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IT's complicated!

starring nerd!choso x boss!reader

summary: Choso, a shy IT specialist at Jujutsu Industries, has had a crush on you for years. So when your computer breaks down and you ask him for his expertise, he is determined to try his very hardest to please (and maybe, just maybe, in more ways than one).

content: MDNI 18+, afab!reader, boss!reader, nerd!choso, alt!choso, vírgín!choso, no use of “y/n”, yearning, crushing, verrrryy down bad choso, hair-down choso, pierced choso, glasses choso, nerd!gojo feature, nerd!geto feature, pwp, choso sees your nüdes and lowkey freaks out (in a good way), oral (m!receiving, f!receiving), suspicious activities under the desk, squírtíng, messy, secretive, dumbification, first times, brééding, etc.

word count: 9.2k (idek how this happened oops)

author's note: AHH this is my first ever post on here! I am so excited to share it with you all ☺️! all credits of the above pictures go to their creators! First picture credits is to the talented @einruji07 on X! Also, MDNI!! 18+ only. If you are not 18+ I *will* block you.

choso's friday rotation: Sleepyhead - Jutes, I Want You By My Side - Yuragi, Sextape - Deftones, Drunk in Love - Guitar Version Looped - NovaX, Chokehold - Sleep Token, The Walls - Chase Atlantic, House of Balloons / Glass Table Girls - The Weeknd

The morning genuinely could not have gone rougher.

Choso’s 6AM alarm didn't go off, which meant his meticulous morning routine (fixing his hair into its signature bun, tirelessly trying to wash the sleep from his eyes, and buying Toji’s shitty discounted coffee from the place next door) was effectively scrapped.

The train from his neighborhood to Chiyoda City was packed full, and he could’ve sworn at least six different elbows dug into his back on purpose throughout the entire ride.

And of course, the cherry on top was that it was a Friday, which meant the Tokyo branch of Jujutsu Industries was serving free breakfasts today. He knew that as soon as the clock hit 9am, employees from every department would be descending down from their respective floors and into the bumbling cafeteria.

It was ritual; it was community.

It was Kamo Choso's personal hell.

Sure, he could avoid all of this - and his natural instincts would be that he would. But there is something uniquely humbling about being an underpaid IT specialist living in one of the most ridiculously overpriced apartments in Shibuya, that his usual quiet, asocial self could set aside his general temperament for some Friday freebies.

He stepped into the already lengthy line, keeping his sleepy eyes glued to his phone screen, his music set to a concerning level, and his earbuds on noise-cancellation.

He anticipated this would take fifteen minutes max. Eight to move through the line. Two to figure out what he wanted and grab what he needed. Five to absolutely book it up the stairs to his 4th-floor cubicle. That's what he anticipated. He could do this.

What he did not anticipate was accidentally knocking into, and subsequently flat-tiring, you.

You, with your sensual curves and smooth skin and sharp eyes. You, who took one look at the scuff mark he made on your very expensive-looking heels and laughed. You, who, as you now fully turn to face him, smelled faintly of warm rice and deep vanilla, spiced quince and smoked cinnamon.

You.

You, you, you.

The girl he has been harboring the most, painful, humiliatingly pathetic crush on for the past two and a half years.

A playful grin formed on your plush lips. Your eyes began to scan him over, assessing. The small stud above his brow glinted to you as if in greeting. His hair, which normally was tied up, was down today, the thick black frames he wore slightly obscuring the pinkish scar that ran across his nose, and his dark lashes were fluttering against his pale skin in a way that made him look so… soft.

Choso could feel his eyes begin to widen as you took him in. His heart mobilized to his throat, his nape began to prick with cool droplets of sweat. Was he blushing right now or was it just hot? The bustle of the line all but faded away to him.

You began to speak, and it took him several moments before realizing that the pitched ringing in his ears were in fact, not his own deluded creations, but his headphones. His ridiculous, small, obscured headphones that were actively on noise-cancellation mode.

You were talking to him, and he couldn't hear you.

Now, this wasn't the first time you and Choso ever crossed paths. The two of you started at the company on the same day, and the both of you were partners during the week-long onboarding program. You captivated him with your casual boldness, magnetic presence, and how just one word from you could command the attention of the entire group.

He surprised you with his low voice, observing eyes, sharp features, and the way that he spoke his words with the kind of deep earnestness of someone who has never been burned.

You were intrigued.

He was captivated.

By the time the onboarding week finished, all the new hires went around the room stating their departments and their title. When it came your time to speak, and the words "Portfolio Management Director" left your oh, so pretty lips, Choso could feel the barriers going up before he could even fully comprehend it.

When everyone began to filter out of the room, mingling with the peers they grew acquainted with during the program, all he could do was keep his head down. At the time, all he could think about was how foolish he was to hope that there could ever even be a small possibility with you.

He ended up leaving without saying goodbye (admittedly not his best decision), and you watched him go with the smallest traces of hurt squeezing your chest.

And so that's why Choso finds himself here, on this Friday morning two and a half years later, flustered, embarrassed, and scrambling to string together one coherent sentence for you.

This was worse than his own personal hell. This was abuse and torture wrapped up in one single, harrowing blow.

Choso could see you had stopped talking and were looking at him expectantly now.

And honestly? You could handle scuff marks and damaged shoes. You could handle snarky colleagues and misogynistic execs. You've fought for your spot (if only everyone could've seen the state you left Zenin Naoya in...) and swiftly climbed your way up the corporate ladder. You were one of the youngest, and most favored, female directors at the company. You could handle your own and pretty much anything thrown at you - but that did not mean you took kindly to being ignored, especially by the regretfully attractive IT geek that somehow left such an impression on you all those years ago.

