inzayneforaj

[inzayneforaj]

JJK MASTERLIST! — CLASSYRBF

smut = x

fluff = f

angst = a

suggestive/mature = m

VARIOUS

—headcanons:

eating you out—jjk men x fem!reader (x)

wanna be dominated—jjk men x fem!reader (x)

just how I like it—jjk men x fem!reader (x)

he moans like such a slut—jjk men (x)

I like ‘em thick—anime men x fem!reader (m)

you’re such a perv—fem!reader (x)

caught on film—jjk men x fem!bodied reader (x)

keep it kinky—jjk men x fem!reader (x)

you’re safe—jjk men x fem!reader (x)

caught on film #2—jjk men x fem!bodied reader (x)

manhandle me—jjk men x fem!reader (x)

you’re pregnant—jjk men x fem!reader (f)

—drabbles:

just the tip—nanami x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader (x)

that’s just my baby daddy—nanami x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader (x)

that’s just my baby daddy #2—gojo x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader (x)

oh no, he’s a dilf—jjk men x fem!reader (x)

a good pounding—toji x fem!reader, sukuna x fem!reader (x)

call him daddy—jjk men x fem reader (m, f)

—oneshots:

two is better than one—gojo + geto x fem!reader (x)

kissing practice—gojo x geto x gn!reader (x)

put on a show—gojo, geto, toji x fem!reader (x)

plaything—gojo, geto x fem!reader (x)

she’s just a hole — toji x fem!reader x sukuna (x)

NANAMI

—headcanons:

ex husband!nanami—fem!reader (m)

nerd!nanami—fem!reader (m)

therapist!nanami—fem!reader (m)

—oneshots:

an angel—fem!reader (x)

the princess—fem!reader (x)

till dawn—fem!reader (x)

my boss is super hot—fem!reader (m)

glory hole—fem!reader (x)

promiscuous girl—fem!reader (x)

you turn me on—fem!reader (x)

she said it’s her first time—fem!reader (x)

—drabbles:

pent up nanami—fem!reader (x)

husband!nanami—fem!reader (x)

pussy drunk—fem!reader (x)

pretty face—fem!reader (x)

—fics:

TOJI

—headcanons:

ex husband!toji—fem!reader (m)

he’s an ass man—gn!reader (m)

his girls—fem!reader (m)

baby daddy!toji—fem!reader (m)

—oneshots:

retwist—fem!reader (x)

scream for me—fem!reader (x)

xoxo—fem!reader (f)

enemies & fuck buddies—fem!reader (x)

sweet spot—fem!reader (x)

—drabbles:

jealous toji—fem!reader (m)

eating it from the back—fem!reader (x)

husband!toji—fem!reader (f)

sweet lovin’—fem!reader (x)

—fics:

blinded by lust—fem!reader (m)

still in love—fem!reader (m)

GOJO

—headcanons:

thick thighs save lives—fem!reader (m)

ex husband!gojo—fem!reader (m)

streamer!gojo—fem!reader (f)

nerd!gojo—fem!reader (m)

—oneshots:

strawberry dessert—fem!reader (x)

the six eyes of satoru gojo—fem!reader (a)

beach waves—fem!reader (f)

so soaked—fem!reader (x)

touch me, tease me—fem!reader (x)

my pretty (ex) wife—fem!reader (x)

—drabbles:

bf!gojo—fem!reader (x)

dacryphiliac!gojo—fem!reader (x)

in public—fem!reader (x)

overstimulated—fem!reader (x)

panty stealer—fem!reader (x)

voicemail—fem!reader (x)

—fics:

GETO

—headcanons:

ex husband!geto—fem!reader (m)

nerd!geto—fem!reader (m)

—oneshots:

open wide—fem!reader

husband & wife—fem!reader (f)

the man I used to know—fem!reader (a)

—drabbles:

vampire—geto x gn!reader (x)

perv!geto—geto x fem!reader (x)

vampire!geto—geto x fem!reader (x)

caught in 4k—fem!reader (x)

juicy—fem!reader (x)

you get me so high—fem!reader (x)

skin to skin—fem!reader (x)

—fics:

CHOSO

—headcanons:

he’s such a (hot) loser—fem!reader (x, m)

—oneshots:

the session—fem!reader (x)

—drabbles:

girls on film—fem!reader (x)

a slut with glasses—fem!reader (x)

cam girl—fem!reader (x)

—fics:

TODO

—headcanons:

jealous!todo—gn!reader (m)

—oneshots:

sweet love—fem!reader (f)

my love, your love—fem!reader (f)

bad days—gn!reader (f)

you’re my everything—fem!reader (x, a, f)

newer life—fem!reader (f)

—drabbles:

bf!todo—todo x fem!reader (x)

—fics:

HIGURUMA

—headcanons:

—oneshots:

—drabbles:

little miss secretary—fem!reader (m)

—fics:

SUKUNA

—headcanons:

obsessed—fem!reader (m)

—oneshots:

servant duties—fem!reader (x)

like a queen—fem!reader (x)

—drabbles:

the feel of my tongue—fem!reader (x)

eat it up—fem!reader (x)

INUMAKI

—headcanons:

—oneshots:

don’t worry—gn!reader (f)

—drabbles:

[inzayneforaj]

CLASSMATE GOJO SERIES!

SYNOPSIS...read the short 4 part series about classmate!gojo and pervy fem!reader all right here

INFO...classmate!gojo x fem!reader, smut smut smut, trading nudes, masturbation, p in v, name calling, and other filth, only a 4 part series

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

feel free to support me <3

series:

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

bonuses:

[inzayneforaj]

a/n: first time doing headcanons. :p wanted to try it bc they're quicker to write. i was at the gym and got inspired. xD

masterlist | rules

Gymbro!Caleb who notices you the first day you step a foot into the gym. It’s not every day a cutie like you walks in, all nervous and tugging at your sleeves as you squint at the machines like they're some kind of torture devices.

Gymbro!Caleb who's always there at the distance. All big arms and even bigger chest, tank top clinging into his skin and leaving little to the imagination. You can't help but glance his way every time his muscles flex as he finishes a series. He's always wearing that gentle smile that makes it hard to focus on your reps.

Gymbro!Caleb who finally makes his move when he catches you struggling at the hack squat machine – legs shaking, form all wrong, far too much weight. He starers at you for a moment, then walks straight over with no hesitation and that damn smile. "Here, let me help you."

Gymbro!Caleb who absolutely didn't need to get that close to help you. His chest brushes your sides, one arm around your waist as he adjusts your back. From this distance, you can catch traces of his smell. The faint smell of sweat, faded deodorant, and something distinctly masculine. You're too dazed to protest.

Gymbro!Caleb who somehow always ends up at the gym during your sessions. Monday before work? He's there. A late friday evening? Still there. And every time, he finds a new excuse to keep lingering. "Want to take turns in press?" or "Let me lift this for you."

Gymbro!Caleb whose hands trail lower with every interaction. One day it's his hands brushing your stomach, another day his fingers ghost your thighs. And you don’t stop him. In fact, you start to look forward to those moments.

Gymbro!Caleb who visibly stiffens the moment another guy talks to you. His smile drops, his jaw tightens, and his brows knit together like he’s about to lift the entire gym floor. The guys always end up storming off when he appears behind you, but an instant later, he acts like nothin happened.

Gymbro!Caleb who starts bringing you snacks and protein-packed meals to eat after workout. At first, it's "I made to much and don't want it to go to waste", but two weeks pass by and he’s still doing it.

Gymbro!Caleb who smirks every time you mess up a set and get really flustered, just to brush it off with “Don’t worry, i’ll help you with whatever you need.” And he means it. But he wishes you needed him for more than just your reps.

Gymbro!Caleb who offers to walk you home one night after a late session and waits outside your building until he sees the lights in your room turn on. He doesn't care if he lives on the opposite side of town.

Gymbro!Caleb who’s never flat-out told you how he feels, but shows it in the little things he does. He wipes down every machine before you sit on it, never leaves until you're done, and makes sure you're eating enough.

Gymbro!Caleb who’s clearly into you, but you still think he’s just being nice.

Gymbro!Caleb who finally snaps when a cocky newbie tries to flirt with you near the dumbbell racks. He steps in mid-sentence, voice low and one hand resting on your shoulder. “She already has a trainer.” And suddenly, he’s twice his size and the guy’s gone.

Gymbro!Caleb who leans in right after, close enough that his breath warms your cheek: “Guess I’ll have to make you mine before someone else tries to snatch you.”

Gymbro!Caleb who drags you into the empty yoga studio that night, presses you against the wall, and kisses you like he’s been holding back for months. One of his hands traps you as the other hugs your waist, his kisses are hungry and messy. You let him, because you've been waiting to.

Gymbro!Caleb who might be territorial and a little too possessive, but completely melts the second you tug his hair and push him down.

Gymbro!Caleb who lets you take the lead, savouring how you rub agaisnt him as you continue desperately tugging at his hair and clothes. He could easily overpower you, but he likes seeing you in control. He likes that you think he's wrapped around your fingers, and maybe he is.

Gymbro!Caleb who still cooks for you after that night, who still checks your form and counts your sets and glares down every guy who glances your way. Especially now. Because now, he’s finally claimed you, and he’s not letting anyone else have you.

[inzayneforaj]

Toji’s shirtless again.

Well. Toji’s always shirtless.

You think he only owns like… three shirts. Two of which are permanently crumpled on a chair somewhere and one he only wears if he absolutely has to go to a convenience store. Even then, he complains. Loudly.

Right now, he’s standing in the middle of the crappy excuse for a kitchen in grey sweats, stretching like he’s not fully aware of how that motion exposes all those tight cords of muscle and his stupid V-line you want to sink your teeth into.

You’re lying upside down on the couch when you ask it.

"Tojiiii~" you whine, kicking your legs up against the wall like a child. You look ridiculous and you know it. “Can you go grab my charger? It's alllll the way in the bedroom, and I’m dying.”

“Use your legs, sugartits, they work”

“They don’t,” you say dramatically, flipping over and crawling off the couch like a ragdoll. “I’m in a fragile emotional state. You wouldn’t understand.”

He lets out a long, exasperated sigh through his nose. “You’re always in a fragile emotional state.”

“But this time it's terminal,” you mutter, flopping onto your stomach and pounding the floor weakly. “Please, Toji. I’ll give you a reward.”

That gets him.

You hear the faint rustle of movement and peek up through your arms. He’s squinting at you, suspicion radiating off him like heat. “What kind of reward?”

You smile like a little shit.

“Come back with it and find out.”

“There. Where’s my goddamn reward?”

You sit up with a pleased grin, coil the wire around your fingers and crook one at him.

“Come here.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“I said, come here, Toji.” You pat the couch between your thighs. “Sit, boy.”

He scowls. “I should’ve left your charger in the toilet.”

But he comes. Grumbling, looming, all six feet of muscle and irritation settling between your legs like it's some kind of punishment.

You reach out with both hands and start gently patting his head. Ruffling his thick black hair, scratching lightly at the nape like he’s something fluffy and manageable. He blinks once. Then twice.

He looks like he wants to toss you off the balcony.

“…The hell is this.”

“Your reward,” you say sweetly. “Look at my good boy doing chores.”

He tenses, as if the words hit a nerve. “Not your damn dog, doll”

“No,” you whisper against his temple, “you’re my big, bad, muscle-y man who still comes crawling for head pats.” You pause. “And other head—”

“Stop” he says flatly, but you can feel the way he’s melting against you.

You grin.

From then on, you swear he starts doing things on purpose.

Takes the trash out. Fixes the leaking tap with a wrench that you’re 96% sure isn’t his.

You watch him with squinty eyes. “You did something.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just cleaned up a little.”

“Uh-huh.”

He sits next to you. Clears his throat.

You blink.

He tilts his head. “Well? No rewards?”

You smirk and crawl into his lap like a puppy in heat. Run your fingers into his thick black hair, kiss the spot right above his ear.

He scoffs, but you can feel him relax, hands wrapping around your waist. “You’re gonna give me a complex.”

You straddle him, nose to nose. “Only good boys get spoiled like this.”

“…Shut up.”

You boop his nose. “Make me.”

He does, later. With his mouth.

And when he finally lets you go—arms still wrapped around your waist like he forgot how to be separate from you—you bury your face in his neck and murmur, “I love my broke, shirtless king.”

He growls. “Say that again and I’ll leave your ass in the street.”

Later that evening, he kills the cockroach you screamed about. Doesn’t even complain this time.

Doesn’t even speak. Just stands there in front of you, arms crossed.

You squint at him. “What now?”

“My reward” he says simply.

You pat the couch. “Leg’s open, daddy.”

“I swear to God—”

But he’s already walking over. Settles down between your legs like it’s second nature now. You start petting him again, your fingers tangled in his messy black hair.

“Such a good boy,” you whisper. “Good boys get spoiled. You want a kiss, baby?”

His voice is gravel when he replies, “Tch. You call me good boy again and I’ll bend you over this couch.”

You tug his hair gently. “Say please, I've been a gooood boyy, baby.”

He groans, but then—so low it’s almost a threat—he mutters, “Please, I've been a good boy.”

You smile like a devil. Pull his face up and kiss him. Long. Slow. Filthy.

When you pull back, he’s still scowling. But his hands are gripping your waist like you’re something he’ll never give up.

“…You’re such a damn brat” he mutters.

“And you’re such a pettable little babyboy,” you purr. “Look at you, doing chores and everything.”

“You want me to stop?” he asks, cracking his neck.

You kiss his jaw. “Nope.”

You pause. Then whisper like you’re telling a secret, “I’m gonna pet you forever. Even if you hate it.”

“…Fuckin’ menace” he says, hugging you tighter.

[inzayneforaj]

ᴊᴊᴋ ʀᴏᴄᴋ ʙᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

Notes, he's just sooo ughhhmmfmm.

★ Bassist!Toji meets you for the first time.

The studio was loud when you walked in — amps humming, drums pounding, Gojo mid-vocal run like he was auditioning for heaven, shirt half off, sweat glistening like a pop star that didn’t pay rent.

You raised your hand slightly, awkward but amused. “Delivery for a diva.”

Gojo turned mid-belt, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, you’re an angel—” Then he tripped over a mic cord.

Sukuna slammed a cymbal. “Fucking hell, Gojo.”

You laughed and held up the tote bag. “You left your charger and sunglasses at mine.”

“Because I live in chaos, baby,” Gojo grinned. “Put it anywhere. You want water? Weed? A front row seat to my raw vocal brilliance?”

“No,” you said sweetly.

And then you noticed him.

Toji.

Off to the left. Bass slung low, body half-turned away, tattoos inked up his forearm where his sleeves were rolled, hair messy like he’d just woken up angry. He was tuning, or pretending to — his fingers barely moved, and his eyes… were on you.

Flat. Sharp. Curious.

Like he couldn’t figure out if you were real or just annoying.

You looked away first.

“Let’s take it from the top,” Gojo called out. “Try not to ruin my godlike momentum, yeah?”

They launched into the next take — Gojo wailing into the mic, Sukuna on drums like he was punishing them, Choso leaning on the keyboard like he was underwater.

And Toji—

Missed his cue.

The bass line came late. Not just a second. Noticeably.

They ran the song again. Loud. Messy. You leaned against the wall, half-watching, half-scrolling through your phone.

Then the rhythm dropped.

The room fell off-beat, the bass stumbling just long enough to make everyone stop.

“The fuck was that?” Sukuna snapped.

Gojo threw his hands up. “Why does this band hate my voice?”

“Toji,” Suguru barked. “You good?”

Toji said nothing for a second, then set the bass down with a quiet clunk.

“Take five.”

He grabbed a water bottle from the floor, cracked it open, and walked over to the side—closer to where you were standing. You didn’t move. He didn’t say anything right away.

He just stood there, unscrewed the cap, drank, and let the silence stretch.

You glanced at him. “You always take breaks after messing up?”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Didn’t fuck up.”

You raised a brow. “Sounded like you did.”

His gaze flicked down to your legs, back up.

“Yeah?”

You felt your face heat. He didn’t smile. Didn’t look away.

“Wasn’t paying attention,” he added after a beat. “S’fine.”

His voice was low, casual. Like he wasn’t saying much—but he was saying enough.

Gojo yelled from across the room. “Toji, you flirting again?”

Toji didn’t move.

“Bro, I felt that bass line die. What, did you forget how to play when she walked in?”

“Shut it,” Toji muttered, mostly to himself. Then, to you, without looking:

“You sticking around or what?”

That was it.

No charm. No smooth lines.

Just Toji—shoulders loose, mouth set, standing a little too close like he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did.

And that was the first time you saw it.

He wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

He just looked at you like he already knew how it would go.

And you didn’t hate it.

[inzayneforaj]

ᴊᴊᴋ ʀᴏᴄᴋ ʙᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

notes, i've got to stop this is nawtt me.

bassist!toji who corners you in the hallway after his set, sweat still dripping down his chest, his bass calloused hand sliding up your thigh like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “you were starin’ real hard out there,” he mutters. “got somethin’ to say or just gonna keep lookin’?”

bassist!toji who shows up to your place in the middle of the night, hood up, smelling like smoke and stage lights. doesn’t say hi. just backs you into the kitchen counter, tugging at your waistband like he owns the place. “was thinkin’ about this the whole show. your fault.”

bassist!toji who kisses like he doesn’t need to breathe. hand gripping your neck, mouth hot and slow, like he’s making up for every second he spent on stage pretending he wasn’t thinking about bending you over the drum kit.

bassist!toji who likes it when you sit on his lap during rehearsals. not for affection — just so he can run his hand up your shirt and press his fingers under your bra while geto rolls his eyes and gojo pretends not to see. “you sit still,” he murmurs. “we’ll be done soon.”

bassist!toji who pulls you into the venue bathroom after a set when you tease him too much. locks the door, pushes you up against the cold tile, voice low against your ear. “can’t fuck you on stage, sweetheart. so this’ll have to do.”

bassist!toji who watches you from the green room couch while the rest of the band argues over setlists. spreads his legs a little wider, eyes dragging down your body, slow. says nothing. just pats his thigh once. you already know what he wants.

bassist!toji who drags you into his lap at afterparties when guys get too friendly. kisses your neck in front of everyone. not for show — just to remind you. “mine,” he mutters against your skin. “don’t forget it.”

bassist!toji who sends you one-word texts after shows. “now.” and you already know — he’s in the back of the van, backseat tinted, shirt half-off, waiting for you to crawl into his lap and shut him up with your mouth.

bassist!toji who doesn’t like to be soft in public. but after he’s done wrecking you, he always pulls you in close, face buried in your neck. voice quieter than usual. “good girl.” you pretend not to shiver. he doesn’t pretend not to notice.

[inzayneforaj]

warning 18+ 🎀dad’s best friend!toji x f!reader🎀. he helps you with your homework while groping you🎀

he’d known you forever.

toji had been there since you were a toddler sticky fingers, crooked braids, climbing all over the couch while your dad grilled outside. he used to tie your shoes. wipe your tears. bring you candy when your mom snapped at you.

just helping out, he always said.

but even back then, he looked at you too long. smiled too warm. praised you just a little too intimately.

and now?

you were older. grown.

but somehow, you still felt little around him.

curled up beside him on the couch, knees tucked, textbook in your lap and toji right there, legs wide, one arm draped over the back of the cushions, his hand resting on your bare thigh like it was nothing.

like it had always been there.

you still chew your pencil, he said suddenly, a low chuckle in his throat.

you blinked up at him, confused.

his eyes didn’t leave your mouth. used to do it in middle school too. i remember. every time i helped you with math.

he reached up calloused fingers brushing your lips.

your breath caught.

don’t need to stress, sweetheart, he murmured, thumb tugging at your bottom lip. you’ve always been smart.

your cheeks flushed.

you were supposed to be studying.

that’s what he kept saying.

c’mon, sweetheart, he murmured. focus for me.

his voice was warm. patient. soft like a lullaby.

his hand hadn’t moved from under your shirt.

it rested over your breast his thumb brushing back and forth in the same lazy rhythm, so slow it almost didn’t feel real. like it had always been there. like it belonged there.

he didn’t even look at you while he touched you. he kept his eyes on the notebook, pointing at your problem set with his other hand.

you just need to break the vector into components, he said calmly. see? horizontal goes here, vertical there.

his thumb circled your nipple again slow, soothing.

you flinched.

but he just kept talking.

you okay? he asked, still not looking at your face. you’re a little jumpy tonight.

you nodded, throat dry. i’m fine.

good, he said, squeezing your breast gently. i want you relaxed when you study.

your lips parted. your pencil hovered over the paper.

you didn’t know how to feel. it was too much and not enough at the same time his hand, his praise, his voice in your ear like nothing about this was wrong.

see, you’re doing good, he said, glancing down at your work. you’re so smart, baby. always have been. just need someone who takes the time with you.

his hand slid a little. cupped the underside of your breast now lifting it, thumb swiping under the curve like he was adjusting it, not groping you.

don’t get shy on me now, he added, voice lower. we’ve always been close, right?

you nodded.

his hand didn’t leave your chest.

you could feel his palm warming your skin. feel the soft brush of his calloused fingers over your nipple again and again. you were starting to ache tight thighs, flushed cheeks, your focus unraveling completely.

this isn’t weird, he said suddenly.

you looked at him, startled.

his gaze met yours, calm and steady.

i know what you’re thinking, he said. but it’s okay. i’m just… taking care of you. like i always have.

his fingers stroked the side of your rib now, slipping lower again, then back up. you’re tense. and she left again. and i just want you to feel safe.

you swallowed hard.

do you feel safe with me? he asked.

..yes.

he smiled.

good girl.

and then he kissed your temple. softly. like a parent would. like a man who knew he wasn’t supposed to. but did it anyway.

his hand didn’t stop moving.

his thumb rubbed over your nipple again. longer now. firmer.

you shivered.

he glanced back down at the notebook. so. you said the launch angle is thirty degrees?

you blinked at the page.

his voice was calm. normal. like he wasn’t playing with your tits while walking you through a physics problem.

split the initial velocity, he said again, his palm massaging you slow and steady. use sine for vertical. cosine for horizontal. just plug it in.

you wrote.

barely.

your body was trembling, your breath short but you wrote. because he was helping. because he was nice. because he kept calling you smart and good and pretty.

there you go, he said, smiling. just like that.

his other hand drifted behind you, resting on your waist now. his thumb traced soft circles just under your ribs. his lips brushed your cheek again.

you’re so helpful, he whispered. so beautiful when you try.

his hand moved again. cupping you tighter.

just let me take care of you, baby.

and you did.

you didn’t stop him.

you didn’t speak.

you just kept writing.

because he said you were good.

because he said it was normal.

because he made you believe it.

across your thigh. his fingers dragging up and under the hem of your skirt now, slow and patient, knuckles grazing the soft skin near your underwear like he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

this project’s about projectile motion, yeah?

he asked, like he hadn’t just pressed his fingers to the edge of your panties.

then we start with the launch angle.

you nodded, hands trembling.

he didn’t look at you.

he looked at the paper in your lap, like this was just tutoring.

like he wasn’t inching your legs apart.

you’ve got great handwriting, he said, lips near your ear. always neat. always careful. just like you.

his hand slid higher.

under the band of your panties.

two fingers grazing the crease of your inner thigh. not quite touching you where it counted but so close.

your pulse pounded. your thighs clenched.

hey, he said gently, voice warm, coaxing. don’t do that. relax your legs, baby. i’m just helping you focus.

you hesitated.

but you let him.

you let your thighs part for him again your body moving before your brain could argue.

he smiled.

atta girl.

his fingers pinched softly at the edge of your underwear. tugging it lightly. not pulling it off just teasing it. his pinky brushed your soaked skin once, so quick it felt like an accident.

you gasped.

he kept his eyes on the page.

what’s the horizontal component here? he asked, nodding at your equation like nothing had happened.

you stared, breathless.

he turned his head, nose brushing your temple. baby?

..uh. cosine… times v.

his hand slid up your belly now under your shirt, slow and affectionate. he kissed the side of your head.

that’s my girl, he whispered. so proud of you.

his palm was warm against your stomach. he didn’t stop at your waist he touched higher, across the soft curve of your belly, his thumb brushing your skin like it was something precious.

you always had the cutest little tummy, he murmured.

you froze.

he kissed the edge of your jaw, then your cheek. still gentle. still like a reward.

used to poke it all the time when you were little, he said, almost dreamy. squishy little thing. always giggling.

his fingers slipped lower unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

like there was no rush to undo you.

and maybe there wasn’t.

because you were already unraveling.

that’s it, he whispered, fingers spreading you open gently, almost reverently.

sweet little cunt’s just as pretty as i imagined.

you gasped face hot, eyes wide but his thumb was already pressing softly to your clit, drawing slow, tight circles.

shh, shh, he soothed, kissing your cheek again, lips brushing your flushed skin like he wasn’t ruining you from the inside out. you don’t have to say anything. just let me.

your breath caught.

he hummed like you’d done something right.

so wet, he murmured. so fucking good for me.

his other hand slid back under your shirt again finding your breast, pinching your nipple between two thick fingers as he curled one inside you.

you choked on a moan.

he chuckled.

knew you’d be tight, he said, voice low. knew you’d squeeze my fingers like this. goddamn, baby.

his thumb pressed harder now rubbing circles with just the right rhythm while his finger curled inside you, slow and steady, like he was learning you. mapping you.

memorizing everything he’d never had the right to touch.

you like this, huh? he asked, voice thick with heat. you like when i help you.

you didn’t respond.

you didn’t have to.

your hips moved for him.

your thighs parted wider.

your breath hitched every time he twisted his finger just right, brushing that soft, swollen spot inside you that made your belly flutter and your lips part in a desperate whimper.

there we go, he whispered, that’s it.

he kissed your ear, breath hot.

i bet you touch yourself thinking about this, he said softly. thinking about me.

your head dropped. shame heavy.

his hand grabbed your jaw lifting your face again, forcing you to look at him.

don’t hide from me.

his thumb slowed, then stopped hovering just above your clit, fingers still inside.

tell me, baby.

you swallowed hard. your voice barely a whisper.

..yes.

he smiled. slow. wicked. so proud it made your stomach twist.

his thumb pressed again hard, slick, relentless and your eyes rolled back.

he fucked you slow with his fingers, dragging them out just to sink them back in again, wet sounds filling the quiet room, mixed with your panting and the faint, wet noise of his knuckles kissing the edge of your panties with every thrust.

you close? he murmured, already knowing the answer.

your thighs were shaking.

you whimpered, barely able to breathe.

he kissed your mouth this time.

soft. full.

like he loved you.

like he hadn’t just pulled your innocence apart with two fingers and a lie.

cum for me, he whispered. don’t think. just feel.

his fingers moved faster palm grinding against your clit now and you broke.

you came hard, thighs trembling, breath caught in your throat as he held you down with one arm, still fucking you slow through it, still whispering filth against your lips.

that’s my girl. my perfect fucking girl.

you collapsed against him.

and he held you there.

kissed your temple. stroked your hair. rocked you gently in his lap like nothing had happened.

like you were still safe.

like he hadn’t just rewired your brain.

we’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow, he murmured against your hairline.

same time. same good girl.

he was already waiting when you walked in.

sitting on the couch, legs wide, remote in one hand, your physics textbook in the other.

he looked up when you entered. smiled that same warm, familiar smile the one he used when you were little. the one that felt like home.

right on time, he said, voice low, easy. c’mere.

your steps were slow. hesitant.

he patted his thigh.

sit down, sweetheart. don’t be shy.

you obeyed.

climbed into his lap. settled with your back against his chest, your thighs spread wide over his own. his hand slid around your waist instantly anchoring you, holding you still.

just like last time, he whispered into your hair.

he flipped the book open across your legs.

we’ll start with problem four.

his free hand moved under your skirt.

just like last time.

read it out loud for me.

you swallowed hard.

a rock is launched from the top of a 25 meter cliff at an angle of.. of thirty degrees..

his fingers grazed your inner thigh.

keep going.

..uh, thirty degrees above the horizontal with an initial velocity of…

his hand cupped your pussy through your panties.

you shivered.

twelve meters per second, you whispered.

he hummed, pleased.

good girl.

his fingers rubbed slow, lazy circles through the damp cotton barely teasing your clit.

now, what’s the first step?

you tried to focus. tried to read.

but his fingers were already dipping lower, pressing more firmly into your cunt, dragging the soaked fabric aside with practiced ease.

c..calculate the vertical and horizontal components of the velocity, you stammered.

he slid two fingers inside you.

deep.

you gasped.

mmhm, he murmured, voice thick in your ear. go on.

he curled them slow.

pumped them once.

your breath hitched.

..v..v sub y is v sine theta, you whispered. uh, v times sine of thirty.

his palm ground against your clit now.

you rocked into it instinctively.

six, he murmured. good girl. next?

you blinked down at the page, hips twitching.

v sub x is v cosine theta..uh..ten point three.

his fingers curled again, slower this time, brushing that soft, swollen spot inside you with maddening precision.

you whimpered.

that’s perfect, he whispered. you’re doing so good.

he kissed your neck.

such a smart little thing. makes me proud.

your whole body flushed.

you like making me proud, don’t you?

you nodded. breathless.

his free hand reached up under your shirt now cupping your breast, fingers rolling your nipple as he fucked you slow on his lap, grinding his palm against your clit every time you said the right answer.

wanna help you have a better future, he said softly, like a promise. want you to succeed, baby. all that potential.

his fingers thrust harder.

but you need someone to guide you, huh?

you were shaking. panting.

who’s gonna take care of you when you’re out in the world.

his mouth kissed your cheek.

you don’t have to worry about that, though.

he curled his fingers deeper.

you’ve already got me.

you came again. hard. messy. thighs trembling over his lap, cunt squeezing tight around his fingers, soaking his hand.

he just held you. rocked you. praised you.

good girl. that’s it. let go.

he pulled his fingers out slow.

lifted them to your lips.

open.

you did.

he pushed them past your lips, let you taste yourself.

atta girl, he whispered. now next problem..

his cock was hard against your thigh.

had been for a while.

you tried to ignore it.

to keep your eyes on the page, your pencil steady.

to focus on his voice deep, patient, warm.

but you couldn’t.

not with the way his thumb kept brushing your nipple.

not with the way his other hand was resting low on your waist, just under your skirt, fingertips teasing the dip of your hip.

not with the way he was breathing.

you’re doing so well, he murmured against your ear. just one more problem, okay?

you nodded.

your voice was small. okay.

he shifted behind you.

and then he reached for your hand.

your fingers were still holding the pencil.

he plucked it gently from your grasp. set it down.

and then he brought your hand lower.

lower.

to his lap.

to the thick, heavy bulge pressing hard against the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

your breath caught.

but he didn’t say anything about it.

he just curled your fingers around it slowly. deliberately.

there we go, he murmured, guiding your palm to stroke over him. just relax, sweetheart.

you stared at the page. your hand trembled.

he pressed his hand over yours, keeping your grip firm as you moved.

that’s it, he whispered. slow and steady. like we’re solving a problem.

you swallowed. your voice barely worked.

