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just posted the first three chaps of a choso kamo fic that is currently very near and dear to me on wattpad, and thought i'd share the fic summary in case i might reach any other fellow choso lovers/jjk college au lovers on here <3

college is supposed to be the time of your life. instead, it becomes a cycle of cheap alcohol, louder music, and a relationship that was never really a relationship to begin with, enshrouded in the smoky haze of blunts and blurred boundaries.

with toji fushiguro, everything is messy by design: stolen nights, mixed signals, empty promises, and just enough attention and good enough sex to keep you coming back. it's toxic, it's familiar, and it hurts in all the ways you've come to mistake for desire...

...and then choso slips into your life quietly, unexpectedly, and without warning. for a drug dealer, he isn't loud about the way he cares. he doesn't demand, he doesn't play games, and he doesn't leave you feeling used and empty. but somehow, in the spaces between midnight texts, a dimly lit bar, and the kind of softness you don't know what to do with, he becomes impossible to ignore.

caught between what's painfully easy to fall back into and what feels terrifyingly real, you're left trying to figure out whether love is supposed to leave bruises... or if you're only ever choosing people who do- all topped off by a secret, a lie, and a crime powerful enough to destroy your entire world as you know it.

|| a jjk college au about self-destruction, emotional dependency, almost-love, and the slow unravelling that happens when someone finally treats you like you're worth staying for. ||

because plug!choso is so cinderella by mac miller coded...

small exerpt from the latest chapter of my long-form fic, 'million dollar man' by aftercares on wattpad!

synopsis: after ending your toxic situationship with frat!toji a while back, you've come to fall into something confusing, but oddly safe with plug!choso. it's never been defined, it's not something necessarily well understood by your friends, nor by either of you- especially after an almost 'what if' conversation that happened the morning after a party ... and still, it's good. and then, one night at choso's apartment, the already blurred boundaries get pushed when you slip up and tell him that you love him.

wc: 3,672 | art credits: yume041624 on danbooru(?) | ship: choso x reader

cw/tags: MDNI nsfw, p!in!v, riding, established situationship, couch sex, consenual sex under the influence, marijuana use, making out, nipple sucking, pet names, praise

Despite the majority of your first semester flying by, November comes and goes slowly, as if it's gearing you up for the Christmas break. 

It's been nearly two months since you last spoke to Toji, and even if you're sure that he's realized that you and Choso are friends, at least— as the two of you tell the other members of Kappa Sigma and your other friends, minus Nobara— he doesn't seem to do much of anything about it. He just broods, staring daggers at you anytime you catch a glimpse of one another in the hallways between classes, his scarred mouth twitching as if he wants to say something but always manages to hold himself back. 

Even if you still keep that morning after Halloweekend, and that heavy feeling in your bedroom that made the air feel suffocating between you and Choso in your mind, in the time that passes, it never gets brought up. It's almost as if the two of you just continue on as usual— he spends every one of your Tuesday shifts loitering at the bar, you try his newest strains of weed at least once a week, and you talk to each other every day. 

Sure, you hook up here and there— he eats you out in the backseat of his car when you're all pent up with stress from classes, you give him blowjobs behind the bar at work once the doors are locked and the patrons have all left, and on occasion, you both fuck on his couch or in his bedroom at his apartment, eyes low-lidded from the joints you've shared, movements slow and lazy and intimate, each sensation of pleasure feeling heightened by your shared high. 

It feels too easy— it always has with Choso, this comfortable exchange and the way that you can be so relaxed around him, as if you're in this safe, little bubble that clouds the rest of the world into something covered by a rose-coloured haze. 

You confide in one another— small conversations about what's on your minds as you pass a joint back and forth or slot perfectly into one another's arms on his couch. You know each other's bodies so intimately— you've memorized every scar and tattooed line on his pale skin, and he can trace each freckle and mole of yours without looking, as if their locations are mapped in his mind. You've learned to read every small vocal inflection and facial twitch, and he's managed to figure out exactly how you're feeling just by looking at you, as if he can see right through you.

As much as you don't want to admit it, whatever is going on between the two of you feels somewhat reminiscent of a relationship, but even if it's something never defined, it also isn't like how you and Toji were back in high school. 