The easy smile you wore slowly began to fall with every passing second of his silence. Behind you, the line began to march forward.

Choso was immobilized. He had to act, and fast. In his fantasies, he would've approached you with the kind of slickness and sex-appeal that Sukuna Ryomen (the notorious office rake) was said to employ at the weekly happy hours (allegedly, according to Satoru). Choso would have wow'd you with his intellect, he would have made you laugh. He would've apologized for his initial lameness after the onboarding debacle all those years ago. He would've found a way to finally get your number, dammit!

Instead, all the words he wanted to say were competing for a spot of your attention, and something halfway between a choked groan and garbled sputtering was all that could escape his mouth.

Your eyes slightly widened.

Choso wished for death to strike him.

He could feel the light tapping of the people behind him, urging him to move.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. A mix of something halfway between sympathy and disappointment flashed in your eyes, but you turned around too quickly before he could decipher it. And so he was left standing there, in the middle of the cafeteria with bated breath and a palpitating heart, as you walked up to the continental buffet without so much as a glance back.

God, he was truly pathetic. And also so, so incredibly fucked.

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"Oh now that's fuckin' gold-" Satoru was barking at this point, laughing so hard his glasses slid down his nose, "-even I'm not THAT bad" his howls echoed throughout the entirety of the IT department's floor. Even Suguru, who was always so neutral in these situations, was chuckling and nodding in agreement as he listened to Choso's embarrassing retelling of this morning's encounter.

Choso's face twisted in misery.

If he was lamer than Gojo Satoru, who was generally considered as the office's "lamest", then he should just resign the rest of his life to virgin-hood now.

Gojo: +10

Choso: -67

With a grumble of the most unsavory curses he knew, and a swift kick to Gojo's long shins (that, satisfyingly, shut him up), Choso got up from his desk for his shift at the tenth-floor IT help station.

Which, to both his happiness and dismay, was where all the higher-ups worked. Where you worked.

He rubbed his face once, his glasses lifting under his fingers, before staring up at the elevator ceiling.

"Please pull yourself together, man" he whispered under his breath.

The tenth floor IT "station" was moreso a glorified closet, in his opinion. The only attribute that made it a “station” was the one, small service window that one would normally see at drive-thru’s. All Choso had to do for the next 3-hours was sit behind the window and wait for the digital clock to hit 5pm. And normally, his time at the counter would go as it always did: quiet and uneventful.

So, was it divine intervention or cruel punishment that led you to walk over to the window at 4pm, your heels clicking against the polished floor as you stood before him for the second time that day?

"Mr. Kamo," you said in greeting. You were still a little peeved from the situation that occurred earlier in the day, and your usual easy tone was replaced with something a touch cooler.

"H-Hi," he breathed. Slick. He coughed before correcting himself, "what can I do for you?"

His eyes flickered up at you and then down to his fidgeting hands. He knew he needed to explain what happened earlier. His earbuds, his chronic-lameness, his affinity with making a fool out of himself whenever you were within a four-meter radius.

You sighed. "Seems like my laptop decided to give out on me," your lips formed a slight pout and your brows furrowed in cute concern. His heart thumped in his throat. "Think you can fix it?" You raised your eyes to meet his, and he suddenly became acutely aware of just how warm his face was.

He nodded quickly, jerkily. "I can certainly try."

You say your thanks softly, just a touch distant, before silently handing him your computer.

He flushed in embarrassment as he stumbled to take the device from you. The IT window, though useful, had a worktable on his side. So, he had to extend over the table to get to the counter of the window, where you had placed your laptop.

Your eyes furtively stared at the way his surprisingly sculpted arms extended out to reach over. You noticed the soft outline of a scar wrapping around his mid forearm, and the veins that ran down from there and into his large hands.

You clear your throat, trying to stop yourself from saying (or moaning) something stupid, and excuse yourself.

He was able to diagnose your laptop in a matter of minutes. The internal cooling fan was clogged with dust, and all he had to do was blast it with some compressed air. It was simple, really. He anticipated it would only take him ten minutes to fix the whole thing.

And yet, he sat there stalling.

You sat in one of the lounge chairs beside his window, your legs neatly crossed and your manicured nails tapping away on your phone. The sun was beginning to set, and the glow from its light was illuminating you in such a way that it would make it a crime not to stare.

“Yes, Mr. Kamo?”

You didn’t glance up from your phone, but your brows held a light, inquisitive arch. His breath stuttered.

“I am so sorry about earlier,” his voice was so gentle you almost missed it. You finally look up. “The breakfast line this morning. That time from onboarding two years ago-” the thumping of his veins was hard enough to staccato his speech, yet he could not stop now. “I am so sorry. For everything. For your shoes. For acting the way I did. For not saying goodbye. I had earbuds in and-god-I don’t know why I’m so…”

“Shy?” You offer to him.

“Lame.” He mumbles.

Your laugh is an angelic ring to his ears, and he watches as your hand covers your mouth as your eyes begin to crinkle. It was hard to stay annoyed when he was so endearing, so earnest with his words. The worry lines on his forehead began to ease, and a relieved smile slowly made its way onto Kamo Choso’s face for the first time today.

“All is forgiven-” your smile was small, perhaps even a touch shy. You hesitate, before saying, “thank you, Mr. Kamo.” It was your turn now to not be able to meet his eyes. And though you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, the implication of your words hung in the air. Thank you. Thank you for telling me. Thank you for your courage.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as the sun fully dipped into the horizon. You returned to your phone, and he returned to your computer.

