🜼 ⋆ first time fratbf!choso learns you can squirt, he can’t seem to stop abusıng your cunt.
he doesn’t find out because of porn or bragging—he finds out by accident. you’d been grinding on him during some dumb afterparty in his room, shirts sticky with cheap beer, your laughter muffled in his throat when his thumb brushed over you too roughly through your shorts. you’d been teasing him, calling him “baby frat” under your breath because he never actually partied like the rest, and he’d retaliated with this clumsy, desperate pressure between your thighs. the sound you made—it wasn’t your usual.
sharper, shocked, cut off halfway like you didn’t even know it was coming. then suddenly you were wet, soaked beyond reason, dripping down his forearm before you shoved him back and gasped, wide-eyed, face burning.
he stared at you like he’d unlocked a secret level. and that was it. from then on, choso couldn’t stop.
in the days that followed, he cornered you in ways that weren’t even normal boyfriend things anymore. in his car parked behind the frat house, hood pulled low so no one would glance in, fingers pumping you open until your thighs trembled against the dash, until you slapped at his wrist and begged for him to slow down. he’d grunt, “just one more—just once more,” even though it was never once. the seatbelt strap was damp by the time he was done, your voice breaking as liquid gushed against the leather.
he’d lick his knuckles after, shaking, pupils blown, muttering how fucking crazy it was that you could do that for him, only for him.
then in his room, on a wednesday when nobody was supposed to be around, he’d drag you onto his mattress, sheets already stained from the night before, and refuse to let you up. it wasn’t mean exactly, but it was relentless. his hands shaking while he spread you wide and made you watch the mess splatter across his comforter, moaning through his teeth every time your stomach jumped under his palm.
he’d push your hand down, press it against the swell just above your pelvis while he shoved his cock deeper, whispering in that gravelly, half-ashamed voice, “feel that? that’s me—fuck, that’s all me—” until you were sobbing and shaking your head. the headboard banged so loud the guys in the hall teased him for days, but he didn’t care. didn’t even answer back.
by the weekend, it turned into something darker—an addiction that made him clumsy in public. his arm slung over you at a mixer, his lips against your ear: can we leave? just for a second? promise it won’t take long. dragging you into the bathroom, locking the door with fumbling hands, and pushing your panties aside just to chase it again.
his face between your thighs this time, nose pressed hard into you, drinking down everything while you gripped the sink for balance. he’d hum against your cunt when you sprayed over his tongue, messy and shaking, the sound so deep and satisfied that it made your stomach clench all over again.
he wasn’t fratboy-smooth—he was needy. pathetic. every time he made you squirt, it rewired him. his shy loser pride burned hotter. he’d whisper about it later, in your ear when you were falling asleep, about how no one else could ever have this from you. how you were made for him. his knuckles were bruised from jerking himself off when you weren’t around, frustrated because it wasn’t the same unless he could see it, feel it.
and maybe the most shameful part? he started keeping count. muttering numbers under his breath, holding up his fingers to mark every gush he forced out of you until you smacked his chest, whimpering that you couldn’t do it anymore.
he’d smile, crooked and exhausted, but still keep pushing, still rut into you with that low groan of your name, until his sheets, his hoodie, his skin—everything smelled like you. until your body felt wrung out and trembling, his loser pride swelled huge in his chest: my girlfriend. mine. mine.
18+ BOUNCING ON IT WHILE HE YAPS ABOUT PHYSICS ★ NERD!JO
Your thighs ache, but you don’t stop—not when Gojo’s cock is splitting you open so good, his glasses fogged and sliding halfway down his nose, sweat dripping down the sharp line of his jaw. You’ve got both hands braced against his chest for leverage, bouncing on him like you’re shameless, chasing every filthy slap of skin to skin that echoes through the room.
“Q-quantum—fuck—q-quantum superposition,” Gojo stammers, voice cracking like static. His hips jerk up helplessly to meet your rhythm, but you slam down harder, making him choke on his own words. “It’s—nghh, fuck, baby, it’s when a particle can… c-can exist in multiple states—at the same—time—”
You grind down slow, his cock hitting deep, and watch the way his glasses slip further down. You smirk, tightening around him until his knuckles go white gripping the sheets. “Keep going, Satoru,” you purr, filth dripping from your tone. “Lecture me while I’m using you like this.”
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and actually tries—God bless him—to keep that nerdy yap running. “T-the observer effect… ahhh shit, you feel so fucking good—i-it says that—” He breaks off in a strangled moan when you slam back down on his cock, squeezing him tight like you’re wringing every last bit of sanity out of him. “That when you m-measure a system, it—fuck—it changes the outcome—ahh, shit, you’re milking me—”
You giggle breathlessly, rolling your hips in tight circles just to watch him unravel. His long fingers twitch like they don’t know whether to push up his glasses or grab your waist and ruin you. “So what you’re saying,” you whisper, licking your lips as you bounce harder, “is that every time I ride you like this… I’m changing the whole outcome of your little theory?”
His eyes squeeze shut, head thrown back against the pillow, hair sticking to his forehead. “You’re—you’re ruining my research,” he gasps, voice cracking, but his hips buck up so hard it nearly knocks the air out of you. “Fuck, baby, you’re—you’re fucking the physics right outta me—”
The bed creaks violently with the pace you set, his moans tumbling out between garbled bits of textbook jargon. “P-probability wave collapse—ahh, fuck, I’m not gonna last—you’re so dirty, bouncing like that—” His glasses finally slide off, hanging lopsided until you rip them off and toss them aside, riding him like he’s nothing but your cock to use.
And Gojo, poor nerdy bastard, still tries to keep talking—voice ragged, yapping about particles and wave functions while you ride him filthy, shameless, until his thighs tremble and his words dissolve into broken moans.
By the time he’s spilling inside you, he’s not even making sense anymore—just a mix of physics terms and curses as he clutches you to his chest, overstimmed, undone, and absolutely wrecked by the one lecture he’ll never forget.
your best friend geto looks like he's been accosted. eyes wide, jaw slack, face all but screwed up in surprise at the words that have just come out of your mouth. what was it you said you were reading about? triple penetration? he might pass out.
you can't help but laugh at the look he's giving you. "what? you didn't watch porn when you were still a virgin?"
without warning, he snatches your phone right out of your hand and squints at the screen. "my porn was tasteful," he tsks. "this is... uncouth."
"uncouth?" you try to take back your phone, just for him to roll over in bed and hold it out of reach. you're half on top of him in seconds, clawing at his bulky arm. "give it back!"
"what is dac..." he stifles a laugh at the way you try so desperately for your archive of erotica. "...dacryphilia?"
"you don't know? what, no game? no hoes? bitches?"
"i manage, thank you," he rolls the both of you over and pins you down against the mattress, which has your breath hitching in your throat for some reason. it makes him smirk like a fucking idiot. "what, nervous?"
no... yes? you don't know. suguru has never made you feel nervous... jittery, maybe. you'd use nauseous, in both the good and bad way. sometimes he gives you this look that makes you feel like you have food poisoning. your body seems to react to him at the extreme.
you've always been touchy with each other. your friendship has been physical since day one—if you aren't touching, you're not in the same room. it's just how it's always been, a hand on his arm as you walk together, or his arm around your shoulders when you're seated. it's... normal. familiar.
so this—suguru pinning you down by the wrists, his long black hair falling down to tunnel your vision right onto that pretty face of his—probably shouldn't get you this wet.
or wet at all, really.
"tears," you say, for some fucking reason. "dacryphilia, it's crying, or making someone cry. like being overstimulated, or... humiliated, to the point of tears. or just crying for the sake of it."
geto looks down at you, and you try not to watch the muscles of his arms bulge as he keeps you locked beneath him. "i know."
you frown. "you know?"
"i just wanted to hear you try and explain it," he laughs. "fucking pervert."
"i'm going to kill you slowly," you wriggle beneath him. "get off me, suguru."
"or what? you'll cry? i think you're into that..." he teases, and manages to shift both of your wrists into one hand so that he can reach for your phone again. he thumbs it open and resumes your 'history' tab with a shit-eating grin. "virginity loss... best friends to lovers... size kink... corruption... breeding? really?"
"shut the fuck up," you hiss. you buck your hips up, not to throw him off—because you can admit he's bigger, heavier and a whole lot stronger than you are—but out of pure frustration. except your movement only presses you tighter against where his thighs cage your hips, and you freeze. you think something pathetic leaves your lips, but you can't quite hear yourself over the mortification bubbling up in your chest.
"oh?" he notices, of course.you want to claw his stupid handsome face off. "don't tell me this is working for you."
"it's not," you snap. "you are so fucking full of yourself, geto."
"suguru," he corrects you. "say it properly. and by the look on your face right now i'd wager that you'd rather be the one full of me."
god you hate him sometimes. "embarrassing me isn't funny."
"it's a little funny."
"fuck you."
"you look like you'd love to," he lowers his hips a little, and for the first time in your life, you feel the weight of a rock-hard cock pressing against you. "tell me to stop and i will. we can go get food or something, forget this happened."
the switch in tone from teasing to gentle makes you smile, which makes keeping up the disgruntled act a lot harder. the thought of verbalising your need right now makes you nauseous, so you opt instead for a shake of your head.
"great," he nods, and slowly releases your wrists. "you can take that back whenever you want, just tell me and i'll back off."
"what are you..." you're cut off when suguru hands you your phone back with a scrunched up nose.
"read it," he says. "out loud. if you stop, i stop."
you're confused only until you check your screen and see that geto has opened up one of your most recently read pieces and scrolled down to a rather graphic scene of the main character being eaten out by her best friend. it's a little ironic, considering the state you're in, but you can't bring yourself to be embarrassed when your own best friend is kissing down your stomach and hooking his fingers under the waistband of your shorts.
he's going to go down on you? but he's hard, and for as much porn as you've read, most of it depicts the guy taking what he wants.
"aren't you going to... you know? fuck me?"
your shorts and panties are pulled down in one swift movement, and suguru buries his face in your thigh to stifle his laugh. his body shakes with the force of it, which makes you frown. your pussy is a few inches from his face, and he's laughing like the prospect of taking your virginity is funny.
"you couldn't take me," he smiles up at you. "now read."
suddenly self-conscious, you try clamp your thighs shut, just to (once again) find yourself pinned down by his strong arms. "this is weird," you whine. "you're my... i mean we... you know? friends. best friends."
holding eye contact, suguru slowly lowers himself down to press a chaste kiss to your clit. it's not much contact, but it makes you jolt nonetheless. doesn't feel like how you had imagined it when you'd lay in bed late at night with your nose in a book and your hand between your legs. this is... better. feels right.
"still weird?" he asks, to which you nod without really meaning it. "weird like your porn on that phone?"
"suguru i swear to god if you don't—oh my god."
you forgive that man for all of the teasing he'd one as soon as he gets to work on you. flattening out his tongue against your pussy and tasting you for the first time has him already grinding against the mattress, and has you squeezing your eyes shut as you try to process this new realm of pleasure. you're glad he doesn't tease you for being so wet, but that he instead uses it to his advantage and starts making an even bigger mess of you.
his lips latch around your clit for only a few seconds. he hollows out your cheeks and you think you might die with how overwhelming the sensation is, but it's over all too soon. geto pulls back to do two things:
one, tie his hair out of his face, and two, tell you to start reading.
not wanting to miss out on these newfound pleasures of the flesh, you unlock your phone and start on a random spot on the screen, your voice a lot more shaky than you want it to be.
"he, uh... he ducks down and licks a stripe from entrance to clit, collecting... collecting her wetness on his tongue and falling in love with the taste of her enjoyments."
suguru, suddenly good at following instructions, does as written and leads his tongue upwards. you moan at the contact, but notice suguru starting to pull away at your lack of reading, so you go on.
"she loves the way he feels. he kisses her, uh, sweet center, before continuing to use his tongue to toy with her."
you can feel suguru smiling against you. "sweet center?" he laughs, but continues his ministries nonetheless. you roll your eyes, this has been a lot better of a read when your brain was fogged with unsated need. longing for the man that is now between your legs.
"growing messy, his focus shifts to her clit. his tongue dances with the bud of nerves as he brings two fingers of his left hand, ring and all, and pushes them inside of her. curling upwards until she—"
"is that what you want?" suguru cuts you off.
"yeah, yes. i think. just go slow."
"keep reading."
you clear your throat as suguru starts tracing circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue. he looks a little silly doing that, you note as you glance down to enjoy the view for a moment, but god does it feel good.
"curling upwards until she's an ecstatic mess of fulfilled wants. he completes her, in both soul and now flesh. fills her with his fingers in preparation for his—oh god, suguru, right there."
you hadn't even noticed him pushing into you, you were that eager to feel more of him. his fingers curl up as described in your reading material and suddenly he's brushing over a spot you've never discovered on your own. it blurs your vision, sends your skin hot.
"can't.. can't read anymore," you whine, bucking your hips up in some masochistic need for more. anything bigger than this and you'd keel over, you think, but you'd take anything suguru was willing to give you. "gonna—"
he allows it. encourages it, even. quickens his pace on the fingers plunging in and out of you, and starts making out with your pussy like a drunken virgin would. it's good in a way that shouldn't be: messy and needy and you think perhaps that suguru is just as close to coming as you are.
your orgasm is intense. your back arching off the bed and your body trying hopelessly to get more of sugurus touch. you think you moan his name, though it could be a babbled string of 'i love you's that you'll refuse to acknowledge later on in hopes that giving you head wasn't enough to ruin your friendship.
suguru moans loudly against your pussy as he tastes your release, the vibrations no help for your sensitivity, but his hips are stuttering against the mattress and you can tell even through your haze that you've made the cocky idiot cum in his pants.
serves him right.
and because the two of you are friends before you are... whatever this is, the both of you are falling into a fit of laughter upon your comedowns. suguru's lips glisten and your chest heaves with each breath you take, and he's climbing up the bed to press a kiss to your cheek.
"better than reading about it?" he asks.
"nope," you grin, which earns you a mean look that soon gives way to another laugh from him. "you could do it again some time if you wanted, though."
"please. i want to find out what skills you've picked up reading all of that weird shit." he pulls you into his arms and, despite being a little sweaty, you find yourself melting comfortably into his embrace.
synopsis: three best friends in a room. they might fuck.
tags and warnings: porn little plot, roomates, banter, friends to lovers, drug use, smoking, getting high, shotgunning, threesome M/M/F, afab reader, dry humping, praise kink, hair pulling kink, oral sex (f receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, fluff, gojo satoru has a big dick, geto suguru has a big dick, slight overstimulation, creampie, cuddling, no angst, emotional intimacy, explicit sexual content, soft satoru, soft suguru, fluff and smut
w/c: 9k | posted on ao3
The living room is hazy with a sweet, smoky smell, low music thrumming in the background.
