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+18. mdni. fem!reader. college au. fluff, smut. based on this post.
a/n. thank u so much for 2k followers! here's a little gift, I hope y'all like it <33
he does it so often it’s muscle memory at this point.
you could be on your way out of his room for your lecture—car keys in hand, already halfway to the hallway—when his voice cuts across his room where he is seated in front of his pc. he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“give me a kiss before you go.”
not can i get.
not come here.
just like you forgot something essential. like walking out without your phone. or without kissing him…right now.
you sigh, already turning around.
he doesn’t even look up from his screen until you’re right there, tilting your face up, and then he leans in—quick, satisfied—like there, that’s better. now you can leave.
he smirks, gaze turning back to his game. “i’ll pick you up later to grab lunch.”
you roll your eyes despite the thrumming of your heart as you walk out of his room.
you’re on the couch of his family home, legs tucked under you while you scroll on your phone, the tv playing something you’re not watching.
he drops beside you with a heavy thud, the entire cushion dipping toward him so you naturally slide into his side with one arm immediately hooking around your shoulders, dragging you into his side.
“c’mere, gorgeous,” he mutters, already pulling you against his chest. “give me a hug.”
“you’re literally already hugging me.”
“yeah,” he says, squeezing tighter anyway. “but you need to put your arms around me too.”
you giggle, hands sliding across his back as he sinks on the couch with you, going limp against you, letting out a long, grounded exhale like you’re a human weighted blanket.
you’re in the frat kitchen when he’s passing through on his way to grab a drink as you cook ramen for movie night, his movements lazy and loose-limbed. he pauses, opening the cap of his drink as he looks at you, eyes stopping on your cherry tainted lips. then holds eye contact.
“…kiss.”
you scoff, arching a brow. “that wasn’t even a sentence, ‘kuna.”
he waits, shrugging one shoulder as if to say the words are irrelevant because the outcome is inevitable because you end up leaning over the counter to peck his mouth.
“good,” he nods, the corners of his lips tugging up, like you just completed a task correctly, and keeps walking.
you watch him dumbfounded, not knowing whether you want to kiss him again or smack him across the face.
you’ve barely made it out of his room after a heated makeout session—your lips swollen, brain still foggy and very much late for your morning lecture—when he catches your wrist before you can escape.
he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking completely unbothered by the chaos of your schedule.
“hey,” he rasps, tugging your arm just enough to throw you off balance and back toward him
“what?”
“kiss.”
he says it with a flat, monotone delivery, but his gaze drops to your mouth, heavy and dark and you know that what he is thinking is anything but flat.
“you just—”
“kiss.”
and you do it again, because apparently that’s your life now.
you barge into his room, door wide open as you hold a paper above your head, the biggest grin on your face. sukuna doesn’t even blink at the thudding of his door against the wall.
“i did it! i passed the last interview for my internship!” you exclaimed, excitement and happiness dripping from your voice.
sukuna is already on his feet, arms open as he kisses you briefly, nose brushing as you bounce on your toes, unable to contain your joy.
“congratulations, baby. i knew you would kill it,” he says like it was obvious, a grin on his own on his face as his hands settle on your waist. “give me a hug.”
and you hug him, tight and full of enthusiasm while you ramble his ear off about the place you will be making your internship, how it would look on your resume and so on.
he just hums, face already nuzzling your hair, pressing a tiny peck on your hairline, arms holding you tight against him.
you’re both in his room, supposedly studying together but you are the only one actually trying to do work.
sukuna is…present. yeah. that’s about it.
you’re halfway through reading a paragraph when his foot nudges yours under the desk but you ultimately decide to ignore it. he nudges again, harder this time.
you keep reading, starting again because he distracted you from reading your notes when the chair beside you creaks as he shifts.
“…give me a hug.” his voice says that he is demanding rather than asking but you are too busy with the words in front of you to care.
you don’t look up, highlighting a sentence on your notebook. “i’m studying.”
“so am i.”
“you’re on your phone.”
“i’m studying you.”
you finally glance over, unimpressed, blinking slowly at the sight in front of you.
he’s already got one arm lifted expectantly, eyebrows raised like well?
you stare at him for three whole seconds before scooting your chair over so he can wrap himself around you from the side.
he hums satisfied, using your shoulder as a chin rest while he goes back to scrolling his phone and you just sigh, eyes going back to your notes, unconsciously leaning your head against his because you are just as needy of affection as him.
thirty seconds later—
“…kiss.”
you know there is no way back from this habit when he does it mid argument.
you’re mad. like—actually mad. so mad that sukuna actually shuts his smart mouth as he looks at you —arms crossed, pacing his room while he sits on the edge of the bed as you rant about something he definitely did.
“and another thing—”
“kiss.”
you freeze mid step, fingers twitching against your arms.
“…what?”
“kiss,” he says again, like it’s going to fix the fact that he forgot your anniversary dinner or ate the last of your snacks or whatever crime he committed this time. whatever.
“i’m literally yelling at you right now.”
he furrows his eyebrows. “and?”
“i’m mad at you, sukuna!”
he shrugs because what has that to do with him having a kiss? “…still. kiss.”
you stare at him in disbelief when he pats his thigh once, like he’s calling over a cat.
you hate that it works. you hate that you march over anyway. you hate that the second your lips touch his he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you closer.
and you hate even more that when you pull back, he looks smug.
“there,” he mumbles, pecking your lips once for good measure. “you feel better.”
“i don’t.”
“…hug?”
and definitely his favorite time to ask for a kiss is this.
his tongue is lapping at your folds, thoroughly gathering your sweet juices and spreading them along your slick pussy, suckling at your clit when he feels your thighs tremble around his head.
he looks at you from under his eyelashes, fingers playing with your nipples as your twitch below him. he knows you are near.
“kuna—please! i’m close.” you moan sweetly, head thrown back as you push him back to you, grinding against his face and he smirks, loving seeing you this needy.
he complies, pressing his tongue flat and starting to messily make out with your pussy, slurping, sucking and completely smitten with every sound you make.
when you come, he cleans you up until you are practically dry, kissing your thighs.
he looms over you, bracing his weight on his forearms, trapping you between his chest and the mattress and he looks down at you with that insufferable, heavy-lidded smirk, his thumb reaching out to trace your lower lip, dragging a bit of your own moisture across your skin.
“give me a kiss, baby,” he rumbles, his voice dropping into that low, scratchy register that vibrates straight through your chest. “taste yourself on me.”
“you’re obsessed with telling me what to do,” you whisper, though you’re already tilting your head back, your heart doing that familiar, frantic thrum against your ribs.
“yeah,” he mutters, leaning down until his nose brushes against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “and you’re compliant. now, kiss.”
and just like always, you find yourself reaching up, pulling his head down to close the gap, tasting the salt and the sweetness of yourself on his tongue as he hums into the kiss, sounding thoroughly, smugly satisfied.
summary. choso thinks he's a placeholder. you think you're too much to handle. a week has passed since you invited him over “to study,” and you and Choso somehow became inseparable—sharing hoodies, late-night anime, and kisses that last a little too long. the only problem? neither of you has actually asked: so… are we dating or not?
OR virgin!choso is determined to make a good boyfriend—one clumsy, reverent, pussydrúnk lesson at a time.
content. mdni, +18, fem! reader, fluff, light angst?, eventual smút, college au, virgin!choso, mutual pining, insecure choso and reader (they are both new to relationships), making oút, slight dry humpíng, first times (choso), oral (f!receiving), fingering, pussydrúnk choso, choso cum in his pants, praise, hair pulling.
word count. 9k (phew)
a/n. it’s finally here! after a lot of things (my doc was erased from my cloud, a ton of work—rip me and my hands—and like two writers' blocks later), the second part of "insta fumble" is finally done! i was going to post it on monday but i was so tired i passed out lol, i hope you all like it <3. also, this was as proofread as i could manage after working twelve hours a day this past week, lol! if you notice any mistakes, please let me know.
my 1k event is still open, too! feel free to request, i’ll start working on them this week alongside my bridgerton AU, hehe. love you all <3.
part 1 | bonus #1
the room is quiet—well, as quiet as it can be with the wet, needy sounds of lips locking together, devouring in a way that feels less like affection and more like something starved, finally being fed.
kamo choso is currently too busy to even care that the door of his room is still half open, with you pressed against it.
everything feels different from the life choso knew just six days ago.
your mouth fits against his, your mouths keep finding each other, even when you part for air—soft, breathless misses before you reconnect again, like it’s something practiced, familiar. as if this isn’t the first time you’ve kissed him with your hands curled into the front of his hoodie.
because it isn’t.
it’s been six days since the event that choso labeled as the “insta fumble” even when everything turned out completely different.
six days of this—
your hand sliding up the back of his neck, fingers curling into the loose strands of his hair as you push him backwards, until his back hits the mattress with a soft bounce and you follow him down without breaking the kiss.
choso’s hands come up automatically, settling on your waist like they belong there now. because they do. because this is what happens every time you come over.
you kiss him. you climb into his bed like it’s yours.
you laugh when he gets distracted during whatever anime episode you put on because your fingers keep tracing the line of his jaw like you’re studying—the small, absent-minded touch always making his breath hitch, like he’s still not used to being handled so gently, especially by you.
you fall asleep. wake up an hour or two later, and he walks you to your dorm. It’s a routine now, simple moments engraved into your lives like they were always meant to exist.
you two fell into a familiar pace so fast neither of you realized. or, at least, you didnt notice. because choso’s mind has been a mess since the day he came over to your dorm.
your lips part against his with a quiet sigh, and he swallows the sound like it’s something precious, meant only for him. the kiss slows for half a second—soft, lingering, almost careful—before it deepens again, messy and uncoordinated in that way that makes his chest feel too tight.
his internal monologue is a frantic, spiraling mess, even as his hand tightens at your waist without him realizing it, fingertips pressing into the soft warmth there as if to keep you from slipping away.
we’ve seen each other every single day. every. single. day, he thinks, his nose brushing against the soft skin of your neck, inhaling that vanilla scent that now clings to all his hoodies. we went on that date. i held her hand. i didn't drop the chopsticks. i didn't even stutter that much...is this just a 'thing'? am i a 'thing'?
for choso, this past week has been a blur of swollen lips, the taste of your lip gloss, and the constant, electric hum of your skin against his.
he’s more confident in the kissing department, knowing how to make you do that needy, soft tone against his lips that he absolutely treasures every time it reaches his ears.
but outside of the privacy of his dorm? he’s still that same boy from the back row, terrified that if he asks the wrong question, the magic will vanish.
your knee presses between his thighs, and he swallows when you make a contented noise, the sound warm and pleased like you enjoy this—like you enjoy being with him.
the thought hits him so suddenly his lips stutter against yours.
do you?
your mouth moves against his again when he freezes, chasing his lips with a quiet sound of confusion, trying to pull him back in.
“cho?” you mumble softly, still half on top of him.
his brain is suddenly too loud.
you text him first sometimes. you steal his hoodies. you fall asleep on him.
you kissed him in public once—outside the convenience store near campus like it was nothing the sunday after your date.
you told him to drive safe on monday when he went to his family house.
you sent him a picture of your dinner on thursday.
yesterday, wednesday, he watched you sleep and almost cried because he didn't want to wake you up.
you’re here right now. on his bed. kissing him like you mean it.
so—
are you dating?
or are you just… doing this?
“did i do something wrong?” you ask quietly, your hand resting tenderly against his jaw.
and panic immediately replaces the question.
“no,” he blurts, maybe a little too fast. “no—no, i just—”
don’t know what we are.
he shakes his head, his hold on your waist tightening just a fraction. “i just forgot to review the assignment for tomorrow’s class,”
your eyes widen in surprise, realization washing over you.
“oh, shit, you are right! the assignment i used to invite you last week.”
both of you look at each other for a second before feeling the heat creeping up your necks after the memory of what exactly happened when choso came over to your dorm.
you clear your throat, letting out a quiet laugh. “i guess now i really need help with that.”
for a moment, choso forces his looping thoughts aside and lets the corners of his lips lift at your sudden frantic movement—already twisting out of his lap to reach for your backpack, your ipad, the charger tangled somewhere deep in your belongins.
“i’ve been so distracted i forgot,” you mumble, pushing your hair out of your face as you swipe the screen on. “so, will you help me? for real now, though.”
choso lets out a quiet sound—half breath, half laugh—and you glance over your shoulder at him where he’s still propped against the headboard, looking at you like he’s trying to memorize something.
like he is trying to carve every movement of yours in his memory, making you shuffle shyly at his piercing, adoring gaze. you are still not quite accustomed to someone looking at you like this.
“yeah,” he says after a second, voice softer now. “for real.”
you trudge back until your shoulder bumps his chest, settling against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, ipad balanced on your thighs. he leans forward automatically, chin nearly brushing your temple as the two of you stare down at the screen.
this is normal, right?
studying together the night before class. sharing notes. sitting like this—close enough that he can feel the warmth of you through both your shirts.
his brain tries to circle back but then you tap the screen impatiently.
“cho,” you mumble, nudging him with your elbow. “question three?”
and just like that, his moment of spiral gets pushed back again. only you could do that, gain his focus out of his anxious thoughts, making him feel that maybe everything is alright. there’s nothing to be anxious about, right?
yeah, right.
you end up getting through exactly half of question three before it all goes to shit again.
it starts innocently enough, as you reread the sentence the question is about, his arm hooked loosely around your middle as he leans in to read over your shoulder, until you tilt your head to ask him something and your lips brush the underside of his jaw by accident.
you both freeze.
“…sorry,” you mumble, but you don’t move away.
he doesn’t either.
and then you’re turning your head just a little more and he’s meeting you halfway like it’s inevitable—like it’s muscle memory now—and suddenly the ipad is forgotten on your lap again.
