Can someone PLEASE write a Valarr Targareyan X y/n story in which it's basically the plot of "Queen Charlotte" (the bridgerton spinoff) except maybe with the writers own personal changes in mind. But it ESPECIALLY needs to have some sort of concept the same/similar to the scenes of when George and Charlotte became acquainted, he told her his title is "just George" to her instead of "My king" inviting a sense of comfort between them but later on, after the wedding ceremony when he tried to quickly hurry off to some where else & she kept questioning him as to why he was leaving, how they would consummate the marriage (even though she had no true grasp of what that meant) , & if they were meant to live their marriage separately. Which caused him to raise his voice telling her he does not need to explain himself because he is "Her king" resulting in her falling back (and lowkey serving petty queen) apologizing and telling him she thought he was "Just George."
Someone out there who has both watched "Queen Charlotte" and AKOTSK should absolutely do this and make it a multiple part series, i would be SOLDD.
It should have
angst, miscommunication, drama, yearning,
jealousy(and some smut) + more. . .
i have more to say about this but i'll leave it here for now cs i'm yapping.
i'm looking forward to the changes in fics now where instead of aerion being written as Fucked Up Since Birth, he had a Life Event That Forever Changed Him
A stable man. The image of what one would conjure up if they envisioned the perfect outline of a true noble prince. He is not cruel in likeness to his cousin Aerion , neither is he a victim to sloth as is Daeron.
Valarr Targareyan is the epitome of what it means to be an honorable memory of a prince & the perfect frame for a great king.
The concept of a big, manly man turning soft and gooey when you love on him just a little. Yes, he’s enormous and he knows how to take down a bulk of men in a minute but he melts when you kiss that soft spot right behind his ear. One big paw holding you flush against him- pressing you deeper into that spot, urging you to touch him. To make him feel good. Wordlessly begging, “more, more, more.” You’ve got pretty baby chubbing up in his boxers, fat tip dripping because it feels so good to be the one taken care of.
You’re so proud of him for taking what he wants. Usually, he's the one taking such good care of you. But as fierce and stubborn as your man is, he needs to be spoiled too.
But with time, he learns to let things happen. To let himself feel good, feel worthy of this. Worthy of you. Lets himself be pressed into soft sheets, to be kissed dumb until he’s misty eyed and needy- brain cloudy with want. Sweet boy is finally getting what he deserves.
MASTER OF NONE | plug!choso x reader
18+ mdni
cw: drug use, alcohol, smut, slight slow burn
wc: 6.2k
choso kamo had never been your first choice.
he’d been more of a last resort—a back up, if you will. he was who you paired with when no one else was available, he was the one who you made conversation with if everyone else was busy in their own.
and he was the one you’d picked when your last dealer got raided and quit selling.
the first time you’d seen him was during the first party of the season, sprawled on a couch and smoking something you didn’t want to ask about. you’d known who he was, and he’d known who you were, but neither of you could bring yourselves to care that much.
“hey,” you’d muttered, sitting beside him as your friends went off to find drinks.
he’d barely looked up, blowing out smoke before murmuring a quiet, “yo.”
a few seconds went by, bass vibrating through every surface and lights straining against your eyes, before he’d wordlessly passed his joint towards you, the movement so languid it looked accidental.
“you’re satoru’s friend, aren’t you?” he’d said, watching as you inhaled. “heard about you from someone.”
you were ieiri’s friend, and ieiri was friends with satoru, but you couldn't be bothered correcting him.
“sure,” you’d answered, glancing over at him. “what’ve you heard?”
“that you’ve got a high alcohol tolerance or something.”
“seriously?”
“yeah,” he’d leaned his head against the back of the couch. “or maybe that’s someone else. my brains fried.”
“where’d you get the weed from?”
“got my sources,” your eyebrows raised as he’d given you a lazy smile. “i sell. discounted for first timers.”
“first timers or people you find attractive?”
“depends on the day.”
you’d laughed, reaching into your bra for cash because you couldn’t risk bringing a purse into a party like that.
“hope it’s enough,” you’d said, handing it over. “how much am i discounted?”
he’d flicked through the cash, pocketing it, “also depends on the day.”
only a few seconds later, a bag was pressed into your hands and you’d found yourself a new dealer.
your relationship with him over the years had evolved into something easy—something familiar. you’d find yourself sitting beside him more often than not, or flashing little smiles at him across campus as you walked by. he hadn’t changed a bit since that first conversation, and you never wanted him to.
