#hot and rough

[velvetghoul]

Say My Name Louder

✦ mini-series

Reader x Choso Kamo | 18+ MDNI

cw: smut, dominant choso, oral sex, rough sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, possessiveness, jealousy, emotional tension, sibling conflict, hurt/comfort, morning-after fluff, domestic intimacy, suggestive teasing, light angst, found family, blurred emotional lines. Reader is 21, Yuji is 20, Choso 25.

Part 1 < Part 2

⸻

You knew who he was.

Even if you pretended not to look, not to care—not to think about what his hands would feel like if he ever really touched you.

Choso Kamo.

Tall. Quiet. Wears all black even in summer. Always somewhere in the background, always watching, saying very little unless it mattered. The older brother of one of your friends, Yuji. You’d met him more than once at house parties, at school pick-ups, at casual hangouts—but it was never casual with him.

Because Choso stared. Not in a creepy way.

In a “you make it really hard for me to be good” kind of way.

And the worst part? You kind of liked it.

Still—you had a reputation to uphold. You were the flirty one, the fun one, the unbothered one. You flirted with guys, made them fall a little too fast, and then ghosted them when they got too cocky.

And Choso? He looked like the cockiest of them all.

Tattooed, aloof, and constantly leaning in a doorway with a cigarette in hand like he just walked out of a slow-motion music video. He never chased. Never spoke unless spoken to. You always told your friends: He’s hot, yeah—but you just know he’s a lazy lay. The type to lie there and grunt.

You said it once while Yuji was sitting right there. He almost choked on his soda.

“He’s not like that,” he’d said, a little too quickly.

“Oh? Did he tell you that himself?”

“No. I just—he’s… Choso’s not what you think.”

You rolled your eyes. “They never are.”

But you were lying. Because you did think about it. Late at night, scrolling through your own thoughts when his face appeared again. When you’d remember the way he looked at you last time—head tilted, like he could taste your attitude from across the room.

One night, after a drink or three, you even texted Yuji:

“Is your brother single?”

You deleted it a second later.

But the damage was done—because the next time you ran into Choso at a get-together, he walked right up to you. Not smiling. Not smug.

Just calm. Dangerous.

“Why’d you delete your message?”

You blinked. “What?”

He held up his phone. Yuji had shown him, clearly. “You asked if I was single.”

Your stomach flipped. “It was a joke.”

“No it wasn’t.”

The silence stretched.

He stepped closer, just enough that your heart stuttered. “You talk a lot of shit,” he said, voice low, “but you keep looking at me like you want me to ruin you.”

You swallowed.

“You’re a fuckboy,” you said, weakly.

His lips twitched. “Maybe. But I bet I’d fuck you better than anyone else has.”

God.

You hated him. You hated how much that voice made your thighs clench. You hated how good he smelled. You hated that he looked so calm while your pulse screamed.

So you rolled your eyes and walked away.

And he let you.

But that night, lying in bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his fingers twitched like he’d wanted to reach for you. Or the way his eyes dropped to your mouth before he spoke.

You knew one day he’d try again.

You just didn’t expect it to be at that club.

The bass was thumping, lights pulsing through the haze of smoke and sweat. Your girls had dragged you out tonight under the guise of “blowing off steam,” and honestly, it was working. You were wearing something short, tight, and sinful—just the way you liked to feel when all eyes were on you.

But it wasn’t just anyone’s eyes you wanted tonight.

You felt it before you saw him.

Choso Kamo—leaning against the VIP booth railing with his brother and some acquaintances, tall and unmistakable even in the dim light. That waterfall of black hair, the tattoos peeking from under his collar, those crimson eyes scanning the dance floor like they were hunting.

And the moment they landed on you… the air snapped.

His head tilted slightly, and you swore you saw his jaw clench. He didn’t say a word to his group. Just sipped his drink slowly and let his eyes drag over every inch of you. His tongue flicked over his lip, slow and deliberate.

You smiled. Hook, line, and sinker.

So you danced.

Like the music was made for you. Like his stare was gasoline and your body was the match. You didn’t even look directly at him—just enough to keep him tethered, needing. And when you dropped low, hand on your thigh, and rolled your hips like you were already in his lap?

He moved.

You barely made it off the floor before a large, warm hand caught your wrist. You turned, pretending to look surprised—but Choso’s face was unreadable, dangerous in that way that made your thighs press together.

“You gonna keep teasing me,” he said lowly, voice rough from disuse and arousal, “or are you gonna be good and come with me?”

“Depends,” you smirked, inching close until your lips brushed his ear. “You gonna do something about it?”

His grip tightened, just enough to remind you he could. His fingers slid down to lace with yours, and before you could throw another line, he was dragging you past the dance floor, past the security curtain, into the back hallway of the club where the walls were darker and the music was muffled.

He shoved you into the single-use bathroom, locked the door behind you, and turned slowly—like a predator. There was a mirror. A sink. And him—towering, flushed, eyes glowing low in the dark.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said, voice thick. “You walk around like that, knowing I’m watching?”

“I hoped you were watching,” you whispered, backing into the sink counter. “I wanted you to.”

He stalked closer. “You wanna make me lose control in public, is that it?”

You nodded, breath catching. “I wanna feel how bad you want me.”

His lips crashed into yours, a low growl vibrating through his chest. He tasted like whiskey and heat. The kiss was filthy, all tongue and teeth, and when he pulled back, your lipstick smeared across his mouth, he just stared—wild, wrecked.

He spun you around, bending you over the sink, and shoved your skirt up with zero ceremony.

“You’re already wet,” he rasped, running two fingers over your soaked underwear. “Fucking knew it.”

“Choso—”

He didn’t let you finish. He shoved your panties aside and slid two fingers inside you, slow, deep, curling just enough to make you moan. You braced yourself on the sink, back arching as his fingers fucked into you with bruising precision.

“You wanna act like a brat,” he murmured, “but your body’s honest.”

He pulled his fingers out, licked them clean, then unzipped his jeans with one hand.

“I’m not using a condom,” he warned. “You good with that?”

“Yes,” you gasped, already shaking. “Fuck, yes—please.”

That was all he needed.

He sank into you in one long, devastating thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs. You cried out—loudly—and he slapped a hand over your mouth.

“You want them to hear you out there?” he hissed in your ear. “You want my brothers knowing how slutty you sound when I fuck you?”

You moaned against his hand. The stretch burned, but it felt so goddamn good. He fucked into you hard, relentless, the sound of skin against skin echoing off the tiled walls. Your makeup was ruined, your legs trembling, your body flushed.

But he didn’t stop.

One hand on your hip, the other gripping your throat just enough to hold you still, his eyes locked with yours in the mirror. That was what ruined you—the look in them. Like you were the only thing on Earth he saw.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growled. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you choked out.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Choso—fuck—please don’t stop, don’t stop—”

You came hard, squeezing around him, crying out his name like a prayer. He followed, hips stuttering, low groan torn from his throat as he spilled into you.

Silence.

Then his arms wrapped around you from behind, his breath hot on your neck.

