plug!choso SITUATIONSHIP ? ⸝⸝ ⊹˚｡ 𖥔
tw : implied SA
your friends ask you what you are to each other. frequently.
they wonder what it means when you sling your legs over his, rest your head on his shoulder, or when he presses his lips against your cheek, without the need to speak about it. like a silent bond, something that ties the two of you together, bit by bit, finger by finger—a string of fate.
they see the way you laugh with him. relaxed. loud. he makes you want to be loud. or did. now you find yourself second-guessing your words, faltering before every touch.
“yeaaah, you like him.” shoko drones on one night, hiccupping, her face flushed from yet another visit to the bar. her alcoholism worries you, but she has an unusually convincing way of reassuring people she’s fine. a half-burnt cigarette sits between her fingers. “i know you do. you realised it too, didn’t you?”
you try to deny it, claiming she is seeing wrong and should get her eyes checked, but she simply laughs in your face. shoko knows she’s never wrong.
he’d sell you the goods. you’d slip him the twenty bucks, or whatever you had in your pocket. sometimes it would be ten, along with a bundle of caramel sweets. rarely, it’s five. he doesn’t mind—not with you. many times, he gives more than you pay for.
you aren’t quite sure what you are, either.
you wouldn’t call it dating. the pent up fear from your past relationships looms at the back of your mind, constantly. the last thing you wish for is to go through something like that all over again…and choso kamo is not exactly known for his stable relationships.
you certainly weren’t friends with benefits, because you had never found yourself in his bed before. not even when you were blackout drunk, or high enough to confuse your left and right, even with your fingers held up. the first time you’d gotten drunk with him, you woke up under your sheets, clothes in tact, while he laid on the cold floor, opposite side of the room.
“good morning…” you hesitantly sit up, pressing two palms against your temples to ease the throbbing consequence of a night out. “hey, nothing happened right?”
he stares at you for a few seconds, as if gathering his thoughts, his back now laid against the dresser. casual, familiar. you catch his attention with the hand gesture pointing between you two. “of course not…are you joking? you were drunk as fuck.”
“so?” you shake your head in surprise, shrugging. your ex always did it—which you knew was wrong—but you thought you loved him enough to allow it. you trusted him. that’s what love was to you.
“so?” he raises a brow, his hand flying to push his hair back. even in his tired state, he is uncharacteristically animated. “are you- are you messing with me? you are, aren’t you?”
the bright sunlight filtering through your curtains doesn’t help to ease the tension. he watches as you sit silently, the sheets curling under your fists. you blink. he swallows away his questions.
two days after that, you hear news of your ex boyfriend coming to class with a purple eye.
that might have been the beginning of the complicated feelings you harbour for your plug.
and then, choso magically starts appearing at every party you attend. he sits on the kitchen counter when you go to get another cup of beer. lays back on the couch as you dance with your friends. rolls a blunt for one of the frat boys, his eyes trained on you. but by the time the party thins out and you’re too far gone to remember your name, he’s at your arm, carrying you home.
the bass pours out of the flung open doors of the fraternity house, the same people playing beerpong on the porch for the third hour in a row. the steps to the gates are wet from the earlier rain, and the air is damp, stained with petrichor—choso’s favourite.
“choso…” you smile and bury your head into his neck, inhaling his cologne. he freezes, the very little alcohol that had entered his system now wholly drained. he shivers at the feeling of your nose and soft lips draping across his skin.
as good as his cologne smells, you recognise the absence of his signature scent. “…oh, you didn’t smoke. surprising. you know, i noticed you haven’t been smoking lately. i did…i noticed.” you blabber, like you often do when intoxicated.
“i didn’t wanna drive high. let’s get you home.” he sighs, being pushed along the gravel with the little stumble in your step. his hand clasps your waist, steadying you. “careful.”
“this is no fun, you should be…” you wave your finger in the air, then drag it to poke his cheek, your speech slurring slightly. “…partying.”
“this isn’t fun to you?” choso looks into your half-lidded, slow blinking eyes, his gaze maintaining its sharpness even after hours of getting tangled in sweaty bodies and deafening music.
“what?” you ask, suddenly remembering all the things shoko giggled about before. his gaze holds something other than simple interest. you blink away whatever shyness you feel. “go back to the party. i’ll go home by myself…”
“nah, i’m not going back to the party.” he says again, stepping forward to unlock his car. his voice is quiet. “again, isn’t being with me fun?”
“hey, don’t ask me anything when i’m in this state.” you say, your eyes closed and your brows furrowed. you nearly lose your balance, one foot slipping, before adjusting again.