“there’s my favorite girl.”
you smile, sitting beside him on the back porch of the house.
“because i’m your best customer?”
“cause i like you,” he says, plainly, like the words don’t mean anything at all. “you’re…”
he trails off, glancing over.
“you’re better than a lot of people i’ve met in my life.”
“don’t get all emotional on me,” you say, reaching into your pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “ruins months of our buyer-seller relationship.”
“i’m not getting emotional. i’m just telling the truth.”
“i know you are.”
his house is quiet for once.
not exactly, since a party still raged inside and music blasted so loud it shook the walls, but the air was calmer.
someone was playing a slower mix of songs outside, not loud enough to drown out the party, but loud enough to reach your ears.
“you need anything?” he asks, and you have a feeling he’s not asking about drugs. “haven’t heard from you lately.”
“been busy with exams,” you say, fumbling with your lighter. “took satoru, suguru, and toji to convince me to come out tonight.”
he lets out a scoff, “well, i’m glad you came.”
“so am i,” you light the cig, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back. “what’d you do when i wasn’t here?”
“absolutely nothing.”
“awh, poor you, all alone when i’m not here.”
“this is what i’m sayin’,” he frowns, glancing over. “i actually like you. that’s why you’re the only person i can hold a conversation with.”
you raise your eyebrows, turning your head to look at him.
“and what if i left? what would you do then?”
he tenses a fraction, a flash of surprise flickering over his face before it disappears, “you’re thinking of leaving?”
“nah,” you tilt your head, giving him a small smile. “maybe. yeah.”
“where to?”
“not too sure,” you watch as he slowly sits up straighter. “maybe i’ll do an exchange year somewhere—overseas.”
“overseas,” he repeats, and you can’t tell if it’s incredulous or not. “who’s gonna sell you weed overseas?”
“i’ll find someone,” you lean closer. “if it makes you feel better, no one will match up to you.”
“no shit,” he reaches up, brushes a strand of hair out of your face like it means nothing. “maybe that’s reason enough for you to not go.”
“since when were you trying to convince me not to?”
“you’ve already decided?”
“no, but it sounds like you have.”
he falls silent, and you nudge him in the side, a growing smile on your face.
“you don’t want me to go.”
“who said that?”
“awh, it’s okay, cho’,” you don’t catch the way he pauses at the nickname. “you’ll find another girl to replace me, and she might even let you have sex with her as payment for—”
“never in my life have i allowed sex as payment.”
“you might if she’s hot enough,” you blow out smoke, coughing as you laugh at his expression. “i’m kidding. i know you’ll never find someone like me.”
you’d been thinking of leaving before you’d even met choso. back then, everything had become so familiar. too familiar. it’d made you sick, seeing and doing the same thing every single day.
but then you’d met him.
on that couch, underneath all those lights, and now you weren’t sure if familiarity was such a bad thing anymore.
“if you left,” he pauses, head tilted up to stare at the sky. “i’d miss you.”
you take another drag, blow out smoke, replay the words a few times in your head.
“yeah,” you answer, following his gaze. “i’d miss you too.”
he smiles, slowly, lazily, and there it is again. that comfort that felt so much like home.
“c’mon,” you say, standing up. “can’t miss a party that’s in your own house.”
“sure i can,” he answers, but still follows you like he always does. you take his hand, leading him back inside, and he mutters, “you look good tonight.”
your hand clenches around his, and in response, his thumb traces over yours.
you don’t address it. you never do. the tension, the whispered jokes that only the two of you understood, the nights stolen away on the rooftops of parties. you didn’t want to address it, scared that it might turn into something else—something you weren’t used to.
and with choso, who stayed undoubtedly and irrevocably him, you knew change might just ruin it all.
𓏵
it’s tuesday night, and you’re low on weed.
“fuck,” you’re muttering, sifting through that drawer in your desk that you swore was full a day ago. “fuck.”
you weren’t really a stoner, but on days like this, when your professors were giving you shit for no reason and everything felt like it was going wrong, you got a bit desperate.
once you’d practically turned your room upside down from searching, you reach for your phone, clicking the number pinned right at the top.
“yo,” his voice is slow, relaxed as it always is. “what’s wrong?”
“i’m low.”
“finally,” you hear him shift around, like he’s grabbing something. “you want me to come over?”
