smth that haunts me but also gives me hope is that ryan and naim have access to the internet and have seen articles criticizing the very thing they're dealing with in their small town. speaking as someone who's had similar exps of feeling isolated but finding community on the internet when i was discovering my sexuality, it's such a bittersweet thing! on one hand, they're seeing evidence of queer ppl being able to live happy lives out and proud, but on the other hand, it prob causes dissonance within them bc they know others just like them can b happy yet they continue to b hunted by homophobia personified.
i do believe they will get out of it, and they'll live a happy queer life with no entity chasing them! like i said in my previous post, they'll learn to accept it and thus make it weaker. 🙏
Oh boy, can't stop thinking about a Leviticus fic in which, 20 years on, either Naim or Ryan start seeing the entity as someone else while the other doesn't, and it's a whole big puddle of angst and grown-up relationship renegotiation and heartbreak and (maybe?) poly learning curves for all. Alternately, a fic from the entity's POV exploring that verrrry interesting hand-on-the-cheek moment of calm from the film.
choso fics | a lil story inspired by anolog horror choso <3, doesn't follow the canon plot this is mainly just off the dome, giving a little bit of "monster in paris" vibes at first
choso kamo x reader
Synopsis: Choso has never known human kindness other than that of his brother. A spectacle, stuck between something not quite human and not quite a monster, he's long struggled to fit in anywhere outside of his own company. It isn't until the elusive being meets you, the only human being who's ever bothered to be decent to him.
to sum it up: choso falls for you the second he meets you, but the only way he knows how to pursue you is to watch you from afar...
WC: 10,166
Warning(s): our baby's a little creepy in this one, stalking mentioned, he has absolutely no social skills but c'mon he loves you so much
Something vile and merciless as it yanked at his essence, dragged his core from a warmth he can't quite remember. Can't quite name.
In the inky, chilling exposure of darkness, hands reached out from a slimy mass, a burst of blood and life shaking abruptly through the being's veins, pumping like the very red clots would jump out from his skin to serve a life of its own.
And suddenly, light. Harsh, piercing through his retinas, flickering red amidst hues of violet that have only now begun to see the sun as its golden rays peel eyes open impatiently.
Choso shied away, backing into the shadows that were once meant for him, that remain the encapsulation of his only comforts.
The dark haired Death Painting never asked for life, not in such a way. A severed connection once held between two other life forms ached terribly, sending pangs of grief through his chest that were enough to make him realize that light, joy, those human concepts of happiness under the sun were not meant for him. He's not a human after all. He exists somewhere in between consciousness and a nightmare, a monster and the narrowly acceptable.
A heart as big as Choso's fails to match his appearance. Dark, sunken eyes, circles beneath that drag them further into his skull. A haunted quality about his piercing gaze as he stares, observes from afar, undetected, unheard, unseen. Scraggly, brown strands of hair that sprout over his forehead and poke high into the air from a pair of cropped pigtails. An exhaustion that never quite leaves his expression, dragging down curved, pale lips upon ghostly pale skin. Marks that morph and warp with his technique, stamped like a stain of blood across his nose and beneath his eyes.
And a height... a height that intimidates, mimicing that of mythical creatures from a far off land - a curve of lean shoulders and muscle that hunches over its very own shadowy imprint on the pavement, a mass of cloth that seems to pool from the very ground as it drapes around Choso's big, ghoulish frame.
With no connections and no warmth, Choso lives his life in the crevices overlooked by mankind, in the forgotten wastes of what society leaves behind. A wandering half curse with no family to name except for a salmon haired boy that he protects from a distance, surveys, and ensures the wellbeing of from where he thinks he goes undetected, but Yuji always knows when his strange big brother is around, the one he only recently discovered he even had when he was walking to his dorm late one night and felt like he was being followed.
When the fifteen year old whipped his head around, he saw them. Two pale, shining circles at the end of the block, peering out from around the corner of an alleyway, an aura of gloom twirling about his head, sending shivers down Yuji's spine.
Once he got through the eeriness of it all, Yuji felt a hint of pity toward the creature. Beneath that dizzy unsettling countenance about him, beneath his severely lacking social skills and perpetual grey overcast that follows him, Yuji discovers that his habit of staring and... following him around (stalking is the term he is looking for, but he doesn't want to paint Choso in any more of a bad light than others already do) derives strictly from a place of desire to be close, from an instinct to care that Choso himself has failed to identify.
The very small hint of humanity that Choso comes to display is fully at the orchestration of Yuji and his friends. The brown eyed boy attempts to teach Choso the ways of the world through some of the planet's best films, or at least what Yuji deems to be the best films.
Long after Yuji has fallen asleep on the couch with his head tossed back and drool dribbling down his chin, Choso leans closer into the television with his knees to his chest. Lavendar eyes stare wide as colors flash across his fair skin, and the scene cuts in the midst of the rampaging action to a man and a woman - the great hero and the girl he fights for, watching the monstrous opponent lay siege to the city from a nearby cliff. Wind whips through their perfectly styled hair, they turn to each other as fire roars, and their eyes meet amidst a catalysmic crescendo of flames a blaring string instruments.
Choso's breath catches in the back of his throat as something... intimate is exchanged. His head tilts at a perfect angle, mimicing the behaviors of an owl, and his pupils reflect the pinnacle of the movie. The moment of broken tension: a desperate kiss.
The great hero grasps his lover's arms tight and brings her in to share breaths, to mold skin, to join lips passionately. The corners of Choso’s lips tug down with inquisition, his alien mind whirring as he processes the unfamiliar display. The music swells, the camera pans to the woman's brows curling with ferver as she throws her arms around the man's neck as if it will be the last time she sees him.
A goodbye?
After a few moments, the music settles and the protagonist pulls away. He gives her one last emotional look before daringly taking off into the direction of chaos, leaving the weeping woman to wave after her stud.
It is a common theme Choso identifies in these strange films. The one persistent thing in all the confusion of Yuji's favorite series. The complication and intensity of human connection. Siblings, friends, parents, lovers - an inseperable bond is shared with various ways of communicating each different relationship. Nevertheless, the motivations behind each behavior remains the same - sacrificing lives, intercepting to take the bullet, promising the land, moon, and stars. Love.
No matter what kind. It drives everything.
Choso's head swivels to look at Yuji as the movie continues on in the background as he snoozes. Blinking, the messy haired half curse looks down at the blanket that pooled to the floor. He cranes over to grab it, and awkwardly fumbles, turning stiffly to stretch the fabric over the fifteen year old's frame, blanketing him in warmth the way he saw a woman do her child in one of the earlier movies of the night.
Choso leans back, cautious, uncertain, bunching himself back into the corner of the shared couch. His arms wind around himself again as he stares at his brother, waiting for some outburst, like the ones gifted pedestrians have when they accidentally catch a glimpse of him in the wee hours of the night, prowling about vacant corners. The screams. The panic. The blood curdling fear ringing out high into the stars. The running.
But instead, Yuji twitches, snorting loudly, then nestles back into the comfort of the blanket, cheek squishing over the pressure of his propped palm.
Love. Choso ponders it. It feels... familiar somehow. Like it was the only thing aside from darkness engrained into his way of being when he manifested into truth.
Is that what ached so much when his other brothers were killed? Is that what keeps him tied to Yuji despite his responsibility for the former deaths?
It must be.
It's the only kind of love Choso truly knows. When he thinks of origins... of a mother, there's nothing. Choso was born into this world with no predecessors, no friends. As though he was destined to be a void.
And that special love? That love between two people, christened by the touch of one another's lips, by glittering gazes, and an urge to fight through hell in order to protect the other?
It’s a completely foreign notion. He wonders what such things feel like. He wonders how people know when the time is right, when the sentiments are shared, when the unspoken words lingering in the air are filled with a kiss, with a mute declaration.
Choso turns back to the screen. He watches a bit longer before looking down at his own hands, bringing them to vision before his knees. His eyes note the blue veins that course over the back of them and down his forearms. He notes the alarming width of his palms, the greying of his slender finger tips as if he is decaying. The sheer lack of color in his complexion.
His eyes flicker back up to the shiny, tan bodies decorating the screen. The human quality of life sparkling in the characters eyes.
He wonders if love like that, that makes women cry and men run off to fight, is a luxury reserved for those born completely human. Those born to a name. To an identity rather than a curse.
Choso returns to the shadows when he is not needed by his brother. In spite of Yuji's best efforts to integrate him, the brunette feels uneasy in human company. Not because he doesn't like it, but because he feels the judgment in everyone's eyes when they regard him, when his little brother introduces him as his sibling, and lips curl, or eyes dart over his figure in discomfort.