…why are you making me do this?

he chuckled low and warm in your ear.

you always liked helping, he said gently. ever since you were little. always followed me around. held my hand. sat on my lap.

he rocked his hips up slightly into your palm, groaning under his breath.

you used to beg to fall asleep on my chest, he continued. remember that?

you didn’t answer.

his hand guided yours a little faster now stroking the thick length through his pants.

god, you were so clingy, he whispered. always wanted my attention. always wanted me to carry you. cuddle you. take care of you.

his breath was hotter now. rougher.

and look at you now, he rasped. so grown. so good. still in my lap. still helping.

you whimpered softly.

his hand squeezed yours tighter around him.

you feel how hard you make me, baby?

you nodded slowly.

his hips rocked again his cock straining against the fabric.

good girl, he breathed. just like that. rub me nice and slow.

you did.

soft, steady strokes.

his cock was thick. heavy. twitching under your palm.

and he didn’t stop talking.

used to bring you little presents, he murmured. stickers. candies. you’d light up every time. god, you were adorable.

his voice was breaking now raspy, filthy.

you’d curl up next to me on the couch just like this. fall asleep right against me.

he let out a shaky breath.

if i’d known you’d grow up this sweet… this soft…

he groaned.

his cock jumped in your hand.

you squeezed just like he showed you.

fuck, baby.

his hand slipped under your skirt again fingertips brushing your soaked panties.

don’t stop. keep helping me.

you nodded.

and kept stroking.

because he asked.

because he praised you.

because he said you were still his girl.

you’re getting better at this, he murmured, voice thick and low behind you. don’t let it scare you.

you nodded, pencil shaking slightly in your grip.

you were on problem six now.

his palm was still cupping your breast beneath your shirt his thumb moving slowly over your nipple in lazy, warm strokes, like it was normal. like it helped you focus.

alright, he whispered. fifteen meters per second, angle of forty-five degrees. what do we do?

you swallowed. your voice cracked.

break into components. v-y and v-x.

he smiled softly. that’s my girl.

he shifted behind you, legs spreading slightly.

you didn’t look down at first.

not until you heard it.

click.

your stomach flipped.

he unbuckled his belt slowly, the sound sharp in the silence of the room.

then the slide of his zipper.

his sweatpants tugged down just enough to expose the thick shape of his cock already hard, heavy against his thigh.

your lips parted slightly. you didn’t know what to say.

but he was calm. casual. like nothing about this was wrong.

he leaned in behind you, his arm curling around your middle, the other brushing yours gently.

you’re doing so well tonight, he murmured. so smart. always trying your best.

his voice was warm. kind.

like this was still about school.

and i know it’s not easy, he whispered. i know your mom’s not around, and your dad…

he trailed off.

you blinked fast.

his hand found yours again.

this time, he didn’t take the pencil.

he brought your hand down.

right to his cock.

you froze.

but he kept his tone steady. his breath slow.

just keep studying, baby, he said softly. just your hand, alright? makes it easier for me.

you hesitated.

he kissed your shoulder gently.

you’re not doing anything wrong, he whispered. you’re just helping. like always.

your palm trembled against the warm weight of him.

his cock was thick. flushed. hard beneath your touch.

you didn’t know what to say.

but you didn’t pull away.

he curled your fingers around him gently. guided your hand slow upstroke, slow down.

just like that.

your mouth parted.

good girl.

his hand slipped back under your shirt, thumb dragging over your nipple again.

you focus on the problem, he whispered. i’ll tell you when you’ve done enough.

you blinked down at the notebook.

his cock throbbed against your palm.

and you started to stroke.

slow. careful. your thighs pressed together from the tension. from the heat building between your legs.

v-y equals v sine theta, you whispered, breath shaking.

he moaned softly.

that’s it.

his lips brushed your cheek. his hips twitched.

don’t stop, sweetheart, he rasped. you’re doing perfect.

his hand stayed on top of yours, keeping your grip steady around the base of his cock. he was so warm. heavy. twitching just a little every time your fingers shifted. but he didn’t rush you. didn’t push. just held your hand there, slow and firm, while his other palm spread across your belly and held you still.

your lips parted, breath shaky. you didn’t even know when your other hand had dropped the pencil. you barely remembered the equation. your thighs were sticky against his. your cunt was throbbing. but he was still talking to you like everything was fine. like this was normal. like it had always been this way.

we’re almost done, he said. just one more problem, yeah?

you nodded again, eyes half-lidded. your hand was still curled around him, guided by his. your body was warm and confused and too soft to resist.

what’s the initial height, baby?

you blinked at the book open in your lap. tried to read through the blur. uh… twenty-five meters.

good girl, he murmured, kissing your cheek. what’s next?

uh… initial velocity… twelve meters per second…

he nodded against your temple. and then he moved.

his hand let go of yours.

his hips shifted behind you.

and suddenly, the thick weight of his cock pressed harder between your thighs, hot and deliberate, nudging your panties aside. your breath caught your whole body frozen.

you didn’t say anything.

and he didn’t either.

just slid his hand back to your waist, gripping it gently, and moved his hips again, slow. slower than anything. his cock dragged up between your folds, the head slipping along your slit with ease, already slick from how soaked you were. your thighs parted without you meaning to. your body moved without permission.

just keep reading, sweetheart, he murmured. i know you’re a little sensitive, but we’ve done this before. it’s not that different.

you opened your mouth.

but nothing came out.

his hands stayed patient on your waist. his voice stayed warm. calm. and when his cock finally slid inside you deep and thick, stretching you slow from behind you gasped, fingers tightening on the edges of the notebook, but you didn’t stop him.

shhh, he breathed. you’re okay. you’re okay, baby. you’re just helping. that’s all this is.

you blinked. your legs trembled. he bottomed out slowly, inch by inch, until your ass was flush against his hips and you were stuffed full of him, too full to think. too full to speak. the book was still in your lap. the math still right in front of your eyes.

now tell me, he said gently, like he wasn’t buried in your cunt. what do we use to get vertical velocity?

…v sine theta, you whispered.

that’s right, he whispered. so smart. always were. just needed someone to guide you.

he rolled his hips once. slow and deep. his cock thick and pulsing inside you, your cunt already fluttering around him from how full you felt, how wrong it was, how right he kept making it sound.

relax for me, he whispered again, one hand sliding up under your shirt to palm your breast. can’t learn anything if you’re all tense.

you whimpered. your thighs twitched. his cock dragged slow inside you again, like he was rocking you through it, like he was still trying to teach you something.

it’s okay to enjoy it, baby, he murmured. i know it’s overwhelming. but you’re not doing anything wrong. s’natural you’re just letting me take care of you.

his thumb rolled your nipple. his mouth kissed your jaw. his cock pushed back in, deeper, steadier, and your breath came out in soft, shattered puffs.

what’s the angle? he asked again, voice a low hum in your ear.

…thirty degrees, you whispered.

mm, he groaned softly. that’s it. keep going.

his hips rocked into you again. your body bounced just a little, the book shifting in your lap, your hands gripping the edges to keep it from falling. his arm around your waist kept you grounded. his cock buried inside you kept you undone.

don’t stop reading, he said gently. we’ll finish this together.

you nodded, voice shaking.

horizontal component is… v cosine theta…

good girl, he breathed. keep going. just keep doing what i say. you’re doing perfect.

his thrusts stayed slow.

deep.

steady.

like he was reading a bedtime story. like there was no urgency, no filth, no wrongness in the way his cock dragged through your soaked cunt, nudging something sensitive inside you that made your thighs tighten and your mouth fall open, the sound you made somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

you gripped the book tighter.

the page was shaking.

but he just kept moving.

kept guiding you through it.

so smart, he whispered into your ear, the weight of his voice sinking into your skin. so fucking pretty when you try.

his cock pulsed deep inside you with every slow grind of his hips, thick enough to stretch you open and full, just the right shape to make you clench down without meaning to.

just wanna help you, he murmured. you know that, right?

you nodded, lips parted, breath catching every time he bottomed out.

his hand moved up your stomach again. warm. firm. cradling your belly like it was delicate. like he was protecting it.

don’t listen to what other people say, he breathed, pressing his lips to your jaw. this isn’t wrong. not when it feels this good. not when you need me.

his thumb rolled your nipple again.

you gasped, hips twitching, and he let out a soft moan right against your neck.

you hear that? he murmured. that pretty little cunt keeps squeezing me. like she knows who she belongs to.

his cock pushed deeper this time harder, but still slow just one long thrust that made your body arch back against his chest, your knees trembling as you tried to keep the textbook from falling off your lap.

shh, don’t drop it, he whispered. you’re doing so good, baby. just keep it steady. just let me take care of the rest.

his thrusts got a little heavier.

your body rocked with the rhythm now, bouncing just barely in his lap, every wet drag of his cock pulling you further out of your head, making it harder to remember what you were reading. harder to think at all.

you were always meant to be mine, he said suddenly, voice lower now, darker. always running to me. always wanting to sit with me. this his cock slammed in deeper, making you whimper this was always gonna happen. you just didn’t know it yet.

his hand dropped back to your waist. gripped it tight.

he bounced you now gently at first, easing you up and down on his cock like you were just part of him, like you didn’t need to do anything except be soft and warm and quiet while he used your body the way it was meant to be used.

you like this, he said, almost with a laugh. you like when i fuck you like you’re mine. like you’ve always been mine.

his cock dragged up again.

sank back in deep.

you cried out, barely keeping your hands on the book. it slipped, falling down your thighs, pages bending but you didn’t move to catch it.

you couldn’t.

not when his thrusts turned harder. deeper. his rhythm still steady but relentless, like his body knew your shape already, like he’d been dreaming about this for years and was finally letting himself have it.

where else would you go, huh? he whispered into your hair. your dad? your friends? you think they’d take care of you like this?

you shook your head, thighs trembling.

no, he growled. ’course not. only i know what you need. only i know how soft you are inside. how tight. how sweet.

you whimpered again.

his grip got rougher.

his hips snapped up.

you moaned.

that’s it, he growled, voice fraying now, breath hot. gonna fill you up, baby. that’s what you need, isn’t it?

no, you whispered, barely.

shhh, he soothed. you don’t mean that. you just get scared when it feels good. but you know i’ll take care of you. always have.

his pace quickened.

his fingers dug into your hips now, bouncing you harder, cock hitting that soft, swollen spot inside you with every thrust, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together filling the quiet room like it was nothing at all.

like you weren’t being ruined.

god, you’re perfect, he hissed. tight little pussy was made for me. always was.

your walls fluttered around him again.

you felt it heat rising, your muscles pulling taut, breath caught in your throat. his cock grinding so deep you couldn’t think.

let me, he groaned. just let me, baby. let me give it to you. you deserve it.

and then he came.

a slow, broken groan leaving his mouth as he buried his cock as far as it could go, spilling thick and warm into your cunt, filling you up like it meant something. like it had always been coming to this.

you shuddered.

his breath was ragged behind you, hand still pressed over your stomach like he was trying to hold it in.

there you go, he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. that’s it. good girl.

his cock twitched inside you again.

he didn’t pull out.

didn’t even move.

just sat there, arms wrapped around you, his cum leaking out slow and thick between your thighs.

feel better now? he asked softly.

you didn’t answer.

you couldn’t.

he smiled.

that’s alright, he murmured. we’ve got plenty more to get through tomorrow. whole next chapter’s on acceleration.

he nuzzled your cheek.

and i still got so much more to give you…

thank you for reading 💗

this one’s been sitting unfinished in my drafts for months and i finally forced myself to finish it. it’s been rotting in my brain forever and i’m so glad it’s finally out. hope you liked it 🎀

onlypinkslut

[inzayneforaj]

I'll Make You A Star, Baby (Toji x F!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Sleazy Music Producer!Toji Fushiguro x Popstar!Reader

Synopsis: You are an up-and-coming pop girl who has dominated the charts with your hit song and is quickly moving into the world of stardom. As your popularity in the music industry grows, your manager and fans are foaming at the mouth for a new hit single. So you pair up with Toji Fushiguro, a hitmaker and a playboy in the industry, well known for his beats AND his dick game. And despite your resistance to Toji's seduction, you quickly learn that becoming a household name in the music world isn't that easy. Maybe fucking this man can make you a star...or is that just what he slipped in your drink talking?

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS DNI); No Curse AU; Music Industry AU; Celeb!Toji x Celeb!Reader; Sexual Tension; Coercion; Drugging; Rape/Noncon; Dubcon; Drug Use (Marijuana + Cocaine); DILF!Toji x Younger!Reader (Early 20s); Sex on Camera; Slutification; Objectification; Oral (Giving & Receiving); Spit Play; Degradation + Praise; Snorting Coke Off Toji's Dick; Facefucking; Face Slapping; Daddy Kink; Multiple Positions (Missionary + Doggy); Reader Cums 2x; Creampie

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: I hate The Idol with all my fucking heart...but "Popular" is a BOP. I can't believe I'm just now hearing it lmaoo! As soon as I heard it, I got this idea. Originally, this was one for Gojo but I haven't written about my broke ass DILF Toji in a minute lol. I hope you enjoy! PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS. -Jazz

*****************

Since you've been a little girl, you always wanted to be a star. And you know the man sitting across from you is capable of helping you with that. "So," Toji asks, taking a drag of his cigarette, "you wanna be famous, huh?"

You sit across from him on one of the comfortable leather couches he put in his studio in one of your "low maintenance" outfits: a white bralette, bra free, a cropped zip-up hoodie, low-riding jeans tight on your ass, and your favorite pair of pink furry slippers, your French manicure peeking out from the openings.

"I thought I was already famous," you chuckle. You sit-cross legged on the couch, a red solo cup in your lap. You've only taken three sips since you've been here for over 20 minutes now. It is some concoction of tropical fruit punch and vodka that explodes on your tongue with its sweetness and tastiness.

Toji Fushiguro, a single father and the top music producer in the game, sits across from you in his chair that he likes to wheel himself around on. He is a huge guy, taller than you even sitting down, sitting with his jeans spread eagle in his gray sweats. You advert your eyes from it.

"Well, yeah, but famous-er," he retorts. "Way more popular than you are now. You're still an upcoming artist after all." He smiles with his dark eyes, his lips curling up into a light smirk that causes the faint scar on his lip to become a bit more noticeable.

He is joking with you, you know, but even the mention of still being upcoming makes you want to bash your head into a wall. Hence while you're here. "Don't remind me," you sigh, taking another sip of the drink Toji whipped up for you. "My manager is on my ass about getting another song out for the summer." You grin at the man sitting across from you. "That's where you come in."

Toji raises his pierced eyebrow at you, giving him a very attractive look. He is truly a handsome man. He can make even the black hoodie and sweats combo he is wearing look like designer with his sexy features, dark eyes, and muscular robust. If he wasn't a producer, he would make a killing as a model.

If you are to Google him, Toji Fushiguro would come up as a top producer worth millions gracing magazine covers, a five-time Grammy winner, and someone who has worked with the top singers and rappers in the industry right now, including Megan Thee Stallion, The Weeknd, Rihanna, and Sexy Redd.

Everything he touches turns to gold. You knew that he would be able to give you what you want...and need. Your manager has been breathing down your neck for a new hit to knock your first one out of the water, but so far, his efforts have been failing. Every producer he has called can't give you what you're looking for.

So you took matters into your own hands. You hit Toji up on Twitter on a whim, asking him to do a beat for you. He responded to you a day later, apologizing for his lateness and agreeing to meet up while he was in town. You felt giddy, excited for this chance to possibly gain more popularity and get closer to your goal.

Since you've been a child, you always wanted to be famous. Watching Beyoncé and Michael Jackson on your mom's TV, you knew that your dream was to get on a stage and perform. Make a million dollars. Tour the world. See the sights that your small-town parents never have.

So in your teens, you started doing YouTube videos where you'd dance and sing covers. Before the fresh age of twenty, you were discovered by a talent agent who flew you out to sunny California to audition for your manager's agency. He adored your pretty face, powerful vocals, and moves, deciding that you would be perfect.

A year later, you popped out with your first single 'Rev Your Engines' which was a mixture of bubblegum pop and hip hop that woke the industry and general public up. Everyone suddenly started noticing you in public and inviting you to award shows. You were performing on TV and gracing magazine covers.

The thrust into stardom was a weird and intense one, like taking too many drugs...yet like a drug, you can't get enough. You need more. More money. More fame. More recognition. And you know for a fact that Toji is capable of all of that. "Me?" he asks, acting shocked.

"Well, you are one of the top producers in the game," you giggle, taking another sip of the cocktail. "You'll be my secret weapon."

The producer's smirk grows, widening on his cheeks where two dimple piercing glitter back at you. "Oh, I know." You suck your teeth, rolling your eyes. "Nah, I'm fuckin' witchu," he cackles. "But seriously, with your vocals and my beats, any song we put out is sure to be a hit."

You laugh, giddy and slightly tipsy. "I like that energy!" you exclaim. "Mmm, and this drink! It's loosenin' me up." Plus the red glow coming from a lava lamp sitting next to you and the soft R&B music he has playing from his Alexa Orb in the corner of the room with your Hello Kitty duffle bag. The ambiance is very seductive.

You are the only one in the studio with Toji right now. You are sure there will be other people coming in soon despite the late hour. Despite this being the first time you and Toji are officially meeting each other, you don't mind other people interrupting your studio session. He is a very busy man after all.

Your eyes flutter closed as the vodka begins to talk, your head tilting back against the couch. Unbeknownst to you, Toji's eyes trail up your body, stopping short on your stomach where a belly button ring glitters at him. "Just how I need you," he murmurs. "'Specially for the song ya had in mind. What'd you say? Somethin' sexy for the hot girls?"

You open your eyes to give him a playful wink, unaware of the hidden meaning behind his hot gaze. "And the gays," you giggle, swishing your ice around in your cup. "I want somethin' that made the same noise as 'Rev Your Engine', but bigger. I got the lyrics for it here."

You take a final sip of your drink and leave it on a coaster before strutting over to your duffle to retrieve your songwriting journal. You don't feel the producer's eyes on your shapely, heart-shaped ass as it jiggles and bounces in your Region jeans.

"Oh?" Toji asks, interested. "Lemme see. I didn't know you wrote too." You hand your strawberry-printed journal over to him, rolling your eyes when he snickers at the cover. He turns the pages to your new song and begins to read.

Sweating slightly, you stand there in suspense, watching his smile fade and his eyes widen an inch. You feel your body flush with embarrassment and anticipation. You know that your lyrics are more risqué and, quite frankly, slutty here: talking about bouncing on it at the club so everyone sees; being put on a leash; teasing him and his friend through a FaceTime call so they come over and cum in you.

Your lyrics aren't THAT blunt, but they are very "on the nose". And you know Toji knows that as he continues to read, silent. "C'mon, don't keep me in suspense, Toji!" you whine, wanting to snatch the journal away. "What'd you think?"

He finally turns to you, his face playfully deadpan. "I think you're a fuckin' freak," he replies, deadass. "Damn, girl, what do you do behind the scenes when you're not on stage or red carpets?" He passes the journal back to you, his eyes aglow with mirth.

"Wouldn't you like to know," you playfully murmur. You go to take your journal back, but Toji holds onto it, his calloused fingers nearly touching yours. The playful glint in his eyes fades, replaced with something hotter. More...personal. "Yeah, I would."

And it doesn't sound like a joke. His tone is too raspy and too serious for that. Your smile fades and your body feels like it has been put in a sauna, the temperature in the room spiking into the nineties now. The air between you throbs with tension and something that should not be transpiring the more Toji stares you down, almost as if he is trying to get you out of your panties.

Ding!

The sound of Toji’s phone pinging in his pocket cuts through the tension and stops whatever was about to happen from happening….which it wasn’t.

Toji, looking irritated, digs his phone out and puffs on his cigarette as he reads the message. “Oh, that's my plug," he announces, breaking out into a toothy grin. "Stick around. I'll be right back. Go in the booth when you're ready."

You nod and cradle your journal to your chest before he gets up and leaves you alone in the studio to recuperate and calm yourself.

Other than being a renowned and talented producer, Toji is also a total playboy. A whore, if you will. Always has a different girlfriend or fuck buddy every month. A model or stripper on his arm. Always photographed coming out of a sneaky link’s crib or a hotel. He gets around.

You have no time for any of that. Men like him will get you in trouble...though dating him would definitely up your popularity and boost your publicity. But you want to be famous for your talent, not being a famous man's girlfriend or side piece. No matter how hot Toji is...or how could he smells...or how wet his eyes make you feel.

When he returns, you've put down your cup and ventured into the recording booth. He smiles at you from behind the plexiglass, jiggling a baggie of weed around. "Ya want some?" he asks. He looks perturbed when you shake your head. "What, you don't smoke? In this industry?"

You scoffingly laugh, taking the headphones hanging off the mic. "I don't wanna fuck up my throat." Toji raises an eyebrow at this, catching onto the unintended sexual connotation. "You know what I mean!" you exclaim.

"Weed doesn't do that, sweetheart," he chuckles, sitting down in his chair with his legs spread once again. "Just say you're scared! It's fine!" You give him the middle finger, your French tips each printed with a gem. You always loved a good, cute set.

"Ya may need some of this green to sing lyrics like those," he whistles, giving you a wink. "I thought 'WAP' was nasty, but this takes the cake. Is your dad okay with his pretty little pop star singin' dirty shit like this?" He gives you a humored smirk through the booth.

You give him a tense stare, earning a raucous laugh in reply to the shots fired at your manager. It is public knowledge that your manager is very strict about who you involve yourself with...if he knows who you involve yourself with. He will never know about your meeting with Toji until the song is finished.

"My manager is fine with it," you reply. "He wants a hit, so I'm giving it to him. Now turn me up."

When you put the headphones over your head and hear the first threads of the beat, you already know what you want and how you want to sound. The best part of being an artist is recording. You love losing yourself in the music, closing your eyes and taking yourself away to a place where there is nothing but your voice, the beat, and the feeling you feel while singing.

But with this particular song, it doesn't go that way. At first, you feel sensational. Sexy. Liberated. The vodka runs through you and Toji's laser vision on you make you sing the salacious lyrics with conviction and all the heart you have in your body.

But after a while, when Toji asks you to do different cuts and you pause to get your mind right, you start to feel that self doubt creep in. That thought that you look and sound stupid saying all of this shit. At some point during recording, you stop, the words dying in your throat and the vodka's magic wearing off.

Toji wrinkles in brows in confusion, cutting the music in your headphones. "Hey, what's up, doll?" he questions. "You good? You stopped right at the chorus."

You slide the headphones off your head, biting your lip. "I-I don't know," you lamely admit. "I'm sorta second-guessing these lyrics. Maybe you're right: they're too dirty."

But Toji scoffs, waving a passive hand at your negative talk. "Nah, nah, nah," he protests. "Don't fuckin' do that. Don't get in that head. You're an artist, Y/N, and this is what artists do."

"Yeah, but..." You stare off to the side, still chewing on your bottom lip. Maybe this isn't a good idea. What if you lose your fanbase? What if people start to see you as a sexy gimmick and not a true artist?

Seeing you battle with yourself, Toji crooks a finger at you. "Here, come on out here and let me help ya out." He then gets up and walks over to the mini fridge sitting by his fish tank filled with aquatic wonders sitting adjacent to the other couch on the other side of the room.

You do as he says, leaving the booth to sit back on the couch next to it. As you get comfortable, he pours you another cup of the fruity concoction that you've come to love. "Sip on your drink a little," he encourages. "The vodka will help you." He gives you an encouraging smile, silently telling you to drink it.

You take a long sip, letting the sweetness explode over your tastebuds. "Mmm," you pleasantly hum. He nods in agreement, clinking his red cup with yours. "See? Nice and sweet, like you." He takes a sip of his, licking the red residue from his plump top lip. You ignore the way his tongue glitters with a piercing.

He then gives you some space and takes a seat in the couch across from you where he begins rolling himself a blunt. Maybe it's the vodka creeping into your brain crevices, but suddenly, Toji's veiny, calloused, and inked hands are very attractive. They seduce you with every twist, bend, roll, and pinch that his fingers make as he sprinkles in some shavings of marijuana and prepares his blunt.

He is an expert at this, focused and highly intriguing the more you watch him. Especially when his pink, pierced tongue slides along the brown paper to close the blunt, successfully rolling it. He then takes his lighter out and fights it, the flickering flame illuminating his son's name tattooed on his right collarbone: Megumi.

His plump lips wrap around the blunt and he takes a puff, smoke billowing in the air like tiny ghosts. You feel hot suddenly, like your entire body is throbbing, and your veins itch with some weird anticipation. Is it the vodka? It's making you feel so reckless.

"Can I have a hit?" you softly ask. The producer raises a brow, smoke billowing out of his nostrils. He blows an O in the air, bringing your attention to his mouth. He smirks and saunters over to you with the blunt, telling Alexa to play his 'Hotbox Playlist' as he does.

The sound of a Giveon song enters the air as he takes a seat beside you, nearly dipping the cushions because of how big he is. "You ever done it before?" You shake your head, making him laugh. "Don't worry, doll, I've got you. Start off slow when you inhale."

He passes you the blunt, instructing you to hold it between your forefinger and thumb. Trembling with nerves, you slowly wrap your lips around the blunt and inhale, the end of the blunt glowing red like a firefly in the summer night sky.

As soon as the weed hits your lungs, you're coughing, your throat burning. Toji stifles a laugh. "Easy, easy, baby," he chuckles, patting you on the back. "I said take it slow. Try again."

You take another sip of your cocktail and do it again, being extra careful to not inhale so hard. This time, it is easier and when the weed hits, it hits big time. You feel a warmth in your lungs and your chest, causing you to press a hand against your beating heart. "Ooh," you sigh. "Wow."

Toji grins at you, nodding. "Uh-uh," he agrees. "It'll kick in soon. Wanna get back in the booth?"

You lazily nod, feeling good and as light as a feather. So you take your cup into the booth and do another cut of the song. This time, your vocals are slow and sensual. Your eyes flutter closed as the vodka and weed take over, making your body feel heavy and light at the same time.

As you sing, you focus on Toji and he focuses dead on you, barely taking his eyes off of your face and body. They trail over you like you're a dessert plate...and for some reason, you like that. You enjoy him watching. It makes your body throb more and your breath come out short.

Not to mention the wetness in your panties. When did that happen?

After your session, Toji gives you a thumbs up and you sway out of the booth, holding onto the wall for support. Maybe you need to back up off of the cup for a while. The vodka is obviously hitting you, but you can't remember the last time you felt so disoriented and aroused. Could it be the weed too? You only took two puffs!

"We got a good take," Toji says, giving you a smile that illuminates his handsome face. "You're a natural at this, doll." His gaze is full of so much admiration that it makes you flush. You shyly giggle, unaware that your hand resting on the chair is close to his forearm. "I learned from the best."

You're not quite sure what that means, but Toji doesn't question it. Instead, he takes another puff of his blunt and taps it into the ashtray sitting next to him. His smile widens, a secretive playfulness in it. "Now let's celebrate."

And so you do. You drink more and you watch Toji puff on his blunt, becoming more aroused by the way he forms those smoke Os and wondering what his tongue piercing feels like. At some point, when the edges of your vision become blurrier and your panties grow tighter, Toji pulls another bag out of his pocket.

He sits next to you on the couch, the smell of his cologne and body wash smelling like ocean waves engulfing your senses. You watch intently as he takes a magazine and sprinkles white powder onto it. He also whips out a $100 bill and a Black Card from his wallet, no doubt flashing his wealth at you.

You stare at the white substance, your fuzzy mind processing things slowly but processing nonetheless. Cocaine. Toji notices your perturbed expression and gently nudges you. "Don't be so scared, baby," he chuckles. "We're havin' a little party, ain't we? I'm sure you've done it with the girls at the club before."

You only did it once at an industry party and vowed to never do it again after waking up in someone else's bed with no recollection of how you got there. But when you see Toji begin to cut straight lines with his Black Card and roll up the dollar bill, you start to wonder.

When he bends down to snort a line, he grunts slightly and sniffles, leaning his head back with his eyes closed and his throat exposed. He swallows roughly, his Adam's Apple bobbing. Then the expression on his face softens and he shudders, a look of euphoria on his face. Now you really start to wonder just how it feels.

He slowly turns to you, his smile lazy. "Wanna try?" he asks, passing you the bill. The alcohol and weed fumes make you more susceptible and reckless. More willing to try anything. Everything sounds like a good idea now.

So you lean down, stick the dollar bill up your right nostril, close the left with your fingertips, and tentatively snort a line of the coke. You can only explain it as a rush of fire going up your nose, leaving you to only do half a line. You gasp and grunt at the pain, pinching your sinuses. "Easy, mama," Toji coos, stroking your hair. "It'll pass. Once it hits, it'll feel real good."

And it does. A warm feeling spreads throughout your body like you are washed in light and you feel tingly. Your heart beats like a hummingbird's wings and everything seems sharper. You break into a smile, giggling. A weird light glints in Toji's eyes. "Yeah, it's workin'," he chuckles.

You lean back against the couch, the ceiling spinning slightly. Your body throbs with heat, your skin feeling as if lava has replaced your blood. "Mmm," you hum uncomfortably, wriggling slightly in your hoodie. Toji leans back against the couch too, his head just inches from yours. "Hot?" he chortles. "Yeah, it'll do that."

His fingers pinch the zipper of your hoodie, not unzipping it but not moving either. "Why don't you take it off if you're hot?" he suggests. So you do, letting the tiny piece of clothing fall from your arms and reveal the hard nipples under your thin bralette.

Now your limbs itch to move. You need to stand. So you suddenly stand, damn near scaring Toji, and your favorite Kehlani song begins to play. You hum in delight and start to sway to the music.

"Feelin' good, baby?" Toji asks. His voice sounds far away yet so close at the same time.

"Mmm-hmm," you hum. "I love this song." You begin to wind your hips to the slow beat, envisioning yourself as a wave. As your hips begin to gyrate in a circle to the beat, Toji watches from his spot on the couch, wanting you to get out of more of your clothes. You stick your hands out for his, giggling. "Dance with me, Toji," you request.

Toji's slick, slightly-red eyes stare at your dainty, manicured hands before he gives in and stands. Your heart lurches at the sheer size and height of him looming over you, though you don't feel intimated. If anything, it is all a major turn on. He takes his hand in yours and begins to sway with you to the music, the two of you in your own little world hazed with weed smoke and booze.

He then snakes one muscular arm around your waist and uses the other to turn you around so you're facing away from him. You breathe sharply through your nose as he presses himself against you...or are you pressing back into him? Either way, suddenly, your ass is brushing against the undeniable stiffness of his hard-on in his sweats.

"Dance for me," he whispers to you. He then takes a seat again and watches you as you begin to wind your hips to the music, flipping your hair and staring him down so seductively that his hard-on twitches in his sweats. He is but a fan in your audience as you glide along the stage.

You then place a hand by his shoulder to grasp the couch and hook a leg over his thigh. Then the other. And suddenly, with one yank from his hands snaking up your hips, you are straddling him. "This could be the single cover right here," he murmurs, eyes roaming up your body.

You shake your head, humming "mm-mm" is disagreement. His brows wrinkle. "Why not?" he questions, his hands still snaking along your hips and up your spine. "You'd make a million on a single if ya did, just sayin'. Maybe even with less clothes."

You remember when you were first starting out that a photographer in charge of snapping photos of you for your press tour tried to pressure you into posing topless. You refused. But now, sitting here with Toji, feeling his hot muscles under your fingertips and his even hotter cock throbbing underneath you, you think that maybe you were mistaken.

"Really?" you softly ask. The producer crookedly smiles at you, making himself look even more dangerously attractive. "Hell yeah. You have a beautiful body, Y/N. The talent is just a plus."

His hands trail up to grasp your breasts in your bralette, his palms pressing against your hard nipples through the thin fabric. "I can see these goin' viral on IG already," he dreamily sighs. "Goddamn, you're perfect."