“yeah,” you say, and you hear the jingle of his keys and his door opening. “i’ll see you in ten?”
“you know it.”
you hang up, flopping onto your bed and sighing into your pillow. his car pulls up right outside your apartment only five minutes later.
“damn.”
you’re leaned against your doorframe, arms crossed, facing him.
“what?” you say, hand moving down to tug at the hem of your shorts. “are you—”
“you’re pretty.”
you roll your eyes, holding out a hand, “and you’re high.”
“when am i not?” instead of passing you the baggie, he slips past you into your apartment. you let him, kicking the door shut behind you. “but nah, i mean it. you’re like…top tier.”
“stop bullshitting.”
“i’m not,” he frowns, falling onto your couch like it was his own. he turns his gaze to the ceiling, and you sit beside him, nudging him over to make room. “you don’t have to pay me this time.”
“that’s stupid.”
“nah,” he shuts his eyes, mindlessly reaching into his pocket. “i’m serious.”
you take the packet from his hands, turning it over in your fingers.
“there’s a party tonight,” he says before you can say anything. he turns his head, opens his eyes, stares at you with the kind of expression that most girls would fall for in a heartbeat. “come?”
“who’s hosting?”
“satoru.”
“and who’s going?”
“everyone.”
you smile, “and will you dance with me if i go?”
he lets out a laugh, quiet but real, “only with you.”
“you’re absolutely stoned, aren’t you?” you say, smile widening. “you never agree to dance with anyone.”
“nah, you’re just different,” he tilts his head against the back of the couch again. “i wouldn’t have gone to the party if you said you weren’t going.”
“how pathetic.”
“it’s not pathetic,” he says. “it’s true.”
“it’s still pathetic,” you lean closer. “y’know, there’s a shit ton of girls lined up waiting for the moment choso kamo realises how hot he actually is.”
“what’s that got to do with anything?”
“i just don’t get how you’re you, and yet you refuse to date anyone or even hook up.”
he frowns—pouts, “i hook up with people.”
“barely.”
“no one interests me in this world apart from you.”
“but you wouldn’t hook up with me.”
“maybe i will.”
“see? now you’re bullshitting again.”
he scoffs, glancing over at your laptop that’s open on the coffee table.
“what’re you researching?”
you follow his gaze, head tilting.
“cities.”
“cities?”
“that i could move to,” you reach over and shut the lid. “nothing important.”
he gives you a long look, one that makes you question what he’s really thinking.
“so you’re actually leaving.”
“maybe,” you say, trying not to give too much weight to the words. “i’ve planned this for years, cho’. you know that.”
“i’m just surprised you’re still thinking about it, that’s all.”
“i can’t spend my life here forever. i don’t think anyone other than satoru could.”
“but moving cities is for like…” he frowns. “late twenties. early thirties, even. not college age.”
“people move cities for college all the time.”
“you’re not moving for college,” he says, eyes narrowing. “you’re moving for life.”
you go quiet.
“it’s not important,” you repeat, hand curling around the baggie of weed. “it’s not like i’m moving tomorrow.”
“feels like it,” he grabs the bag from you, leaning forward to start rolling joints.
“party starts in an hour,” he says, and you sigh as you stand. “wear something like you did last time.”
“whatever you say,” you call behind you, and you don’t miss the way he laughs under his breath.
satoru’s house is already packed when you get to it an hour and a half later. you’re in a short skirt, the kind choso always compliments you on. he’s got his arm around your waist, casual enough no one would really question it.
“look who fucking decided to show up.”
“we always show,” choso mutters, pulling you closer as satoru grins from where he’s standing. you flash satoru a smile, to which he playfully rolls his eyes at.
“yeah, and you’re always sitting together making out or whatever.”
“making out?”
“i said or whatever,” satoru crosses his arms, red solo cup in his hand dangerously close to falling from how he’s holding it. “are you guys seriously not together yet? awh, fuck, i’ve been telling people you are.”
“of course you have.”
something crashes nearby, and satoru snaps his head towards it.
“yo! get the fuck off my—hold that thought,” he says, already rushing towards the other end of the room. “see you two later.”
you’re left standing there, still pressed against choso, who’s reaching for his lighter. the living room is full, bass vibrating through every surface. satoru’s parties were always louder, fuller, with something insane going on everywhere you looked. choso’s parties were calmer, trap replaced with house music, haze always in the air and the lights set to a color that usually stayed in your head for weeks. if you had to choose between both, you’d choose choso’s, and that wasn’t just ‘cause you were biased.