Choso knows he's not the prettiest. He's not the most ordinary. He's large, and inky, and macabre, and silent. Those who look like him are often portrayed as the villains of the heroes' stories, and he has long accepted that. He's okay with that.
The only thing he asks of this existence is for it to grant Yuji's safety. And though the boy tells him he doesn't need to stalk about from a far distance any time Yuji leaves his house, Choso persists. It's the only way he knows how to look out for his baby brother. His only family. His only ties to the human world.
So when Yuji's friends murmur about how his new big brother is creepy, Choso doesn't let it eat him up inside. He stays out of their path, not keen on frightening his brother's schoolmates, allowing him the normal life that Choso has never known.
One night, after Choso has watched Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara walk back into their dorms safely after a late night out, the half curse turns to meander the dark streets pensively. With his gaze to the ground, his mind subconsciously numbing out his surroundings, he does not see the figure in his way when he turns a corner. Emerging like some apparition from the darkness, his eyes eventually lift and he freezes.
The brunette's sunken eyes go wide.
His stomach drops. His breath catches.
There you are, crouched by the side walk, planted on the side of the road in front of the sewer. You stare, anguised, into the sewer crate, knees bent as you lock in on something lost to you now. You're angry, it seems.
Choso backs away into the shadows again, peering out from the corner to observe you.
You release a frustrated groan, one unweighted due to the lack of company you believe yourself to have. You crane your head forward, squinting your (e/c) eyes to get a better look into the darkness and murmuring frustrations to yourself that Choso can't quite understand from the distance.
The brunette leans in to get a better look at you. His mind is clouded as he watches you like you're a spectacle, eyes glassy and blown.
(S/c) skin. Big (e/c) eyes, full of life, full of humanity, full of emotion. The curve of your jaw, so pleasant upon the eyes when you clench down angrily on your teeth. The warm quality of your cursed energy, of what Choso interpets as the very essence of your soul. Your aura, bright, full, clean. Perfect (h/c) hair. Perfect chipped teeth. Perfect faded scars across your arms, perfect chipped black paint on your fingernails.
You are entrancing.
Yet, you seem so upset.
Choso looks around. The street is vacant save for you crouching there, and you aren't doing well to pay attention to your surroundings. Whatever's got you distracted is surely jeopardizing your safety. Why is someone like you all alone in the middle of the night like this?
You're angling your body awkwardly to stretch an arm through the open space leading into the ground. You tilt your head upward, face on display for Choso to examine, and you grunt with a wince. The muscles in your face tighten as you stretch and strain, skin wrinkling aesthetically by your eyes and the corners of your lips.
You dropped something down there. Is that it? You're trying to get it out?
Choso's right foot moves to step forward, his slender fingers poking out to help, but he stops himself as echoes of terror flash across his memory. He retracts slowly, dejectly, careful to avoid scaring you off.
After a few minutes of watching you switch between your right and left arm to no avail, you rip your arm away with another groan and rise to your feet. Overcome with agitation, you kick at the concrete, only to regret so immediately and whimper as you hop on your unharmed foot with a hiss.
Your shoulders drop, your countenace shifting to crestfallen and tired. You press your lips hard together, glaring down at the sewer as you stand on your two feet again. A shuddering exhale leaves your parted lips, and you duck your head in shame, moving to plop down on the side of the curb and bury your face in your hands.
Choso feels himself frown. You appear so... sad.
Is it because of whatever you dropped?
He observes that way your shoulders tremble, and soon the muffled huffs of breath rise into the still air as you sniffle into your palms.
He wants to help you. Badly.
In the midst of Choso's thoughts, his foot shuffles across the ground once more, knocking a complacent rock out of place and stirring up a small commotion.
The rock rolls out from the alleyway, into the street. Choso panics, ducking further into darkness as you lift your head with sudden urgency.
Tears stain your cheeks, your eyes tinged a light pink, and you sniff hard, lowering your hands into your lap when you catch wind of the rock. You swipe the back of your hand over your nose and go to stand up, having the sense to now have your guard up since something is evidently nearby.
"H-Hello?" you croak out, rising to your feet cautiously as you stare into the direction of the rocks origins. You know someone is there. You sense the energy now, bubbling like some inky mass in the shadows. You frown, for of course you would run into some kind of threat tonight, of all nights.
You sniff again, harder this time, dropping your shoulders with a huff. "I know you're there," you call out, voice echoing throughout the street.
Choso swallows hard, his heart suddenly lurching forward in his chest. He has to leave, before you see him. Before you take one look at him and deem him some sort of monster.
"If you're trying to scare me, it's not gonna work. Nor is robbing me. Everything valuable I own is -" you point to the sewer grate beside you with pursed, irritated lips. "- right down there, so. And trying to kill me won't go so well for you either. Just so you know."
A sorcerer? Or some member of the jujutsu world? You must be. He can tell by the way your stature adapts a specific stance, one he sees many of the students take on the field when they are preparing to spare. You don't seem to be completely in it though. You're movements are lackadasical, tired, like you just want to get whatever you're about to encounter over with so you can go back to wallowing in pity.
Choso's confused. He doesn't want to hurt you. Or steal from you. He just... doesn't want you to see him.
But after a few more seconds of his silence, you march over to the alleyway boldly. Choso backs away on instinct as you come in close, your hand rising to grip the brick as you peer into shadows and nothing. You squint, angling your head differently. "Hello?"
Then you make them out. Two glowing, hollowed purple orbs floating about in the near distance, and the soft ruffle of clothing as the owner of said eyes retreats further.
You scrunch your brows together, something uneasy settling in your stomach. The silence, the eyes, the darkness, it makes you shudder.
"I can see you," you eventually whisper, your tone evening out. Choso freezes, stuck.
You can see him?
No, not fully. You couldn't possibly, or else your reaction would have been less calm.
Because you're so close. Wafts of your perfume float into his confined space, intoxicating his senses and tickling his nose. It twitches, his hand going to paw away at it, as if he has the power to rid himself of your enticing presence.
And you, well, you're at a loss. You can tell, now that you've shrunk the distance, that whatever is out there doesn't want to come near you, let alone hurt you or take anything from you. It's hiding away, you assume, but from what? Why? What's so bad about it that needs to be hidden?
"Are you following me?" you ask.
No. No, he's not. Not now. He didn't mean to find you here like this.
"...Can you... speak?" you try once more for a response, but to no avail. You palm at your damp eyes again, ridding the saltiness from your gaze so you can see and focus properly. There's another shuffle back, and something sympathetic blooms in you. You aren't exactly sure why. Perhaps it's because of the shitty day you've been having. "Are you some kinda harmless curse?" you ponder aloud. Still nothing.
You stretch out a hand, and it reaches into darkness blindly. Choso looks down at your soft, small palm turned upwards, and your pretty eyes searching through nothingness with something desperate in your gaze.
"Look, see?" you offer. "I won't hurt you. I'm off duty, anyway," you half chuckle something sweet and hypnotic and... defeated. "As long as you don't hurt me too. Promise."
Tear dropped lashes blink and a sad, comforting smile rises to your lips.
"I probably sound insane trying to talk to you, but... if you don't mean any harm, I really wouldn't mind the company right now," your voice drifts off at the end of your sentence as if you are humiliated, leading Choso to stop backing away from you instinctively.
A human being is asking for him to show himself, asking for his company, and all he can do is stand frozen in place, as this is incredibly unfamiliar territory.
He wants to go. He wants to listen to you, to believe that you truly mean what you say. But fear grounds him until your next soft phrase.
"Please?"
You hear slow footsteps approach, and you lower your hand the closer you feel him getting to you. A soft, pathetic smile graces your features, and gradually, a head peaks out from the blanket of darkness.
But when your eyes go up, they land first on chest.
Your expression slowly wilters as your eyes trail up and up and up slowly, and after what seems like an eternity, they finally find stunned violet hues that peer down at you from overhead. He emerges cautiously, a similarly pathetic expression on his face, circling those strange eyes of his. Your arms completely drop to your sides, your brows lifting, your lips parting to release a soft breath of stun.
A spooky sight greets you. Over six feet of astonishing mass blending into the shadows of the darkness, a frozen face of what you would name as fear written across his empty eyes. You aren't quite sure what he is. He looks like some kind of curse, but the way he stares, the way he watches with a breath held is far too human for you to tell.
Wild strands of dark brown, dark enough to be black, sprawl over his forehead and into his wide eyes. His chest rises and falls slowly like he's waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting for your outburst, for your cruelty.
