the car hums faintly beneath you, engine ticking as it cools, metal contracting in soft, irregular clicks that blend with the distant bass drifting from the neighbors across the cul-de-sac’s garage like a pulse buried under concrete.
the windows are completely fogged now, a dense, pearled haze clinging to the glass, turning streetlights into smeared halos of gold and white. in the backseat windows, faint outlines begin to surface through the condensation, the little hearts you drew weeks ago with your fingertip having reappeared as if summoned back by heat and memory, soft impressions blooming where the moisture gathers thinner.
inside, the air is heavy with the resinous sting of weed, sweet and sharp at the back of your throat, mingling with the warmer scent of skin and cotton and something distinctly him.
smoke hangs low, curling in lazy ribbons that catch in the dim light from the dashboard. it makes everything feel slower, thicker, as if time itself has softened at the edges.
choso looks almost unreal in it.
his hair is a dark, unruly spill around his face, strands falling into his eyes in a way that makes him blink them back, long lashes brushing flushed cheeks. his skin is pale, nearly luminous against the shadowed interior, collarbones defined where his shirt hangs loose.
his lips are pink and slightly swollen, parted just enough to show the slow rhythm of his breathing. his eyes, rimmed red and heavy, track you with a quiet concentration, hands on your hips, broad palms warm and steady, thumbs tracing absent patterns against your skin.
“mm, cho, you sure your brothers can’t see?” you murmur. your voice is hushed and breathy, a fragile sound in the cramped space.
you lean forward, your forehead brushing against his as you roll your hips in yet another agonizingly deliberate circle. the sensation is overwhelming, a constant and stretching fullness that anchors you to him.
you feel him high and hard against your cervix, a dull ache that seems to vibrate all the way into your stomach..
he huffs softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your own. his thumb presses firmly into the dip of your waist, his grip possessive and steady.
his tone carries that dry, unimpressed older-brother cadence he slips into instinctively, even as his eyes glaze over with a primal sort of hunger.
“yuji should’ve been in bed two hours ago,” he says, voice low and steady, guiding your hips back down with a measured push of his palms, fingers spreading wide as if he needs the full breadth of his hands to ground himself.
the car idles faintly beneath you, engine ticking in soft metallic sighs, and the fog on the windows thickens with every shared breath.
“he’s eight. he can’t even get the— ah—”the sound slips out of him before he can stop it, a restrained gasp that catches in his throat.
his teeth drag over his bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut for a brief second as though steadying himself through sheer will.
the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his brows pull together, sends a quiet flare of pride through your chest at being able to make the ever stoic choso kamo gasp underneath you like this.
his hands tighten reflexively at your hips, fingers pressing in with a firm squeeze that lingers, then loosens as he exhales slowly through his nose, opening his eyes again, lashes lowered, composure settling back into place piece by deliberate piece.
“he can’t even get the mail by himself.” his tone regains its older-brother certainty, practical and grounded, though the faint flush along his cheekbones and the slight rasp in his voice betray the effort it takes to keep that steadiness intact.
his hand slides higher, his fingers splaying wide over the sensitive skin of your lower back to pull you flush against his chest.
both your pajama shorts and underwear are pushed completely to the side, your clit brushing against the base of him with every tilt of your pelvis, sparking a sharp, electric tingle that begins to bloom in your thighs and radiate outward.
“and eso and chizu are over at their friend's house,” he continues, his voice a gravelly rasp. he pauses to swallow hard, his throat bobbing as he watches the way your eyes flutter shut. “they won’t be back until tomorrow.”
you frown despite the hypnotic rhythm of your movement, a small crease forming between your brows as you try to retrace what he said. there’s a name missing from the list, you’re certain of it, a faint mental tab left open somewhere in the back of your mind.
your stomach flutters anyway, soft and unruly, every thought dissolving before it can fully assemble.
the weed lingers thick in your system, hazing the edges of your cognition, turning simple arithmetic into something abstract and slippery. you try to line the brothers up in your head, but the sequence keeps scattering, attention tugged away by the warmth beneath you, by the steady rise and fall of choso’s chest, by the way his hands rest at your hips with absent, grounding pressure and the way he fills you up oh, so good.
you blink, trying to concentrate, but your pulse hums in your ears and the world narrows again to the dim glow of the dashboard and the quiet, steady presence of him beneath you, making clarity feel distant and unnecessary.
he feels the sudden hesitation in the way your muscles tense around him with your train of thought, the internal squeeze making his breath hitch in a jagged, pained gasp. his palms smooth up and down your hips in an anchoring rhythm, trying to soothe the flicker of anxiety while his own pleasure builds to a heavy throb.
