➽─────── choso...definitely studied. ───────❥
a/n ~ sorry lovelies my dumb ahh didn't realize there was a limit on how many ppl u can tag so i can't tag all of u 💔 I'M SORRYYYY pls forgive mama 😓🫰
hopefully the smutiness makes up for it heh
one hour and seventeen minutes.
that’s how long you were in choso’s room for. gojo timed it, from the moment he heard the door shut upstairs to when you walked out the front door.
unsurprisingly, choso didn’t show his face to his friends until the next morning.
when he walks downstairs the folllowing day his hair’s a little messy, and there’s a faint mark peeking above his collar.
choso freezes when he sees his roommates all sitting in the living room, already looking at him, waiting.
“…hi,” choso says carefully.
gojo leans forward first, eyes sparkling. “sleep good?”
geto gestures vaguely. “come here.”
choso hesitates, then, slowly, like he’s approaching a grizzly bear, walks over.
“sit,” gojo says immediately.
choso obliges. after a beat of silence: “did you guys fuck?” toji asks, blunt as ever.
choso chokes. “what—no?!”
gojo slaps the couch. “okay, okay, that’s fine, that’s fine. progress is a journey. now, details.”
“we—we made out a little,” choso says shyly.
gojo collapses back onto the couch, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. “this is a beautiful moment. he’s evolving. i’m so proud.”
geto leans forward slightly. “okay. go on.”
choso rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact now. “…we were on my bed.”
“did you at least—” gojo starts, then pauses, eyes narrowing at choso’s neck. “is that a—”
choso instinctively reaches up, covering it. too late.
“a hickey,” gojo says, delighted.
“you got claimed,” toji adds, laughing.
“what else happened,” geto interrupts before it devolves further.
choso hesitates again. “…well…we—” he exhales. “we took some clothes off.”
gojo slaps the couch. “finally.”
geto nods, shooting gojo a glare. “okay.”
toji just hums. “how much is ‘some.’”
choso’s face pinks more. “…half.”
“half?” gojo echoes. “like…top half? bottom half? give me a diagram.”
“no diagram,” choso shoots back immediately.
toji laughs under his breath. “so you’re half-naked, making out. then what?”
“did you touch her tits?” gojo asks bluntly. choso splutters out a cough and geto scolds gojo, whacking him in the back of the head.
gojo holds up his hands, laughing. “hey, sorry—sorry! it’s a valid question. touching boobs is like ascending into the stratosphere.”
choso covers his face for a second. “…yes.”
“YES?!” gojo practically screeches.
toji leans back, laughing low. “no way. he did it.”
geto exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to stay composed, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “okay. okay, good. that’s…progress.”
“progress?” gojo repeats. “this man just discovered a new planet. attaboy.” he claps choso on the back, sending him jolting forward.
“did she—” gojo makes a crude, fisting hand gesture in the air (geto hits him again), “—touch you?”
choso freezes completely.
toji’s grin widens. “oh, that’s a yes.”
“you didn’t have to,” gojo says, delighted. “look at you. i’m gonna cry.”
“he’s just growing up so fast,” gojo wails dramatically.
“it was just brief,” choso says quickly. “it wasn’t—it wasn’t a big deal.”
“it’s a very big deal,” gojo says, grabbing his shoulders. “that is a pivotal moment in a young man’s life.”
“stop—” choso tries to shove him off.
toji’s grin widens. “where.”
choso covers his face with one hand. “…you know where.”
“say it,” gojo insists, absolutely insufferable.
“…my—” he exhales sharply. “my dick. okay? just—for like a second.”
gojo falls sideways onto geto, losing it completely. “my boy saw god and came back changed.”
“shut up,” choso mutters.
geto, despite himself, looks mildly impressed now. “and you didn’t panic?”
choso hesitates. “i asked if she was okay,” he says instead. “and after we just talked. and fell asleep for a bit.”
toji hums. “so when are you planning on returning the favor.”
choso’s brain visibly stalls. “…i—what.”
gojo grins. “you know. reciprocation, balance. the economy of pleasure.”
“shut up,” choso mutters, but his ears are red again. “…i will,” he says after a second. “when she wants. i’m not just going to assume.”
“i’ve raised a gentleman,” gojo says, wiping a tear again.
“you didn’t raise anything,” choso mutters.
“i raised your awareness.”
