#jjk reader

you can feel the fire on your face, warm and flickering, but all the heat’s behind you.

not from the campfire—the one everyone’s gathered around, cross-legged on woven mats and camp chairs, passing around cheap wine in tin mugs, laughing too loud at inside jokes that barely land. the heat you’re feeling is the kind that pulses at your core, spreads up your spine, and makes your thighs twitch just to keep still.

because choso’s behind you, thighs spread wide, legs caging you in like a trap—and he’s got his hand buried under the hem of your sweatshorts. fingers inside your panties. slow. deep. moving like he’s got all night and no shame.

you’re sitting in his lap like it’s innocent. like you’re cold and he’s being generous. but your face is too flushed for that, and your breath’s too shallow, and choso’s mouth is right at your ear when he speaks.

“breathe through it,” he whispers, and his voice is thick, almost drunk-sounding. not on alcohol—on you. “don’t let your legs close, sweetheart. let me feel all of it.”

you suck in a shaky breath, pretending to sip from your cup as you nod along to something someone said. you can barely hear them now. it’s all distant, muffled by the thump of your heartbeat in your ears. because choso’s fingers are slow and deep—hooking up every time he pushes back inside, hitting that sweet spot with the kind of precision that says this isn’t his first time making you struggle to stay silent.

he’s not trying to make you come. not yet. this is about control. about power. about watching you twitch in his lap while he presses his middle and ring fingers deep and curls them just so, dragging against your walls, slick sounds muted only by the crackle of the fire and the chatter around you.

you try to shift, but his free hand wraps around your thigh, holding you down—thumb pressing into your inner thigh, skin-to-skin, reminding you exactly who’s in charge.

“don’t squirm,” he says, soft but firm. “you’ll make a mess on the seat.”

his raspy voice makes your pussy clench, hard.

he feels it. laughs under his breath. his lips drag over your ear, breath hot, voice dipping lower.

“god, you’re soaking for me,” he murmurs, almost reverent. “this little pussy loves the risk, huh? you wanna get caught?”

you shake your head, chest rising too fast—but your cunt tells a different story. you’re dripping, panties plastered to your folds, his fingers pumping into you slow but firm, just enough pressure to make your stomach tense, your thighs start to shake.

and he knows. he fucking knows.

you try to breathe evenly, try to pretend like the stretch of his fingers doesn’t make your walls flutter, like you’re not aching for more, like you’re not already clenching every time he says good girl under his breath.

“if i spread these fingers, wanna see how messy you get?” he whispers. “gonna have you leaking all over my hand, and no one will even notice.”

you want to cry. you want to moan. you want to grind back against his palm until it makes a mess so obscene someone has to notice. you want the humiliation. the thrill. the heat.

instead, you nod again. obedient. mouth closed. eyes wide and glassy and full of need.

choso grins. it’s lazy, cocky, filthy. his hand shifts. his palm presses against your clit, fingers still deep inside you, rubbing slow circles like he wants to break you with just two fingers and a mean whisper.

“you take it so well,” he mutters, jaw against your temple. “pussy’s fuckin’ squeezing me. like you’re trying to suck me in.”

your legs jerk and he tightens his hold, his arm now looping around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re damn near molded to his chest. he’s rock hard behind you. you can feel it—thick and heavy and pressed against your ass—but he doesn’t even try to grind. doesn’t need to. this is about you. about watching you squirm and shake and drip while you pretend you’re not five seconds from soaking his entire fucking hand.

you’re right on the edge now—vision hazy, cunt tight, hips twitching in tiny, shameful little thrusts you can’t stop. your stomach’s tensed, thighs trembling, eyes glossy. you need it. and he hears that need in your breath. feels it in the way you arch, the way your walls grip, the way your whole body silently begs him.

his hand rises. not the one inside you—the other. it ghosts over your throat. gentle. careful. until his thumb and fingers rest along your jaw, tilting your face toward the fire again like he’s redirecting your focus.

“smile, baby,” he murmurs. “they’re lookin’.”

you blink. your lashes flutter. and when your eyes finally land on your friend across the fire, they wave at you like nothing’s wrong. like you’re not sitting on choso’s cock with his fingers deep in your soaked little pussy.

you force a smile. small. tight. trembling.

he licks your neck.

and then he hooks his fingers deep, presses down on your clit, and says: “good girl. now come.”

and you do. silently. violently. your cunt clamps down, soaking his fingers, whole body twitching as you shiver in his lap, legs locked, jaw clenched, eyes wet with the effort of not screaming. your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing into you so hard it punches the breath out of your chest. you convulse once, twice—and choso’s got you. whispering praise. licking his lips. rocking his hand just enough to fuck you through it without letting up.

you slump forward, dizzy, thighs slick, brain gone.

and he just wipes his hand on your inner thigh, leans in again, and hums:

“y’did so well.”