“You alright?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You nodded, dazed. “Yeah… more than alright.”

He smirked, soft and lazy. “You’re not leaving with your girls tonight.”

“Good,” you said, turning in his arms. “Because I’m not done with you either.”

You didn’t even make it halfway to the bedroom.

Choso’s place was dimly lit, smell of clean laundry and incense faint in the air. The moment the front door shut, his hands were on you again—less desperate this time, more reverent. Like he needed to memorize the shape of you now that he finally had you.

He kicked off his boots, dropped his hoodie, and you followed suit, letting your fingers trail under your top and pull it off slow. His eyes followed every inch like he couldn’t blink.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, voice lower, softer.

You stepped closer and tugged at his waistband. “I’m more than okay. But I want to see your face this time.”

Choso blinked. “What do you mean?”

You leaned up, kissed him slow and full, hands slipping under his shirt and dragging it up. “Let me ride you.”

His jaw clenched—but he didn’t say no.

You straddled him on the couch, the city light casting a blue glow through the window behind you. Choso’s eyes never left yours. You rolled your hips over him, dragging your bare heat across his cock, making him twitch against your thigh.

“Fuck,” he whispered, resting his head back. “You’re killing me.”

You lined him up, one hand on his chest as you slowly sank down, letting him stretch you inch by inch. He groaned, hands gripping your waist, head tipping forward to watch you take him.

“So fucking warm,” he muttered, barely holding on.

You started slow—rolling your hips, teasing him with the pace. Choso didn’t beg, didn’t whine, but his eyes gave him away. That soft desperation. That quiet surrender. Like he didn’t know what to do with the amount of want pulsing through him.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You like when I take control, huh?”

He swallowed thickly. “Only when it’s you.”

Your name left his mouth like it hurt. Like he needed to say it just to ground himself. His hands slid up your back, his eyes fluttering shut when you clenched around him just right.

But you pushed it further—pressing your forehead to his, picking up the pace, moaning his name as you bounced on his cock until his control snapped.

His fingers tightened on your hips. “That’s it. Lay back.”

You smirked. “Couldn’t help yourself?”

“Not when you ride me like that.”

He shifted you down onto the couch, never pulling out. His hair fell around your face like a curtain, and he kissed you as he started thrusting again—deep, slow, so much more intense with how wrecked he looked above you.

His rhythm built until you were gasping again, legs wrapped around him, fingernails in his back.

“You’re everything,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long.”

Your walls fluttered around him, and that was all it took—he fucked you through your orgasm, jaw tight, body trembling until he buried himself deep and came again, low groans falling against your neck.

You stayed tangled up like that, sweaty and soft in the silence, only the sound of his breathing slowing under you.

“You’re dangerous when you’re quiet like that,” you whispered, fingers brushing through his hair.

He nuzzled your chest. “I warned you.”

You laughed softly. “You gonna let me stay the night?”

He looked up at you, eyes dark but soft. “You’re not leaving.”

The morning light was barely creeping through the blinds when you stirred.

Warm skin, a heavy arm across your waist, and Choso’s breath on the back of your neck. He slept like a furnace—close, tangled, like he needed to feel you every second just to be sure you hadn’t slipped away.

You tried to sit up. His arm flexed tighter.

“Where are you going,” he mumbled, voice thick and scratchy.

“Bathroom.”

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled, nuzzling your shoulder, then groaned. “Fuck. You smell good in the morning.”

You laughed quietly, prying yourself out of his grip. “You said that last night too.”

“I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

You padded into the bathroom in nothing but his big black T-shirt. It swallowed you—warm, soft, and still clinging to his scent. When you came back out, Choso had stretched out on the bed, hair a messy halo around his head, one arm thrown over his eyes.

God. He was unfair.

“I could get used to this,” you said, climbing back on top of the blankets, letting your bare thighs straddle his hips.

He peeked from under his arm and gave you the softest smirk. “You already have.”

You leaned down, kissed the curve of his jaw, slow and sweet. He grabbed your hips, thumbs brushing your skin under the shirt. “Round two?” he offered, voice dropping again.

You were just about to answer when the front door unlocked.

Click. Open.

Footsteps. You froze.

Choso blinked. “No one’s supposed to be—”

“Yo, Choso—did you eat the last soba I left—”

Yuji. He walked into the room.

Choso didn’t move. You were still on top of him. His shirt barely covered your ass. The blankets weren’t even pulled up. Your eyes locked with Yuji’s and his face went redder than his cursed energy.

“Oh my god! WHAT—?! BRO—” Yuji turned around so fast he slammed into the doorframe.

You scrambled off Choso’s lap, face burning, trying to tug the shirt down even though it was way too late for dignity.

“Yuji,” Choso said calmly, like he wasn’t half-hard and freshly fucked, “You were supposed to text first.”

“YOU SAID YOU HAD PLANS, NOT—THAT!” Yuji was shouting from the hallway now, hands over his face.

Choso sat up, lazily brushing his hair back, not even fazed. “I did have plans. They just… worked out.”

You buried your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Choso chuckled lowly, pulled you back into his lap, and kissed your shoulder. “Nah. This is the best morning I’ve had in years.”

You groaned. “I’m never gonna be able to look him in the eye again.”

“Good,” Choso murmured against your skin. “Means you’re mine now.”

You peeked at him. “You serious?”

He held your face in both hands, that same intense look he’d given you on the dance floor.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Your stomach did a slow, traitorous flip.

Then, from down the hall:

“I’M GOING OUT—DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING, CHOSO!”

“Don’t worry!” Choso called back, smirking. “I already did!”

You smacked his chest, half-laughing, half-mortified.

“Breakfast?” he asked innocently, hands drifting under the shirt again. “Or do I get to work up your appetite first?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re insatiable.”

He leaned in, lips ghosting your throat. “Only with you.”

The kitchen was too bright.

You sat at the table in Choso’s shirt and a pair of borrowed sweatpants, sipping orange juice and trying not to die inside. Choso was cooking. Yuji was across from you—hood up, arms crossed, expression full of betrayal.

“I still can’t believe this.”

You blinked. “…That we’re awake before noon?”

Yuji gave you a look so sharp it could cut glass. “Don’t play innocent. I saw what I saw. I heard what I heard.“

“Yuji,” Choso called from the stove without turning around, “if you bring it up again, I’m gonna describe it in detail.”

Yuji slapped a hand over his face. “OH MY GOD—STOP TALKING!”

You tried so hard not to laugh. But it slipped out anyway, and Choso glanced over his shoulder with a small, proud smirk, like your laugh was a prize he’d earned.

“Look,” Yuji said after a beat, “you could’ve just told me you liked my brother.”

You blinked. “I didn’t.”

Yuji frowned.

Choso shrugged. “I did.”

That made your stomach do an embarrassing little jump. You side-eyed him. He was flipping pancakes like he didn’t just drop that line casually into the morning air.

“I thought you were a fuckboy,” you mumbled into your juice.

Choso raised an eyebrow. “I am a fuckboy. I just fuck you now.”

You choked.

Yuji looked like he wanted to set the entire table on fire.

