+18 Choso comforts you after you get rejected from your dream school
Tw: smut, slight angst, kinda mostly fluff, p in v sex, reader is either in gap year or post graduate, no matter they are over 18. First fic. Enjoy
The first time Choso had witnessed you cry was in your freshman year of high school. You were tough. He’d seen you get injured in gym class in more ways than he could count, he’d seen you get into verbal fights to protect his reputation, and many other occurrences where a teenage girl of your size and might would have probably cried, but somehow, you never had.
He remembered it as clear as day. How could he not, the day the girl he thought invincible had shattered, just like her efforts? It had been expected, really, the teacher of the physics class they were taking was, to nobody's surprise, an ass, managing to make the most detestable group projects known to history, and that Wednesday had been the day you ran out of luck. With the two you had landed with, how could one survive? The class clown and cocky jock with the blonde spiky hair had managed to ruin the group demonstration. To call the assignment a collaboration would be an overstatement and disrespect to your efforts, as the only thing they had contributed to had been writing their names with Sharpie and sawing off the table legs as you had planned the demonstration. It was a project that made an unbelievably large proportion of your grade, a project you had spent hours of your week to build and prepare – which had been left in shambles. You had stood for a moment, then another, stared at the snickering duo before storming out of the class with tears of anger and regret welling up in your eyes however many times you had wiped them into your cardigan sleeve.
Choso had glared at the two before following after you into an empty classroom nearby and closing the door behind him, seeing you scream in irritation into your hands as they covered your mouth and held your tears back, more frustrated with yourself for not foreseeing the chaos than anything else.
Perfection was what you had needed, how could you have missed your two partners' antics which they had considered to be a prank – cutting the table legs just enough to make it unstable, but not enough to fall on its own. Megumi had sat with you until you calmed, then comforted you until you breathed and stood up, wiping your tears and stomping back with the same fervour you had walked out with. Choso had stood behind you, his smile curling upwards into a full grin as he followed behind shortly.
After the 17 minutes cooling down, you had entered the room with enough confidence to scare a grown man, taking merely seconds to make the two idiots apologise, and 4 to convince the teacher to give you another chance at the task you had planned so carefully for. In the end you had passed with full marks, and the pair had been removed from the class as a rightful reward.
Happy as the outcome was, he had remembered that feeling, that taste on his tongue. Even years later, it was as if he could still feel it.
He hated seeing you upset.
He hated seeing any negative emotion on you, really, but the one that was etched into your expression that evening made something twist in his stomach, and ever so slight change in his statue-like expression of indifference.
The reason for your clear discomfort wasn't hard to find. He had found the crumpled letter on your desk, the cover had been split down the middle, excitement clear on the shape of the tear. A fleeting feeling replaced soon, he could imagine, as your eyes had found the words and dread and weight had settled onto you, pupils closing in on the words of Doom, blurring the rest of the page out of your vision:
…regret to inform you that we sadly cannot accept…
Choso had quickly left to find you, knowing very well the carnivorous disappointment eating you inside out.
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Choso had been persistent with taking you inside, listening as you cursed the college name, then yourself, then at the miniscule amount of hypothetical time you had spent distracting yourself, time you could have used to practice.
He had cut you off, held your hand, and asked what he could do. He wasn't great at talking, not really, but at times like this, he wished oh so badly he could use his words and make you feel better, wipe that frown off your face in seconds as quickly as he could kiss your tears away. One thing had led to another, his consolating touches turning into kisses that lead into you on your back on the bed, clothes discarded in a pile along with his. He had decided to help you with the one thing he thought could help. Lips following yours and moving down your, as he caressed you everywhere he could, touching and comforting every part of your body before the dread could spread and reach it. His hips moved slowly, pressing his cock deeper into you, determined to make you forget. He simply hated seeing you upset.
Your face, buried against his collarbone as your hands held onto his neck. A murmur would hit the flushed skin every once in a while. A question, a doubt, a curse before it shifted into something softer, less for the mind and more for the ears, a groan, a gasp and a plea. He would kiss your temple, moving faster.
“Stop questioning yourself, will you?” He’d ask, more plea than irritation as his hands settled on your hips to guide them. He couldn't understand how you could still doubt yourself. “You know you're perfect, you're ambitious, intelligent, capable. You're everything.” He’d murmur the last part against your shoulder, hips stuttering as he’d fight against his own selfish release. “They couldn't see what they lost, that's on them.”
When he'd notice you were too lost in thought, or in pleasure, he couldn't really tell, he'd lift your chin up to find your eyes, watching your lashes flutter as tip rubbed and caught against your gummy walls. “Look at me.” He’d whisper, cock jerking inside you with a mind of its own, paying no attention to the situation. “You deserve better than them. So, so much better.” He’d gasp at the clench of your muscles around him, eyes closing shut as he focused on fucking the disappointment out of you and reminding you of what you deserve, of how good you were. “B-better, than…some stupid school like t-them.” He’d whisper, frustration in his tone as he felt you come close, hand finding your nub between your legs and circling intently, wanting to leave no thoughts of worry or school in your mind, feeling his owners mind struggle to work as his hips found speed of their own, losing rhythm and bringing you both into a climax, riding high. When he’d finally collapse on top of you, black hair sticking to his forehead, eyes glasses over and a tremble in his breath, he ‘d murmur against your scalp, holding you close. “You deserve everything.”
Thank you for reading! If you have any requests, corrections, just let me know. I didn't read over and English isn't my first language, so it would be appreciated if mistakes are pointed out. I enjoyed writing this!
