The twins! There’s nerdjo 🤭and then there’s fratjo too ig, I was really excited when i saw nerdjo trending so I grabbed the opportunity to draw him hehe
𓂃 𝜗℘ older bf!gojo loves checking up on your creampied cunt.
the front door clicks shut behind you, and before you can even drop your bag, satoru’s there. “missed me, baby?” his voice is smooth velvet. his large hand is already sliding under your skirt.
you nod, thighs pressing together instinctively. all day you’ve felt it: the slow, sticky warmth of his sticky cum still leaking out of you, panties damp and clinging. every step across campus lecture halls made you clench harder, terrified—and thrilled—that someone might notice the faint scent clinging to your skin.
satoru walks you backward until your ass hits the edge of the dining table. with one smooth motion he lifts you onto it, spreads your knees wide, and hooks your soaked panties to the side.
“look at you,” he murmurs, blue eyes glittering, “still so full of me.”
two long fingers part your folds first slowly to spread the mess. you whimper when the cool air hits your swollen clit. he drags those fingers up through the slick combination of your arousal and his earlier load, gathering it thickly on the pads.
“open.”
your lips part on instinct. he pushes the fingers inside your mouth, letting you taste the salty-sweet tang of him mixed with you. you suck without being told, tongue curling around the digits while he watches, pleased.
“aww, good girl.” satoru withdraws them with a wet pop, only to plunge three fingers back into your cunt this time. deep, curling and scooping.
“ngh!” the stretch makes your back arch. you’re still sensitive from this morning, from the way he’d fucked you raw against the bathroom counter before classes, whispering ‘keep every drop inside until i say otherwise.’ now those three fingers stir what’s left, pushing it deeper before dragging it back out in a slow glide.
he holds the glistening digits up between you—thick strands of white clinging to them, webbing between his knuckles. “say ‘ahhh’,” he coos.
then he feeds it to you again. you take all three fingers, cheeks hollowing as you suck them clean,. the taste is filthy, intimateand overwhelming. his other hand cups the back of your head, keeping you there while he slowly fucks your mouth with those cum-slick fingers.
when he finally pulls out, a thin string of spit and come connects your lips to his fingertips for a heartbeat before it snaps. he leans in, voice dropping to a husky purr against your ear.
“you held it so well all day, i think ya deserve a reward.” his free hand is already working his belt open, the zipper rasping loud in the quiet apartment. “or maybe another load—just t’ make sure it really sticks this time.”
your thighs tremble. you’re already dripping again, clit throbbing, empty and aching despite everything he left behind. satoru smiles, wickedly and fondly all at once.
“legs up, baby. let’s see how much more you can take f’ me.”
Loser! Nerd! Choso Kamo , Mean Girl! Bully! F!Reader!
After Choso's last strange tutoring session that ended with him leaving his pencil case, he returns for them. Except they both know what they want. And maybe the box of condoms he has finally can come to use. How much does he have to beg this time? Thank goodness Choso is such an easy (and pretty) crier.
Authors Note!- Last part! Lots of degrading. Cum Control. Bottom Choso. Riding Choso while he cries! Dacryphilia. Teasing. Praise and Degradation kink. Slapping. All the good stuff, yum. Excessive use of the word please BTW, I wrote him as a complete begging, crying, whimpering disaster because it just fits. You can all judge me but I have never been happier! I dont regret this. I wrote it on a spur of college burn out and adrenaline. '~'
• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
Choso had lasted exactly two days. Two days of sitting in calculus with his pencils borrowed from other people. Two days of catching you watching him with that knowing smile. Two days of text messages that ranged from cruel to suggestive to outright mocking.
"you know where they are if you want them back 😘"
"or are you too scared to come get them?"
Wednesday afternoon, he'd finally broken. He'd texted you: "Can I come get my pencil case?"
Your response had been immediate: "my house. 7pm. don't be late."
And now here he was. Again. Standing in your massive bedroom with its pink and leopard print rugs and crystal chandelier, watching you sit in your desk chair wearing tiny sleep shorts and an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder. "It's on my desk," you'd said when you let him in, gesturing casually. "Right there." The pencil case was indeed there. Right in the open. Easy to grab and leave. But Choso hadn't moved toward it. And you'd smiled, slow and cruel, that made his stomach drop. "Or," you'd said, your voice honey-sweet, "you could stay for a bit. Keep me company."
Five minutes later, Choso was back on his knees on your plush rug. Not because you'd ordered him to. You hadn't said a word. You'd just sat down in your chair, crossed your legs, and looked at him with those expectant eyes. And his body had moved on its own, sinking down to the floor like it belonged there. Like this was his natural position now. His hands rested on your thigh, bare, smooth, warm under his trembling palms. You were wearing shorts that barely qualified as clothing, the fabric so short that it made his heart race and face flush. "Eyes up here, perv," you said lazily, and his gaze snapped to your face. You were looking down at him with that smug, evil expression that made him feel about two inches tall. "So," you said, tilting your head. "You came back."
"I—I needed my pencil case—"
"Bullshit." You leaned forward slightly, your hand coming to rest on top of his head, fingers threading through his hair. "You could have asked me to bring it to school. Could have bought new pencils. You came back because you wanted to." Choso's face burned. "That's not—" Your fingers tightened in his hair, just enough to make him gasp. "Don't lie to me, Choso. We both know why you're really here." Your smile widened. "You've been thinking about Monday night, haven't you? Been thinking about touching me. About what it felt like to have my tits in your hands. About my tongue on your fingers." His hands tightened reflexively on your thighs. "I... yeah," he admitted quietly, unable to meet your eyes. "Of course you have." You tugged his hair gently, forcing him to look up. "Because you're pathetic. And desperate. And you'd do anything for another chance, wouldn't you?" Choso's throat was tight. "...Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I'd... I'd do anything." Your eyes lit up with that cruel delight he was starting to recognize. "Anything?" you repeated. "That's a dangerous word, virgin."
"I know." You studied him for a long moment, your fingers still in his hair, your legs slightly parted under his hands. "Maybe I'll be nice," you said slowly, and Choso's heart leapt. "Maybe I'll let you touch me again. Maybe I'll even give you more than that." His breath caught. "Really?"
"Maybe," you emphasized. "But first, I want you to tell me something."
"What?" Your smile turned predatory. "When you texted me asking to come over, what did you think would happen? What were you hoping for?" You leaned closer, your face inches from his. "Did you think I'd just hand you your pencil case and send you home? Or did you have other... fantasies... about what might happen when you got here?" Choso's face went nuclear. "I... I don't—"
"Don't lie." Your fingers tightened in his hair. "I want the truth. Tell me what you really thought would happen. What you were hoping for in that pathetic virgin brain of yours." He couldn't. He couldn't possibly tell her. "Tell me," you commanded, your voice soft but firm. "And maybe—maybe—I'll be nice and make some of those fantasies come true." Choso's hands were shaking on your thighs. His whole body was shaking. You were looking at him with those cruel, beautiful eyes, and your fingers were in his hair, and he could smell your perfume and feel the warmth of your skin. "I thought..." His voice came out barely above a whisper. "I thought maybe you'd... that we'd..."
"Use your words."
"I thought maybe you'd let me kiss you again," he said in a rush, his face burning. "Or touch you. Or—or maybe you'd touch me. I don't know. I just... I couldn't stop thinking about Monday, and I thought maybe if I came back you'd…"
"I'd what?" You pulled his hair gently. "Finish the sentence."
"That you'd want me," Choso whispered, and immediately felt like an idiot because, of course, you didn't want him. You were just playing with him. Using him. He was nothing to you but a dog, a little idiotic loser nerd to mess with because he gave all the right reactions. "Want you?" You laughed, not meanly, but amused. "Oh, Choso. That's so cute it's almost sad." His eyes burned with humiliation. "But you know what?" Your thumb brushed across his cheekbone. "I do want something from you." He looked up, hope and fear warring in his chest. "I want to see how far you'll go," you said quietly. "How much you'll debase yourself. How pathetic you'll get for just a chance that I might touch you again." Your other hand joined the first, cupping his face, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to beg. Really beg. Tell me all those pathetic fantasies you've been having. Every dirty thought you've had about me since Monday night. And if you're honest—if you really humiliate yourself properly—then maybe I'll give you something."
Choso's heart was pounding so hard he could hear it. "But if you hold back," you continued, your voice dropping to something dangerous, "if you're too much of a coward to tell me the truth, then you can take your pencil case and leave. And I'll make sure everyone at school knows you came here begging for more and I sent you home with nothing." The threat hung in the air. Choso looked up at you, at your cruel smile and your perfect face and your hands cradling his cheeks like he was something precious, even though you were about to destroy him and made his choice. "Please," he started, his voice shaking. "I've been thinking about you constantly. About Monday night. About how your skin felt and how you tasted and the sounds you made and—"
"Go on," you encouraged, your smile widening. Choso, kneeling on your floor with his hands on your thighs and his dignity scattered somewhere far away, told you everything. Every fantasy. Every desperate thought. Every pathetic hope. While you listened with that evil, satisfied look on your face, knowing that with every word, you owned him a little bit more. Your hand shot out, fingers gripping his chin hard enough to make him gasp. You yanked him up roughly, forcing him to scramble for purchase on the armrests of your chair to keep from falling forward completely. Now he was hovering over you, arms braced on either side of your body, his face level with yours, breathing hard. "Listen to me very carefully," you said, your voice cold and sharp. "If—and I said if—I let you do even one of those pathetic fantasies you just confessed, how can I know it'll be worth my time?" Choso's eyes were wide behind his glasses. "You're a virgin," you continued, your grip tightening on his chin. "A pathetic loser who's never touched a girl before Monday. I'd be doing you such a massive favor letting you anywhere near me. And if it's not worth it—if you disappoint me—I will fucking kill you. Understand?"
"I—I'll make it worth it," Choso stammered. "I promise, I'll—"
"Promises mean nothing." You released his chin with a slight push, and he had to catch himself on the armrests. "You have to show me." You leaned back in your chair, your eyes never leaving his face, and deliberately you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your sleep shorts. Choso's breath caught. You lifted your hips and shimmied the shorts down your legs, taking your time, watching his face the entire time. The shorts hit the floor, leaving you in just your oversized hoodie and a pair of pink lace panties. "Well?" You spread your legs slightly, your feet planted on either side of him where he knelt between them. "You said you wanted to worship me. Said you'd do anything. So prove it." You gestured down at yourself with one hand, that cruel smile playing on your lips. "Show me how desperate you are, virgin. Start small. Work your way up. And maybe if you're good enough, I'll let you have more." Choso's hands were shaking as they left the armrests and moved to your calves.
"That's it," you murmured, watching him like a scientist observing an experiment. "Show me." His lips pressed against your ankle first, tentative, reverent. Then higher. Your shin. Your knee. The inside of your thigh. Each kiss was desperate, worshipful, his hands sliding up your legs as he moved, his glasses slipping down his nose with each forward motion. You threaded your fingers back through his hair, not pulling, just resting there, feeling him tremble under your touch. "Look at me while you do it," you commanded softly. Choso's eyes lifted to yours, and God, the desperation in them was intoxicating. He looked at you like you were everything. Like he'd die if you told him to stop. His lips traveled higher up your thigh, his breathing ragged, his hands gripping your legs like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. And then, because apparently he'd gotten brave, or stupid, or too lost in the moment, his teeth caught the edge of your panties. He started to pull them down with his mouth.
Smack.
Your hand came down on the side of his head, not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to stop him immediately. "Tsk." You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him back. "Did I say you could do that?"
"I thought—"
"You thought wrong." You forced him to look up at you, your grip tight in his hair. "You don't get to just take what you want, Choso. You have to earn it. Every. Single. Thing." His face was flushed, his lips swollen from kissing your skin, his glasses completely crooked now. He looked utterly destroyed, and you'd barely even started. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm sorry, I just—I got carried away—"
"You got greedy," you corrected. "You think because I let you touch my tits once that you can just do whatever you want now?"
"No, I—"
"Then act like it." You released his hair with a slight push. "Start over. From the bottom. And this time, don't do anything I don't explicitly tell you to do. Understand?" Choso nodded frantically. "Say it."
"I understand. I won't—I won't do anything you don't tell me to. I'm sorry. Please." You smiled, satisfied. "Good boy. Now..." You leaned back in your chair, spreading your legs a bit wider. "Start again. And if you're very good, and you beg very nicely, I'll let you do what you just tried to do." You watched him lower his head back to your ankle, his hands shaking on your calves, his breathing unsteady. "But you're going to have to earn it, nerd," you added softly, running your fingers through his hair almost gently now. "You're going to have to show me just how desperate you really are. How much you want it. How pathetic you're willing to be for me." His lips pressed against your skin again, softer this time, more careful, like he was terrified of making another mistake. "That's better," you murmured, your eyes half-lidded as you watched him worship his way up your legs again. "Much better." As Choso kissed and trembled and looked up at you with those desperate, devoted eyes, your finger traced across his lips slowly while your other hand kept his chin tilted up toward you. "You know what?" you said, your voice still carrying that cruel edge but softer now. "You're actually not completely terrible at this. For a pathetic virgin who's never done anything before." Choso's breath hitched at the backhanded praise. "Still desperate though," you continued, your thumb pressing against his bottom lip. "Still so fucking obvious how badly you want this. Look at you, shaking like a leaf."
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize." You leaned forward, your face close to his. "I like you desperate. It's entertaining." Then you pulled him closer, gripping his chin firmly, guiding him until he was kneeling up higher, his face level with yours. "Don't move," you commanded. Choso froze, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You kept your eyes locked on his as your free hand traveled down his chest, over his stomach, to the waistband of his jeans. His breath caught audibly. "I said don't move," you repeated when his hips twitched involuntarily. Your fingers found his zipper, pulling it down with agonizing slowness. Then you worked his jeans down just enough, not off, just enough to access the black boxers underneath. And the very obvious bulge straining against the fabric. "Jesus Christ," you muttered, your hand palming him through the cotton. "You really are desperate, aren't you?"
Choso made a strangled sound, his whole body going rigid, but he didn't move. Didn't pull away. Just stood there trembling while you touched him. Your hand pressed harder, feeling the shape of him, and… Huh.
You kept your expression carefully neutral, your face still set in that cruel smile, but internally you were... surprised. He was bigger than you'd expected. Significantly bigger than you'd imagined when you'd been picturing the stereotypical "virgin loser nerd." Not that you were going to tell him that. "This is what happens when you're a loser virgin," you said instead, your voice mocking as your hand stroked along his length through the fabric. "Touch you once, and you're hard as a rock. Pathetic."
"I—fuck—" Choso's voice cracked. "Language," you tsked, squeezing slightly. "Such a dirty mouth for someone who's supposed to be a good boy." His hips jerked forward despite his best efforts to stay still, seeking more friction.
Smack.
You slapped his cheek with your free hand. "I said, don't move."
"Sorry, I'm sorry—" He was panting now, his glasses fogged up, his face flushed. "I can't help it, you're—"
"I'm what?" Your hand stilled, and he made a sound of protest. "Finish that sentence."
"You're—you're driving me crazy," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I can't think, I can't—please—"
"Please, what?" You resumed your movements, slow and deliberate, watching his face contort. "You want me to stop? You want me to keep going? You want me to actually touch you properly instead of through your boxers like you're some idiot who can't control himself?"
"Yes—any of that—all of that—I don't care—" You gripped his chin harder, forcing him to focus on your face even as your other hand continued its torment. "Look at you," you said softly, cruelly. "So desperate you can't even form coherent sentences. You'd let me do anything right now, wouldn't you? You'd let me ruin you completel,y and you'd thank me for it."
"Yes," Choso breathed without hesitation. "Yes, please, anything—"
"Such a good little nerd," you murmured, and felt him pulse under your palm at the words. "So eager to please. So pathetic." Your hand squeezed again, and his eyes nearly rolled back. "But you know what the best part is?" You leaned in close, your lips almost brushing his ear. "I'm barely even trying. I'm barely touching you. And you're already falling apart." A whimper escaped him. "What do you think would happen if I actually took these off?" Your fingers hooked in the waistband of his boxers, pulling slightly but not enough to actually remove them. "If I actually put my hands on you properly? You'd probably cum in thirty seconds like the desperate virgin you are."
"I wouldn't—I'd try—"
"You'd fail," you said with certainty. "Because you have no control. No experience. You're completely at my mercy." You released him suddenly, both your hand on his chin and the one touching him, and leaned back in your chair. Choso swayed slightly, looking lost and desperate, and completely wrecked. "But I'm feeling generous tonight," you said, examining your nails like you hadn't just been touching him. "So here's what's going to happen." You looked up at him, your smile sharp. "You're going to beg me—really beg, like your life depends on it—to let you finish what you started. To let you actually please me instead of just worshipping my legs like a desperate puppy." Choso was already opening his mouth, already starting to beg, and you held up a hand. "But," you continued, "if I let you do that, you have to promise me something."
"Anything," he said immediately. "You'll do exactly what I say. When I say stop, you stop. When I say more, you give me more. You don't get to make any decisions. You don't get to take control. You're mine to use however I want. Understand?" The word "mine" made something flash in his eyes. Desperation mixed with something darker, needier. "I understand," Choso said, his voice hoarse. "I'm yours. Whatever you want. Please." You studied him for a long moment, drawing out his anticipation, watching him tremble. "Good boy. Now..." You spread your legs wider, settling back in your chair. "Show me just how desperate you really are."
"Take off my hoodie," you commanded. Choso's hands moved immediately, trembling but obedient, gripping the hem of your oversized sweater and carefully pulling it up over your head. And there you were. Bare from the waist up. Your breasts were exposed to the cool air of your room, nipples already hard, and Choso made a sound, a high, desperate whimper that came from somewhere deep in his chest. Just from seeing you. You laughed sharply and delightedly and slapped him across the face. Not hard. Just enough to make his head snap to the side, to remind him of his place. "Did you just fucking whimper?" You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you. "Oh my God, you're so pathetic it's actually funny." His face was completely flushed, his eyes glossy behind his fogged-up glasses, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. "I'm sorry, I just—you're so—"
"Shut up." You released his face and stood, pointing at your bed. "Sit. On the bed. Now." Choso scrambled to obey, moving so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet as he sat on the edge of your mattress. You followed slowly, deliberately, letting him watch as you approached. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, one knee on either side of his thighs, and his hands immediately flew to your waist before hesitating, hovering uncertainly. "You can touch," you said, placing his hands on your hips. "For now." You settled your weight on him fully, and the contact made him groan. You could feel exactly how hard he was through the thin fabric of his boxers, pressing against your barely-covered core. Your hands gripped his shoulders, holding him in place, keeping him beneath you. "Look at you," you murmured, your nails digging slightly into his shoulders. "Fully clothed while I'm sitting on you in nothing but panties. How does that feel, virgin?"
"It feels—fuck—it feels—" Your finger traced down his chest, over his stomach, following the trail down to where his jeans hung open and his boxers stretched obscenely over his erection. You traced the outline with just your forefinger, slow and light, and watched him twitch and shudder beneath you. "These must be so uncomfortable, hm?" Your voice was saccharine-sweet and poisonous. "How many times have you touched yourself since Monday, loser?" Choso's face went even redder. "I... every night," he admitted in a whisper. "Every night since then."
"Every night?" You pressed harder through the fabric, and his hips bucked involuntarily. "That's so fucking sad, Choso. Touching yourself every single night thinking about me? About the one time I let you feel me up?"
"I couldn't stop," he gasped. "I tried, I—"
"You're addicted," you said, leaning in close, your breath hot against his ear. "Addicted to something you barely even got to experience. That's how pathetic you are." Then you bit down on his neck, hard, aggressive, your teeth sinking into his skin until he cried out. Not a gentle love bite. An actual bite, meant to hurt, meant to mark, meant to remind him that you could do whatever you wanted to him. "Fuck—" Choso's hands tightened on your hips, his whole body tensing. You pulled back, examining the red mark blooming on his neck with satisfaction. "Everyone's going to see that tomorrow," you said cheerfully. "Everyone's going to know someone marked you up. They'll probably ask who. What are you going to tell them?"
"I—I don't know—"
"You'll lie," you said simply. "Because you're too much of a coward to tell them the truth. That the girl who bullies you is also the one who owns you." You leaned back, sitting up straight on his lap, and gestured down at his legs. "Take your pants off. Just the pants." Choso didn't hesitate. He lifted you slightly, careful and easily, as he worked his jeans down his legs and kicked them off completely. Now he sat there in just his boxers and his oversized shirt, and you were back on his lap, grinding slightly just to watch him struggle to stay still. "Shirt too," you decided. "Take it off." His hands went to the hem of his shirt, and you helped, gripping the fabric and pulling it up over his head, tossing it aside. You stopped. Actually stopped and stared. Because Choso Kamo, nerdy, pathetic, virgin Choso who wore baggy clothes that hid his entire frame, was not what you'd expected underneath. He wasn't ripped. Wasn't a gym rat with bulging muscles. But he had definition. Clean lines. Lean muscle that suggested he actually did do something physical, contrary to what you'd assumed. His shoulders were broader than they looked in those shapeless shirts. His chest was defined. His stomach had visible muscle tone, not a raging six-pack, but flat and firm with subtle definition. He looked like someone who did bodyweight exercises. Pushups. Pull-ups. Maybe ran. Not like someone who spent all his time hunched over textbooks. "Did you lie about not working out?" you asked, your hands spreading across his chest, feeling the firmness beneath your palms. Choso looked confused. "I... I told you I don't go to the gym."
"But you do something." Your hands explored his shoulders, his chest, his arms, which had more muscle than you'd realized. "What, do you do pushups in your room like a fucking Boy Scout?" His face flushed. "I... yeah. Sometimes. And pull-ups. On my door frame. I just... it helps me think." You laughed, genuinely surprised. "So you've been hiding this the whole time?" Your nails dragged down his chest lightly. "Under those tragic baggy clothes?"
"I didn't think—I mean, it's not—"
"Shut up." You pressed your body against his, skin to skin now, and felt him shudder. "This is actually... not terrible. Still pathetic, but not terrible." It was barely a compliment, but you watched it hit him like a drug anyway. His hands tightened on your hips, his breathing ragged, his eyes locked on yours with that desperate devotion you were getting addicted to. "Please," he whispered. "Please, I need—"
"I know what you need," you interrupted, rolling your hips against his deliberately. "The question is, have you earned it?" And you smiled, completely in control as Choso fell apart beneath you. You grabbed his face and kissed him. Not gentle. Not sweet. Hungry. Your mouth crashed against his, all teeth and tongue and dominance, and Choso kissed back desperately, graceless and eager and so obviously inexperienced it would have been embarrassing if he wasn't so pathetic about it. Your hand fisted in his hair and pulled. Hard. He whimpered into your mouth, high and needy and broken. "You like that?" You pulled harder, forcing his head back, exposing his throat. "You like it when I hurt you, little bitch?"
