Synopsis: Who knew one could develop a mask kink while being held at gunpoint?
Tags/Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, smoking, violence, suggestive content, guns, dubcon (just in case because reader is under the influence here), no use of y/n
Pairing: Adrian Chase x (Femme) Reader (I don’t think I mentioned any gender for reader though. The only indicator is that they have a purse, but I’m gonna put this as femme in case I did put any gendered terms on readers part.)
Word Count: 2.3k
A/N: honestly this is the first time i’ve written anything remotely fictional and posted in a very very very long time. I think the last time i’ve written a fanfiction was when i was 15 lol. Definitely healing my inner teen.
Also, I planned to make this into a one-shot, but I thought this part was funny by itself. Idk if I would call this an excerpt, or if i should just make a part 2. Anyway, I really really love Adrian Chase. I think he’s the Best Boy, and I hope i did him some justice in this fic. Okay enjoyyyy!!!!
You’re not sure how you found yourself in this predicament in the first place.
It has been that part of the night where the music begins to feel too loud, the dance floor too hot, and the flashing club lights too bright. A dull ache has blossomed on one side of your head, and it pounds along with the bass coming from the club’s sound system. You’ve come to realize you don’t have the endurance and the tolerance of a 21 year old anymore, so you find yourself standing in the dark alleyway behind the venue leaning against the concrete wall by the side exit with a cigarette in one hand and your phone on the other, scrolling mindlessly on social media. Sightings of Vigilante, a masked individual who is wanted for multiple counts of murder, have pervaded your algorithm recently.
Based on a quick google search and the rabbit hole you found yourself in, you have concluded that this Vigilante individual was merely Evergreen’s own urban legend, like the chupacabra or wendigos.
With a sigh, you stamp down what’s left of your cigarette on the ground with your platform boot and shove your phone inside your tiny black purse. Your main sources of light are the dim floodlight above the exit door and the flickering streetlight at the edge of the alley. Not an ideal setting to be alone this late into the night.
As soon as you look up from your purse, you see a silhouette of a man standing at the edge of the alleyway, its shadow looming over you. As you wait for your vision to focus, your mind immediately drifts to the bald guy that’s been hitting on you all night.
“Can I help you?” You ask, your voice laced with mild irritation.
The figure steps into the light, and you’re not sure if it’s pure coincidence or if the universe is fucking with you because, right now, you find yourself face to face with this urban legend that’s been flooding your social media just a couple minutes ago. At least you think so. As your vision adjusts, you spot the familiar black and teal suit. The red visor seems to glow menacingly, a warning.
Maybe it’s all the liquor and drugs in your system, but the warning is clearly lost on you. You even feel relief flooding your body because it’s not the Mr. Clean dupe from earlier in the night. You let out a sigh of relief. “Fuck, I thought it was someone else. Some dude who looked like Mr. Clean kept hitting on me even though I kept telling him to go away,” you explain to him with an eyeroll as if you were recounting a story to a friend over brunch.
You’re met with silence, so you add, “Also, you were literally just on my phone earlier. ‘Evergreen’s infamous Vigilante on a psychotic rampage—“
”I am not on a psychotic rampage!” A male voice retorts through the mask, but his voice comes out whiny. Like a child being denied candy or a sweet treat. “I kill criminals. I’m like a way cooler version of Batman.”
“Well, are you here to kill me?” you raise a brow and point at yourself, ignoring that last statement. You can’t tell if this is a prank and you’re being recorded right now, but his hand goes to his waist and reaches for the gun perched on his holster. You close your eyes, pinch the bridge of your nose, and let out a sharp exhale. The soft bass coming from the club is making your head pound.
You’re no stranger to this type of encounter, especially living in Gotham for many years. It’s why you moved to Evergreen in the first place. You’re so done with all the guns and the crime that’s always happening in every block. But it looks like the life you left in Gotham has managed to follow you all the way to Evergreen.
“I saw you stub that cigarette on the ground. That’s littering, which is against the law, and the trash can is literally right there.” A male voice says through the mask. He jerks his gun to the direction of the trash can on your right by the exit door of the club.
“Are you fucking serious, dude?” You hang your head in disbelief. He doesn’t move from his spot, but he does respond by pointing the gun at you.
You squeeze your eyes closed, and rub your face roughly with your hands, trying to make sure you’re not hallucinating all this. Then, you look back up, and he’s still there.
“You’re gonna kill me because of a cigarette?” Your eyes widen in disbelief.
Vigilante’s grip on the gun does not waver, but he moves his head slightly, looking directly at you through his red visor. “Yes,” Then, he adds, “to both questions.”
“Fuck, dude,” you groan under your breath and throw your hands in exasperation.
Usually, Vigilante’s targets plead for their lives. Some of them attempt to fight him, but, of course, that always doesn’t end well. He’s also encountered some people who bargain and offer empty promises in exchange for their lives. Those don’t mean anything to him either.
What’s not common is your mild annoyance as if this whole encounter was a mere inconvenience to you rather than a life and death matter.
”But I’m not a criminal though,” you point out. Your back remains glued to the wall, but your head hangs in disbelief.
And you even dare to dispute his logic. The fucking audacity.
“Well, you are. You broke the law. You’re not supposed to litter, and those cigarette butts are bad for the environment. Listen, I really don’t wanna be doing this because you’re really pretty, and I would totally ask for your number if you didn’t just do what you did,” he rambles.
Now, both of your brows shoot up toward your hairline.
“Okay, clearly there’s a lot to unpack here.” You finally unstick yourself from the wall and stroll towards him while Vigilante’s gun trails after you. You pause as soon as you’re directly in front of him, but still at a reasonable distance between the two of you. Crossing your arms in front of you, you begin to speak again. “First of all, littering is a civil offense, not a criminal one. And second, are you hitting on me? Right now? With a gun pointed at me?”
“Not anymore. I don’t date criminals,” Vigilante answers, his position remains unwavering.
“Damn, really thought we had a good thing going here,” you deadpan. “And again, littering is a civil—“
“—a civil offense. I got it.” Vigilante waves his free hand dismissively. “But it doesn’t matter because you still broke the law.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make me a criminal though. Technically, just a civil offender.”
“Are you a lawyer?” Vigilante asks.
“I dropped out of law school, if that counts.” You offer with a shrug.
“Well, it doesn’t,” Then, Vigilante continues while jabbing his gun at you, “because you are not a lawyer. For all you know, I could actually be a lawyer outside of this costume, and I know the law. Maybe you didn’t think about that, huh?”
“You’re definitely not a lawyer.” You shake your head, a light chuckle escaping you.
“How do you know that? You don’t know me. I could be, like, a super good, high-powered attorney—“
“I know because you wouldn’t be here this time of the day,” you point out, placing your hands on your hips. “You’d probably be busy working or something. Lawyers are severely overworked. They’re not going to waste time playing the hero.”
“I’m not wasting my time. I literally just helped saved the world from an alien invasion a couple months ago—“
You raise a hand to silence him. “Okay, listen, dude. That sounds really insane, and I’m too inebriated to process all of this—“ your hands gestures toward Vigilante, “and I would love to talk about this some other time, but I really want to go back inside.”
You begin to edge your way back toward the club entrance, which would mean passing through Vigilante in this narrow alleyway.
“Nuh-uh, you’re not going back in there.” Vigilante places his gun in his holster and sidesteps to block your path, causing you to crash into his solid figure. You feel yourself toppling backwards, but you feel his strong hands gripping your arms to stop you from falling, and you find yourself gripping his teal and white chest plates for support.
It takes a while for you to process how close you are to him. You’re not sure if it’s the substances you have consumed over the course of the night, but the proximity makes you become so hyper aware of everything. The feel of his sandpaper gloves against your exposed skin, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, his red visor boring into your eyes, his breath fanning out over your face…
You just stand there, and everything around you has stopped moving and has gone quiet. It’s like you merely exist to gaze at this stranger as if he were the moon himself. Up close, you realize how tall he is. And how broad his shoulders are. You suddenly have this urge to tip toe and run your fingers against the slope of his neck to his shoulders.
It all happens so fast that your drunk brain can’t even comprehend. One moment, you’re looking into Vigilante’s eyes (or at least where his eyes are supposed to be). The next thing you know, your face and chest are pinned flat against the rough concrete wall that feels harsh against your skin. Most of Vigilante’s weight is on you that it almost crushes your lungs. Vigilante uses his other hand to press both of your arms against your back, and the sharp cold metal of his gun presses against your temple. He’s so, so close to you that you feel his hot breath through his mask blowing gently against the nape of your neck.
“Jesus.” You try to squirm away from his hold. “At least ask me out for dinner first.”
He grits his teeth as he fixes his hold on you. “I told you. I don’t date criminals.”
“And I’m telling you, I am not a criminal!” You crane your neck in attempt to look at him.
“You’re still breaking the law. Now, stop fucking moving.” Vigilante grits his teeth as he struggles to restrain you.
Your feeble attempt to squirm away from him only makes his hold on you tighter. Your movements are now even more limited. From anyone passing by this alleyway, it would look like two drunk people who are having sex against the wall in a random alleyway.
Speaking of sex…
You feel something hard pressing against your lower back. Your whole body goes cold.
“Is that what I think it is?” You ask. “Please, do not tell me you’re having a boner right now.”
He doesn’t even get to answer because an ear-splitting shriek escapes from your throat.
He puts all of his weight on you to free his hand and uses that to muffle your scream, but you bite down. Hard. You taste the iron and leather on your tongue. You thrash and wriggle around, hoping his restraints on you loosens.
It works because the back of your head hits him square in the nose, and Vigilante’s grasp on you wavers. His gun clatters to the ground. A sharp pain blossoms at the back of your head where you hit him.
“FUCK! OW! What the fuck, dude?!” Vigilante whines. His voice is muffled by his mask and now his hands. The sight of him almost crumpling to the ground fills you with disbelief. Is he really saying all that? The nerve of this fucker.
“What do you mean ‘what the fuck’? You’re the one who deadass just had a boner while pointing a gun at me.”
You whip around to get a very good visual of your perpetrator, who is crouching down with his hands against his face.
There’s definitely a loose screw in your head somewhere because, instead of running for your life, your feet remain glued to the ground, and you go silent. And you just stare at Vigilante kneeling on the ground as he attempts to gather his bearings. A mix of intrigue and… something else swirls together in the pit of your stomach. It’s like the feeling you had a couple of minutes ago has resurfaced.
Your mind briefly drifts to that game your college friends used to play. Call of Duty, was it? There was a character in that game that donned a skull mask. This character was big and broad, his muscled arms littered with tattoos. And your friends would always say, “Hear me out,” as soon as this character appears.
The song “Barbie Girl” snaps you back to reality. You’re still standing in the alley way. The ground feels solid under your feet, and Vigilante is still kneeling on the ground in front of you.
“That’s mine,” he says, his voice sounding gravelly. His hand goes straight to his pocket, fumbling for his phone. The screen lights up, illuminating Vigilante’s mask.
You raise a brow and cross your arms. “Your ring tone is Barbie Girl?”
“It’s a good song.” He shrugs, his red visor directed at you now. “Also, I gotta go. Just…don’t get yourself in trouble again.”
He slowly stands up, picks up his gun, and walks backwards, his red visor still trained on you, and your gaze still on him. He’s the one that breaks the gaze as he gives you a tiny salute and disappears.
SYNOPSIS: You wanted to learn about Choso’s blood technique, tracing the lines and marks that map his cursed energy. What starts as curiosity soon becomes something neither of you can ignore—touch lingering, breaths catching, and a closeness that feels both dangerous and irresistible.
WORD COUNT: 2.6k
The room is quiet except for the low hum of the city outside the safehouse window. Rain taps against the glass in uneven rhythms, the kind of night that makes everything feel smaller, closer. You’re both still damp from the earlier fight—cursed energy lingering in the air like ozone after lightning. Choso sits on the edge of the low cot, elbows on his knees, blood still faintly staining the collar of his dark shirt where a cut had already healed. He doesn’t look tired. He never does. Just… present. Solid. The way only someone who’s survived a century and a half can be.
You’re kneeling in front of him because the angle felt right when you asked the question. Your jacket is discarded somewhere behind you. The overhead bulb flickers once, then steadies.
“Where does it flow?” You ask, voice soft so it doesn’t echo off the concrete walls. “Your cursed energy. The blood manipulation. I’ve seen you use it, but I’ve never… understood it up close.”
Choso’s dark eyes lift to yours. He doesn’t blink right away. The markings under his eyes seem sharper in this light, like ink that refuses to fade. For a long second he just watches you, guarded the way he always is with anyone who isn’t Yuji.
“… Through me.” He answers. Simple. Final. The same tone he uses when he says “stay behind me” before a fight.
You don’t accept it. You never do when it comes to him.
You shift closer on your knees, close enough that your breath brushes the fabric over his chest. “Can you show me?”
He goes very still. The kind of stillness that makes the air feel heavier, like the moment before he hardens his blood into a weapon. You think it’s hesitation. You don’t realize yet that it’s something else entirely.
His hand lifts slowly—large, calloused, veins standing out against pale skin—and he presses two fingers to the inside of his own forearm, just below the elbow. “Here,” He says, voice lower than before. Tracing his finger along his skin. “It starts here. Then branches.”
You reach out without thinking. Your fingertips hover for half a second, then settle. The contact is feather-light, barely pressure. His skin is cooler than you expected, but the pulse underneath is steady, strong. You trace the faint blue line he indicated, following the path of a vein upward.
Choso doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
You don’t notice.
“It moves like this?” You murmur, fingers sliding higher, slow and curious, the way you’d map a river on a page. “You can control the flow, right? Harden it, shape it into arrows, or… whatever you need.”
He makes a small sound—almost a hum, almost nothing. “Yes.”
Your hand drifts to his bicep. The muscle is tense under your palm, corded like steel cables. You feel the subtle shift of cursed energy beneath the skin, a warm thrum that answers when you press a little firmer. It’s fascinating. Like touching something alive and ancient at the same time.
You keep going. Collarbone. The hollow at the base of his throat where the shirt gaps open. The line of his jaw, just once, because the vein there jumps when you brush it and you wonder if that’s part of the technique too.
Choso’s breath catches. Actually catches. You feel the tiny hitch against your fingertips.
You finally look up.
His eyes are already on you. Not distant. Not guarded. Something darker, heavier, pupils blown wide enough that the brown almost disappears. His lips are parted, just barely. The rain outside seems louder now.
Your hand is still resting against the side of his neck, thumb resting over the pulse point where his blood manipulation flows strongest.
“… Choso?”
He swallows. You feel it under your palm. The Adam’s apple bobbing, the faint tremor.
“You shouldn’t—” His voice is rough, frayed at the edges. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t pull away. His own hand lifts slowly, not to stop you, but to cover yours–large fingers wrapping around your wrist, not tight, just… holding. Like he’s anchoring himself.
The touch is so careful it hurts.
“I’m sorry,” You whisper, suddenly aware of how close you are, how long you’ve been touching him without permission, how innocent you thought it was. “I didn’t mean to–”
“Don’t.” One word. Quiet. Commanding in the way only Choso can be without raising his voice. “Don’t apologize.”
His thumb strokes once over the inside of your wrist, mirroring the way you’d traced him. The motion is deliberate. Testing. His cursed energy flickers—just a spark—warm and alive under your skin like he’s sharing it with you.
Your heart stutters.
He leans in, slow enough that you could move away. You don’t. His forehead rests against yours, breath mingling. Rainwater still clings to his lashes.
“No one touches me like that,” He says, so low it vibrates through your bones. “Not like they want to understand. Not like… this.”
Your free hand comes up without thinking, cupping the other side of his face. His skin is smooth there, the markings soft under your thumb. “I do want to understand,” You tell him. “all of you.”
Something in his expression cracks open.
Then he kisses you.
It’s not gentle the way you expected. It’s hungry. Years of solitude poured into the press of his mouth, the way his hand slides to the back of your neck to hold you there. His lips are cool at first, then warm, then searing. He tastes like rain and iron and the faint sweetness of the onigiri you shared earlier. When his tongue brushes yours, tentative at first, then bolder, you feel the cursed energy again—blood manipulation humming between you like a second heartbeat.
You make a soft sound into his mouth. His grip tightens, just enough.
He pulls back only far enough to speak against your lips. “Tell me to stop.”
You shake your head. “Don’t.”
A shudder runs through him—visible, real. The stoic Death Painting Womb, trembling because of you.
He stands, pulling you up with him in one smooth motion. The cot creaks when he sits again and tugs you into his lap. Your knees bracket his hips. The position is intimate, immediate. You can feel how hard he already is through his pants, the thick length pressing against you like it’s been waiting the entire time you were innocently tracing his veins.
Choso’s hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking the strip of skin where your shirt rode up. His voice is steady even though his breathing isn’t. “I’ve never… done this the way humans do.” A pause. “Not like this.”
You kiss the corner of his mouth, then the sharp line of his jaw. “Then show me how you want it. I trust you.”
His eyes close for a second, like the words physically hit him. When they open again, the intensity is almost too much.
He undresses you slowly. Reverently. Every button, every zipper, he treats like something sacred. When your shirt falls away, his gaze drops to your chest, then lower, drinking you in like he’s memorizing new territory. His fingers—those same fingers that can turn blood into blades—trace the same paths you traced on him, but now on you. Collarbone. Sternum. The soft underside of your breast. Each touch leaves a faint warmth, cursed energy tingling like static.
You shiver.
He leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your throat, then lower, tongue flicking over your nipple until it pebbles. The sound you make is embarrassing. He doesn’t seem to think so; he groans quietly against your skin, the vibration traveling straight down.
Your hands find his shirt. You tug it up and off, revealing the pale expanse of his torso—lean muscle, faint scars that never quite healed right, the subtle map of veins you’d been obsessed with. You trace them again, this time with intent. When your nail scrapes lightly over the one crossing his pectoral, his hips jerk up against you involuntarily.
“Careful.” He warns, but there’s no heat in it. Only want.
You smile against his collarbone. “I thought you liked it when I learned your body.”
He laughs—actually laughs, a short, breathless sound you’ve never heard from him before. Then he flips you gently onto your back on the cot, caging you with his arms. The move is so smooth it steals your breath.
Clothes disappear after that. His pants, your pants, underwear shoved aside with zero ceremony. When he finally presses against you—hot, heavy, leaking at the tip—you feel the cursed energy again, concentrated now, like he’s using the technique to stay in control.
He doesn’t enter you right away. He slides the head of his cock through your folds, slow, deliberate, coating himself in your wetness while his mouth finds yours again. One hand braces beside your head; the other reaches down to circle your clit with two fingers, precise and relentless. Blood Manipulation has made him terrifyingly good at feeling the flow—your pulse, your arousal, every little flutter.
You moan into his mouth. He swallows the sound.
But he doesn’t stop there. He keeps stroking you, two thick fingers sliding lower to push inside you—curling, scissoring, stretching you open while his thumb keeps relentless pressure on your clit. His mouth moves down your body again, sucking hard on one nipple, then the other, teeth grazing just enough to make your back arch off the cot. The cursed energy pulses in time with his fingers, a warm throb that feels like he’s pushing his own heartbeat into you.
“Choso— fuck—” You’re already shaking, hips rolling desperately against his hand.
He lifts his head, eyes dark and wild. “Let me feel you come first. I need it.” His voice is gravel-rough, the most words he’s spoken in one breath since this started. His fingers speed up, curling harder, cursed energy flaring brighter until the pleasure crashes over you like a wave. You cry out, clenching around his fingers, thighs trembling as he works you through it, never slowing.
Only when you’re still gasping does he pull his hand free, slick and shining. He brings those fingers to his mouth and licks them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. The sight alone nearly makes you come again.
Then he lines himself up and pushes in.
It’s thick. Slow. He gives you every inch like he’s afraid of hurting you, even though you both know he could split you open if he wanted. His forehead drops to your shoulder when he bottoms out, breath ragged.
“Fuck,” he whispers—the first time you’ve ever heard him curse. The word sounds reverent in his mouth. “You’re… so warm. So tight. I can feel every pulse.”
He stays there for a long moment, letting you adjust, but his hips twitch like it’s killing him to hold still. You wrap your legs around his waist and roll your hips up. “Move. Please, Choso–please.”
That’s all it takes.
He pulls out almost to the tip, then slams back in—hard, deep, the cot slamming against the wall. The rhythm is punishing from the first thrust, every snap of his hips driving him so deep you feel him in your stomach. His cursed energy surges with each stroke, a hot, rhythmic throb that matches his heartbeat and makes every drag of his cock feel electric. He’s not just fucking you—he’s pouring himself into you, blood manipulation wrapping around your nerves like invisible hands.
You claw at his back, nails digging into the map of veins you traced earlier. He groans, loud and broken, and the sound makes something feral spark inside you.
“Again,” He growls against your ear. “Touch me again. Like before.”
Your hands obey instantly, tracing every vein, pressing hard over his pectorals, dragging down his spine. Every time your fingers find a new line of cursed energy, his hips stutter and he fucks you harder, like your touch is gasoline on the fire he’s trying to control.
He suddenly pulls out, flips you onto your stomach in one effortless motion, and yanks your hips up so you’re on your knees. The new angle is devastating. He slides back in with a single brutal thrust, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, wet and obscene, mixing with the rain and your broken moans.
“Feel that?” He presses his palm low on your belly again, right where he’s rearranging your insides. “That’s where my blood flows strongest when I’m inside you. I can feel you squeezing me, every flutter.” His cursed energy pulses there, right against your cervix, and you scream into the pillow as another orgasm rips through you without warning.
He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, hips snapping faster, sweat dripping from his chest onto your back. His free hand snakes around to rub your clit again, merciless, forcing you higher even as you’re still shaking from the last one.
“Choso— too much— I can’t—”
“You can.” His voice is wrecked, lips pressed to the back of your neck. “You’re going to come on my cock again. I need to feel it. Need you to fall apart for me.”
He angles his hips just right—brutal, perfect—and you shatter a third time, vision whiting out, walls clamping down so hard his rhythm falters. He buries himself to the hilt and stills, groaning long and low as he comes, hot and thick, flooding you so deep you feel it spill out around where you’re stretched around him.
But he’s not done.
He stays hard—cursed energy keeping him there like a second wind—and flips you onto your back again. This time he hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half, and starts fucking you slow and deep, grinding instead of thrusting, letting you feel every inch, every vein, every pulse of power.
“Look at me,” He demands, voice hoarse but gentle. When your eyes meet his, the intensity there steals what little breath you have left. “you’re mine now. Every part of you. Just like I’m yours.”
You nod frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. He leans down and kisses them away, then kisses you—messy, desperate, tongues sliding, teeth clashing—while his hips keep that devastating grind.
The fourth orgasm builds slower, deeper, until it crashes over both of you at once. You clench around him so hard he follows immediately, spilling again with a broken moan of your name, body shuddering violently against yours.
Finally he collapses, careful not to crush you, pulling out slowly and gathering you against his chest. His arms wrap around you like iron bands, face buried in your neck, breathing you in. Cursed energy still hums softly between you both, warm and sated now, like a living blanket.
You’re both trembling. Sweaty. Wrecked.
After a long minute, he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “I… didn’t know it could feel like that,” He murmurs, voice raw. “like I’m not just surviving anymore. Like I’m… alive.”
You card your fingers through his damp hair, smiling against his skin. “Then we’ll do it again. Every day. Until you never have to wonder.”
He exhales a shaky laugh, the sound vibrating through your joined bodies. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Later, when the rain softens to a quiet hush and his breathing finally steadies against your skin, your fingers drift lazily across his chest again—no longer searching, no longer curious in the same innocent way as before. Now, every path feels familiar. Every vein, every subtle pulse of cursed energy beneath your touch, something you’ve come to know by heart. Choso watches you in silence, something warm and unguarded in his gaze as you continue tracing lines across him—not just of power, but of something deeper, something shared. And this time, when you do it, he doesn’t go still. He leans into it.
SYNOPSIS: It’s not that he can’t speak. You’ve heard him, clear as day, with everyone else. But when it’s you, something shifts, and suddenly the words just… don’t come out. You try not to take it personally. But it’s hard not to wonder why you’re the only one he can’t seem to talk to.
WORD COUNT: 7.9k
The first time you noticed Toge Inumaki, the campus of Seika University was still new and overwhelming, a sprawling maze of brick buildings, cherry blossoms just beginning to dust the walkways, and the constant hum of freshmen pretending they knew where they were going. It was orientation week, late September, the air crisp with the promise of rain. You were clutching a crumpled map and a too-heavy backpack, trying to find the lecture hall for Intro to Modern Literature, when you spotted him.
He was sitting alone on a low stone bench near the fountain, white earbuds in, hood of his oversized black sweatshirt pulled low. His hair, that pale blond with those striking purple tips that caught the sunlight like ink bleeding into paper had fallen across his forehead. Even from a distance, he looked… quiet. Not in the awkward, phone-scrolling way most people did. It was deeper. Like the world around him simply didn’t require his input. A few upperclassmen walked past, laughing loudly, and he didn’t even glance up. Just a faint nod to himself, as if agreeing with whatever song was playing.
You don’t know what made you approach. Maybe it was the way he seemed perfectly content in his own bubble, or maybe it was the tiny snake-like markings at the corners of his mouth that peeked out when he adjusted his collar. There was something that made him look both mysterious and strangely approachable. You stopped a respectful three feet away, heart thumping a little too hard for a simple hello.
“Hi,” you said, offering a smile that felt too bright. “I’m Reader. First-year, same as you? I think we’re both in Professor Yamamoto’s lit class at ten. Mind if I sit for a second? I’m terrible with campus maps.”
He looked up slowly. His eyes met yours for half a second. Then he gave the smallest nod, scooting over just enough on the bench. No words. Not even a “sure” or a “yeah.” Just that nod and a tiny upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, like a secret smile he wasn’t quite ready to share.
You sat. The stone was cold through your jeans. You filled the silence the way you always did when nervous. Chattering about how the dorms smelled like old ramen and regret, how you’d already lost your student ID twice, how the bookstore line was a nightmare. He listened. Really listened. His gaze stayed on the fountain, but every so often he’d tilt his head slightly, or his fingers would tap once against his knee in what you later realized was agreement. When you finally ran out of steam and asked, “What about you? What’s your major?” he pulled out a small notebook from his bag, flipped it open, and wrote in neat, precise handwriting:
Literature & Linguistics. Same class.
Then he slid the notebook toward you, eyes flicking up to yours again. That same half-smile. Your stomach did something weird. Fluttery, warm, like the first sip of hot chocolate on a cold day.
From that moment, something shifted. Not dramatically. Toge wasn’t the type for drama. But over the next few weeks, you kept finding him in the same seats: back row, left side, near the window. You started sitting next to him without asking. He never protested. In fact, one rainy Tuesday when you were late because your umbrella had flipped inside out, you found his bag already saving the seat beside him. A single onigiri wrapper, salmon, you noticed, was placed neatly on top like a placeholder.
Small victories piled up like autumn leaves.
By mid-October, shared classes turned into shared meals in the cafeteria. You’d slide your tray across from his, and he’d push the extra milk carton he always grabbed toward you without looking up. You learned he liked the plain rice bowls with pickled vegetables. You learned he hated the overly sweet melon soda. You learned he communicated best through gestures: a thumbs-up for “good idea,” a slight head tilt for “explain more,” a soft tap on your notebook when your pen ran out of ink and he offered his own.
Group projects were where the dynamic really settled. In your first one, a collaborative presentation on postmodern poetry, Toge ended up in your group of four. The others chattered nonstop. You tried to carry the conversation, scribbling notes, assigning sections. Toge contributed by sketching out a clean timeline on poster board, his handwriting elegant and tiny. When one of the guys joked, “Dude, you gonna say anything or just vibe in silence?” Toge only shrugged, eyes crinkling in that quiet amusement you were starting to recognize as his version of laughter.
Later, alone with you in the library study room, he wrote on a sticky note:
Sorry if I’m quiet. Words are… heavy sometimes.
You stared at it for a long moment, then wrote back:
That’s okay. I like listening to the spaces between words anyway.
He read it, cheeks tinting the faintest pink under the fluorescent lights. For the first time, he looked away completely, ears burning. You felt the deeper silence. Around the others in your group, he’d at least offered a few short phrases. But with you? It was like his voice caught in his throat every single time. He froze. Not uncomfortable, exactly. More like… careful. Like speaking to you required something he wasn’t ready to risk.
You started to notice the pattern over the months. In the bustling hallways between classes, he’d walk beside you, shoulder occasionally brushing yours when the crowd surged. He’d hold doors, adjust the strap of your bag when it slipped, once even draped his own scarf around your neck during a sudden cold snap without a single word of explanation. But ask him a direct question about his weekend or his favorite book, and he’d just… pause. Eyes on yours, lips parted like the words were right there, then nothing. A soft exhale. A nod. A written note instead.
Your internal monologue became a constant companion during those early days. Why does he do that only with me? you’d wonder at night, staring at your ceiling in the dorm. With your mutual friends like Maki, who was loud and opinionated in the debate club, or Panda, the giant teddy-bear energy of a guy who somehow always had snacks. Toge was still quiet and sure. But he’d toss out a few phrases. He’d just smirk and keep eating.
But you? You were the exception that made the rule feel heavier. You’d catch him watching you during lectures, gaze lingering a beat too long when you raised your hand to answer a question. When you laughed at a professor’s bad joke, his shoulders would relax, like your happiness loosened something in him. You grew fond of the mystery. Fond of the way his silence felt like a language only the two of you were learning slowly and patiently without pressure.
By the end of freshman year, the friendship had roots. You’d shared late-night study sessions where he’d hum softly under his breath while highlighting passages, the sound low and warm like distant thunder. You’d leave little doodles in the margins of his notes: tiny rice balls with speech bubbles saying “You got this.” He’d return them with a single purple star drawn beside your name.
Sophomore year brought more of the same, only deeper. A club you both joined, Creative Writing Circle, meant weekly meetings where everyone read their pieces aloud. Toge never read his. He’d pass his typed pages to you instead, letting you read them for him in that quiet corner of the arts building. His stories were beautiful: sparse, poetic, full of unspoken longing and quiet observations of the world. You’d glance at him mid-sentence, voice catching on his words, and he’d meet your eyes with that same frozen intensity. Speechless again. But his hand would brush yours when he took the pages back, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
Junior year tested it. A group project gone wrong when your partner bailed last minute had left the two of you alone in the library until 2 a.m. You were exhausted, head on the table, muttering about how you’d never finish. Toge didn’t say a word. He just slid his chair closer, took half the research pile, and worked beside you in perfect sync. When you finally looked up, bleary-eyed, he had his jacket draped over your shoulders. His fingers hovered near your hair like he wanted to tuck a strand behind your ear, but he pulled back at the last second. Froze. That deeper silence again.
You smiled anyway, tired and fond. “Thanks, Toge. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He didn’t respond verbally. Just wrote on the edge of your notebook:
You don’t have to.
And that was enough. For now.
The years blurred in that gentle rhythm. Shared classes turning into shared silences that felt louder than any conversation. You’d grown used to the frustration others threw your way: classmates teasing, “He never talks to you? Ouch,” or friends nudging you with, “Maybe he’s just not that into people.” You brushed it off. Because you saw the truth in the small things. The way he saved you the last onigiri from the cafeteria. The way he lingered at the door after group hangouts, waiting until you were safely on your bike before heading his own way. The way his eyes softened only for you.
By senior year, the dynamic was carved in stone: Toge Inumaki, quiet with the world, but with you… he was something more. Speechless in a way that made your heart ache with curiosity and something warmer, something you didn’t dare name yet. The silence between you wasn’t empty. It was full. Brimming with everything unsaid, waiting for the right moment to spill over.
You just didn’t know how long you could wait.
The rhythm of sophomore and junior year settled into something almost comforting, like the steady hum of the campus during midterms. It was predictable, a little stressful, but undeniably yours.
You and Toge Inumaki had fallen into a quiet orbit. Every Tuesday and Thursday in Advanced Literary Theory, you arrived early enough to claim the two seats by the window on the left side of the lecture hall. He was always there first, already unpacking his notebook and a small bento box wrapped neatly in a blue cloth. Without fail, he would slide the extra pair of chopsticks toward your side of the desk the moment you sat down. No words. Just the soft clack of wood against the table and the faintest tilt of his head that said, Eat with me.
Around everyone else, Toge wasn’t completely mute. That was the part that confused your friends the most.
You’d watch it happen during group lunches in the central cafeteria. Maki would slam her tray down, complaining loudly about her economics professor, and Toge would actually respond, it was short but audible.
“Yeah… she’s brutal,” he’d mutter, voice a little rough from disuse, the words clipped but clear. Or when Panda cracked a dumb joke about cafeteria mystery meat, Toge would let out a soft huff of laughter and say, “Salmon roe,” in that signature deadpan way that made the whole table burst out laughing. He could string together full sentences when he wanted to. Nothing flowery, but enough to participate. Enough to show he wasn’t incapable.
Just… never with you.
With you, the silence was different. Deeper. He would listen. God, he listened so intently it sometimes felt like he was memorizing the shape of your voice. But the moment you turned the conversation toward him with a direct question (“How was your weekend?” or “Did you finish that essay on Kafka?”), his mouth would part, breath catching, and then… nothing. Lips pressing into a thin line. Eyes dropping to the table. A tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head, like the words had tangled somewhere between his throat and his tongue.
It drove you a little crazy.
One crisp October afternoon during junior year, the four of you, Maki, Panda, Toge, and you, were crammed into a study room on the third floor of the library. Rain pattered against the tall windows. Maki was sprawled across two chairs, highlighter between her teeth, ranting about her latest debate tournament.
“Seriously, the opposing team was so unprepared. I destroyed them. Right, Inumaki?”
Toge glanced up from his laptop, purple-tipped hair falling into his eyes. “You crushed it,” he said plainly, voice steady and low. He even added, “Their opener was weak. You had them from the first rebuttal.” Then he went back to typing, completely at ease.
You stared. The casual way the words rolled off his tongue felt almost unfair. You’d been trying for three years to get more than a nod or a written note from him, and here he was, giving Maki full sentences like it was nothing.
Panda noticed your expression and grinned, nudging you with his elbow. “See? He talks when he feels like it. Maybe he just doesn’t like you, Reader.”
Maki snorted. “Nah, he’s probably scared. Look at him. Every time she looks at him directly he turns into a statue.”
Toge’s fingers froze on the keyboard for half a second. His ears went pink, but he didn’t look up. Didn’t defend himself. Just kept typing, jaw tight.
You forced a laugh, cheeks burning. “Very funny, guys. Real supportive.”
Inside, though, the teasing stung more than you wanted to admit. You’d spent countless nights replaying every interaction, wondering what you’d done wrong. Did your voice annoy him? Did you talk too much? Were you imagining the way his shoulders relaxed when you entered a room, or the protective way he always positioned himself between you and the crowded hallway?
Later that same study session, when Maki and Panda stepped out to grab coffee, the room fell into its familiar hush. You were highlighting a dense paragraph on narrative unreliability when Toge slid a fresh sticky note across the table. His handwriting was as neat as ever:
You’re doing well on this section. Want help with the conclusion?
You read it, then looked at him. He was watching you those dark eyes soft in the warm lamplight. His mouth opened slightly, like he might actually say something this time. You held your breath.
But the words never came. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and gave you that small, apologetic half-smile instead. The one that made your chest ache with equal parts fondness and frustration.
You wrote back on the same note:
I’d love help. Thank you, Toge.
P.S. You know you can talk to me, right? I don’t bite.
He read your reply. His fingers tightened around the pen for a moment, knuckles whitening. Then he simply nodded once, took the note back, and began writing detailed suggestions for your conclusion in his elegant script. No verbal response. Not even a “yeah.”
The near-misses happened more often as the semester wore on.
There was the night the four of you pulled an all-nighter for a joint presentation. Around 3 a.m., Panda had fallen asleep snoring on the beanbag. Maki was power-walking circles around the room to stay awake. You were fighting to keep your eyes open, head drooping over your laptop.
Toge noticed immediately. Without a word, he stood, shrugged off his black hoodie, and draped it over your shoulders. The fabric smelled like him. Clean laundry, faint citrus from the onigiri seasoning he always carried, and something warmer, like sandalwood. His fingers brushed the back of your neck as he adjusted the hood, and you swore you felt him hesitate there, breath catching like he wanted to say something.
You looked up at him, voice soft. “Toge… you don’t have to—”
He froze again. Lips parted. Eyes wide for a fraction of a second. Then he pulled his hand back like he’d been burned, gave you a quick thumbs-up, and returned to his seat. A minute later he pushed a warm can of barley tea he’d been saving toward you. Still silent.
Another time, during a rare sunny afternoon on the quad, your group was sprawled on the grass. You were complaining about a difficult elective professor who kept docking points for “lack of originality.” Toge was lying on his back beside you, one arm behind his head, listening. When you sighed dramatically and said, “I just wish I knew what he actually wanted from us,” Toge turned his head toward you. His mouth moved.
For one heartbeat you thought he was going to speak directly to you.
Instead, he murmured toward the sky, so quietly you almost missed it, “He doesn’t know what he wants either.”
Maki barked a laugh. “See? Inumaki gets it.”
But he hadn’t said it to you. Not really. He’d spoken into the open air, like the words were safer that way.
The tension built in these tiny, bittersweet increments.
You started leaving him little written messages in return. Slipping folded notes into his bag when he wasn’t looking. Simple things at first:
“You always notice when I forget my umbrella. How?”
“I like sitting next to you in class. Even when we don’t talk.”
"Thanks for saving me a seat again."
He never mentioned the notes out loud, but you’d find replies tucked into your own notebook the next day. Always in his precise handwriting:
“I like it too.”
“Because you forget it every time it rains.
Me too.”
“Never spoken. Never explained.”
One particularly cold evening in late November, you witnessed a rare crack in his composure. The two of you had stayed late in the literature building after a club meeting. The others had already left. You were packing up when you noticed Toge staring out the window, shoulders unusually tense. His jaw was clenched, eyes distant. Something had upset him. Maybe a low grade on an essay, maybe family stuff he never talked about. You didn’t know.
You stepped closer, voice gentle. “Hey… you okay?”
He turned to you sharply. For a moment his lips moved, the beginning of a word forming “I—” then it died. He exhaled shakily, looked away, and simply shook his head. One hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a rare show of vulnerability. You wanted so badly to reach out and squeeze his shoulder, to tell him it was okay to not be okay, but you held back. Instead, you pulled out your notebook and wrote:
Whatever it is, I’m here. No pressure to talk.
He read it. His eyes softened, the tension in his frame easing just a little. Then he did something new. He reached over and rested his hand lightly on top of yours for three full seconds. Warm. Steady. No words. Just that touch, thumb brushing once across your knuckles before he pulled away.
The silence after that felt heavier than usual, but sweeter too. Like it was holding something precious.
By the time senior year began, the pattern was deeply ingrained. Toge Inumaki could talk to others. He could laugh quietly at Panda’s jokes, offer short opinions in group discussions, even tease Maki back when she got too competitive. His voice existed. It was low, a little raspy, surprisingly gentle when he used it.
Every single day, he just chose to keep it from you.
And you, despite the growing ache in your chest every time he froze around you, kept showing up. Kept sitting beside him. Kept hoping that one day the words he held so carefully would finally find their way to you.
Graduation was only months away now. Time was running out, and the silence between you felt louder than ever.
Senior year hit like the first cold wind of winter. It was sharp, undeniable, and carrying the scent of endings.
The campus felt smaller now, or maybe you had simply grown larger inside it. The cherry blossoms had come and gone four times since that first awkward introduction on the stone bench. Your shared classes were fewer, but the ones that remained like Advanced Seminar in Contemporary Fiction and an elective Creative Nonfiction workshop had still placed you and Toge side by side by some quiet, stubborn habit neither of you broke.
Time was slipping through your fingers, and you felt it in every ticking clock, every countdown to finals, every casual mention of “after graduation” from your friends.
You tried to ignore the growing knot in your stomach, but it was getting harder.
Mornings in the seminar room were the same on the surface. You arrived to find Toge already there, two seats claimed near the back. He would push a warm canned coffee or a neatly wrapped onigiri toward you the moment you sat down. Sometimes his fingers would linger near yours on the desk, not quite touching, before he pulled back. Around the rest of the small seminar group, he was… present. When Professor Hayashi asked for opinions on a particularly dense Murakami story, Toge would speak up in that low, measured voice you rarely got to hear directed at you.
“It feels like the loneliness is the main character,” he said once, eyes on his notes. “Even when people are together, they’re still alone inside their own heads.”
Maki, who had joined the seminar as an elective, grinned from across the table. “Deep, Inumaki. You’re actually talkative today.”
He gave a small shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Only when it matters.”
The words landed like a quiet punch to your chest. He could speak when it mattered, just not to you.
The teasing from your friends had evolved from light jabs into something that scraped rawer as graduation loomed.
One lunch in the almost-empty senior lounge, Panda leaned back in his chair, mouth full of rice. “So, Reader, you two still doing the whole ‘mysterious silent romance’ thing? Graduation’s in four months. Tick tock.”
Maki smirked, stabbing a piece of karaage with her chopsticks. “Yeah. At this rate, you’ll both walk across the stage without him ever saying more than ‘kelp’ in your general direction. It’s kinda impressive how committed he is to the bit.”
Toge was sitting right there, of course. He didn’t flinch. He simply took a slow sip of his tea, eyes fixed on the table. When he did speak, it was to Panda, voice calm and even. “Pass the soy sauce.”
You laughed along because what else could you do? But later, walking back to the dorms alone, the frustration burned behind your eyes. Three and a half years. Countless shared meals, late-night study sessions, quiet walks across campus where his shoulder would brush yours in the crowded paths. And still, when it was just the two of you, he chose silence.
You started testing the waters more deliberately.