In the back of your head, you are fully aware that your producer is groping you and this situation is very inappropriate...but you also don't care. Caring isn't even in the room with you right now. "You sure this would make me go viral?" you giggle, but you secretly mean it. Your back arches, pushing your chest farther into Toji's hold. "Wanna find out?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

And so, Toji gets his phone out, the bright light of his camera washing over you, while you slip off your top. As you do, your pussy gushes in your panties and your nipples grow harder, hardening to peaks once the barrier of your top is gone.

You sit there on top of him, your heart accelerating and your blood pressure reaching the ceiling. Toji gapes at you, his large hands gently brushing your skin. "Shit," he swears. "Look at you, baby. The hottest girl ever."

He snaps a photo of you with your tits out, the flash making your eyes flutter and tear. One of his hands reaches out to gently fondle one of your pretty titties, the light touch making you tingle. "Toji," you whimper.

"Yeah?" he asks. "What is it, baby doll? You like posin' for me?" He takes another photo, this one catching the way your bottom lip catches between your teeth. Finally sick of taking photos, Toji tosses his phone asides and latches his lips to your neck.

You gasp as his soft lips latch onto your tender skin and throat, his inked hands groping your breasts, rolling and fondling them in his big palms. "W-We shouldn't...oh," you moan. You instinctively tilt your head back to allow more of his touch. His kiss. His everything. "What if someone comes in?" you weakly ask.

Toji looks up at you, giving you a rather irritated expression at the mention of a stranger interrupting your moment. "Nobody's comin', baby. It's 1 AM, plus I've got the key." He continues to kiss your neck, each one like a trail of fire licking across your skin. "Just relax for me. You'll love this."

"Toji," you mutter. "We shouldn't..." But your reasoning dies as soon as his tongue juts out to lick your neck and earlobe, his piercing cool against your hot, clammy skin. You moan again, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and neck, feeling his muscles underneath his hoodie.

He pulls away and gazes longingly at your tits in his hands, squeezing them gently. "Look at these tits," he groans. "So perfect. You can be a star with this body, baby." One of his hands snake down to your ass, creeping underneath your jeans to grasp your cheeks. Your moan is louder this time, leading Toji to swallow it with his mouth.

His lips are soft and taste of fruit punch, his tongue wetly sliding against yours. His kiss is just as addictive and dangerous as he is. You share moans and gasps as you continue to heatedly make out in Toji's studio, your body drawn to his like a moth to a flame. With every second of his lips locked with yours, you grow more impatient and aroused. Every part of you screams 'I am horny'.

As if sensing this, Toji wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up, standing up with you in his arms. He then lays you down on the couch and hovers over you, his handsome face swallowing up your sight of the ceiling. His hands, quick and skillful, reach for the fly on your jeans. You don't stop him when he starts to unzip them.

"I can make you a star, y'know," he continues as he peels off your pants. "You don't have to worry. With me, I can make you big." Your pants slide down your legs, revealing the pink G-string you're wearing underneath.

Toji smirks at this, pinching the thin waistband of the thong between his fingers and pulling it back to snap against your skin. Once your pants are off of you, he goes back to sucking on your nipples while one hand sneaks down to rub your pussy through your thong. You gasp at his touch, his thick fingers rubbing circles around the wet spot of your panties. "Oh, Toji!" you whine. "F-Fuck!"

"So pretty," he murmurs against your tits. He nuzzles them. Inhales your scent. Presses kisses to your chest as his hand continues to move in semi-circles against your soddened panties, feeling how puffy your pussy lips are sticking to your thong.

"So wet for me," he sighs. "Guess that little pill I slipped in your drink kicked in."

Suddenly, the world tilts on is axis and everything feels sharper now. You gaze down at him, confused and alarmed. "W-What?" you gasp.

He slipped you something? When? How? Why? Is that why you're feeling so weird?

Toji tilts his chin up to heavily kiss you, his stubble rubbing against your cheek. "Relax, doll. It's just an aphrodisiac." He smirks against your open mouth as you moan in his face, his fingers slipping between your slit. "Somethin' to get this body ready...somethin' make this little pussy wet for me."

He tears himself away from your tits, opting instead to be between your thighs. With his hands around your ankles, he yanks you down the couch so your legs are hanging off of the couch and he is kneeling between them. You watch helplessly as he drags your wet thong down your creamy, soft legs and places the tiny, soaked panties in his back pocket.

His eyes, laced with weed and lust, stare into yours, illuminating by the red glow of the lava lamp. "Just do what I want and I'll make you the brightest star in this fuckin' world," he softly growls. "Now open up for me."

You have no choice in the matter anymore once he is diving between your thighs and pressing them apart with his strong hands to get better access to you. Toji Munch Fushiguro should be his new government name because the man knows a thing or two about eating pussy.

"Toji!" you gasp, your hands grasping his black hair. "Oh, fuck! Oh, my God, yes!" You can't keep quiet as his tongue slithers inside of your wet hole, his pillowy-soft lips sucking on your puffy pussy lips drenched in your juices and his spit.

Speaking of spit, he likes to do that. He pauses a few times from tongue fucking you to spit copious amounts of saliva onto your pussy, letting it drip down your asscrack, and slurping it back up, making your throbbing clit hum and sing with pleasure.

You have never been eaten out in such a possessive, dominating, and eager way. His mouth is like Heaven and Hell mixed into one, each stroke of his tongue sending you further down the rabbit hole like little Alice. As he eats, you grip your titties, tweaking your nipples and fondling them in an effort to give yourself more stimulation.

"Oh, Toji, please," you whimper. "Please make me cum."

Your cute moans seem to awaken something in Toji because suddenly, he is roughly yanking you up and scooping you up into his arms. You gasp, wrapping your arms and legs around him. "You wanna cum, slutty girl?" he murmurs against your mouth. "Fine...I'll make ya cum."

You can only squeal when he kneels down with you hooks his hands under your ass to press your pussy against his face. You stay as still as a statue when he walks over to the nearest wall and presses you against it, still slurping your pussy like a starving man.

"Oh, fuck!" you moan, tossing your head back against the wall. You grasp his scalp, pushing him farther into your gushing cunt, your feet dangling off of his shoulders. "Fuck, Daddy, yes!" The name just slips out of you the tighter Toji holds you, the power in his fingertips making you gush and pour more honey into his mouth.

"I'm gonna cum!" you whine, your voice bouncing off of the studio walls. "Please, Daddy, make me cum!" Toji hums agreeably into your pussy, his licking growing more vigorous and eager, wanting you to cum all over his face.

And with a loud moan that could break glass, you finally come undone in his arms, your pussy quivering and shaking around his mouth. It could just be the cocaine paired with Toji's mouth, but it is an intense orgasm that leaves you shaking and your head fuzzy, not a single coherent thought in it.

When you finally come down from your orgasmic high, Toji carefully places you down on the couch and unwinds your jelly-like legs from his shoulders. He stares at you, his chin slick with your cum and his lips dripping in it. "That felt good, right?" he coos. He licks away your honey, keeping his eyes locked on you.

Slowly, you nod, still at a loss for words. His big hand shoots out to grip your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. "Say thank you," he growls. You roughly swallow, doing your best to please him despite your mental being so fucked up. "T-Thank you, Daddy," you stammer.

Toji smirks, pressing a chaste, wet kiss to your lips. "Mmm, good girl. You listen so well."

Yes, you are a good girl. And as a good girl, you know you need more. So when you see Toji's hard cock outlined by his sweats twitching and throbbing, you crawl to him. He watches in awe as you press your cheek against his dick print and begin nuzzling it, your eyes fluttered closed.

"Watchu want?" he chuckles. "You want this here?" He takes a handful of his cock, gnawing on his bottom lip. You slowly nod, oozing wetness from your pussy that throbs insistently despite your recent orgasm. "Then come and get it," he demands. "Take my cock out if you want it, doll."

He watches you slink forward, your back arched and pretty ass tooted in the air for him. You eagerly untie his sweats, delighted to find that he isn't wearing underwear, and pull them down to reveal the long, hard, thick, throbbing, veiny cock dangling between his muscular thighs sinewy with hair.

You ogle at his hard dick and his lickable happy trail as he strips his hoodie off, revealing his tattoos and broad chest littered in black chest hair. You salivate at all of him, but especially his cock. The desire to feel it stretch out your mouth and throat fills you with a buzz.

"Nice, right?" he chuckles, a cocky smile on his face. "Needs a little bump though." He takes the baggie of coke off the coffee table and you watch, entranced, as he sprinkles some white powder onto his shaft.

Now you cannot hide your hunger anymore. Greedily, you wrap a hand around the base and take a lick of his cock, licking up the coke in the process. Toji moans at the sight, tilting his head back as you slurp up his pre-cum bubbling from his tip, moaning as you do. The coke sinks into your tastebuds and gums, giving you a zing that hits in a way the first line didn't. You feel alive, like you can walk on the moon.

It gives you the urge to swallow every inch of Toji's cock, taking him deep into your wet mouth and sloppily sucking on him. White residue from the coke sticks to your nose and the corners of your spit-covered lips as you greedily suck, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down, up and down, your throat sliding around him.

"Ngh," he grunts, squeezing his eyes tight. "Fuck, that's fuckin' hot!" His face is flushed red, his Adam's Apple bobbing roughly as your throat flexes around him. "Go 'head, baby girl. Take me in that throat and suck me good."

Feening from the encouragement and praise, you wrap two hands around the base and suck what you can, sliding your sloppy, wet, tight throat around Toji's cock. As you do, a blinding light washes over you as Toji watches you from his phone, the camera shining on you.

"Thaaaat's my little star," he encourages, staring at you through the lense of his phone. "My good lil' cock slut. You take dick as good as you sing, baby girl."

His hand wraps around the back of your head and he pushes you deeper onto it, causing you to sightly gag as his bulbous tip brushes against the back of your throat. He begins to fuck your face, ruining your makeup and your throat, grunting as he does so. Your head feels fuzzy and dizzy, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he uses your mouth like a toy.

A buzz, indeed. Especially the way the man attached to the delicious dick in your mouth talks to you. "Such a pretty little bitch I've got," Toji murmurs. "You love this shit, don't you, slut?" His words are degrading and nasty, but his voice is sugary sweet, sending shivers down your spine.

You try to speak around his cock, but he stops you by pushing deeper, filling your nostrils with the scent of him. He is pressed flush against you, his heavy balls pressed against your chin. "Don't talk with your mouth full," he grunts. "Just keep suckin'. I want the perfect angle of you."

He turns his phone horizontal so he records in landscape. Your eyes, glassy with tears, stare up into his phone. “And don't worry; nobody's seein' this but me." He gives you a smirk riddled in sin and red-hot lust as he continues to fuck your throat off its hinges.

You have no choice but to sit on your knees and take it, breathing through your nose and letting spit drip from your chin down your tits, much to Toji's satisfaction. You place your hands on his hips, indulging in his firm ass and thighs as he thrusts into your mouth, groaning at the feeling of your tight-as-a-vice throat.

He then pulls away, dragging his cock out of your mouth and letting the saliva string stretch from his tip to your lips. “Open your mouth.” His tone is firm, serious. You do as you're told, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out.

He leans towards you, tilting your face up by your hair, and spits a wad of saliva into your mouth. “Now put it back on my cock." You do just that, going back to sucking him dry as his spit drips from your mouth onto his shaft, drizzling down his balls. “Yeah, slurp it up, baby,” he groans. “Such a good fuckin’ girl!"

He watches you with an expression close to anguish as if he can't take the sight of you gagging on his dick. As he begins to throb and swell in your mouth, a guttural sound escapes him as if he is resisting. “No,” he growls. “If I’m gonna cum, I need to fuck you first.”

So he pulls out of your mouth and taps the wet tip against your lips, putting his phone away. “Do you want me to fill that pussy up, doll?” You feel your body tingle with excitement and need, the desire to be fucked, filled, and ruined taking over. “Yes,” you whisper.

A light flickers in Toji's eyes, exciting you further. “Then grab onto me.” You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, allowing him to scoop you up so your legs dangle from his waist. He sticks his tongue in your mouth, sloppily kissing you as he walks you over to the control panel.

He plops you down on the edge of the panel, accidentally switching the 'ON' button for recording. Neither of you notice, even as Toji's voice echos throughout the studio as he speaks. “Up ya go,” he chuckles. “You’re so wet for me, baby.”

He slides his tip down to your pussy, gently prying your lips apart and swirling it around in your juices. You softly gasp as he nudges your clit, sending sparks of electricity throughout your body. “Toji,” you whimper. “Fuck me please.”

Between the way your eyes grow slick with unshed tears, your cute little French tips dig into his shoulders, and your simpering begging, Toji is helpless to resist you. He sticks his mouth to yours as he slides himself home inside of you, causing you both to gasp at the new sensations.

Sex off cocaine, vodka, and aphrodisiac pills is something you have never experienced before. There is nothing quite like it.

Toji must feel it too because his entire body is tense as if he can't take the pleasure. "Fuck, you're tight, baby," he grunts. "And so wet." He begins to thrust, rough and unrelenting, each word punctuated by a stroke that makes you gasp and your thighs shake.

"Such. A good. Fuckin'. Girl for me," Toji groans, driving his cock into you again and again. Your mouth falls agape on each moan and gasp that rattles your bones and drags unnatural sounds from you, each stroke of his cock taking you to a world far beyond this one (plus the cocaine helps).

Toji grabs your chin, mushing your cheeks together. "Say it!" he demands. "Say you're my good fuckin' girl!" He thrusts a little harder, making your pussy throb and tighten around his merciful cock.

"I'm your good fuckin' girl!" you sob, gripping him for dear life. Your feet dangle from his waist, your body wrapped around him like a koala bear as he fucks you dumb. "Yeah?" he chuckles. "You love this? You love bein' my little slut?"

Your desperate moans answer for him. Your head lulls against his shoulder, each thrust exhausting you. It is too much. Too intense. The sheer ecstasy is almost agonizing. "Such a tease," he growls. "Always teasin' me with this fuckin' body. I've been wanting you for so long, baby."

He leans you back against the buttons on the control panel, giving him a good view of your body. He fondles one of your tits as he fucks you, his eyes lecherously sliding across every curve of your frame. "Toji," you whine. "Harder."

The producer chuckles, his cock throbbing inside of you. "Harder?" he parrots. "You've got it, babydoll. You know why?" He begins to drive his hips harder against you, the sound of his thighs slapping against yours permeating the air. "'Cause you're mine now," he moans. "You're my little pop girl and I'm gonna give you everything you want and more."

And with every thrust, he does. He sends you on a rocket trip than you don't want to get off. You see stars as he fucks you, knocking all common sense and reason out of your pretty brain. You begin to deliriously smile as you moan, your pussy squelching lewdly around his cock. You love being his little slut. His little dancer. His whatever he wants you to be.

"C'mere," he demands in his deep, sultry voice. You sit up for him, eagerly staring at him as he you wait for his next request. "Tilt your head up." You do so and he leans forward, open his pretty lips for you...and drooling a string of spit into your mouth. "Give it back to me," he sultrily orders.

Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, you grip him to you as you sloppily kiss him, serving his saliva back to him as you kiss. You begin to suck on his big, fat tongue, moaning wantonly as his cock massages your pussy walls.

Your moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, leaving nothing to the imagination, especially when you start to get close. Your body crackles with fire, your core tightening like a balloon filled with too much air. "T-Toji," you whimper, your toes curling against his ass. "Daddy, I'm gonna cum again!"

Toji frantically nods, slowing his pistoning thrusts down to slow, deep strokes. "I can feel it," he hisses. But then he stops and slowly pulls away, moaning at the sight of his cock slick and shiny with your juices. You gape at him, confused and desperate.

Why the fuck did he stop?

But the heated look in his eyes stops you short. "Turn around and bend over." He doesn't look like he's up for any protests. Though your legs feel like jelly, you slide off of the control panel and whisk yourself around, bracing yourself against the panel for more.

And Toji gives you so much more when he taps his cock against your pussy and glides in again, causing you to gasp. He is so much deeper in this position, his balls gliding against your clit as he begins to give you shallow thrusts. Pressing his lips to your ear, he nibbles on the lobe, sending you careening deeper into bliss.

"I'm gonna fuck this pussy until you cum all over me," he whispers. "And then you're gonna lick all of it off me when I'm done."

As you shudder, he grips your hips and begins to piston into you, pulling in and out, in and out, stroking your walls and stimulating your clit with his balls slapping against them every second. Your eyes roll back and your mouth lewdly hangs open as Toji fucks your pussy like it is his, drawing his throbbing cock into you with every intention of making you cum.

With every thrust, your ass bounces into his pelvis, creating a symphony of slapping sounds that mix with the music playing from Toji's playlist. You feel one of his big hands paw at one of your cheeks, roughly groping your behind. "Look at this fuckin' ass," he growls. "You drive me crazy, you little slut."

SPANK!

SPANK!

You moan at each harsh spank, his calloused hand causing your asscheeks to catch fire. "Nice little tattoo of my name would look good here," he chuckles, sliding his finger along the top of your ass. "Then you'd really be mine. Nobody could touch you but me."

His hand wraps around your throat, nice and tight, slightly restricting your airways and making you feel lightheaded. It makes his thrusts feel that more intense; that more good. Your mind is totally blank. You are thinking of nothing but the pleasure and the way your pussy feels being filled up and pounded senseless.

You are not a singer. You are not a dancer. You are not a star. All you are right now is Toji Fushiguro's slut and you are totally okay with that.

You can feel yourself tensing up as your core tightens, causing your moans to grow louder and your grip on the panel to get tighter. Toji's thrusts get faster and rougher, nearly causing you to fall into the panel and accidentally press buttons that you shouldn't.

His tongue licks at your earlobe, his piercing cool against your hot skin. "Just a little more, sugar," he groans into your ear. "Take a little more. C'mon, you've been doin' so well takin' this dick so far."

You whine in response, your pussy squelching and quivering with need. "Daddy, please!" you beg. "I'm gonna cum! I-I can't...can't..." Your body begins to give out on you, your limbs turning to mush. Toji wraps an arm around your waist and grips you to him, his other hand still tight around your neck as he draws himself into your cunt.

"You'd better cum for me now then," he demands, his voice rough and raspy. It makes you peak that much higher. "Cum for me, baby doll. Cum all around that fuckin' cock. Give it all to me."

And you do. With his voice in your ear and his tight, possessive grip on you, your moans and whines grow louder as that invisible string gets tighter and tighter...until it snaps. "Oh, sh-sh-shit!" you shudderingly whine, cumming all around Toji's cock.

This orgasm is just as intense as the first one. It leaves you shaking in Toji's arms, especially when he keeps thrusting into you so roughly. Your pussy has no choice but to continue cumming, all of your cream leaking out down Toji's shaft and your inner thighs. You start to feel the aftershocks like you're standing in the middle of an earthquake, your body shuddering and jerking through your orgasm.

This triggers Toji because he roughly bends you over so your ass is sticking out and proceeds to pummel your pussy as if you are a toy. A fleshlight. Nothing but something for his pleasure.

You grip the control panel for dear life, gasping as he draws himself into you, pounding into your hole over and over again. Your eyes weakly tilt up to look in the booth glass, watching Toji's jaw tighten and his muscles tense, each vein in his neck popping with restraint and concentration.

Finally, he stills, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. You feel his cock swell inside of you, warning you of his orgasm. Quickly, he pulls out and begins to furiously stroke his cock, his grunts and wet sounds the only things loud enough for you to hear through the blood pounding in your head.

"Fuck!" he bellows as a stream of cum escapes his cock and slaps across your ass. Strings of swears and moans drip from his lips as he sprays your ass with spunk, the warm, wet droplets making you gasp as they hit your skin.

With a sigh, Toji slightly stumbles away, whistling to himself. "Hold up," he tells you. You do so, making no effort to move. Your limbs are too tired and you feel the high from the coke and the pill he slipped you start to wear off. You just feel tired and used. You need a hot shower.

Click!

You blink at the flash of light from Toji's phone as he snaps a pic of you bent over naked with his cum coating your ass. "Such a dirty little girl," he sighs, giving your ass a feeble grab. "You'll look so good on my lock screen."

You say nothing in response. You know that tomorrow you won't even remember this night.

Toji sighs, taking a seat in his chair and scooping you up to sit in his lap. Your sweaty bodies press against one another, sharing in your lost highs and exhaustion. He suddenly laughs, his chest rumbling under your ear. "Oh, look, doll," he chuckles.

You weakly turn your head to where he points, blinking tiredly at the red light on the recording button. 'ON', it says to you. Toji smirks down at you, his hand possessively gripping your ass as he snuggles you in his lap. "We got a hit on our hands."

THE END.

[inzayneforaj]

𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘵, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘵 | LADS + when they send you a picture of themself

warnings: humor, suggestive (sylus), all creds to owners for the pics, self indulgent a bit lol

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── xavier

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── zayne

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── rafayel

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── sylus

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── caleb

[inzayneforaj]

notes, I think I just opened opportunities for yall's horny ass.

genre. smut, MINORS DNI!

★ Roommate!Sukuna the end of the beginning.

The apartment was dark when Sukuna walked in.

Only the soft flicker of the TV lit the living room, casting sleepy colors across your face as you dozed on the couch. Legs tucked under a blanket, big old t-shirt hanging off your shoulder — his shirt, actually. You didn’t even notice it still had the faint bleach stains near the hem.

But he did.

He was halfway through kicking off his boots when he saw it — the way the oversized collar drooped, how your bra strap had slipped down, barely hanging on your shoulder. The neckline was so wide it might as well not exist. Just skin. Bare skin. Your chest rising and falling under soft cotton that definitely wasn’t doing shit to hide anything.

He scoffed under his breath, jaw tightening.

You had no idea what you were doing to him. Or maybe you did. That was worse.

You stirred, blinking blearily as you sat up. “Oh. You’re home?”

He dropped his keys. “Obviously.”

You yawned, stretching. One arm above your head. The shirt lifted. That tiny glimpse of skin above your shorts made something inside him go dead quiet.

“You gonna keep dressing like that,” he muttered, stepping closer, “or are you just fuckin’ with me now?”

You blinked, confused, still half-asleep. “Huh?”

Sukuna tilted his head, voice sharp. “You think I haven’t noticed?”

You sat up straighter, cheeks warm. “I wasn’t—”

He laughed once, bitter. “Yeah, you were.”

He was standing in front of you now, towering, eyes dark. His voice dropped lower.

“You’ve been doing this for months.”

You swallowed. The air was too hot. “...And?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just reached out, slowly, fingers slipping under your jaw, tilting your face up to him.

Then he kissed you.

Hard.

Messy.

All that tension — the near-touches, the stolen glances, the biting insults that never really meant go away — it poured out through his mouth on yours. Tongues sliding, breath catching, hands gripping. His teeth tugged your bottom lip just to hear you whimper.

He pulled back, eyes heavy.

“Get on your knees.”

Your breath hitched.

You slid off the couch and dropped to the floor in front of him, hands already tugging his sweatpants down. He was already hard — thick, heavy, leaking — and shit, you couldn’t help but lick your lips.

Sukuna spread his legs slightly, slouching into the cushions like he owned the whole damn world. “Go on,” he rasped. “Been teasing for months. Show me what that mouth’s good for.”

You wrapped your lips around him, slowly, tongue circling the tip as your hand stroked what you couldn’t take right away. Sukuna hissed above you, hand sliding into your hair, not pushing — just holding. Anchoring.

“Fuck,” he muttered when you hollowed your cheeks. “Knew you’d be good at this.”

You moaned around him, and he twitched in your mouth.

His hips flexed, shallow thrusts into your throat as you found a rhythm, spit dripping down your chin, eyes glassy from the stretch. He watched you like a starving animal, thumb brushing over your cheekbone every time you looked up.

“You like this?” he growled. “Like being on your knees for me?”

You nodded, mouth still full of him.

When he came, it was with a sharp groan, hips stuttering, his grip tightening in your hair. You swallowed every drop, breathing hard when he finally let go.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, still kneeling. He looked down at you — flushed, chest rising, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Then he leaned forward, brushing your hair back gently, and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

A single, quiet peck.

Then he stood, pulling his sweats back up.

“You know what this is now,” he said, voice low but final.

And just before he walked to his room, he smirked over his shoulder.

“Try not to fall in love, princess.”

Door shut.

Your heart didn’t.

Welcome to roommates with benefits.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie. @after-laughter-come-tears. @minasuniverse, @chewiebee @ilovebeansya @drowsysausagedog

[inzayneforaj]

— d is for drunk confession

you swayed on your feet a little, clutching your water bottle like it was sacred, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling from the wine someone had poured way too generously. zayne stood just a foot away, watching you like he always did. quiet, careful, intense.

“zaaayyyne,” you whispered, drawing out the vowels, as if his name was a secret.

he blinked once, then again. “…yes?”

you looked around like someone might overhear. but it was just the two of you now, tucked into the corner of the rooftop party. music thumped faintly in the distance. the night breeze was cool.

“don’t tell zayne,” you whispered, swaying closer, your finger pressed to your lips like it was classified. “but…”

he tilted his head slightly. “…but?”

you leaned in, eyes wide. “but i like him.”

zayne’s heart stopped.

you nodded solemnly, like it was the confession of a lifetime. “like… a lot.”

he swallowed, breath caught in his throat. his hands twitched at his sides, wanting to reach for you, desperately, but not daring to.

“and he’s so…” you hiccupped, face scrunching up. “so tall. and quiet. and he listens, you know? he really listens. even when i talk about stupid stuff.”

“none of what you say is stupid,” he said before he could stop himself. his voice was rough.

you blinked up at him, lashes fluttering. “you think so?”

he nodded slowly, like any sudden move might shatter the moment. but then your smile faded, and your brows furrowed just a little.

“…but what if he doesn’t like me back?”

zayne exhaled like he’d been stabbed.

you looked down at your feet, swaying a little again. “what if i ruin everything?”

he couldn’t hold back anymore. one step, that’s all it took. and then his arms were around you in steady, warm, protective hug. you blinked up at him, stunned, cheeks still pink and lips parted.

“i’ve liked you for so long,” he said quietly, like it hurt to say. “i just never thought i could… have you.”

you stared. “you… you do?”

his fingers brushed your cheek. “you have no idea.”

you melted into him with a little breathless laugh, pressing your cheek to his chest.

“don’t tell zayne,” you whispered sleepily, “but i think i wanna kiss him too.”

he smiled for the first time that night. “i think zayne would really like that.”

and when you woke up in his bed the next morning—fully clothed, headache pounding, and a glass of water beside you—you found a little note tucked under your hand:

you confessed last night. i won’t make you say it again sober. but if you do, i’ll kiss you properly. —z

[inzayneforaj]

notes, I can smell the requests from a mile away.

genre. smut, MINORS DNI!

★ Roommate!Sukuna after crossing a line as roommates.

You weren’t stupid.

You knew what happened that night on the couch wasn’t just about heat. It was months of tension breaking open — long stares, petty fights, tight silences that dragged on too long, and finally, him, on your lips and in your throat like he’d been dying for it.

You thought maybe it would stop there.

A one-time mistake. A line crossed, then never spoken of again.

But then came the next morning.

You were in the kitchen, groggy and still wearing his damn t-shirt. Sukuna walked in, shirtless, scratched red from your nails, hair a mess. He looked at you for exactly one second before pulling you in by the waist and kissing your neck without a word.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he whispered, “C’mere,” and dropped to his knees again — right there by the fridge.

Didn’t even ask.

Didn’t need to.

That became routine.

A few nights later, it was the kitchen again. You were making ramen, talking on the phone, completely unaware of him watching you from the doorway with that expression — dark, hungry, smug.

The second you hung up, he was on you. Bent over the counter, shirt yanked up, mouth on you like he hadn’t tasted anything all day. You came shaking against the cabinets, one hand gripping the edge of the sink, the other shoved into his hair.

He didn’t say anything after. Just smirked, tapped your thigh, and told you to finish your noodles.

No sex. Not yet.

It wasn’t some agreement you made. It just hadn’t happened. He hadn’t pushed. You hadn’t offered.

But everything else? Fair game.

Showers together? Happening.

You’d be rinsing shampoo out of your hair, and he’d slip in behind you, hands on your waist like he owned the space. He’d press lazy kisses to your shoulder while lathering your soap onto your skin — never crossing the line, but toeing it so hard you sometimes had to leave the shower early just to breathe.

You tried to play it cool.

Tried to act like you weren’t thinking about his mouth constantly, like your legs didn’t shake when he brushed past you in the hallway, like your thighs didn’t clench whenever he muttered something low and smug in your ear.

But the switch flipped when you brought up boundaries.

It was casual. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling. He sat beside you, hand on your thigh — not doing anything, just there. Like it belonged.

You cleared your throat. “We should talk.”

He didn’t look up from his phone. “Talk about what?”

“This whole… situation. Whatever we’re doing. We should set some boundaries.”

That got his attention.

Sukuna glanced over at you, lazy smirk forming. “Boundaries?”

“Yeah. Like… no jealousy. No acting like this is something it’s not.”

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

“Right,” he said, nodding like he was agreeing with you. “Not a relationship.”

You felt a knot twist in your chest.

But you didn’t argue. You just said “right” and got up to make tea.

That should’ve been the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

Because two days later, Sukuna showed up outside your job.

Not just waiting outside — leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed, eyes scanning the sidewalk like a bodyguard with a grudge.

You blinked. “Did I ask you to pick me up?”

He looked you up and down, unimpressed. “Didn’t feel like waiting for you to Uber through creeps.”

The next day, it was his hand on your lower back when you were out shopping. The next, it was his arm slung around your waist in public. Then it was him glaring down a barista who complimented your smile.

You finally snapped.

“You’re being weird.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

You turned to face him in the hallway, arms crossed. “You said it’s not a relationship.”

“It’s not.”

“So why are you acting like my boyfriend?”

He shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Just making sure you don’t forget who you’re fucking.”

Your jaw dropped.

He stepped closer, mouth curling into a smirk, voice dropping low.

“Or do you want someone else to find out how good your legs shake when I’ve got my tongue in you?”

You shoved his shoulder. “Sukuna.”

He just grinned, eyes dancing. “What? I’m being respectful. Not like I’ve fucked you. Yet.”

You hated how your breath hitched at the word.

He stepped even closer, brushing hair out of your face with one ringed hand.

“When I do, though…” he whispered, voice like sin, “boundaries won’t save you.”

Then he kissed your cheek — slow, deliberate — and walked away.

Just like that.

Leaving you hot, bothered, and one hundred percent aware that your situationship had stopped being casual the second he got your taste in his mouth.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie. @after-laughter-come-tears. @minasuniverse, @chewiebee @ilovebeansya @drowsysausagedog, @shroomysstuff, @angel4-miba @paperalphys.

[inzayneforaj]

HEY, EMO BOY! - CHOSO KAMO

summary. Choso doesn’t do distractions. But then you walk into his show and ruin his focus with one look. And now, he’s handing you his guitar, his heart, maybe more. And baby, you haven’t even seen what those fingers can really do.

word count. 10.5k (i got a lil carried away)

content. mdni fem! reader, bassist! choso, mutual pining, heavy tension, choso is a tease (and so down bad), really lovey-dovey shi like bro's not even emo, pet names, smut, fingering, oral (fem rec.), p in v, mating press, praise, creampie, slight overstim, aftercare

author's note. saw this fanart and started ovulating on demand.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Shoko says, tugging on your sleeve with the persistence of a woman who knows you have no other plans. "You like music. You like hot guys. This is both."