“you’re honest when you’re drunk.” his eyes are soft. amused, even. he smiles as he helps you inside the passenger seat with a warm hand on your shoulder. “seatbelt. i don’t want you busting your face open.”
your heart flutters as he leans over you, beating against your ribs maliciously. traitorously. you worry too hard over whether he can hear it thrumming with life everytime he gets closer than what is necessary. his warm hand brushes past your thighs to grab the seatbelt, his eyes anchored on you.
you tell yourself the quickening pace of your heartbeat is due to all the beer you consumed, and definitely not because you are in love with choso kamo. not because he is handsome, and intelligent, and knows how to treat you right. not because you are able to get blackout drunk and trust him to bring you back home safely, to tuck you into bed.
you feel heat consume your face as you hold onto the sash tying you to the seat. he circles around the car, crashing into the driver’s seat and flicking on the engine. his hand smooths over the wheel, his eyes flicking to you, then the road. like nothing happened, like he didn’t leave you breathless with one look.
⋆ . ˚ ⋆ ’ . ｡
the old machine comes to a halt in front of your apartment, the engine still running loudly. stupid, clanky car, you think. making it more awkward than it needs to be. you didn’t understand why choso insisted on keeping the outdated car, despite having the funds to upgrade. there are many things about him that are still shrouded in mystery, which is perhaps the reason why you like him so much.
“i’ll help you out.”, he starts, but you grab his wrist over the console, making him flinch.
“choso,” you mumble, immediately regretting it. “you wouldn’t be weirded out if i…”
he stares at you questioningly.
when you gulp, it’s loud enough to be heard over the engine, making you dig your nails against your palm to calm yourself down.
it’s not as if he’s a stranger…
neither of you reach for the door. the quiet stretches further than your comfortable relationship should let it. he raises a brow, leaning back onto his headrest.
you groan, painfully sober now, although you wish you weren’t. you need the liquid courage. “no, sorry, nothing.”
there. your resolve crumbles in an instant. you are never truly be able to say anything about the things happening between you, because that’s how it had always been. you don’t trust yourself enough to speak out.
“no, go on.”
what you don’t know, however, is that choso has been fighting himself the entire time he’s been in this complicated relationship with you. having to glance away when you caught him staring, his hand itching to hold yours, but never being able to reach over.
your relationship is friendly, intimate, something a little less than lovers. in choso’s mind, holding your hand and kissing you is something he’d only deserve to have once you choose him. so he holds himself back, afraid he’ll scare you off. he continues to supply you, leans closer to light your blunt with his, sits beside you as you smoke. that had been enough to satiate him, until now. until you had excited him with a quiet, nervous voice that meant you were serious.
“go on.” his warm hand snakes up to your nape, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. you look up to see his flushed face and expecting, eager eyes.
now you’re sure your heart will rip out of your chest. “choso, i—“
the only thing you hear is him cursing under his breath before he kisses you. it’s fast and frantic, like he’s been starved. like you’ve been starved. you hold his face in your hands, your back hitting the car door. his knee crawls over the console, nudging between yours, asking for access. there is no softness in the way choso kisses, unlike his usual personality, it’s rough and wanting.
you quickly realise choso is desperate, and has been for a long time. it’s evident in the way he bites your bottom lip, swiping his tongue against your teeth. you let your soft moans die on his lips as his hand appears at your side, gripping your hip and closing whatever gap there is between you. when he parts away slightly, you take it as your chance to throw your head back, your chest rising and falling from the lack of oxygen. “wait, wait a minute.”
“what—“ his lips fall on your jaw, kissing down to your exposed shoulder in a messy line. he murmurs between pecks. “what is it?”
“i like you, choso.” you barely whine out as your skin heats up with every touch of his lips. “um, that’s what i wanted— wanted to say.”
he stops, huffing out a breath, his face nestling in the crook of your neck. “i know. i’ve…known.” you swear you can feel the flutter of his lashes against your collarbone as his eyes close. when he raises his head to face you, his face is equally hot, his eyes glossed over with tears.
“choso?!” you gasp, brows furrowing with worry. your fingers quickly fumble to wipe away at his watery eyes. the usually calm man now has tears sprouting and sliding down his cheeks. “why the hell are you crying?”
“fuck, sorry, i like you so much, that’s why.” he brings your palm to his lips, inhaling your scent and pressing a kiss to it. “i wanna make you mine.”
you smile at the absurdity of it all, thinking of the months you wasted fawning over the man who could have been yours long ago. you suppose it didn’t matter anymore. not when he was right in front of you, blushing and crying because of your first kiss.
“yeah, okay. i’ll gladly be yours.”
note: omgahhh writing kiss scenes i can’t i can’t i canmt. pls ignore any mistakes…….. i haven’t proofread. also choso being a plug doesn’t add much to the drabble but oh well i’m still experimenting 🤞💘 much luuuhvvv