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, I—fuck—" You kissed him again, swallowing whatever he was about to say, your hips rolling against his in slow, deliberate grinds that made him shake beneath you. Every movement, every rock of your hips, every pull of his hair, every bite to his lip, made him shiver and whimper and fall apart a little more. And you were eating it up. The power. The control. The way he responded to everything you did was as if his body belonged to you now. "So fucking pathetic," you murmured against his lips between kisses. "Shaking like a leaf. Whimpering like a puppy. Is this what you fantasized about, virgin? Me using you like a toy?"
"Please—" His hands gripped your hips desperately.
"Please, what?" You bit his bottom lip hard enough to make him gasp. "Use your words."
"Please don't stop—please—I need—" You pulled his hair hard again, and he moaned so loudly you had to kiss him to muffle the sound. Then you shoved him. Both hands on his chest, pushing him down onto your bed. Choso fell back against your pink comforter, his chest heaving, his hair a mess from your hands, his lips swollen, and his glasses somehow still clinging to his face. You stayed straddling him, looking down at him with cold assessment. "You know what?" you said quietly, your hands resting on his chest. "You don't deserve to fuck me." The devastation that crossed his face was delicious. "I—what? I thought—"
"You thought wrong." You tilted your head, considering. "You're a virgin. You'd probably last thirty seconds, and then it'd be over, and I'd be left unsatisfied. That's not fair to me, is it?"
"I could—I'd try—please, I'd—"
"Shh." You pressed a finger to his lips. "I'm thinking." Your eyes traveled down his body, his flushed face, his marked neck, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and lower… To where his boxers were tented obscenely, a dark spot of precum was already visible on the fabric. A slow smile spread across your face. "You know what? Let's see what we're working with here." Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers. Choso's breath stopped completely. You pulled them down agonizingly slow, watching his face the entire time. And then his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and… Oh. Oh shit.
You kept your expression carefully neutral, but internally? You were genuinely surprised. Choso was big. Like, noticeably, undeniably bigger than Ryota. Bigger than any of the guys you'd been with. Not pornstar huge, but definitely above average. Thick. Long enough to make you reconsider your earlier assessment about not letting him fuck you. Well, fuck. You looked back at his face, at his humiliated expression as he waited for your judgment, and decided not to tell him. Not yet, anyway. Instead, you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, not stroking, just holding, and watched him nearly levitate off the bed. "Fuck—!" His hips bucked up involuntarily. "Don't move," you commanded, pressing your other hand to his chest to hold him down. Your thumb brushed over the tip, just the tip, collecting the bead of precum there, and Choso made a strangled sound. "So sensitive," you murmured, tracing around the head with your fingertip. "So desperate."
"Please—" His voice broke. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?" Your finger circled the tip again, barely touching. "Be specific."
"Your hand—please—I need you to—"
"To what?" You pressed your thumb directly on the slit and he keened. "Say it."
"Please jerk me off," Choso begged, his hips trying to thrust up into your barely-there touch. "Please, I'm begging you, please—"
"That's better." But you didn't give him what he wanted. Instead, you just kept teasing, light touches, circles around the head, occasionally running a single finger down the underside of his shaft just to watch him twitch. "Please—" He was actually crying now, tears of frustration leaking from the corners of his eyes. "Please, please, I'll do anything—"
"You'll do anything anyway," you said matter-of-factly, still just teasing the tip. "Because you're pathetic. Because you're desperate. Because you'd let me torture you like this all night if I wanted to."
"Yes," he sobbed. "Yes, I would, but please—"
"Beg harder." Your finger traced the ridge of the head so lightly it was barely contact at all. "Beg like the little bitch you are. Make me believe you deserve it." And Choso did. He begged and pleaded and whimpered and cried, his body trembling, his cock twitching in your barely-there grip, completely at your mercy. While you sat there, straddling him in nothing but your panties, and enjoyed every single second of his torment. You didn't give in, even as Choso begged, his voice broke, and his hips jerked desperately seeking more friction, you just kept teasing. Light circles around the head. Occasional strokes down the shaft that were too light, too brief. Your thumb pressing against the slit just to watch him gasp. "Please—" His voice was wrecked now, barely recognizable. "Please, I can't—I need—please—"
"You can," you said calmly, your finger tracing the ridge again. "You can take it. You're going to take whatever I give you and be grateful for it."
"I am—I am grateful—please—" A sob actually broke through. Real tears now, not just the frustrated moisture from before. Actual crying. "Please—" You watched in fascination as the tears spilled over, running down his temples into his hair. His face was completely red. His glasses were crooked and fogged up. His chest heaved with broken breaths that were half-sobs, half-whimpers. He looked destroyed. And it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. "Oh my God," you breathed, genuinely delighted. "You're actually crying. You're crying because I won't jerk you off properly. That's so fucking pathetic I almost can't believe it."
"Please—" Another sob. "Please, I'll do anything, anything, just please—" Your hand stayed maddeningly light, just teasing, watching as more tears fell. "Please—" His voice broke completely. "I need—I've never—please—" He was sobbing now. Actually sobbing. His whole body shaking with it, tears streaming down his face, whimpers and broken pleas falling from his lips in an endless stream. Your hand never stopped its torture or gave him enough, never let him have what he needed. "Look at you," you murmured, your free hand coming up to cup his wet cheek. "Crying like a little bitch. All because you're so desperate to cum. So desperate for me to actually touch you properly."
"Yes—" He turned his face into your palm, his tears wetting your skin. "Yes, please, I'm begging you—"
"I know you are." You wiped away a tear with your thumb. "And it's adorable. Really. But I don't think you've earned it yet." A broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a wail, tore from his throat. You, sitting there straddling him, watching him fall apart so completely, so beautifully, felt something shift in your chest. This wasn't just entertaining anymore. This was addictive. You leaned down, your lips close to his ear, your hand still teasing mercilessly. "Here's what's going to happen," you whispered. "I'm going to keep touching you like this. Just like this. Barely enough to feel good but not enough to finish." Choso sobbed. "And if you can hold out—if you can keep yourself from cumming—I'll let you fuck me." His eyes snapped open, glassy and desperate and disbelieving. "What—?"
"You heard me." You pulled back to look at him. "If you can resist. If you can show me you have even a shred of control. Then I'll let you inside me. I'll let you feel what it's like to actually fuck a girl instead of just your hand." The look on his face was pure desperation mixed with determination. "But," you continued, your hand finally wrapping properly around his length, "if you cum before I say you can, then you don't get anything. I'll make you get dressed and leave and you'll go home knowing you failed. Knowing you were too pathetic to control yourself." You started stroking. Properly this time. Firm, steady strokes from base to tip. Choso's whole body went rigid, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. "No cumming," you reminded him, your hand moving in a steady rhythm now. "Not until I say."
"I—I can't—it's too much—please—"
"Yes, you can." Your hand twisted slightly on the upstroke. "You want to fuck me? You want to know what it feels like to be inside a girl? Then you're going to hold out." His hands fisted in your comforter, his back arching, tears still streaming down his face. "That's it, loser," you encouraged, your voice cruel and sweet. "Fight it. Show me you're not completely useless."
"Fuck—" His whole body was trembling. "I can't—I'm going to—"
"You're not," you said firmly, your hand never stopping. "Because you want this. You need this. You need to feel me around you more than you need to breathe right now." A sob tore from his chest, part pleasure, part desperation, part pure overwhelming sensation. "Please—let me—I need to be inside you—please—" His cock was leaking steadily now, precum making your strokes slick, and you could feel him getting close, could feel the tension building in his body. "Don't you dare cum, Choso. Don't you fucking dare."
"I can't—" He was crying harder now, completely overwhelmed, his hips jerking erratically. "It's too much—I've never—please—"
"Do you want to fuck me or not?" Your hand squeezed slightly.
"Yes—God, yes—please—"
"Then HOLD IT." Choso threw his head back with a broken wail, his entire body shaking violently, fighting with everything he had not to tip over the edge. And you watched, fascinated, aroused, drunk on power, as he sobbed and whimpered and begged while your hand worked him mercilessly. Testing him. Torturing him. Seeing just how far you could push him before he broke completely. Because if he could hold out, if he could actually show some control, then maybe you'd give him what he wanted. But if he came? Well. That would be entertaining too.
You stopped completely. Your hand released him, and Choso made a devastated sound, his body trembling violently, teetering on that edge but not falling over. He'd actually done it. Held out. Suffered through your torture because he wanted this, wanted you, more than he needed the relief. "Well," you said, genuinely impressed. "Look at that. The pathetic virgin actually has some self-control." Choso could barely respond, just sobbing and shaking beneath you, his cock still painfully hard and leaking. "You did what I asked," you continued, trailing a finger up his shaft just to watch him jerk. "So I guess I have to keep my end of the deal." You lifted yourself off his lap and stood beside the bed.
Choso's eyes tracked your every movement, desperate, worshipful, disbelieving. You hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs. The sound Choso made was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. His eyes went wide, fixed on you with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable if it wasn't so pathetic. "Oh my God," he breathed, fresh tears spilling over. "You're—I've never—I can't believe—"
"Shut up," you said, but there was less bite to it now. You climbed back onto the bed, straddling him again, and reached for your nightstand. The drawer opened smoothly. You pulled out a condom, one of the ones you kept for Ryota, though you'd never tell Choso that, and tore it open with your teeth. "Hands up," you commanded. Choso immediately raised his arms above his head, wrists together, completely obedient. You wrapped your hand around his base, he twitched violently at the contact, and rolled the condom down his length with practiced efficiency. "There," you said, positioning yourself over him. "Now you don't have any excuses." You grabbed both his wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head against your pillows. Choso's eyes were so wide, so glassy, tears still streaming down his temples. "I can't believe this is happening," he whispered. "I can't—thank you, thank you—"
"I said shut up." But you were positioning yourself now, your other hand guiding him to your entrance. And then slowly you started to sink down onto him. The head pushed inside, and Choso's entire body went rigid. His mouth fell open. His back arched. A sound came from his throat that was barely human. "Oh my God—" His voice broke completely. "Oh my God, oh fuck, oh—" You kept going. Inch by inch. Taking him deeper. And he was, fuck, he was stretching you more than you'd expected. More than Ryota ever did. The stretch burned slightly, that edge of too much that bordered on pleasure-pain. You had to pause, breathing through it, adjusting to the size of him. "Thank you—" Choso was sobbing again, full-body sobs that shook his chest. "Thank you, thank you, oh God, you feel—I've never—thank you—aah!" He was praising you. Actually, thanking you for letting him inside you while tears poured down his face. It was the most pathetic, beautiful thing you'd ever experienced. "Shut. Up," you gritted out, because you were trying to adjust, and his babbling was distracting. "I'm trying—fuck—you're bigger than what I usually take, so just—shut up and let me—" You sank down further, and the stretch intensified. God, he was filling you completely. Stretching you in a way that hurt just slightly but felt good. Felt right. Choso's wrists strained against your grip, his whole body trembling, more broken sounds falling from his lips. "Please—" he sobbed. "Please, I need to—can I touch you—please—"
"No." You tightened your grip on his wrists. "You don't get to touch. You don't get to move. You just lie there and take it." Finally you took him completely. Fully seated on his lap, his entire length inside you, and the feeling was overwhelming. For both of you. Choso actually screamed, a choked, desperate sound, his body spasming beneath you. "Is this—" His voice was completely destroyed. "Am I—am I inside you?"
"Yes, you fucking idiot," you gasped, because he was so deep you could feel him everywhere. "You're inside me." Fresh sobs tore from his chest. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—" You leaned forward, changing the angle slightly, and used your grip on his wrists for leverage as you started to move. Up. Slowly. Until just the tip remained inside. Choso made a sound of pure desperation. Then down. Fast. Taking him to the hilt again. "FUCK—!" You established a rhythm, pulling up until he was almost out, then slamming back down, taking him completely. Each thrust punched sounds from his throat. Sobs. Moans. Broken words that might have been pleas or prayers or just your name. Your free hand braced against his chest as you rode him harder, faster, chasing the friction and fullness and the intoxicating power of watching him fall apart beneath you. "This is what you wanted?" you panted, your hips rolling. "To feel what it's like inside a girl?"
"Yes—" He could barely speak. "Ngh!~ Yes, oh God, yes—"
"You're never going to forget this," you told him, leaning down so your face was close to his. "Every time you close your eyes, you're going to remember how this felt. How I felt. You're going to be fucking addicted."
"I already—fuck—I'm already—aa!" His hips jerked up involuntarily, trying to meet your movements, and you immediately stopped. Completely still, fully seated on him. "What did I say about moving?" you asked coldly. "No—I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—please don't stop—Ngh!~ please—"
"Then stay. Still." You punctuated each word with a slow roll of your hips. Choso sobbed, his body trembling with the effort of staying motionless beneath you while you moved above him. "Good boy," you murmured, and felt him pulse inside you at the praise. You started moving again, harder this time, faster, taking your pleasure while he lay pinned beneath you, crying and whimpering and completely at your mercy. His wrists strained against your grip. His glasses had fallen off at some point; you didn't even know when. His face was a mess of tears and sweat and desperate pleasure. He looked absolutely ruined. And you'd never felt more powerful in your entire life. "Don't you dare cum yet," you warned, feeling your own pleasure building.
"I—I don't know if I can—it's too much—please—"
"You will." You squeezed his wrists hard enough to hurt. "Because if you cum before me, I'll never touch you again. Ever." That seemed to focus him. Terror mixing with the overwhelming sensation. "I won't—I'll try—please—"
"Good." You leaned back, changing the angle, and rode him harder. Using him. Taking what you needed. While Choso sobbed and shook and fought with everything he had not to finish before you gave him permission. Because he was yours now. Completely. Utterly. And you were going to make sure he never, ever forgot it.
You kept thrusting onto him. “Ngh!~” another desperate whimper. Another thrust. “Ah!” another tear falling from those sweet brown eyes, his head thrashing around. His fingers dug into his palms; you were sure his palms would bleed. He was a red, crying mess, moaning and whimpering with every thrust with such loudness and pleasured agony. Choso was having the time of his life, really. His legs ached, and his core felt weaker. He felt that familiar ache in his muscles and balls, except he would feel you pulse around him, and it’d make his back arch up into you, hitting another spot that caused them both to moan.
“G-gonna– cum– cum. Cum!” He whimpered out, he was still stronger than you, and he was now thrusting upwards, bouncing up into you, switching control for a mere second as he twitched. “Cum– p-please— please– please cumming cum… your pussy… so so good. Ah~” He was slobbering and crying and whimpering as his mouth dropped open, hips sputtering rather quickly, and all you could do was bounce to his rhythm, holding onto his forearms as you felt him twitch one last time before he came into the condom. He settled like a ragdoll, going limp as his breath heaved rapidly. You werent done, though. You roughly grabbed him by his hair and continued bouncing at a rapid pace. You were close, so it wasnt long. But Choso mewled, hand going up to grab your wrist of the hand in his hair, “Ngh~ T-too much… too much, aa!” But he just whimpered as you continued, looking up through his wet, tear-soaked lashes as you held his head up. “What you deserve for cumming before I said, loser–” You came, throwing your head back as you rode it out on his spent cock, he cried along too, small whimpers as he felt the whole thing. You clenching then the gush of juice, it was like heaven, he wished he could have cum again.
You went limp, falling on top of him, head on his heaving chest. Your body twitched from aftershocks and stayed lying there, him still half inside, though now soft. “Okay, loser, you can shut up now.” Choso was still whimpering, the aftershocks of his first orgasm inside a girl really taking a toll on his body. He hadnt even realized he was still whimpering and quietly sobbing, “S-sorry.” You sat up, your hands on his chest. If you were pretty before Choso thought you were otherworldly, right now. Skin dewy and cheeks flushed, hair framing your face, looking down at him with that glazed look on your own face. You rolled your eyes, “Whatever. Once youre done with this, clean up and get the fuck out.” You then grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you, “And don't tell a fucking soul or I swear I will spread the worst rumor about you, Choso.” He could only weakly whimper a response. God, you really turned him on.
Loser! Nerd! Choso Kamo , Mean Girl! Bully! F!Reader!
After a devastating weekend after the party, Choso has a note land on his tray at lunch. Next thing he's at her house for tutoring, but tutoring soon turns into a power display full of sexual tension and a pathetic loser on his knees getting new awakenings.
Authors Note!- Guys this is where it gets good. Hehehhe it was so hard to type with one hand...sigh. I love a man on all fours like a dog, literally begging for the minimum. Heavy masochistic behavior and borderline power dynamics between evil mean girl and pathetic whimpering loser. Also bring back fingers in mouths, the fuck. Just read.
• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
The weekend had been a special kind of hell. Saturday morning, Choso had woken up with the worst hangover of his life, which, granted, was his first hangover, but still. His head pounded. His mouth tasted like something had died in it. And his mother was waiting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, a very serious expression, and a box of condoms she'd apparently purchased at 7 AM from CVS. "Mom, I don't—I don't need those—"
"Choso." She'd held up her hand. "Sit down. We need to talk." What followed was forty-five minutes of the most excruciating conversation of Choso's entire life. His mother, bless her heart, had decided that her son coming home drunk at 3 AM with lip gloss on his face meant he was suddenly sexually active and needed a comprehensive sex education talk.
"When two people care about each other—"
"Mom, please—"
"—it's important to use protection every time—"
"I'm not—we didn't—"
"—and consent is absolutely crucial. If she says no, or if she's too drunk to consent—"
"MOM, WE JUST KISSED!" His mother had paused, tea cup halfway to her lips. "...Just kissed?"
"Yes."
"That's a lot of lip gloss for 'just kissed.'" Choso had put his head down on the kitchen table and wished for death. She'd left the condoms on his nightstand anyway. "Just in case," she'd said with a knowing look that made him want to crawl into a hole and never emerge. Now it was Monday morning, 7:51 AM, and Choso sat at his desk in the back corner of AP Calculus wearing his usual outfit, an oversized navy blue sweater that hung off his frame, baggy khaki pants, his cheap glasses sliding down his nose. Back to normal. Back to being invisible. Except his lips still tingled when he thought about Friday night. About you. About the way you'd kissed him like you were trying to consume him whole.
This didn't happen. She said it didn't happen.
The classroom filled slowly. Choso kept his head down, reviewing his notes, trying to pretend his heart wasn't pounding. 7:58 AM.
Click. Click. Click.
His pencil froze mid-equation. You walked in wearing a hot pink velour tracksuit today, Juicy Couture, of course, the jacket cropped to show your flat stomach, the pants sitting so low on your hips that the pink lace whale tail of your thong rose above the waistband like a banner. Underneath, a white ribbed tank top, tight enough to show the outline of your matching pink push-up bra. Your hair was in a high ponytail, swishing with each step. Your lip gloss, the same shade you'd been wearing Friday night, caught the fluorescent lights. Choso's throat went dry. You walked right past him. Didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge him. Just swept by like he didn't exist, your perfume trailing behind you. Vanilla and flowers and Friday night in your kitchen. You took your seat three rows up. Choso exhaled slowly, his hands shaking slightly.
Okay. Fine. That's fine. She said it didn't happen. She's going back to ignoring you. That's—
You turned around in your seat. Your eyes locked on his. And you smiled. Not your usual mean smile. Something worse. Something that made his stomach drop and his pulse spike and every alarm bell in his brain start ringing. You'd realized something. He could see it in your eyes, that cruel, delighted spark that meant you'd figured out a new way to torture him. You'd realized exactly how much power you had over him now. That he'd let you kiss him. That he'd wanted it. That he'd probably let you do anything to him and thank you for it afterward. Your smile widened, and you slowly, deliberately, ran your tongue across your glossed lips. Then you turned back around. Choso sat there, frozen, his heart hammering.
Fuck.
The bell rang. Mr. Suoh walked in. Started talking about derivatives of inverse functions. Choso couldn't focus. Couldn't hear anything over the rushing in his ears. Because ten minutes into class, you raised your hand. "Mr. Suoh? Can I borrow a pencil? I forgot mine."
"Of course, dear. Does anyone have an extra pencil?" A pause. Then you turned in your seat, your eyes finding Choso's immediately. "Choso always has extra pencils. Don't you, Choso?" Every head in the classroom turned to look at him.
Mr. Suoh smiled. "Choso, can you lend her a pencil?" He couldn't say no. Not with the teacher asking. Not with everyone watching. "...Yeah," Choso managed, his voice barely above a whisper. He pulled a mechanical pencil from his case, one of his good ones, and held it out. You stood up, your platforms clicking as you walked back to his desk. Choso's hand was shaking as you reached for the pencil. Your fingers brushed his. Deliberately. Slowly. You leaned down, your face level with his, close enough that he could smell your perfume, see the perfect application of your mascara. "Thanks, virgin," you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "I'll make sure to return it. Maybe I'll even put my mouth on it. You know. Like I did to yours." Choso's face went nuclear. You straightened up, twirling the pencil between your fingers, and walked back to your seat with an extra sway in your hips. Mr. Suoh continued the lesson, oblivious. But behind Choso, he heard Gojo whisper: "Dude, did she just—"
"No way."
"She definitely just—" Laughter. Quiet and cruel. And in front of him, you turned around one more time, caught his eye, and winked. Then you brought the pencil to your lips, his pencil, the one he'd been using for weeks, and deliberately, slowly, slid it between your glossed lips. Your eyes never left his. Choso couldn't breathe. You pulled the pencil out of your mouth, examined it like you were checking if it tasted good, and then went back to taking notes like nothing had happened. Like you hadn't just destroyed him in front of the entire class. The rest of the period was a blur. Choso sat there, his face burning, his hands clenched into fists on his desk, trying desperately not to think about Friday night. About your tongue in his mouth. About the way you'd tasted. About the fact that you'd just put his pencil in your mouth and he was never going to be able to use it again without thinking about this exact moment. The bell rang. Choso started gathering his things, but then you were at his desk, holding out the pencil. "Here," you said, loud enough for people to hear. Sweet. Innocent. "Thanks for letting me borrow it." Choso reached for it automatically. You dropped it. It clattered to the floor, rolling under his desk.
