So, was it divine intervention or cruel punishment that led you to walk over to the window at 4pm, your heels clicking against the polished floor as you stood before him for the second time that day?
"Mr. Kamo," you said in greeting. You were still a little peeved from the situation that occurred earlier in the day, and your usual easy tone was replaced with something a touch cooler.
"H-Hi," he breathed. Slick. He coughed before correcting himself, "what can I do for you?"
His eyes flickered up at you and then down to his fidgeting hands. He knew he needed to explain what happened earlier. His earbuds, his chronic-lameness, his affinity with making a fool out of himself whenever you were within a four-meter radius.
You sighed. "Seems like my laptop decided to give out on me," your lips formed a slight pout and your brows furrowed in cute concern. His heart thumped in his throat. "Think you can fix it?" You raised your eyes to meet his, and he suddenly became acutely aware of just how warm his face was.
He nodded quickly, jerkily. "I can certainly try."
You say your thanks softly, just a touch distant, before silently handing him your computer.
He flushed in embarrassment as he stumbled to take the device from you. The IT window, though useful, had a worktable on his side. So, he had to extend over the table to get to the counter of the window, where you had placed your laptop.
Your eyes furtively stared at the way his surprisingly sculpted arms extended out to reach over. You noticed the soft outline of a scar wrapping around his mid forearm, and the veins that ran down from there and into his large hands.
You clear your throat, trying to stop yourself from saying (or moaning) something stupid, and excuse yourself.
He was able to diagnose your laptop in a matter of minutes. The internal cooling fan was clogged with dust, and all he had to do was blast it with some compressed air. It was simple, really. He anticipated it would only take him ten minutes to fix the whole thing.
And yet, he sat there stalling.
You sat in one of the lounge chairs beside his window, your legs neatly crossed and your manicured nails tapping away on your phone. The sun was beginning to set, and the glow from its light was illuminating you in such a way that it would make it a crime not to stare.
“Yes, Mr. Kamo?”
You didn’t glance up from your phone, but your brows held a light, inquisitive arch. His breath stuttered.
“I am so sorry about earlier,” his voice was so gentle you almost missed it. You finally look up. “The breakfast line this morning. That time from onboarding two years ago-” the thumping of his veins was hard enough to staccato his speech, yet he could not stop now. “I am so sorry. For everything. For your shoes. For acting the way I did. For not saying goodbye. I had earbuds in and-god-I don’t know why I’m so…”
“Shy?” You offer to him.
“Lame.” He mumbles.
Your laugh is an angelic ring to his ears, and he watches as your hand covers your mouth as your eyes begin to crinkle. It was hard to stay annoyed when he was so endearing, so earnest with his words. The worry lines on his forehead began to ease, and a relieved smile slowly made its way onto Kamo Choso’s face for the first time today.
“All is forgiven-” your smile was small, perhaps even a touch shy. You hesitate, before saying, “thank you, Mr. Kamo.” It was your turn now to not be able to meet his eyes. And though you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, the implication of your words hung in the air. Thank you. Thank you for telling me. Thank you for your courage.
A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as the sun fully dipped into the horizon. You returned to your phone, and he returned to your computer.
And when he finally opened up the casing to clean out your fan, he made sure to leave a section untouched in the hopes that maybe, just maybe you would come back to visit him again.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁
It was slow at first, but eventually you did return. And then again. And again and again.
One time for a docking station. The next, for your headphones (you both laughed). He checked your monitors one week, and your cables the next. It would be something new each time you came rounding the corner.
He would often find himself searching for the sound of your heels, like it was a message just for him; something sacred; a secret admission.
And every time you came around, you stayed by his window as he worked. You liked to watch the flush that would inevitably creep onto his features, and he liked to relish in your closeness, the smell of your shampoo, the sounds of your bracelets clinking together, and the faces you made as you read through your emails.
Sometimes, if he was lucky, he would catch you staring. He smiled more on those days.
Somehow, somewhere in those two or so months, the two of you began to ease into each other. You talked more, he stuttered less. Your professional smiles grew into something more unreserved. His anxious hands gradually found peace. Over time, silence turned into polite niceties, which turned into conversations about weekend plans, which turned into gentle teases about music tastes, coffee order skepticisms, and pop-culture references. You surprised him by being a secret gamer. He surprised you by being a shameless sweet-tooth.
After weeks of odd-repair jobs flew by, there was probably no other office supplies of yours that Choso hadn’t checked.
He was sure that the final days of you visiting him were soon approaching, and the thought alone was enough to send him into an emotional spiral all week. He didn’t want whatever this was to stop. Your presence easily became the favorite aspect of his routine: a loud part of his normally quiet schedule that he looked forward to every Friday.
He just needed to man up. Grow a pair. And if today was his last shot, then he would. And if you didn't show up to his IT window tonight? Then he would finally attend the company happy hours just in case you would be there. And if you were there, then he would approach you at the bar and he would buy you a drink. He would ask for your number. He would tell you to address him casually from here on out. He would, he would, he would.
For you? He would do anything.
It was ten-to-five, and the twisting in Choso’s stomach was becoming unbearable. He was all but ready to pack up and sprint to the bar that all the employees went to on Friday nights when he heard the familiar click of your heels as you rounded the corner.
His heart was pounding, and he could hear the blood rushing past his ears.
“You’re going to hate me,” you started.
Never, he wanted to say in reply.
“Oh? How so?”
“My work phone,” you frowned, “I’d hate to keep you late on a Friday night, but…” you softly waved the device in your hand. “Think you can manage?”
The turbulence in his body settled. You were here. He will get your number today. He will ask, after this. His eyes softened, as they normally did whenever you were near, and a smile graced his pretty features. “When have I not?”
You laughed and nodded, a touch flushed, biting your lip as your eyes lit up with something warm, something he couldn’t place.
A beat passes. Your gaze drops from his eyes, to his lips, then quickly up to the dark piercing by his brow. Were you too obvious? Was he too dense?
"My savior." You said it like it was a secret. Breathy, earnest, purposeful.
His ears turned another shade redder.
You handed your phone to him wordlessly, and his fingers grazed yours. Where yours were warm and smooth, his were cool and calloused. He gulped. You grinned.
As you settled down into your usual spot on the lounge chair, laptop opened to your email, he began to assess the damage on your phone.
“Do you remember what applications were running before it broke? Helps give me a better understanding of the issue.” He was focused now, skillfully popping off the case and assessing the ports.
You hummed. “The last thing I used was the camera - I was taking pictures of a merger agreement to forward to the legal team.” You checked your watch. “I was hoping to send it all over by 8pm at the latest.”
Though he nodded casually, he couldn’t help but be in awe of your composure, your effortless nonchalance with your power and position.