In the Creative Nonfiction workshop, the assignment was to write a short piece about someone important in your life without ever naming them. You poured everything into yours. The way certain silences could feel like safety, the protective tilt of a shoulder in a crowded hallway, the way someone could speak volumes without opening their mouth. You read it aloud to the class, voice steady even as your hands shook slightly under the desk.
When you finished, the room was quiet for a beat. Toge sat two seats away, fingers gripping his pen so tightly the knuckles were white. His eyes were on you. For a moment you thought he might say something. His lips parted. You held your breath.
But he only looked down and wrote something in the margin of his notebook. Later, when the class ended and the others filed out, he slid the torn page toward you.
Your piece was beautiful.
The silence in it feels honest.
No signature. No spoken praise. Just those neat lines and the familiar ache in your chest.
You tried notes again, bolder this time.
One afternoon in early March, after a sudden rainstorm left the campus glistening, you slipped a folded paper into his bag while he was distracted talking to Maki about post-grad job applications.
I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately. Not in a weird way. Just… I don’t want to graduate without knowing why it’s so hard for you to talk to me. If I did something, tell me. If it’s something else, I’m still here. Always.
The next day, your notebook had a reply tucked between the pages, written in his careful handwriting, the ink slightly smudged like he’d written it in a hurry:
You didn’t do anything wrong. Some things are harder to say out loud. I’m sorry. That was all.
The lingering moments grew more frequent as April approached.
He would wait for you after class even when he didn’t have to, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, purple-tipped hair catching the afternoon light. When you emerged, he’d fall into step beside you without a word, matching your pace perfectly. Sometimes his hand would hover near the small of your back when the sidewalk narrowed, guiding you gently away from a puddle or a group of rowdy underclassmen. Never touching. Never speaking. Just there.
One evening, the two of you ended up alone in the empty creative writing lounge after everyone else had left for a department party. The lights were dimmed, only the soft glow of a desk lamp illuminating the scattered papers and half-empty coffee cups. You were packing your bag slowly, heart hammering, when you decided to push.
“Toge,” you said softly, turning to face him. He was standing by the window, staring out at the darkening campus. “Look at me for a second?”
He did. Slowly. Those dark eyes met yours, and for once he didn’t look away immediately.
“I know you can talk,” you continued, voice gentle but trembling at the edges. “I hear you with Maki and Panda all the time. Your voice is… nice. I like it. So why… why is it different with me? Are you angry? Uncomfortable? Because if graduation comes and I never hear you say anything real to me, I think I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.”
His lips parted. The word “I—” formed, barely a breath. His hands clenched at his sides. You saw the struggle. Raw, visible, the way his throat worked and his shoulders tensed like he was fighting against something heavy lodged inside him. For one dizzying second, you thought this might be it.
Then he exhaled shakily, closed his eyes, and shook his head once. When he opened them again, the vulnerability was shuttered behind that familiar quiet mask. He reached into his bag, pulled out a small, perfectly wrapped onigiri with your favorite filling and pressed it into your hands. His fingers lingered against yours, warm and slightly trembling, before he pulled away.
No words.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and whispered, “Okay. I won’t push anymore. But… I really like you, Toge. More than just as a study buddy or a silent seatmate. I hope you know that.”
He froze completely at those words. Eyes wide. The faint snake-like markings at the corners of his mouth seemed to stand out sharper in the low light. For a long moment the only sound was the distant hum of the vending machines down the hall.
Then he did something new. He lifted one hand and gently, so gently, brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead. His touch was feather-light, fingertips barely grazing your skin, but it sent warmth rushing through you. He held your gaze for three heartbeats, something deep and aching swimming in his eyes.
Still no words.
But when he finally stepped back, he mouthed something you couldn’t quite catch. Lips forming silent syllables that looked suspiciously like “me too.”
Or maybe you were imagining it. Hoping too hard.
The days blurred after that. You threw yourself into thesis revisions and graduation prep, but every spare moment your mind drifted back to him. You overheard him once, talking to Panda near the lockers after a club meeting. His voice was soft but clear: “Yeah… I’m worried about after. Everything’s changing.” A normal conversation. Easy. Then he saw you approaching and went quiet again, offering only a small nod in greeting.
The contrast hurt more than ever.
As the final weeks of April slipped away, the emotional stakes felt almost unbearable. The thought of walking across that stage, diploma in hand, and leaving behind four years of almosts and what-ifs made your chest tight. You kept leaving him little messages on his desk, in his notebook, once even taped to the onigiri wrapper he’d saved for you:
I’m scared we’ll never get past this silence. But even if we don’t, thank you for every quiet moment. They meant everything.
He never replied in words. But he started lingering longer after classes. Saving your favorite seat even when you were late. Once, when you forgot your jacket on an unusually chilly evening, he draped his own over your shoulders without hesitation, then walked you all the way to your dorm building in silence, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders brushing every few steps.
Graduation was now less than a month away.
And the silence between you that was once comforting was now feeling like a ticking clock.
You didn’t know how much longer you could carry the weight of everything unsaid.
The last official day of classes arrived on a warm, golden Friday in mid-May. The campus felt strangely hushed, like it was holding its breath along with the seniors. Lecture halls were half-empty, goodbyes floated through the hallways, and cardboard boxes already lined the sidewalks near the dorms. Graduation was scheduled for the following Tuesday, but today. This quiet, sun-drenched Friday was the true ending.
You had spent the morning turning in your final thesis, heart pounding as you handed the bound copy to your advisor. Now the afternoon stretched out, strangely open. Most of your friends were already at the big farewell barbecue on the south quad, laughter and music drifting across the grass. You had told them you’d join later. First, you needed to find him.
Toge wasn’t at the usual bench by the fountain. He wasn’t in the library study room or the creative writing lounge. After twenty minutes of searching, your steps led you instinctively to the old cherry blossom grove at the far edge of campus. The place you two had unconsciously claimed over the years. It was quieter here, the trees still heavy with late-blooming petals that drifted down like pale pink snow. A wooden bench sat beneath the largest tree, half-hidden by low branches. You had shared silent study sessions here more times than you could count.
He was already there.
Toge sat on the bench with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. His usual black hoodie was gone; instead he wore a simple white button-up, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the purple tips of his hair catching the sunlight. A half-eaten onigiri rested on the wrapper beside him. He looked… smaller somehow. Or maybe the weight of the day made everything feel heavier.
You approached slowly, heart hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it. When you stopped a few feet away, he lifted his head. Those dark eyes met yours, and for once he didn’t look away. The silence between you felt thicker than ever. Years of it, compressed into this single afternoon.
“Hi,” you said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I might find you here.”
He gave a small nod. No words. But he shifted over on the bench, making space for you like he always had. You sat. The wood was warm from the sun. Pink petals landed gently on your lap, on his shoulder, on the space between you.
For a long moment neither of you moved. The distant sound of laughter from the barbecue felt miles away. Here, it was only the rustle of leaves and the rapid beat of your own pulse.
You took a shaky breath and turned toward him.
“Toge… this is it, isn’t it? The last real day. After Tuesday we’ll both be gone. Different cities, different lives maybe. And I…” Your voice cracked. You forced yourself to keep going. “I can’t leave without telling you everything I’ve been carrying for four years.”
He watched you intently, lips slightly parted, the faint snake-like markings at the corners of his mouth more visible in the golden light. His hands clenched together on his lap, knuckles white.
“I know you can talk,” you continued, gentler now. “Short sentences, jokes, real opinions. Your voice is quiet but it’s there. It’s nice. I like hearing it. But with me… it’s been different from the very first day. You freeze. You go completely silent, and I’ve spent years wondering why. Did I make you uncomfortable? Did I talk too much? Was there something I missed?”
You reached into your bag and pulled out the small stack of notes you’d saved over the years. His neat handwriting mixed with your messier scrawl. You held them out like evidence.
“Every time I tried to get closer, you gave me these instead of words. They meant a lot. They still do. But I need more than notes and gestures now. Because I like you, Toge. I’ve liked you since that rainy Tuesday when you saved me a seat and pushed the extra chopsticks my way. I like the way you listen like the whole world disappears. I like how you remember my favorite onigiri filling and how you drape your jacket over me when I’m cold. I like the quiet between us… but I’m terrified that if we graduate without breaking it, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been.”
Your hands were trembling. Petals continued to fall, landing softly on the notes.
Toge’s breathing had changed. He stared at the papers in your hands, then slowly reached out and took them. His fingers brushed yours, lingering this time, warm and slightly calloused. He held your gaze, eyes dark and stormy with everything he’d never said.
His mouth opened.
“I…”
The single syllable came out hoarse, barely audible, like it had been trapped for years and was finally clawing its way free. He swallowed hard, throat working. His free hand came up to grip the edge of the bench, knuckles bone-white.
“I… like you.”
The words landed between you like stones dropped into still water. Simple. Understated. But they carried the weight of four entire years.
He kept going, voice low and rough, each word deliberate and slow, as if speaking them hurt and healed at the same time.
“I’ve always… liked you. Since the first day. You sat down and started talking and… I couldn’t. The words just… stopped. Around everyone else it’s easy. But with you…” He exhaled shakily, eyes never leaving yours. “It’s too much. Everything I want to say feels too big. Too important. I was scared if I said it wrong, I’d ruin it. Ruin us. So I stayed quiet. Stupid. I know.”
A soft, broken laugh escaped him, it was rusty and self-deprecating. It was the first real laugh you’d ever heard directed fully at you.
“I wrote notes because it felt safer. But every time you left one for me… I wanted to answer out loud. I wanted to tell you that sitting next to you in class was the best part of my day. That I hated when people teased you about me because they didn’t understand. That I’ve been terrified of graduation too. That I don’t want to lose this. Lose you.”
His voice cracked on the last word. He looked down at the stack of notes still clutched in his hand, then back up at you. Vulnerability was written all over his face. His cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, the usual calm mask completely shattered.
“I like you,” he repeated, softer this time, like he was testing how the words felt in the open air. “More than like. I… I’ve been in love with you for years, Reader. And I’m sorry it took until the last day to say it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Brimming with relief, with shock, with four years of unspoken feelings finally given shape.
You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. A laugh bubbled up, half-sob, half-joy. “Toge… you idiot. All this time…”
He gave a small, sheepish nod, the corner of his mouth twitching into that familiar half-smile, only now it was real and unguarded. “Yeah. Idiot.”
You reached out instinctively. Your hand found his on the bench, fingers threading together. His grip was tight, almost desperate, thumb brushing over your knuckles the way he had wanted to for so long. The touch grounded you both.
For a while you simply sat there, hands linked, petals drifting down around you like a gentle benediction. The distant laughter from the barbecue felt even farther away now. This moment belonged only to the two of you.
Eventually you leaned your head against his shoulder, the way you had imagined doing so many times. He stiffened for half a second then relaxed completely, letting out a long, shaky breath. His free hand came up to rest lightly on your hair, fingers threading through the strands with careful reverence.
“I thought I might never hear your voice like this,” you whispered.
“You’re hearing it now,” he murmured back, voice still low and a little unsteady, but warm. So warm. “And… I’m not stopping anytime soon. If you’ll let me.”
You smiled against his shoulder, heart overflowing. “I’ve been waiting four years for that promise.”
The sun dipped lower, painting the grove in deeper golds and pinks. Neither of you moved to leave. There would be time for the barbecue, for goodbyes to friends, for the chaos of graduation. But right now, the only thing that mattered was this bench, these falling petals, and the sound of Toge Inumaki’s voice was quiet and hesitant, but finally, finally speaking directly to you.
The silence between you had broken.
And what came after was even more beautiful.
The golden light of late afternoon had softened into the warm hues of early evening by the time you and Toge finally stood up from the bench beneath the cherry blossom tree. Petals clung to your clothes and hair like confetti from a celebration neither of you had planned. Your hand was still wrapped in his hands that felt warm and slightly calloused, but it was no longer hesitant. Every few steps as you walked slowly back toward the main campus, his thumb would brush over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that this was real.
The distant sounds of the farewell barbecue grew louder: laughter, clinking bottles, someone’s off-key singing. But the two of you moved at your own pace, shoulders brushing, the comfortable quiet between you now laced with something new. Words, however few, that had finally been spoken.
You broke the silence first, voice light and teasing for the first time in what felt like years.
“So… four years of notes, gestures, and near-misses, and all it took was the literal last day for you to say ‘I like you’?”
Toge let out a soft huff of laughter. The sound of it was low and rusty but genuine. He glanced sideways at you, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar half-smile, now fully unguarded.
“Better late than never,” he murmured, voice still carrying that gentle rasp. “I was… scared. Every time I tried, it felt like the words were too heavy. Like if I said them wrong, you’d disappear.”
He paused, squeezing your hand. “Turns out staying quiet almost made you disappear anyway.”
You laughed softly, leaning into his side as you walked. The warmth of his arm against yours felt like coming home after a long, uncertain journey. “You’re such an idiot, Toge Inumaki. A very cute, very quiet idiot.”
He hummed in agreement, the sound low and warm. “Salmon.” The old food-code slipped out instinctively, making both of you pause before dissolving into quiet laughter together. It felt good. Easy in a way the silence never quite had.
The barbecue was in full swing when you arrived. Strings of fairy lights had been strung between trees, casting a soft glow over the grass. Maki spotted you first, waving a skewer of yakitori like a flag.
“There you two are! We thought you’d ditched us for another silent study session.”
Panda turned, mouth full of grilled corn, and his eyes immediately zeroed in on your joined hands. His grin was massive.
“No way. Finally? After all this time? I owe Maki money.”
Maki smirked, crossing her arms. “Told you the confession would happen before graduation. Pay up, big guy.”
Toge’s ears flushed pink, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he gave a small shrug and said clearly, to them. “Yeah. Finally.” Then, quieter, almost shy, he added while looking at you, “Worth the wait.”
The simple sentence sent warmth flooding through your chest. Your friends’ teasing washed over you harmlessly now, no longer stinging. Because the silence that had once defined your relationship had cracked open, and what spilled out was even better than you’d imagined.
The rest of the evening unfolded in gentle waves. You sat together on the grass, sharing a plate of food. Toge still didn’t suddenly become chatty because he never would be that person, but he spoke more than he ever had in your presence. Short, soft sentences directed at you:
“Try this one. It’s good.”
Or, when you shivered slightly in the cooling air, “Here,” as he draped his white button-up over your shoulders without hesitation, his voice low near your ear. “Better?”
You nodded, smiling up at him. “Much better. Thank you.”
He lingered close after that, shoulder pressed to yours, occasionally murmuring small observations about the night. “The lights look nice” or “Panda’s going to regret that third helping” always with that faint, affectionate tilt to his words when they were for you. Each one felt like a gift.
As the sky deepened into twilight and the crowd began to thin, the two of you slipped away quietly. No grand announcements. No dramatic farewell to the group. Just a shared glance, your hand finding his again, and a mutual understanding that this night still belonged mostly to the two of you.
You wandered back through the now-quiet campus, past the fountain where you’d first met, past the lecture halls that had witnessed years of silent companionship. The air smelled of blooming jasmine and distant rain. Toge walked beside you, steps unhurried, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of your hand.
At the cherry blossom grove again that turned to be your spot, you stopped there. The petals had mostly fallen now, carpeting the ground in soft pink. You turned to face him, heart full.
“We spent so long in silence,” you said softly, reaching up to brush a stray petal from his hair. “But I don’t regret any of it. Every note, every gesture, every time you froze around me… it all led here.”
Toge looked at you for a long moment, eyes soft in the dim light. Then he spoke, voice low and sincere, each word careful but no longer afraid.
“I regret the waiting. But not the feeling. Never the feeling.” He took a small step closer, free hand coming up to cup your cheek with surprising tenderness. “Thank you for being patient with me. For not giving up on the quiet guy who couldn’t find his words.”
You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Worth every second.”
He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. When his lips met yours, it was gentle. Hesitant at first, like all those years of restraint were still echoing. Then deeper, warmer, as if the dam had finally broken. His hand slid to the back of your neck, thumb stroking gently. You tasted salt and something sweet, like the barley tea he always drank. When you parted, foreheads resting together, he let out a soft breath that sounded like relief.
“Been wanting to do that for years,” he whispered against your lips.
You laughed quietly. “Me too. Idiot.”
The next few days blurred in the best way. Graduation itself was a whirlwind of caps, gowns, flashing cameras, and tearful hugs with Maki and Panda. Toge stood beside you during the ceremony, his pinky hooked with yours behind the folds of your gown where no one could see. When your name was called, you swore you heard his quiet “Congratulations” murmured just for you as you walked across the stage.
Afterward, during the small celebration dinner with your close group, Toge was still mostly quiet with the others. Offering short comments, the occasional “Bonito flakes” when Panda made a bad joke. But with you, the words came easier now. He’d lean close during conversations and murmur things like, “You look happy” or “I’m proud of you.” Each one made your heart flutter.
The true epilogue came on the evening after graduation, when the campus had emptied out and only a few lingering students remained. You and Toge returned one last time to the cherry blossom grove as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. You sat on the same bench, now side by side with no space between you. His arm was around your shoulders, your head resting against his chest. The steady beat of his heart was the most comforting sound you’d ever heard.
You teased him gently, tracing patterns on his hand. “Remember when you could barely look at me without freezing? Now you’re practically talkative.”
Toge chuckled softly, the vibration rumbling through his chest. “Don’t push it. I’m still me.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “But… for you, I’ll try. Every day.”
You smiled, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You. Exactly as you are, quiet or not.”
The two of you stayed there until the stars came out, sharing quiet conversation mixed with comfortable silences. He told you, in his low, careful voice, about the fears he’d carried. How your brightness had always felt overwhelming in the best way, how he’d worried his silence would eventually push you away. You shared your own frustrations and the deep fondness that had grown despite them. Every word felt like stitching up old wounds with gold.
As the night cooled, Toge pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms. “Whatever comes next, jobs, new cities, whatever, we do it together. No more waiting. No more notes instead of words.”
You nodded against him. “Together.”
The warmth of a long-fostered connection finally settled over you both like the softest blanket. The years of silence hadn’t been wasted; they had built something deep, patient, and unbreakable. What began as curious glances and shared seats had blossomed into something real. Quiet gestures still present, but now beautifully balanced with the sound of his voice speaking your name, murmuring affections, and promising futures.
Under the same cherry blossom tree where your story had quietly begun years ago, it continued. Not with grand declarations, but with the simple, heartfelt truth:
“I love you,” he whispered into your hair, voice steady and warm.
You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I love you too, Toge.”
And in the peaceful quiet that followed. Now free of longing and full of promise. The two of you watched the stars together, hands linked, hearts finally aligned.
If you were to ask most sane people, a relationship between a hacker with a penchant for breaking the law and an FBI agent shouldn’t work. And yet, you and Benjamin Poindexter just seem to…well, work. You get each other. You love each other. In fact, it doesn’t take much to see that your boyfriend is completely and utterly obsessed with you.
Unfortunately, Wilson Fisk sees this too, and it isn’t long before it becomes clear just how far Dex is willing to go to keep you with him. And, after tragedy strikes, how far he’ll go to get you back.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Murder (I mean, it's Bullseye), Blood, Dex is down so bad guys, Smut!!, Unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it), Slight knife play, Slight gun play, Reader matches Dex’s freak, Vague mentions of mental illness (it's Dex), Angst, Canon-compliant character death, Please please let me know if I forgot anything!
Author's Note: And here we have the longest fic I've ever written! I loved writing these two so much that I'm almost sad to post it because I don't get to work on it anymore. Be warned that this fic is going to follow the events of Daredevil season 3 through Born Again season 2, so there will definitely be spoilers! As always, let me know what you guys think!! Your feeback brings me joy and keeps me writing!!
Word Count: 22k
-
It’s almost painfully cliche, how he meets you.
You slam into him, head banging against his shoulder so hard that it might bruise. So hard that your phone clatters to the ground in a chaotic little cacophony of plastic on pavement.
“Shit!” Your voice is a sharp cry in the crowded street, but no one really turns around for this kind of thing in New York. No one offers much more than a backwards glance and a raised eyebrow. He just wanted a damn coffee, and now his shoulder is aching and he’s about to whip around to snap at you for-
Your palm is pressed against your forehead, and your eyes are squeezed shut. You’re in a sweatshirt and jeans. There are subtle bags under your eyes from what he can only assume is a lack of sleep. Your sneakers are worn. There is almost nothing about you that should be in any way memorable.
One eye peeks open, and his heart…stutters.
“I’m sorry. Shit. You okay?”
His heart stops.
He isn’t sure why. He can’t exactly place it, but it’s just…there you are. Running right into him like that. Asking if he’s okay when you look like his shoulder bone might have fucking concussed you.
He reaches down, picks up your phone, and offers it to you.
“I’m fine.” He says, softer than he means to, and you open your other eye.
“Are you made of concrete or something?” You huff a laugh, accept your phone, and slide it into your pocket. He’s staring too hard. He needs to break the gaze but it feels impossible and wrong to even try.
“Not that I know of.”
A feeling like desperate need claws its way up his throat when you smile again. When you laugh at his words like you really hear them. He doesn’t know exactly what it is he needs, but it’s overwhelming to the point of near-pain.
“I’m sorry about that.” You say again, and you mean it. “If I left a bruise, don’t sue me.” You glance down, notice the badge clipped to his belt. “Or…arrest me.”
He can’t remember how to speak. How to breathe right. But he needs to act…normal. He can’t just yank you to him in the middle of the street, bury his nose in your neck and inhale your perfume. Not like he wants to.
The world is narrowed down to a pinpoint. The crowded, chaotic streets of the city are gone. The honking of taxis, the bustle of people trying to get to their destinations, the towering buildings, it’s all gone. It’s just you, and your smile, and your eyes looking up at him.
His smile twitches a little before it finally forms on his lips, lopsided and genuine. You relax at the sight of it.
“Don’t have my cuffs on me, so I guess you’re safe.” And you smile at the joke, and it’s perfect.
He’ll buy you coffee. He’ll talk to you. He’ll make you smile more.
Your phone dings, and you curse as you glance down at it. “Shit. I gotta go.” You murmur, shooting one more apologetic glance up at him. “Sorry again. Really.”
“It’s…okay.” But it’s not. You can’t leave. You can’t walk away from him he just found you he’s not done-
But you’re gone, and your sudden absence shudders his breath and makes his chest feel too tight. No. No, you need to be here. With him. He just found you. You can’t leave.
He doesn’t move for a good few seconds, frozen in place as the noise and chaos crashes back in, crippling and horrible.
The bell to the coffee shop dings. There. That’s where you are. Where you’re going. Not gone. Not too far for him to find again.
He waits sixty seconds, counts his breaths, and follows.
-
“Yikes, what happened to you?”
You’re rubbing your forehead. You’re hurt. His shoulder hurt you. The dull ache in the spot where you slammed against him feels like a connection. A tether holding you to him.
“Too embarrassing.” You grumble, but he can hear a hint of humor and familiarity in your voice. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Well now I have to know.” You smile at the blond man. Nelson. The lawyer. Dex knows about him. Are you with him, somehow? Is Nelson trying to take you away from him?
You huff a laugh, and plop down unceremoniously into the opposite chair, still rubbing your forehead. “I was trying to respond to your millionth text, and I just absolutely slammed into this smoking hot FBI guy.”
“FBI?” Nelson repeats, but you said hot. You called him hot. He’s so distracted by that that he barely hears your next words, dripping with sarcasm as you pull one foot up onto the chair and wrap your arms around your knee.
“Yeah, and then I told him all about my extra curricular activities, and my home address.”
“Your jokes aren’t as funny as you think they are, you know.”
“Neither are yours, and we’re still friends.” You accept the cup of coffee Nelson slides your way, and Dex’s heart stutters again as you smile over the rim of the mug.
“So, speaking of which…”
“I knew it. I knew it. You never just wanna hang out and get coffee.”
“We hang out and get coffee all the time.”
“The ratio is off, lately. You ask for favors more since you went into that corporate law job. Now your pro-bono work always goes through me and all my incredible skills like some dirty little secret.”
Pro-bono work. Secrets. What do you do? You’re kind. You’re good. He can feel it. Sense it like second nature. But the questions and lack of answers are making him grip his own mug a little tighter, making it difficult for him to lean back in the shadows and hide like he’s supposed to.
Nelson looks sheepish, but you give a good natured wave of your hand. A silent ‘go on’ gesture that Dex can’t help but find painfully charming.
“I have a case. This guy…” Nelson slides a file towards you, “didn’t do it. Works for a big company, going down for financial crimes that he didn’t commit. They’re trying to cover their tracks, and a little bit of proof might keep him from missing his kids’ elementary school graduation.” You raise an eyebrow, and Nelson smiles a little. “And middle school. And high school. And…college. The point is they’re gonna try to put him away for a long time, and he didn’t do it.”
You squint, and slide the file closer to yourself. “Financial crimes?”
“Just saying, a little bit of…evidence towards his innocence will really help.”
“Hm.”
“And it shouldn’t be a problem for the best hacker in New York.”
You raise an eyebrow again.
“Okay, the east coast.”
Your eyebrow climbs higher.
“America?”
You grin, and Dex twitches with the need to be closer to you. To see that grin directed at him.
“You’re gonna have to start paying me soon.”
“And if I do, it becomes illegal.”
You tilt your head back again, puff out a dramatic sigh, and curl your fingers around the file.
“I want one of your mom’s sandwiches, at two am. The one with the provolone that I like.”
Nelson grins, wide. “Done and done.”
And then, you tilt your head back towards Nelson. “Does this have anything to do with Fisk?”
Fisk. Fisk? That asshole? That annoying detail he’s about to be stuck on?
“Wilson Fisk?”
“No, the other one. The other crime boss who just got out of prison and has a bone to pick with you.”
Nelson rolls his eyes. “Still not funny.”
“Foggy.”
He hesitates, and frowns. “No. But don’t…just stay away from that, okay? We’ll figure it out. You getting involved, especially with your tendency to…piss people like that off…”
“I haven’t been caught.”
“You will be, if you keep up that little Robin Hood act you have going on. There’s only so much legal counsel I can give you. This is extra legal council. I should be charging you for this.”
“Those companies don’t notice any money missing. You know who does? Mr. Stevenson next door, who can pay off his damn bills and not have to work an extra six hours a day to afford medication for his bad leg.” Your tone is sharp. Defensive.
So you’re a criminal. A good one. Because stealing from the rich and giving to people who need it… that’s good. His own moral compass might be a little off-kilter, but he knows that much.
Then again, you could be a serial killer and he would probably still feel this way, but oh well.
Foggy frowns, like this is a conversation you’ve had many times before, and gives you a familiar little nod, like he knows arguing won’t get him too far. “Just…don’t get involved, okay? Stay away from it. This is more dangerous than you think.”
“Vague.” You grumble, but you’re sliding the file into your bag. “Sandwich with the provolone, three am.”
“You said two.”
You stand, finish your coffee, and smile. “This one’s gonna take a while.”
-
Watching you work is…fascinating.
It’s a slow process, Dex realizes quickly. You don’t click at your keyboard and bust through firewalls like in movies. You lay on your couch, bite your nails, and seem to work through problems one by one. It takes a while. It frustrates you. It makes you smile to yourself when you solve one of those problems.
You get your sandwich. You talk to Nelson for a while. Update him. Get back to work.
The sun is going to rise, soon. You’re still working. His eyes are starting to hurt from watching you through this telescope, but he can’t make himself look away.
When you move to the kitchen, you slide on the hardwood in your socks. You play music. You tap your fingers on your keyboard to the beat.
He watches every second. Every single twitch of your eye. Every frown when you can’t figure something out. Every bright little spark when you do figure it out.
Perfect. You’re perfect. And when you finally do fall asleep, computer resting on your stomach and eyes dropping closed like they’re weighed down by anvils, he wants more than anything to make his way into that dingy little apartment and carry you to your bed in the adjacent room. To slide his fingers through your hair, feel you smile, and listen to your heartbeat until he’s positive that nothing will ever be able to take you away from him.
But for now, he watches. He stays, long after you’ve fallen asleep, and he watches.
-
It takes planning. It takes hours of working himself up to it. Of watching you from afar, plotting every scenario out bit by bit and talking himself out of it a thousand times.
You consume his thoughts like a poison. He follows you to your work. Back to your apartment. Watches every interaction you have with everyone else and wishes it was him you were looking at until he stops fucking sleeping with the need to have you near him.
So, when the torture becomes too much, he follows you to a bar, and he sits in the corner, and he watches you laugh with your friends. Watches and watches and craves to be closer to the light that seems to emanate from your very being.
And he gets up at just the right time, and allows you to bump into him as you start walking back towards the group you came with.
Not a single drop of his drink spills on him - he’s still a little too organized to allow that to happen if he can help it - but he makes it look like it does. He catches your waist as you stumble with an ‘oomph’, and just like that you’re close to him. You’re touching him. He’s touching you. You’re here. With him.
“Oh, fuck. Sorry. Sorry.” You’re not drunk, barely even buzzed, but he knows you well enough now to know that you’re just a little clumsy, and this place is just loud enough for this to work.
Your eyes turn up to his, and you nearly stumble back.
Practiced smile. Fingers curling against your back a little because he just can’t help it. “We’ve gotta stop bumping into each other like this.” He’s practiced that line in the mirror, and it works. You laugh.
You laugh. At his joke. At his line that he’s practiced for this specific scenario. It worked.
“I know you.” You grin, wide, and then flinch a little, but you’re still laughing. “Have I said I’m sorry yet?”
“You did.” He has to let you go. He would rather die, but he can’t be holding you like this. You don’t know him yet. Not yet. “Never got your name, though.”
“I never got yours. Figured you hated me for dislocating your shoulder.”
“Dex.”
“Dex.” You repeat, and his blood hums in his veins at the sound. “Nice to meet you, Dex.”
“Nice to meet you…public hazard.” Lame joke. Bad joke. He just can’t string a fucking thought together when you’re near him and-
You snort. His heart bursts into flames.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Fuck. It’s too soon. Way too soon. You’re gonna say no, and leave, and he’s-
“Yeah.” You set your drink down. “Yeah, I do.”
-
“So…hobbies?” You take a bite of your pizza, heels clicking against the pavement, and he can’t stop looking at you.
“Not really.”
“Hm.” You don’t seem bothered by it. By his lack of interesting traits. He’s not lying to you. He doesn’t have to. You’re meant to be together, after all. He doesn’t have to lie about himself. Right? “Okay. Any special skills then, Special Agent?”
Actually, yeah. “I have one.”
You perk up, raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
He grins, real and genuine, and pulls a quarter out of his back pocket. “Think you’re ready for it?”
“Nah.” He flips the coin over his fingers, feigns pocketing it again. “Don’t think you are.”
“Aw, come on. Please?”
Butterflies swarm in his chest. A smile curls on his lips. He nods towards the darkened street before you. “Pick somethin’.”
You frown, cock your head to the side, and purse your lips when he doesn’t budge to give you any more information. “Okay….street sign. That one right there.”
“Letter.”
“What?”
“Pick a letter.”
Your brow furrows a little more, and your lips twitch in a smile. “T.”
The throws the quarter out, and the sound of metal on metal sings through the air.
There’s a dent in the T. It’s so small, so subtle, that you have to move over to the sign to inspect it.
“Holy shit.”
Do you like it? Are you impressed? He has to stop himself from grabbing your shoulder and demanding to know.
“Can you do it again?”
Yes. Yes of course he can. He’ll do anything. Anything to make you look at him with those wide eyes and that big grin.
You name five more things, he hits them all perfectly, and he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep impressing you. Keep hearing your startled noises of approval.
But you make it back to your apartment, and he has to force himself to let you leave. To not follow you upstairs and learn every inch of your skin until it’s locked into his memory forever.
Instead, he asks you to dinner, and you agree. You smile, and you agree.
-
He kisses you for the first time on your second date. Dinner and ice cream.
He’s walked you to your door, like he did the last time, and you’re standing there in your dress with that smile of yours and your eyes looking expectantly into his and he doesn’t know how to do this right. Sure, there have been women in the past. He’s kissed girls. Slept with them when the time was right, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and never really…felt anything. Never wanted anything like this. Fuck, he feels more excitement just looking at you than he did with every hookup he’s ever had.
He has to do it. Make it romantic. Make it perfect. He’s looked up the right way to do this. Studied romantic movies like it was some kind of assignment with life-or-death consequences.
Reach up, brush your hair behind your ear, drink in your shy smile, lean closer so his breath ghosts over your lips-
“You have ice cream on your nose.”
He freezes, fingers still cupping your jaw, and pulls back.
“What?”
You giggle, oblivious to how much his mind is spinning, and reach up to swipe it off with your thumb.
“Shit.” He mumbles, shaking his head and stepping back. “Shit. I’m sorry. I-“
You tilt your head to the side, curious and confused and beautiful as you seem to realize that he’s actually freaking out a little. Because it’s not perfect. It was supposed to be perfect because that’s the only way he gets to keep good things. Order. Focus. But he fucked it up and now you’re-
“Woah, hey. Hey.” You reach up, and turn his face towards yours. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it was cute. Just…try again.”
Try again. Yeah, he…he can try again. It can still be good. Still be perfect.
So he does. He leans down, and when his lips brush yours his breath comes out as a shaky exhale.
And then your mouth is on his, warm and soft and everything he’s ever wanted. Electricity shoots down his spine, through his blood, and some tether of control within him snaps. He presses closer, the hand on your cheek moving to the back of your head to keep you in place, and kisses you like he’s trying to devour you with a passion he didn’t know he possessed.
You gasp against his lips, arms coming up to wrap around his neck as you meet him with just as much enthusiasm. Just as much hunger. And this…this is perfect. This is rough and desperate and perfect. This didn’t need to go according to plan. This is so much better than the plan.
When you finally break apart, he’s out of breath and more than a little pleased to see that you are, too.
“Wow.” You whisper, and he grins as his nose ducks back down to brush against yours.
“Yeah.” He breathes, unable to think of another response. Any other word to describe this feeling. “Wow.”
-
When you see the caller id, you can’t help but smile at the screen.
“Geez, you look so weird with the cartoon heart eyes.” Foggy’s voice breaks you out of your little trance, and you snort as you answer the phone, confirming that Dex is off work and headed back to his apartment. You feel a twinge of excitement, cheesy as it is, at the idea of seeing him soon. You try not to flag down the bartender too quickly, lest the mockery get any worse.
“FBI guy?” Foggy raises an eyebrow, and you smile again.
“His name is Dex.” Foggy’s eyebrows rise even higher. You flush. “I dunno, I like him. A lot, actually.”
“He’s in the FBI. You’re a pretty notorious hacker.”
“So we don’t talk about work.” You take a sip of your drink. “Plus, he’s not gonna turn me in. I’m too good in bed.”
“But he knows?”
“Of course he knows.” You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward like you’re explaining something imperative. “One you start having sex with someone, it’s important that you confess all of your crimes to each other.”
Foggy laughs, and shakes his head. “You’re insane.” And then, curious and caring as ever, “so what’s he like, if he’s got you risking federal prison?”
Your smile returns, cheeks heating a little, and you shrug. “Cute. Nice. A little weird. Well, actually a lot weird, but…I like it.” You think about the precise way Dex loads the dishwasher. How he carefully makes the bed every morning. How he makes an odd joke every now and then, and then looks absolutely panicked until you laugh, and that panic will always melt into an expression of relief and adoration.
Sometimes his emotions are a little…intense. He can get frustrated, and sometimes he doesn’t seem like he knows how to handle it. But you help. You always do. You tell him to breathe and help him work through whatever’s bothering him, and it works. He always listens. Always tries, even if it takes a moment.
You just…work. Something about you, and something about him, and all the weirdness in between…it works.
When you get back to his place tonight, he’s holding a bouquet of flowers and looking genuinely nervous.
“I don’t get this.” He admits before you even drop your keys onto the counter, frowning down at the colorful petals. “They’re just gonna die in a couple of days.”
“Then why did you get them?”
He cocks his head to the side, but you can see a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “They did it in the movie we watched last night. You smiled.”
You smile now. Wide. “You know, you’re kinda cute, Poindexter.”
Something like vulnerability sparks in his eyes. “Do you not like the flowers?”
You snort, and move forward to slide your hands up over his shoulders, feeling the crisp fabric of his white button-down against your palms. “I like them. You did good. Really good.”
He smiles at that, like those words are the best thing he’s ever heard, and you pull him down to kiss you.
Your conversation with Foggy flashes through your mind. You forgot to tell him that one thing. That one major reason why you like Dex. Why you’re with him.
You get him. And he gets you.
You just…work.
-
The newspaper sits on the counter, Dex’s picture stamped right on the front page. FBI investigates one of their own.
You try not to talk about work with him. After all, you’re technically a criminal and he’s in law enforcement. But you knew about the investigation. It’s unjust, Dex says, and you believe him because…well, of course you do. It’s Dex. He saved lives that night, and the few coworkers of his that you’ve met since you’ve been dating have confirmed it.
And then the suspension came.
“It’s bullshit. It’s fucking bullshit.” In what feels like only a few words, his voice morphs from a frustrated growl into something as sharp and loud as the crack of a whip. His hand moves faster than you can even register, and in a split second there’s a kitchen knife sticking out of a photo on the wall. Right in the forehead of the person you recognize as his boss.
“Shit, I keep forgetting how spooky that is.” You breathe, and Dex’s eyes whip back to yours.
“Breathe, Poindexter.” You raise your hands in surrender, and step ever-so-carefully forward, like one wrong move might frighten him off.
“Don’t.” He snaps, fingers curling on the counter, but his eyes don’t leave you. He’s breathing too heavily. Too raggedly.
You reach up, and turn his face down to yours. Gentle, but firm. “You gotta breathe. Tell me three things you can see.”
He freezes, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to tell if you’re kidding or not, before he speaks. “Your eyes.” He finally says, voice softening a little with each word. “Your nose…your mouth.”
Okay, it’s usually supposed to be things around the room, but this works too.
“Three things you can feel?”
He blinks, eyes still fixed on you, and raises one hand to your cheek. “Your skin.” He leans closer, helplessly. His hand moves up to your hair, curling a lock of it around his finger. “Your hair…” his free hand drops to your waist, bunching in the fabric of your borrowed t-shirt. “Your shirt.”
“Your shirt, technically.”
He grunts, and buries his nose in your temple.
“Three things you can hear.”
“Your voice.” You hum in response, and he presses closer. “Your heartbeat. Your breathing.”
You nod, and reach up to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He holds you a little more tightly. “Your breathing is better, see?”
He nods, and pulls back to kiss you. It’s slow, hard and desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. You pull him closer, and he makes a soft noise against your lips before he lifts you up and carries you over to the counter.
“Do you feel better?” You ask against his lips, feeling his fingers push the hem of your shirt up so he can trace them over your skin.
“I’m still being framed.” He murmurs, pulling back to trail his lips over the line of your jaw. “It’s still bullshit.”
“I know.”
“You make it better.” His hands move up, higher, warming the bare skin of your back. “You make everything better.”
“Hell of a compliment.”
“I mean it.”
“Me too.”
You kiss him again, feel him press his body closer to yours until your fingers are moving up to fumble with the buttons of his dress shirt and his are sliding your t-shirt up over your head. Moving down to skate over the hem of your underwear.
“Bedroom?” You breathe, and he shakes his head, lips never leaving your body for a second as he lowers himself to his knees right there before the counter.
“Here.” He rasps, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and pulls you to the edge of the counter in one sharp movement that has you locking your fingers in his cropped hair. “Please.”
“That’s my line, I think.” You’re breathless, his lips are trailing higher.
“No, it’s not.” His blue eyes are on yours, filled with something so much like worship that it halts your breath in your lungs. “It’s mine.”
-
“One more.”
The word is warm and sweet in your ear, a low hum paired with wandering hands and a soft, languid kiss to your jaw.
You snort, and you can feel him grin against your ear.
“I think one more will kill me.” You murmur, feigning misery, and his hand slides down over your hip, teasing. “Seriously, how do you have so much stamina?”
“Mm, it’s just you.” He murmurs, and trails his fingers over your stomach. “I can go all night.”
“We have gone all night.”
It’s been hours since he snapped in the kitchen, and your brain has become too mushy to even remember when the two of you migrated into his room. The problem with Dex’s…ability, is that he really never misses. He can take you apart almost embarrassingly quickly, immediately finding every spot and movement that has you seeing stars. And, with his obsessive personality, he has a tendency to try to one up himself. A lot. To see how many times he can make you fall apart until your legs are shaking and you’re spending the next day aching in all the best ways.
Which is why you’re pretty sure, even as his fingers find the apex of your thighs once more and he swallows your gasp with a smile against your lips, that he’s going to kill you. Death by too-many-orgasms has to be a thing, right?
“Dex…” you breathe, arching beneath him as your hands fly up to grasp at his muscled biceps.
“One more.” He repeats, the words a quiet rasp. “You can do it. Just give me one more. Please.”
How the fuck are you ever supposed to say no to him?
You kiss him, and he groans as he presses his body closer to yours.
One more turns into three more.
-
You can’t get a hold of Foggy. Or Karen.
Their names aren’t on the list of people who died at the Bulletin, so that’s something. Still, the chances of either of them being in the building during the attack are pretty damn high. And you don’t blame them for not answering. If they really were there, they must be fucking traumatized.
You would absolutely love it if one of them could pick up the damn phone, though.
Dex shows up around midnight, and you’ve already pulled on your jeans. Already grabbed your keys in preparation to run out the door and start banging on apartment doors. Hell, you might even go to the church Matt’s been hiding out in since he got back. Self-appointed recluse or not, you want answers. Before the news makes the information public, this time. There’s only so much information that hacking can give you, and if the cops and news outlets are currently scanning through the cameras for information of their own, it’s going to take a lot longer for you to find anything out than it will if your friends would just fucking talk to you.
“Hey, where are you going? What’s wrong?” Hands are on your shoulders, moving up to your cheeks, and you wonder if you look fucking insane with worry and confusion right now.
