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1d1195 · 2 months ago

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Two Negatives

~9.8 k words

From me: I promise it’s not going to be about math that much. This is an academic rivals sort of thing. It’s going to have at least two follow ups but this is the whole story overall. I think there are parts of it that are kind of hand-wavy and whatnot. Not completely connected or explained.

Warnings: Maybe if you read this the right way you may notice that Harry's a little bit of a sugar-daddy. Low self-esteem, cheating, mentions of sex stuff.

Summary: Harry loves annoying the girl in his classes. She's an easy target. And more often than not, she teases him right back.

Which Harry is an absolute sucker for.

“Hey,” he hissed.

She ignored him. Instead, her gaze bounced back between the board where Professor Charles was writing on the whiteboard and the paper in front of her alongside her notebook, dated and titled ready to jot down any issues she had as they worked through the new material.

Something hit the back of her head. Nothing that hurt. But she felt it in her hair. Probably a gum wrapper. Or maybe the actual piece of gum. She wouldn’t have been surprised. She reached behind her head without looking, grateful it wasn’t a piece of gum, and she dropped the wrapper in her bag beside her to dispose of later.

He dropped his calculator off his desk (flung it was more accurate) so it landed right by her foot. She didn’t flinch as it clattered and ignored the curious peeks of others looking at her like she was the one causing the noise.

“Give me a pencil,” he was right next to her, grabbing his calculator.

“Go fuck yourself,” she whispered so quietly she wondered if Harry could even hear her.

“Please! I forgot!”

“You always forget,” she hissed back.

Professor Charles cleared his throat. She glared at her paper as her cheeks burned with embarrassment. How dare Harry embarrass her in front of her professor because he was too stupid to bring his own pencil again. She placed dots on her graph as her professor did, stabbing at her paper a little too hard. Pretending it was Harry’s Voo Doo doll. Just so it would stop. So he would stop. But no. He was still knelt beside her.

“Mr. Styles, is everything alright?” Professor Charles asked.

“Yup, just tying m’shoe,” he said and stood up with a grin. That grin probably got Harry out of a speeding ticket, especially if he was pulled over by a female officer. Probably got him out of homework when he was in school because he knew how to make anyone feel flattered and good about themselves.

That stupid, pretty smile of his with the most adorable dimples probably melted any woman that looked his way.

Professor Charles rolled his eyes as he turned back to the whiteboard. At the same time Harry plucked her pencil from her grip mid stroke of the number eight she was writing. Before she could protest or even fully grasp that her writing utensil was stolen, Harry was back in his seat... right behind her. She took a deep breath and tilted her head to the ceiling trying to keep herself calm so she wouldn’t scream at him in front of everyone. So, she wouldn’t look like a lunatic. Why did he have to sit behind her? She reached into her bag and pulled out her pencil case and continued writing as if Harry hadn’t interrupted her at all.

She didn’t have a class following her lecture so she would have a second to breathe and eat, which wasn’t the case most days. Fortunately, she was head tutor at the academic center in the library which wasn’t far from the dining hall. It was also pretty easy going at the center, so she could eat while working. But it was always nice to pretend and be a regular student and eat in the hall. She listened to music and read her book. The only hour she got to read much these days. After tutoring, she would be headed to one more class before she was back to work at the college bar in the center of town.

Her schedule was mapped out to the minute. Her days filled to the brim with school and work. Because she didn’t have a choice. It was the same way every penny of her budget was scheduled and allotted for other things as well. It didn’t leave time for friends.

“Hey gorgeous.”

Well, one friend.

He pecked her cheek before sitting across from her. “Class good?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, how was yours?”

He reached over the table, held her hand, and skimmed his thumb along her knuckles. It was sweet. If it wasn’t so forced. “Good,” he smiled.

Isaac was an extremely handsome guy. He was popular, smart, and funny. His family had big plans for him and that was why he was on this prestigious college campus.

“Hi Isaac,” a flirtatious call sounded from across the room. He turned to find the culprit but came up short.

“By the door,” she said. Isaac turned releasing her hand as he did and waved at the girl who dissolved into giggles. After greeting the masses, he turned his attention back to her. “Can I suggest something?”

“Of course you can, girlfriend.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you really want to be with the kind of girl who will openly flirt with someone in a relationship?”

“I think everyone knows it’s a fake relationship.”

“Regardless,” she shrugged.

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, my love,” he winked. He grunted when she tossed one leg over the other beneath the table and perhaps overshot just a hair.

She met Isaac on the first day of college. She was bringing her own stuff into her dorm room alone. His parents caught sight of her. Recognized her as she looked like her mom’s twin from way back when they all roamed this campus themselves. But unlike them, she was there under very different circumstances. She greeted them politely, smiled, and chatted as she knew best.

But Isaac approached her later that evening. She was sweaty from unpacking all alone. Her saving grace was a dorm room to herself. Perhaps the only lucky thing about her freshman year. This place screamed money. Money that she didn’t have anymore.

Isaac screamed money. “I need your help.” So, Isaac made sure she didn’t die of hunger and didn’t become a complete social pariah. Made sure she was taken seriously because of course this campus was littered with people who didn’t believe smarts could come without money.

In return, she was to be a doting girlfriend. When his parents were around, she was to be a fixture on his arm. Would it last forever? Probably not. But at least she would be okay for four years. She was kind, lovely, the exact kind of girl they expected their son to find and help keep him stable to take over his father’s company.

The kind of girl that would let Isaac be with whoever. Of course they had their moments. Like the lunch breaks such as the current one. Making appearances so that if anyone asked it wouldn’t be unheard of that they were together.

But she was no stranger to the whispers. That poor girl has no idea her boyfriend is cheating on her.

Fortunately, she didn’t have time for a boyfriend. Especially not one like Isaac. So, if her fake boyfriend was cheating on her, then at least she didn’t have to deal with it. Each time his parents came to town it wrecked her schedule. Wreaked havoc on her study time. Her work time. After three years, it was starting to feel like more of a give and less of a take in comparison to him.

But Isaac was nice enough. He still thanked her profusely—especially when his parents were in town. He didn’t use a lot of tongue when he kissed her in effort to keep up appearances. Knowing where his tongue had been, she was grateful.

“I’m not jealous,” she told him. “I care about you enough that I don’t want your heart to get broken.”

“You know I don’t have one of those.” She rolled her eyes. “You know, I’d be happy to throw you a bone, my love,” he leaned toward her, his eyes flirty and his smile lascivious.

She snorted. “Not even if you boiled it in disinfectant.”

“Orgasms help with stress.”

“I’m not lacking in orgasms. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Kinky, baby,” he winked. “You actually got me hard,” he told her. He wasn’t trying to sleep with her so much as he was willing to sleep with her. When they first arrived at college there were several firsts that both needed to accomplish and well, the fake dating wasn’t the only thing they were able to help each other out with. But after three years of rumors and knowing what Isaac was like outside their fake relationship, she was glad she got to him before all of the rumors swarmed around her.

“I have to go to work,” she told him getting up from the table.

Isaac really was a nice friend. Lovely even. But only if they were really alone. As time wore on, he got cocky and annoying—especially in public. It seemed like he was doing more of a favor for her than she was for him (even though she stopped asking him for things almost a month into their arrangement—shortly after she heard a rumor of a threesome).

But his parents loved her. They didn’t ask questions about his schooling or dating life because of her sweet nature. Originally, she felt guilty over their lie. But now, she was resenting that part of him more and more. He was a pretty good friend. But he was a dick of a boyfriend. “Are y’hungry, baby?” He asked.

She shook her head, cheeks blushing, and anger tingling in her blood. She hated the way he spoke to her in public; he sounded so condescending. Not at all like the kind and caring boyfriend he was supposed to pretend to be or even the kind and sweet friend he was behind closed doors. “Shut up, Isaac,” she sighed. His ego played a massive part in their friendship. He was rich and popular. She was not. “You sound like a douchebag.”

He pressed his lips to her ear, wrapped his arm around her waist. If she was looking in from the outside, she was sure it looked cute and romantic. “Mm,” he hummed ignoring her insult. “Can feed you something later,” he winked.

She knew people were watching so she smiled, leaned toward his ear. “If you’re going to feed me, I need a full meal.”

He chuckled, rolled his eyes and pecked her lips. “See you later, baby,” he kissed her softly again as he said it. “Gonna make sure you’re nice and full,” he promised loudly as he walked away. Not so loudly, that everyone would hear. But certainly loud enough for Harry Styles, who walked into the dining hall at that precise moment, to hear.

“Wow, bit extra for the dining hall,” Harry smirked. She glared at him, her cheeks warming.

“Don’t suppose you have my pencil?”

“Hmm,” he tapped his hands over his pockets. “Sorry Your Majesty,” he bowed in his over-the-top kind of way. “Clean out.” She rolled her eyes, grabbed her stuff, and made her way for the exit. Harry grabbed her hand at the last second pulling her back to look at him. “Y’okay?” He asked. “Y’look tired.”

She snatched her hand away. She was tired. But it didn’t feel good for it to be pointed out that she looked tired. “Thanks, I guess,” she rolled her eyes again. “I’m going to go now before you have a chance to insult me again.”

“Hey,” he frowned and called after her again as she continued walking away. “M’serious. Y’look like you’re getting sick.”

It was extremely unfair that Harry noticed that. “Are you concerned about me, Styles?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“Someone has t’remember t’bring me a pencil.”

“You could very much bring your own pencil.”

“Well, then I wouldn’t get t’have these lovely conversations every day, would I, Your Majesty?” She shook her head and ignored him as he continued speaking to her. “Hope he fucks y’good and full or whatever,” he called. She glared but refused to look back at him.

Harry appeared in one of her classes on the first day of her second year. A transfer from another school. His smile was panty-melting. Truly. Even she could recognize that. But regardless of how pretty he was, it was obvious how annoying he was going to be. He slid into the seat right behind her. “Hi,” he smiled. She ignored him, focusing on her professor starting class syllabus stuff. Besides, it seemed unlikely that someone like Harry was talking to her. “M’Harry,” he whispered.

She started scribbling on her notebook.

“He hasn’t even started yet,” he mumbled.

“Can I help you?” She turned around to look at him.

His smile was breathtaking. It really felt like he stole the breath from her lungs. “Sorry, Your Majesty. Didn’t mean t’interrupt y’doodle. Do y’have an extra pencil?” He asked.

She stared at the twenty-year-old man in his second year of college unprepared for his first day of classes. Perhaps if she rolled her eyes and ignored him, the trajectory of her life might have been something else entirely.

Instead, she handed her pencil to him.

“Thanks, Your Majesty.”

She rolled her eyes, anyway, facing forward.

In her Abstract Algebra class Harry was right behind her once more. “Psst.”

She ignored him. But his body was closer, his voice was closer. “Your Majesty,” he practically sang.

“What is your deal?” She hissed.

“I need a pencil.”

“Bring your own.”

“I like the one y’gave me. It wrote so smooth.”

She doesn’t know why she gave him a pencil.

But she really did know.

Harry was obviously handsome and from the way he chuckled under his breath over the lame jokes their professors made, he was quick and probably funny in his own way. But moreover, he had to be intelligent. Really intelligent to understand a pun about probability theory. The way others in the class fawned over him (guys and girls alike) it was apparent he was popular. Maybe popular like Isaac which made her dislike him just a bit.

It went that way every class. Harry was in four out of five of her classes both the fall and spring semester. Every class he needed a pencil. Each day he thanked her in his ridiculously attractive accent. Your Majesty.