You sink deeper into the couch cushions, feeling the plush fabric against your bare legs as you watch a cloud of smoke hover near the ceiling. A lazy grin tugs at your lips, whether from the weed or the comfortable warmth of being here with your two best friends, you’re not sure.
Across from you, Satoru stretches his long legs out on the coffee table, white hair poking in all directions. He’s already a little glassy-eyed, cheeks flushed a soft pink as he waves the lit joint between his fingers.
On your other side, Suguru lounges against the armrest, one arm draped over the back of the couch. His dark hair is slightly sagging loose from the bun he usually keeps it in, inky strands hanging around his relaxed face.
He meets your eyes with a slow, content smile. You can tell the weed’s hit him too, there’s a leisurely ease in his posture and a hint of redness in his usually sharp eyes.
“Yo, pass it over here before you finish it, greedy.” Suguru nudges Satoru’s foot with his hand.
Satoru snickers and leans forward to hand you the joint instead.
“Ladies first.” He announces playfully. “I wanna see if our girl can actually take a hit without coughing her lungs out.” The challenge in his tone is obvious. He’s always liked to poke fun at you for being a lightweight, even if you’re keeping up just fine tonight.
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.
“I can handle it.” You retort, taking the joint between your fingers. The paper is warm and damp from Satoru’s lips.
With a little inhale, you draw the smoke into your mouth, then deeper into your lungs like he taught you last time. The smoke burns slightly on the back of your throat, and you fight the itching urge to cough. For a second you hold it, feeling the buzz blossom further in your chest, then you let your mouth hang open and exhale in a slow stream.
A curl of smoke wafts toward the ceiling, and you beam proudly. “There. No coughing.” You declare, waggling your eyebrows at Satoru.
He claps with an exaggerated enthusiasm, nearly dropping the bag of chips he’s been munching on.
“Yaaaay! She’s officially a stoner now.” He laughs.
Suguru chuckles softly behind you, his large hand coming up to gently squeeze your shoulder in congratulations. “Proud of you.” Suguru says in that low, mellow voice of his.
He reaches for the joint next, fingers brushing yours for a moment as he takes it. Even that tiny contact sends a pleasant little jolt through you. You don’t know if it’s from the high making your skin extra sensitive, or just… him. Probably both. You’ve always found Suguru’s touch calming. Now it leaves warm trails tingling down your arm.
You lean back and watch as Suguru takes a slow drag, his cheeks hollowing. He holds the smoke with practiced ease before releasing it in a steady exhale. The haze in the room thickens, curling around the dimly lit space.
You feel beautifully light-headed. Everything’s gone slightly slower and dreamy around the edges, like time has decided to stretch itself out. When you giggle at nothing in particular, both guys glance at you. Your giggle is infectious enough that Satoru starts laughing too, though he probably doesn’t even know why. Soon all three of you are grinning at each other like fools.
“This is some good shit.” Satoru takes the joint back from Suguru for another hit. He sinks back into the couch, tilting his head up to blow smoke at the ceiling. “Remind me to thank Yaga for the hookup. This is the best strain I’ve had in a while.”
Suguru snorts. “Don’t mention our old professor and ‘hookup’ in the same sentence, man. That’s fucked.”
You burst out laughing at the mental image of your grumpy professor handing Satoru a baggie of weed.
“Seriously, though. I’m so toasted.” You admit, closing your eyes for a moment. The world behind your eyelids spins pleasantly. “Everything feels… weird, but like a good weird.”
“Same.” Suguru agrees. He lazily reaches over to ruffle your hair, an affectionate gesture. “You look happy, you know. Kinda glowy.”
You blink your eyes open and find him gazing at you. There’s something warm in his expression that makes your belly flutter. Or maybe that’s just the snacks you had earlier kicking in? Hard to tell.
Under that half-lidded stare, you suddenly become very aware of how you’re cozied up between two attractive men. Two attractive men who happen to be your closest friends.
A tiny, logical part of your brain reminds you that this is nothing new. You’ve cuddled on this couch during movie nights a dozen times. But tonight something feels different. More charged. Every time one of them touches you, even just a nudge or a casual brush, your skin tingles extra hot.
The weed has lowered your inhibitions and dialled up your senses, and now your gaze keeps flickering to Satoru’s long fingers around that joint, to the way Suguru’s tongue darts out to wet his lips after a sip of soda.
Damn. Maybe getting high together when all three of you are single and touch-starved wasn’t the most genius idea. You bite your lip, trying to smother away the semi-dirty thoughts forming in your mind. Get a grip, you scold yourself, they’re your friends. Friends who are definitely noticing the way you’re staring at Suguru’s mouth right now.
You snap your eyes away, cheeks warming.
“Earth speaking.” Satoru waves a hand in front of your face. “You zoning out on us?”
Suguru’s palm drifts from your shoulder, lightly tracing down your back in a casual rub. “She’s probably just baked.” He says, though his tone is gentle. “Right?”
A goofy smile tugs at your lips. “Really baked. Like…really, really.” You tilt your head back against the couch, letting it rest on Suguru’s arm. “Feels tingly.”
“Tingly, huh?” Satoru’s voice drops a notch, playful but also curious.
He passes the joint to Suguru, freed hands now drumming on his knees. He’s looking at you with a distinct spark of mischief in those bright blue eyes. You’ve always thought they were beautiful, more than once you’ve found yourself shyly avoiding that gaze when it felt too penetrating. Right now, though, you’re too relaxed to look away.
Satoru notices. A slow smirk curls his lips.
“Hey, I have an idea.” He says, sitting up straighter. His tongue peeks out to lick some chip salt off his thumb and the motion is unexpectedly mesmerizing. “Wanna try shotgunning?”
Suguru raises an eyebrow, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Shotgunning? Really?” He sounds amused.
You glance between them, the term ringing a bell. “Isn’t that like… blowing smoke into someone else’s mouth, right?” Your voice comes out a little quieter than intended. Just saying it makes your heart skip.
“Bingo.” Satoru winks and pats the spot on the couch between his open knees. “Come here, I’ll show you. It’s easier than doing it by yourself, promise.”
Your breath catches. He’s inviting you to get closer. Closer than usual.
You hesitate for a half-second, nerves fluttering in your stomach, but a wave of boldness, fuelled by cannabis, crashes over you. Fuck it, you think. It’s a friend thing. Friends do this sometimes, don’t they? And it’s Satoru. You trust him.
“Okay.” You say, trying to sound casual even as your pulse quickens.
You push yourself up from your comfy slouch and shuffle over, swinging one leg over Satoru’s outstretched thighs so that you’re straddling him on the couch. You perch lightly on his lap, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. Instantly, his hands find your waist to steady you, the heat of his grip searing through the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirt. Jesus.
Your heart is pounding now, but you give him a lopsided grin. “Like this?”
Satoru’s smirk has gone a touch softer as he looks up at you. He seems momentarily entranced, pale lashes lowering as his gaze flicks down your body pressed against him. You suddenly realise how this position might appear to Suguru, who’s behind you now, and a flush creeps up your neck.
But before you can second-guess it, Satoru nods. “Perfect.” He murmurs. His voice has taken on a huskier edge that sends a shiver through you.
“Okay, now when I take a hit, you open your mouth a little.” He instructs, before bringing the joint to his lips and inhales deeply, never breaking eye contact. Then he removes it, fingers pinching it safely, and leans in closer to you.
Your stomach flips. You part your lips, eyes fluttering half-shut as Satoru’s face nears yours. You can feel Suguru’s attentive silence at your back, he’s definitely watching, the air thick with anticipation.
Satoru’s hands slide from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you just a bit closer to him. You gasp softly at the sudden contact, and in that moment Satoru closes the gap.
He exhales slowly, deliberately, and warm smoke streams from his mouth directly into yours. The shotgun fills you with a mix of his exhale and the smoky burn fills your senses. You inhale, drawing the smoke into your lungs.
The tip of Satoru’s nose brushes yours, that’s how close you are. His eyes are heavy-lidded, almost closed, pale lashes fanning across his cheeks. You can’t help it, your gaze drops to his lips, so close now that a stray thought zips through your hazy mind, should I…?
Satoru’s grip on your back firms, and as the last tendril of smoke passes between you, he tilts his head just a little and kisses you.
It’s soft at first, a gentle press of his lips against yours right there in the lingering cloud of smoke. Your mind goes blank with surprise and then fireworks. It’s like every nerve ending lights up at once. He tastes faintly sweet, a bit like apple soda and weed.
A muffled sound of pleasure vibrates in your throat as you kiss him back, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders. The kiss that started tender quickly grows hungry. Satoru’s mouth moves against yours eagerly, parting your lips wider. His tongue teases along your lower lip, asking for entry, and you grant it without thinking.
The kiss deepens, wet and warm and dizzying. You feel high in an entirely new way now, intoxicated by the feel of Satoru’s lips and the fact that you’re making out with your best friend on your couch.
Somewhere in the haze, you register that Suguru has drawn closer behind you. The cushion shifts as he moves in. One of his hands slips up under the hem of your shirt at your hip, resting on your waist, grounding you with a steady presence.
The touch of his warm fingers on your bare skin sends sparks across your nerves. You inhale sharply into Satoru’s mouth and break away from his lips with a gasp, needing air and a second to process the onrush of sensation.
“Whoa.” You breathe, voice a little unsteady.
You head is spinning, and not just from the marijuana. Satoru’s eyes search your face worriedly, and Suguru’s hand on your waist flexes as if he’s about to pull away.
“You okay?” Suguru asks softly from behind, his breath brushing the back of your ear.
You realise both of them have gone still, giving you a moment to collect yourself and decide what you want.
In a moment of logic, you understand that yes, a line has been crossed, but your entire body is practically singing with how right it feels. The delicious burn in your lungs, the taste of Satoru still tingling on your lips, the protective hold of Suguru at your back… it all feels so right.
So instead of answering with words, you turn your head over your shoulder to look at Suguru. His face is only inches away, watching you anxiously. Whatever he sees in your expression makes his eyes darken, the muscle in his jaw tightening. You give him a smile, and then you lean in just enough to press your lips to his.
Suguru makes a surprised sound, like a sharp inhale against your mouth, but he doesn’t hesitate. His hand on your waist slips further around, wrapping low on your belly to hold you close as he returns your kiss.
He kisses you deeply, his plush lips parting yours, tongue sliding against yours in a way that draws a throaty moan from you. If you tasted sweetness with Satoru, then Suguru is spice, a heady mix that makes your head swim.
Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit…” He mutters, but he doesn’t sound upset, more like turned on.
In your periphery, you can see him watching the two of you with lips parted, chest rising and falling a little faster than before. He runs a hand through his messy hair and adjusts his hips under you. A thrill shoots through you. Satoru’s getting hard, and you’re perched right in his lap.
You break away from Suguru’s lips, a string of saliva briefly connecting you before it breaks. Your cheeks are burning, heart hammering wildly.
“I– I’m fine.” You answer their earlier question belatedly, a breathless laugh escaping you. “Definitely okay.”
Satoru’s hands slide up and down your sides below Suguru’s arm, inching under your shirt now, fingertips grazing more bare skin.
“Yeah? You sure?” He teases, but his voice is a bit rough. He’s clearly affected, pupils blown wide behind a few stray locks of white hair over his forehead. His hands are trembling slightly on you, opposing his attempt to sound cocky. “We kinda attacked you there.”
“I liked it.” You confess, chewing your lip.
Saying that was bold, but you don’t want either of them thinking you want to stop. In fact, the throbbing ache between your thighs is begging for more. The weed’s stripped away your shyness, leaving just raw honesty and desire. “I… want more. If– if you guys do too.”
Suguru answers by pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.
“I do.” He murmurs against your skin, his warm breath making your skin prickle. “God, I do.” The heat in his tone sends a pulse of arousal straight to your core.
“Absolutely.” Satoru groans dramatically, as if he’d been holding back a century.
His grip firms and suddenly he pulls you fully down into his lap with a little grunt. You gasp as you feel the distinct hardness of his erection now snug against your inner thigh through both your clothes.
“I’ve been trying to behave but… fuck it.” He grins at you, eyes bright with mischief and lust. “We’re all high and horny. No point pretending otherwise, right?”
A giggle bubbles out of you at his frankness. “Right.”
Satoru answers you with a swift kiss. You return it eagerly, tangling your fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. A low moan rumbles in Satoru’s throat when you tug lightly on his snowy locks.
“Shit– keep doing that and I’ll bust in my pants.” He half-jokes, breaking the kiss to laugh breathlessly.
His laughter quickly turns to a sharp inhale as you experimentally roll your hips, grinding down on him. The friction of your thin lounge shorts against the bulge in his sweatpants sends sparks skittering through your belly. It feels really good, your clit throbs at the pressure and you can’t help but moan softly.
Behind you, Suguru lets out a quiet curse. He shifts position, moving fully onto the couch so he’s pressed up against your back as you straddle Satoru. You’re sandwiched snugly between them now. Suguru’s thighs bracket yours from behind, and you realise that he’s hard too, the firm outline of his arousal nudges against your lower back through his joggers.
Suguru’s arms wrap around you, one across your chest just beneath your breasts, the other around your waist. He nuzzles the side of your neck, voice a hot whisper in your ear.
“Is this okay?” He asks, even as his hand slides up, fingertips teasing the underside of your breast through your shirt.
“Yes.” You gasp, nodding fervently. “Please… touch me.”
Satoru captures your mouth again, swallowing the little moans that spill out of you as Suguru’s hand cups your breast fully now. You arch into his palm, the sensation combining Satoru’s tongue in your mouth and Suguru’s fingers rolling your sensitive nipple through the fabric.
“Fuck, you’re so responsive.” Suguru murmurs.
He pushes your t-shirt up, bunching the soft material under your armpits to expose your chest. You hadn’t bothered with a bra under your lounge shirt. The cool air of the room kisses your bare breasts for a second before Suguru’s large, warm hands cover them from behind, and you keen at the contact.
He squeezes gently, thumbs stroking over your nipples until they pebble into stiff peaks. Each stroke sends an electric wave of pleasure straight down between your legs.
Satoru pulls back from your kiss, trailing his lips along your jaw. His eyes drop and immediately zero in on the sight of Suguru’s hands kneading your tits.
“Damn.” Satoru breathes appreciatively, lust thick in his voice. “Prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen.”
Your face burns at the blunt praise. It’s doing things to you and a surge of arousal clenches low in your belly. You reach out you grab one of Satoru’s wrists, and guide his hand to your chest, right over Suguru’s. “Touch me together.”
Satoru lets out a ragged groan. “Fuuuuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He laughs, but the sound is heavy with arousal.
He slips his hand beneath Suguru’s on your right breast, so now you have two hands feeling you there. You cry out softly at the overwhelming sensation of four sets of fingers pinching and circling your nipples. It’s almost too much, but in the best way. Pleasure thrums from your chest straight to your core, and you grind down instinctively on Satoru’s lap, seeking friction.