“you wanna stop? i can move the car,” he offers. he punctuates the suggestion with a shallow thrust upward that hits a sensitive depth, making your breath hitch and your toes curl against the floorboards.
his voice remains low and careful, providing you a clear exit even as his fingers dig slightly deeper into your skin, his knuckles white against the dark upholstery.
“n-no, ’ts fine, you’re right,” you stammer, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.
your throat burns from the smoke you both inhaled too fast, lungs still adjusting, every inhale edged with heat.
beneath you, he is warm and thick and slick with you, the slow grind turning unhurried and obscene, your wetness making a soft, intimate sound in the cramped space.
the front of his gray sweats are dragged halfway down his thighs, fabric darkening where you’ve soaked through, a spreading stain that glistens faintly in the low light.
his head tips back against the seat, mouth parting as you pick up the pace just slightly. he looks at you like you are something fragile and incendiary at the same time, older brother instincts tangled with something far more selfish.
your orgasm builds gradual and syrupy, thighs trembling as you cling to him, forehead pressed to his.
“god, you feel so good,” he murmurs under his breath, voice low, the words dissolving into the thick air between you.
you try to answer him, but the air sits thick in your lungs, and all that leaves you is a soft, breathless sound, mouth parted, lips glossy and open as your head tips back once again at the way he hits your cervix.
your hands clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into cotton and muscle as if bracing yourself against a current that keeps pulling you under.
his mouth finds your neck with deliberate patience, open and warm, pressing slow kisses along the curve of your throat. he nips lightly at your skin, then smooths it with his tongue, as though apologizing for the mark even as he leaves it.
the sensation makes your spine arch instinctively, your pulse stuttering beneath his lips while his hands hold you steady, firm and grounding.
the windows remain fogged over, condensation streaking faintly where your movements disturb the air. the outside light of his neighborhood filters through in blurred halos, the world beyond reduced to indistinct color. inside, everything narrows to breath and touch and him.
when you finally tip over the edge, it is quiet, a soft cry escapes you, fragile and unguarded, as you lean forward and press your forehead to his.
your gasp trembles against his mouth, swallowed immediately as he kisses you, deep and anchoring, as though he can keep the moment contained between you.
his hands stay at your hips, steady and sure, holding you in place while your body trembles, riding out the last quiet waves in the dim, hazy cocoon of the car.
the knocking comes sharp and sudden against the fogged window.
you jolt, spine snapping straight, heart slamming against your ribs. the glass is completely obscured with condensation, tinted dark enough that you cannot see anything beyond vague shapes and streetlights bleeding through.
choso’s mouth is still at your chest, lips parted against your skin, and panic floods you.
“is that a cop?” you whisper, voice cracking at the thought of a public indecency charge at nineteen, stomach twisting as you fumble blindly for your shorts somewhere near your knees.
he freezes for half a second, head tilted slightly as he listens to the rhythm of the knocks. his expression shifts almost imperceptibly, irritation tightening his jaw before he exhales slowly through his nose.