“you drew boobs on a whiteboard.”
“they were educational boobs.”
“oh, sorry, mr bigshot,” gojo grins. “you wanna draw the tits next time since you’ve got up close and personal experience?”
“satoru,” geto warns again. “leave him. he’s doing everything we told him to. he listens and asks if she’s comfortable.”
“yeah,” choso interjects, flushed.
then gojo claps his hands again, instantly ruining the moment. “whatever! next lesson—”
“no more lessons,” choso says immediately, standing up.
toji laughs. “too late. you’re enrolled now.”
“suguru and i will demonstrate the hands-on portion,” gojo drawls, slinging his head back to look at geto. “right?”
“what’s wrong with you?” geto says, though he has the faintest blush splattered across his cheeks.
gojo bites back a smile. toji says, “choso, you’re enrolled. gotta watch.”
“i’m dropping the class,” choso shoots back, already turning toward the kitchen.
“attendance is mandatory,” gojo calls after him. “i’m gonna get handsy!”
all of choso’s nerves scatter then increase tenfold when you open your apartment door a few days later wearing the skimpiest lace cami-and-shorts set he’s ever seen. the top is flimsy, and —
you’re not wearing a bra. there’s no bra, he panics internally, hands feeling clammy at his sides all of a sudden.
“hi!” you say brightly, like this is completely normal. like you didn’t just short-circuit him on sight.
choso blinks. “…hi,” he manages back, voice a little thinner than usual.
you tilt your head, smiling, eyes flicking over his face like you’re taking him in just as much. “you okay?”
“…yes,” he says immediately. then, after a beat, more honest, “i just—um.”
his eyes flick down, then snap back up like he touched something hot.
your smile curves, softer, a little teasing. “you can look, you know. and touch.”
his ears go red so fast it’s almost impressive. “i—i wasn’t—”
“choso,” you laugh, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, tugging him inside. “relax.”
the door clicks shut behind him.
he walks in stiffly, like his body forgot how to be normal. his brain is loud, buzzing, repeating no bra like it’s a warning siren.
“my roommates are out,” you say casually.
that does not help his heart rate.
you step a little closer. “we can just hang out,” you add, like you’re offering him an out. “watch something. talk. whatever you want.”
choso nods a little too quickly. “yeah. yeah, that sounds good.”
you can see it in the way his eyes keep flicking back to you, down to your chest. the thin lace, the soft way it sits against your skin, the fact that there’s nothing underneath.
you smile. “c’mon,” you say, glancing back. “don’t stand by the door like you’re about to get sent home.”
“…right,” he mutters, following.
you flop onto the couch, the movement making your thin shorts lift up just enough to expose the edge of your panties. “so,” you hum, chin in your hand. “how’ve you been?”
“good,” he says, voice a little tight. “i’ve been…good.”
“yeah?” your eyes narrow playfully. “you’ve been thinking about me?”
his brain short-circuits again. “obviously,” he says, flushed.
your smile softens, pleased in a way that makes his chest feel warm. “good,” you echo.
you watch him for a second, the way he’s standing there like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.
he moves immediately. it’s almost funny how fast.
he sits beside you, a little stiff at first, hands resting on his thighs.
you don’t give him long before you shift closer, knee brushing his, then your hand slides over his arm, slow, grounding.
“hi,” you murmur, softer now.
your fingers trace lightly up his arm, over his shoulder, then settle at the back of his neck.
he leans in before he can overthink it and kisses you warmly, more certainly, like he remembers how good your lips feel against his and isn’t afraid anymore.
his hand finds your waist again, quicker this time and you hum against his lips, pleased, shifting closer until youre in his lap.
he breathes in sharply at that. “you—you’re okay?” he asks.
“mhm,” you nod, already kissing him again. “are you?”
“yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening on your waist. his breath stutters when you roll yourself against him and you smile into the kiss, slow and knowing, hips settling more comfortably against his.
“you’re okay,” you murmur again.
“i know,” he says, but it comes out a little shaky.
your kisses drift, just like before, from his lips to his jaw, down his neck. softer this time, slower, like you’re taking your time with him. hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way he tenses then relaxes under your touch.
you can feel it in the way he moves now. less frozen, more present. his hands don’t just sit there anymore. they hold you, adjust, respond when you shift.
