pairings: ftm! gojo - nanami - sukuna - choso X top male reader
note: any comments or reblogs are appreciated
warning: ftm, risky, public fingering, exhibitionism, overstimulation
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CHOSO
The train was packed during rush hour, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder as it rattled through the city tunnels. Choso stood near the back, one hand gripping the overhead rail, his usual dark clothing blending into the crowd. Tall, pale, and quiet, he looked like just another tired commuter- head slightly bowed, bangs falling over his eyes, expression unreadable.
No one noticed the way his legs were parted just enough.
You stood directly behind him, chest to his back, one arm looped casually around his waist like you were steadying him against the train’s sway. Two thick fingers were already buried deep in the slick, fluttering heat of his cunt, pumping slow and steady with every rock of the carriage.
Choso’s breath hitched softly, barely audible over the rumble of the train and the murmur of passengers. His free hand clenched tighter around the rail until his knuckles turned white.
Every curl of your fingers sent sparks racing up his spine, his slick walls clenching greedily, coating your hand in warm, slippery heat that threatened to trickle down his thighs.
“Easy,” You whispered against the nape of his neck, voice for him alone. “Just breathe.”
He bit his lip hard, bangs hiding his burning face as he stared at the floor. The stretch felt overwhelming in the best way, turning his usually calm mind into static. A sudden lurch of the train shoved more bodies closer, forcing your fingers deeper. A tiny, mortified whimper escaped before he could swallow it.
Your fingers never paused scissoring gently, then pressing firm against that sweet spot with ruthless accuracy. “You’re soaked through already,” oYu murmured, lips grazing his ear. “Does it excite you? Knowing anyone could notice how wet your pretty cunt is getting on a crowded train?”
“D-Don’t…” His whisper was hoarse, barely there. But his body answered for him, hips rocking back the smallest fraction, walls fluttering wildly around your intrusion and sucking you deeper.
You added a third finger, filling him fuller. Choso’s grip slipped on the rail for a heartbeat; he recovered by pressing his forehead to his arm, hiding behind the curtain of his black hair as another soft, needy sound slipped free.
As the train slowed for the next stop and passengers shifted in a chaotic wave, you curled your fingers harder, thumb flicking rapidly over his clit while thrusting deep and fast. His thighs trembled violently, pressing inward around your wrist in a futile bid for control.
The pressure coiled unbearably tight in his belly. A thin trail of drool escaped the corner of his mouth before he licked it away, face flaming with embarrassment.
“Come on,” You breathed, pressing a secret kiss to his skin. “Let go for me. Stay quiet like a good boy.”
His whole body locked up. His cunt spasmed in helpless, rippling waves, clamping down tight as a sudden rush of warm, thick slick gushed over your fingers and soaked his underwear.
A high, broken whine tried to escape he just about strangled it into a shaky cough, burying his face deeper into his sleeve while his legs shook so hard he relied on the press of bodies and your support to stay upright.
You stroked him gently through every aftershock, drawing it out until he was twitching and oversensitive, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
When it finally faded, Choso sagged back against you, cheeks crimson, eyes glassy when he peeked over his shoulder.
His voice was a raw, barely audible whisper, thick with shame and lingering heat.
“You’re so cruel.”
The movie theater was dimly lit, the latest action flick droning on with explosions and gunfire that barely registered over the low hum of the crowd. Satoru Gojo sat slouched in the back row trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. His long legs were spread wide, one arm casually draped behind your seat. The popcorn was forgotten in his lap under the thin jacket he’d draped there for cover.
GOJO
Beneath that jacket, his uniform pants hung open just enough. Your hand had found its way inside long ago, two fingers sliding through his already dripping folds and sinking deep without ceremony. He’d jolted at the first touch, covering it with an exaggerated stretch and yawn, but now he was barely holding it together.
Two of your fingers were buried deep, curling slow and deliberate against that spongy spot inside him that made his thighs twitch. His walls fluttered around you, ridiculously wet already, the obscene little squelch barely audible under the movie's soundtrack but loud enough in his own ears to make his pale cheeks burn.
Your fingers curled lazily, stroking that sensitive ridge inside him with practiced ease. Every slow drag made fresh heat pulse through his core, his slick coating your knuckles in warm, slippery trails. The faint, wet slicks were lost under the movie’s soundtrack, but Satoru heard them loud and clear. They made his pale cheeks burn in embarrassment.