"Oops," you said flatly. "Better pick that up, Cho-so. Wouldn't want to lose it." Then you leaned down, your lips close to his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear, "I know you're hard right now. I know you've been hard this entire class thinking about Friday. And I know that when you get home tonight, you're going to touch yourself and think about me." Choso's breath hitched. "That's so fucking pathetic," you continued, your breath hot against his ear. "But it's also exactly what I want. Because now I know I own you. And there's nothing—nothing—you won't let me do to you." You pulled back, your expression perfectly innocent again.
"See you at lunch, nerd." And then you were gone, your platforms clicking as you walked away, leaving Choso sitting there with his face on fire and his hands shaking and the realization settling over him like a weight. She was right. About all of it. He was hard. He would think about her tonight. He would let her do anything to him. Despite everything some pathetic, desperate part of him was already hoping she'd kiss him again. Already craving whatever torture she had planned next. Choso bent down to pick up his pencil, his hands trembling. It had a faint shimmer of pink gloss on it. He stared at it for a long moment. Then he put it in his pocket instead of his pencil case. Because he was pathetic. And she knew it. And that was exactly what she wanted.
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Choso sat at his usual table in the back corner of the cafeteria, alone, picking at his pizza that tasted like cardboard and trying very hard not to look at your table. He failed. Obviously. You were holding court as usual, sitting on top of the table itself with your heels on the bench seat, your velour-covered legs crossed. Ryota's hand was on your thigh, possessive, casual, while you laughed at something Madison said. You looked perfect. Untouchable. Like Friday night had never happened. Like you hadn't kissed him in your kitchen while drunk and told him it was a secret. Choso forced himself to look away and took a bite of his pizza. Something hit his lunch tray with a soft thwap. He blinked, looking down. A folded piece of paper. Pink. The edge decorated with little hearts drawn in gel pen. His stomach dropped. Choso glanced around the cafeteria, trying to figure out where it had come from, but everyone seemed occupied with their own conversations. No one was looking at him. His hands shook slightly as he unfolded the note. The handwriting was feminine. Loopy. Written in sparkly pink gel pen with little hearts dotting the i's.
need help tutoring
3847 Laurel Canyon Drive
(in case you forgot from Friday lol)
be there at 6
or else....
xoxo
No signature. But it didn't need one. He'd recognize that address anywhere. It was burned into his brain from Friday night. The massive white mansion with the circular driveway and the cars that cost more than his house. Your address. Choso read the note three times, his heart pounding harder with each pass. Tutoring. She wanted him to come over. To her house. Alone. This was a trap. Obviously a trap. She was going to humiliate him somehow, probably invite people over to watch.
"or else...."
The threat was vague but effective. He'd learned not to test what "or else" meant when it came to you. Choso's eyes flicked back to your table. You were looking directly at him now. Your phone was in your hand, but your eyes were locked on his, and that evil smile was back on your glossed lips. You raised one eyebrow. A question. Well? Choso looked back down at the note, his throat tight. Six PM. Your house. Tutoring. He should say no. Should crumple up the note and throw it away and go home after school and pretend this never happened. But you were still watching him, and that "or else" hung in the air like a guillotine, and he already knew he was going to show up. Because he was pathetic and she basically owned him now. Some sick part of him wanted to know what would happen if he went. Choso carefully folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, next to the pencil with your lip gloss still on it. When he looked up again, you were smiling wider. You brought your phone to your ear, pretending to take a call, but your lips moved in an exaggerated whisper he could read from across the cafeteria.
"Good boy."
Then you turned back to Ryota, laughing at something he said, your hand on his chest. Like Choso didn't exist. Like you hadn't just sent him a note commanding him to show up at your house. Like you hadn't kissed him three days ago and threatened him this morning and wrapped him around your little finger so completely he couldn't even think straight anymore. Choso looked down at his tray, his pizza suddenly even more unappetizing. Six PM. He had five and a half hours to convince himself not to go. He already knew he'd fail.
The rest of the day dragged by in a blur of anxiety and anticipation. Fifth period English: Couldn't focus. Kept reading the same paragraph of The Great Gatsby over and over without comprehending a single word. Sixth period Chemistry: Nearly caused an experiment to explode because he was too distracted measuring compounds. Seventh period Study Hall: Spent the entire time staring at the note, trying to decipher if there was some hidden meaning he was missing. Tutoring. Right. Because you definitely needed help with calculus when you had a 98% in the class. This was something else. Had to be. But what? The final bell rang at 3:15 PM. Choso went home, dropped his backpack in his room, and stared at his closet for twenty minutes trying to decide what to wear.
It's just tutoring. Wear normal clothes. Don't overthink this.
He changed his shirt three times anyway. Settled on a dark grey t-shirt that fit properly and jeans that weren't too baggy. Stared at himself in the mirror.
You look like an idiot. She's going to laugh at you. This is a trap. Don't go. Just don't—
5:45 PM. Choso grabbed his backpack, told his mom he was going to study at a friend's house (technically not a lie), and walked out the door before he could change his mind. The walk to your house took twenty minutes. With every step, his anxiety ratcheted higher.
Turn around. Just turn around. Text her and say you can't make it. She can't do anything if you're not there.
But he kept walking. Past familiar streets. Into neighborhoods that got progressively nicer. Bigger houses. Newer cars. Manicured lawns. And then he was standing in front of 3847 Laurel Canyon Drive. The mansion looked different in daylight. Less overwhelming. Still massive and expensive and completely out of his league, but... quieter. No cars in the driveway except for a white Mercedes convertible he assumed was yours. No music. No people. Just silence. Choso checked his phone: 5:58 PM. He stood at the end of the driveway for a full two minutes, trying to force his feet to move.
She's going to destroy you. You know that, right? Whatever this is, it's designed to hurt you.
But he walked up to the front door anyway. Raised his hand. Knocked. And waited, his heart pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears, for whatever hell you had planned for him tonight. The door swung open before Choso could knock a second time. You stood there in the same hot pink tracksuit from school, the velour catching the golden evening light. Your hair was still in its high ponytail, your lip gloss freshly applied and shimmering. "You're late," you said, even though his phone read exactly 6:00 PM. "I'm—I'm not, it's—"
"Whatever. Come in." You turned and walked inside, leaving the door open for him to follow. Choso stepped into the foyer and his breath caught. The inside was even more impressive than the outside, marble floors, a massive staircase with an iron railing, a chandelier that probably cost more than his mom's car hanging from the two-story ceiling. "Close the door, Choso. Were you raised in a barn?" He quickly shut the door behind him, his backpack hanging awkwardly from one shoulder. You were already halfway down the hall. "My parents are in Cabo until Thursday. House rules: don't touch anything expensive, don't sit on the white furniture, and don't be weird."
"I'm not—I won't—"
"You're already being weird." You glanced back at him. "Stop standing there like a lost puppy and keep up." Choso followed you through the house, past a living room that looked like something from a magazine, a kitchen with marble countertops and stainless steel appliances, a dining room with a table that could seat twelve. And then up the stairs. His palms started sweating.
Her bedroom. You're going to her bedroom. This is—
"This is my room," you announced, pushing open a door at the end of the hallway. Choso stepped inside and tried not to stare. The room was massive. Bigger than his entire bedroom and bathroom combined. A king-sized bed with a pink and leopard print comforter sat against one wall. Plush rugs covered the hardwood floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows with expensive curtains. A chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Vanity covered in makeup and perfume bottles. Posters of bands and models on the walls. A desk with a laptop and scattered textbooks. It looked like a hotel suite. A very pink, very expensive hotel suite. "Stop gawking," you said, walking to your desk and sitting down in the chair. You spun to face him, crossing your legs. "We're here to study, remember?" Choso nodded, his throat dry. "Right. Yeah. Calculus."
"Sit." He looked around for another chair, didn't see one, and started moving toward the bed. "Not there." Choso froze. "What?" You pointed at the floor. Right beside your desk chair. A spot on the plush pink rug. "Sit. Here." He stared at the spot. At you. Back at the spot. "You... you want me to sit on the floor?"
"Did I stutter?" Your voice was sharp now, that mean edge creeping in. "I said sit. Here. On the floor. Like the pathetic little dog you are." Choso's face burned. "I can just—there's a bed right—"
"Choso." You leaned forward, your elbows on your knees, your face serious. "I'm going to say this once. You're in my house. In my room. And you're going to do exactly what I tell you to do. So either sit on the floor where I told you to sit, or get the fuck out and deal with whatever 'or else' I come up with tomorrow." The threat hung in the air. Choso looked at the floor. At the spot you'd indicated. Right beside your chair, close enough that you could reach down and touch him if you wanted. Close enough that he'd be looking up at you the entire time. Like a dog. Like something beneath you. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Don't do it. Have some dignity. Just leave.
But his feet moved anyway. He walked to the spot, his face burning with humiliation, and slowly lowered himself to the floor. The rug was soft under him. Expensive. Plush. From this angle, you towered over him, sitting in your desk chair like a throne, looking down at him with that satisfied smile. "Good boy," you said softly. "See? You can follow instructions when you want to." Choso stared at the floor, his jaw clenched. "Now." You spun your chair back to face your desk, your legs crossed, your slippers dangling inches from his shoulder. "Let's actually study. I have a test on Wednesday and I need to make sure I ace it."
For the next forty minutes, you actually studied. It was surreal. You asked him questions about implicit differentiation, about related rates, about optimization problems. Choso answered them from his position on the floor, his textbook open in his lap, his voice quiet. You took notes. Asked follow-up questions. Actually seemed to be paying attention. It was almost... normal. Except for the part where he was sitting on the floor like a pet while you sat above him. Except for the part where every time you shifted in your chair, he caught a glimpse of your ankle, your calf, the curve of your leg in those velour pants. Except for the part where he was hyper-aware of every movement you made, every breath, every time your pen tapped against your notebook. And then you reached down and unzipped your jacket. Slowly. The metallic sound of the zipper seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. Choso's eyes flicked up automatically, he couldn't help it, and his breath caught. The white tank top that had been under your jacket all day was gone. Just the hot pink push-up bra. Lace and padding and nothing else under the velour jacket that now hung open. You leaned forward slightly, reaching for your calculator, and the jacket fell open more. Choso was staring. He knew he was staring. Couldn't stop.
Smack.
Your hand came down on his cheek, not hard enough to really hurt, but sharp enough to sting. Enough to snap his attention back up to your face. "Eyes up here, loser," you said, your voice dripping with condescension. "You're here to help me study, not stare at my tits like the desperate virgin you are."
"I wasn't—"
"Yes, you were." You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at you. "You're so fucking predictable, Choso. I show a little skin and you turn into a drooling idiot. It's pathetic." His face was on fire. "Then why did you—"
"Because I can." You released his chin. "Because I wanted to see if you could actually focus on math or if you'd immediately prove what a perverted little creep you are. And guess what?" You smiled. "You failed. Again." Choso's hands clenched in his lap. "Now." You picked up your pencil, his pencil, the one with your lip gloss still on it. "Explain optimization problems to me. And if I catch you staring at anything other than this textbook, I'm going to make you regret showing up here tonight." For the next twenty minutes, Choso explained optimization problems while trying desperately not to look at you. At your bare shoulders. At the curve of your breasts in that pink lace bra. At the way you bit your lip when you were concentrating. At your legs crossed beside him, so close he could touch them if he reached out. You knew what you were doing. Every time you leaned forward to write something, the jacket fell open more. Every time you shifted in your chair, your leg brushed against his shoulder, brief contact that made his whole body tense.
"You're shaking," you observed casually, not looking up from your notes. "Are you cold, Choso? Or just that pathetic?" He didn't answer. "That's what I thought." You reached down and ran your fingers through his hair, casual, almost absent-minded, like he really was a pet. "Keep explaining. You stopped talking." Choso forced himself to continue, his voice shaking now, while your fingers played with his hair and your half-dressed body loomed above him and he wondered how much more of this he could take before he completely fell apart.Choso's eyes had drifted again. He couldn't help it. The open jacket, the pink lace, the way you leaned forward to write, it was impossible not to look.
Smack.
Another light slap to his cheek, sharper this time. "Seriously?" You rolled your eyes, your voice dripping with exasperation. "You're like a fucking dog in heat. Can't even keep your eyes on the textbook for five minutes."
"I'm sorry, I just—"
"You just what? Can't help yourself?" You spun your chair to face him fully now, your legs on either side of him, caging him in against the desk. "You're that desperate? That pathetic?" Choso's mouth went dry. From this position, on the floor between your legs, looking up at you with your jacket hanging open and your body on full display, he felt like he might actually pass out. "I... I'm trying to focus—"
"No, you're not." You tilted your head, studying him with that cruel smile. "You're trying not to stare at my tits like a virgin who's never seen a real girl before. Which, let's be honest, you probably haven't." His face was nuclear. "That's not—"
"It is true." You leaned forward, your elbows on your knees, your face close to his. "So here's a question for you, Cho-so. Since you clearly can't concentrate with my jacket on..." You paused, your eyes locked on his. "Would you actually be able to focus better if I just showed you my tits? Got it out of your system so you could stop being such a desperate little perv?" Choso's brain short-circuited. He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, no sounds coming out.
Did she just—did he hear that correctly—
"Well?" You raised an eyebrow. "I asked you a question. Do you think you could actually study if I just let you see what you've been staring at all night?"
"I—" His voice came out as a croak. He cleared his throat. "I don't—what—"
"Use your words, virgin." Your smile widened. "It's a simple yes or no question." Choso's hands were shaking. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. Blood was rushing everywhere, to his face, to places that made sitting on the floor extremely uncomfortable. "I... I mean... yeah?" It came out as a question, uncertain and pathetic. "Yeah?" you repeated mockingly. "'Yeah' what? Be specific."
"I..." Choso swallowed hard. "I think... maybe... yes?"
"That's not good enough." You sat back in your chair, crossing your arms under your chest, which only pushed your breasts up higher. "If you want something from me, Choso, you have to ask for it. Properly." His stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"
"I mean beg." Your eyes glittered with cruel amusement. "If you want me to take off my jacket and my bra so you can see my tits and maybe—maybe—actually focus on studying, then you need to beg me for it. Like the pathetic little virgin you are." Choso felt like he was going to die. Actually die. Right there on your pink fluffy rug. "I... I can't—"
"Then I guess we're done studying." You started to zip your jacket back up. "Wait!" The word burst out of him before he could stop it. You paused, one hand on the zipper, your eyebrow raised. "Wait, what?" Choso's entire body was burning with humiliation. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs. Every shred of dignity he had left was screaming at him to get up and walk out. But he didn't. "Please," he whispered, barely audible. "What was that? I couldn't hear you."
"Please." Louder now, his voice cracking.
"Please what, Choso? Be specific. Tell me exactly what you want." He closed his eyes, unable to look at you while he said it. "Please... please show me... show me your—"
"Look at me when you're begging." His eyes snapped open. You were smiling, that cruel, satisfied smile that made him feel about two inches tall. "Please show me your tits," Choso forced out, his voice shaking. "Please. I... I need to see them. I can't focus and I—please."
"Better." You tilted your head. "But I don't think you really mean it. I don't think you want it badly enough."
"I do—"
"Then beg me properly. On your knees. Tell me how pathetic you are. Tell me how desperate. Make me believe it." Choso was already on the floor, but he shifted forward onto his knees, his hands clasped in front of him like he was praying. "Please," he said, hating himself with every word. "Please, I'm... I'm pathetic. I'm desperate. I can't stop staring at you and I know it makes me a creep but I can't help it. Please just... please show me. I'm begging you." You studied him for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then you smiled. "Well. Since you asked so nicely." Your hands went to the zipper of your jacket. And you pulled it down. Slowly. So slowly it felt like torture. Like time itself had slowed down, every second stretching into an eternity. The zipper descended inch by agonizing inch. The pink velour parting to reveal more skin. The curve of your breasts in that hot pink lace bra becoming more visible with each passing second. Choso couldn't breathe. Couldn't blink. Couldn't do anything except watch.
You shrugged the jacket off your shoulders, slowly, deliberately, letting it slide down your arms before tossing it onto your bed behind you. Now you sat there in just the velour pants and the pink lace push-up bra. Your skin was perfect. Smooth and tanned. Your collarbone sharp and elegant. Your breasts pushed up and together by the bra, the lace barely containing them. "Still want more?" you asked, your voice soft and dangerous. Choso nodded, unable to speak. Your hands went to the clasp of your bra. Between your shoulder blades. You reached back, your movement slow and deliberate, and Choso watched as your fingers found the clasp.
Click.
The bra loosened. You brought your hands forward, holding the cups in place for just a moment, your eyes locked on his. "You're going to remember this, aren't you?" you said quietly. "You're going to go home tonight and touch yourself thinking about this exact moment. About how I made you beg. About how pathetic you looked on your knees."
"Yes," Choso breathed.
"Good." And then, finally you let the bra fall. Choso's brain completely stopped functioning. You sat there, topless, in nothing but your pink velour pants and your slippers, your body on full display, and you were smiling like you'd just won the lottery. "There," you said casually, like you'd just shown him a homework problem instead of completely destroying his ability to form coherent thoughts. "Happy now, loser?" Choso couldn't answer. Couldn't move. Could barely breathe. "Now." You picked up your textbook, holding it in front of you to cover yourself slightly, your expression turning serious. "Explain optimization problems to me. And maybe if you can actually focus this time, I'll let you keep looking." You lowered the textbook just enough that he could see again. "Well? I'm waiting." And Choso, still on his knees on your floor, his face burning and his body betraying him completely, tried desperately to remember anything at all about calculus while you sat there, half-naked and cruel and beautiful and completely in control.You watched him struggle to form words, his mouth opening and closing like he'd forgotten how language worked, and something warm and electric shot through your chest.
God, this is incredible.
You'd always known you had power over Choso. Known it from the first time you'd made him stutter in sophomore year, from every insult that made his face go red, from the way he'd let you step on him in the hallway without fighting back. But this? This was different. This was him on his knees in front of you, literally begging, his eyes glazed over and desperate, his entire body trembling like you were a goddess and he was your most devoted worshipper. You felt drunk on it. More drunk than you'd been at the party. More powerful than you'd ever felt with Ryota or any of the other guys who'd touched you. Because they'd wanted you, sure. But Choso needed you. And you could see it written all over his pathetic face. "You know what?" you said, your voice honey-sweet and poisonous. You leaned back in your chair, letting the textbook drop to the side, giving him an unobstructed view. "If you get this next problem right—and I mean perfect, no mistakes—I'll let you touch." His eyes went even wider behind those cheap glasses. "I'm all for charity work," you added with a cruel laugh. "Helping out the less fortunate. Virgins who've probably never felt a real girl before."
"I—" Choso's voice cracked. "What's the problem?" You smiled. So desperate.
"Optimize the volume of a cylinder with surface area of 100 square centimeters. Show your work." You watched him try to think. Watched his eyes dart between your face and your chest and the textbook and back again. Watched his hands shake as he reached for his notebook. He was falling apart. And you loved it. Is this what it feels like? you thought, watching him scribble equations with trembling fingers. Is this why people get addicted to control? Because right now, sitting half-naked in your chair while a guy who you'd tortured for months knelt at your feet and struggled to do basic math just for the chance to touch you, this felt better than any party, any drink, any kiss from your boyfriend who barely paid attention to you anymore. This felt like power. Choso finished writing, his hand shaking so badly the numbers were barely legible. "Let me see," you said. He held up the notebook, and you pretended to study it carefully, even though you already knew he'd gotten it right. He always got it right. He was annoyingly good at math. "Hmm." You dragged it out, watching him squirm. "I don't know, Choso. This looks... sloppy. Did you even try?"
"It's right," he said quickly, desperately. "I know it's right, please, I—"
"Begging already?" You raised an eyebrow. "I didn't even say no yet." But his hands were already moving to your legs, hovering just above your knees, not quite touching, trembling violently. "Please," he breathed. "Please, I got it right, I know I did, please just—"
"Beg harder, Choso." You leaned forward, your face close to his. "I want to hear how badly you want this. I want to hear you completely debase yourself for me." And he did.
God, he actually did.
"Please, please, please," the words tumbled out of him in a rush. "I'll do anything, I'll—I'll do your homework for the rest of the semester, I'll give you all the answers, I'll—just please let me touch you, please, I've never—I've never felt—" His hands landed on your calves. Light. Trembling. Like he thought you might slap him away. You didn't. You let him touch you, his fingers hot even through the velour fabric, and watched his face transform into something almost reverent.
He's really never touched a girl before, you realized with a thrill. Not like this. Maybe not ever.
"Please," he whispered again, his hands slowly sliding higher, over your knees now. "Please can I—can I kiss you? Touch you more? Anything—anything you'll let me do, please, I'm begging—"
"You're pathetic," you said softly, but there was no real venom in it now. Just observation. Just truth. And the worst part or for you, the best part, was that he nodded. "I know," Choso said, his voice breaking. "I know I'm pathetic. I know I'm a virgin and a loser and you could have anyone and I'm—I'm nothing compared to—"
"Stop talking." He froze, his hands still on your knees. You reached down and threaded your fingers through his hair, gripping tight enough to make him gasp. "You want to kiss me?" you asked. "Yes. Yes. Please."
"You want to touch me?"
"God, yes, please—"
"Then show me how grateful you are." You pulled his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. "Show me that you know exactly how lucky you are that I'm even letting you breathe the same air as me." And you watched as something shifted in his expression. Desperation mixed with determination. He surged forward, his lips crashing against your knee, kissing through the velour fabric like it was the most precious thing he'd ever touched. Then higher. Your thigh. Your hands releasing his hair to let him move. His kisses were frantic. Worshipful. Desperate. And you sat there, running your fingers through his hair now, gentler, watching him completely unravel for you.
This, you thought, your heart racing, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. This is what I've been missing. Not Ryota's casual possessiveness. Not the shallow attention from guys at parties who just wanted to fuck you and brag about it. This. Complete and total devotion from someone who would let you destroy him and thank you for it. "Good boy," you murmured, and felt him shudder at the praise. You pulled him up by his hair, bringing his face level with yours. His glasses were crooked. His face was flushed. His lips were parted, breathing hard. He looked completely ruined. And you'd barely even touched him. "You can kiss me," you said quietly. "But only because you begged so nicely." Choso didn't wait. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were air, desperate and hungry and completely lacking any finesse. But you didn't care. Because his hands were on your waist now, trembling against your bare skin, and you could feel how badly he wanted this, how much power you had over him. And it was intoxicating. You pulled back, watching him chase your lips, and smiled. "Now," you said, slightly breathless yourself. "Let's see how well you can focus when you're really distracted."