“choso,” you whisper again.
you pull back just enough to look at him, noses brushing. “tell me if you want to stop,” you say softly.
his brows knit immediately. “i don’t.”
you kiss him deeply, tongue sliding slowly, unhurried along with his, and you shift again in his lap, deliberately.
he lets out a soft gasp. “ngh—you—” his fingers flex at your waist and choso drops his lips to your neck, kissing there before sucking gently.
you moan softly in surprise, holding his head to the crook of your shoulders, and his hands move up to cup your tits through your cami more surely, squeezing as his teeth lightly sink into your soft skin.
his breath catches at the sound, and he makes it his mission to hear you make it many, many more times.
"can i take this off?" he whispers, fingers tugging at your cami gently, eyes wanting and glazed. "p-please."
"yes," you breathe, pulling the flimsy fabric over your head, nipples pebbling in the cool air.
you catch the way choso's pupils dilate until they cover the pretty brown of his irises. the way his breathing increases and how his gaze darts between each tit, hands unsure for a moment before palming them in his hands.
gojo was right, he thinks, squeezing your tits again and lightly rolling your nipples between his fingers. it's like ascending.
"mm, like that," you mumble, fingers threading in choso's hair. "yeah."
with a newfound spurt of confidence he lowers his head to your chest and licks at the hardened peaks so softly you want to just push his face down onto you.
he moans against your skin and takes one in his mouth, kneading your other tit before switching. again, and again, until you're squirming on his lap, core buzzing with shockwaves every time his tongue flicks over your nipple, and you're certain your panties are drenched through.
"choso—‘s—ahh—” you roll yourself down onto his lap again, erection obvious and evidently straining against his pants. he whimpers around your nipple, pleading eyes looking up at you.
"am i doing good?" he asks when he pulls his mouth off you, a string of saliva connecting his swollen lips to your spit-covered chest.
"yeah, so good, cho," you whisper, and his cheeks pink at the praise. "didn't really peg you for a tits guy," you tease.
"huh?" he struggles to tear his eyes off of the pretty marks he's left all over your tits, eyes eventually lifting to your lips.
"y'know. ass or tits kinda thing." you run a lazy hand through his hair, gazing down at him through your lashes. "always thought you'd be more into thighs."
choso's face burns dark red, all the way to the tips of his ears.
"i—i don't think i have a preference, they're all—"
you bring your finger to his lip, shushing him. "shh, cho. don't have to overthink it. just tell me what you want."
"i want you to be comfortable," he says immediately, eyes full of worry. "are you comfortable? you are, right?"
you laugh quietly, kissing his shoulder. "yes, choso, you don't have to worry about that. you're not messing anything up."
he nods, curling his hands at your waist. "i want to be good for you. i—i don't want to do anything wrong," he says, looking down.
you tilt his chin up, smiling at him. gosh, he's the sweetest. "you're so cute, cho. you're not gonna do anything wrong." you straddle your legs deeper around his hips, allowing the bulge in his pants to settle right at the soft fabric of your shorts, right at your heat. he shudders.
"tell me what you want," you whisper again, thumb brushing against his jaw softly.
"i want you," he says with no hesitation, though his hands tremble slightly at your sides. "i—i want to taste you first. please. you—i need it. need you."
your heart stops dead in your chest, body buzzing with anticipation. "you wanna eat me out?" you say, amused, kissing the corner of his jaw.
his grip tightens slightly at your waist, eyes flicking up to yours like he’s bracing himself, like he’s asking without words if he said something wrong.
“…if that’s okay,” he adds quickly, voice softer now. “only if you want me to.”
you pause, and then you smile. “you’re really sweet, you know that?” you murmur, brushing your thumb along his cheek.
his face heats up instantly. “i just—i meant it. i want to—” he exhales, a little frustrated with himself, “—i want to make you feel good.”
your expression softens even more at that. “you already are,” you say gently. "c'mon. my room's down the hall."
choso follows you like a puppy all the way to your bedroom, until you settle yourself on your bed and he stands beside it awkwardly, hands unsure.
"let's get this off first," you say, reaching over and tugging at his t-shirt. "you don't have to be so shy."
"i—i'm sorry, you're just—you're so pretty and i seriously feel like an idiot," he stammers. your eyes trace over the smooth, milky expanse of his chest, and you smile again, beckoning him over to the bed.