“Can I eat in the bathroom?” he asked.

“No,” Choso said, plating the food. “You’re gonna sit here, be quiet, and respect the person I like.”

The word hung in the air.

Like.

Not slept with. Not hooked up with. Liked.

Your eyes flicked to him. He didn’t even seem nervous. He just slid a plate in front of you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re staying for the weekend, right?” Choso asked, sitting beside you, thigh against yours. “Yuji said you were off.”

You paused. “Yeah, I guess. If you want me to.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

Yuji groaned like he was in pain. “This is my villain origin story.”

Choso leaned over, dropped a kiss to your cheek in front of him, and said with absolutely zero shame:

“You think she’ll let me hit it again after pancakes?”

Yuji stood up and walked out of the apartment.

You and Choso didn’t stop laughing for ten full minutes.

The apartment was finally still.

The dishes were done. The air smelled like that woodsy candle Choso had lit. Yuji was back—muttering something about staying in his room for the rest of the year—but other than that, there was quiet.

You lay beside Choso on his bed, legs tangled, face pressed into the collar of his hoodie, now worn as a shirt. His boxers were loose on your hips, but you liked how they felt—like you didn’t need to pretend anymore.

He was bare-chested, arm behind his head, the soft glow from his nightstand lamp catching the outline of his collarbones and the shadows of the tattoos peeking across his ribs. You were tucked into his side, one hand splayed against his stomach.

Neither of you had said anything for a while.

Not because there wasn’t anything to say.

Because you both felt it—whatever this was—and neither of you wanted to mess it up by naming it too fast.

But Choso, quiet as he was, surprised you first.

“I used to think I wasn’t made for this.”

You blinked, looking up at him. “For what?”

His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. “Someone like you. Or… anyone. I didn’t think I could want something soft without wrecking it.”

You were quiet.

His jaw shifted. “I get protective too fast. Feel too much. I don’t talk a lot because if I say everything I want to say, it scares people off.”

You leaned into him, fingertips dragging absently along his stomach.

“I’m not scared,” you murmured.

He looked down at you slowly. “Even after I railed you against my bathroom sink?”

You smirked. “Especially after that.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you said, sitting up slightly. The shirt hung off one shoulder. You straddled his thigh, palms braced on either side of his chest. “You think you’re bad at this?”

His hands found your hips, resting there, slow and possessive. “I think I’m not used to feeling like this.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

“Like I’d rip apart anything that tried to take you from me.”

Your breath caught. His eyes darkened.

And suddenly your mouths crashed together.

It wasn’t slow, wasn’t gentle. It was heat, teeth, tongue—your hands gripping his shoulders, his fingers pressing bruises into your thighs through the soft cotton. You moved over him, grinding slowly against his thigh, his lips devouring every gasp you tried to muffle.

“Quiet,” he whispered, breath hot against your mouth. “Yuji’s home.”

You bit down on your lower lip to keep from groaning when he pulled you closer, your core dragging against the flex of his leg. His mouth moved to your neck, sucking hard, and you clutched his hair, grinding harder, panting softly into his shoulder.

“Choso—”

“Shh.”

He flipped you under him in one smooth movement, pressing your wrists into the bed with one hand as he kissed you again, messier this time. His free hand slid between your thighs, cupping you over the boxers, thumb rubbing slow, devastating circles.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “You love getting ruined when someone’s in the next room, don’t you?”

You whimpered, nodding against his lips.

“Good girl.”

His teeth grazed your jaw, his hand still moving. “We’ll keep it quiet tonight. But next time Yuji leaves? I won’t hold back.”

You rolled your hips into his hand, biting your fist to keep from moaning.

“Fuck,” he growled. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And still, you pulled him closer—because whatever this was, you weren’t done wanting it.

You tried. You really tried to keep quiet.

But when Choso slid two fingers under the waistband of his own boxers you were wearing—still warm, still wet from earlier—and slowly pushed them inside you with his mouth sealed against your throat?

You lost it.

One hand over your mouth, your back arching, thighs trembling around his hips as he murmured “shh, baby, take it” right into your ear like a fucking curse.

And when he kissed down your chest, dragged his tongue between your breasts under the shirt, and whispered—

“I want you to ride me in silence.”

—you did what he asked.

He lay back, arms behind his head, still flushed from fingering you into the mattress. And you straddled him, slow, aching, quiet—his cock sliding into you in one long, thick stretch. You bit your lip so hard it almost bled.

He groaned through his teeth, hands gripping your hips as you sank down.

Neither of you spoke.

Just breathing.

Flesh. Tension. Heat.

His shirt slid down your shoulder. Your hands on his chest. The boxers hitched just enough for him to fuck up into you as you rolled your hips, wet and deep, the sound of your bodies filling the room louder than you meant.

Choso whispered, “You feel like heaven,” and you clenched around him just to make him hiss.

Your head fell forward onto his shoulder, body shaking, trying not to cry out when you came—tight, hot, pulsing around him—and he let out a low growl against your throat, fucking you through it until he spilled deep inside you, filling you so warm and slow you whimpered again.

You both lay still, gasping, trembling.

Then Choso laughed softly against your jaw.

“I’m gonna pretend that was quiet.”

You slapped his chest weakly, boneless on top of him.

Five minutes later, legs jelly, you stumbled out into the hallway to get water—only to freeze.

Yuji was in the kitchen, sleepy, barefoot, hair a mess.

Holding a glass of orange juice.

He blinked at you. You blinked at him.

You were still in Choso’s boxers and shirt. No bra. Neck full of fresh bruises.

“Seriously?” Yuji croaked. “At two in the morning?”

You opened your mouth.

“Never mind,” he said, holding up a hand and walking past you. “I don’t wanna know. Just—maybe stop rearranging the furniture with your bodies.”

You grabbed your water, face burning, and ran back to Choso’s room like a teenager caught sneaking out.

You crawled back into his lap, straddling him again, still in his shirt and boxers. He was still completely naked, still warm and smug from fucking you senseless, arms lazily wrapping around your waist.

You sat on him like you belonged there now.

He nuzzled your neck. “Where’d you go?“

“To hydrate,” you mumbled. “Met Yuji in the hallway. He’s… alive. I think.”

Choso smirked. “Did he say anything?”

You looked him dead in the eye. “I think we weren’t quiet enough.”

He gave a low chuckle. “Can’t be helped. You ride like you want the neighbors to hear.”

You rolled your eyes. “You were moaning.”

“You bit me,” he grinned, pointing to his shoulder. “I earned it.”

Sunday breakfast had started normal.

Eggs, coffee, toast. You were still in Choso’s boxers and hoodie, sitting on the kitchen counter like the chaos hadn’t already happened. Yuji was across the table, shirtless, sulking behind a mug and making a point not to look directly at either of you.

And then he broke.

“Next time, fuck quieter.”

You choked. Choso? Didn’t even look fazed.

“Aw, c’mon, Yuji,” he said, lazily flipping the toast in the pan. “You’re twenty. Don’t tell me you’ve never fucked anyone.”

Yuji made a strangled noise.