“Mm, that’s it.” Satoru encourages, hissing through his teeth as you rock your hips on him. His free hand grips your hip to guide your rhythm. You can feel the damp spot forming on your underwear where you’re rubbing against him, each drag of your clothed clit against the ridges of his erection has your thighs trembling.
Across your neck and shoulder, Suguru starts placing open-mouthed kisses, sucking gently on your skin between words.
“You like that? Grinding on Satoru’s cock?” He ruts his own hips lightly against your backside in time with your movements, letting you feel just how hard he is too. “I can feel how much you like it, you’re so eager… so needy.”
His dirty talk sends a hot flush over your skin. You whimper, nodding, unable to form a coherent reply.
Satoru captures your lips again to drown you in another searing kiss, Suguru rolls and tugs at your nipples just this side of too rough, both of them grinding against you until you’re practically seeing stars. It feels so good your eyes threaten to roll back.
The three of you move together in a steady rhythm, dry humping like a bunch of desperate teenagers.
It’s messy and you all let out little laughs whenever someone’s elbow slips or when Satoru complains “Ow, my knee!” after an awkward shuffle. But none of you stop, if anything, the laughter just makes it sweeter, reminding you comfortable and safe to be a little silly.
At some point, Satoru’s t-shirt gets peeled off between frenzied kisses and clumsy arms. He nearly smacks you in the face pulling it over his head, which has you and Suguru giggling into each other’s mouths.
Suguru’s shirt is the next to go. He strips it off smoothly in one motion, revealing the lean, toned chest you’ve only ever caught glimpses of before. Your hands roam greedily over any bare skin you can reach, the hard planes of Satoru’s abdomen flexing under your touch, the subtle scar on Suguru’s collarbone that you trace with your lips when you twist to kiss his neck.
They both feel so different but equally intoxicating.
“Here, let’s get this off you.” Satoru murmurs, tugging at your own t-shirt still bunched under your arms. Suguru helps, and together they lift it over your head, tossing it somewhere behind the couch.
You’re completely topless now, straddling Satoru in just your little cotton shorts, with two pairs of hungry male eyes devouring the sight of you. You’ve never felt more sexy in your life. The way Satoru’s gaze trails over your exposed torso, and the way Suguru bites his lip as he runs his hands down your sides… it’s enough to make you ache.
“Beautiful.” Suguru says, almost reverently, brushing your hair aside so he can place a kiss at the juncture of your neck and shoulder.
Satoru hums in agreement, leaning forward to envelop one of your nipples in the wet heat of his mouth without warning.
You gasp, back arching as Satoru sucks and flicks his tongue over the sensitive bud. He moans around it appreciatively, clearly enjoying this as much as you are. Suguru claims your lips again in a slower, deeper kiss while Satoru gives your breasts his full attention. Licking, sucking, nibbling just enough to make you cry out against Suguru’s mouth.
When Satoru gently bites down on your nipple, the sharp spark of pain-pleasure makes you tug at his hair reflexively.
He groans loud against your skin, the vibration sending tingles through you. Pulling back with a pop, he looks up, breathless.
“Fuck… I love when you do that.” He admits, voice wrecked. His eyes are practically blown black with lust. He grabs your wrist and guides your hand back to his hair, encouraging you to grab a fistful of silvery strands. “Don’t be shy. Pull harder.”
You swallow, exhilarated by his demand. Slowly, you tighten your fingers in his soft hair and give a little tug. Satoru’s lips part, a shuddering sigh escaping. His eyelids flutter in bliss. It’s probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, that you could make the oh so cocky Satoru Gojo fall apart just by playing with his hair.
Suguru chuckles in your ear. “I think he’s got a bit of a hair-pulling kink.” He teases knowingly, nibbling your earlobe. You giggle because Satoru is currently nodding emphatically, not looking the least bit ashamed.
“Hell yeah, I do.” He laughs breathlessly.
He surges up to kiss you, clearly spurred on by your newfound power over him. As you kiss him back, you make a point to give another firm tug at his snowy locks. He whimpers into your mouth, hips bucking up against you hard. The jolt of his clothed cock hitting your clit through your soaked panties makes you moan.
“Shit.” you pant, breaking the kiss as a wave of intense pleasure and need washes over you. “Boys… I need–” Your voice catches; you’re too flustered to finish the sentence, but you don’t need to. They can tell.
Suguru gently turns your face to him and presses a soft kiss to your flushed cheek. “I know, baby.” He says, voice tight with his own arousal. “We’ve got you.”
Satoru’s chest heaves as he struggles for control. “Yeah.” He agrees hoarsely. “We’re gonna take care of you. Whatever you want.”
Your answer is an ardent kiss to Satoru’s lips, then one to Suguru’s. “I wanna feel good.” You whisper. “Make me feel good… please.”
Satoru rests his forehead against yours for a second, eyes closed as if to compose himself. When he opens them, a familiar mischievous glint is back.
“I have an idea.” He says, and before you can ask, he’s moving.
With ease, Satoru scoops an arm under your thighs and the other around your back. In one swift motion, he stands up from the couch, lifting you with him. You squeal, arms looping around his neck instinctively.
“Hey!” You’re laughing in surprise.
Satoru holds you bridal-style like you weigh nothing. The room spins briefly, and Suguru stands as well, steadying you with a hand when Satoru sets you down gently on the soft rug in front of the couch. You land on your feet, but your legs wobble, and you plop down onto the rug on your butt, still giggling.
Satoru sinks to his knees in front of you, eyes dancing with excitement.
“Sorry, the couch was getting a little cramped.” He says, brushing some hair from his eyes. “This okay? We can stretch out more down here.”
You glance around. The rug under you is plush and comfy, and the coffee table’s been pushed off to the side by Satoru’s legs when he was carrying you. Honestly, it’s perfect.
“Yeah, it’s okay.” You assure him.
You reach for Satoru’s hand and intertwine your fingers, pulling him a bit closer on his knees. Suguru lowers himself behind you, sitting with his legs stretched out on either side of you. He gently tugs you to lie back against his chest once more, propping you halfway between sitting and lying down.
“There we go.” Suguru murmurs, wrapping one arm around your middle from behind in a snug embrace. You relax into the warmth of his body, tilting your head back on his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to plant a tender kiss on your forehead that makes your heart squeeze. Satoru, still on his knees, positions himself between your legs now.
Your shorts and panties are still on, but they’re practically useless at this point damp and sticking to your heated skin. Satoru’s hands smooth up your calves, then your thighs, as he slowly spreads you open before him. His gaze drops between your legs and his tongue swipes hungrily over his bottom lip. Your soul leaves your body.
“Can I take these off?” He asks, plucking at the waistband of your shorts. Despite the lust clouding his features, he pauses for permission, which makes you love him even more in that moment.
“Yes yes.” You say quickly, lifting your hips a little to help.
Both boys chuckle at your eagerness, then Satoru carefully peels your shorts down. The cool air on your damp panties makes you shiver. Undies next, he hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear and slides them down and off, leaving you completely naked from the waist down.
Your thighs reflexively try to squeeze together at the sudden exposure, but Satoru gently holds your knees apart.
“Uh-uh, lemme see.” He says softly. His eyes slide over your bared cunt and the way his breath catches makes you want to run away and hide.
“Prettiest pussy ever.” Satoru declares, sounding almost in awe.
You let out an embarrassed laugh and cover your face with one hand, internally exploding at his praise. Suguru chuckles, through his nose, removing your hand from your face and laces his fingers with yours, holding it against your chest.
“Don’t hide.” Suguru murmurs, lips ghosting over your temple. “We like looking at you.”
As if to prove the point, he drops his other hand to your inner thigh, caressing the soft skin there, before gently creeping higher and higher, then uses two fingers to spread your open for Satoru.
You hiss in a breath through your teeth, feeling your face go red. You’re pretty sure your slickness is leaking out of you, glistening in the low light, and by Satoru’s expression, he definitely notices.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He breathes out, inching forward on his knees. “I wanna eat you.”
Your heart skips. “Y-yes.” You gasp out. “Please, Satoru…”
He needs no further encouragement. Satoru lies down on his stomach between your legs, strong arms looping around your thighs. You feel his breath, hot against your inner thigh, and then his mouth is on you.
He starts with a slow, broad lick from your entrance up to your clit, making you cry out and clutch at Suguru’s hand on your chest. The sensation is so intense your toes curl into the rug. Satoru groans the moment he tastes you, the sound vibrating against your folds and drawing another moan from you.
“Mmmh, you taste so good.” Satoru mumbles, already diving back in.
He licks and suckles at your dripping slit as if he can’t get enough. When his lips close over your clit, applying the slightest suction, you swear you see white behind your eyelids.
Your free hand flies to Satoru’s head, fingers tangling in his hair automatically and he moans loudly against your pussy, spurring you on. So you keep your hold, pushing his face even closer.
Your hips jerk up with every spark of pleasure, trying to grind against his mouth. Satoru just grunts, huffing out a sharp exhale through his nose, and tightens his grip around your thighs to hold you still, determined to continue his torment.
Suguru’s arm across your chest keeps you anchored as well. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, matching the frantic rhythm of your own. He watches Satoru go down on you, breath hot and irregular by your ear. You feel some subtle shuffles behind you, and you think he might be palming himself.
Between your legs, Satoru’s tongue begins to trace tight circles around your clit, alternating with quick flicks over the sensitive bud. You practically sob at the sensation, thighs trembling in his hold.
“S-Satoru, Satoru, ohmygod–” You babble, not knowing what you’re even asking for. It just feels so good, too good.
You’ve touched yourself before, you’ve had sex before, but nothing compares to this relentless, skillful pleasure he’s giving you. He seems to know exactly when to back off and when to press harder, tuning himself to your reactions.
“That’s it, baby.” Suguru coos in your ear, clearly enjoying the show. “Let him make you feel good. You can let go.” His voice is soothing, but you can hear the strain. He’s just as aroused, just holding back.
One particularly firm suck from Satoru’s lips around your clit makes you cry out and reflexively yank on his hair. Satoru groans loudly, the vibration coursing through your most sensitive parts, and suddenly the pressure inside you builds to a breaking point.
“I– I’m gonna–” You manage to gasp.
Your back arches against Suguru’s chest. The heat coiling in your core snaps and pleasure crashes over you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You come with a cry, your vision whiting out for a moment.
If it weren’t for Suguru holding you, you’re sure you’d have thrashed off the rug from the intensity. Euphoria pulses through your body, but Satoru doesn’t let up. He laps at you through your orgasm, tongue gentle as he works you through it, greedily tasting everything you give him. You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes from sheer overwhelming bliss.
“Good girl.” Suguru praises, peppering kisses along your cheek and jaw as you ride out your high. “You’re such a good girl… you’re doing so well.”
His praise land in your ear and strangled moan leaves you as another mini wave shudders through your over-sensitised body. Your hand squeezes his and he squeezes back, grounding you until the tremors subside.
Finally, you slump back, utterly boneless against Suguru. Your chest heaves as you gulp in air, little aftershocks of sensation still buzzing in your veins. Satoru gradually releases your thighs from his hold, leaving finger-shaped imprints in your skin from how tightly he was gripping.
The moment you can muster the courage, you glance down. Satoru looks wrecked. His hair is dishevelled, and his chin glistens with your juices. He’s panting, pupils blown, and wearing the most self-satisfied grin you’ve ever seen.
“Holy shit.” You breathe out, voice hoarse. A little laugh escapes you. “That was…”
“That was just the preview, babe.” Satoru smirks, his voice coming out a bit shaky with need.
He climbs back up to hover over you and Suguru loosens his hold to let Satoru press in close. The moment Satoru’s face is level with yours, your hands wrap around his neck and pull him into a searing kiss, the taste of you melting onto your tongue.
Satoru groans into the kiss, lowering his body fully against yours. You become very aware of his erection, still trapped in his sweatpants, now grinding against your inner thigh. He’s achingly hard. The feeling stokes the fire inside you once more, making your core clench in anticipation.
Suguru’s hands slide down your sides soothingly. “How are you feeling?” He asks quietly, nuzzling the top of your head.
His gentle tone gives you a brief pause amid the lust. He’s checking in on you. You turn your head to meet his gaze. Suguru’s eyes search yours. Despite the flush on his cheeks and his swollen lips and the obvious bulge straining in his pants, he looks focused entirely on you and your comfort right now.
It takes everything in your power not to melt at how sweet that is.
Your lift your hand to cup his cheek. “I’m good.” You reassure him softly, and then you lean up to capture his lips in a slow, loving kiss. Suguru makes a content noise, kissing you back with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. When you part, you add, “And I want more. I want both of you.”
Suguru’s pupils dilate at that, and Satoru lets out a dramatic sigh of relief, flopping his forehead against your collarbone for a second.
“Thank god, because I’m dying to be inside you.” Satoru mumbles against your skin, half joking and half downright needy. “Thought I was gonna explode in my pants while going down on you.”
You giggle, tangling a hand in Satoru’s hair fondly and combing it back. “Well we can’t have that.” you tease. “These are your favourite sweatpants.”
He lifts his head and sticks his tongue out at you. “As if that’s the concern right now.”
Still, he grins and quickly moves to peel off those very sweatpants, shucking them down his hips along with his boxers. Your witty retort dies in your throat as Satoru’s cock springs free, hard and flushed with arousal. He kicks the bunched pants off to the side carelessly.
Your mouth goes dry.
Satoru is… well, the word “pretty” comes to mind, strangely. His cock is long, maybe a little above average, and thick enough to make your thighs clench. A bead of precum glistens at the tip.
You reach out almost subconsciously, wrapping your fingers around the base of his length. Satoru hisses at the contact, hips twitching. His cock feels hot and heavy in your hand, like silk over iron. “Fuck.” He whispers, watching as you give a gentle stroke, “That feels–”
Before he can finish, Suguru shifts behind you. “He’s not the only one who needs some attention.” He grumbles lightly by your ear, nibbling it.
He guides your other hand down and back, until you feel it brush over the bulge in his pants behind you. Oh. You swallow a moan as your palm presses against Suguru’s erection. Even through the fabric, he feels thick.
Satoru’s not about to be left out. He leans in and kisses you fiercely, and the three of you adjust positions once again.
You end up lying fully on your back now on the plush rug, with Satoru kneeling between your spread legs. Suguru shifts to be beside you on his knees, near your head. Both men start hastily removing the last of their clothing.
Suguru pushes down his joggers and briefs, and you turn your head to watch. His cock stands proudly once freed, and you nearly moan at the sight. Suguru is just as large as Satoru, maybe a bit shorter but slightly more girthy. Jesus. Your pussy clenches, imagining either one of those stretching you open.
Satoru follows your gaze and then gives a low whistle, clearly appreciating the view of his best friend naked as well.
“Lookin’ good, Suguru.” He comments with a smirk. Suguru rolls his eyes, but a faint blush dusts his cheeks.
