punk choso đ¤
AnasAbdin
Cosmic Funnies
d e v o n

No title available
Acquired Stardust
almost home
RMH
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Peter Solarz
đŞź
DEAR READER

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ
ojovivo
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
art blog(derogatory)

romaâ
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă
dirt enthusiast
No title available
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@slvtforchoso
punk choso đ¤
punk choso đ¤
just started watching record of rag yesterday already on season 3 because OML
WHY ARE THEY ALL SO HOT
Literally couldnât sleep until my body forced me to because my god the voices too
EVEN ADAM COULD GET IT IDC
Summary: Youâre in a long-distance relationship with Choso, and one random day you send him a cute-but-risky pic, not expecting much. Hours later, he sends back something way more intense than you were prepared for, then immediately panics and thinks he crossed a line. You end up reassuring him, and things turn into this super intimate late-night moment where youâre both just really honest about how much you miss each other.
The silence in your bedroom that night was a different creature. It wasn't the aching, hollow silence of the months he'd been gone. It was a waiting silence. A humming, anticipatory quiet, underscored by the faint, digital ghost of his presence from earlier in the day.
The day had been normal, almost disarmingly so. A quick, sweet text from him in the morning: " Morning, baby. Dreamt of you. Have a good day."
You'd carried the warmth of it with you through classes, a secret ember in your pocket. You'd laughed with Yuji at lunch, worked on a sketch in the library. In the afternoon, you'd passed a boutique and seen a skirt in the window-a soft, charcoal grey wrap-style that fell to mid-thigh. It was simple, but somethin about it felt both elegant and a little dangerous. On impulse, you'd gone in, tried it on, and taken some pictured in the dimly lit fitting room. You'd sent them to him.
You: Found this. Thought it looked... like something you'd like to take off me. Yay or nay?
You hadn't expected an instant reply. He was buried in the post-exam catch-up, the grim slog of projects he'd neglected during his focused study for the biochem test. Hours ticked by. You went about your evening: homework, a quiet dinner, sketching idly in the margins of your notebook. The lack of response wasn't worrying; it was just the rhythm of your new long-distance reality. You pictured him in the library, headphones on, brow furrowed, the world narrowed to a screen of code or a dense textbook. You felt a pang of longing, but it was a soft one, tempered by pride.
Now, in the deep navy blue of late night, you were curled in your bed, the day's mental clutter slowly settling. You were about to plug in your phone and surrender to sleep when it buzzed in your hand.
A notification from Choso. Not a text. A video message. And above it, a line of warning text:
Choso: tw. don't open if you're not alone.
Your heart gave a curious little jump. A trigger warning? From him? That was new. Your mind spun with benign possibilities: a funny but loud video, a clip of something disturbing from a movie he was watching. You were alone. The house was silent. Curiosity, a hot, sharp thread, pulled at you. You tapped the video.
The screen went black for a second, resolving into a shaky, dimly lit scene. It was shot from a low angle, clearly propped up on something. The light was from a single source, maybe a desk lamp off to the side, casting long, dramatic shadows. It took your brain a second to parse what you were seeing.
He was shirtless, the low light carving the familiar, beloved planes of his chest and abdomen in stark relief. His sweatpants were pushed down just past his hips. And in his hand, held loosely but unmistakably, was his erection.
A soundless gasp caught in your throat. Your entire body flushed, heat flooding your cheeks, your chest, pooling low in your belly. This wasn't just suggestive. This was a raw, visceral offering.
He wasn't looking directly at the camera. His head was tilted back against the wall, his eyes closed, his face a mask of tense, concentrated pleasure. And then he spoke, his voice a low, ragged whisper that seemed to vibrate right through your phone speaker and into your bones.
"God, Y/N... you look so fucking pretty in that skirt..." A sharp intake of breath, the sound of his hand moving, a slick, soft noise that made your own muscles clench. "I wanna push it up around your waist and just... fuck. Fuck you right against the wall."
His words were punctuated by soft, helpless whimpers that escaped his clenched teeth. He was talking to you, but also to himself, lost in the fantasy. "Wanna bend you over... right in that fitting room... hear you try to stay quiet... feel you shake for me." His rhythm intensified, the camera jiggling slightly with the motion of his body. "You're so pretty... you have no idea... no idea what you do to me."
He let out a sharp gasp, his hips jerking up into his fist. The video was dark, intimate, almost voyeuristic. You could see the flex of his abdominal muscles, the desperate tension in his thighs. You could hear the wet, slick sound of his hand working over himself. Your own body reacted instantly, a hot, pooling rush between your legs, a throbbing ache that was immediate and profound.