“c’mon,” he mutters, tugging you along with him towards the mountain of drinks in the corner. he passes you a bottle of what looks like something sweet, not bothering to get one for himself and instead pulling out a blunt.
“you said you’d dance with me,” you remind him, plucking his lighter from his hands just to do it for him. “don’t go back on your promises.”
“since when have i ever?” he lets you cup his jaw, tug him closer, light the blunt with the ease of blinking. “thanks.”
“go take another thirty minutes,” you nudge him towards the couch, which he’s already gravitating towards. “i’m gonna find my girls.”
“uh-huh.”
usually, the couch during satoru’s parties is empty, save for an occasional couple making out that choso’s too high to care about. today, there’s only one other guy, and choso knows him.
“yo,” he says, sitting down, glancing back once at where he spots you hugging ieiri. sukuna glances up, smoking something else that definitely wasn’t weed, face stoic like it always is. “rough night?”
“something like that,” he shuts his eyes. “where’s your girl?”
“with her friends,” choso doesn’t comment on the fact he knows exactly who sukuna’s talking about, or how he doesn’t bother correcting him. “where’s yours?”
“can’t be fucked tonight.”
“why’s that?”
“you ever feel like you could do better than this?”
choso takes a hit, eyebrows raising a fraction.
“deep, man.”
“nah,” sukuna answers. “as in you could probably do better if you tried, or find the love of your life instead of hooking up with people every hour of the day?”
choso stays silent, staring in front of him.
“or maybe the love of your life is right there, and you’re just…not doing anything about it,” sukuna continues, eyes still shut, head still tilted back against the couch. “what if she’s someone you fucked and moved on from in five minutes and will never see again?”
“so what’re you gonna do about it?”
“nothin’.”
“fair.”
“just thoughts, y’know,” sukuna lets out an amused scoff. “i’m high. this is bullshit.”
“it’s not bullshit,” choso says, and his gaze slides back again, to you. “y/n tells me about this all the time. like fate or whatever, and how everything happens for a reason.”
“you’re with her a lot”
“yeah,” he watches you laugh, eyes glittering with such a carefree look it makes his heart ache. “she’s the only person i talk to.”
sukuna turns to him, taking another drag, before saying, “she’s your girl.”
you look over at him then. across the room, where you’re still smiling, lights strobing but still managing to make you look so radiant.
“yeah,” choso mutters, hands flexing slightly as he glances away. “she is.”
and you were.
he was more than just a dealer to you, and you were more than just a buyer. he was who you’d drifted to without even realising it, and you were who he’d started trusting more than anyone. you chose when he hosted, the songs, who to invite and who to kick out, and he let you. he’d let you into his life, every single part of it, no matter how shitty it was.
“but she’s leaving,” he says, and he can feel sukuna shift in surprise. “somewhere else. says she’s sick of here.”
“but you don’t want her to go.”
“‘course not.”
“then make her stay,” sukuna flicks ash into a already dying pot plant by the ground. “tell her to stay.”
“i can’t.”
“why not?”
“we’re not…i can’t make her stay.”
“have you seen the way she looks at you?” sukuna leans forward. “she looks at you like you’re the only person in this world. she looks at you like every word you say means something, even when you’re fuckin’ stoned.”
“she looks at everyone like that.”
“nah. only you,” sukuna relaxes into the couch again. “it’s only ever gonna be you.”
choso inhales. the weed fills him, just for a brief moment, dulling the edge of his thoughts—thoughts that consisted of you and you only. you and your smile, your gorgeous face, your voice that soothed every rare moment of stress he had.
yeah.
you were his girl alright.
𓏵
it’d been a week since you’d last seen him.
a week. seven whole days.
you’re sitting in the campus’s library, papers and assignments strewn in front of you, laptop opened but the screen dimmed because of how long you hadn’t touched it for. the night of satoru’s party, he’d crashed at yours, both of you barely even making it to your bed before collapsing. he’d ended up on the floor somehow, and you’d ended up on your bed with the covers kicked off.
you missed him.
even after a week, a mere seven days without your dealer that’d gotten way too close to you, and you were bored out of your mind.
“yo,” someone’s pulling a chair back opposite you, and just for a split second, you think it’s him. but it’s not. “you look tired as shit.”