What a dick.

But Harry talked to her. Even if it was just asking for a pencil. Or a picture of the notes he missed from when he went to the bathroom. He didn’t care that her family was broke. That she was broke. That she worked three jobs and hardly slept. He didn’t make her feel like she didn’t deserve to be on that campus.

“Did y’get the answer t’number nine?” It wasn’t a trick; he wanted her answer. Her opinion. “I got two different answers three different ways. There was no judgment that she couldn’t afford the extravagant lifestyle that her peers did. She had one winter coat. Not six to match her outfits. She didn’t have a car. She didn’t go out to eat and she made her own coffee except for on Saturdays when she splurged and treated herself to her favorite bagel and her favorite coffee.

Maybe it was because she saw him at a party. A girl at his side, smiling at him. Twirling her hair and touching his pretty chest. It was effortless. She didn’t have to try to flirt with Harry. It was a given. Rich, popular, perfectly pretty. The same as Harry.

Everything she wasn’t. Everything Harry would never want.

So she tended to Isaac. Kept to herself.

Gave Harry an absurd number of pencils.

Which continued into their third year. Where things got busier, harder, and more overwhelming.

But Harry was always right behind her. Asking for a pencil. Making her cranky.

But always making her feel normal when no one else did.

It was obvious Harry had money. The key on his ring had a symbol for a car that would never be in her price range. His clothes were pretty, the latest trends. Even his sweatpants looked like they were designer.

Maybe it could have been that way for her. Maybe if her dad hadn’t embezzled all their money. Hadn’t gone to jail and left her and her mother with anything more than a penny. Growing up she didn’t feel rich, but she never wanted. But right as she was applying to colleges, with only one college campus that made her heart happy, it was the first time in her life she thought about and hated money.

She imagined no one on campus ever felt that way.

But even if Harry had the nicest clothes and the nicest car, he never flaunted what he had. Not even to his friends. He didn’t show off or act like he had a ton of money. He was just there.

Which is why perhaps, when he annoyed her to pieces, she didn’t mind giving him a pencil in the end.

It was a bad day. She missed her mom. She was exhausted. Didn’t have time to make herself a coffee which just felt criminal. The test on her mind nearly brought her to tears as she sat down in her seat, seconds before her professor walked in.

Her pencil case was empty.

Part of her felt sad she wouldn’t have a pencil for Harry. Would he ask someone else? Would he stop asking her because of it? God, why did she even care? It was a blessing. He would stop asking her. She wouldn’t have to keep wasting money she didn’t have on pencils.

Plus, he wasn’t even there.

The test landed on her table. Her brain felt weary. Was she getting sick? Probably. Stress did a number on her immune system. It was a miracle she wasn’t sick all the time.

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes she tried to calm her mind. It wasn’t the time to think about the reading she needed to complete, the shift she was covering at the academic center, or the dinner she was really looking forward to splurging on. It had been ages since she had chicken in her pasta dish.

“Hey,” how long were her eyes closed? How did she miss him coming to his seat.

“I don’t have a pencil, Harry,” she hissed back.

“Of course, y’do,” she could hear his eye roll.

“I don’t, I forgot my pencil case.”

He snorted. Her eyes flicked to Professor Charles who didn’t look up from his own paper at the front of the room. “C’mon, quit being a brat.”

“A brat?” She whispered.

“Quiet,” Professor Charles still didn’t look up.

“Sorry Your Majesty, jus’ give me a pencil and—”

“I don’t have one!” Her voice was quiet and maybe if she wasn’t only two rows from the front of the room, it wouldn’t have been a big deal when he pulled it out of her grip.

But she was towards the front.

Professor Charles stood beside their desks. “You’re both excused.”

Her face felt hot and pale at the same time. She felt like she was going to throw up. The feeling of eyes on her made her more embarrassed than the time she tripped and fell at her third-grade band concert. “Professor Charles,” she started.

“Enough,” he snagged her paper from her desk. Her throat felt tight, her eyes prickled, and she thought that maybe in a different life she could have been friends with Harry. Liked him, even.

But not then.

She bit on her lip to keep from crying as she packed her stuff into her bag and marched out of the room, head held high, and ignoring everyone’s stare. Especially the guy following her out of the classroom.

She slapped the door to the building as Harry continued following her. She was fuming. Practically steaming from his perspective. Yet he couldn’t help but think she looked absolutely adorable. “Quit fucking following me!” She snapped.

“My God, you’re so uptight,” he rolled his eyes.

“Harry Styles, you’re an absolute dick. Just leave me the fuck alone, for God’s sake.”

It garnered the attention of a few onlookers. But their path to the dining hall was quiet given it was the middle of class time. "Jesus Christ, do y’ever jus’ take a break? S’one fuckingtest, Your Majesty. For fuck’s sake. He’ll probably drop it. Quit being a baby."

A sniffle. One small, tiny noise.

"You don't get it do you?" She snapped. She didn’t want to. But she couldn’t hold it in anymore. It was too much. The final straw.

In the entire time Harry had known her he had never seen her this upset. Not like this. Not to the point where she was crying.

Because of him.

He made her cry.

"I have a squeaky-clean record. I have to be perfect all the time. I can't let one hair be out of place. I can't get one bad grade. If I do, then everyone around me makes comments and they assume it’s because I have no money. The poor girl can’t hack it here. It's this massive pressure on me all the time. I can't get caught doing normal party things. I can't get caught cheating on a test, Harry. I can’t. I lose my scholarship if I don't maintain my GPA. I can hardly afford to be here, Harry. I have to work three jobs. I have to budget every minute of my time as much as every dollar of my bank account. Do you know I haven't been home in three years? I miss my mom so much and I can’t even afford to go see her and I just pretend because—” she covered her mouth and Harry swallowed hard, willing himself to not cry as well. This wasn’t about him. This was all about her right now. “And now,” she croaked. “I’m going to have to skip dinner because I need to buy new pencils because I have been giving them to someone who’s too fucking inconsiderate to even fucking return them after annoying me for no better reason that for kicks.”

Her sniffles turned into sobs and Harry had never felt like more of an ass. He thought she was annoying at worst, but he never wanted her to cry.

Her crying, all her tears, they were all his fault.

"I study so hard. I have to. But I want to. I want to make enough money to support my mom, and I can’t do one thing wrong because if I do then I’ll lose everything. I have to study. I’m not like you, Harry. You just know everything and that's amazing, Harry, it really is,” and for the first time since he started interacting with her, Harry felt horrible for the way he had treated her. The compliment she gave was so thoughtful. The kindness in her voice was unmissable. He was practically shocked it even came from her mouth. “But not all of us are gifted with insane intelligence like you. Not all of us are God's gift to women and can go out and party and not be judged for kissing someone I like. Not all of us can afford to be here without help."

Harry kept his lip between his teeth to keep from speaking.

“I’ll get over it,” she sniffed. “Sorry for being so uptight.” She wiped her face and stalked off toward her dorm.

Harry had never felt worse about himself.

She wore her best interview dress. Her hair was pinned precisely so that the pieces that constantly flew away were at bay. She swallowed the rock that formed in her throat as she knocked on her professor's office door.

"Come in."

"Professor Charles," she was grateful he didn't look up because she was worried, she was going to curtsey or something equally ridiculous. "I wanted to apologize—"

"Your boyfriend already came to tell me he's at fault for the fiasco in class. He took full responsibility and said it was extremely unfair of me to refuse you the exam."

Her heart skipped a beat. "M-my boyfriend?" She whispered.

"Mr. Styles is very bold and I suppose I was a bit harsh. You are a brilliant young woman and role model to your peers," he praised. "Would you like to take the test now or schedule another time?" He asked looking up from his work.

She swallowed. "Um..."

"I would appreciate it, if you took it now. I need an answer key to grade the rest of them," his voice was steady, but she felt the compliment down to her bones. "I have a class in two hours, and I was hoping to check grading off my to-do list before it started," he explained.

She felt uneasy, overwhelmed, but not like she did when she sat down the first time to take the same exam. "I can do it now," she whispered and dropped her bag at her feet and situated herself at the table on the side of his office below the window. She got to work and completed the test as if all it asked was for her to write the alphabet down. She was checking over her work when she glanced out the window and saw the sprawling campus. There were people walking by at fast clips. Eager to get to the dining halls and rushing to make it to their classes on time.

But in the midst of all the people running by, there was Harry, sitting on a bench. His arm stretched across the back of it, while the other held his phone. He crossed his feet at his ankles and looked like a model for relaxation.

He took the complete blame for the test. She felt her heart aching and she stood from the table and went over to her professor's desk. "Is... Mr. Styles able to retake the exam as well?"

"I wasn't planning on it," he looked up at her. "Why?"

She bit her lip, looked at her feet. "I could have just given him a pencil."

"Mr. Styles should be prepared for his own education," he said knowingly. There was no way she was going to explain her relationship with Harry to her professor. Plus, she wasn't sure she'd be able to. She dropped her gaze and handed off her exam. "You can tell Mr. Styles he can come up and take the test," he said simply. "I have the answer key now."

She blinked.

"He'll probably ace it as well, but your handwriting is neater," he shrugged, tipped his glasses further down his nose and silently read her answers. She stood still, like she was waiting for the danger to pass. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?" He asked glancing back up. She shook her head, pinned to her spot. The strangeness of it all was overwhelming. "Men like Mr. Styles are going to have it a lot easier than you. The field you’ve selected is male-dominated and many will sell you short because of your gender," he said. "That doesn't mean you need to worry about your worth," he assured her. "You are a brilliant, hardworking, and talented individual. Mr. Styles should be bringing you pencils to class."

Her cheeks felt warm.

"Also, to be fair, it's nice to know you're not cheating off of each other because it was getting a little suspicious," he turned her exam back across his desk and wrote her score at the top of her page, upside down—98%. "Missed a negative."

"If Harry misses it, can you knock off more points?" She asked before she could stop herself then felt herself blush at how ready she was to throw him under the bus. She looked down shyly and covered her mouth before she looked up at him again.

Her strict professor made a face that resembled somewhat of a smile. "Of course."

“Thank you,” she hoped she sounded as gracious as she felt.

“Great work,” he nodded in response.

She headed out of the office and walked toward the bench. She sat beside him and faced forward. Harry put his phone back in his pocket and turned only his head toward her. "How'd y’do?" He asked.

"Ninety-eight."

He tutted. "Too bad," he smirked.

A smile twitched at her lips. She looked up at the sky briefly. "He said you can go on up and take it now," she told him.

He blinked. Surprise coloring his pretty features. Harry rarely seemed stunned, especially because of her. It was cute and also exciting that he was surprised by her. "What?"

She looked at her lap, trying to focus on her nails but not for too long because she was worried that she would gnaw on them if she let the nerves overtake her. "That was... the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," she whispered. "Especially for Professor Charles' class," she continued. Taking a deep breath, she looked at him. "I was obnoxious. Bad day or whatever... it wasn't your fault and I’m sorry I made a big deal of it."

"I just wanted you to stop crying. You look ridiculous when you cry."

She smiled. A genuine one. Not a forced one that Harry had seen her give everyone under the sun. Not the one that she plastered on her face during presentations. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. “Y’had every right t’be mad at me. I was a complete dick.”

She shrugged. “I... I should have just given you a pencil... it turned out there was one at the bottom of my bag and... I kind of... like giving you a pencil. You just caught me at a really bad moment.”