“cho,” you whisper, like a warning you have no intention of following.
“i know,” he breathes back, even as his hand slides from your waist to your hip, pulling you closer.
you kiss him anyway. you can’t help yourself, not when choso is so close, helping you with patience and care— his touch careful, as if you are precious. you feel safe, cherished, wanted—something you never fully experienced before.
when he kisses you, it isn’t greedy, it’s reverent. curious. like he’s learning you on purpose. when he holds you, he doesn’t grip like he’s afraid you’ll leave, but like he’s content that you haven’t.
by the time you finally pull apart, you both are heaving faintly, the assignment still sitting unfinished between you.
you both stare at it for a moment.
“…we’re really bad at this,”
“we are,” he agrees quietly, amusement in his voice.
you both look at each other and let out a hushed laugh that brushes both of your skin as choso’s hold on you grows firmer and you lean your head on his shoulder.
still—he helps you finish it this time, his mind quiet while enjoying your weight pressed against his side.
it’s late by the time he walks you back to your dorm.
the hallway is quiet, lights dimmed into that soft yellow that makes everything feel slower, heavier. your fingers are curled loosely into the sleeve of his hoodie, tugging him along as you stop outside your door.
neither of you say anything at first. you both can feel the reluctance on saying goodbye for the night.
“i’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask after a second, doe like eyes looking at him with fondness that makes his body tingle.
he nods immediately. “in class.”
“and don’t forget we have to finish the season two of that anime,”
“of course, how could i?”
you give him that same sleepy smile you always do when you’re about to say goodnight, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, fingers slowly dragging lightly against the fabric of his hoodie before falling away.
“goodnight, cho.”
“goodnight.” he says your name in the same tone as always. gently, carefully, like he is saying a sacred prayer.
you lean in—quick, like it’s instinct—and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back just as fast, already reaching for your keys. and then you’re gone, the door clicking shut behind you.
choso stands there for a moment. two. three.
…shit.
how is he supposed to act tomorrow in class? in front of everyone.
his eyes linger on your door like it might open again if he waits long enough, his teeth chewing softly at the inside of his lip, the twin hoops shifting with the nervous habit.
do people like you two sit next to each other? do they text during lectures? do they—does he—hold your hand? say hi like normal? pretend this—whatever this is—only exists behind closed doors?
his stomach drops somewhere near his shoes.
for the first time since this started six days ago, he realizes he has absolutely no idea what he’s allowed to do with you when other people are watching.
friday morning comes too fast. choso barely sleeps.
he wakes an hour before his alarm, staring at the ceiling as last night replays on a loop.
see you tomorrow.
you’d said it so casually. so normally. like there wasn’t hidden meaning for him to discover. because maybe there isnt. maybe that’s what you think of this.
something casual. possibly a secret, too.
he suddenly remembers that you are the sun, and he is just the moon that orbits around you— following, but never quite reaching you. his mind drifts back to a week before, to the image of him staring at your instagram story, dreaming of what it would feel like to be near you— to hear your laugh, to touch your skin.
the sole thought of losing you after he tasted you, actually touched you, felt your laugh against his lips and saw how cute you looked using his hoodie pulled at his heartstrings painfully.
he wants to know what you think of him. of this…situation.
situationship (noun) — the word people use when a relationship isn’t defined. at least, that’s what the internet said.
is this a situationship? what kind? the “we are knowing each other to date” or the “i just like to kiss you, let’s have fun while it last” situationship?
he suddenly feels dizzy. he might throw up. his mind can’t keep up with every anxious, apprehensive thought of his.
he changes shirts twice. then a third time.
too desperate. too plain. too try hard.
he can't decide if he has to wear jeans or something more sophisticated. he knows you have a variation in your wardrobe from comfy to something straight out of a magazine but he only has like two dress shirts and a pair of slacks he used at his brother's graduation last year.
why is this so difficult?
he settles on something neutral, same hairstyle as usual and tells himself to breathe.
it’s just a class, he repeats himself over and over again as he slings his backpack on his shoulder as he closes the door of his dorm room, and walks slowly towards his first lecture of the day, hands clammy and heart beating wildly on his chest.
he thinks of you for the first half of the day.
every hallway makes his pulse jump because it might be you turning the corner.
every time he changes buildings, his eyes trace the path at the slightest sign of you.
by 9:53 AM when he reaches the lecture hall, he’s not sure of what to expect.
he sits down on the back row, like always. he places his bag on the chair next to him without thinking. then immediately freezes.
is that presumptuous? does he have to save a seat? does he move it?
he doesn’t move it.
two minutes pass.
three.
four.
five—
and there you are. you walk in five minutes after him, as you always do. choso feels his pulse quicken at the sight of you today, even if he saw you these past week, he would always be amazed at how effortlessly beautiful you are.
choso sits up a little straighter without meaning to like an automatic response—his body recognizing you before his brain can catch up.
you scan the room, eyes briefly landing on him, and your face brightens in that gentle, familiar way that makes his chest feel tight.
you nod.
you nod at him and then smile like you just didn't nod like he’s—
like he’s just some guy you know. not someone who had your hands under his shirt last night. not someone whose hoodie you fell asleep in. not someone who walked you back to your dorm with your fingers clinging into his sleeve.
just someone you share a class with.
you start to walk up the stairs, and every step of yours has choso’s heart aching more and more, feeling a tight squeeze that left him breathless.
“hey, cho,” you greet when you get closer, voice gentle and saccharine, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
his eyes lock on yours, and oh fuck, even while breaking his heart, you look so pretty.
he realizes that you don't say his name the way you whisper it against his collarbone when you're drowsy— it’s more low, intimate, even softer than the tone you used now. he knows this voice, it’s the one you use when greeting people you are barely acquainted with.
classmates.
is he just that?
he swallows, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers to keep his voice from wavering. “hey.”
you glance at the chair beside him. he sees a hint of recognition flashing on your gaze but as soon as it appears, it's gone.
for half a second, he thinks you’re going to move his bag and slide in next to him. instead, you smile politely and step around the row, dropping into the seat beside one of your friends. a blonde, petite one that choso barely remembers her last name being nishimiya.
his bag stays where it is. empty chair. empty space. empty air. he stares at it until the professor walks in.
you’re laughing about something before the professor starts, a presentation in your other lecture. you look relaxed, bright, effortless. you don’t look like someone who stayed up past one in the morning sharing notes and laughing with him. you don’t look anywhere near his.
his stomach twists, gaze dancing across the lecture hall to keep him from looking at you, listening to your voice, but it’s impossible; he would always be drawn to you.
halfway through the professor’s greetings, someone from the row in front of you—someone choso vaguely recognizes— turns around.
“hey,” the guy says casually, smiling with all his perfect teeth and sharp canines. “you going to the delta party tonight?”
choso doesn’t mean to listen but he does anyway. he always does when it comes to you.
he can see from the corner of his eye how you tilt your head, pursing your lips.
“the one at the sorority house?”
“yeah, they’re doing some theme thing. it’s supposed to be big.”
there’s a pause on your part, a small one—like you are considering it.
you shrug lightly. “maybe. i don’t know yet.”
choso’s chest tightens. for a moment, he even thinks that his heart stopped.
maybe?
you already had plans, you were supposed to come over to his dorm. watch the anime you both left off the other night—season two, episode eight: “mash burnedead and the tall tower”. you said it. you reminded him.
so why—why is it a maybe?
he forces himself not to look at you. forces himself not to turn around like some possessive idiot and say you are busy even if his voice cracks and his hands tremble.
what right does he have?
what are we?
the question digs deeper this time because if you two were something, wouldn’t you say you already had plans? unless he’s just the weekday option, the private thing. something that only exists when the door clicks shut.
his mind spirals fast. too fast.
you laugh softly at something else the guy says, then turn back toward the front when the lecture properly begins. you don’t glance at him once.
choso doesn’t know if he’s allowed to feel weird about this. he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to feel anything at all.
the entire class feels like it's in slow motion. it’s normal—you’re acting normal. so normal it makes him feel abnormal for wanting more.
do you want to keep it casual? are you embarrassed? are you keeping your options open? did he misunderstand everything?
after class ends, people start shuffling out. he packs slowly, the sound of his heartbeat echoing on his eardrums.
say something. ask. do something.
before he can chicken out completely, he stands and walks toward you while you’re zipping your bag when his shadow falls over your desk.
you look up and your face lights up immediately, so gentle, warm and genuine.
“cho!” you beam, like you’re truly happy he came over.
his brain malfunctioned, the words failing him due to the fact that now this is the you he has grown familiar with over the past week. his mouth opens before his mind can even catch up.
“are we—” he starts, then stops, unsure.
you tilt your head, raising your eyebrows. “yes?”
he swallows and tries again. “are we still… seeing each other tonight?”
the question sounds fragile. smaller than he meant it to.
for beat too long, you look at him. then, your entire expression melts into something bright and excited.
“of course!” you chirp. “we need to finish the anime, we literally left off in the middle of the fight scene.”
you grin like that’s the most obvious thing in the world. like there was never any doubt.
“you… you’re not going to that party?”
you wrinkle your nose. “oh, that? i just said maybe because i didn’t want to be rude. i already have plans.” you smile at him again, gentle this time, and, without missing a beat, you add: “with you.”
the words settle deep, comforting and steady in choso's heart.
you adjust your bag and step closer without thinking, lowering your voice a little.
“i’ll come over around eight. is that okay?”
“yeah,” he mumbles feebly, still trying to keep up with you. “that’s okay.”
“‘kay! text me when you’re done with your classes, yeah?”
and then—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—you lightly brush your fingers against his sleeve before walking past him. just a small touch—hidden and subtle but stills sends a rush of heat down his whole body.
he stands there, finally feeling like breathing.
you’re choosing him.
he just hopes you keep doing it.
as you walk down the hall, the vibrant, effortless smile you’d flashed at choso fades just slightly, the edges of it drooping into something more pensive, more guarded.
it isn’t because you’re upset. far from it.
your heart is actually singing a frantic, happy little rhythm because he asked—he actually asked if you were still coming over. but the warmth of his presence fades into the cold, sterile air of the corridor, and the thoughts return. the heavy ones you’ve been trying to bury.
you’d genuinely thought this was how it was supposed to be. this quiet, new thing between you two.
your memory is a graveyard of boys who would whisper sweet nothings in your ear in the privacy of their dorms and then disregard your presence in front of others.
you remember the sting of reaching for a hand in a hallway and having the guy suddenly "adjust his backpack" to avoid the contact. that one guy who told you that texting him during the day was suffocating, or that sitting with him at lunch made him feel tied down.
so, you mastered the art of being low-maintenance—the girl who never reaches in public, never sends cute little memes between classes, and never, ever assumes the seat next to him in a lecture hall is yours.
you wanted to sit with choso but didn't want to assume. didn't want to make the same mistake. you genuinely think you are doing it right this time.
even if you feel like it's killing you inside.
because that’s how it always worked before.
"so, are you going to the delta party?" your friend, nishimiya momo, inquires as soon as you catch up to her on the way to your next lecture.
you shake your head, waving a hand in the air. "of course not. i've got plans."
momo makes a noise of acknowledgment, "yeah, your mystery boyfriend, right?" you blush, and she chuckles, blonde ponytails flapping in the air. "seriously, when are you going to tell us who he is? you just appeared on monday all giddy and told us you are seeing someone,"
"it's still new, momo."
"i call bullshit."
you bit your lip, feeling the tips of your ears burn. "it's been a week today.
"a week?! wait—wasn’t that the day of the kappa pi party you skipped??"
you think about a week ago, when he stopped being just someone you wondered about. the night your interest in him turned into something deeper.
that night, you had been so dominant. you liked the control you had—the first kiss, the way you steered his inexperience—because as long as you were the one in charge, he couldn't see how badly you needed him to stay.
for the first time in your life, you felt truly, viscerally wanted. you loved the way his entire world seemed to start and end with the way your lips moved against his.
"yeah," but you weren't going to enter into details on why you invited him or what you two did. "he asked me on a date after he came to my dorm."
your first date had been perfect in its simplicity. he’d taken you to a quiet bookstore cafe, the kind of place that smelled like vanilla and old paper. he’d pulled out your chair, his hands trembling slightly, and listened to you talk for hours like every word you said was a revelation. he didn't check his phone once. he didn't look around to see who was watching. he just looked at you.
but beneath all that, the old, jagged edges of your past are still drawing blood.
you know choso isn’t like that but what if he gets tired?
you’re waiting for the moment he realizes that you aren't just the girl he obviously idealized, but a real woman who overthinks and feels deeply.
you can only hope you’ll be enough this time.
"well, yeah, i get it now. you don't want to repeat what happened with those other pieces of trash," momo patted your shoulder, an understanding look on her face.
you try to smile back, but it comes out smaller than you intend. truth is, you’re not just afraid of the past repeating itself— you’re afraid of wanting someone this much and ruin it again.
if only you knew that while you were trying to keep this relationship safe, choso was spiraling about whether you two even were in one.
later that night, when you finally show up at his dorm, the tension in the room is a living thing—thick, sweet, and dangerously fragile.
choso is different. he’s quieter than usual, a little clingier, but you feel a certain distance that makes your heart ache.
right now, choso leans against his headboard in the dim lamplight, you tucked between his legs with your back to his chest as an ignored anime —the one you were supposed to finish—plays on his laptop. his arms circle your waist, chin on your shoulder, the cool metal of his eyebrow barbell grazing your skin whenever he moves but his mind is miles away from the screen.
every time he closes his eyes, he sees you waving at him in the lecture hall—that polite, distant wave that felt like a slap to the face. he keeps replaying the way you sat on your usual spot, the way you laughed with nishimiya like last night never happened, and most of all, that maybe you gave the guy who invited you to the party.
he’s convinced he’s just a placeholder, a weekday secret you’re already preparing to phase out.
but you? you’re spiraling in the exact opposite direction.
you feel his silence like a physical weight. he’s bored, you think, your heart sinking into your stomach. he finally got me, now the mystery is gone. he’s already over it.
you’re convinced his quietness is the beginning of the end—the part where he starts pulling away because you’ve become a routine instead of a conquest.