You squint at her, unconvinced. "You said that last time and we ended up at some dude’s garage while he rapped about capitalism."

She grins. “And it was unforgettable.”

“You spilled beer on my shoes.”

“And I’ve had character development after that.”

You roll your eyes, but she already knows she's won. She’s practically vibrating with excitement as she drags you through the dimly lit alley that opens into an even dimmer basement venue—graffiti-tagged walls, sticker-covered speakers, the scent of cigarettes and something vaguely fruity in the air.

The lights are low, the crowd humming with quiet energy, and the stage is set but empty—just a drum kit, a couple mics, and a bass propped against its amp like it’s waiting for someone.

“You’re gonna love them,” Shoko whispers, already pulling out her phone to snap photos. “The music’s sick. And the bassist—”

You blink at her.

“The bassist,” she repeats, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “Tall, broody, pretty eyes. Never says a damn word on stage but plays like he’s in pain.”

You scoff. “You’ve got issues.”

“Just wait,” she says. “You’re not ready.”

And you’re not.

Because when the band finally comes on stage and the lights cut through the haze, your eyes lock onto him—tall, dark, dressed in all black with his bass slung low, rings glinting on his fingers, and a half-lidded stare like he’s seeing ghosts.

And when he starts playing? Oh. Yeah. You’re done for.

The lights dim, bathing the room in moody blue and red hues. The crowd hushes—just for a moment—then the first chord explodes through the speakers. It’s loud, raw, electric, vibrating through the floor and straight up your spine.

You don’t flinch.

You should. The guy next to you does. Shoko’s already swaying to the beat like she’s been here a thousand times. But you? You’re frozen—entranced.

Not by the music. Not really.

By him.

The bassist, standing off to the left like he doesn’t crave the spotlight, like he’s content letting the others take the lead. But he’s the one you see. The one who owns the stage.

He’s tall and he’s wearing a loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top few buttons left undone to tease just enough of his pale, sculpted chest. The stage lights catch on the gleam of sweat on his collarbones, highlighting every sharp angle and subtle flex of muscle as he moves with the rhythm. His fingers dance over the bass strings with practiced ease, and that’s when you notice it—apart from the black nail polish, each one is tattooed with a letter: C-H-O-S-O.

His long, dark hair is loose, falling in waves to the base of his neck, the ends brushing over his collar. The soft purple eyeshadow dusting his eyelids makes his deep-set eyes pop, casting shadows that only add to his sharp features. A bold tattoo cuts across the bridge of his nose, stark against his pale skin.

His brows are furrowed, mouth set in a hard, concentrated line, and his fingers—god, his fingers—they dance over the strings like he was born with a bass in his hands. There’s something hypnotic about the way he plays. Focused. Intense. Like the world doesn’t exist outside of this moment.

You don’t even realize you’re staring until Shoko elbows you lightly. “Told you,” she shouts in your ear, grinning like the smug little shit she is.

You nod, but your eyes don’t move. You can’t look away. It’s like you’ve been put under some kind of spell.

And then—then—mid-song, his head lifts just slightly. His gaze cuts through the haze and crowd and colored lights, and lands right on you. You swear it. A spark of something sharp and electric zips down your spine.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Just holds your gaze for a breath longer than necessary before he looks away, like he felt it too.

Like he knew.

Like the music wasn’t the only thing pulling strings tonight.

The band keeps playing, song after song bleeding into one another, but you barely register any of it.

Your eyes keep straying to him. Choso—at least, you think that’s his name, judging by the ink on his fingers. Fitting, really. It lingers in your head like a low bassline: heavy, addictive.

At one point, you swear he looks at you again.

Really looks.

And even if it’s just for a second, it feels like a live wire pressed to your skin.

You down the rest of your drink to keep yourself from combusting.

Shoko leans in and shouts something in your ear over the music—probably the band’s name or some fun fact about the drummer—but your eyes are locked on him. You nod absently, your smile weak, dazed, because how the hell are you supposed to listen to anyone else when he’s up there, commanding your every thought?

By the time the band wraps up their final song, you’re already craning your neck for a better look. You don't even realize you're moving toward the stage until Shoko’s hand snags your wrist.

"Where are you going?"

You blink, startled like you’ve been caught red-handed. "I—I don’t know."

But you do.

You’re hoping to get closer. Maybe he’ll notice you again.

Maybe he already has.

-

You find yourself outside the venue before you even realize what you’re doing—leaning against the brick wall, half hidden in the shadows, heart hammering like you’d just finished a set yourself. The crisp night air cools your skin, but it does nothing to quiet the heat bubbling beneath it.

You tell yourself you just needed some air.

That’s all.

Totally not waiting around like some groupie for a guy you don’t even know.

The door creaks open behind you, and a familiar pair of boots crunches against gravel. Shoko squints at you suspiciously.

“You good?” she asks, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick. “You just disappeared.”

You shrug, too casual. “Yeah. Just needed a breather.”

She takes a drag, exhales slow. “Right. A breather. After not dancing and not drinking that much.”

You shoot her a side-eye. “Do you always interrogate people for wanting fresh air?”

“Only when they’ve been acting weird since the bassist took the stage.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not slick, y’know.”

You scoff, glancing away before she can catch the way your face warms. "I don't know what you’re talking about."

Shoko chuckles like she definitely knows what she’s talking about, but bless her, she doesn’t press it. Just smirks, gives your arm a little nudge. “He was hot, though.”

You give a noncommittal hum, eyes scanning every shadowed corner, every rusted doorway, hoping—just hoping—you might catch another glimpse of him. Choso. You’re almost certain that’s his name. It suits him. Dark. Sharp.

You won’t tell her, of course, but—yes.

Yes, this was fun.

Yes, she was absolutely right to drag you here.

Yes, the bassist was fine as hell and maybe, just maybe, you’ve developed the tiniest, stupidest little crush on a guy whose voice you haven’t even heard yet.

But god, you want to.

Even just once.

A glimpse. A moment. Anything.

And just when you think it’s time to give up, to stop being delusional and head home—

The door swings open again.

And this time, it’s him.

Panic.

Real, irrational, full-body panic.

Because there he is. Standing a few feet away. In the flesh. The bassist.

Loose black button-up clinging to his frame, sleeves still rolled up from the show, revealing forearms that shouldn’t be legal. The glint of his rings catching the light. A faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his collarbone—god, you can see it because the top few buttons are still undone, teasing just enough pale skin to keep you up at night.

And his eyes—

His eyes are rimmed with that soft, dusty lavender, and they’re looking straight at you.

You glance side to side like you might Houdini yourself out of this moment. Maybe if you ran fast enough, you could avoid embarrassing yourself beyond repair. Maybe if you—

Shoko bumps your shoulder, casual and smug. “Now’s your chance.”

“Chance for what?” you hiss, heart thudding in your ears. “To spontaneously combust? To make an idiot out of myself?”

But it’s too late.

Because before you can overthink your next twelve moves or plan a strategic escape—

He’s walking toward you.

Slow, calm, confident.

Like he knows what he’s doing to you.

Before you can say something completely unhinged, like “your bass playing did something weird to my hormones”, you feel Shoko shift beside you.

You whip your head toward her, silently begging for assistance, for backup, for escape. But she just smirks, looking between the two of you like she already knows exactly how this night’s gonna go.

“Well,” she says with a wink, already turning on her heel. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. “Shoko. No. Shoko, wait—SHOKO.”

But she’s already walking away like she didn’t just abandon you to the mercy of the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

And now—

Now he’s standing right in front of you.

He smells like sweat and incense and something dark—something addictive.

“You waited,” he says, voice lower than expected, rich. His lips curl, just barely. “Were you hoping for an autograph… or something else?”

You blink.

He knows.

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

An autograph? Something else? What the hell does something else even mean—wait, you know what it means, OH GOD—

“I—I wasn’t waiting— I mean, I was, but not like—like in a weird way or anything!” you blurt, the words tumbling out like a panicked avalanche. “Not that liking your music is weird. I mean, it was good! Really good. You were good. Not in that way, I mean—not that you wouldn’t be—oh my God—”

You slap a hand over your face.

Abort mission. Let the ground open up. End scene.

When you peek through your fingers, he’s just watching you, amused, head tilted slightly to the side.

Then—he chuckles. Actually chuckles.

It’s low and quiet and kind of devastating.

“I was right,” he murmurs, voice all honeyed steel. “Cute.”

You make a high-pitched noise that cannot be classified as human.

And Choso—Choso just leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s offering a secret.

“Relax. I don’t bite.” A beat. “Unless you want me to.”

You definitely stop breathing.

Your brain is just a dial-up tone as you stare at him, stunned into silence, because did he actually just say that? He did. He really did. And he’s still looking at you like he’s waiting for your answer.

But when you open your mouth, what comes out is: “I—uh—yeah. I mean no. I mean—I don’t know what I mean.”

He grins. Not a smirk. A real, soft little grin, like he likes the mess you’ve become.

“Wanna get some air?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the alleyway beside the venue, quieter now that the band’s done and the crowd’s thinned.

You nod way too fast.

So you end up outside, standing under the faded neon of the venue sign, arms crossed to hide how jittery you are. Choso leans against the wall beside you, lighting a cigarette. The glow flares against his sharp cheekbones, his lashes casting shadows on his skin.

“So,” he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You liked the set?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying not to look at his hands. His tattooed fingers. “You were… really good.”

He hums, clearly amused. “Still not in that way?”

You bury your face in your hands again.

He laughs under his breath, then nudges your shoulder with his. “You got a name, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. 

Oh, how you were so very fucked.

You tell him your name. And when he repeats it softly, your knees almost give out.

Then he offers, “I’m Choso, by the way.”

Like it’s a gift.

And before the night ends, he asks if you’re coming to the next gig.

“Only if you’re playing,” you manage to say.

To which he replies, “I’ll be there if you are.”

-

shoko: hello?? where are you???

shoko: ANSWER ME

shoko: sigh

shoko: i didn’t want it to come to this but you leave me no choice

shoko: i’m checking your location.

shoko: GIRL WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING THERE

shoko: 2 missed calls

shoko: you better give me answers the second you're online...or else.

you: dot dot dot

shoko: WHAT. HAPPENED.

you: emergency phone call

shoko: 🧍‍♀️

shoko: you’re a terrible liar

you: ok but like. 

you: it wasn’t a lie. it was an emergency. a hot boy emergency

shoko: OH MY GOD. 

shoko: OH MY GOD. 

shoko: OH MY GODDDDD.

you: he talked to me

you: HE TALKED TO ME SHOKO

shoko: AND???

you: and i said dumb shit

you: and he still talked to me

you: and i think i blacked out at one point??

you: but like. the good kind

shoko:YOU’RE TELLING ME MYSTERIOUS HOT BASSIST MAN TALKED TO YOU AND YOU LIVED???

you: barely

you: i think i ascended actually

shoko: you’re telling me you were about to dip and then HE approached YOU????

you: he remembered me from the front row 😭

you: called me cute 😭😭

you: asked for my name 😭😭😭

you: CALLED ME SWEETHEART 😭😭😭😭

shoko: …girl.

shoko: i don’t wanna be dramatic

shoko: but i might start planning your wedding

you: pls help i’m still outside the venue trying not to combust

you: he said he’d see me again if i came to the next gig

you: SHOKO WHAT IF I GO TO EVERY GIG UNTIL I DIE

shoko: yeah bestie we’re in our groupie era now

-

You show up a whole forty minutes before the doors even open—Shoko said she’d meet you later, but you’re already leaning against the building like a total loser. Or an over zealous fan. Same thing, really.

You're debating if you should take a walk to kill time when the door swings open, and out steps him. Black button-up, sleeves rolled up again, a few buttons undone, and that familiar purple eyeshadow hugging his tired eyes. His lip quirks up the second he sees you.

“Excited to see me?” he asks, cocking his head as he strolls over. His voice is low, teasing—but not unkind.

Your face goes up in flames. “What—n-no. I mean yes. I mean—Shoko said she’d meet me later and I didn’t wanna be late, obviously.”

He hums, clearly amused. “Mhm. Obnoxiously early, huh?”

“Fashionably early,” you grumble, and he laughs, like you’re the most entertaining thing he’s heard all day.

Then he nods his head toward the door. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to the guys.”

You blink. Wait. Right now??

You glance down at your outfit—cute enough for the gig, maybe not cute enough to meet him again, let alone his entire band. But he’s already walking, and you’re a fool if you don’t follow.

The door creaks open, and you’re hit with the low hum of conversation, faint music playing from someone’s phone, and the scent of sweat and cologne. Your heart’s going a mile a minute.

“Yo,” Choso calls, and two heads turn.

The tall white-haired man draped across the couch offers a lazy grin. “Oh? Who’s this?”

Choso leans against the doorframe and jerks a thumb toward you. “She’s the one I was talking about.”

Your eyes widen. Talking about?? Since when???

“Ooooh,” the other guy drawls from where he’s fiddling with a drumstick, hair tied back and gaze sharp as ever. “So this is her.”

“Shut up,” Choso mutters, but there’s a hint of pink dusting his ears. He looks back at you, eyes soft. “That’s Satoru—he never shuts up. And that’s Suguru. Don’t let him fool you—he’s worse.”

“Lies and slander,” Satoru says with a wink.

You’re frozen. Do you wave? Speak? Die on the spot?

“Hi,” you say, awkwardly.

Suguru offers a small nod. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Finally???

Satoru leans forward with a devilish grin. “Choso wouldn’t shut up about you, y’know?”

Choso visibly tenses. “Go bother someone else.”

But it’s too late—you’re already flushed to your ears, and Satoru’s howling with laughter.

“You’re cute,” he tells you. “You can stick around.”

You glance at Choso, and he gives you the smallest smile. Like you belong here.

And for the first time—you think maybe you do.

He walks ahead a bit, glancing over his shoulder as he gestures toward the sound booth. “That’s Nao, our sound tech. She’s the only reason we don’t sound like trash onstage.”

Nao waves without looking up from her monitor, and you awkwardly lift a hand back. Choso chuckles under his breath.

He keeps going, showing you the light setup, where they stash backup guitars, even the vending machine he’s pretty sure is haunted. Every person you pass gives you that look—oh, so this is the girl.

Your fingers twist nervously around the strap of your bag. It’s not like they’re being unfriendly. If anything, everyone’s nice. Welcoming, even. But still—you can’t shake the nerves bubbling in your chest.

You feel his gaze before you hear his voice.

“Nervous?” he asks, quiet and low.

You blink up at him. He’s standing close now, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, watching you like he’s not sure if he’s scaring you or if you’re just shy.

You swallow. “A little.”

His mouth twitches—almost a smile. “You don’t have to be. Everyone’s chill.”

You nod, but you know the tension is still written all over your face.

And then—he reaches out. Just a light touch to your wrist. “Hey. I asked you here ‘cause I wanted you to come. Not to freak you out.”

His voice is soft now, just for you.

You manage a sheepish smile. “Sorry. It’s just… new.”

He shrugs, lips curling slightly. “Yeah. But I’m not that scary, right?”

You meet his eyes, and the look he gives you—teasing but warm—makes your stomach flip.

“…Not yet,” you murmur.

And he laughs, head tilted back like you just said the funniest thing all night. “You’re cute.”

Great. Now you’re even more nervous.

He walks you over to the stage setup, lights dim and moody, the buzz of crew members in the background. The instruments are neatly arranged—drum kits, amps, tangled cords, and at the center, his guitar resting on its stand.

He picks it up effortlessly, letting the strap fall over his shoulder. His fingers settle over the strings, and he begins to strum, absentmindedly. It’s not even a real song, just soft notes—but it’s hypnotizing.

Especially the way his fingers move. Long, slender, practiced.

You're staring. Absolutely entranced.

“Wanna try playing?” he asks suddenly.

You snap out of it so fast it’s embarrassing. “H-huh?”

He chuckles, soft and low. “Bit distracted there, sweetheart. You okay?”

“I’m good. Mhm.” You nod a little too quickly, plastering on a tight smile as your face warms. You hope he doesn’t notice, but that knowing glint in his eyes tells you otherwise.

He steps toward you with the guitar, offering it out with a slight tilt of his head. “Here.”

Your hands hover uncertainly. “O-oh… I don’t know how to play.”

He just smiles. “It’s alright, I’ll help you.”

He walks behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him at your back. You swear your heart skips a beat when his arms slip around you, guiding yours. He’s gentle as he places your left hand along the neck of the guitar, adjusting your fingers over the frets, his hand covering yours.

“Just relax,” he murmurs, voice right by your ear.

Your breath hitches.

“Shit—sorry, too close?” he asks quickly, voice laced with concern.

“N-no! It’s fine! Totally fine.” You somehow manage to stand upright.

He smiles again, that soft kind of amused. “Alright, just press here... yeah, that’s it.” He places your fingers on the strings. “Now, strum with this hand—lightly. Let the strings breathe.”

You try, hesitantly dragging your fingers down the strings. A clumsy note sounds out.

Choso hums. “Not bad. Now, try a G chord—here, like this.” His fingers mold yours again, warm and careful.

You nod, barely able to think with him this close, and repeat the motion. It sounds... slightly better.

“See?” he says, praising you with a smile in his voice. “Fast learner.”

You glance up at him over your shoulder, heart fluttering. “Maybe I just have a good teacher.”

His lips quirk, and he looks at you like you’ve just made his night.

“Well,” he says, “I am good with my hands.”

Your brain short-circuits.

He grins when he hears that soft, breathy little sound escape your lips.

“O-oh,” you stammer, eyes wide as you blink up at him.

His smile deepens, all teasing and low charm. “Didn’t mean to make you nervous,” he says, though he definitely did. 

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but your brain’s gone completely blank. The only thing in your head is him. His voice, his scent, the low buzz of his guitar still humming in your hands.

“I—uh, yeah. No. You’re doing great. I mean—I’m doing great. I mean—thank you.”

He laughs. Not mockingly—it's soft, sweet, like he finds you genuinely adorable.

“You’re cute when you get flustered,” he says, voice quiet.

You look down at the guitar in your hands, pretending very hard to be focused on the strings.

“Maybe we’ll get you to play a whole song next time.”

You blink. “Next time?”

He shrugs casually, stepping back just enough to make you miss his warmth. “If you’re coming to the next gig, I figured I’d see you again.”

And then, with the most casual confidence, he adds, “You wanna?”

You blink up at him, heart still pounding from the way he practically wrapped himself around you moments ago. But then—somehow—you find your footing, just enough to muster a sliver of confidence.

You clear your throat, giving him a lopsided little smile. “Let’s see how this one goes first.”

His brows shoot up, clearly amused. “Is that a challenge?”

You shrug, trying not to melt under his gaze. “Depends. You think you can handle it?”

Choso laughs—a low, warm sound that vibrates in your chest more than your ears. He leans in again, just a little, his face dangerously close to yours. “Sweetheart,” he says, voice like silk, “I know I can.”

-

The crowd is thicker than last time. Hazy neon lights wash the walls in streaks of violet and red, and the room thrums with anticipation. You can feel the energy buzzing through your fingertips, your legs bouncing where you sit off to the side of the stage.

Choso catches your eye just before stepping on. He’s dressed in that same loose black button-up—top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tattoos stark against his pale skin. His eyes are lined in that soft purple hue again, hair falling wild to his neck, and yet he somehow looks composed. Grounded. Like he was born to be here.

He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look—half smirk, half something softer—and it sends butterflies flurrying in your chest.

And then: the lights dim. The crowd erupts. The band takes the stage.

Suguru on drums, flashing a grin at the front row before twirling his sticks and slamming into the first beat like a force of nature. Satoru struts forward, mic in hand, already oozing charisma, and Choso—Choso slides into position with his bass like it’s a part of him. One hand gripping the neck, the other plucking strings with a lazy, practiced ease.

The sound hits you like a wave. Loud. Gritty. Addictive.

But even as the music drowns everything out, your eyes stay locked on him.

Choso doesn’t look at the crowd. Doesn’t need to. He’s in his own world—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, swaying with the rhythm like the bass is leading him. And yet, somehow, he still finds a way to glance at you.

Just for a second. A flicker of a smirk.

And that’s when you realize it.

He’s playing for them—but looking at you.

And that smolder in his gaze? That spark that coils low in your belly?

It’s all for you.

-

The crowd’s roars have faded, the lights are dimming, and you’re still standing there, heart racing. Choso’s walking off stage, sweat-slick and glowing, bass still strapped to his back, and the second his eyes find you he smiles. Soft. Lopsided. Like it’s just for you.

He weaves through the staff with ease, and before you can fully brace yourself, he’s in front of you, that same lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t think you’d actually stick around,” he teases, voice low, raspy from the set.

You roll your eyes, a little bashful. “Had to see if your fingers really lived up to the hype.”

His brows shoot up, surprised—and then he laughs. It’s deep and warm and it makes your stomach do flips. “Oh? And?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I’m not sure yet. Might need a private performance to decide.”

And damn, now he’s the one blushing.

He blinks. Once. Twice. And then that lazy grin deepens into something more—something that makes your throat dry.

“A private performance, huh?” he echoes, slinging the bass off his shoulder, setting it down like he’s done this a thousand times before—cool, collected, practiced. “You planning to book me?”

You cross your arms, trying to look unbothered despite the heat crawling up your neck. “Maybe. Depends on your rates.”

He steps closer, just a little, enough to tilt his head down to look at you properly. His voice drops lower. “I charge in coffee. Late-night conversations. And the occasional secret.”

“Oh?” you arch a brow. “That’s expensive.”

He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re worth it.”

Pause.

Your heart skips. Literally skips.

And suddenly it’s too quiet. The post-show noise is just background hum now—muffled cheers, clinks of beer bottles, bandmates laughing somewhere behind you. But he’s looking at you like you’re the only person who matters in this moment. Like he wants to learn you.

So you try to deflect, half-teasing, “You say that to all the girls who hang around after shows?”

He hums, like he’s pretending to think. “No,” he says finally. “You’re the only one who stayed quiet the whole time. Just… watched.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Was it creepy?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. It was nice. Felt like you were listening to more than just the music.”

You weren’t. You were listening to him.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you glance away, pretending not to be swooning.

And then—

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging your chin with two fingers to bring your gaze back to his. “Wanna get outta here?”

Your breath hitches. “Huh?”

He smiles, easy and relaxed, eyes scanning your face like he’s memorizing it. “There’s this spot a few blocks from here—low lights, decent drinks, great fries. Thought maybe I could buy you one. A drink, not a fry,” he adds with a little chuckle.

Your heart is thudding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. “Are you… asking me out?”

He shrugs, casual but undeniably charming. “If I said yes, would you say no?”

You try to play it cool, crossing your arms even though your insides are a whole storm. “You planning to pull that whole mysterious musician act the whole time?”

He leans in just a bit, close enough for your noses to nearly brush. “Only if it gets me a second date.”

And just like that, you’re done for.

“...I guess I could go for a drink.”

His grin widens. “Good. I’ll grab my jacket.”

-

The bar he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place you wouldn’t find unless someone told you about it. There’s warm yellow lighting, a soft hum of old-school music playing on the speakers, and barely anyone around. It’s intimate in a way that makes your skin feel warm before you’ve even taken a sip of your drink.

He lets you slide into the booth first, then settles in across from you. His hands rest on the table, rings catching the light, and you find your gaze drawn to them—again. Damn those fingers.

“I’m not used to people sticking around after shows,” he says, eyes not leaving yours.

“I’m not used to chasing after bassists,” you shoot back, lips twitching.

He smirks. “So I’m special, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile you’re fighting wins. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Your drinks come. He lets you steal a sip of his. You let him steal two of yours.

“What got you into music?” you ask after a while, resting your chin on your hand.

He leans back, gaze flickering up like he’s searching the ceiling for the answer. “My dad, actually. He taught me how to play. He was obsessed with rhythm—said it was the heart of everything.”

You nod slowly. “He still around?”

Choso shakes his head. “Nah. Been a while. But I think he’d get a kick out of seeing me like this.”

There’s a quiet between you, not awkward, just full. You sip your drink.

“What about you?” he asks. “What do you do when you’re not falling for mysterious musicians at dive bars?”

You raise a brow. “Who said I was falling?”

His lips curve. “Touché.”

You end up telling him more than you thought you would. About your work, your favorite food, even boring little details. But he listens like every word matters. Laughs when you least expect it. His foot nudges yours under the table halfway through the night, and it stays there.

Eventually, the lights get lower, and the bar empties out.

“Guess we closed the place down,” you say, glancing around.

Choso’s watching you with a soft look. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

Your heart flutters. “Same place?”

He smiles, gaze never leaving yours. “Sure.”

The night doesn’t end there.

He insists on walking you home—no arguments, no jokes, just slips his hand into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And you let him, fingers intertwining with his, warmth blooming in your chest. It’s a quiet walk, but not the awkward kind. It’s that gentle, late-night calm. Like the whole world slowed down just for the two of you.

And for once, he’s not the brooding bassist with sharp eyeliner and calloused fingers. He’s just Choso. A guy who likes the way your hand fits in his. A guy who lets out a soft chuckle when you shiver and instinctively step closer.

You reach your place too soon.

You stop at the doorstep, neither of you making a move. No one says anything. You should probably say something. Goodnight. Thanks. This was fun. But the words get caught somewhere in your throat.

He steps closer instead.

There’s a breath between you. Just one.

And then his lips are on yours—soft, almost hesitant, like he’s asking if this is okay. And you answer him by fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him in. His hand comes up to your cheek, holding you steady as he kisses you again. Still gentle. Still quiet. But it makes your head spin all the same.

When he finally pulls back, he stays close, forehead pressed lightly to yours.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your heart might’ve actually stopped.

You slam the door shut behind you, back pressed against it, heart pounding so hard you swear it echoes in your ribcage. You stare at your phone, wide-eyed, thumbs flying:

you: SHOKO

you: SHOKO I NEED YOU TO WAKE UP

you: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY 

shoko: it’s literally 1am

shoko: you better be on fire 

you: I KISSED HIM

shoko: what

shoko: WHO

shoko: WAIT

shoko: WAIT.

you: YES. HIM.

shoko: THE HOT GUITAR PLAYER???

you: CHOSO. YES. YES. YES

shoko: oh my god you’re so gone

you: HE WALKED ME HOME. HELD MY HAND. KISSED ME. I AM GONE GONE.

shoko: AAAAAAAAAAA

you: HE SAID ‘GOODNIGHT SWEETHEART’

shoko: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

you: I KNOW

You toss your phone onto the bed, face planting right after it, squealing into your pillow like a teenager all over again.

Because you kissed him. And he kissed you back. And you’re never sleeping tonight.

-

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is quiet—too quiet. You’ve already scrolled through your entire feed twice, tried reading, even got up to make tea you didn’t drink.

Then your phone lights up.

Incoming call: Choso.

Your heart stutters.

You take a breath and answer. “…Hey.”

His voice is warm on the other end. “Hey. Did I wake you?”

You shake your head even though he can’t see. “No. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Same,” he says. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your breath catches. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, like it might calm your racing heart.

There’s a small silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s soft. Comfortable. Like neither of you really wants to hang up.

He speaks again, voice a little lower. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You try to play it off. “I put in effort. Didn’t want to show up looking like I did last time.”

“I liked that too,” he says. “But tonight you walked in and I forgot what the hell I was doing.”

You laugh, hiding your face in your pillow.

“I wish I could see you again right now,” he says.

“Me too.”

“Would it be too much if I said I kinda wanna fall asleep listening to you?”

Your stomach flips.

You whisper, “Then stay on the line.”

And you do—both of you quiet, just breathing, letting the silence say everything.

-

You're standing outside the bar, shifting on your feet, trying to act like you haven’t been checking your reflection in every window on the walk here.

This time, your outfit isn’t casual by accident. You planned it. Styled your hair just right. Even put on that gloss you save for special occasions.

You step inside and immediately spot him, leaning back against a booth like he owns the place, one arm slung lazily over the seat. His eyes lift—

—and damn.

They rake down your figure slowly, like he’s drinking you in. And when they return to your face, there’s the smallest upward curve to his lips.

“Someone dressed to impress,” he says, standing as you approach.

“Maybe,” you reply, coy. “You are the star of the show, after all.”

He laughs low in his throat, hand brushing the small of your back as he leans in close. “Nah,” he murmurs. “Tonight, it’s all about you.”

You sit together in the same booth. This time, there’s no ice to break. The tension simmers warm between you—his knee bumps yours under the table and doesn’t move away. His eyes flicker to your lips more than once.

“So,” you say, swirling your drink. “What happens after drinks, guitar boy?”

He smirks, elbow resting on the table as he leans closer. “Depends. You thinking of letting me kiss you again?”

You raise your brows. “You planning on asking?”

He tilts his head. “I could. But you didn’t seem to need much prompting last time.”

That earns him a playful nudge. And a flustered laugh.

He grins. "Take your time, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

The jukebox crackles as the next track begins—slow, dreamy, sweet.

Like falling asleep in warm hands. Like the part in a romance film where everything softens.

Before you can even comment on the vibe shift, Choso is rising from the booth, hand extended toward you, palm up.

Your brows lift. “You serious?”

He just smiles. “C’mon. Dance with me.”

You hesitate—because, what? In a bar? With him?? But his fingers flex, waiting, and the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to say no.

You slip your hand into his.

He pulls you gently to the dance floor. There’s no one else there—just you, him, and the slow rhythm bleeding from the speakers. His hands settle on your waist. Yours hover awkwardly before curling behind his neck.

You sway.

“I didn’t take you for a dancer,” you mumble, heart skipping when he twirls you suddenly.

He smirks. “I’m not.”

You laugh—loud and sweet and so damn happy. And when he catches you again, you don’t pull away. Instead, you melt into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling the soft thud of his heartbeat under the fabric of his shirt.

His hand traces slow circles on your back.

“This okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, nuzzling in closer. “Yeah… It’s perfect.”

He rests his chin lightly atop your head. And neither of you says another word.

Not when the song ends.

Not when the next one starts.

Because for that moment—it’s just the two of you, swaying under dim lights, held together by the sound of a love song.

-

You step outside into the night, your breath curling in pale puffs. The air is colder than before, wrapping around your bare arms like a whispered warning. You shiver.

Without a word, Choso shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. His hand rests at your waist, warm and firm, grounding you.

For a while, you just stand there—side by side, quiet. The city buzzes in the distance, cars passing, streetlights humming.

You glance up at him, and he’s already looking at you. Hard.

Like he’s trying to memorize the slope of your jaw. The way the wind lifts your hair. The way your lips part just slightly when you breathe.

“What?” you ask, a soft laugh in your voice, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just wets his lips. His fingers flex against your hip.

“I just…” he starts, voice rough with restraint. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

You blink, heart thudding once. Twice.

The pause stretches.

“Yeah?” you murmur, leaning in a fraction. Teasing.

He nods once. Barely.

You smile—heart pounding in your throat. “So why don’t you?”

And that’s all it takes.

He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks like you’re made of porcelain. And when his lips finally meet yours—it’s soft. Slow. Full of the tension he’s been carrying all night, unspooling between you in breathless silence.

His nose bumps yours. Your hands fist the front of his shirt again. Just like last time.

Only this time, you don’t stop at one kiss.

And when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice low:

“You’re gonna ruin me, y’know that?”

You laugh, barely a whisper against his lips, breath mingling with his. “Then I guess I better make it worth your while.”

That gets a reaction.

His gaze darkens just slightly, lips twitching into the faintest smirk as his hands slide down from your cheeks, one settling at the nape of your neck while the other pulls you flush against him. “You trying to kill me, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer.