As he finally got the screen on your work phone to power up, you began to get a video call on your laptop. You excused yourself, mouthing “Sorry, gotta take this” to him, before you turned and headed back to your desk. It looked like you were quite busy. He hoped you were taking care of yourself; that you ate something today. He made a mental note for himself to ask you later.
He fiddled with your phone for several minutes. After cleaning out your charging port, plugging your device into power, and doing other general troubleshooting, your phone screen finally lit up with its signature brand logo.
Though it lagged, he was able to get to your home screen and look into your settings. After a general inspection of your storage, software system, and other miscellaneous settings, he moved on to your camera app to check if the app would crash like you had mentioned.
He truly did not mean to pry. He was just about to close the app when he saw it - the small square photo cover of a folder in your camera roll. The preview was of you. Of your body.
And, oh fuck- were these your nudes?
Fuck.
He could feel the blood draining from his face...
He immediately put your phone down.
What the hell was he doing?
You were a distinguished senior-level employee. His colleague. His crush. Dare he say, friend?
His very, very attractive friend.
He gulped. He could feel his dick pulse in interest, a faint throb that blended with the beating anticipation in his heart.
He slowly picked your phone back up.
He wished he could feel more turmoil; he wished that his morality would kick in and tell him to stop, to tell him to show some sliver of respect for your privacy. But all he could hear was silence in the face of his insatiable curiosity.
You weren’t here right now. The call you took seemed important enough to go back to your office for. Perhaps… Perhaps he could just reaffirm what he thought he saw?
His pulse was beating so wildly that his heart felt like it was working on overload. With shaky hands, he clicks back into the folder.
Fuck.
He wanted to cry. He might actually cry.
There were only seven pictures total. Before he could think too hard, he tapped into the first one and scrolled through.
The first was of you laying on your side, your heavy tits barely held up by the flimsy pink lingerie you had on. His dick lurched in his jeans at the sight of your nipples barely caught on the lace. He could see the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips, the light gloss on your lips.
He could feel his hand reaching down to his crotch before he could register what was happening.
The hell? This was you? Hidden behind all your smart clothes and persisting authority?
His fingers involuntarily squeezed himself through his pants. He could feel the fiery pit in his stomach convulse. He tried to ignore the wet spot that was beginning to form where the tip of his cock kissed his briefs. He continued to scroll.
More pictures of your tits, some with them squished together, some with them spilling over your purposefully small tops. Once he got to the ones of your ass, he had to stifle a surprised groan with a choked cough. The slutty thongs you wore almost made him pass out. One pair was made of only cross-linking satin strips. Another was just translucent lace. Regardless of material, he was transfixed by the way they got swallowed up by the expanse of your plump, juicy, impossibly round ass.
And then he got to the video. The video.
His heart was wild against his ribs. A vibrator was between your legs. Your thong shoved to the side. Your wetness was soaking the fabric so thoroughly it was see through, and your slick was coating the tip of the device until it shined. Your nipples were hard and peaking through the tops of your bra. One hand was pumping two fingers into your pussy, and the other held the vibrator to rub against your swollen clit.
It was so obscene. So dirty. So fucking erotic.
He did not know what took over him, but he could not stop himself now. His pants were unzipped, briefs shoved down, cock fully exposed underneath his worktable. He was jerking himself off like he was possessed, drunk off of the way you looked on the screen. His dick was heavy, thick, and hot in his hand. The mushroomed tip was angry and red, rubbed raw by the friction of being trapped in his underwear. He was leaking such an embarrassing amount that he wasn’t entirely sure if it was pre or if he literally came untouched in his pants without realizing.
He could hear your low pants coming from the screen, and the shlk shlk shlkkk of your nimble fingers fucking inside of yourself. He had to clench his jaw so hard that the veins in his neck were surely popping out, just to stop himself from making noise. Each time you rubbed the slickened vibrator against your cunt, and it partly disappeared between your pussy lips, his own dick bobbed with fresh waves of need.
What the hell were these doing on your work phone? Was this even your work phone?
His forehead was lightly damp now. His chest was heaving. His face was so fucking flushed. His heartbeat felt so loud in his ears that he couldn’t hear the faint clicking of your heels as you returned to him.
“...Mr. Kamo?”
His face snapped up. You were standing directly across from him, the only thing separating the two of you being the service-window wall. A beat passes, and your video is still playing on loop in his hand.
Your lips part in slow recognition, but the shadow of something indecipherable flickers across your features.
The world around you both seems to still, the Tokyo nightlife all but muted in the bubble that formed between you and him.
He sat frozen as you wordlessly walked up to, and opened, the door to his IT room.
It only took you two steps inside before you slowly dropped to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. With your field of vision lower now, you could see his large hand still fisting his dick underneath the table.
And… Holy shit. He was so… large.
You don’t realize you're gulping.
You don’t realize that you’re salivating.
This fucking nerd was packing… what? Nine full inches and then some?
Your wide eyes look back up to him, and he stares back with something akin to both utter humiliation and desperation.
“I never got to properly thank you for all your help these past few months,” you whisper.
Wait, what?
Before his delirious brain could process the implication of your soft words, you’re leaning in to lick up the salty pre that pooled at the base of his cock, slurping at the excess, and licking allllll the way up to the pulsing head.
Your tongue was so soft, so ridiculously fuckin’ wet.
And Choso was so taken by surprise, so dazed by the fact that this was his reality right now, that his jaw slackened, and a fuckin’ whimper escaped his throat.
You began to trace the veins on his dick and he could’ve sworn he saw stars.
You took your time, languidly finding a path up up, up. By the time you made it to the tip, he thought he was going to cry (he was unsure if he already was), until you wrapped your plush lips around the underside of his mushroomed cockhead, putting delicious pressure on his most sensitive area.
“Put your hands on me,” you almost whined it out, the tip of his dick still bobbing shallowly in your mouth. Like you didn’t want to let go; like you didn't want even a moment of it not resting heavily on your tongue.
Before he could comply, the distant whirring of a vacuum echoed somewhere down the hall.
“Oh fuck-” his eyes were wild, and his breathing ragged and erratic. Was it panic from potentially getting caught? Or was it the selfish idea that the thought of you stopping now might actually kill him? That whatever trance you both were under would break, and that you would walk out and take all of his heart with you?
He looks down at you, and in his panicked state he didn’t realize you were grinning.
“What are you-?”
The whirring was getting louder. You crawled under the table and settled between his spread legs.
Oh.
Oh.
He felt like he was going to go insane.
You rested your cheek against his thigh, and looked up at him through your lashes. Your eyes were glazed, your lips rouged and spit-slickened. You were mesmerizing, and it almost killed him to look away.