But instead of your cruelty, instead of fleeing in a terror-stricken haze, you just return his gaze and stare in awe. Perplexed. Intrigued. Surprised.
Choso stares at you, awaiting your rejection with lips clamped tight together. You just watch, lips parting and jaw dropping slightly.
You don't know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't him.
Though, despite his frame and offputting nature, there's that humanness swirling in his gaze like he is ashamed of himself, like he wants to rerteat at any given moment.
Your heart lurches with empathy.
"Oh..." you start, unable to find the right words. Subconsciously, you take a step back and Choso notices immediately. His adam's apple bobs, and he keeps himself half submerged in shadows. "...You're..." you breathe out.
Disgusting? Horrifying? A wretched sight?
"Tall," is what you elect to say, nodding slowly to yourself in your stupor. Choso's shoulder slump slowly in surprise.
You don't run. You didn't throw things at him. You don't even yell.
You just look at him as though you're amazed.
Choso feels something strange bite at the apples of his cheeks, the manipulation of his blood no longer under his control but his own body's. He blinks once, long and hard, as pink swirls over pale skin - his cheeks and the tip of his nose. His nose and lips curl, now crooked as he adjusts to the heat of his face as he stands before you.
"Sorry, um- I'm kinda a mess right now," you blink your own eyes repeatedly, snapping yourself out of your daze. Your hands slap at your sides, and you stretch your hand back out again. "I'm... (Y/n). Do you... do you have a name?"
You didn't run.
Choso is utterly frozen, a fish out of water.
The shock of your amiability despite having just seen his face is sending him reeling. And now, having stepped into the flickering luminescents of the street lights with you, his breath has been knocked away with the shock of your... your...
"Hello?" you wave, hesitantly taking a step closer to examine him with skeptical eyes. Your eyes narrow, your brows draw together, and your lips curve - not with distaste, but with curiosity. "Can you hear me? Or... even understand what I'm saying?"
Beauty.
That's what it is. That's what Yuji called it. Something so nice to look at, it can't be named as anything but such.
As you lean in to examine him closely, carefully, Choso names it. Feels it. Sees it. You're beautiful. The most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
You tilt your head, releasing your arm to prop a hand on your hip. "...Are you okay?"
Is he?
No human has ever asked.
He feels his heart jerk in his chest, and he jolts slightly. His hand abruptly flies to the very spot, and he looks down in alarm as though his own body has betrayed him.
You frown, suddenly believing that this being, this man - whatever he is, is hurt somehow. Or at the very least, having a psychotic break.
Your hand instinctively reaches out, and the moment Choso detects it, he pulls away swiftly, owlish eyes finding yours again. You deflate. "Do you need any help? Can I take you somewhere?" you ask, voice softening.
What a pretty sound.
No one has every spoken to him so casually. No one other than Yuji.
Why aren't you afraid? Don't you see his face? The way it absorbs all light to reflect only bleak darkness? Don't you see the marks of a killer, of a blood curse user? Of something strange and offputting and unfamiliar?
His eyes detail your red ones, then fly to the sewer opening.
Lifting a slender finger, he points.
"...Did you lose something?"
His voice slithers out low, yet smooth, a bass you are surprised to hear. There's something monotonous and robotic to the sound, like he has no idea how to speak to someone like you, or to anyone for that matter. His tone is also thick with lack of use, as if these are the first words he has spoken in days.
Your eyes follow his finger, still confused, and slightly taken aback by his speech. You gulp and locate what he is talking about you look back up at him in question. "Oh, yeah," you sigh, suddenly remembering why you're out here in the first place. "I... um... dropped my phone down there. And it has my ID and credit card in the case..." you trail off to turn back to him with questions in your eyes.
"Can I... help?"
You blink. "Um, I mean... if you can? If you really want to?"
Choso doesn't waste any time. You watch as his bulking, inhumane frame steps fully out of darkness and moves toward the sewer with a determined expression.
When he stands in the street, you see his full frame much more clearly from afar, and you ogle him. He's certainly a curse, or someone hybrid between that and a human being. His face, his hair, his ten fingers and two hands are enough to signify the workings of another human, but the lack of color on his skin, his size, his bulkiness, the sharpness of his jaw, the way he speaks, the way his eyes stare. Those traits of his are all quite unique, and while you think he should scare you, he doesn't.
Choso locates your phone. He sees the screen facing upward just a few feet below the crate. His head tilts as he studies the predicament, and before you can tell him not to worry about it, you watch him lurch forward, hook his fingers into the grate, and yank it out with one forceful tug. Your eyes widen as he tosses the metal crate over his shoulder like it weighs nothing, and it lands with a loud clanging. He then hops down into the hole without a second thought. You hurry over to check on him.
But what greets you upon arrival is a large hand stretching out from the sewer, your phone clasped in his dark fingers. You gasp, light catching your eyes as you bend over. Choso looks up at you sheepishly, waiting patiently for you to take your belonging as he stands still.
"Holy shit, you actually got it?" you exclaim, reaching to retrieve your phone, brushing his cold hand. Choso retracts it, swallowing hard as his face warms even more. You check to make sure nothing is cracked or wet as Choso climbs his way out, pressing his palms to the pavement and pushing forward with his seemingly impressive strength. He clambers back to his feet before you, uncaring of the grime smudging his robes, and awaits your next reaction, your next words like an eager puppy.
You heave a sigh of relief when you find no damage to your device and hug it to your chest. No longer full of sadness, your (e/c) eyes find his and you grin wide, all teeth on display and your eyes squinting with gratitude.
"Thank you so much! You're a life saver."
Thank you. You're thanking him - him. A human being is thanking Choso, and he can't even operate his brain quickly enough to say you're welcome. He just nods stiffly, staring.
"You must be really strong, huh?" you pipe up, your voice now chipper and free. Choso doesn't say anything, and you chuckle slightly with a nod toward the discarded sewer grate. "You yanked that thing like it was nothing."
"Oh. I am strong. Yes," Choso says awkwardly, for it is a fact. It's true. He possesses remarkable physical prowess, much like his little brother, but you still giggle upon hearing his answer. His ears burn. He's never made it this far in conversation with someone before. Is he supposed to laugh? Is he saying the right things?
"Yeah, I can see that," you say warmly, tucking your phone back into your pocket. With another spirited exhale, you smile. "So you were watching me back there, weren't you?"
Choso's face flushes a deeper pink. "U-Um-"
"I only ask because... well, you were here long enough to see that I lost something. You saw me have a meltdown, right?" Choso stares. "You saw me crying and stuff," you clarify.
The half curse clears his throat. "Yes," he croaks. "I did. I was watching you. I saw you hurt your foot, too. Sorry," Choso hastily rushes out, stiff and peculiar, like the word was tangled on his tongue and he didn't know how to get it out. All he knew was that you needed to hear it. "Sorry," he says again, this time quieter.
You quirk a brow. "Why? Were you watching me, I mean?"
He doesn't know how to respond.
"It's okay," you say after a moment of silence, having taken in his countenance and his tone and deduced that he isn't a threat. "I'm not upset. Just wanna... make sure you aren't a secret threat to me or something."
"I'm not," he swears. "I don't want to hurt you. I would never hurt someone without reason."
"Okay..." you drawl. "I believe you. So then, why?"
"I was... walking," he starts.
You nod. "Right."
"Then I saw you, so I stopped walking."
"...To watch me?"
"Not at first," Choso admits, incapable of lying. "I didn't want to... scare you. So I stayed in there."
You turn and look back at the dark alley, and something suddenly tugs at your chest. "I see."
"Do I scare you?"
You whip your head back around to look up at the being before you. You tilt your head, soaking in the image of him, detailing the submission behind his dominating, foreign physique. You smile again.
"No. I've seen much scarier. Trust me," you wink. Choso's heart spasms again, and his body jerks. You stifle a laugh at his odd nature. "I appreciate your concern, really. But it might've been less creepy if you'd just come up to me in the first place. I don’t bite."
There's that word again. Creepy. Choso scratches the side of his jaw, pensive. "Normally, people run away."
"What? They run away? From you?" you ask, and Choso nods solemnly. Your heart aches. "Sure, you're a little unique, but that's no reason to run from you. That's kinda harsh, no?"
Choso frowns. "Unique?"
You hum. "I've never seen anyone or anything like you before. But that's not a bad thing."
"It's not?"
"Of course not," you giggle. "You should own it. You're the only one of your kind out there, just like I'm the only one of myself out there," you sing happily, your mood having been healed.