You guided his hands higher. And watched, fascinated, as Choso Kamo, virgin, loser, pathetic nerd who you'd tortured for months, completely fell apart at your touch. Mine, you thought with dark satisfaction. He's completely mine. The best part? He'd keep coming back for more. No matter how cruel you were. No matter how much you humiliated him. Because you'd given him a taste of something he'd never had before. And now he'd be addicted. Just like you were starting to be addicted to the power of breaking him down and building him back up again.
This is going to be fun.
Your hands covered his, guiding them up torturously slowly until his palms were pressed against your breasts. Choso made a sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, and you felt his whole body go rigid. "Breathe," you commanded, amused. "You look like you're about to pass out." He sucked in air shakily, his hands trembling against your skin, warm and uncertain. "Have you ever touched a girl like this before?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer. "N-no," he stammered. "Of course not." You kept your hands over his, pressing them firmer. "Loser." Then you took his right hand, peeling it away from your chest, and brought it up to your face.
His eyes followed the movement, wide and glazed behind his glasses. You looked directly at him, making sure he was watching, making sure he saw everything, and slipped two of his fingers into your mouth. Choso's breath punched out of him. Your tongue slid along his fingers, slow and deliberate, your lips closing around them as you hollowed your cheeks slightly. And then, because you couldn't resist, you shifted in your chair and pressed your knee directly against his crotch. He was hard. Obviously, painfully hard. The contact made him jerk forward with a choked sound, his free hand spasming against your breast.
"Oh my God," you said around his fingers, pulling them out just enough to speak. "Are you seriously this hard right now? From just touching me?" You pressed your knee harder against him and watched his eyes nearly roll back. "That's so fucking pathetic, Choso." You licked between his fingers, your tongue tracing the webbing. "You're going to come in your pants like a teenager, aren't you? Just from this?"
"I—I'm not—" His voice was wrecked, barely coherent.
"Yes, you are." You took his fingers back into your mouth, sucking slowly, maintaining that devastating eye contact. "I can feel how hard you are. How desperate." Your knee rubbed against him, just slightly, just enough, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily. "Fuck," he breathed, and you'd never heard him curse before. You released his fingers with a wet pop. "Such a dirty mouth," you tsked. "And here I thought you were a good boy." Your knee pressed harder, and Choso's hand tightened reflexively on your breast, making you inhale sharply. "S-sorry," he gasped immediately. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine." You grabbed his wrist, keeping his hand exactly where it was. "Actually, it's more than fine. For a virgin who's never done this before, you're not completely terrible." It was barely a compliment, but you watched it hit him like a drug. His mouth fell open slightly, his breathing ragged, his eyes fixed on you with something that looked almost like worship.
Look at him, you thought, your own pulse quickening. Completely destroyed. And I've barely done anything.
"You know what the best part is?" you murmured, bringing his fingers back to your lips, licking along the pads of them. "Tomorrow, you're going to sit in class and remember this. Remember what my tongue felt like. What my tits felt like in your hands."
Lick.
"And everyone's going to see you staring at me."
Lick.
"And they're all going to know exactly what a pathetic virgin you are."
Lick.
"But only you will know what really happened here tonight." You bit down gently on his fingertip, and Choso's whole body shuddered. "Only you'll know that I let you touch me. That I put your fingers in my mouth. That I—" You pressed your knee harder against him, grinding slightly. "—that I made you so hard you can barely think straight."
"Please," Choso whimpered, and his hips were moving now, subtle rocks against your knee that he probably didn't even realize he was doing. "Please, I can't—I need—"
"What do you need?" You pulled his fingers from your mouth, holding them in front of your lips. "Use your words, virgin." His eyes were unfocused, his chest heaving, his hand still cupped around your breast like he'd forgotten it was there. "I need... I need you to—" He couldn't finish the sentence. "To what?" You smiled, cruel and beautiful. "To help you cum? Is that what you're trying to say?" The humiliation that flashed across his face was delicious. "I... yes. Please. I can't—"
"You're so desperate it's almost sad." You brought his fingers back to your mouth, kissing them this time instead of licking. "But I think I've been charitable enough for one night." You pulled away completely, removing his hand from your breast, lifting your knee from his crotch, leaning back in your chair. Choso stayed frozen on his knees, looking completely lost. "What—why did you—"
"Because I wanted to see what you'd do," you said simply. "And the answer is exactly what I thought. You'd let me do anything to you. You'd beg for scraps of attention. You'd humiliate yourself completely just for a chance that I might touch you." You stood up, stepping around him to grab your bra and jacket from the bed. "That's all I needed to know."
"Wait," Choso's voice cracked. "Please, I—"
"You should go home now, Choso." You slipped your bra back on, not bothering to turn away from him. Let him watch. Let him suffer. "We're done studying for tonight."
"But I—"
"I said we're done." You zipped up your jacket slowly, covering yourself back up. "Unless you want me to tell everyone at school tomorrow about how you literally begged to touch my tits? About how hard you got just from me putting your fingers in my mouth?" His face drained of color. "That's what I thought." You walked to your door, opening it. "See you in class tomorrow, perv." Choso stood on shaky legs, grabbed his backpack, and walked past you without meeting your eyes. You watched him stumble down the hallway, still hard, still desperate, still completely under your control. When you closed the door behind him, you leaned against it and smiled. Tomorrow, he'd be back begging for more. And you'd give it to him. Eventually. On your terms. Always on your terms.
God, you thought, your skin still tingling where he'd touched you. I could get used to this.
8:47 PM - Choso's Bedroom
Choso barely registered the walk home. One second he was standing outside your mansion in the cool night air, still hard and desperate and completely wrecked. The next he was stumbling through his front door, mumbling something to his mom about studying being fine, and practically running to his room. He slammed the door. Locked it. And leaned back against it, his chest heaving, his whole body trembling. His jeans were painfully tight. Had been tight the entire walk home. Every step had been torture, the friction making him bite his lip to keep from making sounds in public. Choso's hands went to his zipper immediately, no hesitation, no pretense of trying to calm down first. He couldn't wait. Couldn't think. Could barely breathe. He shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough, and the relief of finally being free made him gasp out loud.
"Fuck," he breathed, his voice shaking. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—" His hand wrapped around himself, and the first stroke made his knees buckle. He stumbled to his bed, collapsing onto it face-up, and immediately his hand started moving fast, desperate, graceless. Images flooded his brain, vivid and overwhelming. Your body, half-naked, leaning back in that chair. Your hands guiding his to your breasts, warm and soft and real. Your tongue sliding along his fingers, your eyes locked on his with that cruel smile. Your knee pressing against him, the pressure and friction and the way you'd known exactly what you were doing to him. "God—" Choso's hips jerked up into his fist, his other hand fisted in his sheets. "God, you're such a—such a fucking bitch—"
But even as he cursed you, his hand moved faster. Because you were a bitch. You were cruel and mean and you'd left him desperate and aching and you'd enjoyed it. And he'd let you. He'd begged you. "Please, I need you to—" The memory of his own voice, pathetic and broken, made him groan.
"Why—" His breath hitched. "Why did you stop—fuck—why did you—" His mind supplied images that hadn't happened. Fantasies. You pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, your hands on him instead of just his hands on you. Your voice, breathless, telling him he was doing good, that he could touch you more, that he could…
"Ah—" Choso's back arched off the bed. His movements became more frantic, more desperate, chasing the release that had been building since the moment you'd touched him. And then his brain conjured the worst (or best) image. You, pulling him up from the floor. Pushing him onto your bed. Climbing on top of him with that evil smile, still topless, still in control, whispering all the degrading things you'd say while you sunk down on his cock.
"Fuck—!" His eyes were burning. Choso blinked, and realized with horror that he was crying. Actual tears sliding down his temples, into his hair, while his hand worked frantically and his body trembled and his mind played out scenario after scenario of you touching him, using him, completely destroying him. It felt too good. Too intense. Like every nerve in his body was on fire.
"Please—" he whimpered to no one, to the empty room, to the phantom of you that lived in his head now. "Please—" The memory of your fingers in his hair, pulling. The feeling of your knee against him, that perfect, terrible pressure. The way you'd looked at him like he was nothing and everything at the same time.
"You're so pathetic."
Yes. God, yes, he was.
"You'd let me do anything to you."
He would. Anything. Everything.
"Good boy." Those two words, barely a whisper in his memory, shattered him completely. Choso came with a choked sob, his whole body convulsing, tears streaming down his face, your name on his lips even though he had enough sense not to actually say it out loud. Wave after wave of pleasure-pain-relief-shame crashed over him until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. When it finally subsided, he lay there gasping, staring at his ceiling, his hand still wrapped around himself, tears still wet on his face.
"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He'd just—he'd actually just, cried while getting himself off. Cried because it felt so good and so wrong and because you'd left him desperate and he'd thought about you the entire time and he was so pathetic he couldn't even function. His phone buzzed. Choso's heart stopped. He grabbed it with his clean hand, barely able to focus on the screen.
Unknown number:
"btw you left your pencil case. guess you'll have to come back and get it sometime 💕"
Choso stared at the message, his chest tight, his face burning with fresh humiliation. You had his number. Probably got it from some school directory. And you were texting him. At night. After what just happened. After you'd made him beg and touch you and left him desperate. After you'd proven, definitively, that you owned him. His phone buzzed again:
"you better not be doing what i think you're doing right now, loser"
Choso's face went nuclear. Oh god. Oh fuck. Does she know? Can she tell?
Another buzz:
"jk i know exactly what you're doing"
"pathetic 😂"
Choso dropped his phone like it had burned him. He lay there in the dark, still crying slightly, still trembling, completely ruined. And the absolute worst part was that he was already thinking about tomorrow. About seeing you in class. About what you'd do to him next. Whether he'd have an excuse to come back to your house, to get his pencil case, to hopefully get another chance to touch you. Even though you'd humiliated him and used him and clearly saw him as nothing more than a toy. He'd go back. Of course he'd go back. You'd given him a taste of something he'd never had before. And now he was addicted. "I'm so fucked," Choso whispered to his empty room.
His phone buzzed one more time:
"sweet dreams, virgin 💋"
Yeah. He was completely, utterly, irreversibly fucked. You knew it. That was exactly what you wanted.
Loser! Nerd! Choso Kamo , Mean Girl! Bully! F!Reader!
You invites him to a party. Choso is confused, doesnt plan to go. But he finds himself at the party and you... that small dress and evil smile. Maybe hes glad he decided to show... especially with such a turn of events that leaves his pants tight.
Authors Note!- I swear he's like a pathetic horny nerd freak (my fave pls I need one omfg) because he genuinely just masterbates at anything. Like guys, another one! His frist party, first drinking, first... something else. *devious smile*
• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
Four days. Four entire days of nothing. You didn't look at him in calculus. Didn't throw things at him. Didn't call him names or shove him or even acknowledge his existence. It was like he'd become invisible. And the weirdest part? Choso kind of... missed it. Not the humiliation. Not the pain or the fear or the way his stomach dropped every time he heard your heels clicking down the hallway. But the attention.
For two months, you'd made him the center of your world, even if that world was cruel and degrading and designed to break him down. You'd seen him. Talked to him. Touched him. And now? Nothing.
You swept past him in the halls like he was furniture. In calculus, you sat with your back perfectly straight, never once turning around to smirk at him or mouth insults. During lunch, you held court at your table with Ryota's arm around your waist, laughing at something Madison said, and didn't spare a single glance toward the back corner where Choso sat alone. It should have been a relief. It felt like abandonment. You're fucked up, Choso told himself for the hundredth time as he watched you flip your hair during Friday's lecture. She tortured you and you're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself because she stopped? What's wrong with you? Everything, apparently.
Monday morning, 7:54 AM, Choso was already at his desk, having given up on the illusion that showing up early would somehow protect him from you. His new glasses, cheaper frames, still a little crooked, sat on his nose as he reviewed his notes.
Click. Click. Click.
His head snapped up automatically, his body trained like Pavlov's dog to respond to that sound. You walked in wearing a black Juicy Couture tracksuit today, the velour fabric hugging every curve. The jacket was cropped, showing a strip of tanned skin above the low-rise pants. Underneath, a hot pink tank top, thin, tight, the matching pink push-up bra clearly visible through the fabric. And of course, the pink lace whale tail rising above your waistband like a flag. Your hair was down today, long and glossy, and your lip gloss caught the light as you walked. Straight toward him. Choso's heart jumped into his throat.
Here it comes. Whatever you've been planning for four days, here it comes.
You stopped in front of his desk. But you didn't lean down. Didn't corner him. Just stood there, one hip cocked, arms crossed under your chest (which only pushed your breasts up higher, and Choso immediately looked away before you could call him out for staring). "I'm having a party," you said simply. Choso blinked. "...What?"
"A party. Friday night. My parents are in Cabo." You examined your nails. French tips, perfect as always. "Big house. Pool. Kegs. The usual."
"I... okay?" Choso had no idea why you were telling him this. "Congratulations?" Your eyes flicked to his face, and there it was, that mean little smile he hadn't seen in four days. "You can come if you want." The classroom went silent. Or maybe it just felt that way because all of Choso's blood had stopped moving. "I... what?"
"Oh my God, do you need a hearing aid too, or are you just stupid?" You rolled your eyes. "I said you can come. To my party. Friday night." Choso stared at you. "Why?"
"Why not?" You shrugged, but there was something sharp in your expression. Something testing. "I mean, it's not like you have anything better to do, right? You probably just sit in your room all weekend playing video games and jerking off to—what do losers like you jerk off to? Anime girls?" His face immediately flamed red. "That's what I thought." Your smile widened. "So yeah. You can come. If you're not too much of a pussy." It was a trap. Obviously a trap. You were going to invite him just to humiliate him in front of everyone. Make him show up and then laugh when he actually did. Or worse, let him come and then spend the entire night torturing him in new and creative ways. "I don't... I don't think that's a good idea," Choso managed.
"I don't remember asking if you thought it was a good idea, Cho-so." You leaned down now, hands on his desk, and suddenly you were close again, too close, and he could smell your perfume and see the perfect application of your eyeliner and the way your tank top dipped low enough to show the edge of your bra. "I'm telling you that you're invited. Whether you show up or not is your choice. But if you don't..." You trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air. "If I don't?" Choso's voice came out quieter than he intended.
"Then I'll know you're exactly what I've always said you are." Your eyes locked on his. "A pathetic little virgin who's too scared to even try to have a life. Who's going to die alone because he's too much of a coward to take a risk." Your words hit him right in the chest. Because they were true. All of it. "Plus," you continued, straightening up, "it might be fun. Watching you try to fit in with actual normal people. Watching you stand in the corner with your shitty beer, wondering why no girl will talk to you." You tilted your head. "Yeah. That sounds really fun, actually." There it was. The real reason. You wanted a new audience. A new setting for your favorite game: Make Choso Kamo's Life Hell.
"What time?" he heard himself say. Your smile turned triumphant. "Nine PM. Don't be late. And Choso?" You leaned in one more time, your voice dropping low. "Wear something other than those tragic fucking clothes you always have on. I don't need you making my party look like a Freaks and Geeks convention." Then you walked away, your heels clicking, your ass swaying in those velour pants, and Choso sat there wondering what he'd just agreed to. Behind him, Gojo whistled low. "Dude. Did she just invite you to her party?" Choso didn't answer. "That's fucked up," someone else muttered. "She's definitely gonna do something to him."
"Ten bucks says she gets him to strip or something."
"Twenty bucks says she gets her boyfriend to beat his ass." Laughter rippled through the back of the classroom. Choso kept his eyes on his notebook, his hands clenched into fists. But in front of him, you turned in your seat, just for a second, and caught his eye.
And mouthed: "You better show up, freak." Then you turned back around, and Mr. Suoh started the lesson. I'm so fucked. But he was going to that party. Of course he was. Because despite the humiliation and the degradation and the fact that you'd literally stepped on his head in front of fifty people, some pathetic, desperate part of him couldn't stay away from you. Even if it destroyed him. Especially if it destroyed him.
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Choso stood on the sidewalk outside your house, no, not a house, a fucking mansion, and seriously contemplated turning around and walking home. The building looked like something out of MTV Cribs. Three stories of white stone and massive windows, a circular driveway packed with cars that cost more than his mom's annual salary. BMWs. Mercedes. Bass thumped from inside, so loud he could feel it in his chest from fifty feet away. Colored lights flashed through the windows, pink, blue, purple, like a nightclub. People spilled out onto the lawn, red Solo cups in hand, some girl in a mini dress already puking into the bushes while her friend held her hair back.
What the fuck am I doing here?
Choso looked down at his outfit. He'd spent two hours digging through his closet, trying to find something that wouldn't make him look like a complete loser. He'd settled on a black t-shirt that actually fit his frame instead of hanging off him like a tent, and black baggy jeans that sat low on his hips, not because he was trying to be cool, but because they were the only jeans he owned that weren't too short or too tight or covered in stains from chemistry lab. His hair was down for once instead of pulled back, falling messily around his face. His glasses, the cheap new ones, sat crooked on his nose. He looked... fine. Normal, maybe. But walking up the driveway, past groups of people who looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine, girls in bandage dresses and heels, guys in designer jeans and polo shirts, he felt like a fucking fraud.
The front door was propped open. Music blasted out, some hip-hop song he didn't recognize. Choso stepped inside and immediately wanted to die. The house was packed. Bodies everywhere. Grinding against each other on what he assumed was a dance floor. Pressed together on couches. Making out against walls. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat and too much cologne and perfume mixing into something nauseating. Every girl was dressed like they were going to a club. Tiny skirts. Crop tops. Dresses so short and tight they might as well be body paint. Heels that made them tower. Makeup perfect even under the flashing lights. Every guy looked confident. Comfortable. Like they belonged here. Choso stood in the entrance, frozen, his hands shoved in his pockets.
Leave. Just leave. This was a mistake. She invited you to humiliate you and you walked right into it like an idiot.
He started to turn around. And then he heard your voice. "OH MY GOD, YOU SHOWED!" Before Choso could react, arms wrapped around him from behind. Not a hug. More like... a grab. Your arms looped around his shoulders, then slid down to wrap around his neck, and suddenly you were on him, hanging off him like he was a coat rack, your weight pulling him backward slightly. He stumbled, his hands instinctively coming up to steady himself, and accidentally grabbing your forearms. "I—what—" You spun around to face him, and Choso's brain completely shut down.
Jesus Christ.
You were wearing what could maybe be classified as a dress, but honestly it was more like strategically placed fabric. A black mini dress, and he meant mini, the hem barely covering your ass, with a plunging neckline that showed so much cleavage he didn't know where to look. The fabric was tight, clinging to every curve, and it was low-cut enough that he could see the pink lace of your bra peeking out at the edges. Your legs were bare, tanned and smooth, ending in strappy silver heels that made you almost his height. Your hair was in loose waves down your back, your makeup heavier than usual, dark smoky eyes, glossy pink lips, glitter on your cheekbones that caught the flashing lights. You looked like every teenage fantasy he'd ever had and could never admit to. And you were drunk. Not sloppy drunk, but definitely tipsy. Your eyes were bright, your smile wider than usual, and you had a red Solo cup in one hand that sloshed slightly as you gestured. "I told Madison you'd show," you said, your words just slightly slurred. "She said no way, she said you'd be too much of a pussy, but I knew you'd come." You were still holding onto his neck. Your body was pressed against his side, warm and soft and smelling like vanilla perfume mixed with beer. Choso's mouth was dry. "I... yeah. I came."
"You actually listened to me about your clothes too." You pulled back slightly, looking him up and down, your eyes dragging over his body in a way that made his skin burn. "Black t-shirt. Jeans. Hair down. You actually look..." You paused, tilting your head. "...almost normal. Like, you could almost pass for someone who's not a complete loser." It should have been an insult. It was an insult. But you said it with your arms still around his neck, with your body pressed against his, with your eyes locked on his face like you were actually seeing him. "Thanks?" Choso managed. You laughed loud and bright and completely unlike your usual mean laugh. "Oh my God, you're so awkward. It's actually kind of..." You trailed off, taking a sip from your cup. "...pathetic. But like, in a cute way. Like a puppy that doesn't know how to walk yet."
"I know how to walk," Choso said stupidly.
"Do you know how to party?" You tugged on his neck, pulling him deeper into the house. "Come on, virgin. Let me show you how real people have fun." And just like that, you were dragging him through the crowd, your hand sliding down to grip his wrist, your fingers hot against his skin. Choso followed because he didn't know what else to do.You were touching him. Drunk, cruel, clearly planning something that would probably end with him humiliated again. You'd said he looked almost normal. And for some pathetic reason, that was enough. You dragged Choso through the crowd like you owned him, which, socially speaking, you did. Past groups of people he vaguely recognized from school. Past couples making out against walls. Past the kitchen where someone was doing a keg stand while people chanted and counted. And then you shoved him. Hard.
Choso fell backward onto a leather couch, the air whooshing out of his lungs as he landed. Before he could even process what happened, you were there, practically falling into his lap, one knee on the couch beside his thigh, your hand grabbing his face. "W-what are you—" Your fingers squeezed his cheeks, forcing his mouth open like he was a puppet.
"You need to loosen up, Choso," you said, your words slurring slightly as you raised your Solo cup. "You're at a party. Stop looking like someone's about to murder you." And then you tilted the cup and poured beer directly into his mouth. Choso's eyes went wide. He tried to pull back but your grip on his face was surprisingly strong for someone your size, and the beer was already flowing, cold and bitter and too much, too fast. He swallowed reflexively. Once. Twice. But some of it escaped, dribbling down his chin and onto his neck. You laughed, bright and loud and completely uninhibited, as you pulled the cup away. "Oh my God, you're terrible at this! Look at you, you're—" You stopped mid-sentence, your eyes focusing on the trail of beer running down his chin. And then, before Choso's brain could catch up to what was happening, you leaned in and licked it. Your tongue dragged along his jawline, warm and wet, following the trail of beer from his chin up to the corner of his mouth.