“You act like a virgin,” Choso added, smirking. “A loud, angry virgin.“

“I’m not—” Yuji put his mug down hard. “That’s not—!”

Choso turned, wiping his hands on a towel. “What, then? You jealous?”

Yuji stood.

And when he did, you remembered something you had completely forgotten:

Yuji was tall. Like, eye-to-eye with Choso tall.

Broad. Solid. Fit. Shirtless, standing in nothing but sweatpants, jaw tight and dark circles under his eyes.

He stepped up to Choso, grabbed his face with both hands—and looked absolutely delirious.

“Be careful,” he said, voice low and unhinged, “maybe I’ll fuck her next.”

The room went silent. Your jaw dropped.

Choso blinked.

Yuji didn’t move. Just shook his head like he didn’t even know what he was saying, eyes twitching, still holding Choso’s face like some kind of Greek tragedy.

Choso… just smirked.

“Careful,” he said, voice soft but dangerous. “You might die trying.”

Yuji let go of his brother’s face and turned away dramatically.

He stood in the doorway, completely bare-chested, posture like a war general, eyes dead inside.

Then, with all the grace of a man on the edge:

“I’m going to shower. I don’t want to hear anything. Not a sound. Not a creak. Not a moan.”

He pointed behind him without turning.

“If I hear her whisper your name, I’m putting bleach in your shampoo.”

Then he walked away. Like a soldier returning from war.

Like he hadn’t just made a sexual threat against his own brother.

You sat there in stunned silence.

Choso walked over, handed you a piece of toast, and kissed your temple like nothing had happened.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “you only scream for me.”

You and Choso stayed in the kitchen long after breakfast was over. He stood at the sink lazily rinsing plates while you sat back on the counter in nothing but his hoodie and boxers, sipping a fresh cup of coffee.

His hand brushed your thigh in passing.

Your fingers slid into his back pocket when he leaned close.

It was domestic. Intimate. And it felt weirdly good.

Until— the soft creak of the bathroom door.

You looked up.

And Yuji walked back in. Still damp.

Towel slung really low on his hips.

Water dripping from his hair down his chest, over every carved line of his completely unfair body like some kind of modeling ad gone feral.

He didn’t look at you right away.

He just opened the fridge casually, like this wasn’t an attack on the peace.

You swallowed hard.

Choso raised an eyebrow and leaned back on the counter beside you, crossing his arms.

Oh, he saw it. The shift in your breath.

The tiny, involuntary glance down.

The tension.

Yuji side-eyed his brother, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them.

And then—

With a wicked little grin, Yuji grabbed a bottle of water, walked directly up to Choso, leaned in close—and shook his hair out violently, sending water spraying all over Choso’s face and shirt.

You gasped, eyes wide.

“Good day to you two,” Yuji said, smirking wider, and turned around to walk straight back into his room—still dripping, towel still low, like he wanted to leave a trail of psychological damage in his wake.

The door shut behind him. Silence.

Choso blinked, water running down his temple.

“…Was that supposed to be a dominance display?” he muttered, grabbing a towel off the counter to dry off.

You were still staring at the door, blinking slowly.

“Did you just see—?” you started.

“I saw,” Choso said dryly, rubbing his jaw. “He’s being a brat. He does this.“

You swallowed, cheeks flushed. “I never noticed… that Yuji looks like that.”

Choso gave you a side-glance, smirk creeping up slowly.

“Oh?” he said, voice low. “You staring now, sweetheart?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again.

“I mean… he was wet.”

“So were you last night,” Choso murmured, stepping between your legs.

You buried your face in your hands.

“Don’t make this weird!”

“You’re making it weird,” he said, kissing your jaw. “You act like I don’t know you think he’s hot.”

You looked up at him. “Are you mad about it or just jealous?”

Choso shrugged, smirk turning darker. “Nah. He might look good, but you’re already mine.”

He kissed you again—slow, possessive—and whispered against your lips:

“Just remember who made you cry into a pillow.”

The rest of the day? Weird.

Like a pressure building in the air.

You were on the couch curled up in Choso’s hoodie, legs over his lap while he absentmindedly stroked your thighs and scrolled on his phone. You should’ve been relaxed. But something about Yuji’s little towel stunt earlier stuck with you.

And apparently—stuck with Choso too.

Every time Yuji walked into the room, Choso’s hand got firmer. More possessive. Slid a little higher up your skin, thumb brushing that soft inside part of your thigh like he was saying:

Mine. Back off.

Yuji, meanwhile? Calm. Way too calm.

He sat across from you with his water bottle, hair still damp, in a tank top that clung a little too well to his torso, scrolling on his phone like he didn’t just threaten to steal you earlier.

But then—

“You want anything to drink?” he asked suddenly, looking straight at you, not his brother.

You blinked. “Uh… I’m good, thanks.”

He smiled. Not goofy like normal. Just… calm. Dangerous.

Too confident.

“You sure? I make a mean iced coffee. Thought you liked that.”

Choso turned his head slowly.

Yuji didn’t look at him.

“I remember you used to order it with cinnamon,” Yuji added, getting up. “Back when you used to tag along when I picked up groceries.”

You laughed nervously. “That was, like, a year ago—”

“I don’t forget shit,” Yuji said, voice low, head tilted. “Especially not when it’s you.”

You swallowed.

Choso? He was still quiet—but the hand on your thigh tensed.

Yuji returned a few minutes later, iced coffee in hand. He didn’t hand it to you. He walked over, leaned on the back of the couch—behind you—and reached around to give it to you, arm brushing your chest, mouth close to your ear.

“You should tell him how you take it,” he murmured. “Just in case I’m not around next time.”

You blinked.

Choso sat up a little straighter. “Yuji—“

Yuji grinned. “What? Just being helpful. She likes it sweet. You should know.”

Choso’s jaw ticked. “Getting real comfortable all of a sudden.”

Yuji shrugged. “Well, I have known her longer. Spent more time with her. Heard her laugh more.” He shot you a glance. “Watched her flirt with a dozen losers before you.”

“You done?” Choso asked flatly.

Yuji leaned in, tilting his head with a smirk that almost looked daring. “I mean, I could keep going. Unless you’re scared I’ll spin her around my finger faster than you did.”

You didn’t breathe. Neither did Choso.

Yuji walked away slowly. Casually. Tossing over his shoulder:

“Don’t let a virgin outplay you, bro.“

That night, when the sun dipped and the air cooled, Choso didn’t speak much.

Until you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom, and he came in behind you.

Hands on your hips.

Eyes heavy in the mirror.

Voice low.

“Wanna remind you exactly who your body belongs to tonight.”

Later that night, Choso didn’t wait.

He watched you walk out of the bathroom in one of his shirts—again—bare legs, bare skin, wearing his scent like a challenge.

And when you smiled at him like everything was fine, like you didn’t spend the whole day with your attention flickering toward Yuji… he snapped.

You barely had time to breathe before he backed you up against the mirror and kissed you filthy.

“You wanna let him touch you too?” he growled into your mouth, hand slipping under the shirt, already gripping your ass, your waist, your throat. “You think he can make you melt like I do?”