On screen, his free hand-the one not working himself-came into view, gripping his own thigh, nails digging into the muscle. "Want to kneel on the floor in front of you. Put my face right there... push that fabric up... just to your hips... and eat your pussy under that skirt... while you stand there... feel you get wet on my tongue... hear you trying to stay quiet..."
Every word was a live wire tossed onto your skin. You were frozen, phone held so tight your knuckles ached, your entire world reduced to the five-inch screen and the sounds of his pleasure.
"Would you let me?" he panted, his strokes becoming more urgent, the wet sound of his flesh moving in his grasp now audible. "Would you let me make you come like that? Holding onto that skirt for balance... fucking my face until you shake?"
"Yes," you whispered to the empty room, your body pulsing with a need so intense it was painful.
As if he heard you, he moaned, long and low. His strokes grew faster, his breathing hitching. The camera caught the glisten of pre-cum, the tight, desperate motion of his fist. "God... you're so pretty. So fucking pretty it makes me crazy. I miss your taste... miss the way you clutch my hair..."
His free hand fisted in the sheets. His head was thrown back, throat exposed, tendons cording. His back arched off the bed, a beautiful, tense curve. The camera caught the defined muscles of his abdomen clenching, the sheen of sweat now visible on his skin. "Y/N... fuck... "
With a raw, torn cry that was pure release, he came. Thick, pearlescent streaks shot across his stomach, painting his skin. His body bowed, rigid with ecstasy, then collapsed back, his chest heaving. The camera shook slightly, as if his hand had gone limp. For a long moment, there was only the sound of his ragged, struggling breaths.
The video ended.
You sat frozen in the dark, the afterimage burned onto your retinas. Your heart was hammering, your skin felt too tight, and between your legs, you were soaked, aching, pulsating with a need so sharp it was painful.
You didn't think. You tapped the video to play it again.
And again.
The third time, you focused on the sounds-the broken, worshipful filth of his words, the helpless whimpers, the final, shattered cry of your name. Each replay coiled the tension in your own body tighter. Your free hand, of its own volition, slid under the waistband of your underwear. You were so wet your fingers slid easily through your folds, a jolt of pure sensation making you gasp aloud.
You pressed harder, circling, your hips beginning to rock against your own hand. The room was filled with the soft, wet sounds of your own pleasure, your quickening breaths. You were chasing it, hurtling toward the edge, fueled by the visceral, digital proof of his desire.
Your phone buzzed on the mattress beside you, lighting up. A series of texts from him, rapid-fire.
Choso: You opened it.
Choso: That was 4 minutes ago.
Choso: Y/N?
Choso: Shit. I'm sorry. That was too much.
Fuck. I'm so stupid.
Choso: Please just tell me you're not disgusted. I can't... I shouldn't have sent that. It's... fuck, it's gross. I'm sorry.
The messages came in rapid, desperate succession. You could feel his panic through the screen, the vulnerability of his act curdling into sharp regret and fear. The powerful, sexual creature from the video was gone, replaced by the boy who was terrified he'd just repulsed the love of his life.
Your heart clenched. A powerful, possessive surge rose in you. You wouldn't let him sit there in the dark, scared and regretful. You would match his vulnerability with your own. You would give him a truth just as raw.
You fumbled with your phone, switching to voice message. You hit record. Your voice, when it came out, was already breathy, thick with the desire he'd stoked.
"Choso..." you began, and just saying his name sent a fresh shiver through you. You were lying back on your pillows now, your free hand slipping under the waistband of your underwear. "That was so fucking hot."
Your breaths became shorter, sharper, punctuated by soft cries as you worked yourself faster, chasing the peak his video had brought you so close to.
You were fucking yourself with your fingers in earnest now, the lewd, wet sounds audible in the quiet room, picked up by the microphone. "You sound so good when you come..." You were talking, thoughts tumbling out unfiltered, fueled by a horny, honest madness. "You looked so good... covered in your own cum for me... I wish I was there to lick it off you..."
You moaned, unable to help it, as your fingers dipped inside yourself, then back to your clit. "That skirt... I'll buy it. I'll put it on for you and let you push it up and do exactly what you said... I want to feel your tongue... I want to pull your hair and make you stay right there until I come all over your face..."
You were losing coherence, the sentences fracturing under the building pleasure. "You make me so crazy... I can't think straight... all I can think about is your cock... how good it felt inside me... I need it... I want to ride you until you can't see straight and tell me I'm yours... fuck, Choso, I'm yours, I'm so yours..."
The orgasm crashed into you, sudden and devastating. Your back arched off the bed, a broken, sustained moan tearing from your throat, followed by a series of softer, whimpering sighs as your fingers worked frantically through the pulsing waves of pleasure. "Oh God... Choso... yes... I love you... Fuck..."
