Feedback
musician! choso kamo x groupie! fem reader
your first mistake was showing up to a grimy little underground venue on a thursday night. your second was locking eyes with choso kamo while he stood beneath a flickering red light, guitar slung low on his hips and eyes like smoke. he doesn’t know your name yet, but you’ve been front row at three of his sets and haven’t missed a single lyric. and even though you pretend not to notice him watching you every time the lights dim—he does. because choso kamo is quiet. but he remembers. and he wants you to remember him, too.
CW: slow burn, emotional yearning, explicit language, suggestive content (eventually), reader plays hard to get, mutual pining, smoking/alcohol, light angst, late-night tension, crowd mentions, obsessive thoughts, slightly possessive behavior (non-toxic), tension-filled touching, mention of past relationships, band lifestyle (touring, backstage scenes)
pt. 1 (you're here!!), pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4
choso notices you before you ever say a word to him.
you’re in the front row again, leaned up against the edge of the stage like it’s your damn throne. your eyes glint under the soft red backlight, and choso swears they never leave him, not his brother on drums, not the crowd pushing and swaying, just him.
he tries not to make it obvious.
it’s not like you’re the only fan who’s been to more than one show. hell, you’re probably not even the loudest. but something about you sticks. the way you dress like you don’t care but you absolutely do. the way your lips part every time he hits that low note in the second verse of dead wires. the way you never scream his name, just watch. always watching.
and god, he’s starting to live for it.
the venue is small tonight. grimy floor, too many bodies packed too close, the mic cuts in and out. it’s a dive bar stage with cables running like veins across the floor, and yet, you look like the only thing that belongs here.
you tap a cigarette out of a soft pack after the show and step outside into the humid night air. choso’s still backstage when he catches the faintest whiff of tobacco on your jacket as you pass the curtain. he turns to see the back of your head disappear through the door, a ghost trailing smoke.
he’s quiet on the ride back.
yuji teases him about it, of course. says he gets that look in his eye when he’s interested. choso denies it. says he’s just tired. says he’s not looking for anything right now. says he doesn’t even know your name.
but he will.
god, he will.
the fourth show you show up to, you bring someone.
not a boyfriend. you make sure choso sees that when you let him buy you a drink but don’t let him touch your waist.
choso doesn’t know when he started watching you that closely, but now it’s like a reflex. like breathing.
you wear a black tank top that sticks to your back with sweat, and the words to his lyrics painted on your arm in what looks like sharpie. you mouth along every word and smile once, just once, when his eyes find yours during the bridge.
you don’t approach him after the show. not even when he lingers by the bar too long, not even when he takes the long way around the venue just to pass where you’re standing, not even when he waits outside, pretending to check his phone.
he should hate that.
he should hate the way you ignore him like he’s anyone else.
but he doesn’t.
he learns your name from maki.
of course it’s maki who talks to you first. she’s always been better with people, always faster to read the room. she joins the band for a few songs on bass and calls you over after the set, drinks in hand, dragging you into their haze of post-show warmth like you’ve always belonged.
you lean against the table beside choso, cool and effortless.
he doesn’t say much. he never does. but he watches the way your fingers toy with your glass, the way your tongue pokes out just slightly when you concentrate on the condensation.
he says your name for the first time in a hoarse whisper when you’re already gone.
“why do you keep coming?” choso finally asks one night, voice low, guitar case still strapped across his back. his shoulders are damp from the heat of the stage.
you arch a brow. “why do you keep looking at me?”
it’s the first time you’ve spoken more than a hello.
he swallows. “maybe i want to know what you hear in the music.”
you hum. “maybe i want to know what you mean when you play it.”
there’s a pause.
you light another cigarette and offer him one. he doesn’t smoke. you smile like you expected that.
and then you turn and walk off down the alley like you didn’t just reach inside his chest and twist something vital.
he watches the smoke drift behind you.
he breathes it in anyway.
the fifth time he sees you, it’s different.
you’re already backstage, somehow. probably got in with maki again. choso doesn’t say anything when he sees you perched on a ratty couch, sipping a warm beer and thumbing through a worn-out setlist.
you don’t look at him, not right away. but he can feel the pull like gravity.
you speak first.
“you wrote buried static, didn’t you?”
choso nods. he feels suddenly exposed.
you nod, too. “figured. it felt… quiet. not like a whisper. like screaming into a void that doesn’t echo.”
he blinks. something clicks.
you shrug. “it’s not a love song. but it’s lonely. and that’s worse.”
he swallows. hard. “you get that?”
you finally look up at him.