"cho..." you murmur, tilting your head back to look up at him. "you are too quiet and distracted."
he tenses, his grip on your waist holding you closer instinctively.
"i'm just... thinking," he utters, his voice deeper, thicker with the comfort of being alone with you.
"about?" you prompt, turning around in his arms so you're straddling his lap. you rest your palms on his chest, feeling the frantic, uneven beat of his heart.
"it's nothing, really."
but his eyes tell a different story. they look like they’re searching for a reason why you’re still here but you don't seem to see it.
he’s definitely bored, your mind screams. do something. keep him interested.
so, you do the only thing you know how to do to guarantee he stays—you take control. you kiss him until he melts.
the kiss is starving, your lips slot against his and the gentle clink of metal accompanies the movement, his lip piercing cool where they brush your mouth. choso matches your energy, his hands digging into your thighs, his mind finally, finally shutting up as the friction takes over.
you’re grinding down on his straining erection through his gray sweats, the wetness of your lace panties soaking through your own sweats. you’re using that dominance again, that shield of control, trying to prove to him—and yourself—that this is real.
"cho... please," you moan, head back, exposing the line of your throat. his lips find your skin instantly, and the cool glide of his lip rings trails down your neck in heated, open-mouthed kisses that make you shiver.
since that fateful day a week ago, neither of you engaged in anything more than kissing and some light petting. you, out of embarrassment because you couldn’t believe how you behaved that very first time with choso and him, out of fear of making you run away at his own clumsiness.
still, he feels that somehow, both of you need this. he knows he does.
"i've got you," he rasps, his world narrowing down to just the heat of you, the scent of your skin, and the terrifyingly beautiful reality that you are in his arms despite all.
choso hands slide swiftly under your shirt, and you reach for the waistband of his sweats—
SLAM!
no knock. just the door flying open, the doorknob hitting against the wall and rattling the fragile walls of the room dorm.
“choso, do you—oh—!”
movement freezes. the air in the room turns to ice.
you shriek, scrambling off choso’s lap and nearly falling off the bed, heat rushing to your face as you desperately smooth down your shirt. choso bolts upright, sitting up just as fast beside you, his face a shade of red that looks physically painful. his hands fly to cover the massive, aching bulge in his sweatpants.
yuuji turns around so quickly he almost slams back into the door, one hand over his eyes.
“I’M SO SORRY—” he blurts. “i didn’t know you had someone over, i swear! you never have someone!
“get out, yuuji!” choso roars, his voice cracking with a mix of rage and pure mortification.
“it’s okay,” you murmur quietly, still trying to calm down your racing heart.
there’s a pause.
“…can i turn around?”
“no.” choso grits, voice strained.
another pause.
“…okay.”
you let out a nervous laugh despite yourself, the absurdity of the situation breaking through the panic. “it’s okay,” you repeat, softer this time. “you can turn around.”
yuuji peeks between his fingers before fully turning back around—and then he brightens immediately, his jaw practically hitting the floor.
“wait!” he points a finger, his eyes wide. “i know you! you're the girl! the one from his lit class that he has been pining after.”
choso groans, burying his face in his hands as if he could disappear into his own palms and you turn to look at him with a look of curiosity.
"i'm yuuji," his brother announced, stepping further into the room with a huge, oblivious grin. "i didn't know my big brother finally had the guts to ask you out! this is awesome!"
you smiled with a hint of amusement as you told him your name.
"so, how long have you two been dating?"
neither of you miss a beat.
"a few days," you answered, at the exact same time choso mutters, "i don’t know."
the room goes silent. choso and you pause, looking at each other with equal faces of surprise.
"what?" you both question in unison.
"what do you mean 'a few days'?" choso asks, eyes looking in to yours helplessly, lost at what you just said. "i thought you... just..."
"just what, cho?" you pressed, heart sinking. "i've been at your dorm every night. i wear your hoodies. i thought that meant we were, you know, a thing."
yuuji let out a loud, bark-like laugh, completely ignoring the fact that his older brother looked like he wanted to spontaneously combust.
"man, talk about awkward timing!" yuuji exclaimed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "but seriously, maybe you guys should, like... talk? between the 'a few days' and the 'i don't know,' it’s a little confusing."
choso is still trying to wrap his head around your words.
a few days? you two had really been dating this whole time?
yuuji turned towards you, pointing a thumb at a mortified choso. "i’m just glad he finally did it. uncle ‘kuna is gonna be so stoked. he was getting seriously tired of hearing choso mumble about you over dinner. glad to see he's got some game after all!"
if only he knew.
you giggled despite yourself, the image of him talking to you to his family making your heart flutter on your chest.
"yuuji, get out."
the pink haired guy ignored his older brother, giving you a thumbs up. "good luck with him. he’s a little awkward, but he’s the best.”
“itadori yuuji!” choso hissed, voice an octave higher than usual, his face a shade of crimson that rivaled a beet.
"okay, okay! i’m going!” yuuji sighed, hands raised up in the air as a sign of peace. he flashed you a boyish grin. “it was so nice meeting you!”
“the pleasure is mine, yuuji,” you grinned back despite the mess on your mind.
the heavy thud of the door shutting left the room in a ringing silence. you looked at choso, the amusement fading into a lingering, heavy question.
“you… don’t know?”
“i— i thought— i didn’t want to assume,” he stammered, sitting up properly now, hands hovering uselessly in his lap. “these days have been great and—and i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by asking if—if this was—”
“…choso.” your voice was gentler now. “i thought we were dating.”
he went still, eyes flaring open. “but you— in class you—”
“i didn’t want to bother you,” you explained, like it was obvious. “you never asked me to be your girlfriend, but you took me on a date, and we sleep together literally, and we see each other every day but every time i’ve acted like someone’s girlfriend in public they—”
you stopped, throat bobbing as you swallowed hard, the truth tasting bitter. “…they left.” you admitted after a second, quieter.
the panic in choso’s chest twisted into something else entirely—a sharp, protective ache. “i didn’t ask,” he began carefully, moving slightly closer to you to not break this vulnerable moment. “because i thought you were just… passing time with me. i thought if i asked what we were, you’d realize this was a mistake and leave.”
for a second, you just stared at each other, the weight of a week's worth of unnecessary anxiety finally crashing down. and then you let out a small, disbelieving laugh.
“so we’re just both stupid?”
a breath huffs out of him, a genuine smile finally breaking through his chagrin. “…it seems so.”
you shift closer, tentative this time. “do you want to be? dating, i mean.”
“yes,” he affirmed immediately. the certainty in his voice made your heart skip.
“good,” you murmured, nudging his knee with yours as you climbed back onto the mattress properly this time. “because i’ve been calling you my boyfriend in my head for like a week.”
his face burned, but his fingers laced with yours, warm and sure.
“and… maybe next friday,” you added after a beat, “i could sit next to you in class?”
the way he smiled, happiness and relief filling his features was so cute you wanted to kiss him breathless.
choso felt like his heart might actually give out from the sheer, overwhelming joy of it. he wouldn't have to save a seat for an empty bag anymore. he’d be saving it for you.
“i would like that,” he whispered, pulling you back into his space.
you tilt your head, looking up at him through your lashes. there’s something gentler in your expression now. something thoughtful.
“i’m sorry.” you whisper, cupping his jaw tenderly, your thumb brushing his lip piercing tenderly, carefully.
he blinks, leaning into your touch instinctively. “why for?”
“for making you think i was playing with you. i wasn’t. i just… i’m not used to something real.” your fingers skim over his jaw, his cheek, his lips. “i thought giving you space was the right thing. i didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
his expression softens instantly.
“you don’t overwhelm me,” he reassures, turning his head so he could kiss the palm of your hand. “you are everything i ever wanted.”
your breath catches. the space between you feels warmer, secure.
“i really like you, cho.”
the words settle between you, delicate but certain. choso’s heart almost stops for a moment because you, the girl he has been watching all this time and convinced himself was an ethereal dream he wasn't allowed to touch, is reciprocating his feelings.
you like him—awkward, quiet, overthinking him.
his hold adjusts around your waist, fingers digging slightly into the fabric of your shirt as if he’s checking to make sure you won't dissolve into mist.
“i really like you too.”
and when you smile, it’s shy and bright all at once—relief melting into something heavier, deeper.
your palm slides slowly up his chest, feeling the frantic, galloping rhythm of his heart beneath his hoodie. it’s a wild, matching tempo to your own.
the insecurity was gone, replaced by the solid, undeniable fact that you were his.
the shift in the room is instantaneous. the heavy weight of the conversation vanishes, replaced by a heat so thick it feels like you're breathing in steam.
just like a week ago, you took the first step.
“i think we were in the middle of…something” you whisper, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his hoodie.
he doesn't hesitate. he pulls the fabric over his head, discarding it on the floor, leaving him in nothing but those gray sweatpants that are strained nearly to the point of tearing now that the heat from a while ago returned by tenfold.
“we were, yeah,”
“so eager, baby,” your voice is low, sultry and choso feels himself twitching just at the sound.
you slide your hands down, palms flat against the heated skin of his stomach, until your fingers hook into the waistband of his sweats. he lets out a sharp, hitching breath when you tug them down, revealing the length of him, aching and ready.
you practically purr at the sight, eyes growing dark as you guide him back to sit on the edge of the bed. you started to move down his body, but the moment your head passed his waist, choso panicked when he realized your intentions. his hands flew to your shoulders, stopping you.
"no, no—wait," he stammered, his eyes wide and agitated. "you... you don't have to do that. not for me."
"i want to, cho."
"but you shouldn't be down there," he murmurs, his voice cracking with a raw, painful sincerity. "you shouldnt be on your knees for someone like me. i don't deserve—"
"choso," you cut him off, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to his sides. you looked him dead in the eye. "i'm not doing this because i have to. i'm doing this because i want to. i want to give my boyfriend his very first blowjob and god knows i’ve been thinking about seeing your pretty dick again since last week when i jerked you off,”
"you—you've been thinking about that?" he asks in a throaty voice, letting out a pathetic, broken moan at the things you're saying, his head falling back against the headboard for a second.
"of course i've been thinking about it." you press a kiss on his jaw. "now, just stay still, okay?"
but as you start to sink back down between his thighs, his hands find your waist this time, not stopping you out of rejection this time but guiding you up.
"wait," he breathes, voice thick and urgent. "if we're... if i'm your boyfriend... then i want to do it right. i want to treat you how you should be treated. you first. always you first."
you pout, your bottom lip wobbling in a way that almost makes his resolve crumble. "but cho, i really want to—"
"later," he promises, his thumb tracing your lip. "i promise. but please... let me do this for you."
when you nod, he quickly adjusts his sweats, tucking in his aching cock and lying you on your back on the bed, starting to feel your body temperature rising in anticipation of what he wants to do.
choso hovers over you, putting his legs in the middle of yours, kissing you slowly and avidly before lowering down between your thighs.
noticing the way his fingers slowly reach for the waistband of your sweats, you prop yourself on your elbows, voice soft and reassuring. “cho, are you sure?”
he looks at you through his eyelashes, eyes dark and foggy and full of determination. “i want to. please.”
you smile down at him, the sight of him sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “okay, cho.”
he is clumsy; there is no hiding it. his fingers fumble with the waistband of your sweats, his breath hitching as he steadily, almost reverently, peels the fabric down.
he slides them off your legs and carefully puts them on the floor, making your heart —and pussy—throb at how cute he is. when he sees the lace of your panties—so cute and already with a damp spot in the center that has him leaking already—he stops for a heartbeat, looking at you shyly.
"help me, please?" he mumbled, the sound small, vulnerable. "i want to make you feel good but I don't know how to do this. tell me what to do."
you reach down, running your fingers through his dark hair and pulling him closer until his face is inches from your gushing . "start through the lace, cho," your voice a sweet command. "just use your mouth. softly."
he obeys with a terrifying focus, attentively lifting your thighs to rest them on his shoulders and pressing his face into you, breathing in your scent before his tongue finds you through the damp fabric.
he’s hesitant at first, poking out the tip of his tongue and pressing it sloppily. the contact is electric, and as he drags the tip of his tongue upward, he finds the small, swollen peak of you.
he pauses, a low, confused hum vibrating against your skin—the sudden puffiness of your clit beneath the damp fabric feels foreign and incredible.
he presses down firmly to test the sensation, and your hips buck off the bed, back arching in a sharp, desperate curve as your fingers tangle deep into his dark hair, pulling him closer.
choso freezes, his head snapping up, and he looks at you with dilated, alarmed eyes.
"did i hurt you? i—i didn't mean to—"
"no, cho," you gasp, the sound broken by a needy moan that fills the room. "that’s it. that’s my clit... it feels so good. don't stop, please."
the tension melts from his face, replaced quickly by a newfound, dark intensity.
he doesn't just poke at you anymore, he grows bolder, lashing his tongue in a long, firm stripe from the base of your clothed folds all the way up to your sensitive bud. his movements become heavier as his tongue works the fabric until the lace is heavy and soaked.