“I know. M’sorry. I knew y’looked off.”

She tilted her head at him. “You knew I looked off?”

“M’pretty good at memorizing all your different looks,” he had a smile that made her melt. “Like right now, s’one of m’favorites. Y’look relaxed. It happens once, roughly, every three weeks, I think. Lasts maybe four minutes if m’lucky,” he winked. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. But Harry noticed how her cheeks turned red. It made him want to continue flirting with her. She was fun to flirt with. Her sarcastic comments were funny, even when directed at him, and it only amplified how smart he knew she was.

As much as Harry wanted to stay on that bench for as long as she did, he finally stood. Then rubbed the back of his head squinting at her, one eye closed. "Do you have a pencil?" He asked shyly.

She snorted, plucked hers from her pocket, and held it out to him. "I'd like it back," she reminded him. Even if he didn't, it was their thing now.

He rolled his eyes. "Wait here. It'll only take me half the time it took you." She rolled her eyes but pulled out a book from her bag and opened it to the page she was previously reading. "Hey kitten?" He asked. She didn't look up and Harry realized he never called her anything other than Your Majesty. He nudged her foot to make her look up. "Who did y’think I was talking to?" He chuckled.

"Who me?" She asked, but Harry noted the way her cheeks turned red. He rolled his eyes. "Sorry," she shook her head. "Did you need something else?"

His expression softened and he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you," her voice was so gentle. "I'm sorry too."

"There's nothing y'need t'apologize for,” he shook his head quickly. “I was a complete ass," he admitted. She shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he said seriously. “Please don’t let anyone treat you that way.” She nodded silently. Knowing that she couldn’t promise that. Nor did she expect Harry to make her keep such a promise, but it made her heart squeeze with disappointment in herself. “Be right back,” he nudged her foot again as he headed back to the math building. She returned to her book and tried not to think about how Harry was probably right. This was the most relaxed she felt in months.

About forty minutes later Harry exited the building, walking at a leisurely pace. He sat on the bench once more. She didn't look up as he did but the butterflies in her stomach reminded her that he was there. Harry draped an arm across the back of the bench and then presented her pencil to her as if it were a bouquet of flowers. "How'd you do?" She asked gently.

He sighed, clucked his tongue. "Ninety-five,” she smiled but tried and failed to hide it from him. "I missed two negatives."

She giggled. "How embarrassing."

"How embarrassing," he mocked in a voice that was meant to sound like her. "You're so annoying. Do y’know he uses your work as the answer key?"

It had to be a record. The longest time they had been together without bickering. The number of times she smiled because of him.

The fastest someone had ever fallen for someone she was supposed to hate.

When Harry saw her boyfriend, he started looking for her. He was clearly busy with his friends and the women they were entertaining. But she wasn’t amongst them. He did a loop around the party. Looking for her even if he shouldn’t have. He stopped and chatted during his search so it wouldn’t be obvious. But even when he did stop and leaned against the wall, or grabbed another drink, he kept scanning for her.

When his loop came up empty of the pretty girl he liked to annoy, he wondered where she was and how he could ask without it being weird.

“Hey stranger,” Eleanor smiled and kissed his cheek. “Where’ve you been?”

Louis gave a polite wave to his best friend from across the way, a knowing smile on his lips, grateful that someone he trusted could keep an extra eye on his lady.

“Jus’ wandering around,” he mumbled.

Did he sound disappointed? He felt disappointed.

She stared at him and stood on her toes to reach his ear so she could speak to him directly over the loud music. “She’s not here.”

“What?” Harry pulled back like she slapped him. Was it that obvious? It couldn’t have been. He was just… wandering. Like a lost, lovesick puppy wondering where she was and hoping he would find her to make the weird feeling in his chest go away. Eleanor cocked an eyebrow at him. Silently telling him that hewas not fooling her. “Fuck,” he mumbled sipping his drink. It was pathetic and obvious.

“She doesn’t come to these things,” Eleanor shrugged.

“Why?”

She sighed, rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t want her here.”

Harry felt like the words Eleanor said were spoken in a language he didn’t know. “Who doesn’t want her here?”

“Her boyfriend.”

The grip on the bottle Harry was holding tightened. “Oh.”

“Go ahead. Ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Harry.” He closed his eyes and looked around to find him. It was like he already knew it was going to break him. He didn’t want El to continue even though he knew he needed to hear it. “What he told her to keep her away? She dotes on him too much. Worries too much about her reputation and everyone else’s. She doesn’t have fun. So, he doesn’t want her here. At these kinds of things.”

Honestly, a party didn’t seem like her vibe. She was more of a game night kind of girl. Someone you could take to a family cookout or a pool party with kids. But calling her not fun? Because frankly, Harry realized he hadn’t liked a single party he’d been to in months and it’s because her banter wasn’t there to keep him company.

“Oh,” he murmured. Trying to feign indifference.

“Don’t you want to ask what I think?” Harry didn’t look at his friend. His eyes finally landing on the man that didn’t deserve the sweet, intelligent, and beautiful girl he didn’t invite. He followed his path up the stairs to the second floor. Right as Eleanor told him the worst thing he had ever heard. “He hooks up with other girls and he has the common decency to do it behind her back,” she shrugged.

“What?!” He spit his eyes dropping to Eleanor again. How could she be so casual about this?

“She knows…or I would imagine she suspects,” she shrugged. “But she’s good for his family. They adore her. And he helps her reputation. She’s trying so hard to dig her family—”

It was like he knew. Everything. All of it made sense. Every tiny fiber of her being was made for someone else—whether it was her family who she adored and helped as much as possible, Isaac who didn’t deserve her at all, or even Harry, who honestly wasn’t sure he was much better than Isaac. “Does she know he sleeps with them?”

Eleanor looked at him suspiciously. “I don’t know if they sleep with him. I’m assuming. But I think it’s a pretty good assumption. He’s probably—”

Harry slammed his bottle on the ground shattering it and drawing the attention of those around him. He took the stairs two at a time and opened every door to every room—an unspoken party rule: never open a closed door.

He was breaking it.

A girl shrieked and he just knew he had found the right room. He didn’t pay any attention to her scrambling to cover up her naked chest and instead yanked him clean off the bed. “What the fuck!?” Harry shoved him back into the hall. He was only in his boxers. Piece of shit. Someone whistled and Harry shoved him harder as he tried to push him back and make his way for the bedroom again. “What the fuck, Styles?!”

“Call her,” he snarled. Shoving him against the wall again when he tried to continue escaping. “End it. Now.”

“What are you—”

“You’re going t’cheat on her?” Harry’s voice was venomous. “Her?” He repeated. Like that was really all he needed to say. Everyone was staring now. Harry kept going. “Call her and end it. Or I’m going over and telling her you’re done.”

The stupid prick tilted his head at Harry almost condescendingly. “Do you want her? She’s not like us.”

Harry didn’t like the way he said us. There wasn’t a single connection he wanted to be associated with in context of the vile piece of trash in front of him. Other than he managed to pick the sweetest girl he had ever met. But simultaneously, the very wrong girl to fuck with, because Harry also picked her. Unlike the moron in front of him, he was going to do everything he could to protect her and her heart.

“She’s doesn’t have money. She won’t understand—”

Harry punched him across the cheek before he could stop it and someone else watching groaned at the impact and Harry continued talking. “Tell her now.”

“Christ, Styles! What the fuck!” He rubbed his jaw.

“Tell her.”

“I’m not telling her shit. She knows she needs me more.” Harry jerked back like he had punched him back. “What? You don’t think she’d give up the reputation I have, do you?”

Harry watched him silently for only a moment longer. Without a word, he headed back into the bedroom grabbing the stray clothes. Before anyone could rationalize exactly what he was doing, he was sprinting down the steps and outside.

He threw them in the pool without thinking, ignoring the laughter and shouts from him as he hurried around the side of the house. He continued running and didn’t look back.

Harry was in her dorm. On her floor. Stopped in front of her door.

He knocked.

Repeatedly.

There was no answer, but he knew she was there.

So, he knocked again.

And again.

Eventually there was a click of her lock despite the fact it couldn’t be opened without her key card. Of course she was all about safety. Finally, he heard her voice starting to speak as she opened the door. “I’m off duty if you have an emergency, you’re supposed to see the RA on duty and—” The door was open and out of the way before she finished talking. Harry pressed himself inside. “Harry! What are you—”

“Tell me s’not true.”

“What’s not true?”

“Y’know he hooks up with other women?” He glared at her.

The color drained from her face.

Harry rubbed his hand across his face. “What is the matter with you?! Are you so desperate for a scrap of affection you’ll open yourself up t’diseases and shit because you—”

“Shut the fuck up,” she hissed tears stinging her eyes instantly.

“—need him? You don’t need him. You’re a thousand times better than him. A million! Y’could have any guy y’want, and they would still want t’grovel at your feet. Why would y’pick the one Goddamn asshole who—”

“You don’t know shit. Harry Styles. Stop pretending like you know me because —”

“Then explain it t’me because I can’t think of one fucking reason someone as intelligent, kind, beautiful, and hilarious as you would—”

A weird noise left her throat. Almost a squeak. It was adorable. If Harry wasn’t so mad. He would have told her such. Would have reveled in it because she was so fucking sweet and cute. But instead, she asked the most heartbreaking question known to man.

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Her question was so soft. So unbelievably shocked. Innocent. All the words left his head. It was too quiet. His shoulders were rising and falling too hard and too fast. “What?” He shook his head.

She looked at her feet. Harry scanned her. Her shirt was too big. It didn’t look like she was wearing pants. Maybe she wasn’t. Harry hoped she wasn’t. She only wore one sock. Like she lost the other in her sheets or maybe she only purposefully put one on because only that foot was cold. Those pretty eyes looked at him, anxiety, frustration, sadness, all staring back at him from the depth of her soul. “No one has ever said I’m beautiful before.”

Harry felt something die in his chest. He really thought he would start groveling on his knees for her because he was one of millions of guys who wanted to grovel at her feet. He wanted to be better. As soon as he made her cry over missing a test, he wanted nothing more than to be better for her. “No one?”

“Just... my family...” She shrugged.

“Kitten,” he rolled his eyes. “You’re… you’re really beautiful,” he rubbed a hand over his mouth, pinching his lower lip, as he scanned her. “In a way that probably makes a lot of girls jealous,” she snorted. He sighed. “Seriously. Your hair, kitten. It’s... so silky and shiny and your eyes,” he shook his head. “And your brain, my God,” he smiled softly. “M’not even going t’mention your body. Because you’re more than your appearance, but m’really...” he nearly sighed like a lovesick teenager. Maybe part of him still was. “You’re stunning, kitten.”

She blushed. Really blushed. So hard that Harry could see it in the dim light of her room cast from the twinkly lights she had strung around the window. Her cheeks were so red and utterly beautiful. For a second Harry thought it would be easy. All of it. Getting her to like him. Trust him.

Her face morphed into one of utter distrust. “That’s mean,” she whispered. “You’re... that’s mean to...” she shook her head.

“Kitten,” he frowned. Unable to believe she could think like that. He didn’t even know where to begin. Everyone had to like her. She was lovely, beautiful, so intelligent it took his breath away.

But she mistook his hesitation for the worst. She shook her head. “Forget it. You’re just... being nice to me because... because you feel bad or something,” she sniffled. The poor thing couldn’t even take his compliment. Harry wanted to cry. “Just the way everyone else does,” she laughed bitterly. “Thank you for being nice. Or whatever. For wanting to protect me. I don’t need it,” her voice cracked. “You can go back to your party or... whatever it is that—”

“Love,” his heart felt achy.