What the hell are you supposed to tell him? Oh yeah, Daredevil is my friend Matt. You know the one who died and kinda sorta came back? Have I mentioned him? Well apparently he’s gone fucking berserk and tried to kill Karen, but I’m absolutely fucking positive that it wasn’t him, which means that someone is out there murdering people in his old suit-
“I’ve…gotta go.” You say weakly, lamely, and start to pull back.
His hands tighten on you. Fast.
“Where? Where do you have to go?” He’s holding you surprisingly firmly, large arms locked around your body and making a frown curl your lips.
“Dex, let me go.” You can’t tell him. Of course you can’t. You have to figure this out on your own.
He doesn’t. In fact, he holds you even more tightly. “You can’t leave. You can’t leave me.”
“I’m-huh?” You turn to him, now, and blink in surprise at what you find. His eyes are dark. He looks like he’s sweating. Shit, he might be shaking. “Dex, what’s going on?”
“I need you here, okay?” He’s breathing a little strangely, hand smoothing up over your back with something like desperation. “I…you need to be here.”
You frown, and reach up to brush your fingers over his cheek. He closes his eyes, and leans into your touch.
“Okay. Hey, it’s okay.” He wasn’t able to help tonight. That’s it. He’s just been suspended. All of the order and structure he relies so heavily on is gone. You didn’t realize just how much it must be affecting him, and you feel like a shitty girlfriend for not immediately seeing just how off he is. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
He ducks down, fingers curling against your cheek and lips hovering over your own. “Tell me you need me.”
“Dex-“ you start, but his fingers slide into your hair and he backs you against the wall. It’s not aggressive, not quite, but it’s firm. Determined. Almost overwhelming in its desperation.
“Say it. Please.”
You frown, but reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. “I need you.”
He groans, and kisses you so hard your knees give out. He catches you, all-but scooping you into his arms as he traces his tongue over your lip and slides his arms around your waist.
You have to go find Foggy and Karen and Matt. You have to make sure they’re okay, and the four of you need to come up with some kind of game plan. Or, they do, and they’ll probably need your help because you just had to learn Matt’s secret. Just had to get mugged that night and recognize his voice. Just had to check security cameras and figure everything out and confront him about it.
So, with your particular skill set, and the information you have, they’ll probably need you, as outside of all this as you like to keep yourself. But Dex needs you more right now, and that matters more. You’ll get to the bottom of this mystery another time, when your boyfriend’s trembling hands aren’t pulling at your clothes and his lips aren’t trailing over your throat as he whispers your name like a prayer over and over again.
“What’s wrong?” You ask again, breathless and worried as he lifts you against the wall, as he wraps your thighs around his waist and curls his fingers against your skin hard enough that you worry it might bruise. You hope it does.
“You make it quiet.” He murmurs between kisses, tugging at your clothes until your shirt slides up over your head, discarded on the floor in a second. Messy. Disordered in a way that isn’t like him. “You make it all quiet. I need it to be quiet. Please.” His voice is shaking. Desperate.
You’re not quite sure what he means, but you nod anyway.
The moment you do, his body is pressing impossibly closer to yours. His lips are moving down your neck, kisses so rough and starved that you can feel his teeth scraping over your skin. His hands are tight on your body, hips rocking forward and making you gasp, and you can still hear the shakiness in his quickened breaths as he moves back up to kiss you so hard your head knocks lightly against the wall.
Your fingers move to the buttons of his shirt. His breaths are getting quicker. His grip is getting tighter.
“D-Dex.” You’re so breathless yourself that you can barely get his name out, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. Doesn’t slow his desperate movements until you finally reach up to pull his face away from yours.
His pupils are blown. His gaze is starved. He’s still shaking.
“Hey, stay with me.” You card your fingers through his hair, and kiss him slowly. Warmly. He doesn’t need rough and desperate right now. He needs reassurance. Grounding. Love.
He releases a shuddering breath, kisses you back, and nods as he rests his forehead against yours. “I’m here. I’m good.”
You nod, and as he carries you into the bedroom and lies you back on the mattress, you can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth. He’s here. He’s with you.
He peels the rest of your clothing off slowly, trailing his mouth over newly exposed skin, and you do the same for him, barely able to keep your lips and hands off of him for a second.
It’s slow, and loving, and painfully intimate. He murmurs your name against your ear as he moves with you, and you drag your nails over his muscled back as you tell him how good it feels until he falls apart with a groan that almost sounds like a sob.
He holds you after, presses his lips to your forehead and trails his fingers over your body like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you.
“Do you think I’m a good man?” His voice is low, quiet and vulnerable as he slides calloused fingers through your hair.
You look up, surprised by the question, and he holds you a little more tightly like he’s worried you’ll bolt.
“Of course.” You frown, reaching up to brush your own fingers over his cheek. He turns his face into your palm, kissing it once, and you turn his eyes back to yours. “You’re a good man, Benjamin Poindexter.”
He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, something raw and pained and full of hope, and tucks you closer to him like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” You kiss his shoulder, and let your eyes fall closed. “You’re gonna be okay.”
And for a moment, as he breathes something like a sigh of relief into your hair, you think he believes you.
-
“I need you to listen to me, and listen carefully.”
“Oh, now the zombie hiding in the basement is making demands. It’s good to see you too, Matt. I’ve been great, how about-“
“The man in the daredevil suit is Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter.”
That shuts you up, right the fuck away. “Very funny.”
“I’m not joking. He’s working for Fisk. He’s killing for him, and framing me.”
You feel cold. “No, he’s not. He wouldn’t do that.”
Matt’s expression is intense, his words are low and pointed. Urgent. This is his stupid fucking Daredevil voice. “He would. And he is. Fisk has him convinced that doing this will keep you with him. You have the means and the skill to prove me right. I need you to do that, as soon as possible. You need to get as far away from him as you-“
“Stop.” You snap, holding up a hand you know he won’t see. He’ll feel it though, or whatever. “Stop, Matt. You have the wrong guy.”
“You know that’s not true, and we don’t have time for you to come to terms with it. You are in danger, and you need to-“
“It’s not him.” Your ears are ringing. Your voice sounds desperate. Angry, even. “He’s…he’s a little intense. He’s a little weird, sure. But he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t do that.”
Matt’s jaw tightens. He shakes his head.
“You look into it the way you know how. You know. You’ll see it.” Matt reaches to grab your shoulder, and you flinch back. He looks pained, like he’s genuinely worried and didn’t call you here after all this time to falsely accuse the man you love of mass fucking murder. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been here for you enough. For Foggy and Karen. But I’m here now. I can protect you now. And you need to stay away from him.”
You pull back, and shake your head again. “I…no. You have the wrong guy, Matt. He’s…you’re wrong. We’ll find who’s doing this, but it’s not Dex.”
“We can keep you safe. You can hide-“
“No.”
“Please. He’s unpredictable. He’s dangerous. He could kill you if he knows you know.”
“I don’t know. I know you’re…you’re wrong.” He is wrong. He has to be wrong. “I’ll find out who it is, okay? But it’s not Dex. Just…it’s not Dex.”
And yet…
No. No. It’s not possible. There’s no way.
Matt spends the next ten minutes trying to convince you, and you block all of it out. You refuse to listen. You tell him you’ll go home, and you’ll avoid Dex until you can find the proper evidence.
You lie. And as you walk out of the church into the suddenly too-bright, too-loud city, you wonder if… if he could…
Fuck. You need to get to your computer. You need to prove him wrong.
-
He killed Ray tonight.
It doesn’t bother him. That kind of thing never has. What bothered him was Nadeem talking about you.
“He’s lying. He’s using you. He’s using her.” Dex’s hands had tightened reflexively on his gun. “You think he’s gonna keep her safe? You think this is how she stays in your life? Whatever he told you, he’ll hurt her the second it’s convenient for him, and he’ll take you out too.”
“You need to stop talking about her, Ray.” Dex’s voice is low. Quiet.
“When she finds out, you think she’s gonna stay with you? You think Fisk is gonna make her stay with you? How does this plan of yours work, exactly?”
Yes. Of course. Whether Fisk needs to make it happen or not, you’ll stay with him. And it will be okay, because you love him. Sure, you’ll be upset, but he can make that better. He will make it better. All of it. Everything he does is to keep you happy. Keep you by his side. But for now, you don’t have to know anything. You can just be with him, and love him.
If you learn a little too much, learn about the darkness that lives inside of him, about the things he’s done, Fisk will do what he needs to do, what he promised, and make sure you stay. Simple as that.
And you’ll still love him, right? Right. You’re meant to be together.
The shot lands perfectly between his former friend’s eyes. And, once it’s all said and done, he goes home to you.
-
You’re on the couch when he walks through the door. You’re chewing on your nails. You’re staring at your computer screen.
So perfect. So beautiful. All his. Just like he’s all yours.
Like he has a hundred times before, he moves over to gently move the laptop out of your hands, leaning you back against the cushions with a smile that surely holds all of the affection that feels like it’s about to overwhelm him.
“What’re you doing?” He presses his lips to your nose, your cheek, your jaw.
You’re tense. Something’s bothering you. He can fix that.
“Looking something up.” You murmur, soft and hesitant. “Or…I should be. I can’t…make myself do it.”
He can see in his peripheral that your screen is blank. You’re still tense, and when he kisses you he can taste the faintest tinge of iron from where you were biting your lip.
You’re wearing his t-shirt. He moves to slide his hands under it, reveling in the softness of your skin, and presses another kiss to the shell of your ear. You relax, like you just can’t help yourself, and he smiles as he settles a little more comfortably atop you.
“Hm, you know you’re not supposed to tell me about any of your hacking stuff.” He jokes, but you don’t smile like you usually would. Don’t tease him back. “Might incriminate yourself a little too much. And you know there’s only one way I wanna see you in cuffs.”
You do smile now, though there’s something in your eyes that he can’t place. He wants to ask, but you kiss him and he forgets everything that isn’t you.
“Or, you know. Put me in cuffs.” And you hum, and smile a little more.
He peels your clothing off nice and slow, trailing his lips down to follow every movement. It’s warm, and safe, and soft and gentle in all the ways the rest of the world is not. You gasp his name, look into his eyes even as yours threaten to flutter closed, and he loves you so much it hurts. So intensely that he worries it might swallow him whole. He wants it to.
When it’s over, and he’s pressing his lips over your cheeks and nose again, heavy breaths matching your own, he tastes the saltiness of tears on your skin and pauses.
His brow furrows, and he pulls back.
You reach up, and smooth your thumb over his cheek. “You’re a good man.” You whisper, and you sound like you’re talking to yourself, but he melts anyway.
“I love you.” He breathes, and drags you closer so he can kiss you again. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You murmur, and there’s never been so much of this strange emotion in your voice before. He can’t quite place it.
But you’re overwhelmed by your love for him, too. That’s all.
That’s all.
-
The worst part of it all is that you know you’re going to find it before you even bring yourself to open your computer.
And yet, it still feels like a punch to the fucking gut.
“Hello, Karen. It’s nice to see you again.”
You would recognize that voice anywhere.
It took you five minutes to get into the security cameras. Of the Bulletin. Of the church.
It took five more minutes for you to find all of the other evidence. The therapy sessions. The people he’s killed. The people he’s manipulated. Threatened. His lack of empathy. His obsessive behavior. His enjoyment of killing. Fuck, you even figure out that he was stalking you before you ever ran into him at that bar. You like to say, in your cockiest moments, that everything can be found online. Everything is documented even when people think it isn’t. You just have to look.
You didn’t look. In ten minutes, you found it all. In an hour, you’ve found too much for any excuse to ever work. For anything other than the truth to make sense.
And then, with perfect timing like the universe is making some sort of sick joke, Foggy Nelson tells you to come down to the old gym. He shows you Nadeem’s video, and you have to drag a trash can over so you can puke your guts up as the world drops from beneath your feet.
You cry silently. Curl in on yourself against the boxing ring while Foggy and Karen watch you, expressions filled with sympathy and guilt. Because they weren’t here. They didn’t check in on you. They let this get this far and it blindsided you because you were too wrapped up in stupid domestic bliss to even hang out with your friends like you should have.
Foggy’s hand comes down on your shoulder, comforting and kind. “Can you do it?”
You don’t look up from the phone screen even as you take it from his hand.
You nod.
-
“What are you-“
You aren’t supposed to be here. You aren’t supposed to be here. You aren’t-
Matt is gonna kill you, if Dex doesn’t do it first. And yet, you know without a shadow of a doubt that he won’t hurt you. Everyone else, maybe, but not you.
That doesn’t make him any less dangerous.
You grab his arm, and pull him outside with you, into the alley. It will be on camera. It will be obvious that you know, when Fisk sees it. But it doesn’t matter. None of that will matter soon, anyway.
His brow is furrowed, that look of frustration when he doesn’t have control of the situation tightening his features. After all, you did just show up to his work unannounced and drag him outside.
He reaches for you, and you step back.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asks, something in his face cracking a little. “Come here. Please.”
“Tell me it’s not true. Please, tell me it’s not true.”
Panic. Immediate, sharp panic. He knows. He knows you know. “Come here.”
“Dex.”
“It’s not true.” He says immediately, lies immediately, and reaches for you again. You back up again. “It’s not true. None of it’s true. Just-“
You pull out your phone, and play the video. Ray Nadeem’s confession. His eyes widen, and you already knew but the confirmation from him is fucking shattering.
“In three hours, it’s going out to every phone in the immediate area. To the cops. To the public. Everywhere. And if you kill me, it still goes out.” Your voice is tight, shaking. “You’re not gonna stop it.”
Dex tries to grab you now, not the phone, you, desperate. You jump back into the street. Into the public. Away from the dark alley and into the light of day.
“Don’t touch me. Do not fucking touch me.”
“Don’t do this.” He sounds dangerous now. You should probably be afraid of him. You’re going to fucking cry again and it hurts so bad you can’t think. You’ve never felt more stupid in your life. “Don’t you dare do this. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You promised.” His hand catches your sleeve, and you rip it back.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Don’t leave me. Baby, don’t do this. You love me. I love you. We can-“
“What is this, fucking Barney?!” You snap, horror and shock making your voice shaky and shrill. “You’ve been murdering people.”
You’re fully in the street, now. You’re still shaking. He’s still approaching.
“If you come any closer, I’ll scream.” You mean it. He looks like he’s about to risk it. Like he’s moments away from covering your mouth and dragging you back into the alley. Into the shadows with him.
You turn, and walk away.
You hear him scream from a block away. It’s loud. Primal, even. It turns heads.
You keep walking.
-
He goes to prison that night. Matt defeats Fisk. You see it all on the news, from where you’re curled on the couch with tears drying on your cheeks.
He tried to kill Fisk at his wedding. Broke into the party in Matt’s Daredevil costume. It’s on the news. It’s on film.
He says your name before he starts killing people. Tells Fisk and Vanessa that the two of you wish them a world of happiness. You watch the clip. Newspapers call. You watch the clip again. You shut out the world.
It takes some time for you to leave your couch. Even longer to leave your apartment.
But time heals all wounds, even if they have to scab over and reopen a few too many times.
You meet Matt, Foggy and Karen at Josie’s on a Tuesday. They don’t mention it. You do. You apologize, and Foggy hugs you so tightly that your ribs creak.
And you heal. Slowly, surely, you heal.
Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
-
It’s a nice, normal Friday night.
Cherry’s retirement party is fun. You’re having fun. You’re laughing with Matt and Karen, listening to the laughter and jokes around you, teasing each other about Foggy’s attempts at hitting on Keirsten, and not thinking about Dex. Because you never think about Dex.
You don’t think about the way he made breakfast in the morning. Always so careful and precise. Always plating it perfectly like the act was a science, watching you when you ate it like he was either trying to figure out just how much you liked it or just…watching you. So much of him looking at you felt like he was basking in your mere presence.
Or the way he would leave on his way to work. Always the same pattern. The same habits. Wake you up with a kiss, get dressed, make breakfast, kiss you again on the way out the door.
The way he would smile at you like you hung the moon in the sky. The way he would hold you when you watched a movie on the couch. The way…
Warm lips against your temple. Your forehead. Your cheeks.
You hum, and feel Dex smile as his arm slides more tightly around you. “Morning.”
“S’the middle of the night.” You complain weakly, turning in his arms to hide your face in the warm skin of his chest.
“Five forty-five.” He murmurs, hand already coming up to slide through your hair. “Gotta get ready for work.”
“Play hooky.” You mumble, nuzzling closer, dreading the moment his warmth leaves the bed.
“Would if I could.” He means it, and you can tell, so you keep trying.
“You’re reinstated and promoted now…” you press a kiss to his collarbone, warm and slow and as tempting as you can make it. “Their apology should come in the form of as many days off as you want. Or going into work after dawn.”
His body relaxes a little. His hold on you tightens, like he’s thinking about it.
And then he sighs, and pulls back to press his lips against your forehead.
“I can’t.” He sounds so genuinely remorseful that you just might be falling in love with him all over again. Still, you plaster an exaggerated little pout on your face as you sit up.
“Goody two shoes.” You accuse, and if you were more awake you might think his laugh sounds a little…different. But he sits up with you, and kisses your neck, and wraps his arms around you again and any doubt or confusion flutters out of your mind as you melt into-
“Hey, you okay?”
Your eyes whip up, reflected in Matt’s glasses. You swallow. Smile. “Hm?”
“Your…” he lowers his voice, leans a little closer, “your heart is racing.”
Karen is looking at you, too closely, too kindly. You smile wider.
“I’m fine.” And you are. You’re fine. You’re absolutely, totally fine.
Ten minutes later, everything goes to shit.
Foggy goes outside. Matt hears something wrong. Karen follows You stay in the bar.
A gunshot outside. The bang of a flash grenade. The screams of panicked patrons.
You’re frozen for a moment, smoke and shock filling your lungs and fogging your mind. Gunshots. Screaming. The heavy sound of footsteps and-
“Hey, baby.”
A low, familiar growl of a voice, barely raised enough to be heard over the commotion but cutting through it all like a knife and zeroing your attention on the approaching figure.
Speaking of knives, you hear one whir through the air just before your wrist is slammed back against the wall, a blade attaching your sleeve to the surface with perfect precision. You reach up in a panic to remove it, only for another knife to slam your other arm back against the same wall. Neither blade comes close enough to even nick your skin, but you’re still completely trapped against the old wooden surface, eyes wide as Benjamin Poindexter stalks over to you like he has all the time in the world.
He’s wearing a mask, but you’d recognize his eyes anywhere. You’ve never seen them so fucking crazed.
“I missed you.” His hand is on your waist, large and gloved and firm even as you try to kick him away from you. He grunts, and halts your movements with a knee pressed between yours.
And then he rips off his mask, and kisses you. Hard. Rough. Tongue forcing its way past your lips and arm locking tight around your hip as his body presses against yours like it’s drawn there by a gravitational pull. It’s been so long, and you are most certainly in shock, but you can’t help the soft noise that pulls its way from your throat at the feeling. The way your toes curl a little at the rough sound he makes in response.
He reaches up, and pulls one of the knives out of your sleeve before throwing it towards Daredevil so quickly you almost miss it. He doesn’t even look. He keeps his gaze right on you.
The knife is deflected. Of course it is, because it’s fucking Matt, but Dex looks down at you, grins, and presses his lips to your cheek before pulling his mask back down just in time to be knocked to the ground.
The battle happens all around you, too quick for you to keep track of, and it takes you a good fifteen seconds to register that you need to get the fuck out of here.
The knife attaching your sleeve to the wall is in the wood so deep that you can’t get it out. You grunt in frustration, and finally rip your sleeve to free yourself. You think, vaguely, that you liked this jacket, before the sound of glass shattering makes you flinch and stumble back towards the door.
Your ears are ringing. You can’t think. You make it out into the street just in time to fall to your knees beside the body of your friend, nearly get trampled by people screaming and running and Karen is crying and you can’t think.
And Foggy Nelson dies on the sidewalk.
And, a few horrible moments of silence later, you hear a thud behind you.
And you don’t scream. You don’t cry. You still don’t even speak. Your clothes are stained with blood, and you can still taste the mint of Dex’s toothpaste on your tongue. Foggy dies, and Dex’s body just hit the pavement behind you.
You crawl to him in a haze of screams and the ringing of a thousand bells in your ears, and you can hear Karen sobbing behind you.
You think you might throw up. Or pass out. Or die right here next to Foggy Nelson and Benjamin Poindexter.
Dead. He’s dead. Oh God, Foggy isn’t breathing and now…and now Dex…he’s-
Blue eyes shoot open, wide and pained and crazed, and a gloved hand grabs your wrist. You didn’t even realize that you were touching him, hands shaking as they move over his body like you can fix it. Like you should even want to. Your palms sting. Knees, too. You think you scraped them on the pavement when you crawled over here.
“What did you do?” You ask, numb and confused and horrified, and Dex groans and presses his injured face into the pavement like the sound of your voice is the sweetest relief. His hand tightens on your wrist, relaxes, doesn’t let you go. “Dex, what did you do?”
-
ONE YEAR LATER
There is a deep, prominent scar on his cheek. He’s even larger than you remember. His eyes are different, like he’s allowed the illusion of control and sanity to shatter.
You’re here for Foggy. You haven’t seen Matt or Karen in almost a year. You are not here for Benjamin Poindexter.
But you’re here. Maybe you shouldn’t be, but you owe it to Foggy. To the other people this man has killed.
So many people. So many deaths. So many, because of you. And now Foggy, for reasons you still can’t understand.
The sentencing comes. The gavel is banged. You can’t hide your flinch at the sound. Dex’s eyes move right over to you, and lock in.
He smiles, eyes filled with a sick sort of love, and your fingers dig into your palms until your nails bite into the skin hard enough to draw blood.
They take him away, and he doesn’t stop smiling at you.
-
“He refuses to speak unless you’re in the room.”
Your fingers curl painfully tightly against your coffee cup. Your eyes fly up to Matt’s face.
“No.”
“I need information. We need information. He’ll be cuffed the entire time. He won’t touch you.”
“I’m not worried about that. I don’t want to speak to him.”
“They moved him to gen pop.”
You try to hide the way your heart pounds at the implication. You fail. And it’s Matt, so there’s no use pretending.
“Is…did they…” Gen pop. They’ll fucking kill him in there. Good, right? Someone like that shouldn’t be walking the Earth. He killed Foggy. He killed so many people.
“They will. He won’t last a week. Which means Fisk wants him dead.” Matt’s hand rests on the table before you, and he leans closer, adamant. “We need to know why. And then he can rot in prison until-“
“I want him out of gen pop.” You hate yourself so, so much for saying it that you feel like you’re going to be sick. “I want you to get him back in protective custody.”
Matt looks like you just slapped him across the face. You don’t blame him.
But he agrees. So you go. God help you, you go.
-
“Hi, baby.” His grin is fucking manic. His eyes are starved as they rake over you like he’s filing away every inch.
You glare, and sit down across from him. He leans forward, almost jerking in your direction, like he momentarily forgot about the cuffs in his desperation to touch you. Well, he’s not going to get to. Never again.
“You killed Foggy Nelson.”
“Your hair is longer.”
“You killed Foggy.”
“Do you think about it? The way it felt when I touched you again?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ve thought about it every minute. You tasted just like I remember.” His tongue darts out, smile lopsided as he traces it over his lip, eyes raking over you again so intensely that ice trickles down your spine in a way you really wish was unpleasant. “I wonder what else tastes just like I remember.”
You slap him, the sound cracking through the room, and his head whips to the side. His smile doesn’t fall.
“Do it again.”
“Fuck you.”
“Get me out of these cuffs, baby, and I will.”
“If you think I’ll ever, ever let you touch me again, you’re more fucked in the head than I thought.”
His smile cracks. Falls a little. His eyes darken. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Why did you kill Foggy Nelson?”
“You still love me.”
“No. I don’t.”
“You’re lying.” He’s still looking at you, intensely enough that you have to fight the urge to squirm. “Say it.”
“Fuck. You.”
His head rolls back, like those two words were a confession on their own. “Fuck, I missed your voice.”
“You said you’d speak if I came here. Answer me.”
“Do you remember our three month anniversary?” He asks, unbothered, and you want to throw something at him. Cuffs or not, the asshole would probably catch it. “Chinese food on the couch. The first time I told you I loved you.” Pain twists in your chest at the memory, and Dex leans forward when he sees it, another horrible smile curling on his lips. “I took my time with you that night. I had you making these noises, do you remember? These high pitched, sweet little begging sounds.” His fingers tap absentmindedly against the arms of his metal chair, and your face bursts into flames. “Think about them every night, but you know it doesn’t compare to the real thing.”
“You’re trying to get in my head.”
“I’m already in your head. Just like you’re in mine. We’re connected, forever.”
“Did you kill Foggy to punish me?”
He frowns, eye twitching a little when you refuse to give in. “No. But you shouldn’t have left me.”
“So what? Are you gonna kill me if you get out? Are you gonna kill me now?”
He looks genuinely pissed that you would even suggest something like that, jaw clenched and fingers flexing on the metal table again. “When I get out of here, I’m not going to hurt you.” The intensity of his gaze makes your blood feel cold. “But you’re not leaving me again. Ever.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do. I already have.”
“Fuck this.” You push yourself to your feet, the metal chair scraping against the floor like a gunshot. Like the shot that killed Foggy. Fired by the man in front of you. “Fuck you.”
That gets to him. “You’re not leaving. We’re not done.”
“We’re done.” You lean over the table, eyes hard as they look into his. His hands are already struggling against the cuffs locking him to the chair. “We’re done, Dex.”
“I haven’t seen you in a year. You can’t walk out like this.”
“And you’re not gonna see me for another eleven life sentences.”
His voice is a low, violent growl. “Don’t say that.”
And, because you’re a fucking idiot, you do exactly what you told yourself you wouldn’t do.
They confiscated your phone when you came in here. They didn’t confiscate your watch.
One button. One stupid thing you set up in anticipation for this meeting. That you promised you wouldn’t use. And yet, reckless fool that you are, you knew you would.
The security camera light flickers off.
Dex notices immediately, and the hunger that burns in his eyes and curls on his lips lights something aflame in your stomach that you don’t want to think about. Not right now.
You lean both arms on either armrest of his chair. His hands jerk against the cuffs, still trying to reach for you.
You lean closer. You don’t break eye contact. His mouth moves up to chase yours, and you pull back just enough to pull a frustrated grunt from his throat.
“If you ever, come anywhere even close to the people I love again…” you whisper, leaning in so your lips are close enough to his ear that he moans and tilts his head to the side, like he’s silently begging you to rip his throat out with your teeth. “I will kill you myself. Do you understand me, baby?”
For a moment, the thrill of it all makes you forget just how stupid you were for this. Just how dangerous this man is.
And then, as if to remind you himself, you hear a pop. A sharp, pained intake of breath.
Your eyes drop down to Dex’s right hand, just in time to see him slide it out of the cuff.
The crazy motherfucker dislocated his own thumb.
You jerk back, but Dex is faster. Of course he’s fucking faster. His arm locks around your middle, yanking you down onto his lap hard enough to pull an ‘oomph’ from your chest, and his breath is hot on your neck as you squirm against him.
“Shhh, shh.” His rough voice is too soft. You turned off the cameras. You’re a fucking idiot. Something hotter and more intense than panic shoots through your veins, and your breath catches in your throat. “I’ve got you.”
“That’s the problem.” You gasp, but his hand comes up to the back of your head, fisting in your hair and pulling you back so he can look at you.
“I did it for you.” He whispers, reverent. “I bought my freedom with it. For you.”
And then he kisses you, rough and hard, and your attempts to shove him off are met with nothing but a low and hungry growl.
There’s a moment, brief but painfully there, where the feeling of sparks lighting down through your blood is too overwhelming. Where his lips moving against yours is too familiar. Where you kiss him back, and his groan is nothing short of victorious as he wraps his arm more tightly around you.
And then the door opens, and he doesn’t let go. You sink your teeth into his lip, and bite down hard enough to draw blood. He moans shamelessly, but holds you tighter.
It takes two guards to get you out of his vice-like grip. His lip is bleeding. You can taste the iron of his blood. He’s smiling. Wide.
It’s only when the guards start pulling you toward the door that his smile falls, like he hadn’t expected that. Like he hadn’t even considered that you would be leaving again.
“No. Don’t take her. Stop it.” He snaps, as two more guards force his hand back into the cuff. “Don’t take her from me again. Stop it!”
They close the door behind you, and you wipe his blood from your lip with the back of your shaking hand as his scream echoes through the prison.
-
“You didn’t do it. You didn’t help him.”
Matt turns to you, and you can feel the surprise emanating from his very being at the sound of your voice. Here. At this fancy gala to celebrate the esteemed mayor.
“What are you doing here?” He asks. Deflection. And then, concern. “Have you slept?”
No. No, you haven’t. But you’re not going to tell him that. That ever since you went to that prison your thoughts have been more consumed by him than ever. That every beat of your heart has been chanting Dex, Dex, Dex and it’s getting more and more difficult to tell yourself that it’s because you want answers.
And you have them, now. Because you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“I did it for you.”
“It’s not exactly an invitation you can refuse.” Your dress is uncomfortable. Your heels hurt your feet. You can feel eyes on you from all around the fucking room and you’re going to crawl out of your skin. “And yes. I’ve slept.” You don’t care that he knows that you’re lying.
“I-“ he’s going to come up with an excuse, an apology, but Dex is probably already dead. You’ll probably be dead soon, too. So what’s the fucking point? What’s the point of being subtle? Of trying to be careful, anymore? You weren’t careful when you looked into all of this. You didn’t cover your tracks, and you know. You know it all. And they know you know. You’ll be in the ground in a week at best.
“It was Vanessa. She was in charge of his businesses. She did it.” You don’t even lower your voice. You’re exhausted, and you’re hurting, and you’re angry, and who fucking cares anymore?
Matt grabs for your arm, already beginning to steer you away from watching eyes and listening ears. You pull back, whirl to face him. “Stop. They know I know. They know what I do. That’s why I’m here. They’re probably gonna kill me too, tonight.”
For a moment, you think Matt Murdock might actually be speechless. You just keep talking.
“It’s fine. It’s a long time coming, right?” You run a hand through your hair, and your smile is a pained and humorless thing. “Do you know how many people have been killed, just from me loving him? Because he loved me too, and they used it to manipulate him?”
And Matt is still looking worried, still bothered that people might hear you. But who fucking cares?
“But it’s fine, right? At least the ‘weapon of mass destruction’ who did it is rotting in a prison morgue now. He didn’t deserve help. I didn’t deserve to ask for it. Not for him.”
Matt’s hand is on your arm. You want to cry, but you’ve cried all night and the tears won’t come anymore. You’ve cried so many tears for him. Maybe that makes you a monster, too.
“Keep it down.” Matt says, hand tightening on your arm, but you ignore him.
“I know everything, too. Do you know how many pills he was on in that prison, when she got to him? The inside of his body was a fucking pharmacy. I saw the signature. He couldn’t even hold the pen right.”
Matt Murdock’s jaw twitches. He looks right at you, through his glasses, and you can feel his unseeing gaze on your face. “He still did it.”
He’s right. He did. But-
“You don’t know him. He…he doesn’t think like other people. They got to him. They did this.” Matt opens his mouth, and you raise a hand. “I’m not an idiot. He did it too, okay? He did it. But…” and your exhausted eyes rise to the dance floor, and it all makes sense.
Fisk took everything from you. From so many people. Foggy is dead. Dex is dead. And they’re dancing and smiling like this is the happiest day of their fucking lives. They don’t care. Sure, you don’t care. You’re numb. You’re hurting and confused enough that you don’t care what happens to you, but them… these people did all of this, and they’re happy about it.
“They did this.” You murmur, just to yourself, and start to move forward.
Matt catches you, hard. Fast. In one smooth move, he twirls you onto the dance floor, deflecting your momentum and still trying to fucking cover for you.
“You’re delirious.” He says, voice low and grip tight. “You’re acting irrationally. Don’t-“
But you’ve made it close enough. Just close enough to hear what Buck says to Fisk, quiet and serious but very much audible over the din.
“Benjamin Poindexter killed three guards and escaped prison.”
The world narrows. The floor tilts beneath your feet. Matt holds you upright, and you barely register what he’s saying over the rapid beat of your heart.
Dex. Dex. DexDexDex-
“We have to get you out of here.” Matt’s voice by your ear, his feet already beginning to move you away. You blink, too shocked and…relieved to even force your own feet to move. “He’ll be coming for you.”
Alive. Alive. DexDexDexDex-
You may not have Matt’s senses, but you swear you hear the click of the gun at the same time his head whips up to face the balcony.
“Not me.” You whisper, eyes on the dark shape above you. The dark, achingly familiar shape of a man who should be dead.
And the gunshot launches the party into chaos.
Matt. Matt just jumped in front of the fucking bullet and you’re trying to get to him but you’re being dragged away by the crowd, nearly carried off in the commotion and panic as people rush to the door. You almost fall at one point, stumbling in your heels and nearly getting trampled before you’re saved by the arm of some kind civilian, and by the time you make it back into the ballroom to where the paramedics are crowding around your friend you can’t see the shape on the balcony anymore.
You reach towards Matt, and something on your wrist catches your eye. A small etching of marker on your skin that definitely wasn’t there before.
A bullseye.
-
Hours later, you climb the stairs to your apartment, aching and tired and knowing damn well what you’re going to find.
You spent every free minute tracing the bullseye on your skin with the tip of your finger, sitting in the hospital waiting room and listening to the beat of your own heart.
Alive. Alive. Dex. Alive. Dex. Dex. Dex.
The power is still out. You’re exhausted. There’s still blood on your dress.
Matt begged you not to go home, but he would find you anyway. Anywhere.
There’s a bullseye painted on the door of your apartment. Small, but noticeable. Right above the handle.
You drop your keys on the counter. Loud. No use in trying to hide.
“You moved.”
“Yeah.” You say, voice steadier than it should be. “My boyfriend ended up being a serial killer.”
“I don’t really fall under that definition.”
You hum, casual, and move to the dingy fridge in the open kitchen. Pull out a bottle of wine.
“You look tired.”
“You’re missing a tooth.” You pop the cork with your teeth. Take a swig right from the bottle. “You gonna kill me now?”
“Stop saying that.” It’s still dark, you still can’t see much more than his silhouette, but the words sound like they’re gritted out through his teeth. “I love you.”
“I trusted you.” You grit your own words out, fingers tightening on the bottle.
“You still can.”
You take another swig, and lean against the counter. “Now that’s funny. Didn’t know they taught comedy classes in prison.”
“I thought about you every day. Every minute.” His boots thud against the hardwood, and you turn before he can reach you.
“Funny. I thought about Foggy.”
“That sounds hard. Really-“
“Shut the fuck up.” And now, you have to stall. You have to find your phone, and dial Matt’s number. Or reach one of the panic buttons you installed that will call him. With the power out, there’s a pretty good chance neither of those things will work anyway. “Get out.”
“You don’t really want me to.” It sounds like a plea, beneath the roughness of his words. “You still love me.”
You pull out your phone. It flies out of your hand in a second. Shatters against the wall. You jump back.
“Was that a fucking knife?”
“Bottle cap. I don’t wanna cut you.”
“But you’ll shoot at me.” Well, not at you, but you know mentioning it will bother him.
“I would never in a million fucking years-“
“You. Killed. Foggy.”
“And we’ll work past it, baby. We can work past it.” And there he is, turning you in his arms and walking you back until your lower back hits the counter. His breath is warm, ghosting over your lips, and you hate how your body responds to it.
“You’re delusional.”
“You want me. Say it. Please.” Too close. Too close. His hand is wrapping around the wine bottle, pulling it from your grasp and raising it to his own lips. The moonlight spilling in through the window illuminates the lines of his face, so agonizingly familiar. So beautiful.
You reach up like a woman possessed, and brush your fingers over the scar on his cheek. He groans, and leans into your touch.
In a blink, your other hand whips up, and you press the blade of a kitchen knife to his throat.
He smiles, and you wonder if he’s always been this crazy. He leans forward, letting the blade dig into his skin to brush his lips over yours again, and now you genuinely wonder if he would let you do it.
“I should kill you.”
“I’d let you.” He murmurs, a truly sick confirmation, and your hand is trembling and you hate yourself for it. “But you won’t.”
“I don’t have Daredevil’s moral code.”
“No.” His mouth closes over yours, just enough to feel his teeth scrape against your bottom lip. “You love me.”
“I don’t.” But your voice catches on the word, and your hand shakes more, and he’s bleeding and he doesn’t seem to care.
You pull the knife away, and his fingers curl around yours on the handle, guiding your hand to lower it onto the counter beside you.
“You asked Murdock to get me out of gen pop.” He hums, still so close that you can feel his heartbeat against your own. “Didn’t work, but I appreciate the thought.” The confirmation. “Helped me get back to you.”
“I didn’t want you to get back to me.”
“Liar, liar.” He murmurs, teasing and soft, and kisses you again. These kisses are nothing like the last couple of times, so rough and nearly violent with their desperation. No, these kisses are brief and soft, gentle presses of his lips against yours between words like he can’t help himself.
“I thought you were dead.” You don’t mean to say it. You don’t mean to acknowledge it. “Matt left you to die.”
“And you mourned me.” Another kiss. Slower this time. More lingering. You need to pull away from him. You need to shove him the fuck off of you. This is so wrong. So fucked up. He has killed so many people. Lied so many times. He’s fucking batshit insane. “I saw you. You were about to confront Fisk. For me.”
“I don’t know what I was gonna do.” You breathe, and your eyes are already falling closed. Your body is giving in to him like it doesn’t belong to you. Your heart is still beating heavy in your throat.
Dex. Dex. Dex. Dex.
This time, you lean up and press your lips to his. Wrap your arms around his neck. Tangle your fingers in his hair and devour him. He makes a noise that’s almost akin to a whimper against your mouth, his own hands flying up to your face to angle your head so he can kiss you fucking breathless.
You bite at his lip. Pull at his hair like you’re trying to punish him for how much you want this. How much you missed him. How fucking good this feels.
He moans, lifts you onto the counter and presses his body up against yours like he can’t get close enough. Cradles the back of your head and all but sobs into your mouth when you whimper and kiss him hard enough that his teeth click against yours.
You hear a soft, metallic noise, and feel cool metal on your thigh as Dex slices through the fabric of your bloodstained dress to allow himself more room to press his large body between your legs, the prison guard uniform digging into your burning skin and making you arch against him.
You slide your hand over his neck, thumb digging into the thin cut beneath his chin. His moan vibrates through your entire body, and you smear the blood over his throat as you angle his head to pull him closer to you.
His hand slams into the cupboard by your head like he’s trying to brace himself, the fingers of his free hand gripping your hair so tightly you see stars, blunt teeth digging into your lip like a silent and desperate plea for more.
“Say my name.” He whispers, rough, and you don’t. You fucking moan his name, a sound you’ve never heard from yourself before ripping its way from your chest and making him shake as he releases you to rip his gloves off like separation between your skin is physically burning him.
He doesn’t leave you for long, warm fingers sliding up your thigh and trailing sparks in their wake until you’re trembling against him. Until you’re gripping the back of his head and yanking him down to kiss you again. His fingers slide higher. Higher. Until they’re curling in the waistband of your underwear and every kiss comes on a swallowed and ragged breath.
You nod your consent, fingers curling even more tightly against his scalp, and he kisses you again. You hear the click of the knife, feel the flat end of the blade slide up your thigh again, and can’t find the words to complain as he slices your underwear from your body.
When his long, skilled fingers reach the apex of your thighs, and he feels just how desperate you are for him, the noise that rips from his throat sounds like the most fucked up prayer that’s ever been uttered.
“Fuck.” He pulls back, presses his nose against your temple, and when his fingers immediately find the spot that has you fucking whining you hear a breathless chuckle against your ear.
“Never miss.” He whispers, cocky and infuriating and agonizingly intimate in the dark apartment, and you’re going to fucking kill him.
Kill. Kill.
All those people. Father Lantom. Nadeem. Foggy.
Clarity rips back into you like a fucking car crash. Like a bolt of lightning. It freezes your burning blood, rises to your throat, and makes you shove him so hard his back hits the wall across from you with a dull thud.
You’re just as breathless as him, and his eyes are on fire as they look into yours. As they rake over you, slow and hungry, and he doesn’t even try to catch his breath even as he realizes why you pushed him away.
“Why?” He asks, but he knows. He knows and he’s goading you and you need to make yourself-
“I hate you.” It is the least convincing sentence you have ever uttered. You’re still breathless, still flushed with need, still spread out on your kitchen counter with his name lingering on your kiss-swollen lips.
Slowly, without looking away from you, he raises his fingers to his mouth, and your next breath catches on a whimper at the sight.
He moves forward at the sound, and your foot flies up to stop him, heel digging into his chest.
Something flashes in his eyes. Something you can’t place. You don’t know what’s in your own expression, but you see him scan it. Watch the breath shudder out of his chest as his hand rises up to trail lovingly over your calf.
And then, scarred and beautiful and illuminated by moonlight, he drops to his knees.
Benjamin Poindexter looks up at you like he’s worshipping at your fucking altar, and refuses to look away from you as his lips press against the skin below your knee.
“Stop it.” You try. You really do.
He shakes his head, and blunt nails drag down over your thigh as he moves closer. Kisses higher. Keeps his eyes locked on yours as he guides your heel over his shoulder.
“Dex.” It’s supposed to be a warning. It comes out as a plea.
And then he’s right where you need him, on his knees before you with your hands gripping at his hair and his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you in place, and it feels so good that your eyes are watering with something between pleasure and emotion so intense it’s going to drown you.
Your hand leaves his hair, flying up to scramble for purchase on the creaky old cupboard behind your head as Dex doubles his efforts like he’s desperate to pull more noises from you. He moans into you, gripping you more tightly as your heel digs into his back, and your hand leaves the cupboard to slap over your mouth as a near-wail of pleasure echoes off the walls. It doesn’t do much. Doesn’t muffle your helpless noises nearly enough, and before long Dex is sliding his large hand up your body to pull your palm away from your mouth, fingers tangling with yours as his too-skilled tongue turns your blood to lava in your veins.