You can’t help laugh softly at their banter even in the middle of this hot-as-hell moment. “He’s right, you both look insanely good.” You admit, unabashedly letting your eyes roam over the two gorgeous men now kneeling around you in all their naked glory.
Suguru’s blush deepens, but he smirks. “Focus, Satoru.” He chides lightly, though his eyes shine with amusement. He then turns that warm gaze to you. “Are you sure you’re up for this? We’ll go slow, okay?”
Your heart flutters. Always so considerate. You open your arms toward him. “Kiss me?” You request softly.
Suguru obliges immediately, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. As he does, Satoru moves between your thighs, lining himself up.
You break the kiss with Suguru and glance down to where Satoru kneels. He’s taken his cock in hand, pumping it slowly a few times while looking at you with open hunger.
“I… I don’t have a condom on me.” He admits, sounding a bit frustrated at himself for the oversight. But this whole thing wasn’t exactly planned either. “Shit, I wasn’t exactly expecting to need one in our living room tonight.”
You let out a breathless laugh. “I’m on the pill.”
Satoru’s shoulders relax visibly in relief, flashing you a giddy smile. “You’re kind of the best, you know that?”
Suguru snorts and you roll your eyes at him playfully nerves loosening just before Satoru leans in. “Took you long enough to realise.”
He grins at that, a little flushed, and then positions his tip at your entrance, rubbing it through your slick folds teasingly a couple times. The slight pressure against your sensitive, swollen clit makes you whimper and shift your hips.
“Easy.” Satoru murmurs, jaw clenching.
His eyes meet yours, silently asking if he should go ahead. You bite your lower lip and nod, bending your knees a bit more to give him better access. Suguru, still beside you, takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers.
Satoru starts to push in, and even with how wet you are, the stretch of his thick tip breaches your entrance with a mix of pleasure and a delicious burn. You inhale sharply, back arching slightly off the rug.
Satoru immediately pauses, concern flickering over his expression. “You okay?”
“Y-yeah.” You breathe. It’s intense, but you want it. “Keep going.”
Suguru kisses your temple soothingly as Satoru continues to press forward, inch by inch. Your walls yield to the slow invasion, the slick sounds downright obscene. It’s a lot, stretching you wider than you’re used to, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” Satoru grits out, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He’s visibly trembling from the restraint it’s taking to go slow. “So good… you feel so good, baby.”
Finally, with a low groan, Satoru bottoms out. His hips meet yours, and you both gasp in unison. He stills, buried fully inside you, letting you both savour the moment. Your walls flutter around him, adjusting to the girth and heat.
“Oh my god.” You whimper. He’s so deep you feel like you can’t breathe for a second. The fullness is indescribable. “Satoru…”
“I know.” He whispers, leaning down to kiss you softly. His face is flushed, a bead of sweat trickling from his temple. “Feels like heaven. Fuck.” He nuzzles your nose tenderly. “Tell me when I can move, okay?”
You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close. The slight shift makes you both moan. The stinging stretch fades quickly, pleasure flooding in to take its place. Soon, you’re aching for him to do more than just fill you.
“Okay.” You say after a few moments, rolling your hips experimentally. A ripple of pleasure courses through you both. “You can move, ‘Toru.” The nickname slips out naturally, and his eyes widen a fraction.
Suguru, still holding your hand, rubs his thumb over your knuckles. You turn your head to capture his lips in a kiss. As you do, Satoru draws his hips back slightly and thrusts forward again, slow and deep. The sensation punches a moan out of youand into Suguru’s mouth.
Satoru takes up a steady rhythm, pulling almost fully out, before sliding back in, each thrust easier and slicker as your body adjusts and more arousal drips out around him. He groans your name, eyes locked on where your bodies are joined, watching himself disappear into you repeatedly.
“You’re taking me so well.” Satoru praises between heavy breaths. His hands grip your hips, guiding you to meet his movements. “Such a good girl… fuck, you feel amazing.”
“Yes… oh god, Satoru,” You whimper, legs tightening around him. Every grind of his pelvis against your clit has you seeing sparks again.
Suguru releases your hand and shifts, leaning over you. For a second you think he might be jealous or feeling left out, but then he captures one of your bouncing breasts in his mouth, sucking on your nipple and kneading the flesh gently.
You cry out and thread the fingers of one hand into his long hair, holding him to you. The other hand claws at Satoru’s back, nails surely leaving marks, but the way Satoru hisses in pleasure means he doesn’t mind at all.
Between Satoru’s deep thrusts and Suguru’s lips around your nipple, you’re in ecstasy. It’s almost too much, but you never want it to stop. When Suguru bites down lightly, sending a zing straight to your core, your walls clamp around Satoru involuntarily. He curses, his rhythm faltering.
“Fuck Suguru, you might actually kill me.” Satoru half-growls, half-moans. He slows his thrusts, chest heaving. “I won’t last if we keep this up.”
Suguru lifts his head from your breast, smirking playfully. “Then maybe it’s my turn.”
He sits back on his heels, and you notice he’s stroking himself leisurely as he watched you and Satoru. The sight has your mouth drooling, Suguru’s large hand gliding along his slick, hard cock, his lips wet from sucking your nipple, a lazy heat in his hooded eyes. You feel another gush of wet heat in response.
Satoru gently pulls out of you, and you whine at the emptiness, but he quickly shifts aside to trade places with Suguru.
“Alright, alright.” Satoru says, a flushed grin on his face. “Can’t hog her all to myself, I guess.” He leans down to plant a quick kiss on your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m not done either. Just… taking a breather.” He winks, then moves to kneel by your head where Suguru was.
Suguru settles between your thighs now, and even though you just took Satoru, you feel a fresh wave of anticipation. Suguru notices the slight apprehension in your gaze and gives you a reassuring smile, leaning down to give you a sweet peck. “I’ll be gentle.”
You nod, lifting your shaky legs to wrap around his trim hips. “Okay.” You bite your lip, adding with a hint of playfulness, “I want you, Suguru.”
His eyes darken at that, a quiet groan slipping from him. Guiding his cock to your still-dripping entrance, he pushes in slowly. You both gasp. Despite being stretched from Satoru, Suguru’s thickness fills you in a new, mind-melting way. The fit is snug, you feel every inch as he sinks deeper, taking his time.
“Ahh, shit.” Suguru breathes, eyes squeezing shut as your warmth envelops him. “You’re– so tight–” He pauses once he’s halfway, chest rising and falling as he controls himself. His forehead presses to yours, sweat-damp strands of hair tickling your skin. “Okay?”
Your fingers dig into his firm biceps. It’s a lot, but the mix of slight burn and fullness quickly melts into pure pleasure again. “Yeah… keep going.” You kiss the corner of his mouth.
Suguru pushes the rest of the way in with a low groan, seating himself fully inside you. You feel completely filled once more, stretched deliciously around him.
If someone told you earlier that tonight you’d have both your roommates’ cocks in you one after the other, you’d have probably choked on your drink. Yet here you are, and it feels like the most natural, right thing in the world.
Satoru, at your side, brushes some damp hair from your face and kisses your temple. He’s watching where Suguru is joined with you, and you can see his cock is still rock-hard, slick with your juices and his own precum. The fact he didn’t come yet and is still eager sends a thrill through you.
“You two look so hot like this.” Satoru comments, voice husky. His hand drifts to your lips, thumb tracing them. “Does he feel good, babe?”
Instead of answering with words, you turn your head and capture Satoru’s thumb between your lips, sucking on it suggestively. His eyes go wide and he lets out a shaky laugh. “Oh, someone’s feeling freaky.”
Suguru begins to move, drawing your focus back. He pulls out a few inches, then slides back in slowly. His pace is unhurried. His hips roll fluidly, each thrust hitting a spot deep inside that makes you mewl and clutch at his shoulders.
“That’s it.” Suguru murmurs, maintaining eye contact that you’re not quite sure you can continue to hold.
Before you can combust under his watch, you wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him into another kiss as he rocks into you.
“You’re so deep…so good.” You whimper against Suguru’s lips. He responds by picking up the pace slightly, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every inward roll. You throw your head back, breaking the kiss to moan freely. “Oh god– Suguru!”
He groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “F-fuuuuuck– You feel unbelievable.” He pants. “Never imagined… fuck.”
He doesn’t even finish the sentence, just nips at your shoulder and thrusts a little harder, spurred by whatever fantasy of this he’s had before. The thought that he’s imagined this too, just like you have in secret moments, makes your heart skip a beat.
Satoru gently turns your face towards him again. He kisses you upside down from your position, then pulls away to slide two fingers between your parted lips. You know what he wants, you swirl your tongue around his digits, wetting them thoroughly while gazing up at him. His own breath stutters at the erotic sight.
Satoru withdraws his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop and brings them down to where you and Suguru are joined. Very gently, he begins to rub your clit in tight, slick circles, adding another layer of intense pleasure to the mix. You jolt, a high-pitched cry escaping you as the stimulation triples.
“Feel good, princess?” Satoru coos, though his own voice is strained. He obviously loves the view of Suguru’s cock sliding in and out of you while his fingers toy with your swollen, sensitive nub, all drenched in your combined arousal. “You’re so fuckin’ wet… making such a mess on him. So fuckin’ sexy.”
His words make you keen. You’re getting close again, mind-bendingly, all-consuming close. Suguru can tell, because in the next moment, he shifts to angle your hips higher and suddenly each slam rubs right against that sweet spot inside. You sob, thighs quivering around his waist.
“Ah– ahh,” You moan out, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Shhhhit– gonna– fuck!”
“Come for us.” Suguru groans hotly against your ear, giving you a particularly deep thrust. “We’ve got you. Let go.”
Satoru presses down on your clit, firm and perfect, and that’s all it takes.
You shatter. Your second orgasm crashes over you even more intense than the first, a white-hot wave that has you almost screaming. Your whole body tenses, and then shudders with pleasure as the climax pulses through every nerve. Your nails dig into Suguru’s back and Satoru’s hand as you hold onto them for dear life.
“There you go… good girl.” Satoru murmurs, continuing to rub your clit lightly to prolong your high.
Suguru chokes out a curse as your walls clamp down on him like a vice. The rhythmic squeezing of your orgasm around his cock is too much for him to withstand. With a few more erratic pumps, Suguru thrusts deep and comes with a low, broken groan against your neck.
You feel his cock twitching inside as he spills his release, warmth spreading within you. The sensation triggers aftershocks that have you whimpering and clutching him closer.
Just as Suguru begins to collapse from bliss, Satoru pulls him to the side, sliding him out of you. You barely have a second to register the loss before Satoru replaces him, pushing back into your still-spasming core with a strained cry.
Oh god, you forgot that he didn’t come yet. And feeling your still-quivering insides seems to drive him wild.
“Fuck– I can’t…” Satoru’s voice cracks. He starts thrusting hard, clearly chasing his own long-delayed release. His face is flushed red, expression almost pained with need.
You’re so hypersensitive that each of his urgent thrusts sends little shockwaves through your exhausted body, but you grit your teeth and wrap your legs weakly around him, wanting to give him what he needs.
It’s almost a blur of pleasure-pain, but watching Satoru’s face, eyes shut tight, jaw slack as he finally lets himself chase his orgasm, makes it worth every jolt.
“Shit, fuck– shit–” You sob, squeezing your eyes shut.
With a strangled moan, Satoru surges down to capture your lips in a desperate kiss. His hips press flush to yours, buried to the hilt, and you feel him throbbing as he cums deep inside you. The kiss muffles his loud groan.
Satoru’s release seems to last forever, releasing in thick spurts filling you to overflowing. You stroke his hair and kiss him through it when he finally stills, trembling above you.
For a long few seconds, the room is filled only with the sound of heavy breathing and the mellow beats of the long-forgotten music playing on the speaker. Satoru carefully collapses to your side, but keeps one arm draped over your waist, holding you close.
Suguru is on your other side, immediately pulling you into his arms so that you’re cuddled between them on the soft rug. You feel utterly spent, body humming with satisfaction and exhaustion.
“Holy shit.” You blink, staring up at the ceiling in a happy daze. An astonished giggle bubbles out of you. “That just happened.”
Suguru huffs a soft laugh next to your ear. “Yeah.” His hand finds yours between you.
Satoru rolls onto his back, throwing an arm over his face dramatically. “I think I saw god.” He proclaims, causing you and Suguru to snort. “No seriously, remind me to get you high more often if this is the result.” He peeks at you from under his arm with a cheeky grin to see your reaction.
You swat lightly at his chest, cheeks warm. “This had better not be a one-time ‘we were high’ thing.” You say, half teasing, half serious, because the ‘what now?’ question lingers in your mind.
Satoru’s smile softens. He moves his arm and reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear tenderly. “Not unless you want it to be.” He says. “Personally, I’m down for… well, whatever this means. Sober, not sober doesn’t matter.”
Suguru nods, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Same here. This doesn’t feel like just a fluke to me.” He pauses, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “But how do you feel? Be honest.”
You glance between them, two sets of eyes watching you intently. You snuggle closer into their arms, ignoring the sticky mess between your thighs for now, and smile. “I feel… amazing. And happy.” You squint your eyes and add, “And… really hungry, actually.”
All three of you break into laughter at that. The notorious munchies have finally caught up.
Satoru groans dramatically. “Ughh, don’t mention food yet. I can’t move.” It’s true, none of you seem eager to untangle from the comfortable, warm heap you’ve become.
“We probably should clean up.” Suguru says, though he makes no effort to budge either.
He does reach for a discarded throw blanket on the couch above and drapes it over your naked bodies haphazardly. It makes you giggle, because maybe it’s a little bit too late for modesty, but the gesture is sweet.
After a few more minutes of basking in the post-sex glow and making lazy jokes about how tomorrow morning might be “awkward” until Satoru insisted it wouldn’t be, because “how could living with two handsome devils who worship you be awkward?”, the boys eventually help you up.
Legs shaky, you manage to all stumble to the bathroom for a quick clean-up and then collapse into Satoru’s king-sized bed together since it’s closest. They sandwich you between them under the covers, your limbs naturally tangling.
It’s cozy and right.
Before sleep claims you, you feel Satoru’s fingers gently playing with yours and Suguru’s palm warm on your thigh. You smile in the dark, eyes heavy. “We are so sleeping through our alarms tomorrow.” You mumble.
Suguru chuckles, already half asleep. “Worth it.”
“Mhmm.” Satoru agrees, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck from behind.
You drift off with a grin on your face, nestled safely between your two best friends, who are now something so much more. And as hazy dreams take you, one last amused thought floats by: Getting high with Satoru and Suguru turns them into total horny cuddle monsters. Noted.
You’ll definitely have to conduct this little “experiment” again in the future… for science, of course.
Satoru’s bent forward on his knees, fists twisting the sheets, moaning into the pillow with zero pride left in his body. You’ve got one hand gripping his hip, the other digging into the small of his back as you thrust Excaliboner forward relentlessly.