In the distance, he could see the nightly custodial crew rounding the corner and walking down the hall, their vacuums roaring loudly against the polished floors.
You began to push his flared cockhead further into your mouth, until it was just kissing the smoothed back of your throat. He choked on a moan, one hand gripping onto the workstation ledge, the other flying to your hair. The echoes of footsteps were growing louder, and the roars of the vacuums were quickly nearing. And yet, this only seemed to make you needier, hungrier.
Your head was bobbing rhythmically, unrelentingly, addictingly, under the table as you sucked on his hard length. He was just so warm, so thick and hot and heady, and you were beginning to lose your sanity over the feeling of his cock filling your mouth so completely and overwhelmingly, shutting you up.
Your lashes were damp with stray tears. Choso wondered how it would look to paint your face with his cum, or if you preferred to take it down your throat-
“Would you like us to clean inside there, sir?”
He sputtered dumbly. “Huuh-?”
The custodial team stood about four meters away, pausing their vacuuming activities briefly as they stared at him curiously.
“N-no. No I’m good. All c-clean over here.”
You made it a point to slurp lightly - just loud enough for him alone to hear. You were slobbering now, drool and spittle dripping from your chin, messily mixing with his creamy pre down the length of his cock, and all over his balls.
He fisted your hair in warning, his jaw ticking with tension.
He knew he probably looked ridiculous to the custodians right now, maybe even sick with how flushed and sweaty he was. He was pretty sure that his lower lip was split with how hard he was biting them. His glasses were slightly fogged on the lower edges, and his chest was heaving in a way that made him look like he just ran a marathon.
From his peripherals he could see your wicked smile as you popped off his dick, gingerly mixing the wetness all over, two slippery hands jerking him off, twisting under the capped head, in a slow, teasing, mind-numbing pattern.
The custodians shrugged, before turning around and heading off for the night.
And as they left, something inside his mind snapped. Something possessive, perverted, and deranged.
“You playin’ with me?” His eyes were wild. Gone was his professionalism, his shy resolve nowhere to be found. His heart was pounding. He needed you.
“Finally got the hint?” You shoot back, challengingly.
He huffed out a breath of warm air, before firmly gripping your throat and shoving your mouth back onto his cock. You readily latched on, sucking and licking and moaning, one hand massaging his balls, the other twisting over whatever exposed length was left of him.
Your tongue was unrelenting, and he was bucking up, abusing your throat. He loved the way your throat bulged at every snap! of his hips, as he shoved his long, fat dick down, down, down. So far gone was the shy man you met every past Friday. His eyes were now glazed and glassy, his lips bitten completely red, sweat rolling hypnotically past his brow piercing and along his sharp jaw. He was drunk off the way your mouth felt. Drunk off the way his dick was using you. Drunk off the way you look; broken, teary-eyed, mouth gagged, and throat bulging with his heavy cock buried inside.
Before you know it, he's slipping out, one hand on your throat to keep you still, while the other wraps around the base of his cock. He slaps his wet dick against your cheek, before rubbing and sliding himself along your smooth skin. Your legs clench as you realize from base to tip his cock is as big as your head. And when you looked into his eyes, you could tell he saw it too. He wasn’t looking at you though, you realized. He was looking at himself. He wasn't just tapping his dripping cock against your flushed skin. This twisted motherfucker was measuring.
“Heh- I’ve never felt a pussy before,” he continues his rocking against your face, “d’ya think it’ll fit?”
Your eyes widened. This man, with his pierced ears and studded brow, muscular arms and ginormous cock, was a fucking virgin?
Surely, he was lying. He had to be.
But as you assessed him, his wrecked and earnest features, there was no doubt that he wasn’t telling you anything but the hard, honest truth.
“I-” your heart does something funny in your chest, while a fresh wave of slickness soaks your already drenched panties. You address him with equal earnestness, “I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself, Choso.”
And oh, he was a goner. He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue, how casually you addressed him. He was completely and utterly at your mercy now.
“Does the window close?” You ask. You were still under the table, and completely oblivious to the way his heart felt like it was exploding behind his ribcage.
“Y-yeah,” he nodded quickly, jerkily. Dazed and partly delirious.
He shoved himself back into his pants, not caring to button as he pulled his long, black shirt down enough to cover himself. He stood and leaned over the table, sliding the service window shut and pulling the metal security shutters down. You crawled out from under the table as he went and locked the door.
It was well past 7pm at this point, and the usual office stragglers were long gone by now. The two of you were alone.
He lends you his hand and you take it. Your manicured fingers swallowed by his scarred and calloused ones.
Your knees crack as you stand to your full height. He reaches to wrap his hands around either side of your throat, his thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks.
“Let me kiss you,”
It wasn’t even a question. His brain was too consumed in the haze of you, you, you.
Your chest rose and fell. Your hands found his biceps, and you slowly slid them up, up, up to his shoulders, then to his chest, feeling the hidden muscles of his upper body.
You hooked your finger in the collar of his shirt, before tugging, bringing him close enough that your lips were brushing his.
You looked up at him through your lashes, a sly smile creeping onto your features, “I’ll think on it.”
He groaned. His forehead pressed against yours. The tip of his nose softly tracing yours. You were both so close to each other that your lips would brush from the smallest of movements.
His fingers moved from your throat and into your hair, and you could feel him rutting and rubbing his throbbing erection against your leg in the most desperate, pathetic way.
“Fuckin’ tease.”
Your heart was beating so traitorously loud against your chest, and the pressure building in between your legs was making you ache, your pussy clenching at the feeling of being without.
You smile at him wickedly. “Earn it then.”
And before he can think, you’re dragging his shaky hand between your thighs, your skirt riding up, up, up past your legs, before scrunching around your waist.
He might pass out.
Because here you were - tits pressing against your tight button down, nipples raised through your bra, lace covered cunt exposed, and ass only half-covered by your bunched up skirt.
And when he finally, finally dips his trembling fingers just underneath the absolutely soaked lace of your panties, grazing your poor, neglected pussy, you sigh out the most breathy, sinful sound in his ear. Could one get infinitely times harder? He couldn’t tell. But he was starting to feel lightheaded with how much blood was rushing from his head to his cock, which was flaring with the freshest waves of need.
“I- I’ve never done this before,” he said it as if in a trance. His eyes were glassy. He looked hypnotized, almost possessed by the way the tips of his fingers were drenched in your wetness, how your pussy lips were greedily sucking him in so desperately, how they made the prettiest squelch! as his finger got devoured, inch by fucking inch, by your warm, velvety walls.