And when he finally opened up the casing to clean out your fan, he made sure to leave a section untouched in the hopes that maybe, just maybe you would come back to visit him again.

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It was slow at first, but eventually you did return. And then again. And again and again.

One time for a docking station. The next, for your headphones (you both laughed). He checked your monitors one week, and your cables the next. It would be something new each time you came rounding the corner.

He would often find himself searching for the sound of your heels, like it was a message just for him; something sacred; a secret admission.

And every time you came around, you stayed by his window as he worked. You liked to watch the flush that would inevitably creep onto his features, and he liked to relish in your closeness, the smell of your shampoo, the sounds of your bracelets clinking together, and the faces you made as you read through your emails.

Sometimes, if he was lucky, he would catch you staring. He smiled more on those days.

Somehow, somewhere in those two or so months, the two of you began to ease into each other. You talked more, he stuttered less. Your professional smiles grew into something more unreserved. His anxious hands gradually found peace. Over time, silence turned into polite niceties, which turned into conversations about weekend plans, which turned into gentle teases about music tastes, coffee order skepticisms, and pop-culture references. You surprised him by being a secret gamer. He surprised you by being a shameless sweet-tooth.

After weeks of odd-repair jobs flew by, there was probably no other office supplies of yours that Choso hadn’t checked.

He was sure that the final days of you visiting him were soon approaching, and the thought alone was enough to send him into an emotional spiral all week. He didn’t want whatever this was to stop. Your presence easily became the favorite aspect of his routine: a loud part of his normally quiet schedule that he looked forward to every Friday.

He just needed to man up. Grow a pair. And if today was his last shot, then he would. And if you didn't show up to his IT window tonight? Then he would finally attend the company happy hours just in case you would be there. And if you were there, then he would approach you at the bar and he would buy you a drink. He would ask for your number. He would tell you to address him casually from here on out. He would, he would, he would.

For you? He would do anything.

It was ten-to-five, and the twisting in Choso’s stomach was becoming unbearable. He was all but ready to pack up and sprint to the bar that all the employees went to on Friday nights when he heard the familiar click of your heels as you rounded the corner.

His heart was pounding, and he could hear the blood rushing past his ears.

“You’re going to hate me,” you started.

Never, he wanted to say in reply.

“Oh? How so?”

“My work phone,” you frowned, “I’d hate to keep you late on a Friday night, but…” you softly waved the device in your hand. “Think you can manage?”

The turbulence in his body settled. You were here. He will get your number today. He will ask, after this. His eyes softened, as they normally did whenever you were near, and a smile graced his pretty features. “When have I not?”

You laughed and nodded, a touch flushed, biting your lip as your eyes lit up with something warm, something he couldn’t place.

A beat passes. Your gaze drops from his eyes, to his lips, then quickly up to the dark piercing by his brow. Were you too obvious? Was he too dense?

"My savior." You said it like it was a secret. Breathy, earnest, purposeful.

His ears turned another shade redder.

You handed your phone to him wordlessly, and his fingers grazed yours. Where yours were warm and smooth, his were cool and calloused. He gulped. You grinned.

As you settled down into your usual spot on the lounge chair, laptop opened to your email, he began to assess the damage on your phone.

“Do you remember what applications were running before it broke? Helps give me a better understanding of the issue.” He was focused now, skillfully popping off the case and assessing the ports.

You hummed. “The last thing I used was the camera - I was taking pictures of a merger agreement to forward to the legal team.” You checked your watch. “I was hoping to send it all over by 8pm at the latest.”

Though he nodded casually, he couldn’t help but be in awe of your composure, your effortless nonchalance with your power and position.

As he finally got the screen on your work phone to power up, you began to get a video call on your laptop. You excused yourself, mouthing “Sorry, gotta take this” to him, before you turned and headed back to your desk. It looked like you were quite busy. He hoped you were taking care of yourself; that you ate something today. He made a mental note for himself to ask you later.

He fiddled with your phone for several minutes. After cleaning out your charging port, plugging your device into power, and doing other general troubleshooting, your phone screen finally lit up with its signature brand logo.

Though it lagged, he was able to get to your home screen and look into your settings. After a general inspection of your storage, software system, and other miscellaneous settings, he moved on to your camera app to check if the app would crash like you had mentioned.

He truly did not mean to pry. He was just about to close the app when he saw it - the small square photo cover of a folder in your camera roll. The preview was of you. Of your body.

And, oh fuck- were these your nudes?

Fuck.

He could feel the blood draining from his face...

He immediately put your phone down.

What the hell was he doing?

You were a distinguished senior-level employee. His colleague. His crush. Dare he say, friend?

His very, very attractive friend.

He gulped. He could feel his dick pulse in interest, a faint throb that blended with the beating anticipation in his heart.

He slowly picked your phone back up.

He wished he could feel more turmoil; he wished that his morality would kick in and tell him to stop, to tell him to show some sliver of respect for your privacy. But all he could hear was silence in the face of his insatiable curiosity.

You weren’t here right now. The call you took seemed important enough to go back to your office for. Perhaps… Perhaps he could just reaffirm what he thought he saw?

His pulse was beating so wildly that his heart felt like it was working on overload. With shaky hands, he clicks back into the folder.

Fuck.

He wanted to cry. He might actually cry.

There were only seven pictures total. Before he could think too hard, he tapped into the first one and scrolled through.