“worse.” there is a faint edge in his tone now, barely masked annoyance settling into his features.
he gives your hip a gentle but firm tap, guiding you off him with a controlled movement that still draws a restrained wince when he looks down at his lap.
the evidence of what you were just doing is impossible to ignore, his sweats bunched low on his thighs, fabric darkened and clinging, and he mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.
he twists awkwardly, reaching into the backseat with one arm and blindly grabbing the first thing his fingers catch, a black hoodie he keeps tossed back there, draping it over his lap quickly, tugging it down to conceal the damp fabric beneath and the obvious outline that has yet to fully settle.
his ears are pink now, frustration flickering across his face before he schools it into composure.
you shimmy clumsily back into your clothes, movements rushed and graceless in the cramped space. your underwear feels uncomfortably damp against your skin, and you cringe at the sensation, biting your lip as you tug your shorts up over your hips and smooth them down with trembling hands.
the air still smells like weed and sex, heavy and incriminating.
choso reaches into the glovebox with brisk efficiency, grabbing a wad of tissues and handing some to you without looking directly at you, dabbing at himself with the others. his jaw remains tight, nostrils flaring slightly as the knocking grows louder, more insistent.
“open up, asshole!” a familiar voice calls through the glass, distorted but unmistakable.
oh, so that’s who you were forgetting.
choso’s eyes close briefly, irritation flashing openly this time. he adjusts the hoodie more securely over his lap, checks that you’re decently covered with a quick glance that lingers for half a second longer than necessary, then reaches for the window controls, expression composed but simmering.
the glass whirs softly as it lowers, smoke spilling out in a lazy, incriminating cloud, curling into the cool night air that rushes in and kisses your overheated skin. the temperature shift makes you shiver.
outside, streetlights cast a jaundiced glow over asphalt and concrete, and a pair of unmistakable red eyes peer in through the narrow opening.
“i need the car,” sukuna says flatly, voice edged with impatience, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket like this is an inconvenience he shouldn’t have to endure.
choso leans back slightly in his seat, one arm draped along the steering wheel, posture deliberately relaxed.
“what happened to yours?” he asks, tone even, though the faint pink at the tips of his ears betrays lingering agitation.
“it broke down again. it’s parked outside the mall right now.” sukuna rolls his shoulders, then leans closer to the opening, breath fogging faintly against the remaining glass.
a crooked smirk pulls at his mouth.
“gojo brought me home, but he says he’s done doing me favors for the night, and i kinda promised this bitch i’d come see her tonight and blew her off three other times, so if i don’t show, she’s definitely never having sex with me again.”
the word lands heavy. choso’s expression hardens immediately, jaw setting with visible restraint. he turns his head slowly toward his brother, gaze steady and unimpressed.
“what’d i tell you about calling women bitches?” he says, voice low and stern, the protective edge unmistakable.
sukuna scoffs, dragging a hand down his face.
“oh my god, shut the hell up. you’re only saying that because she’s in the car.” his gaze flicks to you, slow and assessing, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. “and uh, hey, y/n, you got a little something right there.” he taps his own neck with a smirk.
your stomach drops, heat flooding your face as you yank the visor down, mirror snapping into view.
horror washes over you when you spot the blooming purple mark along your skin, vivid and unmistakable against your complexion. you press your fingers to it instinctively, as though that might erase it.
you don’t miss the glare choso shoots at him, either.
“you can have the car tomorrow. i’m busy tonight,” choso says, firm, rolling his shoulders back as if physically bracing himself against further argument.
sukuna exhales through his nose, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“oh please, you know dad’s not gonna give a fuck if you bring her into the house.” his eyes cut to you again, calculating, teasing. “y/n, you’ve seen the house, right? i’m sure you don’t mind—”
“i’m not gonna wake yuji, he has school in the morning.” choso interrupts, jaw set, voice steady and deliberate. he pauses, then adds with pointed emphasis, “and if i’m correct, so do you.”
sukuna clicks his tongue, irritation flashing across his face. “it’s senior year. i’ll survive.”
choso’s grip tightens subtly on the steering wheel, knuckles paling for a moment before relaxing.
"that’s not the point," he replies, his tone controlled and unmistakably authoritative.
the interior of the car remains a stifling cocoon of heat, the resinous scent of smoke swirling in the dim light of the dashboard.
outside, sukuna shifts his weight on the gravel, the crunch of stone beneath his boots echoing through the narrow gap of the window.
"the point," sukuna says slowly, leaning down just enough to peer through the narrow opening again, "is that i need the car, and you’re parked in our driveway at eleven thirty at night. you’re clearly not going anywhere important."
he lets his gaze wander across the fogged glass, a predatory smirk playing on his lips as he takes in the hazy, intimate atmosphere, his presence a jagged intrusion into the private world you and choso have built in the darkness.