As the last tremors subsided, leaving you boneless and shuddering, you whispered one last time, your voice hoarse and spent, "I love you." You fumbled, pressing send before you could think, before the embarrassment could catch up. You lay there, boneless and trembling, the phone discarded on your chest, staring at the ceiling as the aftershocks tingled through your limbs.
Two minutes. That's all it took.
Your phone rang, his name flashing. You answered, bringing it to your ear. You didn't even say hello.
His voice was a dark, urgent rasp. "Are you trying to kill me?"
You could hear the strain in it, the renewed hunger. "You started it," you managed, your own voice hoarse.
"I know. And I'm hard again. So fucking hard. Listening to you... fuck, Y/N." You heard a soft, rhythmic sound, the faint rustle of fabric.
The embers in your belly glowed anew. You were spent, but the sound of him, the knowledge of his need, was a potent stimulant. "Tell me," you whispered into the phone, curling onto your side. "What you're doing."
He let out a shaky breath. "I'm picturing it. You, in your bed. Your fingers. The sounds you made."
"Touch yourself," you commanded softly, sleepily. "Let me hear you."
The soft, rhythmic sound through the phone speaker intensified, becoming a slow, slick slide you could practically see in your mind's eye. It was a sound of pure devotion, a raw answer to your command. A low groan followed, vibrating down the line and settling deep in your bones.
"Happy?" he breathed, the word strained, edged with both self-deprecation and awe.
"Getting there," you murmured, your own body humming with a spent, liquid warmth. You were boneless, sated from your own climax, but hearing him, knowing he was tumbling back into that desperate place because of you, stoked the embers all over again. "Don't stop. Tell me what you're picturing now. Exactly."
He exhaled, a sharp, shaky sound. The rhythmic friction continued, a little faster now. "I'm picturing... your mouth. The way you look up at me when you're on your knees. That mix of defiance and worship. Your lips are swollen, your chin is wet..." His voice hitched. "And you take me so deep, Y/N. You take me like you were made for it. Your throat works around me, and your eyes water, but you don't stop. You suck me like you're starving for it."
You clenched around nothing, a fresh pulse of heat gathering despite your recent release. "I am," you whispered. "I'm starving for you. Right now."
"Fuck," he hissed. The sound of his hand moving grew wetter, more urgent. "I'm picturing pulling you up by your hair, kissing you... Laying you back on this bed and pushing your thighs so wide... You're so open for me. So pretty and pink and soaked. I just... I look at you. I torture myself with how perfect you are. And then I push in. Not all the way. Just the head. And you whimper. That little broken sound you make when it's too much but you need more."
You were squirming now, your hand drifting back down your stomach. His narration was a spell, painting a scene so vivid your nerves sparkled in anticipation of touches that weren't there. "It's always too much," you breathed, fingers sliding through your own slickness. "You're too much. I can't take all of you."
"You can," he growled, his voice dropping, becoming guttural. "You do. You take every inch. I sink into you so slow, watching your face the whole time. Watching your lips part, your eyes roll back... feeling you stretch and burn and cling to me. God, you feel like heaven."
His breathing was becoming ragged, punctuated by soft, punched-out groans. "And then I move. I fuck you slow, so deep, until you're sobbing. Until you're begging. And you know what you beg for, baby?"
"What?" The word was a plea.
"You beg for me to go faster. To ruin you. And I do. I lose control. I pound into you, the bed slamming against the wall, and all you can do is take it. You take it and you love it and you scream my name."
You were touching yourself again, circling your clit with a feverish intensity, your hips arching off the mattress. The phone was pressed tight to your ear, his voice, his sounds, the only things that existed.
"Choso... please..."
"Please what?" he demanded, his rhythm faltering for a second, his focus entirely on you.
"I'm gonna come again," you sobbed, the tension coiling impossibly tight.
"Do it," he ordered, his voice a dark, absolute command. "Come thinking about my cock filling you up. Claiming you. Come thinking about how I own this pussy. It's mine. Say it."
"It's yours!" you cried out, the admission tearing from you as the climax detonated, a searing, white-hot wave that crashed through you, leaving you trembling and gasping, seeing stars behind your clenched eyelids. Your free hand fisted in the sheets, your back bowing as silent screams shook your frame.
Through the haze, you heard his own control snap. A raw, guttural shout ripped from him, a sound of pure, unadulterated release. "Y/N! Fuck!"
The sounds that followed were beautiful chaos-his ragged, heaving breaths, the wet, final strokes, a long, shattered groan. You listened, floating in the aftermath, your own breaths gradually slowing to match his labored pace.
Silence settled, but it was no longer the waiting silence from before. It was a saturated, humming quiet, thick with shared vulnerability and spent passion. You smiled into the dark, your eyelids heavy.
"Good boy," you whispered, the words slipping out, tender and possessive.
He let out a weak, breathless laugh. "You're gonna kill me."