“That’s it, baby.” You purr, gripping his waist tighter. “You’re such a whore for it, Toru. Say it.”
“I’m a whore for it.” He moans, thighs shaking. “Shitshitshit, I’m gonna–”
You slam in one final time, and Satoru screams, making a mess all over the sheets. He’s still recovering, panting like he just ran a marathon, when you lean forward and wrap your arms tight around his torso like a human backpack.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stays like that, until five minutes have passed.
“Okay.” He breathes out, trembling, “I’m good now. That was, yeah. Wow. You can take it out now. Please take it out now.”
You don’t move. You cling to him tighter, cheek pressed to his back like you’ve finally found home.
“Babe?”
“I am the sword.” You say ominously. “And this ass–” You slap it, and he yelps. “ –is the stone.”
Satoru freezes. “No. NO. Don’t mythology me right now–”
You squeeze your thighs tighter around his hips. “Long live the king.”
Satoru lets out a strangled wheeze. “SUGURU–!”
Suguru arrives two minutes later, chewing a granola bar. “What the fuck is going on?”
“She won’t get out of my ass!” Satoru yells, face red, body still trembling.
Suguru blinks. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Not FOREVER! Help me! She’s holding me hostage!”
You glare at him from your perch on Satoru’s back, still fully impaled. “Only the chosen one can remove Excaliboner.”
Suguru rubs his temple, sighs, walks over, and grabs your waist.
“No! NO! LET GO OF ME!” You shriek, gripping Satoru like a fucking octopus. “I’M PART OF HIM NOW! YOU CAN’T SEPARATE US–”
Suguru braces one foot on the mattress and yanks.
POP.
You fly off Satoru’s ass, tumbling into Suguru’s arms as you both fall backwards onto the floor. Satoru sobs in relief, faceplanting into the sheets. And then you slowly lift a hand and point at Suguru. “The rightful heir… has been chosen. King of the Hole.”
y'all are enjoying excaliboner a lil too much dontchya think??? also should i make a index/m.list for this lil series?
summary. Choso doesn’t do distractions. But then you walk into his show and ruin his focus with one look. And now, he’s handing you his guitar, his heart, maybe more. And baby, you haven’t even seen what those fingers can really do.
word count. 10.5k (i got a lil carried away)
content. mdni fem! reader, bassist! choso, mutual pining, heavy tension, choso is a tease (and so down bad), really lovey-dovey shi like bro's not even emo, pet names, smut, fingering, oral (fem rec.), p in v, mating press, praise, creampie, slight overstim, aftercare
author's note. saw this fanart and started ovulating on demand.
"Come on, it'll be fun," Shoko says, tugging on your sleeve with the persistence of a woman who knows you have no other plans. "You like music. You like hot guys. This is both."
You squint at her, unconvinced. "You said that last time and we ended up at some dude’s garage while he rapped about capitalism."
She grins. “And it was unforgettable.”
“You spilled beer on my shoes.”
“And I’ve had character development after that.”
You roll your eyes, but she already knows she's won. She’s practically vibrating with excitement as she drags you through the dimly lit alley that opens into an even dimmer basement venue—graffiti-tagged walls, sticker-covered speakers, the scent of cigarettes and something vaguely fruity in the air.
The lights are low, the crowd humming with quiet energy, and the stage is set but empty—just a drum kit, a couple mics, and a bass propped against its amp like it’s waiting for someone.
“You’re gonna love them,” Shoko whispers, already pulling out her phone to snap photos. “The music’s sick. And the bassist—”
You blink at her.
“The bassist,” she repeats, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “Tall, broody, pretty eyes. Never says a damn word on stage but plays like he’s in pain.”
You scoff. “You’ve got issues.”
“Just wait,” she says. “You’re not ready.”
And you’re not.
Because when the band finally comes on stage and the lights cut through the haze, your eyes lock onto him—tall, dark, dressed in all black with his bass slung low, rings glinting on his fingers, and a half-lidded stare like he’s seeing ghosts.
And when he starts playing? Oh. Yeah. You’re done for.
The lights dim, bathing the room in moody blue and red hues. The crowd hushes—just for a moment—then the first chord explodes through the speakers. It’s loud, raw, electric, vibrating through the floor and straight up your spine.
You don’t flinch.
You should. The guy next to you does. Shoko’s already swaying to the beat like she’s been here a thousand times. But you? You’re frozen—entranced.
Not by the music. Not really.
By him.
The bassist, standing off to the left like he doesn’t crave the spotlight, like he’s content letting the others take the lead. But he’s the one you see. The one who owns the stage.
He’s tall and he’s wearing a loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top few buttons left undone to tease just enough of his pale, sculpted chest. The stage lights catch on the gleam of sweat on his collarbones, highlighting every sharp angle and subtle flex of muscle as he moves with the rhythm. His fingers dance over the bass strings with practiced ease, and that’s when you notice it—apart from the black nail polish, each one is tattooed with a letter: C-H-O-S-O.
His long, dark hair is loose, falling in waves to the base of his neck, the ends brushing over his collar. The soft purple eyeshadow dusting his eyelids makes his deep-set eyes pop, casting shadows that only add to his sharp features. A bold tattoo cuts across the bridge of his nose, stark against his pale skin.
His brows are furrowed, mouth set in a hard, concentrated line, and his fingers—god, his fingers—they dance over the strings like he was born with a bass in his hands. There’s something hypnotic about the way he plays. Focused. Intense. Like the world doesn’t exist outside of this moment.
You don’t even realize you’re staring until Shoko elbows you lightly. “Told you,” she shouts in your ear, grinning like the smug little shit she is.
You nod, but your eyes don’t move. You can’t look away. It’s like you’ve been put under some kind of spell.
And then—then—mid-song, his head lifts just slightly. His gaze cuts through the haze and crowd and colored lights, and lands right on you. You swear it. A spark of something sharp and electric zips down your spine.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Just holds your gaze for a breath longer than necessary before he looks away, like he felt it too.
Like he knew.
Like the music wasn’t the only thing pulling strings tonight.
The band keeps playing, song after song bleeding into one another, but you barely register any of it.
Your eyes keep straying to him. Choso—at least, you think that’s his name, judging by the ink on his fingers. Fitting, really. It lingers in your head like a low bassline: heavy, addictive.
At one point, you swear he looks at you again.
Really looks.
And even if it’s just for a second, it feels like a live wire pressed to your skin.
You down the rest of your drink to keep yourself from combusting.
Shoko leans in and shouts something in your ear over the music—probably the band’s name or some fun fact about the drummer—but your eyes are locked on him. You nod absently, your smile weak, dazed, because how the hell are you supposed to listen to anyone else when he’s up there, commanding your every thought?
By the time the band wraps up their final song, you’re already craning your neck for a better look. You don't even realize you're moving toward the stage until Shoko’s hand snags your wrist.
"Where are you going?"
You blink, startled like you’ve been caught red-handed. "I—I don’t know."
But you do.
You’re hoping to get closer. Maybe he’ll notice you again.
Maybe he already has.
-
You find yourself outside the venue before you even realize what you’re doing—leaning against the brick wall, half hidden in the shadows, heart hammering like you’d just finished a set yourself. The crisp night air cools your skin, but it does nothing to quiet the heat bubbling beneath it.
You tell yourself you just needed some air.
That’s all.
Totally not waiting around like some groupie for a guy you don’t even know.
The door creaks open behind you, and a familiar pair of boots crunches against gravel. Shoko squints at you suspiciously.
“You good?” she asks, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick. “You just disappeared.”
You shrug, too casual. “Yeah. Just needed a breather.”
She takes a drag, exhales slow. “Right. A breather. After not dancing and not drinking that much.”
You shoot her a side-eye. “Do you always interrogate people for wanting fresh air?”
“Only when they’ve been acting weird since the bassist took the stage.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not slick, y’know.”
You scoff, glancing away before she can catch the way your face warms. "I don't know what you’re talking about."
Shoko chuckles like she definitely knows what she’s talking about, but bless her, she doesn’t press it. Just smirks, gives your arm a little nudge. “He was hot, though.”
You give a noncommittal hum, eyes scanning every shadowed corner, every rusted doorway, hoping—just hoping—you might catch another glimpse of him. Choso. You’re almost certain that’s his name. It suits him. Dark. Sharp.
You won’t tell her, of course, but—yes.
Yes, this was fun.
Yes, she was absolutely right to drag you here.
Yes, the bassist was fine as hell and maybe, just maybe, you’ve developed the tiniest, stupidest little crush on a guy whose voice you haven’t even heard yet.
But god, you want to.
Even just once.
A glimpse. A moment. Anything.
And just when you think it’s time to give up, to stop being delusional and head home—
The door swings open again.
And this time, it’s him.
Panic.
Real, irrational, full-body panic.
Because there he is. Standing a few feet away. In the flesh. The bassist.
Loose black button-up clinging to his frame, sleeves still rolled up from the show, revealing forearms that shouldn’t be legal. The glint of his rings catching the light. A faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his collarbone—god, you can see it because the top few buttons are still undone, teasing just enough pale skin to keep you up at night.
And his eyes—
His eyes are rimmed with that soft, dusty lavender, and they’re looking straight at you.
You glance side to side like you might Houdini yourself out of this moment. Maybe if you ran fast enough, you could avoid embarrassing yourself beyond repair. Maybe if you—
Shoko bumps your shoulder, casual and smug. “Now’s your chance.”
“Chance for what?” you hiss, heart thudding in your ears. “To spontaneously combust? To make an idiot out of myself?”
But it’s too late.
Because before you can overthink your next twelve moves or plan a strategic escape—
He’s walking toward you.
Slow, calm, confident.
Like he knows what he’s doing to you.
Before you can say something completely unhinged, like “your bass playing did something weird to my hormones”, you feel Shoko shift beside you.
You whip your head toward her, silently begging for assistance, for backup, for escape. But she just smirks, looking between the two of you like she already knows exactly how this night’s gonna go.
“Well,” she says with a wink, already turning on her heel. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. “Shoko. No. Shoko, wait—SHOKO.”
But she’s already walking away like she didn’t just abandon you to the mercy of the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.
And now—
Now he’s standing right in front of you.
He smells like sweat and incense and something dark—something addictive.
“You waited,” he says, voice lower than expected, rich. His lips curl, just barely. “Were you hoping for an autograph… or something else?”
You blink.
He knows.
Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.
An autograph? Something else? What the hell does something else even mean—wait, you know what it means, OH GOD—
“I—I wasn’t waiting— I mean, I was, but not like—like in a weird way or anything!” you blurt, the words tumbling out like a panicked avalanche. “Not that liking your music is weird. I mean, it was good! Really good. You were good. Not in that way, I mean—not that you wouldn’t be—oh my God—”
You slap a hand over your face.
Abort mission. Let the ground open up. End scene.
When you peek through your fingers, he’s just watching you, amused, head tilted slightly to the side.
Then—he chuckles. Actually chuckles.
It’s low and quiet and kind of devastating.
“I was right,” he murmurs, voice all honeyed steel. “Cute.”
You make a high-pitched noise that cannot be classified as human.
And Choso—Choso just leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s offering a secret.
“Relax. I don’t bite.” A beat. “Unless you want me to.”
You definitely stop breathing.
Your brain is just a dial-up tone as you stare at him, stunned into silence, because did he actually just say that? He did. He really did. And he’s still looking at you like he’s waiting for your answer.
But when you open your mouth, what comes out is:
“I—uh—yeah. I mean no. I mean—I don’t know what I mean.”
He grins. Not a smirk. A real, soft little grin, like he likes the mess you’ve become.
“Wanna get some air?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the alleyway beside the venue, quieter now that the band’s done and the crowd’s thinned.
You nod way too fast.
So you end up outside, standing under the faded neon of the venue sign, arms crossed to hide how jittery you are. Choso leans against the wall beside you, lighting a cigarette. The glow flares against his sharp cheekbones, his lashes casting shadows on his skin.
“So,” he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You liked the set?”
“Yeah,” you say, trying not to look at his hands. His tattooed fingers. “You were… really good.”
He hums, clearly amused. “Still not in that way?”
You bury your face in your hands again.
He laughs under his breath, then nudges your shoulder with his. “You got a name, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
Oh, how you were so very fucked.
You tell him your name. And when he repeats it softly, your knees almost give out.
Then he offers, “I’m Choso, by the way.”
Like it’s a gift.
And before the night ends, he asks if you’re coming to the next gig.
“Only if you’re playing,” you manage to say.
To which he replies, “I’ll be there if you are.”
-
shoko: hello?? where are you???
shoko: ANSWER ME
shoko: sigh
shoko: i didn’t want it to come to this but you leave me no choice
shoko: i’m checking your location.
shoko: GIRL WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING THERE
shoko: 2 missed calls
shoko: you better give me answers the second you're online...or else.
you: dot dot dot
shoko: WHAT. HAPPENED.
you: emergency phone call
shoko: 🧍♀️
shoko: you’re a terrible liar
you: ok but like.
you: it wasn’t a lie. it was an emergency. a hot boy emergency
shoko: OH MY GOD.
shoko: OH MY GOD.
shoko: OH MY GODDDDD.
you: he talked to me
you: HE TALKED TO ME SHOKO
shoko: AND???
you: and i said dumb shit
you: and he still talked to me
you: and i think i blacked out at one point??
you: but like. the good kind
shoko:YOU’RE TELLING ME MYSTERIOUS HOT BASSIST MAN TALKED TO YOU AND YOU LIVED???
you: barely
you: i think i ascended actually
shoko: you’re telling me you were about to dip and then HE approached YOU????
you: he remembered me from the front row 😭
you: called me cute 😭😭
you: asked for my name 😭😭😭
you: CALLED ME SWEETHEART 😭😭😭😭
shoko: …girl.
shoko: i don’t wanna be dramatic
shoko: but i might start planning your wedding
you: pls help i’m still outside the venue trying not to combust
you: he said he’d see me again if i came to the next gig
you: SHOKO WHAT IF I GO TO EVERY GIG UNTIL I DIE
shoko: yeah bestie we’re in our groupie era now
-
You show up a whole forty minutes before the doors even open—Shoko said she’d meet you later, but you’re already leaning against the building like a total loser. Or an over zealous fan. Same thing, really.
You're debating if you should take a walk to kill time when the door swings open, and out steps him. Black button-up, sleeves rolled up again, a few buttons undone, and that familiar purple eyeshadow hugging his tired eyes. His lip quirks up the second he sees you.
“Excited to see me?” he asks, cocking his head as he strolls over. His voice is low, teasing—but not unkind.
Your face goes up in flames. “What—n-no. I mean yes. I mean—Shoko said she’d meet me later and I didn’t wanna be late, obviously.”
He hums, clearly amused. “Mhm. Obnoxiously early, huh?”
“Fashionably early,” you grumble, and he laughs, like you’re the most entertaining thing he’s heard all day.