“No seriously. I get it. I’m too nice. I’m stupid to let him walk all over me but you don’t know the kind of reputation my family has in comparison to everyone here. So yeah. I let him use me as a prop—”

“Stop it,” he snapped and shook his head.

“—because I’m good for his image, too. Even if it makes me miserable and—”

“Kitten, I’m serious. Stop it,” his voice was almost raw. Like he had been screaming for hours. Maybe it was the combination of anxiety and frustration rushing through him. Like adrenaline but worse. He wanted to cry.

“—it’s pathetic that when people see me with him, they see this innocent—”

“Shut. Up.”

“—intelligent girl who doesn’t know anything because her family is poor and broken—”

“Stop it!” His voice took on a new octave. It made her words fall away.

They were both seething with anger and frustration. The tears in her eyes made him sick. Like when he made her cry because she couldn’t take her test. It was only the second time, but he quickly realized he hated it when she cried. “Stop what, Harry?”

“Stop minimizing who you are,” he practically growled.

“Everyone else does it.”

“Oh yeah? Name one time I’ve done that. If everyone has done it; tell me, kitten. When have I. Ever. Made you feel like less?”

She was silent. Finally.

Harry never made her feel like less. He annoyed the shit out of her. Pissed her off and made her sad. But he never made her feel like she didn’t deserve to be on that campus. Never made her feel inferior.

“M’going t’kiss you,” he warned stepping closer to her now that he made his point.

Her brain restarted. Her cheeks flushed again. “Harry, we can’t I’m... in a relation—”

He glared at her as her back pressed to her bed frame. Cornering her in her open room that was suddenly infinitesimally smaller than it was seconds before. “S’not a fucking relationship,” he snarled. “M’not sure what y’were doing. But you’re not doing it anymore. Not with him. Never again.”

“But we were—”

“Y’don’t need him,” he assured her. “Trust me.”

“But—”

“Y’have me, kitten. M’gonna do whatever y’need,” he cupped the back of her neck, making the words stop on the tip of her tongue and put one hand on the small of her back, pulling her to him swiftly and devouring her lips. She moaned instantly, seconds into the kiss. His lips felt like warm little pillows. Cushioning her own. It was intoxicating. Unfairly, he pulled away almost as quickly as it started. “Oh s’nice, kitten,” he praised. “Moaning already,” he pulled back and peppered kisses along her jaw. She whimpered softly, making him groan. “Y’make pretty little noises like that, kitten. M’not gonna be responsible for what comes next,” he warned pressing his lips back to hers.

Her fingers tangled in his hair at the back of her head. Harry leaned forward arching her backward and wrapping his arms around her tightly. He didn’t want to be aggressive, but there was something in the way her mouth tasted, the way her body felt, that he couldn’t stop kissing her. Hardly breathing, or maybe he was trying to breathe all of her in, he continued pulling her lips into his mouth. Hoping that somewhere along the way, they would get stuck like that. Destined to spend eternity attached by their kiss like a Greek punishment. Except the endless touch of her mouth wouldn’t be punishment. Because he wanted it to be endless. Wanted to spend forever showering her with affection because she deserved that and so much more.

“Can I stay the night, kitten? I’ll sleep on the floor if y’want,” his voice was practically ragged. His forehead pressed to hers. “I jus’ don’t want t’leave you. Please don’t make me leave.”

“You can stay,” she whispered, her voice breathless and airy. “Not on the floor, though.”

“M’not a bat, kitten. Can’t hang from your ceiling,” he joked.

She snorted. “C’mon,” she tugged him to her bed and pulled her in right behind her beneath her covers.

There weren’t many times Harry felt peace. “Harry?” She asked, as she settled into his embrace. His lips skimmed along her face, pressing every so often to whatever he could reach. Like he couldn’t stop himself.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

He squeezed her. “You’re welcome, beautiful.”

She sighed. “Your mouth is pretty nice when you’re not talking,” she said quietly.

He chuckled. “Just you wait and see, kitten.”

As lovely as the night before was, she tried to maintain a semblance of her routine between replaying the kiss(es) and the angry confession over and over in her head. At the moment, she was grabbing lunch for herself. It was probably going to set her back a bit since she’d need to buy more pencils since Harry stole them all, but she was a little too tired to go without supplying herself with more energy. She pulled her wallet out as the cashier rang her up. “It’s all set, love,” she said sweetly. Tilting her head, she gazed at the woman as if it were a joke.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s all set,” she repeated. “Your food’s been paid for already.”

She blinked, glanced around, looking for someone that fit the description of Good Samaritan. “Who...?”

“I’m not sure. I was just told that if you came through the line to tell you it’s been taken care of. You can get whatever you want,” she shrugged.

Blinking again she glanced around again. A line formed rapidly behind her. She gathered her items and headed for a seat. The one where Isaac usually joined her. But there was no Isaac. She read her book and listened to her music in silence. It was peaceful. When the hour was up, she headed back to the kitchen area to grab another snack, lining up behind the others waiting to check out as well. “Your food’s paid for.”

She felt like she was being pranked. “Again?”

“No, always.”

She felt like her mind was short circuiting. “What?”

“Your meals. All have been paid for. For the year.”

The snack she got was going to be uneaten because she felt like it was a prank. “I don’t understand.”

“I really don’t have more details than that. We were just told your food was paid for.”

“We?”

“My boss left, but I can have him reach out and explain it.”

“Please. Thank you.”

Stunned, she left with her snack. She headed to the library academic center. The tutors on her shift all waved to her. “That gift is for you,” Gabby said. At the front table was a fairly large giftbag. The kind you get for a kid’s birthday and put a board game in it. She looked at it curiously and pulled the tissue paper out of the way. She swallowed the lump in her throat realizing she didn’t need the dining hall manager to reach out to her after all.

She plucked the card from the slot on the side of the bag.

Half are probably for me anyway.

The bag was filled with packages of her favorite pencils. More than she would need for the rest of her undergraduate degree. Maybe even graduate. Or even the rest of her life.

She took a deep breath and pulled out her laptop and opened her email. She typed in Harry’s address, because she still didn’t have Harry’s phone number. Even after making out with him for hours. After waking up in his arms later than she was supposed to and letting his lips linger on her skin.

She wrote her message and pressed send before she could overthink it.

You didn’t have to do that. It’s way too much, actually. I’m a little uncomfortable imagining you spending THAT much money on food and pencils.

Well. If you died of starvation, I wouldn’t have anyone to bother. Kind of a boring way to suffer through the last two years of college—we have Real Analysis I and II next year. I can’t do that alone.

Thank you. That was... very nice of you.

You’re welcome, kitten. Coffee is free too; I went to every shop within walking distance and left your picture. An old ugly one from your mom’s Facebook page, don’t worry. Didn’t want you to get a big head about all of this. It’s not a big deal.

Help yourself to whatever you need and if you need something else let me know.

And this is my phone number so you can stop emailing me like it’s 2003.

She smiled fondly at the message. Closed her laptop and felt happier to be at work than she had in weeks.

Harry didn’t force anything. She was lying against his chest in her small room, on her small bed. “I’m sorry it’s so cramped,” she whispered.

“S’better for snuggling,” he shrugged and kissed the top of her head. “Go t’sleep, please, kitten.”

“Don’t you want to... I don’t know, fuck or something?”

“Well, when y’propose it so romantically like that,” he murmured.

She pouted. “I don’t know... I just assumed that...”

“That m’like Isaac? Please don’t make that assumption anymore.”

“So, you don’t want to fuck me?”

“Oh, more than anything,” he tilted her head up and brushed his finger on her warm cheek. “But not until you’re ready.”

“I literally just—”

“No. Y’think s’because we’re supposed to. Not because y’want to,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll wait,” he promised and kissed the tip of her nose, and it was the lamest kind of kiss imaginable. Being twenty-one and melting over a kiss on the nose.

Yet it made her want a thousand more of them. Made her want to cry with how adored she felt. Harry didn’t care that she worked a thousand hours. He didn’t expect her to make out with him. Or blow him. Or anything sexual. No, he practically begged her to sleep in his arms.

It was unfair how sweet he was wrapped up in the body of someone that made her infuriated for the last year and a half. Right as she was about to pass out, she jerked herself awake involuntarily. “Y’okay, love?” He hummed as if she so much as coughed and not nearly punched Harry in the face with her movement.

“Tired.”

“I know, baby. M’trying t’make y’sleep,” he combed her hair down. Traced her spine in the same movement. “Surprise, surprise, you’re a bit stubborn.”

“Who me?”

“Want me t’sing?”

“Don’t want my ears to bleed, no.” Harry chuckled softly. Ignored her.

Then hummed.

It was so warm, so soft, it felt like magic. Harry could sing. That wasn’t on any Bingo cards when she thought about Harry. She didn’t even know what song he was singing. But it lulled her right to sleep.

Harry was wrapped around her in the small bed, his head tucked below her chin, his face smushed into the front of her shirt. If she wore a lower cut shirt, Harry would have been drooling on her boobs. “You’re able to breathe in there?” She whispered, threading her fingers through his hair.

“S’the only way I want t’go,” he promised, his voice muffled with sleep and the fabric on her body. “Or with y’legs wrapped around m’head,” he shrugged one shoulder. If Isaac said that to her, she would have punched him. When Harry said it, it made her want to wrap her legs around his head. Made her squeeze her legs together. “Felt that,” he mumbled. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, so he had no choice but to feel it. “Did y’sleep okay?”

She nodded. “Did you?”

“Extremely. Wrapped up in m’favorite girl.”

Her heart fluttered and she kissed the top of his head. Never would she have imagined Harry being so sweet and lovely like this. “Are you... going to be mean in public to me?”

“I hope not,” he pulled away and rubbed his eye. He looked sleepy and boyish. A devilish combination for her skeptical heart. “Have I been mean t’you?” He asked. “I know I tease, but mean?” She supposed he wasn’t mean. Maybe the teasing tricked her.

“I guess the teasing—”

“M’so sorry love,” he frowned and cupped her cheeks, kissed her softly on the lips. “No more teasing,” he promised.

“Well,” she laughed softly. “I kind of like teasing you.”

He smirked. “I don’t want you to think m’mean,” his eyebrows pinched together.

“Can I ask you a question without making fun of me?”

“I think that depends on the question, kitten. If y’ask me some basic math problem like what’s the indefinite integral of x-squared times cosine x or what’s a negative times a negative—”

“Are we dating?”

He stopped his joke and cupped her face. Dropped his forehead to hers and brushed his thumb along her cheek. “I would fucking hope so, kitten.”

She swallowed. “You don’t care that I’m broke? Or that I work a lot and I’m crazy and—”

“No, I don’t care ‘bout any of that. You’re m’favorite person to annoy. The person I look forward t’seeing most in class. You’re the entire reason ‘ve never skipped class.”

Her heart fluttered. “You can’t pay for everything, Harry. It was a sweet sentiment but—”

“M’not letting m’girlfriend starve,” he rolled his eyes.

Her heart definitely fluttered. He was sweet. Harry was sweet. What a revelation. Or maybe she always knew that.

She looked into those beautiful green eyes that made her feel overwhelmed in the best way. “Why do you call me Your Majesty?” She whispered quietly. Almost scared to hear the answer.

