because plug!choso is so cinderella by mac miller coded...
small exerpt from the latest chapter of my long-form fic, 'million dollar man' by aftercares on wattpad!
synopsis: after ending your toxic situationship with frat!toji a while back, you've come to fall into something confusing, but oddly safe with plug!choso. it's never been defined, it's not something necessarily well understood by your friends, nor by either of you- especially after an almost 'what if' conversation that happened the morning after a party ... and still, it's good. and then, one night at choso's apartment, the already blurred boundaries get pushed when you slip up and tell him that you love him.
wc: 3,672 | art credits: yume041624 on danbooru(?) | ship: choso x reader
cw/tags: MDNI nsfw, p!in!v, riding, established situationship, couch sex, consenual sex under the influence, marijuana use, making out, nipple sucking, pet names, praise
Despite the majority of your first semester flying by, November comes and goes slowly, as if it's gearing you up for the Christmas break.
It's been nearly two months since you last spoke to Toji, and even if you're sure that he's realized that you and Choso are friends, at least— as the two of you tell the other members of Kappa Sigma and your other friends, minus Nobara— he doesn't seem to do much of anything about it. He just broods, staring daggers at you anytime you catch a glimpse of one another in the hallways between classes, his scarred mouth twitching as if he wants to say something but always manages to hold himself back.
Even if you still keep that morning after Halloweekend, and that heavy feeling in your bedroom that made the air feel suffocating between you and Choso in your mind, in the time that passes, it never gets brought up. It's almost as if the two of you just continue on as usual— he spends every one of your Tuesday shifts loitering at the bar, you try his newest strains of weed at least once a week, and you talk to each other every day.
Sure, you hook up here and there— he eats you out in the backseat of his car when you're all pent up with stress from classes, you give him blowjobs behind the bar at work once the doors are locked and the patrons have all left, and on occasion, you both fuck on his couch or in his bedroom at his apartment, eyes low-lidded from the joints you've shared, movements slow and lazy and intimate, each sensation of pleasure feeling heightened by your shared high.
It feels too easy— it always has with Choso, this comfortable exchange and the way that you can be so relaxed around him, as if you're in this safe, little bubble that clouds the rest of the world into something covered by a rose-coloured haze.
You confide in one another— small conversations about what's on your minds as you pass a joint back and forth or slot perfectly into one another's arms on his couch. You know each other's bodies so intimately— you've memorized every scar and tattooed line on his pale skin, and he can trace each freckle and mole of yours without looking, as if their locations are mapped in his mind. You've learned to read every small vocal inflection and facial twitch, and he's managed to figure out exactly how you're feeling just by looking at you, as if he can see right through you.
As much as you don't want to admit it, whatever is going on between the two of you feels somewhat reminiscent of a relationship, but even if it's something never defined, it also isn't like how you and Toji were back in high school.
There's no petty texts or week-long sessions of ghosting, no toxic masculinity, no pressure. Every encounter with Choso doesn't end with some expectation of sex, but when it does happen, before, during, and after the sex, you never feel used or ashamed. Even if it's undefined, and even if the two of you don't tell your friends that the two of you are anything more than that— friends— it doesn't feel like you're some dirty little secret either.
He takes you out to nice restaurants, drives you around, even when those trips involve a stop at Kappa— and when the two of you find one another at parties or smaller get-togethers, you always end up next to one another, one of his strong arms slung around you or your fingers fiddling with one of the many rings on his fingers.
You gravitate toward one another like magnets, slipping into place like you've both always meant to be there: you, leaning into him when you laugh, him, when he rests his chin against your shoulder even during casual conversation, or when he passes you whatever fuck ass drink Gojo's mixed, which you take tiny sips of before handing them back with a grimace and a wrinkle of your nose. It's all so easy.
It becomes something accepted— that you and Choso have some strange, intimate bond that none of your mutual friends would have expected, yet have grown to accommodate. And you're getting so dangerously used to it that, suddenly, the fear of being anything defined and losing it feels almost the same as the fear of losing whatever this is, too.
It's a particularly cold November evening, one of the last days in the month before it falls into December, and despite it being a weekend and the reality of finals being two weeks away is settling in, you're allowing yourself an evening of relaxation. You're sprawled out on your back on Choso's couch, the back of your head resting in his lap. You stare up at him, studying his face through your hazy, low-lidded eyes, quietly trying to figure out what looks different about him tonight.