Your eyes rolled back and your mouth parted in the most sensual “o” that he’s only ever seen from stuff online. He felt the air get knocked out of his lungs. All of his college “experiences” (if he could even call jizzing untouched and awkward blow jobs milestones in his sexual portfolio) paled in comparison to the display that your pussy was showing him right now. He used his thumb to spread your lips apart, watching his fingers disappear in and out, in and out.
Fuck.
And then he was everywhere.
He has your shirt ripped off in seconds, your bra shoved down. His unoccupied hand is squeezing one of your tits, while his mouth latches on to the other, sucking and biting your nipples in a way that has your toes curling, and - did Kamo Choso have a tongue piercing??
Below, his one finger became two, jamming into your tight, tight hole, before pumping in and out, in and out in the most depraved way. And when he accidentally crooked his fingers, massaging and fucking into your most sensitive spots, you moaned, your red nails scraping against his broad shoulders.
“Touch me here too,” you all but gasp out, your delicate hands moving his thumb to rub circles against your clit, just as you had done in the video he watched of you on your phone earlier.
Ever the most astute student, he listened to your every word. He made note of the things that had you going stupid, and changed gears when you tapped him on his biceps. He was a quick study (a bona fide geek after all), and soon he found the most relentless, ruthless, dumbifying tempo that he had you fucking squirting and spraying all over his wrists and down onto the floor below.
And then he’s pushing you until your ass is leaning against the workdesk. He spreads your legs apart and drops to his knees. When he stared up at you, he looked so, so gone.
His glasses were smudged and pushed up, the tip of his scarred nose nudged your clit, and his pink lips opened to dip his soft tongue against your folds. The cool metal ball of his tongue piercing the only solace against ur blazing skin. It’s his turn to slurp you up, and god how you tasted-
One of his hands is firmly gripping your thigh, his face disappearing completely as his mouth is on your cunt, kissing and licking and sucking and massaging. The other is fisting his leaking cock. You tasted so fuckin’ good on his tongue. So warm. So wet. So sweet. He could do this forever. He would beg to do this forever.
“Have I-” he hiccupped, “have I earned it yet, sweetheart?” His glasses are wet with your juices. He’s panting, warm puffs of air hitting your core.
You were shaking. Yeah, yeah. He earned it.
“Yes, yes Cho-” your praises of him blended together, spilling and slurring out of your mouth without pause.
“Thank god.”
And then he’s back at it, eating you out so good, his tongue bullying inside of your tight hole. The scar on his nose fully rubbing against your clit, finding home on your body. And you feel it - your legs beginning to shake, your heart pounding in your throat. You’re panting, whining, holding his head to you like you’ll keep him there and suffocate him. The overwhelming waves of your orgasm crashing into you as he fucks his tongue into your greedy pussy, lips latched on and giving the sweetest suction.
Your hands are in his hair, your vision blurred and teary, you’re calling out his name like its religion.
And him? He’s trying to memorize the way your walls clench around his tongue, begging for him to stay, keeping him inside you. He’s trying to burn into memory the way you’re fuckin gushing wetness all over his chin, the way your tits bounce up as you arch your back in the most sinful way.
Only after you come down from your high, Choso finally stands. He rests his two palms on the table space on either side of your thighs, caging you in, before resting his damp forehead in the crook of your neck.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into your skin, his soft lips kissing against your jugular.
“Don’t thank me yet,” you tease. Your hands find his hair, lightly running your fingers through his scalp before saying, “we aren’t even close to being done.”
He looks up at you curiously, innocently. “We… can do more?”
Oh, so he seriously was a virgin.
“Cho…” His knees weaken at the nickname. “We’ve just barely begun.”
He involuntarily bucks his hips at your response, rubbing his painful erection against your leg. His briefs were wet and stained with pre. You lifted his shirt above his head. He pulled your soaked panties down your damp legs.
You were still sitting on the worktable, your legs ajar, and your pussy a sloppy mixture of your release and his own saliva. He nudges the tip of his length to kiss against your hole. A deep, choked sigh escapes his mouth at the softness of your pussylips, the slipperyness of your wetness, the warmth that radiated from your core and onto his weeping dick.
He slips his cock against your folds, teasingly gliding against your clit as he pulses against your skin. Choso’s lips catch your own, his tongue massaging yours, while his hands grope your sensitive, swollen breasts.
“F-fuuuh,” he’s whimpering into your mouth, lips wobbling, so fuckin’ overwhelmed by the insane sensations of your pussy rubbing against his dick, your mouth moving against his own, and your tits, god your tits, in his large, shaky palms.
And he can’t help it, really.
His dick was still jerking like crazy from the head you gave him earlier. Your soft pussylips were slathering him in your juices, your tongue licking his tongue piercing like you did his cock, and your nipples so peaked he wanted to suck on them.
So it’s no surprise, really, when his meaty dick started to leak slow ropes of his sticky, thick cum against your outer folds.
And you were still making out with him when you realized, the warm gooey feeling spurting out onto your hole was coming from him, that your breath caught in your throat - a soft gasp leaving your mouth as it got swallowed by his languid tongue.
He was so pathetic, he thought.
He just came before he even stuck it in.
He pulled away from your mouth. “I-” he was humiliated, face burning with shame, glasses fogged and head facing towards the floor. He was searching for the right words, when you grabbed his still hard penis and gave him the same smile he saw before. The kind of smile you gave when you got on your knees and crawled under the desk.
You lightly push him until he’s sitting on his wide, creaky work chair. You slide off the worktable gracefully, before joining him. You’re straddling him, tits skimming his chest, his dick standing tall between the two of your legs. Though you haven’t said it outright, the implications of your actions hang heavy in the air; he knows - he realizes what you want, what he wants, and what will inevitably happen.
“If you don’t want this, say it now,” you say.
His eyes were big, and he’s staring at you so reverently, like you were a goddess, his goddess. He shakes his head.
“Use your words, Cho,” you rest your hand on his throat, your manicured thumb parting his wobbly lips.
He was pathetic. But you loved it.
He had tears in his eyes and he had no idea why. Perhaps from humiliation. Perhaps from overstimulation. Perhaps from the fact that the hottest girl he’s ever laid eyes on was about to fuck his brains out and leave him stupified beyond belief. Probably most definitely the latter. “I want this,” he gasps out. “I want you - fuck - I need you, to be inside you, ple-”
You shut him up with your mouth, massaging and leading and biting. Your hands slowly traverse from his neck and down his hard chest, past his abs, before resting at his base, fingers tangling in the tufts of dark hair there. He was still covered in his own cum, white and warm and sticky against your palms.
“Don’t worry,” you were almost purring against his red, swollen lips. “I’ll take good care of you.”