Choso made a sound, something between a gasp and a choke, and you pulled back, grinning. "Waste not, want not," you said, like you'd just done something completely normal and not the single most insane thing that had ever happened to him. "I—you just—" Choso couldn't form words. His face was on fire. His heart was trying to break out of his ribcage. "Here." You shoved the cup into his hands. "Drink more. You're way too sober."
"I don't—"
"Drink, Choso." Your voice was still playful, but there was an edge to it. A command. So he drank. One cup became two. Two became three. Somewhere around cup four, the room started tilting slightly, and the music got louder, and everything became a blur of colored lights and bodies and you. Always you. You pulled him off the couch and into the crowd. Grabbed his hands and tried to make him dance, laughing when he stumbled and looked like a broken animatronic. Your body pressed against his, all soft curves and warm skin, your hips moving to the music in a way that made his mouth go dry despite all the alcohol. Madison appeared at some point, shrieking something about shots, and suddenly Choso was being handed small glasses of clear liquid that burned going down. More dancing. More drinking.
You kept touching him. Your hand on his arm. Your fingers in his hair at one point, tugging slightly, asking if he'd ever thought about cutting it. Your body bumping against his as you swayed to the music. And you were still degrading him, but different now. Looser. Drunker. "Oh my God, Choso, you dance like a robot!" you shouted over the music, but you were laughing, your hands on his shoulders trying to guide him. "Has anyone ever taught you rhythm? Or did your mom forget that part when she was raising her little loser baby?" You stumbled slightly in your heels, and Choso's hands automatically went to your waist to steady you. You didn't pull away. "Look at you," you said, your face close to his now, your breath smelling like beer and lip gloss. "Playing the gentleman. That's so fucking cute. Are you trying to impress me, Cho-so?"
"I'm just—you were gonna fall—"
"I can handle myself," you said, but your hands were still on his shoulders, and you were swaying now, not to the music, just... swaying. Unstable. "I'm fine. You're the one who looks like he's about to pass out. How many drinks have you had?"
"I don't... I lost count."
"Virgin," you said, but it sounded almost affectionate. You poked his chest. "Probably your first time drinking too, right? First time at a party? First time touching a girl who isn't your mom?" Your finger dragged down his chest, and Choso's breath hitched. "I've—I've touched girls before," he lied.
"Liar." You grinned, and then you were leaning against him, your full weight pressing into his chest, your head tilting back to look up at him. "You're such a bad liar, Choso. It's actually really fucking obvious. You turn all red and your voice gets all—" You pitched your voice higher, mocking. "—'I've touched girls before!'"
"I don't sound like that."
"You totally sound like that." You laughed, and your hands slid from his shoulders down to his chest, your palms flat against his t-shirt. "God, you're so easy to fuck with. It's like... it's like you want me to bully you." Choso's jaw clenched. "I don't—"
"Do you think about it?" You tilted your head, your eyes half-lidded and unfocused but still locked on his. "When you go home? Do you think about me being mean to you? Do you get off on it?"
His face was burning. "No."
"Liar." Your hands were still on his chest, and you were so close now he could count your eyelashes. "I bet you do. I bet you go home and touch yourself and think about me calling you a loser. About me stepping on you. About me—"
"Stop," Choso said quietly.
"Why?" You leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing his ear. "Does it turn you on when I talk about it? Does it make you hard, virgin?" Yes. God, yes, it did, and he hated himself for it. But before he could respond, before he could do anything, you pulled back and nearly lost your balance again. Choso caught you, his hands on your waist, and you giggled. "You're so sweet," you slurred. "Like a little puppy. A stupid, pathetic, loser puppy who follows me around even though I'm so mean to you." You booped his nose with your finger. Choso stared at you, completely lost. This was not how he thought tonight would go. "Come on," you said suddenly, grabbing his hand. "I need another drink. And you—" You poked his chest again. "—need to stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want to kiss me or kill me. I can't tell which." Both, Choso thought miserably. Definitely both. But he let you drag him toward the kitchen anyway, because what else was he going to do? You were touching him. Talking to him. Laughing with him, even if it was cruel laughter. For tonight, this one drunk, surreal, probably-going-to-end-badly night, that was enough.
The kitchen was less crowded than the main room, but still full of people, leaning against counters, mixing drinks, laughing too loud. Choso barely registered any of them. Because somehow he couldn't even piece together how it happened, you'd backed him up against the marble kitchen counter, and now you were on him. Not literally on him, but close enough that it didn't matter. Your body caging him in, one hand braced on the counter beside his hip, the other resting on his chest. Your face so close to his that he could see everything. Every individual eyelash, dark with mascara. The tiny beauty mark just above your collarbone. Another one near your temple he'd never noticed before. A faint freckle on your cheekbone. The perfect application of your lip gloss, slightly smudged now from drinking and whatever else you'd been doing tonight. The tiny flecks of color in your eyes as they focused on his face.
"You know what's really funny?" you said, your words still slurred but your gaze sharp. Predatory. Choso couldn't breathe. "What?" Your fingers splayed across his chest, pressing slightly, feeling. "You're not as scrawny as I thought you'd be. Under all those tragic baggy shirts." Your hand moved, tracing the line of his chest through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "You actually have, like... muscles. Not a lot. But more than I expected from a little virgin nerd." It was an insult. Obviously an insult. But your hand was still on him, still touching him, and Choso's brain was short-circuiting. "I... I don't—"
"Do you work out?" You tilted your head, your hair falling over one shoulder. "Or are you just naturally less pathetic physically than you are socially?"
"I don't work out," Choso managed. His voice sounded strangled. "Hmm." Your fingers dragged down his chest, almost absently. "Maybe you should. Might help with the whole 'virgin loser' thing you've got going on." And then you shifted. Your leg came up, smooth, bare, endless, your heel hitting the cabinet as you hooked it around his hip, pulling yourself even closer. Choso's hands flew to your waist on instinct, trying to steady both of you, and suddenly, there was no space between your bodies at all. Your chest pressed against his. Your thigh against his hip. Your face inches from his. "You're shaking," you observed, your lips curving into that mean smile. "Are you scared of me, Choso?"
"No," he lied.
"Liar." Your free hand came up to his face, your thumb brushing his cheekbone. "You're terrified. I can feel your heart pounding." It was. His heart was going so fast he thought it might actually explode. "What are you—" Choso started. And then you kissed him. Your lips crashed against his, hungry, demanding, tasting like beer and lip gloss and something sweet he couldn't identify. Your hand fisted in his hair, pulling him down to your level, and your body pressed fully against his, all soft curves and bare skin and that barely-there dress that left almost nothing to his imagination. Choso froze. His brain completely blanked out. Every thought, every function, every single instinct just gone. You were kissing him. You were kissing him. Your tongue swept across his lower lip, and he made a sound, pathetic and desperate, and opened his mouth without thinking. The kiss deepened. Your tongue slid against his, and Choso's hands tightened on your waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress. You pulled back just slightly, just enough to whisper against his lips: "Have you ever kissed anyone before?"
"I—" His voice cracked. "Once. In middle school."
"Doesn't count." You bit his lower lip lightly. "You kiss like a virgin." And then you were kissing him again, harder this time, more insistent, your leg tightening around his hip, your body grinding against his in a way that made him dizzy. Choso kissed back, desperate and clumsy and probably terrible, but he kissed back because what else could he do? Your hand in his hair tugged harder. Your other hand slid down his chest, lower, dangerously lower. Then you pulled away. Choso gasped for air, his lips swollen, his glasses fogged up and crooked on his face. You looked at him, your eyes dark and satisfied and still cruel. "You're so fucking pathetic," you breathed, but your leg was still hooked around his hip, your fingers still tangled in his hair. "I can feel how hard you are right now. From one kiss. One." Choso's face burned with humiliation because it was true, he was painfully, obviously hard, and you were pressed against him close enough to know it. "I'm—I didn't—"
"Shut up," you said. And kissed him again. This time, Choso didn't freeze. His hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer, and he heard you make a small sound against his mouth. Approval? Surprise? The kitchen faded away. The music, the people, everything. There was just you. Your body against his. Your lips on his. Your hands in his hair and on his chest and everywhere. This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare. Or some alcohol-induced hallucination because there was no way this was actually happening. But your tongue was sliding against his, and your thigh was pressed between his legs, and you were real. You pulled back again, your breathing heavy, your lips swollen and glossy and perfect. "I could ruin you right here," you whispered, your eyes locked on his. "In front of everyone. Make you fall apart. Make you beg." Choso believed you.
"Why?" he managed to ask. "Why are you—"
"Because I can," you said simply. "Because you let me. Because you're so desperate for any kind of attention from me that you'd let me do anything." Your hand slid down his chest again, your fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. "Wouldn't you, virgin?" Choso couldn't speak. Could barely think. But he must have nodded, or made some kind of sound, because you smiled, sharp and victorious. "That's what I thought." And then someone called your name.
"BABE! Where are you?!" Ryota's voice. You tensed against Choso, your eyes widening slightly, the first crack in your composure all night. "Shit," you muttered. You pulled away from him so fast he nearly stumbled. Your leg dropped from his hip, your hands leaving his body, and suddenly, there was cold air between you. You smoothed down your dress, fixed your hair with your fingers, wiped the corner of your mouth. "You didn't see me," you said, your voice suddenly sharp and sober. "We didn't—this didn't happen."
"What—"
"This didn't happen, Choso." You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. "If you tell anyone—anyone—I will make your life so much worse than it already is. Understand?" Choso nodded, too stunned to do anything else. "Good." And then you were gone, disappearing into the crowd, leaving Choso alone against the kitchen counter with swollen lips and fogged glasses and an erection that wasn't going away anytime soon. He stood there for a long moment, trying to process what just happened. Trying to figure out if it was real. His lips still tingled. He could still taste your lip gloss. Still feel the ghost of your hands on his chest. Real. It was real. What the fuck just happened?
2:47 AM - Choso's House
Choso barely made it through the front door. He'd walked home or more like stumbled home, really because there was no way he was calling his mom to pick him up. Not like this. Not drunk off his ass with kiss-swollen lips and your lip gloss still smeared on his mouth and his jeans uncomfortably tight.
The house was dark. Quiet. His mom had left the porch light on for him, which meant she'd waited up for a while before going to bed. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it was quickly drowned out by everything else he was feeling. The alcohol making the room spin slightly. The taste of beer and your lip gloss still on his tongue. The ghost of your hands in his hair, on his chest, your leg hooked around his hip, your body pressed against his. Fuck. Choso locked the front door as quietly as he could and stumbled toward his room, using the wall to keep himself upright. His first party. His first time getting drunk. His first real kiss. All in one night. All because of you.
He made it to his bedroom and closed the door, leaning back against it as he tried to catch his breath. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror on his closet door, hair messy from your hands, glasses crooked, lips pink and slightly swollen, a faint shimmer of your gloss still visible in the low light. Evidence. Proof that it had actually happened. That you'd actually kissed him.
"You kiss like a virgin."
"I could ruin you right here."
"You're so fucking pathetic."
Choso groaned, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. He was still hard. Had been hard since the kitchen. The entire walk home, he'd been painfully, desperately hard, and it wasn't going away. Cold shower. Just take a cold shower and go to bed. Forget this happened. Forget she kissed you. But he couldn't forget. Couldn't stop thinking about the way you'd tasted. The way you'd felt. The sound you'd made when he'd pulled you closer. Choso stumbled to his bed and fell face-first onto it, his glasses digging into his face until he yanked them off and tossed them somewhere on his nightstand.
This didn't happen. She said it didn't happen. Tomorrow she'll go back to hating you and this will all have been some weird, cruel joke.
But his body didn't care about logic. His hips ground down against the mattress almost involuntarily, seeking friction, and the contact made him gasp into his pillow.
No. Don't. Don't do this. Just go to sleep.
But he could still feel your hands on him. Could still taste you. Could still hear your voice in his ear calling him pathetic while your tongue slid against his. Choso's hips moved again, pressing down harder this time, and a low sound escaped his throat, half moan, half whimper.
Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.
But he couldn't stop. His hands fisted in his sheets as he started to move, grinding against his mattress like a desperate, touch-starved virgin who'd never gotten off with another person before because that's exactly what he was. Images flooded his brain. You in that black dress. Your leg around his hip. Your hand in his hair. The way you'd looked at him right before you kissed him, like you were about to devour him whole. "Fuck," Choso whimpered into his pillow, his hips moving faster now, chasing the friction, the relief, anything to make this feeling go away. Your lip gloss on his mouth. Your perfume still clinging to his shirt. Your voice in his head:
"I can feel how hard you are."
"You'd let me do anything."
Another moan, louder this time, too loud, as his movements became more frantic.
Quiet. Be quiet. Mom's asleep. Just—
"Choso?" He froze. Every muscle in his body locked up as his mother's voice filtered through the door. "Choso, what's all that noise? Are you okay?"
Oh God. Oh fuck. No.
"I'm—I'm fine!" His voice came out strangled, too high-pitched. "Just—just go back to bed, Mom!"
"Where were you? It's almost 3 AM. I was worried—" The door opened. Choso's head whipped around, panic flooding his system as his mother stood in the doorway in her robe, her hand still on the doorknob. For a second, she just stood there, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of his room. And then she processed what she was seeing. Her son. Face-down on his bed. Hips pressed against the mattress. Hair disheveled. Breathing hard. Lips swollen and shimmering with someone else's lip gloss. Her eyes went wide. Choso's went wider. "MOM! GET OUT!" He scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed, his face so hot he thought he might actually combust. "GET OUT! CLOSE THE DOOR!" His mother's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I—you were—are you—" She seemed to be struggling to form words. "Choso, are you drunk?"
"NO!"
"You are! I can smell it from here! And is that—is that makeup on your face?!"
"MOM, PLEASE—"
"Were you at a party?! Did you—" Her eyes darted around the room like she was looking for evidence. "Were you with a girl?!" Choso wanted to die. Wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. "I'm—I just—can you please get out of my room?!" His mother stood there for another agonizing second, her expression cycling through shock, confusion, concern, and something that might have been pride? "We're talking about this in the morning," she said firmly, backing toward the door. "Don't think you're getting out of this conversation just because you're—" She gestured vaguely at him. "—whatever this is."
"MOM!" She closed the door. Choso fell backward onto his bed, threw his arm over his face, and let out a long, mortified groan. His erection was gone. Completely dead. Murdered by sheer humiliation. From the hallway, he heard his mother's voice, talking to herself: "A girl. He was with a girl. My son was actually with a girl. Oh my God, I need to call his father—"
"DON'T CALL DAD!" Choso yelled through the door. Silence. Then, "We're definitely talking about this in the morning!" Choso pressed his pillow over his face and screamed into it. This night had started as the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. Now it was just the worst. The absolute, definitively, worst.
Fuck my life. He turned over, staring at his ceiling in the darkness, and touched his lips. They still tingled. Despite everything, the humiliation and the panic and his mother's horrified face, they still tingled. Just a second, before exhaustion and alcohol pulled him under, Choso smiled. Then he passed out, still fully clothed, with your lip gloss smeared on his face and the taste of you still on his tongue. Tomorrow was going to be a disaster. But tonight, you'd kissed him.
Loser! Nerd! Choso Kamo , Mean Girl! Bully! F!Reader!
What happens when Choso doesnt have the answers to the quiz? Well nothing at first but then he finds himself on the school's floor, a shoe holding him down while she insults him and people laugh. Choso can't help himself.
Authors Note!- This chapter has some heavy bullying but like guys he gets horny off it so like its worth it. Stepping on him and he gets hard, we love a masochistic man. Yes this is cringe and cliche, to be cringe is to be free.
• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
Choso had barely slept. Every time he'd closed his eyes, he saw you. That MySpace photo. Your smile. Your curves. The way you'd looked at him in the cafeteria. The way he'd…
Don't think about it.
He'd shown up to school even earlier than usual. 7:35 AM, the hallways are practically empty, hoping to avoid you entirely. He'd gone straight to his calculus classroom, taken his seat in the back corner, and tried to focus on reviewing his notes for the quiz Mrs. Nakamura had mentioned was coming up. Tomorrow. Wednesday. Implicit differentiation and related rates. He had this. He was good at this. Math didn't humiliate him. Math didn't call him a virgin. Math was safe. The classroom slowly filled. Choso kept his head down, his pencil moving across practice problems, his glasses slipping down his nose every few minutes.
7:56 AM.
The door opened. Choso didn't look up. Didn't need to. He could feel your presence like a shift in air pressure.
Click. Click. Click.
Your heels against the linoleum. Lower today, kitten heels, maybe two inches, but still enough to make that distinctive sound that made his stomach clench. The footsteps got closer.
Please walk past. Please just—
They stopped. Right in front of his desk. Choso's pencil froze mid-equation. "Morning, Cho-so." He looked up slowly, and his brain immediately short-circuited. Today's outfit was somehow worse than yesterday's. Or better. Or, God, he didn't even know anymore. A denim mini skirt that could barely be classified as a skirt. It was more like a denim belt. Dangerously short, sitting low on your hips, and of course, the pink lace whale tail of your thong was visible above the waistband, the little VS logo practically glittering under the fluorescent lights. A white ribbed tank top, so thin he could see the bright pink push-up bra underneath it. Not just the straps. The entire thing. The lace edge. The way it pushed your breasts up and together, creating cleavage that was absolutely, definitively against dress code, but that you wore anyway because apparently rules didn't apply to you. And over it, a baby pink cardigan, left unbuttoned and hanging open, doing absolutely nothing to make the outfit more modest.
Your hair, long and glossy, swishing with every movement. Your lip gloss was pink and shiny, and he could smell your perfume, vanilla, and something floral and expensive, and he was staring, and he needed to stop staring. His eyes snapped up to your face. You were smiling. That mean, knowing smile. "Like what you see?" you asked sweetly. "I wasn't—I was just—"
"You were just staring at my tits. Again." You leaned forward, planting both palms flat on his desk, and suddenly you were right there, your face level with his, your cleavage directly in his line of sight even though he was actively trying to look anywhere else. You'd cornered him. Literally. With the wall behind him and your hands on either side of his desk, he was trapped. "I—" Choso's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, his face already burning. "What do you want?"
"Oh, so polite this morning." You tilted your head, your hair sliding over your shoulder. "I want you to do something for me, actually." His jaw clenched. "I'm not doing your homework."
"I don't need you to do my homework, nerd. I have a 98 in this class." You leaned in closer, and Choso pressed back against his chair, but there was nowhere to go. "I need the answers to tomorrow's quiz." Choso blinked. "What?"
"The quiz. Wednesday. Implicit differentiation. Mrs. Nakamura always uses the same quiz bank, and I know you've probably already found them online and memorized all the answers like the little nerd you are." Your smile widened. "So you're going to give them to me."
"I—I don't have—I didn't—"
"Don't lie to me, Choso." Your voice dropped, still sweet but with an edge now. "I've seen your grades. You ace every quiz. Every test. You're a fucking calculator with legs. So either you've got a photographic memory or you're finding the answers ahead of time. Either way, I want them."
"That's cheating," Choso said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't—"
"Can't?" You pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at him, your expression shifting into something colder. "Let me tell you what can't means, Cho-so. You can't say no to me. Because if you do, I will make your pathetic little life even more of a living hell than it already is." His hands curled into fists on his thighs. "You already—"
"Oh, baby." You laughed, and it sounded like breaking glass. "You think yesterday was bad? That was me being nice. You have no idea what I'm capable of when I actually try." Choso's throat felt tight. His heart was pounding so hard he thought you might be able to hear it. "I don't... I don't have the answers." You studied him for a long moment, your eyes narrowing. Then you reached out and flicked his forehead. Hard.
"Liar."
"I'm not—"
You grabbed his calculator off his desk and held it up. "Give me the answers by tomorrow morning, or I'll tell everyone you tried to grab my ass in the hallway. Who do you think they'll believe? The popular cheer captain..." You leaned in again, your lips close to his ear. "...or the creepy perverted loser who can't stop staring at my tits?" Choso's blood ran cold. "You... you wouldn't."
"Try me." You dropped his calculator back on his desk, harder than necessary, and straightened up. "Answers. Tomorrow morning. Before first period. Or I ruin you." Then you turned and walked away, your hips swaying, your skirt so short he could see the bottom curve of your ass with each step, and Choso sat there, frozen, his hands shaking. Fuck.
Class started ten minutes later. Mr. Suoh went over homework from last night. Choso tried to focus. Tried to follow along. But his mind was spinning.
She can't be serious. She wouldn't actually—
But he knew she would. Of course she would. You'd already humiliated him in front of the entire cafeteria. What was a false accusation compared to that? His reputation was already destroyed. But that would end him. Behind him, he heard Gojo's voice, low and conversational.
"Yo, you see what she's wearing today?"
"Dude, I literally can see her thong from here."
"Think she's wearing it for Ryota?"
"Nah, man. She's probably wearing it for whoever she's fucking on the side." Choso's pencil pressed so hard against his notebook that the lead snapped.
"You think she gives good head?"
"Are you kidding? Look at those lips. She's gotta be good at it." Laughter. Low and ugly.
"She let like three guys run a train on her at Connor's party last month."
"Bullshit."
"I'm serious, dude. Takahashi, me, and Nanami. She was begging for it." More laughter. Choso's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. They were lying. They had to be lying. Just trying to get a reaction out of him because they knew, everyone knew, that he was a pathetic virgin who'd never even held hands with a girl. But the images forced their way into his head anyway. You. On your knees. Those glossed lips wrapped around someones…
Stop. Stop it.
"Yo, Kamo." Choso didn't respond. Something small and hard hit the back of his head. A pencil eraser. "Kamo." He turned slightly, just enough to see Gojo grinning at him. "You ever wonder what she tastes like?" Gojo asked, his voice just loud enough for the people around them to hear. "I bet you do. I bet you go home and jerk off thinking about it, don't you?"
Snickers erupted around them. Choso turned back around, his face on fire. "That's what I thought," Gojo said. "Fucking virgin." Another eraser hit his shoulder. Then another. Choso kept his eyes forward, his hands flat on his desk, his breathing carefully controlled.
Just get through the class. Just get through the day.
But in front of him, three rows up, you turned in your seat and looked directly at him. Your eyes met his. And you smiled. Slow. Mean. Beautiful. Like you could hear every word Gojo was saying. Like you wanted Choso to suffer through it. Then you turned back around, flipping your hair. I'm so fucked. Because he didn't have the quiz answers. He couldn't get them even if he wanted to. And tomorrow morning, when he showed up empty-handed, you were going to destroy him.