Then he nods his head toward the door. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to the guys.”
You blink. Wait. Right now??
You glance down at your outfit—cute enough for the gig, maybe not cute enough to meet him again, let alone his entire band. But he’s already walking, and you’re a fool if you don’t follow.
The door creaks open, and you’re hit with the low hum of conversation, faint music playing from someone’s phone, and the scent of sweat and cologne. Your heart’s going a mile a minute.
“Yo,” Choso calls, and two heads turn.
The tall white-haired man draped across the couch offers a lazy grin. “Oh? Who’s this?”
Choso leans against the doorframe and jerks a thumb toward you. “She’s the one I was talking about.”
Your eyes widen. Talking about?? Since when???
“Ooooh,” the other guy drawls from where he’s fiddling with a drumstick, hair tied back and gaze sharp as ever. “So this is her.”
“Shut up,” Choso mutters, but there’s a hint of pink dusting his ears. He looks back at you, eyes soft. “That’s Satoru—he never shuts up. And that’s Suguru. Don’t let him fool you—he’s worse.”
“Lies and slander,” Satoru says with a wink.
You’re frozen. Do you wave? Speak? Die on the spot?
“Hi,” you say, awkwardly.
Suguru offers a small nod. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Finally???
Satoru leans forward with a devilish grin. “Choso wouldn’t shut up about you, y’know?”
Choso visibly tenses. “Go bother someone else.”
But it’s too late—you’re already flushed to your ears, and Satoru’s howling with laughter.
“You’re cute,” he tells you. “You can stick around.”
You glance at Choso, and he gives you the smallest smile. Like you belong here.
And for the first time—you think maybe you do.
He walks ahead a bit, glancing over his shoulder as he gestures toward the sound booth. “That’s Nao, our sound tech. She’s the only reason we don’t sound like trash onstage.”
Nao waves without looking up from her monitor, and you awkwardly lift a hand back. Choso chuckles under his breath.
He keeps going, showing you the light setup, where they stash backup guitars, even the vending machine he’s pretty sure is haunted. Every person you pass gives you that look—oh, so this is the girl.
Your fingers twist nervously around the strap of your bag. It’s not like they’re being unfriendly. If anything, everyone’s nice. Welcoming, even. But still—you can’t shake the nerves bubbling in your chest.
You feel his gaze before you hear his voice.
“Nervous?” he asks, quiet and low.
You blink up at him. He’s standing close now, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, watching you like he’s not sure if he’s scaring you or if you’re just shy.
You swallow. “A little.”
His mouth twitches—almost a smile. “You don’t have to be. Everyone’s chill.”
You nod, but you know the tension is still written all over your face.
And then—he reaches out. Just a light touch to your wrist. “Hey. I asked you here ‘cause I wanted you to come. Not to freak you out.”
His voice is soft now, just for you.
You manage a sheepish smile. “Sorry. It’s just… new.”
He shrugs, lips curling slightly. “Yeah. But I’m not that scary, right?”
You meet his eyes, and the look he gives you—teasing but warm—makes your stomach flip.
“…Not yet,” you murmur.
And he laughs, head tilted back like you just said the funniest thing all night. “You’re cute.”
Great. Now you’re even more nervous.
He walks you over to the stage setup, lights dim and moody, the buzz of crew members in the background. The instruments are neatly arranged—drum kits, amps, tangled cords, and at the center, his guitar resting on its stand.
He picks it up effortlessly, letting the strap fall over his shoulder. His fingers settle over the strings, and he begins to strum, absentmindedly. It’s not even a real song, just soft notes—but it’s hypnotizing.
Especially the way his fingers move. Long, slender, practiced.
You're staring. Absolutely entranced.
“Wanna try playing?” he asks suddenly.
You snap out of it so fast it’s embarrassing. “H-huh?”
He chuckles, soft and low. “Bit distracted there, sweetheart. You okay?”
“I’m good. Mhm.” You nod a little too quickly, plastering on a tight smile as your face warms. You hope he doesn’t notice, but that knowing glint in his eyes tells you otherwise.
He steps toward you with the guitar, offering it out with a slight tilt of his head. “Here.”
Your hands hover uncertainly. “O-oh… I don’t know how to play.”
He just smiles. “It’s alright, I’ll help you.”
He walks behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him at your back. You swear your heart skips a beat when his arms slip around you, guiding yours. He’s gentle as he places your left hand along the neck of the guitar, adjusting your fingers over the frets, his hand covering yours.
“Just relax,” he murmurs, voice right by your ear.
Your breath hitches.
“Shit—sorry, too close?” he asks quickly, voice laced with concern.
“N-no! It’s fine! Totally fine.” You somehow manage to stand upright.
He smiles again, that soft kind of amused. “Alright, just press here... yeah, that’s it.” He places your fingers on the strings. “Now, strum with this hand—lightly. Let the strings breathe.”
You try, hesitantly dragging your fingers down the strings. A clumsy note sounds out.
Choso hums. “Not bad. Now, try a G chord—here, like this.” His fingers mold yours again, warm and careful.
You nod, barely able to think with him this close, and repeat the motion. It sounds... slightly better.
“See?” he says, praising you with a smile in his voice. “Fast learner.”
You glance up at him over your shoulder, heart fluttering. “Maybe I just have a good teacher.”
His lips quirk, and he looks at you like you’ve just made his night.
“Well,” he says, “I am good with my hands.”
Your brain short-circuits.
He grins when he hears that soft, breathy little sound escape your lips.
“O-oh,” you stammer, eyes wide as you blink up at him.
His smile deepens, all teasing and low charm. “Didn’t mean to make you nervous,” he says, though he definitely did.
You open your mouth to say something—anything—but your brain’s gone completely blank. The only thing in your head is him. His voice, his scent, the low buzz of his guitar still humming in your hands.
“I—uh, yeah. No. You’re doing great. I mean—I’m doing great. I mean—thank you.”
He laughs. Not mockingly—it's soft, sweet, like he finds you genuinely adorable.
“You’re cute when you get flustered,” he says, voice quiet.
You look down at the guitar in your hands, pretending very hard to be focused on the strings.
“Maybe we’ll get you to play a whole song next time.”
You blink. “Next time?”
He shrugs casually, stepping back just enough to make you miss his warmth. “If you’re coming to the next gig, I figured I’d see you again.”
And then, with the most casual confidence, he adds, “You wanna?”
You blink up at him, heart still pounding from the way he practically wrapped himself around you moments ago. But then—somehow—you find your footing, just enough to muster a sliver of confidence.
You clear your throat, giving him a lopsided little smile. “Let’s see how this one goes first.”
His brows shoot up, clearly amused. “Is that a challenge?”
You shrug, trying not to melt under his gaze. “Depends. You think you can handle it?”
Choso laughs—a low, warm sound that vibrates in your chest more than your ears. He leans in again, just a little, his face dangerously close to yours. “Sweetheart,” he says, voice like silk, “I know I can.”
-
The crowd is thicker than last time. Hazy neon lights wash the walls in streaks of violet and red, and the room thrums with anticipation. You can feel the energy buzzing through your fingertips, your legs bouncing where you sit off to the side of the stage.
Choso catches your eye just before stepping on. He’s dressed in that same loose black button-up—top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tattoos stark against his pale skin. His eyes are lined in that soft purple hue again, hair falling wild to his neck, and yet he somehow looks composed. Grounded. Like he was born to be here.
He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look—half smirk, half something softer—and it sends butterflies flurrying in your chest.
And then: the lights dim. The crowd erupts. The band takes the stage.
Suguru on drums, flashing a grin at the front row before twirling his sticks and slamming into the first beat like a force of nature. Satoru struts forward, mic in hand, already oozing charisma, and Choso—Choso slides into position with his bass like it’s a part of him. One hand gripping the neck, the other plucking strings with a lazy, practiced ease.
The sound hits you like a wave. Loud. Gritty. Addictive.
But even as the music drowns everything out, your eyes stay locked on him.
Choso doesn’t look at the crowd. Doesn’t need to. He’s in his own world—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, swaying with the rhythm like the bass is leading him. And yet, somehow, he still finds a way to glance at you.
Just for a second. A flicker of a smirk.
And that’s when you realize it.
He’s playing for them—but looking at you.
And that smolder in his gaze? That spark that coils low in your belly?
It’s all for you.
-
The crowd’s roars have faded, the lights are dimming, and you’re still standing there, heart racing. Choso’s walking off stage, sweat-slick and glowing, bass still strapped to his back, and the second his eyes find you he smiles. Soft. Lopsided. Like it’s just for you.
He weaves through the staff with ease, and before you can fully brace yourself, he’s in front of you, that same lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t think you’d actually stick around,” he teases, voice low, raspy from the set.
You roll your eyes, a little bashful. “Had to see if your fingers really lived up to the hype.”
His brows shoot up, surprised—and then he laughs. It’s deep and warm and it makes your stomach do flips. “Oh? And?”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I’m not sure yet. Might need a private performance to decide.”
And damn, now he’s the one blushing.
He blinks. Once. Twice. And then that lazy grin deepens into something more—something that makes your throat dry.
“A private performance, huh?” he echoes, slinging the bass off his shoulder, setting it down like he’s done this a thousand times before—cool, collected, practiced. “You planning to book me?”
You cross your arms, trying to look unbothered despite the heat crawling up your neck. “Maybe. Depends on your rates.”
He steps closer, just a little, enough to tilt his head down to look at you properly. His voice drops lower. “I charge in coffee. Late-night conversations. And the occasional secret.”
“Oh?” you arch a brow. “That’s expensive.”
He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re worth it.”
Pause.
Your heart skips. Literally skips.
And suddenly it’s too quiet. The post-show noise is just background hum now—muffled cheers, clinks of beer bottles, bandmates laughing somewhere behind you. But he’s looking at you like you’re the only person who matters in this moment. Like he wants to learn you.
So you try to deflect, half-teasing, “You say that to all the girls who hang around after shows?”
He hums, like he’s pretending to think. “No,” he says finally. “You’re the only one who stayed quiet the whole time. Just… watched.”
You blink, caught off guard. “Was it creepy?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. It was nice. Felt like you were listening to more than just the music.”
You weren’t. You were listening to him.
But you don’t say that. Instead, you glance away, pretending not to be swooning.
And then—
“Hey,” he says softly, nudging your chin with two fingers to bring your gaze back to his. “Wanna get outta here?”
Your breath hitches. “Huh?”
He smiles, easy and relaxed, eyes scanning your face like he’s memorizing it. “There’s this spot a few blocks from here—low lights, decent drinks, great fries. Thought maybe I could buy you one. A drink, not a fry,” he adds with a little chuckle.
Your heart is thudding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. “Are you… asking me out?”
He shrugs, casual but undeniably charming. “If I said yes, would you say no?”
You try to play it cool, crossing your arms even though your insides are a whole storm. “You planning to pull that whole mysterious musician act the whole time?”
He leans in just a bit, close enough for your noses to nearly brush. “Only if it gets me a second date.”
And just like that, you’re done for.
“...I guess I could go for a drink.”
His grin widens. “Good. I’ll grab my jacket.”
-
The bar he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place you wouldn’t find unless someone told you about it. There’s warm yellow lighting, a soft hum of old-school music playing on the speakers, and barely anyone around. It’s intimate in a way that makes your skin feel warm before you’ve even taken a sip of your drink.
He lets you slide into the booth first, then settles in across from you. His hands rest on the table, rings catching the light, and you find your gaze drawn to them—again. Damn those fingers.
“I’m not used to people sticking around after shows,” he says, eyes not leaving yours.
“I’m not used to chasing after bassists,” you shoot back, lips twitching.
He smirks. “So I’m special, huh?”
You roll your eyes, but the smile you’re fighting wins. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
Your drinks come. He lets you steal a sip of his. You let him steal two of yours.
“What got you into music?” you ask after a while, resting your chin on your hand.
He leans back, gaze flickering up like he’s searching the ceiling for the answer. “My dad, actually. He taught me how to play. He was obsessed with rhythm—said it was the heart of everything.”
You nod slowly. “He still around?”
Choso shakes his head. “Nah. Been a while. But I think he’d get a kick out of seeing me like this.”
There’s a quiet between you, not awkward, just full. You sip your drink.
“What about you?” he asks. “What do you do when you’re not falling for mysterious musicians at dive bars?”
You raise a brow. “Who said I was falling?”
His lips curve. “Touché.”
You end up telling him more than you thought you would. About your work, your favorite food, even boring little details. But he listens like every word matters. Laughs when you least expect it. His foot nudges yours under the table halfway through the night, and it stays there.
Eventually, the lights get lower, and the bar empties out.
“Guess we closed the place down,” you say, glancing around.
Choso’s watching you with a soft look. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again.”
Your heart flutters. “Same place?”
He smiles, gaze never leaving yours. “Sure.”
The night doesn’t end there.
He insists on walking you home—no arguments, no jokes, just slips his hand into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And you let him, fingers intertwining with his, warmth blooming in your chest. It’s a quiet walk, but not the awkward kind. It’s that gentle, late-night calm. Like the whole world slowed down just for the two of you.
And for once, he’s not the brooding bassist with sharp eyeliner and calloused fingers. He’s just Choso. A guy who likes the way your hand fits in his. A guy who lets out a soft chuckle when you shiver and instinctively step closer.
You reach your place too soon.
You stop at the doorstep, neither of you making a move. No one says anything. You should probably say something. Goodnight. Thanks. This was fun. But the words get caught somewhere in your throat.
He steps closer instead.
There’s a breath between you. Just one.
And then his lips are on yours—soft, almost hesitant, like he’s asking if this is okay. And you answer him by fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him in. His hand comes up to your cheek, holding you steady as he kisses you again. Still gentle. Still quiet. But it makes your head spin all the same.
When he finally pulls back, he stays close, forehead pressed lightly to yours.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
Your heart might’ve actually stopped.
You slam the door shut behind you, back pressed against it, heart pounding so hard you swear it echoes in your ribcage. You stare at your phone, wide-eyed, thumbs flying:
you: SHOKO
you: SHOKO I NEED YOU TO WAKE UP
you: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY
shoko: it’s literally 1am
shoko: you better be on fire
you: I KISSED HIM
shoko: what
shoko: WHO
shoko: WAIT
shoko: WAIT.
you: YES. HIM.
shoko: THE HOT GUITAR PLAYER???
you: CHOSO. YES. YES. YES
shoko: oh my god you’re so gone
you: HE WALKED ME HOME. HELD MY HAND. KISSED ME. I AM GONE GONE.
shoko: AAAAAAAAAAA
you: HE SAID ‘GOODNIGHT SWEETHEART’
shoko: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
you: I KNOW
You toss your phone onto the bed, face planting right after it, squealing into your pillow like a teenager all over again.
Because you kissed him. And he kissed you back. And you’re never sleeping tonight.
-
You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is quiet—too quiet. You’ve already scrolled through your entire feed twice, tried reading, even got up to make tea you didn’t drink.