And now you’re tipping the head of his cum-covered cock towards your glistening hole, and he feels like he’s going dizzy.
Holy shit, this was it. It’s happening.
You break away from him, and the two of you stare as you drag his gooey-covered cockhead allllll around your pussylips, leaving even more mess in its trail. And when his hard length dips slightly into your folds, his mushroomed tip kissing against your entrance, he could swear he almost blacked out.
“You’re so big, Cho” you cutely pout. His dick throbs before swelling even larger at your words. “It’s even better than I’ve ever imagined.” You say the last part quietly, reverently, almost shyly.
And, holy hell, that does something to him.
Choso involuntarily bucks at the thought of you thinking about him, about his dick, just as how he thought of you for all these years, and the tip of his cum-covered cock slips right into the tight ring of your pussy without warning.
Your head knocks back as his own falls forward, the two of your hot breaths puffing into the heady air.
You were gasping. Even though it was just the head, it felt like you were being stretched beyond belief, your walls wrapping around and latching onto his length so snuggly, so… deliciously, that it had Choso whimpering into your bare tits.
You were greedy, slightly possessed, and fuckin’ hungry. You roll your hips forward slightly, pushing his throbbing cock another inch deeper into your gummy pussy, and his hands find purchase on the fleshy curve of your ass. “C’mon now,” you say slyly, “I know my good boy can take it.”
His dick jerks at your words. You have Choso seeing stars. He thinks his hearing was starting to go in his left ear. He’s drunk, he’s addicted, he’s… he’s not even halfway inside you yet and he feels like he is teetering on the edges of his sanity.
“S-stop teasing me,” he almost cries it out. His fingertips kneed into your ass. He wants to bottom out completely inside you. He wants to feel so impossibly close to you that he forgets his own name, that he forgets where his body ends and yours begins.
And you comply. You always would, for him.
He watches as his dick gets swallowed by your stretched lips. The residual cum on his cock from earlier either smears inside you or begins to froth at his base. And you feel so fuckin’ good, your greedy cunt sucking up every inch of him until he’s finally, finally, bottoming out into your warmth.
“Thaaat’s it, Cho,” you can feel his leaking tip smooching against your cervix, the veins on his dick pulsing against your gummy walls, the residual cum from earlier clinging to your clit. You’re gushing new waves of slick, and he feels how you convulse around him, squeezing tight against his meat like a fuckin’ sin.
You don’t even give him time to breathe, to even think, because you begin to ride him like a fuckin’ animal, like a goddamn pro. Your tits are bouncing in his face, your ass clapping against his thighs, his cock filling you up like it’s ritual, and his tip fucking into your g-spot savagely, ruthlessly, unforgivingly. Before you know it, he’s bucking his hips up to meet yours, the obscene sound of skin slapping on skin echoing throughout the small space of the IT room.
He’s panting your name like a prayer, his hands holding you like you were something sacred, and his heart pounding against his ribcage like he’s at confessional.
And yeah, he may have never done this before, he may have never felt the embrace of a woman’s pussy on his cock - but he knew immediately, decisively, that yours was the best. He knew that everyone else’s would pale in comparison. And he knew, deep down, that when this is all over, he would be jaded and lost from mourning the feeling of you. He knew yours would be the only one he would search for in his life.
“Cho,” you whisper, voice catching and breaking with every thwk thwk thwk! of his balls slapping against your ass. “You’re doing so well,” you hiccup, partially delirious. “I can feel you allllll the way up here.” And then you drag your manicured nail from where the two of you were connected, juices wetting your fingerpads, as it rose all the way up, up, up, to the slightly protruding bump in your belly. You press your hand on it lightly, and he realizes that the bump is from him, from where his achingly large cock was shoved inside you and pressed against your womb.
He can feel his cock rush with blood, growing larger in your belly, filling and stuffing you even more fully - completely. And you feel it too. He breathes through his nose, small traces of drool slipping from the sides of his mouth. You squeeze your tits together, giving him a show.
He’s dangerously flushed, sweat (or was it tears?) running down his cheeks. You’re gushing fresh wetness all around his dick, your warm walls clinging to him so needily, almost possessively, as the tip of his cock pounds against your most sensitive spot until it's bruised. And he’s leaking so much pre that the mixture begins to slather so messily around your glistening hole, frothing at his base and running down his balls.
It was so filthy. So dirty. So fucking addictive.
His mouth finds the sensitive buds of your nipples, his piercing flicking over the stiffened peaks. One of his hands rubs your combined juices into your swollen clit, while the other grabs on to the fleshy parts of your ass.
Its your turn to cry out, to whimper at the sensations of his steady hands against your blazing skin, his pulsing cock inside your squeezing pussy.
“Thaaat’s it pretty girl,” he breathes. He leaves your nipples to suck on the sensitive skin by your ear. “My pretty girl. This what you were lookin’ for?”
He snaps his hips up, balls spanking your ass. His thick cock burrowing impossibly further inside of you.
Your words come out garbled - halfway between pleading and praise.
He grins at you.
“Use,” he pulls his cock out almost completely, your quivering pussy squeezing so tightly around the head of him, as if begging him not to leave.
“Your,” he finally pulls away with a grunt.
“Words,” he smacks his fat, heavy, dripping cock against your entrance. The sound it made left your ears buzzing.
“Pretty girl.” He’s shoving into you so fast you feel him in your fucking lungs.
He’s gripping your hips, using his strength to fuck your body on his cock. He was handling you like you were a sex doll.
What the fuck? This was the same nerd from before?
Your tongue meets his, and you’re messily making out with each other: you lick his tongue like you’re licking his dick, and he grabs your throat to pull you away, before spitting into your mouth. Drool spills from your lips and onto your chins. He’s pulling you onto his dick like you were a toy, only pausing briefly to spank your ass and feel it jiggle against his thighs.
Your actions were getting clumsier: nails scratching randomly at his chest, tongue licking messily up his throat, moans echoing off of his damp skin. His hips were beginning to stutter: his dick was fucking into you in a broken rythm, mushroomed head blooming with every pulse. You both were teetering around the edges of your sanity, and the only sounds between you were sharp breaths and the slapping of your soaking cunt against his soaked cock.
“Fuck, I’m-” his throat squeezes, every word a battle to get out. He forces his bleary eyes open to watch his dick disappear inside you - fucking into your womb again, and again, and again. He feels his balls beginning to tighten, his shaft becoming taught. He needs to cum. He needs to pull out.
And he starts to - when your hand tightens around the back of his neck.
“Don’t you, oh,” there's tears streaming down your face, your eyes glassy, your head spinning with how cockdrunk you were, “don’t you fuckin’ dare, Cho.”
He’s so dumbified it takes him several moments to register the implications of your words.