There's no petty texts or week-long sessions of ghosting, no toxic masculinity, no pressure. Every encounter with Choso doesn't end with some expectation of sex, but when it does happen, before, during, and after the sex, you never feel used or ashamed. Even if it's undefined, and even if the two of you don't tell your friends that the two of you are anything more than that— friends— it doesn't feel like you're some dirty little secret either. 

He takes you out to nice restaurants, drives you around, even when those trips involve a stop at Kappa— and when the two of you find one another at parties or smaller get-togethers, you always end up next to one another, one of his strong arms slung around you or your fingers fiddling with one of the many rings on his fingers. 

You gravitate toward one another like magnets, slipping into place like you've both always meant to be there: you, leaning into him when you laugh, him, when he rests his chin against your shoulder even during casual conversation, or when he passes you whatever fuck ass drink Gojo's mixed, which you take tiny sips of before handing them back with a grimace and a wrinkle of your nose. It's all so easy.

It becomes something accepted— that you and Choso have some strange, intimate bond that none of your mutual friends would have expected, yet have grown to accommodate. And you're getting so dangerously used to it that, suddenly, the fear of being anything defined and losing it feels almost the same as the fear of losing whatever this is, too. 

It's a particularly cold November evening, one of the last days in the month before it falls into December, and despite it being a weekend and the reality of finals being two weeks away is settling in, you're allowing yourself an evening of relaxation. You're sprawled out on your back on Choso's couch, the back of your head resting in his lap. You stare up at him, studying his face through your hazy, low-lidded eyes, quietly trying to figure out what looks different about him tonight. 

The fingers on one of his hands dance loosely through your hair whilst his other hand drapes across your chest, and one of your arms mimics the positioning of his arm, bent over your chest, your fingertips curled around his wrist and thumb drawing lazy circles, whilst in the fingertips of your free hand, a joint is balanced. Smoke trails off the end of it and dances through the air, curling up in front of you and giving the movie playing on his large flat screen a hazed blur. 

You bring the joint to your mouth, taking a drag before you lazily lift your arm and bring the joint toward his lips, Choso's head tilting down to allow himself a hit, even as it stays balanced between your fingers. You both exhale at the same time, his body leaning back against the cushions that he looks as if he could melt into, and the peaceful quiet that has infiltrated the apartment settles over the two of you as you enjoy your highs. 

"You gonna stay over tonight?" He asks, voice low and gravelly from the smoke, as his fingers comb gently through your hair, lazily massaging your scalp. 

It's a silly question that he should know the answer to, especially because you're already in your pajamas— a pair of loose, high-cut boxer shorts and one of his sweaters— but he still asks it as if he needs confirmation, so you nod against his lap, bringing the joint toward your lips for another hit, pausing the movement halfway through to speak. 

"I mean, I didn't bring a bag, but I know you've got half the shit I use here, anyway," you reply, lips curling up into a small smile even as you hit the joint when you catch Choso's cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. 

You haven't really mentioned it before this, but you know that he knows you've noticed that each time you've shown up, especially in the last month, everything that you might need is already here for you. 

The cabinets in the ensuite bathroom attached to his bedroom have grown stocked with the face washes, shampoos, and conditioners that you use. There's an extra charger that's found its way into his bedroom for your phone, and an extra toothbrush sitting in the small cup atop the bathroom counter next to Choso's. Even the top drawer of his dresser has been cleared out of his own clothes and conveniently filled with spare pairs of underwear, socks, and leggings in your size, 'just in case' you end up needing extras. 

"Yo, that's the whole point. Saves you having to pack a bag every time you stay over," he shrugs, trying his best to sound casual despite the blush creeping across his face. 

You squeeze his wrist lightly as you pull the joint away from your mouth, reaching your arm up once more to allow him the final hit before you ash the end out on the ashtray that rests on the coffee table across from you. "Mhm. I think it's cute, Cho. I've got basically everything I need here." 

"Basically everything?" He repeats, glancing down at you as smoke trickles from between his lips, curling up in front of his face as he arches an eyebrow. You shake your head quickly, furrowing your brows as you wave your free hand lazily in the air. "No— like, I meant that I have everything I need, baby." 

"Nah. What am I missin', ma?" He questions, his lips tugging into a small smirk when he notices how flushed your face is becoming, entertained by your flusteredness as you shake your head once more. 