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Wednesday morning, 7:52 AM. Choso was already at his desk, his stomach in knots, his hands clammy as he gripped his pencil.
She's going to kill me. She's actually going to kill me.
He'd spent all night trying to find the quiz answers. Searched every test bank website he could think of. Checked forums. Even considered hacking into Mrs. Nakamura's email before he realized he (a) didn't know how to hack anything and (b) that was probably a felony. Nothing. He had nothing.
Click. Click. Click.
Choso's entire body tensed. You walked into the classroom wearing another impossibly short skirt, black this time, pleated, sitting low on your hips with that hot pink whale tail visible above the waistband. A tight white v-neck shirt that showed the hot pink bra underneath. A black zip-up hoodie left open. Platform sandals today instead of heels, but somehow that made you look even more dangerous. Your ponytail swung as you walked straight to his desk. Choso looked up, his throat dry. "Well?" you said simply.
"I... I don't have them." Your expression didn't change. No anger. No surprise. Just a slow, calculated nod. "Okay," you said quietly. That was it. Just "okay." You walked to your seat, sat down, crossed your legs, and didn't look at him again. Choso felt dread settle in his chest like a stone.
The quiz was third period. When Mrs. Nakamura passed out the papers, you immediately leaned to the side, angling your test so Choso could see it from his seat behind you. He hesitated for exactly three seconds. Then he filled in his answers slowly, deliberately, making sure you could copy each one.
What are you doing? She threatened you. She's going to ruin you anyway.
But he couldn't help it. Some pathetic part of him still hoped that if he gave you this, maybe you'd go easy on him. Maybe you'd leave him alone. You didn't even acknowledge him when you turned in your test. You just smiled at Mrs. Nakamura, said "Thanks!" in that sweet voice you used with teachers, and walked out. Choso's hands were shaking when he turned in his own quiz.
Fourth period came and went. Fifth period, study hall. Choso spent hiding in the library, his nerves wound so tight he thought he might snap. Sixth period. Still nothing. Maybe she'd forgotten. Maybe she'd decided it wasn't worth it. The final bell rang at 3:15 PM.
Choso gathered his things quickly, trying to blend into the crowd of students flooding the hallways. His locker was on the second floor, near the math wing. He just needed to grab his calculus textbook, his chemistry notes, and get out. Get home. Get safe. He spun his combination lock with shaking fingers. 17-32-8. Click. The locker opened. Choso reached for his textbook. And then he felt hands on his back. Hard. Shoving. He didn't even have time to catch himself.
Choso hit the floor face-first, his glasses flying off, his textbook and papers scattering across the tile. The impact knocked the wind out of him, a dull, painful thud that rattled through his chest and made his vision blur. For a second, all he could hear was ringing in his ears. Then laughter. Lots of laughter. "Oh my God, did you see that?"
"He just fucking ate it—" Choso's vision cleared enough to see his glasses a few feet away, one lens cracked. He started to push himself up. A platform shoe slammed down on his back. Right between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the floor. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Your voice. Cold and sharp and so different from the sweet tone you used with teachers. Choso froze. You pressed down harder, your full weight on his back, and he couldn't move. Could barely breathe. "I told you," you said, and he could hear you shifting above him, could hear the rustle of fabric as you adjusted your stance. "I told you I'd make you pay if you didn't give me those answers."
"I—I let you cheat—" Choso gasped out, his cheek pressed against the dirty hallway floor. "You let me cheat during the quiz, you fucking idiot. I wanted them before. So I could study. So I didn't have to stress about it." Your shoe dug into his spine. "But no. You had to be a little bitch about it." A crowd was forming. Choso could see shoes. Legs. Hear the whispers and laughter and the clicking of camera phones.
No. No, please, not photos—
"Look at him," you announced to your audience. "Look at this pathetic fucking loser on the ground like a little worm." More laughter. You lifted your foot off his back, and for one blessed second, Choso thought it was over. Then your shoe came down on his head. Not hard enough to hurt. Not a kick or a stomp. Just... pressure. The sole of your platform sandal pressing against his forehead, pushing his face against the tile, forcing him to stay down. Humiliating him. "This is what happens," you said, your voice carrying across the hallway, "when you don't do what I tell you. When you think you can say no to me." Choso's eyes were burning. His throat was tight. He could feel tears threatening to spill over and he couldn't. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
Don't cry. Don't you fucking dare cry.
"You're nothing, Choso," you continued, and your foot pressed harder against his forehead. "You're a virgin. A loser. A pathetic little bitch who's going to die alone in his mom's basement surrounded by anime posters and crusty socks." The crowd was getting bigger. Someone was definitely filming. "Say it," you commanded. Choso's jaw clenched. "Say 'I'm a pathetic virgin.'" Silence. You pressed harder. "Say it, or I swear to God I'll make this so much worse."
"...I'm a pathetic virgin," Choso whispered, his voice breaking.
"Louder."
"I'm a pathetic virgin."
"Louder, Cho-so. I want everyone to hear it."
"I'M A PATHETIC VIRGIN!" The hallway erupted. Laughter. Cheering. Someone yelled, "HOLY SHIT!" And Choso, lying on the dirty floor with your foot on his head and tears finally, finally spilling over and soaking into the tile, made the mistake of opening his eyes. And looking up. His vision was blurry without his glasses, but he could see enough. Your legs. Your thighs. The curve of your calves above your platform sandals. And higher. The short black pleated skirt, flipped up slightly from the angle of your stance, one foot on his head, the other planted firmly on the ground. From this position, flat on his back, looking straight up, he could see everything.
Pink lace panties. The same shade as your bra. As your whale tail. Stretched across your hips and ass, the fabric thin enough that he could see the outline of…
Oh God.
His brain short-circuited. Right there. Right there. You were standing over him, degrading him, humiliating him, calling him a pathetic virgin in front of what had to be fifty people, and all he could think about was the fact that he could see your panties. Pink. Lace. Expensive-looking. Probably Victoria's Secret like everything else you wore. And he hated himself for it. Hated that even now, even like this, his body was responding. Hated that he could feel heat pooling low in his stomach despite the fact that he was literally being stepped on like a bug. "Are you seriously getting hard right now?" Your voice cut through the fog in his brain like a knife. Choso's eyes snapped up to your face. What he could see of it from this angle, past your skirt and your crossed arms and your cruel smile. "Oh my God, you are." You laughed, sharp and delighted and so fucking mean. "You're getting hard while I'm stepping on you. While everyone's laughing at you. You're even more pathetic than I thought." The crowd went wild.
"HE'S WHAT?!"
"No way—"
"Dude, that's fucking sick—"
Choso wanted to die. Actually die. Right there on the hallway floor. You finally lifted your foot off his head, and he gasped in a breath, his lungs burning. But you weren't done. You placed your foot on his chest now, right over his sternum, pressing down just enough to keep him pinned. And from this angle, he still had that perfect, terrible view straight up your skirt. "Look at me," you commanded. Choso forced his eyes up to your face. You smiled down at him, beautiful and terrible and so far above him in every possible way. "Next time I tell you to do something," you said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear over the crowd, "you do it. Understand?" Choso nodded, not trusting his voice. "Say 'Yes, ma'am.'"
"...Yes, ma'am."
"Good boy." You lifted your foot, stepping over him like he was trash on the sidewalk, and walked away. Your friends followed, giggling. The crowd dispersed, some people still laughing, still recording, still whispering. Choso lay there on the floor for another ten seconds. Then he scrambled to grab his cracked glasses, his scattered papers, his textbook. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold anything. His face was wet. His chest hurt where you'd stepped on him. And lower he was half-hard in his jeans and everyone had seen it and tomorrow the whole school would know.
Pathetic virgin who gets off on being bullied. That's what they'd say. And the worst part? They'd be right. Because even now, even after all of that, all Choso could think about was the pink lace of your panties and the way you'd smiled down at him like he was nothing. Like he belonged beneath your feet. And some sick, broken part of him had liked it.
Loser! Nerd! Choso Kamo , Mean Girl! Bully! F!Reader!
AU 2000s cliche, college, mean girl and pathetic nerd inspired. Like Regina George meets Peter Parker. But instead with adorable babe Choso.
Poor Choso gets bullied endlessly by you, clad in expensive tracksuits and glossed lips, though he should hate you, you make his life actual hell, he can't help but enjoy the humiliation she gives him, sometimes it feels like her degradation means more than just bullying.
TW and Authors Note!- lots of smut not smut scenes, like teasing also harsh bullying, yes I went all out, she does physically bully him aswell as some maybe harsh verbal bullying. Also cheating, vary vague. Excessive use of 'please' i love a man who yearns. Cliche and kind of cringe. Um Dacryphilia. Men who cry...lord. Also maybe slight virginity kink, he gets shamed for being a virgin and like I dont care if its weird. Im a pervert in the wise words of Ethel Cain. He masterbates and he begs on his knees. I dont regret anything. Also no spell checking or editing, so apologies for issues. I should have been writing an essay but I yearn for Nerd Choso and there's barely any. Like Choso would totally be a loser nerd. Oh maybe OOC, its an AU so does he really need to be in character?
• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
The fluorescent lights of Shibuya University buzzed overhead as Choso Kamo pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose for the third time that morning. They kept sliding down, a problem he'd been meaning to fix for weeks but never quite got around to. His oversized burgundy sweater hung loosely over his frame, the sleeves bunching awkwardly at his wrists as he clutched his binder closer to his chest like a shield.
It was 7:47 AM, and he was already at his desk in the back corner of Calculus. Thirteen minutes early, like always. He pulled out his calculator, his pencils (already sharpened to perfect points), and his color-coded notes. The classroom smelled like dry-erase markers and that weird lemony cleaner the janitors used. A few other students trickled in, their Sidekicks already out, texting before the bell even rang. Choso tried to focus on reviewing yesterday's derivatives lesson, but his attention kept drifting to the doorway.
Don't look. Don't look. Don't—
He looked. And there you were.
You swept into the classroom at 7:58 exactly, always perfectly timed for maximum impact. Today's outfit was a baby pink Juicy Couture tracksuit, the jacket cropped just enough to show a strip of smooth skin above the matching velour pants that hugged every curve like a second skin. Your tank top underneath was white and impossibly tight, your lip gloss caught the harsh fluorescent light like diamonds, and your hair cascaded down your back in glossy waves that moved like water with each step. Your platform sandals clicked against the linoleum as you made your way down the aisle, directly toward him. Choso's throat went dry. His fingers tightened on his pencil.
Please walk past. Please walk past. Please—
You stopped right in front of his desk, "Oh my God, what is that smell?" You wrinkled your nose dramatically, loud enough for half the class to hear. Your friends, Madison and Brittany, both in matching pink velour, stopped behind you, already giggling. "Seriously, does anyone else smell that? It's like... desperation and... what is that, Axe body spray?" Choso felt his face immediately flush red. He had used Axe this morning. His little brother Yuji had convinced him it was ‘what girls liked.’ "I... I don't—"
"Oh, wait." You leaned down, hands on your hips, your face level with his. This close, he could see the perfect application of your eyeliner, smell your perfume, expensive and vanilla-sweet and nothing like the drugstore body spray he'd doused himself in. "It's coming from you, isn't it, Cho-so?" You dragged out his name mockingly. "Did you actually think spraying yourself with half a bottle of discount body spray would make you smell less like a virgin?" The class exploded into laughter.
Choso wanted to die. Actually die. Just disintegrate into his chair and cease to exist. "I—it's not—I just—" His voice cracked horribly, and he immediately shut his mouth, his jaw clenching.
"Aw, he's stuttering." You turned to your friends, your voice pitching up in fake sympathy. "That's so sad. He literally can't even form sentences around me. Brittany, is that sad or is that pathetic?"
"Definitely pathetic," Brittany said, examining her nails. You turned back to Choso, and before he could react, you reached out and flicked his forehead. Hard. "Earth to loser. Stop staring at my tits."
"I wasn't—!" Choso's voice came out too loud, too defensive. His ears were burning now. He had been looking at your face, but his eyes had definitely, for just a second, dropped lower, and of course, you'd noticed. Of course, you had. "Yes, you were." You grabbed his calculator off his desk, holding it up like evidence. "God, you're such a perv. Does your little calculator help you add up all the times you've creeped on girls in the hallway? What's the equation for 'massive fucking loser' again?" Madison snorted. "I think it's L plus no-bitches times virgin-forever."
"That's not—that's not even mathematically coherent," Choso muttered, immediately regretting it. Your eyes lit up. Not in a good way. "Oh, I'm sorry." You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to something poisonously sweet. "Did I hurt your little nerd feelings? Are you going to cry about it?" You shoved his shoulder, not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to make him rock back in his seat. "Gonna run home to mommy and tell her the mean girls were picking on you?"
"No," Choso said quietly, trying to hold onto whatever shred of dignity he had left. He reached for his calculator. "Can I just have that back?" You held it above your head, and even with your platform heels, you weren't that much taller than him sitting down, but the angle was humiliating. "Say please."
"...Please."
"Please, what?"
Choso's jaw worked. His fingers curled into fists on his thighs. "Please give it back."
"Please give it back, your majesty," you corrected. The classroom was dead silent now, everyone watching. Even Mr. Suoh wasn't here yet. Choso could feel every eye on him. His face was so hot he thought his glasses might fog up. But he needed that calculator. He had a test third period. "...Please give it back, your majesty," he whispered.
"What? I couldn't hear you, Cho-so. You're mumbling like a little bitch." Something in his chest twisted, hot and uncomfortable and confusing, because he should be angry. He should be furious. But instead, he just felt... small. And weirdly, sickeningly aware of you. Of how close you were. Of the way your glossed lips curved into that mean smile. "Please give it back, your majesty," he repeated, louder this time, his voice flat. You studied him for a moment, like you were deciding whether to push further. Then you dropped the calculator on his desk. No, you threw it, so it clattered loudly and skidded off the edge. Choso had to lunge to catch it before it hit the floor. When he straightened back up, you were already walking away, your hips swaying in those pink velour pants. "You're welcome, virgin," you called over your shoulder. Your friends dissolved into giggles as you took your seat three rows up.
The bell rang. Mr. Suoh walked in, apologizing for being late. Choso tried to sink into his chair, tried to disappear, but he could still hear the whispers.
"—so fucking pathetic."
"...did you see his face?"
"Probably gonna go home and jerk off thinking about her!"
That last one came from somewhere near the window. Choso didn't look to see who said it. He opened his notebook and stared at the blank page, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to write the date. His face was still burning. His shoulder still tingled where you'd shoved him. The worst part was that when you'd leaned in close and called him a perv, when you'd made him beg for his calculator back, when you'd shoved him and insulted him and humiliated him in front of everyone...
He'd had to shift in his seat and pull his binder lower onto his lap. Because apparently, his body was just as pathetic as the rest of him.
Halfway through Mr. Suoh's lecture on implicit differentiation, a crumpled piece of paper hit the back of Choso's head. He tensed but didn't turn around. Didn't react. Another one hit his shoulder. Then another. He could hear the stifled laughter from the jocks in the back, probably Satoru Gojo and his friends, who sat behind him specifically to make his life hell.
"Yo, Kamo," Gojo whispered, loud enough for half the class to hear. "She's right, you know. You do smell like a virgin." More laughter. Choso kept his eyes on his notes, his pencil moving across the page even though he wasn't actually processing anything Mr. Suoh was saying anymore. Another paper ball. This one bounced off his glasses. He pushed them up with one finger and kept writing.
Don't react. Don't give them anything. Just get through the class.
"Mr. Suoh?" Your voice rang out, clear and sweet. "Can you explain that last part again? I'm a little confused." Of course, you weren't confused. You had a 98% in this class. But Mr. Suoh loved you, everyone loved you, so he went back over the problem, and while he was distracted, you turned around in your seat. Your eyes locked with Choso's. You smiled, slow, mean, beautiful, and mouthed: "Fucking loser." Then you turned back around, flipping your hair over your shoulder, and Choso sat there with his heart pounding and his face hot and his pathetic, treacherous body reminding him that he was exactly what you said he was. A virgin. A loser. A creep who couldn't stop staring at the one person who made his life a living hell.
The bell rang forty minutes later. Choso gathered his things quickly, trying to get out before… too late. You were waiting by the door with Madison and Brittany. And Gojo. And half the basketball team. "Kamo!" you called out, your voice sickeningly cheerful. "Come here for a sec!" Every instinct screamed at him to find another exit. But there was only one door, and you were blocking it, and if he tried to run, it would be so much worse. So Choso walked toward you, his head down, his binder clutched to his chest. "Yeah?" he managed. You looked him up and down slowly, deliberately. Then you turned to Gojo. "Doesn't he look like a bad high school movie extra? Like, 'Random Background Nerd Number Three'?" Gojo laughed. "Nah, he looks like he'd get killed off in the first episode of The Walking Dead"
"Oh my God, you're so right." You looked back at Choso, your eyes glittering with amusement. "Hey, Choso, if you were on tv, what would they say about you? 'Cause of death, too much of a pussy to talk to girls?" Madison choked on her laughter. Choso's jaw tightened. He could feel the anger now, finally, burning under the humiliation. "Can I just get past—" You put your hand on his chest and shoved. Hard. Choso stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet. His binder fell, papers scattering across the hallway floor.
"Oops," you said flatly. "Better pick those up, virgin. Wouldn't want to lose your precious homework." You stepped over his papers, your platform heel leaving a faint mark on one of his worksheets, and walked away, your friends trailing behind you. Choso stood there for a moment, breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists. Then he knelt down and started gathering his papers, his glasses slipping down his nose again.
Just get through the day. Just get through the day.
Behind him, he heard Gojo mutter, "Man, that's actually sad." Yeah. It really was.
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The cafeteria was a war zone of social hierarchy, and Choso knew exactly where he ranked. Bottom. He clutched his lunch tray, wilted salad, questionable pizza, and a chocolate milk he probably wouldn't drink, and navigated through the chaos of designer bags on chairs, letterman jackets draped over tables, and the suffocating cloud of competing colognes and perfumes.
His usual spot was in the back corner, at a half-empty table near the emergency exit where the other "invisibles" sat. The quiet kids. The ones who didn't get invited to parties or have their names chanted at pep rallies. Safety. Except today, safety was compromised. Because you were sitting at his table. Not at it. On it.
Your platform heels rested on the bench seat, your legs crossed as you perched on the tabletop itself, as if you owned it, which, socially speaking, you did. You owned everything in this school. The pink velour of your Juicy tracksuit pants stretched across your thighs, riding low enough on your hips that the lacy pink whale tail of your thong rose above the waistband like a deliberate taunt. Your cropped jacket was unzipped, and your tight white tank top left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The distinctive padding and push-up of a Victoria's Secret Bombshell bra creating cleavage that had probably caused at least three minor accidents in the parking lot this morning. You were holding court with Madison and Brittany flanking you, plus two cheerleaders whose names Choso didn't know, all of them laughing at something on someone's Sidekick. Choso stopped walking.
Turn around. Find another table. Literally anywhere else.
But his feet wouldn't move. And you'd already seen him. "Oh my God," you said loudly, your voice cutting through the cafeteria noise like a knife. "Are you kidding me right now?" Every head at the surrounding tables turned. Choso felt his stomach drop. "This is your table?" You looked around theatrically, your glossed lips forming a perfect ‘O’ of mock surprise. "This sad little corner where all the rejects sit? Choso, that's actually so depressing I might cry." Madison giggled. "You should see his lunch. I bet it's like, a calculator and a pack of mechanical pencils."
"No, no—it's definitely one of those sad Lunchables his mom packed for him," Brittany added. Choso's grip tightened on his tray. "Can you just... can you move? Please?" Please. God, why did he always sound so pathetic? You tilted your head, examining him like he was something you'd found stuck to the bottom of your shoe. "Did you just tell me what to do?"
"I—no, I just—this is where I—"
"Where you what? Where you sit by yourself like a loser and probably do extra credit homework during lunch?" You slid off the table, your platform heels clicking as you landed. Even with the heels, you had to look up slightly to meet his eyes, but somehow you still made him feel about two feet tall. "That's so fucking sad, Choso. Do you even have friends? Or do you just sit here and, like, fantasize about what it's like to be normal?" The surrounding tables had gone quiet now. Everyone was watching. Choso could feel his face burning again. His ears. His neck. "I have friends."
"Oh yeah? Where are they?" He didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Because the truth was, the couple of guys he sometimes sat with weren't here today, one was sick, the other had a dentist appointment, and he was going to sit alone, and you knew it, and everyone knew it. You stepped closer, and Choso caught the scent of your perfume again. Vanilla and something floral and expensive. So different from the cheap Axe still clinging to his shirt. "That's what I thought." You poked his chest with one manicured finger. French tips, perfectly done. "You're a loner, Choso. A weird little virgin who eats lunch by himself and probably goes home and plays World of Warcraft or whatever the fuck nerds do."
"I don't play—"
"I don't care what you play." You grabbed the chocolate milk off his tray and examined it. "Chocolate milk? What are you, seven?" Before he could respond, you casually tossed it over your shoulder. It hit the floor with a wet splat, the carton bursting open and spilling brown liquid across the tiles. "Oops," you said flatly. "Butterfingers." Choso stared at the spreading puddle of chocolate milk. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt. "That's... you can't just—"
"Can't just what?" You stepped even closer, and now you were almost touching him, so close he could see the perfect application of your lip gloss, the little beauty mark just above your collarbone. "What are you gonna do about it, loser? Tell a teacher? Run to the principal? Cry?" He wanted to say something. Anything. Wanted to tell you to fuck off, to leave him alone, to stop making his existence a living hell. But his voice caught in his throat, and all that came out was a pathetic, strangled: "Just—"
"Just what? Use your words, Cho-so." You dragged out his name mockingly again, and behind you, your friends giggled. Then your expression shifted. Your eyes lit up with something cruel and delighted. "Oh, baby!" you called out suddenly, your voice pitching higher, sweeter. "Come here!" Choso's stomach turned to ice. No. No, no, no…
Ryota Takahashi materialized from the crowd like a Ken doll come to life. Varsity basketball captain. Square jaw. Perfect hair. Letterman jacket. The kind of guy who'd probably peaked in high school but didn't know it yet. Your boyfriend. "What's up, babe?" Ryota slid an arm around your waist, his hand immediately going to rest on the exposed strip of skin between your jacket and pants, his fingers playing with the pink lace of your visible thong. You leaned into him, your hand sliding up his chest. "Nothing, just talking to Choso." You said his name like it was a joke. "You know, the guy from Calc? The one who smells like Axe and desperation?"
