Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact
This story is also posted on AO3 under the same username.
Summary:
In hopes of leading his brothers into a prosperous life, Choso sides with a man who promised to bring about a new golden age for curses. Little does he know that this decision will lead him to finding you, the person his soul called out to just 2 years ago, …and most likely ruin any chance he has at happiness with you.
This story is set in the JJK universe, but it will not be canon compliant so I will be taking creative liberties with many things. The story takes place during and after the Shibuya Incident, but it completely diverges from the manga/anime. Specifically: no one died, Kenjaku’s plan didn’t end up the way it was supposed to, and Choso does not YET know the truth about everything relating to Kenjaku and Yuji.
Trigger warnings include: Penis in Vagina Sex, Menstrual Sex, Blood Kink, Inappropriate Use of Blood Manipulation, Oral Sex (both receiving), Rough Sex, Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Voyeurism (see below note), and additional trigger warnings will be included in individual chapters.
Note regarding dubious consent and nonconsensual voyeurism. These will not be reoccurring themes, but will take place. Where such themes take place, I will have an explanation at the beginning of the chapter.
Prologue: Where We First Met
Chapter One: The Promises We Make
Chapter Two: The Sensations We Feel
Chapter Three: The Things We Reject
Chapter Four: We Wish Things Could’ve Been Different
Chapter Five: Your Smile, My Light
Chapter Six: The Thoughts We Have
Chapter Seven: You, Me, and the… Kitchen?
Chapter Eight: Our Hearts In Rhythm
Chapter Nine: I’m Focused on the Past, While You’re Thinking of the Future
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Seventeen: Our First Date
“Let me help you with something.”
It was immediate, the way your ears pricked up in response to the deep, familiar voice that sounded behind you, the way your heart thrummed with excitement in response to the presence that entered the room. All day, you had been anticipating this evening, when you and Choso finally sat down together for dinner, for your date. What would be said? What would happen? How would it affect the trajectory of your relationship moving forward? Despite all of these unknowns, you were largely spared of any anxieties about tonight. You actually felt really positive about it all; your imaginative mind concocting so many possible scenarios of how the date would go and how the night would end. To be honest, you would be lying if you said the thought of kissing Choso hadn’t crossed your mind several times. Ever since he told you about the shared kiss, you found yourself rather upset that you didn’t remember it and wanted nothing more than to recreate the experience in more appropriate conditions. However, his close proximity now did invoke a touch of apprehension, threatening to temper those excitable fantasies.
Pushing back the invasive feeling, you turned around, “I’m not really making you dinner if you he—Ack!!” As soon as he came into view, your body stalled, as if the sight of him was too much for your brain to process. During this momentary lapse of bodily functioning, you let go of the pan in your hands. Fortunately, you recovered, and quick reflexes kept your toes from getting smashed, but the pan landed upside-down, spilling food everywhere. “Ah, shit.”
While your eyes were cast down towards the floor, assessing the mess, Choso spared no time resorting to his automatic response, fussing over you. He quickly closed the distance, grabbing your hands and looking them over with the same fervent regard he exhibited when Nina scratched your hip—but thankfully, in a less frantic manner this time, “Are you alright? Did you burn yourself?”
“I’m fine… I jus—” lifting your gaze, you were face to face with what had set the incident in motion in the first place.
Choso was wearing a black dress shirt that looked just a tad too small, the buttons along his sternum straining under the pull of the fabric as it stretched across the planes of muscle that shaped his upper body. It was long sleeved, but he had them rolled up just below his elbows, squeezing the exposed sinewy forearms, contrasting brilliantly against his pale, marble-like skin. From there, his arms narrowed to robust, yet delicate, wrists—an oxymoronic observation it may have been, but you were sure you had never seen such provocative wrists on a man before. The shirt was tucked into a pair of black slacks that cinched him perfectly at the waist giving him a modelesque silhouette. His hair was let loose and slicked back, allowing his dark locks to rest at his shoulders.
“Why are you wearing that?”
Without letting go of your hands, Choso looked down at himself, “You said it was a date... Is there something wrong?”
“Wrong? Well, no…” With your mind preoccupied, wrestling with what to say next, your hand moved of its own accord. Choso’s grip was light, so your hand easily ascended up the length of his arm, just enough to pinch at the fabric of his sleeve; the movement of it was like butter between your fingers. This was no cheap dress shirt. “I’ve just never seen you wear anything like this before. I didn’t even know you owned clothes like this.”
Choso’s eyes locked onto the hand that played with his shirt. Well, the shirt. All of the “normal” clothes he wore weren’t really his; they had belonged to the man who now served as his vessel. Though indeed, he had never worn this particular outfit before; he had no reason to. After taking a shower and putting these clothes on, he looked at himself in the mirror for a really long time, feeling very self-conscious. He had seen other people wear similar clothing for their dates to look impressive, but he couldn’t help but think that the clothes looked so strange on him. Maybe he was being overzealous with his preparation for this date and was only making himself look foolish. In search of some kind of reassurance, he wrapped his hand around your forearm; the tips of his fingers podding at your sleeve, wishing he could feel the coolness of your skin. He could; however, feel the smallest twinges beneath the fabric as the connected muscles in your arm were disturbed by the movements of your hand and wrist.
“They were in the closet. I thought they would be appropriate for tonight. I washed them.”
“I mean, you look great. I-I mean,” you gently pulled yourself from him so you could kneel down and deal with the mess you made, desperately trying to play off the fact that you just voiced a compliment you hadn’t been mentally or emotionally prepared to give, “the clothes are, yeah, they’re nice. But I don’t have anything nice like that with me.” You were wearing a nice sweater and pair of pants, but you would definitely be considered underdressed compared to what he was wearing.
Should I ask him to change? The thought crossed your mind only because his appearance was extremely pleasing, and therein lied the problem. He was too distracting like this. No… That would only make him feel bad.
Though you were focused on the task, using your hand to scoop the soiled food into the pan, you could sense Choso lower himself, as if to mirror your position. Before you had the chance to shoo him away, one of his hands latched onto the handle of the pan while the other clipped to the point of your chin and gently guided your head until your eyes met his.
All of this… is already so overwhelming. This was the only thought to cross your mind when you realized that, the span of one single minute, he touched your hands, forearm, and chin as if he were taking every little chance to be connected to you. And with every touch, your skin rippled in waves as the nerves beneath trembled with pleasurable excitement; each time, the sensation grew in its intensity and range.
“What you’re wearing doesn’t matter. You are…” Despite his sincerity, he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He wanted to call you ‘beautiful’, but it didn’t seem like the right word to use. It wasn’t…enough. Were there any words that could ever fully express how he viewed you?
His dilated pupils made it impossible to see the purple you knew existed in his irises. All you could really see was your own reflection eclipse the black centers, staring back at you, magnifying the intensity of his gaze. To mitigate this, you lowered your eyeline to his mouth, taking note of how his lips twitched. It was obvious he had more to say, but for some reason, he was unable to give it any voice.
Talking; however, was the furthest thing from your mind in that moment, as you fell distracted by the lips you had been daydreaming about all day. The bottom-heavy pillows of flesh were barely discernible from the rest of his skin by color, but more so by texture and the shadows cast by their shape. They were, by far, the softest and most delicate part of him, making the temptation of kissing him that much more tantalizing; you wanted to feel that vulnerable, pliable skin mold against yours. You could imagine how the physical stimulation of kissing might draw blood to the surface, brightening the natural color of his lips. You could almost picture how beautiful he would look as he sucked in air between his swollen lips, his broad chest heaving from lack of life-sustaining oxygen.
I want to kiss him.
You were milliseconds away from giving into your temptations, when Choso spoke up, “You still have food on the stove, don’t you? I’ll take care of this.” Without another word, Choso let go of your chin and took over your task, gently pulling the pan out of your grasp.
For a moment, you were immobilized by the jarring atmospheric shift, all intensity of the moment vaporized instantly. You couldn’t help but flounder as you watched Choso clean up the mess and feel just a bit (a lot) disappointed. Thankfully, bubbling from a pot broke through your thoughts, so to distract yourself, you turned your attention back to the stove. As you did that, Choso threw away the food and took the pan to the sink to wash it.
Since the apartment didn’t have a proper dining room table, you and Choso typically ate at the kitchen island. However, you didn’t think it would serve as a proper place for your date, for two reasons. For one, you were so used to eating there, it wouldn’t provide the unique experience that would separate the date from just a normal dinner. For two, you would be sitting more side by side, instead of facing each other directly. So, you decided it would be best to sit at the coffee table, with pillows serving as you seats. Still not the most typical dinner date experience, but it would work in this case. You sat at one side of the coffee table and Choso took his place on the other. The food was all set out on the table, buffet-style. You were a bit upset about the one dish you spilled, but oh well, it couldn’t be helped now.
“I hope you like it.”
You watched as Choso’s eyes scanned the table, “It all looks really good. Thank you for making it.”
“Well, it’s my thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”
Everything I’ve done? Hadn’t everything he done up to this point just been the bare minimum of what someone would do for another person they loved? He didn’t necessarily feel like you had to thank him for anything, but he also couldn’t ignore the pleasure he felt from knowing that you had put this much thought and effort into something for him. He was being greedy. He would have to make it up to you in some way later.
“Well, don’t just stare and let it get cold. Help yourself.”
He blinked several times, as if coming to his senses. His eyes turned towards you and his features shifted just a bit, silently asking if it really was okay. Once you nodded in confirmation, he started plating his food. A few seconds behind, you followed suit.
“So, is this your first date?” Choso didn’t answer right away, so you felt the need to add, “I only ask because you seemed surprised when I said it yesterday.”
“Yes, this is my first date.”
For a few seconds, you watched him, as if waiting for the punch line. Once he set his plate down and took a bite of food, it was obvious it wasn’t coming, “I find that hard to believe.”
“And why is that?” He asked you very matter-of-factly; not a single emotion altered his tone.
“Because you are respectful. Kind. And attractive,” you strained your voice, trying to sound as nonchalant as you could, but it seemed to have the opposite effect, those last two words sounding almost breathless as your eyes trailed over him.
Choso felt the muscles in his cheeks burn as he subdued a smile. Though there had been many times your eyes held their reverential gaze on him, this was the first time you verbalized any such compliments. At least, while sober. So, finally, he had indisputable confirmation that you did, indeed, find him physically appealing. That was one less thing he had to worry about.
As happy as this made him, it was no time to get distracted. So, he pushed aside that train of thought, “I have no reason to lie to you.”
You took a moment to chew your food, mulling over his response. He was right. Why would someone lie about never dating? If anything, they would exaggerate the number of times they dated to seem more experienced. Your disbelief teetered on the edge of shifting to sympathy, but then you realized Choso didn’t necessarily seem sad about it.
“Have you never been interested in dating?”
He looked at you, very pointedly, “Not in the past, no.”
You hummed as you looked down at your plate, shying away from his unspoken admission, “Well, it isn’t that odd then. I mean, I didn’t seriously date for a long time either. Not until my ex. But I already told you about that, huh?”
“You did.” Now, while most people would not want to talk about ex-relationships during a date, Choso was actually glad you brought it up because he had been curious about it before, but hadn’t felt like it was the right time to pry. “What were you doing back then?” Your face twisted with uncertainty, so he worked to clarify himself, “What did you do that day? Or see? Why do you think you responded to him the way you did?”
While you gained understanding of what he was trying to ask, you weren’t confident you had an answer for him, “I’m not sure. I worked that day. I went home, got ready. I walked to the restaurant because it wasn’t far from where I lived.” You gave yourself a moment to mentally scan through the chain of events from the dinner to the bar hopping. “I just can’t say I… Oh! Wait, there was the oddities shop.”
“Oddities shop?”
“I came across it on my way to the restaurant and I decided to check it out. I’d been around stuff like that when I was younger, so it’s interesting…”
“What did you see there?”
“The typical stuff. Taxidermy. Jarred specimens.”
Choso froze, mid-bite, at your last two words. He couldn’t be sure where he and his brothers were kept during the time they were preserved in jars. He only knew that Geto and Mahito retrieved him and two of his brothers from Jujutsu High. But where had Jujutsu High found them? Would Geto know this? He would have to ask him…
“It was a weird shop. I’ve never felt so… anxious in one before.”
Curiosity peaked, Choso abandoned his food altogether, lowering his utensil to the plate, “Why were you so anxious?”
“I don’t know,” with a simple shrug, you turned your attention back to the food, refilling your plate with some of the items.
Your quick, dismissive response gave Choso the impression that you weren’t really interested in discussing it further. So, he decided to drop it for the time being, following your lead and turning his attention back to his food. He needed more information anyways. As soon as he talked to Geto about it, he would revisit the conversation with you.
“So, what do you mean you’ve been around that type of stuff before?”
“My uncle, my mom’s brother, he does taxidermy. Or, at least, he did. The last time I saw him was at my mom’s funeral. He moved abroad after that,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at a memory, “He hated my dad so much.”
“Why?”
“I guess because he’s like you,” from behind your utensil, you shot Choso a small smile, “He was my mom’s big brother and he loved her so much. And being an adult now, I can look back and see that my dad wasn’t the most attentive partner. I’m sure my uncle felt that she deserved a lot better. But my mom never gave up hope that they might get along one day. She made my uncle promise that he would stay around and help our dad take care of us after she died. But… he didn’t keep his promise. I think her death was just too hard on him.”
“Your mother seemed to be the glue holding the family together.”
“Aren’t all mothers?”
“I suppose so…”
Hearing his passive words, you winced at your carelessness. Choso hadn’t revealed much about his mother, but what little he did, it seemed devastating. And these sparse words gave you the impression that he didn’t have much of a relationship with his mother, or at least not a good one.
“Anyways, what made me think of that was… Growing up, we had this taxidermy dog that was prepared and mounted on a small piano, making it look like he was playing it. My mom loved music and the dog was her favorite pet that had passed away from old age, so it was something my uncle did early in his taxidermy hobby as a gift for her. She always treasured it; even though, she revealed to me towards the end of her life that it actually creeped her out.”
It truly was a frightening piece of decor. It was poorly put together and the dog’s eyes had an unsettling look to them. Thankfully, your uncle’s taxidermy skills improved through the years and his pieces started to look like actual pieces of art. The poor dog’s memory had been sacrificed for progress. You always wondered if it was possible for your uncle to fix it, but it wasn’t worth thinking about now.
“As soon as my mom passed, my dad threw it out and my uncle was outraged; that was when I learned how my uncle truly felt about my dad.”
A creeping silence began to fill the room; the only source of resistance came from the clinks of utensils against plates. You had assumed that Choso might find some amusement from your story, but he didn’t let out even a single huff. In fact, his features had gone rigid and serious. The mood had taken a drastic turn, completely in the wrong direction. You had to reroute the conversation to sometime more positive.