The first was of you laying on your side, your heavy tits barely held up by the flimsy pink lingerie you had on. His dick lurched in his jeans at the sight of your nipples barely caught on the lace. He could see the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips, the light gloss on your lips.

He could feel his hand reaching down to his crotch before he could register what was happening.

The hell? This was you? Hidden behind all your smart clothes and persisting authority?

His fingers involuntarily squeezed himself through his pants. He could feel the fiery pit in his stomach convulse. He tried to ignore the wet spot that was beginning to form where the tip of his cock kissed his briefs. He continued to scroll.

More pictures of your tits, some with them squished together, some with them spilling over your purposefully small tops. Once he got to the ones of your ass, he had to stifle a surprised groan with a choked cough. The slutty thongs you wore almost made him pass out. One pair was made of only cross-linking satin strips. Another was just translucent lace. Regardless of material, he was transfixed by the way they got swallowed up by the expanse of your plump, juicy, impossibly round ass.

And then he got to the video. The video.

His heart was wild against his ribs. A vibrator was between your legs. Your thong shoved to the side. Your wetness was soaking the fabric so thoroughly it was see through, and your slick was coating the tip of the device until it shined. Your nipples were hard and peaking through the tops of your bra. One hand was pumping two fingers into your pussy, and the other held the vibrator to rub against your swollen clit.

It was so obscene. So dirty. So fucking erotic.

He did not know what took over him, but he could not stop himself now. His pants were unzipped, briefs shoved down, cock fully exposed underneath his worktable. He was jerking himself off like he was possessed, drunk off of the way you looked on the screen. His dick was heavy, thick, and hot in his hand. The mushroomed tip was angry and red, rubbed raw by the friction of being trapped in his underwear. He was leaking such an embarrassing amount that he wasn’t entirely sure if it was pre or if he literally came untouched in his pants without realizing.

He could hear your low pants coming from the screen, and the shlk shlk shlkkk of your nimble fingers fucking inside of yourself. He had to clench his jaw so hard that the veins in his neck were surely popping out, just to stop himself from making noise. Each time you rubbed the slickened vibrator against your cunt, and it partly disappeared between your pussy lips, his own dick bobbed with fresh waves of need.

What the hell were these doing on your work phone? Was this even your work phone?

His forehead was lightly damp now. His chest was heaving. His face was so fucking flushed. His heartbeat felt so loud in his ears that he couldn’t hear the faint clicking of your heels as you returned to him.

“...Mr. Kamo?”

His face snapped up. You were standing directly across from him, the only thing separating the two of you being the service-window wall. A beat passes, and your video is still playing on loop in his hand.

Your lips part in slow recognition, but the shadow of something indecipherable flickers across your features.

The world around you both seems to still, the Tokyo nightlife all but muted in the bubble that formed between you and him.

He sat frozen as you wordlessly walked up to, and opened, the door to his IT room.

It only took you two steps inside before you slowly dropped to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. With your field of vision lower now, you could see his large hand still fisting his dick underneath the table.

And… Holy shit. He was so… large.

You don’t realize you're gulping.

You don’t realize that you’re salivating.

This fucking nerd was packing… what? Nine full inches and then some?

Your wide eyes look back up to him, and he stares back with something akin to both utter humiliation and desperation.

“I never got to properly thank you for all your help these past few months,” you whisper.

Wait, what?

Before his delirious brain could process the implication of your soft words, you’re leaning in to lick up the salty pre that pooled at the base of his cock, slurping at the excess, and licking allllll the way up to the pulsing head.

Your tongue was so soft, so ridiculously fuckin’ wet.

And Choso was so taken by surprise, so dazed by the fact that this was his reality right now, that his jaw slackened, and a fuckin’ whimper escaped his throat.

You began to trace the veins on his dick and he could’ve sworn he saw stars.

You took your time, languidly finding a path up up, up. By the time you made it to the tip, he thought he was going to cry (he was unsure if he already was), until you wrapped your plush lips around the underside of his mushroomed cockhead, putting delicious pressure on his most sensitive area.

“Put your hands on me,” you almost whined it out, the tip of his dick still bobbing shallowly in your mouth. Like you didn’t want to let go; like you didn't want even a moment of it not resting heavily on your tongue.

Before he could comply, the distant whirring of a vacuum echoed somewhere down the hall.

“Oh fuck-” his eyes were wild, and his breathing ragged and erratic. Was it panic from potentially getting caught? Or was it the selfish idea that the thought of you stopping now might actually kill him? That whatever trance you both were under would break, and that you would walk out and take all of his heart with you?

He looks down at you, and in his panicked state he didn’t realize you were grinning.

“What are you-?”

The whirring was getting louder. You crawled under the table and settled between his spread legs.

Oh.

He felt like he was going to go insane.

You rested your cheek against his thigh, and looked up at him through your lashes. Your eyes were glazed, your lips rouged and spit-slickened. You were mesmerizing, and it almost killed him to look away.

In the distance, he could see the nightly custodial crew rounding the corner and walking down the hall, their vacuums roaring loudly against the polished floors.

You began to push his flared cockhead further into your mouth, until it was just kissing the smoothed back of your throat. He choked on a moan, one hand gripping onto the workstation ledge, the other flying to your hair. The echoes of footsteps were growing louder, and the roars of the vacuums were quickly nearing. And yet, this only seemed to make you needier, hungrier.

Your head was bobbing rhythmically, unrelentingly, addictingly, under the table as you sucked on his hard length. He was just so warm, so thick and hot and heady, and you were beginning to lose your sanity over the feeling of his cock filling your mouth so completely and overwhelmingly, shutting you up.