You don't know how deeply your words impact Choso as he listens to you, watches you. "So... you don't think I'm gross? Or - or ugly?"
"God no. I actually think you're really sweet. You wanted to help me without even knowing me," you beam. "It's a shame people haven't stuck around long enough to see that."
Suddenly, flowers bloom in Choso's mind. Warm colors and fragrances drift into his imagination and surround you as he stares, and as you grin up at him like he's any other man.
You think he's unique. And sweet. No one has ever used such words to describe him.
You're pretty, and unjudging, and kind.
Little hearts bloom in Choso's dead eyes as he starts to imagine what life could be like with you in it, suddenly struck by Cupid’s arrow.
"I think you're sweet too," he suddenly blurts, having grown confident under your compliments. "And... um... beauty - beautiful. Beautiful."
Caught off guard by his compliment, your smile fades slightly. You notice the reddened state of his face and the cute way his dark brows curl. Flattered, heat burns at the back of your neck as you chuckle nervously, out of your depth. This was the very last thing you would have expected him to say.
“You think I’m beautiful?” you ask.
Choso gulps, rethinking his words. The last thing he wants to do is offend you. So he doesn’t say anything again, tongue tied and beet red.
“T-Thank you. I guess,” you murmur. “I don’t look… the best right now. But you’re sweet for thinking so,” you laugh again.
Befuddled by your statement, Choso speaks again. “I do think so,” he asserts.
“Okay. Thank you,” you nod shyly.
You are just so pretty, Choso doesn’t know what to do with himself.
An awkward silence breezes by as Choso stares at you, and you quickly determine that he’s got absolutely no social skills. You breathe in sharply. “So what’s your name?”
“…Choso.”
“Choso?” you echo, and the said man feels chills curl up his spine at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. “That’s a nice name. It’s nice to meet you.”
You thrust your hand out to him again, and Choso studies it. He’s seen this before. Handshakes. People do them with one another as a formality when introducing themselves.
He can’t believe you want to shake hands with him.
Cautiously, Choso lifts his large hand out and slowly his fingers clasp around yours. His hand is cold, the sheer size of it dwarfing your own.
And your hand is so warm and soft, like a cushion of cotton or the surface of a cloud.
You giggle slightly, looking up at him. “Now we shake.”
Choso clenches his jaw in embarrassment and carefully shakes your hand, allowing you to guide the up-and-down motion.
You smile triumphantly. “Good… you can let go of my hand now.”
Choso does, ripping it away when he notices he’s been holding onto you for too long.
"So, Choso," you start kindly. "Where were you heading tonight?"
"Um. Nowhere," he says. "I was leaving my brother-"
"Brother? You have siblings?" you inquire, intrigued.
"Y-Yeah. A little brother."
"Wow, how old?"
"Fifteen."
"Awww, how sweet," you grin. "I have a little sister. She's not so little though. She's nineteen. Real pain in my ass."
Choso perks up. "Are you the eldest?"
"Unfortunately," you joke.
Choso's heart flips yet again. How could you get any better?
"So after you left your brother, where were you going?" The brunette shrugs. You hum, looking over his now tattered, dirtied robes.
The poor guy is all alone out here, hiding away from the public because people have grown frightened of his appearance without bothering to learn what lies beneath. And though he is a bit grim looking, he isn't all that bad. At all, actually.
He's got a kind face. And dare you say, eerily handsome features. He didn't ask to be born this way, and even after having burdened humanity's cruelty, it seems that he still seeks humanity's approval.
There's nothing ugly or monstrous about the pink face looking back at you now. You've had a particularly trying day yourself too, and the only inkling of kindness that the universe had to offer is the being towering over you in the empty street.
He's lonely. And you just so happen to be too.
You look all around you, then mentally question if you are truly about to do what pops into your head. "Your clothes are dirty," you observe.
Choso looks down at his robes. "Oh. Yeah."
"...I think I have some spare clothes from my dad somewhere in my closet. You look about..." you note his height and the width of his body with a curved smile. "...his size?" you guess. "He’s a big guy. Do you maybe... wanna come to my house and get cleaned up? I'll wash your robes for you. You can consider it a thank you for helping me get my phone."
The violet eyed half curse is silent as he processes your offer in a daze. You tilt your head and raise your brows with a smile, and that is enough for Choso to follow you blindly, happily to your home.
Your scent clings to the air of your small apartment, and Choso has to duck his head to enter through your front door. His once dull eyes shine as he takes in the coziness of your space, your snug furniture and the earthy tones that accentuate the environment. You're talking as you lead him through the living room and head into your room to sort through your closet, but Choso lingers behind as he takes in his surroundings.
Pictures of waterfalls and winding green trails litter your fridge, stuck to the surface with little magnets naming far off places and national parks. There's dishes piled in your sink, unwashed, and an apron hangs on the pantry door that reads: kiss the cook.
There are fairy lights strung up on all of your walls, encasing the space in a soft, dim glow. Plants decorate your kitchen table, your coffee table, the corners of the floor.
And when he follows your voice into your room, he is mute with admiration as he looks around. You stand on the other side of your bed at your closet door, rifling through articles of clothing. The lights in your room are even softer, with hues of orange and pink warping the ceiling from a little projector. There are little knicknacks sprawled over your nightstand and desk, and a big shelf piled full of books right next to it.
Choso steps into the space slowly, entranced, his eyes floating to a frame propped up by your bed. He bends over, reaching for it to examine. There you are, pictured in the middle of some rainforest, your arms spread wide above you and a heart stopping grin on your face.
So pretty.
"A-ha! These should work!" you exclaim, whipping around with a big grey shirt and black sweatpants stretched in your hands. Choso panics, hastily putting your picture frame back into place. In his rush, it fumbles from his grasp and drops onto the carpeted floor. He winces, fumbling once more to pick it up and put it back. You laugh. "Relax, Choso. It's okay. That picture's actually from when I went to Costa Rica last year. It was a really awesome trip."
"You like to travel," he observes, stepping away from your nightstand to stand stiffly with his arms at his sides, afraid of causing any more commotion.
"I love it. And nature. It helps - I don't know - ground me I think. I’m not the most social person out there, so I go away to center myself," You move forward to lay out the clothes on the bed next to him. "Here, why don't you go shower and freshen up. You can use whatever's in the bathroom."
Choso blinks, eyes following you. "Shower? Here?"
"I promise I don't mind."
Somehow, Choso ends up cramped in your shower, his robes discarded on the floor as his nose brushes the showerhead. He sorts through every single one of your soaps and shampoos curiously, gingerly, flipping the lid to smell each one. Some are more sugary, others fruity, and all of them carry some piece of you that Choso engrains into his mind. He uses every one.
He's in there so long that you have to knock and check to make sure he's okay. Only then does he put everything carefully back in place and finish up.
Choso emerges with steam clinging to his body and hair damp, loose over the frame of his face as unfamiliar, clean clothes cling to his skin. You do a double take when you look up at him from where you sit at your desk in front of your laptop, and he awaits your reaction, his robes piled in his arms with that sheepish look on his now brighter features.
"Oh wow, look at you," you turn in your chair to admire him with a grin. "How do you feel?"
"Wet."
You snort, looking up at his dripping hair free from its ponytails. "Here, gimme your robes. I'll throw them in the wash then help you with your hair."
Once again, Choso finds himself in foreign territory as you stand on a step stool in the bathroom mirror with a blow dryer clutched in your hand. Choso stares at you through the reflection of the glass as you gingerly dry his hair, hot gusts blowing his dark strands to and fro. Your gentle fingers separate strands after asking permission, and you're careful to avoid tangles as you work with crisp focus.
Choso's skin buzzes. His entire body is vibrating as he hunches in your little bathroom, letting you care for him as if you aren't a stranger he only met a couple of hours ago. He thinks he might be sick when his rapid heart rate and warm cheeks persist over a long period of time in your company.
When you finish blowdrying, you laugh slightly and lower the device to unplug it. Choso's hair is now fluffy and full of volume, sitting atop his head like a thick helmet of shoulder length locks. A mop of bangs hides his eyes, and you lean over to curve the strands out of the way gently so he can see. He flushes, eyes finding yours. “Hi,” you chuckle.
“H-Hi,” he murmurs back.
After a bit of combing and maintenance, you finally hop off of the step stool and stand beside his large frame. "There. All done."
The pale skinned man observes himself in the mirror and almost doesn't recognize what stares back. His hair feels soft, looks neat, as his bangs curve around his ears and his hair filters gracefully down his neck. The outline of his broad shoulders is visible against the fabric of your dad's old tee, his biceps bulging against the sleeves. He feels refreshed. Renewed. Warm and fuzzy.