“So, I’ve told you about my family a little, but I really haven’t heard much about your brothers.” Since you are aware that two of his brothers had recently passed, you decided be very specific with the wording of your question, “What are some good memories you have with them?”
Choso closed his eyes. Sitting at a table together. Eating. Kind of like this. However, this memory was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. No nightly dinners around a table were shared between him and his brothers. Just what he wished could have been.
Opening his eyes, he forced a small smile; the compression of it against his cheeks, slight as it was, daring to squeeze the building tears, “I don’t want to ruin our date by sharing a sad story. I’ll tell you about my brothers later.”
While he was away from the apartment, he had already decided that he was going to tell you more about his past, which would ultimately require him to tell you what he was. After what you said about your feelings towards him, he felt confident that this revelation would not cause any irreparable damage to his growing relationship with you. Despite that, he couldn’t bring himself to say it all now. Could he really be blamed for wanting this precious moment to remain unsullied by his familial trauma?
The frown that bent your features; however, was enough to make him reconsider, “I promise, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I do. It’s just… Is that okay?”
He doesn’t have any good memories? Not one? What have they been through? These were the thoughts that spiraled through your mind as you watched Choso’s tepid smile uncurl with uncertainty and the light reflect in his glistening, mournful eyes. Guilt grabbed your heart and yanked it down to the pit of your stomach. Whether you were careless or careful, your handling of this conversation was deplorable. What were you thinking? If it hadn’t been for the guilt weighing you down, you probably would have rushed to his side to comfort him.
“Yeah, of course it’s okay. Can you at least tell me their names?”
“I can. The oldest two are Eso and Kechizu. The others are Noranso, Sho-oso, Tanso, Sanso, Kotsuso, and Shoso.”
You mentally repeated the names. Though you already knew he had eight brothers, hearing all of their names listed out like this was staggering, “It must be hard, having so many younger siblings. I can’t imagine it.”
“Things worthwhile require effort. I wouldn’t trade a single brother for an easier path.”
There it was again. The genuine sincerity that colored his voice. And though it was not directed at you, as it had so often in the past, you still couldn’t help but feel affected by it. Had you ever met anyone else in your life who possessed such a strong sense of dedication as Choso? Surely you had, but in that very moment, you couldn’t recall a single one. It was endearing, charming… bewitching. No wonder you felt drawn to him, even when you knew you shouldn’t be. How could you dismiss someone who treated you with such adoration? A warm feeling of appreciation and affection bloomed from your gut and into your chest, casting away the guilt and lifting your heart back into place.
“Well, from the amount of care you show me, I can tell you are an amazing big brother. Coming from someone who was a younger sibling herself, I can say for sure that they love and appreciate you so much.”
Ever since Eso and Kechizu’s deaths, Choso had been plagued by dreams that shook his confidence. There were many times he found himself apologizing to his younger brothers, questioning his decisions, and waiting to find that he once again failed to be the big brother he needed to be. But with the way you looked at him now, he couldn’t help but take your kind words to heart and hold them close, to believe them despite his doubts. Once again, you had unknowingly reassured him. It was like you knew. You had to know in some way. How else could this be explained? Is this truly what it meant to be soulmates?
Reaching across the table, Choso enclosed your hand in his, “I can’t wait for you to meet them. Then we can start making good memories together.”
The familiar warmth of his touch sank into your skin; even as a shiver bolted through your arm, sparked from where his thumb rubbed the back of your hand, tickling the sensitive flesh. Your mind and body were growing so responsive to him. No, they always had been. It was now just getting to a point that it was becoming too much to bear.
“Perhaps.” The word felt oddly calm and collected as it fell from your lips, contradicting the chaos of your mind as synapses fired excitedly, urging you into action. But you had offered the word as a way to temper his expectations. It was still too early to throw his brothers into the mix; the two of you were still learning about each other and that had to come first. “You and I, though… We’ve already started making good memories, haven’t we?”
“Yes, we have,” you didn’t miss the way his dark eyes dipped slightly as he answered your question.
Maybe you were projecting your desires onto him, but there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he was looking at your lips. And in that moment…
Snap.
All resistance gave way under the weight of your desires.
I need to kiss him.
“Actually, you have a memory that I don’t.” Without explaining further, you maneuvered yourself to your hands and knees, crawling over to Choso’s side of the table, “Show me.”
Choso’s eyeline traced your path, his eyes widening at your approach, “Show you?”
“Yes,” the confirmation came as you took a seat beside Choso, your body facing him and legs folded beneath you, “the other night… We kissed, didn’t we? That’s what you said.” As if to punctuate this fact, you placed a hand on Choso’s closest knee.
“We did,” he forced the words out as memories of that night dared to drown out all rational thought. He was torn between looking at the hand that caressed his leg and the eyes that were brightened by the very same gleam that appeared before that inebriating kiss.
You waited for him to elaborate, but he was distracted, evident by the way his eyes endless flicked between two points. Eventually, with patience running thin, you spoke again, attempting to pull more information from him, “How did it happen? Were we sitting next to each other? Or were we facing each other more?”
“We were facing each other. You were straddling my lap.”
You met his answer with a few suspending seconds of hesitation; you hadn’t necessarily expected him to say that. But then again, you had been drunk… so it really shouldn’t have been that surprising. Pushing past your reluctance, you gently nudged his leg, directing him to face you. Choso yielded to your demand instantly, shifting his body so he was facing you head on, allowing you to climb onto his lap and orient yourself in the position he described without issue.
“Like this?”
“Yes,” Choso breathed out as he took hold of your hips.
Unlike the light, hesitant embraces of the past, Choso’s grip on your body at present was confining and unyielding. It was as if you had willingly stepped into a trap to find that there was no hope of escaping. His fingers were like the teeth of a bear trap, hooking around the curve of your hips and digging into the fabric of your clothes, bearing down to keep your core nestled against his. Anyone with even a smidgen of rationality would have most likely experienced a chilling sense of fear in response to Choso’s uncharacteristic, possessive hold. But you, who had seemingly lost all sensible reason, felt a trilling rush of excitement. All of your fanciful ideations from earlier rushing to the forefront, begging to be ushered into reality.
There was; however, one problem. One thing that caused you to hesitate. The two of you had just been eating, so the lingering taste of food was still coating your tongue. But you didn’t necessary want to disengage from this emotionally charged moment either. Honestly, did you even have a choice to do so? With the way Choso was holding you, it seemed unlikely. So, you went with your next best option—reaching over to the table, you picked up Choso’s glass of water and took several sips from it. After it felt like everything had been washed away, you presented the glass to Choso.
When you had first pressed the glass against your lips, Choso's heart rate escalated, pumping his blood throughout the branching roots of his circulatory system like a rushing torrent. And it was all headed for the same destination. He felt lightheaded as he watched your throat contract in waves to propel the liquid downward. It was all too reminiscent of that drunken night; he wasn't sure he could restrain himself. Tensing his body, he strained against the its instinctual reaction the best he could and consciously worked to manipulate the blood away from his cock.
You couldn't help the breath that escaped your lungs when Choso's hands tightened their hold on you. His eyes were glazed over and you allowed a stagnant moment to pass so you could inspect them thoroughly, as if you would be able to peer in deep enough to read his thoughts. What was he thinking about? What exactly was it that made him go rigid like that? There was a temptation to ask him outright, but such action was quickly dismissed. You weren't interested in talking anymore.
To gain his attention, you brought your free hand up to the side of his face and caressed his cheek with your thumb, “Take a few sips, okay?”
Choso blinked a few times, forcing his eyes to focus in on you. It took effort, but he eventually unbarred a hand from your hip and took the cup from you. A large part of him wanted to ask you to pour the liquid into his mouth, the same way you did the other night, but neither of you were drunk this time, so he ultimately decided not to push his luck. Instead, he did exactly as you asked, downing the rest of the water. Setting the empty glass aside, he returned his hand to your hip and awaited your next command.
Finally, you were free to cling to him again, resting your arms on his shoulders and locking your wrists behind his neck, and follow through with your objective. So, without wasting any more time, you leaned in, pecking Choso on the lips. It was a quick, insignificant brush of skin against skin; it could barely be considered a real kiss. “Like that?” as you pulled away to get a good look at his response, you couldn’t help but wonder why you were being so coy. Were you trying to tease him right now? What reaction were you hoping to get from him?
“No,” his hands trailed up, following the shape of your body, leaving the skin beneath the disturbed fabric feeling itchy and hot, “deeper.” As soon as his fingertips made contact with the exposed skin at your collar, his right hand shot up to the back of your neck, taking a commanding hold of that vulnerable column, “Much deeper.”
In an instant, your senses were overwhelmed by him. His soft, warm lips met your own, kneading the malleable flesh until they were perfectly slotted together and moving in an effortless coordinated rhythm. His lips moved with such composed urgency, all the while his blunt fingernails dug into your neck, betraying the thinly veiled desperation that roused his actions. With every kiss, Choso's tongue inched closer to the forefront of his mouth, teasing the velvety inner flesh of your lips. As the oxygen levels in your lungs dissipated, you inhaled sharply through your nose, taking in a strong hit of his natural scent.
So this is what kissing him had been like? In all of your daydreaming, the possibility of this experience being terrible never crossed your mind; perhaps due to how attractive he is, you were confident that he would be a decent kisser. But this… this was much more than you had expected. He was definitely experienced. And that train of thought brought you to wonder... What else was he experienced in?
But these salacious thoughts were interrupted by alarm bells sounding from the deepest recesses of your brain, forcing you to become cognizant of the burning sensation spreading in your lungs. In midst of swelling appetites, your efforts to replenish the air in your lungs were largely unsuccessful. And if the sound of intermittent, breathless pants were any indication, Choso was tenaciously fighting against his body's own demands for air. Eventually, the deepening pain became too much, and you pulled away.
Still clinging together, the two of you stared at each other for a long while, chests heaving to supply oxygen to your greedy lungs. Or perhaps, it was more appropriate to condemn you and Choso as the greedy ones for pushing your bodies to such extremes for such an inconsequential thing as kissing. Were the two of you really such greenlings to such novice acts of affection?
You sure as hell weren’t.
But no… The more you thought about it, the more you understood that the desperation did not derive from the fact that it was your first time. No, it seemed more comparable to what you imagined reuniting with someone after a long time apart would feel like. To where even the smallest act held such powerful emotions.
No. This was definitely not a first for you and Choso.
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter 16: The Questions We Ask
A sudden, terrible twist in your stomach extracted you from the world of sleep, awareness jumping from zero to one hundred in an instant. It was on pure instinct alone that you made a mad dash for the bathroom and located the toilet. In the midst of your retching, you felt something comb through your hair and hold it in place; however, only after you emptied the contents of your stomach did you hear a familiar voice offering words of comfort behind you.
Choso…
How had he so promptly responded to your distress? Had he been watching over you that closely? While there was definitely a part of you that appreciated his attentiveness, you found yourself silently wishing he was not present to witness this. This is disgusting... With your head still hanging close to the toilet bowl, you aimlessly felt around for the apparatus to flush it, but something gently pushed your hand down and, seconds later, the sick was flushed away.
“Feeling a little better now?”
You started to turn towards the voice, but your vision lagged several milliseconds behind and your stomach lurched again, forcing your body to curl into the toilet once more. Choso could do nothing but watch as your body spasmed, attempting to purge more of poison from your system. When he felt confident enough that there was nothing else for you to expend, Choso left to get water and medicine. When he got back, you had maneuvered yourself away from the toilet, leaning against the wall.
He handed over the items, which you gratefully took without meeting his gaze, “Thank you, Choso.”
“Of course. Do you want me to help you back to bed?”
You shook your head in response after swallowing down the medicine, “I’m going to soak in the tub.”
"Okay,” Choso affirmed before walking over to turn on the bathtub faucet, “Just let me know if you need anything else.” Without another word, he exited the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give you some privacy.
x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+
I’m such an idiot.
The self-deprecating thought was spurred on by frustration.
You had been relaxing in the tub for quite a while, long enough to require draining some of the chilled water and refilling the tub with hot water to keep yourself comfortable a couple of times, but no matter how hard you dug into the recesses of your mind, most of your memories of last night remained out of reach. Choso woke up and joined in drinking with you... The two of you started playing video games… That’s all you could confidently remember.
Why in the hell did I do that?
Sure, you might be building a friendship with Choso, but that did not mean getting blackout drunk with him was a good idea. What the fuck had you been thinking? Something could have happened… Did something happen?
Before you could spiral too far into those thoughts, your name was called, paired with gentle knocks at the bathroom door, “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah…,” reflexively, you sat up and pulled your knees up to cover your chest, “I’m okay. Why?”
“You’ve been in here for a while, so I jus—”
“Oh! I’m hogging up the bathroom, aren’t I?” The only bathroom in this apartment. Water sloshed in the tub as you moved to get up, “I’m sorry, I’ll get ou—”
“No, no. You’re fine,” Choso’s words were rushed as he leaned towards the edge of the door, hoping you could hear his voice clearly, “I was just checking on you. I was worried you may have fallen asleep in there…”
“Oh, no… I’m awake,” you confirmed as you eyed the water you were standing in. The water was cold again, even slightly chillier than the surrounding air. However long you had been in the bathroom, it was definitely long enough. You should get out. But a slight twist in your stomach urged you to stay, so you returned to your seated position in the tub. You would add some hot water once Choso left.
“Okay, good,” Choso relaxed a bit. He had resisted the urge to check on you up until now, but your most recent stretch of silence had him feeling anxious. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, definitely not great, but… Better than earlier.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling a little better. If you need anything, let me know.”
He offered those parting words, but his body refused to move away from the door. It was closed shut, more than likely locked as well; this was as close as he would be able to get to you. He couldn’t see you, touch you, take in your scent, taste your lips… but he could hear your voice. And this is why he lingered far longer than he should have. He hoped you would say something, anything, to keep the conversation going.
And, thankfully… You did.
“You sound fine. I guess you didn’t drink as much as me?”
Choso felt the need to correct your assumption. After he started drinking, he had matched you shot for shot – you made sure of it. The only reason he ‘sounded fine’ was because of his cursed technique, allowing him to burn the alcohol from his system. He took advantage of this ability last night, as soon as he became cognizant of the lines that were being crossed. It hadn’t been easy at first, but with the years Choso spent honing his skills, driving his proficiency to uncharted heights, he eventually regained control of his faculties before he suffered any significant symptoms. However, he now felt exceedingly guilty that he had been able to avoid them while you were currently suffering. If he could take on your suffering as his own, he would.
Before he had the chance to respond, you spoke again, “I’m sorry. I must have been such a hassle… First, getting all emotional, and then drinking waay too much.”
I should be the one apologizing. That’s what Choso should have said, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you that the first emotion he felt when you fell into his arms was happiness. Instead, he decided to offer something that was equally as true, “You don’t have to apologize for you grief.”