“I-inside?” He’s stuttering, trembling.
“Inside.”
And then he breaks, and you break around him. He’s releasing so much of his thick, gooey cum inside you that it swells in your tummy, bloating your core. He watches as you squirt and spray and spasm around his base, fresh waves of wetness soaking the expanse of skin between you both. His hips keep snapping up with each peak of your orgasm, fucking his seed deeper and deeper, fucking himself so hard into your body until it feels like you can taste him in your throat.
Neither of you say a word, both of you transfixed on the way that the other feels. You were so stuffed that his cum began to leak out of you, slowly falling and pooling at the base of his cock.
“You… you are so divine,” he whispers, his hips still lightly rutting inside you, catching the last waves of your peaks, as he kisses along the base of your jaw.
You can’t speak, your throat felt too hoarse, you were too too dazed, too fucked-out. But you nudge your nose against his, your lashes fluttering against his clammy skin.
Gently, he lifts you from his cock. He watches as you slowly release his dick, before a gush of his seed spills from your swollen pussylips.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, his thumb immediately catching the gobs of his oozing seed.
Without a word, you catch his careful fingers, and he watches in fading confusion as you push his thumb back inside you, bringing his cum along with him.
“No waste,” you whisper.
Oh.
And after some recuperation time, you both stand and begin to dress in silence. Something tender hangs heavy in the heady air of the IT room, but Choso can’t help but feel the pricks of anxiety blooming in his chest with every passing second.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he asks for your number.
And your swollen lips break out into the prettiest smile, your eyes twinkling up at him.
“I’ll think on it…” you tease. He grins, his hands find your waist to pull you closer to him.
“What do I gotta do to earn it this time?”
You tap your chin in mock thought, your smile light and warm. “Come get dinner with me tonight.”
And for you? He would do anything.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ “₊ ݁.
Several weeks have passed, and Choso’s morning genuinely could not have gone better.
Not only did his 6AM alarm go off, but you had slept over last night (and yes, falling asleep cuddling with his dick inside you did contribute to both of your fantastic moods). His morning routine was now a mixture of staring at your pretty face whilst in peaceful slumber, going through a 6-step skincare routine (courtesy of you), and picking up Toji’s overpriced top-line coffee for two.
Though the train from his neighborhood to Chiyoda City was packed full today, he did not mind. It gave him more of an excuse to huddle closer to you, hands brushing together, one of his earbuds in your ear (the other in his) as your joint playlist hummed in the background. Your chest was lightly pressed against his, two wild hearts beating to the same, familiar tune.
And of course, the cherry on top was that it was a Friday. The two of you had agreed that it would finally be okay to get breakfast together today, and maybe even sit and eat at a window table afterwards.
And Choso? Choso was the happiest he has ever felt. Largely due to you. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part due to the fact he got to see Gojo’s ridiculously large mouth fall to the floor at the sight of you and Choso walking in together today.
Madi was jealous, that much he knew. That was the easiest part of this whole situation was allowing himself to acknowledge the emotion, but the rest of it wasn’t as simple.
“Madi did you hear me?” Ray quizzed eyes glued on the darker boy’s face for any type of clue as to what he thought about the situation.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah I heard you. Do you really think that’s a good idea though.” Madi asked attempting to mask the jealousy as genuine concern. “ I mean you barely know her man, I wouldn’t just let her come to the crib for the first link though, you feel me?”
He stared at Ray as he seemingly thought on the idea before shrugging and going back to scroll on his phone. “Yeah I feel you, but aint shit else to do tonight- everybody gone.”
Madi bit his lip before responding choosing his words carefully. “Nigga I’m here we can chill tonight. You know boys night type shit.”
Ray’s eyes darted to him face straight only for a moment before he burst out into laughter.
“You want to hang with me? What the fuck we gone do?”
“We can order food and play the game.” Madi immediately retorts ego deflating. “We aint got to though you can go fuck your random, shi I’ll just chill by myself.”
Ray face softens, “Nah, we can chill. Im just playing with you man.” Ray says playfully reaching over and slapping his leg.
The action is small but it feels like something much more. His touch leaves Madi’s body warm, a sensation like no other and it makes him smile. “Type shi, so what you want to eat. No racist shi I, craving Chinese food.”
“How that’s racist bitch you know I’m Taiwanese.” Ray says instantly cause a laugh to erupt from the taller boy.
“Nigga you know what I mean, but real shi you down?” He quizzes mood improving as he lounges back onto the couch beside his friend.
“Yeah bro, just get me whatever you getting. Im finna take a shower real quick.” Ray responds getting up using Madis leg to propel himself up.
Again there goes the sensation- warm and pulsating in the spot his friend touched. It was welcomed of course, but it made everything all the more difficult to navigate within their friendship. It was no denying he loved the man, but the extent to which that love manifested itself posed for great amounts of self reflection that he had never been forced to reconcile with.
Attempting to deter the thoughts he placed the order for their food and got up himself deciding to shower as well.
He sauntered into the bathroom passing a quick glance towards Ray’s closed bedroom door as he passed. He immediately turned the water on waiting for the space to fog up before ridding himself of his clothes and stepping in. As the water ran down along his toned figure, he grabbed his loofah and lathered his body wash on it as he began to scrub his body.
His movements came second nature and were performed with little thought as his mind wandered back to the asain boy like it had done so much recently. He knew his feelings were strong, insatiable even, but why? He wasnt gay or at least he thought he wasnt, but then again he had never felt like this towards any other human let alone a man so who was he to really say. He knew that when he was with Ray he felt safe and more importantly seen. Their bond came so easily and was so natural it allowed Madi to fall into a serene state when he was around.
Not only this emotionally but physically he found himself drawn to his friend, his slender physique and unwavering need to constantly have his hands on him drove Madi insane. His touch always sent electricity through his body and even though he was quite shameful to admit it, his dick as well. He’d never admit it but he had his fair share of nights were he would lay and endulge in his fantasy of his friend aiding him and his little friend out and now was none the different.
His hand wasted no time wrapping around his throbbing member as he began stroking himself languidly. His lip between his teeth hand on the wall to steady himself , his mind began to create images of his friend in front of him body slick with water as he peppers kisses along neck and down onto his chest. One hand wrapped around Madi’s neck while pulling his head down forcing him to make eye contact as his other hand found his dick and begans stroking it. Madi would wimper at the touch, knees becoming weak in the process.
The smaller man smiled menacingly as he stroked him painfully slow, swiping his thumb over the tip. once he reached the end. Madi bucked his hips wanting- no needing more. This did nothing to speed him up as he just peered up into his friends eyes continuing to stroke him slowly at a speed he deemed sufficient. A sly smile formed and Madi knew that this was like a game.