"Better?" you ask.
Choso turns to look at you and is overcome with a rush of emotions he can't name. "Yes," he exhales, whipped.
As Choso's robes hang to dry, and you retreat to your bed having offered up your couch for Choso to sleep on, the half curse elects, instead, to stand over you in the darkness of your room as you sleep.
The clock reads three in the morning, and piercing through the night, Choso studies your unconscious form. You lay on your side with fists bawled up under your chin. Your eyes roll beneath your lids, lashes fluttering as your lips part with gentle breaths.
Choso feels his heart hammering heart again. He presses his palm to his chest.
Is this the feeling the movies speak off? The intensity? The heat?
When Choso returns to Yuji the next day, still wearing the clothes you gave him and carrying his robes in a spare tote bag that you let him borrow, the salmon haired teen's eyes bulge out of his skull and his jaw drops to the floor.
"Bro, what the heck happened to you?!" Yuji exclaims. "You look so - like - well, you look great!"
Now, with the approval of Yuji, Choso puffs his chest and closes his eyes with great emotion. "I met a woman."
Thus begins the unhealthy habits, the toxic patterns that Choso knows no better but to follow. He can not get you out of his head, the way your fingers threaded through his damp hair. The way your hand felt in his when he shook it. The way your house smells, the way your soap and scent clung to his body. The way your eyes lit up when he helped you retrieve your phone, and the way you never feared him.
His heart skips beats when he thinks of you, when your name rings through his head like a melody. He learns from Yuji that he is in fact not sick, but that he has exhibited signs of yearning, signs that he is romantically interested in you.
Choso begins to chase the feeling day in and day out. Whenever he has the opportunity, he's seeking you out in secret. Tracking you down, trailing behind you throughout your days, watching you through a window from across the street, lingering to ensure that you make it home safely at night.
You're a Jujutsu librarian. You keep a collection of important documents at Kyoto Jujutsu High, the rival of Yuji’s school. You lay low, linger in absences, keep to yourself. You're far more isolated than Choso would have believed you to be, given your bright personality, but you seem content to be so. You like to read, he finds. You like the simple things about life. You stop to take pictures of trees and pay extra for limited edition copies of books. You feed birds and sit in park benches, just existing. Being. Alone.
Weeks go by of Choso following you around, all the while meeting you in person once every week to stroll through town at night and talk. He can't help but to look after you, the same way he does Yuji. You've bled into his life, you've left a lasting impression, and Choso can not quit the way his body reacts to your voice alone. He can't quit the precious way your eyes catch the glimmer of the moon, or the way the corners of your lips curl with an impending smile.
He's grown obsessed with you. With your very life.
And one day, he decides he'll do something about it. With a rather questionable pep talk from Yuji buzzing in Choso's ears and a bouquet of hand picked flowers in his trembling hand, he goes to head to your apartment when he catches you inside a restaurant on the way there.
He stops, heart jerking when he sees you, confusion rising, as he expected you to be in your house by now. Normally you are. It’s pretty late.
Choso takes a step closer in the dusk, only to find that you aren't alone. His heart drops to his stomach as you sit there across from some guy, cozied up in a booth, surrounded by warm lighting. Your shoulders hunch and your eyes crinkle as you laugh, and Choso frowns. He thought he was the only one who made you laugh like that.
Nausea rises as the man across from you smiles, and you smile back. He's pretty and perfect, like the heroes in Yuji's movies. Perfect straight teeth and smooth skin, bagless eyes and hands that don't scare. Light cropped hair and bright eyes. Everything, everything, that Choso is not.
A lump builds in the back of Choso's throat as he glares at the two of you. He doesn't know how long he stands there, heartbroken, flowers falling to his side and eyes darkening.
Did you want someone 100% human after all?
You return home that night rather drained. You'd forced yourself to go on yet another date set up by Utahime, who swears up and down that you would be less lonely if you put yourself out there more. You sigh, tossing your keys to the ground and shuffling off your shoes at the door, shutting it tight behind you.
It's not as though the guy was bad. He was nice, you suppose. A little drab, but otherwise, not a monster. Even so, you couldn't bring yourself to be interested in him beyond that. The conversation was stifling, and the entire time, your mind kept trailing off to other places, other worlds, to... to Choso.
You groan, rubbing your temples as you go plop down on your couch in the dark with a weighted sigh. You know you're a little strange, as most people in the Jujutsu world are, but you can't help the things that stimulate you. You can't help but to be interested in the things overlooked, the things no one cares to see, the things others write off as unnoteable.
But Choso is anything but to you.
With his strange way of speaking and moving, his strange eyes, and strange, strange behavior, he's unveiled passion. The kind that comes easily to him, the kind that certain people are merely born with. He will talk for hours about his brother, then listen to you talk for hours about your interests and occupation. And he'll watch you when you speak... like a hawk, like he's afraid of missing any second.
And you like it. You like the way he makes you view the world unintentionally. You like his mystique. You like his unique quality. You like him.
But it's irrational. Choso hardly exists during the daytime. You only see him once a week, and he's... well, he's different. Though you enjoy his differences, you realize that liking him could pose some complications with your job. Unless you kept him a secret. But Choso doesn't deserve such treatment. He deserves someone who fully embraces him.
And you do. You want to. You're just... scared.
Your head leans to the side, your eyes darting across the space when you catch a shadow just behind you in the connected kitchen. You scream out, jumping up from your couch to throw yourself against the wall.
With a trembling hand, you reach out for the lights, and flick them on to reveal Choso standing there before you behind your kitchen counter.
You pant erratically, your heart hammering into your chest. "Choso?!" you shout. "What the fuck?! What are you doing here?"
In typical fashion, he doesn't answer. But he is void of the warmth and kindness you ordinarily associate with him. You furrow your brows in concern as you press yourself further against the wall, taking in his intrusive stature.
That sheepish gaze is nowhere to be found. The light that once trickled into his violet hues is gone. Instead, the Choso that stands before you is silent with resentment, betrayal. His lips are curved down, his eyes sharp on you as he stares. His gaze feels stern, hard, unforgiving, and his brows are angled down. The shadows encompass him, helping him to blend into darkness much like how he did when you first met him. But this is different.
He looks angry. With you.
You swallow thickly, unfamiliar with this side of the sweet man you've come to know.
"Cho..." you start slowly in a shuddering whisper. "Why are you in my house?" He doesn't reply. Your nose flares. "W-What's wrong?"
Nothing.
"How long have you been here?"
Still nothing.
You heave out, attempting to calm yourself with a hand to your abdomen. "Jesus Christ. You scared me."
This, this, elicits a response.
"I scared you. Huh."
His deep voice rumbles out into the dimness. You gnaw on the inside of your lip, startled by the bass in his tone, by the severity with which he speaks to you now.
"Y-Yes, Choso. You're standing in my kitchen in the dark. How did you even get in here?"
"The same way I always do."
"The same way y- what?"
He doesn't even bother to correct himself. He makes it known that he'd been here, that this is his territory, not anybody else's. It's supposed to be just you and him.
Your blood runs cold. He's snuck into your house before? More than once?
"Why are you so far away?" he asks suddenly.
You stare like a deer in headlights, unaware of how tightly you press yourself away out of instinct. Your nervous system is still reeling from the scare, and you're desperately trying to process everything that Choso just said - trying to process why he's in your house like this, why he's looking at you that way.
You watch as he starts to move, slow steps padding against your floor toward you. You stare with wide eyes as he approaches, stepping into the dim light, moving across your carpet to stand before you.
You inhale and exhale slowly, eyes glued to his as he stops just a couple of feet away from you. He studies you so closely, you feel he can read every thought in your mind with those eyes of his. You see something wrecked in his gaze, something broken that urges his eerie, solemn state. Your frown deepens, your confusion intensifying.
He takes one more step forward. "Are you scared of me now?"
A crease dents the space between your brows. "I'm more confused than anything right now, Cho," you tell him in a hushed voice. "How often do you sneak into my house?"
"A couple times a week," he says casually.
You twitch. "Why? Why wouldn't you just - just ask to come over?"
"Do you not like me anymore?"
"Wha...?" your face scrunches. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm really confused. I don't-"
"Do you prefer someone more normal than me?"
You squint. "What do you mean?" you ponder his words, thinking back to your date. Then it dawns on you, rather fast. "Were you... have you been watching me?"
"I always do," he confesses earnestly, eyes pointed. You clamp your mouth shut, eyes widening as Choso takes another step closer. "I always want to know what you're doing and make sure you're okay. And tonight, I saw you with him. With a normal guy. I didn’t like it."