Grief… Yes, you remembered what Choso told you about the events in Shibuya. His words had sent you into a spiral of catastrophizing the fate of your best friend. That had been your motivation to seek out the alcohol in the first place. What other mistakes had you made due to your grief? Honestly, you were a bit embarrassed now. After having some time alone to rationally think about things, you understood that there was no way to know for sure that your friend actually was dead. Yes, it was a possibility, but you made it out of Shibuya, hadn’t you? There was a chance your friend had made it out as well. Until you actually had confirmation that you had lost her, you needed to stay positive.
“And as for the rest… We had fun. We laughed. It made me happy to hear you laugh after how sad you were.”
Hugging your knees close to your chest, you rested your chin on them as you eyed the door, “Did we?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Weeelll,” you pulled the word along with a yawn, punctuating it with a shrug that Choso couldn’t see, “I remember playing some games, but not a lot of specifics… Everything is just a big blur, really.”
“Oh…”
Choso turned around, pressing his backside against the door, and slowly lowered himself onto the floor. He knew the probability of you not remembering much from last night was high, but it still didn’t soften the blow of the confirmation – and the disappointment made his head feel so unbearably heavy. You had touched him, kissed him, wanted him. And you didn’t remember any of it. As he feared, he alone would be consumed by the desires spurred on from last night. With his lowered gaze, and loosened hair restricting his field of vision, he focused on the palm of his hands, awed by their stillness even as the nerves within rippled with anticipation. How would he be able to act like nothing happened? How would he be able to refrain from reaching out for you the very next time he had the chance?
“Umm… I have to ask. Nothing… happened… Did it?” Now you were grateful for the fact that you decided to stay in the bathroom; the coming conversation would be much easier this way.
“What do you mean?” It was a redundant question; spoken only as a means of stalling for time so Choso could brace for your possible negative reaction.
“I mean… Did I do anything stupid? …Or…did we…?”
Well, so much for being easier… You still couldn’t bring yourself to speak the words into existence.
Your question was met with silence from the other side of the door that stretched on for so long, you thought Choso had walked away. But then, you heard a gentle thump against the door.
“Choso… You’re making me very nervous.”
With the back of his head resting on the door, he lifted his gaze just enough to emulate his posture from last night when you straddled his lap. In his mind’s eye, you eyed him from your slightly elevated position; a wide, playful smile lifting your cheeks enough to squint your eyes, but not enough to extinguish the light within them that flickered with some deeply held desire. ‘Ya thirsty, Cho?’ Then, before he could truly comprehend what was happening, your lips were on his. Thirsty? Sure, he may have been in that moment, but it could never compare to the thirst he felt now. Lifting his right hand, he brought the pointer and middle fingers up to the seam of his mouth, pressing down on his lower lip. The pressure was unsatisfying and… all wrong. It wasn’t soft like your lips had been, pillowing against his as they interlocked. It wasn’t cool like the temperature of your skin, mitigating the heat that consumed him. It wasn’t wet like the tip of your tongue that teased at the perimeter of where his lips turned velvety soft and sensitive.
I want to kiss her again…
“We kissed.”
The confirmation ignited a blush that blazed across the expanse of your cheeks and caught the tip of your ears, burning your skin like an intense wildfire. Retreating from the heat, you released your legs and laid yourself out in the tub, hiding in the water like a crocodile.
We…kissed?
Under the water, you brought a hand up to your mouth, tracing the shape of it with a finger. What specific event had led to the two of you kissing? Who initiated it? Him? …You? Part of you wanted to reject the possibility that you would ever initiate such an irresponsible thing, but that wouldn’t be very honest. You had made your fair share of poor decisions while drunk in the past. And you couldn’t ignore the fact that you were undoubtedly attracted to Choso. In fact, you had some prior thoughts about him that were way more risqué than mere kissing. The day you ran into him as he exited the bathroom after a shower. The night you followed your cat into his room.
What had it felt like to kiss him?
Choso’s figure was mostly shaped by lean muscles and angled lines, but you were sure his curved lips would feel soft against yours. You were sure his mouth was just as warm and comforting as the rest of him, inviting you to partake until your heart’s content. Would it move in perfect harmony with yours? Or clash against it for control?
You sat up, shaking your head to dislodge the intruding thoughts so you could focus and finally respond, “Did…anythi—”
“We… I got caught up in the moment, but when I realized what we were doing, I stopped it. You ended up passing out and I put you to bed. That’s all that happened. I promise.” With each sentence, Choso’s voice rose half a decibel, adding weight to them. With each carefully paced word, his tone was sharp and intense – not to intimidate you with anger, but to communicate complete seriousness.
“I see…,” the words coasted along the wave of stale air expressed from your lungs, taking the tension in your body with them.
It had been a while since you were intimate with anyone. You squeezed your thighs at the thought. Surely, if something had happened, you would feel some kind of after-effects from it. Pain or soreness of some kind. But the only pain you were experiencing was what radiated from your head and stomach, which could confidently be attributed to an overindulgence in alcohol.
I believe him.
Isn’t that…insane?
You shared a smile with yourself. Only just weeks ago, your rational self would have ranted and raved about this less-than-ideal situation. It would have ruminated over the all of the possible negative consequences. Surely it had something to say now… ‘This man kidnapped you.’ ‘He believes the two of you are soulmates and you really think he wouldn’t advantage of last night?’ But no. Nothing. Silence.
“There are a lot of people who would take advantage of a situation like that.”
Choso turned towards the edge of the door, speaking his words directly into it once more, “I would never want to do that; especially not to you.” He only wished he could look you in the eyes as he said it.
Your smile only grew wider. That was exactly how you expected him to answer. But still, you were curious… What you said next, you were only able to say because there was a door separating the two of you. You didn’t have to look at him.
“But what if sex is what makes it click? Makes me realize we are soulmates.”
Surprise and curiosity drove Choso to his feet. Bracing against the door, his heart stuttered within his chest, the irregular pulse choking him. Had he heard you right? Where had that question come from? Had you been contemplating the possibility that the two of you really were soulmates? Were you hoping to confirm it in some way? The edges of his view darkened; his circulatory system was working hard to steady itself, but Choso’s rushing thoughts kept tripping the switch.
What kind of answer am I supposed to give?
While he was obviously not against the prospect, he didn’t see why it would be a factor. He had known you were his soulmate from the moment his eyes met yours; there was no ounce of ambivalence he felt the need to rectify. Yes, it was true that your feelings for him at the start were completely different, but still… Why would sex be some kind of prerequisite? The two of you had been spending so much time together and he could sense the change in your feelings towards him. Was all of it really not enough for you to see that he was your soulmate?
“I don’t think…”
“Just hypothetically. What if it did? Would you wish we’d done it then?”
Choso rested his forehead against the door as he contemplated your question. His head was beginning to hurt.
“I won’t tell you that I wouldn’t be tempted at all. But… no. I still would not wish for it. Not in the situation we were in last night. Not drunk. I would rather you make the decision with a sober mind. To make that decision because you already feel the very same way as I do.”
It was your turn to be deathly quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. You weren’t upset; you just didn’t know what to say in response.
Choso slid a hand down, the ingrained patterns of the door scoring against his skin, and it twitched as he approached the handle. What he would give to be able to see you now. He wanted to see what your reaction had been. Were you lost in your thoughts now? What sentiments could he possibly interpret from your expressions? But he couldn’t see you.
This damn door.
Suddenly, he felt very helpless again - just as he had back when he first brought you to the apartment, when you sealed yourself away in the bedroom, when you hated him. Surrendering to his plight, he let his hand fall to his side, “Is it okay if I ask you a question?”
“Yes…”
“Do you still not feel the same way I do?”
“No…”
Choso’s heart and lungs crashed against his diaphragm with such force, he felt as if he might fall to his knees. In fact, the only reason he was even still standing was because he had an inkling that you were about to say more. No, he needed to believe you had more to say. His heart ached.
“…If you are talking about your feelings of us being soulmates. No. I’ve never believed in that kind of thing and I don’t think that’s changed.”
Sure, ever since Shibuya, there had been some deeply rooted feeling that tethered you to Choso, something you couldn’t escape no matter how much you tried. Maybe for others, that was enough evidence to say that the concept of soulmates really did exist. But you had been through something similar before, with your ex-boyfriend, and look how that ended.
“But with that being said, it doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for you. In fact, I’ve had too many feelings about you since the very beginning. Bad and good. Unfamiliar, but strangely familiar… All of them twisted in a heaping mess. It’s been confusing. But…”
It no longer mattered that this man had originally kidnapped you and kept you here against your will. You didn’t view him in that way anymore. He was… A friend. No, not friend. He was definitely something more, but you still weren’t sure how to label it. The only thing you could say for sure was that…
He is special to me.
“These feelings… They’ve started to untangle. And I want to keep exploring them.”
A quiet gasp pulled air into Choso’s deflated lungs, lifting his heart back into its proper place.
“And we can’t let something like last night happen again, because I agree with you. We need to do this with sober minds.” After a few seconds, you added, “Is that okay?”
Choso brought up the hand hanging at his side and placed it over his sternum so he could feel the excited thrumming under his palm, as his other hand slightly curled against the door, his fingernails catching on the wood. It was jarring; one moment he was encumbered by unsettling disappointment and, in the very next, he was unburdened of it. Instead, he now felt weightless and euphoric.
He couldn’t stop the smile that lifted his features, he didn’t want to, “Of course.”
The two of you settled into a quiet moment, allowing yourselves to process everything that had been discussed.
After some time, you cleared your throat, “Will you be heading out for any reason today?”
“Yes, I actually have to leave soon. And I won’t be back until tomorrow evening.”
“Okay, then… Well, as a thank you for everything, I would like to make you dinner. I can make it for you tomorrow, if that works.”
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact
Chapter 15: We Got Carried Away
Trigger warnings: Dubious consent due to alcohol, but it doesn’t go beyond kissing. Choso masturbates while smelling reader’s shirt.
Most of your past drinking escapades had been centered around bar hopping and you really wished that was a possibility right now. It would allow you and Choso to hang out and get drunk while providing enough distraction to avoid falling into some emotional conversation. Then, there was also the fact that you had not stepped outside of the apartment in what seemed like forever. It would have been nice to feel the fresh, autumn-time air, which was surely beginning to chill with the coming winter, against your skin. But going out was not an option, so the two of you resorted to playing video games once again. Not that you were complaining.
Mario Karts was the name of the game and you were kicking so much ass.
“You’re goin’ the wrong way.”
“Am not! You jus’tryn’a confuse me.”
“D’ya not see Turtle Guy? The sign?”
“It’s for youuu!!”
“Which are you? Top or bottom?”
“TOP.”
“You’re the bottom! Here, lemme help,” Choso threw aside his controller and swiped the one out of your hands.
“Hey! Giv’it back!” you exclaimed with a childlike frustration.
Choso felt the weight of your presence as you stretched out an arm in an attempt to grab the controller back. But he was sitting on the couch while you were on the floor, so he simply lifted the controller up into the air, creating a distance you couldn’t simply gap by flailing your arm around as you were. His eyes were glued to the screen, but he heard the grumbled sounds of frustration emit from your throat. Not only did he hear them, he felt them; the sound reverberating within your chest, which was pressed flush against his right leg as you strained. This lasted for a good thirty seconds until you dropped your hand to his knee, the struggling coming to an abrupt end. Had you given up the fight?
Well, that’s no fun…
And with this thought, Choso relaxed his arms just a bit, putting the controller back within your reach. He kept his eyes forward, pretending his focus was still on the video game, but in truth, he was having fun playing a completely different game. …And enjoying the weight against his leg.
You swiped your hand up, just as Choso hoped you would, and he reflexively moved the controller out of your reach once more. He anticipated you would ineffectively grasp at the air again, but before he could register the annoyed clicking of your tongue, you flipped your whole body around so that you were kneeling between his legs, hands placed on his knees. This adjustment brought you closer – he felt your fingers brush against his when you reached out for the controller again. Choso flashed his eyes down at you as a playful smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth ever so slightly. You lifted your eyes towards his, but they were too unfocused, making it hard for him to get a read of what you might possibly be thinking. Only when a smile lifted your cheeks did he realize that you were having fun with this too.
To extend your reach just a bit more, you pushed your weight further forward so that it was only the fingers and upper palm of one hand bracing against his leg. This gave you the couple of extra inches that you needed, but left you with a very shaky foundation. As you reached with your free hand, the other gave way instantly, slipping to the couch cushion on the outer side of Choso’s thigh, which caused you to fall face first into his lap. By the grace of some benevolent being, you caught yourself just in time to NOT slam your face into his crotch and cause any undue pain. But yet, by the curse of some malevolent being, your drunken state had you completely unbothered by the fact that you were rubbing your face against his clothed cock as you laughed. Blood rushed down to Choso’s core, punctuated by a teasing throb that his alcohol-laden body reacted to, unhindered by thoughts of proprietary. His hips flinched forward; within those few seconds of movement, his cock was squeezed between his body and your face, giving way to a torturous pulse of arousal.
“Mmph.” The pleasured groan rolled deep in Choso’s throat as he tensed his body, fighting against its compulsion to move again, only allowing his hand to move so that he could take a gentle hold of your chin and lift your face up. Though looking down at you, Choso’s attention turned inward, working to regulate the flow of his blood – the task proving to be difficult with a mind muddled by alcohol. He was unaware of the way your gaze fought against his hold, wandering down, and the path your hand traveled up his leg until fingers tickled at his inner thigh. “Tch,” his body flinched again, bringing his awareness back to you. All he could do was watch through squinted eyes as you climbed up onto the couch, your hands resting on his shoulders and knees planted on either side of him so that you were hovering over his lap.
“Who’s bottom now?”
Choso’s eyes flared at your words, his mind racking to discern the meaning of your alcohol-altered tone. It was obviously a joke, a dig at him spurred by the game, but he couldn’t ignore the suggestive innuendo it carried.
Your body swayed a bit as you slid your hands up, following the outline of his shoulders and neck, until they were caressing the sides of his face. Matching your movement, he straightened his spine and uncurled his fists, bringing them to rest on the backs of your thighs.
“Hmm?” Your teasing smile tempered into a more serious line.
You were actually expecting an answer from him?
Choso forcefully swallowed, “It seems… I am.”
Seemingly pleased by his answer, your gaze moved higher, “Ya’know… Never met’a guy with hair like this,” you lifted a hand and, though it was outside of his peripheral, Choso could feel the disturbance of your fingers ghosting along the outline of one of the buns in his hair, “S’cute.”
No one had ever described Choso, or any part of his being, as ‘cute’, so it sparked an unfamiliar feeling within him. He responded to it, only by moving his hands further up to your hips, silently urging you on, hoping you’d say more such things about himself.