"you're not an idiot," you whisper against his lips, kissing him slowly. "you're perfect, cho, okay? stop doubting yourself."
he nods, stammering out a quiet okay before laying down beside you.
"have you given head before?" you ask curiously.
"erm...no," he says, cheeks reddening with embarrassment again. "but—but i'll do good for you. i can learn."
"i don't doubt it," you murmur, kissing him deeply again. each small, broken sound he makes sends lines of electricity to your clit. you're positive your panties have gone clear now.
"will you sit on my face?" he asks, and the words come out rushed, like they’ve been sitting behind his teeth for too long.
you blink, then your lips curve slowly, warmth blooming across your face, something softer layered under the teasing now.
wordlessly, you pull off your shorts and crawl up his body, watching how his breathing quickens and his lips part readily.
"i want to," choso interrupts, eyes glued to where your core's drenched through your panties. "fuck. please. please."
who are you to say no to your perfect, begging boy?
he pulls you closer to his face until his nose is brushing your inner thighs and he inhales deeply, whimpering as he lets out a breath. choso locks your legs around his face before pushing your panties to the side, choking on air as your pussy (it's there, it's right there, he chants internally) finds itself inches from his face.
"cho—ohmygod—" your lips part in a silent moan as he brings his lips to your puffy, needy cunt, licking through your folds with something one can only describe as pure, unadultered need.
he moans into you, grip tightening on the plush of your thighs and he laps at your core desperately, licking every drop of your arousal he can get his mouth on.
"choso," you whine, and he makes a little breathy sigh into you at the sound of your name falling so prettily from his lips.
if touching boobs is ascending, what the fuck's this? heaven?
choso's mind races with thoughts of you, only you and your sounds and how sweet you taste and how quickly he wants to make you fall apart on his tongue.
when you look down at him you can practically see the hearts radiating in his eyes, and he whimpers, one of his hands sliding up to cup your tit.
"so good," he slurs, breaking free and inhaling before diving back in with unmatched enthusiasm.
your eyes flutter shut as you moan softly, slowly rocking your hips down on his face. you cry when he latches onto your clit and sucks, the dual sensation along with his fingers thumbing your nipples sending you over.
you convulse, pulling at the soft, inky strands of his hair. "choso—there, ohmygod—fuck, don't—ngh—”
he doubles down on his efforts, slurping and lapping and pulling you flush against his face so he's suffocating in your essence.
(he remembers what his friends said about the clit. after extensive time spent looking at scientific diagrams, choso's pretty sure that little pink nub nestled through your folds, right at the top is it.
"please," he whimpers into your heat, begging eyes staring up. "please, wanna feel you come. pleasepleaseplease—"
your eyes roll back and your body tenses up before you moan brokenly, rubbing yourself down on his face as waves and waves of pleasure crash and ebb over your body, tingling you all the way down to your throbbing, oversensitive clit.
you feel choso still beneath you, eyes widening, and he grunts, the sound pitching into a whimper as his head falls back against the pillows.
"i'm—you taste so good, i couldn't help it," he pants, cheeks muddied red.
you glance behind you, eyes zeroing in on the slow, damp spread splattered across the front of your pants. it makes your head spin, heart squeeze, ego run a mile a minute.
"did you come in your pants?" you whisper, and choso squeezes your thighs harder.
he nods into your leg. "s-sorry," he stutters out, whining when you pull yourself off his face, his lips and chin coated in your slick.
"don't apologize," you say breathlessly. "that was—you're really good. really good."
your fingers trace gentle patterns down his chest and choso whimpers again when your hands move down through the thick line of hair that trails into his pants. you're pulling his pants down along with his boxers, and he watches you slack jawed as they come off fully. you stare at his fat, glossy head, red and clearly aching.
you're both naked. both very, fully naked.
choso's hyperaware of every one of your movements, especially when your gentle fingers swirl around the cum that's slowly drying against the base of his cock.
"please," he says, though he's not really sure what he's begging for.
for you, maybe. for your hands on him again, but longer this time. maybe your mouth? the thought makes another dribble of cum leak out of his slit.
of course he wants to have sex. it's invaded every corner of his mind since you asked him out weeks ago. it's been a particularly forward thought, especially lately, now that he knows what you look like with just a bra on.
especially now, with your pussy so close to his cock he can imagine the feel of it wrapped so tightly, so perfectly around him, that he moans audibly.