Ryota looked at Choso like he was noticing him for the first time. "Oh. Yeah. Virgin guy, right?" Choso wanted to disappear. Wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. "Virgin guy," you confirmed, grinning. Then you turned back to Ryota, your voice dropping to something breathy and deliberate. "Baby, I'm like, so bored right now. Entertain me?" Choso knew what was coming. He should walk away. Should just leave his tray, leave the cafeteria, leave his dignity splattered on the floor with the chocolate milk. But he couldn't move.
You grabbed Ryota's face and kissed him. Not a peck. Not a casual kiss. A full-on, tongue-down-his-throat, press-your-body-against-his makeout session right there in front of Choso and half the cafeteria. Ryota's hands slid lower, grabbing your ass through the velour pants. You made a little sound, performative, theatrical, and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. The cafeteria erupted. Whistles. Catcalls. Someone yelled, "Get a room!" And you pulled back just enough to look at Choso over Ryota's shoulder, your lips swollen and glossy, your eyes locked on his.
Then you smiled. Slow. Mean. Victorious. And went back to kissing your boyfriend. Choso stood there, frozen, his tray trembling slightly in his hands. His face was on fire. His chest felt tight. And lower, God, lower, his body was betraying him again, responding to the sight of you like the pathetic virgin you'd called him. He forced himself to turn around. Forced his feet to move. Behind him, he heard you pull away from Ryota with an exaggerated gasp.
"Aw, where are you going, Choso?" you called out, your voice carrying across the entire cafeteria. "Don't you want to watch? You'll probably never see a real kiss in your entire life, so I figured I'd give you a show!" Laughter exploded around him. Choso kept walking. Past the tables. Past the stares. Past the whispers and the laughter and the humiliation. He dumped his tray in the trash, he wasn't hungry anymore, and pushed through the cafeteria doors into the hallway. Empty. Quiet. He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to breathe. His hands were shaking. His glasses had fogged up slightly. And he could still smell your perfume, could still see the way you'd looked at him while kissing someone else, could still feel the ghost of your finger poking his chest. Fucking loser. Virgin. Pathetic. Yeah. You were right. He was all of those things. And the worst part, the part that made him want to punch the wall or scream or just break something, was that even now, even after all of that, some sick, twisted part of him was already wondering what you'd do to him tomorrow. Already waiting for it. Already wanting it.
Choso pressed his palms against his eyes and tried not to think about the fact that he'd have to see you in fifth period. Just four more hours. He could survive four more hours. Probably.
11:47 PM - Choso's Bedroom
Choso lay sprawled on his bed in an old Naruto t-shirt and grey lounge pants, staring at his ceiling like it held answers to questions he didn't want to ask. His room was exactly what you'd expect, posters of anime characters he'd had since middle school, a bookshelf crammed with textbooks and manga, his desk cluttered with notes and a half-assembled Gundam model he'd been working on for weeks. The blue glow of his laptop screen was the only light, casting shadows across his face. He rubbed his eyes hard enough to see spots, trying to scrub away the memories of today.
Fucking bitch.
The thought came hot and angry, and he let it. Let himself think all the things he'd never say out loud.
Spoiled, mean, shallow bitch who gets off on making people miserable. Probably peaked in high school. Probably gonna end up working at a mall kiosk selling cell phone cases when her looks fade and nobody gives a shit about her anymore.
It felt good. For about thirty seconds. Then he remembered the way you'd looked at him in the cafeteria. That smile. That cruel, knowing smile while you had your tongue down Ryota's throat and your eyes locked on his. Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Like you enjoyed it. "Goddammit," Choso muttered, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Because now he was thinking about it again. About you again.
About the pink velour hugging your hips and ass like it was painted on. About that stupid whale tail, pink lace, Victoria's Secret, rising above your waistband every time you moved. About your tank top stretched across your chest, the obvious push-up of your bra creating cleavage that had made him nearly walk into a locker between third and fourth period. About your lips. Glossed and pink and perfect, wrapped around words like virgin and loser and pathetic. "Fuck," Choso groaned, throwing his arm over his face. He was pathetic. You were right. You were absolutely, completely, one hundred percent right. His laptop sat open on his desk, the screensaver bouncing across the screen.
Don't. Don't do it. Just go to sleep. Just—
Choso sat up. He pulled the laptop onto his bed, the springs creaking under his weight, and opened Firefox. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Probably one of the worst ideas he'd ever had, and he'd once tried to microwave a Pop-Tart still in the foil wrapper. He typed it anyway.
(Your Full Name) MySpace
Your profile was the first result. Of course it was. Choso clicked. The page loaded in that janky mid-2000s way, glittery background, auto-playing an Ayesha Erotica song (he immediately muted it), and your profile picture front and center. You, in a pink halter top, duck-face lips, peace sign, the flash of the camera washing out your skin, but somehow making you look even hotter.
Your status: "ugh mondays 🙄💕 but at least i look cute lol"
Top 8 friends: Ryota's picture was first. Of course. Then Madison. Brittany. Some other popular girls Choso vaguely recognized. A few basketball players.
Choso scrolled. Your bio was exactly what he expected:
About Me: im that girl ur bf wants 💋👑 taken by the hottest guy in school ❤️🏀 dont like me? cool, i dont wake up every day trying to impress you 😘 CHEER CAPTAIN. SENIOR. CLASS OF '06 BITCHESSS
Interests: shopping, my girls, my man, parties, starbucks, tanning, PINK, victoria secret, coach bags, looking hot, being hot, etc
Choso's jaw clenched. "Vapid," he muttered. "Completely vapid." But he kept scrolling.
Photos section. 147 albums.
"me nd my girlsss 💕"
"beach dayyy ☀️"
"ryota ❤️❤️❤️"
"cheer comp!!!!"
Choso clicked on the most recent album: "random pics lol"
The first few were typical. You and your friends at the mall. You holding a Starbucks cup. You in your cheer uniform. He stopped. Scrolled back. The cheer uniform photo. You were mid-jump, legs split, skirt flipped up just enough to show a flash of your spanks underneath. Your top was tight, your hair perfect, your smile wide and fake and so fucking pretty it made his chest hurt. Choso's throat went dry. Pathetic. You're so pathetic. He kept scrolling. More photos. Birthday party. Someone's pool. You in a bikini that should probably be illegal. And then he saw it. You, crouched down on what looked like your bedroom floor, holding a tiny white dog—one of those yappy purse dogs rich girls always had. You were wearing a denim mini skirt, the kind you wore to school that definitely violated dress code but somehow you never got in trouble for. A tight pink tank top. Your hair falling over one shoulder. But it was your pose that made Choso's breath catch.
You were crouched low, knees bent, holding a peace sign with your free hand and smiling at the camera. The angle was low, someone sitting on the floor with you, and the way you were positioned meant the skirt had ridden up high enough that he could see almost all of your thigh. Smooth. Tan. The hem of your skirt barely covering anything. "Jesus," Choso breathed. His hand moved to his trackpad. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. He scrolled down. More photos from the same day. You making duck lips. You and Madison. You holding up a Coach bag like it was a trophy. And then a selfie. Mirror selfie, actually. You holding your pink Motorola Razr up, angled down from above. Your hair was slightly messy, like you'd just woken up or just gotten out of the shower. You were wearing a different tank top, white, thin, the straps falling off your shoulders. And the angle showed everything. The curve of your breasts pushed together by that goddamn Victoria's Secret Bombshell bra. The lacy edge of the cup visible above the neckline of your tank top. Cleavage for days.
The caption: "felt cute might delete later idk 🤭"
Posted six months ago. Never deleted.
Choso groaned, a low, frustrated sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest. He slammed the laptop shut. Then immediately opened it again. "No," he said out loud to his empty room. "No. Don't. Don't do this." But his eyes were already back on the photo. On the curve of your body. On your lips. On the way you looked at the camera like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you knew some pathetic virgin would find this photo and… "Fuck," Choso whispered. His hand moved to the waistband of his lounge pants.He stopped.
This is wrong. This is so wrong. She hates you. She called you a virgin in front of the entire cafeteria. She threw your chocolate milk on the floor. She shoved you. She makes your life hell.
But his body didn't care about any of that. His body only cared about the way you looked in that mini skirt. About the lace of your bra. About your glossed lips and your mean smile and the fact that you'd looked at him today, had put your hands on him today, had said his name over and over even if it was just to humiliate him. Choso looked at the photo one more time. At you, crouched on the floor in that impossible skirt, showing off your cleavage like it was nothing. And he let out a long, shaky breath.
I'm so pathetic.
Then his hand slipped beneath his waistband, and he hated himself, and he couldn't stop, and the worst part was knowing that tomorrow you'd probably find some new way to torture him and he'd still end up right back here. Pathetic. Virgin. Loser. Every single thing you'd ever called him. All true.
guys I am making a dirty nerd loser Choso x mean girl reader and yes its smut and yes its degrading and yes I love nerd loser Choso with his slutty glasses and secretly big cock omg, you guys I'm so excited to post.
he tried—really tried—to keep quiet at night, jerking off under the covers, fist pumping slow and sloppy around his cock as he bit his pillow to muffle those desperate groans. thinking about your smile. your tiny shorts. your cute hair ties he sometimes found on the bathroom counter, breathing in your sweet shampoo scent as his hips bucked into his hand.
roommate!choso didn’t know you’d come home early today.
he didn’t hear you push the door open. didn’t see your eyes go wide, lips parting in a soft little oh as you saw him fisting himself, sweaty and flushed, his phone screen lit up with a hidden photo of you—legs folded, skirt riding up, smile bright as always.
“aww…cho, you’re so naughty.”
his hand froze. wide eyes snapped to you, panic bursting in his chest. “w-wait—I—i can explain—”
“explain what?” you giggled, stepping closer, bending at the waist to tilt your head and look him in the eye. “that you’re jerking off to me again? silly boy…you should’ve just asked.”
he blinked. again?
your fingers trailed down his jaw, tracing the flushed skin of his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your touch. his cock twitched in his grip, a drop of precum beading at the tip, making you smile wider.
“wanna fuck me that bad, huh?” you cooed, eyes glittering with mischief. “you know…you’re my favorite roommate ever, chocho~”
he whimpered. actually whimpered. your sweet voice, the way you called him chocho, the way your eyes darkened with heat—it was too much.
“p-please…” he whispered, breath ragged. “please let me…just once…i’ll be good.”
“just once?” you pouted playfully, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. his cock pressed against your soft thigh, leaking against your skin, making him tremble.
“you’re so cute, choso. did you think about this every night while i was sleeping down the hall?”
he nodded, eyes glassy. “e-every night…”
“mmm, poor thing.” you shifted your hips, rubbing your pussy against his length through your panties, feeling the sticky heat of his tip smearing precum across the thin cotton. “guess i should help you out then.”
he choked on a moan when you pushed your panties aside and sank down, warm walls sucking him in inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you. his head fell back, eyes rolling up, hands flying to grip your hips like he’d float away if he let go.
“f-fuck…s-so warm…so tight…oh god—”
you giggled, rolling your hips slow and teasing, clenching around him just to hear that broken little sob slip from his lips.
“don’t be shy, choso,” you purred, cupping his flushed cheeks. “you can cum inside me…as many times as you want.”
he nearly cried at that.
and by the time you were done with him, fucked out and dripping and sobbing into your chest, you were pretty sure the people next doors knew exactly who was making all those cute noises.
I shall feed you lol and here is the post they’re talking about, in case anyone would like context
Content warning: dumb inexperienced reader, age gap, almost exclusive usage of ‘little girl’ (reader still 18+ of course lads), uh losing virginity, spitting as well…oh and squirting too
Sun And Moon (Robert Plant x Jimmy Page x fem!Reader)
Summary: It’s 1975, and Robert and Reader are in a relationship. Robert talks her into letting him share her with Jimmy during a threesome.
or
Robert tells his significant other that he wants to get cucked. He gets cucked and gets jealous anyway even though it was his idea in the first place.
Ratings: Explicit (minors dni)
Word count: 7.2k
Warnings: Sex, the most shameless smut imaginable, marijuana use, sex while high, threesome (F/M/M), oral sex (both male and female receiving), double penetration, and cuckolding.
I co-wrote this fic with @bijouxcarys, and I just want to thank her so so much for her help and her friendship. This is a much better fic thanks to her.
I’ve never written anything like this before; this is my first time writing a threesome, and am super anxious about sharing this. I hope you guys enjoy!
AO3
~~
1975
A deafening roar of relentless adoration reverberated through the venue as Zeppelin struck the final chord of their finale.
From my vantage point at the edge of the stage, surrounded by a throng of groupies and cling-ons, the heat from newly acquired pyro rippled over my already flushed cheeks. I failed at tearing my eyes away from Robert. A triumphant glow, a grin etched onto his face as he basked in collective worship—he was a living deity savouring the devotion of his fervent disciples.
It wasn’t unheard of for my Golden God to inspire some kind of… extreme arousal, even after a quick entanglement shared backstage during Bonzo’s ridiculously long Moby Dick solo. I’d been itching to get my hands on him since the moment he graced the audience with his presence, despite the fact I had been glued to him the whole day anyway. It was impossible not to; watching him buck his hips, whining and wailing into the microphone as if the music itself had him under a lascivious trance… I just wanted to get on my knees and draw the very same moans from him in any way he saw fit.
And usually, that was exactly what I did.
I lingered, the anticipation thrumming through my veins as he strode to the back alongside Jimmy and Bonzo. He was laughing unguardedly as he leaned toward the guitarist, animatedly talking about something I couldn’t quite catch. Jonesy, the undeniably quiet presence of the group, sent me a polite smile and a pat on the shoulder as he slipped past me and away in the direction of his wife, instantly folding her into an embrace.
A flicker of irritation broke my reverie as a gaggle of girls jostled by me, pupils glittering desperately, practically scrambling for an iota of Robert’s attention.
See, the thing that initially drew me in about Robert, apart from the glaringly obvious, was how kind he was. There was a genuineness to every interaction he had, regardless of the other person’s intentions. With these girls, he was courteous, he smiled, he even complimented a shirt or two.
But it was my breath he caught in his vice grip with pride once those ocean eyes landed on me and only on me. With a polite nod, he made his way through the sea of admirers, as though cutting through mere waves to reach the shore.
I could barely breathe out a simple “hey” before I was whisked away to the side, where the boys and crew usually flocked post-show. Two large hands encased my cheeks and a pair of perfectly smooth lips captured mine, a heady blend of desire and devotion laced in a long-awaited kiss. A gentle mewl escaped my throat as I gripped at his strong arms, awkwardly stumbling into his embrace.
A handful of girls who had managed to filter through into the back via rowdy crew members still show us jealous glances, simmering with envy, while most were blissfully lost in the haze of music and whatever alternative vices were circulating backstage. The brief hit I’d taken from a joint doing its rounds earlier had already started to fade, but as anyone who existed in these circles would concede, the adrenaline never faltered.
Robert’s intoxicating kisses became a whole new type of high, a completely euphoric blaze that made everything else fade away and sparks from his wandering touch became the hit. And I surrendered to the whirlwind.
A soft groan rumbled in his chest as he nestled his face into the side of my neck, his fluffy hair blocking my view of our surroundings. He steadily ushered me backward until the cool breeze block wall stopped me from going any further, and a single jean-clad leg automatically made its way between mine.
“Mmm…” Robert hummed as he dropped his hands to slide them around my back. “Needed you all night, luv.”
I could feel the unmistakable outline of desire straining against the fabric of his jeans, eliciting a delicious friction against the thin material of my dress. My fingers dug through his curls as my hips careened up against his as if they had a mind of their own. Even the mere feeling of his denim on my bare skin sent shockwaves and sparks through all the right places—he always had an uncanny way of bringing me to the brink of ecstasy without even crossing the necessary threshold. Fuck, he could make me cum just by looking at me the right way.
And he revelled in that power.
Had he not lifted his head and put a fraction of distance between us, I would have continued to grind myself against him unashamedly, despite the audience we may have had. I would have happily used him the way I let him use me.
“Not here, darlin’,” he breathed, an amused smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “There are people watching, yeah?” The defiance in his tone fuelled the fire, and he knew it.
I groaned in frustration, tugging at his blouse. “That’s never stopped you before!” The memories flooded my mind of those reckless moments—when he’d fucked me the way he always fucked me, oblivious to the world, as the lads and various roadies had stumbled upon us. Robert thrived on the thrill of exhibitionism, relishing the way others could witness what they’d never have. Me.
He chuckled softly, allowing me to smooth some of his hair out of his face, a simple action that sent delightful shivers through me. “Well… I know that,” he dropped his voice, ghosting his lips over my forehead, warm breath grazing my skin. “But I want tonight to be… different,” he murmured, punctuating his statement with a slow sigh, slightly shaky in nature.
“Yeah? And what’s that supposed to mean?” I challenged, curiosity tugging at my mouth, despite my sexual frustration. And it was in that space of sexual frustration that I noticed Jimmy approaching us. Which was… unusual.
The guitarist typically had at least one woman draped over each arm after every show, but now he stood there, eyes darting between Robert and I, a toothy grin stretching across his face.
“You two ready?” he asked with a suggestively playful tone.
Robert shot him a look laden with annoyance. “Not yet, mate, I haven’t asked ‘er yet.”
“Asked me what?” I interjected, my brow furrowing in confusion, folding my arms like an impatient toddler that’s just overheard her parents talking about her. Yet instead of answering me, Robert took it upon himself to loop his arm through mine and lead me toward where limousines awaited in the venue’s underground parking lot.
All three of us piled in, the back cab surprisingly spacious due to the lack of Bonzo and Jonesy, and quite literally anyone else that usually tagged along with Robert and Jimmy. It wasn’t unusual for the band to split up and take separate vehicles after a performance—they could only be around each other for so long in certain doses—but it was slightly strange that it was just the three of us. Usually there’d be a roadie or two, maybe some other lackeys. But no. It was… just us.
Finally, once we were finally alone, Robert cleared his throat and smoothly ushered me onto his lap, where my back rested against the wall of the car and my legs draped over the backseat. I felt his hand hover over my backside, keeping me close. “Can I ask you something, luv?”
Tilting my head, I studied his face. He was so utterly beautiful it was difficult to decipher a solid emotion at times, with it being so distracting, but I could see a small glimpse of anxiety behind the blue pools in his eyes. I softened my expression and lifted a hand up to run it comfortingly through the golden curls on his head, my thumb tracing the side of his face in the process.
“You know you can ask me anything, Robert.”
He swallowed thickly, his throat rippling with hesitation as he glanced over at Jimmy, who had settled in one of the seats opposite the back bench, lighting up a cigarette with a bottle of JD hanging between his fingers. “I wanted to try something different tonight… In the bedroom, I mean.”
I raised my eyebrows, finding it sweet that he seemed so nervous to ask me something so trivial. Though it did confuse me; he’d already had me in every way imaginable, in every position we could muster in the heat of the moment. I couldn’t have imagined what else he had in mind. It was safe to say my interest peaked.
“How would you feel about…” he started, looking down and twirling my hair around his fingers. “Being with someone else? I mean, just for tonight, and I would be with you the entire time… A-and, y’know, it’s no–”
“Bloody hell, Rob,” Jimmy bluntly interrupted, “He wants to get cucked, YN.” He took a drag of his cigarette, passing it over to me so I could also have a drag, and I did–Jesus, that’s not a cigarette, Y/N…
No wonder there seemed to be an excessive amount of Devil’s lettuce floating around tonight.
“He wants me to shag you while he watches,” Jimmy finished with a shrug.
I felt bad for nearly laughing in his face, in both of their faces, but it was such an out-of-pocket suggestion. The idea of Robert being okay with me sleeping with someone else was so unbelievable. Looking at him, I had to see if he was joking; he was the kind of guy who got jealous if someone even glanced in my direction. Hell, it would make total sense if I were one of these girls who tagged along after a show, like Jimmy usually had throughout the tour, but that was not the case.
Robert and I were in a steady relationship… We lived together.
“And… You want Jimmy to be the one to do it?” I asked him, still baffled at the proposal.
He let out an airy laugh, squeezing onto my leg reassuringly. “Pagey’s the only one I trust to do it, sweetheart. But–” he was quick to cut me off as I started to respond, “This is only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
I tried to remember, as I turned my head to look over at Jimmy, if he’d ever shown any signs of attraction to me before. Sure, the man had a wandering eye here and there, but he always had the pick of the crop with the groupies that flocked on the road. And I just knew fists would fly if he even tried to make a move on me. Well… at least, I thought that was the case.
With that being said, I’d be an idiot to deny that Jimmy was a beautiful human. Of course, my loyalties stood with Robert, and it was hard to imagine there’d be anyone nearly as beautiful as the man I fell in love with. But it was also hard to ignore the contrast between the two as being mesmerising. Onstage, Robert became the Sun God I worship between the sheets hours later—on my back, on my knees, against the wall, angling over the bathroom counter so I had no choice but to watch the state he’d leave me in.
But next to him, Jimmy was a counterpart of the Dark Moon kind.
The kind of dark moon that clearly satisfied in bed, as conversations with his female companions had revealed. Would I even be able to look Jimmy in the face ever again if I let this happen? Would mine and Robert’s relationship be the same? How would it… feel? For all I knew, Jimmy would turn me inside out instantly, with Robert right there, even possibly holding my hand whilst it all happened.
He watched me in my contemplation, fingertips tracing and outlining every curve and dip of my body, cementing me to memory. Then I finally gave him an answer.
“I’d have to have another joint…” I agreed softly.
A smile broke across his beautiful face as he pressed a kiss to my shoulder, his arms tightening around me. “Of course, luv.” He nodded his head toward Jimmy, prompting him to produce two small bags; one with several pre-rolled joints, and another with a healthy amount of white powder lining the bottom, residue dusting the sides as evidence of a night well-spent.
Now, I had only experienced the tumultuous ride of cocaine one time, and that was when Robert had turned on the charm and convinced me to let him snort it off my arse whilst both of us had already basked in a sprig of pot and the magic of LSD. Alone in a hotel room where nobody could see our naked forms enjoying earthly pleasures, both carnal and herbal.
Though only one line in total had breached my nasal passage that night, the crash ended up being so much more intense, and I never bothered with the stuff again.