You moaned. “Choso—”

He spun you to face the mirror, pulled his boxers down your thighs and bent you forward against the sink, your face flush with the glass.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered. “Look what I do to you.”

And when he pushed inside—hard, hot, already so deep—you gasped loud enough that he slapped a hand over your mouth, grinning darkly into the mirror behind you.

“Wanna scream so he hears you?” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Wanna moan my name with the walls this thin?”

You whimpered.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

You gripped the sink. Your knees buckled. And he didn’t stop—not until you were drooling on the glass, twitching around him, body marked up and panting.

He finished deep inside you, pulling your head back by your hair so you had to see your face—flushed, ruined, branded by him.

“Still think about him now?” he murmured.

You shook your head, dazed.

He kissed your shoulder, biting gently. “Good girl.”

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

[miss-anaa]

[nuttywinnerperfection]

sleepy girls (me) deserve to be fucked to sleep

[needyh0les]

You can see both very soon ;) ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[velvetghoul]

Say My Name Louder

✦ mini-series

Reader x Choso Kamo | 18+ MDNI

cw: smut, dominant choso, oral sex, rough sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, possessiveness, jealousy, emotional tension, sibling conflict, hurt/comfort, morning-after fluff, domestic intimacy, suggestive teasing, light angst, found family, blurred emotional lines. Reader is 21, Yuji is 20, Choso 25.

Part 2

⸻

Part 1

The next few days?

Yuji didn’t let up.

He didn’t push too far—but he never let you forget.

When Choso wasn’t around when you came over, he leaned in close while helping you cook. Showed off during his workouts, lifting with low grunts and his shirt hanging from his waistband. Threw soft comments that felt too warm to be innocent.

“You always smile like that when he texts you?”

“I forgot how cute you look when you’re annoyed.”

“Back then… I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.”

Each time, he brushed past you too close.

Looked at you too long.

Laughed at things that weren’t even jokes.

And you started to feel it.

That awful, addictive pull.

You shouldn’t want this.

You’re Choso’s.

But Yuji knows that.

And he’s still tempting you like he dares you to crack.

It was late.

Choso had left to meet an old friend for a few hours. Said he wouldn’t be long. You stayed behind because its your paid time off and you don‘t have anything to do—lounging in his shirt, helping Yuji finish cleaning up dinner, pretending the air between you wasn’t suffocating.

Yuji was quiet. Barefoot, casual in those grey sweats that hung low on his hips. Hair messy from the towel he hadn’t really used. He didn’t flirt—not like before—but he watched you too closely. And you let him.

Too long.

Too close.

The tension broke in a breath.

It started with a look.

You and Yuji were standing too close again—something you’d both pretended not to notice all week. He passed you a towel. You handed him a plate. And then he turned toward you, slow and deliberate, his fingers brushing yours for no goddamn reason.

Your breath caught.

And he saw it.

That hesitation.

That spark. He moved first.

No words. No smirk this time. Just a hand—low on your waist—pulling you toward him in one sharp movement. His other hand slid to your lower back, warm and steady.

And then his mouth was on yours.

Hard.

Hot.

Hungry.

You gasped into it, hands gripping his biceps, chest pressed to his. He kissed you like he meant it—like he’d wanted to for longer than he ever admitted. His tongue slid across your lower lip, tasting, testing, as his hand tightened on your waist and pulled you even closer.

He groaned—soft and low—like he couldn’t help it.

For a second, you forgot everything.

Choso didn’t exist. The guilt didn’t exist.

Just the heat. The tension. The fucking way Yuji kissed like he meant to win something.

And then—

It hit you.

This isn’t him. This isn’t Choso.

These aren’t the hands that held you when you cried.

This isn’t the mouth that kissed your neck after breakfast.

This isn’t the voice that whispered, mine.

You jerked away with a strangled breath, hands flying up to your lips.

Yuji stared at you, breathing just as hard.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” you stammered, heart racing, eyes wide.

Yuji’s voice was rough. Quiet. “You did.”

Your stomach twisted.

And before you could answer, you turned and walked out—leaving him standing in the kitchen, chest heaving, lips still wet from the kiss.

The moment Choso stepped into the apartment, the air shifted.

Not the usual shift—quiet, relaxed, like when he walks in and his eyes soften just from seeing you.

This time?

It felt like a storm brewing behind glass.

You were standing frozen in the hallway, halfway between the kitchen and the bathroom, hands clenched at your sides, stomach knotted. Your lips were still swollen. You had scrubbed your hands. Wiped your mouth. It didn’t matter.

You looked up—and Choso was already staring at you.

He knew. He hadn’t even said hello yet.

His keys were still in his hand. His chest rose once, slow. His eyes moved from your face… to the kitchen.

To Yuji, who was standing by the sink, still in his sweatpants and tank top, drinking water like nothing had happened. His eyes didn’t even flinch.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Your body acted before your voice could.

You turned, stumbling over your own feet, rushing into the bathroom like you were about to throw up.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Silence.

Then—footsteps.

Soft. Heavy. Deliberate.

Choso didn’t follow you. He walked into the kitchen.

Yuji didn’t turn around. He just sipped his water, leaned against the counter.

Choso stared at him. Cool. Still. Expression unreadable.

Yuji sighed. Then turned halfway and shrugged, completely unbothered.

“What?” he said.

Like this wasn’t war. Like he hadn’t just kissed his girl.

Choso didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak.

Just… stood there. And the silence spoke volumes.

Yuji looked back at the sink.

Choso finally dropped his keys on the counter.

“Not her first mistake.” His voice was soft. Icy.

“But you just made yours.”

Then he turned away—toward the hallway.

Not running. Not rushing.

Just walking with that same calm, slow, terrifying control.

The bathroom light felt too bright.

You leaned over the sink, hands shaking, your eyes wide and bloodshot in the mirror. Your heart wouldn’t slow down. Your chest wouldn’t open. The silence in the apartment felt like a scream being held back.

You kissed Yuji. You let him touch you.

You didn’t stop him until it was too late.

And then you looked into his eyes—

And all you saw was that it wasn’t Choso.

You didn’t even hear the front door shut. Didn’t have to.

Because you felt the change in the air the moment he walked in.

Like the oxygen had turned to glass.

You saw him in the hallway.

And he saw everything on your face.

You ran. He didn’t come after you.

You heard his footsteps drift away—to the kitchen.

The stillness that followed made it worse.

You slid down to the bathroom floor, covering your mouth with both hands, trying to breathe through the rising sob that felt like it might break your ribs.

You didn’t want to lose him just so fast.

Not like this. Not over that.

Not over one stupid, fucked-up kiss with the one person who never should’ve let it happen.

Yuji knew it the second he looked into Choso’s eyes.

This wasn’t going to blow over.

Not like one of their usual arguments. Not like the time he broke Choso’s speaker or nearly got them both suspended for using cursed energy in public.

This was different.

Choso didn’t yell.

Didn’t clench his fists.

Didn’t even raise his voice.