“…But…,” you continued as you moved both hands to the base of each hair bun and wiggled a finger under the bands that kept them in place, “your hair down…”
You didn’t finish the thought; instead, you pulled at the bands until they came undone, releasing his hair. Tossing them away, you immediately started combing through his hair with your fingers, nails gently scratching his scalp from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck. Choso couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling back and felt compelled to lean back and relax against the couch, but he braced against such temptations. If he did that, it would interrupt the flow of your hands, ending this pleasurable experience far too soon. Without realizing, Choso increased his grip on your hips and pulled your body inward until you are fully seated on his lap.
“Ah…,” the desperate sigh left him breathless and he tried to say your name, but his voice cracked in his dry throat.
“Ya thirsty, Cho?” Your question was peppered with giggles.
Before Choso could answer, you leaned back, shifting your weight without warning. His heart lurched within the confines of his chest, unable to determine if his fear was spurred on by the thought of you falling or that you were leaving him. But that didn’t really matter, did it? Whichever was true, his reaction would have been the same; moving his hands up the curve of your back, palming the bottom of your shoulder blades and spreading his fingers wide to give you as much support as possible so you wouldn’t fall backwards, or bar you from moving further away from him. He felt your skin slide over bone as you twisted just enough to grab the whiskey bottle from the coffee table. As you righted yourself back onto his lap, Choso relaxed his hands, letting them fall to the small of your back.
You took a swig of the alcohol. The limited lighting in the room caught the reflection of a small amount of liquid spilling from the corner of your mouth and trickling down your throat and chest. It brought his mind back to an earlier fantasy, but this time, with alcohol clouding all rationality, he leaned in to make it a reality. Tapping the tip of his nose against the epicenter of your chest, he flattened his tongue against your skin. The taste of whiskey and sweetened salt overwhelmed the expanse of his palate as he dragged the exploring muscle up at such a languid pace, it was as if he was trying to marinate his tongue in the flavor of you.
“Mmm-patient, aren’t we?” He could feel the words against his tongue as you formed them. When he could reach no further, Choso pulled back silently to look up at you and he was startled by the intensity in your eyes, stilled by unprecedented focus and colored by some unfamiliar gleam. “Open up, jus’a bit,” even the playfulness in your voice was gone, a tone several octaves lower adding a hint of… something else. The quiet, but firm, command was punctuated by gentle taps of your thumb against his lower lip.
He did as you asked without hesitation, tilting his head back slightly and parting his lips just enough to accept the offered drink. He would do anything you asked. And yet, he was gripped by confusion when you moved to take another swig of the whiskey. After setting the empty bottle aside, you returned your hands to his shoulders and leaned in towards him, moving your face closer to his. Choso’s extremities began to anxiously twitch as the seconds stretched far beyond their assigned measure. He curled his fingers at your back, gripping at your shirt in an attempt to ground himself. He was tempted to say your name to break whatever trance you were in, but a piece of him begged to submit to it, to allow whatever was about to happen.
Whatever he was expecting, whatever he could have possibly anticipated, did not prepare him for the reality of your lips locking with his and releasing the drink into his mouth. The liquid warmed a trail all the way to his core as he greedily swallowed your kiss. The world in his peripherals spun around him and he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or your kiss. Despite this, suspicion urged him to keep his eyes open; surely this was nothing more than a dream.
But... it can’t be…
The sight of you monopolizing his view…
The taste of your lips infusing with the mucus membrane of his tongue…
The scent of you congesting his nasal cavity…
The sound of your pleasured sighs infiltrating his ear canal…
The touch of your hands traveling to the nape of his neck, your body against his core…
It was all undeniable, too tangible to be a fleeting dream.
By the time the two of you pulled away, more than one kiss had been traded and you were both out of breath.
“My, my… So worked up,” you gently rolled your hips to articulate your point, “jus’ from kissin’?”
“I want…” with the limited amount of oxygen in his lungs, Choso couldn’t finish his statement.
“You want…me?”
Choso couldn’t bring himself to answer you with words; the world around him was spinning at an unbearably dizzying pace now. No longer was it just the alcohol affecting him; it was you too. He was growing drunk on your affection. So, instead, he closed his eyes and brought his forehead to rest against your chest, gently rubbing it against your skin, seeking comfort.
This put your mouth close to his ear, prompting you to whisper to him, “I guess… I can make one more bad decision tonight.”
Your words were like an injection of sobriety, delivered straight into his veins.
Bad decision?
Choso withdrew from you, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you back forcefully; not enough to hurt you or throw you from his lap, just enough to create some space that would allow him to breathe, to regain control of his rationality. Yes, he had been hopelessly swept up in the moment, but he couldn’t allow things to go further. Yes, he wanted you, but he did not want this to be something you would wake up to regret.
Ignoring your disgruntled protest, he said your name to gain your attention, “Hey, how about I get you some water?”
“What? I don’t want water…,” you rocked your body against him, fighting his hold, “I want to fu--”
Before you could finish that statement, Choso flipped you over so that he was caging you on the couch, “You need some water. Hold on.” His words were rushed as he quickly got up and walked away.
x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+
Choso stood in front of the sink, waiting for water to fill the cup, with his hands braced on the counter as he looked down at the fully pitched tent in his sweatpants.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He almost irreversibly fucked things up. If the two of you had actually slept together, in the drunken state you were in… There was no way you’d forgive him. There was no way he’d forgive himself.
He didn’t want it to happen that way.
Despite himself, he closed his eyes so that his mind could flip through still images of everything that just happened. Your hands caressing his skin. Your lips dancing against his. Your weight pressing down on him. At some undetermined point, his lustful mind generated a fabricated scenario – your body pinned between him and the sink as he drove himself deep into you with such fervor that his hipbones left reddened marks on your ass. The fantasy felt so deceptively real that he couldn’t help but rut his clothed cock against the rounded edge of the counter.
Oh, fuuck…
An unsatisfying, full-body shutter forced his gaze up, making him cognizant of the overflowing cup in the sink. How long had he been standing there? He watched water cascade over the edge of the cup for a few quiet seconds, trying his best to compose himself. He tried to even his breathing, restore his blood to its natural flow, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn’t get his dick to go flaccid. Eventually, he gave up, turning the water off in a frustrated huff. As he took the cup in one hand, he awkwardly placed the other in front of his crotch, doing his best to conceal the unrelenting appendage. It was dark, and you were really drunk; so, hopefully you would be oblivious of his predicament.
By the time he made it back to the couch, you were laid out, completely passed out. Releasing an audible sigh of relief, Choso put the cup of water down on the coffee table. This was honestly the best-case scenario. Now he could put you to bed without any further incident.
He gently pulled at and adjusted your body, so you were laying on your back, and whispered in your ear until you responded with a sleepy groan, “Grab onto me.”
With barely any focus you clumsily wrapped your arms around his neck, allowing him to pick you up bridal style and carry you to the bedroom. He laid you out on the bed and attempted to straighten himself, but you held onto him with a surprising strength and snuggled your face in the crook of his neck, humming contently.
Placing a hand on your arm, he attempted to softly wrench you from his neck as he whispered your name, “Please let go.”
It was weird to hear himself make such a request. All this time he wanted nothing more than for you to hold onto him and never let go, but considering the physical state he was in at the moment, his only choice was to distance himself from you. Even now, he was inclined to climb into the bed and curl himself around you. But what if you made a move on him again? Would he really be able to maintain control of his desires?
After a few minutes of careful coaxing, he was able to free himself from your chokehold. As soon as he pulled away, you rolled over and went completely still. Dead to the world. Completely oblivious of the state you left him in. He almost wanted to be angry about it, but he really couldn’t bring himself to do so.
x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+
Choso, now alone and lying on his bed, closed his eyes as the tension in his core tightened another notch. He felt feverish; he could feel a single rivulet of sweat trickle down the side of his face. No, not sweat, blood. He was losing control of his faculties as he chased ecstasy. He felt light-headed; the desire to take in your scent superseding his need for oxygen as he clinched your shirt over his mouth and nose, muffling the moans that escaped him.
”Mmm… Mmph…”
Yes, before making his way out of your room, he snatched one of your discarded shirts from the end of your bed. It was an action taken against his better judgement, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. He needed relief.
”Ahh…yeah...”
His hips were moving with a singular purpose, fucking his cock up into his fist, pumping in and out easily thanks to the copious amount of precum leaking from its tip. The slick sound of skin gliding against skin was absolutely debauched. He had been edging himself for what felt like hours now. He didn’t want this feeling to end, but he couldn’t take it anymore.
”Please- haa…”
He needed to cum.
So, finally, he allowed himself over the edge, pumping his cock at an unrelenting pace, focusing most of his efforts at the head, until the coiled tension released. Every single wave of pleasure that assaulted him was punctuated by harshly whispered words,
“Oh, god…”
“Fuck…”
”Shh-iit…”
Until they were reduced to unintelligible sounds as he fucked himself through the prolonged orgasm.
I can never put into words what I feel about choso. I only paid attention to him in the anime when he got obsessed with yuuji. He is just soooo brother to me.
But what I wanna yap about, and what stands out to me here is how he keeps repeating that he's the oldest of 10 siblings. He is a brother. He is yuuji's older brother, and he is ready to die for him the moment he finds out about that. He tries to get yuuji to remember kenjaku, not knowing that kenjaku didn't father yuuji. It is all very endearing and heartbreaking to me.
He is kenjaku's failed science experiment, he is a curse, he isn't a curse, but above it all he is the oldest sibling. His entire worth and identity is tied to being a brother, and I'm realising as I type this out is that I'm absolutely ready to kill for him. 😭
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Fourteen: Will You Join Me for a Drink?
Choso could not silence the startled grunt that escaped his chest when you collapsed against him. Though his mind delayed, working to process what just happened, his body moved autonomously to carry out the actions he had so desperately wanted to do up until now: Support you, surround you. As he hugged you close, he felt your hands grab at his sides, nails trailing over his ribcage as your fingers folded into themselves, creating fists that clutched at his shirt. Though the sensation was dulled by fabric, his nerves sparked to life under burning trails nonetheless. Then there was a pressure concentrated at his neck, the point of your nose digging into muscle as you nuzzled your face against him. These sensations filled him with a blooming warmth of contentment, with flickers of desire smoldering within his core.
I’m holding her…
This blissful reprieve was nothing more than a lapse of judgement that lasted for a few seconds. If that’s even what they were. Nanoseconds seemed more accurate a measure for the span of time he felt relief from all previous worries before his body reverberated with your sobs. Your skin, normally cool against his, radiated with an uncharacteristic, concerning heat. Bringing one hand up, he caressed the back of your head and pressed you impossibly closer as he restricted the flow of blood to the inner most part of himself, allowing the temperature of his extremities to drop slightly. He slid his hand further down, caressing the curve of your face, his cooled thumb cutting through the searing torrent of tears that salted your cheek, daring to blister his skin.
She’s hurting…
You were grieving the death of a friend – whether this was truly her fate or not, that did not matter. And this death was tied directly to the actions of Geto and his coconspirators. In truth, Choso’s ambitions did not originate from some deeply held hatred for humans, or even jujutsu sorcerers. He had simply joined in Geto’s efforts to create a world where his brothers could live peacefully. Even after your souls had called out for each other, he never once spared a moment to think about what that meant for you and your world. About the things you would lose. All the while he had been searching for you, he had also been actively working to tear down everything you knew.
I caused this…
To absolve himself of this, he wanted to argue that none of it mattered; you were soulmates and all you truly needed was him. But there were two issues with this. For one, your feelings towards him did not match the way he felt about you. So, maybe he was wrong. Maybe the two of you weren’t soulmates after all. (But he couldn’t bring himself to believe this, not when every fiber of his being refused it.) And for two, how could that be fair? Sure, he had accepted you as his soulmate from the beginning and wanted you more than he could ever say. But he still had his brothers and nothing could diminish the love he had for them. He would continue to carry out his role as their big brother until his dying breath.
It was in this moment that the veil of his ignorance was lifted, forcing him to come face to face with reality. He was striving for two opposing goals.
To love and protect you.
To love and protect his brothers.
With this realization came an unsettling twist in his stomach and an encasement of tension that squeezed at his brain. For his brothers to thrive, he had to destroy the foundation of humanity, which would isolate you from everything you had ever known. There was no question you had hated him when he first brought you here. But if he did this? You wouldn’t merely hate him; you would despise him. Whether you were truly soulmates or not, how could you forgive him for this? The tension in his head pricked at the back of his eyes and his vision blurred as he fell back against the couch, clinging to you with hopeless desperation as if your juddering sobs were writhing protests to escape his grasp.
Has all of this been for nothing?
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. He couldn’t even be sure what happened during that time. His body, as if in a trance, carried out the task of calming you; he could vaguely remember whispering some words to you, but his mind was largely turned inward, ravaged by the shifting emotions brought on by his troubled thoughts. It wasn’t until your body stilled and breathing evened out that he was able to settle his own anxieties enough to think rationally.
Yes, this situation was not ideal, but he could not give up now.
Geto’s original plans for Shibuya had been derailed and, while he did have a back-up plan, it was taking quite a bit of time to get things moving. Choso just needed to adjust his efforts to finding his brothers without Geto’s help, and fast. If he could release his brothers before Geto succeeded in his plans, all of you could run away and never look back. He wasn’t sure how, but he would make a world where he could live peacefully with you and his brothers. He had to.
I must…
x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+
Aching pain stirred Choso from his sleep. With closed eyes, he lazily brought a hand up to the source, his neck, and gently massaged it. He felt familiar fabric against his skin; sleeping on the couch was not an uncommon practice for him, but why had he fallen asleep at such an unnatural angle? His menstruations did little for the pain, so he gave up, letting his hand fall. It was the deep percussion of it hitting his chest that made him realize you were no longer on top of him.
Choso called out your name as he shot up. Though his eyes flared with immediate panic, it did little to help him search you out. The lights had been on earlier when he fell asleep, but they were all off now, surrounding him in nothing but an empty darkness.
But then, a disembodied voice responded, “I’m here, Choso.”
He turned toward the sound, his sharpened gaze landing on a shadowed form sitting in one of the chairs of the kitchen island. It seemed to be sitting somewhat angled on the chair, legs crossed over one another with one foot resting on the side horizontal spindle and the other bouncing with a rhythmic pattern in the air. This silhouette was familiar to him. He had seen you sit exactly like this many times when you were waiting for your food to cook, tapping your foot to some unheard song.
Choso willed the anxious blood within him to slow, the resulting dip of body temperate chilling the sweat on his skin. He need not react to any threat or emergency. You were here. You were safe. But there was still something off. No longer choked by emotion, your tone had fallen back into its natural intonation, but Choso’s inner ear tingled at your quiet announcement, picking up on a subtle, atypical inflexion of those familiar words.
Once his vitals were back to normal, he got up and made his way into the kitchen to investigate. He placed his hand on the back of the chair next to you, about to pull it out so he could sit, when he paused his movements, “Do you mind if I turn on a light?” His eyes were adjusting and soon he would be able to see you with relative clarity despite the surrounding darkness, a trait that came from him being half-curse. Still, he preferred to see you bathed in light, the reflected wavelengths revealing the color of your eyes. Your hair. Your skin.