HOW HE SOUNDS I kento nanami nsfw audio ʚ ‧₊˚✧ ࿐

⚠️ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT: nanami x fem!reader, nsfw headcanon, praise kink, spitting (in audio), whimpering, nsfw audio [ please use headphones cuties! ] — mdni

NANAMI is much more focused on your pleasure than than his. however, he is vocalllll. his voice is so low and intense it just makes your whole body shiver.

as professional as he is, he sounds like he’s barely holding it together voice heavy, slow grunts punched out of him like it’s too good to stay quiet..

“there. just like that.”

he fucks you like a man with a mission. hand on your waist, forehead to yours, slow strokes that go so deep you forget how to breathe. he groans low and rough in your ear when you clench around him.

bodyguard!suguru who’s been glued to your side ever since your dad— the fucking governor— started receiving death threats.

he’s quiet, composed, always in that pressed black suit and that damned earpiece like he’s auditioning for Men in Black. everyone calls him “Geto-san,” but to you? he’s just the guy who seems to have a stick up his ass.

he walks two steps behind you, opens doors before you can touch the handle, scans rooms like a damn hawk, and somehow still manages to look bored out of his mind.

bodyguard!suguru who drives you everywhere— to brunch, to classes, to charity events— always with one hand on the wheel and the other tapping the steering column, the veins in his forearm flexing when you start arguing.

he never raises his voice, never cracks, but god, he gets under your skin. the calm to your chaos. the storm you can’t admit you want.

bodyguard!suguru who doesn’t flinch when you yell at him, who doesn’t even look up from his phone when you slam the door and shout that you’re “done being babysat.” he just hums, slides his sunglasses down his nose, and says, “that’s cute. you done?”

bodyguard!suguru who finds out you snuck out again— something about “needing to see your boyfriend” and he’s fucking livid. you see the black SUV pull up by the park barely five minutes into your 'date,' and you already know you’re dead.

the headlights slice through the dark, his tall frame stepping out, that familiar cold expression on his face that makes your stomach twist.

bodyguard!suguru who finds you at the park with your idiot boyfriend, arms crossed, expression unreadable while you try to look casual on the bench like you weren’t caught red-handed.

“stop being a pain in the fucking ass and get in the car,” he says, voice flat, like he’s already tired of you.

bodyguard!suguru who doesn’t even look at the boyfriend when the guy stammers, “uh, babe, is everything okay?” the silence stretches until suguru finally says, “leave.”

“what?”

“that wasn’t a riddle, dipshit. leave.”

bodyguard!suguru who watches the guy scramble off and then just stands there, jaw tight, waiting for you to blow up. you do.

“what the fuck is wrong with you? your job is to protect me, not to humiliate every guy I talk to!”

“my job,” he snaps, stepping closer, “is to follow orders. and your dad told me not to let you see that idiot again.”

“oh my god, are you serious right now? I’m not five!” you throw back, crossing your arms, chest rising and falling with anger.

bodyguard!suguru who doesn’t lose his cool when you shove him, who just steps closer until you have to look up at him. he grabs your wrist— not rough, just enough to shut you up. the world goes quiet except for the sound of your pulse hammering in your throat.

“get your pretty ass inside the fucking car.”

bodyguard!suguru who smells like smoke and leather and bad decisions, who looks way too calm for someone you want to strangle and maybe kiss. you hate that your heart trips every time his fingers linger.

bodyguard!suguru who waits until you’re storming to the car before he mutters, “unbelievable,” and you flip him off without turning around. he just laughs— low, smug, like you’re his favorite headache.

bodyguard!suguru who swears under his breath every time you test him, who pretends not to care but still checks your reflection in the rearview mirror, eyes soft for half a second before he catches himself.

bodyguard!suguru who says he’s just doing his job, but everyone around knows he’s way too invested in keeping you safe— and way too close to breaking his own rules.

“yeah? like that baby?” you ask, watching his hands move up to his face as a low groan escapes him. his body tenses up as you keep on going, thighs flexing unintentionally beneath you.

he nods in response, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted as you lick your own in concentration.

though, you sigh, “toru, you need to relax for me if you want me to release all this tension in your thigh.”

he nods once more, “yeah, sorry baby.”

a moment later you’re done with the massage you had promised him, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you start to realize how all of this was actually sounding. “god, satoru.. all of this could be so taken out of context,” you laugh, watching him open his eyes as a sly smile curls into his lips.

the silhouette of the sorcerer is laid out in front of you in just his boxers. his sculptured back against the headboard of your bed, strong thighs beneath your hands and a body that looks like it’s carved by the gods themselves.