Then your phone lights up.
Incoming call: Choso.
Your heart stutters.
You take a breath and answer. “…Hey.”
His voice is warm on the other end. “Hey. Did I wake you?”
You shake your head even though he can’t see. “No. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Same,” he says. “Kept thinking about you.”
Your breath catches. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, like it might calm your racing heart.
There’s a small silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s soft. Comfortable. Like neither of you really wants to hang up.
He speaks again, voice a little lower. “You looked beautiful tonight.”
You try to play it off. “I put in effort. Didn’t want to show up looking like I did last time.”
“I liked that too,” he says. “But tonight you walked in and I forgot what the hell I was doing.”
You laugh, hiding your face in your pillow.
“I wish I could see you again right now,” he says.
“Me too.”
“Would it be too much if I said I kinda wanna fall asleep listening to you?”
Your stomach flips.
You whisper, “Then stay on the line.”
And you do—both of you quiet, just breathing, letting the silence say everything.
-
You're standing outside the bar, shifting on your feet, trying to act like you haven’t been checking your reflection in every window on the walk here.
This time, your outfit isn’t casual by accident. You planned it. Styled your hair just right. Even put on that gloss you save for special occasions.
You step inside and immediately spot him, leaning back against a booth like he owns the place, one arm slung lazily over the seat. His eyes lift—
—and damn.
They rake down your figure slowly, like he’s drinking you in. And when they return to your face, there’s the smallest upward curve to his lips.
“Someone dressed to impress,” he says, standing as you approach.
“Maybe,” you reply, coy. “You are the star of the show, after all.”
He laughs low in his throat, hand brushing the small of your back as he leans in close. “Nah,” he murmurs. “Tonight, it’s all about you.”
You sit together in the same booth. This time, there’s no ice to break. The tension simmers warm between you—his knee bumps yours under the table and doesn’t move away. His eyes flicker to your lips more than once.
“So,” you say, swirling your drink. “What happens after drinks, guitar boy?”
He smirks, elbow resting on the table as he leans closer. “Depends. You thinking of letting me kiss you again?”
You raise your brows. “You planning on asking?”
He tilts his head. “I could. But you didn’t seem to need much prompting last time.”
That earns him a playful nudge. And a flustered laugh.
He grins. "Take your time, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
The jukebox crackles as the next track begins—slow, dreamy, sweet.
Like falling asleep in warm hands. Like the part in a romance film where everything softens.
Before you can even comment on the vibe shift, Choso is rising from the booth, hand extended toward you, palm up.
Your brows lift. “You serious?”
He just smiles. “C’mon. Dance with me.”
You hesitate—because, what? In a bar? With him?? But his fingers flex, waiting, and the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to say no.
You slip your hand into his.
He pulls you gently to the dance floor. There’s no one else there—just you, him, and the slow rhythm bleeding from the speakers. His hands settle on your waist. Yours hover awkwardly before curling behind his neck.
You sway.
“I didn’t take you for a dancer,” you mumble, heart skipping when he twirls you suddenly.
He smirks. “I’m not.”
You laugh—loud and sweet and so damn happy. And when he catches you again, you don’t pull away. Instead, you melt into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling the soft thud of his heartbeat under the fabric of his shirt.
His hand traces slow circles on your back.
“This okay?” he murmurs.
You nod, nuzzling in closer. “Yeah… It’s perfect.”
He rests his chin lightly atop your head. And neither of you says another word.
Not when the song ends.
Not when the next one starts.
Because for that moment—it’s just the two of you, swaying under dim lights, held together by the sound of a love song.
-
You step outside into the night, your breath curling in pale puffs. The air is colder than before, wrapping around your bare arms like a whispered warning. You shiver.
Without a word, Choso shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. His hand rests at your waist, warm and firm, grounding you.
For a while, you just stand there—side by side, quiet. The city buzzes in the distance, cars passing, streetlights humming.
You glance up at him, and he’s already looking at you. Hard.
Like he’s trying to memorize the slope of your jaw. The way the wind lifts your hair. The way your lips part just slightly when you breathe.
“What?” you ask, a soft laugh in your voice, raising an eyebrow.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just wets his lips. His fingers flex against your hip.
“I just…” he starts, voice rough with restraint. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
You blink, heart thudding once. Twice.
The pause stretches.
“Yeah?” you murmur, leaning in a fraction. Teasing.
He nods once. Barely.
You smile—heart pounding in your throat. “So why don’t you?”
And that’s all it takes.
He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks like you’re made of porcelain. And when his lips finally meet yours—it’s soft. Slow. Full of the tension he’s been carrying all night, unspooling between you in breathless silence.
His nose bumps yours. Your hands fist the front of his shirt again. Just like last time.
Only this time, you don’t stop at one kiss.
And when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice low:
“You’re gonna ruin me, y’know that?”
You laugh, barely a whisper against his lips, breath mingling with his. “Then I guess I better make it worth your while.”
That gets a reaction.
His gaze darkens just slightly, lips twitching into the faintest smirk as his hands slide down from your cheeks, one settling at the nape of your neck while the other pulls you flush against him. “You trying to kill me, sweetheart?”
You don’t answer.
Because you’re already kissing him again.
This time it’s different.
Less hesitant.
More hungry.
Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the dark strands that fall just past his neck, tugging gently until he groans into your mouth. He kisses you deeper, like he’s starved, like he hasn’t been thinking about this since the first night he met you in the crowd, eyes wide and awe-struck.
His hand grips your waist, fingers digging in—not too hard, but enough to make your breath hitch.
You gasp, and he takes the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip, tongue flicking against it before pulling back just enough to breathe:
“You’re trouble.”
You blink up at him, dazed, lips kiss-swollen and heart racing. “You’re one to talk.”
And he laughs—low and breathy, pressing another quick kiss to your mouth like he can’t help himself.
“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let me walk you home before I get any worse ideas.”
The walk back is quiet—but not the awkward kind. It’s heavy with something, charged with unspoken words and lingering touches. His fingers brush yours with every step, and each time it happens, your breath catches.
You swear he’s doing it on purpose.
But you don’t stop him.
The streetlights cast a soft glow on him, turning his features golden for a moment, then shadowed the next. He looks… different like this. Softer. Less like the untouchable bassist who had you practically drooling the first night, and more like someone you could fall for if you’re not careful.
You sneak a glance at him.
He’s already looking at you.
You look away fast, heart leaping, and he chuckles under his breath.
"Cold?" he asks, tugging you gently closer.
You nod, even though that’s not why you’re shaking.
His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your head fits against him perfectly, and his hand rubs slow circles against your arm, warm and grounding.
“Still nervous?” he murmurs.
You laugh quietly. “Little bit.”
“Me too.”
You tilt your head to look at him, surprised. “Really?”
He nods. “You make me nervous.”
You’re about to say something—anything—but then you’ve reached your place.
And suddenly, you don’t want to go inside.
He stops in front of your door, letting you go with a reluctant sigh. His hand lingers on your arm for a second longer before falling away.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he shoves his hands into his pockets and asks, “You gonna call me?”
You nod. “If you answer.”
He grins. “Always.”
You hesitate—just for a second—and then press a soft kiss to his cheek. It’s quick, but the way his breath hitches tells you it did the trick.
“Goodnight, Choso.”
And before he can pull you in again, before you can throw all common sense out the window and kiss him properly, you slip inside.
Heart pounding. Lips tingling.
-
You wake up with your heart still pounding.
And not because of a nightmare.
Nope. This was worse.
Because it was real.
You kissed Choso.
Again.
And not in a dreamlike, floaty, “this could be a maybe” kind of way. You kissed him after swaying in his arms like some romcom protagonist. You kissed him, and he kissed you back, and you felt your knees give just a little, and you definitely whimpered against his mouth like a fool.
You groan and roll onto your side, burying your face in your pillow.
You’re so doomed.
Your phone vibrates.
You blink and grab it, squinting at the screen.
choso: didn’t want to wake you but i just wanted to say
choso: thank you for last night
You freeze.
Sit up slowly.
Your heartbeat? Violent.
You tap out a reply, delete it, rewrite it, delete again. Finally, you just go with:
you: it was nothing :)
Immediately after sending it:
you: i’m being weird aren’t i ignore me please
And then:
you: but also don’t ignore me because i liked it and i like you and i’m going to stop talking now before i make it worse
Your phone is dangerously quiet for thirty seconds.
Then it buzzes again.
choso: you’re not being weird.
choso: you’re being adorable
choso: i like you too
choso: also… can i see you again tonight?
You shriek into your pillow.
And then type:
you: you better
-
You weren’t expecting it when he texted you earlier that day.
come to the studio. i want you to hear something.
Now here you are, walking through a narrow hallway that smells like cigarettes and worn leather, Choso’s voice telling the receptionist to let you in. He meets you at the door, hoodie on, hair loosely tied back, a pair of headphones slung around his neck.
“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes raking over you with a small smile tugging at his lips.
You smile back, brushing past him as he closes the door behind you. The studio is dimly lit, a warm orange hue cast by the LED strips lining the edges of the ceiling. There’s a worn-out couch in the corner, an empty coffee cup on the desk, and wires everywhere.
He leads you to a chair beside him. “Wrote something last night. Thought you might want to hear it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Inspired by anything?”
He doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a look.
He clicks a few keys on his laptop, and music starts playing—slow, rich bass, soft drums, a melody that feels like it’s watching you breathe. Then lyrics—his voice, lower and raspier than usual.
And the words? They burn.
It’s about being unable to get someone off your mind. About how they haunt your quiet moments. About wanting something that feels dangerous and delicate at the same time.
When it ends, there’s a beat of silence.
“…You wrote that?” you ask.
Choso nods, slow. “All of it.”
“It’s…” Your voice catches. “It’s beautiful.”
He leans back, watching you carefully. “It’s about you. In case that wasn’t obvious.”
The room feels smaller. Hotter. You swallow.
You murmur, “I didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you.”
“You don’t,” he says, stepping closer. “You have more.”
He’s standing between your knees now. One hand on the armrest beside you. The other gently tilts your chin up.
“Can I kiss you again?”
You nod before your brain even catches up.
And then he does—slower this time. Like he’s savoring it. His lips slot against yours and the world blurs. His hand slips to your waist, drawing you closer, and you wrap your arms around his neck without thinking.
The music plays on in the background. But neither of you hears it.
His lips are warm against yours, stealing every thought from your head. One kiss turns into two, then three—deeper, slower, more intense. His hands settle on your waist, firm, grounding. You melt into him without thinking.
But then—between kisses, you manage a breathless whisper, lips brushing his as you speak.
“Choso, not here—there’s people around.”
His eyes open slowly, pupils blown wide. He glances around, then back at you, and that look in his eyes? It's trouble.
Without saying a word, he grabs your hand. “Come on.”
You barely catch your breath before he’s pulling you along, weaving past people, straight toward the exit. His grip doesn’t loosen, even when he’s fumbling for his keys. He unlocks his car in a rush and opens the passenger door for you before sliding into the driver’s seat himself.
The whole ride is charged—silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional stolen glance. He taps the steering wheel with his fingers, the ones that had just been ghosting over your skin minutes ago.
When he pulls into the parking lot of his building, he doesn’t waste time. Hands still locked with yours, he leads you upstairs, heart pounding just as fast as yours.
The second the door shuts behind you, he turns around—and everything finally snaps.
Choso doesn’t pounce. He doesn’t rush.
He leans against the door, just watching you. Taking you in like it’s the first time. His eyes roam your face, your lips—your heaving chest. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to smile.
“You sure?” he asks, voice low, husky.
You nod, breathless. “Yeah.”
That’s all it takes.
He pushes off the door slowly, strides over like a man with nowhere else to be. His hands find your waist, gentle at first, then firm. His head dips down, lips ghosting over your jaw, your cheek, your mouth—but he doesn’t kiss you yet.
“You look so pretty tonight,” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint.
His nose grazes your neck, and you shudder. Every place his breath touches feels like it’s burning.
“You always look pretty,” he adds, kissing just below your ear now. “But tonight?”
He sucks in a breath through his teeth, lips brushing lower.
“You’re killing me.”
Your hands find the hem of his hoodie, fingers twitching as you lift it up slowly—exposing the pale skin of his stomach inch by inch. He lets you, arms raised, letting the fabric slide off and onto the floor. The tattoos swirl over his chest, catching the soft glow of the apartment lights, and your fingers can’t help but trace them.
“Still nervous?” he asks, voice rougher now.
You shake your head. “No. Just… can’t believe this is real.”
Choso tilts your chin up, makes you look at him. His gaze is so intense it steals the breath from your lungs.
“It is,” he says. “And we’ve got all night.”
He kisses you again, this time softer, slower. No rush. Just lips moving against yours with quiet reverence, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth.
His hands stay on your waist, warm and steady, but you feel the way his thumbs are drawing lazy circles on your skin—like he’s trying to ground himself. Like he’s savoring the moment as much as you are.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He hums into the kiss, one hand sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair.
The path to the bedroom is a blur.
You’re not sure how you get there—if he carries you, or if you walk, tangled up in each other, lips never parting for more than a breath.
The room is dim, lit only by the city lights bleeding through the blinds. It paints both of you in silver and shadow. Choso backs you toward the bed, and when your knees hit the edge, he pauses. Looks down at you like you’re something sacred.
You swallow, heart thundering. “Are you gonna keep staring or—”
“Shh.” He dips his head, kisses your neck, just under your jaw. “Let me take my time with you.”
You shiver. God, his voice—low, velvet, dangerous.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”
He pushes you onto the bed and you bounce slightly on it. He’s crawling up your body, hands trailing along your sides, slipping beneath your shirt—fingertips so gentle it sends goosebumps across your skin. You raise your arms, let him take it off. He discards it carefully, almost reverently, and then he’s touching you again.
It’s not frantic. It’s worship.
The way he kisses down your chest, murmuring things you can’t even process. The way he handles you like he’s scared you’ll break. His mouth is everywhere—leaving warmth and wetness and little marks that’ll be there tomorrow. Proof that this happened. That he happened.
When his hands slip lower, and he finally asks, “Can I?”—you nod, breathless, and he grins, slow and sinful.
“Good,” he whispers. “Because I’m not stopping tonight.”
His touch starts soft. Teasing.
His fingers graze along your thigh, slipping under your skirt. Just the pad of one finger tracing your inner thigh, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you. He watches your reactions closely—every breath, every twitch, every clench of your thighs like it’s his favorite show.
“Already shaking,” he murmurs with a smirk, fingers drifting up higher, stopping just at the edge of your underwear. “And I’ve barely touched you.”
When he finally slips his hand beneath the fabric of your panties, his fingers are warm, his touch confident. He finds you wet—soaked—and he groans low in his throat.
“Fuck... all this for me?”
His middle finger drags through your folds, slow and deliberate, gathering everything, spreading it around before circling your clit—just barely touching it. It’s maddening.