After receiving your approval, he made a quick detour towards the kitchen stove and flipped on the switch above it. The resulting light that broke the darkness was soft and white, not strong enough to illuminate the whole kitchen but enough to unveil you from the shadows. In fact, he swore that, against a backdrop of black, it created a spotlight on you that glimmered with iridescent colors, shining tenfold than the provided light, acting like a beacon that called out for him.
And this was not the first time.
He may not have sensed you with his eyes back then, but 2 years ago he had witnessed this very same shimmering light illuminate the darkness of his enclosed world. The star-bursting outline of a soul calling out to him. His soulmate. From the moment he set his physical eyesight on you, when his eyes met yours, he knew it was you. This moment was just further confirmation. He could not let his worries from earlier dissuade him. He would find a way to make all of this work. He had to.
While he faced a radiate form, your view of him was the complete inversion of that. The light source behind him cast deep shadows on the details of his face, making him look as no more than a dark entity. For anyone else, he may have looked like a demon whose hidden eyes alone, burning with a terrifying intensity, would send them running for their lives. And to be fair, his veiled stare definitely did make your soul lurch, but not away from him with fear. No, you were filled with a desire to be closer to him. You wanted him to join you in the light so you could see his face clearly, to bathe you in the ever-present, lovelorn tenderness that poured from his eyes whenever he looked upon you.
“Come here. Sit next to me.” You had meant for your words to be framed more as a polite invitation, but the dry, distracted tone that escaped your throat sounded more like a command. After clearing your throat, you added, “Please.”
As he made his way back to the chair, he took note of the details of your face. Your expression gave little away in regards to your current emotional state, but he noticed the absence of heaviness in your eyelids.
“When did you wake up?”
“About an hour and a half ago. I…,” you almost told him that a strange dream had woken you, but decided against it.
At the lowest point of his sight, Choso saw you thumb something concealed by both of your hands as your words dropped to silence. As curious as he was about what you almost said, he didn’t dare try to pry it from you now. While you seemed fine in the moment, he couldn’t be sure that you weren’t at the edge of another breakdown.
And so, he let the unspoken words slip into the unknown, “What are you doing here, sitting in the dark?”
You lifted up the thing you were fiddling with, presenting it with a detached smile, “Drinking.” You watched Choso’s eyes trail over to the shot glass you faintly shook to draw his attention.
The amber colored liquid sloshed from side to side, “Is that whiskey?”
“Sure is. And not the cheap stuff.”
‘Drinking’… That explained your unusual tone.
“Not sure if you knew this, but there is a bunch of it in the cabinet above the stove and… Well, I just felt like having a drink. It's probably a poor decision on my part. But…,” tipping your head back, you took the shot.
Choso caught the flex of your throat when you swallowed; his eyes trailing down as he envisioned the warm liquor flowing down the column of your throat, behind your sternum. The collar of your shirt was not necessarily low cut, but the integrity of it had degraded over time—you wore it often as a comfortable night-shirt—teasing him with a view of the smooth, shadowed valley of skin nestled between your breasts. He couldn’t help but fantasize: What if I traced my finger there? What if I kissed the center of her breastbone? Would I feel the heat of the whiskey? Would I taste the salty-sweet of her skin?
“Fuck it!” You slammed the empty glass down. In your haste to take the shot, plus being a little buzzed already, a bit of the drink spilled from your mouth, trailing down to your chin. Reflexively, you brought up the back of your hand and wiped the mess away, laughing as you did.
The unexpected sound waves echoed within Choso’s cochlea, giving way to familiar electrical impulses that his brain had come to recognize. Laughter, genuine and cheerful, was not something the two of you had been able to share during the early stages of your relationship. But that had changed within recent days. And although your laughter now was not as light as it normally was, it was a pleasant sound compared to the sorrowful tears from earlier. It still allowed his body to relax.
Lost in these thoughts, Choso was unaware of you refilling the shot glass until you lifted it up to his eyeline, “You gunna let me make a poor decision by myself?”
His view of you blurred as he turned his focus on the offered cup. On the section of rim closest to you, Choso saw a smudged lip print. Is that the cup she drank from? To satisfy his curiosity, he dropped his eyes down briefly to look at the counter, finding no other cup within your reach.
“Or… Do you no–”
“I’ll drink with you.” He took the cup out of your hand before he could fully get his words out.
He brought the glass up, breaking his gaze from the curving lines of your mouth only long enough to make sure to match his lips to the markings of yours. The touch of it was cold against his skin, but he swore he could feel the residual heat from your lips upon the rim. The burning liquid washed past his tongue, scorching a trail down his throat and chest, until it settled in the pit of his stomach. Alcohol was nothing new for Choso. He extended the tip of his tongue slightly, just enough to tap at the rim of the shot glass before pulling it away. But he would do something he had never done before. In the past, whenever he did partake in drinking, he would always use his cursed technique to burn the alcohol from his blood before it had a chance to have any effect on him. Tonight, he wouldn’t do this. He would allow the alcohol to run its course naturally.
Decision made, he set the empty cup down.
“Okaaaay,” you exclaimed in a playful manner as you filled the shot glass again, “that’s what I’m talking about! Now it’s a par-tay! Hurry up, drink it down. You gotta catch up with me.”
Arching an eyebrow, Choso met your expectant stare with one of caution. While he definitely knew you had a fun streak about you, he had never seen it presented in this particular way. He was certainly headed for uncharted territory, but determined to ride this out and see where it went. However, he did want to address something first.
He downed the shot before speaking. “I don’t want to upset you, but I feel like I should ask… Do you have any other questions? About what we were talking about earlier.”
The alcohol was doing exactly what you sought it out for, because it took you the whole time of filling up the shot glass again to understand what he was talking about.
“Oh, I definitely do, but…,” you took the shot. “No, not right now.”
“I understand. Whenever you are ready to talk about it again, just tell me.”
“I will say one thing though,” you started as you slid the refilled glass to him, “the last thing my mother said, it makes some sense now.”
He lifted the cup, but asked for clarification before he followed through with the shot, “What do you mean?”
“During her last few days, she had been so out of it that she didn’t speak. But when she was actively dying, she looked at me and my sister and said, ‘The shadow is smiling’. Then she died.” You poured more whiskey into the empty cup that Choso placed back on the counter in front of you, suddenly noticing how light the bottle felt. It had been much heavier earlier. “She probably saw a cursed spirit, didn’t she?”
“That is a possibility…”
You swirled the cup carefully and watched the small whirlpool form within as you contemplated this. It was weird to think that pointless words of a dying woman could have actually had some truth behind them. What had your mother seen at that moment?
“You never mentioned you had a sister.”
Choso’s statement pulled you back into the present moment and you took the shot before looking at him, “To be honest… The only reason I told you about my mother before was because she’s dead. So, I didn’t have to worry about some--,” you brought that particular train of thought to a jarring halt when you realized you were saying this out loud, right to his face. “I mean, I’m not really saying I think you would…now. But I mean at the time… And it’s just I didn’t know what was going on and…”
“It’s okay, I… understand.” Truthfully, with the way you jumped from thought to thought, Choso couldn’t really comprehend what you were trying to say, but he could make certain assumptions. But he didn’t care about what you were thinking back then. No, he was curious about more important things. “But… You did just mention your sister. Are you comfortable telling me about her now? What is your relationship with her like?”
You weren’t really in the right headspace to be vigilant of the little details, but you did notice the way Choso inched himself closer to you as he prodded for more information. It was the innocent curiosity of a man who prided himself for being a big brother. So, of course, he would be interested in hearing about the relationship you had with a sibling.
“We haven’t spoken in years… So, not great.”
Without him having to ask, you went on to explain what happened. Starting from the very beginning.
Your sister was six years older than you. When she was ten and you were four, your mother got really sick. Apparently, her health had never been the best, but it had been manageable until then. With a workaholic father and a bedridden mother, your sister ended up having to take over many of the household tasks, including taking care of you. She got you ready for school, took you to your classroom before she went to hers, picked you up from your class at the end of the day, made you dinner, forced you to take baths, read you stories before bed, and everything else that needed to be done so you could thrive. And you loved her so much. To you, she wasn’t a sister, she was a second mom.
“Despite my mom’s illness, I remember living a pretty normal childhood and we were happy.”
But as you entered your teenage years, you started getting in trouble at school. The school would call your father, but it was always your sister, who was nineteen at the time, who would have to go up to the school and deal with everything. One day, after bringing you home for getting in trouble for what seemed like the hundredth time, your sister had reached her limit. She slapped you and said a lot of horrible things.
‘You’re such a burden.’
‘If mother was ill, why did she have you?’
‘I’ve missed out on so much in my life because of you.’
‘I hate you.’
These were only a few of the things she said, but they were the ones that hurt the most. After that, you worked hard to no longer be a burden for the big sister you loved so much, hoping it would fix things. But it wasn’t much longer after that when your mother died and your sister moved away without so much as a word. You were ultimately left alone with no family to rely on. Yes, you still lived with your father, but he fell farther into his work after your mother died so you never saw him much.
It wasn’t until you met your best friend in college when you finally felt like you had some semblance of a family again. The two of you were the same age, but you were so serious and stand-offish in the beginning, that you seemingly took on the role of the “older sister” in the friendship. Over time, her bubbly personality helped you even out, learning how to have fun and not be so serious all of the time. She helped heal a deeply wounded part of you.
She is… was…
Quickly downing another shot, you tossed the thought away.
“This conversation sucks. We are drinking…let’s have some fun!”
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Thirteen: The Tears We Cry
“Never mind, I don’t want to watch this.”
The announcement was made as you hastily grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. The tone of your words was a significant shift from the laid-back, lighthearted energy that currently filled the room.
The last few days had been jam-packed with time spent playing video games, listening to music, and watching movies. Besides the few times Choso had to leave the apartment, it felt almost like an endless sleepover with a new friend, one who didn’t know about any of the cool things you were into and you were more than happy to make the introduction. Though you had to admit, you hadn’t been prepared for this. Choso told you that he wasn’t familiar with anything in the apartment, but after some time, it became blaringly obvious that this wasn’t the full truth. Besides a few select television programs, he was detached from every form of entertainment. He had no favorite games, music, or movies.
How had he been spending his days before now? What did he do as a kid?
These questions wiggled like worms in your head, filling the space between your skull and brain with a tickling annoyance. You wanted to ask him, but despite the overwhelming curiosity, you hesitated. As a result, the questions burrowed down into the depths of your brain and the sophisticated organ did the only thing it could, which was ruminate and fabricate a list of possible explanations.
He was the oldest of 9 children and only ever mentioned having a mother, one who ‘suffered at the hands of a sick man’. If his mother was unable to care for her children, Choso may have been the only one available to care for himself and his brothers. As a result, he probably had to grow up very fast and could not afford to participate in the typical experiences of childhood. A disheartening possibility that was, sadly, a widely known experience. You had even gone through something similar with your sister. Though, you were the younger sibling in that situation.
Due to the fact that you had never seen any children around, you assumed his brothers were grown up and taking care of themselves by now. So, that should mean Choso would have a lot more time to focus on himself, but this did not seem to be the case. He was involved with a part of the world you were wholly unaware of, a world filled with monstrous beasts that devoured humans, a world where a man could control blood. And he was at some mysterious man’s beck and call. Geto, Choso called him. Maybe this Geto located the monsters and dispatched Choso to take them out? Is this how Choso worked with him? It would explain why Choso was in Shibuya that night and what forced him to leave the apartment on any given day at any given time. You recalled a recent night when you and Choso had stayed up far too late playing games. It was 4 o’clock in the morning, sleep pulling at your eyelids relentlessly, despite your determination to stay awake, when Choso announced that he had to go out. To be honest, you had been really worried about him that time after he left. He hadn’t gotten any sleep and he was out doing who knows what.
This man was still such a mystery to you…
“What’s wrong?”
In an attempt to shut out the abrupt feelings of fear and panic the movie had inflicted, your eyes had been closed, but you immediately opened them and turned to Choso when you heard his words. His eyes flicked about with discernment, already aimed to find what might be causing you distress.
A blush began to bloom on your cheeks, realization of your sudden action settling in. The truth was embarrassing, so you attempted to wave away his concern, “I’m fine. I just…”
“Was it the monsters?” Choso turned his eyes towards the TV for just a moment, to clarify what monsters he was referring to, before he met your eyes straight on, “Did they make you think of ones in Shibuya?”
Your brows lifted; the embarrassment stifled momentarily by surprise. How did he know? As pathetic as it was, he hit the nail on the head. Despite the poor CGI quality of the movie, the roaring and screaming brought you right back to that night.
“I know it’s stupid. I’m sorry. If you’re invested in the movie and want to finish it, I can go—”
“I don’t care about the movie,” his words were quick and a bit exacerbated; his tone shifting slightly on the last word, to emphasize what he did care about, without even having to say it. Or rather, who.
There it was again. That pull. The unspoken meaning of his words, something so seemingly insignificant, acted like a hand that gently tugged at some invisible wire connected to your heart. Your chest tightened, igniting a pleasant warmth to bloom from your sternum and simmer into your extremities. There was a temptation to follow that pull and move towards Choso. Stiffening your spine, you not only resisted to give in to the impulse, but also to recoil from him. It truly wasn’t fair for someone to have such an effect on you.
As minuscule as your movement was, the increased rigidity of your form was not missed by the man that sat beside you. Due to your initial rejection of his affections, Choso was already so conscientious when it came to interacting with you. He was constantly looking for any signals of what you might be thinking or feeling so that he could act accordingly without jeopardizing the fragile relationship he had with you. But now, with recent days spent together as friends, he was seeing more and more of your authentic-self break through the guarded persona you so often used in his presence and he watched you more so to understand the movements of your body. What did it mean when you furrowed your brow in such a way? Why did you crinkle your nose like that? Even presently, why did you tense up so suddenly? What were you trying to avoid?
If there had been a present third party, the silence that began to settle probably would have been excruciatingly unpleasant, having to witness two people awkwardly navigate conversations that barely concealed their complex emotions. A single word or movement could thrust either, or both, of you into the tempest that silently raged inside your minds.
For Choso, he was struggling with patience. It would be incorrect to say that Choso did not appreciate all of the progress that had been made so far. No, he was exceedingly grateful for it. However, his mind, heart, and soul had accepted you long ago. From the moment your eyes met, he knew that you were his. And he was yours. You were soulmates, there was nothing that could convince him otherwise; not even his two brothers coming back from their deaths and telling him that this feeling of his was false. He was glad you were spending this precious time with him. But his body was unequivocally aching for you. He was touch-starved at this point and every negligible touch you granted him was simultaneously overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time. Every day, hour, minute added to the cracks of his weakening patience. Could he take much more of this?