“mhm, yeah, cho,” you whimper, thighs quivering when you catch sight of his tongue swirling around your clothed entrance.
watching him learn is almost as intoxicating as the sensation itself. choso moves with a frantic sort of reverence, his fingers trembling slightly as they hook into the edges of the lace.
he looks up at you for a silent beat of permission, and when you give a small, encouraging nod, he finally peels the fabric aside, baring you completely to the cool air of the room and the fervour of his gaze.
letting out a shaky, broken breath, his eyes track the way you glisten, how you splosh out in even more slick. "so pretty," he muses, his voice dying in his throat as he leans back in.
"use your tongue, cho," you murmur, voice dropping into that low, guiding register that makes his pupils blow wide. "long, slow strokes. taste me."
he doesn't hesitate this time. he dives in, his tongue sweeping over you in a broad, hungry lap that gathers your sweetness. the moment he actually tastes you—the real, salt-and-sugar tang of your arousal—he makes a low, guttural sound of pure discovery. it’s a messy, wet noise of approval that vibrates right against your most sensitive nerves.
“this is so sweet,” his voice if muffled against your puffy pussylips, pressing a loud smooch there before sticking his tongue and gathering more of your arousal, a little of it trickling down the corners of his lips. “better that anything i’ve tasted,”
you let out a soft mewl, fingers gripping tight on his hair, making him moan in response. “fuck, cho.”
noticing the way your breath hitches when he twirls his tongue around your clit, he begins to repeat the motion with increasing pressure.
he’s absolutely pussydrunk now, his face slick with your juices, focus so singular that the rest of the world has clearly ceased to exist, only wanting to taste more of you, to gather every drop that drips from your pretty pussy.
he looks up at you mid-stroke, his eyes completely blown out, unfocused and glazed with a mix of lust and devotion.
"i never want to stop tasting you," he whines, before burying his face back into you with a desperation that borders on feral, his tongue lashing at you in long, heavy slurps that echo wetly in the quiet room.
the sound is filthy—a constant, rhythmic shuck-slurp as he laps at your folds, tongue curling and flattening against your clit with a bruising pressure that makes your toes curl into the sheets.
"please don’t—," you groan, your voice cracking as you watch his dark head move between your thighs, already blissed out of your mind. "look at you, getting so messy for me. you like the taste, don't you, baby?”
he answers with a muffled, vibrating moan against your skin, his hands migrating from your hips to your thighs, his knuckles white as he digs them into your plum skin.
he’s panting, his breath coming in hot, ragged hitches against your slick skin, but he refuses to pull away. even when he needs to breathe, he only turns his head slightly, sucking in a lungful of air before diving right back in, his labret piercings clicking faintly against your inner thigh.
“s’good. so fucking good.” he babbles against your entrance, flat tongue pressing hard and making your thighs close around his head.
“cho—fuck, pleaseplease,”
he can’t believe it. he is making a mess out of you only with his tongue, his face is buried on your pretty pussy and he can die a happy man now.
…wait. no. he still has to have you sit on his face. only then can he die, after he masters the art of eating your delicious cunt.
"you're doing so good, baby," you praise, your hand coming down to cup the back of his neck, pushing him deeper. "such a fast learner—yes, there—, my pretty boy."
seeing him like this, so vulnerable and eager, ignites a dark, possessive feeling in your chest. he’s never done this before, you think, your fingers tightening in his hair. the thought that you are the first—the only—person to ever have his face between her thighs, to have his mouth stained with your scent, makes you feel powerful.
"you’re my good boy, aren't you?"
"yours," he breaths, the word low and broken as he drags his tongue in a long, punishing stripe from your opening to your clit. "only... yours."
you need more—you need the friction of him inside you, even if it’s just his hand, and you desperately want to see his face.
"wait, cho... stop for a second," you gasp, your fingers tugging gently at his hair to pull him up.
he whimpers, a low, needy sound of protest, but he obeys, lifting his head. he looks absolutely wrecked; his chin is dripping, his silver labret hoops are slick and shining, and his eyes are so blown out they’re almost entirely black.
"use your fingers now, baby," you whisper, voice thick and honeyed. "i want to kiss my cute boyfriend."
his breath hitches at the title. he reaches down, hand shaking so much he misses your opening at first, his knuckles bumping awkwardly against your thigh. "here? is this—is this okay?" he asks, his voice cracking with nerves.
"yes, right there. use two fingers, cho.” you moan, your hand going to his neck. he slides two fingers inside, but he's stiff, moving them in a straight, hesitant line.
"like this?" he hesitates, peering up at you with unsure, worried eyes. "am i doing it right?"
"yeah," you gasp, your head tossing back as you become a moaning mess beneath him, fingers tangling on his hair while his thick fingers strecth you out deliciously. "curl them a little and move them... please."
he tries to follow the instruction, starting with a clumsy rhythm and, driven by a raw, desperate need to hear you scream his name, he finds a spot deep inside that makes your entire body lock.
"yes, yes, just like that," you heave, pulling him into a deep, filthy kiss.
the taste of yourself on his lips is intoxicating, your back arching and pressing your chest against his as he groans into the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as saliva and your own sweetness mix between your mouths in a messy, desperate friction that mirrors the way his fingers are now rhythmically pumping inside you.
“cho, i’m close, baby—,” you pant breathlessly, pulsing around his fingers, “your—your thumb, press my clit with it."
you kiss him again as his thumb finds your bloated bundle of nerves he’d been lapping at moments before, pressing down hard, circling it in sync with his internal thrusts, and you let out a broken, muffled scream against his lips.
when he finally pulls away, a thick, silver string of saliva remains, connecting your mouths for a heartbeat before it snaps, trailing down his wet chin.
he stares at you, his chest rising and falling franctic and, driven by the sound of your needy whimpers, he goes back down, but he doesn't take his fingers out. instead, he spreads you wide with his hand, his fingers working a relentless, soaking rhythm inside you while his tongue finds your clit again.
“choso!”
the combination is lethal. he’s lapping at you with a broad, hungry tongue, slurping up the mess his fingers are churning out.
the sound is obscene—the wet squelch! of his hand and the heavy slurp! of his mouth working in tandem.
“cum, please. wanna taste it aaall,” he is slurring against your slippery pussy, sucking on your clit hard enough to make you cry out in pleasure.
you can’t hold it back anymore—the overstimulation of his mouth and hand sends a violent wave of pleasure that crashes on you.
"’m cummin’, ‘m cummin’” you chant, body going taut. “cho—choso!"
your hips snap upward, locking in a desperate, trembling arch as your dewy walls pulse around his fingers and tongue, gushing a hot, shameless flood of arousal that coats his hand and pours over his chin. choso doesn’t pull away, he buries his face, tongue lapping up every drop of your creamy release, dragging it across your twitching folds to drive you through your orgasm.
“f—fuck, me too.”
choso lets out a choked, pained cry against your skin, his body stiffening as his own climax rips through him. he ruts one time against your thigh, his hips jerking helplessly as he ruins his own pants, breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps as he finally collapses between your legs, his soaked fingers still buried deep inside you.
he stays there for a long moment, his face still pressed into your sticky skin, chin glistening, and eyes glassy.
"i... i couldn't help it," he quaked, voice trembling as he finally pulls back to look at you— his lips are a dark, bruised red from the pressure of his mouth against you.
you look down, noticing the heavy, damp spot radiating from his sweats where he’s clearly ruined himself just from the sound of your voice and the taste of your cunt. you let out a small, playful huff, your lips pulling into a genuine pout.
"cho," you complain softly, reaching out to pull him towards your face, his fingers sliding out of you with a wet pop, making you hiss at the loss. "i really wanted to suck you off.”
"i'm sorry," he murmurs, small and shy as he rubs the back of his neck, the silver hoops in his lip twitching with his bashful smile. he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. "i just... i've never felt anything like that. you were so loud, and you looked so beautiful, i couldn't hold it back."
"mhm, i guess i’ll let it pass this time.”
he reaches up, his dry fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "we have all the time in the world, don't we? we’re going to be together for a long time... right?"
the sincerity in his dark eyes hits you harder than the orgasm did. the possessive, territorial heat in your chest flares up again—the reminder that he’s yours, that he’s learning everything for the first time with you.
he is not like any other guy. he is choso. your choso.
you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a slow, lingering kiss that tastes like you and affection.
"damn right we are," you mumble against his lips, a grin finally replacing your pout. "and next time, i'm not letting you off that easy. you're going to stay still for every single second of what i do to you."
his dark eyes are still soft, shimmering with a mix of lingering lust and pure, unadulterated adoration. he smiles back at you, pressing a tiny kiss on your cheek.
followed for the sapphic manga coded headers stayed for the absolute BANGER WORKS OF YOURS. Jesus. Your works are so iconic I’m in awe.
owww thank u so much!! glad my banners brought you, but my skills made you stay/j. Seriously, that's so sweet!! i hope you like the ones i have planned, hehe ;)
+18. mdni. fem!reader. college au. fluff, smut. based on this post.
a/n. thank u so much for 2k followers! here's a little gift, I hope y'all like it <33
he does it so often it’s muscle memory at this point.
you could be on your way out of his room for your lecture—car keys in hand, already halfway to the hallway—when his voice cuts across his room where he is seated in front of his pc. he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“give me a kiss before you go.”
not can i get.
not come here.
just like you forgot something essential. like walking out without your phone. or without kissing him…right now.
you sigh, already turning around.
he doesn’t even look up from his screen until you’re right there, tilting your face up, and then he leans in—quick, satisfied—like there, that’s better. now you can leave.
he smirks, gaze turning back to his game. “i’ll pick you up later to grab lunch.”
you roll your eyes despite the thrumming of your heart as you walk out of his room.
you’re on the couch of his family home, legs tucked under you while you scroll on your phone, the tv playing something you’re not watching.
he drops beside you with a heavy thud, the entire cushion dipping toward him so you naturally slide into his side with one arm immediately hooking around your shoulders, dragging you into his side.
“c’mere, gorgeous,” he mutters, already pulling you against his chest. “give me a hug.”
“you’re literally already hugging me.”
“yeah,” he says, squeezing tighter anyway. “but you need to put your arms around me too.”
you giggle, hands sliding across his back as he sinks on the couch with you, going limp against you, letting out a long, grounded exhale like you’re a human weighted blanket.
you’re in the frat kitchen when he’s passing through on his way to grab a drink as you cook ramen for movie night, his movements lazy and loose-limbed. he pauses, opening the cap of his drink as he looks at you, eyes stopping on your cherry tainted lips. then holds eye contact.
“…kiss.”
you scoff, arching a brow. “that wasn’t even a sentence, ‘kuna.”
he waits, shrugging one shoulder as if to say the words are irrelevant because the outcome is inevitable because you end up leaning over the counter to peck his mouth.
“good,” he nods, the corners of his lips tugging up, like you just completed a task correctly, and keeps walking.
you watch him dumbfounded, not knowing whether you want to kiss him again or smack him across the face.
you’ve barely made it out of his room after a heated makeout session—your lips swollen, brain still foggy and very much late for your morning lecture—when he catches your wrist before you can escape.
he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking completely unbothered by the chaos of your schedule.
“hey,” he rasps, tugging your arm just enough to throw you off balance and back toward him
“what?”
“kiss.”
he says it with a flat, monotone delivery, but his gaze drops to your mouth, heavy and dark and you know that what he is thinking is anything but flat.
“you just—”
“kiss.”
and you do it again, because apparently that’s your life now.
you barge into his room, door wide open as you hold a paper above your head, the biggest grin on your face. sukuna doesn’t even blink at the thudding of his door against the wall.
“i did it! i passed the last interview for my internship!” you exclaimed, excitement and happiness dripping from your voice.
sukuna is already on his feet, arms open as he kisses you briefly, nose brushing as you bounce on your toes, unable to contain your joy.
“congratulations, baby. i knew you would kill it,” he says like it was obvious, a grin on his own on his face as his hands settle on your waist. “give me a hug.”
and you hug him, tight and full of enthusiasm while you ramble his ear off about the place you will be making your internship, how it would look on your resume and so on.
he just hums, face already nuzzling your hair, pressing a tiny peck on your hairline, arms holding you tight against him.
you’re both in his room, supposedly studying together but you are the only one actually trying to do work.
sukuna is…present. yeah. that’s about it.
you’re halfway through reading a paragraph when his foot nudges yours under the desk but you ultimately decide to ignore it. he nudges again, harder this time.
you keep reading, starting again because he distracted you from reading your notes when the chair beside you creaks as he shifts.
“…give me a hug.” his voice says that he is demanding rather than asking but you are too busy with the words in front of you to care.
you don’t look up, highlighting a sentence on your notebook. “i’m studying.”
“so am i.”
“you’re on your phone.”
“i’m studying you.”
you finally glance over, unimpressed, blinking slowly at the sight in front of you.
he’s already got one arm lifted expectantly, eyebrows raised like well?
you stare at him for three whole seconds before scooting your chair over so he can wrap himself around you from the side.
he hums satisfied, using your shoulder as a chin rest while he goes back to scrolling his phone and you just sigh, eyes going back to your notes, unconsciously leaning your head against his because you are just as needy of affection as him.
thirty seconds later—
“…kiss.”
you know there is no way back from this habit when he does it mid argument.
you’re mad. like—actually mad. so mad that sukuna actually shuts his smart mouth as he looks at you —arms crossed, pacing his room while he sits on the edge of the bed as you rant about something he definitely did.
“and another thing—”
“kiss.”
you freeze mid step, fingers twitching against your arms.
“…what?”
“kiss,” he says again, like it’s going to fix the fact that he forgot your anniversary dinner or ate the last of your snacks or whatever crime he committed this time. whatever.
“i’m literally yelling at you right now.”
he furrows his eyebrows. “and?”