You fall apart in minutes, shattering with a sharp gasp of his name as your thighs tremble and your nails dig into his scalp. He pulls back like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, resting his head against your thigh and staring up at you with a breathless smile on his lips and you want to hate him so badly it hurts.
But you pull yourself off of the counter, slide onto his lap and kiss him hard as you fumble blindly with the belt of his stupid fucking prison guard uniform, and before you know it he’s rolled you onto your back and you’re ripping his shirt open as he hikes your ruined dress up over your hips and-
“Tell me you want this.” He rasps, low against your ear, and when you nod emphatically he grabs your chin and turns your face towards his. “Tell me.”
“I want this.” It’s a sick, horrible confession, but it’s true. “I want you.”
He groans, like it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever heard, and his first thrust hits home and your moan is loud enough to wake the neighbors.
“I love you.” He breathes against your lips, as you scramble at him like a wild fucking animal, desperate for more. “I love you.”
You won’t say it back. You can’t say it back. This is already fucked up beyond belief.
He holds you like he’s trying to touch every inch of you at once, lips trailing down your jaw until every near-whimper is vibrating against your ear. You can’t stop touching him, either. You yank at his open button-up shirt so hard you hear it rip, until he moves to help you pull it the rest of the way off of him, bracing himself against the floor beside your head and rolling his hips into yours until you’re sobbing his name on every breath.
When you break for a second time, your nails are dragging thin red marks down the skin of his back. He doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps relentlessly hitting that spot inside you until the pleasure builds up all over again and it is fucking unbearable.
“Dex.” You manage to gasp, mindless, head rolling back against the floor as he bites at your shoulder and speeds up his movements until you’re practically sobbing.
“One more.” He growls, low and rough and just as wrecked as you are. “Give me one more.”
The third time, he’s right there with you, pressing his nose into the hollow of your throat with a groan of your name that burrows its way into your very bloodstream. Locks itself in your soul and becomes just as much a part of you as the color of your eyes and the bones beneath your skin.
It takes a long time for you to come back to earth. Longer for Dex to pull himself away from you, just enough to roll onto his back and tug you into his side.
“I love you.” You whisper, like a shameful confession, and he shudders like the sound of it is a drug and he’s more than happy to relapse.
He pulls you closer. You rest your cheek against the sweat-damp skin of his chest. Try to even out your breathing as he cards his fingers through your hair.
You have to go. You have to get out of here. Fisk is gonna be coming for you soon.
He grunts, and you make a soft noise as he sits up and gathers you into his arms, drags himself to his feet and carries you into your bedroom.
Everything is so different, now. Dex is a killer. A monster. Your life has been flipped upside down and shaken like a damn snowglobe. You’re probably going to be assassinated soon.
And yet, as Dex helps you out of your ruined dress, skating his fingers and lips over the newly exposed skin, and reaches into your dresser drawer, it’s all so familiar that you ache.
He digs to the bottom, and his grin is triumphant as he pulls an old FBI t-shirt out. His T-shirt. The one you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away.
He slides it over your head, presses a kiss to your cheek, and smiles a little wider when you relax.
And then, when he’s cleaned you up and pulled you into the rest of your pajamas, he smooths out the sheets behind you like a ritual before he lays you down atop them, sliding his body over yours and kissing you until you melt into your cheap comforter.
You make love again. You don’t think either of you even mean to. It isn’t as desperate as the first time, not nearly as mindless and rough, but his kisses deepen and he slides his scarred hand down your back until he’s shifting you beneath him, murmuring a quiet plea against your throat as his fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts that you respond to with another emphatic nod. And then he’s sliding them off, and you’re unbuttoning his pants again, and his tongue is tracing silent sonnets over your skin until you’re writhing against him.
He doesn’t tease, but he still seems to savor every second. He nudges your knees apart with his own, and pushes into you with a groan of your name. He moves with you like the tide, builds you until the wave crests and whispers praises against your ear as it crashes through you. You kiss him, tell him how good it all feels, and he tells you he loves you until he’s hoarse with it.
When it’s over, and you’re lying together in the rumpled sheets and he’s breathing shakily against your forehead and holding you like you might vanish at any moment, you finally speak again.
“We’re not back together.” You mumble, and he hums like you just told him the sky is purple but he couldn’t care less. Like it’s such a ridiculous lie that he may as well indulge it for now.
You frown, but you don’t double down. There’s no point, really. You know him. You know he’s not letting you go anywhere.
“How do I fix it?” He finally asks, and your brow furrows as you sit up a little to look at him.
“What?”
“How do I make you forgive me? For Fog-“
Your hand flies up to cover his mouth as if of its own accord. The movement surprises even you.
“Don’t say his name.” You snap, pain curling in your stomach. Guilt, too. But not enough. You’re lying naked in bed with the man who killed one of your best friends, and you don’t feel guilty enough, and you hate yourself for it. “You still don’t get to say his name.”
He looks at you. Nods. You pull your hand back, and he chases your lips with his own.
He kisses you. You kiss him back. You keep trying to hate yourself for it.
“What do I do?” He asks again, and he looks so earnest that you want to die.
You don’t know what crosses your face. What expression is in your eyes, but his own melt into a look of pure desperation.
It takes you a while to speak, and even when you do, the words spill unpracticed and quiet from your lips.
“He was good.” You whisper, and grief tugs at your stomach with enough force to nearly cripple you. “Foggy was so…good.”
“You said I was good, once.” Dex murmurs, brow twitching a little in that way it does when he’s trying to understand something.
“I did.” You reach up, hesitate, and give in. Your fingers trace over the scar on his cheek. “I think…I think you can be. You can be good.”
He melts. He turns his cheek into your palm, looks at you like you are both heaven and earth and everything in between. “I’ll be anything you want. I’ll do anything for you.”
Your heart crumples, and you see it. You shouldn’t, and you’re fucked up for it, but you see it. You see how he thinks. How he is. How he’s been manipulated and hurt and how he’s hurt others and you still fucking love him.
“I want to kill Fisk.” You whisper, like it hurts, and he reaches up to curl a lock of your hair around his finger like you just admitted nothing more intense than liking sugar in your coffee. “I want them both dead. And I don’t want it…I don’t want it for the right reasons, I think.”
“Why do you want it?”
“Revenge.” You whisper. “The greater good, yeah, but revenge. They killed Foggy. They hurt you. I want them to die for it.”
“Hm.” He slides his hand up your back, palm flat and warm, and turns his nose into your cheek. “If I help you kill them…it balances the scales.”
You frown. “It-“
“A good deed, to make up for the bad. Right?” He presses a kiss to your ear, and your eyes fall closed. “It balances out. You’ll forgive me.”
“I can’t forgive you.” You can’t. You shouldn’t. You won’t.
Even if you understand how his mind works. How he was tricked and manipulated and taken advantage of. Even if you understand him.
You pull back, look into his eyes, and the look on his face breaks something inside of you. The desperate hope. The need.
“We’re probably gonna have to move tomorrow. Fisk definitely wants me dead.” You murmur, and brush your lips over his.
He smiles. “We’ll move.” We. You and him.
“If we do this, you don’t do it for me. I’m not making you do anything.”
“I do everything for you.” He says, matter-of-fact, and closes the distance enough to peck you on the lips. “But okay. Let’s kill ‘em all.”
-
“Such a sweet boy.” The old woman across the hall is absolutely enamored with Dex, or should you say ‘Tony’. Sometimes you think he’s enjoying it a little too much. Especially now, as he crouches down to slide a fried egg into her cat’s bowl. “And what are you two up to?”
“Takin’ the missus to lunch.” He answers smoothly, sliding his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You smile brightly, and endure a few more minutes of cooing and fawning before making your way down the hall. He keeps his arm around you the whole time, humming absentmindedly as you make your way out into the street.
“You have got to stop telling her we’re married.” You chastise, and he doesn’t let you go even as he flips a coin behind him into a homeless man’s cup.
“I didn’t.”
“You just called me ‘the missus’.”
He’s smiling, a little too proud of himself. “Could mean anything.”
You still insist that you’re not back together. He still allows you to, but he seems to find it more amusing than bothersome. Which, you suppose, is understandable. After all, you woke up in his arms just this morning, like you do every morning. And, like you do most nights, you spent the majority of the evening moaning his name.
But fuck, he’s like a drug to you. You tried so, so hard to hate him. To pretend like he was a monster. Maybe he is, but maybe you are too.
Because whatever Benjamin Poindexter is made of, it calls out to something intrinsic within you. He knows it, and he’s just waiting for you to admit it.
You don’t know if the spring in his step and the smile on his face is from your activities last night or anticipation of what’s about to happen, but you would say it’s safe to blame both as he holds the door of the diner open for you with an exaggerated chivalry. And, because it’s him and he’s an asshole, he makes you yelp as you walk ahead of him with a playful swat to your ass.
You glare. He smiles, and leads you to the counter.
“You two ready to order?”
The woman behind the counter looks tired. Dex smiles like he’s been practicing how to, sweet and with his eyes crinkled in the corners. Sometimes, when you look at him, scarred and huge and absolutely fucking bonkers, you wonder how much he’s changed since you bumped into him on the street all that time ago. How much you’ve changed.
“My wife and I will have a…banana milkshake, then.” He grins at you, and it is so annoyingly hard not to smile back. “Does that sound good, sweetheart?”
You snort. “Sounds perfect, darling.”
His fingers come up, catching your chin and turning your head to him so he can press a soft, smiling kiss to your lips.
“Cute. I’ll be right back with that.” The woman says blandly, disappearing behind the counter as Dex pulls back.
“Menace.” You accuse, and he pats your cheek before he pulls out his phone.
He makes the worst, least convincing phone call you’ve ever heard. So unconvincing, in fact, that you almost giggle as he says “oh shit, he’s got a gun” in the most monotone voice you’ve ever heard. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. They rarely do. Like when you’re near, he’s locked in on a target.
Then again, hasn’t it always been that way?
You did the research. You did the tracking. All you have to do now is wait.
Dex unwraps two straws, carefully places them both in the milkshake, and leans down to take a sip.
You smile at him, roll your eyes, and lean down to the other straw.
You swear, in moments like this, that his eyes could be little cartoon hearts. He doesn’t stop smiling. Doesn’t look away. And shit, if you don’t feel like baby bluebirds could be tweeting around your own head. Like you’re the only two people in the whole world. Cue the cheesy, romantic music. Cue the world vanishing around you until it’s just you and him in this diner, smiling like idiots and sharing a milkshake.
You glance down at your phone. Watch him finish the milkshake. “Forty five seconds.”
He grunts, calm and relaxed, and starts pulling on his gloves. Pulls a toothpick out of the cup beside you.
“Aren’t you gonna tell me to take cover?” You hum, and the corner of his mouth rises even higher.
“No one’s gonna touch you.” You believe him, and you like that he acknowledges that you know what you’re doing.
“Everybody get on the ground!”
You throw your hands in the air, view blocked by Dex’s large frame, and shriek like a dramatic damsel in a movie.
His shoulders shake once. A silent laugh.
“Too much?” You ask, just as they shout again and come closer.
A toothpick finds its home in the ATVF officer’s eye, and all hell breaks loose.
You climb onto your chair, just in time for Dex to push you over the counter. You land with a roll, and in a second he’s on top of you, hands over your head and body covering yours.
“That was a really great milkshake.” He mumbles almost conversationally as the bullets slow, and you reach up to pull his mask the rest of the way down for him before he climbs off of you and snatches up a handful of silverware.
You manage to get to your feet just in time to watch three officers fall with forks sticking out of their eyes. Unfortunately, it’s also just in time for another man to grab you and press the barrel of a gun to your temple.
“Stand down!” He shouts, right by your ear, and digs the barrel in harder. Deeper.
Dex turns, and tilts his head.
“Ow.” You pat the arm wrapped around your throat. “Wrong move, dude.”
He screams as a fork impales the back of his hand, and you feel two more whir past you before they find their homes in his face. Not kill shots. Not yet. When you turn, he’s moaning on the ground with cutlery sticking out of his cheek and eye.
You tuck yourself into a booth as the rest of the men go down, bullets and weapons finally coming to a stop. Heavy bootsteps land beside you, and Dex pulls his mask off as the man in front of you trembles and clings to a tiny dog in his lap.
“Dogs in restaurants are unsanitary.” He says, genuinely perplexed but not quite annoyed.
“P-Please don’t kill me.” The man whimpers. Dex smiles in that unnerving way he has, and you smile too as you grab a bottle of ketchup off of the table.
“Don’t worry.” He takes your hand, stands you up with him, and throws a final pair of forks behind him to slam home into the retreating form of the man who just held the gun to your head. “We’re the good guys.”
You draw a bullseye on the door. He kisses the side of your head as you make your way out of the diner, stepping carefully over shattered glass with the sound of sirens wailing down the street.
-
ONE YEAR EARLIER
“This is no way to live, Benjamin.”
Vanessa Fisk sits across from him. He tries to focus on her. On anything. His mind has been scrambled since he was checked into this place. The cocktail of pills they have him taking every day makes it hard to think.
But you’re still there. You. You. You.
He lies in his bed at night, stares at the ceiling and blinks like his eyes are weighed down by anvils, and if he focuses hard enough he can almost feel your head on his chest. Almost feel your soft hair against his nose. Maybe your fingers tracing over his skin, soothing and warm.
Your voice, lips barely brushing his own. “You’re a good man, Dex…”
And he’ll reach up, searching for you, wanting to pull you to him and feel your body against his. Wanting you so badly that the pain is overwhelming.
And there’s nothing there. And the room is cold.
“I miss you.” He’ll murmur to the darkness, tongue heavier than his eyelids. And he won’t hear anything back.
Now, Vanessa Fisk pushes something towards him. A picture.
Of you.
His near-useless hand paws at the table, something like desperation surging through him as he grasps for it. They won’t let him have any pictures of you here. They call you one of his ‘victims’. He hasn’t seen your face in so long.
“She misses you.” And a part of him knows Vanessa is manipulating him. Even through the drugs, and the longing, he knows it.
And yet, she pushes the picture toward him a little more, and there you are.
You. You. You.
You, at that bar he found you at. The second time you met. You’re with Foggy Nelson, Matt Murdock, and Karen Page. You’re smiling, but not with your eyes. He knows what it looks like when you smile with your eyes.
You look sad. His eye twitches with the urge to fix it. The urge to touch you.
His fingers curl against the picture.
“I know what it is to love someone so much that being separated feels like…” Vanessa’s voice is gentle. Kind. Vulnerable, even. Dex can’t stop looking at the picture of you. That vulnerability in her voice is reaching him, matching with his own. “Like a hollowness in your soul.”
He makes a soft noise. It sounds desperate, even to his own ears.
His fingers curl a little more against the picture. Brushing over your cheek. Missing the feeling of your skin against his.
“They talk to her about you.”
His eyes, still slowed by the pills, move up to her face.
“They tell her that you were evil. Horrible. She is trying to convince herself that it’s true.” Vanessa leans forward, earnest. “If you want her, you cannot let that happen.”
His eyes fall helplessly back to the picture of you.
Vanessa slides a contract his way. He doesn’t look at it. His trembling fingers trace the printed line of your cheek.
“You can have her again. I only need one…favor. But you will have your freedom, and she will have hers.”
You. You. You.
Vanessa’s manicured finger taps the picture. Taps the face of Foggy Nelson. “I need you to kill him, and one of his clients.”
Dex looks up, a muddled question in his eyes. Foggy is your friend. You like Foggy. Foggy-
“They are poisoning her mind.” Vanessa repeats. “I do not want to see you lose the woman you love, Benjamin. I am offering you a mutually beneficial opportunity.”
You are so beautiful it hurts to look at you. His shaking hand holds the pen. Hesitates. He tries to form a clear and straightforward thought.
“With your freedom, you can get back to her.”
Back to you.
He signs the contract.
-
One good deed, and it’s all better. And you forgive him.
Not like you haven’t already. Even if you won’t admit it, he knows you have. He can see it on your face. Feel it in your quickened breaths at night when he’s got you laid out on the sheets, or on the couch, or against the wall…
And when you eat breakfast together, and he’s staring at you and you’re grinning right back at him, and the sounds of the chaos and the city and the world around him fade and everything is just you. You. You. You.
You’re out at the bodega down the street, grabbing more bandages and water. You’ll be back in ten minutes, tops.
You’re gonna be mad at him. He hates that.
But Matt Murdock showed up four minutes ago, and now the apartment is an absolute fucking wreck, and the lady down the hall is screaming and terrified because Dex had to use her as a human shield for a minute there, and you’re gonna come home to that wreck and worry but…
One good deed. He can do it now. Earn your forgiveness. Earn his redemption. If he doesn’t move now, he might lose his chance. And then what? What’s the point of living if it’s in a world absent of your love? Despite everything, he can’t help but fear a day when you decide that you can’t forgive him. That his sins were simply too much. Where you deprive him of the love you offer now because you just can’t seem to help it, where you stop smiling at him and letting him touch you completely.
No, he has to go now. Killing Fisk solidifies your forgiveness. Allows him to keep you. Keeps the world balanced right.
So he leaves. He leaves the apartment for the last time, and prays to whatever God might exist that you’ll forgive him.
-
He throws the snowglobe. Plans the trajectory against Wilson Fisks’s swing. Watches the shard pierce Vanessa Fisk’s temple.
It was easy. Almost too easy.
But the bullet. That’s the problem. That landed home, and it hit all the wrong places.
He’s going to bleed out. You’re going to be upset.
But he did it. One good deed. He didn’t kill Fisk, but he killed Vanessa. At least, at the very least, he took that pain away. She ordered the hit on Foggy. Your friend. She made you hurt. She just made him the weapon. And now, she’s going to die.
-
“Mrs. Smithers, please shut up.”
She’s screaming, and crying, and you should probably be comforting her. ‘Tony’ just held a gun to her head, after all. And yet, you have bigger things to worry about.
Two minutes, and they’ll be here. Cops have been called. AVTF is on the way, guns blazing and you have seconds to find him and your heart is hammering in your chest in that familiar staccato beat.
Dex. Dex. DexDexDex.
There. The church. The fucking church, of all places.
Vanessa Fisk, mortally wounded. Daredevil and Bullseye at the boxing match. Dex Dex DexDexDex.
You smash your computer against the counter, cracking it in half, and bolt.
You take the fire escape, and begin scrambling down just as you hear them bursting into the hall.
And you pray, with every last shred of your desperate heart, that you’re not too late.
-
He’s bleeding out. He knows it. Seen it enough times to know he doesn’t have long, and Murdock isn’t gonna stick around to help him.
He misses you. He wishes you were here.
The dizziness of blood loss is a little frustrating, but Murdock is busy calling him a piece of shit. Fair. He shot his best friend, after all. If you’re still mad about that, it makes sense that he would be too.
“One last good deed.” He hums, propped up against the wall as blood leaks between his fingers, pooling onto the floor beneath him. “N’then she forgives me.”
“Asshole.” A whole conversation in the pews a minute ago, Dex’s whole speech about how he’s making it better and earning forgiveness and getting his mind back, and that’s all the guy can say. He thought lawyers were supposed to be more eloquent.
“Take care of her when I’m gone.” You. You. You. He sees Daredevil tense. He’s pissed at you, sure, but he cares about you. So Dex smiles, tired, and tilts his head back against the wall, confident in his next words. “Yeah, you will.” And if he ever touches you, Dex will return as a ghost and put a pencil through his eye. But hey, just something to worry about in the afterlife.
Murdock stutters some sort of apology. Has a whole little crisis about whether or not he can save him. He’s so stressed it’s almost funny, but he’s not gonna save Dex. He did it. He earned forgiveness. It’s time for judgement day.
The room pulses. The sounds of ATVF bootsteps echo above. His eyes close, and you’ll be okay. You forgave him. You didn’t admit it aloud, but he doesn’t need that. Never did.
Judgement day ticks ever-closer.
“Dex!”
His eyes open, and it’s too bright in the dark room. He’s too tired, but…
There you are. In the church and illuminated by low light like an angel. He smiles, bloody and exhausted and more than a little out of it. “Hey, baby.”
“Wake up. Dex, wake up.” You sound so panicked. So scared. For him. You love him. You. You. You….
“Dex! Fuck, please wake up. C’mon.” You’re pulling at him, trying to drag him across the floor and failing miserably, and he wishes you would just stay. Just admit that this is hopeless and let him hold you close. Admit that you love him, and that you need him, and let him feel your breath and smell your hair in his last few minutes on this earth.
“Fuck. Why are you so heavy?! Where’s Matt?” You’re trying to get your hands under his shoulders. It’s a little funny, but it hurts like a bitch when you jostle his bullet wound, so he grabs you and spins you down in front of him.
“In the wind.” He reaches up, fingers sliding over your cheek and smearing it with red. Fucking beautiful. They write poems about this shit. About women so lovely they steal souls and start wars. “You gotta go, too.”
“Fat fucking chance.” You press your forehead to his, unbothered by the blood, and cradle his own face in your hands. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you.”
Oh, that’s the best thing he’s ever heard. It’s the first time you’ve said it since that night on your kitchen floor, when you were still lying beneath him and still catching your breath and still all his after so much time. Back then, you whispered it like some horrible confession. Sweet music to his ears.
“My girl.” He’s fading. He’s fading fast. You hold him more tightly, smearing his own blood on his face as he does the same to you, the matching stains like a tether. Like a claim. “North Star….”
“Dex. Dex. Stop. Wake up. Don’t leave me don't you dare leave me-“
The sound of your voice is swallowed by the tide, and he doesn’t close his eyes, refuses to look away from you, but his vision begins to blur.
And then, from deep under the water, he hears it.
The door creaking open. Your panicked voice as your head whips to the side, dislodging his bloody hand from your cheek.
“Matt?! Matt! Help him! Please-“
…
-
You’re by his bedside. You have been for hours.
Karen is not happy with you. Neither is Matt. Soledad is stitching up Dex’s wound, pulling the bullet out, and he keeps waking up.
Not only does he keep waking up, he keeps jolting awake from the pain. Keeps squeezing your hand so tightly you wonder if he’ll break bone. Keeps finding your face in the haze of sleep and agony, and grinning like a lunatic when your eyes meet.
And then he’s healed. Somewhat. For now. And you’re fighting exhaustion of your own in the chair you’ve pulled up to the cot he’s asleep in.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Karen sounds pissed. You get it. But Dex is pale and his breathing is ragged and slow and you can’t let go of his hand.
“Hey, Karen.” The casual tone of your voice is insulting. You know it. You think you’ve been spending too much time with Dex.
“Him?” Matt isn’t here. Not now. You see sweat on Dex’s brow. Look down to make sure that his bandages are still in place. Every time his breathing slows even a little, your ears ring and your vision narrows.
“Yeah.” You don’t look away from him. You’re still covered in his blood. “Cute, right?” A lame joke, like he’s some boy you just met at the bar, rather than…well, fucking Bullseye.
“We’ve been trying to find you. We thought he kidnapped you.”
Your thumb trails its way over bruised knuckles again. “Well…I mean, he kinda did.” However things ended up that night after the party, you’re pretty confident that he wasn’t going to let you leave. Not without him.
“Are you sleeping with him?” You’re getting a little tired of the twenty questions.
“I’m in love with him.” You answer simply, and hear her suck in a horrified breath.
“He killed Foggy.”
“I know.” Dex stirs, just barely, like he might be reacting to your admission even in sleep. You squeeze his hand, and when you reach up to brush your thumb over his cheek he turns his face into your palm. “And I still love him. Isn’t that fucked up?”
-
He wakes cuffed to the cot. They’re worried about what he might do. Honestly, you’re surprised they didn’t cuff you too.
He winces as his eyes open, and smiles when they land on you. His low rasp of a voice is even more gravelly, hoarse with sleep and pain.
“Hey, baby.”
He always says that in the most fucked up situations. It always makes your heart beat a little faster.
He sits up, slowly, and pulls at the cuffs on the bed.
“Do your staples hurt?” You ask, eyes falling down to the bandages.
He grunts in acknowledgment. “C’mere.”
You do, slowly, and it’s only then that he seems to notice the gun.
“You gonna shoot me?” He asks, smile widening a little as he tilts his head to the side.
“I might.” You reach down, slip a paper clip into the cuff on his right wrist, and hear it pop free. He makes a soft noise, rolling his wrist once before sliding his hand up your back as you sink down to straddle his lap.
He leans in to kiss you. You press the barrel against his forehead and push him back. He smiles even wider.
“You disappeared.” You hum, and he pushes his forehead a little more into the gun. “You tried to get yourself killed.”
“Balancing the scales.”
“You got shot. You almost died. I watched you die.”
“You love me.” He breathes it like the memory is a fucking treasure - a shot of heroin straight to the system. His hand tightens on your back, pulling you more firmly onto his lap.
“I still hate you. For Foggy.” It’s a lie, but it should be true. He hums, and you slide the gun around to his temple.
“You love me.” He repeats, and brushes his nose against yours.
“I do.” You admit, soft, and he kisses you. Hard. Slow. His fingers slide up into your hair, curling into a fist behind your head as he completely ignores the firearm digging into his skull.
You pull back, and push it in harder.
“Listen to me, Poindexter.” You murmur, low and dark as your own hand slides up to his hair, pulling his head back and making him groan as he looks at you with a blissed-out grin on his scarred face. “Never do that shit again. You don’t get to leave me. Not now, not ever.”
Words he’s said to you before, albeit in different forms, back when you told yourself you hated him.
“Never.” He agrees, and his eyes fall closed like he would die happy if you pulled the trigger right now. He opens them after a moment, and leans up to bump his nose against yours again. “Wanna put that down?”
“I could shoot you.” You don’t know why you’re saying it. You’re smiling too.
“No bullets.” He hums, pleased. “And it’s not loaded.”
You laugh, and wonder just how crazy you’ve become. “The FBI trained you too well.”
He uses his free arm to tug you a little closer, until there’s no more space between your bodies, and you drop the unloaded gun in favor of wrapping your arms around him again.
“Not the FBI. I know you.” He kisses you again, in that slow and determined way, and slides the palm of his hand up beneath your shirt. “Uncuff me.”
You smile, and shake your head. Push him back down and chase his lips with your own.
He hums, nips playfully at your lip, and tugs on the other handcuff until it rattles.
“You’re injured.” You murmur, muffled by his kiss, and he tangles his fingers in your hair again.
“Feels better.”
“Liar.”
He grunts, and rocks his hips against yours. “This feels better. Let me touch you.”
“You are touching me.”
“Let me touch you more.”
You reach down between you, as wrong and stupid as it is, and unbuckle his belt.
He makes a very pleased noise, and moves his free hand down to unbutton your jeans.
“Uncuff me.” He growls again, demanding, as you shuffle out of your pants and move to pull his down.
“No.”
He pulls you back down to him by the back of your neck, traces his tongue over your ear. “Don’t wanna do this with one hand.”
“I could cuff your other hand.”
He grunts, and the next roll of his hips is harder. More punishing. You gasp, control slipping a little more than you want to admit, and he pulls at the hem of your blood-stained shirt.
“Off.”
You comply, and he leans back to look you over like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. You love how he looks at you like that. You love him so much it hurts.
“Your staples.” You murmur, as he drags himself back up to a sitting position, pulling you more firmly onto his lap until you can feel the very prominent evidence of his desire against you.
“Doesn’t hurt.”
It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to focus as he moves his hand down to slide your underwear over your legs. You maneuver to help him, and his own breath catches in his throat.
“Liar, liar.” It comes out as a whisper, soft and teasing as you press a soft kiss to his lips, and his own lips curl into a smile.
“I want it to hurt.” He noses at your jaw. Down to the hollow of your throat. “Reminds me I’m alive.”
You kiss him, hard, because he is alive and he’s here with you and you suddenly need him so badly it hurts. When you finally sink down onto his lap, bodies joining and breath shaking with the feeling of becoming one, he buries a groan into your hair, hips stuttering as you begin to rock against him. Your thighs burn already at the angle, and he meets your movements with his own as he crushes you to him. It must hurt, and you want to tell him so, but when you open your mouth he groans low against your neck and finds that spot that has your toes curling and hands flying up to find purchase on his shoulders.
You slide your hands over his cheeks, pull his face back so you can kiss him breathless, and pleasure begins to build almost alarmingly fast in your core. You almost lost him. You love him. He’s kissing you like you’re the only oxygen he’s ever wanted to breathe and dragging his rough palm up over your bare back as he meets your movements with his own. The cuff rattles against the chair, but despite his restricted movement and injuries he’s still using his one arm to move you in his lap, angling your body to hit that spot in your core that has you gasping desperately against his lips.
One particularly rough thrust has him hissing in pain, and the reminder of exactly why he’s hurting like this possesses you in the strangest way as you slide your hand down to grip his throat, forcing his gaze to your own.
And there’s so much power in it. In watching this large, scarred, deadly man stare at you like he’s in awe of your existence. The sight of it alone has you falling apart, moaning his name as your body spasms against his. He clings to you, and your hand squeezes around his throat as he pushes his forehead against yours like he’s drinking in the sight of you, too.
“Mine.” You whisper, and he falls over the edge so violently you wonder if he might pass out, hand dropping down to grip your thigh tight enough to bruise.
You sit there for a while, tracing your fingers down the scar on his back as he catches his breath with his forehead pressed against your shoulder.
“I have to re-cuff you.” You murmur eventually, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He uses his free arm to grip you tighter.
“No. Don’t move.”
“If they walk in here and see you uncuffed and inside me, they’ll probably cuff me too.” You hum, and feel him smile as his teeth dig playfully into your collarbone. You turn your head, lips brushing his ear in a conspiratorial whisper. “They think I’m crazy.”
He laughs, broad shoulders shaking as he pulls back to kiss you.
“Love you.” His fingers trace up your body, trailing slowly over your heated skin.
“Love you too, psycho.” You kiss his cheek. “No more suicide missions, or it’s both cuffs.”
Something sparks in his eyes. “Promise?”
“Both cuffs, and no touching.”
He frowns, and kisses you again like he’s trying to prove that he’s allowed to touch you now. “No more suicide missions.”
-
When Matt comes an hour or so later, you’re fully dressed and back in your chair at Dex’s bedside, one eye closed in concentration as you aim a knife at a bullseye you drew on the wall.
You throw it, and it bounces off the wooden surface and clatters to the ground.
“Flick your wrist.” Dex says, but his eyes are on you, hungry and dark. He’s tried to teach you how to aim weapons a few times before, and the lessons have more often than not been cut short by whatever seems to ignite in him like a bonfire at the sight of you holding a knife. It helps now that he’s in cuffs, but despite your activities earlier he looks damn close to trying to break out of them.
You pick up the knife, and try again. It sticks a little outside of the center, but it sticks. You turn to grin at Dex. He grins back, and the expression is downright feral.
“Uncuff me.”
“Bad boy. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
Any response he may have, inappropriate or demanding or whatever it may be, is interrupted as the door swings open and Matt walks in. Angry. Silent.
He uncuffs Dex roughly. Sits across from him and doesn’t even acknowledge you. Rude, but fair. You can still understand why he and Karen are so pissed at you, even if you find it a little difficult to care.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I hate you for Foggy. And Father Lantom. And Agent Nadeem.” Dex’s eyes are right on you as he rolls his wrists, stretching the no-doubt stiff muscles and seemingly oblivious to how off-putting it must be that he won’t even spare a glance toward the man telling him how much he hates him. “And I even hate you for what you did to her. Whatever you did that broke her mind.”
“Woah, hey. I’m of completely sound mind.” You snap, defensive. Matt doesn’t turn around.
“Your shirt is on inside out.”
You look down, flush, and look back up in time to see Dex smirk.
“Dick.” You grumble, because he definitely knew, and he definitely didn’t tell you on purpose. You frown at Matt again. “I didn’t uncuff him.”
“Not all the way.” Dex supplies, and you glare so hard his smirk turns into a manic grin.
“Shut up.”
“Stop. Both of you stop.” Matt snaps, annoyingly serious Daredevil voice and all, and it takes a significant amount of effort to swallow your response and sit back in your chair.
He talks about forgiveness. About how he needs it for his own sake, and not for Dex’s or even yours.
But you saw Matt’s face, when you found him at the gala. When he tried to pull you out of there before you got yourself hurt in your anger and grief. And in the church, when he pulled you and Dex to safety as you begged the near-unconscious man to stay with you. To live because despite it all you couldn’t fucking lose him.
He’s angry. He’s hurting. But he cares about you. And you care about him, too. Your love for Dex doesn’t make those years of friendship just go away.
And then, the ultimate question. Aimed directly at Dex. “So, do you wanna do one good thing in a life full of shit?”
Benjamin Poindexter turns to you. You smile at him, an entire conversation passing between the two of you in the span of a second before he rolls his shoulders and turns to Matt.
“What do you need me to do?”
-
The whistle echoes through the vast expanse of the room. Three floors up. Directly and strategically across from the courthouse.
Four ATVF officers whirl, guns raised, and…
And then lowered out of pure confusion.
A woman stands in the doorway, in casual clothes, with her eyes wide and her hands raised in shocked and horrified surrender.
“I-I was just looking for the bathroom.”
Shit. A civilian. They’re gonna have to figure out what to do with her, now. There’s no way she didn’t see the fake Bullseye across the room, and if she tells anyone-
“Wait, please don’t shoot! I know what you do, right? You’re the good guys? You find vigilantes and…you know…” she curls her fingers into the shape of a pistol, aiming at the closest officer’s head, and pretends to fire in demonstration.
Exactly where the woman ‘shot’ him, a knife appears, jutting out right between a pair of wide eyes.
He goes down.
She jumps, surprised, and inspects her hand with alarm like smoke might start coming out of her fingers.
And then, she aims again, almost experimentally, at the second officer. The moment she ‘fires’, another knife flies through the air and hits home.
Just as the shock begins to wear off, spurring the startled men into action, she lowers her other hand into the same shape, and ‘shoots’ the final two men in rapid succession before they can even think to lift their guns.
And then, when all that’s left is the ‘fake Bullseye’, who is still standing there frozen and confused, she laughs.
The sound of heavy bootsteps echoes through the room.
“That was even more fun the third time.” She says, tone bright and amused as she tilts her head back towards the source of the sound.
Bullseye, the real one, appears behind her, and his low chuckle is the most frightening sound the other man has ever fucking heard.
The new Bullseye fires his gun, and screams as his hand is impaled by a knife. He goes down, crumpling to his knees and cradling the bleeding appendage, and his counterpart walks casually forward with the mysterious woman behind him.
He’s only in pain for a few seconds, just long enough to be pushed to the ground, and just long enough to see the glimpse of another knife before it finds its home in his eye.
-
“Holy shit.”
“Hm?” The click of the rifle. The subtle shift of his shoulders as he adjusts his shot. So careful and calculated, and yet you can feel him locked in on every word. Every blink. Every movement.
Even with another target in sight, he is always focused on you.
“Matt just told everyone he’s Daredevil.”
Dex hums, cocking his head to the side. “And?”
“And he’s probably gonna go to prison for it.”
Dex loads the sniper, the shell of the bullet clattering onto the floor. “Prison’s not so bad.”
“Says the guy who broke out of it.”
“For you.” He turns, and you can see his eyes crinkle in the corners even if you can’t see him smile behind the mask. “For romance.”
You hum, and pop your headphone back into your ear, eyes moving back to the monitor as you sit cross-legged atop the table beside the gun. “You’re a fucking psychooo~” you sing, under your breath, and feel him catch your chin between his gloved fingers before you have time to look back up. He tilts your chin towards him, and you feel the warmth of his lips beneath the rough fabric of his mask as he pulls you into a kiss.
He moves back to the gun with the grace of a cat, satisfied, and you do your best not to worry too much about Matt Murdock. Your friend. Daredevil, who has just outed himself to the entire world and sealed his own fate.
The shot is fired and thus your location is given up. It’s time to go.
You hesitate. You sit by the computer, and you watch the screen after it goes blank.
A gloved hand comes up, a warm chest against your back as that same familiar hand guides yours away from your lips.
“What’re you up to?”
Dex’s couch, so long ago. Your eyes locked on a screen. Warm fingers curling around your own. You must have been biting your nails again. It must be late. You barely even heard him come in.
“Tech company. Innocent employee. Spreadsheets.” You tilt your head back, sleepy, and catch his lips with your own. “Not supposed to talk about it though, remember?”
“Criminal.” He kisses you again, but he’s smiling.
“Not technically.” You kiss him back, pulling him closer, catching his hand to guide him around the couch and over to you. “You gonna tattle, Special Agent Poindexter?”
“Never.”
“Time to go.” That same voice is lower now. Raspier. Still just as achingly familiar. So much has changed, and everything is so different, and he’s still so incredibly yours.
“Matt…” the word is released on a breath, and that breath feels too heavy. Too weighed down by memories. Matt. Foggy. Karen. So many memories. So much loss.
“Can’t do anything for him now, baby.” His nose against your temple, his arm around your waist. He took his mask off, at some point. “But if they catch us up here, it’s gonna be a lot worse for him.”
You turn, still frowning, still worried, and reach up to brush your fingers over the deep scar on his cheek. He tilts his head into the touch, like he always does, and smiles.
That smile, sweet and scarred and as familiar as the palm of your own hand, will always feel more like home than any place in the world.
And that’s how it was always gonna go, wasn’t it? Since the day you ran into him in front of that coffee shop, the night he kissed you for the first time, the moment you saw the bullseye etched on the door of your apartment…
It was always him. It was always going to be him. The trajectory of your life changed before you even knew it was happening, jolting in a different direction like a ricocheted bullet, and always still pointed home.
Home, to him.
You smile back, and meet his eyes.
“Where are we going?”
-
Benjamin Poindexter rolls a coin over his knuckles, glances out the window of the airplane towards the earth thousands of feet below, and smiles.
The flight attendant speaks to the man in the seat beside yours, welcomes him into the ‘Million Milers Club’ or whatever, and he does his best not to glare at the noise. The man is beaming - annoying - but you would tell him that it’s rude to glare if you were awake.
Speaking of which, your head is snuggled up to his shoulder, breath soft and even and both arms wrapped around his bicep like he’s some kind of teddy bear, rather than a dangerous assassin.
Then again, you’re almost just as unhinged as he is these days.
He hums, content, and turns his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply and feeling you sigh and shift a little closer.
“You two seem happy.” The too-friendly guy in the seat beside you is smiling, and Dex resists the urge to wrap his arms around you and pull you onto his lap, hiding you from the world because you’re his only his no one else-
He’s gotta reel that under control a little more. That possessiveness. But, well, you’re his. And he’s yours. Two sides of the same coin. Soulmates in every way.
And he knows that you do seem happy. You always do, because you are. You walked onto this plane together in an almost sickening display of blissful love. He lifted your bag into the overhead bin for you, pulled you into the seat after, wrapped his arms around you and basked in your laughter as he shamelessly pressed kisses to your neck and shoulder. You’d leaned back, grinned at him like you were the only two people on the plane, in the world, and slid your hand into his own.
No one suspected that you’d helped him kill people only a few hours before. That you washed the blood off of each other before you came to the airport.
He raises his eyebrows. Too-friendly Guy keeps going. “You headed to your honeymoon?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. He rests his chin on top of your head. He has a ring in his pocket, and when you land in the next country, and he gets the very first opportunity that comes his way, he already plans to drop to his knee and beg you to marry him.
But for now, he nods, and fixes the stranger with a practiced smile.
“Yeah.” He hums, feeling you shift comfortably against him, sighing contentedly against his shoulder. Perfect. His. “It’s long overdue.”
The man looks the two of you over, and seems to be about to say something else, but you shift again and Dex’s attention suddenly couldn’t be any less focused on him.
Honeymoon. Yeah, you’ll have a thousand honeymoons. A thousand lifetimes of happiness and togetherness and love so intense it’s taken lives, saved lives, shattered governments, and so much more.
ʚɞ summary. . . you are the demon that choso summons, he has a request for you and while it's inconvenient, you find yourself coming to enjoy being near him. is it okay for you to be getting so involved with this human ??
warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ 18+ only, smut, mdni, swearing, supernatural themes, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, slight tease choso, pussy whipped choso, premature ejaculation, biting, hickeys, mentions of angels/demons, maybe blasphemy (?), littlest bit of angst for the drama, demon!reader, f!reader
How you got here, you have no idea… no, like literally because the man in front of you looks just as confused to see you as you are to be here. It’d make sense if he knew what he was doing but he just… seems so confused. He’s on all fours, some herbs and other stuff you can’t quite identify spilt all over the floor, you’re assuming he’s spilt it all.
You crouch down and tilt your head at him, “Can you tell me why I’m here?”
His eyes are wide as he shakes his head at you and you can only sigh in response, annoyed. This is going to be a long night if he’s this scared of you being here when he’s the one who summoned you in the first place. You swear, humans never get any better to deal with.
Humming as you scan the surroundings a little closer, lowering your guard a touch since he doesn’t seem to pose any threat. An old book that continues to haunt you even all these years later sat close by him and what you assume to be the summoning circle. To be honest, it’s shotty work, you’re surprised it even managed to pull you here.
The human makes a move to sit back and your gaze flicks to him quickly, his movements pausing in response. Rolling your eyes at him, “Calm down, I’m not gonna kill you…” you set your eyes back on the book, reaching for it, “probably.”
You like to keep humans on their toes, it’s endlessly amusing. Unfortunately, in this case, you really can’t kill him. If you could, this would have an easy solution but that stupid book haunts you for a reason. Though, he doesn’t have any need to know all that, considering he’s terrified and shocked, you’re guessing his experience is lacking and you will be taking full advantage of that naivety.