Your lashes were damp with stray tears. Choso wondered how it would look to paint your face with his cum, or if you preferred to take it down your throat-

“Would you like us to clean inside there, sir?”

He sputtered dumbly. “Huuh-?”

The custodial team stood about four meters away, pausing their vacuuming activities briefly as they stared at him curiously.

“N-no. No I’m good. All c-clean over here.”

You made it a point to slurp lightly - just loud enough for him alone to hear. You were slobbering now, drool and spittle dripping from your chin, messily mixing with his creamy pre down the length of his cock, and all over his balls.

He fisted your hair in warning, his jaw ticking with tension.

He knew he probably looked ridiculous to the custodians right now, maybe even sick with how flushed and sweaty he was. He was pretty sure that his lower lip was split with how hard he was biting them. His glasses were slightly fogged on the lower edges, and his chest was heaving in a way that made him look like he just ran a marathon.

From his peripherals he could see your wicked smile as you popped off his dick, gingerly mixing the wetness all over, two slippery hands jerking him off, twisting under the capped head, in a slow, teasing, mind-numbing pattern.

The custodians shrugged, before turning around and heading off for the night.

And as they left, something inside his mind snapped. Something possessive, perverted, and deranged.

“You playin’ with me?” His eyes were wild. Gone was his professionalism, his shy resolve nowhere to be found. His heart was pounding. He needed you.

“Finally got the hint?” You shoot back, challengingly.

He huffed out a breath of warm air, before firmly gripping your throat and shoving your mouth back onto his cock. You readily latched on, sucking and licking and moaning, one hand massaging his balls, the other twisting over whatever exposed length was left of him.

Your tongue was unrelenting, and he was bucking up, abusing your throat. He loved the way your throat bulged at every snap! of his hips, as he shoved his long, fat dick down, down, down. So far gone was the shy man you met every past Friday. His eyes were now glazed and glassy, his lips bitten completely red, sweat rolling hypnotically past his brow piercing and along his sharp jaw. He was drunk off the way your mouth felt. Drunk off the way his dick was using you. Drunk off the way you look; broken, teary-eyed, mouth gagged, and throat bulging with his heavy cock buried inside.

Before you know it, he's slipping out, one hand on your throat to keep you still, while the other wraps around the base of his cock. He slaps his wet dick against your cheek, before rubbing and sliding himself along your smooth skin. Your legs clench as you realize from base to tip his cock is as big as your head. And when you looked into his eyes, you could tell he saw it too. He wasn’t looking at you though, you realized. He was looking at himself. He wasn't just tapping his dripping cock against your flushed skin. This twisted motherfucker was measuring.

“Heh- I’ve never felt a pussy before,” he continues his rocking against your face, “d’ya think it’ll fit?”

Your eyes widened. This man, with his pierced ears and studded brow, muscular arms and ginormous cock, was a fucking virgin?

Surely, he was lying. He had to be.

But as you assessed him, his wrecked and earnest features, there was no doubt that he wasn’t telling you anything but the hard, honest truth.

“I-” your heart does something funny in your chest, while a fresh wave of slickness soaks your already drenched panties. You address him with equal earnestness, “I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself, Choso.”

And oh, he was a goner. He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue, how casually you addressed him. He was completely and utterly at your mercy now.

“Does the window close?” You ask. You were still under the table, and completely oblivious to the way his heart felt like it was exploding behind his ribcage.

“Y-yeah,” he nodded quickly, jerkily. Dazed and partly delirious.

He shoved himself back into his pants, not caring to button as he pulled his long, black shirt down enough to cover himself. He stood and leaned over the table, sliding the service window shut and pulling the metal security shutters down. You crawled out from under the table as he went and locked the door.

It was well past 7pm at this point, and the usual office stragglers were long gone by now. The two of you were alone.

He lends you his hand and you take it. Your manicured fingers swallowed by his scarred and calloused ones.

Your knees crack as you stand to your full height. He reaches to wrap his hands around either side of your throat, his thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks.

“Let me kiss you,”

It wasn’t even a question. His brain was too consumed in the haze of you, you, you.

Your chest rose and fell. Your hands found his biceps, and you slowly slid them up, up, up to his shoulders, then to his chest, feeling the hidden muscles of his upper body.

You hooked your finger in the collar of his shirt, before tugging, bringing him close enough that your lips were brushing his.

You looked up at him through your lashes, a sly smile creeping onto your features, “I’ll think on it.”

He groaned. His forehead pressed against yours. The tip of his nose softly tracing yours. You were both so close to each other that your lips would brush from the smallest of movements.

His fingers moved from your throat and into your hair, and you could feel him rutting and rubbing his throbbing erection against your leg in the most desperate, pathetic way.

“Fuckin’ tease.”

Your heart was beating so traitorously loud against your chest, and the pressure building in between your legs was making you ache, your pussy clenching at the feeling of being without.

You smile at him wickedly. “Earn it then.”

And before he can think, you’re dragging his shaky hand between your thighs, your skirt riding up, up, up past your legs, before scrunching around your waist.

He might pass out.

Because here you were - tits pressing against your tight button down, nipples raised through your bra, lace covered cunt exposed, and ass only half-covered by your bunched up skirt.

And when he finally, finally dips his trembling fingers just underneath the absolutely soaked lace of your panties, grazing your poor, neglected pussy, you sigh out the most breathy, sinful sound in his ear. Could one get infinitely times harder? He couldn’t tell. But he was starting to feel lightheaded with how much blood was rushing from his head to his cock, which was flaring with the freshest waves of need.