"C'mon, baby. Just tell me, I'll fix it," he teases, voice slow and sickly sweet as you let out a small groan of frustration, trying to reach for his phone when he pulls it from his pocket and opens Google as if he's about to search for and order whatever it is that's missing. 

"Choso, it's nothing," you whine as he begins listing off items slowly, as if he's taking inventory. You try to sit up, but his arm against your chest wraps a bit tighter around you, keeping you down as you tap at his arm incessantly, trying to distract him from his list of supplies.

"Oh, fuck. It's that moisturizer you use, isn't it? I've only got my shit in the bathroom," he finally notes, nodding to himself as he begins typing something into his phone. You groan, reaching your arm back to try to snatch at his phone once more, but he simply smirks and extends his arm to the side, scrolling with one hand as he easily keeps you pinned with the other arm. 

"Baby, don't buy that. It's too expensive," you plead, smacking at his arm that still holds around your chest, earning a small, low scoff from him as his thumb continues tapping away at his phone screen. "You callin' me broke, ma?" 

"No! No, that's not—" You're interrupted by a quiet ding from his phone, which he glances at for a moment longer before sliding it back into his pocket. "Cho, c'mon! You didn't have to." 

"Ay, don't worry 'bout it, pretty girl," he cooes, finally loosening his arm from around you, allowing you to sit up as you huff, his lips curling up into a smug smile as he continues, "—Sephora-dot-com says it'll be here by Monday. Y'know, your moisturizer, and that perfume you like, and some more of that hair oil, and—" 

"Choso," you put simply, letting out a small huff as you swing one leg over his, straddling down on his lap and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. This seems to finally shut him up, his tongue quickly swiping across his bottom lip as his eyes flicker across your face. 

"You didn't have to buy all of that. I can bring my own," you counter, voice low and slightly peccant as your eyebrows tug toward one another. He shakes his head, hands finding their way to either side of your hips, squeezing them lightly as if he's trying to ground you with his touch— something he always seems to be able to do. 

"Baby, I'm just fuckin' with you— was gonna order it either way. I want you to be comfortable when you're here," he murmurs, voice smooth and calm as his thumbs rub small circles on the sides of your hips, the smell of his cologne mixing with the scent of weed smoke and filling your senses— God, he always smells so good. 

"I am comfortable here, even without that stuff, Cho," you return quietly, fingers lightly dancing across the back of his neck and travelling down to his shoulders, massaging them slowly in the way that you know always makes him soften. 

He lets out a small mumble, just a gentle hum that vibrates through him as your thumbs push at the spot above his collarbones that always seems a little tight. You watch the way his low-lidded eyes close for a moment, his grip on your hips tightening as you work at the spot for another second before you feel the muscles relax beneath your touch. 

"That good, baby?" You drawl with a small sigh, your own eyes low-lidded and slow blinking as your fingers work at his shoulders, his head nodding unhurriedly with his eyes still fluttered closed. "Feels real nice."

"I finally figured it out," you begin quietly, smiling to yourself when he hums as you work at a knot in his shoulder, feeling it release after a few passes of your thumb, "—what's different about you. Got a haircut." 

"Just got a little bit off," he murmurs, his eyes slowly fluttering open as your fingers trail up his neck and toward the back of his head, loosely playing with his dark tresses. "You like it, ma?"

"Mhm. You look real handsome, Cho," you return, voice slow and sweet as your high really begins to kick in. His lips curl into a small smile, his hands dragging up and down your waist once, then twice, before settling at your hips once more. His eyes flicker across your face, watching you as you almost mindlessly play with his hair, each blink slow and heavy. 

"My handsome man," you're mumbling, almost to yourself, as your fingers lightly massage his temples. A small noise of contentment leaves his lips as his pink, low-lidded eyes flutter shut for a moment, his hands sliding down a bit lower, rubbing a slow circle around your ass before giving it a gentle squeeze that makes you smile. 

"You take such good care of me, Choso," you start, your head ducking down slightly to press a delicate kiss to the side of his jaw, a hum escaping his lips as he squeezes your ass once more, shifting slightly beneath you. You can already feel the growing tent in his pants, and coupled with the way that his face is growing hot and flushed and his hands grip you a little tighter, you can feel your stomach start to flip with lazy, intoxicated butterflies. 