He just looked at him. Looked at him like he had become a stranger overnight.

And when he said:

“Not her first mistake. But you just made yours.”

Yuji’s stomach dropped.

He hadn’t even tried to deny it.

Because what was the point?

You kissed him. He kissed you back.

And for one second—it felt like he was winning.

But now?

Now he felt sick.

He stood in the kitchen, holding his glass tighter, listening to the faint creak of the floorboards as Choso walked back down the hall.

He was going to you. Yuji knew it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head drop.

“Fuck, What the hell did I do?“

Back in the bathroom…

You flinched at the sound of a knock.

Soft.Just once.

Then— “It’s me.” Choso’s voice.

Low. Even. Deceptively calm.

You scrambled to your knees, fingers trembling as you opened the door.

There he stood. Still in his jacket. Still composed.

But his eyes… were heartbreak. You couldn’t speak.

His gaze dropped to your hands—fidgeting, guilty, wrung raw.

Then he looked at your mouth. You stepped back, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry—Choso, I’m so fucking sorry—”

He stepped in. Not violently. Not cold.

Just… quiet.

His hand found your jaw, lifting your face gently.

And he asked—

“Did you think I wouldn’t feel it?”

The bathroom was small. Too small. Nowhere to run.

Nowhere to hide the look on your face.

Choso didn’t move at first. He just looked at you.

Eyes dark. Not angry.

Just… sad.

You were already crying.

“Please,” you whispered, stepping forward, “just let me—just let me explain—”

He held up a hand. You froze.

His voice came out low. Steady. Controlled in that terrifying Choso way that meant everything underneath was cracking.

“You kissed him.”

It wasn’t a question. You couldn’t say anything.

“You kissed my brother.”

You sobbed softly, covering your mouth. “I didn’t mean to—Choso, I swear—he just—he was close and it was fast and I—”

“You let him touch you?”

Your stomach dropped.

Your knees buckled. “Only my waist. It didn’t go anywhere. I stopped. I swear, I stopped—”

His jaw clenched for the first time.

“Why didn’t you stop sooner?”

Silence.

Because for a second, you wanted it.

And he knows it.

You looked at him, eyes red, breathing broken. “It didn’t mean anything. I didn’t feel anything—”

Choso stepped closer.

“Then why are you crying like you lost something?”

You choked.

“I didn’t lose you,” you whispered, desperate. “Did I? Choso, I didn’t mean to—”

He caught your wrist. Gently. Thumb brushing your pulse.

His hand came to your face. Cradling it. Eyes searching you like he wanted a different truth than the one you already gave.

“Did you kiss him like you kiss me?”

The question landed like a punch. It was so quiet.

So heavy. So specific. And when you couldn’t answer—when your silence stretched too long—his hand dropped.

His smile never came.

He just stepped back, barely breathing.

“That’s what I thought.”

Choso didn’t look at you when he spoke.

His voice was low, even. “I think you should go.”

You blinked, stunned. “Go…?”

He nodded, still not meeting your eyes. “Just for now.”

“Choso, I—I don’t want—”

“Yeah,” he muttered, finally looking up. “Neither do I. But we’re not gonna fix this in a bathroom while you’re crying and I’m trying not to break things.”

His restraint was terrifying.

Not cold.

But controlled in a way that told you how hard he was holding it in.

“I need space,” he added. “And you need to decide what the fuck you want.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

He wasn’t wrong.

And that made it worse.

You left without saying goodbye to Yuji.

You couldn’t.

A little while later…

Yuji was on the balcony, arms resting on the railing, face blank. The breeze blew through his hair, and for once he didn’t look like the sunshine boy everyone expected.

He looked like a problem he didn’t know how to solve.

Choso slid the door open.

Didn’t say anything for a full minute.

Just stood behind him. Letting it breathe.

Then, quiet:

“You’ve known her longer.”

Yuji turned his head slowly. “…Yeah.”

“You were in the same class.”

“Same year,” Yuji said. “We had History together.”

Choso nodded. “I remember. You used to walk her home after dark.”

Yuji said nothing.

Choso stepped forward, voice flat now.

“And you knew what she meant to me.”

Yuji’s mouth tightened.

“I didn’t think it would happen like that,” he said, barely above a whisper. “It was a moment. She was right there, and I—”

“You didn’t stop.”

Yuji looked at him. “You think I don’t feel like shit?”

Choso raised an eyebrow.

“You kissed her. You grabbed her. You didn’t even pretend to regret it.”

Silence.

Then Choso looked away.

“You had her longer. You just didn’t want her until I did.”

Yuji’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”

Choso looked at him again—finally looked at him.

And what Yuji saw?

Wasn’t hate.

It was betrayal. Pure. Devastating. Quiet.

“Yeah, it is.”

He stepped back inside, sliding the door closed behind him.

And Yuji?

Didn’t move.

Because deep down, he knew.

He hadn’t stolen a girl.

He’d cracked the foundation of something he was always a part of.

And it wasn’t over.

Choso didn’t sleep.

Not really.

He laid there staring at the ceiling, eyes dry, heart pounding in that dull, slow way that wasn’t panic—it was something worse. Something slow and heavy, like sinking.

It didn’t make sense.

You weren’t even officially together.

No labels.No promises.

Just a few nights. A few mornings.

Your body in his shirts. Your laugh in his kitchen.

But it had meant something to him.

He hadn’t been halfway in. He wasn’t just fucking around.

He’d wanted to build something.

And you kissed his brother.

The knock came mid-morning.

He knew it was Yuji without checking.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just opened the door, stared.

Yuji looked rough—hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, dark circles under his eyes.

“I need to talk,” he said.

Choso stepped aside. “Then talk.”

Yuji came in, stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room like it was enemy territory now.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice cracked a little. “I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

“You didn’t just let it happen.”

Choso didn’t raise his voice.

Didn’t need to.

“You kissed her. You touched her. You’ve known her for years, and you did it anyway.”

Yuji flinched. “I know. I—she looked at me and I just—”

“I don’t care,” Choso cut in, stepping closer. “You think I’m mad you won something?”

Yuji blinked. “What?”

“You think I’m mad you got the kiss?” Choso asked, teeth clenched. “You think I’m jealous?”

Yuji didn’t answer.

Choso shook his head, dark hair falling into his eyes.

“I’m mad because you knew. You saw it starting. You knew what she was becoming to me. You watched me let my guard down for once—and you took it anyway.”

Silence.

Yuji stepped forward, guilt thick on his face.

“You weren’t even dating,” he said quietly. “She told me that. You weren’t official. You didn’t say anything.”

Choso let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, bitter and low.

“Is that all it takes to make it okay? That I didn’t say the right words fast enough?”

He looked at Yuji—truly looked.

Eyes dark. Voice wrecked.

“She wasn’t mine yet.

But she wasn’t yours either.”

Yuji dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Choso didn’t answer. He just walked to the door, opened it wide.

“I need space from you too, yuji.”

Yuji swallowed hard. Nodded once.

And left.