“i’ve got no idea what you’re talking about sweetheart.”

a hum slips past his lips as he grabs you by your forearms and pulls you up to his lap with ease.

“you hands just work wonders,” he says with a smile, his own hands moving to the plush of your hips, giving them a nice squeeze as you lean down to his level.

your lips are dangerously close to his as you giggle softly in reply, “they’re just always eager to make you feel good.”

your hands trail from his shoulders down his abs, your nails grazing his skin, feeling chills run down his body as a breathy chuckle escapes him. “i know they are baby, mine are feeling juuust the same..”

and a second later you feel the flat surface of his hand hit your ass roughly and sharply.

you let out a breathy moan as you shoot forward a little, a scoff leaving your lips after as you give him a pointed look, the corners of your lips curling up, “really?”

he shows off his stupidly pretty smile and nods, squeezing the flesh of your hips once again as he leans towards you the slightest bit, “you complaining?”

you shake your head softly, tilting your head the opposite of his as your lips just barely touch. “oh i wouldn’t dare.”

“mhmm, good. now c’mon, gimme a kiss.”

more specifically, the way your eyes looked that morning as you met up with yuuji, nobara and megumi for coffee. you had picked a spot right next to a window, the sunlight filtering through the glass like a beacon, and megumi could only stare as the light made your eyes shine in the most beautiful way.

“…you even listening to me?” gojo is saying, and it takes everything inside of megumi to not hang up the damn phone.

“yes, i’m listening,” he responds, tone bored.

gojo, ever the performer, sighs dramatically. but when he speaks again, his voice tips to something more serious.

“they’re sending you three on a mission to fight a special grade curse,” he says.

megumi blows out a breath, his focus back on the conversation. “we had heard whispers about that,” he muses.

“be careful,” gojo nearly begs.

the second time megumi realizes he definitely has a problem, he’s in the middle of the kitchen section of his local department store. there’s a mug on the shelf with a chip on the rim, a drawing of a cat crouched low with a butterfly perched on it’s nose etched on the side. it’s an ugly green color, but he finds himself plucking it from the shelf and setting it gently in his basket.

it’s the kind of thing you’d love, and he’s immediately reminded of the last time you went shopping together.

you were drifting down the aisle next to him, explaining the plot of a book you’d recently finished, when you’d stopped walking, your gaze caught on something. you crouched, your hands reaching out to gently grab a stuffed toy from the back of one of the shelves.

megumi walked behind you and peered over your shoulder, his brow furrowed at the thing in your hands.

upon further inspection, it’s a stuffed rabbit. white, with brown splotches all over its body that he isn’t sure were meant to be there. grey specks of dust cling to the floppy ears, and he quickly notices the rabbit is missing an eye.

“it’s kind of ugly,” he blurts.

“well sure, but he still doesn’t deserve to be shoved at the back of the shelf, hidden from someone who might jump at the chance to love him,” you explain softly, gently cradling the thing in your arms.

as he waited for you to finish purchasing the stuffed toy, he realized he felt a lot like the rabbit; discarded until you took him out of his hiding spot.

when megumi realizes he’s fallen in love with you, he’s on his back in the dirt, body too weak to pull himself back up. dirt is caked under his nails and grit is in his lungs, and he can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. but despite it all, the only thing he thinks about is you.

he thinks of your eyes in the sunlight, and the way you love broken things like they are whole, and the way you made him pinky promise to come back to you in one piece.

and it’s the thought of that promise that urges him to move. with a grunt he heaves himself up into a sitting position, his vision whiting out for half a second before it comes back, a blurry yuuji making his way over, nobara trudging behind him.

a warmth begins to grow deep in his chest and part of the heavy ache lifts—and he knows that today he’ll keep his promise. and he makes his own promise to himself.

that he’ll tell you he loves you tonight when he walks you home, you hand in his.

characters: satoru gojo, suguru geto, and choso kamo

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prologue: you were due back from your mission at six in the evening, but that idea had since been long eradicated. the hands on the nearby clock pointed to eight pm, and he was beginning to suspect the sun would set before he expected you to make your return. the couches at jujutsu tech feel far less comfortable when you've been sitting on them for as many hours as he had been, and the room felt a lot colder once his peers had decided to leave for dinner and showers instead of waiting on your group returning.

satoru gojo

the door creeps open inch by inch, you peek your head in to find him slouched back on the couch, one arm resting on the back of it. "there she is!" he grins boyishly, chucking his phone on the couch as he gets up to greet you. "how was your mission, baby? did you kick ass?"

"uh, yeah. it was good, on the topic of baby..." you murmur as you edge out from behind the door, revealing to him a small baby sat upon your hip, one arm supporting her as she begins to doze off on your shoulder.