It's been a while since you’ve been top side, this place is small and not very full of life, he should really consider buying a plant or something. First time out of hell in how many years and you get summoned into some terrified man’s boring apartment? Glancing around a bit more and yeah… you’re guessing apartment.
You should probably talk to him… ugh. Clearing your throat a little to gain his attention, “Uhm… do you… have a name?”
He nods at you, hesitating to talk before verbally replying, “…Choso.”
“Okay, well Choso, do you understand what I am?” You’re trying to be as gentle as possible, the last time this happened, you scared the fuck out of the human, and they passed out. Made things real complicated… and annoying.
Choso gives you a once over, eyes trailing your body while he nods again. Being patient is such a pain in the ass. “This would go a whole lot faster if you actually replied to me out loud.”
His reply is sheepish, “Sorry…”
Flicking through the book, bored and annoyed, how many times have you hidden it now? “Don’t give your name out so freely,” if other demons get a hold of him – especially now while he’s under your care, it’d be inconvenient at best.
Moving away from him, you stand up and collapse onto his couch. You’re trying to think about what to do with this whole situation you’ve suddenly landed in.
Choso’s voice pipes up after a few minutes go by, sturdier now though a bit tentative, “I didn’t think it’d actually work…”
“Oh?” he’s caught your attention now, “So you did mean to summon me then?”
“Not summon.”
This bastard, you can’t tell if he’s being intentionally vague or not. Your brow twitches in annoyance, “You seem a bit more knowledgeable than you initially presented yourself.”
He’s clearly gathered himself together since your arrival, “I wasn’t really prepared to have a demon appear right in front of me.”
“Maybe don’t summon one then.”
“Not summon,” he corrects, “bind.”
Your sigh borders more on a growl, so he really does know what he was doing. “And pray tell, why have you bound me to you?”
He straightens up, “Because I need something.”
“Truly shocking,” sitting up off his couch, you glare down at his form still on the floor, “if it’s money for a new apartment… I guess I could rob a bank.”
“No, not anything–” he pauses and his brows furrow, “…what’s wrong with my apartment?”
You cough slightly, as if to clear your throat, “No, nothing… it’s… beautiful… not drab and lifeless at all…” You change the topic quickly, “So what do you need from me?”
“Protection.”
“In this day and age? From what could you possibly need protection from bad enough to summon and bind a demon to you?” Is he being for real? You’re literally stuck with him until he dies from natural causes, and if that’s not how he meets his untimely end… well, it’s not great news for you.
“I don’t really know what they are.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ghosts?... I don’t know what you call them,” Choso looks a little sombre as he goes into more depth, “they attach to me, follow me home, it’s been getting worse lately.”
“Do they look human?”
He shakes his head, “No.”
Ugh, damn pests. Not even really ghosts, ghosts were at least people at one point, what he’s got all over him are lingering feelings or emotions. Things like hatred, grudges, deception, all things that people leave behind. Not just the bad things, sometimes people leave behind good feelings though it’s rarer. As a whole, it’s usually harmless, but not in this poor bastards case. Actually, it’s a little surprising he’s alive.
The fact he can see them is a bother already, and now you have no choice but to protect him because if you don’t then you can say goodbye to your life too. Getting up, you wander over to Choso and squat in front of him again. You’re trying to determine something, but he’s flustered and looking away.
“Keep still,” your hands grab either side of his face and hold him there, your eyes looking deep into his, “I’m trying to do something.”
His eyes are golden; you could get a little lost in them if you weren’t trying to see just how much energy he has. It’s just more bad news for you, despite the bags under his eyes, he has quite a bit! Yummy, yummy energy, you’re a little tempted to take some for yourself. Though, you like to think of yourself as better than those pests.
No wonder he was able to trap you here despite his shitty summoning work, what he lacks in the experience, he makes up for with the mass amounts of energy he has rolling off him. You let go of his face and sit back onto your butt, elbow resting on your knee, holding your head up.
“I suppose you just want to not feel like you’re on deaths door every time you leave the house?”
He mumbles at you, “Is that so big of an ask?”
Despite what one might think of demons, you personally don’t care about humans enough to want them dead or alive. In saying that though, there is no real benefit to you being bound, especially not to this hotspot for trouble.
Showing pity as you answer him, “No… though I’m gonna tell you right now that this isn’t really ideal for me.”
He’s growing tired, “Being haunted isn’t really ideal for me.”
“Okay snappy,” you squint at him and his attitude, “I’ll stay here and stop the ‘hauntings’ so to speak but you have to buy a plant or something… it’s so sad in here.”
“You said it was beautiful.”
“I lied.”
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
It’s barely been a week of living here and you’re so bored, he won’t take you anywhere and there is only so many television shows you can watch without feeling insane. He comes and goes quite a bit for work and visiting family or something, you don’t know, you don’t ask many questions. You’re only here to swipe off the things he picks up while gallivanting around.
Thinking on it, maybe you should ask him where he’s going because there’s hardly a day that he goes out and doesn’t come back with something following him. You’re not sure you’re really cut out for this whole ‘protection’ thing… maybe you’ll try talking to him more.
As much as the television was a clever invention, it’s equally pissing you off. You still don’t know how to change channels, so you’re stuck watching the same one the whole day and what you have learned is that shows during the day… suck.
Just as you’re contemplating throwing the remote through the stupid screen, Choso comes home. You’re quick to move over to him, brushing off the little travellers weighing him down. They haven’t been hanging around his apartment anymore, not since you got here. Maybe you could do something a bit more preventative to help him.
You step back from him, head tilting slightly when you ask, “How was your day?”
“Do you really care?” His brow raises at your out of character question, moving past you to wander into the kitchen.
You’re quick to follow behind him, “Would it make a difference if I said I did?”
He turns and blinks at you blankly, “What do you want?”
You don’t reply for a moment before caving, “I’m bored, Choso. It’s so boring here!”
“Hmm, well, if you want to go outside you know the rule.”
A grimace overtakes your face; you hate that he’s got the upper hand on you all because of this stupid bind. So… when you said he won’t take you anywhere, that’s not completely true. He’s offered to take you out but only if you tell him your name and you’ve been a little hesitant to do that, considering the weight your name carries. You’ve been nothing if not stubborn about it, he’ll be able to actually command you with your name, and you don’t love the idea of that. It’ll also make summoning you that much easier for him.
Usually, you’d just go out by yourself, but it’s been forever since you’ve been topside and you think he lives in a city and you also have no money and maybe you’re a little bit nervous about it. Sure, you could figure it out on your own but to be honest, you were hoping he’d break down and just take you somewhere.
At your silence and continued refusal to answer that question, he starts rooting through the kitchen to make himself something to eat. Grumpily, you watch him, sitting atop the counter and pouting the whole time.
You sigh, “It’s been a week, and you’ve kept me here the whole time.”
“If you wanna go out so bad, you can go by yourself,” brushing off your complaint.
“You said you’d buy a plant for in here.”
“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that.”
“I said I’d help you as long as you got a plant or something and you haven’t gotten a plant,” he ignores you, turning on the stove, “I’m assuming since you’ve not gotten a plant, I don’t have to hold up my end of the deal? Should I just stop getting rid of those pests for you?”
“Are you really that petty?”
“I’m a demon…” you pause, “so, yes?”
His shoulders drop like you’re exhausting to deal with, glancing back as he asks, “You’d put your immortal life in danger just in hopes that I crack and take you outside to buy a plant?”
“Pretty much.”
He looks back at what he’s doing, “Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell me your name?”
Grumbling back at him, “Maybe for you.”
He repeats his earlier sentiments, “I’m not taking you out, if you wanna go out, you can go by yourself.”
Hopping off the counter, you move over to him to threaten, “Maybe I’ll take some poor innocent persons soul while I’m out just to teach you a lesson.”
“Mhm,” Choso hums at you, busy focusing on his cooking. He doesn’t believe you, mostly because he can tell you’re nervous about how much things have changed. If you were going to go out and steal some souls, you’d have done it already. At least, that’s his logic.
You back away from him, giving up, “Can you at least change the channel on the television?”
He’s facing away from you so you can’t see it, but he cracks a small smile at that, amused by your inability to do such a mundane task.
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
It’s another day of suffering through boredom in this sad apartment; the books he owns are all boring too. Some of them are fine but a lot are classics you’ve already read, and others are things you don’t want to read. It’s becoming frustrating that you’re looking forward to him coming home, at least when he’s here you have someone to talk to. He’d taught you how to use the computer but unless there’s something you need to do, you don’t really know what to look up.
The one benefit of being alone with your thoughts all day is that you’re pretty sure you have an idea of how to help him. If your presence is enough to keep his home from being haunted, maybe you can leave your presence on him and they’ll be more likely to leave him alone. Now, you just have to think about how exactly to do that for him… Maybe wearing his clothes? …This idea might need to be workshopped a bit more.
You’re deep in thought when the door opens and closes, it barely registers in your mind. Too busy thinking and staring at the wall to realise he’s come home. It’s not until he stands in front of you that you’re looking up and acknowledging his presence.
He asks, “Are you ignoring me now?”
“Would you go out somewhere with me if I do?”
“No,” he deadpans. “But I did get you something while I was out today.”
You can’t help but perk up a little bit at that, watching him closely as he walks away and comes back holding a plant. A smile crosses your face as you realise he’s finally got a plant for in here. You take it from him and inspect it, it’s healthy and green. For as much as you pitched a fit over having a plant, you don’t actually know all that much about them so this could be literally any kind of plant but it’s pretty and brightens up the room, so you’re pleased.
“Thank you…” you mutter out. Sheepishly reaching out to clear him of what he’s carried back home, fulfilling your end of the deal.
“Mhm, if you want more, you gotta tell me your name.”
Scoffing lightly, “Like I’ll need more.”
“We’ll see about that,” his tone carries doubt, leaving you to head back into the kitchen. Either he likes cooking or it’s become a habit for him to cook when he returns home.
Hot on his heels because you actually need to talk to him a bit more, “Choso…”
He doesn’t stop, only continuing his movements through the apartment, “Yeah?”
“That extra room has a bed right?”
“Yeah, it’s a guest room, though it only usually gets used by my brothers when they visit…” he turns back at you, “why?”
“I need to sleep.”
“You do?”
“Well, not typically but I’m not getting any energy since I’ve been rudely pried out of hell,” you answer pointedly.
“Your only ways to get energy are to sleep or be in hell?”
“Well, unless you want me to start feeding on your energy,” you shrug, “that or random humans–”
He cuts you off abruptly, “–You can use that room to sleep.”
“I thought you’d see it my way,” your reply is pleased.
You keep looking at the plant in your hands, it’s cute, you will do your very best to take care of it. The last thing this apartment needs is a dead plant.
“Also, I’ve been thinking about how to prevent you from picking up so many pests every time you go out.”
“Mm,” he waits for you to say more and when you don’t he prompts, “well?”
Your lips purse at him, “I was just letting you know I’ve been thinking about it, I don’t have any answers yet.”
“Great, thanks,” his attention is off you now and back at the task at hand. He seems to be getting ready to make much more food than usual.
“Are you gonna eat all that?”
“It’s not for me; I’m going home tomorrow and I wanna take some dishes back with me.”
“That’s nice…” you assume, you think it’s thoughtful of him anyways.
He doesn’t reply for a bit, “…I’ll change the sheets and pillowcases on the bed after I finish with this.”
You make a noncommittal sound, not really bothered by that. Placing the plant on the countertop and sitting on the barstool. Choosing to stay close to him this evening, just observing him cook. Maybe if you somehow got your scent on him the hauntings would lessen, but then you’re just back to the idea of wearing his clothes. That or throwing his clothes on his bed and rolling on top of them like a cat in fresh laundry.
“Do you like cats?”
He looks taken aback by your sudden question, “Yeah… why?”
Shaking your head at him, “No reason in particular.”
“…Okay.”
After he’s finished cooking, he does go and change the linens over in the spare room and you sneak off to use the shower. Since he won’t go out and buy you clothes and you don’t feel like washing the ones you’re wearing, you steal some of his. When you come back out and into the guest room, he looks you over.
“You shower too?”
“What do you take me for?” frowning, “of course I shower, just normally when you’re not home.” Your fingers tap against your bicep, “I also learnt how to use the washing machines in the basement after you taught me how to use the internet.” You’ve been taking full advantage of his computer while he’s not home.
He looks at you curiously, “What do you wear when you’re washing your clothes?”
Confidently stating, “A towel.”
He sighs, “I’ll buy you some clothes when I go out tomorrow.”
“Wanna take me with you?” trying to give your cutest and most innocent smile.
“Wanna tell me your name?”
“No…” you roll your eyes at him, “It won’t matter anyways, I’ll be asleep for maybe a whole day or two, depending on how much energy I need to replenish.”
“Are you serious?”
“Why would I lie about that? I know I’m a demon and all but what would I possibly have to gain from–”
He stops you, “–Point made.”
“Good,” you’re in thought for a second, “don’t forget to check on my plant while I’m asleep.”
“Okay.” As you move past him to get into the bed, he pipes up again, “What am I gonna do about the hauntings while you’re asleep?”
Not malicious in your words, simply stating truth, “You’ve made it this long without me, haven’t you?”
He seems wholly unimpressed by that answer, somewhat glaring at you, as if to say pointedly that he summoned you now for a reason.
“Don’t look at me like that,” your head falls back, and you let out a slightly annoyed huff at his continued pouting, “fine, I’ll do something that might help but I cannot guarantee that it will… that okay with you?”
“You okay if I wake you up if it doesn’t?” Crossing his arms over his chest.
You walk over to him as you talk, “I’d prefer you didn’t, but I have a feeling you would anyways.” Your head nods at him, “Uncross your arms.”
“Why?” Despite his questioning of you, he hesitantly drops his arms.
“Because I’m gonna hug you,” reaching up as you say it, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him in close.
He’s warm, and firmer than you would’ve thought, like he’s incredibly well built under those layers. His arms slowly wrap around you, reciprocating the hug but you can tell he’s still confused on why you’re doing this.
“Why are we hugging?”
Your reply is dry, “Because you just seem so snugly.”
The words are spoken against his neck, and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine in response to your breath tickling his skin. You’re trying to make sure that you’re left all over him, it might not work if he’s wearing clothes that he’s just going to change out of again. Though, you’re not convinced this will work at all.
Just for extra good measure, you nuzzle your face against each side of his neck. The response you get from him, you weren’t quite expecting. He’s grabbed either side of your head and pulled you back, your hands falling to his shoulders.
A little flustered as he sputters out, “What are you doing now?”
“I’m just trying to make sure I leave a lasting impression.” You let go of him and turn your back to walk over to the bed, “That should be good enough, or it might not be… I don’t really know.”
“Are you sure that–”
“–Goodnight, Choso,” words a bit sharper, letting him know this is the end of this interaction. He takes the hint and leaves the room, letting you go to sleep in peace.
Oddly enough… you dream of him.
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
When you wake up, you’re not sure how many days have gone by. You do have your energy back though, ready to harass this poor haunted man into taking you outside. The first thing you do upon getting up is look for Choso, only to be disappointed by the fact that he’s not home. It seems to be the middle of the day so he’s probably out at work… unless it’s a weekend then he’s visiting family. You wonder briefly what his family is like until you remember the plant he bought you and go to check on it.
It's still doing well; its leaves are wet, and you assume that means he’s watered it while you were out. You’re glad he took care of it like you asked him to, you didn’t think you could get this attached to anything, let alone a small pot with a leafy green thing in it.
While he’s gone, you’re gonna use this opportunity to do some research on plants, and also you’re gonna shower and do your laundry. Only, when you go to look for your clothes you were in a couple days ago, you find them washed and folded away in a drawer of the dresser in the guest room. Along with new clothes and undergarments… a feeling you don’t recognise sitting heavy in your chest.
You decide to ignore that feeling and carry on with what you were planning, you can still shower and research plants…
The day you spend on the computer proves to be fruitful, learning all sorts of information on plants. Including plant care and you are woefully underprepared to take care of this plant, you need to buy something called a spray bottle so you can mist its leaves, and a watering can and another pot for when it outgrows the current one and also soil. You’re overwhelmed by all this information, but you’re excited to take care of this plant.
Maybe some gloves too so when you repot it your hands don’t get all dirty and a plate for under the new pot so it can drain properly. Just as you’re making a mental note of everything you want, the telltale sound of the door opening and Choso coming home draws you from your thoughts.
He speaks before you get a chance to, “You’re awake!”
“I am!” You brush past it quickly, “I wanna go outside.”
“Do you know how long you were out for?”
“Does it matter?”
“You were asleep for nearly four days; I was starting to get worried.”
That information actually gives you pause, “I guess I had less energy than I thought…” brows furrowing as you zero in on the small creature he’s carried inside with him, “I’m guessing the hug didn’t do anything, why didn’t you wake me up?” Easily walking up to him and swiping it away, hand shaking off the residual negative emotion.
He mumbles out something you don’t quite hear, head tilting at him, “What?”
“It did work,” he repeats louder this time. “That was the only one I’ve picked up in the last four days.”
“Oh… that’s good then!” you smile, “I’ll schedule you in for a bi-weekly cuddle,” you’re being a little playful, finding it amusing that hugging him actually left enough of your presence on him to keep the haunting to a minimum for that long.
He ignores your joyful tone, “You do seem to be in a better mood after your sleep.”
“Yes, that’s because I have more energy and also because I spent the day researching plants,” you look at him very gravely, “Choso, I wish to go outside, I want to make purchases for plant care.”
Both his brows raise, it’s his turn to be amused, “Getting into it, huh?”
“I am growing attached to the plant and I want to do my best to take care of it so it doesn’t die.”
“You’re meant to be making sure I don’t die.”
Huffing at him, “I’m doing that too, I can multitask!” It’s like he thinks you abandoned him or something, “Choso, if I hadn’t regained my energy, I wouldn’t have been able to flick off those little pests as easily as I do now and unless you prefer I start taking energy from you, you’re gonna have to let me sleep sometimes.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Mhm,” you blink slow at him, “now… about my plant!”
His lips quirk slightly, a little mocking, “My rule still stands.”
You groan, like you’re going to throw a tantrum. Your foot taps on the floor quickly as you think about this for a little longer, seriously weighing how bad you want this plant to live. Realistically, you’ve only had it for barely a day since you immediately went to sleep but you like that he actually got it for you and it’s pretty and this apartment is so sad without it. It’s doing so much hard work to make this place a little livelier! You can’t just let it die…
“Fine, I’ll tell you my name.”
“Seriously?” He looks completely surprised, “You like that plant enough to tell me your name just to buy stuff to take care of it?”
Completely steadfast in your response, “Yes.”
“You can’t be serious…”
Unwavering in your decision, giving him your name without blinking.
His forehead creases, “What?”
“That’s my name.” He blinks back at you, looking a little lost and confused about what just happened. You chirp at him, “Now you have to take me out to get stuff!”
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
Choso seems to be a man of his word because the next time he has a day off, he takes you out. The amount of people on the street is overwhelming and the cars are loud, and the air isn’t quite as clear as you remembered it… you thought that was just his apartment complex.
Either way, you’re happy to be outside. The air is fresher out here and things are bright, and people seem happy for the most part. There are so many shops, and you keep making him stop so you can look at anything that piques your interest.
Currently caught up in a small shop selling bits and bobs, something has caught your eye. It’s hanging and made of… glass? You’re not sure, it’s pretty though. The sun filters through the glass and creates a pretty pattern of rainbow all around it, a decorative golden moon and sun added in between the glass to make a beautiful little trinket.
“Choso,” you tug on his sleeve, “What is this?”
“Hrm?” He looks over to what you’re looking at, “Oh, that’s a sun catcher… do you like it?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty.” You’ve always liked the sun, it’s warm and bright, not the complete opposite of hell but far more enjoyable. All the pretty colours coming through the glass because of the sun delight you, like you’re fuzzy inside.
Choso asks simply, “Do you want it?”
“Can I?” You ask him excitedly.
And Choso feels his heart skip a beat at your enthusiasm over something this small. All the colours dancing across your skin so much more beautiful to him because you’re under them. He pushes down that affection, “Yeah, it’ll liven up the guest room for you.”
“Thank you,” you smile at him brilliantly, the thought of the light coming through the window in that room and leaping through the sun catcher exciting you. It’ll be nicer to stay in there with all the colours on the wall.
It’d be nice if his main living areas had big windows for the sun; you’d put it there. You like being in the lounge room when he comes home, you notice him quicker that way. Unfortunately, the only good windows are in the guest and main bedroom and even then, the sun only hits the guest room window enough for the sun catcher.
After he makes the purchase, you finally head over to the plant store he’d been trying to get you to for the last couple hours. Though, he finds himself not minding the constant stopping, you’ve been so curious and cheerful that he can’t bring himself to be annoyed at you for having such a good time.
The plant store is no different, you’re completely fascinated by all the plants in here. So much greenery, everything is so alive. Choso leaves you to browse all the plants while he grabs the things for plant care, you’d made a little list of things you needed while you waited somewhat impatiently for his day off.
When he comes back, you’ve grabbed a couple new ones. Turning to him when he approaches, “Choso! Can I have these as well?”
The expression on his face is charmed. “Sure,” he doesn’t see how a couple more could possibly do any harm, and he won’t deny that his apartment is a little bit sad. “I haven’t picked out a pot for the plant at home yet, I thought you might want to do that.”
“Yes! I want something bright and cute,” you nod, following behind him to the correct section. “We’ll also need some for the two I’ve grabbed.”
He smiles to himself, “Okay.” It’s in moments like this that he can’t quite understand how someone as endearing as you came from hell…
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
You’re quite taken by the plants, having placed one on the nightstand in the guest room, one on the coffee table in the lounge and the last on the countertop in the kitchen. In Choso’s absence you’ve also discovered the pleasantries of music streaming and have started listening to all kinds of music, humming along to the tune playing as you mist the leaves of your plants.
It’s a shame he lives in an apartment, if he had a house you could garden properly, you think you might like that… or maybe you’d hate it, but you don’t get to know. You’re starting to want more plants though… maybe a big one, you saw big ones when you went the other day. It’d look nice in the corner next to the television, oh! Maybe you should get a smaller one for Choso’s room too.
A little caught up in your daydreaming when he comes home, busy tending to your plant in the kitchen.
His words surprise you slightly, “I’m home.”
“Yes,” turning towards him, “I see that.”
“Normally, people respond with ‘welcome home’”
“I don’t feel like I should have to remind you that I’m not a person.”
“My bad, little miss demon,” he snarks.
Your shoulders slump a bit, annoyed, “Welcome home… human.”
“Was that so hard?” He smiles.
“Yes,” answer blasé. “Also, I need to sleep so get your hug in now,” opening your arms wide for him, when he doesn’t immediately move, your hands do a grabby gesture.
He doesn’t want you to sleep for four days straight again, “Do you have to?”
Dropping your arms at his question, “I thought we went over this.”
He states, “You need energy.”
“Yeah.”
“You said you could get it from me.”
“Choso…” Your head tilts at him, “you shouldn’t offer things when you don’t know the conditions.”
He pauses, “…What would you have to do?”
“I’d have to put my mouth on you,” shrugging, it’s called feeding for a reason, “So get your hug in,” your arms raise again, hands grabby and all.
He relents this time, walking over and leaning in to hug you, his hands large against your back. When you go to nuzzle against his neck like you did last time, he leans down. Shocking you by placing his lips over yours, a hairsbreadth away.
Whispering against him, “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna kiss you,” he murmurs, “that’ll work won’t it?”
You have no idea; you actually don’t make it a habit to feed off humans. Always choosing to sleep, “I–”
Not even getting a chance to reply properly before he’s leaning in that last bit and kissing you. You don’t push him away, enjoying the warmth of his lips on yours. It’s been so long since you were last kissed by someone and you’re getting lost in this one, head growing dizzy.
Choso pulls back from you, still close enough to feel his lips against yours though, “More?”
“Huh?” Oh, right… you’re meant to be taking his energy, you’d gotten a little wrapped up in it and forgot to, “Yeah… more–”
Barely getting your words out before his lips are slotted back over yours, not taking him long to lick against you. Letting him deepen the kiss, a soft and involuntary sound pulling from you. Choso tugs you closer at it, stepping forward too, like you could possibly get any closer to each other.
It still takes an active effort on your behalf to remember why you’re even doing this, body buzzing pleasantly at the feeling of being kissed so deeply and fully. But you do remember this time, careful not to take too much energy from him. He does taste good though, in more than one way.
You make a slight move to pull back and he follows, chasing your lips. He’s kissing you so greedily that it’s overloading your senses, making it hard to remember how to stop taking from him.
Hands having to slide down to his chest, pushing him back, “Cho– stop– that’s enough.”
“Sorry…” he looks sheepish, letting go of you and stepping back, “you won’t need to sleep now, right?”
“No,” looking him over a little curiously, surprised by just how attractive you find him like this; all flushed and chest heaving, “but unless you want to do that on the regular, you’re gonna have to let me sleep sometimes.”
He stands there for a moment, not saying anything. Like he’s thinking it over, but you didn’t expect him to think it over at all. “Choso?”
Abruptly saying, “I’m gonna go have a shower,” before leaving you standing there alone.
You have no idea what to think of what just happened.
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
That kiss… it’s given you plenty of energy, it’s also something you can’t stop thinking about. Every time you’re daydreaming, you catch yourself thinking about it and it’s starting to bother you. Even more annoyingly, Choso’s been acting differently, he doesn’t look at you as much and it feels like he’s starting to avoid you or something.
The good news is – for some reason – that kiss you shared has been keeping the hauntings at bay. So, it’s a little surprising when he walks through the door and there’s something attached to him, he sounds tired when he talks, “This one’s been on me all day, can you?” he motions at it.
“Yeah,” getting off the couch and strolling over to him, knocking the thing away. Such a sad little thing, sometimes you wonder about them.
Choso cuts off your thoughts, “How was your day?”
“Better than yours I imagine,” you quip, mostly in deflection. You’re happy that he spoke to you first today.
He hums noncommittally, “Yeah…” his eyes flick over to the plant in the kitchen, a hand coming up to rest on your head, “you’ve done a good job with the plants.”
“I know… thank you…” glancing up at him, “do you want a hug?”
He smiles lazily at you, “Is that to make me feel better or to help with the hauntings?”
“It can’t be both?”
An amused breath leaves him as he moves his hand to the back of your head, pulling you in so your forehead rests against his chest. Both arms moving around you to hold you tight, he’s holding you so close. You’ve not hugged like this before, feeling so completely held in his embrace. It was meant to be a hug for him, but you feel like you’re getting too much out of it.
Your fingers grip the back of his shirt, face to his chest and breathing in his scent. Rubbing your face against him, you wonder if this kind of intimacy shouldn’t become so natural between you two. In the beginning, it was for his safety and in turn yours but now you’re feeling too many things about it and maybe you should be drawing a line in the sand.
But when he leans down to rest his chin on your head, hand comforting on the back of it, you just can’t bring yourself to pull away and create that distance. For a few moments, you forget that you’re from hell.
You’re opening your mouth to talk before you even know what you’re going to say, “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Does it feel like I’m avoiding you?” He replies simply, still holding you to him.
“You know what I mean.”
He hums at you like he doesn’t.
“Maybe… we shouldn’t have kissed…” it’s mumbled into his shirt, you feel a little awkward saying it because you don’t particularly regret kissing him.
“Too late to take it back,” his answer is disappointing to you and you’re not completely sure what you were expecting.
“…Yeah,” you’re pulling back from him, “I’m gonna go to the back room for a bit.”
He calls your name but you’re already walking away from him. You’re acting out of character, and you don’t like it, but you don’t really know what else to do. Sitting with him all evening will have you irked and a little sad after what he said and you’re even more annoyed because you’re the one who prompted the conversation for him to say that.
Maybe this is good, maybe this is the line drawn in the sand you needed. It’s odd for you to be getting so familiar with a human in the first place, you’re not here because you want to be, you’re here because you were forced.
You’re feeling restless laying here on the bed, you want to go outside, if only to wander around for a bit. Getting up, you stick your head out the room to see if Choso is in any of the main areas. When you’re satisfied that he’s not going to see you leave, you head for the front door and slip out as quietly as possible.
As soon as you’re outside the building, you’re met with the cold breeze of the night air welcoming you. It’s later in the evening now but there are still a few people out at this time, it must be nice for them to not be concerned with the otherworld like Choso is. You’ve only gone out the one time to get plants and you had him with you so you’re not completely familiar with the area, but you know the general direction of a park and you head that way.
You want to sit surrounded by some nature, the cold buildings can be fun to look at, but you want something more alive. Pausing a moment and looking around, you think you’ve gotten lost. You do eventually find your way but it takes longer to get to the park than it did the last time so you must’ve taken some wrong turns along the way.
Sighing in relief when it finally comes into your view, taking a deep breath before finding a bench to sit down on. Not many people are walking through the park at this time, only the odd passerby.
Sometimes, you find yourself wishing you could connect more with nature. You’re from hell and demons inherently are disconnected from the living, it’s why you feed off them for energy. Humans have a nice relationship with nature that you’ll never have, even more so for those like Choso. Holier beings like angels or deities also are lucky enough to have that connection to the living, things aren’t black and white though. Some of them definitely take that connection for granted. Just like how all demons aren’t evil, not all angels are good.
There’s a friend you had some decades ago; they were also a demon but worked their way into being something more akin to a deity by doing good deeds or something. You find yourself wishing you paid more attention to them when they were talking… you wonder how they’re doing. Last you heard they were here, living somewhat quietly but you have a feeling that wouldn’t have lasted long. Despite becoming a deity, they had a penchant for trouble.
Collecting your thoughts in the night breeze is helping, you can’t remember the last time you’d felt so much that you needed to reflect like this. It’s nice… until you’re being interrupted, Choso is using your name to summon you back to him. Suddenly back in that small apartment, standing in front of him.
It’s almost reminiscent of when you were first called here, but this time he’s standing in front of you with his arms crossed and brows furrowed. Clearly annoyed by something, you’re looking back at him blankly.
He’s first to speak, “Where were you?”
“Does it matter?” You’re still frustrated with him for earlier and it’s coming out unintentionally.
Exasperated by your answer, “Of course it matters!”
“I don’t see why… as long as I make sure you’re not being haunted then I’m still keeping my end of the deal. Where I was had no impact on that.”
He’s not impressed, “I didn’t know where you were.”
“You can call me whenever you want,” you remind, like it should help him.
“That’s not the point.”
“I didn’t even think you’d notice.”
“Still not the point.”
Tone curt, sick of the back and forth, “Then either make your point or let me go to the guest room.”
Choso can tell you’re withdrawing from him, your attitude more akin to how you were when you first got here. “I was concerned; I went looking for you only to have no idea where you went.”
Stating plainly, “I wanted to be outside.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that then?”
“Because I didn’t want to talk to you,” pausing for a moment, you’re not intending to hurt him, “and I still don’t.”
He doesn’t let it get to him, “Tough because I think we should talk.”
“Why?” It’s a stupid question and he’s not unreasonable for saying you should talk, you’re just uncomfortable and don’t have much experience in the field of communicating like humans so love to do.
“You’re clearly upset with me,” he points out.
You deny it, “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to,” his head tilts at you, “sneaking out and not wanting to talk to me kind of makes it clear even without words.”
“I don’t have anything to say,” and you don’t. Maybe it’s just you having too many things to say and not knowing where to start but in this moment you truly have nothing to say.
Soft sigh leaving him, “Start with telling me why you don’t want to talk to me.”
“You’ve pissed me off,” you scowl.
“How?”
All his damn questions are pissing you off even more, “I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” he asserts.
“Okay, Mr know-it-all, how about you tell me why I’m annoyed?”
“Something I said earlier… I didn’t mean it like that,” his confidence falters, “it came out wrong.”
“And what exactly did you say?” You bet he’s not liking being on the receiving end of all these questions.
“I said it was too late to take back the kiss…” his hand moves to rub at the back of his neck, expression growing flustered, “I didn’t mean that like I wanted to take it back… I got defensive when you said that we shouldn’t have done it.”
“I said that because you’re the one who’s been weird lately,” you pout, “you don’t talk to me as much when you get home and even when you do you don’t look at me.”
“I don’t look at you because I keep looking at your lips,” you’re getting under his skin.
“Don’t say that like it’s my fault,” you huff.
“It is your fault!”
“I didn’t do anything,” you defend.
“You didn’t have to,” he stops and intakes a breath, calming down.
Finally, you answer his question from earlier, “I went to the park… I felt restless and wanted to go outside.”
His reply is a simple, “Okay.”
You feel incredibly awkward now, not really knowing what to say.
Choso’s fingers rests against his temple, like he’s getting a headache, “It’s getting late… we can talk about this another time.”
You nod at him, feeling a bit guilty. Maybe if you’d been human, you’d know the right way to approach this situation, you’d know the right words to say but all you’re feeling is uncomfortable and confused and a little relief.
While Choso heads off to his room, you shuffle over to the couch. Trying to untangle everything that had happened; all your thoughts. The relief you felt when he said he didn’t mean to say he wanted to take back the kiss is nagging at you. So is the confusion that’s followed it, does that mean what you think it does?
You’re feeling restless again and instead of wandering off onto the streets, you’re just going to go wake him up. Quietly approaching his room and sliding inside, wincing a bit at the door creaking.
As soon as the door shuts, Choso surprises you by speaking, “What are you doing?”
Wordlessly, you drag your feet to his bed. And after a moments pause, decide to get in beside him. He turns on his side to face you, his voice sounds concerned, “Are you okay?”
“I’m confused… and still annoyed…” you’re frowning as you sort through your feelings, “but, I was hurt by what you said earlier… I don’t know what I was expecting but when you said it was too late to take it back… it hurt.” Your voice gets a little smaller than you’re used to, “Because I didn’t regret kissing you.”
“It’s times like these that has me forgetting you’re not human,” he smiles at you softly.
“That’s funny because this is when I feel the least human.”
“I don’t regret the kiss,” he makes it clear for you, “I want to kiss you again.”
“You can… if you want to.” You feel overwhelmingly embarrassed after having said that.
His hand reaches for the side of your head, pulling you in as he leans in at the same time. Stopping his movements for a moment to give you time to pull away and when you don’t, he’s slotting his lips over yours, kissing you deep. Humming against you gratefully as his lips seek out yours eagerly.
It’s not as urgent as your last kiss, like he knows he has time now. Still, he’s insistent, unable to help himself. Leaning in more just to roll you both until he’s on top of you, your back pressing into the mattress under his weight.
He’s overwhelming all your senses completely, the way he smells, his warm touch, it’s all making your head fuzzy. A nice but unfamiliar feeling, he’s invading your brain and it’s making it incredibly hard to think about anything other than him.
Fingers dragging along his back, looking for purchase but slipping on his shirt. Hands ending up in his hair, threading through it and tugging back on him slightly, needing to part just for a moment. He relents but that doesn’t mean his lips are off you, moving to your cheek and down to your neck.
Lips soft as he presses them to your delicate skin, dragging them down the side of your throat. His touch makes you shiver, small whine leaving you. Your hand moves to clasp over your mouth, the sound surprising to yourself.
“Cho–” he softly nips at you and it has you stumbling over yourself, “don’t– don’t you have work tomorrow?”
He pauses, eyes glancing to yours, “Does that mean you want me to stop?”
“I– that’s not what I said,” frowning at him, “I mentioned it because it’s late and you always tell me how you need to go to bed earlier so you can get to work on time, so I thought–”
In Choso’s head your words all start muddling together because he’s watching your lips and leaning in to kiss you deep, unintentional in how he cuts you off but stopping your words nonetheless. He’s quickly growing addicted to the taste of you, humming appreciatively as he licks against your tongue.
Humans choose to prioritise the oddest of things and it changes on a whim; this puzzles you but you’re forgetting what you were even trying to say the longer he kisses you. Letting yourself enjoy his mouth on yours, his breaths puff against your lips when he pulls back. His head drops to your chest while he catches his breath.
Choso’s head is reeling, he really wants to keep kissing you but he’s trying to be rational. Though it’s getting harder to listen to his reasonable side when he’s aching to keep touching you. You’re so warm under him and despite the fact you’re not human, under his larger form you seem so delicate. His heart twisting at just how much you’re struggling with your feelings for him, he can’t help but chuckle a bit at that. Giddy.
His laughing irks you though, “Why are you laughing?”
“Hm?” He shakes his head but doesn’t lift it from you, “No reason.”
“You’re so weird,” you mutter at him, a little bit huffy.
He looks up at you, chin resting on you still, “You’re cute.”
You gape at him, shocked. You’re a lot of things but cute isn’t something you thought of yourself. Cycling through a bunch of thoughts and feelings before finally settling on, “No I’m not!”
“Don’t be so insulted,” he smiles, “It was a compliment.”
“I’m meant to be scary you know,” pouting a slight bit.
“Are you sure?” He considers, “I don’t think you’re doing a very good job of that.”
“I scared you.”
“When?”
You insist, “When you first summoned me!”
“Ohh,” he thinks for a moment, “Hm… I guess you got me there,” he continues to smile at you, light blush dusting his cheeks.
You don’t like how it feels like he’s just giving in to appease you, “I’m a demon… from hell.”
Choso doesn’t miss a beat, “A demon who likes plants, enjoys the sun, has opinions on my interior decorating… should I go on?”
Grumbling low at him but not saying anything more because you can’t defend yourself when he’s pointing out obvious truths. It does make you a little happy that he thinks about you like this. Usually, you wouldn’t want to be seen as something more than a demon – it’s not especially safe to be considered less powerful than you are – but Choso not being scared of you and seeing you as more than just what you are and where you’re from feels nice.
Not that you’re going to tell him that though, he doesn’t need to know. As you gaze at him, you note just how sleepy he seems. He has been working a lot lately and you suppose you worried him when you wandered off earlier and you suppose you do feel a little bad about that.
Your hand strokes the top of head softly, gentle with him, “You should sleep.”
“Maybe…” he nuzzles into you, “will you stay?”
“If I must.” It’s said like it’s a chore but it’s far from it.
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
That night, you’d stayed with him the whole time. It was… a little boring, though that’s not to say you wouldn’t do it again. Choso had rolled off you and pulled you to him, he’d held you for most the night. It was a long night of thinking for you but at some point you must’ve accidentally dozed off because you woke up to Choso shaking you. It was almost like he was worried you were going to be asleep for days again, which you found amusing.
Three days have passed since then and neither of you have mentioned that night or the second kiss you’ve shared. To be fair to him, he has been a little busier than usual but everyday it’s like you’re impatiently waiting for him bring it up. You don’t know where to go from here, but you want to touch him more… you want him to touch you more.
The issue is you can’t seem to find a good time to bring it up and you don’t know how to bring it up and also you don’t know what boundaries are in place so you don’t know if you can just touch him or not. All these setbacks have resulted in you staring very intently at him while he cleans up the kitchen.
To Choso, you watching him isn’t necessarily anything new, you’ve been known to do that. What is new however, is the intensity in which you’re doing it. Eyes never leaving his form for even a single moment and he can feel it. You have very pretty eyes but you’re freaking him out, he’s starting to wonder if he’s done something wrong. Maybe the plants aren’t enough anymore, and you want him to buy something new… he needs to keep saving if that’s the case.
Once he’s cleaned up enough, he stops and walks over opposite you. His hands rest on the bench that separates the two of you, “Do you need something?”
The question isn’t completely unexpected, you have been staring at him like you want something, but you were kind of hoping he’d just know without asking but he – obviously – cannot read minds.
Facing away from him, you lie, “Nope.”
Choso clicks his tongue at you, clearly knowing better. He’s quiet for a moment after that though, looking at you as he thinks. You still avoid looking at him, only glancing over for a moment or two before evading his gaze once again.
“You aren’t normally so hesitant when it comes to saying what you want.”
“That’s because I normally know what to say,” you fully look at him now, “This is all very new for me.”
“What is?” Choso knows you mean your feelings – he knows that – he just likes to push a little bit to see how you react.
You frown at him because you’re aware of just how easily he reads you, “I’m gonna go watch TV.”
“No, no,” he’s rushing to your side before you can get off the kitchen stool. One of his hands rest on the back of it, the other on the bench top – blocking the way you were turning to get up. “I’m sorry for teasing.”
“You should be…” you hesitate before suddenly saying, “I want you to touch me more.”
Choso’s conscious of how his heartrate picks up at your words, feeling like he’s going a little insane. He feels himself short-circuiting right in front of you but before he gets ahead of himself, he clarifies, “Like… in general?”
“No…” You’re growing embarrassed now; you hadn’t meant to state it so plainly.
“So…” tentatively, he reaches a hand to your knee, trailing higher up to your thigh as he asks, “you want me to touch you like this?”
Your breath hitches for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his large palm on you more than you thought you would. Eyes watching him carefully for his next movement, but he refuses to move another inch before you answer his question.
Looking up at him, eyes soft, “Please?”
Choso’s fingers twitch at your small plea, leaning in to kiss you passionately; feeling an absurd need to keep his lips on you until he can’t even breathe. His brain buzzing as he licks at your mouth, begging for you to open up for him. Unable to stop the moan that leaves him when your tongue meets his.
Somehow, you always find yourself completely lost in Choso’s kisses, like you’re being consumed. Ironic considering the relationship you two have. You’re so lost in how good it feels to be touched by him again that you’re letting out a soft whine when his hand on your thigh trails inside your sleep shorts.
Gasping against him when his fingers brush over your clothed core, his directness surprising. You weren’t expecting him to be so forward in how he touches you. Your own fingers grabbing at his shoulders, heart beating faster in anticipation.
His lips part from yours, “Are you really this sensitive?”
“Huh?” You’re not sure what he’s referring to.
“I mean…” his fingers graze over your cunt again, touch light, “your hips keep moving at the slightest touch.”
You hadn’t even realised you were doing that, embarrassment back tenfold, “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not being rude,” he huffs a laugh, putting more pressure behind his touch, spreading your folds apart through your underwear, “I was just making an observation.”