"Mmm," you hummed, snuggling deeper into your pillow. Your voice was fading, slurred with exhaustion. "But what a way to go."
He was quiet for a moment. "You falling asleep on me?" he asked, his voice fond.
You didn't hang up. You fell asleep with the phone still held loosely to your ear, listening to the faint, steady sound of his breathing from miles away.
"Yeah," you admitted, a smile in your tone. "Thinking about you. About your mouth. And your hands. And... that video..." A sleepy sigh. "Gonna dream about it."
"Dream about me," he said softly, a command and a plea. "Sweet dreams, baby. I love you."
"Love you more," you mumbled, already half-gone.
â â â Bâ CKSTAGE PASS ! â
â¸â¸ pairing ⍜ rockstar!choso x managers daughter!reader x rockstar!suguru
â¸â¸ synopsis ⍜ your father manages the countryâs hottest rock duoâchoso kamo and suguru geto, the kind of men who live fast and play louder. you were told to stay away. they were told youâre off-limits. but the lights go down, the crowd fades, and backstage, nobody follows the rules.
â¸â¸ warnings ⍜ mdni â explicit content, language, alcohol mention, heavy tension, possessiveness, slight exhibitionism (backstage scenes), power imbalance (managerâs daughter dynamic), double teaming implications / threesome undertones, praise & teasing, jealousy, age gap (all adult characters) wc.ââš 4.4k
â¸â¸ author's note ⍜ ngl this has been sitting in my drafts since october 14th cause i couldnât find a pics ⌠but itâs here now hehe : art credits
The air outside the terminal is thick with exhaust and late-summer heat, the kind that sticks to your skin and smells faintly like jet fuel and asphalt. Your dad is pacing a few feet away, phone pressed to his ear, voice rising and falling in clipped tones. Something about contracts, maybe money. You stop listening after the third âyeah, weâll make it work.â
Your luggage sits by your feetâone overstuffed suitcase and a duffel bag as the tour bus idles at the curb, engine humming low. Its black paint catches the light, gleaming like oil, windows tinted so dark you canât see inside.
When the door hisses open, it feels like stepping into another world.
He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. The deep, dark pools of his irises were wide, searching. You saw the confusion in them, the war between his innate, disciplined control and this new, bewildering impulse. You saw the question he didn't know how to ask.
You were the one who closed the distance.
It was a slow, tentative movement, giving him every opportunity to pull away. You leaned in, and your lips brushed against his. They were softer than you expected, and they parted on a quiet, shuddering inhale. He didn't kiss you back, not at first. He simply... accepted it, his body rigid with shock.
You pulled back just an inch, your forehead resting against his. "Is this okay?" you whispered.
He was breathing a little faster. "I... do not understand this reaction," he confessed, his voice low and husky. "My pulse has accelerated. My blood feels... heated. It is not a technique. It is just... you."
The raw, unfiltered honesty of his words undid you. There was no game, no pretense. He was experiencing these sensations for the first time a narrating them with a bewildered awe that was more intoxicating than any practiced line.
"It's okay," you reassured him, your hand coming up to cradle his jaw. His skin was smooth, cool. "You don't have to understand it. You can just feel it."
You kissed him again.
This time, there was a response. A hesitant pressure back, the barest movement of his lips against yours. It was clumsy, achingly so, but filled with a dawning hunger. One of his hands came up to tentatively rest on your shoulder, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt.
When you finally broke the kiss, his eyes were hazy, his lips slightly swollen. He looked utterly ravaged by that simple contact.
"What is this?" he asked again, his gaze dropping to your mouth.
"This is desire, Choso," you said gently, stroking his cheek. "It's... wanting to be close to someone."
"I want to be close to you," he stated, with the same conviction he used when vowing to protect his brothers. It was a fact. An undeniable truth in his world. "The space between us feels... incorrect."
A slow, warm curl of heat pooled in your belly. "Then let's correct it."
You stood, taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom. He followed without hesitation, his larger hand engulfing yours, his trust in you absolute. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow from the city lights filtering through the rainy window.
You stopped beside the bed and turned to face him. The confusion was still there in his eyes, but it was now overshadowed by a deep, burning intensity. You reached for the hem of his shirt, a simple black garment.
"Can I?" you asked.
He gave a short, sharp nod.
You pulled the shirt over his head, revealing the lean, powerful musculature of his torso. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You placed your hands flat on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palms.
"You're trembling," you observed.
"I am not afraid," he said immediately, his voice tight. "The physiological response is... intense. I cannot control it."
"You don't have to control it here," you whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to the center of his chest. His skin tasted clean, faintly metallic, like the air after a storm. A sharp gasp escaped him, and his hands came up to clutch your hips, holding on as if for balance.