“i’m mad at you, sukuna!”
he shrugs because what has that to do with him having a kiss? “…still. kiss.”
you stare at him in disbelief when he pats his thigh once, like he’s calling over a cat.
you hate that it works. you hate that you march over anyway. you hate that the second your lips touch his he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you closer.
and you hate even more that when you pull back, he looks smug.
“there,” he mumbles, pecking your lips once for good measure. “you feel better.”
“i don’t.”
“…hug?”
and definitely his favorite time to ask for a kiss is this.
his tongue is lapping at your folds, thoroughly gathering your sweet juices and spreading them along your slick pussy, suckling at your clit when he feels your thighs tremble around his head.
he looks at you from under his eyelashes, fingers playing with your nipples as your twitch below him. he knows you are near.
“kuna—please! i’m close.” you moan sweetly, head thrown back as you push him back to you, grinding against his face and he smirks, loving seeing you this needy.
he complies, pressing his tongue flat and starting to messily make out with your pussy, slurping, sucking and completely smitten with every sound you make.
when you come, he cleans you up until you are practically dry, kissing your thighs.
he looms over you, bracing his weight on his forearms, trapping you between his chest and the mattress and he looks down at you with that insufferable, heavy-lidded smirk, his thumb reaching out to trace your lower lip, dragging a bit of your own moisture across your skin.
“give me a kiss, baby,” he rumbles, his voice dropping into that low, scratchy register that vibrates straight through your chest. “taste yourself on me.”
“you’re obsessed with telling me what to do,” you whisper, though you’re already tilting your head back, your heart doing that familiar, frantic thrum against your ribs.
“yeah,” he mutters, leaning down until his nose brushes against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “and you’re compliant. now, kiss.”
and just like always, you find yourself reaching up, pulling his head down to close the gap, tasting the salt and the sweetness of yourself on his tongue as he hums into the kiss, sounding thoroughly, smugly satisfied.
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+18. mdni. fem!reader. college au. fluff, smut. based on this post.
a/n. thank u so much for 2k followers! here's a little gift, I hope y'all like it <33
he does it so often it’s muscle memory at this point.
you could be on your way out of his room for your lecture—car keys in hand, already halfway to the hallway—when his voice cuts across his room where he is seated in front of his pc. he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“give me a kiss before you go.”
not can i get.
not come here.
just like you forgot something essential. like walking out without your phone. or without kissing him…right now.
you sigh, already turning around.
he doesn’t even look up from his screen until you’re right there, tilting your face up, and then he leans in—quick, satisfied—like there, that’s better. now you can leave.
he smirks, gaze turning back to his game. “i’ll pick you up later to grab lunch.”
you roll your eyes despite the thrumming of your heart as you walk out of his room.
you’re on the couch of his family home, legs tucked under you while you scroll on your phone, the tv playing something you’re not watching.
he drops beside you with a heavy thud, the entire cushion dipping toward him so you naturally slide into his side with one arm immediately hooking around your shoulders, dragging you into his side.
“c’mere, gorgeous,” he mutters, already pulling you against his chest. “give me a hug.”
“you’re literally already hugging me.”
“yeah,” he says, squeezing tighter anyway. “but you need to put your arms around me too.”
you giggle, hands sliding across his back as he sinks on the couch with you, going limp against you, letting out a long, grounded exhale like you’re a human weighted blanket.
you’re in the frat kitchen when he’s passing through on his way to grab a drink as you cook ramen for movie night, his movements lazy and loose-limbed. he pauses, opening the cap of his drink as he looks at you, eyes stopping on your cherry tainted lips. then holds eye contact.
“…kiss.”
you scoff, arching a brow. “that wasn’t even a sentence, ‘kuna.”
he waits, shrugging one shoulder as if to say the words are irrelevant because the outcome is inevitable because you end up leaning over the counter to peck his mouth.
“good,” he nods, the corners of his lips tugging up, like you just completed a task correctly, and keeps walking.
you watch him dumbfounded, not knowing whether you want to kiss him again or smack him across the face.
you’ve barely made it out of his room after a heated makeout session—your lips swollen, brain still foggy and very much late for your morning lecture—when he catches your wrist before you can escape.
he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking completely unbothered by the chaos of your schedule.
“hey,” he rasps, tugging your arm just enough to throw you off balance and back toward him
“what?”
“kiss.”
he says it with a flat, monotone delivery, but his gaze drops to your mouth, heavy and dark and you know that what he is thinking is anything but flat.
“you just—”
“kiss.”
and you do it again, because apparently that’s your life now.
you barge into his room, door wide open as you hold a paper above your head, the biggest grin on your face. sukuna doesn’t even blink at the thudding of his door against the wall.
“i did it! i passed the last interview for my internship!” you exclaimed, excitement and happiness dripping from your voice.
sukuna is already on his feet, arms open as he kisses you briefly, nose brushing as you bounce on your toes, unable to contain your joy.
“congratulations, baby. i knew you would kill it,” he says like it was obvious, a grin on his own on his face as his hands settle on your waist. “give me a hug.”
and you hug him, tight and full of enthusiasm while you ramble his ear off about the place you will be making your internship, how it would look on your resume and so on.
he just hums, face already nuzzling your hair, pressing a tiny peck on your hairline, arms holding you tight against him.
you’re both in his room, supposedly studying together but you are the only one actually trying to do work.
sukuna is…present. yeah. that’s about it.
you’re halfway through reading a paragraph when his foot nudges yours under the desk but you ultimately decide to ignore it. he nudges again, harder this time.
you keep reading, starting again because he distracted you from reading your notes when the chair beside you creaks as he shifts.
“…give me a hug.” his voice says that he is demanding rather than asking but you are too busy with the words in front of you to care.
you don’t look up, highlighting a sentence on your notebook. “i’m studying.”
“so am i.”
“you’re on your phone.”
“i’m studying you.”
you finally glance over, unimpressed, blinking slowly at the sight in front of you.
he’s already got one arm lifted expectantly, eyebrows raised like well?
you stare at him for three whole seconds before scooting your chair over so he can wrap himself around you from the side.
he hums satisfied, using your shoulder as a chin rest while he goes back to scrolling his phone and you just sigh, eyes going back to your notes, unconsciously leaning your head against his because you are just as needy of affection as him.
thirty seconds later—
“…kiss.”
you know there is no way back from this habit when he does it mid argument.
you’re mad. like—actually mad. so mad that sukuna actually shuts his smart mouth as he looks at you —arms crossed, pacing his room while he sits on the edge of the bed as you rant about something he definitely did.
“and another thing—”
“kiss.”
you freeze mid step, fingers twitching against your arms.
“…what?”
“kiss,” he says again, like it’s going to fix the fact that he forgot your anniversary dinner or ate the last of your snacks or whatever crime he committed this time. whatever.
“i’m literally yelling at you right now.”
he furrows his eyebrows. “and?”
“i’m mad at you, sukuna!”
he shrugs because what has that to do with him having a kiss? “…still. kiss.”
you stare at him in disbelief when he pats his thigh once, like he’s calling over a cat.
you hate that it works. you hate that you march over anyway. you hate that the second your lips touch his he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you closer.
and you hate even more that when you pull back, he looks smug.
“there,” he mumbles, pecking your lips once for good measure. “you feel better.”
“i don’t.”
“…hug?”
and definitely his favorite time to ask for a kiss is this.
his tongue is lapping at your folds, thoroughly gathering your sweet juices and spreading them along your slick pussy, suckling at your clit when he feels your thighs tremble around his head.
he looks at you from under his eyelashes, fingers playing with your nipples as your twitch below him. he knows you are near.
“kuna—please! i’m close.” you moan sweetly, head thrown back as you push him back to you, grinding against his face and he smirks, loving seeing you this needy.
he complies, pressing his tongue flat and starting to messily make out with your pussy, slurping, sucking and completely smitten with every sound you make.
when you come, he cleans you up until you are practically dry, kissing your thighs.
he looms over you, bracing his weight on his forearms, trapping you between his chest and the mattress and he looks down at you with that insufferable, heavy-lidded smirk, his thumb reaching out to trace your lower lip, dragging a bit of your own moisture across your skin.
“give me a kiss, baby,” he rumbles, his voice dropping into that low, scratchy register that vibrates straight through your chest. “taste yourself on me.”
“you’re obsessed with telling me what to do,” you whisper, though you’re already tilting your head back, your heart doing that familiar, frantic thrum against your ribs.
“yeah,” he mutters, leaning down until his nose brushes against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “and you’re compliant. now, kiss.”
and just like always, you find yourself reaching up, pulling his head down to close the gap, tasting the salt and the sweetness of yourself on his tongue as he hums into the kiss, sounding thoroughly, smugly satisfied.
i’ve been so busy with work i didn’t even notice i hit 2k already!!! thank you all so much for reading, liking, reposting, and for sending asks 🥹
i really appreciate it, especially after coming home from a long day of work <3
i’ll post a little bit of soft kuna later, and tomorrow i’ll upload another request from my 1k followers event! it’s still open—i have three spots left, you can check it out here! it ends this tuesday.
thank you again, i’m not great at this but i hope you can all feel how sincere i am <3333
summary. choso thinks he's a placeholder. you think you're too much to handle. a week has passed since you invited him over “to study,” and you and Choso somehow became inseparable—sharing hoodies, late-night anime, and kisses that last a little too long. the only problem? neither of you has actually asked: so… are we dating or not?
OR virgin!choso is determined to make a good boyfriend—one clumsy, reverent, pussydrúnk lesson at a time.
content. mdni, +18, fem! reader, fluff, light angst?, eventual smút, college au, virgin!choso, mutual pining, insecure choso and reader (they are both new to relationships), making oút, slight dry humpíng, first times (choso), oral (f!receiving), fingering, pussydrúnk choso, choso cum in his pants, praise, hair pulling.
word count. 9k (phew)
a/n. it’s finally here! after a lot of things (my doc was erased from my cloud, a ton of work—rip me and my hands—and like two writers' blocks later), the second part of "insta fumble" is finally done! i was going to post it on monday but i was so tired i passed out lol, i hope you all like it <3. also, this was as proofread as i could manage after working twelve hours a day this past week, lol! if you notice any mistakes, please let me know.
my 1k event is still open, too! feel free to request, i’ll start working on them this week alongside my bridgerton AU, hehe. love you all <3.
part 1 | bonus #1
the room is quiet—well, as quiet as it can be with the wet, needy sounds of lips locking together, devouring in a way that feels less like affection and more like something starved, finally being fed.
kamo choso is currently too busy to even care that the door of his room is still half open, with you pressed against it.
everything feels different from the life choso knew just six days ago.
your mouth fits against his, your mouths keep finding each other, even when you part for air—soft, breathless misses before you reconnect again, like it’s something practiced, familiar. as if this isn’t the first time you’ve kissed him with your hands curled into the front of his hoodie.
because it isn’t.
it’s been six days since the event that choso labeled as the “insta fumble” even when everything turned out completely different.
six days of this—
your hand sliding up the back of his neck, fingers curling into the loose strands of his hair as you push him backwards, until his back hits the mattress with a soft bounce and you follow him down without breaking the kiss.
choso’s hands come up automatically, settling on your waist like they belong there now. because they do. because this is what happens every time you come over.
you kiss him. you climb into his bed like it’s yours.
you laugh when he gets distracted during whatever anime episode you put on because your fingers keep tracing the line of his jaw like you’re studying—the small, absent-minded touch always making his breath hitch, like he’s still not used to being handled so gently, especially by you.
you fall asleep. wake up an hour or two later, and he walks you to your dorm. It’s a routine now, simple moments engraved into your lives like they were always meant to exist.
you two fell into a familiar pace so fast neither of you realized. or, at least, you didnt notice. because choso’s mind has been a mess since the day he came over to your dorm.
your lips part against his with a quiet sigh, and he swallows the sound like it’s something precious, meant only for him. the kiss slows for half a second—soft, lingering, almost careful—before it deepens again, messy and uncoordinated in that way that makes his chest feel too tight.
his internal monologue is a frantic, spiraling mess, even as his hand tightens at your waist without him realizing it, fingertips pressing into the soft warmth there as if to keep you from slipping away.
we’ve seen each other every single day. every. single. day, he thinks, his nose brushing against the soft skin of your neck, inhaling that vanilla scent that now clings to all his hoodies. we went on that date. i held her hand. i didn't drop the chopsticks. i didn't even stutter that much...is this just a 'thing'? am i a 'thing'?
for choso, this past week has been a blur of swollen lips, the taste of your lip gloss, and the constant, electric hum of your skin against his.
he’s more confident in the kissing department, knowing how to make you do that needy, soft tone against his lips that he absolutely treasures every time it reaches his ears.
but outside of the privacy of his dorm? he’s still that same boy from the back row, terrified that if he asks the wrong question, the magic will vanish.
your knee presses between his thighs, and he swallows when you make a contented noise, the sound warm and pleased like you enjoy this—like you enjoy being with him.
the thought hits him so suddenly his lips stutter against yours.
do you?
your mouth moves against his again when he freezes, chasing his lips with a quiet sound of confusion, trying to pull him back in.
“cho?” you mumble softly, still half on top of him.
his brain is suddenly too loud.
you text him first sometimes. you steal his hoodies. you fall asleep on him.
you kissed him in public once—outside the convenience store near campus like it was nothing the sunday after your date.
you told him to drive safe on monday when he went to his family house.
you sent him a picture of your dinner on thursday.
yesterday, wednesday, he watched you sleep and almost cried because he didn't want to wake you up.
you’re here right now. on his bed. kissing him like you mean it.
so—
are you dating?
or are you just… doing this?
“did i do something wrong?” you ask quietly, your hand resting tenderly against his jaw.
and panic immediately replaces the question.