"can’t you take your little session into the living room or something? i'll even be back before the sun's up."
choso’s eyes narrow slightly, the amber light catching the sharp focus of his pupils. he does not rise to the bait. he sits there with an infuriating, stone-like calm, his shoulders squared against the seat as his hoodie remains pooled strategically in his lap to shield the evidence of your shared heat.
"find a ride," he replies, his voice steady and immutable. "text gojo again."
"he muted me," sukuna shoots back immediately, his frustration mounting with a staccato edge. he paces a short, restless line on the asphalt, his shadow flickering against the pearled condensation of the door. "and i’m not walking across town."
"then don’t," choso says, shrugging one shoulder with a display of controlled indifference. he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles appearing pale and prominent in the shadows. "stay home."
sukuna lets out a sharp, humorless laugh that sounds like a dry rasp in the cool night air. "you’re unbelievable." he rakes a hand through his hair, his agitation bleeding into his hunched posture. "you think you’re dad now or something?"
choso does not answer right away.
the silence stretches between them, taut and heavy, dense with old arguments and unfinished sentences that clearly predate you. you feel it settle over your skin like humidity, thick and invasive.
suddenly you’re hyperaware of your presence in the passenger seat, of the way your body is angled toward choso, of how close you still are to him while something deeply familial and unresolved pulses between the two brothers.
you feel like an intruder.
the air inside the cabin changes texture, charged now with a different kind of electricity, something sharper than the intimacy that lingered minutes ago.
the windows remain fogged, sealing you inside this private sphere, yet the argument pierces straight through it. you stare at the dashboard, then at your hands, unsure where to look.
your shorts cling faintly to your thighs, fabric still damp and uncomfortable against your skin, and the sensation only heightens your self-consciousness. you resist the urge to tug at the hem. you resist the urge to open the door and step out into the night just to breathe something clean and uncomplicated.
for a fleeting second, you wish you were back where you had been moments ago, before the knocking, when the world had narrowed to warmth and stretch and quiet murmurs on choso’s lips.
that version of the night feels impossibly distant now, and irritation sparks hot and bright at the thought. part of you wants to fling the door open yourself, march around the hood of the car, grab a fistful of sukuna’s pink hair, and drag him bodily away from the window for interrupting the first night you have actually gotten choso to yourself all week.
all week of doubles. all week of classes. all week of rushed texts and missed calls and him going back to his house too tired to do anything but collapse.
this was the first stretch of time that felt unhurried, the first moment that felt entirely yours and not his brothers, and sukuna shattered it with his knuckles against the glass.
"i’m thinking about yuji," choso says finally, each word deliberate and pointed. "someone has to."
the implication hangs there, heavy and suffocating like the smoke curling around choso's head.
sukuna’s gaze flickers, just for a second, and something unreadable and raw flashes behind the wall of his irritation. the moment of vulnerability is fleeting, vanishing as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a defensive scoff.
"don’t act like i don’t," sukuna mutters, though the bravado in his voice wavers.
"then act like it," choso replies quietly, his voice carrying the finality of a closing door.
another pause follows. the night hums around them, distant traffic whispering past like a ghost of the world moving on without them. sukuna shifts his weight again, his impatience returning in full force as he kicks at a loose stone.
"this is stupid," he mutters, his eyes darting back to the narrow sliver of the interior. "i’m not asking for the car forever, it’s just for a couple hours."
"no," choso says simply, his gaze fixed forward on the fogged windshield.
sukuna studies him for a long moment, his eyes sliding from choso to you and back again with a predatory slowness.
he takes in the heavily fogged windows, the lingering, silver ribbons of smoke, and the palpable tension still clinging to the humid interior of the car.
his lips curl slowly into a wicked, knowing grin that reveals the sharp edges of his teeth as he laughs under his breath, the sound a dry, raspy friction that fills the gap between the car and the cool night air.