You guided him to sit on the edge of the bed and then straddled his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. The new position brought your faces level. His hands settled on your waist, his grip unsure, almost reverent.
"What should I do?" he asked, his voice a raw whisper. The great Choso Kamo, a force of nature on the battlefield, was here, asking for your guidance, and it was the most powerful aphrodisiac you could imagine.
"You can touch me," you said, taking one of his hands and bringing it to your breast. "You can kiss me."
He learned with a terrifying swiftness. His initial clumsiness gave way to a focused, earnest exploration. He kissed you with growing confidence, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened for him. The kiss deepened, becoming wet, hungry, and messy. His hands roamed over your back, your shoulders, learning the shape of you.
When his thumb brushed over your nipple through your shirt, you moaned into his mouth. He froze.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No," you breathed, laughing softly. "No, it's the opposite. It feels good."
His eyes darkened with understanding, with a new, potent kind of curiosity. "This sensation... is pleasurable for you?"
"Very."
He repeated the motion, more deliberately this time, his gaze locked on your face, watching your every reaction. "Your breathing changed," he noted. "And your pupils dilated." He was cataloging, studying, and the sheer intensity of his focus was overwhelming.
You needed to feel him. You pulled your own shirt off, then reached back to unclasp your bra. When your breasts were bare to him, he simply stared, his expression one of pure, unadulterated wonder.
"You are... so beautifully made," he murmured, his voice full of awe. He didn't move to touch, just looked, as if committing every detail to memory. The silence stretched, filled only by the sound of the rain and your ragged breathing. Finally, his eyes lifted to yours. "May I?"
The formal, polite question from a man whose hands could wield blood as a weapon sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you. "Please, Choso."
His touch was feather-light at first, his cool palms cupping your breasts, his thumbs stroking over your nipples. A low, shaky sigh escaped him. "So soft," he whispered, more to himself than to you. "And warm. So much warmer than I am."
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the hollow of your throat, then lower, until his mouth closed over one pebbled peak. The sensation was electric. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him to you. He responded to your sounds with a growing fervor, his movements becoming less hesitant, more demanding.
The thin barrier of your pajama pants and his trousers was becoming unbearable. You reached for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the buckle.
He watched your hands, his breath catching.
"I want to see you," you said, your voice thick with need.
He stood, allowing you to push his trousers and boxers down his legs.
He stepped out of them, standing before you completely naked and utterly unselfconscious. His body was a masterpiece of lean power, every muscle defined. And there, between his legs, was the evidence of his inexperience and his overwhelming desire. He was fully erect, his length thick and impressive, the tip already glistening.
He followed your gaze, a faint flush rising on his cheeks. "It is... a persistent state, since you first kissed me" he explained with typical bluntness. "I find it... distracting."
A breathless laugh escaped you. "I can see that." You reached out, wrapping your fingers around him. He was hot and velvety smooth, and he jerked in your grasp as if you'd branded him.
A choked sound, half-gasp, half-whimper, tore from his throat.
His eyes screwed shut, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Y-Your hand... it's... I can't..."
"Shhh, it's okay," you soothed, stroking him slowly, learning his shape and weight. "Just breathe, Choso. Let it feel good."
He was panting, his whole body trembling with the effort to remain still. "It's... too much... I..."
You released him, and his eyes flew open, wide with a mixture of relief and desperate loss. "We need to go slower," you said, lying back on the bed and pulling him down beside you. "And you're very... big. You need to loosen me up first."
He looked at you, completely lost. "Loosen you up?"
"With your fingers," you explained gently, guiding his hand between your legs, over the fabric of your pants. "You need to prepare me, or it will hurt."
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a fierce protectiveness. "I do not wish to cause you pain. Ever."
"Then let me show you."
You helped him remove your remaining clothing until you were both bare, skin to skin. The feel of his cool, hard body against your softer, warmer one was a revelation. You took his hand again and brought it to your core, where you were already slick and hot for him.
"Touch me here," you whispered, your own voice shaking.
His fingers were tentative, exploring the folds with a delicate, scientific curiosity. "You're so wet," he murmured, his eyes wide with fascination. "Is this... for me?"
"All for you," you confirmed, your hips arching into his touch. "Now, just one finger. Slowly."
He nodded, his focus absolute.
He pressed inward, his gaze fixed on where his hand met your body. The sensation of that first, slow penetration made you gasp. He was watching your face, his own a mask of intense concentration.
"It's so tight," he whispered, his voice full of reverent shock. He began to move, a slow, careful in-and-out, his eyes flicking between your face and his hand. "You feel... like heated silk. I can feel every pulse, every tremor. Is... is this good?"
"Yes," you moaned, your head falling back against the pillow. "Just like that. You can curl your finger a little... oh, yes, right there."