"Lemme take care of you, baby," you murmur between peppered kisses to his neck, your hips slowly rolling against his as his small hums of contentment turn into softer breaths, almost whimpers as you feel his hips twitch beneath you. "Lemme ride you, Cho."

Your words are enough to finally elicit one of those quiet, broken whimpers that always make your stomach flutter, his hands sliding up to your waist and squeezing when you suck lightly at his neck, just below his ear— and when he speaks, his words are breathy and slightly stuttered. "Yes. Please, yes, baby."

Because you're both high, your movements are a bit slower than usual, but you still make quick work of his pants, his hips lifting slightly to allow you to shift his sweats and boxers down enough to free his growing erection whilst he pulls his own t-shirt over his head and tosses it onto the couch. 

Your lips find his as his length lightly slaps against his stomach, one of your hands immediately reaching down to stroke him as he lets out a small moan into your mouth. Your thumb drags over his head, collecting the pre already leaking out of him and using it to coat his length, each pump of your hand painfully slow and perfectly pressured, because you've learned— you know exactly how much pressure to use on him, you know everything that drives him crazy.

It's only a few strokes before you're pushing your shorts to the side, lips never leaving Choso's, even as you rise up slightly, just enough to line him up with yourself. His hands are still on your waist, but they travel down to your hips in stuttered movements when you begin sinking down on him, a small sigh of pleasure leaving your lips as he slides in, inch by inch. No matter how many times you do this, it always takes you a moment to get adjusted to his sheer size, as if your plush walls are the only thing that needs that minute to grow accustomed to him each time. 

"Fuck, ma," he's whining quietly, almost breathing against your mouth as he squeezes your hips, kneading your skin beneath his fingers as your hands find their place on his shoulders, as if you're bracing yourself. 

His teeth find your bottom lip, biting down gently when you make the first move— up, down, and a roll of your hips at the bottom, all so slow and syrupy thanks to the hazy, tingly buzz of the marijuana in both of your systems. You moan softly into his mouth, his tongue taking the opportunity to slide in and dance against yours in a lazy waltz, the metal of his tongue piercing notably cold in comparison to the warm muscle it's impaled through. 

"You feel so good, Cho," you drawl out as he reaches for the bottom of your hoodie, your hands momentarily leaving his shoulders to allow him to pull it over your head, tossing it onto the cushions beside the two of you, on top of his t-shirt. 

You're peering down at him below your lashes as you continue to move in that same pattern— up, down, roll— his hands sliding up your torso before cupping beneath your tits, squeezing them lightly. He presses a feathery kiss to your throat before peppering them downward, his lips eventually finding one of your nipples, already perked against the air, popping it into his mouth. You let out a soft mewl of pleasure, hips stuttering against his as you bottom out in a way that elicits a groan from him, vibrating through you. 

"Fuckin' perfect," he's whispering praises between flicks of his tongue, alternating his mouth and one hand between your tits, his free hand sliding down, over your torso, and toward your clit. 

His thumb moves beneath your shorts, beginning to rub circles on the bundle of nerves, applying the exact amount of pressure that he knows will get you to your climax in a matter of time. Your head tips backward at the feeling, a small shiver of enjoyment creeping up your spine and escaping your lips in the form of a quiet whine. 

"Right there, baby? You feelin' good?" He murmurs, face pressed between your breasts, lips peppering wet kisses to your sternum. You nod once before tipping your head back down to look at him— and he's already staring up at you, eyes filled with bliss, looking at you as if you've hung the stars and the moon themselves. Oh. 

"I love—" 

The words are already falling out of your mouth before you can think any harder about them, the tingling in your stomach crashing perfectly with the heat of Choso's breath against your skin as his dark eyes lock with yours. "—fuck, I love you." 

Your heart stops as soon as the words hit the air, and for a moment, with one of your hands gripping his shoulder and the other pressed against his chest, you feel his own skip a beat. But neither of you slows— instead, his hips buck up slightly into yours, eliciting a pair of moans from each of your mouths that blend into one, synchronous noise of euphoria. 

The pace picks up within an instant. It's hot, and it's desperate, but the sounds of your thighs slapping against his and your ragged breaths are no match for the noises coming from each of your mouths— you, shuddering out small gasps and cries, and Choso, a slew of whimpers and soft groans and something else. 