“no,” he blurts, maybe a little too fast. “no—no, i just—”
don’t know what we are.
he shakes his head, his hold on your waist tightening just a fraction. “i just forgot to review the assignment for tomorrow’s class,”
your eyes widen in surprise, realization washing over you.
“oh, shit, you are right! the assignment i used to invite you last week.”
both of you look at each other for a second before feeling the heat creeping up your necks after the memory of what exactly happened when choso came over to your dorm.
you clear your throat, letting out a quiet laugh. “i guess now i really need help with that.”
for a moment, choso forces his looping thoughts aside and lets the corners of his lips lift at your sudden frantic movement—already twisting out of his lap to reach for your backpack, your ipad, the charger tangled somewhere deep in your belongins.
“i’ve been so distracted i forgot,” you mumble, pushing your hair out of your face as you swipe the screen on. “so, will you help me? for real now, though.”
choso lets out a quiet sound—half breath, half laugh—and you glance over your shoulder at him where he’s still propped against the headboard, looking at you like he’s trying to memorize something.
like he is trying to carve every movement of yours in his memory, making you shuffle shyly at his piercing, adoring gaze. you are still not quite accustomed to someone looking at you like this.
“yeah,” he says after a second, voice softer now. “for real.”
you trudge back until your shoulder bumps his chest, settling against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, ipad balanced on your thighs. he leans forward automatically, chin nearly brushing your temple as the two of you stare down at the screen.
this is normal, right?
studying together the night before class. sharing notes. sitting like this—close enough that he can feel the warmth of you through both your shirts.
his brain tries to circle back but then you tap the screen impatiently.
“cho,” you mumble, nudging him with your elbow. “question three?”
and just like that, his moment of spiral gets pushed back again. only you could do that, gain his focus out of his anxious thoughts, making him feel that maybe everything is alright. there’s nothing to be anxious about, right?
yeah, right.
you end up getting through exactly half of question three before it all goes to shit again.
it starts innocently enough, as you reread the sentence the question is about, his arm hooked loosely around your middle as he leans in to read over your shoulder, until you tilt your head to ask him something and your lips brush the underside of his jaw by accident.
you both freeze.
“…sorry,” you mumble, but you don’t move away.
he doesn’t either.
and then you’re turning your head just a little more and he’s meeting you halfway like it’s inevitable—like it’s muscle memory now—and suddenly the ipad is forgotten on your lap again.
“cho,” you whisper, like a warning you have no intention of following.
“i know,” he breathes back, even as his hand slides from your waist to your hip, pulling you closer.
you kiss him anyway. you can’t help yourself, not when choso is so close, helping you with patience and care— his touch careful, as if you are precious. you feel safe, cherished, wanted—something you never fully experienced before.
when he kisses you, it isn’t greedy, it’s reverent. curious. like he’s learning you on purpose. when he holds you, he doesn’t grip like he’s afraid you’ll leave, but like he’s content that you haven’t.
by the time you finally pull apart, you both are heaving faintly, the assignment still sitting unfinished between you.
you both stare at it for a moment.
“…we’re really bad at this,”
“we are,” he agrees quietly, amusement in his voice.
you both look at each other and let out a hushed laugh that brushes both of your skin as choso’s hold on you grows firmer and you lean your head on his shoulder.
still—he helps you finish it this time, his mind quiet while enjoying your weight pressed against his side.
it’s late by the time he walks you back to your dorm.
the hallway is quiet, lights dimmed into that soft yellow that makes everything feel slower, heavier. your fingers are curled loosely into the sleeve of his hoodie, tugging him along as you stop outside your door.
neither of you say anything at first. you both can feel the reluctance on saying goodbye for the night.
“i’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask after a second, doe like eyes looking at him with fondness that makes his body tingle.
he nods immediately. “in class.”
“and don’t forget we have to finish the season two of that anime,”
“of course, how could i?”
you give him that same sleepy smile you always do when you’re about to say goodnight, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, fingers slowly dragging lightly against the fabric of his hoodie before falling away.
“goodnight, cho.”
“goodnight.” he says your name in the same tone as always. gently, carefully, like he is saying a sacred prayer.
you lean in—quick, like it’s instinct—and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back just as fast, already reaching for your keys. and then you’re gone, the door clicking shut behind you.
choso stands there for a moment. two. three.
…shit.
how is he supposed to act tomorrow in class? in front of everyone.
his eyes linger on your door like it might open again if he waits long enough, his teeth chewing softly at the inside of his lip, the twin hoops shifting with the nervous habit.
do people like you two sit next to each other? do they text during lectures? do they—does he—hold your hand? say hi like normal? pretend this—whatever this is—only exists behind closed doors?
his stomach drops somewhere near his shoes.
for the first time since this started six days ago, he realizes he has absolutely no idea what he’s allowed to do with you when other people are watching.
friday morning comes too fast. choso barely sleeps.
he wakes an hour before his alarm, staring at the ceiling as last night replays on a loop.
see you tomorrow.
you’d said it so casually. so normally. like there wasn’t hidden meaning for him to discover. because maybe there isnt. maybe that’s what you think of this.
something casual. possibly a secret, too.
he suddenly remembers that you are the sun, and he is just the moon that orbits around you— following, but never quite reaching you. his mind drifts back to a week before, to the image of him staring at your instagram story, dreaming of what it would feel like to be near you— to hear your laugh, to touch your skin.
the sole thought of losing you after he tasted you, actually touched you, felt your laugh against his lips and saw how cute you looked using his hoodie pulled at his heartstrings painfully.
he wants to know what you think of him. of this…situation.
situationship (noun) — the word people use when a relationship isn’t defined. at least, that’s what the internet said.
is this a situationship? what kind? the “we are knowing each other to date” or the “i just like to kiss you, let’s have fun while it last” situationship?
he suddenly feels dizzy. he might throw up. his mind can’t keep up with every anxious, apprehensive thought of his.
he changes shirts twice. then a third time.
too desperate. too plain. too try hard.
he can't decide if he has to wear jeans or something more sophisticated. he knows you have a variation in your wardrobe from comfy to something straight out of a magazine but he only has like two dress shirts and a pair of slacks he used at his brother's graduation last year.
why is this so difficult?
he settles on something neutral, same hairstyle as usual and tells himself to breathe.
it’s just a class, he repeats himself over and over again as he slings his backpack on his shoulder as he closes the door of his dorm room, and walks slowly towards his first lecture of the day, hands clammy and heart beating wildly on his chest.
he thinks of you for the first half of the day.
every hallway makes his pulse jump because it might be you turning the corner.
every time he changes buildings, his eyes trace the path at the slightest sign of you.
by 9:53 AM when he reaches the lecture hall, he’s not sure of what to expect.
he sits down on the back row, like always. he places his bag on the chair next to him without thinking. then immediately freezes.
is that presumptuous? does he have to save a seat? does he move it?
he doesn’t move it.
two minutes pass.
three.
four.
five—
and there you are. you walk in five minutes after him, as you always do. choso feels his pulse quicken at the sight of you today, even if he saw you these past week, he would always be amazed at how effortlessly beautiful you are.
choso sits up a little straighter without meaning to like an automatic response—his body recognizing you before his brain can catch up.
you scan the room, eyes briefly landing on him, and your face brightens in that gentle, familiar way that makes his chest feel tight.
you nod.
you nod at him and then smile like you just didn't nod like he’s—
like he’s just some guy you know. not someone who had your hands under his shirt last night. not someone whose hoodie you fell asleep in. not someone who walked you back to your dorm with your fingers clinging into his sleeve.
just someone you share a class with.
you start to walk up the stairs, and every step of yours has choso’s heart aching more and more, feeling a tight squeeze that left him breathless.
“hey, cho,” you greet when you get closer, voice gentle and saccharine, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
his eyes lock on yours, and oh fuck, even while breaking his heart, you look so pretty.
he realizes that you don't say his name the way you whisper it against his collarbone when you're drowsy— it’s more low, intimate, even softer than the tone you used now. he knows this voice, it’s the one you use when greeting people you are barely acquainted with.
classmates.
is he just that?
he swallows, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers to keep his voice from wavering. “hey.”
you glance at the chair beside him. he sees a hint of recognition flashing on your gaze but as soon as it appears, it's gone.
for half a second, he thinks you’re going to move his bag and slide in next to him. instead, you smile politely and step around the row, dropping into the seat beside one of your friends. a blonde, petite one that choso barely remembers her last name being nishimiya.
his bag stays where it is. empty chair. empty space. empty air. he stares at it until the professor walks in.
you’re laughing about something before the professor starts, a presentation in your other lecture. you look relaxed, bright, effortless. you don’t look like someone who stayed up past one in the morning sharing notes and laughing with him. you don’t look anywhere near his.
his stomach twists, gaze dancing across the lecture hall to keep him from looking at you, listening to your voice, but it’s impossible; he would always be drawn to you.
halfway through the professor’s greetings, someone from the row in front of you—someone choso vaguely recognizes— turns around.
“hey,” the guy says casually, smiling with all his perfect teeth and sharp canines. “you going to the delta party tonight?”
choso doesn’t mean to listen but he does anyway. he always does when it comes to you.
he can see from the corner of his eye how you tilt your head, pursing your lips.
“the one at the sorority house?”
“yeah, they’re doing some theme thing. it’s supposed to be big.”
there’s a pause on your part, a small one—like you are considering it.
you shrug lightly. “maybe. i don’t know yet.”
choso’s chest tightens. for a moment, he even thinks that his heart stopped.
maybe?
you already had plans, you were supposed to come over to his dorm. watch the anime you both left off the other night—season two, episode eight: “mash burnedead and the tall tower”. you said it. you reminded him.
so why—why is it a maybe?
he forces himself not to look at you. forces himself not to turn around like some possessive idiot and say you are busy even if his voice cracks and his hands tremble.
what right does he have?
what are we?
the question digs deeper this time because if you two were something, wouldn’t you say you already had plans? unless he’s just the weekday option, the private thing. something that only exists when the door clicks shut.
his mind spirals fast. too fast.
you laugh softly at something else the guy says, then turn back toward the front when the lecture properly begins. you don’t glance at him once.
choso doesn’t know if he’s allowed to feel weird about this. he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to feel anything at all.
the entire class feels like it's in slow motion. it’s normal—you’re acting normal. so normal it makes him feel abnormal for wanting more.
do you want to keep it casual? are you embarrassed? are you keeping your options open? did he misunderstand everything?
after class ends, people start shuffling out. he packs slowly, the sound of his heartbeat echoing on his eardrums.
say something. ask. do something.
before he can chicken out completely, he stands and walks toward you while you’re zipping your bag when his shadow falls over your desk.
you look up and your face lights up immediately, so gentle, warm and genuine.
“cho!” you beam, like you’re truly happy he came over.
his brain malfunctioned, the words failing him due to the fact that now this is the you he has grown familiar with over the past week. his mouth opens before his mind can even catch up.
“are we—” he starts, then stops, unsure.
you tilt your head, raising your eyebrows. “yes?”
he swallows and tries again. “are we still… seeing each other tonight?”
the question sounds fragile. smaller than he meant it to.
for beat too long, you look at him. then, your entire expression melts into something bright and excited.
“of course!” you chirp. “we need to finish the anime, we literally left off in the middle of the fight scene.”
you grin like that’s the most obvious thing in the world. like there was never any doubt.
“you… you’re not going to that party?”
you wrinkle your nose. “oh, that? i just said maybe because i didn’t want to be rude. i already have plans.” you smile at him again, gentle this time, and, without missing a beat, you add: “with you.”
the words settle deep, comforting and steady in choso's heart.
you adjust your bag and step closer without thinking, lowering your voice a little.
“i’ll come over around eight. is that okay?”
“yeah,” he mumbles feebly, still trying to keep up with you. “that’s okay.”
“‘kay! text me when you’re done with your classes, yeah?”
and then—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—you lightly brush your fingers against his sleeve before walking past him. just a small touch—hidden and subtle but stills sends a rush of heat down his whole body.
he stands there, finally feeling like breathing.
you’re choosing him.
he just hopes you keep doing it.
as you walk down the hall, the vibrant, effortless smile you’d flashed at choso fades just slightly, the edges of it drooping into something more pensive, more guarded.
it isn’t because you’re upset. far from it.
your heart is actually singing a frantic, happy little rhythm because he asked—he actually asked if you were still coming over. but the warmth of his presence fades into the cold, sterile air of the corridor, and the thoughts return. the heavy ones you’ve been trying to bury.
you’d genuinely thought this was how it was supposed to be. this quiet, new thing between you two.
your memory is a graveyard of boys who would whisper sweet nothings in your ear in the privacy of their dorms and then disregard your presence in front of others.
you remember the sting of reaching for a hand in a hallway and having the guy suddenly "adjust his backpack" to avoid the contact. that one guy who told you that texting him during the day was suffocating, or that sitting with him at lunch made him feel tied down.
so, you mastered the art of being low-maintenance—the girl who never reaches in public, never sends cute little memes between classes, and never, ever assumes the seat next to him in a lecture hall is yours.
you wanted to sit with choso but didn't want to assume. didn't want to make the same mistake. you genuinely think you are doing it right this time.
even if you feel like it's killing you inside.
because that’s how it always worked before.
"so, are you going to the delta party?" your friend, nishimiya momo, inquires as soon as you catch up to her on the way to your next lecture.
you shake your head, waving a hand in the air. "of course not. i've got plans."
momo makes a noise of acknowledgment, "yeah, your mystery boyfriend, right?" you blush, and she chuckles, blonde ponytails flapping in the air. "seriously, when are you going to tell us who he is? you just appeared on monday all giddy and told us you are seeing someone,"
"it's still new, momo."
"i call bullshit."
you bit your lip, feeling the tips of your ears burn. "it's been a week today.
