#i don't even fw naoya that much tbh

[fizee]

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Naoya x Reader | 3.3k | 18+ only!

Includes: female!reader, femdom!reader, man ass getting ate, submissive!naoya (mostly).

Content Warnings: consensual sexual asphyxiation, blatant cheating, prostitution, casual sexism.

Part of the Jujutsu Journal collab hosted by @ayyy-pee, thank you so much for including me! A big thank you to @mysteria157 for beta'ing extensively for me, as well as a couple of my close friends, and a big happy birthday to (you know who you are)

Naoya hates the rain.

Even in the summer months it’s less refreshing to him and more of a nuisance- sticky, damp, and everywhere. It pitters and soaks into his clothes and he would have brought an umbrella- if this was a place where anyone cared about getting rained on.

It's not.

The hotel is dingy and not worthy of the sad little three star review rating it managed to gain. The pavement he steps over is cracked, and the entrance he steps through is worn. Whatever. It suits his needs, even if it makes his clothes stink. He’d never get recognized in this part of town.

He gives the front desk clerk a cursory glance- feeling snide at the state of his wrinkled shirt and miserably nonchalant disposition. Naoya doesn’t have to check in, nobody does here. But he drops cash on the desk and keeps walking, not caring if it’s too much or too little.

You had already texted him the room number. He wonders if a place like this even has an elevator.

He turns down the hall and is only mildly surprised to find that there is, indeed, an elevator, despite this place only having three stories. It’s got trace amounts of rust. It squeals when the doors slide open.

He glances at his watch, tapping the screen to pull up your text. 36. He scoffs to himself. You and your third floors. Something about feeling unsafe on the first floor, which is stupid. He’s never understood that about you.

He finds the room quickly, ignoring the fact that as he gets closer, his collar feels tighter. It’s been too long since he’s seen you. He swears he can smell your perfume over all the mildew in the disgusting sixty year old hallway carpet. The perfume was his choice, of course. A birthday gift. You had almost refused it, saying that you don’t take gifts from clients and blah blah blah. He’s not one to look a horse in the mouth, so he had made you suck his cock to earn it. It does smell good on you.

He knocks quickly, six short thuds on the door. He doesn’t bother to try the handle, he knows it’s locked. He gives a quick glance at the hallway around him when he hears the door unlock, and watches the handle turn.

“Mr. Zenin.” You greet him with a graceful smile. He rolls his eyes and walks past you into the room, not wanting to linger in the hallway.

“You’re late,” you accuse sweetly. “A half hour late, to be precise.”

“Put it on my tab.” He grumbles. You just smile, approaching him and helping him out of his coat just how he likes, smoothing your hands out over his back as you do. You hook the coat over the crooked little hanger that juts out of the wall, looking stupidly bespoke on outdated wallpaper.

He takes a seat unceremoniously in the faded pink chair sitting opposite the bed.

“This place is a dump.” He says. He eyes your clothes- pink and flowy, opaque but not thick enough to hide your shape. It flows over you like water, and his collar feels tighter. You smile gently and walk over to press your palms into his shoulders from behind.

“Dumps keep secrets.” You murmur. His hair smells good. You press your face to it and kiss him gently.

“Far cry from Aman,” He complains, reminding you of the hotel you had met each other in, all the way across the world.

“God, I haven’t thought of that place in years,” You run your fingers in the dips of his collarbones, laughing gently, “You were the only sober one at that party, stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“And you were the only whore not hanging off a man’s neck.”

“What can I say?” You undo the top few buttons of his shirt to expose his skin to your warm touch, “I’ve got… refined tastes.”

He hums. His watch dings once but he doesn’t bother to check it. He runs a hand over his jaw, reminiscing of how you had looked in that party room, full of investment cucks and coke addicted businessmen and glittery, shimmering whores. You seemed to almost glow under the dim lights, alone, calling to him with your gaze.

He sighs.

“Long day?” You ask.

“Long month.” He mutters bitterly. “You didn’t return my calls.”

“I was on vacation.” You dig your fingers into his trapezius soothingly, finding the spots that make him melt gooey like butter.