For you, regardless of the promise you made to yourself, it was still hard to keep your rational self from needling its way in occasionally to overanalyze everything that was said and done. However, this instinctive action was definitely starting to lessen; there was a shift happening. As you fought back the pragmatic, but so very irritating, thoughts, your emotions gained momentum. Probably a little too much momentum. Every little thing he did was endearing. The way he watched you oh-so intently as you explained something; it was clear that his interest wasn’t a painfully feigned display, he was truly curious and hanging on to your every word. The way he smiled when you said something that amused him. The way he hesitated to reciprocate in a friendly game of teasing when you played video games; you knew he had it in him, but he was too worried about offending you, making you upset. Such small things made you feel so much.
This led to a very common occurrence of the two of you getting lost in your thoughts and just staring at each other. At first, it was terribly embarrassing; whoever came to their senses first would usually offer some artificial laughter to disrupt the awkward moment. But eventually, it just became a part of the flow of your conversations, a sign to steer it into a new direction. It was now, during one of these quiet moments, when the ruminating thoughts that had been occupying the depths of your mind resurfaced. This man, who you had come to form some sort of friendship with, was still such a mystery to you. And, maybe in your desperation to change the subject, you finally gave up the fight.
“Can I ask you something,” you waited for Choso to respond, which he did by simply nodding his head, “Can you tell me about the world? The things you said I don’t know…”
There was a definite hesitation that preceded Choso’s question, “Are you sure?”
You couldn’t blame him for asking. It was definitely a weird direction to take the conversation, especially after freaking out about the movie. But it was time to stop running from all of this; it was the only way to truly quiet some of your inner thoughts. It was time you learned more about this world, about the man who sat before you. Your decision made, you verbalized that you were sure and waited for him to start.
“Okay. Let’s see…” he paused, contemplation playing at his features, “It would probably be easiest for me to start with the basics.”
“Agreed,” you concurred, adjusting your position on the couch so that you were facing Choso directly, with legs pulled underneath you in a crisscross fashion.
Choso mirrored your posture partially; he only brought one leg underneath himself, leaving the other one to hang off the couch with his foot planted firmly on the ground. “As you know, humans experience emotions…”
He went on to explain that humans naturally give off something called cursed energy when they harbor negative emotions. After enough of this energy is expelled in one place, it manifests into entities known as cursed spirits. These spirits are, for the most part, invisible and prey on humans. However, there are individuals who can see them. Then, in an even more rare occurrence, there are those who actually have the ability to harness their own cursed energy and use it to fight back against the cursed spirits and exorcize them by using their unique abilities that manifest from the use of that cursed energy. As he explained this phenomenon, you worked at piecing together how all of this related to the world as you knew it. Were the concepts of ghosts or bad luck derived from this hidden world? It made sense and it explained the heavy atmosphere that could be felt at certain places; he mentioned schools, hospitals, and gravesites being common manifestation sites for cursed spirits. But how could the truth of something like this be hidden from the general population? They were invisible, sure, but…
“Wait. Didn’t you say that most people can’t see these cursed spirits?” Choso made a noise of confirmation, leading you to make your next question, “Then, what about the ones in Shibuya? I could see them. My friend could. I think everyone could. Why could we see them?”
Choso knew that he could easily explain this away without much concern. He could simply say that people close to death could see cursed spirits, which was true, and you would most likely assume that because those monsters were there in that subway, everyone there was close to death. But Choso knew the truth, and he felt that lying about it now would only delay this conversation, not prevent it.
“Because those were not cursed spirits.”
“What were they then?” In your naivety, there was no fear in your words, just curiosity.
“There is a cursed spirit whose cursed technique is transfiguration. He touches the souls of his victims and shapes them to his will.”
“Victims? Are you saying that those were…,” your throat seized, unwilling to say the word. Now, you were feeling fear.
With the way your eyes flared, it allowed Choso to witness your brain force a system shutdown, attempting to bypass the conclusion it had reached. His hand, which had been resting on the back of the couch, gripped at the fabric as he braced himself for the difficult conversation ahead, “Humans. They were humans that had been changed into those… things.”
A gasp escaped from your throat when Choso completed your sentence. The rest of his words swirled in your mind along with the images of the creatures from that night in Shibuya. They were humans. They were humans. Those things. Those things were humans. All of those people who arrived in Shibuya, with plans of fun to celebrate the Halloween weekend, oblivious to the nightmare that awaited them. Walking into a nightmare. One moment a human and, in the very next, they were… That could have been me. I could be one of those things right now. I could… And with that train of thought, your heart crashed down into the pit of your stomach with such force that you folded over forward, your hand slapping over your mouth in fear that you would vomit.
You barely heard Choso call your name, his voice just a bit closer than before.
Within seconds of the chaos breaking out in Shibuya, your friend had been forcibly ripped from you by the panicking crowd and you lost sight of her just as quickly. You weren’t sure if she was alive or dead. But now, there was suddenly a terrifying third possibility.
“She could be one of those things?” The whispered words barely made it through the cracks between your fingers as you spoke towards the couch cushion, prompting Choso to move even closer in an attempt to hear you.
“What di—”
You ripped your hand away from your mouth to clutch at the collar of your shirt and pull at it, your heart stuttering as your whirling emotions tightening around it. Your chest was heavy and it felt like you couldn’t breathe, making it difficult to speak, “I thought… …dead. But… …one of….” With every broken word, the colored fabric of the couch blurred.
Choso spoke your name again, “…breathe…” You felt his hand gently wrap around the upper part of your arm.
You ignored his calming direction and fought through the uncomfortable burn in your chest to ask in a whispered yell, “My friend! She could be one of those things?!”
Choso shrank away from you as he pieced together what you were speaking of; it took a few seconds of processing. Yes. You had mentioned a friend was with you in Shibuya. You were asking him if your friend had been turned into one of those monsters. One of those transfigured humans. It was unlikely. Choso had just split off from Mahito and the others in a different area of the subway, one that was far away from the direction you had been running from. Mahito did transfigure humans on the train in the area they were in and they most likely deboarded at the next destination, which happened to be where you and your friend were. So, it was impossible for Mahito to be in that exact area at the time. Now, had he come to that area at a later time to release additional chaos? That was possible…
Still, Choso opted to offer some hope, “I don’t think so…”
“But she could. What will happen to her? Is she aware? Is she in pain? Is she suffering?”
All of your questions, all of the words, were forced through the sobs that, by now, were racking your body. You asked them as if you were already convinced that she was a monster. This whole time, you had been hopscotching along the early stages of grief, but now, it seemed so final, despite the lack of any actual evidence. She was either dead or a monster. You would never see her again. Grief poured like liquefied metal from every part of your being and dared to pull you down as if it were the force of gravity itself. The only reason you didn’t succumb fully to the grief in that moment was due to the fact that one singular emotion bubbled up against it, humiliation. Humiliation of breaking down in front of Choso like this. Keeping your head lowered to avoid eye contact, you all but threw your body up from its seated position and turned towards escape, towards your room. But your body jerked to a standstill before you could take even a single step.
A new heat burned at your wrist, even more so than the grief and humiliation that scorched the rest of your body. It was… uncomfortable, only because you knew exactly what it was, you had felt this warmth too many times to forget now. You did not fully turn your head, only enough to look back at the hand that imprisoned your wrist. The slender, but strong fingers tightened their grip as your body tremored against a stifled sob. His touch, Choso’s touch, was always comforting, but right now, you were mostly embarrassed and didn’t want him to see you like this (not that he hadn’t seen something comparable when he first brought you to this place).
Choso’s heart ached to see you suffer in such a way that there was little he could do to lessen it. He was associated with Mahito, but he knew little of his cursed technique and what it afflicted upon his victims; the young curse, himself, was still figuring all of that out. The only thing Choso could do was act according to his emotions, to pull you into his embrace and hold you tightly. Even if you ended up rejecting him, he could suffer the pain. He just had to try.
You still weren’t looking at him, but Choso spoke anyway, “I can’t answer these questions, but please, let me comfort you. In whatever way will be helpful to you. Just please let me.”
The gentle, pleading canter of his words, as if water, quenched the molten grief within you. It didn’t lessen it, didn’t make it hurt any less, just cooled it enough so that you could touch it, hold onto it. Still, it was extremely heavy and you didn’t have the strength to hold it alone. But you weren’t alone. Choso was there. You were emotionally exhausted. You needed help. The very help he offered to you now.
So, you collapsed into him; you didn’t hold back, didn’t even brace for the impact. Thankfully, Choso’s reflexes were exceptional and he didn’t buckle awkwardly as you crumbled against him. He gathered you into his arms as if he had expected you to fall the entire time. Every time your body shuddered with unconstrained sobs, he held you tighter. And you shamelessly tucked your face in the crook of his neck. Surely, he felt the tears overflowing from your eyes and dampening his skin, but you were beyond caring. You cried for your friend. You cried for all of the victims, the ones killed by the monsters and even the monsters themselves, now that you knew they were actually human too. You cried for the life you knew before that night in Shibuya, because it was gone.
After some time, your violent sobs lessened and morphed into light, even breaths. You had fallen asleep. Well after you had drifted off, Choso was still awake, resting his back against the curved corner of the couch as he ran the fingers of his right hand along your back in a repetitive pattern. His eyes wetted by silent tears as numerous emotions roiled within him.
Happiness.
Sadness.
Desire.
But most of all… Guilt…
Finally, after so long… This was exactly what he wanted, to be able to hold you. The moment was precious to him, but at the same time, unequivocally damning. He only had you in arms at the expense of your pain. He truly never thought any of this through… He was so painfully naive about it all.
But it was too late now.
At least, that is what he told himself.
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When you opened your eyes, a great expansion of light blue monopolized your vision. Sunlight, bright and yellow, warmed your skin, but your eyes did not squint against it in the slightest. No, it was only your smile, pushing up the apples of your cheeks, that dared to impede your sight of this beautiful view. It took a good number of seconds for trepidation to seep into your awareness and ruin the moment.
Wait… What am I doing outside?
You snapped up into a seated position and looked around. You were settled in the middle of a rolling field of tall grass; only the patch around you, where you had previously been laying, was flattened. Beyond the distance, in every direction, as far as your sight could go, there were nothing but continuous fields. No people, animals, or buildings of any kind. Apart from the gentle wind that brushed against your skin, there were no sounds.
“Choso!?” Your voice rang out, loud and clear in the eerie quietness. You waited a few seconds for his response, but it never came.
Confusion and a prickling anxiety anchored you to the ground. Sweeping your eyes across the horizon was the only action you could muster, as you waited for something, anything to break the monotonous swaying of grassland. How was this possible? The last thing you remembered was collapsing in Choso’s embrace, clinging to him as renewed grief threatened to pull you under its depths.
You remembered the tentative words he whispered next to the shell of your ear: ‘I do not know if this will help, or just open the wound further, but… The tr-- The victims… They don’t live long after they are changed. If she was suffering… Her suffering would have ended a long time ago.”
He was surely aware of the tightrope he walked, saying what he said to you. It could either put your mind at ease or simply reignite your grief. In the end, he was successful in comforting you, so much so that you felt your eyes grow heavy and before you knew it…
Where am I?
The near silence was broken by the sound of distant thunder. The sky currently within your view was still bright blue, not a single cloud in the sky. So naturally, you turned your eyes to the sky behind you, twisting your body to scan as much as physically possible without leaving your seated position. If your body was currently facing North (you couldn’t be sure that this was true), the sky to the Southeast was drained of all color; a patch of dark grey shredded by spiraling, black clouds.
“That was not there earlier. I know it,” you reasoned aloud as if you were speaking to someone.
Even with the warmth of the sun, the hair on the back of your neck stood on end as a chilling finger of foreboding trailed up your spine. Despite this, your body, seemingly on its own, pushed up from the spot on the ground and took careful steps towards the gloomy sky. With the lack of land markings, the growing ominous clouds were the only evidence that you were moving forward at all. And the trek felt endless. You couldn’t be sure how long you walked, how much time had passed, but strangely enough, you never grew tired.
By the time you were under the outer spiral of clouds, the wind had abandoned its gentleness and rushed past you as a bone-chilling current. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you continued forward as your hair whipped in the air behind you. The closer you made it to the center of the spiral, two forms took shape in your sight, heaped together and settled in the grass.
Thanks to the clouds here, everything was significantly darker and you couldn’t identify what they were, could not confirm if they were fellow humans or not, but you called out to them anyways, “Hello?!”
The shapes didn’t move, but in the instant you called out, a thick blackness fell from the center of the spiraled clouds like an obsidian waterfall, pouring over those nonresponsive forms, crashing against the ground like storming waves and surging towards you. Before you could react, everything went black.
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Twelve: I Missed You
Choso stood at your bedroom door, his eyes aimlessly tracing the grain patters of the wood. For weeks, it seemed more like a giant impenetrable wall that kept him separated from you; almost a laughable comparison now. Today, it felt just like any other door; he knew that, if he knocked, you would open it without reservations. Because, just hours ago, you agreed to indulge in his request. Friendship. ‘We will give friendship a chance’, that’s exactly what you said. But as sensational as this development was, there was a new problem. He was only minutes away from being forced to leave the apartment, leave you alone, for days. DAYS!! Fuck! What kind of timing was that? Every blood cell in his body hummed with annoyance and resentment. Geto and his damned schemes. Choso was only still going along with this shit because Geto promised to help Choso recover his remaining brothers. If it weren’t for that, Choso would have wiped his hands clean of it a long time ago and focused solely on you. Well, and getting revenge for this brothers’ deaths, of course.
“I don’t want to leave you…” Though this was meant to be an internal thought, his throat and lips rebelliously formed the whispered words anyways.
“Why are you talking to a door?”
Choso’s spine straightened; the unexpected words acting like snapping twigs, alerting him to the unseen presence behind him. It wasn’t often that anything or anyone could sneak up on him; he must have really been lost in thought. Though, how could he not when his thoughts involved you?
“It’s a good thing I decided to come check on you.”
Though he remained unmoving, Choso’s surprise snapped to irritation, evident in the way his vocal cords tightened around his whispered words, making them harsh, “There’s no reason for you to be here.”
“But there is. I heard you have a precious ‘something’ you're keeping locked up here. Geto wouldn’t give me details, but he said it was quite interesting. My curiosity is piqued. But if it’s a door… I will be seriously disappointed,” the annoyingly playful voice laughed at its own joke.