“you're only acting like this because you're practically fucking in love with her,” he drawls, his voice lazy and satisfied with the immediate, visceral reaction he knows is coming.
before choso can even formulate a retort, sukuna shifts his weight, leaning his upper body halfway into the car.
his head is inside the cabin now, invading the small, private sanctuary of heat and resin. he turns his focus fully to you, his red eyes gleaming with a malicious sort of amusement that makes your skin prickle.
"y/n, do you know my dear older brother is in love with you—"
the words are cut short by the sudden whine of the window motor. choso’s thumb presses down on the control with a violent finality, the glass sliding upward with a swift, unforgiving speed.
sukuna’s eyes widen in brief surprise, and he is forced to jerk his head back with a sharp, guttural curse. “are you fucking serious—” he starts to shout, but he has to pull his chin out of the way before the glass catches him.
the window seals shut with a soft, airtight thud, leaving him standing on the dark asphalt outside.
through the tinted haze of the condensation, his shape becomes distorted and distant. silence crashes down inside the car, heavy and ringing in your ears.
you can still see the vague silhouette of his form through the glass, his mouth moving as he says something indignant, his hands thrown up in a gesture of total disbelief. his palm slaps once against the glass in a muffled protest before he finally steps back, shaking his head and muttering to himself as he stalks away toward the house.
in the driver’s seat, choso remains perfectly still, staring straight ahead through the fogged windshield. his ears are a vivid, deep crimson now, the color climbing from the tips down into the collar of his hoodie.
his jaw is set so tight it looks painful, the muscles in his face corded and tense. he lets out a slow, heavy exhale through his nose, his nostrils flaring with the effort of regaining his composure.
he drags a large hand down his face, his fingers pressing briefly over his eyes as if he can physically erase the last thirty seconds from existence. the air in the car feels even hotter than before, the weight of sukuna's accusation hanging between you like a physical weight.
“he talks too much,” he mutters finally, his voice low and strained, vibrating with a raw, vulnerable edge that he can no longer quite hide.
you look down at your hands, your heart thudding against your ribs with a frantic, uneven rhythm. the words echo in the silence of the cabin, a persistent, rhythmic chant that refuses to subside.
he’s in love with you. he’s in love with you. he’s in love with you.
you find yourself clinging to a desperate, fragile hope that sukuna was telling the truth, even though you know he has a knack for saying things specifically to ignite his brothers’ tempers.
you aren't sure if this is a genuine observation or just another weapon he chose to wield to win an argument, and the uncertainty makes your skin feel too tight.
you avoid eye contact at all costs, your gaze fixed on the dashboard as you try to fill the heavy silence.
“yeah, my uh... cousins are like that sometimes,” you say, your voice small and shaky. you wince at how incredibly stupid the words sound the moment they leave your mouth.
it feels ridiculous to say something so trivial to choso, the boy who manages the chaotic lives of four younger brothers with a tireless, quiet devotion. He’s the one putting himself through community college and working full-time shifts until his eyes are bloodshot, yet he still finds the strength to wake up early and walk yuji to the bus stop most mornings.
compared to the weight he carries, your attempt at small talk feels hollow and misplaced.
the car settles into a profound quiet. choso reaches up to rub the back of his neck, the skin there still flushed a deep, tell-tale crimson.
he avoids your eyes for a long moment, his silhouette shifting as he finally turns toward you, his expression uncharacteristically soft and laden with embarrassment.
“sorry about him,” he mutters, his voice regaining its gentle, grounding quality. he looks at you properly now, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. “did you, um, want me to drive you home now?”
you tilt your head slightly, studying the soft line of his profile as your pulse finally begins to settle into a steadier rhythm. you find yourself gnawing at your lower lip, the metallic tang of anxiety fading into a burgeoning, reckless curiosity.
“i mean...” you start, your voice barely a whisper in the humid cabin. “do you wanna take me home?”
he hesitates, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel for a fleeting second before returning to your face with a startling intensity.
“no,” he admits quietly, the honesty of it vibrating through the small space. “not really, no.”
a smile spreads across your face, perhaps a little too wide, a little too relieved. you feel a sudden lightness in your chest that replaces the previous urge to run.