Because you’re already kissing him again.

This time it’s different.

Less hesitant.

More hungry.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the dark strands that fall just past his neck, tugging gently until he groans into your mouth. He kisses you deeper, like he’s starved, like he hasn’t been thinking about this since the first night he met you in the crowd, eyes wide and awe-struck.

His hand grips your waist, fingers digging in—not too hard, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You gasp, and he takes the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip, tongue flicking against it before pulling back just enough to breathe:

“You’re trouble.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips kiss-swollen and heart racing. “You’re one to talk.”

And he laughs—low and breathy, pressing another quick kiss to your mouth like he can’t help himself.

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let me walk you home before I get any worse ideas.”

The walk back is quiet—but not the awkward kind. It’s heavy with something, charged with unspoken words and lingering touches. His fingers brush yours with every step, and each time it happens, your breath catches.

You swear he’s doing it on purpose.

But you don’t stop him.

The streetlights cast a soft glow on him, turning his features golden for a moment, then shadowed the next. He looks… different like this. Softer. Less like the untouchable bassist who had you practically drooling the first night, and more like someone you could fall for if you’re not careful.

You sneak a glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

You look away fast, heart leaping, and he chuckles under his breath.

"Cold?" he asks, tugging you gently closer.

You nod, even though that’s not why you’re shaking.

His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your head fits against him perfectly, and his hand rubs slow circles against your arm, warm and grounding.

“Still nervous?” he murmurs.

You laugh quietly. “Little bit.”

“Me too.”

You tilt your head to look at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “You make me nervous.”

You’re about to say something—anything—but then you’ve reached your place.

And suddenly, you don’t want to go inside.

He stops in front of your door, letting you go with a reluctant sigh. His hand lingers on your arm for a second longer before falling away.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he shoves his hands into his pockets and asks, “You gonna call me?”

You nod. “If you answer.”

He grins. “Always.”

You hesitate—just for a second—and then press a soft kiss to his cheek. It’s quick, but the way his breath hitches tells you it did the trick.

“Goodnight, Choso.”

And before he can pull you in again, before you can throw all common sense out the window and kiss him properly, you slip inside.

Heart pounding. Lips tingling.

-

You wake up with your heart still pounding.

And not because of a nightmare.

Nope. This was worse.

Because it was real.

You kissed Choso.

Again.

And not in a dreamlike, floaty, “this could be a maybe” kind of way. You kissed him after swaying in his arms like some romcom protagonist. You kissed him, and he kissed you back, and you felt your knees give just a little, and you definitely whimpered against his mouth like a fool.

You groan and roll onto your side, burying your face in your pillow.

You’re so doomed.

Your phone vibrates.

You blink and grab it, squinting at the screen.

choso: didn’t want to wake you but i just wanted to say

choso: thank you for last night

You freeze.

Sit up slowly.

Your heartbeat? Violent.

You tap out a reply, delete it, rewrite it, delete again. Finally, you just go with:

you: it was nothing :)

Immediately after sending it:

you: i’m being weird aren’t i ignore me please

And then:

you: but also don’t ignore me because i liked it and i like you and i’m going to stop talking now before i make it worse

Your phone is dangerously quiet for thirty seconds.

Then it buzzes again.

choso: you’re not being weird.

choso: you’re being adorable

choso: i like you too

choso: also… can i see you again tonight?

You shriek into your pillow.

And then type:

you: you better

-

You weren’t expecting it when he texted you earlier that day.

come to the studio. i want you to hear something.

Now here you are, walking through a narrow hallway that smells like cigarettes and worn leather, Choso’s voice telling the receptionist to let you in. He meets you at the door, hoodie on, hair loosely tied back, a pair of headphones slung around his neck.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes raking over you with a small smile tugging at his lips.

You smile back, brushing past him as he closes the door behind you. The studio is dimly lit, a warm orange hue cast by the LED strips lining the edges of the ceiling. There’s a worn-out couch in the corner, an empty coffee cup on the desk, and wires everywhere.

He leads you to a chair beside him. “Wrote something last night. Thought you might want to hear it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Inspired by anything?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a look.

He clicks a few keys on his laptop, and music starts playing—slow, rich bass, soft drums, a melody that feels like it’s watching you breathe. Then lyrics—his voice, lower and raspier than usual.

And the words? They burn.

It’s about being unable to get someone off your mind. About how they haunt your quiet moments. About wanting something that feels dangerous and delicate at the same time.

When it ends, there’s a beat of silence.

“…You wrote that?” you ask.

Choso nods, slow. “All of it.”

“It’s…” Your voice catches. “It’s beautiful.”

He leans back, watching you carefully. “It’s about you. In case that wasn’t obvious.”

The room feels smaller. Hotter. You swallow.

You murmur, “I didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you.”

“You don’t,” he says, stepping closer. “You have more.”

He’s standing between your knees now. One hand on the armrest beside you. The other gently tilts your chin up.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You nod before your brain even catches up.

And then he does—slower this time. Like he’s savoring it. His lips slot against yours and the world blurs. His hand slips to your waist, drawing you closer, and you wrap your arms around his neck without thinking.

The music plays on in the background. But neither of you hears it.

His lips are warm against yours, stealing every thought from your head. One kiss turns into two, then three—deeper, slower, more intense. His hands settle on your waist, firm, grounding. You melt into him without thinking.

But then—between kisses, you manage a breathless whisper, lips brushing his as you speak.

“Choso, not here—there’s people around.”

His eyes open slowly, pupils blown wide. He glances around, then back at you, and that look in his eyes? It's trouble.

Without saying a word, he grabs your hand. “Come on.”

You barely catch your breath before he’s pulling you along, weaving past people, straight toward the exit. His grip doesn’t loosen, even when he’s fumbling for his keys. He unlocks his car in a rush and opens the passenger door for you before sliding into the driver’s seat himself.

The whole ride is charged—silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional stolen glance. He taps the steering wheel with his fingers, the ones that had just been ghosting over your skin minutes ago.

When he pulls into the parking lot of his building, he doesn’t waste time. Hands still locked with yours, he leads you upstairs, heart pounding just as fast as yours.

The second the door shuts behind you, he turns around—and everything finally snaps.

Choso doesn’t pounce. He doesn’t rush.

He leans against the door, just watching you. Taking you in like it’s the first time. His eyes roam your face, your lips—your heaving chest. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to smile.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low, husky.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes.

He pushes off the door slowly, strides over like a man with nowhere else to be. His hands find your waist, gentle at first, then firm. His head dips down, lips ghosting over your jaw, your cheek, your mouth—but he doesn’t kiss you yet.

“You look so pretty tonight,” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint.

His nose grazes your neck, and you shudder. Every place his breath touches feels like it’s burning.

“You always look pretty,” he adds, kissing just below your ear now. “But tonight?”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, lips brushing lower.

“You’re killing me.”

Your hands find the hem of his hoodie, fingers twitching as you lift it up slowly—exposing the pale skin of his stomach inch by inch. He lets you, arms raised, letting the fabric slide off and onto the floor. The tattoos swirl over his chest, catching the soft glow of the apartment lights, and your fingers can’t help but trace them.

“Still nervous?” he asks, voice rougher now.

You shake your head. “No. Just… can’t believe this is real.”

Choso tilts your chin up, makes you look at him. His gaze is so intense it steals the breath from your lungs.

“It is,” he says. “And we’ve got all night.”

He kisses you again, this time softer, slower. No rush. Just lips moving against yours with quiet reverence, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth.

His hands stay on your waist, warm and steady, but you feel the way his thumbs are drawing lazy circles on your skin—like he’s trying to ground himself. Like he’s savoring the moment as much as you are.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He hums into the kiss, one hand sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair.

The path to the bedroom is a blur.

You’re not sure how you get there—if he carries you, or if you walk, tangled up in each other, lips never parting for more than a breath.

The room is dim, lit only by the city lights bleeding through the blinds. It paints both of you in silver and shadow. Choso backs you toward the bed, and when your knees hit the edge, he pauses. Looks down at you like you’re something sacred.

You swallow, heart thundering. “Are you gonna keep staring or—”

“Shh.” He dips his head, kisses your neck, just under your jaw. “Let me take my time with you.”

You shiver. God, his voice—low, velvet, dangerous.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

He pushes you onto the bed and you bounce slightly on it. He’s crawling up your body, hands trailing along your sides, slipping beneath your shirt—fingertips so gentle it sends goosebumps across your skin. You raise your arms, let him take it off. He discards it carefully, almost reverently, and then he’s touching you again.

It’s not frantic. It’s worship.

The way he kisses down your chest, murmuring things you can’t even process. The way he handles you like he’s scared you’ll break. His mouth is everywhere—leaving warmth and wetness and little marks that’ll be there tomorrow. Proof that this happened. That he happened.

When his hands slip lower, and he finally asks, “Can I?”—you nod, breathless, and he grins, slow and sinful.

“Good,” he whispers. “Because I’m not stopping tonight.”

His touch starts soft. Teasing.

His fingers graze along your thigh, slipping under your skirt. Just the pad of one finger tracing your inner thigh, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you. He watches your reactions closely—every breath, every twitch, every clench of your thighs like it’s his favorite show.

“Already shaking,” he murmurs with a smirk, fingers drifting up higher, stopping just at the edge of your underwear. “And I’ve barely touched you.”

When he finally slips his hand beneath the fabric of your panties, his fingers are warm, his touch confident. He finds you wet—soaked—and he groans low in his throat.

“Fuck... all this for me?”

His middle finger drags through your folds, slow and deliberate, gathering everything, spreading it around before circling your clit—just barely touching it. It’s maddening.

“You’re already this worked up,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss your jaw. “What happens when I really start?”

He’s rushing to take your underwear off, almost ripping them in the process. Then—finally—he eases a finger inside.

It’s slow at first. Just one finger, shallow thrusts, curling up and stroking that spot inside you until your hips start chasing him, greedy for more. He watches your face the whole time, eats up every whimper.

“Choso… more,” you whisper, barely able to speak.

His eyes flick up, dark and hungry. “Yeah?” he murmurs. “You can take another?”

You nod, breathless.

He slides a second finger in—thicker, deeper. His palm presses against your clit as his fingers work inside you, curling just right, just enough pressure to make your back arch. His other hand grabs your thigh, keeps you open and steady as he builds a rhythm.

It’s obscene—the wet, messy sounds of his fingers fucking into you—but it only makes him grin.

“You hear that, sweetheart?” he says lowly. 

You’re gasping now, clutching the sheets, legs shaking. He really is good with his hands.

“C’mon,” he whispers against your neck, tongue darting out to taste you. “Let go for me.”

And with one more curl, one more stroke—you do.

You come around his fingers, back arching, a moan ripped from your chest as he keeps moving through it, working you until you’re twitching, thighs trembling against him.

When he finally pulls his fingers out, he brings them to his lips.

“Tastes even better than I imagined,” he says, voice low and ruined.

He doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath.

The second those words leave his mouth, his gaze drops—hungry, wicked—and before you can ask what he’s doing, he’s already moving.

He’s moving down your body, settling between your legs, hands parting your thighs, spreading you wide open for him. You barely manage a gasp before his mouth is on you.

And fuck.

He licks a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—moaning against you like he’s tasting something divine. His tongue is hot, wet, firm—flicking against your clit before flattening and dragging against it again. He’s not shy. He devours.

You twitch under him, gasping, and his grip on your thighs tightens.

“Stay still for me,” he murmurs against you, breath fanning over your soaked heat. “Let me eat, baby.”

And oh, does he eat.

He buries his face between your legs like he’s starved—lips and tongue and heat and mess, sucking your clit into his mouth, groaning when your fingers grab his hair and pull. His nose nudges your clit, the piercings in his ears cold against your thigh.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting your hips just right so he can get even deeper. His tongue fucks into you, messy and wet, before he pulls back to mouth at your clit again.

You’re a wreck—panting, eyes rolling back, legs trembling on either side of his head. He loves it. You can tell by the way he hums into you, nose buried in your folds, like every whimper out of you is a personal victory.

Your thighs start to close around his head—he lets them. Arms locking around your legs, holding you there like he wants to be suffocated. And with one more flick of his tongue—one more swirl, one more perfect pressure—

You cry out, hips jerking, thighs clenching, and he doesn’t stop. He works you through it, licking, kissing, groaning against your cunt like he’s drunk off you.

When your body finally slumps back against the mattress, dazed and spent, he pulls back just enough to look up at you.

His mouth glistens. His eyes are wrecked.

And he licks his lips.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Choso’s mouth is still hot against yours, the kiss messy and hungry, his tongue sliding over yours like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. 

He unbuckles his belt, pushing his pants down along with his boxers, his girthy length slapping against his abdomen. Your mouth parts in a soft gasp at the sight of it. But you don't have time to marvel at it. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing them up—higher, higher—until you're folded in half in a mean mating press.

“Gonna keep you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough, chest heaving. “Wanna see your face while I fuck you.”

Your breath catches.

His hands hook behind your knees, holding them open as he shifts forward. The position has you completely laid out for him, helpless beneath the weight of his body. You feel his cock, thick and hard, dragging over your slick entrance—and then he pushes in, slow and deep.

You whimper—a sound torn from your throat, soft and wrecked, your back arching as he presses deeper.

Choso groans, low and guttural, head falling forward to rest against yours. His breath fans hot across your cheek, and you swear you can feel the tremble in his arms as he holds himself still—just for a second.

“F-fuck…” he breathes, voice rough with restraint. “You’re so fucking tight like this…”

His hips roll forward again, slower this time, the movement deliberate—like he wants you to feel every inch. “Feels like you’re made for me,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a rasp.

Your fingers scramble across the expanse of his back, nails dragging, searching for something to ground you. His shoulders, his arms, anything—because the way he’s filling you, stretching you, it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

Then he starts to move. Deep. Steady. And the new angle is devastating.

He hits every spot just right, his cock dragging along your walls, slow and purposeful, grinding into the deepest parts of you with every thrust. Your legs tremble in his hold, pinned back and open for him, the pressure building with each stroke. Your jaw falls open, a moan slipping free—high-pitched and desperate.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

But it’s not pain. No—never that.

It’s overwhelming. It’s perfect. It’s him.

“You’re taking it so well,” he grits out, eyes burning into yours as his pace deepens. “Fuck—just like that, baby. Taking all of me.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted as your moans spill freely. He leans down—closer, closer—until your thighs are nearly flush to your chest and his weight settles on top of you, heavy and grounding.

And he fucks you.

Not rough, but intentional—each stroke slow and deep, hips rolling so he never leaves you empty. He watches your face, watches every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes. Like he’s trying to memorize it. All of it.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling when his thrusts grind just right. His name escapes you in a whimper—over and over, his name like a mantra.

“Choso—” you gasp. “Oh my God—Choso, I-I…”

“I know,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

You’re soaked—messy, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling where your bodies meet. The wet slap of skin on skin is loud in the room, underscored by the soft creak of the mattress and your broken cries.

He shifts, angling just so, and you shatter.

Your body seizes, nails digging into his back as your orgasm rips through you, sudden and all-consuming. A sob leaves your throat, your back arching as your walls flutter and clamp down around him.

With a low groan, he shifts—gently, carefully—his hands sliding beneath your thighs to lower them. You gasp softly when he wraps your legs around his waist, keeping you close, keeping you full, as his hips press flush to yours.

He groans—a raw, broken sound—his hips stuttering. “Shit—fuck, I’m close—where do you want it, sweetheart?”

You barely think. You just nod, desperate. “Inside—please—inside.”

That’s all he needs.

He presses in deep, body trembling, a shudder running through him as he spills into you, cock twitching with every pulse of his release. You feel the heat of it—so much, thick and warm as it fills you up. And still, he doesn’t stop.

He keeps moving—soft, shallow thrusts that drag it out, that make your body twitch and whimper, overstimulated and glowing.

His name slips from your lips again, quieter this time, your fingers trailing down his back, soothing over sweat-slick skin.

And then—finally—he stills.

Buried to the hilt. Breathing hard. Forehead pressed to your shoulder, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, voice low and reverent.

His hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin like he’s grounding himself.

"Don’t want to let go just yet," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion and aftermath. He leans down, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Feels too good like this.”

You hum, dazed and pliant, arms winding around his neck as your forehead rests against his. His weight, his warmth—it’s comforting. Heavy in the best way.

Every small shift makes you gasp—too sensitive, too raw—but you don’t ask him to move.

You don’t want him to either.

And neither does he.

So he stays there—buried deep, your legs locked around his waist, your bodies tangled as if they were always meant to be like this.

After, when the haze finally starts to fade, Choso is the first to move—but only just.

He brushes your hair from your face with slow fingers, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and full of concern. Gentle. So gentle. “Was that… too much?”

You shake your head, barely able to speak as you whisper, “No. It was perfect.”

He exhales, and the breath sounds like relief. Like he needed to hear that.

Without a word, he slips out of bed, grabbing a warm cloth and returning to you. He moves with such care—his hands slow, wiping between your thighs with reverence, like you’re something precious. You flinch a little at the sensitivity, and he mumbles a soft “Sorry” as he presses a kiss to your knee, his gaze flickering up to check on you again.

Once you’re clean, he tosses the cloth aside and crawls back under the covers. You instinctively curl into him, and he opens his arms wide, pulling you in, tucking your head beneath his chin.

His fingers trace slow, lazy circles along your spine. Your legs are tangled with his, your body warm and sore and safe. He smells like sweat and sex and his cologne, and you want to fall asleep in this exact moment, forever.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs against your hair.

You blink up at him. “That’s my line.”

He smiles, barely-there but so real. “Guess we’ll take turns.”

You laugh—quiet, muffled against his chest—and he hums along with it, fingers still moving along your back.

A silence settles between you, but it isn’t awkward. It’s peaceful. The kind that only comes after letting someone see you bare in every way.

He breaks it eventually, voice thick with sleep. “You staying over?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure?”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed. “Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

And neither would he.

So he kisses the top of your head one more time, murmurs something soft and unintelligible against your skin, and lets himself fall asleep with you in his arms.

Exactly where you both want to be.

author's note. this is just pure choso brainrot because i could not get that fanart out of my head so ofc i had to write something about it. (choso girlies, i'm borrowing your man for a while, thank you)

please do not steal, modify or translate my work.

[inzayneforaj]

HEY, EMO BOY! - CHOSO KAMO

summary. Choso doesn’t do distractions. But then you walk into his show and ruin his focus with one look. And now, he’s handing you his guitar, his heart, maybe more. And baby, you haven’t even seen what those fingers can really do.

word count. 10.5k (i got a lil carried away)

content. mdni fem! reader, bassist! choso, mutual pining, heavy tension, choso is a tease (and so down bad), really lovey-dovey shi like bro's not even emo, pet names, smut, fingering, oral (fem rec.), p in v, mating press, praise, creampie, slight overstim, aftercare

author's note. saw this fanart and started ovulating on demand.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Shoko says, tugging on your sleeve with the persistence of a woman who knows you have no other plans. "You like music. You like hot guys. This is both."

You squint at her, unconvinced. "You said that last time and we ended up at some dude’s garage while he rapped about capitalism."

She grins. “And it was unforgettable.”

“You spilled beer on my shoes.”

“And I’ve had character development after that.”

You roll your eyes, but she already knows she's won. She’s practically vibrating with excitement as she drags you through the dimly lit alley that opens into an even dimmer basement venue—graffiti-tagged walls, sticker-covered speakers, the scent of cigarettes and something vaguely fruity in the air.

The lights are low, the crowd humming with quiet energy, and the stage is set but empty—just a drum kit, a couple mics, and a bass propped against its amp like it’s waiting for someone.

“You’re gonna love them,” Shoko whispers, already pulling out her phone to snap photos. “The music’s sick. And the bassist—”

You blink at her.

“The bassist,” she repeats, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “Tall, broody, pretty eyes. Never says a damn word on stage but plays like he’s in pain.”

You scoff. “You’ve got issues.”

“Just wait,” she says. “You’re not ready.”

And you’re not.

Because when the band finally comes on stage and the lights cut through the haze, your eyes lock onto him—tall, dark, dressed in all black with his bass slung low, rings glinting on his fingers, and a half-lidded stare like he’s seeing ghosts.

And when he starts playing? Oh. Yeah. You’re done for.

The lights dim, bathing the room in moody blue and red hues. The crowd hushes—just for a moment—then the first chord explodes through the speakers. It’s loud, raw, electric, vibrating through the floor and straight up your spine.

You don’t flinch.

You should. The guy next to you does. Shoko’s already swaying to the beat like she’s been here a thousand times. But you? You’re frozen—entranced.

Not by the music. Not really.

By him.

The bassist, standing off to the left like he doesn’t crave the spotlight, like he’s content letting the others take the lead. But he’s the one you see. The one who owns the stage.

He’s tall and he’s wearing a loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top few buttons left undone to tease just enough of his pale, sculpted chest. The stage lights catch on the gleam of sweat on his collarbones, highlighting every sharp angle and subtle flex of muscle as he moves with the rhythm. His fingers dance over the bass strings with practiced ease, and that’s when you notice it—apart from the black nail polish, each one is tattooed with a letter: C-H-O-S-O.

His long, dark hair is loose, falling in waves to the base of his neck, the ends brushing over his collar. The soft purple eyeshadow dusting his eyelids makes his deep-set eyes pop, casting shadows that only add to his sharp features. A bold tattoo cuts across the bridge of his nose, stark against his pale skin.

His brows are furrowed, mouth set in a hard, concentrated line, and his fingers—god, his fingers—they dance over the strings like he was born with a bass in his hands. There’s something hypnotic about the way he plays. Focused. Intense. Like the world doesn’t exist outside of this moment.

You don’t even realize you’re staring until Shoko elbows you lightly. “Told you,” she shouts in your ear, grinning like the smug little shit she is.

You nod, but your eyes don’t move. You can’t look away. It’s like you’ve been put under some kind of spell.

And then—then—mid-song, his head lifts just slightly. His gaze cuts through the haze and crowd and colored lights, and lands right on you. You swear it. A spark of something sharp and electric zips down your spine.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Just holds your gaze for a breath longer than necessary before he looks away, like he felt it too.

Like he knew.

Like the music wasn’t the only thing pulling strings tonight.

The band keeps playing, song after song bleeding into one another, but you barely register any of it.

Your eyes keep straying to him. Choso—at least, you think that’s his name, judging by the ink on his fingers. Fitting, really. It lingers in your head like a low bassline: heavy, addictive.

At one point, you swear he looks at you again.

Really looks.

And even if it’s just for a second, it feels like a live wire pressed to your skin.

You down the rest of your drink to keep yourself from combusting.

Shoko leans in and shouts something in your ear over the music—probably the band’s name or some fun fact about the drummer—but your eyes are locked on him. You nod absently, your smile weak, dazed, because how the hell are you supposed to listen to anyone else when he’s up there, commanding your every thought?

By the time the band wraps up their final song, you’re already craning your neck for a better look. You don't even realize you're moving toward the stage until Shoko’s hand snags your wrist.

"Where are you going?"

You blink, startled like you’ve been caught red-handed. "I—I don’t know."

But you do.

You’re hoping to get closer. Maybe he’ll notice you again.

Maybe he already has.

-

You find yourself outside the venue before you even realize what you’re doing—leaning against the brick wall, half hidden in the shadows, heart hammering like you’d just finished a set yourself. The crisp night air cools your skin, but it does nothing to quiet the heat bubbling beneath it.

You tell yourself you just needed some air.

That’s all.

Totally not waiting around like some groupie for a guy you don’t even know.

The door creaks open behind you, and a familiar pair of boots crunches against gravel. Shoko squints at you suspiciously.

“You good?” she asks, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick. “You just disappeared.”

You shrug, too casual. “Yeah. Just needed a breather.”

She takes a drag, exhales slow. “Right. A breather. After not dancing and not drinking that much.”

You shoot her a side-eye. “Do you always interrogate people for wanting fresh air?”

“Only when they’ve been acting weird since the bassist took the stage.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not slick, y’know.”

You scoff, glancing away before she can catch the way your face warms. "I don't know what you’re talking about."

Shoko chuckles like she definitely knows what she’s talking about, but bless her, she doesn’t press it. Just smirks, gives your arm a little nudge. “He was hot, though.”

You give a noncommittal hum, eyes scanning every shadowed corner, every rusted doorway, hoping—just hoping—you might catch another glimpse of him. Choso. You’re almost certain that’s his name. It suits him. Dark. Sharp.

You won’t tell her, of course, but—yes.

Yes, this was fun.

Yes, she was absolutely right to drag you here.

Yes, the bassist was fine as hell and maybe, just maybe, you’ve developed the tiniest, stupidest little crush on a guy whose voice you haven’t even heard yet.

But god, you want to.

Even just once.

A glimpse. A moment. Anything.

And just when you think it’s time to give up, to stop being delusional and head home—

The door swings open again.

And this time, it’s him.

Panic.

Real, irrational, full-body panic.

Because there he is. Standing a few feet away. In the flesh. The bassist.

Loose black button-up clinging to his frame, sleeves still rolled up from the show, revealing forearms that shouldn’t be legal. The glint of his rings catching the light. A faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his collarbone—god, you can see it because the top few buttons are still undone, teasing just enough pale skin to keep you up at night.

And his eyes—

His eyes are rimmed with that soft, dusty lavender, and they’re looking straight at you.

You glance side to side like you might Houdini yourself out of this moment. Maybe if you ran fast enough, you could avoid embarrassing yourself beyond repair. Maybe if you—

Shoko bumps your shoulder, casual and smug. “Now’s your chance.”

“Chance for what?” you hiss, heart thudding in your ears. “To spontaneously combust? To make an idiot out of myself?”

But it’s too late.

Because before you can overthink your next twelve moves or plan a strategic escape—

He’s walking toward you.

Slow, calm, confident.

Like he knows what he’s doing to you.

Before you can say something completely unhinged, like “your bass playing did something weird to my hormones”, you feel Shoko shift beside you.

You whip your head toward her, silently begging for assistance, for backup, for escape. But she just smirks, looking between the two of you like she already knows exactly how this night’s gonna go.

“Well,” she says with a wink, already turning on her heel. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. “Shoko. No. Shoko, wait—SHOKO.”

But she’s already walking away like she didn’t just abandon you to the mercy of the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

And now—

Now he’s standing right in front of you.

He smells like sweat and incense and something dark—something addictive.

“You waited,” he says, voice lower than expected, rich. His lips curl, just barely. “Were you hoping for an autograph… or something else?”

You blink.

He knows.

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

An autograph? Something else? What the hell does something else even mean—wait, you know what it means, OH GOD—

“I—I wasn’t waiting— I mean, I was, but not like—like in a weird way or anything!” you blurt, the words tumbling out like a panicked avalanche. “Not that liking your music is weird. I mean, it was good! Really good. You were good. Not in that way, I mean—not that you wouldn’t be—oh my God—”

You slap a hand over your face.

Abort mission. Let the ground open up. End scene.

When you peek through your fingers, he’s just watching you, amused, head tilted slightly to the side.

Then—he chuckles. Actually chuckles.

It’s low and quiet and kind of devastating.

“I was right,” he murmurs, voice all honeyed steel. “Cute.”

You make a high-pitched noise that cannot be classified as human.

And Choso—Choso just leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s offering a secret.

“Relax. I don’t bite.” A beat. “Unless you want me to.”

You definitely stop breathing.

Your brain is just a dial-up tone as you stare at him, stunned into silence, because did he actually just say that? He did. He really did. And he’s still looking at you like he’s waiting for your answer.

But when you open your mouth, what comes out is: “I—uh—yeah. I mean no. I mean—I don’t know what I mean.”

He grins. Not a smirk. A real, soft little grin, like he likes the mess you’ve become.

“Wanna get some air?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the alleyway beside the venue, quieter now that the band’s done and the crowd’s thinned.

You nod way too fast.

So you end up outside, standing under the faded neon of the venue sign, arms crossed to hide how jittery you are. Choso leans against the wall beside you, lighting a cigarette. The glow flares against his sharp cheekbones, his lashes casting shadows on his skin.

“So,” he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You liked the set?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying not to look at his hands. His tattooed fingers. “You were… really good.”

He hums, clearly amused. “Still not in that way?”

You bury your face in your hands again.

He laughs under his breath, then nudges your shoulder with his. “You got a name, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. 

Oh, how you were so very fucked.

You tell him your name. And when he repeats it softly, your knees almost give out.

Then he offers, “I’m Choso, by the way.”

Like it’s a gift.

And before the night ends, he asks if you’re coming to the next gig.

“Only if you’re playing,” you manage to say.

To which he replies, “I’ll be there if you are.”

-

shoko: hello?? where are you???

shoko: ANSWER ME

shoko: sigh

shoko: i didn’t want it to come to this but you leave me no choice

shoko: i’m checking your location.

shoko: GIRL WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING THERE

shoko: 2 missed calls

shoko: you better give me answers the second you're online...or else.

you: dot dot dot

shoko: WHAT. HAPPENED.

you: emergency phone call

shoko: 🧍‍♀️

shoko: you’re a terrible liar

you: ok but like. 

you: it wasn’t a lie. it was an emergency. a hot boy emergency

shoko: OH MY GOD. 

shoko: OH MY GOD. 

shoko: OH MY GODDDDD.

you: he talked to me

you: HE TALKED TO ME SHOKO

shoko: AND???

you: and i said dumb shit

you: and he still talked to me

you: and i think i blacked out at one point??

you: but like. the good kind

shoko:YOU’RE TELLING ME MYSTERIOUS HOT BASSIST MAN TALKED TO YOU AND YOU LIVED???

you: barely

you: i think i ascended actually

shoko: you’re telling me you were about to dip and then HE approached YOU????

you: he remembered me from the front row 😭

you: called me cute 😭😭

you: asked for my name 😭😭😭

you: CALLED ME SWEETHEART 😭😭😭😭

shoko: …girl.

shoko: i don’t wanna be dramatic

shoko: but i might start planning your wedding

you: pls help i’m still outside the venue trying not to combust

you: he said he’d see me again if i came to the next gig

you: SHOKO WHAT IF I GO TO EVERY GIG UNTIL I DIE

shoko: yeah bestie we’re in our groupie era now

-

You show up a whole forty minutes before the doors even open—Shoko said she’d meet you later, but you’re already leaning against the building like a total loser. Or an over zealous fan. Same thing, really.

You're debating if you should take a walk to kill time when the door swings open, and out steps him. Black button-up, sleeves rolled up again, a few buttons undone, and that familiar purple eyeshadow hugging his tired eyes. His lip quirks up the second he sees you.

“Excited to see me?” he asks, cocking his head as he strolls over. His voice is low, teasing—but not unkind.

Your face goes up in flames. “What—n-no. I mean yes. I mean—Shoko said she’d meet me later and I didn’t wanna be late, obviously.”

He hums, clearly amused. “Mhm. Obnoxiously early, huh?”

“Fashionably early,” you grumble, and he laughs, like you’re the most entertaining thing he’s heard all day.

Then he nods his head toward the door. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to the guys.”

You blink. Wait. Right now??

You glance down at your outfit—cute enough for the gig, maybe not cute enough to meet him again, let alone his entire band. But he’s already walking, and you’re a fool if you don’t follow.

The door creaks open, and you’re hit with the low hum of conversation, faint music playing from someone’s phone, and the scent of sweat and cologne. Your heart’s going a mile a minute.

“Yo,” Choso calls, and two heads turn.

The tall white-haired man draped across the couch offers a lazy grin. “Oh? Who’s this?”