“thanks, satoru,” you say, slumping onto the table. “really helps.”
“not in a bad way,” he frowns, leaning into his chair. “yo, i heard you’re leaving.”
“from who?”
“sukuna,” he cocks his head. “are you seriously gonna?”
“yeah, i’m considering it,” you pick up one of your pens, mindlessly tapping it onto your notebook. “haven’t decided.”
“huh,” he scoffs. “then you should go somewhere—do something fun before you go.”
“like what?”
“drink,” he shrugs, then his eyes light up, like he’s visibly thought of something. “i’ll host tonight.”
“no thanks.”
“choso will be there."
your heart stutters. just for a second.
“no, he won’t.”
“yeah, probably not,” you roll your eyes at satoru’s answer, propping your chin on your palm as you look at him. “yo, actually, since you’re all sad and shit.”
he slides over a small, plastic bag, a grin on his face.
“i’m not—”
you pause.
“2c-b.”
“what?”
“like lsd, but freakier.”
your eyebrows furrow, but you take the bag anyway, sliding it onto your lap and looking at it underneath the table. two pills stare back at you, and when you glance back up, satoru’s still smiling.
“i don’t do shit stronger than weed.”
“exactly,” he crosses his arms. “not evens sure if it’s 2c. it’s got a longer name, but it’s psychedelic nonetheless.”
you look at the pills again, “where’d you get it from?”
“sorry, babe, can’t tell,” he says, pushing back his chair again. “not from your boyfriend, if that’s what you’re wondering. free of charge though.”
before he leaves, he winks.
“my gift to you.”
you glare half-heartedly, but still slip the bag into your pocket, his words replaying in your head.
“what the hell is this?”
almost five days later, ieiri and yuki are in your room, holding up the packet.
“something satoru gave me,” you’re focused on applying your lip liner, sitting on the floor in front of your full length mirror. “like lsd or something."
“lsd?” yuki says, snatching the bag from ieiri. “shit, girl, that’s like a sukuna drug.”
“take it if you want to.”
“where’d he say he got it from?”
“wouldn’t tell—basically just passed it over and left.”
“classic,” ieiri snorts, walking over to sit beside you. “keep it. can’t guarantee he didn’t put something else in it to ‘spice it up’, but if it’s from satoru, i’m sure it isn’t actually lethal.”
yuki hums her agreement, sitting on the edge of your bed.
“maybe get choso to look at it.”
“not sure how open he’d be to the love of his life doing a drug he didn’t give her,” ieiri says, making you wince. “maybe he’ll get all protective, y’know?”
“i’m not the love his life.”
“of course you are. you’re the only person he’s successfully held an hour long conversation with—and willingly, too. we’ve gotta give you some kinda award for that.”
“please don’t.”
“seriously, though,” yuki shakes the bag, dragging your attention to the pills inside. “if you’re gonna do it, do it. can’t just let them sit in here forever.”
you shrug, turning away again.
“i’ll think about it.”
𓏵
choso’s fucked.
he’s not draped across the couch for once. instead, he’s leaning against the wall, watching satoru absolutely smash everyone else at beer pong while half drunk. there’s no joint between his fingers tonight, but he’s more stoned than ever.
the only reason he was here was because you were.
well, you were supposed to be, but he hadn’t seen you once. every few seconds, his gaze slid over to the front door, which made him think the only reason he wasn’t on the couch was because he couldn’t see as clearly.
satoru yells something, downs another shot, laughs like today was the only day that mattered. someone else is starting up an argument somewhere, and he can almost sense that it’ll turn physical.
his gaze flickers to the door again, and this time, it opens.
like clockwork, his body freezes, breath catching. you’re in the shortest skirt he’s ever seen you wear, top barely covering anything, a drink already in your hand like you’re coming from a pregame somewhere else. yuki and ieiri, as always, come in with you, whispering something that makes you laugh.
you’re different.
it’s barely been a week and a half, but something’s changed. your eyes are half lidded, a smile constant on your face as if you couldn’t help it. freshman seem to swarm after you, and instead of ignoring it like you always do, you’re talking, giggling, batting your eyelashes, only to push past them anyway.
“choso!—”
“yo, give me a sec,” he pushes off the wall, past satoru, and towards you. you see him halfway there, and you smile, soft, like you’ve been subconsciously waiting for him.
“hey, cho’,” your words are slower, dragged out. “where’ve you been?”
