➽─────── choso’s..still learning. ───────❥
“hiii!” you swing the door to the frat open with a bright smile, toeing off your shoes at the front.
gojo, geto and toji go silent and look at you like you have a third eye.
“uh, choso’s not here,” gojo says after a pause, scratching the back of his head.
“that’s okay!” you say cheerily, plopping onto the couch like it’s something you’ve done a million times before. “his class is running late, i think. he’ll be here soon. it’s okay if i sit, right?”
“yeah,” toji interrupts. “yeah, you’re good.”
you grin and launch into an explanation about your day, bracelets jingling with all of your hand movements, every time you play with your hair absently.
gojo leans back but his eyes keep flicking back to you. geto’s got his chin in his hand, watching you like you’re a documentary he didn’t expect to get invested in, and toji’s quiet, arms crossed, but there’s this faint, amused curve to his mouth.
“—and then my prof literally spilled coffee on his own notes,” you finish, laughing, “like fully drenched them. it was tragic.”
gojo snorts. “that’s insane.”
“you talk with your whole body,” toji says suddenly.
you blink at him, then laugh again, bright and easy. “is that a bad thing?”
“nah,” he says. “just…noticeable.”
geto hums. “you’ve got energy.”
“i’ve been told i’m a lot,” you say, but you’re smiling when you say it.
“good,” gojo says. “he needs that.”
you tilt your head. “choso?”
“yeah,” gojo grins. “he’s like a haunted house. you’re like…a carnival.”
you laugh, covering your mouth. “that’s so mean.”
“it’s accurate,” toji mutters.
“i think he’s sweet,” you say, softer now, almost to yourself.
“i don’t get it,” gojo says, looking at you with curious eyes. “like, seriously. how—how did you guys even get together, like—”
“oh, we have a class together, and i thought he was really cute. so he was sitting in the back row and i sat beside him because i know the prof is the kinda guy that calls on the students at the front? and i was just talking to choso a lot and i asked him to get coffee, right? and—”
before anyone can respond, the front door swings open. choso steps in, a little breathless, bag swung over his shoulder, and freezes.
his eyes land on you instantly, and you light up even more.
“choso!” you bound toward him and before he has the time to register it your hands are curling up into the front of his shirt and you lean up and kiss him.
his hands lift, a little hesitant, before settling at your waist, and your lips curve into a smile against his.
three very visible thumbs up.
gojo is beaming like a proud parent. toji’s smirking. geto just gives a small nod.
you smile at choso like you didn’t just short-circuit him. “c’mon,” you say, tugging his hand. “let’s go upstairs?”
he nods immediately. “okay.”
you lace your fingers through his without thinking twice and start pulling him toward the stairs.
as you pass the couch, “remember tempo,” gojo whispers.
“shut up,” choso mutters, mortified.
toji just laughs under his breath. “go get it, hover-boy.”
“i’m not—” choso cuts himself off as you tug him along, not even looking back.
the door to his room clicks shut behind you.
choso’s still holding your hand. his fingers are warm and a little tense, like he’s not sure what to do next but he’s trying very hard to do it right.
you step closer to him. he inhales.
“…hi,” he says, voice softer than downstairs, like it only exists for you.
you smile up at him, bright, a little playful. “hi.”
he’s already blushing. ears, cheeks, even the tips of his fingers look a little pink where they’re laced with yours.
you tilt your head, studying him for a second like you’re deciding something before closing the space.
your hands slide up from his to his chest, fingers curling lightly into his shirt again, and you lean in slower.
his breath catches, but he doesn’t freeze like before.
his hands don’t hang uselessly at his sides anymore. they settle at your waist, a little tentative at first, then firmer when you don’t pull away.
you kiss him, and he kisses back.
it’s still a little careful at first, like he’s double-checking every movement against some invisible checklist, but it doesn’t take long before he melts into it. his grip at your waist steadies, thumbs brushing lightly against your sides, pulling you just a little closer.
he tilts his head this time.
your lips part slightly and he follows your lead, slower, softer, matching you instead of freezing up.
“you’re doing really good,” you say, and then you kiss him again, a little deeper this time. his hand shifts slightly, a bit higher on your waist now, a little more sure.
you hum softly, letting your hands slide up over his shoulders, then around the back of his neck, fingers brushing through the ends of his hair. he shivers at that, barely noticeable, but you catch it.
“choso,” you whisper, just pulling back enough to look at him.
his eyes are a little unfocused, lips parted, cheeks flushed like he’s been standing too close to a fire.
you smile, softer now. “are you comfortable?”
he nods immediately, then pauses, like he remembers something.