“yeah. i get it.”
he wants you.
not like the way he used to want other people. not in the one-night, hotel room, tour-high kind of way.
he wants to know what kind of music makes you cry.
he wants to hear your voice hoarse from singing along.
he wants to see you wear his hoodie when the sun comes up and the bus hasn’t even started moving yet.
but you’re still dancing around him like smoke. touching his wrist in the dark and then pulling away. biting your lip and smiling like you know. like you’re in control.
maybe you are.
he doesn’t care.
choso hears your laugh before he sees you.
it cuts through the static of muffled bass and clinking bottles, sharp and warm and so damn real. he’s in the back of the venue again, tuning a busted cable, trying to pretend like he’s focused. but that sound, your sound, hits him like a memory he doesn’t own.
you’re sitting on a broken amp with your legs crossed, maki at your side, laughing about something he’ll never know. you’re not looking at him, and you haven’t all night.
it’s been three weeks since your last show.
three weeks since you leaned in close after the set and murmured, “you play like you’re bleeding.”
he hasn’t stopped thinking about it.
“she’s not gonna chase you, man,” yuji mutters beside him, half-drunk and too perceptive for his own good. “you’re gonna have to do something.”
choso knows that. he’s known it for weeks. but the thing is—
he wants to earn it.
after the set, the dressing room’s too full of people who don’t matter.
but you’re there, in the far corner, curled up in a beat-up denim jacket that looks borrowed from someone else. he wants to ask if you’re cold. wants to give you his instead.
but you beat him to it.
“you gonna keep watching me from across rooms, or is that just your whole personality?”
you’re teasing, but the heat in your stare pins him in place.
he tries to play it cool. “you gonna keep showing up just to not talk to me?”
you smirk, and it twists something behind his ribs.
“maybe i like making you work for it.”
and god, he wants to work for it.
for you.
it starts slow. painfully slow.
you start showing up earlier.
he starts saving you a drink. never hands it to you, just sets it on a table nearby and pretends it’s not yours until you take it.
you ask about his songs.
he asks about your favorite ones, even the ones that aren’t his.
you smoke less around him.
he starts sitting closer anyway.
you don’t flirt, not like people expect you to. it’s quieter than that. your fingertips brush his when you pass him a pick. your shoulder touches his when you squeeze into the van after loadout. you hold his gaze a second too long and then look away.
and it drives him insane.
but he says nothing.
because you’re still not his.
not yet.
it’s storming outside a venue in detroit when something shifts.
you’re soaked. your eyeliner’s running. you’re shivering in the green room and someone offers you a hoodie, but you wait. wait until choso notices. wait until he shrugs off his own and wordlessly hands it to you.
you pull it over your head and breathe in the smell of him.
then you glance at him like you know what you’re doing.
“thanks.”
he just nods.
but something curls hot and desperate in his chest.
you don’t give it back.
there’s a night, two weeks later, when it’s just the two of you.
yuji and maki are off somewhere. the others are passed out. it’s dark, quiet, humming with the low electric buzz of amplifiers still cooling.
you’re sitting next to him on the couch, knees tucked under you, one of his demo tapes spinning in the background.
“you ever write songs about people?” you ask, voice soft, low.
choso stares at the ceiling. “…yeah.”
“anyone i’d know?”
he glances at you. your face is unreadable. lips parted just barely, lashes casting shadows.
he swallows. “…maybe.”
you don’t press.
but you scoot a little closer.
and that’s worse than a kiss.
because it feels like one.
you leave for two weeks.
you don’t say why. you don’t text. you don’t show up at any shows. you vanish like a verse cut from a song.
choso doesn’t ask questions.
but he keeps checking the crowd. every. single. night.
keeps glancing at the door when the set ends.
keeps writing lyrics that never make it to tape.
and then—
you’re back.
wearing his hoodie. looking like you never left.
you don’t explain.
you just sit next to him after the show and pass him a cigarette.
“miss me?”
he doesn’t smile.
but he lights it and takes a drag.
“yeah.”
it finally happens at soundcheck.
not a kiss. not even a touch.
but your hand brushes his on the neck of his guitar, helping him tune a string, and you lean in just barely.
“that’s the right pitch,” you whisper.
he watches you.
“yeah,” he says softly. “it is.”
you look up.
and for the first time, you don’t pull away.
im going to continue this, i just didnt want to make it too long!! i saw fanart that inspired me to write this a while back, but i cant find it for the life of me. as always, i hope this was enjoyable and thank yeww for reading! ❤️
masterlist