“here,” his hands circle around your waist, pulling you against him. "where've you been?”
“getting ready,” you say, looking up at him. “you’re so pretty.”
“that’s my line.”
you laugh, sweet and unfiltered, “i know. and now you’re supposed to tell me i’m just high.”
“are you?”
“maybe,” you reach into your bra, pulling out a little bag with one pill left inside. “i was supposed to ask you what it was before i took it, but whatever.”
choso releases his grip on you, taking the baggie from your fingers.
“where the fuck did you get 2c from?” he says almost instantly.
you pout, chewing on your lip, “is it bad? satoru said it’s supposed to be like lsd.”
“does it feel like lsd?”
“nah,” you reach up, resting your arms around the back of his neck. “feels better.”
“you’re stupid,” he says, but it isn’t mean. “if you wanted something stronger, you could’ve told me.”
“i will next time,” you say, and he scoffs, pocketing the bag without you noticing. “you haven’t been sitting in a corner the whole time, have you?”
“surprisingly not,” he starts walking, keeping you close to him, heading towards somewhere else. somewhere different. “you’re good with abandoning ieiri and yuki?”
“they’re fine without me,” you take another sip of your drink. “would rather spend tonight with you anyway. i missed you.”
“it’s only been a week and a half.”
“thats like…eleven days or something. which is eleven times twenty-four hours.”
“264.”
“see? that’s ages,” you turn to him, and when he looks at you, it’s like he’s looking into your soul. “how much will it take for you to dance with me again?”
he steals the bottle from your hands, takes a sip, then leans closer.
“absolutely nothing.”
the party ends at three in the morning, sharp. satoru’s got an alarm set exactly for 2:59, and he almost always has everyone out a minute later, save for ‘people he actually liked’. you would’ve stayed, but one look at choso and you knew you wanted time alone with him.
the 2c’s still hitting, and you’re in your bedroom, lying with your head on choso’s lap. he’s smoking a cigarette, muttering something about him having to be the somewhat sober one this time.
“i hated tonight,” you say, and he shifts to look down at you. “absolutely hated it.”
“yeah?”
“i hate the music. it’s too loud—i miss the good songs you play at yours. like the songs everyone actually knows instead of rap that no one understands.”
“seemed like you had fun, though,” he tilts his head back up again, staring at the ceiling while exhaling smoke. “or not.”
“only cause i had you,” you mutter, also turning your attention upwards. “wouldn’t have managed otherwise.”
it’s the truth.
ieiri and yuki were always wild when it came to parties, no matter who hosted or who was there. they got high, drunk, fucked the nearest guy and called it a night, and you’d envied them for it.
but then you’d met choso, who’d offered you a joint and a really good conversation, and you were hooked. completely, and utterly hooked onto him without even realising. every single party, every single event, he’d be there, and every single time, you found yourself right next to him.
he was more than just a dealer. he’d always been, and he always would be.
“can’t fuckin’ believe you did 2c without me,” he mutters, and you glance up at him. “traitor.”
“it was a now or never kinda thing,” you answer, smiling. “if i’d waited until i got to you i probably wouldn’t have taken anything.”
“and it was from satoru.”
“so?”
“i’m your dealer.”
“and?”
“and you’re on my fuckin’ lap, high off some shit i didn’t give you.”
you snort, shutting your eyes.
“didn’t know you cared that much.”
“‘course i care,” he mutters. “what if it was laced?”
“satoru wouldn’t do something like that.”
“well maybe he would.”
you open your eyes again.
“choso.”
“what?”
he’s not smiling when he looks at you.
you’re about to ask what’s wrong—ask why he’s so worked up over something as small as this. him and satoru were friends, and it wasn’t like he was—-
“are you really leaving?”
the question hangs in the air between you.
you blink, slowly, and he tilts his head back again, blowing out a breath.
“i think so,” is all you say, hand clenching around his. “but not far.”
“how far?”
“a few hours,” you sit up, slowly so your head doesn’t spin. “it’s not like i’m dying, cho’.”
“i know,” he says, still not meeting your gaze. “but it might as well be.”
“choso—”
“don’t go.”
he almost shudders as he says it, the cig still burning between his fingers.
“please,” and it’s soft, pleading. “don’t leave.”
your eyes are wide, frozen on the spot as he runs a hand through his hair, eyes shutting.