The softest moans following his touch, head growing heavy with how fuzzy it’s starting to feel. Choso’s gaze stays glued to his hand, wishing he had a better view of you without your shorts in the way. Cock only getting harder at every sound you let out, wanting to make you feel unbelievably good – to touch you more, just like how you asked him so nicely.
“Hey,” he withdraws his hand and pats your hip a couple times, “lift up for a sec.”
Not even really questioning his request, only focused on doing what he wants fast enough so he’ll keep touching you. And the moment your hips are off the stool, he’s tugging your shorts down as quick as possible.
“Choso!” He ignores your indignant cry.
Choosing instead to spread your legs wider so he can get a better look at you. Digits tracing your panties, thumb pressing into the wet spot on them, “I haven’t even done all that much yet,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
You hear it anyways and it has you all flustered, “Don’t–”
He glances up at you, “Don’t what?”
“Don’t narrate,” grumbling back at him.
Choso actually chuckles at that, “Hmm? You don’t like me telling you just how wet you’ve gotten.”
You genuinely wouldn’t have taken him for such a tease, “You’re being evil.”
“Is that so?” He doesn’t think so.
He does think he’s getting sick of not hearing you moaning in pleasure though so he’s quick to slip his fingers into your panties. Collecting your slick with his middle finger just to rub gentle circles over your clit. The reaction it pulls from you makes him shiver, you’re so sensitive to his touch he thinks he might pass out.
Considering if he wants to make you cum just from your clit or not when your hips wiggle down against his touch. That alone has him deciding he’d like to see the reaction he gets from stuffing his finger inside you, would you be just as needy? Or maybe more? Digit sliding down to prod at your hole, his dick aching at how you’re already trembling.
It’s like you’re holding your breath waiting for his next move, collapsing into him when he finally stops teasing you and pushes his finger inside. Choso wasn’t purposefully trying to tease you, he’d just gotten so distracted by how your little hole was twitching and leaking that he’d paused for slightly too long.
Over your own moans and weighted breaths, you barely even register Choso’s groan. His mind splitting at just how warm and gooey you are that he can’t help himself. And still, you’re so so sensitive to him, seeing you squirming turns him on in such an indescribable way. Using his finger to crook upwards, rubbing against your walls in hopes that he’ll have you falling apart soon.
Your hands grip him tighter and your eyes feel like they’re dotting with stars when he rubs up against something devastating inside you. Mouth dropping open in an obscene whine that you couldn’t stop even if you thought to. Forehead dropping to his chest and rubbing against him as you try and fail to gain your bearings against the way he’s making you feel.
Choso’s heart leaps at how endearing he finds you to be, falling apart in the palm of his hand and he still finds you cute. He’s determined to have you cumming, pulling back his hand just to slide in another finger alongside his first. Scissoring them so he can begin stretching you out, stuffing your cunt full of his fingers and hitting that spot that had you nearly cross eyed.
He’s learning what gives you the most pleasure, analysing your reactions carefully and making sure to brush up against and show love to every inch of you that has you shaking and shivering. You’re unravelling slowly from his touch and he can feel his sanity slipping, knowing he’s making you feel so good that you can’t stop rutting your hips down into his hand bringing him a kind of pleasure he’s not felt before.
“Choso– ah!” chest heaving, “You gotta stop.”
He knows you’re so close though, “Why?”
Lifting your head to look up at him, eyes sparkling with your lust, “I’m– hah– gonna cum.”
He’s leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple and you think maybe he’s going to listen to you but instead he only doubles his efforts. Focusing solely on all the spots that have your mind melting, his thumb drawing circles over your clit. It’s all too much, you’re already so sensitive after however long neglect and now he’s touching you so perfectly, it’s amazing you haven’t already cum.
“You–”
“–Just let it happen,” he cuts you off before you can finish what you were trying to say, “relax, let yourself feel good,” he’s talking you through it so sweetly, “you’re already so close, I bet you’re feeling fantastic right now.”
Your only response is part way between a whine and a groan, frustrated by just how much him talking adds to how good it feels.
“Don’t hold back so much,” Choso murmurs against your ear, “I thought you said you wanted me to touch you.”
Your hips are grinding down into his hand, a desperation you’re not fully conscious of. Choso lets it happen, wanting you to get off however you want it. Quite frankly, he’s just here for the ride, he’ll help you however you need. Careful to angle his fingers just right to continue nailing your most sensitive spots, finding it loveable how in your reckless need you keep missing them.
His voice in your ear has you clenching down around his digits and he lets slip a soft whine at the knowledge that his voice helps get you off. In turn, the sound he lets out is your undoing, it’s so pathetic and surprised that your orgasm takes you over. Unable to hold it off any longer as it wracks through your whole being, fingers clawing at him as your lungs seize in your chest.
“You did so good,” Choso compliments, his voice drenched in the amount of arousal he’s feeling. His fingers slipping from your core has him biting his lip to fend off anymore sudden whines, feeling mad at how your sticky cunt seems so unwilling to let him go.
You’re so loopy and brain dead from a single orgasm that when you look up at him, he has to take a few very calculated breaths to calm down. Cumming prematurely just from how fucked you look from drowning in pleasure a very real possibility right now.
A few beats pass of him looking behind you to focus on anything but your lust dipped gaze but then you pull weakly at him and he’s looking at you again. Your thighs rubbing together, clearly not satiated with what he’s given you and you’re so completely drenched, panties nearly see through at this point. His mouth is watering and it really takes him little to no effort to follow through or decide upon his next moves.
Sliding you off the barstool only to spin you around to face it, hand placed on your upper back to gently push you chest down onto the seat of it. His body following after yours, frame pressed up against you so he can talk low into your ear, “I’m gonna touch you so much more.”
It’s an incredibly tempting promise, your pussy clenching in anticipation. You’re expecting him to take his pants off or something but instead the weight of him is lifting off you and he’s moving further behind you.
Large hands at your hips slipping your panties down your legs, the hitch in his breathing audible at the sight of you. You can’t see him but the feeling of his lips pressing open mouthed kisses up the inside of your thighs already has you squirming, cunt still twitchy from your orgasm. He’s shameless in how he licks up your leg, sucking on your skin at the highest point of your inner thigh and letting go with a loud pop.
“You’re so pretty,” his words vibrate against your skin.
Gasping at him, “Choso, why are you…”
“Why am I what?”
You grumble at him incoherently, not really sure how to ask ‘why he’s not just fucking you’ without being that blunt, plus you’re a little embarrassed. You can feel his stare on your pussy and it’s making you self-conscious, moving to stand up but Choso’s quick to raise a hand and push you back down.
He feels so impatient, “Just… cum one more time and I’ll fuck you after.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah,” his throat bobbing as he swallows, “yeah, I promise.”
Relaxing under his hand at the confirmation of his promise, that same hand trailing from your back down your waist, over your hips and then resting on the side your ass. Other hand gripping the opposite side, Choso uses his thumbs to pull at the lips of your cunt, obscenely spreading you wide. It’s so depraved that you feel your head spin, never having felt so exposed in your whole life. Breath rushing from your lungs, feeling like you’re about to pass out from the whole ordeal.
Choso’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, damn near salivating like a dog just from the sight of your sopping wet pussy. Finally putting his mouth on your sweet cunt and whining about it, making out lovingly with your hole. Tongue gliding inside you, pushing his face as close as he can possibly get so he can ensure he’s reaching as deep as he can.
Your toes are curling at the completely different sensations, huffing out all kinds of desperate and needy sounds. He’s so passionate in how he licks at you, almost like he’s worshipping everything about your cunt. It’s driving you up a wall, so overwhelmed and if you weren’t sensitive before you sure as fuck are now.
Every one of your nerves feels frayed and alive like an exposed wire, stomach flipping as you so very quickly get to the precipice of your orgasm all over again. Thighs shaking with the build-up of it, the most pathetic of sounds leaving you and you genuinely can’t help it because it’s taking everything in you to not scream. Walls clenching down around his tongue, completely different from his fingers. Still so pleasurable and yet you’re aching for something more, to be shoved full of his cock and fucked properly.
Your horny brain is taking over, babbling to him through pants and whimpers, “Cho– please– hnn– I want your– hah!” your hips are wiggling back onto his face, just about riding his tongue.
Choso can’t fucking take it, he’s so unbearably hard in his pants. Your begging is not helping and certainly not the grinds of your pussy against his mouth. He’s so excited by how you’re seeking out your own orgasm with his tongue, hands on you doing nothing more than resting there and holding you open for him. He’s not about to stop you from enjoying this to the fullest extent, continuing to lap at your cunt religiously.
Appetite for the taste of you large, all too happy to gulp down all your slick. Slurping so lewd and loud that it only serves to turn him on that much more, he can’t think straight anymore, not that he’s sure he ever was in the first place.
Your thighs start shaking that much more, whimpers that much more pathetic but the biggest giveaway of your impending orgasm is the way your hole pulses around his tongue so hot. His dick twitching in eagerness, thrilled about the prospect of your cum in his mouth.
The sounds you let out are garbled and unintelligible, you were trying to let him know just how close you were, that you were seconds away from cumming but he already knew. Coaxing you through it, sucking on your pussy as you tremble under your second orgasm. And as delicious as it is, you find yourself wishing to feel fuller, his promise has you just as eager as him.
Already daydreaming about the sensation of being filled to the brim, still laying over the stool and collecting your fragmented mind. Words a little slurred when you call for him, “Cho… you– mmph– you gotta keep your promise.”
He can’t even find it in himself to tease or say something witty, immediately rising to his feet and quickly undressing completely. Positioning himself at your entrance but leaning down over top of you to double check with you.
“You’re ready?”
“I want it,” is all you can say in return.
His skin tingles, arousal pricking at his very being. His response to you is a soft hum before slowly pushing the tip of him into your tight, little hole. His breath leaves him and it feels like his insides jolt and then stall altogether, your pussy so fucking creamy and soft that he could swear he’s already cumming. Head absolutely spinning at the bliss he feels and he’s barely got the tip inside you, he has no idea how on earth he’s meant to possibly last longer than a singular second inside you.
And then, your hips fuck back a little and he’s letting out the largest and most pathetic whimper he ever has. Maybe if you didn’t feel like heaven itself wrapped around his aching dick, he’d feel some kind of shame or embarrassment but it hardly matters when it’s this good. For all he’s concerned, you earned that sound he just made.
He’s so completely ruined already and it has your stomach doing flips, pussy trembling around him which only further serves him to feel no shame and to continue his whines. Trying to take it as slow as he can manage but you’re making it so difficult for him. Cunt too eager to suck him in, your need pushing your hips back onto him.
Choso rises off you and presses his hand into your back to hold you still, needing a moment to breathe without you wriggling your way down his shaft. Still whining and moaning through heavy breaths, not quite halfway inside you. He’s having such a hard time thinking, head swimming in desire.
He’s paused for too long; you just want him as deep inside you as he can possibly go but he’s holding back and it’s ridiculously unbearable for you. You hadn’t realised just how damn touch starved you were before him and to be this close to having him all the way inside feels agonising.
“Choso,” your voice isn’t anywhere near as firm as you wish it had been. His only response is a strangled noise, the sound of your voice enough to make his dick jerk inside you. “You need to move.”
“Can’t,” he huffs back, he knows for certain he will cum right now if he does.
You’re too impatient and stubborn to be left this neglected for this long, your pussy literally dripping down the length of him, crying to be completely stuffed. Using your hand closest to the bench, you reach up to hold onto the edge of it and leverage yourself back. Having enough strength to push yourself onto him.
He can’t take it anymore, you forcing yourself back only serving to completely shatter his resolve. Now fucking his hips forward until he’s fully sheathed inside your honeyed cunt, shivers wracking his being at how hot and tight you are.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” his eyes are rolling back in his head, letting himself indulge in you fully. So much so that he’s already pulling out to fuck right back in. He’s not even really sure he could stop moving his hips now if he really wanted to.
He’s so much bigger than you really expected him to be, pussy leaking around him and down your legs, the mess you’re making obscene. It’s too fucking good though, genuinely unsure if you’ve ever felt this way before. Squirming under him so much and he doesn’t even care to stop you, too concerned with thrusting into your sweet hole over and over again.
And what he was worried about happens anyways but now he’s too far gone to care or stop, already cumming embarrassingly quick inside you. His seed dumped deep into your cunt only to trickle from you each time he pulls out because he’s not stopping even after finishing.
You gasp at it, the feeling of his orgasm surprising you by how much you get off on it, “Cho– hah!–” it’s hard to breathe, let alone speak, “Cho– hnn– did– did you cum already?”
“Hnn?” he’s panting hard, eyes locked on how creamy your cunt is, stuffed full of his cum, “yeah… mm– I’m sorry– ‘m sorry– hah– don’t– mmph– don’t worry though.”
His hands grip your hips firmly, even the feeling of your soft skin under his palms has his cock twitching. Suddenly fucking into you so much harder and quicker, pulling you back into him with every thrust forwards. He lets out a delirious little chuckle at it, sounding completely lost in your pussy.
There’s a shocked little squeal from you at the sudden change in his pace, at the desperation oozing from him. You can only really drop your head and take it, and quite frankly, all too happy to do so. You’d been waiting to be this full and now it’s better than you thought it was going to be. You do wish you could see him though, you wish you could ride him, to see how he’d look falling apart under you turns you on.
Choso’s hand reaching around so his finger can play with your clit draws you back from your small reverie, loud moan pulled from you at it, still so fucking sensitive from how he played with you before. His touch is so insistent, not letting up for a single second, even when your hips try to evade from feeling too overwhelmed by the pleasure.
He needs it though; he needs to feel how you orgasm around him. Beginning to quickly become obsessed with giving you pleasure; he wants you so fucked out and on cloud nine from him. You wanted him to touch you more and you have no idea just how badly he wanted to touch you or just what kind of thing would be awakened in him because of it.
“Yeah– yeah,” he huffs, dopey smile on his face, “I need you to cum on me.”
Good lord, he’s so much hornier than you could’ve ever thought, body shivering at how deep his voice had gotten. Almost like he was purring to you and your mind is splitting at that, cumming around him at how he spoke to you alone.
“Fuuck– that’s it,” his words slur a little, “Hah– I might– I might cum again,” and you don’t see it but his eyes light up at how your hole clenches down on him, at how you shake around him.
You slump under him, your orgasms numbing your mind and making you so pliant. The only reaction Choso gets from you is when he pulls from you, your whine pitiful, displeased at how empty you feel now. His thumbs pull apart your folds to watch how his cum stuffed inside leaks back out, the sight debauched and sinful and so incredibly arousing to him.
He’s gentle in how he collects you into his arms, spinning you until you’re chest to chest. One arm wraps around you to hold you close while the other manoeuvres around to pull your shirt up and over your head.
Feeling a little weak on your feet, even more so when you realise his dick is still unbelievably hard against you. Blinking up at him, about to ask how he’s still so hard when he’s moving you so your arms loop around his neck. Startled when he suddenly picks you up, hands gripping your thighs to hold you open.
Positioning you so that if he drops you just a little lower you’ll be impaled on his cock, “Are you okay?” He’s double checking with you, eyes wide and skin flushed so pink.
This is the first time you’ve gotten to have a proper look at his face and he looks as far gone as you feel, so clearly turned on beyond belief, like he’s seconds away from losing his mind. You wouldn’t have stopped him before but with how attractive and ruined he looks right now there isn’t a single chance in hell you’re going to stop him.
“Better than okay,” you smile at him but you have a feeling you look loopy with how cock drunk you’re getting to be.
Choso bends forwards to kiss you deep, his lips on yours warm and welcoming. Tongue careful in how he opens up your mouth. It’s tender and careful how he’s kissing you and it’s got you dizzy, feeling like your toes are tingling.
He really was planning to have a nice moment but then he has a diabolical idea and follows through on it, lowering you down onto his cock so you’re taking just the tip. Delighting in how your lips part from his to whine, revelling in how your cunt jumps around the tip of him. Already having taken all of him but so sensitive to this much regardless.
You’re gripping at him so much, gasping and struggling to breathe. The reaction only further serves to arouse and satisfy him. Choosing to instead fuck your opening with just the tip of his dick, never reaching far inside you at all. Not only does it seem to bring you pleasure but it’s also frustrating you and he finds both those reactions endearing.
Whines and pants struggling out of your lungs, nails clawing at his skin as you grapple against how both good and empty it feels to be fucked like this. Forehead resting on his collarbone as you basically drool onto his skin, it feels nice to be pressed up against him like this. As frustrating as this feels, it feels far more intimate this way and you like that a lot.
“I– hnn– need– need more, please,” you can feel tears forming in your eyes.
“Really?” he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, “but it seems like you’re so close to cumming?”
And he’s right, you hate that he’s right because you don’t want to cum like this. You don’t want an orgasm forced out of you where you’ll feel empty, enjoying the feeling of cumming around all of him.
“No, no, no,” you’re repeating it over and over, shaking your head against him, “not– not like this.”
He keeps fucking you on just the tip of him though, cock getting impossibly bigger at your pleading but still not giving into you. It’s cruel of him, his stubbornness something you shouldn’t have underestimated. Those tears that had been on your waterline sliding down your cheeks now, your frustration palpable.
Just as you’re about to cum from his shallow thrusts, he slams all the way inside you all at once. Your stomach flips like crazy, cunt spasming around him as you cum so much more than you thought you were about to. Feeling him all the way at your womb, whimpering out your cries as you orgasm around his aching dick.
Twitching and writhing in his grasp, breaths broken and staggered as you cry about it all. Opening your mouth to bite his collar bone, not really sure what to do with yourself when you’re cumming this hard.
Not even conscious of the fact that he’d moved you both until he’s adjusting to carefully hold you while he lays down on the couch. Having laid down all without pulling out of you, giving you both a place to relax.
It’s hard to focus on anything other than his dick jerking and twitching inside you though, brain fixated on how it feels. Your hips rising the slightest bit just to drop back down on him, a move that shocks you just as much as him. You weren’t putting thought into it, body moving before you had decided what you were going to.
The pathetic moan from Choso is enough to make up your mind though, moving your hips over and over and over just to hear that sound over and over again. Palms moving to his chest so you can lift up to sit on him properly.
Grinding down into him without actually lifting your hips off him so you can see the faces he makes. Cock sitting deep inside you while you do nothing but rut down into him, his eyes glazed over as he watches you ride him. Hands on the tops of your thighs but he doesn’t pull or grab, just lays there and lets you do all the work.
In all honesty, this gets him off just as much, watching you use him. All too happy to be used if it means you’ll cum around him again. His abs tense under the instinct of fucking up into you though, not wanting to throw off your own pace, wanting to see what you do to him.
You’re so fucked out and malleable from how he demolished you earlier though, the weight of your orgasms weighing down your movements. Leaning back down over him, lips over top of his in a sweet and heavy kiss.
“Choso…” your mouth trails down his cheek to his neck, “need your help,” your limbs had already felt like jelly.
His hands slip to your back, caressing you gentle before gripping your ass, “Next time, you can ride me first,” he speaks low into your ear, both promising a next time and a ride on him.
You nod your head against him, “Good.”
He laughs a little breathless at your response and then starts thrusting up into you, his legs raising a bit so he can use his feet to push off the couch. It’s brutal and so obscene, especially with your mixed orgasms, everything is messy and loud. Wet squelching and skin slapping echoing around the room, it’ll be surprising if he doesn’t get a noise complaint with how thin the walls are here.
You’re moaning too much, it’s so good that there isn’t a second passing without a sound slipping from you. Deciding to preoccupy your lips with something else, biting Choso’s skin. Leaving love bites all over his neck and collarbones; anywhere you can reach from where you are pressed into him.
Choso shudders under your ministrations, knowing he’s going to have far too many marks to realistically cover for the next many days. His balls pull up at the thought of seeing them all over himself in the mirror.
He’s too fucking weak for you, you’ve got him in the palm of your hand and you have no idea. Choosing to punish you a little over how clueless you’ve been, angling his hips to hit the deepest spot inside you that has you crying for him. Your lips off his skin at it, choking down your moans and failing.
Your hands grab at the couch under him, damn near tearing into the material of it. Puffing out hot breaths as he gets you close ridiculously fast, it’s like he’s studied every spot and reaction it gets him. Knowing your body far too well already.
You can feel him in your cervix when he says, “You know I like you right?”
Now? He chooses now to say that to you, it’s annoying and arousing at the same time. “Is now really the time–”
“Couldn’t– hnn– couldn’t wait any longer to say it,” he huffs, continuously slamming into you. The slapping of your skin making his brain spin.
Somehow, you find this incredibly appealing about him. Balls deep and whining because of how good it feels to fuck you but finding it important to tell you right now that he likes you. You’d probably say it back, that you like him, that you might be falling in love with him but he’s got such perfect aim and you’re about to cum, making it incredibly hard to say much of anything.
Orgasm overtaking you when he grinds up into you for a moment before pulling back out and fucking back in. The added stimulation on your clit pushing you off the edge in one fell swoop. Saliva pooling on his skin from how you’ve been slack jawed against him, cunt tight like a vice as you finish.
It’s almost like you’re trying to milk the orgasm out of him, and if you were, then lucky for you because you’ve cum so hard it’s forced his own orgasm from him. Hips flush to yours as he dumps his load inside your convulsing pussy. His own breath struggling out of him, dick shuddering inside your creamy walls as he comes down.
You’re both blissed out on your highs, limp and trying to regain some semblance of coherent thought.
“I’ll touch you more from now on,” he teases you.
Ignoring him, “I like you too,” you grumble.
His arms wrap around you, pulling you into a firm and comforting hug, “I know you do.”
If you had the energy, you’d probably say something snarky back at him but he’s so warm and comforting under you. Steady and stable and something unfamiliar but can only be described as the feeling of home. So, you snuggle into him instead, murmuring, “I like you a lot.”
𝒂.𝒏. i wrote this on a whim and it was inspired by my other summoning fic with choso but he's the demon teehee, if you haven't read that you can read it here
i hope you guys enjoyed ! there isn't as much plot in this one as the og but it's still there :3 also i have a discord ! if you guys wanna join the link is in my pinned post,, sometimes the link expires and i forget to update it but if i do just inbox me and i'll update it :p
ʚɞ summary. . . you are the demon that choso summons, he has a request for you and while it's inconvenient, you find yourself coming to enjoy being near him. is it okay for you to be getting so involved with this human ??
warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ 18+ only, smut, mdni, swearing, supernatural themes, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, slight tease choso, pussy whipped choso, premature ejaculation, biting, hickeys, mentions of angels/demons, maybe blasphemy (?), littlest bit of angst for the drama, demon!reader, f!reader
How you got here, you have no idea… no, like literally because the man in front of you looks just as confused to see you as you are to be here. It’d make sense if he knew what he was doing but he just… seems so confused. He’s on all fours, some herbs and other stuff you can’t quite identify spilt all over the floor, you’re assuming he’s spilt it all.
You crouch down and tilt your head at him, “Can you tell me why I’m here?”
His eyes are wide as he shakes his head at you and you can only sigh in response, annoyed. This is going to be a long night if he’s this scared of you being here when he’s the one who summoned you in the first place. You swear, humans never get any better to deal with.
Humming as you scan the surroundings a little closer, lowering your guard a touch since he doesn’t seem to pose any threat. An old book that continues to haunt you even all these years later sat close by him and what you assume to be the summoning circle. To be honest, it’s shotty work, you’re surprised it even managed to pull you here.
The human makes a move to sit back and your gaze flicks to him quickly, his movements pausing in response. Rolling your eyes at him, “Calm down, I’m not gonna kill you…” you set your eyes back on the book, reaching for it, “probably.”
You like to keep humans on their toes, it’s endlessly amusing. Unfortunately, in this case, you really can’t kill him. If you could, this would have an easy solution but that stupid book haunts you for a reason. Though, he doesn’t have any need to know all that, considering he’s terrified and shocked, you’re guessing his experience is lacking and you will be taking full advantage of that naivety.
It's been a while since you’ve been top side, this place is small and not very full of life, he should really consider buying a plant or something. First time out of hell in how many years and you get summoned into some terrified man’s boring apartment? Glancing around a bit more and yeah… you’re guessing apartment.
You should probably talk to him… ugh. Clearing your throat a little to gain his attention, “Uhm… do you… have a name?”
He nods at you, hesitating to talk before verbally replying, “…Choso.”
“Okay, well Choso, do you understand what I am?” You’re trying to be as gentle as possible, the last time this happened, you scared the fuck out of the human, and they passed out. Made things real complicated… and annoying.
Choso gives you a once over, eyes trailing your body while he nods again. Being patient is such a pain in the ass. “This would go a whole lot faster if you actually replied to me out loud.”
His reply is sheepish, “Sorry…”
Flicking through the book, bored and annoyed, how many times have you hidden it now? “Don’t give your name out so freely,” if other demons get a hold of him – especially now while he’s under your care, it’d be inconvenient at best.
Moving away from him, you stand up and collapse onto his couch. You’re trying to think about what to do with this whole situation you’ve suddenly landed in.
Choso’s voice pipes up after a few minutes go by, sturdier now though a bit tentative, “I didn’t think it’d actually work…”
“Oh?” he’s caught your attention now, “So you did mean to summon me then?”
“Not summon.”
This bastard, you can’t tell if he’s being intentionally vague or not. Your brow twitches in annoyance, “You seem a bit more knowledgeable than you initially presented yourself.”
He’s clearly gathered himself together since your arrival, “I wasn’t really prepared to have a demon appear right in front of me.”
“Maybe don’t summon one then.”
“Not summon,” he corrects, “bind.”
Your sigh borders more on a growl, so he really does know what he was doing. “And pray tell, why have you bound me to you?”
He straightens up, “Because I need something.”
“Truly shocking,” sitting up off his couch, you glare down at his form still on the floor, “if it’s money for a new apartment… I guess I could rob a bank.”
“No, not anything–” he pauses and his brows furrow, “…what’s wrong with my apartment?”
You cough slightly, as if to clear your throat, “No, nothing… it’s… beautiful… not drab and lifeless at all…” You change the topic quickly, “So what do you need from me?”
“Protection.”
“In this day and age? From what could you possibly need protection from bad enough to summon and bind a demon to you?” Is he being for real? You’re literally stuck with him until he dies from natural causes, and if that’s not how he meets his untimely end… well, it’s not great news for you.
“I don’t really know what they are.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ghosts?... I don’t know what you call them,” Choso looks a little sombre as he goes into more depth, “they attach to me, follow me home, it’s been getting worse lately.”
“Do they look human?”
He shakes his head, “No.”
Ugh, damn pests. Not even really ghosts, ghosts were at least people at one point, what he’s got all over him are lingering feelings or emotions. Things like hatred, grudges, deception, all things that people leave behind. Not just the bad things, sometimes people leave behind good feelings though it’s rarer. As a whole, it’s usually harmless, but not in this poor bastards case. Actually, it’s a little surprising he’s alive.
The fact he can see them is a bother already, and now you have no choice but to protect him because if you don’t then you can say goodbye to your life too. Getting up, you wander over to Choso and squat in front of him again. You’re trying to determine something, but he’s flustered and looking away.
“Keep still,” your hands grab either side of his face and hold him there, your eyes looking deep into his, “I’m trying to do something.”
His eyes are golden; you could get a little lost in them if you weren’t trying to see just how much energy he has. It’s just more bad news for you, despite the bags under his eyes, he has quite a bit! Yummy, yummy energy, you’re a little tempted to take some for yourself. Though, you like to think of yourself as better than those pests.
No wonder he was able to trap you here despite his shitty summoning work, what he lacks in the experience, he makes up for with the mass amounts of energy he has rolling off him. You let go of his face and sit back onto your butt, elbow resting on your knee, holding your head up.
“I suppose you just want to not feel like you’re on deaths door every time you leave the house?”
He mumbles at you, “Is that so big of an ask?”
Despite what one might think of demons, you personally don’t care about humans enough to want them dead or alive. In saying that though, there is no real benefit to you being bound, especially not to this hotspot for trouble.
Showing pity as you answer him, “No… though I’m gonna tell you right now that this isn’t really ideal for me.”
He’s growing tired, “Being haunted isn’t really ideal for me.”
“Okay snappy,” you squint at him and his attitude, “I’ll stay here and stop the ‘hauntings’ so to speak but you have to buy a plant or something… it’s so sad in here.”
“You said it was beautiful.”
“I lied.”
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
It’s barely been a week of living here and you’re so bored, he won’t take you anywhere and there is only so many television shows you can watch without feeling insane. He comes and goes quite a bit for work and visiting family or something, you don’t know, you don’t ask many questions. You’re only here to swipe off the things he picks up while gallivanting around.
Thinking on it, maybe you should ask him where he’s going because there’s hardly a day that he goes out and doesn’t come back with something following him. You’re not sure you’re really cut out for this whole ‘protection’ thing… maybe you’ll try talking to him more.
As much as the television was a clever invention, it’s equally pissing you off. You still don’t know how to change channels, so you’re stuck watching the same one the whole day and what you have learned is that shows during the day… suck.
Just as you’re contemplating throwing the remote through the stupid screen, Choso comes home. You’re quick to move over to him, brushing off the little travellers weighing him down. They haven’t been hanging around his apartment anymore, not since you got here. Maybe you could do something a bit more preventative to help him.
You step back from him, head tilting slightly when you ask, “How was your day?”
“Do you really care?” His brow raises at your out of character question, moving past you to wander into the kitchen.
You’re quick to follow behind him, “Would it make a difference if I said I did?”
He turns and blinks at you blankly, “What do you want?”
You don’t reply for a moment before caving, “I’m bored, Choso. It’s so boring here!”
“Hmm, well, if you want to go outside you know the rule.”
A grimace overtakes your face; you hate that he’s got the upper hand on you all because of this stupid bind. So… when you said he won’t take you anywhere, that’s not completely true. He’s offered to take you out but only if you tell him your name and you’ve been a little hesitant to do that, considering the weight your name carries. You’ve been nothing if not stubborn about it, he’ll be able to actually command you with your name, and you don’t love the idea of that. It’ll also make summoning you that much easier for him.
Usually, you’d just go out by yourself, but it’s been forever since you’ve been topside and you think he lives in a city and you also have no money and maybe you’re a little bit nervous about it. Sure, you could figure it out on your own but to be honest, you were hoping he’d break down and just take you somewhere.
At your silence and continued refusal to answer that question, he starts rooting through the kitchen to make himself something to eat. Grumpily, you watch him, sitting atop the counter and pouting the whole time.
You sigh, “It’s been a week, and you’ve kept me here the whole time.”
“If you wanna go out so bad, you can go by yourself,” brushing off your complaint.
“You said you’d buy a plant for in here.”
“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that.”
“I said I’d help you as long as you got a plant or something and you haven’t gotten a plant,” he ignores you, turning on the stove, “I’m assuming since you’ve not gotten a plant, I don’t have to hold up my end of the deal? Should I just stop getting rid of those pests for you?”
“Are you really that petty?”
“I’m a demon…” you pause, “so, yes?”
His shoulders drop like you’re exhausting to deal with, glancing back as he asks, “You’d put your immortal life in danger just in hopes that I crack and take you outside to buy a plant?”
“Pretty much.”
He looks back at what he’s doing, “Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell me your name?”
Grumbling back at him, “Maybe for you.”
He repeats his earlier sentiments, “I’m not taking you out, if you wanna go out, you can go by yourself.”
Hopping off the counter, you move over to him to threaten, “Maybe I’ll take some poor innocent persons soul while I’m out just to teach you a lesson.”
“Mhm,” Choso hums at you, busy focusing on his cooking. He doesn’t believe you, mostly because he can tell you’re nervous about how much things have changed. If you were going to go out and steal some souls, you’d have done it already. At least, that’s his logic.
You back away from him, giving up, “Can you at least change the channel on the television?”
He’s facing away from you so you can’t see it, but he cracks a small smile at that, amused by your inability to do such a mundane task.
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
It’s another day of suffering through boredom in this sad apartment; the books he owns are all boring too. Some of them are fine but a lot are classics you’ve already read, and others are things you don’t want to read. It’s becoming frustrating that you’re looking forward to him coming home, at least when he’s here you have someone to talk to. He’d taught you how to use the computer but unless there’s something you need to do, you don’t really know what to look up.
The one benefit of being alone with your thoughts all day is that you’re pretty sure you have an idea of how to help him. If your presence is enough to keep his home from being haunted, maybe you can leave your presence on him and they’ll be more likely to leave him alone. Now, you just have to think about how exactly to do that for him… Maybe wearing his clothes? …This idea might need to be workshopped a bit more.
You’re deep in thought when the door opens and closes, it barely registers in your mind. Too busy thinking and staring at the wall to realise he’s come home. It’s not until he stands in front of you that you’re looking up and acknowledging his presence.
He asks, “Are you ignoring me now?”
“Would you go out somewhere with me if I do?”
“No,” he deadpans. “But I did get you something while I was out today.”
You can’t help but perk up a little bit at that, watching him closely as he walks away and comes back holding a plant. A smile crosses your face as you realise he’s finally got a plant for in here. You take it from him and inspect it, it’s healthy and green. For as much as you pitched a fit over having a plant, you don’t actually know all that much about them so this could be literally any kind of plant but it’s pretty and brightens up the room, so you’re pleased.
“Thank you…” you mutter out. Sheepishly reaching out to clear him of what he’s carried back home, fulfilling your end of the deal.
“Mhm, if you want more, you gotta tell me your name.”
Scoffing lightly, “Like I’ll need more.”
“We’ll see about that,” his tone carries doubt, leaving you to head back into the kitchen. Either he likes cooking or it’s become a habit for him to cook when he returns home.
Hot on his heels because you actually need to talk to him a bit more, “Choso…”
He doesn’t stop, only continuing his movements through the apartment, “Yeah?”
“That extra room has a bed right?”
“Yeah, it’s a guest room, though it only usually gets used by my brothers when they visit…” he turns back at you, “why?”
“I need to sleep.”
“You do?”
“Well, not typically but I’m not getting any energy since I’ve been rudely pried out of hell,” you answer pointedly.
“Your only ways to get energy are to sleep or be in hell?”
“Well, unless you want me to start feeding on your energy,” you shrug, “that or random humans–”
He cuts you off abruptly, “–You can use that room to sleep.”
“I thought you’d see it my way,” your reply is pleased.
You keep looking at the plant in your hands, it’s cute, you will do your very best to take care of it. The last thing this apartment needs is a dead plant.
“Also, I’ve been thinking about how to prevent you from picking up so many pests every time you go out.”
“Mm,” he waits for you to say more and when you don’t he prompts, “well?”
Your lips purse at him, “I was just letting you know I’ve been thinking about it, I don’t have any answers yet.”
“Great, thanks,” his attention is off you now and back at the task at hand. He seems to be getting ready to make much more food than usual.
“Are you gonna eat all that?”
“It’s not for me; I’m going home tomorrow and I wanna take some dishes back with me.”
“That’s nice…” you assume, you think it’s thoughtful of him anyways.
He doesn’t reply for a bit, “…I’ll change the sheets and pillowcases on the bed after I finish with this.”
You make a noncommittal sound, not really bothered by that. Placing the plant on the countertop and sitting on the barstool. Choosing to stay close to him this evening, just observing him cook. Maybe if you somehow got your scent on him the hauntings would lessen, but then you’re just back to the idea of wearing his clothes. That or throwing his clothes on his bed and rolling on top of them like a cat in fresh laundry.
“Do you like cats?”
He looks taken aback by your sudden question, “Yeah… why?”
Shaking your head at him, “No reason in particular.”
“…Okay.”
After he’s finished cooking, he does go and change the linens over in the spare room and you sneak off to use the shower. Since he won’t go out and buy you clothes and you don’t feel like washing the ones you’re wearing, you steal some of his. When you come back out and into the guest room, he looks you over.
“You shower too?”
“What do you take me for?” frowning, “of course I shower, just normally when you’re not home.” Your fingers tap against your bicep, “I also learnt how to use the washing machines in the basement after you taught me how to use the internet.” You’ve been taking full advantage of his computer while he’s not home.
He looks at you curiously, “What do you wear when you’re washing your clothes?”
Confidently stating, “A towel.”
He sighs, “I’ll buy you some clothes when I go out tomorrow.”
“Wanna take me with you?” trying to give your cutest and most innocent smile.
“Wanna tell me your name?”
“No…” you roll your eyes at him, “It won’t matter anyways, I’ll be asleep for maybe a whole day or two, depending on how much energy I need to replenish.”
“Are you serious?”
“Why would I lie about that? I know I’m a demon and all but what would I possibly have to gain from–”
He stops you, “–Point made.”
“Good,” you’re in thought for a second, “don’t forget to check on my plant while I’m asleep.”
“Okay.” As you move past him to get into the bed, he pipes up again, “What am I gonna do about the hauntings while you’re asleep?”
Not malicious in your words, simply stating truth, “You’ve made it this long without me, haven’t you?”
He seems wholly unimpressed by that answer, somewhat glaring at you, as if to say pointedly that he summoned you now for a reason.
“Don’t look at me like that,” your head falls back, and you let out a slightly annoyed huff at his continued pouting, “fine, I’ll do something that might help but I cannot guarantee that it will… that okay with you?”
“You okay if I wake you up if it doesn’t?” Crossing his arms over his chest.
You walk over to him as you talk, “I’d prefer you didn’t, but I have a feeling you would anyways.” Your head nods at him, “Uncross your arms.”
“Why?” Despite his questioning of you, he hesitantly drops his arms.
“Because I’m gonna hug you,” reaching up as you say it, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him in close.
He’s warm, and firmer than you would’ve thought, like he’s incredibly well built under those layers. His arms slowly wrap around you, reciprocating the hug but you can tell he’s still confused on why you’re doing this.
“Why are we hugging?”
Your reply is dry, “Because you just seem so snugly.”
The words are spoken against his neck, and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine in response to your breath tickling his skin. You’re trying to make sure that you’re left all over him, it might not work if he’s wearing clothes that he’s just going to change out of again. Though, you’re not convinced this will work at all.
Just for extra good measure, you nuzzle your face against each side of his neck. The response you get from him, you weren’t quite expecting. He’s grabbed either side of your head and pulled you back, your hands falling to his shoulders.
A little flustered as he sputters out, “What are you doing now?”
“I’m just trying to make sure I leave a lasting impression.” You let go of him and turn your back to walk over to the bed, “That should be good enough, or it might not be… I don’t really know.”
“Are you sure that–”
“–Goodnight, Choso,” words a bit sharper, letting him know this is the end of this interaction. He takes the hint and leaves the room, letting you go to sleep in peace.
Oddly enough… you dream of him.
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
When you wake up, you’re not sure how many days have gone by. You do have your energy back though, ready to harass this poor haunted man into taking you outside. The first thing you do upon getting up is look for Choso, only to be disappointed by the fact that he’s not home. It seems to be the middle of the day so he’s probably out at work… unless it’s a weekend then he’s visiting family. You wonder briefly what his family is like until you remember the plant he bought you and go to check on it.
It's still doing well; its leaves are wet, and you assume that means he’s watered it while you were out. You’re glad he took care of it like you asked him to, you didn’t think you could get this attached to anything, let alone a small pot with a leafy green thing in it.
While he’s gone, you’re gonna use this opportunity to do some research on plants, and also you’re gonna shower and do your laundry. Only, when you go to look for your clothes you were in a couple days ago, you find them washed and folded away in a drawer of the dresser in the guest room. Along with new clothes and undergarments… a feeling you don’t recognise sitting heavy in your chest.
You decide to ignore that feeling and carry on with what you were planning, you can still shower and research plants…
The day you spend on the computer proves to be fruitful, learning all sorts of information on plants. Including plant care and you are woefully underprepared to take care of this plant, you need to buy something called a spray bottle so you can mist its leaves, and a watering can and another pot for when it outgrows the current one and also soil. You’re overwhelmed by all this information, but you’re excited to take care of this plant.
Maybe some gloves too so when you repot it your hands don’t get all dirty and a plate for under the new pot so it can drain properly. Just as you’re making a mental note of everything you want, the telltale sound of the door opening and Choso coming home draws you from your thoughts.
He speaks before you get a chance to, “You’re awake!”
“I am!” You brush past it quickly, “I wanna go outside.”
“Do you know how long you were out for?”
“Does it matter?”
“You were asleep for nearly four days; I was starting to get worried.”
That information actually gives you pause, “I guess I had less energy than I thought…” brows furrowing as you zero in on the small creature he’s carried inside with him, “I’m guessing the hug didn’t do anything, why didn’t you wake me up?” Easily walking up to him and swiping it away, hand shaking off the residual negative emotion.
He mumbles out something you don’t quite hear, head tilting at him, “What?”
“It did work,” he repeats louder this time. “That was the only one I’ve picked up in the last four days.”
“Oh… that’s good then!” you smile, “I’ll schedule you in for a bi-weekly cuddle,” you’re being a little playful, finding it amusing that hugging him actually left enough of your presence on him to keep the haunting to a minimum for that long.
He ignores your joyful tone, “You do seem to be in a better mood after your sleep.”
“Yes, that’s because I have more energy and also because I spent the day researching plants,” you look at him very gravely, “Choso, I wish to go outside, I want to make purchases for plant care.”
Both his brows raise, it’s his turn to be amused, “Getting into it, huh?”
“I am growing attached to the plant and I want to do my best to take care of it so it doesn’t die.”
“You’re meant to be making sure I don’t die.”
Huffing at him, “I’m doing that too, I can multitask!” It’s like he thinks you abandoned him or something, “Choso, if I hadn’t regained my energy, I wouldn’t have been able to flick off those little pests as easily as I do now and unless you prefer I start taking energy from you, you’re gonna have to let me sleep sometimes.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Mhm,” you blink slow at him, “now… about my plant!”
His lips quirk slightly, a little mocking, “My rule still stands.”