“Since when do whores take vacations?”

“Since filthy rich married men started paying them extra.”

He snorts. He reaches up and grabs your hand, pressing his mouth to your warm fingertips.

“Did you miss me?” You ask playfully, ducking your head to giggle in his ear, “Or did you miss my-“

You’re cut off when he grabs your face and holds you so he can plant a slightly slobbery kiss on your lips. Your glossy red lipstick smears on his mouth. He has his belt unbuckled by the time he releases his hold on you, but you frown for a moment.

“I thought you didn’t drink?” You had definitely tasted the alcohol on his tongue, but drunk he did not seem. Far from it. He’s looking up at you with an icy clarity.

“I don’t.”

“Mhmm. Does Mrs. Zenin know?”

“You’re a cunt,” he says, but there is no real bite behind it. “A stupid cunt. Suck me off.”

“Is that really what you want?” You snake around the chair, putting yourself in his lap. It’s a bit awkward with the bulky, ugly chair, but you manage to press the very core of you where he's most sensitive. Your hands drift up his chest and rest at his neck, and you lean in to whisper against his mouth.

“You’ll have work for that.” You kiss him gently. “Unless, of course, you can ask nicely for once.”

His mouth pulls into a half hearted sneer but his cheeks glow pink. His eyes meet yours and his pupils are wide and dark and calm, two tiny black lakes.

His silence is his answer.

“You really did miss me,” You murmur sweetly, bringing your hands up to press around his neck, thumbs securely pressed on either side of his windpipe. You press hard. His face slowly goes red. His hips jerk in pavlovian response. You can feel the hard length of him against the curve of your ass, begging to be free of his pants.

He gasps finally, Inhaling quickly through his constricted throat. He doesn’t avert his eyes from yours, looking at you desperately while you grind against him and tighten your grip on his neck even more. His hands grab at the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. He tries to keep his breathing even, but it comes in quick, needy huffs.

“I hope you can be good for me tonight.” You coo. You kiss him. He whines, attempting to chase your mouth when you pull away, but you keep an iron grip on his neck, preventing him from moving more than an inch.

You give him one more hard press into his lap and you can tell he’s already close, and so soon! His eyes are slightly glazed, drool threatening to drip from his open mouth. You'd bet all the money he’s paying you that he’s already leaking if you reached and touched him.

You release him suddenly, rubbing over his shoulders while he gasps for a full breath. He keeps his palms firmly to the chair, resisting the urge to grab you and hold you to him and ruin the ridiculously expensive pants he’s got on.

You slide off his lap and stand to soak in the view- the red streaks chasing over his neck, the tent in his pants.

“Stand up. Clothes off.” You tell him, dropping your robe to the floor. You don’t strip down like he begins to do, instead leaving the matching slip covering your body.

You hum in approval as he removes his shirt, eating up the lovely shape of his body. He’s always taken care of himself, almost obsessively so. His pants are next to go, and then the non descript black briefs.

He averts his eyes as he stands before you, nude. His erection twitches in the cold air.

“Got some tanning done, did you?” You step in and pet over his taught stomach, grazing low to tease him.

“Malibu.” He says, some of that snide returning, “and you could have come with me if you’d returned my calls.”

“I remember that. Some of your twitter fanboys posted about it. I doubt Mrs. Zenin would have appreciated me coming with you on a family trip.”

“Wasn’t really a family trip.” He grits out as you feather over his hips, his thighs, appreciating what a specimen he is. “The boys stayed with the nanny the whole time. And she just-“ he grunts when you reach lower and touch his balls, avoiding his cock alltogether, “She’s a prize tuna, I’ll give her that. Not like you.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s an extra six hundred if you want me to listen to you badmouth your wife. Get on the bed.”

He looks like he's going to say something, mouth parting and brow furrowing. You peer at him warmly, your pupils as blown as his. He closes his mouth, deciding not to say whatever was knocking around in his head, and climbs onto the bed without fanfare.

You watch him closely, enjoying the view of his nude body splayed out and primed for you to play with. He’s flushed everywhere he’s sensitive- his face, his chest, his cock. Without stimulation you see it already going half soft, so you kneel onto the bed over him and place your palm against his head. He gasps and jerks, grabs your wrist but quickly loosens his grip and just holds you there.