We spent the entirety of the ride passing a joint between us, taking hit after hit—much stronger than what I’d smoked backstage, yet mellower than whatever Jimmy had passed me before. And I could feel it as I relaxed further into Robert’s arms. Stopping at a red light, he took it as the perfect moment to let his hands wander further up my body, squeezing at my waist, before allowing himself to revel in the feeling of my breasts. Groping idly in silent worship, and perhaps in vanity.
My bottom lip slipped through my teeth, subconsciously rubbing my thighs together when tremors and shudders became too much to leave alone. Once again, my hips steadily rocked, my shapely backside pressing against Robert’s perpetual bulge, his jeans already starting to tent in arousal. I felt his chest ripple, the release of a moan teasing his airways as he kissed along the side of my neck, teeth grating and eventually nipping at my skin.
“Isn’t she lovely, Pagey?” he hummed as I craned my head back to give him better access.
Through my hooded eyelids, I saw smoke curl into the stuffy air of the car, and Jimmy gazing intently on the other end of it. “Yeah… You pulled a cracker, Percy.”
Robert tugged at my earlobe before easing me forward until I had no choice but to fall to my knees on the floor of the limousine. “Go on, darlin’, he won’t bite…” he said, stroking over my hair like I was a delicate creature made to please. “Give ‘im a little something, yeah?”
I wasn’t expecting that quite yet, but I obliged, eyes locking with Jimmy who had sat back, legs splayed to allow for some room. My lids fluttered as I precariously crawled over to him, stopping in the space between his legs. It was then that his hand, daintier than Robert’s, reached for my face, and he took a firm hold of my chin, angling my head up to his preference.
“Pretty little girl,” he breathed before taking another hit, and passing it behind me to Robert, who took it eagerly, all whilst making sure to cop a feel of my arse in the process.
Instinctively, I tilted my face up to his, lips tingling with want as they parted. His mouth ghosted across mine, and he slowly blew the smoke from his hit into my body. I inhaled, eyes fluttering shut as the world danced around me. My back arched and I eventually sat on my haunches when our lips finally met. It was a wet, open-mouthed peck at first, sampling the lush green, but soon enough he was forcing his way inside, the hot muscle of his tongue dipping and twirling in a passionate and thorough kiss.
He sat back once again, bringing me with him until I was straddling his lap. He tasted like sharp whiskey and tobacco. He was already rough. Rigid. Yet oh so methodical.
I don’t know how long we kissed before I felt Robert’s hands on me, on my waist, up my back, in my hair—everywhere he could reach. As Jimmy’s lips moved to my neck, I turned my head to catch a glimpse of my boyfriend, his curls dangling above me and curtaining our faces. Jimmy nipped harshly at my skin, surely in an attempt to leave a temporary claim there.
“Turn around, sweetheart,” Robert mumbled, pecking my lips. On shaky legs, I lifted myself the best I could to turn on Jimmy’s lap, my back pressed to his chest.
There, kneeling on the floor of the limousine, was Robert, hitting the joint a final time before crushing it against the ashtray, dimming its flame to ignite more in me with a hungry gaze.
He lifted the skirt of my dress, his fingers slipping past the hem of my knickers. When I felt his skilful fingers apply the slightest pressure to my clit, my hips squirmed as I felt that familiar sharp sting of pleasure shoot through me. Jimmy held my arms firmly as Robert kissed my neck and down my chest, tugging my underwear off with his teeth, the movement so smooth at practised, I could already feel my thighs clenching in anticipation. I knew what he was capable of.
When I felt Robert lay an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of my thighs, I could feel my core already aching to have his skilled tongue on me. After kissing up my thighs at a torturous pace, he finally licked a long stripe up my slit. I writhed against Jimmy, whimpering as I felt that familiar pleasure shoot through me. Jimmy held me in place firmly as Robert continued to lap at my folds, rubbing firm circles on my clit, each one heightening the sensations.
Jimmy had lit yet another pre-rolled joint, holding it up to my lips, ordering me to take a hit and hold the smoke in until I reached my climax. I did as he said as Robert continued to alternate between giving me thorough licks and firm sucks to my nub.
I held the smoke in for as long as I could as my orgasm quickly approached; Robert was fucking me with his tongue faster and faster. I could feel my eyes and nose burning as I struggled to hold it all in. I wanted to reach down and fist my hands into Robert’s golden mane, but Jimmy was holding tightly onto my arms so that I couldn’t move.
Jimmy took another hit of the joint before reach one hand down to start playing with my nipples through my dress. That little gesture seemed to be enough to push me over the edge, as my back arched against his chest as the shockwaves of pleasure ran through me, causing tremors to take over my body as if I had been tased, coming all over Robert’s face. I let out a lewd, shrill moan as the smoke escaped from my mouth. I was panting heavily, my legs seeming to have Robert in a chokehold as I rode out my orgasm. He continued to lick me clean, and I felt his voice vibrate through me as he moaned into my core, relishing in my juices as if I were the most delicious fruit he had ever tasted.
Robert finally raised his head from between my thighs after loosening my legs from around his neck. He leaned forward and kissed me hungrily, allowing me to taste my juices on his lips. When the kiss broke, he gave me a smug smile before lifting my knickers and waving them in front of my face tauntingly.
“I’ll be keeping these for the rest of the night, luv,” he told me. He then smirked at Jimmy. “See what she loves, Jimmy? Take notes for later tonight.”
When the limo finally reached the hotel, I was led outside, the air feeling cold in comparison to the smoked up vehicle. I didn’t remember much of the walk through the hotel; it was all a haze due to the strong weed that we had smoked in the car as well as the leg-trembling orgasn Robert had given me with his tongue. But the next thing I knew, I was in the lift with Robert and Jimmy. I was making out with Jimmy while Robert groped me, easily stroking my soaked folds underneath my skirt after stealing my underwear in the limo. I was quietly grateful that no one else was in the lift with us, but we were both so high on weed and lust, we probably would not have stopped even if there were.
We finally got to our floor, and made our way to mine and Robert’s room. The after party was already in full swing, but both Robert and Jimmy ignored it and everyone around them as they focused on getting me into the room. I giggled as Robert was kissing me passionately while unlocking the door.
When we were finally inside, he grabbed me by my hips and shoved me against the door, his large frame looming over me. I moaned into his mouth as his tongue forced my mouth open as he breathed me as if I were his life source. When I was deep into the kiss, he pulled away, and I whimpered softly.
“You are such a sweet little thing, darling… but I think Jimmy wants a turn with you.”
I turned my lustful gaze toward Jimmy, who was unbuttoning his shirt and trousers. Robert was pulling the straps of my dress off my shoulders, pressing kisses over my neck and shoulders. “I have a good idea how you can please me, though, while Jimmy is doing what he wants…”
I was shoved down on all fours as I faced Robert. Jimmy came up behind me, and pulled my dress the rest of the way down and completely off of me, leaving me naked on the floor. Robert was staring down at me as I kneeled before him, his golden hair creating a halo around his hair, looking every bit as much as a god a people claimed. The effects of the marijuana were making him look divine to me.
Jimmy was putting some kind of oil over my arse, and when I turned to see what he was doing, I saw that he was now completely naked, his long black hair hanging in his face as he coated his cock in the same oil. I felt my throat tighten. He was larger than I had expected him to be.
Robert firmly gripped my chin and turned my face to look up at him. “I want you to suck my cock while he’s fucking you in the arse.”
I nodded eagerly, feeling dazed as my hands fumbled with unfastening his trousers. The events from the limo had his erection standing at full attention, and it was practically causing his trousers to burst at the seams as it fit skin tight.
As I struggled with Robert’s zip to free his cock, I felt Jimmy’s fingers stretch my back entrance, stretching me as he continued to coat the oil. The pleasure was foreign and intense, causing me to let out a moan.
Robert’s hand gripped my hair, forcing me to look up into his ocean blue eyes. “Focus, darling.”
I managed to get his trousers unfastened and unzipped. His cock sprang free, practically hitting me in the face, since he never bothered to wear underwear. I couldn’t imagine that he could, given how tight his jeans always were.
He was so aroused, I could see the precum leaking out of his tip. Despite all the time we had spent together, I never got used to his size. I always thought he would not fit inside me; whether that be my mouth or pussy, but he always managed to do both.
I ran my tongue over the tip of his cock, smearing the precum over his tip, relishing in the salty taste. Robert groaned and fisted his hand in my hair. When I began to take him completely into my mouth, that was when I felt Jimmy’s hard cock start to enter my arse.
I moaned hard around Robert’s cock as he gripped my hair and started to thrust. Jimmy fucked me from behind, my arse squeezing hard around him, but eventually relaxing enough to let him enter, the oils making the penetration smoother.
Their thrusts seemed to come into sync with one another as I moved back and forth between them. Robert’s cock hit the back of my throat, and I gagged slightly. I felt him groan in pleasure as my throat contracted around his tip, and I felt his cock twitch in my mouth. I knew now that he was close.
Feeling overstimulated with Robert fucking my mouth and Jimmy pumping in and out of my arse, I still managed to grab the base of Robert’s cock and bob my head up and down in time with both of their thrusts. Robert let out a lewd moan as he gripped my hair; he had always been very vocal, and that did not change with Jimmy there.
Jimmy could be heard grunting behind me with each thrust, reaching one hand around to fondle my breasts while the other reached down to rub my clit in firm circles. The stimulation was far too much for me to handle, and my back arched as I came for a second time that night.
Right when I thought Robert was going to shoot his massive load down my throat, he pulled me off of his cock by my hair, causing me to cough and sputter in shock. I was shoved onto my back, causing Jimmy to fall back as well, with him still nestled firmly inside my arse.
Robert quickly got rid of his blouse and jeans, standing completely naked above me, his cock looking painfully erect. I was so dick drunk and high on weed, he seemed to be glowing like the Sun above me. And like the Sun, it seemed to hurt my eyes to look at him for too long.
Robert spread my legs as Jimmy continued to fuck my arse in slow, deliberate strokes, removing his hand so that Robert could have better access to my pussy. Robert stroked himself a couple of times, massaging his tip against my swollen clit. I arched my back again as he easily slid into me due to how wet I already was.
Having them both inside me at once was almost too much for me to bear. I felt like I was being stretched and split open from both sides. Robert slid into me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size.
Despite Jimmy also fucking me from behind, I clung to Robert as if he were my anchor, wrapping my arms around his neck. They both found a steady rhythm, grunting with each thrust as if they were also fucking each other through me. I tried to keep up as best I could, but it was hard to have much freedom of movement while sandwiched between two gods.
I became completely lost in the two of them, pleasure shooting through me like a drug, mixing perfectly with the substances I had smoked. I felt Jimmy bite down on my shoulder as he neared his peak, while Robert took each of my nipples in his mouth as he glared up at me.
I wanted this to go on forever, just sandwiched between the Sun and the Moon as they continued to fuck me senseless. But before I could reach yet my third orgasm for the night, Jimmy pulled abruptly out of me, and Robert followed soon after. I whimpered softly, reaching for Robert, feeling empty without him.
He reached for me, but only to roughly shove me onto the bed. I panted heavily, my chest heaving as the two of them stood over me to observe me.
“You didn’t tell me that she could take cock so well,” Jimmy said while standing over me. “Are you sure she hasn’t been with anyone else before?”
Robert narrowed his eyes in annoyance at the guitarist. “She hasn’t been with anyone else while she’s been with me. I can’t speak for what she’s done before she met me. But I can assure you she’s not innocent just because we’ve been exclusive. I’ve taught ‘er well.”
At that moment, I longed to have Robert’s weight crushing me again as he plunged inside me. It was impossible to be sated with him; the man was like the human reincarnation of lust itself.
But it was clear that Jimmy had other ideas. He grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me to the foot of the bed, crawling over top of me like a cat stalking its prey and taking what it wanted. And right now, Jimmy clearly wanted me.
I had gasped in shock at the sudden movement, bringing my hands up to rest on his shoulders. He grabbed both of my breasts in his hands, nibbling and sucking on each nipple, pulling them into taut points. The way he kissed me everywhere made lust cloud my judgement as I briefly forgot that Robert was standing right there watching the entire thing.
Jimmy kissed torturously up my chest and over my neck. My neck was cover in hickeys given to me by both him and Robert, and there was no way I was going to be able to cover them tomorrow. When he finally got to my lips, he ordered me to open my mouth, and then spat directly into my mouth.
“Swallow it,” he ordered. I did as he said. “Are you on the pill?”
“I have an IUD,” I told him. Robert and I did want children eventually, but wanted that to happen when we weren’t touring constantly.
Jimmy aligned himself at my entrance, and slowly entered me with one, long, liquid thrust.
“Oh, fuck~!” I moaned while arching my back.
Jimmy pulled out of me, only to thrust back in sharply, and deeper. “Let’s give your boyfriend a proper show, shall we?”
His hands roamed all over my body as he began to thrust deeper into me, sheathing his entire length into my tight, warm cunt. His hands roamed over me, admiring my body as if it were some finely crafted sculpture. The pleasure was overtaking my body, causing my body to arch and spasm, and I had not even reached my climax yet. Jimmy loomed over me, his raven locks creating a certain around his face, obscuring it from view as he grunted with each powerful thrust of his cock.
I felt his tongue lick a stripe up my chest, and he sucked on each of my breasts before kissing up to my neck, the rhythm of his thrusts becoming more and more brutal, wet squelching sounds could be heard throughout the room as the bedsprings creaked underneath his rough movements.
“She’s such a good slut, Percy,” Jimmy said breathlessly, as he gripped my hips, continuing his rhythmic thrusts as my breasts bounced with each thrust. This caused me to become aware of Robert’s presence again, and I glanced in his direction to find him sitting in the chair in the corner of the room.
Given that this entire thing had been his idea, I half expected him to be aroused or jerking off while watching this unfold. Instead, what I saw was a look of darkness in his eyes as he watched his best friend fuck me senseless. The darkness in his eyes was different from the lust I had seen in them moments ago. This looked more like a kind of contemplative anger. Like jealousy.
The idea of Robert getting jealous over me made a jolt of pleasure shoot through me, that made my pussy clamp down hard on Jimmy’s cock. He grunted, burying his face in my neck as he quickened his pace.
“Fuck, Jimmy, don’t stop~!” I cried out as my nails raked down his bare back, feeling myself get closer and closer to my climax.
Jimmy moaned into my neck, thrusting harder and deeper into me, while Robert watched on with a pissed off look on his face as I screamed his best friend’s name. “You feel so good, Y/N…” His voice almost came out like a whine. “Robert’s such a lucky, bloke… fuck, I’m gonna cum–”
He cut off suddenly, pulling out of me and releasing white, hot ropes of cum all over my chest and stomach. I whined, feeling suddenly empty. But Jimmy wasn’t about to let me go unsatisfied. His thumb found my clitoris as he massaged it in firm circles while his fingers delved into me, fucking me thoroughly.
Jimmy’s fingers were just as skilled at pleasing a woman as they were at making beautiful music with his guitar. Pleasure shot through me like a drug, except far more powerful and intense than anything I may have dabbled with in the past. I tried to resist the oncoming orgasm - after all, it wasn’t cheating if I didn’t come. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t cheating anyway, because this was all Robert’s idea in the first place. But it was clear that he didn’t look too happy about the situation as he watched from his chair in the corner.
My orgasm crashed over me like a massive tidal wave, the strong and unstoppable current beating away at me as my body arched and spasmed as I let out loud, tawdry moans.
I was riding out my orgasm, repeatedly screaming out Jimmy’s name, when Robert decided he had had enough and got up from his seat, coming over to the bed. He grabbed Jimmy by the shoulder, pulling him off of me, leaving me feeling empty.
“Alright, that’s enough!” He sounded pissed off as he stood over me, looking down at me looking flushed, dick drunk, and covered in his friend’s semen. He looked angry but still painfully aroused.
Jimmy let out a taunting chuckle beside him. “What? I only did what you asked me to, mate. It’s not my fault I pleased her more than you ever could.”
If looks could kill, Robert could have murdered Jimmy on the spot. I was flustered and stammering.
“That’s… he didn’t… no, baby, I would never–”
Robert cut me off with a single look. He had never looked at me like that before. He had always looked at me with love and tenderness.
Suddenly, the look on his face softened as he took in my shocked expression. “I know you wouldn’t, love. I know more than anyone that no one can please you more than I can.”
Robert grabbed me by my legs and pulled me toward him, his hard cock resting against my stomach. I wrapped my arms around his neck, breathing in his familiar, erotic scent, the feeling of his sweat seeping into my skin. His lips met with mine, as he kiseed me slowly amd hungrily. Unlike the kisses that Jimmy had given me, these were much deeper and familiar, as if he knew exactly what to do to drive me insane them.
Robert pulled back slightly to massage the tip of his rock hard cock against my swollen and soaked clit. I had already come so many times that night, I didn’t know how much more teasing I could possibly take, but it was clear that Robert was determined to find out.
He firmly and consistently massaged his tip against my swollen bud as I writhed and moaned underneath him. I tried gripping his perfect and toned arse to pull him toward me and where I needed him most, but he just laughed at my desperation.
He gripped my hips firmly, holding me in place. He let his tip dip inside me without fully penetrating, a beautiful smile breaking across his face as I squirmed and begged for him to finish me off with the cock that was designed for my body.
At first, he settled with shallow, circular thrusts, bringing me immense pleasure but without giving me the deep strokes that I wanted – no, what I needed. He knew he had the power to make me come undone with just these shallow movements alone. It was a clear message. If he could do this to me with just a half arsed attempt, then what he could do to me much deeper would melt my brain. And that was something that Jimmy would never be able to do for me; or anyone else for that matter.
After what felt like an eternity, Robert finally decided that he could not resist my tight, wet warmth any longer and began to thrust deeper into me, grunting as he loomed over me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my nails raking down his back as my hands travelled down to grip firmly onto his arse, pulling deeper into me. I would never get used to the size of his girth stretching me, no matter how many times I had him inside me.
He leaned down, pressing his naked chest against mine as he grunted with each thrust, scratching every itch that I had for him inside me. I wrapped my arms tightly around him as I pressed our foreheads together, the speed of his thrusts becoming more erratic and feral, yet still with a level of tenderness to them that only he was capable of.
My lips ghosted over his, longing to kiss him, but the feeling of pure lust and ecstasy had me a moaning, mewling mess as my hips moved with his as if of their own accord.
We got lost in our familiar, erotic dance. I longed to have his entire being inside of me as I did my best to keep up with the pace of his insatiable appetite. Our rhythm synced in with each other, and when I felt his cock twitch inside me, I knew that he was close to releasing.
I wound my hands through his hair, kissing him passionately. He kissed me back, forcing my mouth open with his tongue; trying to devour me in his frenzied state. “Cum inside me,” I begged, my voice a breathless, needy whine.
He grunted as he thrusted into me so deeply, I could feel the tip of his cock brush against my cervix, my back arching sharply off the bed. “You first, darling.”
Our bodies continued to writhe and dance together on the bed, as if that was what they were made to do. As if we were made for each other. I gripped tightly onto him, the sound of our skin slapping together sounding like natural music as I could feel myself getting closer and closer to my inevitable climax.
“Cum with me,” I huffed. “Let’s cum together. Please.”
His teeth tugged at my bottom lip as his thrusts became even deeper and more deliberate. He raised his head only to yank mine back, forcing me to look at Jimmy. To be entirely honest, I had forgotten that he was still there. He was sitting in the chair that Robert was earlier, but instead of looking pissed off or jealous like Robert was, he was simply nonchalantly smoking another joint.
“Look at him,” Robert gritted out as he continued to thrust into me with more force. “He could never make you feel like I do. He could never get as deep–” He grunted as my cunt clenched around his cock. “--as I do. Fuck, the things you do to me…”
It took Jimmy a moment to realize that Robert was indirectly insulting his size because he suddenly looked offended. “Hey!” he said, huffing some smoke out.
Robert ignored him and continued to fuck me hard into the mattress, and I moved with him, grunting and moaning in unison as we felt our peak quickly approaching.
If my orgasm with Jimmy could be compared to a tidal wave, the one I felt with Robert would be better described as an avalanche. My back arched sharply as I came hard around him. I could not hear the sound of either of us moaning or screaming any more; there was a sharp ringing in my ear that prevented me from hearing anything, but my voice was hoarse, and my mouth contorted in an O shape, as my hands gripped at his hair, at the bedsheets, at anything I could use to steady myself against the intense tremors and convulsions wracking throughout my body. I felt his hot release seeping deep into me, and that must have been when I blacked out, my mind going completely blank.
When I came back to my senses, Robert was collapsed over top of me, his damp blond curls fanned across my chest as he lay there catching his breath. When he noticed that I was laying there motionless and boneless, he raised his head to see if I was okay. I smiled weakly at him, and could feel his cock softening inside me, but he wasn’t in any hurry to pull out of me.
He kissed up my chest, not seeming to care that he could taste another man’s semen on my skin. His kissed and sucked on each of my breasts, biting down on each of my nipples, and smirking when he could hear me whimper.
His lips finally met with mine, and he kissed me again. The kiss was more structured and tendered compared to the mindless devouring he was attempting to do when he was fucking me senseless.
“I love you so fucking much,” I whispered in a broken voice, so spent and sated, I felt like I could fall asleep with him inside me, and sleep for days on end.
He pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I love you too, darling. More than you could ever know. And your love is something that I will never share.”
A slow clapping noise could be heard from the corner of the room, and we both turned to see Jimmy sitting in his chair with the half smoked joint still dangling from his lips. Realizing that he had silently sat there and watched me have the best orgasm of my life, I groaned and buried my face into Robert’s neck.
“Beautiful work, you two. Bravo.”
Robert pulled out of me slowly, leaving me feeling empty and wanting him close again. “Oh, piss off, Page. And I told you I knew how to please ‘er the best.”
“Well, I’d imagine so, since you’ve been with her the longest.” Jimmy was grinning at him mischievously. “It was funny how you got jealous at how quickly I made her cum, though.”
Robert rolled his eyes and pulled me closer, and I laid my head on his chest, breathing in his familiar scent and running my fingers over his warm and fuzzy chest. He was so warm, I felt like I could live in his arms forever.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself, darling. Because this is the last time I will ever share you with anyone again. You are mine, and mine alone.”
I couldn’t help but giggle into his chest at how jealous he had got, despite this being his idea. But I didn’t object to him. I only ever wanted him, and the pleasure I received from Jimmy paled in comparison to him.
“I’m yours alone,” I agreed as I buried my face into his chest.
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