It takes a second, but then you catch it: "I love you." 

He's breathing out the words between whimpers like a mantra, his head tipping forward and his face pressing itself into your shoulder as he continues to buck up into you each time you bottom out, hitting that blissful spot each time. 

Combined with his thumb, rubbing circles against your clit, and the feeling of his other hand gripping your hip and pushing you down each time he drills up, you're about to reach your orgasm. You can feel yourself clenching down around him, dripping onto his thighs as your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself on something as the feeling in your stomach begins to blossom into that lovely feeling of release. 

"I'm gon— gonna— oh, fuck..." Your words are breathless and desperate, hands squeezing his shoulders before finding the back of his neck, then the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair as if it'll ease the overwhelming peak. 

"C'mon, cum all over me, ma. I'm— shit— right there, baby," he groans into your shoulder, his hands flying to your back and squeezing as he lets out one long, broken whimper as you reach the height of your orgasm. 

You both come at the same time, hips twitching and bucking as he spills into you and you gush around him. Your breath catches in your throat as your hips try, in broken movements, to ride you both through it. Your walls spasm around him as his teeth sink lightly into your shoulder, quiet whimpers and moans slipping from his lips, your eyes squeezing shut when you begin to see stars from the pleasure. 

It stays like this for a minute or two— you, on top of him, bare chests pressed against one another— your hips stuttering and eventually coming to a slow stop, Choso's grip on your back never loosening, even as his teeth on your shoulder turn into a soft, careful kiss before he buries his face into your neck. And even if you're both struggling to compose yourselves and catch your breath after coming together for the millionth time, this is different. 

Everything is different now because you let those three words slip, and now, they're hanging over both of you like some heavenly prophecy. 

this came to me when i was watching the newest euphoria episode and realized how hot one of the bouncers at rue's club was lol

wc: 1,528 | art credits: tevenmei on pinterest | ship: choso x reader

cw: smut, fluff, substance abuse, harassment, reader is a sw/stripper

bouncer!choso, who's been working at the sketchy strip club in the middle of the big city for as long as he can remember... he's seen countless dancers come and go over the years, come to know the faces of the regular customers and the big tippers, and is both trusted and well equipped to handle the most rowdy of clientele. he's big, he's built, and he has that quiet, 'takes no shit' broodiness about him that leaves people afraid to cross him- which is exactly why he's survived so long working in this rough scene...

bouncer!choso, who never grows tired of the neon lights and the pounding music, because they distract him during the quieter nights, especially when there's no bar fights to break up or stiffers to kick out... that is, until the first night that you step onto that stage- a fresh, unfamilar face that still manages to captivate an entire audience- and he realizes what it actually means to be distracted.

bouncer!choso, who can't tear his eyes away from you as you twirl around the pole mounted on the centre stage, mesmerized by the way that the light catches your smooth skin that he can only imagine feels unbelievably soft, captivated by your eyes fluttering below your lashes, focused on the audience and yet, simultaneously spacing out as you twirl around the pole in the skimpiest outfit (if you can even call an expensive looking bra top, a fancy thong, and a pair of pleasers an outfit...)

bouncer!choso, who feels his cheeks burning and his pants growing tighter by the second as you dance on stage to some slow, sensual song with a bass line that vibrates through his chest. he stands at the back door with his large arms folded over his chest, looking huge and terrifying- but when your half-lidded eyes survey the crowd in a quick sweep and find his, he feels his heart physically flutter beneath his ribcage. he wonders if you can tell that he's fighting for his life right now, because, by some cruel twist of fate... you hold the eye contact through the remainder of your set.

bouncer!choso, who's spent every night since your debut waiting for your set, barely paying attention to what's going on around him as he counts down the minutes until you're on... and winds up getting in major shit with his boss when a stiffer manages to run out of the club on his watch. but he can't be blamed- he's just been too busy staring at you as your thighs cling around the tall, silver pole, your head tipping backward and your spine arching deliciously, hands running up your torso so slowly that it becomes hard for choso not to imagine that it's his hands running up and down your body...