Choso leans against the doorframe and jerks a thumb toward you. “She’s the one I was talking about.”

Your eyes widen. Talking about?? Since when???

“Ooooh,” the other guy drawls from where he’s fiddling with a drumstick, hair tied back and gaze sharp as ever. “So this is her.”

“Shut up,” Choso mutters, but there’s a hint of pink dusting his ears. He looks back at you, eyes soft. “That’s Satoru—he never shuts up. And that’s Suguru. Don’t let him fool you—he’s worse.”

“Lies and slander,” Satoru says with a wink.

You’re frozen. Do you wave? Speak? Die on the spot?

“Hi,” you say, awkwardly.

Suguru offers a small nod. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Finally???

Satoru leans forward with a devilish grin. “Choso wouldn’t shut up about you, y’know?”

Choso visibly tenses. “Go bother someone else.”

But it’s too late—you’re already flushed to your ears, and Satoru’s howling with laughter.

“You’re cute,” he tells you. “You can stick around.”

You glance at Choso, and he gives you the smallest smile. Like you belong here.

And for the first time—you think maybe you do.

He walks ahead a bit, glancing over his shoulder as he gestures toward the sound booth. “That’s Nao, our sound tech. She’s the only reason we don’t sound like trash onstage.”

Nao waves without looking up from her monitor, and you awkwardly lift a hand back. Choso chuckles under his breath.

He keeps going, showing you the light setup, where they stash backup guitars, even the vending machine he’s pretty sure is haunted. Every person you pass gives you that look—oh, so this is the girl.

Your fingers twist nervously around the strap of your bag. It’s not like they’re being unfriendly. If anything, everyone’s nice. Welcoming, even. But still—you can’t shake the nerves bubbling in your chest.

You feel his gaze before you hear his voice.

“Nervous?” he asks, quiet and low.

You blink up at him. He’s standing close now, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, watching you like he’s not sure if he’s scaring you or if you’re just shy.

You swallow. “A little.”

His mouth twitches—almost a smile. “You don’t have to be. Everyone’s chill.”

You nod, but you know the tension is still written all over your face.

And then—he reaches out. Just a light touch to your wrist. “Hey. I asked you here ‘cause I wanted you to come. Not to freak you out.”

His voice is soft now, just for you.

You manage a sheepish smile. “Sorry. It’s just… new.”

He shrugs, lips curling slightly. “Yeah. But I’m not that scary, right?”

You meet his eyes, and the look he gives you—teasing but warm—makes your stomach flip.

“…Not yet,” you murmur.

And he laughs, head tilted back like you just said the funniest thing all night. “You’re cute.”

Great. Now you’re even more nervous.

He walks you over to the stage setup, lights dim and moody, the buzz of crew members in the background. The instruments are neatly arranged—drum kits, amps, tangled cords, and at the center, his guitar resting on its stand.

He picks it up effortlessly, letting the strap fall over his shoulder. His fingers settle over the strings, and he begins to strum, absentmindedly. It’s not even a real song, just soft notes—but it’s hypnotizing.

Especially the way his fingers move. Long, slender, practiced.

You're staring. Absolutely entranced.

“Wanna try playing?” he asks suddenly.

You snap out of it so fast it’s embarrassing. “H-huh?”

He chuckles, soft and low. “Bit distracted there, sweetheart. You okay?”

“I’m good. Mhm.” You nod a little too quickly, plastering on a tight smile as your face warms. You hope he doesn’t notice, but that knowing glint in his eyes tells you otherwise.

He steps toward you with the guitar, offering it out with a slight tilt of his head. “Here.”

Your hands hover uncertainly. “O-oh… I don’t know how to play.”

He just smiles. “It’s alright, I’ll help you.”

He walks behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him at your back. You swear your heart skips a beat when his arms slip around you, guiding yours. He’s gentle as he places your left hand along the neck of the guitar, adjusting your fingers over the frets, his hand covering yours.

“Just relax,” he murmurs, voice right by your ear.

Your breath hitches.

“Shit—sorry, too close?” he asks quickly, voice laced with concern.

“N-no! It’s fine! Totally fine.” You somehow manage to stand upright.

He smiles again, that soft kind of amused. “Alright, just press here... yeah, that’s it.” He places your fingers on the strings. “Now, strum with this hand—lightly. Let the strings breathe.”

You try, hesitantly dragging your fingers down the strings. A clumsy note sounds out.

Choso hums. “Not bad. Now, try a G chord—here, like this.” His fingers mold yours again, warm and careful.

You nod, barely able to think with him this close, and repeat the motion. It sounds... slightly better.

“See?” he says, praising you with a smile in his voice. “Fast learner.”

You glance up at him over your shoulder, heart fluttering. “Maybe I just have a good teacher.”

His lips quirk, and he looks at you like you’ve just made his night.

“Well,” he says, “I am good with my hands.”

Your brain short-circuits.

He grins when he hears that soft, breathy little sound escape your lips.

“O-oh,” you stammer, eyes wide as you blink up at him.

His smile deepens, all teasing and low charm. “Didn’t mean to make you nervous,” he says, though he definitely did. 

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but your brain’s gone completely blank. The only thing in your head is him. His voice, his scent, the low buzz of his guitar still humming in your hands.

“I—uh, yeah. No. You’re doing great. I mean—I’m doing great. I mean—thank you.”

He laughs. Not mockingly—it's soft, sweet, like he finds you genuinely adorable.

“You’re cute when you get flustered,” he says, voice quiet.

You look down at the guitar in your hands, pretending very hard to be focused on the strings.

“Maybe we’ll get you to play a whole song next time.”

You blink. “Next time?”

He shrugs casually, stepping back just enough to make you miss his warmth. “If you’re coming to the next gig, I figured I’d see you again.”

And then, with the most casual confidence, he adds, “You wanna?”

You blink up at him, heart still pounding from the way he practically wrapped himself around you moments ago. But then—somehow—you find your footing, just enough to muster a sliver of confidence.

You clear your throat, giving him a lopsided little smile. “Let’s see how this one goes first.”

His brows shoot up, clearly amused. “Is that a challenge?”

You shrug, trying not to melt under his gaze. “Depends. You think you can handle it?”

Choso laughs—a low, warm sound that vibrates in your chest more than your ears. He leans in again, just a little, his face dangerously close to yours. “Sweetheart,” he says, voice like silk, “I know I can.”

-

The crowd is thicker than last time. Hazy neon lights wash the walls in streaks of violet and red, and the room thrums with anticipation. You can feel the energy buzzing through your fingertips, your legs bouncing where you sit off to the side of the stage.

Choso catches your eye just before stepping on. He’s dressed in that same loose black button-up—top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tattoos stark against his pale skin. His eyes are lined in that soft purple hue again, hair falling wild to his neck, and yet he somehow looks composed. Grounded. Like he was born to be here.

He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look—half smirk, half something softer—and it sends butterflies flurrying in your chest.

And then: the lights dim. The crowd erupts. The band takes the stage.

Suguru on drums, flashing a grin at the front row before twirling his sticks and slamming into the first beat like a force of nature. Satoru struts forward, mic in hand, already oozing charisma, and Choso—Choso slides into position with his bass like it’s a part of him. One hand gripping the neck, the other plucking strings with a lazy, practiced ease.

The sound hits you like a wave. Loud. Gritty. Addictive.

But even as the music drowns everything out, your eyes stay locked on him.

Choso doesn’t look at the crowd. Doesn’t need to. He’s in his own world—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, swaying with the rhythm like the bass is leading him. And yet, somehow, he still finds a way to glance at you.

Just for a second. A flicker of a smirk.

And that’s when you realize it.

He’s playing for them—but looking at you.

And that smolder in his gaze? That spark that coils low in your belly?

It’s all for you.

-

The crowd’s roars have faded, the lights are dimming, and you’re still standing there, heart racing. Choso’s walking off stage, sweat-slick and glowing, bass still strapped to his back, and the second his eyes find you he smiles. Soft. Lopsided. Like it’s just for you.

He weaves through the staff with ease, and before you can fully brace yourself, he’s in front of you, that same lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t think you’d actually stick around,” he teases, voice low, raspy from the set.

You roll your eyes, a little bashful. “Had to see if your fingers really lived up to the hype.”

His brows shoot up, surprised—and then he laughs. It’s deep and warm and it makes your stomach do flips. “Oh? And?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I’m not sure yet. Might need a private performance to decide.”

And damn, now he’s the one blushing.

He blinks. Once. Twice. And then that lazy grin deepens into something more—something that makes your throat dry.

“A private performance, huh?” he echoes, slinging the bass off his shoulder, setting it down like he’s done this a thousand times before—cool, collected, practiced. “You planning to book me?”

You cross your arms, trying to look unbothered despite the heat crawling up your neck. “Maybe. Depends on your rates.”

He steps closer, just a little, enough to tilt his head down to look at you properly. His voice drops lower. “I charge in coffee. Late-night conversations. And the occasional secret.”

“Oh?” you arch a brow. “That’s expensive.”

He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re worth it.”

Pause.

Your heart skips. Literally skips.

And suddenly it’s too quiet. The post-show noise is just background hum now—muffled cheers, clinks of beer bottles, bandmates laughing somewhere behind you. But he’s looking at you like you’re the only person who matters in this moment. Like he wants to learn you.

So you try to deflect, half-teasing, “You say that to all the girls who hang around after shows?”

He hums, like he’s pretending to think. “No,” he says finally. “You’re the only one who stayed quiet the whole time. Just… watched.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Was it creepy?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. It was nice. Felt like you were listening to more than just the music.”

You weren’t. You were listening to him.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you glance away, pretending not to be swooning.

And then—

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging your chin with two fingers to bring your gaze back to his. “Wanna get outta here?”

Your breath hitches. “Huh?”

He smiles, easy and relaxed, eyes scanning your face like he’s memorizing it. “There’s this spot a few blocks from here—low lights, decent drinks, great fries. Thought maybe I could buy you one. A drink, not a fry,” he adds with a little chuckle.

Your heart is thudding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. “Are you… asking me out?”

He shrugs, casual but undeniably charming. “If I said yes, would you say no?”

You try to play it cool, crossing your arms even though your insides are a whole storm. “You planning to pull that whole mysterious musician act the whole time?”

He leans in just a bit, close enough for your noses to nearly brush. “Only if it gets me a second date.”

And just like that, you’re done for.

“...I guess I could go for a drink.”

His grin widens. “Good. I’ll grab my jacket.”

-

The bar he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place you wouldn’t find unless someone told you about it. There’s warm yellow lighting, a soft hum of old-school music playing on the speakers, and barely anyone around. It’s intimate in a way that makes your skin feel warm before you’ve even taken a sip of your drink.

He lets you slide into the booth first, then settles in across from you. His hands rest on the table, rings catching the light, and you find your gaze drawn to them—again. Damn those fingers.

“I’m not used to people sticking around after shows,” he says, eyes not leaving yours.

“I’m not used to chasing after bassists,” you shoot back, lips twitching.

He smirks. “So I’m special, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile you’re fighting wins. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Your drinks come. He lets you steal a sip of his. You let him steal two of yours.

“What got you into music?” you ask after a while, resting your chin on your hand.

He leans back, gaze flickering up like he’s searching the ceiling for the answer. “My dad, actually. He taught me how to play. He was obsessed with rhythm—said it was the heart of everything.”

You nod slowly. “He still around?”

Choso shakes his head. “Nah. Been a while. But I think he’d get a kick out of seeing me like this.”

There’s a quiet between you, not awkward, just full. You sip your drink.

“What about you?” he asks. “What do you do when you’re not falling for mysterious musicians at dive bars?”

You raise a brow. “Who said I was falling?”

His lips curve. “Touché.”

You end up telling him more than you thought you would. About your work, your favorite food, even boring little details. But he listens like every word matters. Laughs when you least expect it. His foot nudges yours under the table halfway through the night, and it stays there.

Eventually, the lights get lower, and the bar empties out.

“Guess we closed the place down,” you say, glancing around.

Choso’s watching you with a soft look. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

Your heart flutters. “Same place?”

He smiles, gaze never leaving yours. “Sure.”

The night doesn’t end there.

He insists on walking you home—no arguments, no jokes, just slips his hand into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And you let him, fingers intertwining with his, warmth blooming in your chest. It’s a quiet walk, but not the awkward kind. It’s that gentle, late-night calm. Like the whole world slowed down just for the two of you.

And for once, he’s not the brooding bassist with sharp eyeliner and calloused fingers. He’s just Choso. A guy who likes the way your hand fits in his. A guy who lets out a soft chuckle when you shiver and instinctively step closer.

You reach your place too soon.

You stop at the doorstep, neither of you making a move. No one says anything. You should probably say something. Goodnight. Thanks. This was fun. But the words get caught somewhere in your throat.

He steps closer instead.

There’s a breath between you. Just one.

And then his lips are on yours—soft, almost hesitant, like he’s asking if this is okay. And you answer him by fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him in. His hand comes up to your cheek, holding you steady as he kisses you again. Still gentle. Still quiet. But it makes your head spin all the same.

When he finally pulls back, he stays close, forehead pressed lightly to yours.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your heart might’ve actually stopped.

You slam the door shut behind you, back pressed against it, heart pounding so hard you swear it echoes in your ribcage. You stare at your phone, wide-eyed, thumbs flying:

you: SHOKO

you: SHOKO I NEED YOU TO WAKE UP

you: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY 

shoko: it’s literally 1am

shoko: you better be on fire 

you: I KISSED HIM

shoko: what

shoko: WHO

shoko: WAIT

shoko: WAIT.

you: YES. HIM.

shoko: THE HOT GUITAR PLAYER???

you: CHOSO. YES. YES. YES

shoko: oh my god you’re so gone

you: HE WALKED ME HOME. HELD MY HAND. KISSED ME. I AM GONE GONE.

shoko: AAAAAAAAAAA

you: HE SAID ‘GOODNIGHT SWEETHEART’

shoko: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

you: I KNOW

You toss your phone onto the bed, face planting right after it, squealing into your pillow like a teenager all over again.

Because you kissed him. And he kissed you back. And you’re never sleeping tonight.

-

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is quiet—too quiet. You’ve already scrolled through your entire feed twice, tried reading, even got up to make tea you didn’t drink.

Then your phone lights up.

Incoming call: Choso.

Your heart stutters.

You take a breath and answer. “…Hey.”

His voice is warm on the other end. “Hey. Did I wake you?”

You shake your head even though he can’t see. “No. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Same,” he says. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your breath catches. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, like it might calm your racing heart.

There’s a small silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s soft. Comfortable. Like neither of you really wants to hang up.

He speaks again, voice a little lower. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You try to play it off. “I put in effort. Didn’t want to show up looking like I did last time.”

“I liked that too,” he says. “But tonight you walked in and I forgot what the hell I was doing.”

You laugh, hiding your face in your pillow.

“I wish I could see you again right now,” he says.

“Me too.”

“Would it be too much if I said I kinda wanna fall asleep listening to you?”

Your stomach flips.

You whisper, “Then stay on the line.”

And you do—both of you quiet, just breathing, letting the silence say everything.

-

You're standing outside the bar, shifting on your feet, trying to act like you haven’t been checking your reflection in every window on the walk here.

This time, your outfit isn’t casual by accident. You planned it. Styled your hair just right. Even put on that gloss you save for special occasions.

You step inside and immediately spot him, leaning back against a booth like he owns the place, one arm slung lazily over the seat. His eyes lift—

—and damn.

They rake down your figure slowly, like he’s drinking you in. And when they return to your face, there’s the smallest upward curve to his lips.

“Someone dressed to impress,” he says, standing as you approach.

“Maybe,” you reply, coy. “You are the star of the show, after all.”

He laughs low in his throat, hand brushing the small of your back as he leans in close. “Nah,” he murmurs. “Tonight, it’s all about you.”

You sit together in the same booth. This time, there’s no ice to break. The tension simmers warm between you—his knee bumps yours under the table and doesn’t move away. His eyes flicker to your lips more than once.

“So,” you say, swirling your drink. “What happens after drinks, guitar boy?”

He smirks, elbow resting on the table as he leans closer. “Depends. You thinking of letting me kiss you again?”

You raise your brows. “You planning on asking?”

He tilts his head. “I could. But you didn’t seem to need much prompting last time.”

That earns him a playful nudge. And a flustered laugh.

He grins. "Take your time, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

The jukebox crackles as the next track begins—slow, dreamy, sweet.

Like falling asleep in warm hands. Like the part in a romance film where everything softens.

Before you can even comment on the vibe shift, Choso is rising from the booth, hand extended toward you, palm up.

Your brows lift. “You serious?”

He just smiles. “C’mon. Dance with me.”

You hesitate—because, what? In a bar? With him?? But his fingers flex, waiting, and the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to say no.

You slip your hand into his.

He pulls you gently to the dance floor. There’s no one else there—just you, him, and the slow rhythm bleeding from the speakers. His hands settle on your waist. Yours hover awkwardly before curling behind his neck.

You sway.

“I didn’t take you for a dancer,” you mumble, heart skipping when he twirls you suddenly.

He smirks. “I’m not.”

You laugh—loud and sweet and so damn happy. And when he catches you again, you don’t pull away. Instead, you melt into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling the soft thud of his heartbeat under the fabric of his shirt.

His hand traces slow circles on your back.

“This okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, nuzzling in closer. “Yeah… It’s perfect.”

He rests his chin lightly atop your head. And neither of you says another word.

Not when the song ends.

Not when the next one starts.

Because for that moment—it’s just the two of you, swaying under dim lights, held together by the sound of a love song.

-

You step outside into the night, your breath curling in pale puffs. The air is colder than before, wrapping around your bare arms like a whispered warning. You shiver.

Without a word, Choso shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. His hand rests at your waist, warm and firm, grounding you.

For a while, you just stand there—side by side, quiet. The city buzzes in the distance, cars passing, streetlights humming.

You glance up at him, and he’s already looking at you. Hard.

Like he’s trying to memorize the slope of your jaw. The way the wind lifts your hair. The way your lips part just slightly when you breathe.

“What?” you ask, a soft laugh in your voice, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just wets his lips. His fingers flex against your hip.

“I just…” he starts, voice rough with restraint. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

You blink, heart thudding once. Twice.

The pause stretches.

“Yeah?” you murmur, leaning in a fraction. Teasing.

He nods once. Barely.

You smile—heart pounding in your throat. “So why don’t you?”

And that’s all it takes.

He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks like you’re made of porcelain. And when his lips finally meet yours—it’s soft. Slow. Full of the tension he’s been carrying all night, unspooling between you in breathless silence.

His nose bumps yours. Your hands fist the front of his shirt again. Just like last time.

Only this time, you don’t stop at one kiss.

And when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice low:

“You’re gonna ruin me, y’know that?”

You laugh, barely a whisper against his lips, breath mingling with his. “Then I guess I better make it worth your while.”

That gets a reaction.

His gaze darkens just slightly, lips twitching into the faintest smirk as his hands slide down from your cheeks, one settling at the nape of your neck while the other pulls you flush against him. “You trying to kill me, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer.

Because you’re already kissing him again.

This time it’s different.

Less hesitant.

More hungry.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the dark strands that fall just past his neck, tugging gently until he groans into your mouth. He kisses you deeper, like he’s starved, like he hasn’t been thinking about this since the first night he met you in the crowd, eyes wide and awe-struck.

His hand grips your waist, fingers digging in—not too hard, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You gasp, and he takes the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip, tongue flicking against it before pulling back just enough to breathe:

“You’re trouble.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips kiss-swollen and heart racing. “You’re one to talk.”

And he laughs—low and breathy, pressing another quick kiss to your mouth like he can’t help himself.

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let me walk you home before I get any worse ideas.”

The walk back is quiet—but not the awkward kind. It’s heavy with something, charged with unspoken words and lingering touches. His fingers brush yours with every step, and each time it happens, your breath catches.

You swear he’s doing it on purpose.

But you don’t stop him.

The streetlights cast a soft glow on him, turning his features golden for a moment, then shadowed the next. He looks… different like this. Softer. Less like the untouchable bassist who had you practically drooling the first night, and more like someone you could fall for if you’re not careful.

You sneak a glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

You look away fast, heart leaping, and he chuckles under his breath.

"Cold?" he asks, tugging you gently closer.

You nod, even though that’s not why you’re shaking.

His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your head fits against him perfectly, and his hand rubs slow circles against your arm, warm and grounding.

“Still nervous?” he murmurs.

You laugh quietly. “Little bit.”

“Me too.”

You tilt your head to look at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “You make me nervous.”

You’re about to say something—anything—but then you’ve reached your place.

And suddenly, you don’t want to go inside.

He stops in front of your door, letting you go with a reluctant sigh. His hand lingers on your arm for a second longer before falling away.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he shoves his hands into his pockets and asks, “You gonna call me?”

You nod. “If you answer.”

He grins. “Always.”

You hesitate—just for a second—and then press a soft kiss to his cheek. It’s quick, but the way his breath hitches tells you it did the trick.

“Goodnight, Choso.”

And before he can pull you in again, before you can throw all common sense out the window and kiss him properly, you slip inside.

Heart pounding. Lips tingling.

-

You wake up with your heart still pounding.

And not because of a nightmare.

Nope. This was worse.

Because it was real.

You kissed Choso.

Again.

And not in a dreamlike, floaty, “this could be a maybe” kind of way. You kissed him after swaying in his arms like some romcom protagonist. You kissed him, and he kissed you back, and you felt your knees give just a little, and you definitely whimpered against his mouth like a fool.

You groan and roll onto your side, burying your face in your pillow.

You’re so doomed.

Your phone vibrates.

You blink and grab it, squinting at the screen.

choso: didn’t want to wake you but i just wanted to say

choso: thank you for last night

You freeze.

Sit up slowly.

Your heartbeat? Violent.

You tap out a reply, delete it, rewrite it, delete again. Finally, you just go with:

you: it was nothing :)

Immediately after sending it:

you: i’m being weird aren’t i ignore me please

And then:

you: but also don’t ignore me because i liked it and i like you and i’m going to stop talking now before i make it worse

Your phone is dangerously quiet for thirty seconds.

Then it buzzes again.

choso: you’re not being weird.

choso: you’re being adorable

choso: i like you too

choso: also… can i see you again tonight?

You shriek into your pillow.

And then type:

you: you better

-

You weren’t expecting it when he texted you earlier that day.

come to the studio. i want you to hear something.

Now here you are, walking through a narrow hallway that smells like cigarettes and worn leather, Choso’s voice telling the receptionist to let you in. He meets you at the door, hoodie on, hair loosely tied back, a pair of headphones slung around his neck.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes raking over you with a small smile tugging at his lips.

You smile back, brushing past him as he closes the door behind you. The studio is dimly lit, a warm orange hue cast by the LED strips lining the edges of the ceiling. There’s a worn-out couch in the corner, an empty coffee cup on the desk, and wires everywhere.

He leads you to a chair beside him. “Wrote something last night. Thought you might want to hear it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Inspired by anything?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a look.

He clicks a few keys on his laptop, and music starts playing—slow, rich bass, soft drums, a melody that feels like it’s watching you breathe. Then lyrics—his voice, lower and raspier than usual.

And the words? They burn.

It’s about being unable to get someone off your mind. About how they haunt your quiet moments. About wanting something that feels dangerous and delicate at the same time.

When it ends, there’s a beat of silence.

“…You wrote that?” you ask.

Choso nods, slow. “All of it.”

“It’s…” Your voice catches. “It’s beautiful.”

He leans back, watching you carefully. “It’s about you. In case that wasn’t obvious.”

The room feels smaller. Hotter. You swallow.

You murmur, “I didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you.”

“You don’t,” he says, stepping closer. “You have more.”

He’s standing between your knees now. One hand on the armrest beside you. The other gently tilts your chin up.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You nod before your brain even catches up.

And then he does—slower this time. Like he’s savoring it. His lips slot against yours and the world blurs. His hand slips to your waist, drawing you closer, and you wrap your arms around his neck without thinking.

The music plays on in the background. But neither of you hears it.

His lips are warm against yours, stealing every thought from your head. One kiss turns into two, then three—deeper, slower, more intense. His hands settle on your waist, firm, grounding. You melt into him without thinking.

But then—between kisses, you manage a breathless whisper, lips brushing his as you speak.

“Choso, not here—there’s people around.”

His eyes open slowly, pupils blown wide. He glances around, then back at you, and that look in his eyes? It's trouble.

Without saying a word, he grabs your hand. “Come on.”

You barely catch your breath before he’s pulling you along, weaving past people, straight toward the exit. His grip doesn’t loosen, even when he’s fumbling for his keys. He unlocks his car in a rush and opens the passenger door for you before sliding into the driver’s seat himself.

The whole ride is charged—silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional stolen glance. He taps the steering wheel with his fingers, the ones that had just been ghosting over your skin minutes ago.

When he pulls into the parking lot of his building, he doesn’t waste time. Hands still locked with yours, he leads you upstairs, heart pounding just as fast as yours.

The second the door shuts behind you, he turns around—and everything finally snaps.

Choso doesn’t pounce. He doesn’t rush.

He leans against the door, just watching you. Taking you in like it’s the first time. His eyes roam your face, your lips—your heaving chest. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to smile.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low, husky.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes.

He pushes off the door slowly, strides over like a man with nowhere else to be. His hands find your waist, gentle at first, then firm. His head dips down, lips ghosting over your jaw, your cheek, your mouth—but he doesn’t kiss you yet.

“You look so pretty tonight,” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint.

His nose grazes your neck, and you shudder. Every place his breath touches feels like it’s burning.

“You always look pretty,” he adds, kissing just below your ear now. “But tonight?”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, lips brushing lower.

“You’re killing me.”

Your hands find the hem of his hoodie, fingers twitching as you lift it up slowly—exposing the pale skin of his stomach inch by inch. He lets you, arms raised, letting the fabric slide off and onto the floor. The tattoos swirl over his chest, catching the soft glow of the apartment lights, and your fingers can’t help but trace them.

“Still nervous?” he asks, voice rougher now.

You shake your head. “No. Just… can’t believe this is real.”

Choso tilts your chin up, makes you look at him. His gaze is so intense it steals the breath from your lungs.

“It is,” he says. “And we’ve got all night.”

He kisses you again, this time softer, slower. No rush. Just lips moving against yours with quiet reverence, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth.

His hands stay on your waist, warm and steady, but you feel the way his thumbs are drawing lazy circles on your skin—like he’s trying to ground himself. Like he’s savoring the moment as much as you are.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He hums into the kiss, one hand sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair.

The path to the bedroom is a blur.

You’re not sure how you get there—if he carries you, or if you walk, tangled up in each other, lips never parting for more than a breath.

The room is dim, lit only by the city lights bleeding through the blinds. It paints both of you in silver and shadow. Choso backs you toward the bed, and when your knees hit the edge, he pauses. Looks down at you like you’re something sacred.

You swallow, heart thundering. “Are you gonna keep staring or—”

“Shh.” He dips his head, kisses your neck, just under your jaw. “Let me take my time with you.”

You shiver. God, his voice—low, velvet, dangerous.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

He pushes you onto the bed and you bounce slightly on it. He’s crawling up your body, hands trailing along your sides, slipping beneath your shirt—fingertips so gentle it sends goosebumps across your skin. You raise your arms, let him take it off. He discards it carefully, almost reverently, and then he’s touching you again.

It’s not frantic. It’s worship.

The way he kisses down your chest, murmuring things you can’t even process. The way he handles you like he’s scared you’ll break. His mouth is everywhere—leaving warmth and wetness and little marks that’ll be there tomorrow. Proof that this happened. That he happened.

When his hands slip lower, and he finally asks, “Can I?”—you nod, breathless, and he grins, slow and sinful.

“Good,” he whispers. “Because I’m not stopping tonight.”

His touch starts soft. Teasing.

His fingers graze along your thigh, slipping under your skirt. Just the pad of one finger tracing your inner thigh, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you. He watches your reactions closely—every breath, every twitch, every clench of your thighs like it’s his favorite show.

“Already shaking,” he murmurs with a smirk, fingers drifting up higher, stopping just at the edge of your underwear. “And I’ve barely touched you.”

When he finally slips his hand beneath the fabric of your panties, his fingers are warm, his touch confident. He finds you wet—soaked—and he groans low in his throat.

“Fuck... all this for me?”

His middle finger drags through your folds, slow and deliberate, gathering everything, spreading it around before circling your clit—just barely touching it. It’s maddening.

“You’re already this worked up,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss your jaw. “What happens when I really start?”

He’s rushing to take your underwear off, almost ripping them in the process. Then—finally—he eases a finger inside.

It’s slow at first. Just one finger, shallow thrusts, curling up and stroking that spot inside you until your hips start chasing him, greedy for more. He watches your face the whole time, eats up every whimper.

“Choso… more,” you whisper, barely able to speak.

His eyes flick up, dark and hungry. “Yeah?” he murmurs. “You can take another?”

You nod, breathless.

He slides a second finger in—thicker, deeper. His palm presses against your clit as his fingers work inside you, curling just right, just enough pressure to make your back arch. His other hand grabs your thigh, keeps you open and steady as he builds a rhythm.

It’s obscene—the wet, messy sounds of his fingers fucking into you—but it only makes him grin.

“You hear that, sweetheart?” he says lowly. 

You’re gasping now, clutching the sheets, legs shaking. He really is good with his hands.

“C’mon,” he whispers against your neck, tongue darting out to taste you. “Let go for me.”

And with one more curl, one more stroke—you do.

You come around his fingers, back arching, a moan ripped from your chest as he keeps moving through it, working you until you’re twitching, thighs trembling against him.

When he finally pulls his fingers out, he brings them to his lips.

“Tastes even better than I imagined,” he says, voice low and ruined.

He doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath.

The second those words leave his mouth, his gaze drops—hungry, wicked—and before you can ask what he’s doing, he’s already moving.

He’s moving down your body, settling between your legs, hands parting your thighs, spreading you wide open for him. You barely manage a gasp before his mouth is on you.

And fuck.

He licks a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—moaning against you like he’s tasting something divine. His tongue is hot, wet, firm—flicking against your clit before flattening and dragging against it again. He’s not shy. He devours.

You twitch under him, gasping, and his grip on your thighs tightens.

“Stay still for me,” he murmurs against you, breath fanning over your soaked heat. “Let me eat, baby.”

And oh, does he eat.

He buries his face between your legs like he’s starved—lips and tongue and heat and mess, sucking your clit into his mouth, groaning when your fingers grab his hair and pull. His nose nudges your clit, the piercings in his ears cold against your thigh.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting your hips just right so he can get even deeper. His tongue fucks into you, messy and wet, before he pulls back to mouth at your clit again.

You’re a wreck—panting, eyes rolling back, legs trembling on either side of his head. He loves it. You can tell by the way he hums into you, nose buried in your folds, like every whimper out of you is a personal victory.

Your thighs start to close around his head—he lets them. Arms locking around your legs, holding you there like he wants to be suffocated. And with one more flick of his tongue—one more swirl, one more perfect pressure—

You cry out, hips jerking, thighs clenching, and he doesn’t stop. He works you through it, licking, kissing, groaning against your cunt like he’s drunk off you.

When your body finally slumps back against the mattress, dazed and spent, he pulls back just enough to look up at you.

His mouth glistens. His eyes are wrecked.

And he licks his lips.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Choso’s mouth is still hot against yours, the kiss messy and hungry, his tongue sliding over yours like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. 