He rolled his eyes again. A favorite past time of his. “Because kitten,” he pressed his lips over hers briefly, then kissed her forehead, and finally the tip of her nose. He met her gaze and made sure she was focusing when he spoke again. In a few minutes she would be busy, overwhelmed, and stressed. For the moment, Harry wanted to make sure she knew just how important she was to him. “I think you’re a queen.”

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chosok-amo · 2 months ago

Text

HUMP, HUMP, LOVELY LITTLE HUMP, choso. k

you and choso kamo are supposed to spend the night just to enjoy some wine and a calm atmosphere deep inside the forest of the school ground, but it seems like the half-curse starts feeling a little bit too human..

warning. public space, humping, grinding, pet-names.

after the chaos of the shibuya incident, you and choso found yourselves drawn together in ways that surprised you both. it was an event that left deep scars, taking away far too many friends, colleagues, and students who meant the world to you. in those dark days, as you tried to move on, choso was always there—quietly supportive, offering a steady shoulder to lean on. somehow, despite his own pain and loss, he always seemed to know exactly when you needed someone, as though he could sense your sorrow before you could even voice it.

day by day, choso’s presence became something familiar and grounding, a rare comfort amidst the lingering grief. as you spent more time together, you noticed how naturally you fell into conversation, how easy it was to share the heavy silence or laugh at some small, passing joke. with each conversation, each silent moment, you could feel the distance between you shrinking. before long, he wasn’t just a friend but someone who understood your pain and could bear the weight of it alongside you.

but then, something shifted—almost imperceptibly at first. you found yourself becoming hyper-aware of his every little detail: the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at you, the comforting warmth of his quiet presence, even the way he listened so intently, as though he wanted to absorb every word you said. his voice had a gentle timbre that seemed to settle the unease in your heart, and his hands, so steady and sure, held a tenderness you hadn’t noticed before.

you began catching yourself lingering on these small, delicate observations, wondering if he noticed your gaze lingering just a little too long. each gesture felt like it held a quiet significance. the tension between you two was subtle, simmering just beneath the surface—a spark that hadn’t quite ignited, but was there all the same. and as the days went on, it became harder to deny that something was shifting between you, a quiet spark that seemed to grow brighter with every shared look, every gentle touch, and every stolen moment in the stillness of loss.

in the quiet embrace of the woods on school grounds, you and choso sat nestled under the towering trees. the night was calm, draped in the silvery glow of the moon, casting everything in a delicate, ethereal light. beside you, choso was close enough that you could feel his warmth, your backs pressed gently against the sturdy trunk of the tree, as though it were holding you both up, anchoring you to this quiet moment.

the woods around you was alive with a soft symphony of nighttime sounds—the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the gentle hum of distant crickets, and the occasional whisper of branches swaying above. moonlight filtered down through the canopy, breaking into scattered pools of silver around you, illuminating the world in a soft glow that felt almost magical.

you glanced over at choso, noticing how the pale light softened his features, casting shadows along the curve of his cheek and highlighting the thoughtful expression in his eyes. there was something serene about his presence, a quiet strength that comforted you, grounding you in this stillness. without a word, he met your gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had faded away, leaving just the two of you, bathed in the cool light of the moon.

as the night stretched on, you found yourself lost in the details—the way the moonlight danced across his face, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, and the comforting warmth of his shoulder just a breath away. sitting there together, the weight of words seemed unnecessary. the silence was thick, not with loneliness, but with a silent understanding that you both shared.

you raise the bottle of wine to your lips, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat as your gaze drifts over to choso. tonight, he looks different—not in his usual dark, battle-worn attire, but something softer, more relaxed. he’s dressed in a pair of loose, dark baggy jeans that hang comfortably on him, and a deep navy knit button-down with a few buttons left undone, exposing a hint of skin at his collar. his long, dark hair, usually tied back with a certain restraint, now cascades freely over his shoulders, framing his face in the moonlight.

there’s something almost vulnerable in this new look, a side of him you hadn’t seen before, and you can’t help the smirk that curves on your lips as you take him in. “you look good,” you murmur, voice soft but laced with a teasing warmth. choso’s eyes flick up to yours, a faint surprise lingering in his gaze, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimmer of something softer beneath his usual stoic exterior.

in the stillness, you realize he seems more human like this—more approachable, more tangible, the hardness of his role as a curse softened by the simplicity of casual clothes. his expression shifts slightly, almost self-conscious under your gaze, yet he doesn’t look away. the moonlight plays over his face, casting gentle shadows, and for a second, it feels as if the weight of his past falls away, leaving just him—raw and real, sitting beside you in the quiet night.

as you lean back against the tree, choso’s eyes seem to soften in the dappled moonlight. there’s a subtle warmth in his usually stoic gaze that mirrors the quiet understanding woven into the night. he nods, his low, gravelly voice carrying a rare note of vulnerability as he responds to your teasing remark.

“thanks. it’s... different,” he admits, his voice quieter than usual. “i’m trying to... be more normal, i guess.” choso glances down, almost shyly, as if the simplicity of his choice— with yuuji’s help, in outfit is something he’s not used to voicing out loud.

you lean back against the rough bark, adjust your back to find a comfortable spot, letting a soft smile play on your lips as you listen to choso’s quiet admission. there’s something almost endearing about his choice of words, the faint hesitation as he glances down, as if self-conscious about this simple, casual look he’s trying on for the first time. his usual stoicism is softened, and you can feel a warmth in the air, a quiet vulnerability that seems to belong solely to this moment.

“well, you’re doing a pretty good job of it,” you say, your voice carrying a playful edge as you study him. “honestly, you look more human than a curse right now.” he looks up at you, eyes widening slightly, curiosity flickering in his gaze. you reach out, fingertips grazing his cheek in a gentle, teasing touch. “though, if you really want to blend in, maybe just a little foundation to warm up that pale skin, and you’d be all set,” you add with a smirk.

a soft blush rises beneath your fingers, barely visible in the moonlight but enough to make you notice. choso lets out a quiet chuckle, and the sound is warm, low, carrying a softness that catches you off guard. there’s a momentary flicker of surprise in choso’s eyes at the feel of your fingertips on his cheek. yet, he doesn’t pull away, his gaze fixing on yours, almost as though he’s trying to understand the unfamiliar sensation.

he simply looks at you, his gaze deepening, as though trying to understand something he’s only just now beginning to feel. he holds himself still, his body so near to yours, his proximity like a warm current in the chilled night air. for the first time, he seems relaxed, his usual stoic facade slipping away, replaced by a quiet, thoughtful expression.

“is that so?” he murmurs, voice barely more than a low rumble. he stays like this a while, just looking at you, his face cast in the soft glow of the moonlight. the forest hums with life around you, the soft hooting of an owl somewhere in the distance, the rustle of wind through the trees. but choso’s attention is focused on you, a rare intensity in his gaze. his voice, when he speaks, is a soft murmur—quieter than normal, almost as though he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

you nod slowly, letting your fingers linger for just a second longer on his cheek, the slight warmth of his skin beneath your touch almost startling. your gaze softening as you lean just a fraction closer. “it is so,” you murmur back, your voice as gentle as a breeze. your fingertips linger on his cheek longer than you intend to, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath them grounding you in the closeness of this quiet, unexpected moment. for a heartbeat, you wonder if he feels the same spark, the same undeniable warmth threading between you.

reluctantly, you pull your hand away, the night air rushing into the space between you as you reach for the bottle once more, taking a slow sip. it’s only then that you notice your leg, bare beneath the almost-too-short hem of your skirt, is brushing lightly against his. the touch is subtle, barely there, but enough to send a quiet thrill through you, a reminder of how near he is, how his warmth radiates even in the cool night air.

choso’s gaze flickers downward, catching the subtle contact, and for a brief moment, his expression softens further. his eyes trail over the gentle line of your leg resting against his, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter. he doesn’t shift away, holding himself steady, his attention returning to your face as though savoring every detail. a subtle smile plays on his lips, almost shy, and the quiet understanding that’s passed between you grows, filling the spaces between words, settling like a secret shared only by the two of you.

as you sip from the bottle, choso’s gaze lingers on the curve of your neck, the gentle movements of your throat. the moon casts a delicate light over the contours of your face, adding a touch of softness to the shadows that cling to your features. the night, once filled with the soft symphony of the forest, seems to fall away, leaving only the two of you in this quiet, almost intimate space.

choso’s gaze drifts slowly to your lips, glistening with a faint sheen of red wine, and his eyes linger there, a barely perceptible intensity flickering in their depths. for a moment, he seems lost, captivated by the sight before him, his expression softened in a way you’ve rarely seen. his gaze trails downward, over the curve of your neck, and settles on your bare thigh, just inches away from his.

his voice, low and almost reverent, breaks the silence. “you look beautiful,” he whispers, the words slipping out like a quiet confession meant only for you. “as always.”

a warmth spreads through you, deeper than the wine, more stirring than the moonlight. his words settle in the night air, soft and genuine a little bit of flirtatious, and your heart races at the quiet vulnerability in his tone. his eyes lift back to yours, holding a tenderness that makes you feel as though time itself has paused, allowing you both to savor this moment suspended in the cool night.

you take in a breath, finding yourself inching just a little closer, captivated by the depth in his gaze and the softness of his words, feeling the spark between you both ignite into something undeniable.

you hum softly in satisfaction at his compliment, a warm flutter blooming in your chest at his genuine words. the way he looks at you, like he truly sees you, sends a delightful shiver down your spine. “thanks,” you reply, your voice laced with a hint of bashfulness as you set the wine bottle down beside you, the clink of glass breaking the lingering silence.

the night wraps around you both, heavy with unspoken feelings, and you can’t help but smile, feeling a mix of gratitude and something more profound. the compliment hangs in the air, resonating within you, and you find yourself wanting to hold onto this moment a little longer. you turn your head slightly, catching his gaze once more, feeling the spark between you intensify as you savor the warmth of his presence and undeniable desire.

as you sit there, the night seems to hold its breath around you, the forest going still as if sensing the delicate moment between you. choso’s warm breath dances across your neck, carrying the faint scent of wine and a subtle note of something more intimate. the warmth radiating from his proximity mixes with the slight chill of night, creating a heady, intoxicating tension that sets your senses ablaze.

without thinking, you shift a little closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours, and your thigh presses more firmly against his. the wine in your veins gives you courage, or perhaps it’s something more raw and real, pushing away inhibitions and doubts. the proximity is exhilarating, making your heart race and your head spin in the best possible way. the air between you seems charged with energy, heavy with unsaid words and unspoken longings. you look up, meeting choso’s gaze, and in his eyes, you see a reflection of what you both feel, the unspoken desire mirrored back at you in his steady gaze.

for a fleeting moment, time stands still, the boundaries of your world shrinking until it’s just the two of you under the vast expanse of the starlit sky.

without breaking eye contact, choso moves slowly, deliberately, as he places his hand on your thigh. his palm, cool against your bare skin, sends an unexpected thrill coursing through you, a contrast to the warm, gentle night air. the sensation is both electrifying and soothing, grounding you in the moment as his touch lingers.

you can see the thoughtfulness in his eyes, the way he’s absorbing every detail of this intimate exchange. his fingers rest lightly on your thigh, a subtle weight that feels both protective and intimate. the world around you fades into a soft blur, the sounds of the night growing distant as all your focus narrows on the connection you share in this fleeting moment.