He doesn't have a filter. Not a single one. Choso acts and speaks on impulse, and his impulses after having met you have drawn him closer and closer, have placed him into the center of your life, and he wants you to have him. He wants you to want him there, but he needs to know if this is all for nothing. If he even has a chance with someone like you.
"Choso..." you start, slightly alarmed and overwhelmed.
"Who is he?" he asks coldly, something torn in the back of his voice. His brows twitch, his chest tightening. "Were you on a date?"
"You can't just-"
"Is he what you prefer? Over me?"
Your face falls.
You don't know what to say.
If you were to answer him truthfully, you would have said no. Of course he's not. You don't even know the guy, and he's hardly even half of what Choso is, half of what he makes you feel.
But you are reeling with shock at these sudden revelations, at the intensity of Choso's feelings that you can not deny you knew he had. It was always so telling in the way he clung to you when the two of you went out. The color that always swirls in his cheeks when he's with you. The way he just can't stop staring.
But you didn’t know it would get this bad.
You should have known. Choso isn't like ordinary people. He's a half curse with hardly any experience with other human beings aside from his brother, and he's even mentioned how he would follow Yuji around during the day to ensure his safety.
Choso is a passionate person. He feels more than the ordinary being. He acts on his emotions, which likely feel foreign to him, far differently than anyone else would, and you should have known. You should have known that bringing him into your house upon first meeting would have bridged a connection that deluded him into thinking he's entitled to your space at all times.
You should have known that a little crush wouldn't be just a little crush to him.
And Choso is desperate. Desperate for you. For your answers. For a sliver of the attention you gave that guy at your date. Desperate for your love, love which he's never gotten to experience before you.
Looking into his eyes now, your instinct is to comfort him through your discomfort. Choso's always been so honest, so unapologetically himself, and he's looking to you for something, anything. And you want to give it to him, but you can't overlook what he's telling you now. What you're seeing.
The eeriness of it all.
"Choso," you say his name firmly, and something in him shifts slightly. "You can't stalk me like that. That's not okay. You can't follow me around when I'm unaware. That's an invasion of my privacy. I'd never do that to you. You understand?"
The brunette falters, his brows twitching again and his lips curling down. "You don't like me anymore?" he asks again, this time lower, more fragile.
Your heart aches against your best judgment. "I do like you, Choso," you say, hesitantly bringing your hands up to cup his face to calm him. You feel the half curse jerk under your touch, and like the fool he is for you, he melts into your palms, shoulders slumping as he hunches over, lavender eyes softening into something oh so pathetic. "I do. Okay? I like you a lot."
He's sap, his sternness crumbling. "You do?"
"I do," you assure him.
“I like you a lot too. I like you very much. As more than a friend.”
“I know, Cho. I know,” you say tenderly. “And I’m happy to hear that, but I don't like you sneaking around me. That's weird, okay? You can't just come into my house whenever you want or follow me like that. I don't like that. At all."
Choso grimaces. "But I just want to protect you."
"I can protect myself."
"I want to help."
"You can help by respecting my space."
"But you won't want to see me otherwise."
"That's not true," you sigh. "You just have to ask."
"What about your date?"
"I don't prefer him over you, Choso. It was one date. And it wasn't that good," you tell him.
“Why did you go out with him in the first place?”
“I don’t know - it doesn’t matter. I was thinking of you the whole time.”
Choso's lips twitch into a crooked half smile, cheeks dusting with color. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh," you roll your eyes, dropping your hands from his face much to Choso's chagrin. "You're fucking weird, Cho," you exhale with a slight laugh, shaking your head.
"I know," he mumbles. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not your fifteen year old brother, okay? There's this thing called phone calls. You can talk to me and ask to see me whenever you want. Just ask. No more sneaking around or breaking in. Or I'll be really upset."
Choso slumps. "Okay," he mumbles. He peers at you through thick lashes. "Are you going to see him again?"
"That's kinda the least of my concerns right now."
He takes in your edged tone and deflates. "You're mad at me."
You pout, quirking a brow and crossing your arms. "A little bit. You freaked the hell out of me just now,” you say. “But that doesn't mean I don't... still like you. Or think you’re scary. I'm just adjusting. Processing."
Choso suddenly takes the energy of a kicked puppy. "I'm sorry."
"So you said."
You gasp as Choso drops down to his knees before you, reaching forward to cling to your thighs. He wraps his burly arms snug around your legs, pressing his face to your stomach. You raise your arms in shock, face flooding with heat. "Choso, what are you doing?"
"Don't see him again," he muffles into your clothes. You feel his voice vibrate against your skin, and you shiver. "Don’t see any other man. Please. Pick me. I want it to be me instead."
You go to say something, but he holds you tighter, pressing himself to you pathetically, burying himself in your scent and warmth. You can be mad at him, if that's what you need. You can put boundaries in place, much to his chagrin, and he'd eventually deal. But he sincerely hopes, prays, that you won't abandon him for this. That you won't take back all the wonderful things you said about him, that you won't leave him for clinging too intensely, for offending you, for invading your space.
He just wants to be near you. That's all. He can't function when he's not near you.
And as strange as Choso is, you know that you are no better the moment you feel your heart flutter and skin tingle under his touch, when his desperate plea flushes against you. He's pitiful. Addictively, attractively, pitiful.
You exhale, lowering your hands to rest atop his thick hair. He whimpers, pushing in close, a great contrast to how he appeared to you only moments ago. You doubt he was even trying to scare you then. You assume that intensity is merely a part of him, a subconscious reaction when you are involved.
Choso's lashes flutter as you stroke over his hair, his face nuzzling closer. You look down at him with tired eyes.
"I do pick you, Cho," you say, despite his stalking. Despite his unwarranted presence in your home. "I pick you every time."
tags: sexism, coming out, unprotected p in v sex, oral sex (reader receiving), masc/neutral terms used for reader
Soldier Boy seems to like trans men more than modern cis men.
🔗 read on ao3 or read here ⬇️ og gif link
Initially, you're a bit miffed and mildly offended that Butcher had left you here in this apartment to watch Soldier Boy, make sure he didn't bail or explode or something. You'd think that by now your skills could be used for something at least a bit higher stakes than babysitting a grown man.
He just- he confused you. All the old euphemisms, the casual sexism, his grumpiness with the 'modern' times. It was to be expected given his age, but it didn't mean you wanted to be sat here listening to all of that. If you wanted to give yourself a headache, Vought News was readily available.
And there was that whole other thing of him not knowing you were trans.
It wasn't something you were hugely open about around here anyway; Butcher knew and he didn't give a fuck. Treated you exactly the same. And Hughie and Starlight were so sweet about it, which was nice. You weren't sure if the others knew, but by now you trusted and respected each other enough that you were sure they'd be fine about it all. There were currently far bigger things to worry about, at the end of the day. But Soldier Boy? How would you expect someone who was born nearly a hundred years before you to understand it?
It wasn't something you'd ever dreamt about bringing up to him. Because one, it was none of his business, and two, you knew he was just here on a temporary basis - not here to stay. That was, until this little incident happened.
"Men these days," Soldier Boy scoffs, looking around the room as if talking to a crowd, but you were the only one here. Typical. Another Supe who thinks he's the centre of attention. "They're just so… different."
Well, fuck. Has he clocked me? "Different," you say slowly, your head bleating that familiar "I really wish I weren't here right now" as you look at him nervously. "How so?"
"That little cum guzzler," he says, and your shoulders untensed a little. But you still didn't like where this was going. "He's all… I don't know. Like a nervous little twink."
Twink. The description was slightly funny, if a bit offensive. Poor Hughie.
"And the French guy. I don't know what it is about him but he seems like a bit of a homo," he says. He looks as if he isn't trying to be hateful or anything, at the very fucking least. He just looks… confused, mainly. "Feels like so many of them are homosexuals these days. You'd almost think they were females or some shit."
He doesn't notice your fists begin to ball up in annoyance, but then he says something that surprises you. "Not you, though," he said, grinning almost proudly. "Now there's a man who knows his way around a gun. Tell ya what, you're practically the only man in this group other than me and that Butcher guy."
You smirk. Did he just…
"Huh, is that so?" you say, and he doesn't catch your sarcasm, obviously.
"Uh-huh. For all we know those other two have lady parts," he mutters, and you have to do everything in your power to hold back laughter.
"You know it's funny you say that," you say slowly, grinning, and he still isn't picking it up.