The fingers on one of his hands dance loosely through your hair whilst his other hand drapes across your chest, and one of your arms mimics the positioning of his arm, bent over your chest, your fingertips curled around his wrist and thumb drawing lazy circles, whilst in the fingertips of your free hand, a joint is balanced. Smoke trails off the end of it and dances through the air, curling up in front of you and giving the movie playing on his large flat screen a hazed blur.
You bring the joint to your mouth, taking a drag before you lazily lift your arm and bring the joint toward his lips, Choso's head tilting down to allow himself a hit, even as it stays balanced between your fingers. You both exhale at the same time, his body leaning back against the cushions that he looks as if he could melt into, and the peaceful quiet that has infiltrated the apartment settles over the two of you as you enjoy your highs.
"You gonna stay over tonight?" He asks, voice low and gravelly from the smoke, as his fingers comb gently through your hair, lazily massaging your scalp.
It's a silly question that he should know the answer to, especially because you're already in your pajamas— a pair of loose, high-cut boxer shorts and one of his sweaters— but he still asks it as if he needs confirmation, so you nod against his lap, bringing the joint toward your lips for another hit, pausing the movement halfway through to speak.
"I mean, I didn't bring a bag, but I know you've got half the shit I use here, anyway," you reply, lips curling up into a small smile even as you hit the joint when you catch Choso's cheeks turning a faint shade of pink.
You haven't really mentioned it before this, but you know that he knows you've noticed that each time you've shown up, especially in the last month, everything that you might need is already here for you.
The cabinets in the ensuite bathroom attached to his bedroom have grown stocked with the face washes, shampoos, and conditioners that you use. There's an extra charger that's found its way into his bedroom for your phone, and an extra toothbrush sitting in the small cup atop the bathroom counter next to Choso's. Even the top drawer of his dresser has been cleared out of his own clothes and conveniently filled with spare pairs of underwear, socks, and leggings in your size, 'just in case' you end up needing extras.
"Yo, that's the whole point. Saves you having to pack a bag every time you stay over," he shrugs, trying his best to sound casual despite the blush creeping across his face.
You squeeze his wrist lightly as you pull the joint away from your mouth, reaching your arm up once more to allow him the final hit before you ash the end out on the ashtray that rests on the coffee table across from you. "Mhm. I think it's cute, Cho. I've got basically everything I need here."
"Basically everything?" He repeats, glancing down at you as smoke trickles from between his lips, curling up in front of his face as he arches an eyebrow. You shake your head quickly, furrowing your brows as you wave your free hand lazily in the air. "No— like, I meant that I have everything I need, baby."
"Nah. What am I missin', ma?" He questions, his lips tugging into a small smirk when he notices how flushed your face is becoming, entertained by your flusteredness as you shake your head once more.
"C'mon, baby. Just tell me, I'll fix it," he teases, voice slow and sickly sweet as you let out a small groan of frustration, trying to reach for his phone when he pulls it from his pocket and opens Google as if he's about to search for and order whatever it is that's missing.
"Choso, it's nothing," you whine as he begins listing off items slowly, as if he's taking inventory. You try to sit up, but his arm against your chest wraps a bit tighter around you, keeping you down as you tap at his arm incessantly, trying to distract him from his list of supplies.
"Oh, fuck. It's that moisturizer you use, isn't it? I've only got my shit in the bathroom," he finally notes, nodding to himself as he begins typing something into his phone. You groan, reaching your arm back to try to snatch at his phone once more, but he simply smirks and extends his arm to the side, scrolling with one hand as he easily keeps you pinned with the other arm.
"Baby, don't buy that. It's too expensive," you plead, smacking at his arm that still holds around your chest, earning a small, low scoff from him as his thumb continues tapping away at his phone screen. "You callin' me broke, ma?"
"No! No, that's not—" You're interrupted by a quiet ding from his phone, which he glances at for a moment longer before sliding it back into his pocket. "Cho, c'mon! You didn't have to."
"Ay, don't worry 'bout it, pretty girl," he cooes, finally loosening his arm from around you, allowing you to sit up as you huff, his lips curling up into a smug smile as he continues, "—Sephora-dot-com says it'll be here by Monday. Y'know, your moisturizer, and that perfume you like, and some more of that hair oil, and—"
"Choso," you put simply, letting out a small huff as you swing one leg over his, straddling down on his lap and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. This seems to finally shut him up, his tongue quickly swiping across his bottom lip as his eyes flicker across your face.