his gaze holds yours captive, revealing the depths of his emotions, and you can sense the vulnerability in him, the way he’s opening up to you without fear. the air crackles with unspoken words, and you find yourself leaning into the touch, drawn closer by the warmth radiating from him and the electric pull between you.

choso’s hand on your thigh feels like a cool brand against your bare skin, his touch both grounding and electrifying. his eyes, focused on yours, seem to be reading your every thought, your every emotion. the moment between you feels suspended in time, as if the rest of the world has faded away and it’s just the two of you, here in the quiet of the night.

his voice, low and deep, cuts through the silence, a husky whisper that holds a world of emotions. “can i...” he pauses, his gaze flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes, “...kiss you?”

you breath caught in your throat as choso’s words hung in the air, a whispered admission of longing that was both vulnerable and intoxicating. the gentle pressure of his hand on your thigh only heightened the moment. your heart raced with anticipation as you found yourself lost in the intimate warmth of his gaze, the words unspoken yet speaking volumes. in that moment, you were acutely aware of everything— the touch of him, the night breeze, the rhythm of your shared breath.

you answered not with words, but with a nod, a silent agreement that the space between you was no longer a division, but an invitation. the quiet acceptance in your nod seemed to ignite something in choso. his gaze darkened with a smolder that sent a shiver racing down your spine. slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly as if in silent reassurance.

as he closed the distance between you, his breath mingled with yours, a shared heat in the cool night air. the anticipation was palpable, a tension that electrified the air between you. finally, his lips brushed against yours, a soft whisper of a touch that sent a jolt of electricity through you.

the kiss began as a gentle exploration—a soft press of lips against lips. choso’s hand on your thigh felt steadying, anchoring you to the moment. slowly, the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a growing intensity. his other hand reached up to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing the contours of your face as if trying to memorize the way your skin felt beneath his touch. there was an almost feverish hunger in his kiss, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for eternity, and now that it was here, he couldn’t get enough of it.

choso pulls away from the kiss, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours as he gently places his hands on your hips. his touch is firm yet tender, and with a quiet strength, he lifts you effortlessly, guiding you to straddle his lap. the shift leaves you breathless, a soft gasp escaping as his hands settle on your hips, grounding you in his embrace.

your skirt rises slightly with the movement, the cool night air brushing against your thighs, adding a new layer of exhilaration to the moment. his gaze locks onto yours, eyes dark and intense, searching your face as though committing every detail to memory. there’s a softness in his expression, a quiet reverence that makes your heart race, and you feel yourself melting further into his hold, wrapped in the intimacy of his touch and the silent promise lingering between you.

as you settled onto his lap, your knees framing his hips, it felt as if the world had narrowed down to this single moment. choso’s hands anchored you in place, his touch both possessive and comforting. you could feel the hard contours of his thighs beneath you, the warmth of his body seeping into your core. your hands came up to rest on his shoulders, fingers tracing the outline of his muscles, feeling his strength and his warmth.

his lips returned to yours, his kiss more insistent this time. his hands on your hips pulled you closer, making you keenly aware of every breath, every heartbeat. this time, the kiss was filled with a deeper hunger, a need that seemed to transcend the physical. choso’s tongue flicked against yours, a gentle tease that ignited a fire in your core. his hands began to explore you, tracing a trail from your hips to your back, pulling you impossibly closer against him. the heat between you was growing, becoming almost unbearable, and yet you wanted more.

choso’s lips left yours and began to move down your neck, each press of his mouth against your skin sending another shockwave of sensation through you. his breath was hot, his hands restless, and it felt like the world around you had ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you locked in an intimate dance of discovery.

your head fell back, giving choso better access to the curve of your neck, and your fingers tangled in his hair. you wanted to lose yourself in this moment, to drown in the sensation of his touch, his nearness, his every breath. choso’s lips, moving lower now, found the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, and you let out a soft moan, the sound swallowed by the night air.

“choso...” a soft, breathless whisper of his name escapes your lips, almost instinctively, as choso’s mouth trails down your throat. the sound of it, murmured in the night air, seems to urge him on, his grip on you tightening just enough to make you shiver. with your head tilted back, eyes closed, you’re completely lost in the sensation, the gentle brush of your eyelashes against your cheeks a subtle reflection of how fully immersed you are in the moment.

his lips press against your skin with a hunger that’s tempered by tenderness, each kiss sending a spark through you, igniting a warmth that spreads from your core to the very tips of of your fingers. your hands find their way into his hair once again, threading through the dark strands as you pull him closer, feeling his breath hot against your skin. every touch, every movement feels as though it’s deepening the connection between you.

choso’s response to your breathy whisper of his name was immediate. his hands tightened on your hips, grounding you against him as his lips continued their trail down your neck. he paused at your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as he lingered there for a moment, drinking in the sensation of your hands in his hair and the sound of your soft sighs.

as his mouth continued its journey, he found the sensitive hollow at the base of your throat, and he lingered there, drawing out the sensation further. each gentle press of his lips felt like a match to a flame, sending waves of heat and pleasure coursing through you.

you could feel the taut line of his body beneath you, the way his muscles tensed and released with every movement, each movement drawing you closer into his orbit. your fingers twined in his hair, and you felt his touch moving lower, tracing the soft curve of your throat, then the exposed plane of your chest, just above the low neckline of your top. the contrast between the cool night air and the warmth of his mouth was intoxicating, and you found yourself willingly surrendering to the sensations.

as choso’s lips explored your sensitive skin, you couldn’t help but arch into him, craving more of that intoxicating touch. his hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you securely in place as if to anchor you amidst the swirling desires he was awakening within you.

you let out a soft gasp when his mouth moved lower, his warm breath fanning over your breasts before his lips made contact with the tender flesh above your top. your nipples hardened instantly, straining against the fabric as if begging for his attention.

“choso,” you breathed his name once again, your voice husky with need. your plea trailed off into a moan as he continued to lavish attention on your chest, his tongue darting out to taste the skin, leaving a tingling path in its wake. the sensation was both electrifying and soothing, sending jolts of pleasure straight to you core, unconsciously your hips began to moving on top of him.

his name on your lips, spoken so breathlessly, sent a renewed wave of desire coursing through choso. he responded to your soft moans and shivers with a gentle nip to your skin, causing your body to tremble under his touch. feeling your hips move in response to his caresses, a low growl stirred in his throat.

his hands moved to the hem of your top, his fingers sliding beneath the edge. the gentle touch against the sensitive skin of your sides made you shiver, your body responding to each sensation with a subtle arching movement, seeking more of his touch.

your body was alight with anticipation, every nerve ending attuned to choso’s touch. as his fingers slipped beneath your top, brushing against the bare skin of your waist, you couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through you. the sensation was electric, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

you arched into his touch once more, silently pleading for more— it’s like a game, you arched and pulled away, and arched and pulled away. your hands roamed over his muscular arms, feeling the strength coiled within them. the heat radiating from his body enveloped you, making you feel safe and desired all at once.

“please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “ want... i need...” your words trailed off into a moan as his fingers traced patterns on your skin, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. in that moment, lost in the haze of desire, nothing else mattered. your hips began to move more bold than before the moment you feel his hardness pressed against your core.

choso’s hands on your skin, tracing patterns of fire across your body, felt like a match to a gasoline-drenched inferno. it was almost sinful, the effect he had on you, the way your body reacted to his touch as if it was the first time you were feeling anything akin to desire. your body seemed to respond instinctively, arching towards him, pressing your softness against his hardness in a desperate plea.

the sound of your pleading whimper only seemed to fuel his desire further.

choso’s grip on your hips tightened, a raw hunger in his touch as your body moved against him, seeking friction in the growing tension between you. he pulled you closer, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck once more, as his hands moved up your sides to the edge of your top. his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, setting your nerves alight with a burning need. a low breath escaped him, a sound filled with both restraint and desire, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough.

“need...” his fingers traced the curve of your ribcage, his touch both gentle and urgent “... you,” the last word fell from his lips like a plea, a whispered admission of a need as raw and urgent as the one he’d been stoking within you.

the fire in his eyes, his hands tracing a path of heat across your skin, all of it was making it hard for you to speak, to think... to do anything but feel. with a soft whine, your head tipped back, exposing your neck to him in an unspoken affirmation. he groaned at the gesture, the sound more animal than anything else, as if he was losing the fight to hold back.

your body was aflame with desire, every inch of your skin crying out for his touch. the sound of his voice, low and rough with need, sent shivers racing down your spine. his hands on your body felt like a brand, marking you as his own. your breath came in short, sharp gasps as his fingers danced along the edge of your top, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

when his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, you let out a soft cry, your body arching into his touch. the sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you dizzy with want. you could feel the heat building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you thought you might burst from the pressure.

your hands fisted in his hair, tugging gently as you guided his mouth back to yours, along with your hips start moving more purposefully against his clothed hardened cock, putting more pressure. the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins.

choso’s control snapped at the feeling of your hands in his hair, guiding his mouth to yours in a demand that left no room for argument. his lips crashed against yours in a fierce kiss, all teeth and tongue as he devoured the sweetness of your mouth. the taste of you was addictive, and he drank it in greedily, his hands roaming your body with a desperation that bordered on frantic.

he groaned into the kiss as you ground your hips against his, the pressure of your core against his hardness nearly unbearable. his own arousal throbbed in response, straining against the confines of his pants. the urge to tear away your clothes, to claim you fully, was almost overwhelming.

breaking the kiss, choso’s gaze locked onto yours, dark with lust and something deeper, more primal. “good... just like that,” he whispered.

your mind went blank at the intensity of his kiss, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his desire. his hands on your body felt possessive, claiming, and you reveled in the feeling of being owned by him in this moment. the scrape of his teeth against your lips sent a thrill through you, and you met his tongue with equal fervor, lost in the taste and scent of him.

your body was consumed by a raging fire of desire, every fiber of your being screaming for more of his touch. the heat between your legs was becoming unbearable, your core aching for relief. you needed him, needed to feel him inside you, filling you completely.

with trembling hands, you reached for the button of your top, undone few buttons. your breasts spilled free, the cool night air a stark contrast to the feverish heat of your skin. you watched as his gaze raked over your naked torso, his pupils dilating with undisguised hunger.

“touch me,” you pleaded, your voice hoarse with need. “i want to feel your hands on my skin.” your hips continued to grind against him, seeking relief from the ache building between your thighs. the pressure of his hardness against you was exquisite, and you found yourself wanting more, needing to feel him inside you.

his gaze darkened, his eyes darkening to a nearly black that mirrored the storm of raw desire that raged within him. the words that fell from your lips only added fuel to the fire, stoking the flames of his hunger until they burned with an almost feverish intensity. it was a plea he couldn’t ignore, a demand that sparked something primal and visceral within him.

choso’s hands went to your exposed breasts, cupping the soft mounds with reverence. he marveled at their weight, at the way they fit perfectly in his palms. his thumbs brushed over your nipples, coaxing them to peak under his touch. the sight of your hardened buds drew a low growl from deep within his chest.

“beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “so perfect.“

leaning in, he captured a nipple between his lips, sucking gently before grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth. the sensation shot straight to your core, making you gasp and arch into him. his other hand slid around to palm your ass, squeezing the firm flesh as he continued to lavish attention on your breast.

a high-pitched moan tore from your throat as his lips closed around your nipple, the sensation of his warm mouth and the gentle tug of his suction sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. your back arched, pushing your breast further into his mouth as you threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him close.

the combination of his hot mouth on your skin and the firm press of his erection against you was driving you wild. his hands found your hips, guiding your movements against him. the pressure, the friction, it was all so deliciously intoxicating that he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive flesh made you buck against him, craving more of that delicious friction. your hips rolled in a slow, deliberate rhythm, grinding your aching core against the hard length of his clothed bulge. the pressure was exquisite, a sweet agony that left you panting and needy.