"What! Nonsense," he says. "You're the only one who can handle a little blood, a little action." Then he looks up and down you. "Not to mention, you're built like one too."
You tilt your head in surprise at that comment. It almost sounded a little flirtatious. Especially the way his gaze was. He seemed like he… enjoyed what he was seeing. Interesting.
"So, okay. Let me get this straight. You're saying I'm… more of a man, than the other guys?"
"Well, yeah," he shrugged, like it was obvious. Right now, you felt like blowing his mind a little. Perhaps it'd be funny.
"See, here's the thing," you say. "I wasn't born a man."
His eyes narrow in confusion, then he looks up. "Well, of course not. You were born a baby, right?"
"No, I mean…" you become a little hesitant. "I wasn't born… male."
Soldier Boy looks even more puzzled at this, the silence deafening as you wonder how he's going to react to that. It didn't help that he was one of those guys who were really fucking hard to read. Was he angry? Disgusted? Just confused?
"So… what, you just… grew into a man?" he asks after a beat, incredulously. "What happened?" He gave you another curious look. "You magically grew a dick or something?"
"No! Well… kind of? It's complicated," you stammer. Of all the coming-outs you'd had so far, this has got to be the strangest one.
"I don't understand," he says, "you… look like a man. You are one," he says very bluntly, and you feel a pang of pride.
"Well… yes," you say. "But some people wouldn't agree."
"Why?"
"Because that's not how I was born," you say, and he shakes his head in disbelief.
"Bullshit, I know a man when I see one. That's you. Why does it matter how you were born? I was sucking the hell out of tits when I was a baby, and as an adult you don't see me…" His voice trails off.
"Bad example," he mumbles. "But - you know what I mean."
You nod slowly, surprised that he doesn't care. "So, you see me as a man?"
He scoffs as if it's ridiculous. "No shit," he says gruffly. But then he softens a little. "The other so-called 'males' these days aren't shit. Only a real man would have the balls to want to be one and do it right. That's my boy." He gave you a rare grin, before mock-punching your arm. Acceptance, in… his roundabout, bass-ackwards way? What the hell, sure.
"Boy," you mimic, shaking your head. "I'm an adult." And he laughs a little.
"I'm old enough to be your father, sweetheart," he drawls. God, was he really back to flirting again? The motherfucker.
Then he approaches a little closer. "And, well… there's another word for father," he says dirtily. "Heard pretty girls say it for me in bed. And maybe one or two pretty boys."
"Huh, that so?" you smirk, pleased by the advances. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't considered it. From the second he arrived here you'd been eyeing him up like a meal you wanted to ravage. Or, rather, a meal you wanted to ravage you.
"Oh, yeah. Guys, girls, they were all over me back then," he says smugly. "But I've never seen a boy as pretty as you. 'S the only good thing about all this modern shit."
You laugh softly. "Oh, boys are so much prettier these days."
"Can't argue with you there," he says lowly, before leaning in. His lips touch yours, surprisingly soft at first. But then hands get grabby, you both tug each other closer, and your back hits the wall as he kisses you, hard.
You're already moaning softly as he presses up against you, already feeling him hard in that damn suit. You're a little flattered as he moves against you slowly, groaning hungrily into your ear.
"You gettin' wet yet, sweetheart?" he asks lowly. "Another thing I like about these days. Boys that get wet, fuck."
You're practically rendered speechless at the admission, simply nodding as one of his hands slides between your bodies, palming you over your pants. You whine and rut against his hand, which begins to move beneath the waistband of your pants to press on the damp fabric of your boxers.
"Fuck, look at you. Fuckin' soaking like a good boy," he says as he lets his fingers drag across your boxers, circling your dick. "Oh hello, what have we here?" He grins as if he's just struck gold. "So you did grow a dick."
You bite your lip, nodding. "Power of modern medicine," you say, your moans muffled as he kisses the smug smirk off your face.
You're blissful simply at the touch of his fingers for a few moments, but then he's lowering to his knees, looking positively ravenous. "Gotta taste you, darlin'. Wanna see what boy pussy tastes like."
Fuck. You're a little pink in the face, but nod. God, as if you hadn't pictured his face between your legs more times than you can count.
You quickly learn that with age comes experience, and you have to hold back screams as he eats you out. Fuck, he's tasting you like he's starving for it. Circling your swollen dick, dragging his tongue across you to lick into your soaking entrance. All while groaning pleasurably against you, like this was his favourite thing in the world.
"Mm, fuck, baby," he moans against you, the vibrations of it making your thighs shake. "Taste so fuckin' good."
You're breathless as you press his head harder against you, and that just makes him groan and lick faster. But you didn't want to come like this. You wanted to come on his cock, soak it as he filled you up.
Soldier Boy seems to read your mind, getting up off his knees and wiping off his mouth with a blissed-out grin. He then hoists you up by your thighs against the wall, the both of you groaning as he removes his belt and starts stroking himself.
"Suit on?" you ask, eyes blown wide open with lust. He simply smirks.
"Lotta people ask me to," he laughs. "Seemed like you'd be into that, pretty boy." And you can't argue there.
His grip on your thighs is hard as he starts lining himself up, and you know that'd leave marks tomorrow morning. Not that you cared. And then, he's inside.
Fuck, the way he throws his head back once he's in, you'd think he's never fucked anyone before. But then he starts moving, and you're speechless.
He's going at it fast, hard, leaving you no time to adjust - not that you needed it, but fuck, if it didn't make your dick throb. You let out rhythmic whines every time your hips collide, and it just makes him fuck into you more desperately.
"Fuck, look at you, takin' me so well. Good boy," he praises, breath hot and heavy against your neck, and it just makes you keen and writhe your body against him in time with his thrusts.
Before long you're both getting close, and as you near orgasm, Soldier Boy utters something in your ear. "Ride me," he requests dirtily. "Want you on top of me when we come."
You don't even respond, just wordlessly drag him over to the couch and push him down on it, grinning as he looks up at you all starry-eyed. You barely give him a second to breathe before bracketing your thighs over his own, sinking down his cock and gripping his shoulders.
Pressing deep kisses against his neck, you start moving against him, and within seconds you're picking up the pace, riding his cock in earnest and letting the sounds of your breathless moans fill the room.
"Yeah, baby, that's it," he groans out, his hips lifting off the couch to fuck into you. "Fuck yourself on my cock, make us come."
And you do. You're gone when he reaches between your bodies to stroke your dick, and your thighs spasm as you come hard, still moving up and down his cock as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. He's quick to follow, too, his mouth open agape at the sight of you coming undone. He cries out as he spills inside you, hips twitching as you both fall back against the couch, breathless in each other's grip.
You both catch your breath for a few moments before he pulls out, laughing softly at the sight and state of you both.
"So, have I changed your mind?" He looks at you curiously. "About the modern days, I mean."
He shrugs, grinning. "Maybe. Might need a few more… experiments to see if I'm into all this new shit."
just attached the draft for the criminal procedure essay like you asked—reworked the section on miranda rights based on your feedback from last office hours. let me know if it still needs more case citations or if i’m overcomplicating the exclusionary rule again
thanks for staying late to look it over again, you’re saving my gpa here!
tuesday lecture comes and you get there early this time. you sit in back row, legs crossed tight. he walks in five minutes before start wearing his usual black suit, sleeves already rolled. briefcase hits the podium hard. he doesn’t bother looking around before he starts.
“entrapment. page 231. we’re covering it today.”
he paces. voice low and tired like always. “entrapment defense requires government inducement that would cause a normally law-abiding person to commit the crime. it’s not just opportunity. it’s active persuasion, pressure, temptation that overrides free will.”
he stops, leaning on the podium. eyes scan the room slow looking at your section longer than others.
“consider seduction as a tactic. undercover officer poses as a romantic interest. they builds trust, uses flirtation, compliments, physical proximity, promises of intimacy. the target eventually agrees to sell drugs or whatever the crime is because the seduction makes refusal feel impossible. courts have ruled both ways. some say it’s legitimate police work. others say when it crosses into sexual manipulation it becomes entrapment per se.”
he keeps going, he describes cases. like how a female officer in a bar is wearing a low-cut dress touching the suspect’s arm. whispering how much she wants him. leading him to the deal. male officer doing the same to a female suspect. lingering looks, suggestive comments. “let me take care of you.” he lists factors courts weigh: intensity of the advances. repetition. whether the target initiated or resisted. how long the seduction lasted before the crime occurred.
the whole lecture his tone stays flat. no glances your way. he talks about “arousal as leverage” like it’s just another legal element. “when sexual desire is weaponized to lower inhibitions, the line between persuasion and coercion blurs. but the test remains objective: would the average person succumb?”
you feel his stare when he asks the question like he’s personally talking to you.
added the entrapment cases you referenced in lecture. focused on the seduction hypotheticals and court splits. let me know if the analysis is on track.