“I- I’ve never done this before,” he said it as if in a trance. His eyes were glassy. He looked hypnotized, almost possessed by the way the tips of his fingers were drenched in your wetness, how your pussy lips were greedily sucking him in so desperately, how they made the prettiest squelch! as his finger got devoured, inch by fucking inch, by your warm, velvety walls.

Your eyes rolled back and your mouth parted in the most sensual “o” that he’s only ever seen from stuff online. He felt the air get knocked out of his lungs. All of his college “experiences” (if he could even call jizzing untouched and awkward blow jobs milestones in his sexual portfolio) paled in comparison to the display that your pussy was showing him right now. He used his thumb to spread your lips apart, watching his fingers disappear in and out, in and out.

Fuck.

And then he was everywhere.

He has your shirt ripped off in seconds, your bra shoved down. His unoccupied hand is squeezing one of your tits, while his mouth latches on to the other, sucking and biting your nipples in a way that has your toes curling, and - did Kamo Choso have a tongue piercing??

Below, his one finger became two, jamming into your tight, tight hole, before pumping in and out, in and out in the most depraved way. And when he accidentally crooked his fingers, massaging and fucking into your most sensitive spots, you moaned, your red nails scraping against his broad shoulders.

“Touch me here too,” you all but gasp out, your delicate hands moving his thumb to rub circles against your clit, just as you had done in the video he watched of you on your phone earlier.

Ever the most astute student, he listened to your every word. He made note of the things that had you going stupid, and changed gears when you tapped him on his biceps. He was a quick study (a bona fide geek after all), and soon he found the most relentless, ruthless, dumbifying tempo that he had you fucking squirting and spraying all over his wrists and down onto the floor below.

And then he’s pushing you until your ass is leaning against the workdesk. He spreads your legs apart and drops to his knees. When he stared up at you, he looked so, so gone.

His glasses were smudged and pushed up, the tip of his scarred nose nudged your clit, and his pink lips opened to dip his soft tongue against your folds. The cool metal ball of his tongue piercing the only solace against ur blazing skin. It’s his turn to slurp you up, and god how you tasted-

One of his hands is firmly gripping your thigh, his face disappearing completely as his mouth is on your cunt, kissing and licking and sucking and massaging. The other is fisting his leaking cock. You tasted so fuckin’ good on his tongue. So warm. So wet. So sweet. He could do this forever. He would beg to do this forever.

“Have I-” he hiccupped, “have I earned it yet, sweetheart?” His glasses are wet with your juices. He’s panting, warm puffs of air hitting your core.

You were shaking. Yeah, yeah. He earned it.

“Yes, yes Cho-” your praises of him blended together, spilling and slurring out of your mouth without pause.

“Thank god.”

And then he’s back at it, eating you out so good, his tongue bullying inside of your tight hole. The scar on his nose fully rubbing against your clit, finding home on your body. And you feel it - your legs beginning to shake, your heart pounding in your throat. You’re panting, whining, holding his head to you like you’ll keep him there and suffocate him. The overwhelming waves of your orgasm crashing into you as he fucks his tongue into your greedy pussy, lips latched on and giving the sweetest suction.

Your hands are in his hair, your vision blurred and teary, you’re calling out his name like its religion.

And him? He’s trying to memorize the way your walls clench around his tongue, begging for him to stay, keeping him inside you. He’s trying to burn into memory the way you’re fuckin gushing wetness all over his chin, the way your tits bounce up as you arch your back in the most sinful way.

Only after you come down from your high, Choso finally stands. He rests his two palms on the table space on either side of your thighs, caging you in, before resting his damp forehead in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your skin, his soft lips kissing against your jugular.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you tease. Your hands find his hair, lightly running your fingers through his scalp before saying, “we aren’t even close to being done.”

He looks up at you curiously, innocently. “We… can do more?”

Oh, so he seriously was a virgin.

“Cho…” His knees weaken at the nickname. “We’ve just barely begun.”

He involuntarily bucks his hips at your response, rubbing his painful erection against your leg. His briefs were wet and stained with pre. You lifted his shirt above his head. He pulled your soaked panties down your damp legs.

You were still sitting on the worktable, your legs ajar, and your pussy a sloppy mixture of your release and his own saliva. He nudges the tip of his length to kiss against your hole. A deep, choked sigh escapes his mouth at the softness of your pussylips, the slipperyness of your wetness, the warmth that radiated from your core and onto his weeping dick.

He slips his cock against your folds, teasingly gliding against your clit as he pulses against your skin. Choso’s lips catch your own, his tongue massaging yours, while his hands grope your sensitive, swollen breasts.

“F-fuuuh,” he’s whimpering into your mouth, lips wobbling, so fuckin’ overwhelmed by the insane sensations of your pussy rubbing against his dick, your mouth moving against his own, and your tits, god your tits, in his large, shaky palms.

And he can’t help it, really.

His dick was still jerking like crazy from the head you gave him earlier. Your soft pussylips were slathering him in your juices, your tongue licking his tongue piercing like you did his cock, and your nipples so peaked he wanted to suck on them.

So it’s no surprise, really, when his meaty dick started to leak slow ropes of his sticky, thick cum against your outer folds.

And you were still making out with him when you realized, the warm gooey feeling spurting out onto your hole was coming from him, that your breath caught in your throat - a soft gasp leaving your mouth as it got swallowed by his languid tongue.

He was so pathetic, he thought.

He just came before he even stuck it in.