You groan, like you’re going to throw a tantrum. Your foot taps on the floor quickly as you think about this for a little longer, seriously weighing how bad you want this plant to live. Realistically, you’ve only had it for barely a day since you immediately went to sleep but you like that he actually got it for you and it’s pretty and this apartment is so sad without it. It’s doing so much hard work to make this place a little livelier! You can’t just let it die…
“Fine, I’ll tell you my name.”
“Seriously?” He looks completely surprised, “You like that plant enough to tell me your name just to buy stuff to take care of it?”
Completely steadfast in your response, “Yes.”
“You can’t be serious…”
Unwavering in your decision, giving him your name without blinking.
His forehead creases, “What?”
“That’s my name.” He blinks back at you, looking a little lost and confused about what just happened. You chirp at him, “Now you have to take me out to get stuff!”
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
Choso seems to be a man of his word because the next time he has a day off, he takes you out. The amount of people on the street is overwhelming and the cars are loud, and the air isn’t quite as clear as you remembered it… you thought that was just his apartment complex.
Either way, you’re happy to be outside. The air is fresher out here and things are bright, and people seem happy for the most part. There are so many shops, and you keep making him stop so you can look at anything that piques your interest.
Currently caught up in a small shop selling bits and bobs, something has caught your eye. It’s hanging and made of… glass? You’re not sure, it’s pretty though. The sun filters through the glass and creates a pretty pattern of rainbow all around it, a decorative golden moon and sun added in between the glass to make a beautiful little trinket.
“Choso,” you tug on his sleeve, “What is this?”
“Hrm?” He looks over to what you’re looking at, “Oh, that’s a sun catcher… do you like it?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty.” You’ve always liked the sun, it’s warm and bright, not the complete opposite of hell but far more enjoyable. All the pretty colours coming through the glass because of the sun delight you, like you’re fuzzy inside.
Choso asks simply, “Do you want it?”
“Can I?” You ask him excitedly.
And Choso feels his heart skip a beat at your enthusiasm over something this small. All the colours dancing across your skin so much more beautiful to him because you’re under them. He pushes down that affection, “Yeah, it’ll liven up the guest room for you.”
“Thank you,” you smile at him brilliantly, the thought of the light coming through the window in that room and leaping through the sun catcher exciting you. It’ll be nicer to stay in there with all the colours on the wall.
It’d be nice if his main living areas had big windows for the sun; you’d put it there. You like being in the lounge room when he comes home, you notice him quicker that way. Unfortunately, the only good windows are in the guest and main bedroom and even then, the sun only hits the guest room window enough for the sun catcher.
After he makes the purchase, you finally head over to the plant store he’d been trying to get you to for the last couple hours. Though, he finds himself not minding the constant stopping, you’ve been so curious and cheerful that he can’t bring himself to be annoyed at you for having such a good time.
The plant store is no different, you’re completely fascinated by all the plants in here. So much greenery, everything is so alive. Choso leaves you to browse all the plants while he grabs the things for plant care, you’d made a little list of things you needed while you waited somewhat impatiently for his day off.
When he comes back, you’ve grabbed a couple new ones. Turning to him when he approaches, “Choso! Can I have these as well?”
The expression on his face is charmed. “Sure,” he doesn’t see how a couple more could possibly do any harm, and he won’t deny that his apartment is a little bit sad. “I haven’t picked out a pot for the plant at home yet, I thought you might want to do that.”
“Yes! I want something bright and cute,” you nod, following behind him to the correct section. “We’ll also need some for the two I’ve grabbed.”
He smiles to himself, “Okay.” It’s in moments like this that he can’t quite understand how someone as endearing as you came from hell…
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
You’re quite taken by the plants, having placed one on the nightstand in the guest room, one on the coffee table in the lounge and the last on the countertop in the kitchen. In Choso’s absence you’ve also discovered the pleasantries of music streaming and have started listening to all kinds of music, humming along to the tune playing as you mist the leaves of your plants.
It’s a shame he lives in an apartment, if he had a house you could garden properly, you think you might like that… or maybe you’d hate it, but you don’t get to know. You’re starting to want more plants though… maybe a big one, you saw big ones when you went the other day. It’d look nice in the corner next to the television, oh! Maybe you should get a smaller one for Choso’s room too.
A little caught up in your daydreaming when he comes home, busy tending to your plant in the kitchen.
His words surprise you slightly, “I’m home.”
“Yes,” turning towards him, “I see that.”
“Normally, people respond with ‘welcome home’”
“I don’t feel like I should have to remind you that I’m not a person.”
“My bad, little miss demon,” he snarks.
Your shoulders slump a bit, annoyed, “Welcome home… human.”
“Was that so hard?” He smiles.
“Yes,” answer blasé. “Also, I need to sleep so get your hug in now,” opening your arms wide for him, when he doesn’t immediately move, your hands do a grabby gesture.
He doesn’t want you to sleep for four days straight again, “Do you have to?”
Dropping your arms at his question, “I thought we went over this.”
He states, “You need energy.”
“Yeah.”
“You said you could get it from me.”
“Choso…” Your head tilts at him, “you shouldn’t offer things when you don’t know the conditions.”
He pauses, “…What would you have to do?”
“I’d have to put my mouth on you,” shrugging, it’s called feeding for a reason, “So get your hug in,” your arms raise again, hands grabby and all.
He relents this time, walking over and leaning in to hug you, his hands large against your back. When you go to nuzzle against his neck like you did last time, he leans down. Shocking you by placing his lips over yours, a hairsbreadth away.
Whispering against him, “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna kiss you,” he murmurs, “that’ll work won’t it?”
You have no idea; you actually don’t make it a habit to feed off humans. Always choosing to sleep, “I–”
Not even getting a chance to reply properly before he’s leaning in that last bit and kissing you. You don’t push him away, enjoying the warmth of his lips on yours. It’s been so long since you were last kissed by someone and you’re getting lost in this one, head growing dizzy.
Choso pulls back from you, still close enough to feel his lips against yours though, “More?”
“Huh?” Oh, right… you’re meant to be taking his energy, you’d gotten a little wrapped up in it and forgot to, “Yeah… more–”
Barely getting your words out before his lips are slotted back over yours, not taking him long to lick against you. Letting him deepen the kiss, a soft and involuntary sound pulling from you. Choso tugs you closer at it, stepping forward too, like you could possibly get any closer to each other.
It still takes an active effort on your behalf to remember why you’re even doing this, body buzzing pleasantly at the feeling of being kissed so deeply and fully. But you do remember this time, careful not to take too much energy from him. He does taste good though, in more than one way.
You make a slight move to pull back and he follows, chasing your lips. He’s kissing you so greedily that it’s overloading your senses, making it hard to remember how to stop taking from him.
Hands having to slide down to his chest, pushing him back, “Cho– stop– that’s enough.”
“Sorry…” he looks sheepish, letting go of you and stepping back, “you won’t need to sleep now, right?”
“No,” looking him over a little curiously, surprised by just how attractive you find him like this; all flushed and chest heaving, “but unless you want to do that on the regular, you’re gonna have to let me sleep sometimes.”
He stands there for a moment, not saying anything. Like he’s thinking it over, but you didn’t expect him to think it over at all. “Choso?”
Abruptly saying, “I’m gonna go have a shower,” before leaving you standing there alone.
You have no idea what to think of what just happened.
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
That kiss… it’s given you plenty of energy, it’s also something you can’t stop thinking about. Every time you’re daydreaming, you catch yourself thinking about it and it’s starting to bother you. Even more annoyingly, Choso’s been acting differently, he doesn’t look at you as much and it feels like he’s starting to avoid you or something.
The good news is – for some reason – that kiss you shared has been keeping the hauntings at bay. So, it’s a little surprising when he walks through the door and there’s something attached to him, he sounds tired when he talks, “This one’s been on me all day, can you?” he motions at it.
“Yeah,” getting off the couch and strolling over to him, knocking the thing away. Such a sad little thing, sometimes you wonder about them.
Choso cuts off your thoughts, “How was your day?”
“Better than yours I imagine,” you quip, mostly in deflection. You’re happy that he spoke to you first today.
He hums noncommittally, “Yeah…” his eyes flick over to the plant in the kitchen, a hand coming up to rest on your head, “you’ve done a good job with the plants.”
“I know… thank you…” glancing up at him, “do you want a hug?”
He smiles lazily at you, “Is that to make me feel better or to help with the hauntings?”
“It can’t be both?”
An amused breath leaves him as he moves his hand to the back of your head, pulling you in so your forehead rests against his chest. Both arms moving around you to hold you tight, he’s holding you so close. You’ve not hugged like this before, feeling so completely held in his embrace. It was meant to be a hug for him, but you feel like you’re getting too much out of it.
Your fingers grip the back of his shirt, face to his chest and breathing in his scent. Rubbing your face against him, you wonder if this kind of intimacy shouldn’t become so natural between you two. In the beginning, it was for his safety and in turn yours but now you’re feeling too many things about it and maybe you should be drawing a line in the sand.
But when he leans down to rest his chin on your head, hand comforting on the back of it, you just can’t bring yourself to pull away and create that distance. For a few moments, you forget that you’re from hell.
You’re opening your mouth to talk before you even know what you’re going to say, “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Does it feel like I’m avoiding you?” He replies simply, still holding you to him.
“You know what I mean.”
He hums at you like he doesn’t.
“Maybe… we shouldn’t have kissed…” it’s mumbled into his shirt, you feel a little awkward saying it because you don’t particularly regret kissing him.
“Too late to take it back,” his answer is disappointing to you and you’re not completely sure what you were expecting.
“…Yeah,” you’re pulling back from him, “I’m gonna go to the back room for a bit.”
He calls your name but you’re already walking away from him. You’re acting out of character, and you don’t like it, but you don’t really know what else to do. Sitting with him all evening will have you irked and a little sad after what he said and you’re even more annoyed because you’re the one who prompted the conversation for him to say that.
Maybe this is good, maybe this is the line drawn in the sand you needed. It’s odd for you to be getting so familiar with a human in the first place, you’re not here because you want to be, you’re here because you were forced.
You’re feeling restless laying here on the bed, you want to go outside, if only to wander around for a bit. Getting up, you stick your head out the room to see if Choso is in any of the main areas. When you’re satisfied that he’s not going to see you leave, you head for the front door and slip out as quietly as possible.
As soon as you’re outside the building, you’re met with the cold breeze of the night air welcoming you. It’s later in the evening now but there are still a few people out at this time, it must be nice for them to not be concerned with the otherworld like Choso is. You’ve only gone out the one time to get plants and you had him with you so you’re not completely familiar with the area, but you know the general direction of a park and you head that way.
You want to sit surrounded by some nature, the cold buildings can be fun to look at, but you want something more alive. Pausing a moment and looking around, you think you’ve gotten lost. You do eventually find your way but it takes longer to get to the park than it did the last time so you must’ve taken some wrong turns along the way.
Sighing in relief when it finally comes into your view, taking a deep breath before finding a bench to sit down on. Not many people are walking through the park at this time, only the odd passerby.
Sometimes, you find yourself wishing you could connect more with nature. You’re from hell and demons inherently are disconnected from the living, it’s why you feed off them for energy. Humans have a nice relationship with nature that you’ll never have, even more so for those like Choso. Holier beings like angels or deities also are lucky enough to have that connection to the living, things aren’t black and white though. Some of them definitely take that connection for granted. Just like how all demons aren’t evil, not all angels are good.
There’s a friend you had some decades ago; they were also a demon but worked their way into being something more akin to a deity by doing good deeds or something. You find yourself wishing you paid more attention to them when they were talking… you wonder how they’re doing. Last you heard they were here, living somewhat quietly but you have a feeling that wouldn’t have lasted long. Despite becoming a deity, they had a penchant for trouble.
Collecting your thoughts in the night breeze is helping, you can’t remember the last time you’d felt so much that you needed to reflect like this. It’s nice… until you’re being interrupted, Choso is using your name to summon you back to him. Suddenly back in that small apartment, standing in front of him.
It’s almost reminiscent of when you were first called here, but this time he’s standing in front of you with his arms crossed and brows furrowed. Clearly annoyed by something, you’re looking back at him blankly.
He’s first to speak, “Where were you?”
“Does it matter?” You’re still frustrated with him for earlier and it’s coming out unintentionally.
Exasperated by your answer, “Of course it matters!”
“I don’t see why… as long as I make sure you’re not being haunted then I’m still keeping my end of the deal. Where I was had no impact on that.”
He’s not impressed, “I didn’t know where you were.”
“You can call me whenever you want,” you remind, like it should help him.
“That’s not the point.”
“I didn’t even think you’d notice.”
“Still not the point.”
Tone curt, sick of the back and forth, “Then either make your point or let me go to the guest room.”
Choso can tell you’re withdrawing from him, your attitude more akin to how you were when you first got here. “I was concerned; I went looking for you only to have no idea where you went.”
Stating plainly, “I wanted to be outside.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that then?”
“Because I didn’t want to talk to you,” pausing for a moment, you’re not intending to hurt him, “and I still don’t.”
He doesn’t let it get to him, “Tough because I think we should talk.”
“Why?” It’s a stupid question and he’s not unreasonable for saying you should talk, you’re just uncomfortable and don’t have much experience in the field of communicating like humans so love to do.
“You’re clearly upset with me,” he points out.
You deny it, “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to,” his head tilts at you, “sneaking out and not wanting to talk to me kind of makes it clear even without words.”
“I don’t have anything to say,” and you don’t. Maybe it’s just you having too many things to say and not knowing where to start but in this moment you truly have nothing to say.
Soft sigh leaving him, “Start with telling me why you don’t want to talk to me.”
“You’ve pissed me off,” you scowl.
“How?”
All his damn questions are pissing you off even more, “I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” he asserts.
“Okay, Mr know-it-all, how about you tell me why I’m annoyed?”
“Something I said earlier… I didn’t mean it like that,” his confidence falters, “it came out wrong.”
“And what exactly did you say?” You bet he’s not liking being on the receiving end of all these questions.
“I said it was too late to take back the kiss…” his hand moves to rub at the back of his neck, expression growing flustered, “I didn’t mean that like I wanted to take it back… I got defensive when you said that we shouldn’t have done it.”
“I said that because you’re the one who’s been weird lately,” you pout, “you don’t talk to me as much when you get home and even when you do you don’t look at me.”
“I don’t look at you because I keep looking at your lips,” you’re getting under his skin.
“Don’t say that like it’s my fault,” you huff.
“It is your fault!”
“I didn’t do anything,” you defend.
“You didn’t have to,” he stops and intakes a breath, calming down.
Finally, you answer his question from earlier, “I went to the park… I felt restless and wanted to go outside.”
His reply is a simple, “Okay.”
You feel incredibly awkward now, not really knowing what to say.
Choso’s fingers rests against his temple, like he’s getting a headache, “It’s getting late… we can talk about this another time.”
You nod at him, feeling a bit guilty. Maybe if you’d been human, you’d know the right way to approach this situation, you’d know the right words to say but all you’re feeling is uncomfortable and confused and a little relief.
While Choso heads off to his room, you shuffle over to the couch. Trying to untangle everything that had happened; all your thoughts. The relief you felt when he said he didn’t mean to say he wanted to take back the kiss is nagging at you. So is the confusion that’s followed it, does that mean what you think it does?
You’re feeling restless again and instead of wandering off onto the streets, you’re just going to go wake him up. Quietly approaching his room and sliding inside, wincing a bit at the door creaking.
As soon as the door shuts, Choso surprises you by speaking, “What are you doing?”
Wordlessly, you drag your feet to his bed. And after a moments pause, decide to get in beside him. He turns on his side to face you, his voice sounds concerned, “Are you okay?”
“I’m confused… and still annoyed…” you’re frowning as you sort through your feelings, “but, I was hurt by what you said earlier… I don’t know what I was expecting but when you said it was too late to take it back… it hurt.” Your voice gets a little smaller than you’re used to, “Because I didn’t regret kissing you.”
“It’s times like these that has me forgetting you’re not human,” he smiles at you softly.
“That’s funny because this is when I feel the least human.”
“I don’t regret the kiss,” he makes it clear for you, “I want to kiss you again.”
“You can… if you want to.” You feel overwhelmingly embarrassed after having said that.
His hand reaches for the side of your head, pulling you in as he leans in at the same time. Stopping his movements for a moment to give you time to pull away and when you don’t, he’s slotting his lips over yours, kissing you deep. Humming against you gratefully as his lips seek out yours eagerly.
It’s not as urgent as your last kiss, like he knows he has time now. Still, he’s insistent, unable to help himself. Leaning in more just to roll you both until he’s on top of you, your back pressing into the mattress under his weight.
He’s overwhelming all your senses completely, the way he smells, his warm touch, it’s all making your head fuzzy. A nice but unfamiliar feeling, he’s invading your brain and it’s making it incredibly hard to think about anything other than him.
Fingers dragging along his back, looking for purchase but slipping on his shirt. Hands ending up in his hair, threading through it and tugging back on him slightly, needing to part just for a moment. He relents but that doesn’t mean his lips are off you, moving to your cheek and down to your neck.
Lips soft as he presses them to your delicate skin, dragging them down the side of your throat. His touch makes you shiver, small whine leaving you. Your hand moves to clasp over your mouth, the sound surprising to yourself.
“Cho–” he softly nips at you and it has you stumbling over yourself, “don’t– don’t you have work tomorrow?”
He pauses, eyes glancing to yours, “Does that mean you want me to stop?”
“I– that’s not what I said,” frowning at him, “I mentioned it because it’s late and you always tell me how you need to go to bed earlier so you can get to work on time, so I thought–”
In Choso’s head your words all start muddling together because he’s watching your lips and leaning in to kiss you deep, unintentional in how he cuts you off but stopping your words nonetheless. He’s quickly growing addicted to the taste of you, humming appreciatively as he licks against your tongue.
Humans choose to prioritise the oddest of things and it changes on a whim; this puzzles you but you’re forgetting what you were even trying to say the longer he kisses you. Letting yourself enjoy his mouth on yours, his breaths puff against your lips when he pulls back. His head drops to your chest while he catches his breath.
Choso’s head is reeling, he really wants to keep kissing you but he’s trying to be rational. Though it’s getting harder to listen to his reasonable side when he’s aching to keep touching you. You’re so warm under him and despite the fact you’re not human, under his larger form you seem so delicate. His heart twisting at just how much you’re struggling with your feelings for him, he can’t help but chuckle a bit at that. Giddy.
His laughing irks you though, “Why are you laughing?”
“Hm?” He shakes his head but doesn’t lift it from you, “No reason.”
“You’re so weird,” you mutter at him, a little bit huffy.
He looks up at you, chin resting on you still, “You’re cute.”
You gape at him, shocked. You’re a lot of things but cute isn’t something you thought of yourself. Cycling through a bunch of thoughts and feelings before finally settling on, “No I’m not!”
“Don’t be so insulted,” he smiles, “It was a compliment.”
“I’m meant to be scary you know,” pouting a slight bit.
“Are you sure?” He considers, “I don’t think you’re doing a very good job of that.”
“I scared you.”
“When?”
You insist, “When you first summoned me!”
“Ohh,” he thinks for a moment, “Hm… I guess you got me there,” he continues to smile at you, light blush dusting his cheeks.
You don’t like how it feels like he’s just giving in to appease you, “I’m a demon… from hell.”
Choso doesn’t miss a beat, “A demon who likes plants, enjoys the sun, has opinions on my interior decorating… should I go on?”
Grumbling low at him but not saying anything more because you can’t defend yourself when he’s pointing out obvious truths. It does make you a little happy that he thinks about you like this. Usually, you wouldn’t want to be seen as something more than a demon – it’s not especially safe to be considered less powerful than you are – but Choso not being scared of you and seeing you as more than just what you are and where you’re from feels nice.
Not that you’re going to tell him that though, he doesn’t need to know. As you gaze at him, you note just how sleepy he seems. He has been working a lot lately and you suppose you worried him when you wandered off earlier and you suppose you do feel a little bad about that.
Your hand strokes the top of head softly, gentle with him, “You should sleep.”
“Maybe…” he nuzzles into you, “will you stay?”
“If I must.” It’s said like it’s a chore but it’s far from it.
. ۫ ꣑ৎ .
That night, you’d stayed with him the whole time. It was… a little boring, though that’s not to say you wouldn’t do it again. Choso had rolled off you and pulled you to him, he’d held you for most the night. It was a long night of thinking for you but at some point you must’ve accidentally dozed off because you woke up to Choso shaking you. It was almost like he was worried you were going to be asleep for days again, which you found amusing.
Three days have passed since then and neither of you have mentioned that night or the second kiss you’ve shared. To be fair to him, he has been a little busier than usual but everyday it’s like you’re impatiently waiting for him bring it up. You don’t know where to go from here, but you want to touch him more… you want him to touch you more.
The issue is you can’t seem to find a good time to bring it up and you don’t know how to bring it up and also you don’t know what boundaries are in place so you don’t know if you can just touch him or not. All these setbacks have resulted in you staring very intently at him while he cleans up the kitchen.
To Choso, you watching him isn’t necessarily anything new, you’ve been known to do that. What is new however, is the intensity in which you’re doing it. Eyes never leaving his form for even a single moment and he can feel it. You have very pretty eyes but you’re freaking him out, he’s starting to wonder if he’s done something wrong. Maybe the plants aren’t enough anymore, and you want him to buy something new… he needs to keep saving if that’s the case.
Once he’s cleaned up enough, he stops and walks over opposite you. His hands rest on the bench that separates the two of you, “Do you need something?”
The question isn’t completely unexpected, you have been staring at him like you want something, but you were kind of hoping he’d just know without asking but he – obviously – cannot read minds.
Facing away from him, you lie, “Nope.”
Choso clicks his tongue at you, clearly knowing better. He’s quiet for a moment after that though, looking at you as he thinks. You still avoid looking at him, only glancing over for a moment or two before evading his gaze once again.
“You aren’t normally so hesitant when it comes to saying what you want.”
“That’s because I normally know what to say,” you fully look at him now, “This is all very new for me.”
“What is?” Choso knows you mean your feelings – he knows that – he just likes to push a little bit to see how you react.
You frown at him because you’re aware of just how easily he reads you, “I’m gonna go watch TV.”
“No, no,” he’s rushing to your side before you can get off the kitchen stool. One of his hands rest on the back of it, the other on the bench top – blocking the way you were turning to get up. “I’m sorry for teasing.”
“You should be…” you hesitate before suddenly saying, “I want you to touch me more.”
Choso’s conscious of how his heartrate picks up at your words, feeling like he’s going a little insane. He feels himself short-circuiting right in front of you but before he gets ahead of himself, he clarifies, “Like… in general?”
“No…” You’re growing embarrassed now; you hadn’t meant to state it so plainly.
“So…” tentatively, he reaches a hand to your knee, trailing higher up to your thigh as he asks, “you want me to touch you like this?”
Your breath hitches for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his large palm on you more than you thought you would. Eyes watching him carefully for his next movement, but he refuses to move another inch before you answer his question.
Looking up at him, eyes soft, “Please?”
Choso’s fingers twitch at your small plea, leaning in to kiss you passionately; feeling an absurd need to keep his lips on you until he can’t even breathe. His brain buzzing as he licks at your mouth, begging for you to open up for him. Unable to stop the moan that leaves him when your tongue meets his.
Somehow, you always find yourself completely lost in Choso’s kisses, like you’re being consumed. Ironic considering the relationship you two have. You’re so lost in how good it feels to be touched by him again that you’re letting out a soft whine when his hand on your thigh trails inside your sleep shorts.
Gasping against him when his fingers brush over your clothed core, his directness surprising. You weren’t expecting him to be so forward in how he touches you. Your own fingers grabbing at his shoulders, heart beating faster in anticipation.
His lips part from yours, “Are you really this sensitive?”
“Huh?” You’re not sure what he’s referring to.
“I mean…” his fingers graze over your cunt again, touch light, “your hips keep moving at the slightest touch.”
You hadn’t even realised you were doing that, embarrassment back tenfold, “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not being rude,” he huffs a laugh, putting more pressure behind his touch, spreading your folds apart through your underwear, “I was just making an observation.”
The softest moans following his touch, head growing heavy with how fuzzy it’s starting to feel. Choso’s gaze stays glued to his hand, wishing he had a better view of you without your shorts in the way. Cock only getting harder at every sound you let out, wanting to make you feel unbelievably good – to touch you more, just like how you asked him so nicely.
“Hey,” he withdraws his hand and pats your hip a couple times, “lift up for a sec.”
Not even really questioning his request, only focused on doing what he wants fast enough so he’ll keep touching you. And the moment your hips are off the stool, he’s tugging your shorts down as quick as possible.
“Choso!” He ignores your indignant cry.
Choosing instead to spread your legs wider so he can get a better look at you. Digits tracing your panties, thumb pressing into the wet spot on them, “I haven’t even done all that much yet,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
You hear it anyways and it has you all flustered, “Don’t–”
He glances up at you, “Don’t what?”
“Don’t narrate,” grumbling back at him.
Choso actually chuckles at that, “Hmm? You don’t like me telling you just how wet you’ve gotten.”
You genuinely wouldn’t have taken him for such a tease, “You’re being evil.”
“Is that so?” He doesn’t think so.
He does think he’s getting sick of not hearing you moaning in pleasure though so he’s quick to slip his fingers into your panties. Collecting your slick with his middle finger just to rub gentle circles over your clit. The reaction it pulls from you makes him shiver, you’re so sensitive to his touch he thinks he might pass out.
Considering if he wants to make you cum just from your clit or not when your hips wiggle down against his touch. That alone has him deciding he’d like to see the reaction he gets from stuffing his finger inside you, would you be just as needy? Or maybe more? Digit sliding down to prod at your hole, his dick aching at how you’re already trembling.
It’s like you’re holding your breath waiting for his next move, collapsing into him when he finally stops teasing you and pushes his finger inside. Choso wasn’t purposefully trying to tease you, he’d just gotten so distracted by how your little hole was twitching and leaking that he’d paused for slightly too long.
Over your own moans and weighted breaths, you barely even register Choso’s groan. His mind splitting at just how warm and gooey you are that he can’t help himself. And still, you’re so so sensitive to him, seeing you squirming turns him on in such an indescribable way. Using his finger to crook upwards, rubbing against your walls in hopes that he’ll have you falling apart soon.
Your hands grip him tighter and your eyes feel like they’re dotting with stars when he rubs up against something devastating inside you. Mouth dropping open in an obscene whine that you couldn’t stop even if you thought to. Forehead dropping to his chest and rubbing against him as you try and fail to gain your bearings against the way he’s making you feel.
Choso’s heart leaps at how endearing he finds you to be, falling apart in the palm of his hand and he still finds you cute. He’s determined to have you cumming, pulling back his hand just to slide in another finger alongside his first. Scissoring them so he can begin stretching you out, stuffing your cunt full of his fingers and hitting that spot that had you nearly cross eyed.
He’s learning what gives you the most pleasure, analysing your reactions carefully and making sure to brush up against and show love to every inch of you that has you shaking and shivering. You’re unravelling slowly from his touch and he can feel his sanity slipping, knowing he’s making you feel so good that you can’t stop rutting your hips down into his hand bringing him a kind of pleasure he’s not felt before.
“Choso– ah!” chest heaving, “You gotta stop.”
He knows you’re so close though, “Why?”
Lifting your head to look up at him, eyes sparkling with your lust, “I’m– hah– gonna cum.”
He’s leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple and you think maybe he’s going to listen to you but instead he only doubles his efforts. Focusing solely on all the spots that have your mind melting, his thumb drawing circles over your clit. It’s all too much, you’re already so sensitive after however long neglect and now he’s touching you so perfectly, it’s amazing you haven’t already cum.
“You–”
“–Just let it happen,” he cuts you off before you can finish what you were trying to say, “relax, let yourself feel good,” he’s talking you through it so sweetly, “you’re already so close, I bet you’re feeling fantastic right now.”
Your only response is part way between a whine and a groan, frustrated by just how much him talking adds to how good it feels.
“Don’t hold back so much,” Choso murmurs against your ear, “I thought you said you wanted me to touch you.”
Your hips are grinding down into his hand, a desperation you’re not fully conscious of. Choso lets it happen, wanting you to get off however you want it. Quite frankly, he’s just here for the ride, he’ll help you however you need. Careful to angle his fingers just right to continue nailing your most sensitive spots, finding it loveable how in your reckless need you keep missing them.
His voice in your ear has you clenching down around his digits and he lets slip a soft whine at the knowledge that his voice helps get you off. In turn, the sound he lets out is your undoing, it’s so pathetic and surprised that your orgasm takes you over. Unable to hold it off any longer as it wracks through your whole being, fingers clawing at him as your lungs seize in your chest.
“You did so good,” Choso compliments, his voice drenched in the amount of arousal he’s feeling. His fingers slipping from your core has him biting his lip to fend off anymore sudden whines, feeling mad at how your sticky cunt seems so unwilling to let him go.
You’re so loopy and brain dead from a single orgasm that when you look up at him, he has to take a few very calculated breaths to calm down. Cumming prematurely just from how fucked you look from drowning in pleasure a very real possibility right now.
A few beats pass of him looking behind you to focus on anything but your lust dipped gaze but then you pull weakly at him and he’s looking at you again. Your thighs rubbing together, clearly not satiated with what he’s given you and you’re so completely drenched, panties nearly see through at this point. His mouth is watering and it really takes him little to no effort to follow through or decide upon his next moves.
Sliding you off the barstool only to spin you around to face it, hand placed on your upper back to gently push you chest down onto the seat of it. His body following after yours, frame pressed up against you so he can talk low into your ear, “I’m gonna touch you so much more.”
It’s an incredibly tempting promise, your pussy clenching in anticipation. You’re expecting him to take his pants off or something but instead the weight of him is lifting off you and he’s moving further behind you.
Large hands at your hips slipping your panties down your legs, the hitch in his breathing audible at the sight of you. You can’t see him but the feeling of his lips pressing open mouthed kisses up the inside of your thighs already has you squirming, cunt still twitchy from your orgasm. He’s shameless in how he licks up your leg, sucking on your skin at the highest point of your inner thigh and letting go with a loud pop.
“You’re so pretty,” his words vibrate against your skin.
Gasping at him, “Choso, why are you…”
“Why am I what?”
You grumble at him incoherently, not really sure how to ask ‘why he’s not just fucking you’ without being that blunt, plus you’re a little embarrassed. You can feel his stare on your pussy and it’s making you self-conscious, moving to stand up but Choso’s quick to raise a hand and push you back down.
He feels so impatient, “Just… cum one more time and I’ll fuck you after.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah,” his throat bobbing as he swallows, “yeah, I promise.”
Relaxing under his hand at the confirmation of his promise, that same hand trailing from your back down your waist, over your hips and then resting on the side your ass. Other hand gripping the opposite side, Choso uses his thumbs to pull at the lips of your cunt, obscenely spreading you wide. It’s so depraved that you feel your head spin, never having felt so exposed in your whole life. Breath rushing from your lungs, feeling like you’re about to pass out from the whole ordeal.
Choso’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, damn near salivating like a dog just from the sight of your sopping wet pussy. Finally putting his mouth on your sweet cunt and whining about it, making out lovingly with your hole. Tongue gliding inside you, pushing his face as close as he can possibly get so he can ensure he’s reaching as deep as he can.
Your toes are curling at the completely different sensations, huffing out all kinds of desperate and needy sounds. He’s so passionate in how he licks at you, almost like he’s worshipping everything about your cunt. It’s driving you up a wall, so overwhelmed and if you weren’t sensitive before you sure as fuck are now.
Every one of your nerves feels frayed and alive like an exposed wire, stomach flipping as you so very quickly get to the precipice of your orgasm all over again. Thighs shaking with the build-up of it, the most pathetic of sounds leaving you and you genuinely can’t help it because it’s taking everything in you to not scream. Walls clenching down around his tongue, completely different from his fingers. Still so pleasurable and yet you’re aching for something more, to be shoved full of his cock and fucked properly.
Your horny brain is taking over, babbling to him through pants and whimpers, “Cho– please– hnn– I want your– hah!” your hips are wiggling back onto his face, just about riding his tongue.
Choso can’t fucking take it, he’s so unbearably hard in his pants. Your begging is not helping and certainly not the grinds of your pussy against his mouth. He’s so excited by how you’re seeking out your own orgasm with his tongue, hands on you doing nothing more than resting there and holding you open for him. He’s not about to stop you from enjoying this to the fullest extent, continuing to lap at your cunt religiously.
Appetite for the taste of you large, all too happy to gulp down all your slick. Slurping so lewd and loud that it only serves to turn him on that much more, he can’t think straight anymore, not that he’s sure he ever was in the first place.
Your thighs start shaking that much more, whimpers that much more pathetic but the biggest giveaway of your impending orgasm is the way your hole pulses around his tongue so hot. His dick twitching in eagerness, thrilled about the prospect of your cum in his mouth.
The sounds you let out are garbled and unintelligible, you were trying to let him know just how close you were, that you were seconds away from cumming but he already knew. Coaxing you through it, sucking on your pussy as you tremble under your second orgasm. And as delicious as it is, you find yourself wishing to feel fuller, his promise has you just as eager as him.
Already daydreaming about the sensation of being filled to the brim, still laying over the stool and collecting your fragmented mind. Words a little slurred when you call for him, “Cho… you– mmph– you gotta keep your promise.”
He can’t even find it in himself to tease or say something witty, immediately rising to his feet and quickly undressing completely. Positioning himself at your entrance but leaning down over top of you to double check with you.
“You’re ready?”
“I want it,” is all you can say in return.
His skin tingles, arousal pricking at his very being. His response to you is a soft hum before slowly pushing the tip of him into your tight, little hole. His breath leaves him and it feels like his insides jolt and then stall altogether, your pussy so fucking creamy and soft that he could swear he’s already cumming. Head absolutely spinning at the bliss he feels and he’s barely got the tip inside you, he has no idea how on earth he’s meant to possibly last longer than a singular second inside you.
And then, your hips fuck back a little and he’s letting out the largest and most pathetic whimper he ever has. Maybe if you didn’t feel like heaven itself wrapped around his aching dick, he’d feel some kind of shame or embarrassment but it hardly matters when it’s this good. For all he’s concerned, you earned that sound he just made.
He’s so completely ruined already and it has your stomach doing flips, pussy trembling around him which only further serves him to feel no shame and to continue his whines. Trying to take it as slow as he can manage but you’re making it so difficult for him. Cunt too eager to suck him in, your need pushing your hips back onto him.
Choso rises off you and presses his hand into your back to hold you still, needing a moment to breathe without you wriggling your way down his shaft. Still whining and moaning through heavy breaths, not quite halfway inside you. He’s having such a hard time thinking, head swimming in desire.
He’s paused for too long; you just want him as deep inside you as he can possibly go but he’s holding back and it’s ridiculously unbearable for you. You hadn’t realised just how damn touch starved you were before him and to be this close to having him all the way inside feels agonising.
“Choso,” your voice isn’t anywhere near as firm as you wish it had been. His only response is a strangled noise, the sound of your voice enough to make his dick jerk inside you. “You need to move.”
“Can’t,” he huffs back, he knows for certain he will cum right now if he does.
You’re too impatient and stubborn to be left this neglected for this long, your pussy literally dripping down the length of him, crying to be completely stuffed. Using your hand closest to the bench, you reach up to hold onto the edge of it and leverage yourself back. Having enough strength to push yourself onto him.
He can’t take it anymore, you forcing yourself back only serving to completely shatter his resolve. Now fucking his hips forward until he’s fully sheathed inside your honeyed cunt, shivers wracking his being at how hot and tight you are.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” his eyes are rolling back in his head, letting himself indulge in you fully. So much so that he’s already pulling out to fuck right back in. He’s not even really sure he could stop moving his hips now if he really wanted to.
He’s so much bigger than you really expected him to be, pussy leaking around him and down your legs, the mess you’re making obscene. It’s too fucking good though, genuinely unsure if you’ve ever felt this way before. Squirming under him so much and he doesn’t even care to stop you, too concerned with thrusting into your sweet hole over and over again.
And what he was worried about happens anyways but now he’s too far gone to care or stop, already cumming embarrassingly quick inside you. His seed dumped deep into your cunt only to trickle from you each time he pulls out because he’s not stopping even after finishing.
You gasp at it, the feeling of his orgasm surprising you by how much you get off on it, “Cho– hah!–” it’s hard to breathe, let alone speak, “Cho– hnn– did– did you cum already?”
“Hnn?” he’s panting hard, eyes locked on how creamy your cunt is, stuffed full of his cum, “yeah… mm– I’m sorry– ‘m sorry– hah– don’t– mmph– don’t worry though.”
His hands grip your hips firmly, even the feeling of your soft skin under his palms has his cock twitching. Suddenly fucking into you so much harder and quicker, pulling you back into him with every thrust forwards. He lets out a delirious little chuckle at it, sounding completely lost in your pussy.
There’s a shocked little squeal from you at the sudden change in his pace, at the desperation oozing from him. You can only really drop your head and take it, and quite frankly, all too happy to do so. You’d been waiting to be this full and now it’s better than you thought it was going to be. You do wish you could see him though, you wish you could ride him, to see how he’d look falling apart under you turns you on.
Choso’s hand reaching around so his finger can play with your clit draws you back from your small reverie, loud moan pulled from you at it, still so fucking sensitive from how he played with you before. His touch is so insistent, not letting up for a single second, even when your hips try to evade from feeling too overwhelmed by the pleasure.
He needs it though; he needs to feel how you orgasm around him. Beginning to quickly become obsessed with giving you pleasure; he wants you so fucked out and on cloud nine from him. You wanted him to touch you more and you have no idea just how badly he wanted to touch you or just what kind of thing would be awakened in him because of it.
“Yeah– yeah,” he huffs, dopey smile on his face, “I need you to cum on me.”
Good lord, he’s so much hornier than you could’ve ever thought, body shivering at how deep his voice had gotten. Almost like he was purring to you and your mind is splitting at that, cumming around him at how he spoke to you alone.
“Fuuck– that’s it,” his words slur a little, “Hah– I might– I might cum again,” and you don’t see it but his eyes light up at how your hole clenches down on him, at how you shake around him.
You slump under him, your orgasms numbing your mind and making you so pliant. The only reaction Choso gets from you is when he pulls from you, your whine pitiful, displeased at how empty you feel now. His thumbs pull apart your folds to watch how his cum stuffed inside leaks back out, the sight debauched and sinful and so incredibly arousing to him.
He’s gentle in how he collects you into his arms, spinning you until you’re chest to chest. One arm wraps around you to hold you close while the other manoeuvres around to pull your shirt up and over your head.
Feeling a little weak on your feet, even more so when you realise his dick is still unbelievably hard against you. Blinking up at him, about to ask how he’s still so hard when he’s moving you so your arms loop around his neck. Startled when he suddenly picks you up, hands gripping your thighs to hold you open.
Positioning you so that if he drops you just a little lower you’ll be impaled on his cock, “Are you okay?” He’s double checking with you, eyes wide and skin flushed so pink.
This is the first time you’ve gotten to have a proper look at his face and he looks as far gone as you feel, so clearly turned on beyond belief, like he’s seconds away from losing his mind. You wouldn’t have stopped him before but with how attractive and ruined he looks right now there isn’t a single chance in hell you’re going to stop him.
“Better than okay,” you smile at him but you have a feeling you look loopy with how cock drunk you’re getting to be.
Choso bends forwards to kiss you deep, his lips on yours warm and welcoming. Tongue careful in how he opens up your mouth. It’s tender and careful how he’s kissing you and it’s got you dizzy, feeling like your toes are tingling.
He really was planning to have a nice moment but then he has a diabolical idea and follows through on it, lowering you down onto his cock so you’re taking just the tip. Delighting in how your lips part from his to whine, revelling in how your cunt jumps around the tip of him. Already having taken all of him but so sensitive to this much regardless.
You’re gripping at him so much, gasping and struggling to breathe. The reaction only further serves to arouse and satisfy him. Choosing to instead fuck your opening with just the tip of his dick, never reaching far inside you at all. Not only does it seem to bring you pleasure but it’s also frustrating you and he finds both those reactions endearing.
Whines and pants struggling out of your lungs, nails clawing at his skin as you grapple against how both good and empty it feels to be fucked like this. Forehead resting on his collarbone as you basically drool onto his skin, it feels nice to be pressed up against him like this. As frustrating as this feels, it feels far more intimate this way and you like that a lot.
“I– hnn– need– need more, please,” you can feel tears forming in your eyes.
“Really?” he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, “but it seems like you’re so close to cumming?”
And he’s right, you hate that he’s right because you don’t want to cum like this. You don’t want an orgasm forced out of you where you’ll feel empty, enjoying the feeling of cumming around all of him.
“No, no, no,” you’re repeating it over and over, shaking your head against him, “not– not like this.”
He keeps fucking you on just the tip of him though, cock getting impossibly bigger at your pleading but still not giving into you. It’s cruel of him, his stubbornness something you shouldn’t have underestimated. Those tears that had been on your waterline sliding down your cheeks now, your frustration palpable.
Just as you’re about to cum from his shallow thrusts, he slams all the way inside you all at once. Your stomach flips like crazy, cunt spasming around him as you cum so much more than you thought you were about to. Feeling him all the way at your womb, whimpering out your cries as you orgasm around his aching dick.
Twitching and writhing in his grasp, breaths broken and staggered as you cry about it all. Opening your mouth to bite his collar bone, not really sure what to do with yourself when you’re cumming this hard.
Not even conscious of the fact that he’d moved you both until he’s adjusting to carefully hold you while he lays down on the couch. Having laid down all without pulling out of you, giving you both a place to relax.
It’s hard to focus on anything other than his dick jerking and twitching inside you though, brain fixated on how it feels. Your hips rising the slightest bit just to drop back down on him, a move that shocks you just as much as him. You weren’t putting thought into it, body moving before you had decided what you were going to.
The pathetic moan from Choso is enough to make up your mind though, moving your hips over and over and over just to hear that sound over and over again. Palms moving to his chest so you can lift up to sit on him properly.