“C’mon,” he pleads. Though he’d cuss and whine if you described it as pleading. He ruts himself against your palm, his teeth dig into his lower lip. It's not enough but it’s also too much. He’s always been sensitive.

“You could ask.” You say, knowing he won’t. You pull away and his fingers twitch with the need to take himself in hand.

“You’re a bitch.” He says. “Evil fucking bitch.”

You laugh. It’s a light and gentle thing. He doesn’t think about how nice it sounds.

“You really know how to talk to a lady, huh?” You press on his shoulder, making him lay back fully.

“I can hardly call you a lady.” He’s got a hungry look in his eyes. He looks good laying there- hair slightly ruffled, cheeks pink. It’s a sight you’ve seen a dozen times but you’ll never grow tired of.

He lays still, waiting. He glowers at you while you make him wait. You come up near his head and sling a leg over his neck.

“Maybe this will shut you up.” You hike up the slip you wear and grin down at him. No, of course you’re not wearing anything underneath it. He doesn’t hesitate to grab your thighs and shove his nose into the neat curls there and lick a hot wet stripe into your core.

You’ve been wet and swollen for a while. It’s nearly conditioned. You feel a slight tingle every time he calls you, wanting to see you. Wanting to fuck you. But now you’re soaked, your cunt wetting his face without shame, arching your back when he finds your clit and sucks on it desperately.

You lock your thighs around his head, cutting off nearly all the airflow he would’ve managed to get before. He likes it. You reach behind you and grip the base of him, feeling him twitch and pulse. He suckles on your clit til you’re keening- and right as you squeeze his cock a little harder and your hips jerk a little more desperately, he shifts and his tongue delves deep into your dripping hole, licking and practically drinking you down. You make a choked little whimper, so close to release.

You grab his hair and hold him beneath you, grinding your cunt into his mouth and nose and eating up every muffled noise he makes. His tongue works hungrily, desperate to please you, delving as deep as he can into your cunt and searching out the spots that make you gasp and moan sweetly for him.

He swipes his tongue just right, and you fall over the edge, grunting and whimpering and twitching all over.

You roll over from on top of him and he gasps wildly, hair ruined and mouth wet and swollen pink. He just looks at you as you gain your breath, your insides gooey and warm and pulsing with aftershocks. He gives you a small, coy little smile.

“I guess I’m not the only one who was missing it.”

You shove at him playfully, all pretense falling away for a moment. You sit up to clear your head, not forgetting that he’s still hard, and leaking, and needy.

“Turn over. Hands and knees.” You tell him. His blush returns tenfold. He glances away from you in tentative embarrassment, though it’s obvious that what he’s hoping for isn’t going to be damped by a little thing like shame. He doesn’t have to be a shameful creature with you.

He does as you command, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows and knees, his back already slightly arched. You’re definitely appreciating the view. He hides his face from you.

“Oh, wow.” You grin. “Smooth as butter, huh?”

“Shut up.” He snaps, his voice muffled by the pillow. You take a moment to really see the view of him- his tight pink hole is smooth and perfect, obviously recently waxed. Or maybe even lasered. You never know with him. You run your fingers over him, light as a whisper, dragging a caress over his cock to his balls and finally to his hole. It twitches. Cute.

“I should take a picture, pretty as you are.” You say. You grab his cheeks in each of your hands, spreading him fully.

He mutters something about our NDA, something about you being a bitch. You don’t really pay any mind as you lean over him and spit out a thick glob of saliva over the tight ring of muscle, making him gasp.

He goes perfectly still In anticipation, his dick jerking with every lick you apply to him. You drag your tongue against his perineum up to his hole- he tastes clean, like only salt. You know he’s obsessive with how he grooms himself. Saliva slowly runs down, leaving a trail of wet across his balls.

You slip your hand under him to grab his length to give him one long, smooth pull, earning a tiny little whimper from him. You plant your mouth fully on his hole, tongue rubbing circles into the muscle. You jerk him off slowly, too slow to ever bring him to completion. He whines and twitches under your touch and you feel a throb deep in your core for the way he’s trembling.