“i can’t—you can’t just,” he lets out a sound that’s almost frustrated. “i don’t think i’d survive without you.”
“cho’,” you say, quiet, because it’s the only thing you really can. “you’ll be fine without me. i’ll come back eventually.”
“eventually could mean months—years.”
“why do you care this much?”
“why do i care?” he repeats, and the words could’ve made you completely sober if that was even possible. “because it’s you. because you’re the only person i’ve ever fuckin’ liked. because you get me like no one else does.”
you’re still stuck in that same position, mind struggling to catch up as you try form an answer.
“and i don’t know what it is, but i don’t think i’ll ever be able to let you go,” he says, voice raw and so, incredibly real. “i love you. i don’t care if it’s as a friend, as a lover, but i love you.”
there’s no hesitation when he says it. there’s no pause of doubt.
i love you.
and you know he does. you know that you’re the only person he’s ever opened up to—ever trusted enough to do so.
“choso,” you say, and it’s almost a whisper.
he throws the cig into the ash tray on your bedside table, the one you had solely because of him, and you reach to pull him back towards you. you say his name again, louder, and it makes him drag his gaze up.
you want to cry. you want to kiss him. you want to say you love him too, as irrational as it is, but nothing comes out.
“don’t,” he says, and you move closer, hands reaching up to tilt his face towards you. “please.”
he drops his head onto your shoulder, letting you run your hands through his hair.
“i need you,” he says, low, like it’s physically hurting him. “just stay. stay with me.”
“i will,” you don’t think when you say the words, but when they come out you know you mean them. “shit, i really didn’t think it’d matter this much.”
he lets out a small, disbelieving scoff.
“yeah,” your hands fall away from him as he pulls away. “me either.”
the air around you is heavy. all you can feel is him against you, the faint smell of weed and something stronger but so, undoubtedly him going straight to your head.
“did you mean that?” you ask, and he doesn’t need any clarification.
“since when have i ever lied to you?” he says, hands sliding up your waist and settling there. “i think i’ve fuckin loved you ever since you sat on that couch with me.”
“seriously?”
“fuck yeah.”
you laugh, the kind that gets out without you even realising.
“i love you,” he repeats, gaze flickering to your lips.
you swallow, amusement fading, too aware of how close he is.
“yeah,” you say, and he leans closer. “i know.”
and then he’s kissing you. soft. filled with longing and the build of all those moments he’s held back on it.
it’s slow at first, sweet, like he’s still scared that he’ll loose you. your hands tangle in his hair. his grip on your waist tightens.
“shit,” he groans into you, starved, desperate. “don’t ever fuckin’ scare me like that again.”
your teeth nip at his lower lip, and before you know it he’s pressing you down, your back hitting the mattress.
his hands move lower, grazing your thighs, the hem of your skirt, and you whine at the touch.
“cho’,” you breathe, arching into him as he presses kisses to your neck. “choso.”
“yeah?” his fingers toy with the waistband of your skirt, tugging but never going too far. “c’mon, baby. use your words.”
he pulls your skirt down, panties and all, and you hear his sharp intake of breath as he soaks you in.
“holy shit.”
“i want you,” you say, and he’s just staring, tracing slow circles over your thighs. “i need you.”
“i know you do,” he moves up again, kissing you once before reaching for your shirt. “shit, you’re fuckin’ perfect. every inch of you.”
you don’t care where your top ends up, or your bra, all you care about is him. his touch, his voice, how bad you need him.
his hand roves between your thighs, where you’re soaked, tensing at the slightest graze against your clit.
“look how wet you are,” his slips a finger inside of you, steady, like he’s savouring every second. “soaked for me, aren’t you?”
“please,” you’re not sure what you’re begging for, but you beg anyway, your mind clouded with the mere thought of him.
you feel another finger slide into you at your words, pushing deeper and curling right where you need it.
he’s watching like he’s appreciating you. as if you’re some artwork in a museum and he’s devouring every detail before moving on.
“talk to me,” he murmurs, leaning over to press kisses to your jaw. “tell me how it feels.”
you gasp as he pulls out, just to thrust his fingers all the way back in again.
“good,” is all you manage, back arching, trembling underneath him. you moan his name again, and you see his jaw clench, trying to ground himself. “so good.”
“yeah?” he picks up the pace, the ache in your stomach starting to build. “you gonna cum for me?”
you whine at that. at his voice, so low and filled with hunger.