“Having fun pretending to watch the movie?” You murmured close to his ear, thumb grazing his swollen clit in slow, teasing spirals.
He forced a breathy laugh, voice cracking. “It’s… okay. Effects could be better.” The words came out too airy when you scissored your fingers, opening him wider. His free hand dug into the armrest, plastic creaking under his grip.
To the couple a few seats away, he probably looked like he was just whispering commentary. Up close, though, his lashes fluttered wildly and a thin sheen of sweat glistened at his hairline. You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’re making such a mess already. Feel how easily my fingers slide? Bet you’d love it if someone turned around right now.”
“Shut it-” he hissed, but the protest dissolved into a muffled whine as you added a third finger, stretching him fuller. His hips twitched forward despite himself, chasing the pressure while his pride fought to stay still. The thrill of it all- the strongest reduced to a slick, trembling wreck in public- sent another rush of warmth flooding around your hand.
Your thumb pressed firmer circles against his clit, matching the steady pump of your fingers. Satoru’s chest heaved under the jacket, breathing ragged. When you curled harder, hitting that perfect spot dead-on, a sharp, needy sound almost escaped. He quickly turned it into a cough, face burning crimson.
“Gonna fall apart right here, Satoru? With the whole theater none the wiser?” you teased, pressing a fake-innocent kiss to his jaw.
That pushed him over. He buried his face against your shoulder, biting down on your collar to smother the broken moan that tore free. His cunt clenched in violent, fluttering waves, gushing hot and messy over your fingers as his orgasm ripped through him. Long legs shook under the jacket, toes curling tight in his shoes while sparks danced behind his closed eyes.
You kept stroking him through every pulse, slow and deep, until he was twitching and oversensitive, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. When it finally ended, he sagged against you, panting softly, his pussy still giving weak little flutters around your soaked digits.
The movie rolled on, the rest of the crowd oblivious.
Satoru lifted his head just enough to shoot you a watery, half-lidded glare, cheeks flushed and lips glossy. A shaky, cocky grin tugged at his mouth anyway.
“Credits better have a sequel to this… or I’m dragging you to the next showing."
NANAMI
The office floor was dim and quiet after hours, only a few distant keyboard clicks breaking the silence. Kento Nanami sat ramrod straight at his desk, crisp shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, typing awat under the glow of his monitor. You perched on the edge of his desk, close enough that the wooden panel hid everything below.
Your hand had disappeared beneath the desk ten minutes ago, slipping past his loosened belt and into the front of his slacks. Two fingers were currently buried deep inside his cunt, pumping in a slow, steady rhythm while your thumb traced lazy patterns over his swollen clit .
Nanami’s typing had grown noticeably slower, keys pressed with more force than necessary. His hazel eyes stayed fixed on the screen jaw clenched tight, but the slow creep of color up his neck betrayed hi. Every curl of your fingers against his front wall made his slick walls flutter and squeeze, coating your hand in warm, creamy arousal that was starting to drip down between his thighs and onto the leather chair.
“Focus on your report, Kento,” You murmured under your breath, voice low enough that only he could hear. You added a third finger without warning, stretching him open as you thrust deeper.
His breath caught sharply. “This is very inappropriate,” He muttered, his voice strained, forcing his fingers back to the keyboard. One hand gripped the desk edge until knuckles paled, trying to ground himself himself while his cunt fluttered and squeezed, pulling your fingers in greedily with every slow thrust.
The quiet, slippery sounds of your fingers working through his wetness blended with the distant hum of the AC. One wrong move, one loud moan , and someone could easily catch you guys.
You leaned closer, pretending to look at his monitor. “Listen to that. You’re absolutely soaked. Imagine if someone walked over right now and saw how desperately you’re leaking for me.”
A shaky exhale slipped from him. His thighs quivered under the desk, pressing together briefly before parting again to give you more room. The shame of it twisted hot in his gut, mixing with the building pleasure until he couldn’t tell which fueled the other. His pussy clenched hard around your fingers, another rush of slick making the glide smoother, messier. The risk- the thought of a coworker wandering over while he was stuffed full and leaking- made his stomach twist with equal parts shame and heat.