"a week?! wait—wasn’t that the day of the kappa pi party you skipped??"
you think about a week ago, when he stopped being just someone you wondered about. the night your interest in him turned into something deeper.
that night, you had been so dominant. you liked the control you had—the first kiss, the way you steered his inexperience—because as long as you were the one in charge, he couldn't see how badly you needed him to stay.
for the first time in your life, you felt truly, viscerally wanted. you loved the way his entire world seemed to start and end with the way your lips moved against his.
"yeah," but you weren't going to enter into details on why you invited him or what you two did. "he asked me on a date after he came to my dorm."
your first date had been perfect in its simplicity. he’d taken you to a quiet bookstore cafe, the kind of place that smelled like vanilla and old paper. he’d pulled out your chair, his hands trembling slightly, and listened to you talk for hours like every word you said was a revelation. he didn't check his phone once. he didn't look around to see who was watching. he just looked at you.
but beneath all that, the old, jagged edges of your past are still drawing blood.
you know choso isn’t like that but what if he gets tired?
you’re waiting for the moment he realizes that you aren't just the girl he obviously idealized, but a real woman who overthinks and feels deeply.
you can only hope you’ll be enough this time.
"well, yeah, i get it now. you don't want to repeat what happened with those other pieces of trash," momo patted your shoulder, an understanding look on her face.
you try to smile back, but it comes out smaller than you intend. truth is, you’re not just afraid of the past repeating itself— you’re afraid of wanting someone this much and ruin it again.
if only you knew that while you were trying to keep this relationship safe, choso was spiraling about whether you two even were in one.
later that night, when you finally show up at his dorm, the tension in the room is a living thing—thick, sweet, and dangerously fragile.
choso is different. he’s quieter than usual, a little clingier, but you feel a certain distance that makes your heart ache.
right now, choso leans against his headboard in the dim lamplight, you tucked between his legs with your back to his chest as an ignored anime —the one you were supposed to finish—plays on his laptop. his arms circle your waist, chin on your shoulder, the cool metal of his eyebrow barbell grazing your skin whenever he moves but his mind is miles away from the screen.
every time he closes his eyes, he sees you waving at him in the lecture hall—that polite, distant wave that felt like a slap to the face. he keeps replaying the way you sat on your usual spot, the way you laughed with nishimiya like last night never happened, and most of all, that maybe you gave the guy who invited you to the party.
he’s convinced he’s just a placeholder, a weekday secret you’re already preparing to phase out.
but you? you’re spiraling in the exact opposite direction.
you feel his silence like a physical weight. he’s bored, you think, your heart sinking into your stomach. he finally got me, now the mystery is gone. he’s already over it.
you’re convinced his quietness is the beginning of the end—the part where he starts pulling away because you’ve become a routine instead of a conquest.
"cho..." you murmur, tilting your head back to look up at him. "you are too quiet and distracted."
he tenses, his grip on your waist holding you closer instinctively.
"i'm just... thinking," he utters, his voice deeper, thicker with the comfort of being alone with you.
"about?" you prompt, turning around in his arms so you're straddling his lap. you rest your palms on his chest, feeling the frantic, uneven beat of his heart.
"it's nothing, really."
but his eyes tell a different story. they look like they’re searching for a reason why you’re still here but you don't seem to see it.
he’s definitely bored, your mind screams. do something. keep him interested.
so, you do the only thing you know how to do to guarantee he stays—you take control. you kiss him until he melts.
the kiss is starving, your lips slot against his and the gentle clink of metal accompanies the movement, his lip piercing cool where they brush your mouth. choso matches your energy, his hands digging into your thighs, his mind finally, finally shutting up as the friction takes over.
you’re grinding down on his straining erection through his gray sweats, the wetness of your lace panties soaking through your own sweats. you’re using that dominance again, that shield of control, trying to prove to him—and yourself—that this is real.
"cho... please," you moan, head back, exposing the line of your throat. his lips find your skin instantly, and the cool glide of his lip rings trails down your neck in heated, open-mouthed kisses that make you shiver.
since that fateful day a week ago, neither of you engaged in anything more than kissing and some light petting. you, out of embarrassment because you couldn’t believe how you behaved that very first time with choso and him, out of fear of making you run away at his own clumsiness.
still, he feels that somehow, both of you need this. he knows he does.
"i've got you," he rasps, his world narrowing down to just the heat of you, the scent of your skin, and the terrifyingly beautiful reality that you are in his arms despite all.
choso hands slide swiftly under your shirt, and you reach for the waistband of his sweats—
SLAM!
no knock. just the door flying open, the doorknob hitting against the wall and rattling the fragile walls of the room dorm.
“choso, do you—oh—!”
movement freezes. the air in the room turns to ice.
you shriek, scrambling off choso’s lap and nearly falling off the bed, heat rushing to your face as you desperately smooth down your shirt. choso bolts upright, sitting up just as fast beside you, his face a shade of red that looks physically painful. his hands fly to cover the massive, aching bulge in his sweatpants.
yuuji turns around so quickly he almost slams back into the door, one hand over his eyes.
“I’M SO SORRY—” he blurts. “i didn’t know you had someone over, i swear! you never have someone!
“get out, yuuji!” choso roars, his voice cracking with a mix of rage and pure mortification.
“it’s okay,” you murmur quietly, still trying to calm down your racing heart.
there’s a pause.
“…can i turn around?”
“no.” choso grits, voice strained.
another pause.
“…okay.”
you let out a nervous laugh despite yourself, the absurdity of the situation breaking through the panic. “it’s okay,” you repeat, softer this time. “you can turn around.”
yuuji peeks between his fingers before fully turning back around—and then he brightens immediately, his jaw practically hitting the floor.
“wait!” he points a finger, his eyes wide. “i know you! you're the girl! the one from his lit class that he has been pining after.”
choso groans, burying his face in his hands as if he could disappear into his own palms and you turn to look at him with a look of curiosity.
"i'm yuuji," his brother announced, stepping further into the room with a huge, oblivious grin. "i didn't know my big brother finally had the guts to ask you out! this is awesome!"
you smiled with a hint of amusement as you told him your name.
"so, how long have you two been dating?"
neither of you miss a beat.
"a few days," you answered, at the exact same time choso mutters, "i don’t know."
the room goes silent. choso and you pause, looking at each other with equal faces of surprise.
"what?" you both question in unison.
"what do you mean 'a few days'?" choso asks, eyes looking in to yours helplessly, lost at what you just said. "i thought you... just..."
"just what, cho?" you pressed, heart sinking. "i've been at your dorm every night. i wear your hoodies. i thought that meant we were, you know, a thing."
yuuji let out a loud, bark-like laugh, completely ignoring the fact that his older brother looked like he wanted to spontaneously combust.
"man, talk about awkward timing!" yuuji exclaimed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "but seriously, maybe you guys should, like... talk? between the 'a few days' and the 'i don't know,' it’s a little confusing."
choso is still trying to wrap his head around your words.
a few days? you two had really been dating this whole time?
yuuji turned towards you, pointing a thumb at a mortified choso. "i’m just glad he finally did it. uncle ‘kuna is gonna be so stoked. he was getting seriously tired of hearing choso mumble about you over dinner. glad to see he's got some game after all!"
if only he knew.
you giggled despite yourself, the image of him talking to you to his family making your heart flutter on your chest.
"yuuji, get out."
the pink haired guy ignored his older brother, giving you a thumbs up. "good luck with him. he’s a little awkward, but he’s the best.”
“itadori yuuji!” choso hissed, voice an octave higher than usual, his face a shade of crimson that rivaled a beet.
"okay, okay! i’m going!” yuuji sighed, hands raised up in the air as a sign of peace. he flashed you a boyish grin. “it was so nice meeting you!”
“the pleasure is mine, yuuji,” you grinned back despite the mess on your mind.
the heavy thud of the door shutting left the room in a ringing silence. you looked at choso, the amusement fading into a lingering, heavy question.
“you… don’t know?”
“i— i thought— i didn’t want to assume,” he stammered, sitting up properly now, hands hovering uselessly in his lap. “these days have been great and—and i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by asking if—if this was—”
“…choso.” your voice was gentler now. “i thought we were dating.”
he went still, eyes flaring open. “but you— in class you—”
“i didn’t want to bother you,” you explained, like it was obvious. “you never asked me to be your girlfriend, but you took me on a date, and we sleep together literally, and we see each other every day but every time i’ve acted like someone’s girlfriend in public they—”
you stopped, throat bobbing as you swallowed hard, the truth tasting bitter. “…they left.” you admitted after a second, quieter.
the panic in choso’s chest twisted into something else entirely—a sharp, protective ache. “i didn’t ask,” he began carefully, moving slightly closer to you to not break this vulnerable moment. “because i thought you were just… passing time with me. i thought if i asked what we were, you’d realize this was a mistake and leave.”
for a second, you just stared at each other, the weight of a week's worth of unnecessary anxiety finally crashing down. and then you let out a small, disbelieving laugh.
“so we’re just both stupid?”
a breath huffs out of him, a genuine smile finally breaking through his chagrin. “…it seems so.”
you shift closer, tentative this time. “do you want to be? dating, i mean.”
“yes,” he affirmed immediately. the certainty in his voice made your heart skip.
“good,” you murmured, nudging his knee with yours as you climbed back onto the mattress properly this time. “because i’ve been calling you my boyfriend in my head for like a week.”
his face burned, but his fingers laced with yours, warm and sure.
“and… maybe next friday,” you added after a beat, “i could sit next to you in class?”
the way he smiled, happiness and relief filling his features was so cute you wanted to kiss him breathless.
choso felt like his heart might actually give out from the sheer, overwhelming joy of it. he wouldn't have to save a seat for an empty bag anymore. he’d be saving it for you.
“i would like that,” he whispered, pulling you back into his space.
you tilt your head, looking up at him through your lashes. there’s something gentler in your expression now. something thoughtful.
“i’m sorry.” you whisper, cupping his jaw tenderly, your thumb brushing his lip piercing tenderly, carefully.
he blinks, leaning into your touch instinctively. “why for?”
“for making you think i was playing with you. i wasn’t. i just… i’m not used to something real.” your fingers skim over his jaw, his cheek, his lips. “i thought giving you space was the right thing. i didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
his expression softens instantly.
“you don’t overwhelm me,” he reassures, turning his head so he could kiss the palm of your hand. “you are everything i ever wanted.”
your breath catches. the space between you feels warmer, secure.
“i really like you, cho.”
the words settle between you, delicate but certain. choso’s heart almost stops for a moment because you, the girl he has been watching all this time and convinced himself was an ethereal dream he wasn't allowed to touch, is reciprocating his feelings.
you like him—awkward, quiet, overthinking him.
his hold adjusts around your waist, fingers digging slightly into the fabric of your shirt as if he’s checking to make sure you won't dissolve into mist.
“i really like you too.”
and when you smile, it’s shy and bright all at once—relief melting into something heavier, deeper.
your palm slides slowly up his chest, feeling the frantic, galloping rhythm of his heart beneath his hoodie. it’s a wild, matching tempo to your own.
the insecurity was gone, replaced by the solid, undeniable fact that you were his.
the shift in the room is instantaneous. the heavy weight of the conversation vanishes, replaced by a heat so thick it feels like you're breathing in steam.
just like a week ago, you took the first step.
“i think we were in the middle of…something” you whisper, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his hoodie.
he doesn't hesitate. he pulls the fabric over his head, discarding it on the floor, leaving him in nothing but those gray sweatpants that are strained nearly to the point of tearing now that the heat from a while ago returned by tenfold.
“we were, yeah,”
“so eager, baby,” your voice is low, sultry and choso feels himself twitching just at the sound.
you slide your hands down, palms flat against the heated skin of his stomach, until your fingers hook into the waistband of his sweats. he lets out a sharp, hitching breath when you tug them down, revealing the length of him, aching and ready.
you practically purr at the sight, eyes growing dark as you guide him back to sit on the edge of the bed. you started to move down his body, but the moment your head passed his waist, choso panicked when he realized your intentions. his hands flew to your shoulders, stopping you.
"no, no—wait," he stammered, his eyes wide and agitated. "you... you don't have to do that. not for me."
"i want to, cho."
"but you shouldn't be down there," he murmurs, his voice cracking with a raw, painful sincerity. "you shouldnt be on your knees for someone like me. i don't deserve—"
"choso," you cut him off, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to his sides. you looked him dead in the eye. "i'm not doing this because i have to. i'm doing this because i want to. i want to give my boyfriend his very first blowjob and god knows i’ve been thinking about seeing your pretty dick again since last week when i jerked you off,”
"you—you've been thinking about that?" he asks in a throaty voice, letting out a pathetic, broken moan at the things you're saying, his head falling back against the headboard for a second.
"of course i've been thinking about it." you press a kiss on his jaw. "now, just stay still, okay?"
but as you start to sink back down between his thighs, his hands find your waist this time, not stopping you out of rejection this time but guiding you up.
"wait," he breathes, voice thick and urgent. "if we're... if i'm your boyfriend... then i want to do it right. i want to treat you how you should be treated. you first. always you first."
you pout, your bottom lip wobbling in a way that almost makes his resolve crumble. "but cho, i really want to—"
"later," he promises, his thumb tracing your lip. "i promise. but please... let me do this for you."
when you nod, he quickly adjusts his sweats, tucking in his aching cock and lying you on your back on the bed, starting to feel your body temperature rising in anticipation of what he wants to do.
choso hovers over you, putting his legs in the middle of yours, kissing you slowly and avidly before lowering down between your thighs.
noticing the way his fingers slowly reach for the waistband of your sweats, you prop yourself on your elbows, voice soft and reassuring. “cho, are you sure?”
he looks at you through his eyelashes, eyes dark and foggy and full of determination. “i want to. please.”
you smile down at him, the sight of him sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “okay, cho.”
he is clumsy; there is no hiding it. his fingers fumble with the waistband of your sweats, his breath hitching as he steadily, almost reverently, peels the fabric down.
he slides them off your legs and carefully puts them on the floor, making your heart —and pussy—throb at how cute he is. when he sees the lace of your panties—so cute and already with a damp spot in the center that has him leaking already—he stops for a heartbeat, looking at you shyly.