A soft, broken whimper escaped him as he felt you clench around his finger "You're gripping me," he said, his voice ragged. "As if you don't want to let me go." He added a second finger, his movements still slow and deliberate, but gaining confidence. "I can feel how you open for me. It's... it's the most profound thing I have ever felt."
His running commentary, his unfiltered thoughts, were driving you out of your mind. The combination of his physical touch and his vocal, awestruck observations was creating a feedback loop of pure pleasure.
"Choso," you panted, your hands fisting in the sheets. "The things you say... when you talk like that..."
He stilled his hand, looking at you with immediate concern. "Does it displease you? I will stop."
"No!" you cried out, your eyes flying open to meet his. "No, don't you dare stop! It it turns me on. Hearing your voice, hearing what you're thinking... it's so hot."
A slow, dawning comprehension spread across his face, followed by a dark, possessive gleam. He leaned over you, his hair tickling your cheeks as he resumed the movement of his fingers, now with a new, deliberate purpose.
"It arouses you?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble right by your ear. "To hear me tell you how wet and warm and soft you feel inside? How every time I move, I can feel you fluttering around me, pulling me deeper?"
You were moaning openly now, your body bowing off the bed. His words were a physical caress, amplifying every sensation.
"I have never known a feeling like this," he continued, his breath hot against your neck. "It is more potent than any battle high. The scent of your skin, the sounds you make... it is all I can process. My mind is... only you."
His words pushed you over the edge. With a sharp cry, you came apart around his fingers, your vision whiting out as waves of pleasure crashed through you. He held you through it, his movements gentling until the last tremor subsided.
You lay boneless, trying to catch your breath. He withdrew his fingers, looking at the glistening evidence of your climax with something akin to reverence before bringing them to his lips and tasting you. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. "You taste of life," he whispered.
When he looked at you again, the hunger in his eyes was primal, untamed. He was still painfully hard, his erection pressing against your thigh.
"Now," you said, your voice hoarse. You reached for him, guiding him over you, positioning him at your entrance. "Go slow, Choso. Remember, slow."
He braced himself above you, his arms trembling. The tip of him pressed against you, and you both gasped at the contact. He began to push forward, an inch at a time, his eyes locked on yours, wide with a mixture of panic and rapture.
"Oh..." The sound was punched out of him, a low, guttural moan. "It's... it's so... tight." The word was a prayer, a complaint, a benediction. "It's... you're everywhere. You're surrounding me."
He was sheathing himself inside you with an excruciating slowness, his body shaking with the effort of his restraint. You wrapped your legs around his hips, urging him deeper, taking him in completely until he was buried to the hilt.
For a long moment, he didn't move. He just stayed there, fully seated within you, his forehead damp against yours, his breathing a ragged, broken thing. You could feel the frantic, rabbit-quick pulse of his heart where your chests were pressed together.
"Are you okay?" you asked softly, stroking his back.
He let out a shuddering breath. "I am... complete." He lifted his head, his eyes blazing with an emotion so raw it stole your breath. "I did not know there was a part of me missing until now. Until you."
Tears pricked at your eyes. You pulled his head down and kissed him, deep and slow. It was the permission he needed.
He began to move.
His rhythm was unpolished, a little awkward, but it was earnest and driven by a deep, instinctual need. Each thrust was a revelation for him.
"So good," he chanted into your skin, his voice a broken whisper. "It feels... it feels... I have no words. My blood is singing. Every part of me is... alive." His thrusts became more sure, finding a pace that made you both gasp. "You feel so perfect around me. As if you were made for me. As if I was made for this. For you."
His whimpers and whispered observations were a constant, erotic soundtrack to the joining of your bodies. He was speaking his mind, completely unaware of the devastating effect his words had on you, until you arched beneath him, crying out his name as another, sharper climax began to build.
"Yes," he urged, his voice rough with passion. "Let me feel it. Come for me. Please."
That was all it took. You shattered, your inner muscles clamping down on him in rhythmic waves. The sensation was too much for his overstimulated system. With a final, broken cry of your name, he followed you over the edge, his own release pouring into you in hot, pulsing waves. His body went rigid, then collapsed onto you, his full weight a comforting, solid presence.
The only sounds in the room were the steady rain and your combined, heaving breaths. He was still inside you, his face buried in your neck, his arms wrapped around you so tightly it was as if he feared you would disappear.
Slowly, carefully, he rolled onto his side, taking you with him, never breaking the intimate connection. He nuzzled into your hair, his breathing gradually slowing. For a long time, he was silent. You thought he might have fallen asleep.
Then, his voice, soft and filled with a newfound wonder, whispered in the dark.