Choso finally turned to face the being that spoke to him; the ‘pure-blooded’ cursed spirit named Mahito. Choso's dark eyes, overshadowed by furrowed brows, zeroed in on the intersection of the two patchwork lines that were permanently drawn onto Mahito’s face, warped by the wide grin he wore. This cursed spirit was young and still in the midst of discovering his powers, but that did not diminish how dangerous he was; he was extremely volatile. Choso could never be sure how Mahito would react at any given moment. The way Geto kept this psychotic pup under control was probably one of the only things Choso truly admired about the man. If he could effectively bend Mahito to his will, then certainly he could be the one to bring about a new age for curses. But Geto was not here, and without his ‘gentle parenting’, Mahito felt freer to do as he pleased. For this reason, Choso’s blood boiled at Mahito’s presence and he wanted nothing more than to cut him down, but any emotional reaction now would only fuel the cursed spirit’s ‘curiosity’. Putting you in even more danger.
Remain calm.
“You’re wasting your breath. And my time. We have a deadline to keep. Let’s go.”
As Choso walked past Mahito, the immature spirit pinched the side of his chin, using the thumb and middle finger of his right hand, and tapped his pointer finger on the fleshy part of his upper cheek, right below his colorless eye, “I see what you’re doing, Choso. That precious thing isn’t the door, but something just behind the door. Am I right? Let me see.”
Choso paused his stride to turn back and look at Mahito, “I don’t know what you think Geto told you, but there’s nothing here.”
Mahito’s face cracked like ice as his smile widened further, his mouth opening to show teeth, “Oh my, your poker face is usually so much better than this.” He took a step towards the door, “Come on, let me see. Maybe it’s something I wanna play wi–.” In an instant Mahito was flung away from the door, a thick bang ricocheting through the hallway as his face smashed against the opposite wall.
With his weight pressing down on Mahito, Choso brought his mouth within inches of the other’s ear and growled, “I don’t care what Geto has planned for you, I will put you down right here, right now.”
Mahito laughed freely at Choso’s threat, “Ah, making promises you won’t keep. You must really care about this precious thing. But you know that if you kill me, Geto won’t help you get your brothers back.”
“Choso?”
The call of his name rung clear through the door and, despite the situation, Choso’s body couldn’t help but react to it; his ears pricking at the sound, his head turning just slightly to eye the door.
“I thought you left…,” that sweet voice spoke out to him again.
Shit! He hadn’t been mindful of the noises he made when he subdued Mahito.
“A human? What business does Mr. Brooding have with a human?” In response, Choso pressed his body weight further against Mahito in attempt to silence him, but it didn’t work, “Geto wasn’t wrong. This is interesting.”
“Is everything okay out here?” But by the time you opened the door…there was nothing.
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After Choso left, you spent the first few hours exploring the main area of the apartment. Sure, you had been in the living room and watched some TV here and there, but you never really took the time to look around. You hoped to find pictures or something that would give you a little more insight into Choso’s life, but there were none to be found. Just like the bedrooms, the living room was mostly free of decor. However, you were pleasantly surprised by what you found in the entertainment center. While looking through the cabinets, you found a treasure trove of items, ranging from DVDs, to music CDs, to board games. But the last thing that caught your eye was…
“A gamecube?” You ran your hand along the top of the cubed gaming system, dust collecting on your fingers as they went, “Oh my gosh, it’s been forever since I’ve seen one! I wonder if it works.”
You pulled out the games that were stacked beside it, finding many that you had played for endless hours back when you were living at home with your parents and even some you had never heard of before. You sat there for a few minutes, letting nostalgia fill your brain until you felt absolutely giddy like a kid on Christmas morning. After putting the games back, you backtracked a bit and looked through the movies, curious to see what you would find. Most of them were older movies that you had heard a lot of good things about, but still never took the time to watch. Maybe this was your chance to finally watch them? There was one movie in particular that caught your eye. Unlike the others, it was a newer movie and a friend of yours had bugged you constantly about watching it. I’ll watch this for sure, you mental noted as you put it on top of the DVD player, so you wouldn’t forget about it, and put the rest of movies away.
So, that is exactly what you ended up doing; playing games on-and-off throughout the day until you were tired and then, at night, turning on a movie to fall asleep to. You basically lived on the couch, keeping yourself entertained until Choso’s return.
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One evening, you were on the couch playing a video game when you heard the click of a doorknob turning, loud and clear. The front door. As the door slowly swung open, you paused the game and placed the controller on the coffee table, quickly scanning the surrounding area to make sure it didn’t look like a total disaster. Not that much could be done at that point if it had. But thankfully, you had thought to clean up earlier, so it was fine.
Because you were busy assessing the state of the living room, you missed Choso carry out a search of his own. Looking for you. When he approached the apartment, he could see the small sliver of light pour out from the bottom of the door, acting like a lighthouse guiding him home to you. It was around dinner time, so he assumed you would be in the kitchen and it was the very first place he looked. Finding the kitchen empty, he naturally turned towards the living room and found you sitting on the couch.
It had only been a few days since he saw you last, but he felt as though it had been weeks. Everything he did, during the time he was separated from you, had meshed together into a trancelike blur; him just going through the motions as he thought about the only thing he could truly focus on. You. When he was in the middle of a task, he would stop and wonder what you were doing at that exact moment. And he hoped you were thinking about him too. At one point, he was charged with surveillance, but all of his thoughts kept wandering, filling his head with daydreams of what would happen once he returned to the apartment. On his way here, his heart raced at such an unprecedented rate; it was only thanks to his blood manipulation that he was still standing. But when he finally saw you, his vitals bolstered their rebellion against him, urging him to abandon all caution. His muscles burned with desire, wanting nothing more than to run up to you, pull you up into his arms, and hold you close. He wanted to tell you how much he missed you. He wanted so desperately to hear that you missed him too. It took everything in him to slow his approaching steps; he was at the edge of losing control.
As you turned to look at him, he began to address you, his voice cracking over the syllables of your name.
Hearing your name for the first time in several days was jarring, but not as jarring as his tone. His voice sounded worn, as if he had fought a hard-won battle. But then you took a closer look at him, scanning his facial features and body language, to find that you had been mistaken. He was fighting something now. Though he was just standing there, a few feet from you, his eyes were sharp with intensity and his body heaved slightly from ragged breaths.
“Choso,” you noticed the way his eyes softened when you said his name, “are you okay?”
“Yes.” The concern that flashed in your eyes emboldened him to release a little bit of the control he struggled for, “Yes. I just missed you.”
At his words, you sank back into the couch, pulling your legs in underneath yourself, and shifted awkwardly. He did it again, flustered you with such simple words. What were you to say in response to that? Sure, there had been times in the last few days that you wished Choso would come back; you were glad to see him now. But were those feelings there because you missed him? Or was it just because you were tired of being alone?
“I… I’m glad… That you’re okay,” you tripped over the words, with the vague sense that they were not the right ones.
Choso’s disappointment acted like a propranolol injection, effectively bringing his vitals to their baseline and leaving him feeling drained. For days, his daydreams had been full of scenarios, all of them with you smiling at his return, some of them daring to fantasize you running into his arms. Not this, that subtle recoil at his words, those shaky words. But as much as he wanted to wallow in this dejection, he knew that he was so foolish for letting himself get swept up in such apparitions. Your relationship was nowhere near such territory. Your feelings for him were nowhere comparable to his feelings for you.
…Not yet.
Choso noticed your eyes, how they nervously glanced at the TV for just a split second. “What are you doing?” He asked the question as he moved his eyeline from you to the paused screen of the game you were playing.
“Me?” You questioned dumbly; your thoughts thrown off-kilter by his quick change in subject. “Oh,” you bit at your lip, as a new emotion ate away at your embarrassment, “playing a game.” Now you felt like you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. Perhaps you felt guilty for playing his gamecube without permission? “I probably… shouldn’t have. I jus–”
Choso returned his eyes to you, “Can I watch you play this game?”
“Um, yeah," you shrugged your shoulders, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, "Yeah, if that’s what you want to do.”
“I do.” Choso took a single step forward before hesitating, “Let me wash up first. Then I will.”
With your eyes, you followed him as he exited the living room and hoped all of your crazy, fluctuating emotions would disappear with him, but they didn't. To distract yourself, you reached for the controller, only for an anxious feeling to flare up as a new worry entered your brain. Was it okay for you to go back to what you were doing or did he want you to wait until he came back? For a few moments, you were frozen in place, your hand hovering above the controller, until you heard the distant sound of metallic squeaks and then running water.
Who knows how long he will be in there… I'm not waiting, you mentally confirmed as you pushed through your anxiety, grabbed the controller, and started playing again.
Time quickly passed as you were locked-in on your game and became completely ignorant to your surroundings, at least until the neighboring couch cushion sank down and you were hit by a pleasant scent - flowery, herbal, and warmed by the humidity of a recent shower. In an instant, your olfactory bulb snapped a vivid memory to the forefront of your mind. Choso standing in the bathroom doorway, his loosened hair weeping at his shoulders, his shirtless body glistening with water lines that reflected the hallway light. Then followed all of those inappropriate thoughts you had about him ever since. Shit. Was he sitting next to you in such a state? You strained to keep your eyes forward on the TV as temptation compelled you to look over at Choso. Honestly, this was pathetic. You were really acting like a prude adolescent; a shirtless man was by no means the most scandalous thing you had ever seen. It shouldn’t affect you this much. To reassure yourself of this, you turned to look at Choso, only to rapidly retreat back to your forward-facing position as a tepid flame curled deep in your belly.
He wasn’t shirtless, but he was wearing a black, form-fitting tank top. The wide straps laying on his shoulders in such a way that accentuated his deltoid muscles. (Oh no, he’s hot! 😩)
“So, what are you playing?” Choso enquired, his calm demeanor contrasting harshly against your emotional disarray.
You shot him sideways look, demonstrating your confusion as best you could without looking directly at him, “Wouldn’t you recognize your own game?”
He wavered in his response, deliberating his answer carefully. There was no simple way to answer your question truthfully, not without explaining what he was and he still felt that such a revelation was too early. But he also did not want to fabricate any sort of story to evade the subject. He did not want to lie to you more than he already had.
“When I said the apartment was mine, that was a considerable simplification of the situation. I’m really no more familiar with the contents of this apartment than you are.”
Before he found you in Shibuya and brought you here, his use of the apartment was extremely limited. He used the bedroom to rest, the bathroom for obvious reasons, and then the living room to watch TV to keep up to date on the news regarding Shibuya. Of course, as time passed, he also employed the TV as a way of understanding humans a bit more, by watching show programs and whatnot, but he never bothered to look through the entertainment center to find this game you spoke of.
You couldn’t help but tense up at the way he walked around your question. He was obviously hiding something and this made you feel uneasy. However, there was a part of you that appreciated the emotional shift; you could now look at him without getting all hot and bothered like a damn virgin, “So all that to say, this isn’t your apartment?”
“No,” he narrowly avoided to cringe away from your words, sharpened by skepticism. He truly was an idiot for believing he could avoid giving you a straight answer. “It isn’t mine. But I have been given permission to use it.”
“Permission? From who?”
“The man I am working with. His name is Geto Suguru. Have you heard of him?” He asked the question fully expecting you to confirm his assumption. Geto never acted in any way that would suggest he knew you. Plus, you were so far removed from Jujutsu High and the world of cursed spirits in general; there was very little chance of you knowing Geto in any significant way. Still, having this confirmation would make him feel better. The less Geto knew about you, the better.
As expected by the half-cursed spirit, you shook your head in response as you mulled over the new information for a few seconds. So that had to be one of the things Choso did when he left the apartment; meeting up with this man. Geto. But why? What was the context of the ‘work’ they did together? Did it have to do with what happened in Shibuya? With this unknown world Choso had spoken of? Honestly, it was a bit infuriating. This tidbit of information only gave you a microscopic glance into Choso’s world outside of the apartment while posing a dozen new questions on top of the already numerous questions you had about him.
But, no matter how valid these questions were (and they were very, very valid), you were strangely unaffected by them. Questions like this used to make you fearful of the situation you were in and untrusting of the man beside you. But now… Maybe it was due to the fact that, as the aroma from the shower began to fade, his natural scent – that mix of damp earth, sweet roasted nuts, and the third aspect of it that you still couldn’t identify - began to penetrate the air and it was so familiar now… So…
Comforting.
A spark flashed behind your eyes when realization hit. You had missed him, missed having him near you. And maybe all of these turbulent feelings, that you had been experiencing ever since he arrived, were just secondary emotions, derived from a single, underlying one: Anticipation. It was only a few hours after you decided to give friendship a chance that Choso had to leave, effectively making this the first time the two of you were hanging out together as more than just ‘the captor’ and ‘the captured’. More than just strangers in a room. Friends. It felt wrong, but also strangely…right. Which was a wro---
You shook your head again, a bit more aggressively this time, to free yourself from that particular train of thought. You were done with all of those back-and-forth thoughts and feelings. After agreeing to give friendship a chance, you made a promise to yourself that you would go all in… For better or for worse. So, for now, those questions you had, they would have to wait. You weren’t ready to explore whatever the answers would reveal, not right now. For now, you wanted to focus on Choso, the person he was, as he was before you now.
However, there was one single question you wanted to ask, just to put your mind as ease, “This Geto person. Does he know I’m here?”
“He does,” Choso let out a soft sigh, he had originally hoped to hide you away somewhere outside of Geto’s knowledge, but that didn’t work out as he had hoped, “But his aspirations have nothing to do with you. You are completely in my care and my care alone. So, please do not worry about him.”
“Okay, I won’t,” you simply said as you turned your attention back to your game, adamant on putting this conversation to bed. For now. After all, if Choso could protect you from a grotesque monster, then surely, he could protect you from some man.
It was quiet for a few passing moments until Choso finally repeated his question, “What are you playing?”
“It’s called Animal Crossing,” you paused any further explanation as you looked out of the corners of your eyes to find Choso still looking at you. Had he even looked away from you at all? Did he actually care about game? Even with this doubt looming, you continued on to explain the game, what you do, and why you’re doing it.
Paying off the mortgage? Choso had heard people complain about their mortgage payments being the main reason they had to work at their stressful or downright terrible jobs. Why would they make a game where that was the main focus?
"That sounds boring."
You laughed at his very honest response, "I mean, I guess with me explaining it like that it sounds boring. But the animals are cute. And you get to decorate your house with whatever you buy. And; honestly, paying off your house is just the main part of the game. I'm more about the side quests anyways.”
"Side quests?"
"Yeah, see there is this owl, Blathers, that runs the museum and he asks you to fill up the museum with one of every fish, bug, and fossil. So, that's really what I focus on. See, like this…” And you proceed to narrate what you were doing in the game. You already had one bug and one fish in your pockets, so you directed your character to the museum and talked to Blathers. The bug was one you hadn’t caught yet, so you donated it. The fish was one you’d caught before so you took it to the store and sold it for bells. Then you turned around and bought a table and placed it in your house. After all of that, you turned to him, the controller extended out so he could take it, “See? Wanna try?"
"No, that's okay. I'll just watch," Choso waved his hand with reassurance; he didn’t want to interrupt you. Though the true motivation behind his refusal derived from his own selfish desires. He wanted to steal glances, look upon you, while your attention was directed elsewhere.