bouncer!choso, who can't seem to stop himself from straying from his position each night when your set finishes... and instead of keeping his post by one of the doors, he finds himself standing watch outside of the girls' locker room, ears tuned in your direction, his stomach flipping with butterflies anytime he catches the end of your laughter with one of the other girls or the sound of you facetiming your roommate after your dance to discuss how much money you've managed to procure.

bouncer!choso, who wants to vomit the first time you start doing private dances... not because the idea of you doing that makes him sick, but because the idea of you not doing that to him makes him feel as if he's a man starved, deprived of the most basic essentials to maintaining life. every time he watches you disappear behind the beaded curtains into the lowly lit private rooms is torture... you, kneeling down to bring a rolled-up dollar bill toward the white lines cut across the table with some guy staring at you with nothing more than hunger.

bouncer!choso, who manages to catch you after a private, on your way back to the locker room, taking immediate note of your tear-pricked eyes and puffy lips... and he knows exactly why you look this way. his heart doubles in pace when he realizes that there's small, quiet sniffles coming from your lips, and when he asks you if you're okay and you hesitate on your answer, he's seeing red and is expeditiously kicking the guy who make you cry out of the club... snapping his license in two on his way out (just for good measure).

bouncer!choso, who takes pride in his ability to protect you. you don't ask him to, but after that first kick-out, he's a man on a mission. someone staring too hard during your dances without throwing a single dollar? gone. someone getting a little too handsy during a private, causing you to flinch or bite your lip in discomfort? banned. and if anyone dares to speak down to you, even when you're too coked out to realize? choso's dragging them out by the collar whilst repeating every kind thing you deserve to hear about yourself in his mind.

bouncer!choso, who feels himself about to cum in his pants the night you finally notice everything he's been doing, and in turn, begin to flirt with him... because how can't you? this guy is huge, handsome, and he seems to care about you, even if you've barely spoken to one another. so when your fingertips graze his bicep and you stand in front of him in practically nothing, staring up at him with those fluttering doe eyes? he's weak in the knees, stumbling over his words, completely butchering any tough guy show he's been putting on.

bouncer!choso, who can't help himself when you finally lead him to a private room after the club closes and the patrons leave. the other girls are gone, and you've been taking suspiciously long to count your bills before you call it a night... so when choso comes to check on you in the dressing room and you beckon him toward those same beaded curtains with the curl of a finger, even if he knows he shouldn't do it, he follows.

bouncer!choso, who has to bite down on his lower lip to keep himself from moaning aloud when you push him down into the patron chair and begin giving him a lap dance- slow, sensual, each grind of your hips leaving him squirming. his hands are hungry, more than content to finally feel how soft your skin truly is as they roam your half-naked body... but you can't help but notice how different his touch feels to every other half-drunk, sweaty man who throws bills at you in exchange for blowjobs and lap dances- his is special.

bouncer!choso, who, despite seeming quiet and, honestly, kind of shy- turns into an entirely different man when he's inside of you. even if you're on top, riding him on that filthy fucking chair, he's praising you in ways that feel better than any coke high or jackpot night whilst his hands stay on your waist, helping to lift you up and down as he thrusts up into you, meeting you halfway. "you like ridin' me like that, don't you, pretty girl?" "aw, you gettin' tired, baby? i know you got more than that in you." "takin' this dick so well, ma. like it was made just for you."

bouncer!choso, who has a jealous streak that seems to truly come out when he has you bent over the table that you're normally sniffing coke off of- praising you with sweet words laced with a possessive undertone as he drills into you relentlessly, drawing whines and moans of pleasure from your lips. "look at that perfect fuckin' ass, baby. bounce that shit back, ma." "where you runnin', huh? you got it, angel. i know you can take it f'me." "bet none of those guys have you creamin' all over their fuckin' dicks, do they, pretty girl? mhm... that's what i thought, baby."

bouncer!choso, who, despite being rough in the best way, gives you proper aftercare. he wipes your tears, kisses your aching skin, cleans you up with movements so soft that you wonder if this is the same guy who just had you hiccuping out your words and clawing at his skin from the sheer amount of pleasure. he waits with you as you change and collect your things, and walks you to your car when you finally decide to head home.