He pulled away from your mouth. “I-” he was humiliated, face burning with shame, glasses fogged and head facing towards the floor. He was searching for the right words, when you grabbed his still hard penis and gave him the same smile he saw before. The kind of smile you gave when you got on your knees and crawled under the desk.

You lightly push him until he’s sitting on his wide, creaky work chair. You slide off the worktable gracefully, before joining him. You’re straddling him, tits skimming his chest, his dick standing tall between the two of your legs. Though you haven’t said it outright, the implications of your actions hang heavy in the air; he knows - he realizes what you want, what he wants, and what will inevitably happen.

“If you don’t want this, say it now,” you say.

His eyes were big, and he’s staring at you so reverently, like you were a goddess, his goddess. He shakes his head.

“Use your words, Cho,” you rest your hand on his throat, your manicured thumb parting his wobbly lips.

He was pathetic. But you loved it.

He had tears in his eyes and he had no idea why. Perhaps from humiliation. Perhaps from overstimulation. Perhaps from the fact that the hottest girl he’s ever laid eyes on was about to fuck his brains out and leave him stupified beyond belief. Probably most definitely the latter. “I want this,” he gasps out. “I want you - fuck - I need you, to be inside you, ple-”

You shut him up with your mouth, massaging and leading and biting. Your hands slowly traverse from his neck and down his hard chest, past his abs, before resting at his base, fingers tangling in the tufts of dark hair there. He was still covered in his own cum, white and warm and sticky against your palms.

“Don’t worry,” you were almost purring against his red, swollen lips. “I’ll take good care of you.”

And now you’re tipping the head of his cum-covered cock towards your glistening hole, and he feels like he’s going dizzy.

Holy shit, this was it. It’s happening.

You break away from him, and the two of you stare as you drag his gooey-covered cockhead allllll around your pussylips, leaving even more mess in its trail. And when his hard length dips slightly into your folds, his mushroomed tip kissing against your entrance, he could swear he almost blacked out.

“You’re so big, Cho” you cutely pout. His dick throbs before swelling even larger at your words. “It’s even better than I’ve ever imagined.” You say the last part quietly, reverently, almost shyly.

And, holy hell, that does something to him.

Choso involuntarily bucks at the thought of you thinking about him, about his dick, just as how he thought of you for all these years, and the tip of his cum-covered cock slips right into the tight ring of your pussy without warning.

Your head knocks back as his own falls forward, the two of your hot breaths puffing into the heady air.

You were gasping. Even though it was just the head, it felt like you were being stretched beyond belief, your walls wrapping around and latching onto his length so snuggly, so… deliciously, that it had Choso whimpering into your bare tits.

You were greedy, slightly possessed, and fuckin’ hungry. You roll your hips forward slightly, pushing his throbbing cock another inch deeper into your gummy pussy, and his hands find purchase on the fleshy curve of your ass. “C’mon now,” you say slyly, “I know my good boy can take it.”

His dick jerks at your words. You have Choso seeing stars. He thinks his hearing was starting to go in his left ear. He’s drunk, he’s addicted, he’s… he’s not even halfway inside you yet and he feels like he is teetering on the edges of his sanity.

“S-stop teasing me,” he almost cries it out. His fingertips kneed into your ass. He wants to bottom out completely inside you. He wants to feel so impossibly close to you that he forgets his own name, that he forgets where his body ends and yours begins.

And you comply. You always would, for him.

He watches as his dick gets swallowed by your stretched lips. The residual cum on his cock from earlier either smears inside you or begins to froth at his base. And you feel so fuckin’ good, your greedy cunt sucking up every inch of him until he’s finally, finally, bottoming out into your warmth.

“Thaaat’s it, Cho,” you can feel his leaking tip smooching against your cervix, the veins on his dick pulsing against your gummy walls, the residual cum from earlier clinging to your clit. You’re gushing new waves of slick, and he feels how you convulse around him, squeezing tight against his meat like a fuckin’ sin.

You don’t even give him time to breathe, to even think, because you begin to ride him like a fuckin’ animal, like a goddamn pro. Your tits are bouncing in his face, your ass clapping against his thighs, his cock filling you up like it’s ritual, and his tip fucking into your g-spot savagely, ruthlessly, unforgivingly. Before you know it, he’s bucking his hips up to meet yours, the obscene sound of skin slapping on skin echoing throughout the small space of the IT room.

He’s panting your name like a prayer, his hands holding you like you were something sacred, and his heart pounding against his ribcage like he’s at confessional.

And yeah, he may have never done this before, he may have never felt the embrace of a woman’s pussy on his cock - but he knew immediately, decisively, that yours was the best. He knew that everyone else’s would pale in comparison. And he knew, deep down, that when this is all over, he would be jaded and lost from mourning the feeling of you. He knew yours would be the only one he would search for in his life.

“Cho,” you whisper, voice catching and breaking with every thwk thwk thwk! of his balls slapping against your ass. “You’re doing so well,” you hiccup, partially delirious. “I can feel you allllll the way up here.” And then you drag your manicured nail from where the two of you were connected, juices wetting your fingerpads, as it rose all the way up, up, up, to the slightly protruding bump in your belly. You press your hand on it lightly, and he realizes that the bump is from him, from where his achingly large cock was shoved inside you and pressed against your womb.

He can feel his cock rush with blood, growing larger in your belly, filling and stuffing you even more fully - completely. And you feel it too. He breathes through his nose, small traces of drool slipping from the sides of his mouth. You squeeze your tits together, giving him a show.