You bring your head away from him earning a slight wet pop as your mouth breaks the seal it had over his hole, leaving your drool to cool on his heated skin. You slide your hand over his cock faster, gathering up his precum to make the slide easier, your grip is intense and tightens more around the base, pulling down and milking him like some breeding stud. His hips begin to move in the air, and the noises he makes, muffled by the pillow, are throaty and low. You know how he sounds when he’s close, how he shakes with the climb, and when he nears his peak you abruptly pull away to deny him. He groans loudly in frustration and need, and finally looks over his shoulder to glare at you, his fucked out expression not hiding his irritation.

“I don’t want you ruining the sheets.” You say. He catches on immediately, sitting up and grabbing you to put you under him. He practically rips the slip from your body, the fabric strains and the stitches pop, pulling it up and over your head so he can press his flushed skin against yours.

You almost protest, you actually did like that dress, but he kisses you with teeth and growls something about buying you a new one. He grabs your breasts roughly and you feel the length of him pillowing itself against your lips. But he doesn’t do more than that, rutting against your cunt and swallowing your noises with his mouth. He whines.

“Naoya,” You say, when your hot tongues part, “Naoya-“

He grabs your hips and positions you perfectly to plunge his aching cock into your slick heat, as desperate as an animal, and just as rough.

The sudden intrusion makes you cry out in pleasure, his thrusts coming in quick, needy bursts. He presses his sweaty brow into the pillow under your head. His hands hold your waist like a lifeline, his need ramming inside of yours, jerking and twitching and hot and wet. He kisses your cervix with every pump, leaving you breathless and needy.

But you know he can’t finish properly like this. You can see it when he pulls back to look at you, his face flushed and his mouth open and drooling. You wind your hands around his throat and squeeze, blocking his air and turning his noises into tiny pathetic gasps and wheezes. It doesn’t take long. His hips stutter and he finally, finally finds what he’s looking for, tipping over and cumming so hard he stops even trying to breathe. You feel every drop of him rush out to paint your insides, his cock throbbing hot within your liquid-warm walls.

You release his throat and he takes a sharp, ragged inhale, his body locking up with the rush of oxygen and endorphins. His cock pulses inside of you again as if his balls aren’t spent completely, and you feel his cum finding its way to the entrance of your hole and spilling out around his length, way too much to be plugged up inside.

“Fuck,” He grunts, “fuck.”

You hum and run your palms up his sides and down his back where you can reach as he pieces his senses back together. He pulls from your core and you hiss in strange pleasure and slight soreness.

He rolls to the side and slumps on the bed, breathing deep and enjoying the afterglow. You wiggle your hips, feeling him leak out of you even more, thick and warm.

You’re both silent for a few minutes. His watch dings right as you turn to touch his chest, his arms, run your fingers over the angry red on his neck.

He glances at it. Groans in pure discontent.

“Work?” You trace his nipple with an idle finger.

“Yes.” He sits up, glancing over the mess of the bed. “I’ve got an eight o’clock tomorrow, apparently.”

“You can’t cancel?” You shift and stretch, not missing how his eyes graze over your body. “You’ve already booked me for twenty four hours.”

“No.” He says, simply. “Obligations… responsibilities… I don’t know, whatever bullshit you want to call it.”

“Do you want a shower?” You lean over and press your smeared mouth to his shoulder, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I mean, of course it’s disgusting, but you don’t want to go home smelling like… well, you know.”

Naoya breathes, long and deep. Then he looks back at you.

“You getting in with me?”

A/N: “Tuna” is a term in Japanese hookup culture that can be equated to a ‘pillow princess’ in an extreme sense. There’s nothing wrong with being a pillow princess, but I personally believe it’s not something this Naoya is particularly into.

Thank you so much for reading!

#JujutsuJournal #Naoya Zenin x Reader #Naoya x Reader #jjk #x reader #fem reader #Reader x Naoya #naoya zenin #jjk naoya #jujutsu kaisen #i don't even fw naoya that much tbh #fizee.post