"y-yes, sorry," he mumbles, clenching the bedsheets when you inch closer, and closer, and closer to his cock, legs straddling his waist now, your entrance so close.
the silence between you speaks volumes.
"i want to," choso says, chest tightening. "it's all i can think about, but we—if you're not ready, we—”he interrupts himself with a sharp wail, hands soaring to hold onto your waist as you lower an inch of yourself onto him.
"fuckfuckfuck," he pants, and your hands steady themselves on his chest, the stretch of his thick, aching cock burning deliciously.
you sink lower and he whimpers, his hands squeezing your waist like it's a lifeline.
choso's brows pinch together so tightly he looks pained. "holy shit, i'm—ngh—wait—"
you've barely taken him to the hilt when you feel him spurt inside you, his release warm and sticky and coating your walls within seconds.
he goes very, very still.
you open and close your lips in shock.
you're more shocked that he's still rock hard inside you, cock twitching back to life.
"sorry, you're just so tight i—i couldn't hold it, i'm sorry," choso whines.
you think it may be the petname that makes him jerk his hips up, cock filling you for a second more. "yeah, that's good, cho," you mewl, nails digging into his chest.
"o-okay—" he starts meeting your hips as you bounce yourself on him with a gentle rhythm, his own pelvis rutting up against you, the sound of it resonating through your room.
you have to physically hold yourself back from squeezing around him when he lifts his head to the crook of your neck, arms wrapping around your waist and setting a quick, albeit clumsy, pace into you.
he's so big. every ridge and vein of his cock fills out your sensitive walls, and he wrings little gasps out of you that send his mind into deepspace.
"harder," you plead, desperately fucking yourself down onto him now, unable to help your cunt from fluttering around him. he's panting, sweating, and looks like he's about to go into cardiac arrest.
"ngh—yes, can i—" he chokes out a garbled moan, his whimpers shifting an octave higher.
"just harder," you whisper needily and choso obliges, holding you and flipping you so you're on your back now and he's hovering over you, his cock still inside.
he lifts one of your legs over his shoulders, his hand groping your tits like they're the last thing he'll ever touch, and the angle he reaches makes you both moan in sync. his forehead meets yours and you pull him in from the back of his neck for a sloppy, wet kiss, tongues crashing and lips swollen.
your eyes are shut from the pleasure that courses through your veins like blood. "so good. such a good boy," you moan airily. "fuck, cho—”
his thrusts quicken, deepen, needy whines spilling from his lips. "shit, i—yes, fuck, yes, you're—ngh—"
"you gonna come?" you pant, holding onto the muscles flexed in his shoulders with each effort of thrust, and he nods, his lower lip pulled between his teeth.
"ye—eah," he says, the word split by a grunt. tears well at his eyes as he fucks into you with abandon, and, "fuck, i—i'm gonna come—"
"inside," you beg, "please, inside again, choso." the ache in your lower stomach tightens, signs of your own orgasm impending, and choso must feel you clench around him because he garbles out some incoherent words about how warm and perfect and shit, you're squeezing me so good before his eyes roll back, body weight dropping against yours as his slick, liquidy heat fills you again.
he moans out your name with such adoration that your orgasm hits you, too, and you cradle his head to your neck as he thrusts shallowly into your cunt, helping you ride out your high. every bone in your body is hit with a spark of pleasure and you go limp against your bed, utterly spent.
his breath is breath warm and uneven against your skin, like he’s trying to come back to himself piece by piece. his hands, which had been gripping tight, loosen gradually, fingers smoothing over your sides in small, almost absentminded motions.
“…are you okay?” he murmurs.
you let out a soft laugh, still catching your breath, arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. “yeah,” you whisper. “are you?”
he nods against you, though it’s a little delayed, like he’s still processing everything. “…yeah.”
a pause. then, “…that was…okay?”
you pull back just enough to look at him. his cheeks are flushed, lips parted, eyes searching yours with that same earnestness, like he genuinely needs to know.
your expression melts. “cho,” you murmur, brushing his hair back gently. “that was more than okay.”
relief hits him visibly. it’s almost immediate, like tension draining out of him all at once. his shoulders drop, and he exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“…good,” he says, a little shy again.
you kiss him softly and he cups your face with reverence, pouring every ounce of emotion he has left into it. after a moment, you pull back slightly, hands running down his arms, eyes still hazy, head still drifting back to you.
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