"You didn't have to buy all of that. I can bring my own," you counter, voice low and slightly peccant as your eyebrows tug toward one another. He shakes his head, hands finding their way to either side of your hips, squeezing them lightly as if he's trying to ground you with his touch— something he always seems to be able to do.
"Baby, I'm just fuckin' with you— was gonna order it either way. I want you to be comfortable when you're here," he murmurs, voice smooth and calm as his thumbs rub small circles on the sides of your hips, the smell of his cologne mixing with the scent of weed smoke and filling your senses— God, he always smells so good.
"I am comfortable here, even without that stuff, Cho," you return quietly, fingers lightly dancing across the back of his neck and travelling down to his shoulders, massaging them slowly in the way that you know always makes him soften.
He lets out a small mumble, just a gentle hum that vibrates through him as your thumbs push at the spot above his collarbones that always seems a little tight. You watch the way his low-lidded eyes close for a moment, his grip on your hips tightening as you work at the spot for another second before you feel the muscles relax beneath your touch.
"That good, baby?" You drawl with a small sigh, your own eyes low-lidded and slow blinking as your fingers work at his shoulders, his head nodding unhurriedly with his eyes still fluttered closed. "Feels real nice."
"I finally figured it out," you begin quietly, smiling to yourself when he hums as you work at a knot in his shoulder, feeling it release after a few passes of your thumb, "—what's different about you. Got a haircut."
"Just got a little bit off," he murmurs, his eyes slowly fluttering open as your fingers trail up his neck and toward the back of his head, loosely playing with his dark tresses. "You like it, ma?"
"Mhm. You look real handsome, Cho," you return, voice slow and sweet as your high really begins to kick in. His lips curl into a small smile, his hands dragging up and down your waist once, then twice, before settling at your hips once more. His eyes flicker across your face, watching you as you almost mindlessly play with his hair, each blink slow and heavy.
"My handsome man," you're mumbling, almost to yourself, as your fingers lightly massage his temples. A small noise of contentment leaves his lips as his pink, low-lidded eyes flutter shut for a moment, his hands sliding down a bit lower, rubbing a slow circle around your ass before giving it a gentle squeeze that makes you smile.
"You take such good care of me, Choso," you start, your head ducking down slightly to press a delicate kiss to the side of his jaw, a hum escaping his lips as he squeezes your ass once more, shifting slightly beneath you. You can already feel the growing tent in his pants, and coupled with the way that his face is growing hot and flushed and his hands grip you a little tighter, you can feel your stomach start to flip with lazy, intoxicated butterflies.
"Lemme take care of you, baby," you murmur between peppered kisses to his neck, your hips slowly rolling against his as his small hums of contentment turn into softer breaths, almost whimpers as you feel his hips twitch beneath you. "Lemme ride you, Cho."
Your words are enough to finally elicit one of those quiet, broken whimpers that always make your stomach flutter, his hands sliding up to your waist and squeezing when you suck lightly at his neck, just below his ear— and when he speaks, his words are breathy and slightly stuttered. "Yes. Please, yes, baby."
Because you're both high, your movements are a bit slower than usual, but you still make quick work of his pants, his hips lifting slightly to allow you to shift his sweats and boxers down enough to free his growing erection whilst he pulls his own t-shirt over his head and tosses it onto the couch.
Your lips find his as his length lightly slaps against his stomach, one of your hands immediately reaching down to stroke him as he lets out a small moan into your mouth. Your thumb drags over his head, collecting the pre already leaking out of him and using it to coat his length, each pump of your hand painfully slow and perfectly pressured, because you've learned— you know exactly how much pressure to use on him, you know everything that drives him crazy.
It's only a few strokes before you're pushing your shorts to the side, lips never leaving Choso's, even as you rise up slightly, just enough to line him up with yourself. His hands are still on your waist, but they travel down to your hips in stuttered movements when you begin sinking down on him, a small sigh of pleasure leaving your lips as he slides in, inch by inch. No matter how many times you do this, it always takes you a moment to get adjusted to his sheer size, as if your plush walls are the only thing that needs that minute to grow accustomed to him each time.
"Fuck, ma," he's whining quietly, almost breathing against your mouth as he squeezes your hips, kneading your skin beneath his fingers as your hands find their place on his shoulders, as if you're bracing yourself.