[your name]
(attachment: Entrapment_Analysis_Revised.pdf)
again, no reply.
thursday you spot him at the faculty coffee stand outside the law building. the line’s short and he’s in front. pays with exact change as he takes his black coffee. when he turns, your eyes meet. you’re three feet away. he pauses and looks straight through you. he doesn't bother acknowledging you, then he steps around you, walking away.
your hands shake holding your own cup.
friday night comes and you promise yourself that this will be your last attempt.
subject: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached
had a couple questions on the objective test for seduction-based entrapment. attached a quick example i wrote up to clarify my thinking. appreciate any notes.
thanks,
[your name]
(attachment: Seduction_Entrapment_Example.docx.)
saturday morning your inbox lights up.
subject: re: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached
you arrive at his office door at exactly 5:30 pm on monday, heart pounding like it's about to burst out of your chest. the law building is mostly empty this late–classes wrapped up hours ago, and the few lingering students are buried in the library or grabbing takeout from the food trucks outside. his door is cracked open, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling into the dim hallway. you knock lightly, his voice cuts through immediately.
"come in."
you push the door open, stepping inside. the office is what you'd expect from your professor.
stacks of case files on the desk, bookshelves crammed with legal tomes, a single window overlooking the campus quad. he's seated behind his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like always, exposing those forearms you've caught yourself staring at during lectures more times than you'd admit. his eyes flick up from a pile of papers, dark and unreadable, pinning you in place.
"close the door," he says, it’s not a request too. when you do, the click of the latch echoing too loudly in the quiet room. "lock it."
your fingers fumble on the knob, but you manage. when you turn back, he's already standing, rounding the desk with slow steps. he doesn't say anything at first, just leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you. the silence stretches, it was awkward until you can't take it anymore.
"professor, i—about the attachments, they were accidents. i swear, i meant to send the essays, but my files got mixed up, and—"
"accidents," he repeats, he uncrosses his arms, picking up a folder from his desk—your emails printed out, you realize with a flush of heat to your face. he flips through them casually, as if reviewing a student's brief. "three times in one week. each one more... explicit than the last."
your cheeks burn. the first had been a simple nude, you in front of your mirror, lace panties and nothing else, snapped for your own confidence boost after a rough day. the second? you'd been bolder, sprawled on your bed, hand between your thighs, capturing the arch of your back. and the third... god, the third had been you on all fours, ass up, looking over your shoulder with a smirk that screamed invitation. you'd meant them for a situationship that fizzled out, but in your late-night haze of studying and scrolling, you'd attached the wrong files. or had you? the thought nags at you now, but you push it down.
"i didn't mean for you to see them," you whisper. his gaze drops to your lips, then lower, tracing the way your blouse clings to your curves under your cardigan, the skirt that's maybe an inch too short for a professional setting like this.
he sets the folder down, stepping closer. close enough that you can smell his cologne–too strong for your liking. "and yet, here we are." his hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up so you're forced to meet his eyes. they're darker now, pupils blown wide. "you didn't delete them. didn't send a frantic follow-up apologizing. just kept sending more."
before you can stammer another excuse, his thumb presses against your lower lip, parting it slightly. "on your knees."
you drop without thinking, carpet rough against your bare knees. he doesn't rush when unbuckles his belt, zipper dragged down loud in the quiet office. when he frees himself he's already hard, thick in his hand as he jerks himself watching your face the whole time.
"open."
he guides the head past your lips, you taste him as he slides deeper, filling your mouth inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. your eyes water instantly. he groans low, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other braced on the desk behind him.
"that's it," he mutters. "take it."
he starts to move slowly letting you adjust, then faster. shallow thrusts turn deeper, until he's fucking your throat in earnest. you gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin, but he doesn't stop. his grip tightens in your hair, holding you steady as he uses your mouth like it's his to take. every time you choke he pauses just long enough for you to breathe through your nose, then pushes back in, deeper, until your nose brushes his pelvis.
"look at me," he orders when your eyes flutter shut.
you force them open. his expression is almost detached but the way his hips continuously move faster betrays him. he's close. you can feel it in the way he twitches against your tongue, the way his breathing turns ragged. one more deep thrust and he holds himself there, releasing down your throat without a warning. you swallow reflexively, choking a little, but he doesn't pull out until he's finished, until you've taken every drop.
when he finally pulls out, a string of spit connects your swollen lips to the tip. he tucks himself away, zips up then he scoops you up by the waist like you weigh nothing. your legs dangle for a second before he sets you on the edge of his desk, papers crinkling under you. he pushes your thighs apart with his knee, settling between them, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place.
"touch yourself," he says quietly.
he wants you to what…?
heat floods your face anew. "w-what? here? that's... embarrassing."
his lips twitch into something almost like a smirk, he leans in closer, breath hot against your ear. "you weren't embarrassed when you sent those nudes. all sprawled out, hand between your legs, begging for attention." his fingers trail up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher, but stopping just short. "show me now or was that all an act?"
shame and desire twist in your gut, but your hand moves anyway, slipping under the lace of your panties. you're soaked already—from the way he used your mouth.. fingers glide over your clit, circling slow at first, and a soft whimper escapes you. he watches, unblinking, one hand still on your thigh.
you pick up speed, hips rocking into your touch, breaths coming faster. but it's not enough—his stare is too intense like he's analyzing you. "please," you whisper, free hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist, pinning it to the desk.
"no. keep going." his voice is low, commanding. "let me see you fall apart like in that second photo, that was my favorite one you know.”
your fingers start dipping lower, thrusting shallowly. the edge in you builds but just as you're teetering, he pulls your hand away. you whine in protest, but he silences you with a look.
"not yet." he drops to his knees then, surprising you, hands shoving your thighs wider. he drags your panties aside, not bothering to remove them, and leans in. his breath ghosts over you first, making you clench around nothing. then his mouth is on you—tongue warm and broad, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit.
you gasp, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. he groans against you, he eats you out like he's starving. his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as you squirm, the desk creaking under your shifting weight.
"hiromi—fuck," you moan, head falling back. he sucks your clit between his lips. one hand leaves your thigh, two fingers sliding inside you easily, curling to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. he pumps them in time with his tongue, building you back to the edge faster than before.
it crashes over you without warning, thighs clamping around his head as you come undone, crying out his name. he doesn't stop, lapping through it until you're oversensitive and shaking, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
only then does he pull back, lips shiny, eyes filled with satisfaction. he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then reaches between your legs again. he tugs your panties down your thighs, you lift your hips to help. he balls them in his fist, slips them into his pocket like a trophy.
"that's enough," he says stepping back.
you blink, still dazed, legs dangling off the desk. "what?"
"go home."
"but—" you start, voice small and wrecked, glancing down at the obvious bulge in his slacks. "you didn't—i want to—"
"i will." he steps closer one last time, brushes a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. "when i decide. you'll get an email when i want you back here.”
he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "and next time, wear something easier to take off."
he steps back, opens a drawer, pulls out a tissue packet and sets it on the desk beside you. then he sits again, picks up a pen, and starts marking papers like you aren't still perched there, dripping because of him.
you slide off the desk on unsteady legs, fix your skirt, wipe your face. he doesn't look up as you unlock the door and slip out into the hallway.
you still haven't processed what happened but you know you’re going to check your inbox obsessively from now on.
there's a fic i had started to read on ao3 some years ago and i have been looking for it since then but i can't find it😭 it was a reader insert fic where the reader is in college and something happens so that theyre looking for a place to move in to and they have a friend who somehow knows a place with 4 guys looking for a new roommate. the 4 guys are gojo, nanami, toji, and geto. i came across one fic that fits this description exactly but its from 2025 and i read the first chapters and it isn't the one i read previously and was looking for. does anyone know if they know what fic i'm looking for?
anyone else ever think about the video of jackson wang reading thirst tweets and how in it he knows what bussy means when he reads it from a thirst tweet but in the one where the word vulva is mentioned he asks what a vulva is? yeah? me too😂
oh nothing👀.. just a clip of damien haas (as a bit) referring to anna garcia as a "dirty dirty whore" followed by him breaking character to apologize and check in to see if what he had said was okay or not.
anna was so real for her reaction to what damien had said to her😭
also i do recommend watching the full video i took this clip from on youtube! a very good watch :3👍