“You’re already this worked up,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss your jaw. “What happens when I really start?”
He’s rushing to take your underwear off, almost ripping them in the process. Then—finally—he eases a finger inside.
It’s slow at first. Just one finger, shallow thrusts, curling up and stroking that spot inside you until your hips start chasing him, greedy for more. He watches your face the whole time, eats up every whimper.
“Choso… more,” you whisper, barely able to speak.
His eyes flick up, dark and hungry. “Yeah?” he murmurs. “You can take another?”
You nod, breathless.
He slides a second finger in—thicker, deeper. His palm presses against your clit as his fingers work inside you, curling just right, just enough pressure to make your back arch. His other hand grabs your thigh, keeps you open and steady as he builds a rhythm.
It’s obscene—the wet, messy sounds of his fingers fucking into you—but it only makes him grin.
“You hear that, sweetheart?” he says lowly.
You’re gasping now, clutching the sheets, legs shaking. He really is good with his hands.
“C’mon,” he whispers against your neck, tongue darting out to taste you. “Let go for me.”
And with one more curl, one more stroke—you do.
You come around his fingers, back arching, a moan ripped from your chest as he keeps moving through it, working you until you’re twitching, thighs trembling against him.
When he finally pulls his fingers out, he brings them to his lips.
“Tastes even better than I imagined,” he says, voice low and ruined.
He doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath.
The second those words leave his mouth, his gaze drops—hungry, wicked—and before you can ask what he’s doing, he’s already moving.
He’s moving down your body, settling between your legs, hands parting your thighs, spreading you wide open for him. You barely manage a gasp before his mouth is on you.
And fuck.
He licks a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—moaning against you like he’s tasting something divine. His tongue is hot, wet, firm—flicking against your clit before flattening and dragging against it again. He’s not shy. He devours.
You twitch under him, gasping, and his grip on your thighs tightens.
“Stay still for me,” he murmurs against you, breath fanning over your soaked heat. “Let me eat, baby.”
And oh, does he eat.
He buries his face between your legs like he’s starved—lips and tongue and heat and mess, sucking your clit into his mouth, groaning when your fingers grab his hair and pull. His nose nudges your clit, the piercings in his ears cold against your thigh.
His hands slide under your ass, lifting your hips just right so he can get even deeper. His tongue fucks into you, messy and wet, before he pulls back to mouth at your clit again.
You’re a wreck—panting, eyes rolling back, legs trembling on either side of his head. He loves it. You can tell by the way he hums into you, nose buried in your folds, like every whimper out of you is a personal victory.
Your thighs start to close around his head—he lets them. Arms locking around your legs, holding you there like he wants to be suffocated. And with one more flick of his tongue—one more swirl, one more perfect pressure—
You cry out, hips jerking, thighs clenching, and he doesn’t stop. He works you through it, licking, kissing, groaning against your cunt like he’s drunk off you.
When your body finally slumps back against the mattress, dazed and spent, he pulls back just enough to look up at you.
His mouth glistens. His eyes are wrecked.
And he licks his lips.
“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Choso’s mouth is still hot against yours, the kiss messy and hungry, his tongue sliding over yours like he can’t get enough of the taste of you.
He unbuckles his belt, pushing his pants down along with his boxers, his girthy length slapping against his abdomen. Your mouth parts in a soft gasp at the sight of it. But you don't have time to marvel at it. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing them up—higher, higher—until you're folded in half in a mean mating press.
“Gonna keep you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough, chest heaving. “Wanna see your face while I fuck you.”
Your breath catches.
His hands hook behind your knees, holding them open as he shifts forward. The position has you completely laid out for him, helpless beneath the weight of his body. You feel his cock, thick and hard, dragging over your slick entrance—and then he pushes in, slow and deep.
You whimper—a sound torn from your throat, soft and wrecked, your back arching as he presses deeper.
Choso groans, low and guttural, head falling forward to rest against yours. His breath fans hot across your cheek, and you swear you can feel the tremble in his arms as he holds himself still—just for a second.
“F-fuck…” he breathes, voice rough with restraint. “You’re so fucking tight like this…”
His hips roll forward again, slower this time, the movement deliberate—like he wants you to feel every inch. “Feels like you’re made for me,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a rasp.
Your fingers scramble across the expanse of his back, nails dragging, searching for something to ground you. His shoulders, his arms, anything—because the way he’s filling you, stretching you, it’s too much and not enough at the same time.
Then he starts to move. Deep. Steady. And the new angle is devastating.
He hits every spot just right, his cock dragging along your walls, slow and purposeful, grinding into the deepest parts of you with every thrust. Your legs tremble in his hold, pinned back and open for him, the pressure building with each stroke. Your jaw falls open, a moan slipping free—high-pitched and desperate.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
But it’s not pain. No—never that.
It’s overwhelming. It’s perfect. It’s him.
“You’re taking it so well,” he grits out, eyes burning into yours as his pace deepens. “Fuck—just like that, baby. Taking all of me.”
You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted as your moans spill freely. He leans down—closer, closer—until your thighs are nearly flush to your chest and his weight settles on top of you, heavy and grounding.
And he fucks you.
Not rough, but intentional—each stroke slow and deep, hips rolling so he never leaves you empty. He watches your face, watches every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes. Like he’s trying to memorize it. All of it.
Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling when his thrusts grind just right. His name escapes you in a whimper—over and over, his name like a mantra.
“Choso—” you gasp. “Oh my God—Choso, I-I…”
“I know,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”
You’re soaked—messy, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling where your bodies meet. The wet slap of skin on skin is loud in the room, underscored by the soft creak of the mattress and your broken cries.
He shifts, angling just so, and you shatter.
Your body seizes, nails digging into his back as your orgasm rips through you, sudden and all-consuming. A sob leaves your throat, your back arching as your walls flutter and clamp down around him.
With a low groan, he shifts—gently, carefully—his hands sliding beneath your thighs to lower them. You gasp softly when he wraps your legs around his waist, keeping you close, keeping you full, as his hips press flush to yours.
He groans—a raw, broken sound—his hips stuttering. “Shit—fuck, I’m close—where do you want it, sweetheart?”
You barely think. You just nod, desperate. “Inside—please—inside.”
That’s all he needs.
He presses in deep, body trembling, a shudder running through him as he spills into you, cock twitching with every pulse of his release. You feel the heat of it—so much, thick and warm as it fills you up. And still, he doesn’t stop.
He keeps moving—soft, shallow thrusts that drag it out, that make your body twitch and whimper, overstimulated and glowing.
His name slips from your lips again, quieter this time, your fingers trailing down his back, soothing over sweat-slick skin.
And then—finally—he stills.
Buried to the hilt. Breathing hard. Forehead pressed to your shoulder, lips ghosting over your collarbone.
“I’ve got you,” he says again, voice low and reverent.
His hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin like he’s grounding himself.
"Don’t want to let go just yet," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion and aftermath. He leans down, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Feels too good like this.”
You hum, dazed and pliant, arms winding around his neck as your forehead rests against his. His weight, his warmth—it’s comforting. Heavy in the best way.
Every small shift makes you gasp—too sensitive, too raw—but you don’t ask him to move.
You don’t want him to either.
And neither does he.
So he stays there—buried deep, your legs locked around his waist, your bodies tangled as if they were always meant to be like this.
After, when the haze finally starts to fade, Choso is the first to move—but only just.
He brushes your hair from your face with slow fingers, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and full of concern. Gentle. So gentle. “Was that… too much?”
You shake your head, barely able to speak as you whisper, “No. It was perfect.”
He exhales, and the breath sounds like relief. Like he needed to hear that.
Without a word, he slips out of bed, grabbing a warm cloth and returning to you. He moves with such care—his hands slow, wiping between your thighs with reverence, like you’re something precious. You flinch a little at the sensitivity, and he mumbles a soft “Sorry” as he presses a kiss to your knee, his gaze flickering up to check on you again.
Once you’re clean, he tosses the cloth aside and crawls back under the covers. You instinctively curl into him, and he opens his arms wide, pulling you in, tucking your head beneath his chin.
His fingers trace slow, lazy circles along your spine. Your legs are tangled with his, your body warm and sore and safe. He smells like sweat and sex and his cologne, and you want to fall asleep in this exact moment, forever.
“You’re amazing,” he murmurs against your hair.
You blink up at him. “That’s my line.”
He smiles, barely-there but so real. “Guess we’ll take turns.”
You laugh—quiet, muffled against his chest—and he hums along with it, fingers still moving along your back.
A silence settles between you, but it isn’t awkward. It’s peaceful. The kind that only comes after letting someone see you bare in every way.
He breaks it eventually, voice thick with sleep. “You staying over?”
“Mhm.”
“You sure?”
You nod, eyes fluttering closed. “Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”
And neither would he.
So he kisses the top of your head one more time, murmurs something soft and unintelligible against your skin, and lets himself fall asleep with you in his arms.
Exactly where you both want to be.
author's note. this is just pure choso brainrot because i could not get that fanart out of my head so ofc i had to write something about it. (choso girlies, i'm borrowing your man for a while, thank you)
৻ꪆ instructions. before clicking, you must be logged into your acc and have twitter open in order for these links to function .
XAVIER. ꒱
lazy humping. ⋆ grinding yourself on him. ⋆ missionary w your legs closed. ⋆ freakydeaky. ⋆ thigh fucking. ⋆ kissing & eaing you out. ⋆ to your satisfaction. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ exhibitionism.
SYLUS. ꒱
taking it w no complaints. ⋆ handsy when handling you. ⋆ size kink. ⋆ using your throat to his liking. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ cute girl treatment. ⋆ chained & ruined. ⋆ had to add this in.
ZAYNE. ꒱
riding him in the bathtub. ⋆ tease me, baby. ⋆ clit rubs. ⋆ lingerie fucking. ⋆ late night heat. ⋆ in the shower. ⋆ undressing & stripping you down. ⋆ blowjob in cute bunny ears.
RAFAYEL. ꒱
stay still. ⋆ kitchen counter. ⋆ backshots & the plushies witnessing. ⋆ fucking you into the mattress. ⋆ fingering selection. ⋆ stretching your holes out for fun. ⋆ a wins a win.
Sylus is not-so-subtly using Mephisto to spy on you while he's on a business trip— something you realize immediately as you're lounging on the couch watching TV in one of his t-shirts and hear a sudden tap-tap-tap from outside the balcony's sliding glass door.
You squint, adjusting your glasses to see a familiar red eyed crow cocking his head at you through the window. "Really?" You murmur with a smirk, getting up to pull open the door. Mephisto hops onto your shoulder with a rusty-sounding squawk.
"How long have you been out here?" You murmur good naturedly, ruffling the bird's feathers. The apertures of Mephisto's mechanical eyes restrict and dilate as he registers your face. "Hey, Sylus," you say with a wink, knowing he's listening and watching through Mephisto.
As you return to the couch, setting Mephisto on the coffee table across from you, a text buzzes through on your phone that confirms your suspicions. I like you in that shirt.
You smirk, standing up to strike an exaggerated pose in front of the bird, showcasing how oversized the shirt is on you. "So sexy, right?" You tease sarcastically.
Sexiest thing on the planet, Sylus writes back. Maybe I should come back home early to take it off of you.
"Maybe you should," you say, watching Mephisto preen his feathers. "How many more days?"
Three, baby, Sylus responds. Mephisto can keep you company in the meantime.
"Mephie can't talk," you retort, talking into the silence. "And he needs his gears oiled, by the way. He creaks like an old man when he walks." You can practically hear Sylus' thick, rumbling chuckle when he responds with a string of laughing emojis.
"I'm getting lonelier by the second," you whine. "Seriously, it's been like two weeks now and you've been too busy to call. I worry about you, you know?"
There's absolutely nothing to worry about. I'm fine. I'll be home before you know it.
You roll your eyes at his placating text. You aren't trying to be clingy, but this is the longest the two of you have ever been apart, and the persistent aching feeling of missing him is starting to wear you down. "I know, I know," you mutter, waving him off. Your phone buzzes again.
In fact, I'll make you a bet. If I'm home before you know it, you have to do whatever I say. Agreed?
"Oh, please," you snicker. Mephisto fluffs out his wings. "Fine. Whatever you say." You know he's just trying to get you to stop being mopey.
Anything I say?
"Anything," you concede, lying back to absentmindedly resume scrolling through the TV channels.
Perfect. As if on cue you hear three hard knocks on the front door.
"Son of a..."
[A/N]: adapted from a request by @harukablossomsblog~ hope you enjoy!
your best friend suguru is in your room to comfort you because of what your shitty boyfriend did. he would whisper sweet nothings in your ear—telling you how he can treat you better as he caresses your hair, your head is buried in his chest. as you stood up and went to the bathroom, he opened your dresser; instantly looking for something. in return for helping you feel at ease, he would take your favorite red thongs home for him to sniff and masturbate on. oh how he loves the natural scent of his best friendʼs pussy !
notes ^^ eng. is obv not my first language so pls b nice <33 as much as i want to make this drabble longer, i couldn't since i still have to study for our exams week T__T anywaaay enjoy reading :3
MINORS, STRICTLY DNI !
FRATBOY!SATORU whose arm is wrapped around your shoulder as you both walk down the campus—earning glances from the other students. He couldn’t erase that stupid smirk from his face as he clung to his girlfriend—showing her off. I mean, he bagged the girl who everyone wants, so why wouldn’t he?
FRATBOY!SATORU who couldn’t keep his hand to himself. He places his calloused hand on your thigh to give it a gentle squeeze. He then runs his fingers on your cute pink panties, finding your slit and softly rubs it with his findex finger, making you squirm a bit. He wastes no time; he pushes your panties to the side and puts two fingers inside you all while he’s resting his chin on his other hand, acting like nothing’s happening and “attentively” listening at the back of the lecture hall. “Don’t make too much noise, yeah?”
FRATBOY!SATORU whose love language is giving you everything you want. Jewelry, designer bags, and even the sports car you’ve always dreamt of. He often gives you his black card for you to buy your needs and wants every time he’s not with you. Who are you to complain anyway? It’s his way of pampering you.
FRATBOY!SATORU who records/films every time he fucks you, only when he has your consent though. He would watch it anywhere, like anywhere; even when he’s in their frat meeting. He couldn't help but get a hard on as he saw how your tight pussy swallowed his 8-inch cock, how you softly moaned when you came—wetting his sheets—and how you begged him to paint your insides. “Want to carry my babies that much, huh? Such a pretty slut for me ~ ”
Lastly, FRATBOY!SATORU who gives you flowers every damn week. It may be cheesy for others, but he doesn’t care. He reassures you that you’re the only one for him, the prettiest girl in his eyes. He would be at your door, early in the morning, a big grin is plastered on his face as he handed you a bouquet of hydrangea—your favorite flower ! He then gave you a quick but soft kiss on the lips.
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