“good,” you whimpered, your voice a ragged plea. “choso... feel so good..” his hands on your ass squeezed harder, pulling you flush against him as he nipped and sucked at your breast.

choso’s control slipped further with each passing second, his desire for you consuming him entirely. the sounds falling from your lips were music to his ears, urging him on, driving him mad with want. his hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he held you still, rocking against you with a frenzied pace.

his mouth left your breast with a wet pop, trailing kisses up the column of your throat until he reached your ear. “just like that baby, just like that,” he growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained passion. “mmm, good girl— ugh, good fucking girl,” he grunt, the sound rumble in his chest as he pressed your hips down harder against him.

he punctuated his words with a particularly forceful thrust, grinding his hardness against your aching center. the thin fabric separating you was the only barrier left, and it was quickly becoming too much to bear.

your head lolled back, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his hungry mouth. each word he spoke, each praise, each filthy promise, sent another wave of desire crashing over you, drowning you in a sea of pure, unadulterated lust. you could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against you, the heat of it searing your skin even through the layers of clothing.

“chosooo,” you gasped, the single word a desperate plea. your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you clung to him, anchoring yourself amidst the maelstrom of sensations.

your hips bucked wildly, seeking more of that delicious friction, more of the promise of satisfaction. the ache between your thighs was growing unbearable, a pulsing emptiness that demanded to be filled.

his lips found yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your whimpers and moans, his passion meeting your own with a frenzy and intensity that left you breathless. his tongue tangled with yours, the taste of him filling your senses, adding to the dizzying spiral of sensations.

his restraint was hanging by a thread, his own breathing ragged and uneven against your lips. he groaned, deep and guttural, when you whimpered his name, the sound vibrating through his body and setting your nerves ablaze. choso wasn’t just kissing you anymore.

he was claiming you.

you broke away from the kiss to trail your mouth down his neck and across the swell of his throat. your teeth scraped over the sensitive skin, making him gasp, the pain mingling with pleasure. his hands on your hips gripped you tightly, his hold firm but protective, a steady presence that kept you grounded amidst the sea of sensations. your hips start to move faster, pick up the pace on his hardness.

choso’s breath was coming in ragged bursts as your teeth scraped along his neck, pleasure and pain mixing into a heady cocktail that made his blood run hot. choso’s fingers dug deeper into your hips, holding you in place even as you rolled your hips against him more urgently, desperate with want.

“ah, fuuuuck,” he gritted out, his hands almost bruising against your skin. every part of him felt taut, wound so tight that it was like a spring about to snap. the heat between your bodies was overwhelming, and he knew he was close to the edge.

“baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, the endearment spilling from his lips almost involuntarily. he was so lost in the fog of lust that he was barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth, driven by pure instinct and desire. he needed you, craved you with a primal intensity that threatened to consume him from within. “please, please, please,” he repeated, the broken prayer mingling with the sound of your shared breaths.

the pressure between your bodies had built to almost overwhelming levels, the friction and heat stoking a fire that threatened to burn everything in its path. choso’s hands glided over your body, as if trying to memorize every curve and plane, before settling on your hips once again. his grip was fierce, as if he was afraid of letting you go even for a moment.

your body was alight with sensation, every nerve ending singing with pleasure as you moved against him. the heat between your bodies was a living thing, pulsing and throbbing with a life of its own. you could feel the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against you, the hard length of him straining towards you as if seeking entrance.

“yes,” you breathed, the single word a prayer and a promise all at once. your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath his shirt. you wanted to feel his bare skin against yours, to have nothing separating you but the air itself.

your hips rolled in a slow, deliberate rhythm, grinding against him with increasing urgency. the friction was exquisite, sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins with each movement.

choso let out a guttural groan as your hips ground against him, the sensation of your heated flesh sliding against his cock through the clothes nearly undoing him. he could feel the slickness of your arousal coating his clothes length, leaving a stain on his jeans, the proof of how desperately you wanted this, and it only fueled his own hunger.

“fuck, baby, you’re killing me here,” he rasped, his hands sliding down to grasp your ass cheeks, kneading the firm flesh as he pulled you harder against him. the rough fabric of his pants rubbed against your clothed clit with each roll of your hips, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

his lips found yours in a bruising kiss once more, tongue delving deep to claim your mouth as his own. the taste of you was intoxicating, and he drank it in greedily, pouring all his pent-up desire into the embrace.

your mouth opened eagerly to receive his invading tongue, the kiss deep and passionate. you could taste the desperation in him, the raw need that matched your own. your hands tangled in his hair, holding him close as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

the pressure of his fingers on your ass sends shivers down your spine, and you ground your hips harder against him, seeking more of that delicious friction. the rasp of his voice in your ear, the feeling of his hardness pressing against you, it was all so intense, so overwhelming that you feared you might combust from the sheer force of your desires. “gonna— cho...” you mumble incoherently on his lips, followed by choso hands guiding your hips faster.

choso could feel you trembling against him, could hear the desperation in your voice, the way it wavered as you breathed his name like a prayer. it only served to add fuel to the fire burning within him. he wanted to consume you, to burn away everything that wasn’t you and him in this moment.

“good girl, good girl,” he murmured, his words a mix of praise and encouragement. the rhythm of your movements had become frantic, wild, each grind of your hips against his causing a fresh wave of pleasure to wash over them both.

“come on baby,” he urges, the words tumbling out of him like gravel. your moans are like music to his ears, a heady symphony that only serves to drive him wilder. his grip on your hips is relentless, holding you against him as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded in reality.

his hand slid under your shirt, palms splaying across your lower back as he pulled you impossibly closer, the heat of his skin seeping into yours.

he rocked his hips in time with yours, the friction building to a fever pitch. the sound of your impending climax was music to his ears, and he reveled in the knowledge that he was the cause of it, that he could reduce you to this state of utter abandon with just his touch.

“that’s it, give it to me,” he urged, his lips finding the shell of your ear once more.

your body was wound tighter than a bowstring, every muscle tensed in anticipation of the release that was hurtling towards you like a freight train. the heat between your legs was almost unbearable, a pulsing ache that demanded to be satisfied.

“cho, ’m gonna... ’m gonna...” you panted, your words dissolving into a moan as you felt the first flutterings of your orgasm approaching. your hips jerked erratically, no longer following any kind of rhythm but simply chasing the pleasure that was so tantalizingly close.

your hands scrabbled at his back, nails digging into his shirt as you clung to him, anchoring yourself amidst the maelstrom of sensations. “don’t stop, don’t you dare stop,” you gasped, the command slipping out unbidden as you rode the crest of the wave that was carrying you higher and higher.

choso can feel your body tensing against him, the way your muscles coil and shudder as you’re close to the edge. he can hear it in the desperate pitch of your voice, the way your words are coming out in broken fragments. he knows you’re close, and he’s not far behind.

his breath is warm against your mouth as he whispers, “don't hold back. come for me, angel. i’ve got you.” his words are a promise, a pledge to catch you as you fall. as you give in to the crescendo of your pleasure, his arms are there, holding you tight.

“fuck yes, come on my cock,” he growled, the words punctuated by the rhythmic thrusts of his hips. he could feel your pussy clenching around nothing, the slick heat of your arousal coating his jeans as you rode out the waves of your climax.

the sight of you, lost in ecstasy, was almost too much for him to bear. he wanted to consume you, to drink in every last drop of pleasure until there was nothing left but the two of you, entwined and spent.

your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with such intensity that it stole your breath and rendered you momentarily speechless. your vision blurred, colors dancing at the edges as pleasure coursed through your veins like liquid fire.

“cho...oh god, cho...” you managed to whimper, your voice barely audible above the thunderous beat of your heart. your inner walls spasmed wildly, milking the air for something they couldn’t possibly find.

through the haze of bliss, you could feel choso’s hardness twitching against you, the heat of his arousal palpable even through the layers of clothing. the thought of him finding his own release sent another shockwave of pleasure rippling through you, prolonging your climax.

choso was hanging on by a thread, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully as he fought to control himself. he was close, so close he could snap any second.

and second later, choso’s control snapped as he felt your pussy convulsing around nothing more, the rhythmic clenching of your muscles driving him to the brink. the sight of you lost in the throes of ecstasy, your face contorted in rapture, was enough to push him over the edge.

“fuckkkk,” with a low, guttural moan, he came hard, his cock pulsing as it emptied itself inside his pants. “fuck, fuck, fuck.” hot spurts of semen coated his baggy jeans, leaving a damp stain, each one a testament to the intensity of his climax.

for a moment, he was frozen, caught in the aftermath of his orgasm. then, slowly, he began to move again, his hips rocking gently as he worked through the last tremors of pleasure. when he finally lifted his head, his eyes were glazed, his chest still heaving with exertion.

as the final aftershocks of your orgasm faded, you slumped bonelessly against choso, utterly spent. your limbs felt heavy, your mind hazy, and you could scarcely believe what had just transpired between you.

a small, dazed smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you gazed up at him, taking in the flush on his cheekbones, the glassy look in his eyes. he looked thoroughly debauched, and the knowledge that you’d been the one to reduce him to this state filled you with a sense of feminine satisfaction.

“look at you,” you breathed a chuckle, the word little more than an exhalation.

choso grinned at your comment, a lazy, satisfied smile that mirrored your own. he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, unhurried kiss that was a stark contrast to the frenzied passion of moments ago.

“you’re one to talk,” he murmured against your mouth, his lips brushing yours as he spoke, “you should see yourself. all flushed and breathless, like the prettiest thing i ever saw.” his voice was a low velvet rumble, the sound of it a soothing balm to your senses. he wrapped an arm around your waist, his touch gentle and reassuring.

a soft chuckle escapes you, a sound woven with warmth and lingering affection as you press your forehead to his, eyes meeting in the quiet intimacy between you. “we’re a mess,” you murmur with a smile, your voice light but full of meaning. your hands find the buttons of your shirt, fingers fumbling slightly as you begin to put yourself back together, still feeling the afterglow of his words and the tender intensity of his gaze.

choso’s grin widens at your comment, his hand resting gently at your waist, thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles. there’s a comfortable silence as you both catch your breath, his presence grounding you, his quiet laughter blending with yours in the stillness of the night. his eyes don’t leave your face, watching you with a softness that only makes your heart beat faster, as if savoring every little detail of this moment shared.

choso watched you as you righted yourself, his gaze warm and affectionate. his fingers reached up, idly plucking at the fabric of your shirt. he watched the way the material fell back into place, hiding your delicate curves once again.

he couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “you’re still clean, angel. i almost wish i’d made even more of a mess. almost,” his voice was teasing, his lips curving into a playful grin. the air is rife with the unspoken words dancing on the edge of the moment, the warmth and comfort wrapping around you like a cocoon.

he doesn’t press the issue though, not wanting to force anything that could shatter the fragile intimacy between you. instead, he just watches you, eyes warm and full of unspoken emotion.