“R-ray, please.” he whined hand deseperatly pumping himself, the image he created feeling all too real.
No reply came, only the image of the other man leaning in eyes fluttering shut as their lips were millimeters from one another. It felt too real- too good and Madi could no longer control himself as he squeezed his eyes shut and came with a quiet cry.
His body became weak and he leaned against the tiles for support, his breath still heaving as he tried to make sense of what just happened. It was never like this, his fantasies that is, they were usually just him remiscing on what had occurred but this time it was a completely new circumstance that had and probably never would happen.
He sighed frustration beginning to swell with him as he washed his hands clean and turned the water off stepping out of the shower. He needed to lock in and stop this before it got out of hand.
“He is your friend. He is not your man.” He said to himself as he wiped the steam from the mirror revealing his own face.
He repreated the statement as he wrapped the towel around his waist and headed out the door.
“He is not your ma-“ the statement was cut short as he walked into his room only to find Ray lying on his bed with one of his hoodies on and the food layed out in front of him.
“Dinner ready daddy.” Ray laughed taking a big bite of rice.
All the color drained from Madi’s face at the statement and site before him. What the fuck had he gotten himself into.
✧ you didnt ask him to join you he insisted saying he just wanted to make sure you were safe (he was really just bored and wanted to tag along but he’d never tell you that).
✧ was quite the theatrical passenger princess. he complained about how far your seats were up, didnt like noise the notification noise when you got orders, and was adamant that he gave you directions as he thought using car-play was too dangerous.
✧ he went inside to pick get the orders as well as put them on doorsteps letting you stay in the car the whole time so it really just felt like you werent actually doing anything but driving. “i can get it doll, just stay here and keep watch for me k.”
✧ he didnt care what you listened so you listened to everything from glorilla to alice in chains. he would occasionally ask “who is this?” or give surprised smiles when you played something he was familiar with mentally noting all the songs you both enjoyed.
✧ when the night ended and you showed him how much you made he didnt believe it was real money, so you took it upon yourself to buy him dinner with so called “monopoly money”.
✧ he had known you did it long before you two were, well whatever it was that you too were. he would smell it late at night when he’d then assumed you used it as an aid to help you sleep.
✧ he didnt care much that you did it, he knew how bad your anxiety could get and everyone had their vices.
✧ the first time he caught you wasnt actually on purpose he got off early and decided to surprise you with your flowers only to find you cross legged on the watching shrek half the blunt sitting lazily between your fingers.
✧ you tried to hide immediately when you found him ashing it quickly.
✧ “you dont gotta stop on my behalf doll, just got ya these.” he said handing you a bouquet of white roses.
✧ after that you werent so secretive about your ‘habit’ even offering frank a hit to your surprise he took. “shit, sweetheart.” he cough sitting up in the bed as you patted his back. “you tried to hit it too hard babe, i told you little puffs.” you sqy rubbing his back taking one last hit before putting the roach out.
✧ when he heard the knock on his door his fight or flight immediately kicked in- grabbing a gun he had under his table.
✧ after seeing it was you nervously chewing on your nails through the peephole he sighed placing the weapon in his waist band before slowing opening the door. he greeted you with nothing more than a cocked eyebrow.
✧ you rambled on muttering a string of ”im sorry’s” and “i really dont mean to be a bother.” before you could finally request aid in getting your sofa up the stairs. “if not the moving company said they could id just rather not spend $50 for something thatll take all of 5 minutes and cost two times as much as the couch.” you sigh.
✧ he stood the brooding and silent (what you deemed to be his default setting) before he finally spoke. “how far is it?”
✧ to say you were surprised when he said he would not only help you get it up the stairs but pick it up from the store as well would be an understatement.
✧ he was very adamant about getting out to make sure that the workers were careful loading the old loveseat into the van whether to not damage the van or the loveseat you didnt know but you watched out of the rearview window as he stood supervising.
✧ he didnt let you even touch it once you made it back to the apartment, glaring when you tried to grab the end to help pull it out of the back. “just go open the door will ya, i got it.”
✧ “its fine here- i can manage getting it in!” you say waiting in front of your door cash in hand, “i cant thank you enough for this. here.” he rolled his eyes couch still in his hands. “how about i put it inside while you go get the cushions.”
✧ needless to say he didnt take the cash he took gratification in the form of sneaking a few protein bars from your pantry (again) and disappearing wordlessly back into his apartment.
✧ to say that frank wasnt the slightest bit curious albeit on edge about you arrival would be a complete and total lie.
✧ he had seen the guys moving boxes and such into the apartment through the peephole on his day off and caught a few glimpses of you as you would come and go getting groceries and what he could only assume were other household necessities.
✧ his past made it hard for him to just accept someone being in close proximity to him as it could all be a threat so he decided to investigate and your inability to lock your door consistently made it very easy for him to do so.
✧ his first trip he looked around the apartment the layout identical to his own yet much more filled with life. you didnt have a couch yet but there was a tv and a coffee table that was littered with knick knacks. it was lit with a small lamp that provided warm lightening and many many candles and wax melts that smelt of sugar and vanilla.
✧his second trip consisted of him shuffling through your papers that you had splayed out on your nightstand reading your name. (making a mental not so karen could do a full deep dive if need be) it was through this that he found out you had two bachelor degrees one in biology and another in history. needless to say he was slightly impressed.
✧ the third and final time he looked through your medicine cabinets making mental notes of the vast amount prescription meds you had. he even found your not so hidden toys.
✧ he blushed and quickly closed the cabinet and made his way back out into the living area and into the kitchen opening your fridge. just fruit, a loaf of artisan bread, some water and an redbull.
✧he opened the small pantry seeing cereal remembering your lack of milk, flour, sugar, fruit-snacks, and alot and i mean alot of protein bars. he wordlessly took one and left locking the door behind him.
✧ as uninterested as he tried to seem in the first few months when you moved in across from him he secretly found you presence very endearing. he enjoyed your wreaths and door decor; he thought they added life to the otherwise dull building.
✧ even though he had never spoken to you directly he knew exactly who you were & he knew you weren’t from around the area. (which he assumed is why you never felt the need to lock your door when you would leave)
✧ surprisingly he was the first to speak and break the streak of nods and tight lipped smiles. he caught you locking your door as he was coming up the stairs, grumbling “might wanna grab an umbrella.” before he disappeared into his own apartment not even staying long enough to get a response out of you.