“well,” you murmur, shifting slightly in your seat as the damp fabric of your shorts reminds you of where you are. “i guess we should probably move the car from the front of your house, though.”
choso lets out a short, surprised snort, the tension in his shoulders finally breaking.
“yeah,” he agrees, his hands moving with practiced ease to shift the car into gear. “good idea.”
he drives in a comfortable, heavy silence, the streetlights flickering over his focused expression until he pulls into a secluded corner of a small, empty parking lot just a few blocks away.
he cuts the engine, and the quiet that follows is different now—less like a cage and more like a sanctuary.
you spend a long minute biting the inside of your cheek, watching the way his large hands rest idly on his thighs, before you finally decide to bite the bullet.
“so,” you say, the word sounding loud in the stillness. “you’re in love with me?”
choso winces visibly, his head snapping toward you with a look of pure shock, like he didn't expect you to address the elephant in the car so bluntly.
“i—y/n, look, i’m sorry,” he starts to stutter, his usual composure dissolving into a frantic, endearing mess of explanations.
he rubs the back of his neck, his face flushing a deeper shade of red.
“sukuna just likes to... he shouldn't have said that,” he starts again, his voice a rough, uneven murmur. he rubs the back of his neck, his face flushing a deeper shade of crimson that rivals the color of the taillights. “i know we talked about this being simple, no strings attached, and i’ve tried to keep it that way, truly. it’s just a crush, and i didn't mean for it to—”
“i like you too, choso,” you interrupt softly.
the air seems to leave him all at once. he pauses mid-sentence, his mouth slightly agape as he turns fully in his seat to stare at you, his eyes wide and searching.
“what?” he breathes, the word barely audible.
“i like you a lot, cho,” you repeat, reaching out to tentatively rest your hand over his. “i just figured you had a lot on your plate. with the boys, and school, and work... i didn't want to be another thing you had to worry about.”
choso stares at you, his eyes wide and unblinking, the amber glow of the dashboard illuminating the genuine disbelief etched into his features. his fingers twitch beneath your hand, a small, involuntary movement that betrays the internal seismic shift your words have caused.
“you’re joking,” he says, his voice a flat, breathless rasp that sounds as though the air has been physically knocked out of him.
you chuckle softly to yourself, the sound light and airy in the quiet of the secluded parking lot. a sense of relief washes over you, the previous tension finally dissolving into something warm and grounding.
“why would i be joking?” you ask, turning in the seat to face him fully. you let your gaze linger on the messy spill of his hair and the earnest, exhausted beauty of his face. “you’re caring, smart, sweet, and i’ve never met anyone who cares for their family with the kind of ferocity that you do. it's incredible, choso.”
you look down at your joined hands, feeling the heat bloom across your cheeks and crawl up your neck as the memory of the driveway floods back in vivid, sensory detail.
“and, um...” you murmur, your voice dropping into a shy, private register. “you're like, really good at sex.”
the car is profoundly silent, the only sound the faint, rhythmic ticking of the cooling metal beneath the floorboards.
choso remains frozen, his pulse visible in the heavy vein of his neck, his mind clearly struggling to reconcile the version of himself he sees with the glowing praise you just offered.
“y/n, if you’re saying this to make me feel better, i swear i can handle it,” he starts again, his voice a rough murmur. he looks at you with an almost painful sincerity that makes your chest tighten, his fingers twitching against the steering wheel. “sukuna quite literally hurts my feelings on a daily basis. i’m used to it. you don't have to... pity me.”
he swallows hard, his throat bobbing in the dim light as he tries to find the right words to dissuade you from a choice he thinks you're making out of kindness.