“but next time,“ he adds, finally breaking the silence, “next time, i’ll have to make sure to have a change of pants.” his tone is light, a teasing lilt to it. but there’s a touch of something deeper there, a hint that he’s planning on there being a next time— that this is more than just a passing encounter.

still sitting on his lap, you snort, amused by his comment, and glance down at his jeans, your gaze catching on the unmistakable stain left by your recent intimacy. a smirk plays at the corners of your lips as you meet his eyes again, a mischievous glint in your own. “or maybe next time,” you murmur, voice dropping to a teasing lilt, “we should find somewhere a little more... private. so we can do it without the clothes.”

your words linger in the air, charged with suggestion, and you watch as his playful grin deepens, the warmth in his gaze intensifying with a glimmer of anticipation. he raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your boldness, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your side as he chuckles. “now that,” he says, voice low and dripping with promise, leaning closer to give you a peck on the lips before pulling away just a beat, “sounds like a plan, angel.”

there’s a shared spark between you, a silent agreement that this moment isn’t just a fleeting encounter but the start of something deeper, something you both want to explore. as the night stretches on, you feel the anticipation settling warmly in your chest, knowing there will be a “next time”— and plenty more after that.

a comfortable pause falls between you, the moment stretching as your eyes meet and hold, speaking volumes without words. the connection between you in that moment is more than just physical— it’s a quiet, wordless exchange of emotions and unspoken promises.

choso is first to break the silence, his lips curving into a playful grin. “as much as i’d love to continue this... we probably shouldn’t push our luck anymore tonight. it’s getting late.” he glances around, noting the empty woods, the deserted empty space beyond..

a soft chuckle escapes you, and with a reluctant sigh, you whisper, “yeah, probably best not to risk it.” carefully, you ease yourself off his lap, feeling the lingering warmth of his presence as you stand. straightening your skirt and adjusting your shirt, you do your best to smooth out any signs of the recent intimacy, fingers running through your hair in a quick attempt to tame it.

choso watches you with a hint of amusement, his eyes gleaming with that familiar warmth as he rises beside you, brushing himself off. “not bad,” he murmurs, a low, teasing note in his voice as he observes your subtle efforts to look composed. he reaches over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

choso flashes you a playful smile as you try to right your appearance, his eyes dancing with amusement at your efforts to look respectable despite the rumpled state of your clothing. his warm gaze follows your every movement, drinking in the sight of you, and he takes a moment to compose himself as well, fixing his clothes and running a hand through his hair.

as you both finally look presentable, he turns towards you, his eyes softening as he watches you. “we should probably get going,”he says quietly, his voice low and soft. “it’s late, and i don’t want you to get in trouble.”

as you begin the quiet walk back from the woods to the school grounds, choso’s hand slips into yours, his fingers curling around yours with a gentle but sure grip. the warmth of his touch anchors you, his presence at your side feeling both natural and reassuring, like something that’s always been meant to be.

the path is cloaked in the soft shadows of the night, the faint glow of the moon casting a silvery hue over everything. neither of you feel the need to speak; instead, you let the comforting silence stretch between you, punctuated only by the quiet sounds of your footsteps against the earth.

every so often, choso’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a small but tender gesture that sends a gentle warmth through you. it’s a simple moment, yet there’s a profound intimacy in it—one that fills you with a sense of peace and connection. you glance over at him, catching the soft profile of his face in the moonlight, and he meets your gaze with a quiet smile, his eyes reflecting that same warmth and promise you felt earlier.

as you near the edge of the woods, the school grounds coming into view, you realize just how deeply this night has shifted something between you two. his hand in yours feels like an unspoken vow, a shared understanding that this connection isn’t just a fleeting spark—it’s something real, something you both want to hold on to.

as you step onto the training ground, the familiar silhouette of gojo comes into view, standing with his typical air of arrogance. his face wears that infuriatingly smug grin, and even with his glasses on, you know he’s watching. just to prove it, he lowers them slightly, giving you and choso a pointed look—specifically at your intertwined hands.

in a swift, reflexive motion, you pull your hand from choso’s, earning a puzzled glance from him. but as his gaze shifts toward gojo, realization dawns in his eyes, and he lets out a silent sigh, his expression settling into understanding.

internally, you curse. gojo’s big mouth is notorious; you know he’ll never let you live this down. as his former classmate, you’re all too familiar with how relentless and obnoxious he can be. memories of his constant teasing, his maddening habit of prying into everyone’s business, flood your mind, and the thought of dealing with his smug remarks makes you groan.

“he’s absolute menace,” you mutter under your breath, sending a half-hearted glare in gojo’s direction. beside you, choso stifles a quiet chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction.

as you approach, gojo stands there, hands buried in his pockets, his smile only widening as you near. you brace yourself, fully aware that the barrage of taunting remarks is about to begin, but also knowing that having choso by your side makes facing gojo’s antics a little more bearable.

gojo stands there, a grin plastered across his face as he takes in the sight before him. “well, well, well,” he drawls, that maddeningly smug tone in his voice that you know so well. “what do we have here? a little late night stroll through the woods, hmm?” his eyes flick between the two of you, one eyebrow raised in a mix of amusement and curiosity.

you roll your eyes, already fed up with gojo’s smug tone. “can you shut up for once, satoru?” you snap, crossing your arms as you fix him with a glare. “what do you want?”

gojo just chuckles, clearly relishing in your irritation. “oh, don’t get all snippy with me,” he teases, hands still stuffed casually in his pockets. “just happened to be wandering by, and—what do i see? a little midnight rendezvous.” he raises an eyebrow, his smirk only growing as he glances between you and choso— raising his eyebrows in silence the moment his six eyes catches a white stain on choso’s pants.

“satoru…” you warn, voice low.

he laughs, holding up his hands in a mock surrender. “alright, alright, i’ll behave.” then, his tone shifts slightly, a hint of seriousness beneath the teasing. “the higher-ups need you and me for something. probably some tedious nonsense, but they sounded… insistent.”

you glance at choso, sighing as you straighten up. “great, just what i need,” you mutter, shooting gojo one last glare. “lead the way then, satoru, since you’re so eager to interrupt a nice, peaceful evening.”

gojo only grins wider, turning and beckoning for you to follow, his playful stride a stark contrast to the sense of duty that suddenly weighs on you. choso gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before you let go, his silent understanding grounding you before you walk forward to face whatever awaits.

you glance over your shoulder at choso, finding him watching you with a soft smile, one that lingers in the quiet warmth of his expression. there’s a flicker of reassurance in his gaze, like he’s silently telling you it’ll all be okay. you give a small wave, a gentle gesture just for him, before turning back to follow gojo.

as you walk away, you feel the warmth of choso’s presence still lingering at your back, a quiet comfort that makes you smile to yourself. whatever nonsense awaits with the higher-ups, you know that, at the very least, there’s someone who has your back when you return.

as you walk away with gojo, choso watches your retreating figure, his expression soft with worry. he has a sinking feeling that this sudden summons isn’t going to bode well for you, but he knows he can’t interfere. when your hand slips from his grasp, and he can’t help but feel a tinge of loss, as if a piece of him goes with you on this mysterious mission with gojo. he pushes those worries aside for now, reminding himself that he has to trust in your strength and abilities. you can handle yourself and whatever comes your way.

gojo rolls his eyes at the obvious exchange of glances between you and choso, a look of mock disgust etched on his face. “ugh, seriously? you are like a teenage girl who just learned how to date,” he teases, his tone dripping with sarcasm. the comment makes you cringe, and you can feel your face flush with embarrassment.

without missing a beat, gojo suddenly stops in his tracks and swiftly pulls you into a headlock. you groan in annoyance, struggling to escape his grip as he chuckles at your predicament. “did choso do a good job, huh?” he asks, a playful grin on his face. “maybe next time, you should change before going public with your little romantic escapades!”

your cheeks flush deeply at gojo’s mention, heat creeping up your neck as you suddenly become hyper-aware of the earlier moments shared with choso. your thoughts begin to swirl, drawing your attention to the unmistakable stain on choso’s jeans that had caught your eye earlier.

a wave of realization crashes over you as you wonder if that same stain might have transferred to your skirt. the idea makes your heart race, and you subtly shift your position, trying to assess the damage without drawing attention.

gojo, ever observant, notices your fidgeting and raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “what’s the matter? you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” he teases, and you can’t help but curse internally.

you huff indignantly, pushing against his arm while trying to mask the smile threatening to break through. “you’re such a jerk, satoru!” you protest, though a small part of you appreciates his relentless teasing. despite the annoyance, you can’t deny the warmth that bubbles up inside you from the earlier moments with choso.

gojo’s grin widens as he sees the flush spread across your cheeks, enjoying the reaction he’s elicited. “aww, look at you, all flustered. that’s what friends are for, right? to tease you when you do something so incredibly naive.” he teases, releasing your headlock but keeping a friendly arm wrapped around your shoulder as you walk.

you huff in annoyance, nudging his chest with your elbow as you cross your arms defiantly. “you are so fucking annoying, you know that?” you retort, shooting him a playful glare. despite your irritation, you can’t help but crack a small smile, knowing that deep down, his teasing comes from a place of genuine friendship. it’s just typical gojo, always pushing your buttons, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you look over your shoulder one last time to catch a glimpse of choso, who is standing a few steps behind you with a soft smile on his face. warmth spreads through you at the sight, the memory of your shared moment still lingering in the air. his gaze holds a hint of something deeper, an unspoken connection that makes your heart flutter.

as you and gojo turn the corner, you can’t help but feel a sense of excitement mixed with anticipation. the night air feels charged, and despite gojo’s teasing, you can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning of something special with choso.

gojo notices the way you glance back, and he quirks an eyebrow, “oh, is our little curse friend back there making your heart race? that’s cute." his teasing tone is laced with a hint of amusement, his eyes sparkling with mischief

“you know, i can practically see the little hearts in your eyes. someone has a crush.” his words are casual, but you catch a glimmer of something else in his expression— he’s not just teasing; he’s genuinely happy for you.

your cheeks flare with embarrassment as gojo’s words hit home. part of you wants to roll your eyes and dismiss him entirely, but there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. “okay, maybe,” you mutter softly, “but don’t you dare start making a big deal out of it, satoru. this is supposed to be a secret, remember?” you shoot him a warning glare, hoping to stave off the barrage of future teasing.

gojo grins widely, feigning innocence, “me? make a big deal out of something? nahhh, that’s not my style.” he gives a casual shrug, leaning in with a sly whisper. “but between you and me, i might just have to give choso the ‘big brother talk’ to make sure he treats you right. you know, threaten him with a little bit of my infamous gojo charm.” the playful glint in his eyes suggests this is just another layer of his teasing.

you snort, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “you’re so stupid, satoru,” you say, shaking your head in mock disbelief. his antics always manage to get under your skin, but you can’t help but find his protective nature endearing, even if he goes about it in the most ridiculous way possible.

gojo lets out a hearty laugh, his grin widening. “hey, it’s my duty as your friend to make sure you’re treated right. and also my duty to annoy the living daylights out of you. two birds, one stone!” he playfully ruffles your hair, causing you to swat his hand away with a playful glare. as you both continue walking, a comfortable banter flows between you, with gojo throwing in a few more teasing remarks about choso and your newfound romance.

your mind keeps drifting back to the moments you and choso shared in the classroom, especially the memory of his lips and the lingering warmth that had engulfed you. you’re almost consumed by the image when gojo’s voice breaks into your thoughts.

“alright, lovebird, i’ve had enough of this smitten daydreaming.” he shoots you another teasing grin, his playful tone making his words less serious. “time to snap out of it. we have a meeting to attend and you need to focus. save your romantic musings for later.”

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