✧ after that it was you who did all the talking, your first means of doing so being you thanking him. “hey, hey! thank you for the heads up last week i uh got you this.” you pull the umbrella from your tote extending it towards him. he looks at it then at you back at it then at you again making you shift awkwardly. “i just assumed you didnt have one seeing as to how you were all soaked.” again silence and an unreadable stare. “well alright never-“ he finally grabs the umbrella grunting a “thanks” before continuing down the stairs.
✧ it was safe to say the gesture softened him slightly, so when you finally found a couch at the thrift and needed help moving it he was a bit more willing to let you use his van and even aid in getting it up the stairs making for the start of a very complicated friendship.
you sighed pulling the blanket up further letting it cover your nose as you scrolled lazily on your phone.
“baby, you up?” you heard agent call head popping through the door eyes locking with yours immediately.
a smile rose to your cheeks as you nodding placing your phone down on the bed beside you. he walked over towards you and sat on the side of the bed beside you, his hand immediately going to your head checking your temp once again.
“you’re still warm love- do you feel any better?” he quizzed voice full of concern as he pulled the blanket up a tad more to cover your form.
“no.” you mumbled voice quiet. honestly you felt worse than yesterday- your throat achy making it hard for you to swallow and even hard to breathe considering your nose was stuffy as well.
“aw baby, im gonna run you a bath ok. how about we have a movie night in bed? ill make you some tea and order some pizza, we can even watch twilight. you wanna do that baby?” he quizzed eyes boring into your own.
you smiled, “yeah that might make me feel a bit better.”
he grinned back at you and bent down placing a kiss atop of your head before getting up and heading into the bathroom. you hear the water turn on and a few splashes from what you can only assume is him checking the temp. moments later he’s back scooping you up in his arms before he takes you in the bathroom and sits you on the large counter.
he carefully undresses you being sure to readjust your bonnet as he pulls your top off. once youre finally unclothed he picks you up and places you into the large tub your body instantly relaxing.
“thats it baby just relax, i got you.” he mumbles getting to his knees grabbing the soap as he begins to gently scrub you. you cant help smile at the gesture leaning your head back onto the wall.
“thank you love.” you say voice quiet as you feel waves of exhaustion ripple through you.
he doesn’t respond immediately but you feel his lips on your forehead as you drift into a comfortable unconsciousness.
is this good i genuinely dk how to write fluff as bad as it sounds but i do like the thought of it!
okay but frankie with a plus size reader who despite being slighted for being bigger is just like about her shit and doesn’t let people phase her anymore. i’m imaging she’s a nurse (manifesting because i’m a nursing student) and like she’s always patching up frank and he’s just loving on her while she does it. all in all he’s just in love with her and like a puppy dog with her ! -🩺
How long do you have because I could talk about this forever? There is something about a hard, muscular man with a soft, curvy plus size reader that DOES THINGS TO ME. This could be because my husband is ripped and I am curvy but I'm telling you ladies -- it's not uncommon for the fittest men to seek plus size women. If you don't believe me, just google it.
ANYWAY -- Frank would 100% go for a plus size woman because he is tactile and he'd go nuts with how fucking soft you were like he'd wanna get lost in your boooddddyyy. Especially the way women carry weight -- it's so feminine like a goddamn renaissance painting. And I love this idea of the reader being confident and at terms with her size. I think its so easy to write about a plus size reader feeling shy and needing validation (which is very valid!!!) but we don't get a lot of confident plus size reader fics and I think it would be the part that drives Frank the most wild about you! Like the way you reveal your body to him without hiding and concealing and apologizing? It would drive him insane.
For some reason I imagine Frank doing a lot more growling with a plus size reader-- just his lean, cut, powerful body pumping into you and seeing the way his hands sink into your fleshy, dimpled thighs or the way your tits bounce up your body or the way your soft, supple ass is like a cushion for him-- he'd just be growling and diving into a spot of your body, nipping at you and sinking his fingers in. And he'd rreelliisssh in the way he could still toss you around, hauling you onto your side and draping your leg over his hip so he could fuck you from behind and watch the way it makes your ass bounce. He'd get a certain sort of glee knowing he was still stronger than you. It would definitely bring out a roughness in him because the bolder you were, the more he knew you could take.
And outside the bedroom he'd just be so handsy all the time. He's all angles and hardness and rough textures and you're just like a fucking gorgeous warm pillow for him and he'd find it very comforting, just craving it all the time, even just absent-mindedly resting a hand on the generous curve of your ass.
I try to be super inclusive with my writing (weight, height, race etc) to the extent that I can but I do think it's so easy to not see yourself in writing as a plus size person unless it's specified so this one was for the plus size girlies. But as I've always said, in this universe, Frank is big and strong and hulking and my writing tries to reflect that so that all feel like they belong in the story.
I BEG OF YOU PLEASSEEE DO MORE OF AGENT😭😭😭 I MISS HIM
“alright now inmate its time for chow.” you tried to conceal the giggles that erupted from your mouth as best you could as you stood propped against the bedroom doorway.
you had never been one to dress up and or role-play for your “sexy times” but after a conversation with agent where he shared hopes of you two roleplaying you knew you had to try.
his eyes widened as he took in your outfit a sly smirk playing at his lips almost immediately.
“yes maam-i can always eat.” he said playing along with your little charade.
you try to seem serious as you strut over towards him the thin plastic cuffs twirling around your index finger.
“i think ill have to cuff you mister.” you say grabbing his large hands in your own fastening the plastic around his large wrist.
he plays along as you pull him up and lead him out of the bedroom and to the kitchen.
“sit.” you demand pushing him down into the chair. he obliges quietly and sits waiting for your next move.
“so tell me inmate just how hungry are you?” you quiz sitting on the dining table in front of him legs crossed.
“famished.” he mumbles lip going between his teeth. you bite your lip and giggle spreading your legs to reveal you unclothed pussy underneath the little blue uniform skirt.
“perfect.” you smile wrapping your leg around his head and pulling him into your core gasping as his tongue immediately begins its assault on your clit.
instinctively your hand goes to the back of his head to guide his motions.
“thats it, just like that.” you coo as he flattens his tongue against your hole and licks all the way to your clit as he sucks on the sensitive ball of nerves.
your back arches and your toes curls as you grind your hips on his tongue his nose rubbing against your sex with every movement.
“uh huh, yeah thats it- just like that. eat your meal.” you groan lust fogging your every thought as you grip his locks guiding his face down your slickness. his large eyes are looking up and boring into your own and the sight is enough to send your spiraling over the edge
“fuck.” you cry out squirting all over his face. he slurps up most of it tongue still massaging your sex as it laps it.
“ok ok enough.” you say releasing his locks and squeezing your hips closed.
suddenly his hands are wrapping around your thighs, plastic cuffs still around them.
he smirks, “i dont think so maam. aint enough till i said its enough and im still starving.”