He unbuckles his belt, pushing his pants down along with his boxers, his girthy length slapping against his abdomen. Your mouth parts in a soft gasp at the sight of it. But you don't have time to marvel at it. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing them up—higher, higher—until you're folded in half in a mean mating press.

“Gonna keep you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough, chest heaving. “Wanna see your face while I fuck you.”

Your breath catches.

His hands hook behind your knees, holding them open as he shifts forward. The position has you completely laid out for him, helpless beneath the weight of his body. You feel his cock, thick and hard, dragging over your slick entrance—and then he pushes in, slow and deep.

You whimper—a sound torn from your throat, soft and wrecked, your back arching as he presses deeper.

Choso groans, low and guttural, head falling forward to rest against yours. His breath fans hot across your cheek, and you swear you can feel the tremble in his arms as he holds himself still—just for a second.

“F-fuck…” he breathes, voice rough with restraint. “You’re so fucking tight like this…”

His hips roll forward again, slower this time, the movement deliberate—like he wants you to feel every inch. “Feels like you’re made for me,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a rasp.

Your fingers scramble across the expanse of his back, nails dragging, searching for something to ground you. His shoulders, his arms, anything—because the way he’s filling you, stretching you, it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

Then he starts to move. Deep. Steady. And the new angle is devastating.

He hits every spot just right, his cock dragging along your walls, slow and purposeful, grinding into the deepest parts of you with every thrust. Your legs tremble in his hold, pinned back and open for him, the pressure building with each stroke. Your jaw falls open, a moan slipping free—high-pitched and desperate.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

But it’s not pain. No—never that.

It’s overwhelming. It’s perfect. It’s him.

“You’re taking it so well,” he grits out, eyes burning into yours as his pace deepens. “Fuck—just like that, baby. Taking all of me.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted as your moans spill freely. He leans down—closer, closer—until your thighs are nearly flush to your chest and his weight settles on top of you, heavy and grounding.

And he fucks you.

Not rough, but intentional—each stroke slow and deep, hips rolling so he never leaves you empty. He watches your face, watches every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes. Like he’s trying to memorize it. All of it.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling when his thrusts grind just right. His name escapes you in a whimper—over and over, his name like a mantra.

“Choso—” you gasp. “Oh my God—Choso, I-I…”

“I know,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

You’re soaked—messy, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling where your bodies meet. The wet slap of skin on skin is loud in the room, underscored by the soft creak of the mattress and your broken cries.

He shifts, angling just so, and you shatter.

Your body seizes, nails digging into his back as your orgasm rips through you, sudden and all-consuming. A sob leaves your throat, your back arching as your walls flutter and clamp down around him.

With a low groan, he shifts—gently, carefully—his hands sliding beneath your thighs to lower them. You gasp softly when he wraps your legs around his waist, keeping you close, keeping you full, as his hips press flush to yours.

He groans—a raw, broken sound—his hips stuttering. “Shit—fuck, I’m close—where do you want it, sweetheart?”

You barely think. You just nod, desperate. “Inside—please—inside.”

That’s all he needs.

He presses in deep, body trembling, a shudder running through him as he spills into you, cock twitching with every pulse of his release. You feel the heat of it—so much, thick and warm as it fills you up. And still, he doesn’t stop.

He keeps moving—soft, shallow thrusts that drag it out, that make your body twitch and whimper, overstimulated and glowing.

His name slips from your lips again, quieter this time, your fingers trailing down his back, soothing over sweat-slick skin.

And then—finally—he stills.

Buried to the hilt. Breathing hard. Forehead pressed to your shoulder, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, voice low and reverent.

His hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin like he’s grounding himself.

"Don’t want to let go just yet," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion and aftermath. He leans down, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Feels too good like this.”

You hum, dazed and pliant, arms winding around his neck as your forehead rests against his. His weight, his warmth—it’s comforting. Heavy in the best way.

Every small shift makes you gasp—too sensitive, too raw—but you don’t ask him to move.

You don’t want him to either.

And neither does he.

So he stays there—buried deep, your legs locked around his waist, your bodies tangled as if they were always meant to be like this.

After, when the haze finally starts to fade, Choso is the first to move—but only just.

He brushes your hair from your face with slow fingers, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and full of concern. Gentle. So gentle. “Was that… too much?”

You shake your head, barely able to speak as you whisper, “No. It was perfect.”

He exhales, and the breath sounds like relief. Like he needed to hear that.

Without a word, he slips out of bed, grabbing a warm cloth and returning to you. He moves with such care—his hands slow, wiping between your thighs with reverence, like you’re something precious. You flinch a little at the sensitivity, and he mumbles a soft “Sorry” as he presses a kiss to your knee, his gaze flickering up to check on you again.

Once you’re clean, he tosses the cloth aside and crawls back under the covers. You instinctively curl into him, and he opens his arms wide, pulling you in, tucking your head beneath his chin.

His fingers trace slow, lazy circles along your spine. Your legs are tangled with his, your body warm and sore and safe. He smells like sweat and sex and his cologne, and you want to fall asleep in this exact moment, forever.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs against your hair.

You blink up at him. “That’s my line.”

He smiles, barely-there but so real. “Guess we’ll take turns.”

You laugh—quiet, muffled against his chest—and he hums along with it, fingers still moving along your back.

A silence settles between you, but it isn’t awkward. It’s peaceful. The kind that only comes after letting someone see you bare in every way.

He breaks it eventually, voice thick with sleep. “You staying over?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure?”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed. “Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

And neither would he.

So he kisses the top of your head one more time, murmurs something soft and unintelligible against your skin, and lets himself fall asleep with you in his arms.

Exactly where you both want to be.

author's note. this is just pure choso brainrot because i could not get that fanart out of my head so ofc i had to write something about it. (choso girlies, i'm borrowing your man for a while, thank you)

please do not steal, modify or translate my work.

[inzayneforaj]

𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡

Toji Fushiguro

Ex-Rated Masterlist

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: There's an elephant in the room: Your new boyfriend that Toji has yet to hear about, someone that your daughter clearly knows. Toji needs to hear all the details.

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Angst, Smut, Ex-Husband!Toji, Cheating, Vaginal Fingering, Nipple Play, Vaginal Sex, Biting, Scratching, Creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

“I never want to see you again.” Were the last words you told Toji before handing him the divorce papers. As much as you want your words to hold true, there’s no way in hell that you can escape him. 

In the end, he holds the last laugh.

He sits on your couch, making himself feel welcome in your home as your daughter pulls on his hair with claims that she’s brushing it. At least she’s getting payback for her mommy, even if she does it unknowingly. She finally stops when Toji cries out and yells,

“Stop! My scalp hurts.” 

“You’re going to end up ugly.” She responds, and you can’t help but chuckle at her comment.

“No, he won’t end up ugly. He already is.” You murmur, not wanting your daughter to repeat the words back to her father. Though it’d make you proud to hear it from her, you don’t have to incite disrespectful behavior towards her father. 

“I heard that!” Toji yells, and you roll your eyes, muttering yet another comment, this time about his ears. No matter what, in this situation he ends up losing. He picks up his daughter, and puts her down on his lap to keep her away from messing around with his hair.

“Where’s Megumi?” She asks, wondering where her older brother is. If she can’t play with Toji’s hair, she knows that Megumi will allow her to do anything to his hair. 

“With his friend.” Toji answers, and a small pout comes to her face. Not only is she hearing that her brother isn’t here, but also that he’d rather spend time with a friend instead of his little sister. Granted, he does see her a lot, but in her mind, she should be everyone’s priority.

“I want another brother.” She crosses her arms, her little eyebrows meeting in the middle. Toji chuckles. No way in hell is he letting that happen.

“You’re not getting one from me.” Toji responds, though she’s unphased by the answer. Instead, she gets off her father’s lap and runs to you. She looks up at you with pleading eyes, and you pretend not to see her as you wash the dishes in the kitchen.

You still need to have a very awkward conversation with Toji. You don’t want your daughter to speak a little too much about your personal life when Toji is right there. 

“Mommy, can you and Jin give me a brother?” She makes her voice loud and clear, making your heart drop. You feel your blood run cold as you feel his gaze burn a hole in your head.

“Jin? Who’s that, princess?” Toji’s voice gets sickly sweet as he questions his daughter. Something of his interest has come to light, and Toji will do anything to get information about it.

“He’s–” You begin, finally turning your head to look at Toji. The man glares at you, firmly telling you,

“I am asking my daughter.”

“Mommy’s boyfriend.” She lets it be known, and you bite down your lip. A sudden wave of guilt washes over you as the words roll off her tongue, and the feeling intensifies when you see a frown appear on Toji’s face.

“Jin Itadori? The father of Megumi’s friend?” Toji nearly sighs when you nod in response. He rolls his eyes, and tries to mask his anger by acting indifferent. Perhaps you should speak to him about what’s been going on, but you’re too much of a coward to speak up. It’s an intense conversation, one that you shouldn’t have in front of your daughter. 

“Come here, princess.” Toji tells her, but she shakes her head. She wants a baby brother, and since Toji isn’t going to give her one then there’s no point in buttering him up. 

“I’m going to my room!” She yells, before running away from the kitchen. You’re about to tell her to stop, her father came over to spend time with her but she’s run off.

The tension is thick in the air, and you feel your breath get caught up in your chest. You and Toji stare at each other for a long minute before the man stands up from the couch. He begins to walk to his daughter’s room, not bothering to say anything else.

A sigh of relief escapes your body when he leaves the room, even when you know the relief won’t last for too long. You have to speak to Toji about your romantic life, as uncomfortable as it is.

Toji finds himself upset at the revelation of your boyfriend– Not just anyone for a matter of fact, but Jin Itadori. He knows that you’ve had multiple encounters with Jin, and even though he wouldn’t dare question your loyalty before, Toji is now wondering if there was something that you kept from him.

Even if he’s sure that you’ve always been loyal to him, he still hates the thought of you and Jin being together. You’re allowed to be happy with whoever you’d like, but Jin is too close for comfort. Megumi and that Itadori child are the best of friends for fuck’s sake. 

There might be some other underlying reasons for his disapproval of the relationship, but Toji would rather not think about it. He just wants to blame his feelings on the possibility of a past betrayal; something very unlikely, but anything that gets him away from facing his true feelings.

Toji knows that he has to ask you, but he isn’t sure how to speak about the subject when there’s a child constantly up his ass. So when he gets a text from you, asking you to come over to talk, he cancels all plans for the night and rushes to your apartment. 

“Toji.” You awkwardly smile at him as you open the door. You look as you usually do, since there’s no point in dressing up to talk to Toji. The conversation will last thirty minutes at most. You gesture him inside, “Come in.”

“Where’s Asumi?” Toji asks for his daughter as he steps into the apartment. He wants to know where his daughter is spending the night before anything.

“I asked a friend to babysit.” You answer as he makes his way to the kitchen to grab himself something to drink. No matter what, Toji is going to treat your apartment as his own. It’s something you can appreciate when you’re not in the mood for hosting. You clear your throat before adding on, “I didn’t think it’d be appropriate for her to be here for this… She hears more than what I’d like to admit.”

“Yeah, like you calling me ugly the other day.” Toji points out as he opens a strange can that he finds in the fridge. He doesn’t bother reading it, he’s just thirsty and grabs whatever he can find. He knows it’s nothing alcoholic, you don’t drink alcohol anymore. 

“Oh, you’re not going to like tha–” You try to warn him as Toji puts the can up to his lips and begins to chug it. All to spite you. It’s his way of telling you that he doesn’t follow your orders anymore. To his dismay, Toji quickly regrets not listening to you when he realizes it’s vegetable juice.

“Why would they put this in a can? And why do you have this?” He sounds distraught, and it takes everything in you to not laugh at his misery.

“Asumi loves vegetable juice.” You tell him once you’re sure that you won’t burst into laughter in his face. 

“What a little weirdo.” He mutters before walking to the couch and taking a seat. He makes sure to manspread, making himself as comfortable as possible on your couch. He looks at you with a look of indifference– Indifference that tries to mask something else. “What is it? Just get it out of the way.”

“No foreplay, huh?” You respond, and he lets out a low brief laugh at your choice of words. He ends up humming in response, and you take a deep breath to get yourself ready to speak. You lick your lips before an awkward chuckle leaves your lips. You’re not sure how to start off.

“Take a seat.” Toji pats the little space next to him, and you do as he says. “You should start off with when you started seeing him, and make sure that there’s no overlap between our marriage and–”

“Are you asking if I cheated on you?” There’s a hint of offense in your voice, and Toji knows you enough that he picks up on it. But he doesn’t care to take back his statement, he wants an answer. “I should be the one asking you that– You know what, no. Whatever. I started dating him almost a year ago.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, hating the fact that you’re using his own question against him. You scoff, rolling your eyes at him. You can’t believe he’s asking this question. 

“I filed for divorce, and within a week you had a hussy by your side.” You remind him, not wanting to recall the behavior that left a bad taste on your mouth. He wanted to show her off to you, but you remained as indifferent as possible which drove him insane.

You end up standing up from the couch, walking over to the front door. “Actually, thanks for the reminder. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Huh?” He furrows his eyebrows and you loudly yell,

“Get out!”

“No.” He remains glued to his seat, refusing to get up. He wants to hear more about whatever you and your loverboy have going on. “This is clearly a serious relationship, and he could be my daughter’s stepdad.”

“Yeah, that’s all you need to know.” You unlock the door and open it so the man gets out. You’re not going to take his accusation lightly, not after all that he’s put you through. “And for the record, since when do you care?”

“What are you saying?” Toji asks as he stands up from the couch. He walks over to you, one hand going to the door behind you and shutting it. He looks down at you with dark, scary eyes. Eyes that could make anyone fall to their knees, but they’re no longer intimidating to you.

“The reason we got divorced is because you didn’t want to step up as a father.” You point out, and a frown appears on his face. You fight back a smirk, feeling satisfaction with his evident anger. “So suddenly you care? Or do you not like the fact that I have a boyfriend?”

“What? So you’re saying I’m jealous?” Toji avoids reacting with the anger that you’re attempting to fuel. Toji has a cocky smirk on his lips before saying, “Because trust me when I say, I know I’m not missing out.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you jealous because there’s no way in hell you can get me back.” You respond. You’re about to walk away, but Toji keeps you pinned to the door. You feel as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest in this position– And you know that if you’re kept here for longer then you’ll do something you regret. “Let me go, idiot.”

“We both know you don’t mean that.” Toji tells you, and you click your tongue. He’s right. You still find him attractive, and if he plays his cards right he just might have a chance– No you wouldn’t. You’re happy with whatever you have with your boyfriend, and you won’t let it go to waste for someone as stupid as Toji.

“The same way you don’t mean that you’re not missing out.” You answer, and Toji bites down his tongue. You look away from his face, hating the thoughts that come to your head if you stare too long. Toji should look uglier with age, but it’s the opposite.

“What do you want me to say? That I’m jealous?” He questions, and you roll your eyes. He notices that you refuse to make any sort of eye contact with his face, and he can read you like a book. He laughs. “I’m jealous. Fine.”

“You couldn’t have made it more obvious.” You respond, attempting to get out from the position, but Toji makes it impossible. “Now will you let me go?”

“Now you explain to me whatever you and that idiot have going on.” He says, and you shake your head.

“You didn’t explain whatever you and your girlfriends had going on. I take back my invitation.” You answer, and he puffs out a breath. His hand goes under your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look at him.

“So what? You’re getting payback?” He asks, and to his surprise, you nod in response. He can’t help but chuckle, finally letting you go. You walk away as fast as possible, putting a lot of space between the two of you. “You know, if you want to give me a taste of my own medicine then you know what’ll end up happening, right?”

“No way in hell I’d end up fucking you.”

“For the record, you were the one who fucked me.” You curse yourself for whatever the hell just happened. You’re covering yourself under the bedsheets, avoiding looking at Toji who lays naked beside you. 

This is the reason why you’re never alone with him. You must have one of the kids with you, or else you’ll end up doing something you regret. 

He holds the last laugh, per usual. 

“Are you picking up Asumi tonight or do we have the night off?” Toji asks, and you’re burning in embarrassment. You’re not listening to what he has to say– And oh my goodness, Jin! You invited Toji to talk about Jin, and here you are, laying in bed with your ex-husband.

“I think you should leave.” You murmur, and a cackle leaves Toji’s lips.

“I can leave, but that doesn’t change the fact that we just had sex.” Toji says, and you want to die inside. He pulls the bed sheet down so it uncovers your face. You look so mortified. It’s cute, really. Back then, he was the one that was cheating so it wasn’t a big deal to you. “Oh, c’mon, it’s no big deal.”

“Would you be this laid back if it was you finding me with another man?” You question, and Toji shrugs. He knows he’d be livid, but he doesn’t want to prove your point. You lightly slap his shoulder before telling him, “Yeah, right. You were just asking me if I cheated on you with Jin– Jin!”

“Oh, c’mon, baby. He’s a loser.” He tells you as he tries to bring you close to him again. You can’t be too close to him. Toji has a way of sweet talking you into things that you wouldn’t do due to common sense. He kisses your cheek before saying, “We both know he was the last thing on your mind while you screamed my name.”

“He’s so sweet, Toji.” You respond, though he doesn’t listen. He couldn’t give a shit if Jin is an angel or not. Toji doesn’t like to share. Before you can get another word out, Toji kisses your lips, stopping any trail of thoughts on your end. His lips work like a charm.

His lips move down to your neck, kissing all the spots he just went over. You’re a weak woman. You just told him to leave, yet you won’t stop him as he picks up where you left off. His tongue traces over your breasts, mouth wrapping around your nipple. A soft moan leaves your lips, body feeling so weak with the slightest touch. 

“Toji–” Your breath gets caught up in your chest as you feel his hand go down in between your legs. Two fingers run through your wet folds before he applies some pressure to your clit. Whatever you were thinking a couple of minutes ago, has completely left your mind.

He pushes a finger into your pussy, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. He shouldn’t get such a reaction out of you, but your body is weak for him. It’s why you go back to him so easily. You feel his tongue lick up your breasts to your shoulder before he bites down. The pain is quickly overshadowed by pleasure when Toji pushes in another finger.

“Keep moaning my name, baby.” Toji whispers into your ear as he curves his fingers so they brush against your sweet spot. Your breath begins to get heavy, and all proper thoughts have completely left your brain.

You mindlessly moan his name, your body turning into putty with his touch. He always does this. He makes you feel euphoric so you go back to him. He knows your body so well, and you don’t hate it as much as you should.

“Right there– Oh, Toji!” You moan as you feel his thumb rub your clit. As if just a moment ago you weren’t worrying about Jin, feeling guilty about your betrayal. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Toji’s voice nearly drives you over the edge. His lips kiss back down to your breasts, tongue flicking your nipple. Your hand goes to the back of his head, pulling his hair as he bites down. 

“Oh, fuck!” Escapes your lips as you feel the sweet sweet feeling build up in your body. Toji’s looking up at you as his mouth sucks on your nipple. He’s watching your face contort with pleasure, and he feels satisfied, knowing that no one will ever please you as much as he does. You’ll never react like this with anyone else.

Toji keeps sucking on your tit until your legs quiver in pleasure, and you reach your high. Toji continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, until he’s satisfied with his work. Until you’re a complete mess around him for the umpteenth time in the night.

“You’re just too cute.” Toji tells you as he unlatches from your nipple, taking his fingers out of your pussy. His lips kiss yours over and over again. 

He gets on top of you, running the tip of his cock through your folds. He won’t give you a minute to calm down. Before his cock can fill you up, you stop him.

“Toji, grab a condom.” You remind him, and he laughs. His lips meet yours again before you feel his lips on your ear.

“Let me feel you raw, baby. Every inch of you.” He whispers, and you’re tempted. You bite down your lip, and Toji can see the temptation written all over your face.

“I’m not on birth control.” You tell him, and he’s unphased by the confession. That’s never stopped him before, it’s how you ended up with a daughter in the first place.

“I’ll pull out.” He promises, and you nod in response. With that, Toji slowly pushes his cock into you. You bite down your lip to not pathetically moan as his cock fills you out again. Toji feels so perfect inside of you.

Your legs wrap around his hips as Toji slowly begins to move in and out of you. He’s holding a moan in his throat. He hasn’t felt this good in a while. Your nails go to his back, digging into his skin as his thrusts pick up speed.

He’s slowly losing control as he gets lost inside of you. He needs you. He hates to admit it but he can’t be intimate with anyone without thinking of you. You’re so perfect for him. It’s good that he doesn’t have to say it out loud. 

“Toji–” You moan, and Toji is glad that your voice drowns out the moan that escapes his throat. He mutters your name, as he feels your pussy clench around him. He feels the jealousy boiling over, mad that he isn’t the one with you.

“Is it good?” Toji asks you before his mouth goes to your shoulder again, biting down again when he feels your nails drag on his back. He’s leaving marks, clearly marking his territory for whenever your boyfriend gets to touch you. 

“Fuck!” You’re loud, making it clear that he’s making you feel so good. He’s hitting every right spot, and his jealousy is fueling his movements. Your hand goes down to play with your clit, eyes rolling to the back of your head again.

“Does he make you feel this good?” Toji can’t help but say as he sees the look of absolute bliss written over your pretty little face. There’s no answer. You’re too caught up in your own feelings to listen to anything.

“Cum in me.” You tell him, out of the blue. He feels your cunt tighten around him as your orgasm approaches, answering all of his questions. You’re rather risky when you’re in the middle of the act. It’s not an opportunity that he’ll pass up on, not when you so prettily say, “Fill me up, Toji. Please.” 

He watches you shut your eyes and loudly moan his name as you reach your climax, yet again. You’re making a mess all over him, yet again. He misses this more than you could imagine. 

“Fuck.” He mutters, his breath getting caught up in his chest as his thrusts get messy. He’s picking up speed, losing control until he finally comes to a stop and his warm cum fills up your cunt.

He stays still for a moment, watching your sweaty face as you catch your breath. Fuck, you’re so beautiful. He hates looking at you like this because it’s the only thought he’ll have for the next month. He’s just going to think of you. 

He pulls out and fully lays down on top of you, a weight that’s too heavy for you to carry but you support him nonetheless. Your hand goes to the back of his head, playing with his hair and kissing it ever so lovingly. 

“I can stay like this forever.” His words come out muffled as Toji’s face rests on your chest. 

Tonight isn’t as petty as the other nights. Sure, Toji is jealous and he’s set on reminding you that no one will ever make you feel as good as he does, but it’s more than that. It’s also a reminder to him of what he’s lost. His inability to accept a situation out of his comfort zone cost him the family that he’s so badly desired. 

Every tactic to get back at you didn’t work. His inability to act like a mature adult ruined everything that he had. And he truly doubts that anything he does will change your mind. The sex hasn’t worked before, it surely won’t change anything now. 

“I want us to be a family.” Toji tells you, face buried in your chest since he can’t possibly look at you now. Not while he tells you how he feels. 

“Toji…” You’re not sure how to respond. You still care for Toji, and of course you have very mixed feelings for him. But you’re not sure if you can be a family. “I don’t think we can.”

“I’ve changed.” He quickly sits up, ready to get you to consider his suggestion. He wants you to completely forget about your boyfriend in the long-term. “I promise, I’m a better man. I’ll be the best husband to you, and the best father to Megumi and Asumi.”

“I don’t know, Toji. I just feel like you should’ve been that man while we were together. We dated for two years, and were married for five.” You remind him, feeling your heart swell as you recall your past. It’s not like earlier when you were angry, you’re mourning a relationship that you poured so much sweat and tears on. “It’s not like we were teenagers who couldn’t handle a pregnancy. And it was fine if you couldn’t stay with me then, but it hurt to see you come around with other women while I was adapting to everything.” 

“I was trying to get back at you–” He tries to explain himself, but you can’t listen to it. You know. And you always made the mistake of sleeping with him to comfort yourself that he was only emotionally attached to you. You should’ve stood your ground then, but it’s too late now.

“For what? For being pregnant? For not ending the pregnancy?” You quickly cut him off. “As if you had no part, as if I had trapped you.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, and you sigh, standing up from the bed. Reality quickly settles in, and it serves as a reminder that you need to run to the pharmacy. 

“Yeah.” You respond. “I’m sorry but I can’t. You’re great to our daughter, but I don’t want to test my luck with you.”

“I promise–” He continues, but before he can continue, you shush him. You hear a weird sound from outside the bedroom, and you begin to freak out– If it was an intruder you could send Toji out. He can fight booty naked and still win, but it’s not that.

“Babe, did Toji leave?!” You hear, and your eyes go wide. While Toji fights back a smirk.

You run to lock the bedroom door and you quickly point to the closet.

“Get in the closet!” You half yell, half whisper. But you know him. Toji listens to no one but himself.

“Let me greet him.” Toji stands up, but you’re in the way of the door. He won’t push you out of the way, he’s a gentleman. Which is what leads him to yell very loud and clear, “Hey, Jin! We had a nice chat!”

In the end, Toji holds the last laugh.

[inzayneforaj]

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 | toji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Your ex-husband bringing the kids over for trick-or-treating is one thing; him wanting to spend the night at your place is another. But it's just for the night. There's no way one night can rekindle some old feelings...right?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader is around their mid-30s - Tsumiki (age 11) and Megumi (age 9) - mutual pining - kissing/makeout sessions - unprotected sex - Daddy kink - breast sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - spooning + mating press - cervix fucking - breeding kink - praise - clitoral play (pressing and grinding) - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - you and Toji have been divorced for five years - cameos: Gojo, Utahime and Mei Mei - mention of drool/spit and tears - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k (....dawg.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: happy Halloween, everyone!! so, randomly missed writing ex-husband! toji bc it's lowkey my favorite, soooo yeah, this is what we're doing to celebrate the end of the month! anywho, happy October, beautiful ppl, and tysm for reading my works!! Alsooo, ty for 2.8k!!!

“Trick-or-treat!!”

“Gasp—Oh my goodness!” 

“We came to celebrate Halloween! Also, Megumi forgot his toothbrush here again.”

Opening your door to children at the sunset of Halloween day isn’t out of the ordinary or anything special. However, it’s always a pleasant surprise when it’s two kids you hold dear to your heart. You greet them with a hug, two siblings you know too well to say you’re acquainted with. If anything, you’re practically family. 

The raven-haired brother, referred to as Megumi, speaks up. “It’s not my fault! Dad was rushing me last time.”

“Because you had to bring your stuffed animals last time, holding us back for your baseball practice.” Tsumiki, the older sister, snapped back. The two argue amongst themselves in front of you as you try to mediate. It’s no avail until another voice comes to the fray.

“All right, chill out, you two.” The voice belonged to the person approaching the porch stairs, your eyesight capturing the familiar figure walking up with two duffle bags. The one standing tall before you was the father of the children, Toji Fushiguro. Who’s also known as your one and only former husband. “Get inside and finish y’r homework, or else we’re goin’ back home.” 

The siblings stop bickering and head inside, taking off their shoes at the foyer and walking upstairs. Now that they’re gone, you turn to the man with the jet-black hair, his viridian orbs focused on you. The weather was chilly, so the man wore his usual dark denim jacket over his plain black sweatshirt, matching his jeans. “You look good, big guy. What’s in the bags?”

He greets you with a curled lip, and the scar on the side of his lip lifts. “Picked them up from their after-school sports, so it’s their sports gear and costumes for tonight. Mind helpin’ me here?” 

“Hmmm,” you merge your facial expressions to that of faux pondering, turning your back to Toji. “Nah, can’t. Got dinner to finish making.”

“Hmph, should’ve known.” He makes his way through between you and the front door. “Wouldn’t wanna break your pretty nails carrying heavy shit, huh, princess?” 

You glare at him using the nickname, hating his patronizing gaze. “From what I remembered, you would never let me carry the heavy stuff because you thought I was too fragile and easy to break. So how about that, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor?”

“Really? I don’t remember sayin’ all that before. You must’ve put me in a spell.” 

“Probably, I’ve been told I’m quite cute~.”

“Mmm, nah, more like an old hag of a witch.” Toji barks a laugh at your offended reaction, and he immediately ducks and heads for the stairs when you throw a sandal at him.

“At the very least, say I’m a cute witch, fucker.” You say the final word under your breath, grabbing the sandal you threw and heading back to the kitchen.

To say you and Toji were acquainted with one another would be the biggest understatement of the century. The two of you met a decade ago, fell madly in love, and married within a year of the relationship. When you tied the knot, Tsumiki had to have been two years old, and Megumi just turned one year old. You two had been together for four years after that, and you could confidently say those were one of [if not THE] best years of your life. You often second-guessed yourself being in a relationship with someone who had children, fearing that they wouldn’t like you or ignore you.

However, those worries were blown right away as the days went by. Every time you spent time with the children brought you three closer than ever; it was to the point that they saw you as their mother. How sweet! And there’s no denying that Toji loved you. The man would break someone’s nose for you  — yes, it happened before, and it wasn’t pretty — for you were his sweet little thing that kept him going.  

Well, if it was so great, why the divorce? Let’s just say you weren’t Toji’s first love. That title would have to be awarded to the Megumi’s mother. Even in her unfortunate passing, you can tell that Toji loved that woman like no other. It didn’t make you jealous or anything, seeing the man you love still mourn for a dead woman. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were him. But, you can’t lie; it felt like you were cast over a “shadow” when it came to her influence. It was damn near suffocating to bear, especially in those four years of marriage. So, for your sake and his aching heart, you pulled him aside and suggested a divorce. And Toji didn’t fight you on the proposition, signing the papers and setting you free from the thick air.

Although things ended between you two, that didn’t mean things stopped being what they were. If anything, it was as if nothing happened at all. Even if you still don’t live under the same roof, you still make time to hang with the Fushiguros, whether invited to some occasion or exchange phone calls or texts to check up on them. Even now, five years after your separation, it warms your heart knowing that you get to interact with the people you care about. 

There are moments you find yourself missing living under the same roof with all three of them and living alone can be pretty lonely. But all in all, as long as they’re comfortable and trust you enough to be around, there’s no need to change things up again. Like right now — the four of you sit at the dinner table eating before the kids go off trick-or-treating.

“Are you going to trick-or-treat with us, Y/n?” The brown-haired child sitting next to you asks while finishing up her dinner. 

“Sorry, not this time, gotta be at a Zoom meeting for my job in a few minutes. But I do have someone else to take my place. Gojo will be here at around—Why are you two making that face?” You stop mid-sentence to notice Megumi and Toji at the other side of the table, displaying disgusted facial expressions at the mention of the white-haired other’s name.

“Why him?” They said in unison.

“Why not??” You question their irritation.

“He’s so annoying…” Again, in unison. Proof enough that they’re father and son.

You sigh as you get up to take your plate to the sink. “Oh, come on, you two, it’s not like he’ll be with you guys the entire night. He has a party at a friend’s he’s going to later.” 

“Isn’t he too old to trick-or-treat?” Tsumiki questions, noting that Gojo is way past his undergraduate years. 

“He is, but whatever gets that prick any free sweets,” Toji answers his daughter before getting up to put his dish in the sink. 

You exit the kitchen, head into the living room, and sit on the couch. The laptop you had placed there was ready to open and unlock, and you clicked on applications and windows to look through before your meeting started in the next three to two minutes. He should be here about—

DING-DONG!!

Now.