Your thumb pressed firmer, rubbing tight circles in time with your thrusting fingers. Nanami’s breathing turned shallow and precise, chest rising in tight, silent bursts. Nanami’s hips gave the tiniest rock forward, chasing the friction even as his pride screamed at him to stay still. His breathing grew shallower, chest rising and falling in controlled, silent bursts.
“Close?” You whispered, lips brushing his ear while you pretended to discuss work.
He gave the barest nod, lashes lowering as his eyes fluttered half-shut before he clamped down around your fingers.
His entire body tensed, as his cunt clamped down hard around your fingers in pulsing waves. Warm, thick slick gushed over your hand, soaking his underwear and the front of his slacks in a messy flood that would definitely leave a stain. His thighs quivered violently under the desk, toes curling inside his polished shoes while he stared blankly at the screen, jaw locked tight to trap every whimper inside.
You worked him through it with slow, deep strokes, prolonging the pleasure until he was twitching and oversensitive, a faint sheen of sweat visible on his brow. Only then did you ease your fingers out, wiping them discreetly on the inside of his thigh before fixing his clothes with careful hands.
Nanami remained still for a long moment, breathing heavily through his nose, hazel eyes glassy and unfocused on the half-finished report. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough, and edged with that familiar mix of irritation and reluctant satisfaction.
“I’m going to need a new chair.” He paused, then added under his breath, barely audible:“And you’re staying late to help me clean this up.”
His hand brushed against yours under the desk, fingers lingering just a second too long. A clear promise of exactly how he planned to repay you once the last coworker left.
Lanterns swayed overhead, casting shifting red and gold light across the packed festival street. Vendors shouted, crowds laughed. Sukuna stuck out like a sore thumb with his murderous expression, tattoos stark against his skin, expression of arrogant boredom.
SUKUNA
No one could have guessed what was happening beneath the loose layers of his robes.
You had pulled him into a narrow alley between two stalls moments ago. Now two thick fingers pumped ruthlessly into his cunt, curling and scissoring while your thumb ground hard against his throbbing clit. The risk was deliciously stupid as hundreds of mortals were mere feet away, you both only had fabric and proximity keeping the secret.
Sukuna’s crimson eyes were narrowed, jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. His thighs trembled faintly, and every slow curl of your fingers made his slick walls flutter and squeeze around you like a vice.
A group of festival-goers walked past laughing loudly. Sukuna’s breath hitched, turning into a low growl he barely masked as a scoff.
“Pathetic humans,” He muttered, voice rougher than usual, deeper. The words were meant to sound dismissive, but they came out strained when you twisted your fingers just right, , dragging firmly over that sensitive bundle inside him.
You leaned in “Feel that? You’re leaking like you were made for this. The mighty King of Curses, getting finger-fucked in a crowd of ants.”
His lips peeled back in a sneer that faltered as you forced a third finger inside, stretching his greedy heat wider. “Insolent-” The insult cut off into a strained grunt. His hips jerked forward once, involuntarily, chasing the brutal stretch while his free hand curled into a fist at his side, nails biting skin.
Heat coiled low and vicious in his belly. His clit pulsed under your thumb’s relentless pressure. Another surge of people flowed by; Sukuna’s eyes flashed with feral warning even as his walls spasmed violently, sucking your fingers deeper, juices soaking into the fabric between his legs.
“Close already?” You taunted softly against his neck. “Going to make a mess right here? Let them all see the great Sukuna falling apart like a desperate whore?”
His lips curled into a sneer, but it faltered when you added a third finger, stretching his tight, greedy cunt wider. “Watch your tongue, brat,” He hissed, but the threat lacked its usual bite considering it was up to you to get him off. His hips rocked forward the tiniest amount, chasing the thick intrusion as his pussy clenched hard, creamy arousal making every thrust wet and obscene.
His head tipped back slightly, crimson eyes glazing as the orgasm tore through him like a released curse. His cunt seized around your fingers in brutal, rhythmic contractions, flooding your hand with thick, hot release that dripped messily down his thighs.
You milked him through every powerful wave, slow and deep, until he was twitching and oversensitive, chest heaving. When the tremors finally eased, Sukuna straightened, glaring down at you with flushed cheeks and blown pupils, voice a venomous rasp barely audible over the festival din.
“You arrogant little worm- I should tear that hand off.”
But the way his cunt still fluttered weakly around your fingers, reluctant to let them go, told a very different story.