“choso,” your thighs clench together, but he’s relentless, the tips of his fingers brushing against that one, perfect spot inside you.
he’s never touched you like this before—never even thought he could. and yet it’s like he already knows you, inside out.
“fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, pressing deeper, harder, faster. “so fuckin’ gorgeous, baby.”
the pressure inside you intensifies, tears springing in the corner of your eyes.
“cho’,” you moan, clenching around him. “i’m—”
your climax shatters through you before you even finish the sentence. he groans from above you, a string of what sounds like curses mixed with your name. you fall limp against the bed, panting, eyes half lidded as you feel him slowly pull his fingers out again.
“can’t even believe you’re real,” he mutters, letting you reach forward and tug off his shirt. “can’t get enough, can you?”
“i’ll never get enough of you,” you answer, starting on his sweatpants, eyes focused on the prominent bulge beneath. “never.”
“insatiable,” he says, and you manage to get the rest of his clothes off.
you barely even get to admire him before he’s nudging you back, hands tracing a path down to the apex of your thighs. his cock is hard, pre already smeared across the tip as he just barely slides it into you.
“fuck,” he breathes, head tilting back as he slowly pushes it in. “you’re so tight.”
you’re moaning, every movement he makes sending shivers down your spine. somewhere in between, he’s kissing you. it’s rough, messy, the embodiment of thirst and need mixed into one.
he settles deep into you, and just when you’re comfortable, when you’re completely lost in the feeling of him, he pulls all the way back out again. his pace is slow, hitting every spot inside you so perfectly it’s almost overwhelming. you can feel every ridge, every vein of him, whining when he falters or pauses, even if it’s for a second.
“i fuckin’ love you,” he groans, dragging you against him. “best thing that’s ever fuckin’ happened to me in my life, baby. meeting you.”
your hands clench on the bedsheets, tangling in the blankets that smell entirely like him. entirely like home.
“i almost lost you,” he says, and his thrusts get harder when he says it. “almost lost you. how am i supposed to live without—fuck!”
your eyes flutter closed, back arching, entirely lost in pleasure. he leans closer, letting you rest your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
your second orgasm ripples through you a minute later, and so does his. he spills inside you with a guttural groan, panting, collapsing on top of you. your hands move to his hair on instinct, lazily running your fingers through the soft strands.
“you good?” he asks, voice hoarse. “you’re unreal, baby.”
you huff out a quiet laugh, still trembling.
then, when it’s quiet, the only sound being the steady sound of breathing, you glance over at him.
“i love you too.”
and when he stares back at you, with those eyes that saw into your very soul, you knew this was where you were always supposed to be.
𓏵
“yo, what the actual shit?”
satoru’s standing at the front door, the house behind him blasting music and completely overcrowded with people. his jaw is slack, dramatically pointing as sukuna pushes him aside to see.
“oh, about fucking time.”
you’re smiling, head leaned into choso’s chest, laughing at satoru’s expression. choso’s got a joint lit, amusement glittering in his eyes, arm around your waist.
“does this mean you get free weed?” satoru asks, standing upright. “yo, that’s not even fucking fair.”
“of course it’s fair.”
“no, it’s not!” he argues, arms crossing. “and what even happened to that 2c i gave you?”
“no clue,” you frown, glancing up at choso. “i had one left. disappeared during that party a week ago.”
“huh,” choso scoffs, looking away. “weird.”
“he took it,” sukuna says, already turning to walk back into the house. “clear as fuckin’ day.”
“did you?” you say, keeping close to him as you push past the dozens of drunk, fratboys. “seriously?!”
“why do you care?” he frowns. “i could get you more before you even finish asking.”
he sits on the couch, the same exact one you and him first met. sukuna’s on the other side, lighting a blunt, and satoru’s started mixing drinks into red solo cups on the coffee table.
“i’m gonna go find my girls,” you tell him, like you always do. he tugs you forward, kisses you softly with the kind of love that makes you blush.
once you’re gone, disappearing into the crowd of people, choso turns his head to sukuna.
the man merely looks at him. inhales. exhales slowly.
“she’s your girl,” he says, and choso smiles, head tilting to rest against the back of the couch.
“yeah,” he says, eyes shutting. “she a hundred percent is.”
Mourning Tiktok in a “brain rot” way, but also in a “the continual loss of information, creations, and a visual record of human activity via direct government interference breaks me as historian” way.
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