"I understand now," he said. "It was not a technique. It was not a battle. It was this. This is what it means to be connected. To be... home."
silver springs endings: choso's route 1
this story splits off from chapter 13 of my series silver springs
pairing f!reader x rebound!choso
content mdni!, fleetwood mac inspired au, childhood friends to lovers, smut, piv sex, oral (f! receiving), pet names, praise, aftercare, complicated relationships, yearning, fluff, angst, comfort, mutual pining, jealousy, break up talk, multiple povs
silver springs masterlist â§ choso's route masterlist ao3 â§ main masterlist
next chapter >>
banner art by @/aransmind
chapter 1: that's enough for me
wc: 4k
Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the mix of faces, both familiar and unknown, that seemed to make up the entirety of this party. You had been to their place a million times before but it had never felt this...busy â it was meant to be your little safe haven, somewhere you could breathe a little easier. It wasnât usually this loud.
Your eyes kept looking around, unsure what you were even looking for, until... until you finally saw him.
Messy little ponytails with loose strands of dark hair falling everywhere, a dark black face tattoo you had gone with him to get. It was almost embarassing how your heart jumped when you finally saw Choso, but it came to you that you had been looking for him this whole time, even if not fully aware of it.
âCho!â you called, one hand shooting up to try and get his attention, but it all got lost among the chatter and loud music.
Your eyes kept following him as you scrambled to move past the sea of people. Choso was going up the stairs, polite as ever with anyone who attempted conversation, but he was decidedly walking towards something, and you thought you knew exactly where.
You had done that trajectory yourself multiple times.
So you followed, running up the stairs until you reached the now empty corridor. You took a little breath in before knocking softly on the third door to the left. The one you knew led to his room.
MDNI âË⥠olderbf!toji helping you through ovulation đđââË m.list
PART 2
ovulating is hell.Â
youâre laying on the couch in one of tojiâs oversized t-shirts that hits the middle of your plush thighs, pulling the collar under your nose just so you can smell the faint traces of his cologne, eyes fluttering closed and a desperate whimper escaping your throat.Â
youâre almost always horny when you're ovulating, climbing onto your boyfriendâs lap, straddling one of his beefy thighs, your head nuzzling against his neck and inhaling his scentâ a mixture of woody cologne and whiskey mixing with his natural musk, a dangerous cocktail that makes your pussy throb.Â
and he lets you cling onto him, your much smaller frame sitting atop his. how could he deny you? you're his spoiled princess after all. thereâs no other way he'd rather spend his free time after working hard all day to make sure he can buy you anything and everything you ask for, and of course âgumi too.Â
âhey there, doll.â he mumbles against his glass, his scarred lips tug into a smirk as he takes a swig of whiskey. mossy green eyes dragging along your pouty lips down to where you slowly start to grind your drooling cunt against the hard ridges of his thigh.
âhm, like a cat in heat.â he laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest as your desperate whimpers grow louder, your hips dragging along his thigh lazily.
ânah, more like a brat in heat.â his large hand splays over the small of your back, the rough pads of his fingers tracing soothing circles under your shirtâ his shirt, as he lifts his leg slightly to press further against your throbbing heat.Â
âthat's it doll, use me however you want.â his breath is hot against your ear as he nibbles on the lobe, canines dragging along the soft skin of your neck, biting down on your throbbing pulse.Â
âmmm, thank you âji. need this right now, s-so bad.â
you pant softly, walls clenching around nothing as slick trickles out of your needy hole, making you so wet that it's borderline uncomfortable. the thin cotton of your panties glued to your sopping folds as you grind down onto his muscular thigh thatâs larger than the circumference of your head.Â
âtake whatever you need, i've got you. doinâ so good fâmeâ grinding that greedy pussy on me.â
he continues to whisper filthy words and praises into your ear, deep gravelly voice hoarse with his own desire. but he ignores it, ignores his thick cock that's leaking pre against his lower abdomen, bulbous tip aching to stuff you full.Â
but that's for later.Â
he knows you need this, and he loves seeing you like this. desperate to get off, so desperate that your riding his thigh, fucking humping it like it's your toyâ like heâs your toy.
and right now he is, his hands moving to grip the fat of your hips, guiding you to reach your high, all while murmuring those filthy praises in your ear.Â
âcmon, you can do it baby. so close aren't yaâ doll? can feel âer drooling through my sweats, makinâ such a pretty fuckinâ mess.âÂ
and he's there to hold you as your gummy walls flutter, your juices soaking through your underwear to make a large damp spot on his grey sweats. he's there to catch you as you fall forward against his own heaving chest, your small hands resting against the ridges of his bulging muscles through his compression shirt.Â
ây-yes, tojiâ mâcumming!âÂ
his large arms wrap around you tight, his hand gently tugging your hair back to catch your whimpers with his mouth. tongues and spit mingling as both of you groan, before pulling back to look at your dazed expression.Â
âfeel better brat?â he smirks, running a hand through your hair, blunt nails grazing your scalp.