Grinding down into him without actually lifting your hips off him so you can see the faces he makes. Cock sitting deep inside you while you do nothing but rut down into him, his eyes glazed over as he watches you ride him. Hands on the tops of your thighs but he doesn’t pull or grab, just lays there and lets you do all the work.
In all honesty, this gets him off just as much, watching you use him. All too happy to be used if it means you’ll cum around him again. His abs tense under the instinct of fucking up into you though, not wanting to throw off your own pace, wanting to see what you do to him.
You’re so fucked out and malleable from how he demolished you earlier though, the weight of your orgasms weighing down your movements. Leaning back down over him, lips over top of his in a sweet and heavy kiss.
“Choso…” your mouth trails down his cheek to his neck, “need your help,” your limbs had already felt like jelly.
His hands slip to your back, caressing you gentle before gripping your ass, “Next time, you can ride me first,” he speaks low into your ear, both promising a next time and a ride on him.
You nod your head against him, “Good.”
He laughs a little breathless at your response and then starts thrusting up into you, his legs raising a bit so he can use his feet to push off the couch. It’s brutal and so obscene, especially with your mixed orgasms, everything is messy and loud. Wet squelching and skin slapping echoing around the room, it’ll be surprising if he doesn’t get a noise complaint with how thin the walls are here.
You’re moaning too much, it’s so good that there isn’t a second passing without a sound slipping from you. Deciding to preoccupy your lips with something else, biting Choso’s skin. Leaving love bites all over his neck and collarbones; anywhere you can reach from where you are pressed into him.
Choso shudders under your ministrations, knowing he’s going to have far too many marks to realistically cover for the next many days. His balls pull up at the thought of seeing them all over himself in the mirror.
He’s too fucking weak for you, you’ve got him in the palm of your hand and you have no idea. Choosing to punish you a little over how clueless you’ve been, angling his hips to hit the deepest spot inside you that has you crying for him. Your lips off his skin at it, choking down your moans and failing.
Your hands grab at the couch under him, damn near tearing into the material of it. Puffing out hot breaths as he gets you close ridiculously fast, it’s like he’s studied every spot and reaction it gets him. Knowing your body far too well already.
You can feel him in your cervix when he says, “You know I like you right?”
Now? He chooses now to say that to you, it’s annoying and arousing at the same time. “Is now really the time–”
“Couldn’t– hnn– couldn’t wait any longer to say it,” he huffs, continuously slamming into you. The slapping of your skin making his brain spin.
Somehow, you find this incredibly appealing about him. Balls deep and whining because of how good it feels to fuck you but finding it important to tell you right now that he likes you. You’d probably say it back, that you like him, that you might be falling in love with him but he’s got such perfect aim and you’re about to cum, making it incredibly hard to say much of anything.
Orgasm overtaking you when he grinds up into you for a moment before pulling back out and fucking back in. The added stimulation on your clit pushing you off the edge in one fell swoop. Saliva pooling on his skin from how you’ve been slack jawed against him, cunt tight like a vice as you finish.
It’s almost like you’re trying to milk the orgasm out of him, and if you were, then lucky for you because you’ve cum so hard it’s forced his own orgasm from him. Hips flush to yours as he dumps his load inside your convulsing pussy. His own breath struggling out of him, dick shuddering inside your creamy walls as he comes down.
You’re both blissed out on your highs, limp and trying to regain some semblance of coherent thought.
“I’ll touch you more from now on,” he teases you.
Ignoring him, “I like you too,” you grumble.
His arms wrap around you, pulling you into a firm and comforting hug, “I know you do.”
If you had the energy, you’d probably say something snarky back at him but he’s so warm and comforting under you. Steady and stable and something unfamiliar but can only be described as the feeling of home. So, you snuggle into him instead, murmuring, “I like you a lot.”
𝒂.𝒏. i wrote this on a whim and it was inspired by my other summoning fic with choso but he's the demon teehee, if you haven't read that you can read it here
i hope you guys enjoyed ! there isn't as much plot in this one as the og but it's still there :3 also i have a discord ! if you guys wanna join the link is in my pinned post,, sometimes the link expires and i forget to update it but if i do just inbox me and i'll update it :p
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ drunk choso comes home all clingy and lovesick, mumbling about marrying you while you take care of him and cuddle him to sleep.
✿ ◞◟) kamo choso 𝓍 female!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 domestic fluff, established relationship, caretaking, drunk!choso, future together implications, drunk texting, both are completely whipped, marriage talk, cuddling.
it's one of those quiet nights where the apartment feels way bigger than it actually is.
you're curled up on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket that's seen better days, phone in hand as you scroll through the same three apps on a loop. there's a half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table, gone cold about an hour ago, and the only light in the room comes from the tv you're not really watching; some reality show is playing on low volume, just background noise to fill the silence.
it's not that you're lonely, exactly.
you're fine. choso's out with yuuji and his friends, and you'd told him to go have fun when he'd hesitated at the door earlier, looking back at you like a puppy who didn't want to be left behind. you'd laughed and kissed his cheek and promised you'd be right here when he got back.
so here you are, right here.
you've already texted your group chat, scrolled through twitter until nothing looked interesting anymore, watched about fifty tiktoks in a row that all blurred together. the apartment is clean enough, laundry's done, dishes are put away, and you'd even changed the bedsheets earlier, which felt productive at the time but now just means there's nothing left to do.
you check the time; just past eleven.
choso had left around seven, so it's been a few hours now. you're not worried about him — yuuji's responsible enough, and choso's a grown man, even if he sometimes forgets that when he gets distracted by a stray cat or spends twenty minutes staring at the ramen aisle in the grocery store.
your phone buzzes in your hand.
cho ♥︎
i lvoe you
you blink at the screen.
it's short, simple, and misspelled in a way that makes your lips twitch. it’s not unusual for choso to say, exactly — your boyfriend tells you he loves you all the time; in the morning when you're both still half-asleep, in the afternoon when he sends you pictures of his lunch, and at night when you're brushing your teeth side by side.
but there's something about the typo, the timing, that makes you tilt your head.
y/n
i love you too baby
are you having fun?
his response comes almost immediately, which is rare.
choso's not a fast texter on a good day; he types like he's learning the keyboard for the first time, one careful thumb at a time, and he always reads his messages over twice before sending them. but this one is fast.
cho ♥︎
yesss
but i misss you
i misss you so mcuh
i wwant to go home
your stomach does something really soft and warm. you bite your lip, already smiling.
y/n
it's okay, stay a little longer!
i'll be awake when you get back
three little dots appear, then disappear, then appear again, then… disappear, and appear once again.
cho ♥︎
you're so pretty
like rly rly pretty
do you kno that
you shouold know tgat
okay, something's definitely up with him.
your smile widens as you type;
y/n
are you drunk, cho?
there's a pause, a longer one this time.
you can almost picture choso staring at his phone screen, brow furrowed, trying to figure out how to answer, probably squinting at the letters like they're swimming.
cho ♥︎
maybeee a little
yuujii said it was jusst juice
i think he lied
you laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the empty room.
of course, of course yuuji would pull something like that — not maliciously, but with that little brother energy of wanting to see his older brother loosen up for once.
cho ♥︎
my heaf feels fuzzy
but in a nisce way
like when you pllay with my hair
except more spinnny
you can't stop smiling now. your thumbs move across the screen, warm fondness blooming in your chest.
y/n
that's the alcohol baby
drink some water, okay?
cho ♥︎
i lov you
i alrwady said that
but i loove you
i wan t to marry you somedaay
is that okkay
can i do tgat
your breath catches a little.
you know choso is drunk, you know he might not even remember this tomorrow, but your heart doesn't seem to care about the logic of it. it's doing its own thing in your chest, beating a little faster, a little warmer.
y/n
yeah, that's okay
drink your water
cho ♥︎
you're not sayig no
that's good
i wouold cry if you said no
not to make you feell bad
just so you kno
you're laughing again, pressing a hand over your mouth like someone might hear you.
it's just you and the quiet apartment and your drunk boyfriend texting you from his little brother's place, and somehow it's the most endearing thing in the world.
the texts keep coming;
cho ♥︎
your handss are so soft
i think abouut them a lot
like when you hhhold my face
or when you're coooking
you havce nice hands
i'm goinng to tell everyonne about your hands
y/n
please don't do that
cho ♥︎
too laate
i already tolkd yuuji
annnd nobara
annd megumi
and that guy
i don't rememmber his name
but he knowws now too
you drop your head back against the couch cushion, laughing helplessly at the ceiling. your face hurts from smiling.
this is the most choso has ever texted you at once, and it's all drunk confessions about your hands and marriage proposals and typos that make you want to squeeze him.
cho ♥︎
i wissh you were here
not becausse i'm not havinng fun
yuuji is beinng so nice
he keepss patting my head
but i wannt your head pats
yourr pats are bettter
y/n
i'll give you head pats when you get home
cho ♥︎
promisse
y/n
promise
cho ♥︎
okkay
i’m goinng to finnish my water
becausse you said to
i lissen to you
i'm a good boyfriennd
y/n
you're the best boyfriend baby
there's no response after that for a while.
you wait, thumb hovering over the screen, but the three dots don't appear. you imagine yuuji probably confiscated his phone, or choso got distracted by something, or maybe he fell asleep sitting up. any of those feel equally possible.
you set your phone down and pull the blanket up higher, tucking it around your shoulders. the reality show has been replaced by some late-night infomercial about a vegetable chopper, and you're too comfortable to reach for the remote.
you're starting to doze off when your phone buzzes again, then again, then again; rapid fire, like someone's discovered the send button for the first time.
cho ♥︎
cominng home
yuuji is walkinng me
he saiid i have to be superrvised
like a babyy
i'm not a babby
i'm a mann
a man who lovess you
a man who is goinng to marry you
with your handds
sorrry
that soundded weird
i meann i'm going to marry you ANND your hands
noo
i'll stopp texting now
i lov you
y/n
i love you too
see you soon
you're smiling so hard your cheeks ache as you finally push yourself off the couch.
the blanket falls away, and the cold air hits your bare legs, making you shiver. you pad into the kitchen and fill a glass of water, setting it on the nightstand in the bedroom. you grab the bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet and put that next to the water, just in case. then you go back to the living room and crack the window — just a little — so the air doesn't feel so stuffy.
you're not sure how long it'll take them to get here.
yuuji's place isn't far, maybe fifteen minutes walking, but with a drunk choso in tow, who knows. you kind of hope they take their time. you kind of hope choso is leaning on yuuji's shoulder, mumbling about you, telling his little brother all the things he loves about your hands.
god, you're so gone for him.
you wait by the door, not hovering exactly, but close enough that you hear the footsteps in the hallway before the knock comes. it's soft — more of a courtesy knock than anything else, really — and then the sound of a key fumbling in the lock. it takes a few tries. you hear a soft 'fuck' on the other side, and then the door swings open.
and there he is.
choso stands in the doorway, hair messier than usual, cheeks flushed pink, eyes a little glassy but bright when they land on you. his shirt is slightly untucked, like he's been tugging at it, and his lips are parted like he was mid-sentence.
yuuji is behind him, one hand on choso's shoulder like he's ready to catch him if he tips over, and he's got this apologetic but amused expression on his face.
"hey," yuuji says, grinning at you. "i brought him back in one piece. mostly."
"mostly?" you raise an eyebrow.
"he tried to hug a lamppost on the way here. said it reminded him of you. also he's been hiccuping for like ten minutes."
as if on cue, choso hiccups. it's a small, soft sound, almost like a squeak, and his whole body jerks slightly with it. his eyes widen, surprised by his own body, and then he hiccups again.
"s-sorry," choso mumbles, and his voice is slower than usual, like his tongue is heavy. "i can't—hic—can't make it stop."
yuuji pats his back sympathetically.
"it's kinda cute, actually."
choso makes a face, somewhere between embarrassed and annoyed, and shrugs off yuuji's hand. he takes a step toward you, then another, and his balance wavers just slightly — a little sway, a little stumble that he catches at the last second. his eyes never leave your face.
"you're here," he says, voice softer than usual, a little slurred at the edges. "you s-said you'd—hic—you said you'd be here."
"i said i'd be right here."
you open your arms, and choso walks into them like it's the most natural thing in the world, like his body was always meant to end up here, pressed against yours. his arms wrap around your waist, and he buries his face in your neck, and he just... breathes. and hiccups, right into your collarbone.
yuuji gives you a thumbs up from the doorway, mouthing 'sorry' before he slips away, closing the door behind him. you hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway, and then it's just the two of you.
choso is warm.
warmer than usual, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the walk, maybe from the way his whole body seems to be trying to melt into yours. he's not heavy, exactly, but there's a weight to him, a presence that fills all the empty spaces you didn't even notice were empty until he came home.
"hi, baby," you say softly.
your hand comes up to the back of choso’s head, fingers threading through his soft hair. it's a little tangled, a little damp at the roots, and he makes a small sound when you start to scratch gently at his scalp; something between a sigh and a hum, deeper in his chest than his throat.
"h-hi," choso mumbles against your skin.
his lips move when he talks, brushing your collarbone, and it sends a little shiver down your spine.
"m-missed you—hic—missed you s-so much."
"i know, baby. you told me."
"g-gonna tell you a-again."
choso pulls back just enough to look at you, and god, his eyes; they're so soft, so honest, like every wall he's ever had just dissolved somewhere between the lamppost and your doorstep. his pupils are a little blown, and choso keeps blinking like he's trying to focus.
"m-missed you."
your heart squeezes. "i missed you too."
he stares at you for a long moment, like he's memorizing your face all over again. then his hand comes up, clumsy but careful, and he cups your cheek. his palm is warm, a little rough, and his thumb traces across your cheekbone like he's checking that you're real.
"you're so p-pretty," he whispers, and it sounds like a confession, like he's telling you something secret, something he's never said before, even though he tells you every day. "h-how are you sooo p-pretty. it d-doesn't make sense."
"you're drunk, cho," you laugh, but your voice comes out softer than you meant it to.
"d-doesn't m-mean i'm wrong."
he leans in and presses his forehead against yours, his nose bumping your nose, and his breath is warm and smells faintly of whatever yuuji gave him.
"i l-love you—hic—i kn-know i say it a l-lot. but i l-love you. i love you s-so much it's—" choso pauses, searching for the word, brow furrowing. "it's a l-lot—hic—it's a r-really big a-amount. that's n-not—that's n-not a good s-sentence. b-but you know wh-what i mean."
"i know what you mean," you say, and you're smiling so wide your eyes are starting to sting a little.
"g-good."
choso nods, satisfied, and then his whole body seems to remember that he's standing up, because he lists forward slightly, and you have to brace yourself to keep him upright.
"oh. th-the room is m-moving."
"yeah, that happens when you drink too much."
"i d-didn't drink t-too much. yuuji s-said it was juice." he says this like it's a perfectly reasonable defense, like the concept of lying has never occurred to him.
"yuuji was wrong."
"yuuji is—hic—a l-liar." choso's voice is serious, almost offended, but his head is starting to droop, chin bumping your shoulder. "i'm n-never drinking j-juice again."
you huff a laugh and guide him toward the bedroom, one arm around his waist, the other hand holding his where it's still pressed against your cheek. choso shuffles along with you, compliant and heavy, adorablely hiccuping every few steps, and choso’s body leaning into yours like you're the only thing keeping him upright.
which, to be fair, you probably are.
getting him to the bed takes some… maneuvering.
you have to turn choso around, walk backwards, and basically catch him when his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he simply... folds. choso lands in a sitting position, bounced slightly by the springs, and he cutely blinks up at you with those hazy, adoring eyes.
"w-we're in the b-bedroom," he observes.
"we are, baby."
"our b-bedroom." he looks around slowly, like he's seeing it for the first time. "our b-bed. i l-like this bed. it h-has you in it. usually. w-where are you. you s-should be in it."
"i'm right here."
you crouch down in front of choso, your hands on his knees, and his dark eyes track the movement like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
"let's get your shoes off, okay?"
he looks down at his feet like he's forgotten he has them.
"o-okay..."
you make quick work of his sneakers, tugging them off one at a time, setting them aside. his socks are mismatched — one gray, one dark blue — and something about that makes your chest ache with fondness. choso is so particular about everything else, so careful and deliberate, but he can never find matching socks in the morning.
"stand up for me," you say, and he does, wobbling slightly.
you slide your hands under the hem of his shirt, and he lifts his arms automatically, letting you pull it over his head. his hair sticks up at odd angles, static from the fabric, and his cheeks are even pinker now, flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the apartment. another hiccup makes his shoulders jump.
he's so beautiful. even like this, glassy-eyed and swaying and hiccuping, he's so beautiful.
"you're l-looking at m-me," he says quietly, watching your face.
"i'm looking at you."
"wh-why?"
"because i love looking at you."
choso’s lips part slightly, and something vulnerable flickers across his expression.
"th-that's—" he swallows. hic. "th-that's a good r-reason."
you help him out of his pants next, and he steps out of them obediently, one foot at a time, almost losing his balance when he has to stand on one leg. you catch his elbow, steady him, and he makes a small, pleased sound at the contact.
"you're t-taking care of m-me," choso says, like he's realizing it for the first time.
"that's what i do."
"i kn-know. th-that's why i—" choso stops, shakes his head a little, like he's trying to clear the fog. "th-that's why i w-want to marry you."
your hands pause on his waistband for just a second before you continue, guiding him to sit back down on the bed.
"you keep saying that, cho."
"b-because i m-mean it." he looks up at you, and even through the drunken haze, there's something so earnest in his gaze, something so genuinely him. "i m-mean it when i'm s-sober too—hic—i just… i don't s-say it when i'm s-sober. b-because i get s-scared. but i m-mean it."
you don't know what to say to that.
your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel hot, and you're suddenly very aware that you love this man more than you know how to put into words.
so you don't say anything, you simply lean forward and kiss his forehead, softly and slowly, letting your lips linger against his skin. choso sighs, and his whole body seems to relax at the contact, shoulders dropping, tension bleeding out of him.
"okay," you whisper. "let's get you some water."
you carefully hand him the glass from the nightstand, and choso takes it with both hands, like it might escape if he doesn't hold on tight enough.
he drinks slowly, deliberately, and you watch his throat move with each swallow. he pauses halfway through to hiccup, almost spilling, and you have to steady the glass with your hand. he gives you a grateful look, eyes soft and apologetic, and then finishes the rest. when he's done, he sets the glass down with a soft clink and looks at you expectantly.
"i d-did it," choso says. "i drank the w-water."
"you did. good job."
"are you p-proud of m-me?"
"mmh, i’m so proud baby."
choso smiles at that; it's a small smile, sleepy and satisfied, and it crinkles the corners of his pretty eyes in a way that makes him look way softer than he already is.
you take the glass and set it aside, then reach for the blanket and pull it back, exposing the clean sheets underneath.
"okay, baby. time to lie down."
he scoots back on the mattress, clumsy and uncoordinated, and when he finally lies down, he lets out this long, heavy sigh, like he's been holding himself together all night and now he can finally let go.
choso’s hair fans out against the pillow, and his arms reach for you instinctively, fingers grasping at empty air.
"c-come here," he mumbles. "please. n-need you."
you can't deny him, and you wouldn't want to.
you turn off the overhead light, leaving just the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and then you climb into bed beside him.
the moment you're within reach, choso is on you — not in a heavy way, but in a way that feels like he's been waiting exactly for this all night. his arm hooks around your waist and pulls you close to him, and his head finds its place in the curve of your neck, and his leg slots between yours like it belongs there. hic. the hiccup vibrates against your skin, and you have to bite lip to keep from giggling.
"th-there," choso breathes, and the word is warm against your skin. "th-that's better. th-that's perfect."
you stroke his hair, slow and rhythmic, running your fingers through the dark strands over and over.
choso completely melts into you with every pass, his breathing slowing, his body growing heavier against yours. every so often, a hiccup interrupts the quiet, and he makes a tiny, frustrated sound each time.
"you smell good," he says, voice already getting drowsy. "you al-ways smell good. l-like home. you sm-smell like home."
"yeah?"
"yeah."
choso nuzzles closer, nose pressing against your jaw.
"i l-love your neck. i l-love your sh-shoulders. i love y-your—" choso yawns, wide and sudden, and it cuts off whatever he was going to say. "s-sorry—hic—i love ev-everything. all of i-it. all of y-you."
your hand moves from his hair to the back of his neck, thumb rubbing small circles into the tension there. choso makes a tiny sound — a hum, a groan, something in between — and his whole body shudders against yours.
"you're so w-warm," he murmurs. "are you al-ways this warm? i f-feel like. i f-feel like i'm f-floating. is th-that okay? is it o-okay that i f-feel like i'm fl-float-ing?"
"it's okay," you whisper. "just relax. i've got you."
"i kn-know." his voice is barely there now, soft and fading. "you al-ways got me. th-that's why i—" another yawn, this one so big it makes his whole body stretch. "g-gonna marry you. g-gonna be so h-happy. you're g-gonna be so h-happy. we're g-gonna be so hap-py t-together."
you press a kiss to the top of his head, breathing him in.
choso smells like the faint trace of cologne he put on hours ago, mixed with something else — cold air and sweat and the particular scent of him that you'd know anywhere.
"go to sleep, choso."
"ok-kay," your boyfriend agrees easily, like it was his idea all along. "b-but tomorrow. t-tomorrow i'm g-gonna tell you ag-gain. about the m-marrying. and your h-hands. i'm gonna t-tell you ev-everything."
"i'm looking forward to it."
choso hums, satisfied, and his grip on you tightens for just a moment — a reflexive squeeze, like he's making sure you're still there, next to him.
one last hiccup, soft and almost sleepy, and then, gradually, his breathing evens out. his body goes loose and heavy, all the tension draining away until he's just... warm, soft, asleep.
you don't move.
you lie there in the dim light, feeling the rise and fall of choso’s chest against yours, the tickle of his hair against your chin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat where your hand rests over his ribs. the apartment is quiet now, save for the distant sound of traffic and the occasional creak of the building settling.
your phone is still on the couch, probably. the tv is still playing infomercials. the tea is still cold on the coffee table.
none of it matters.
you close your eyes and hold him a little closer, and you think about forever. you think about what it might look like, what it might feel like. you think about mismatched socks and drunk texts full of typos and hiccups. you think about a man who loves you so much it spills out of him in stutters and stumbles when he can't hold it in anymore.
can someone please help me find this choso fic? basically reader summons demon choso, and they make like a binding contract with each other i think. choso can’t leave her until she ask him for a wish and he grants it. and i think reader is able to see or sense spirits/curses and choso helps her with that, they basically become reluctant roomates at first.
theres one scene where reader finally uses her wish to make choso leave and its an angsty moment but ofc he comes back and i think there was smut ??
︵ ೀ mdni. shopping for a new bikini is torture for choso
“are you sure this one looks okay?” you ask, stepping out of the fitting room in a tiny baby-blue bikini that barely covers anything.
choso freezes.
his eyes drag slowly down your body, taking in the way the thin straps hug your curves, the way the fabric barely contains your breasts, the way the bottoms sit high on your hips. he feels his cock twitch hard in his pants, already half-hard since the third bikini you try on.
“it… looks good.” he shifts on the couch outside the fitting room, trying to hide the very obvious bulge growing in his pants.
“you’ve said that about the last four. be honest, choso.”
how can he be honest?
how can he tell you that every single bikini makes him want to drag you back into the fitting room, lock the door, and fuck you against the mirror? how every time you twirl for him, showing off your ass and the way the strings tie at your hips, his mind fills with filthy images of pulling those strings loose with his teeth?
you step closer, doing a little spin. the movement makes your tits bounce slightly, and choso has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from groaning.
“this one makes my ass look nice, right?” you ask, turning to show him the back.
his cock throbs painfully against his zipper.
“yeah.” his eyes glued to the curve of your ass. “it does.”
you smile. “okay, i’ll try the red one next!”
as soon as you disappear behind the curtain, choso lets out a shaky breath and presses the heel of his hand against his cock, trying to will it down. it doesn’t work. he is rock hard, leaking into his boxers and heart pounding like he is a stupid teenager seeing a girl naked for the first time.
every bikini looks unreal on you. every smile you give him while modeling for him makes him want to fuck you right there in the store. he imagines pushing you against the wall, pulling the bikini bottoms to the side, and sinking into your heat while you try to stay quiet but fail miserably.
“choso? what do you think of this one?” you step out again in a deep red string bikini that makes his brain give up completely. he swallows hard.
“…you’re going to kill me.”
you laugh softly, completely unaware that this whole shopping trip is torture for him. and the only thing choso can do is shift again, painfully hard and completely hopeless.
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, sub!characters, whining, whimpering, pleading, begging, fleshlight, bribery, edging, blowjob, (aphrodisiacs - non consensual) [toji’s], bondage, prostate massaging/fingering, rim play, multiple orgasms, heavy overstimulation [nanami’s], straddling, handjob, begging [kashimo’s], mistress kink, cunnilingus [higuruma (he’ll get more love i promise)], first times (mahito’s a virgin), overstimulation, riding, slight breeding [mahito’s], toji’s normally bored, nanami begs for you to get on with it, kashimo basically falls in love with you, higuruma’s husband material, mahito needs to breed you like now, reader’s kinda dominant?, sorry if it doesn't live up to part one.
𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊 𝖎: the long-awaited second part! (hakari and kirara incoming third part with mayyyybe naoya) now i know this one may not be everyone’s cup of tea since i went a lil heavy on the ideas but i do hope you thoroughly enjoy it if it is! wc: 3.7k total.
𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥?
𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦?
❝sub!mahito…❞ who is so so submissive that he’ll cry before you even begin.
his cock changes shape. and before you could even adhere to the thought of it, mahito was already rimmed with tears– so grateful that you even questioned the opportunity of fucking him.
he was a soulful individual, taking in every human experience with a grain of salt until he no longer could hold them all in.
and right now, he’s trying so hard to hold it in for you. trying so hard to mold himself to the feeling of you as you sink down onto the tip of his cock, a breathy gasp on his lips as you drive yourself down to his balls.
he didn’t precisely know why he knew how to mold human anatomy, his dick so prettily constructed with the stitches and all– it curved upwards and reached the tip of his bellybutton. mahito reveled at it but moreso at you– how the female anatomy complimented the male’s so earnestly and he panted when you squeezed around him.
“shit– y/n, feels weird– feels good, i mean–”
the way that your breasts jiggled with every bounce, heavy and full and wow, he needed a second to admire you before absolutely succumbing to your embrace around him. everytime you fell back down, your thighs working on him, he’d shudder into the feeling and his head felt so fucking fuzzy.
‘feel good, baby?’ you whispered as his mouth slacked open, his forearm shielding his eyes but you knew it felt fucking amazing. you knew he felt the way you clenched around him, his dick molding you perfectly and trying to bury itself inside if it could and you’d damn well let it. he hit all the right spots as you rucked yourself down on him, building momentum and hearing the raspy sobs from mahito.
was he actually crying?
tiny sobs wracked his body as drool dribbled from his mouth and he suddenly moved his arm, letting it fall away and you could see the whites of his eyes. he looked absolutely wrecked, the stitches that crowded his face framing his reddened cheeks. his pale blue hair stuck to his forehead with a sheen of sweat and the curse looked like he was having the time of his life.
you could feel his dick twitching, overstimulated by the feeling of your pussy and you knew he wasn’t going to last very long his first time around. but that didn’t matter, he’ll have a handful more times to practice– right now you relished how whiny he was. the first time was always too much and mahito was new to this; the curse practically wantonly whimpered for you every time you rolled your hips on his weeping cock.
“fuuuck yes, give it to me babe. right there–”
mahito moaned out, his hands cupping your breasts as you moved closer to him and arching your back into him. he barely knew what got into him as he tweaked your nipple with his fingers, still looking high into his eyelids with his tongue lolled out.
“lemme suck them, please baby– wanna make you feel good too…”
he pleaded, his eyes circling back to glower at you impatiently before taking matters into his own hands and wrapping his lips around your nipple with a whine. your arousal coated him perfectly as you felt him start to rut into you desperately, his teeth grazing your bud and you hissed his name at the contact.
he squeezed his eyes shut as he suddenly stilled, jerking his hips forward into you before filling you with long spurts of his cum. his stitched thighs shook and his faded hands wrapped around your waist to immobilize you, scared that the godly feeling would disappear if you coaxed him too far with your movements.
“i’m soo sorry, fuck–!”
mahito couldn’t help it as he sobbed out his apology, working you open and embedding his cum straight against your cervix and he needed to breed you right then and there– needed your soul to wrap around him.
❝sub!higuruma…❞ who isn’t very submissive unless high heels are on the table.
his suit ironically suited him, the velvet fabric of it soft against your fingertips as you yanked it into your hands. the smug man underneath you immediately dropped his smile, a small breath escaping him as your high heels set foot on his thighs– you were perched atop of his desk, just waiting for higuruma to walk through those doors.
these were new heels after all, void of any color besides blood red painting the bottoms and you swear he gulped when he noticed; the soft survey of the rest of your uniform taking note in his eyes as well.
when you had your heels on, you were a different person– the fashion of the world drew you in and let you get close to hiromi higuruma with tangible efforts. he had to get down and beg for it if you wanted something from him, heels representing the message that you often gave.
and he loved it too; the subtle indication that you wanted him solely for the benefit of usage; go on and take his cock if you needed, ride it until you had no more stamina left and let him spill into you with a quiet groan that he’d be keen to muster out. if you needed him, he was there waiting for the judgment that you elicited.
“now, y/n– i-i have a case to–”
higuruma stumbled out, dropping to his knees as you lifted your heel from him. meetings were obsolete in your mind, you needed his mouth on you– needed him pleading for you underneath the fabric of your skirt. ‘i’m sorry- what’d you call me?’ tittered on your tongue as higuruma spread open his knees slightly against the wooden floor.
“mistress– i’m sorry.. i didn’t mean it–”
his tone shifted to a more desperate one, looking down at the hardwood and you plunged your heel into his thigh once more; dragging it upwards so it sat flush with his cock. you could feel he was already hard in his trousers, the sleek black material tenting as you rubbed your foot on it and earning a quiet groan from him.
you wanted to apply pressure, the painful whimper would sound divine but you thought against it. another time…
higuruma peered up at you through hooded eyelids, shrouded in lust and he almost looked about ready to hump your heel if you didn’t catch him beforehand. removing your foot, you hooked your leg around his shoulder and pulled him in close to your cunt. the message was dreadfully clear, your arousal leaking from you like it was honey from a pot.
his hand threatened to palm at himself, but he forced the weight of it to relax onto your thighs. he almost caved when he saw you wore no panties, the mound of your cunt bare on his desk and he hummed softly when his tongue stuck out to taste you.
“fuck me, you taste so good mistress– tastes so heaven-sent…”
and god, was his nose fucking so gorgeous that it rubbed straight into your clit with every lick, every lap of his tongue against you. it protruded out just right so you could grind yourself on it, desperate to find your high. ‘you can drop the act, get me there baby..’ escaped you as higuruma doubled down his efforts.
“the next case starts in five minutes, my love…”
he murmured against your cunt, one of his hands sliding underneath the zipper of his fabric to tug at himself. his lax eyes wandered up to your face, dependent on how you felt– needed you to feel heavenly in the next five minutes or there were going to be repercussions–
the way the men would walk into the silken courtroom, see both of you against his desk; oh jesus you don’t know what would that get you; but it got you off enough that you spasmed around his tongue. a harsh groan sounded from underneath you, higuruma mucking the inside of his trousers with cum and you sighed contently as the stain formed.
let’s see how long until the judge notices.
❝sub!nanami…❞ who is known to be submissive as long as he could take it.
who hesitantly lets you tie him up, the black and white print coaxing his wrists to struggle against and he’d periodically check his watch when he could. you knew nanami could barely read it without fully bringing his arm down and your heart expanded as he started to sweat–
being late to work wouldn’t be the issue anymore, it was how long until he could cum from the feeling of your fingers massaging his prostate like you needed to lick them clean.
“enough– baby, you found it, wasn’t that your mission?”
and hell yeah it was your mission. but more importantly, how long would it take for the kento nanami to break within the palms of your hands, unfiltered and raw? the man always put up a stoic front, and veiled within the calmness a sad truth that you couldn’t possibly uncover. but what would it take to completely tear that down; to see him squeeze your fingers so hard from the shock of milking his cock and prostate dry?
precum dribbled from the crown of his cock as you had him on all fours, the silk sheets getting absolutely filthy underneath him. you’d been doing this a while and every time you had the notion to stop, he’d tense and a quiet moan would bestow you. nanami was slowly starting to crack, his muscles starting to clench as he held himself up and heaved his pleasure.
when you curled your finger downwards, he flinched violently and cum leaked out of him in long spurts– a drawn out groan sounding like music to your ears and you knew you found your technique. his hands seized each other within his tie that threaded them together as he came undone in front of you and you continued rubbing the nub that you felt inside his hole. suddenly, he was pleading– pretty little groans enunciating his words as he gasped out.
“hold on– going to cum again..please wait–!”
could you possibly make him cum dry? that was a new mission, the thought fleeting as he buried his face into his forearm, biting down hard on himself before another groan eluded him and cum painted his chest white. maybe, you could even get him to squirt if you were careful enough.
“can’t take it– y/n..”
“please, i’m begging…need to go to work–”
and oh, if only you let up. your fingers plunged inside his hole with more fervor, two rubbing incessantly against his nub and he let out a whine– hot and urgent with his entire body convulsing each time you tapped at it. nanami arched his back forward, practically so far his ass was in the air and begging for you to take it with a graceful tongue. before you really thought about it, you decided to give it a run for its money and lap at his rim.
his cock twitched so hard it bobbed against his tummy, hard and neglected as he whimpered out curses– some you never would’ve thought came out of his poised mouth. only when he was on missions did he talk that dirtily, curses being scared shitless by the sheer size of him and running away as soon as his voice reverberated death upon them.
but this was an entirely different scenario.
you nearly thought he was going to rip his tie in half if it wasn’t for his restraint, his hands opening and balling into fists every time you took a particularly long lick at his rim. your fingers never stopped their movements– needing to coax out at least one dry orgasm from him. you could savor it– get him to cry, push more than three fingers inside and just let yourself loose but you decided against it.
instead, you pulled out completely and that got you what you so desperately craved. you could just about barely notice it, his cock pulsing and quivering but it was clear from the way he clenched around nothing for a few seconds, his whole body wrecked from the orgasm. nanami was so noisy, his forearm didn’t muffle the moans that sputtered out of him.
praises leaked from your mouth as you hovered over nanami as he gave way to his body on the bed. his legs splayed outwards and you untied his tie from his hands, rubbing the bruises that equated his wrists and kissed them softly. you littered kisses downwards onto the back of his shoulder, rubbing at his sides with gentle words protruding through the thick air– “baby, work starts soon. don’t want you to go,” which led to the murmur of agreement from the fazed man to your surprise.
❝sub!kashimo…❞ whose submissive enough that you think you made a mistake.
you thought you had the wrong man at first– a high pitched squeak leaving him as you straddled him in the midst of his speech. he was talking too fucking much– the pretty octaves in his voice sending you into spirals. you observed the way his throat bobbed, oughting to bite and mark it with utmost importance and you couldn’t stop yourself from mouthing at it as you brought him closer to you.
kashimo immediately whimpered out at the first contact of your lips, his own falling open as you took control of the situation. his eyes danced over the swell of your thighs hugging him, practically already hard and leaking in his pants for you as you ground down on him.
“yes.. right there– fuck me up, y/n…”
he sounded so fucked out already, desperate need laced within his voice as he huffed out a breath. he remained still, tensed up as you did all the work– his head tilting back and his hands digging into the plush of the couch. you really don’t remember what was happening prior; all that was on your mind was how pretty kashimo would be underneath you, gasping for air.
your hand pressed against his bulge, hard and emitting as you pushed yourself back onto his knees, a ‘whine for me, kash–’ leaving your lips.
cyan flashed within your sight as he brought his head back up, a muffled moan leaving him as he surged forward to let you swallow it. the purple streaks crinkled as his eyes shut, relaxing from the press of your lips against him and all he could think of how fucking malleable he was for you– how he wanted to show you everything and so much more but his head spun with electricity spanning throughout it as he practically short-circuited.
“fuck..can’t think straight… let me help?”
his hand pushed his robed shirt up, the waistband folding downwards and he freed himself. you wrapped your fingers around his exposed cock as kashimo encompassed his hand your own and you watched as his chest heaved while gaping down at how small it was in comparison.
how small they looked compared to his cock that sat flushed within.
his once haughty regard had been replaced with pure need, a pout fringing his face and you kissed at it which made him melt in your arms as you started to slowly drag your hand against him. kashimo’s fingers tightened, his nails raking into your skin as his mouth opened in your kiss with a raspy whimper. he arched into you, his hips stuttering to your touch as you thumbed the beaded head.
you never knew how pliant kashimo was– whether he wanted to take you with the anger that resided in his preservation or if he wanted you to fully just flip the switch. and it seemed like you were in for it. from the surface he seemed so unruly, relinquishing his hold on himself as soon as you licked a mark into his neck. and god, did he look so pretty with a necklace of them.
breathy moans reached the shell of your ear as he managed to bury his face within your neck, too sensitive to watch you pump his cock shallowly now.
and suddenly kashimo was begging into the salt of your skin as you quickened your pace. his fingers clenched around the cushions and shot up to hold you steady as the other ones around your hand and his cock followed the pace. he shuddered– shook so bad that you couldn’t possibly escape the thought that this was the sorcerer who cavorted with the sky’s limit, reduced to nothing but a shaking mess when his cock was played with.
“f-feels so good, mm– need you so bad.”
“let me sink into you– please, i’ll be so good for you.”
you contemplated it, how good it’d feel to squeeze around him and pin him down by his shoulders against the velvet. how you could bury your hands into his hair and unravel the small bands from their tight spaces and let his turquoise hair fully down.
how fucking delicious he would be raking his cock against your walls with fervor and all you’d have to do is watch him crumble underneath you. but with the way your fingers slicked him, it seemed like he’d cum the instant his cock vanished within your cunt.
yeah you’d make the electrified man cum from the static of your fingers instead.
❝sub!toji…❞ who isn’t submissive– unless you paid him.
his chest would heave, eyes unfocused on the television in the background as you adjusted the fleshlight right at the tip, leaving it there to steady yourself on your haunches. “toji, are you even paying attention?”
and you knew he wasn’t, the pliant ‘yeah, babe..’ feigning ignorance as you sunk the silicone down onto his cock, a hiss escaping him. his eyes would flit over to you, a blush spread over his cheeks and suddenly you needed more from him than just a sucked in breath.
you needed to make him cry big sobs for the fleshlight– for your cunt and you certainly knew how to get that show. your wallet spoke wonders to the gambler, milking itself dry at times when he was around to get him to do your every bidding. so why wouldn’t it work with this type of thing?
his hands would be tucked against his chest, his legs parted for you with one knee up and your wallet empty against the bed. there wasn’t enough money in the world for toji to cry tears for you; that was fucking funny. but he could at least give you enough of a show to make you satisfied.
“oh, right– fuuuck, y/n– squeeze it around me.”
the silicone dripped at the top, the hole of it being completely consumed by the massive length of his cock and you sat against his calf rigidly as his eyes started to flutter underneath your touch. you didn’t think he’d actually succumb to your every need but it was certainly fucking hot– to see his muscles contract underneath his black compress shirt, every square inch of him tensing with every pull and clench of the toy.
toji’d hold back too, you knew your man. soft huffs would fill the room aside from the claps from the television (you really needed to mute that), and his cock would twitch every so often as you held the fleshlight firm against him.
your hand would stop every so often, watching his face contort with frustration just as he was getting close. he was beginning to sweat, the intensity of his orgasm drawing near and suddenly not– it made his bangs stick to his forehead and hot breaths came out of him. toji’s whole body was starting to feel hot and a faded red flushed his face and his cock; he was finally starting to feel the side effects.
the aphrodisiac in the can of soda wasn’t that potent but it sure hit him like a truck. money well spent.
“y/n– did you drug me, shit– keep it right there…”
“please–please, i’ll do anything you say. let me fuck up into the toy…”
and you wouldn’t let him, slicking the fleshlight fully off his cock and replacing it with your mouth. you were easy on him, just letting your tongue slide up the underside and towards the crown. you could feel him squirm, bucking up into your mouth but your hands pressed down onto his hips cruelly and the rugged man actually yelped.
toji was fucking desperate now– for you to do anything, but your mouth stayed in the same place, warming him and occasionally flicking your tongue against him like a goddamn tease. his brain was fogging incoherently from the drug and defeated whines fell from his lips, his eyebrows furrowing and his jaw lax lips parted. he couldn’t do anything else but beg.
“pleaseplease oh my god, give me some relief baby…need it so bad–!”
the sensation was too much and as soon as you hollowed out your cheeks, he was cumming down your throat with an ‘oh, god, yes–’ through gritted teeth and you practically sense the fucked out smile that sent shivers down your spine. toji swallowed his moans down the second you pulled off but a tremble wracked his body.
and suddenly he was pleading again– his big hands taking your wrists and trying to get you to pump his cock dry and a feral expression written on his face. his words evaded him as you picked up the fleshlight again and his hips immediately reacted, twitching harshly as you sunk it back down on his reddened angry cock. his eyes slid into the back of his head, the whites of his eyes twitching as he held himself up on his forearms now. he fishmouthed a few times, trying not to muster up the wretched whines that escaped him but failing miserably.
and how pretty toji’s whines were when he wasn’t such an arrogant asshole to you– how blissfully unaware he was from the edging he was about to endure. he had no fucking clue that your mission was about to be fulfilled, the tears soon to be rimming his eyes as he sobbed for another release.
god, when he gets ahold of you after this– he’d make you sob.
𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢 𝔦𝔦: might've rushed it a bit (sorry if some characters are ooc)
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