bouncer!choso, who's watchful gaze is much more noticeable each night after he fucked you silly in the private room. he watches you like you're the most sought-after piece of art in the world- and every time you grind your hips back against the metal pole or arch your back during your floor work, your eyes find his- meeting his gaze and holding it through the remainder of your set... because you both know that once the patrons are gone, the lights are dimmed, and the music fades out, he'll be right back inside of you, making you feel better than any high or amount of money ever could.

here's to hoping that neither of you quits your job.

choso kamo x reader cw: NSFW, oral (m!receiving), praise, under the influence but both consenting,

"Be back in a bit," you speak between giggles before turning, beginning to weave your way through the swarm of partygoers in the backyard. Your head is spinning slightly, stomach warmed by the alcohol in your system, but also plagued by the sick feeling that seeing Toji with another woman has left you with. 

You know that he sees other girls besides you— this isn't new information, it's something you've seen and heard before— but seeing him with a girl in front of him, so bubbly and willing, and having him stare you down whilst he entertains her drives you crazy.

You want to be enough for him— that's all you've ever wanted, really— but it seems that despite his words that are burned into your mind: "You're not just some girl, y/n! I mean— fuck— why do you think I keep calling you? I don't do that with anyone else—", he's quite willing to throw your own dismissal of your situationship back into your face. 

Is it actually because you called things off last Saturday, told him you couldn't do it anymore? Is it because you still haven't texted him back, leaving his last message from that very morning unopened as is? 

Or is it because you really aren't good enough? Because, realistically, any other girl can make him feel as good as you do, and both of you know that? There's nothing special about you anymore, not to Toji. You're not sure if there ever has been. 

But...

Your eyes settle on Choso, his tall, muscular build easily discernible amongst the bodies in the kitchen, surrounded by men and women who pale in comparison to how gorgeous he is. He's smiling, talking to Gojo and Geto in the kitchen, laughing at something they're saying, and when he does, his teeth glint against the pulsating neon lights. 

Between the lights and the bass of the speakers vibrating around your body, you find yourself frozen, staring at the handsome man whom you've come to think of as a good friend. You find your mind beginning to wander, beginning to wonder if you'd like something else.

You do want something else. You want more of him. 

Even if you're terrified to say it aloud, you know you're right. 

Because even if you're nothing to Toji, you know that you can make Choso feel good—and you also know that he'll do that for you. He'll give you that reassurance in the form of breathy gasps and shaking whimpers, despite that intimidating exterior. God, you had him cumming in his pants that same night that Toji left you feeling like a second choice. 

As if called by some otherworldly force, Choso seems to sense your eyes on him. 

Even as Satoru and Suguru still laugh and talk, discussing something that you can't make out over the music, even as he keeps that panty-dropping smile on his face, Choso's eyes find yours from twenty feet away. Time slows, the music blurring as it enters your ears, your eyes barely narrowed, perfectly lined and glossed lips puffed out ever so slightly, gaze harsh like a shot of straight liquor. 

You can't help but notice the way his throat bobs as he swallows, surely feeling the heat behind your stare, and a part of you wonders if he can sense that you're already pulsating around nothing, saliva greedily building in your mouth as you take in just how good he looks under the pink and purple that shrouds Delta.

You don't say a word. You just hold the stare for a moment longer before beginning to slink through the crowd, out of the kitchen and toward the bathroom that you found earlier in the night, shortly after you arrived. 

Even if you don't look back to confirm, you know that Choso's following. He's surely found some casual way to excuse himself from his conversation with Gojo and Geto, because you can practically feel the heat radiating off of him— and less than three seconds after you slink into the bathroom illuminated by a strip of fuchsia LED lights, Choso's sliding in beside you, shutting the door behind him. 

Your lips are on his before either of you can think to speak a word, hands slinking up to grab at his t-shirt, tugging lightly on the fabric before they find his strong shoulders and squeeze. He groans into the kiss, large hands finding the small of your back before they snake down, palming your ass even through your denim skirt. 

One of your hands moves upward, fingers raking through his hair that's tied back in a loose bun, as your other hand slides up, taking hold of his jaw and tipping his head backward gently, enough for your lips to latch onto the side of his neck. You kiss up the smooth, tattooed skin, nipping at it lightly as one of his large hands squeezes your ass, and this earns a breathy, elongated "fuck" from his mouth, causing your core to flutter against the air. 

"Can I make you feel good, Cho?"