âmmm, sâmuch better.âÂ
he places a soft kiss atop your head, a stark contrast to the filthy things running through his mind. how he wants to stuff you so full of him that your cuntâs leaking thick globs of his cum for days, thatâll really give you something to whine about.
a/n: ty as always my sweet bunny for reading âĄ
i think i want to make this into a lil mini series but idk if anyone rly wants that:') pls lmk if you do! <3 (also i know im supposed to be working on gamer!choso but i'm ovulating and this was on my mind FORGIVE ME!!!!)
taglist: @orgasmbunny @sukunathispussy @chewiebee
if you'd like to be tagged in future works let me know in the comments, must have an age on your profile somewhere, 18+
suguru fucking you dumb !! â
suguru loves how sharp you are. itâs one of the first things that pulled him inâyour quick wit, your clever remarks, the way you can slice through conversations like you were born to outsmart everyone in the room.
but he loves you more when your pretty head goes quiet. when your words melt into sighs, when your bright eyes go hazy and unfocused, and when the only thing rattling around that brilliant mind of yours is the feeling of him dragging deep inside you.
âwhat happened, baby?â he murmurs as he fucks you slow and deep into the mattress, each thrust measured and patient, like heâs sculpting something delicate out of you. his voice is soft enough to make your toes curl. âwhere'd my clever girl go?â
âo-oh god!â your voice cracks, trembling as your fingers clutch helplessly at the sheets. he smiles down at you, wicked and sweet.
âthere it is. there's my stupid girl.â
"mmnhâ m'not stupid, sugu!"
your brain wants to argue but your body arches, betraying you, chasing his rhythm. his cock drags along your walls so perfectly it makes your vision blur. you blink up at him, and he cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek like heâs soothing a child.
âshhh. it's okay, sweetheart. just feel.â
the words sink into you like honey. your muscles go loose, pliant, and he hums as he watches your hips try to rock up to meet him. âlook at you,â he whispers, leaning down to press his lips to your temple, âall soft for me. so empty up hereââ he taps your forehead gently ââand so full riiiight here." he murmurs, his large hand pressing over your abdomen.
âsuguruâpleaseââ you whine, voice already so thin and ruined.
he pushes deeper at your plea and you gasp, eyes rolling, nails digging into his shoulders. he groans when he feels you clench down around him, his voice cracking with it. âfuck. babyâ you can't just squeeze me like that without a fucking warning. you trying to kill me?â
âd-donât stopââ you babble, hips twitching helplessly.
he slows, pulling out until just the head sits at your entrance, then sinking back in inch by inch until your mouth falls open around a broken sound. âatta girl,â he praises, âjust let me take care of you. smart girls donât need to think when theyâre taking cock, do they? they just lay there and look pretty. right, baby?â
you whimperâhalf protest, half agreementâand he laughs low in his throat, kisses the corner of your slack mouth. âyou wanna be good for me, donât you?â
âyâyeah,â you pant, and he grins, satisfied. then he slips out, leaving you fluttering and empty, and sits back against the headboard.
âcome here,â he says, patting his thigh. âwanna see you ride me.â
it took me like two weeks to write this
nowhere to hide
â§ anime: attack on titan
â§ pairing: eren yeager x reader
synopsis: thereâs a fine line between guilt and obsessionâand heâs already crossed it
warnings: slow burn(10k words), possesive/obssesive eren, manipulation, consensual sex, overstimulation, edging, fingering, praise/degrading kink, rough sex, biting, oral sex (both receiving), penetrative vaginal sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, after care, comfort
After Eren fully accesses his ability to see the future, he discovers something unexpected after touching Historiaâs handâthe subconscious projections of those around him when he makes contact. Fleeting, abstract, easy to ignore.
Until he touches you.
The hall buzzes with conversation, clinking dishes, and the scrape of chairs against wood. Eren barely registers any of it.
Heâs moving through the crowd, brushing past shoulders and hands, when his fingers accidentally graze yours. Itâs nothingâa fleeting touchâbut the moment it happens, his breath catches.
It slams into himâsharp, foreign. You
Calm as ever, outwardly composed, but beneath itâa tremor. Desire, raw and untempered, seeping through the cracks of a mind that shouldnât be this exposed.
Eren freezes mid-step, gaze snapping toward you.
You notice. Your eyes meet his, brows lifting slightly. âEren?â
He realizes heâs staring. His hand falls back to his side, and for a moment, he forgets how to respond. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He clears his throat, dragging his hand away as if the touch had burned him.
âIâI thoughtâŚâ he starts, but the words tumble out awkwardly, and he shuts his mouth. His gaze flickers to yours again, searching, unsure if he imagined it.
âItâs nothing. Sorry.â