“i know everything i have going on is a handful to say the least,” he continues, his gaze dropping to his lap before returning to yours, heavy with the reality of his life. “with yuji’s soccer fees and eso and kechizu’s games and... sukuna’s everything... i won’t be able to buy you the things you deserve. i won't have the time to—”
you don't let him finish the list of his perceived inadequacies. you lean across the center console, capturing his mouth with yours in a kiss that effectively silences the self-doubt pouring out of him.
he’s frozen for a heartbeat, his body rigid with shock, before the realization of your touch sinks in. he melts into you with a sudden, desperate hunger, his breath catching in his throat as he surrenders to the contact.
your hands find their way into the dark, unruly spill of his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pull him closer.
he lets out a low groan into the kiss when you catch his lower lip between your teeth, the sound vibrating through your own chest. you chase the sensation with a slow, suggestive slide of your tongue, and his hands find your waist with a bruising intensity, broad palms anchoring you as he tugs you toward him.
you find yourself crawling back over the center console, your movements clumsy and frantic in the cramped space, until you’re seated firmly in his lap once more.
he reaches down to toss his discarded hoodie into the backseat with an impatient motion, leaving nothing but the thin fabric of your shorts and his sweats between your skin and his.
you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, your fingers tugging at the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. you can feel him growing hard and demanding against your thigh, his body reacting to your proximity with a primal urgency.
after a long moment, you pull away just enough to look at him, perched on his lap, simply staring down at him to appreciate the staggering beauty of his face in the shadows.
his eyes are dark and dilated, lips swollen and slick from your mouth, and his cheeks are flushed a deep, feverish crimson. he looks up at you with a mixture of reverence and raw, unshielded desire, his hands still trembling slightly where they grip your hips.
you reach out, your palms sliding upward to cradle his face, the heat of his skin radiating into your touch. your thumbs stroke over the sharp line of his cheekbones, tracing the faint, dark markings beneath his eyes that always seem more pronounced when he’s exhausted or overwhelmed.
“cho, i wanna be with you,” you murmur, your voice steady and grounding in the quiet of the car. you lean in closer, your breath ghosting over his lips as you hold his gaze, refusing to let him look away. “i like you a lot. like, a lot, a lot. i’m not looking for someone to buy me things, and i’m definitely not looking for someone with an empty schedule. i just want you.”
choso’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, his head leaning into the curve of your hand as if he is finally letting himself rest.
he lets out a long, shuddering breath, his hands on your hips tightening, pulling you a fraction of an inch closer until there’s no air left between you.
“i don’t know how to do this halfway,” he admits, his voice dropping into that low, earnest register that always makes your heart skip. he opens his eyes, and the sheer intensity of his stare is staggering—it’s the look of a man who’s spent his entire life protecting what he loves and is currently deciding that you too are now the center of that world.
“if i’m yours, i’m entirely yours,” he says, his words heavy with a solemn, bone-deep honesty. “i’ll probably overthink everything. i’ll probably text you too much to make sure you got home safe, and i’ll probably be tired more often than not. but if you’re sure... if you really want me, then i’ll make sure you never have to doubt where you stand.”
he tilts his head up, his nose brushing against yours, his gaze dropping to your mouth with a hunger no longer masked by insecurity.
“you’re the first thing i’ve wanted just for myself,” he whispers, his voice thick. “and i think i’d do just about anything to keep it that way.”
you let out a soft, shaky breath, your hands sliding down from his jaw to his shoulders, feeling the corded tension in his frame as he waits for you to move.
you shift your weight, your gaze dropping to track the very visible length of him pressing against the fabric of his gray sweats, a heavy, insistent presence between your thighs, an undeniable testament to how much he’s been holding back for the sake of his brothers, for the sake of his dignity, and for you.
a slow, playful smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth as you roll your hips in a small, experimental circle, stomach fluttering as choso lets out a sharp, fractured gasp, his head falling back against the headrest as his eyes roll shut.
it’s a sweet, vulnerable sound, as you lean in, your lips grazing the sensitive shell of his ear, and you feel his entire body shudder beneath you at the proximity.
his pulse is a frantic, erratic thrum against your own skin, his broad palms sliding from your thighs to your waist to anchor you.
“good,” you murmur, your voice dropping into a low, honeyed lilt that makes his grip on your waist tighten until it is almost bruising, yet entirely protective.
you feel the way his breath hitches, his fingers curling into the skin of your hips as he tries to steady himself.
“now, i think you’ve spent enough time worrying about everyone else tonight. let me take care of this for you.”
a/n: i’ve never written for choso before chat how’d i do + top border is @strangergraphics
izzy806
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