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

[artpepkin]

Drop it 👿

[nuttywinnerperfection]

I think what would fix me is you choking me while you fuck your cum deeper and deeper inside my needy cunt <3

[glindauplland]

bonus:

Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman Go Claws Out While Eating Spicy Wings | Hot Ones

[needyh0les]

Sneak peak ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price and Carol Ohmart -

House on Haunted Hill (1959) dir. William Castle

[velvetghoul]

Under the Table

✦ One-Shot

Reader x Atsuya Kusakabe | 18+ MDNI

cw: public teasing, slow burn tension, thigh touching, handjob under the table, silent desperation, hotel sex, restrained dom!kusakabe, pinning, deep kissing, subtle possessiveness, aftercare, clean-up

⸻

The mission had been clean. Unusual, given how these things usually went.

Which is why the higher-ups gave everyone permission to “relax.” An unofficial team dinner in a private room, good drinks, over-ordered sushi trays. Even Gojo was tolerable. Barely.

You were seated across from Nanami, next to Ijichi, and directly beside Kusakabe—who, as usual, hadn’t said much since sitting down.

He sipped his beer quietly. Didn’t laugh when Gojo cracked some crude joke. Barely reacted when Utahime teased him about being “the one adult left in the building.”

But when your bare knee brushed his under the table?

He flinched. Just a little. And said nothing.

So naturally, you did it again.

And again.

Until finally, he leaned in—so subtly you almost missed it—and muttered under his breath:

“Are you trying to make me lose my mind?”

You smiled, voice low. “Maybe.”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t move his leg away, either.

You started slow.

Just your hand resting on his thigh beneath the white linen tablecloth.

His chopsticks paused mid-air. You felt his muscles tense. He didn’t look at you—but his hand on the table clenched.

“Not here,” he said under his breath, still not facing you.

You leaned in, your hand sliding slightly higher.

“But you look so calm. No one would suspect a thing.”

He let out a small, barely audible groan.

“Your friends are talking,” you whispered, teasing your fingers over the seam of his pants. “You gonna be rude and ignore them?”

“I’m two seconds from dragging you out of here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

His head finally turned to look at you—eyes dark, jaw tight.

“Try me.”

You didn’t even make it to your hotel room.

Kusakabe shoved you inside the first open door on the quiet hallway floor—some spare service room, dark, private enough—and pressed you against the wall before you could even smirk.

“Think that was funny?” he growled, dragging your hips into his. He was already hard. “Touching me like that with Nanami sitting across from us?”

You gasped when his knee forced your legs apart.

“I was bored,” you said, breathless. “And you’re always so… composed.”

His hand slid under your shirt.

“You wanna see what I look like when I’m not composed?”

You moaned as he bent you slightly forward, one hand tangled in your hair while the other slid your panties to the side. His breath was ragged now—hot and low in your ear as he pushed himself in slowly, groaning your name.

And when he started to move—hips slamming into you, the wall rattling behind you—you knew you’d won.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “If anyone hears you, I swear—”

But you weren’t quiet.

You whimpered every time he hit that deep spot, nails scratching at the wall for balance, as he fucked you slow but hard—like he was working out every second of frustration he’d ever bottled up around you.

“I wanted to fuck you since Kyoto,” he growled. “You knew that, didn’t you? Wore that damn uniform tighter every mission just to make me crack.”

You gasped. “And now you did.”

“Not yet,” he muttered.

Then he pulled out, turned you around, and lifted you—legs around his waist, lips crashing into yours—slamming you back onto the utility table, your hoodie falling off one shoulder as he buried himself in you again.

You came hard this time, head falling back, body trembling.

And when he finished—grinding deep inside you with a quiet groan—he didn’t let go right away.

Just held you.

His forehead against yours. Breathing in sync.

“…You okay?” he asked quietly, voice back to that calm tone again, a hand gently rubbing your side.

You nodded, smiling against his jaw. “You’re not as composed as you look.”

“Apparently not.” He kissed you again, slower this time.

Then helped you fix your hair and clean up before anyone could notice you were missing.

You said goodnight with a smile and a light touch to his arm. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that hinted at the way he’d just had you bent over a utility table with your thighs shaking.

And still, Atsuya Kusakabe stood outside your hotel room door for ten full seconds after it closed.

Staring. Thinking.

Then turned on his heel and walked away with a quiet sigh, heading toward the side exit and the cold night air.

He lit his cigarette beside the rear courtyard stairs, tugging his coat tighter with one hand. Just one smoke. One minute to breathe. One minute to not think about your voice still ringing in his ears or your nails still on his skin.

“Figured I’d find you out here.”

It was Shoko, leaning against the railing with a glass of something that looked far too strong for a hotel bar.

Kusakabe gave a noncommittal grunt.

A second later, Higuruma stepped out with a soft nod.

And of course, Nanami appeared too, loosening his tie, hands in his pockets, quiet as ever.

They all stood there in silence for a while. A shared cigarette break, all of them bruised in one way or another. Shoko’s expression unreadable, Nanami gazing into the dark like it might answer him. Higuruma, on the other hand, turned toward Kusakabe with a faint smirk.

“You look tense, Atsuya.”

“I’m not.”

“Right.” Higuruma exhaled, long and slow. “They say you can’t run from your own hunger. It’ll follow you home.”

Kusakabe scowled faintly. “What kind of proverb is that?”

“One I just made up,” Higuruma said, then tipped his glass with a wink. “But I think it applies.”

Nanami glanced at Kusakabe, eyebrow twitching slightly. “Is he drunk?”

“No,” Shoko muttered. “That’s just his poet mode.”

Kusakabe rolled his eyes and flicked his cigarette away, hands deep in his pockets now. “I’m going back inside.”

“Goodnight,” Higuruma said—pointed.

He didn’t go straight to bed.

He meant to. He really did.

He didn’t plan to knock. Until he did.

But just as he reached your floor—halfway there—he ran into Nanami again. This time accompanied by Geto, who was idly walking the hall with a quiet smirk.

They both slowed when they saw him.

Geto tilted his head, smirk widening as he subtly looked from Kusakabe to your door down the hall. “Well, well.“

Nanami sighed. “This isn’t the way to your room, Atsuya.”

Kusakabe paused. Looked at them both flatly.

Then, dry as ever, said, “Goodnight.”

And kept walking.

Geto snorted softly. “He’s so obvious.”

Nanami just frowned, shook his head, and kept going.

You were curled in bed, half-reading something on your phone, still wearing that damn hoodie of his when you heard it.

Knock knock.

Two slow, tentative raps.

You smiled before you even got to the door.

When you opened it, there he was—still in his coat, hair slightly mussed, expression tight with something unreadable.

“…Hey,” he said, a little lower than usual.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He looked down for a second. Then back at you.

“I didn’t say everything I wanted to say earlier.”

You stepped aside, opening the door a little wider.

“Then say it now.”

You leaned against the doorframe. Smiling.

Bare legs bare, hoodie loose, light from the hallway softening your silhouette as you tilted your head and said—

“Couldn’t sleep, or just couldn’t stop thinking about it?”

Kusakabe didn’t answer right away.