“…are you?” he asks, a little more carefully.
your expression warms. “yeah,” you say. “i am.”
that seems to settle something in him.
you lean in again, pushing him softly down onto his bed, but this time your lips don’t go back to his. they brush along his jaw instead, slow and deliberate, and you feel the way his breath catches again, sharper this time.
your lips ghost down to his neck, and you suck just slightly above his collarbone.
a high-pitched sound gets caught in his throat, and he flushes a deeper shade of red. “s—sorry—”
“it’s okay,” you giggle, kissing up his jaw again. “is this okay?”
“yes,” he breathes out quickly. “yeah. yes.”
his head tilts slightly, giving you more space without even realizing he’s doing it. his grip shifts again, a little firmer now.
“you can touch me more, you know,” you murmur, playful but gentle.
“…i am,” he says, a little flustered.
you laugh softly. “i mean like—you don’t have to be scared.”
that earns a quiet huff from him, almost embarrassed, but his hands do move. one slides a little higher along your side, more confident now, less hesitant.
you press one last soft kiss just below his ear before pulling back enough to look at him again.
blushing, breathing a little uneven, eyes still fixed on you like he’s trying to memorize every second.
you chew on your bottom lip, noting how his eyes track the movement. he swallows thickly.
“can i see you?” he blurts. “i mean—can i please…see you?”
you smile softly, settling in his lap, and his hands grip your waist tightly, eyes wide and soft. you feel him growing hard beneath you. it goes straight to your ego.
you wordlessly pull off your tank and choso goes red to his neck, eyes stuck on your red lace bra and the way your tits spill out the top.
he’s visibly buffering, jaw slack like he’s struggling to come up with words.
“i—” he starts, then stops. he looks like he forgot how sentences work.
you laugh softly, leaning in just enough that your forehead almost brushes his. “you’re thinking too hard again.”
“i’m not thinking,” he mutters, but it’s weak.
you smile, and he visibly tracks it like it’s magnetic. his hands tighten at your waist again, a little more certain now.
“you’re really pretty,” he sputters out suddenly.
you pause, then your expression softens in a way that makes his ears go even redder, if that’s even possible.
“you’re cute,” you whisper back, guiding his hands to your tits, and when he finally grasps them, he lets out a shaky breath, squeezing, testing the weight of them.
you smile, and that serves as a sort of encouragement for him. he leans down and presses soft kisses to your neck, to your tits over your bra, and your eyes flutter shut, fingers combing through his hair.
he shifts beneath you. you feel the obvious strain in his jeans, and choso stills, lifting his lips from your chest.
“i—oh,” he whispers out when you rock your hips back down onto him, testing. “oh—”
“you good?” you whisper, kissing his jaw and rolling your hips down a little harder, and he makes a sound akin to a whimper, hands tightening at your waist.
“yeah, i’m just—‘t feels really good,” he says quietly. he bucks up into you, making a soft, broken noise, and he cups your tits again, burying his face in your neck like he’s embarrassed show you how red he’s gotten.
you giggle and rub yourself along him with more intention, the feel of him pressed firmly against you. it sends a rush to your chest, and you perf your lips softly, looping your arms around his shoulders and tilting his head up to capture his lips in a kiss.
you slide your tongue along his and he tries to imitate your actions, eager but clumsy. it does something dizzying to your head, combined with his desperate little thrusts up against your shorts.
“mnh—cho,” you exhale into the kiss, and that makes him whine again, his brows pinching together as he starts to move your waist down onto him.
“please,” he whispers, small thrusts growing needier, quicker. you moan softly, kissing him hard, and he pulls back slightly, face flushed and eyes blown wide.
“i—i think i’m close,” he says, embarrassed. “i’m sorry—”
“hey, it’s okay, choso,” you say softly, slowing your hips for a second. “that’s—”
“don’t stop, please,” he mumbles, pulling you flush against him. “i—”
“lemme—lemme help,” you say, slightly flustered now, hands working at the buttons of his jeans until you pull them down slightly, his boxers tented obscenely.
choso lets out a shaky breath when you pull those down, too, and the second your soft, warm hand wraps around his pretty cock he’s cumming with a needy little whimper, head lolling back, adam’s apple bobbing.
you watch thick spurts of cum bubble out his tip and you swipe at it slowly, his moans softening.
“w—wow,” he whispers, cheeks muddied with colour and eyes dewy. “that—that was—”
his words die in this throat when you suck your fingers clean.
from downstairs, the music is blaring (a little louder, just in case), and gojo keeps glancing at the stairs like he’s waiting for you to run down and leave.
“can you hear anything?” he asks, to which toji slaps his arm.
“fuckin’ weirdo. let them do their whatever-thing,” toji grumbles with a laugh.
“five bucks he nutted in his pants,” geto says.
“hey, ten he didn’t,” gojo interjects with a grin.
“i bet he passed out before they got to do anything,” toji says.
“how much you betting?” gojo asks with a smirk.
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