His teeth find your bottom lip, biting down gently when you make the first move— up, down, and a roll of your hips at the bottom, all so slow and syrupy thanks to the hazy, tingly buzz of the marijuana in both of your systems. You moan softly into his mouth, his tongue taking the opportunity to slide in and dance against yours in a lazy waltz, the metal of his tongue piercing notably cold in comparison to the warm muscle it's impaled through.
"You feel so good, Cho," you drawl out as he reaches for the bottom of your hoodie, your hands momentarily leaving his shoulders to allow him to pull it over your head, tossing it onto the cushions beside the two of you, on top of his t-shirt.
You're peering down at him below your lashes as you continue to move in that same pattern— up, down, roll— his hands sliding up your torso before cupping beneath your tits, squeezing them lightly. He presses a feathery kiss to your throat before peppering them downward, his lips eventually finding one of your nipples, already perked against the air, popping it into his mouth. You let out a soft mewl of pleasure, hips stuttering against his as you bottom out in a way that elicits a groan from him, vibrating through you.
"Fuckin' perfect," he's whispering praises between flicks of his tongue, alternating his mouth and one hand between your tits, his free hand sliding down, over your torso, and toward your clit.
His thumb moves beneath your shorts, beginning to rub circles on the bundle of nerves, applying the exact amount of pressure that he knows will get you to your climax in a matter of time. Your head tips backward at the feeling, a small shiver of enjoyment creeping up your spine and escaping your lips in the form of a quiet whine.
"Right there, baby? You feelin' good?" He murmurs, face pressed between your breasts, lips peppering wet kisses to your sternum. You nod once before tipping your head back down to look at him— and he's already staring up at you, eyes filled with bliss, looking at you as if you've hung the stars and the moon themselves. Oh.
The words are already falling out of your mouth before you can think any harder about them, the tingling in your stomach crashing perfectly with the heat of Choso's breath against your skin as his dark eyes lock with yours. "—fuck, I love you."
Your heart stops as soon as the words hit the air, and for a moment, with one of your hands gripping his shoulder and the other pressed against his chest, you feel his own skip a beat. But neither of you slows— instead, his hips buck up slightly into yours, eliciting a pair of moans from each of your mouths that blend into one, synchronous noise of euphoria.
The pace picks up within an instant. It's hot, and it's desperate, but the sounds of your thighs slapping against his and your ragged breaths are no match for the noises coming from each of your mouths— you, shuddering out small gasps and cries, and Choso, a slew of whimpers and soft groans and something else.
It takes a second, but then you catch it: "I love you."
He's breathing out the words between whimpers like a mantra, his head tipping forward and his face pressing itself into your shoulder as he continues to buck up into you each time you bottom out, hitting that blissful spot each time.
Combined with his thumb, rubbing circles against your clit, and the feeling of his other hand gripping your hip and pushing you down each time he drills up, you're about to reach your orgasm. You can feel yourself clenching down around him, dripping onto his thighs as your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself on something as the feeling in your stomach begins to blossom into that lovely feeling of release.
"I'm gon— gonna— oh, fuck..." Your words are breathless and desperate, hands squeezing his shoulders before finding the back of his neck, then the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair as if it'll ease the overwhelming peak.
"C'mon, cum all over me, ma. I'm— shit— right there, baby," he groans into your shoulder, his hands flying to your back and squeezing as he lets out one long, broken whimper as you reach the height of your orgasm.
You both come at the same time, hips twitching and bucking as he spills into you and you gush around him. Your breath catches in your throat as your hips try, in broken movements, to ride you both through it. Your walls spasm around him as his teeth sink lightly into your shoulder, quiet whimpers and moans slipping from his lips, your eyes squeezing shut when you begin to see stars from the pleasure.
It stays like this for a minute or two— you, on top of him, bare chests pressed against one another— your hips stuttering and eventually coming to a slow stop, Choso's grip on your back never loosening, even as his teeth on your shoulder turn into a soft, careful kiss before he buries his face into your neck. And even if you're both struggling to compose yourselves and catch your breath after coming together for the millionth time, this is different.
Everything is different now because you let those three words slip, and now, they're hanging over both of you like some heavenly prophecy.
wanna know what happens next? you can find out in chapter eight, titled 'guilty', of million dollar man by aftercares on wattpad <3