His jaw clenched. His gaze dropped—once, twice—like he was checking that yes, you were still just in his hoodie. And no, this wasn’t a dream.

“I’m not the emotional type,” he muttered. “So don’t expect some long speech.”

You raised a brow. “What should I expect then?”

He stepped in.

One hand on your waist, the other shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“You teasing me again?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher. “That what this is?”

You shrugged, innocent. “You look like you liked it.”

“Yeah, I liked it too much,” he muttered, pressing you back against the wall now, mouth brushing the edge of your jaw. “That’s the problem.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, already finding the heat waiting for him.

You gasped.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

You bit your lip. “Still thinking about the table.”

He groaned—low and broken—and dropped to his knees.

Before you could tease him again, your panties were pushed to the side and his mouth was on you, fast and greedy, like he’d been thinking about this the entire walk down the hallway.

Because he had.

Tongue deep, fingers teasing, his hands tight around your thighs to keep you still as he devoured you like he needed it to survive.

You moaned, fingers tangling in his hair. “Atsuya—god—”

He didn’t stop. Not even when your legs started to shake, not even when your hips rolled up into his face. He held you there, pulled you apart with his tongue until you came with a choked little cry that had his cock twitching in his pants.

He stood—fast. Eyes glazed. Breathing ragged.

“Turn around.”

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

“I said turn around.“

And when you did—when you braced your hands against the wall and looked back at him, smirking over your shoulder—he growled so softly it gave you goosebumps.

Pants undone, hoodie pushed up, panties still off to the side—he didn’t bother stripping you. Just pressed his chest to your back, kissed the nape of your neck once—and slid inside you in one rough, fluid thrust.

You gasped. He groaned into your skin.

And then he moved.

It was filthy.

Hands gripping your hips, breath in your ear, thrusts hard and deliberate. The wet sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet hotel room.

“You have no idea,” he panted, “what you do to me.”

You clenched around him and he whined—actually whimpered against your shoulder.

“I think I do,” you whispered.

“Brat,” he muttered, fucking you harder. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Like?” you teased.

He pulled your hair gently. Just enough to tilt your head back.

“Wanna say something smarter?”

You moaned instead.

Good choice.

When he came, it was deep—thrust buried to the hilt, body wrapped around yours, your name escaping his mouth like a confession.

After a beat of silence, still pressed to your back, he whispered

“…I’ll stay.”

You turned your head, smiling.

“I knew you would.”

You both stayed like that for a while.

You—pressed to the wall, breath soft and uneven.

Kusakabe—still buried inside you, arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, chest heaving like he’d just been pulled from deep water.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Just held you there, as if letting go would make it all disappear.

“…Atsuya?” you whispered, after a minute.

He blinked, slowly coming back to himself. “Shit. Sorry.”

He pulled out gently—both of you shivering at the mess between your thighs—and slid his hands up to your sides, grounding you. His voice, when it came again, was quiet.

“I didn’t mean to be that rough.”

“You weren’t,” you whispered.

That made him pause. Then: “I’m not good with words.”

You turned in his arms and kissed his chest.

“I don’t need words.”

He hesitated. Then exhaled slowly and said the most Kusakabe thing he could manage:

“You’re leaking down your leg.”

You snorted, laughing against his chest. “You really know how to set the mood.”

His lips brushed your temple. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You showered together.

Not for anything sexual—just warm water, gentle touch, the kind of silence that held everything unsaid.

He was careful washing your thighs, thumb brushing over the spot where he’d gripped you too tight. He cleaned you up with warm hands and reverent fingers, brows slightly drawn the whole time like he was focused on getting it just right.

When you tried to touch him back, he pulled your hand up and kissed your knuckles instead.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured. “Let me.”

Afterward, he climbed into bed beside you, towel-dried hair still damp, wearing just his boxer briefs. You were back in his hoodie, clean now, skin still warm from the shower. He slid under the blanket behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist, hesitant but sure.

You nestled into his chest.

“…Are you really staying?” you asked, voice soft in the dark.

His hand tightened around you just slightly.

“I told you I would.”

A pause.

Then he kissed the back of your shoulder. Once. Quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You stepped into the hotel breakfast room with still damp hair, clean skin, and a faint soreness in your thighs that made every step feel like a souvenir.

Kusakabe walked beside you.

Silent. Hands in his pockets. Wearing his usual deadpan face like he wasn’t currently dealing with the aftermath of railing you against the wall just ten hours ago.

You?

You wore black leggings and his oversized black T-shirt. The one you’d “accidentally” packed in your overnight bag when he wasn’t looking.

The room was already filled.

Shoko was waving you over with a coffee mug raised like a beacon.

Nanami didn’t even look up. Just sipped his tea and sighed like this was exactly what he expected to happen.

But Geto?

Geto leaned back lazily in his seat at the table, already smiling.

He raised his hand—

And without breaking stride or looking away from you, Higuruma smacked it in a flawless, celebratory high-five.

“I knew it,” Higuruma said, smug as hell, taking his seat.

Geto grinned. “Called it last night.”

Kusakabe’s jaw clenched beside you.

You felt him tense like someone had just handed him a live grenade.

Shoko, from her corner seat, raised her coffee mug toward you and smiled like this was the most normal thing in the world. “You two want scrambled eggs or the full roast?”

Nanami didn’t look up.

He just sighed deeply and murmured, “Knew it too. I just didn’t feel the need to perform choreography about it.”

“Don’t start.”

“Start?” Higuruma echoed. “Oh, no, we’re celebrating. It’s about time you got laid.”

You choked on a laugh.

Kusakabe shot you a look like this is your fault.

Shoko smirked and pointed to the plate of fruit beside her. “Sit here. You can debrief us over pancakes.”

“We’re not—debriefing—” Kusakabe muttered, rubbing his temples as you slid into the seat beside her.

He followed slowly. Sat stiff. Said absolutely nothing.

Geto leaned forward, propping his chin on his palm.

“So, was it a one-time operation or a recurring mission?”

“I will knock over this table Suguru I swear to god,” Kusakabe muttered without looking up.

You sipped your coffee. “He means ‘ongoing with flexible scheduling.’”

Higuruma smirked over his toast. “God, I love a successful assignment.”

“Oh?” Geto asked, eyes twinkling. “Is it a classified mission?”

You took a bite of croissant and smiled. “Very hands-on.”

Shoko raised her brows, sipping her coffee.

Kusakabe looked like he was genuinely debating walking back out.

But then your knee brushed his under the table again.

And he didn’t move.

Later, when the group was distracted talking shop, he leaned in close and murmured—

“You stole my shirt.”

You looked at him over your mug. “I think it looks better on me.”

He didn’t disagree.

Instead, he brushed your knee with his, gaze dropping to your lips for a beat too long.

“…Keep it,” he said. “I’ll wear something else.”

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

Be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

[miss-anaa]

[nuttywinnerperfection]

i wanna be fucked in an alley so baddd, completely drunk and helpless as i’m pounded in the dark

[yourbiggestnightmare111]

[needyh0les]

Needs spanking ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