"help me, please?" he mumbled, the sound small, vulnerable. "i want to make you feel good but I don't know how to do this. tell me what to do."
you reach down, running your fingers through his dark hair and pulling him closer until his face is inches from your gushing . "start through the lace, cho," your voice a sweet command. "just use your mouth. softly."
he obeys with a terrifying focus, attentively lifting your thighs to rest them on his shoulders and pressing his face into you, breathing in your scent before his tongue finds you through the damp fabric.
he’s hesitant at first, poking out the tip of his tongue and pressing it sloppily. the contact is electric, and as he drags the tip of his tongue upward, he finds the small, swollen peak of you.
he pauses, a low, confused hum vibrating against your skin—the sudden puffiness of your clit beneath the damp fabric feels foreign and incredible.
he presses down firmly to test the sensation, and your hips buck off the bed, back arching in a sharp, desperate curve as your fingers tangle deep into his dark hair, pulling him closer.
choso freezes, his head snapping up, and he looks at you with dilated, alarmed eyes.
"did i hurt you? i—i didn't mean to—"
"no, cho," you gasp, the sound broken by a needy moan that fills the room. "that’s it. that’s my clit... it feels so good. don't stop, please."
the tension melts from his face, replaced quickly by a newfound, dark intensity.
he doesn't just poke at you anymore, he grows bolder, lashing his tongue in a long, firm stripe from the base of your clothed folds all the way up to your sensitive bud. his movements become heavier as his tongue works the fabric until the lace is heavy and soaked.
“mhm, yeah, cho,” you whimper, thighs quivering when you catch sight of his tongue swirling around your clothed entrance.
watching him learn is almost as intoxicating as the sensation itself. choso moves with a frantic sort of reverence, his fingers trembling slightly as they hook into the edges of the lace.
he looks up at you for a silent beat of permission, and when you give a small, encouraging nod, he finally peels the fabric aside, baring you completely to the cool air of the room and the fervour of his gaze.
letting out a shaky, broken breath, his eyes track the way you glisten, how you splosh out in even more slick. "so pretty," he muses, his voice dying in his throat as he leans back in.
"use your tongue, cho," you murmur, voice dropping into that low, guiding register that makes his pupils blow wide. "long, slow strokes. taste me."
he doesn't hesitate this time. he dives in, his tongue sweeping over you in a broad, hungry lap that gathers your sweetness. the moment he actually tastes you—the real, salt-and-sugar tang of your arousal—he makes a low, guttural sound of pure discovery. it’s a messy, wet noise of approval that vibrates right against your most sensitive nerves.
“this is so sweet,” his voice if muffled against your puffy pussylips, pressing a loud smooch there before sticking his tongue and gathering more of your arousal, a little of it trickling down the corners of his lips. “better that anything i’ve tasted,”
you let out a soft mewl, fingers gripping tight on his hair, making him moan in response. “fuck, cho.”
noticing the way your breath hitches when he twirls his tongue around your clit, he begins to repeat the motion with increasing pressure.
he’s absolutely pussydrunk now, his face slick with your juices, focus so singular that the rest of the world has clearly ceased to exist, only wanting to taste more of you, to gather every drop that drips from your pretty pussy.
he looks up at you mid-stroke, his eyes completely blown out, unfocused and glazed with a mix of lust and devotion.
"i never want to stop tasting you," he whines, before burying his face back into you with a desperation that borders on feral, his tongue lashing at you in long, heavy slurps that echo wetly in the quiet room.
the sound is filthy—a constant, rhythmic shuck-slurp as he laps at your folds, tongue curling and flattening against your clit with a bruising pressure that makes your toes curl into the sheets.
"please don’t—," you groan, your voice cracking as you watch his dark head move between your thighs, already blissed out of your mind. "look at you, getting so messy for me. you like the taste, don't you, baby?”
he answers with a muffled, vibrating moan against your skin, his hands migrating from your hips to your thighs, his knuckles white as he digs them into your plum skin.
he’s panting, his breath coming in hot, ragged hitches against your slick skin, but he refuses to pull away. even when he needs to breathe, he only turns his head slightly, sucking in a lungful of air before diving right back in, his labret piercings clicking faintly against your inner thigh.
“s’good. so fucking good.” he babbles against your entrance, flat tongue pressing hard and making your thighs close around his head.
“cho—fuck, pleaseplease,”
he can’t believe it. he is making a mess out of you only with his tongue, his face is buried on your pretty pussy and he can die a happy man now.
…wait. no. he still has to have you sit on his face. only then can he die, after he masters the art of eating your delicious cunt.
"you're doing so good, baby," you praise, your hand coming down to cup the back of his neck, pushing him deeper. "such a fast learner—yes, there—, my pretty boy."
seeing him like this, so vulnerable and eager, ignites a dark, possessive feeling in your chest. he’s never done this before, you think, your fingers tightening in his hair. the thought that you are the first—the only—person to ever have his face between her thighs, to have his mouth stained with your scent, makes you feel powerful.
"you’re my good boy, aren't you?"
"yours," he breaths, the word low and broken as he drags his tongue in a long, punishing stripe from your opening to your clit. "only... yours."
you need more—you need the friction of him inside you, even if it’s just his hand, and you desperately want to see his face.
"wait, cho... stop for a second," you gasp, your fingers tugging gently at his hair to pull him up.
he whimpers, a low, needy sound of protest, but he obeys, lifting his head. he looks absolutely wrecked; his chin is dripping, his silver labret hoops are slick and shining, and his eyes are so blown out they’re almost entirely black.
"use your fingers now, baby," you whisper, voice thick and honeyed. "i want to kiss my cute boyfriend."
his breath hitches at the title. he reaches down, hand shaking so much he misses your opening at first, his knuckles bumping awkwardly against your thigh. "here? is this—is this okay?" he asks, his voice cracking with nerves.
"yes, right there. use two fingers, cho.” you moan, your hand going to his neck. he slides two fingers inside, but he's stiff, moving them in a straight, hesitant line.
"like this?" he hesitates, peering up at you with unsure, worried eyes. "am i doing it right?"
"yeah," you gasp, your head tossing back as you become a moaning mess beneath him, fingers tangling on his hair while his thick fingers strecth you out deliciously. "curl them a little and move them... please."
he tries to follow the instruction, starting with a clumsy rhythm and, driven by a raw, desperate need to hear you scream his name, he finds a spot deep inside that makes your entire body lock.
"yes, yes, just like that," you heave, pulling him into a deep, filthy kiss.
the taste of yourself on his lips is intoxicating, your back arching and pressing your chest against his as he groans into the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as saliva and your own sweetness mix between your mouths in a messy, desperate friction that mirrors the way his fingers are now rhythmically pumping inside you.
“cho, i’m close, baby—,” you pant breathlessly, pulsing around his fingers, “your—your thumb, press my clit with it."
you kiss him again as his thumb finds your bloated bundle of nerves he’d been lapping at moments before, pressing down hard, circling it in sync with his internal thrusts, and you let out a broken, muffled scream against his lips.
when he finally pulls away, a thick, silver string of saliva remains, connecting your mouths for a heartbeat before it snaps, trailing down his wet chin.
he stares at you, his chest rising and falling franctic and, driven by the sound of your needy whimpers, he goes back down, but he doesn't take his fingers out. instead, he spreads you wide with his hand, his fingers working a relentless, soaking rhythm inside you while his tongue finds your clit again.
“choso!”
the combination is lethal. he’s lapping at you with a broad, hungry tongue, slurping up the mess his fingers are churning out.
the sound is obscene—the wet squelch! of his hand and the heavy slurp! of his mouth working in tandem.
“cum, please. wanna taste it aaall,” he is slurring against your slippery pussy, sucking on your clit hard enough to make you cry out in pleasure.
you can’t hold it back anymore—the overstimulation of his mouth and hand sends a violent wave of pleasure that crashes on you.
"’m cummin’, ‘m cummin’” you chant, body going taut. “cho—choso!"
your hips snap upward, locking in a desperate, trembling arch as your dewy walls pulse around his fingers and tongue, gushing a hot, shameless flood of arousal that coats his hand and pours over his chin. choso doesn’t pull away, he buries his face, tongue lapping up every drop of your creamy release, dragging it across your twitching folds to drive you through your orgasm.
“f—fuck, me too.”
choso lets out a choked, pained cry against your skin, his body stiffening as his own climax rips through him. he ruts one time against your thigh, his hips jerking helplessly as he ruins his own pants, breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps as he finally collapses between your legs, his soaked fingers still buried deep inside you.
he stays there for a long moment, his face still pressed into your sticky skin, chin glistening, and eyes glassy.
"i... i couldn't help it," he quaked, voice trembling as he finally pulls back to look at you— his lips are a dark, bruised red from the pressure of his mouth against you.
you look down, noticing the heavy, damp spot radiating from his sweats where he’s clearly ruined himself just from the sound of your voice and the taste of your cunt. you let out a small, playful huff, your lips pulling into a genuine pout.
"cho," you complain softly, reaching out to pull him towards your face, his fingers sliding out of you with a wet pop, making you hiss at the loss. "i really wanted to suck you off.”
"i'm sorry," he murmurs, small and shy as he rubs the back of his neck, the silver hoops in his lip twitching with his bashful smile. he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. "i just... i've never felt anything like that. you were so loud, and you looked so beautiful, i couldn't hold it back."
"mhm, i guess i’ll let it pass this time.”
he reaches up, his dry fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "we have all the time in the world, don't we? we’re going to be together for a long time... right?"
the sincerity in his dark eyes hits you harder than the orgasm did. the possessive, territorial heat in your chest flares up again—the reminder that he’s yours, that he’s learning everything for the first time with you.
he is not like any other guy. he is choso. your choso.
you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a slow, lingering kiss that tastes like you and affection.
"damn right we are," you mumble against his lips, a grin finally replacing your pout. "and next time, i'm not letting you off that easy. you're going to stay still for every single second of what i do to you."
his dark eyes are still soft, shimmering with a mix of lingering lust and pure, unadulterated adoration. he smiles back at you, pressing a tiny kiss on your cheek.
I love your insta fumble series, and honestly the way you write the reader is so relatable! And the yearning?!? Absolute MASTERPIECE.
However, I wanted to lyk that the pt 2 (so are we) seems to have been taken down by tumblr, or the link is inactive 😢
I was looking for it to reread and it was gone 💔
Regardless, I love your writing!!!
thank you so much for telling me! another anon told me earlier about it too, i changed the banner and they flagged me again *sigh* i had to crop it a bit more so it doesn’t show as much of the image as before :( but oh well, beggars can’t be choosers ig. you all can see the original in my reblogs
and double thank you!! i love a yearning choso so much hehe <3
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Hi!! I love your choso fics!! When I went back to read your "so...are we?" Choso post and it's being hidden from public view it says?? I don't know if you were made aware but I just thought I should say just in case? I hope you have a good day!
hello!! i just realized that LOL it's not the first time it happens, with my "be my valentine!" fic also happened, i guess i'll have to move the banner a little like last time *sigh* isth tumblr HATES me
Hi!! I love your choso fics!! When I went back to read your "so...are we?" Choso post and it's being hidden from public view it says?? I don't know if you were made aware but I just thought I should say just in case? I hope you have a good day!
hello!! i just realized that LOL it's not the first time it happens, with my "be my valentine!" fic also happened, i guess i'll have to move the banner a little like last time *sigh* isth tumblr HATES me
this is probably odd as hell but i just finished reading your ‘so are we’ and it genuinely might be one of the best fanfics i’ve ever read in my 12 years of professional fanfic reading history. the way you mix both romantic, platonic, confusion and sexual relationships is dear to me because most writers have such high expectations that the reader and character both feel like props in a play rather than two people with their own personality and opinions. 100% will be adding you to my nightly reading rotation 🥹
oh my god this is so kind 😭 thank you so much for taking the time to tell me this, it genuinely means a lot to me, i feel so shy reading this aaah
i’m especially happy you mentioned the mix of dynamics because that’s exactly what i was trying to explore with “so are we” 🥹 english isn’t my first language and i worked really hard on this fic, especially the pacing and trying to balance the emotional depth with the smut without it feeling overwhelming or anticlimactic, so hearing this makes me so so happy
and 12 years of fanfic experience?? that makes this even more special, thank you for reading and for your words, i’m smiling like an idiot right now 😭💗
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「✦ i think frat!kuna would be the type of boyfriend who would ALWAYS say "give me a kiss" or "give me a hug" everytime time out of nowhere, like:
he’s sprawled on his bed as you get ready for class, just watching you while you apply lip gloss at the flip-top vanity desk in his room (that he absolutely bought for you even if he denies it) and then—“babe, c’mere. give me a kiss.", you roll your eyes because you just applied your gloss and blah blah, but you still go to him anyway, pressing a soft kiss to his lips and he sighs, tangling a hand in your hair as he deepens the kiss. you never make it to class.
or—
you’re meeting halfway across campus to grab lunch, and as you wave at him, he just opens his arms slightly, the words already on his tongue—“give me a hug.”, you smile and throw yourself into him, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. he presses a kiss to your temple before slinging an arm around your shoulders, asking about your day in that deep, gravelly voice of his. ✦」