Right on cue, you motion for Toji to grab the front door, and he follows your command. “Kids, Gojo’s here!” You shout out to the two kids who still sit at the table. “When you’re done eating, you can go upstairs and put your costumes on. But whoever finishes last has to do the dishes.” You can hear commotion from the table as the brunette rushes to put her dish in the sink and dash for the stairs. Megumi groans to himself; you giggle when you hear him mutter an “Aww man…”

You pull out your headphones to connect to your laptop, put them in their respective ears, and prepare yourself for the meeting. Ignoring the faint passive-aggressive tones of your ex-husband when greeting Gojo at the door…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your eyes flutter open, noticing the lighting change around the living room. The orange sunlight no longer decorated the space, substituted with the gradual darkness that overtakes you. The only source of light you can figure out is the flashing from the television screen.

Aside from the TV, there are no other signs of life. There aren’t any signs of Tsumiki or Megumi around playing or causing a raucous. It could only mean the two are still trick-or-treating with Gojo. 

One blink, two blinks. I must’ve fallen asleep after the meeting… You hum while sinking to the couch, burying your face into the pillow. 

But…since when did your pillow act like it was breathing with a heartbeat? And…I smelt that cologne before…How?

“Ya awake now?”

You raise your head, realizing you are not lying on your couch. Technically, you were; however, you were lying on something else on the furniture with you – more like someone. 

It’s then you realize that you were lying on Toji during your entire slumber, him leaning on the end of the couch, one leg spread to make room for you to sleep on him while you sit on the other. And you can guess that you had your head on his chest, snuggling up to his warm figure. He looks at you with his green eyes now darkened by the room, yet you can see their glow from the television light. And that small smile he gives you, the scar on the right side of his lip lifted upward. The familiar butterflies in your stomach flutter like before. Like old times sake…That must be embarrassing, huh?

You frantically try to get off of him, “Sorry about that, I thought—“

“No, no,” Toji places a stern hand on your back, keeping you from moving further. “You were comfortable.” 

You stare at him for a few seconds until your face contours to a look, and a smile starts to creep up while you situate yourself back to your original position, pressing your face back on his chest to listen to the beats of his heart again. “I recall having this couch all to myself not too long ago, so where’d you come from?”

“Well, I wanted to watch some sports highlights, but I figured you’d kick my ass if I pulled you off and had you sleep on the floor instead.” With the click of your tongue, he chortles. You bet your ass I would. “So, I decided to have ya sleep on me while I watch TV.”

“What’s wrong with the other side of the couch? It’s quite vacant and enough for a big guy like you.” 

“True,” his hand rubs circles on your back, an old habit he did when he used to have you like this. “But then I’d be lonely.” 

You titter. “That’s big for someone who said he thrives on being alone.”

“I thrive being alone when I’m working.” You’re glad he can’t see your eyes roll; he’d probably grab you by the cheeks like a child. “Besides, why would I wanna be alone when I have you for myself.”

And there it is, your cheeks begin to warm up. Or was it because you’re so close to him that his heat is transferring to you? That’s probably it, yeah. Let’s change the subject…”How long was I out for? I remember the kids left around 7:30-ish.”

“Mmm, it’s going to eleven right now.”

Three and a half hours? Damn. “It’s past their bedtime.”

Toji scoffs. The abrupt motion of his chest rising is satisfying in a way that makes you even more comfortable. “You still think they’re gonna sleep with all that sweet shit they got?” He snickers some more as you shake your head.

“They know better. When you guys get home, be sure to put their candy bags on the top shelf of the closet for the morning.” 

“Still traumatized from that one time?” 

“Uhhh, yes??” The memory flashes to you for a quick moment, but the dread from before still haunts you. Megumi was six years old and Tsumiki seven, returning home from trick-or-treating and immediately tasting their labor from that night. However, what you didn’t expect was for them both to eat almost half their bags. Let’s just say, thanks to their sugar rushes, they didn’t drop dead until the hour hand touched two of the morning. “Unless it’s the weekend, never again.”

The way the older man chuckles is so therapeutic — it nearly makes you want to fall asleep again. “You weren’t the one chasin' Megumi all over the place tryin' to get him to sleep. Little squirt gets his speed from me.”

“Awww, poor you~” You can sense the glare as you respond in a condescending, sing-song tune. “You and him are always butting heads. Like father, like son.”

“Tch, hate that sayin’ so fuckin’ much.”

“Why? ‘Because it’s true?”

“Shut up.” The hand he used to rest his head comes down to pinch your nose. You wriggle out of his hold with giggles, but he happily keeps you grounded to him with his stronghold and a leg wrapped around to prevent yours from moving. “He only listens to you. Such a sweet lil’ baby to you, huh? Puttin’ my own son against me.”

More giggles prompt out of tiny guilt, and you bring up a hand to rub on his chest. “He’s such a bright boy now. Growing up so big and fast.”

“Miki, too. That girl is way too smart fr' me to catch up. And she’s becoming so kind and strong, crazy to think she made me play teacups when she could barely go down the stairs by herself.” Toji hums, the vibrations felt on the pads of your fingers. “Think she gets that from you.” 

You shook your head. “They’re your babies. They do amazing things because they have a big guy like you to catch them if they ever fall.”

“Hmm, fair…But let’s not pretend I’m the best dad in the world. Fuck, never in my life did I think I’d be a dad, especially with two kids. I didn’t know shit back then — still! I still don’t know shit.” You don’t say anything, just listening to him voice his thoughts to you. Because he knows you’d listen – you always do. “If you weren’t there for them, I don’t think they’d be shining like this. Y’re definitely the thing that brought us up together. They look up to you so much. Ya did so well with them.”

Nodding aimlessly, his black sweatshirt grazing on your cheek. “Thank you. Same to you. Didn’t do so bad yourself, big guy.”

“Mmm.”

Nothing is said between you two after that. The only thing that makes noise is the voices coming from the television. The volume lowered, an initiative you could guess from Toji wanting you to get some rest. The silence was too awkward that it might torture some, but it was fine where it was. There was no need to change it, especially when you were comfortable in each other’s embrace.

That is, until Toji asks, “Do you miss it?” The rubs on your back go slower, his fingertips drawing a ticklish sensation.

“Of course I do. All the time.” You answer honestly, turning your head to rest your chin on him. Your eyes glimpse directly at his, giving him a tiny grin. “Why ask? I know the kids miss me being around; what about you? Miss me nagging and putting you to work all the time?”

He sneers at your comment. “Every day.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it had the power to wipe that smirk right off your face. Your eyes locked in his sight, and your heart tuning to an irregular rhythm. Oh, come on, Y/n, get a grip! “Ahem—Toji, I hope you know that I never stopped missing everything we had — I never will. Those years that we shared were probably the best I’ve had. We had happy moments, others sad, of course. But, God, do I miss it all. I miss it so much. I miss having you guys here. Miki and Gumi and—“

“Me?” Good Lord, if this man doesn’t stop looking at you with those goddamn eyes of his, such captivating orbs that say more than he lets on. Your breath hitches, and so does the hand on your back. “Hmm? Ya miss me, baby?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why’d you have to call me that? And it gets worse when he places his free hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin while the forefinger teases the lobe and tragus of your ear. Goddammnit…

“...Yes,” your voice was down a whisper, which could easily be mistaken with the television. But you know Toji heard you, loud and clear. “Especially you, Toji.” You said it. The words that he wanted to hear from you. They felt so forbidden to say, yet it was the truth. You avert your gaze away from him. But you knew that wouldn’t work, not right now. Toji taps your cheek with his thumb, and your eyes sheepishly return to his.

He doesn’t say anything, and that makes your heart beat at an unbearable rate. It’s all you can hear when you stare into his deep emerald eyes, the sound of it ringing your eardrums as if you could puke. Your throat running dry, so you gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob. If something could just happen to end this anxious torture, that would be great. 

And then your prayers get answered: something does happen. Toji slowly brings his face closer to yours — your body goes rigid, and you instantly face away before the inevitable happens. No, I didn’t mean that!

“Aht aht, don’t do that, baby.” His hand slithers from your cheek to your chin, forcing you to face straight at him. “Lemme see you.”

“Toji, wait,” your voice travels out in a shaky breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t cross this line anymore.”

He listens to your pleas, but his body does otherwise. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead while the hand on your back snakes downward. “Why not?” His gruff voice dialed down to a whisper.

“Because—Mmmm…” Toji interrupts you by licking the helix of your ear. Oh, you slick bastard. “We’re supposed to be done…” 

“That’s not stoppin’ me from takin’ care of my sweet thing.” Jesus Christ, you almost melted from the way he whispered that to your ear. He’s pulling out all the same old tricks, and it gets more hellish by the second as you try not to give in. “So, y're gonna let me take care of you like I always do, right, mama?”

Both his hands now rest on your ass, groping it while your hips sway as if they have a mind of their own. The leg between yours comes up slightly, making you ride on it. The heat on your cheeks has already blossomed to your ears, making it hard to think straight. Gripping his sweatshirt, your hips ride his thigh to ease the throbbing sensation that grows with every motion. Good God, you shouldn’t be doing this. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. However, it’s been so long that you felt wanted like this — wanted by him. It’s all the same – his voice, his hands, his words, his body, and the names he calls – yet here you are turning into putty. 

“Haaahh, Mmmfff…Toji, please,” Toji withdraws his face from your shoulder, leaving him to examine your expression. You must look so dumb right now, with your hooded eyes and shivering lips. But, at this point, do you even care? “Please…Treat me right.”

One moment, you see his gaze narrow with a devious glint. Next, you’re taken aback when Toji slams his lips on yours, kissing and sucking your bottom lip until you give him access. With a moan, you open your mouth for him and sink deeper into the kiss. Your hands come around his neck, keeping him focused on you and you alone. Not that he would have it any other way.

His strong hands continue to knead your asscheeks while you hump and grind on his thigh. Nibbling on your lip, you whimper helplessly for him. It strokes his ego, knowing he’s making you like this, the fucking bastard. He takes in your tiny cries happily, shoving his tongue to play with yours. You give in to him, almost losing your balance riding his thigh, yet Toji’s lips never leave yours.

You break the kiss to get an imperative breath, panting loudly and sweetly for him as Toji kisses and licks your ear. The sounds make your lower region twitch. “Hnnmm, fuck…That’s my girl. So fuckin’ good fr’ me always, Y/n…” You can feel him slide a hand up to the hem of your leggings, forcing it inside for his thick fingers to brush up on the bare flesh of your butt. You gasp sharply. Him squeezing your butt has you biting down on his sweatshirt. “—Hahhh, Oh God, Toji,” With every squeeze, he inches closer to your panty-covered chasm, where you know he’d find a damp spot. Please touch me. Please, please, plea—

CLACK-CLINK!!

The two of you are frozen stiff when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, the foyer lights turned on. “Alright~, we got you guys home. See ya later!” That was Gojo’s voice, indicating everyone was finally back from trick-or-treating. This means that Tsumiki and Megumi are about to see you on top of their father, his hand in your leggings and smacking lips with yours. Your eyes shoot wide with horror — immediately remove yourself from Toji and stand up from the couch to pull your bottoms up. You barely had the chance to peek at Toji because the kids already run to the living room to find you two.

“Y/n, Y/n, look!” The brunette was the first to greet you with her adorable pink Barbie cowgirl costume. She and her brother, dressed as Sasuke Uchiha, cheerfully showcased their pillowcases full of candy. “Look at all this candy we got!”

“Wooow, you guys really went on a haul,” you can only hope they can’t see you sweating bullets through your fake reaction. “Wh–Where’s Gojo?” 

“He dropped us off here a few seconds ago and left for the party,” The raven-haired boy answered while scanning his pillowcase.

You only nod along until you frantically wipe your mouth, realizing the tiny trail of spit from the corner of your mouth. “Umm—Ahem, well then, I’m glad you two got all that candy. Now, let’s hurry up and get you guys home so you can get ready for school tomorrow!” 

But the children didn’t move an inch. Actually, they looked like they were going to tell you something. You lift a brow. Oh no, they’re going to look at each other. They looked at each other and then glanced back at you. Oh, God, no. “Uhhh, Y/n, we were thinking.” Big sister Tsumiki is always the one who asks the following question. “Can we stay over?”

You inhale a massive breath, yet you do your best not to exhale a heavy sigh. “Kids, you promised to keep the overnight stays to three at max per month. This will be the fifth!” 

“Yeah, but it’s dark out. Plus, it’s way past our bedtime.” The younger chimes in with a tiny pout. “We’ll be asleep by the time Dad gets us home.”

And here comes Tsumiki with the tag-team response to add on. “And that means he’ll have to make continuous trips back and forth from the car. Picking me and Megumi up, getting our bookbags, the bags full of candy, the whole thing! We already packed up our PJs just in case.” 

You stood there staring at the two in astonishment. There’s no way they thoroughly planned this out. There’s just no way… And to make it worse, they were making valid arguments. You open your mouth to say something, but the two give the best puppy eyes they can. The wave of guilt hits like a train, internally cringing. You turn to Toji, who still sits on the couch, and the motherfucker only gives you a shrug. Wow, what a helpful father he is.

You groan into your hands, shaking your head while looking at the kids who wait for your verdict. “…Alright, you can stay as long as you PROMISE to put those candy bags in my bedroom closet. Deal?” The happy smiles and aggressive head shakes should answer your question. “Good, now go ahead and take your showers before you head for bed.” They rushed to the stairs by the time you finished that sentence, so enthusiastic about staying the night at your house, and you can’t help but smile hearing their footsteps run up the stairs. 

With that being said, you turn to the older man again. Your brows are trenched down, but your smile is still present. “So, you legit just sat there and let those two tag-team me like that? In my own house?”

Another shrug with a dumb smirk on his handsome face. “Told you: too smart fr’ me to catch up.” You shake your head before exiting to get the kids and guest rooms ready, leaving him with the television. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The midnight hour has finally danced its way into the darkness of the night. Halloween is finally over, and the month of October is no more. The pitter-patter sound of the rain cleanses the neighborhood of its merits and festivities that partook hours ago, ready for a new phase of the year to take over.

After having the guest room ready with sheets and sleepwear for Toji and kissing the kids goodnight, you rinse your stress off with a nice shower and put on your pajamas to get ready for bed. After you turn the lights off, you drape the comforter over your figure as your body sinks with the cozy sheets and pillowcase. Your eyes close while focusing on the curtains of your window, the only light piercing inside being the lampposts by the street. 

…Well, at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. But that’s not the case because you’re not the only one lying comfortably on your mattress. Instead, Toji is here with you, in your room, on your bed, his chest to your back, and his hand roaming inside your oversized shirt. Your lips are now connected with his, sharing your erotic moans with his enticing groans, and you get a little louder as his fingers cup and play with your breast.

“Mmphh…Ahhhh, I thought I told you you’re sleeping in the guest room—Nmmff!” He tweezes your nipple with his forefinger and thumb roughly.  

“And I thought you’d be smart enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, drawing near your ear for him to whisper. “Besides, look at you. Still sleepin’ with no underwear on?”

“Hmph, only when I have a man around the house.” That answer got you another rough tweak on your nip and a purposeful gnaw to your ear. You knew he’d react like that, never liking the mention of another man leaving your mouth – especially during an intimate time like this.

“That so? What man you know that can handle all this?” Toji then moves from his side to be between your legs, pulling up your shirt to fully expose your chest. And your breathe hitches while his free hand travels down your abdomen to your bottoms.

“Ahhhh, no one. Just you...” You look at him with half-lidded eyes, taking in his reaction to what you said. The salacious grin on his face becoming broader should entail that he greatly loved that retort.

He brings his face to your other unattended nipple, “Good answer, princess.” The nub of your breast enters his mouth, and the wet warmth of his tongue greets it with lapped motions and grazes from his teeth. Despite that, it doesn’t distract you from the fact your bottoms are pulled down with ease and are thrown to the bedroom floor, leaving your cunt out for him, your erotic fluids seeping and glistening from the outside lights. 

Toji plays with your folds until he can stuff his pointer finger into your chasm, the insertion resulting in your body’s jolt. It’s been a long while since you had his thick digit inside you, playing and scraping the inner walls to evoke whimpers. God, it felt so good, this satisfying feeling returning to awaken your body to his touch. He interacts with your body as if he’s the only person who knows how to get you going – and it’s the truth. No one can put you in a blissful haze quicker than this man. And you’d prefer to keep it that way. 

The addition of his middle finger into your leaky entrance startles you, the thick digit making its way in with such vigor that he uses both fingers to scrape the velvety texture of your walls. Your eyes are now screwed shut at the growing commotion between your thighs, and the heat within your body flourishing all around gets to your head. “—Khmm, Oh fuuck, Toji. Please, don’t stop.” 

With a soft ‘pop’ noise from his lips, Toji replies to your demands. “I’m sorry, what’s my name again?” You giggle with trenched brows. Of course, how could I forget?

“Nmmph, D-Daddy, pleaseee, I’m so clo—Ahhhann!!” He puts his thumb to your clit, grinding down on it unexpectedly. “I wanna cum, pleaseee…”

“Hmmm, good girl,” he teased, laying down kisses, nibbling on the skin of your stomach and inner thighs until he arrives at your leaking slit. Your body jerks up from the bed when you feel the cold, wet muscle slowly lick on your clitoris before ravaging your folds. The sounds of his mouth on your cunt are so lewd to the ear, slurping noises from his lips with the lapping motions of his tongue claiming your come are too much for you. And when he uses his hand to swipe and pinch your clit? Oh, it’s a wrap. Your release comes out without control, biting down on your bottom lip to make sure your cries don’t leave this space for the kids to hear. Their room is on the other side down the hall; tonight isn’t the night for too many risks.

When your trembling body calms down and subsides, Toji withdraws his face from between your thighs. Your essence paints his mouth, and he wipes his chin clean while licking the remnants that coat his scarred lips. “Hmph, missed tastin’ you like that.” You open your eyes when your high finally evades you, watching your ex-husband pull down his sweats. His erection springs out and hits his stomach, your mind going rampant with thoughts as you ogle at his freed limb. Shit, it’s been so long. Will that shit even fit me again?

“Don’t think it’ll fit, baby?” Damn him, he loves teasing you. Toji then discards his black wife-beater, at long last revealing his well-built, brawny physique that has you drooling for him. He uses his hands to maneuver your legs—your knees pushed to your chest as your legs propped up on his shoulders. A position you’re all too familiar with. Your eyes don’t leave Toji’s cock as he aligns his cock to your slick-coated folds. “Take some breaths fr’ me, sweetie. Can’t take care of you when you’re all tense.”

You take up on his advice and begin taking deep breaths, reminding yourself to maintain the steady pattern as he pushes the tip of his dick between the lips of your cunt. Every inhale is where he nudges into the hole of your inner cavern, and every exhale gives you time to breathe out the pain that comes in for a split second. This carries on until the cockhead wedges itself perfectly into your vagina, along with the inches of his girth that stretches until the base kisses your lips, the tip of him kissing your cervix. Tears swell up in your eyes, taking more deep breaths to prepare yourself for what’s about to come. 

“Oooh fuuuck…Heh, yeah, that’s my baby right there. Fittin’ so perfect fr’ me, mama…” He puts his weight on you, keeping your figure unmoving under his bow. 

“Nmmmf, Daddyyy,” you’re forced to take in all of him, and drool trails down your lips with no hope of taking care of it. “…I’m so full, you’re too much…”

“I know, sweetie, I know.” He wipes your spit after kissing your forehead. How gentle compared to what you’re about to go through. “Gonna move now.” His thrusts start slow for the two of you to adjust to each other; the feeling of his length’s veins coming in and out of your chasm is so euphoric, and the kisses to your cervix want your body to writhe and squirm. But you’re bent into this position for a reason: forced to submit to him no matter what. So you do just that.

Yet your horny haze gets more potent once he picks up the pace, rutting into you with increased speed. Your slit, still sensitive from earlier, gets overstimulated with the constant grazes on your gummy walls and jabs to your tender cervix. It takes everything in your power not to come so early.

“—Hahhhh, Nmmph. Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Toji groans above you, the thrusts of his pelvis increase to an irregular rhythm, grinding deep into your cunt to the point of uncontrollable babbles escaping your lips. His bullying on your insides results in you gripping his length hard, causing the older man to hiss and moan at your contractions. “—Ohhhfuuuckk!! Jesus Christ, baby. Y’re gonna make me go crazy.” 

As if that wasn’t already happening now that he pistons his cock into your wetness, your brain turning into mush from the onslaught of ruts to your puffy wet chasm. Tears stream down your face, and more drool follows down with more precise hits to your delicate canal. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think of anything else, the squelching noises and paps of Toji’s balls hitting your cunt making it worse. 

“D-Daddyyy, I’m—Ohoooo!! Oh, Jesus, ohhhshit!” You can’t formulate a proper sentence, too engulfed with the electrifying sensations coursing through your body. 

“Damn, you feel too fucking good—Hnngh!!” Toji places his forehead on yours, resting his entire weight on you while his hips have a mind of their own. “‘Bout to make me knock you up…”

Oh, good Lord. The mere thought of having a child is the last thing that should be on your mind. But in a time like this, who in their right mind would be thinking straight? “Nnnfff! Oh God, pleaseee, fill me up, Daddyy!” Green eyes narrow with trenched brows. “—Pleasepleasepleaseee!! I want you to fill me up so bad, I want it, I want—Hyaaaaa!!” 

How can he deny your desperate, teary pleas when you’re urging him on like this? “Heh, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, mama.” Toji captures your lips with his, your mewls taken by him as you sink further into your pleasurable thrill.

Sporadic thrusts of his pelvis produce more raunchy noises in the joining of your sexes, his heavy balls smacking on your cunt as he drives the base of his cock straight into you. Your slit is now a puffy mess, come and slick form a soapy mess that Toji now harbors a milky ring around his girth. A few rushed, sloppy thrusts heighten your high once more, and then Toji presses his pelvis down to the hilt on one final, harsh thrust, unloading his seed into your aching folds. And your climax follows in a few seconds, the walls of your cunt fluttering on his pulsating dick as your essence soaks him. Your muffled shrieks are received by him, quivering under him until the aftershocks wash through your body. 

Once you two breathe at a steady tempo and the nerves of your sweaty bodies fall still, the kiss is broken with heavy pants and a string of spit that links you two together. Toji buries his face between your neck and shoulder, licking and kissing your skin as you’re allowed time to experience your clarity.

“Hmmm…You know I’m not done yet, princess.” Toji mumbles to your ear before stationing your legs off his shoulders for them to rest.

“Yeah, I know, big guy.” You tease him with a breathless laugh, kissing him on the temple. “Always wanting more…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, you’re telling me you had your ex-husband spend the night? Not just the kids?”

“Yup, that’s what happened.” 

This morning was different from your usual routine – well, you can’t say it’s different if you have done it before, huh? After five years of divorce, you thought you’d be so used to waking up and getting ready for work without worrying about others. However, this morning proves otherwise.

It felt natural walking into the kids’ room and lightly shaking them awake, telling them to get ready while you whip up something quick for them to eat as Toji showers (using your bathroom, by the way). Watching the kids run down the stairs and eat breakfast puts a smile on your face, reminiscing about the good old days when they were younger and teenier. It sometimes feels surreal doing the same thing for them now that they’re getting older and taller. But seeing them bicker and interact with each other in your presence never fails to warm your heart.

When Toji’s finished freshening up and loading his kids’ stuff in his truck, it’s time to bid them farewell for their departure for school. You give them final touch-ups on their hair and outfits, reminding them to be safe and not get into trouble (especially Megumi, now that the boy’s been getting into fights). And before they rush to the car, you hug them and give each a kiss on the cheek. Here is where the warm feeling inside your heart begins to deteriorate, not wanting to let them go. Yet, for their sake – and education – you release them and hope for the best.

The last to leave was Toji, who came from the kitchen to the front door with a paper plate wrapped in foil in one hand. His name is written boldly by a black Sharpie. “This fr' me?” 

“No, it’s for Shiu Kong, for dealing with you all the time.” You stick your tongue out at Toji as he glares at you, not even moving out of the way while he exits through the door. “You better eat that when you get to work, you have a terrible habit of skipping lunch.” 

“Whatever ya say, mom.” He pesters you with the title, knowing you’re technically not a mother anymore. Yet it only makes you smile knowing he notices your maternal side. 

“Don’t forget to text me when Tsumiki’s soccer game is next week.” You watch him go down the porch stairs. 

“Will do.”He whistles. 

“And Toji?”

The man stops walking to turn to you, his forest green eyes fixed on you so quickly that you almost forget what you want to say. Or what you wanted to do. You place your fingers on your lips and blow a kiss with an outward gesture. It was an old habit you did whenever he left, something you can’t seem to get out of practice with. It’s embroidered in your mind at this point. 

And when he catches the kiss with his free hand and places it on his chest, it makes your heart skip a beat. Toji grins, “I’ll be damned if that was fr' Shiu, too.”

You snicker with a shaken head. “Drive safe, Toji.” Closing the front door, you stand there for a while. Your smile doesn’t falter; it gets bigger as you replay the moment instead. Thinking about him, hearing him, seeing him, it all drives you crazy. And that’s a good thing…right?

“I don’t know, sounds like you still kinda care about the guy.” 

“Of course I do,” So here you are, sitting in your living room enjoying the rays of the sunset decorating the space, in a video call with your best friends, Utahime and Mei Mei. You reply to the former’s comment. “Just because I don’t have the ring on my finger doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about him. I mean, he’s the father of two lovely children.”

“Shoot, you’re better than me, then.” The dark-haired woman admits. “But you’re kinda proving my point, Y/n. Even when you don’t have the ring on, you two act like the same old couple, and it’s definitely not just for the kids’ sake. Let’s be real here.” 

You try to interject, but the pale-blue-haired other, Mei Mei, intervenes, “I agree. It’s one thing if you let the children stay over, but he also wanted to spend the night. Sure, he could’ve been tired from driving all day and such. However, if you’re still seeing a man for the last five years – while legally unbound – and he says he wants to spend the night under your roof, which is rare, that should ring some bells at least.”

“I know, it did…” you nod along with what your friend is saying, throwing your head back with a heavy sigh. “But it’s not like he’s never spent the night here before, nor is he banished from stepping inside.” 

“Oh? Then why is this time different from the others?”

Utahime jumps in after Mei Mei’s chirp. “Yeah, you’re telling us about all these nostalgic lovey-dovey feelings as if you’re falling in love with him all over again. What, did you two have sex or something?” 

An open mouth, yet no words come out, leaving you in a predicament. You could’ve just lied or swerved the subject to something else. But you didn’t. And the two women on the screen lift their brows with hooded eyes, a look meaning a thousand words. You couldn’t even explain yourself either because a sudden knock on your door captured the attention of all three of you. 

You stand up and walk towards the door, your friends still on call on the phone at hand. Opening the door, you’re almost stunned to see in front of you. Tsumiki and Megumi with nervous smiles, and their father at the car collecting the same duffles bags from last night. You’re kidding.

“Hey, kids.” The two of them gulped from not calling them by their names. You bring up the phone to face the screen to them. “Say hello to Auntie Mei Mei and Utahime.” The women on the line smile and wave at the children, who sheepishly wave back.

“Hi, aunties.” Megumi greets them, and then his eyes drift back to you. “So, Y/n—“

“What did you forget this time?” Straight to the point, no room for excuses.

“It was Miki this time! She forgot her soccer cleats.” The older sibling gawks at her younger brother for calling her out.

“Tsumiki, I know you have cleats at home.”

“I do, but these are special! You bought them for my birthday, and I’ve been wearing them to every game ever since! So, I was scared when I couldn’t find them at home.” The brunette was quick to defend her stand. “Also, Dad doesn’t feel like driving up here and then back. So…can we…”

You close your eyes and bring the phone to your face to shield your vexation. Twice in a row, the sixth time this month. You can hear the giggles of your friends from the other side of the phone, adding more fuel to the fire. You don’t look up until you hear heavy footsteps on the porch, seeing Toji holding both duffle bags with a hand and shoulder. He stares at you as you stare at him, a silent conversation on how to handle this situation. And when he shrugs with lifted brows, you realize it’s no use and release the long-awaited sigh.

“….If I see one more thing being left behind here, you guys can’t come back till December, understand?” It wasn’t anything serious, but enough for the kids to know you weren’t joking. They nod their heads in unison while you roll your eyes. “Okay, get in here.” They rushed inside with gleeful laughs, the shuffling of their backpacks following along with them. Your eyes then drift to Toji as he walks up to you. “Did you forget something here, too?”

“Yeah,” you lift a brow when he drops Megumi’s bag to the floor. Before you can register his hand on your chin, you squeak when he brings his lips to yours. It lasted for seconds, but the kiss was sweet and tender, sucking on your lip before letting go with a playful bite. “Meant to give you that when you woke up. Thanks fr' the food, mama.” 

Toji picks the bag up and walks inside your home to put the bags in the rooms, leaving you standing on the porch with an astounded expression. You couldn’t appropriately calibrate your thoughts until you heard faint laughs from the phone. Then, you realize your best friends witnessed the entire scene that transpired. 

Utahime, with the slyest leer, was the first to say something. “Oh yeah, he laid that pipe on you good, without a doubt.”

“Mhmm,” Mei Mei agrees with a chuckle. “And I'm guessing he’s gonna do it again tonight. Isn’t that right, Y/n?”

You end the video call with a heated face. “Sh-Shut your damn mouths!!” Again, you groan into your hands before returning inside. Thank God I still have those birth control pills...

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by rororogi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!

[inzayneforaj]

꣑ৎ 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

toji fushiguro loved his wife to bits. the woman of his dreams, the mother of his beautiful children. he wouldn't be this happy if it wasn't for you coming into his life.

he always makes sure to pepper you with kisses, tell you how much he loves and adores you and do small favours for you that mean the world to you. but other than that, he loves fucking you.

be it on the kitchen counter, bent over the couch, washing machine or bed, he does not care. he just can't get enough of your pretty pussy and your cute moans.

"the kids could come home at any moment, hnngh", you're bent over the kitchen counter as toji hungrily stares at your ass, cock hard in his hands as he slides it between your wet folds, pumping it slowly.

"i'll be quick, don't worry", he reassures and starts sliding in inch by inch. you both gasp and a shudder rolls down your spine. your breathing going heavy and he's all in. he smacks your ass, causing you to clench down on him and he lets out a groan. "fuck you're so hot mama...can't get enough of you...", he places his hands firmly on your waist and starts thrusting.

his movements are slow at first, trying to enjoy the feeling of you clenching around his hard dick and the pretty quiet sounds you let out make it even more worse. he wants to enjoy the moment, make it last longer, he really does until he hears, "go faster toji. please", you're looking over your shoulder at him, eyes lidded with lust and he just looses it.

he gathers your hair in his fist and starts relentlessly pounding into you. the sound of skin slapping against skin growing louder.

your back is arch, hands placed onto the counter as you moan his name loudly. "yes, toji-fuck..haah...just like that-oh~". he delivers another smack to your ass and you clench down on him again and he growls.

"you're so-ah-so fuckin' tight mama...so fuckin' sexy all for me, yeah?", you nod as a familiar knot forms in the pit of your stomach and the same for him.

he pulls your hair harder, now thrusting faster into you, chasing his high as well as yours guttural grunts and groans from him and precious moans echo the room.

"i'm gonna cum..fuck- gonna cum inside of you", he announces and with one final thrust, he's dumping his load inside of you as your orgasm takes over. you both moan loudly as he continue thrusting, the feeling of his seed inside of you making you feel so full brings tears to your eyes.

the both of you catch your breathes trying to calm down and he leans forward placing a kiss on your neck and shoulders. "did that feel good?", he asks against your ear and lightly bites it causing you to shiver and he smirks at you.

that's when you hear the car parking outside your house and start panicking. "shit!"