He’s dangerously flushed, sweat (or was it tears?) running down his cheeks. You’re gushing fresh wetness all around his dick, your warm walls clinging to him so needily, almost possessively, as the tip of his cock pounds against your most sensitive spot until it's bruised. And he’s leaking so much pre that the mixture begins to slather so messily around your glistening hole, frothing at his base and running down his balls.

It was so filthy. So dirty. So fucking addictive.

His mouth finds the sensitive buds of your nipples, his piercing flicking over the stiffened peaks. One of his hands rubs your combined juices into your swollen clit, while the other grabs on to the fleshy parts of your ass.

Its your turn to cry out, to whimper at the sensations of his steady hands against your blazing skin, his pulsing cock inside your squeezing pussy.

“Thaaat’s it pretty girl,” he breathes. He leaves your nipples to suck on the sensitive skin by your ear. “My pretty girl. This what you were lookin’ for?”

He snaps his hips up, balls spanking your ass. His thick cock burrowing impossibly further inside of you.

Your words come out garbled - halfway between pleading and praise.

He grins at you.

“Use,” he pulls his cock out almost completely, your quivering pussy squeezing so tightly around the head of him, as if begging him not to leave.

“Your,” he finally pulls away with a grunt.

“Words,” he smacks his fat, heavy, dripping cock against your entrance. The sound it made left your ears buzzing.

“Pretty girl.” He’s shoving into you so fast you feel him in your fucking lungs.

He’s gripping your hips, using his strength to fuck your body on his cock. He was handling you like you were a sex doll.

What the fuck? This was the same nerd from before?

Your tongue meets his, and you’re messily making out with each other: you lick his tongue like you’re licking his dick, and he grabs your throat to pull you away, before spitting into your mouth. Drool spills from your lips and onto your chins. He’s pulling you onto his dick like you were a toy, only pausing briefly to spank your ass and feel it jiggle against his thighs.

Your actions were getting clumsier: nails scratching randomly at his chest, tongue licking messily up his throat, moans echoing off of his damp skin. His hips were beginning to stutter: his dick was fucking into you in a broken rythm, mushroomed head blooming with every pulse. You both were teetering around the edges of your sanity, and the only sounds between you were sharp breaths and the slapping of your soaking cunt against his soaked cock.

“Fuck, I’m-” his throat squeezes, every word a battle to get out. He forces his bleary eyes open to watch his dick disappear inside you - fucking into your womb again, and again, and again. He feels his balls beginning to tighten, his shaft becoming taught. He needs to cum. He needs to pull out.

And he starts to - when your hand tightens around the back of his neck.

“Don’t you, oh,” there's tears streaming down your face, your eyes glassy, your head spinning with how cockdrunk you were, “don’t you fuckin’ dare, Cho.”

He’s so dumbified it takes him several moments to register the implications of your words.

“I-inside?” He’s stuttering, trembling.

“Inside.”

And then he breaks, and you break around him. He’s releasing so much of his thick, gooey cum inside you that it swells in your tummy, bloating your core. He watches as you squirt and spray and spasm around his base, fresh waves of wetness soaking the expanse of skin between you both. His hips keep snapping up with each peak of your orgasm, fucking his seed deeper and deeper, fucking himself so hard into your body until it feels like you can taste him in your throat.

Neither of you say a word, both of you transfixed on the way that the other feels. You were so stuffed that his cum began to leak out of you, slowly falling and pooling at the base of his cock.

“You… you are so divine,” he whispers, his hips still lightly rutting inside you, catching the last waves of your peaks, as he kisses along the base of your jaw.

You can’t speak, your throat felt too hoarse, you were too too dazed, too fucked-out. But you nudge your nose against his, your lashes fluttering against his clammy skin.

Gently, he lifts you from his cock. He watches as you slowly release his dick, before a gush of his seed spills from your swollen pussylips.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, his thumb immediately catching the gobs of his oozing seed.

Without a word, you catch his careful fingers, and he watches in fading confusion as you push his thumb back inside you, bringing his cum along with him.

“No waste,” you whisper.

Oh.

And after some recuperation time, you both stand and begin to dress in silence. Something tender hangs heavy in the heady air of the IT room, but Choso can’t help but feel the pricks of anxiety blooming in his chest with every passing second.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he asks for your number.

And your swollen lips break out into the prettiest smile, your eyes twinkling up at him.

“I’ll think on it…” you tease. He grins, his hands find your waist to pull you closer to him.

“What do I gotta do to earn it this time?”

You tap your chin in mock thought, your smile light and warm. “Come get dinner with me tonight.”

And for you? He would do anything.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ “₊ ݁.

Several weeks have passed, and Choso’s morning genuinely could not have gone better.

Not only did his 6AM alarm go off, but you had slept over last night (and yes, falling asleep cuddling with his dick inside you did contribute to both of your fantastic moods). His morning routine was now a mixture of staring at your pretty face whilst in peaceful slumber, going through a 6-step skincare routine (courtesy of you), and picking up Toji’s overpriced top-line coffee for two.

Though the train from his neighborhood to Chiyoda City was packed full today, he did not mind. It gave him more of an excuse to huddle closer to you, hands brushing together, one of his earbuds in your ear (the other in his) as your joint playlist hummed in the background. Your chest was lightly pressed against his, two wild hearts beating to the same, familiar tune.

And of course, the cherry on top was that it was a Friday. The two of you had agreed that it would finally be okay to get breakfast together today, and maybe even sit and eat at a window table afterwards.

And Choso? Choso was the happiest he has ever felt. Largely due to you. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part due to the fact he got to see Gojo’s ridiculously large mouth fall to the floor at the sight of you and Choso walking in together today.

Gojo: 0.

Choso: +100000.

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