Since you were no mind reader, you took his refusal as shying away from something he had never done before and you couldn't help but think about how cute he was acting in the moment. Letting out a small huff of amusement, you brought the controller back into your personal bubble, fully prepared to resume your game, but then, you decided on something else. Without a word, you got up from the couch. Choso silently watched on as you knelt in front of the entertainment center; he couldn’t see what you were doing, your body blocking his view, but he could hear the clicks and clacks of things being opened and closed. Before too long, you were standing in front of him, your left hand clutching a controller at your side and your right hand holding another controller towards him as an offering
"I think you’ll enjoy this game,” you assured him with a smile.
Choso met your gaze, but remained expressionless. For a moment, you faltered in your decision to include him. Earlier, he said he was fine, but he did just come back from being gone for a few days and you couldn’t be sure what he had been doing during that time. How much rest did he even get while he was gone? Was there another place he could go to sleep when he needed to? It was hard for you to tell if Choso was exhausted or not. With the way his eyes were stained by the maroon color, he always looked tired, except for when he was overcome by a sudden or strong emotion. Like the very first time he locked eyes with you, all those weeks ago in Shibuya. Those tired eyes, weighted down by what you assumed was boredom, snapped open in an instant. ‘It’s you,’ he said with indisputable certainty, like you weren’t just some random person he ran into. As if you were the person he had been looking for. His soulmate.
If we were soulmates…wouldn’t I have felt exactly as he did in the moment? Wouldn’t all of thi--
Your name brought you back to the moment at hand and, along with it, embarrassment. Why were you contemplating such a ridiculous thing? How long had you been standing there staring down at him? How many times had he said your name to bring you back to reality? Had he shivered like he typically did when you stared at him for too long? You could feel your cheeks flush as the thoughts spiraled, fueling your embarrassment even further.
When it all became too much, you ashamedly looked away and jiggled the controller at him, urging him to take it, “If we are going to be friends, we should do stuff together.”
Due to diverted eyes, you could not see the surprise that brought life to Choso’s tired eyes. You had agreed to give friendship a chance, yes, but he did not expect you to take such a proactive role. He assumed you were expecting him to put in all the work, to convince you that friendship was possible. He dropped his eyeline down to your hand that cradled the controller. How he wished you were offering your hand, palm facing down, so he could affectionately take hold of it, bring it to his mouth, and slowly make his way upward, laying out a pattern of wet kisses up your body until he met your lips. But alas, he had to resign himself to just a teasing touch, his fingertips brushing at the fleshy base of your thumb as he took the controller from your hand. As soon as the controller left your hand, you swiftly made your way back to your seat on the couch and turned all of your attention to the TV screen as you worked to get the game going.
Choso adjusted his position, to better turn his attention to the TV as well, and read the words on the screen, “Super Smash Bros Melee?”
“Yeah,” you answered without looking at him, “It’s a fighting game. There are a few different game modes, but basically, we will each pick a character to play as and then fight each other.” You made your way to the character selection screen and gave him a very basic overview of the mechanics of the game and some of the characters. “Honestly, it’s easiest to learn just by playing. So, let’s just jump into it.”
The match started and you benevolently gave Choso a few minutes to figure out how to move his character around and which buttons did what. Once he got those basics down, you unleashed your character on his. Honestly, you assumed getting back into the groove would take you some time because it had been years since you played any game, let alone this game. And maybe you were a bit awkward for the first couple matches, though an outsider wouldn’t have noticed since you were fighting against a complete novice, but before long you were utterly destroying Choso, not giving him a single chance to land a hit on you. Choso; however, never complained about your ruthlessness. Instead, he would complement your moves and ask you how you did them. He was really putting effort into learning how to play. Eventually, he got to a point where he could evade some of your hits and even get in a couple of his own hits. This naturally led into a friendly back-and-forth between the two of you.
“I finally hit you.”
“Yeah, about time, noob.”
“Boob?”
“Haha, no… NOOB. Never heard of that term before? It’s someone that is new to something.”
“Oh. Damn, I almost had you that time.”
“You wish.”
On and on this went as the two of you played well into the early morning.
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Eleven: We Will Give It a Chance
“You’re bleeding.”
You twisted your body to look down at where he was pointing, “Oh,” you started as you lifted up your shirt just enough to reveal a couple of small, red slashes, “Nina scratched me earlier. It ha–”
Without warning, Choso grabbed the wrist of your hand that lifted your shirt, and then sequentially let go of. Before you could get out a single word or even just a noise of discontent, you were uprooted from your spot in the kitchen, somewhat reminiscent of the day he dragged you out of the subway bathroom. With you in tow, Choso took rapid, deliberate steps through the small apartment. Eventually he passed through the threshold of the bathroom and pulled you in, shepherding you in place so that you were standing in front of the bathtub and facing him. Releasing his tight grip on your wrist, his hand slid up the expanse of your arm, the warmth of his palm splintering beneath your epidermis and teasing your nerves with microscopic jolts of pleasure, until stopping it at your shoulder. He also brought his other hand up to gently grab your opposite shoulder.
“Sit down.” Adjoined to his gentle command, he applied a slight pressure against your shoulders.
In your confusion, you didn’t fight against him, lowering yourself to sit down on the edge of the tub. The cold porcelain instantly bit at the underside of your upper thighs, causing you to reflexively jolt up a few inches and grab onto the underside of Choso’s arms while his hands remained on your shoulders, still guiding you to sit down. You braced against the icy chill of the tub as you came into contact with it once again. This coldness, surging through layers of skin, was further exaggerated by the heat that radiated from Choso’s body, setting off an alarming request for heat throughout your body. Muscles instinctively contracted and relaxed in waves, causing you to shiver harshly and, without realizing it, tighten your grasp on Choso. Behind eyes that had long ago been screwed shut, you focused on the stolen warmth that permeated through the muscle fibers of your shoulders and hands.
Choso, who had been spurred into action by such urgency, suddenly found himself stilled by your strong, yet trembling, grip. Your touch was icy cold against his skin, which was warmed by the abnormal blood that shifted beneath. Once again, he found himself at a loss, unsure of how to react with you. If he could have his way, he would pull you into his embrace and share his warmth with you. Shit, being the half-cursed spirit that he was, he could use his blood manipulation technique to cover every inch of your body, that his alone could not conceal, and encapsulate you in him completely.
Forever mine and mine alone.
But he couldn’t have his way. Not yet. You hadn’t even given him a proper response earlier about giving friendship with him a chance. Friendship… Even at his own suggestion, the thought of having you as only a friend made him feel sick; he was desperate for so much more, but he knew he had to find a way to bridge the gap first.
You looked up at Choso, noticing the obvious pause in his movements. He was looking down in your direction, but not at all looking at you. Behind his unfocused eyes, it was as if you could plainly see a clash of opposing thoughts interfere with his brain processes. For some reason, you felt better knowing that you were not the only one who had lost all sense of lucidity as result of this… complicated relationship.
Relationship… That isn’t the right word. Connection? Affiliation? Association? Oddly enough, the further your verbiage distanced itself from ‘relationship’, an unsettling sensation of disappointment bloomed. This is ridiculous.
You quickly removed your hands from him, awkwardly stuffing them in your lap, “Why did you drag me in here like that?”
In response to your discomfort, he followed suit, dropping his hands away from you, and turned towards the bathroom sink, crouching down to get into the cabinets beneath, “We need to clean it.”
Gentle taps and clanks of disturbed items filled the air; your curiosity reduced to silence as your mind tried to piece together what happened that would warrant all of this fuss. But you weren’t allowed to sit with your thoughts for too long before Choso was once again invading your space. He knelt down before you, angled just so that he was facing the left side of your hip, as he fiddled with a white box. It wasn’t until he opened the lid and started shifting through the objects inside that you noticed the first aid cross imprinted on top.
“What is that for?”
“To clean it,” he repeated, as if that clarified anything. Tearing into an antiseptic wipe, he said, “Lift your shirt up.”
You looked down at him, a grimace cracking your face.
After a few seconds of you not responding, he met your eyes. His cheeks, normally void of color, were dusted with a light shade of pink, flustered by your reaction - one that revealed the skewed implication you took from his words. He was sure he had never experienced embarrassment before, but he had seen the look on others and, even more recently, you. The rushing of blood to the face, causing the color of pink or red (depending on the severity) to pool at the cheeks and even the ears at times, was a key feature of the emotion. Such a feeling was new to him. Unexpected. Acting even quicker than his blood manipulation could to suppress it.
He pointed at your hip as he willed the excess blood away from his face, “I just mean here,” his words jumping at you to expedite his explanation, “Just a few inches. Enough for me to clean the wound.”
“Wound?” Softening your expression, you looked further down and lifted your shirt as he directed, once again revealing two little scratches that were already scabbed over by this point. You let out a scoff as you repeated the word once more, “Wound? It’s a cat scratch.”
“You say that like it's nothing,” he chided you as he placed the wipe on your damaged skin.
There was a slight delay in your response; not because of any significant pain from the antiseptic solution, but because of its chilling cold, “Because it is nothing.”
“It could get infected,” Choso gently argued as he moved the wipe along the red lines, painlessly stripping away the tiny, newly-formed scabs, “That’s not nothing.”
“It won’t,” you assured him, tittering a bit at his overreaction of it all, while you watched him run the wipe over the scratches a couple more times before he discarded it and pulled out a fresh wipe to make one final, unsoiled pass. “Nina is strictly an indoor cat. So-“
“That doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, not willing to listen to the rest of what you had to say, the dark, defiant strings of hair that stuck out from his buns dancing in the air. As he worked to get a Band-Aid from the first aid kit, he asked you, “Her paws still touch the floor, don’t they?”
With just a bit of dramatics, you recoiled, “Oh wow.”
Okay, yes, you did understand that indoor cats could carry bacteria on their paws and claws just like outdoor cats. But… Not Nina. Not your precious fur baby. You couldn’t get sick from her scratches.
“If only Nina heard that,” you exaggerated the tone of your words to convey jesting, “she would be hurt to know that you think she’s dirty. She probably wouldn’t like you anymore.”
The man you teased was fully focused on placing the Band-Aid, angling his face down and out of view, but you could hear the warmth of humor in his response, “It’s a good thing she didn’t hear me then.”
Playing into the joke, you bent your upper body down towards Choso, bringing your face just inches away from the crown of his head, and whispered, “Oh, but I’m going to tell her as soon as we’re done here. I’m kind of a jealous person and the fact that she’s so chill with you annoys me a bit.”
Choso snickered at your threat and, in the blink of an eye, your view of black hair was replaced by a handsome face. “Afraid she might start to like me more?”
If he meant to be playful with you, he failed miserably. Or maybe it was his submissive posturing and the bold, one-sided smirk narrowing one of his eyes that changed your understanding of his tone, making it sound slightly seductive.
That had to be it. You had to have imagined that.
“W-… As if,” you lamely countered, lacking a clever response due to the self-inflicted flustering.
Choso’s smirk stretched just a hairsbreadths wider as he delicately clasped his left hand over yours and guided it down until your shirt was back in its proper place. What a pleasant déjà vu this was for him; kneeling down before you as you stared down at him. If only you would complete the scene by fussing over his hair as you had before, then this moment would be perfect. The memory of it was enough to set off the nerves in his scalp and, as if reacting to it, his hand dropped away from yours. It wasn’t until his hand made contact with your knee that he became cognizant of the action and, in turn, stilled his hand, his whole body, from further movement. Sharpening his eyes, he looked for signs of discomfort from you, but found none. No, instead, your eyes widened suddenly, the pupils overtaking the color of your irises, acting as if to employ tractor beams that pulled and held his own eyes in place. With this, he took it as your agreement to his touch and allowed his hand to ascend further down. He could feel the goosebumps form as his fingertips ran down the surface of your leg, all the way until he reached your ankle. He wanted to look down, witness the effect his touch had on you, but your eyes silently commanded him to stay put. What were you looking at so consumedly? What were you thinking?
Though the tingling flesh of your leg compelled you to be hyper aware of his touch, you were far too preoccupied by the surprising flicker of color in his eyes to let it distract you now. Up until now, you could only pick up on the apparent absence of color in his irises. The last time you were face-to-face with him like this, you were actually considering that they were just black, like a void. But under the near clinically-white light of the bathroom, flecks of purple gleamed within the surrounding near-black bands of his irises. They were the deep violet of dusk, the outlying color of the sunset as it pulled in the starry night.
He has purple eyes…
You wanted to be surprised, purple was not a natural eye color after all, but how could you at this point? Honestly. Loosening your focus, you broadened your view on his face and ran your eyes from left to right, across the scab-like band that stretched underneath his eyes. From there, your eyes followed the angled bends of his face until you locked onto his lips; the plush, curving wedges of flesh juxtaposed against the steeliness of the rest of his face. Yes, Choso was definitely the most unique man you had ever met in your life, but also, he was beautiful. How did mother nature create such an exquisite individual? What witchcraft had his parents conjured for him to turn out the way he did? You couldn’t help but smile at the inquires.
And all the while you smiled at him, stared at him, his smirk tempered into a straight line. Serious, but tender. All of the emotions that traversed your eyes in those fleeting moments in time glittered brilliantly, rousing the colors in your irises to act like they were part of a kaleidoscope. Playful. Rattled. Awestricken. Entranced. He was not sure what had brought about this change in you; he merely meant to play along with your teasing, but must have struck something else within you. And it was…
A shiver bolted down his back, forcing him to look away from you.
With the broken gaze, you were brought back to reality. Now, it was you experiencing déjà vu. This had happened before. A few times actually. Why did he… “Are you cold?” The question felt odd coming from your lips because you knew he couldn’t be cold; he was always so warm to the touch.
Choso must have felt the question to be odd as well, evident by the way he looked up at you, “Why do you ask?”
“You shiver a lot.”
“No, I’m not cold. It’s just… It’s the way you look at me sometimes. It can be…,” Choso circled the pad of his thumb around your ankle bone as he searched for the right word, “Overwhelming.”
The way I look at him? You thought back to all the times he reacted in such a way and what you were doing at the time. When you first ran into him at the subway, your eyes had, for the first time, taken in all of his unique features and you couldn’t help but admit how attractive he was. Then there was the time when you first woke up in his apartment, when he held you after your almost-fall, and you were once again stunned by his features, only able to think about how strikingly beautiful he was. And now…
Oh my god! How fucking mortifying! You could only imagine how uncomfortable you had made him feel all those times.
“I’m sorry!” You blurted out the apology with such force that it made Choso jump slightly, “I didn’t… I don’t mean to–”
“Don’t apologize. It is a… pleasant feeling,” he tightened his hand around your ankle, an attempt to communicate the seriousness of his words. If you would keep your eyes on only him for the rest of time, he could die happily. “You can look at me whenever you want.”
“Choso…,” his name drifted into an awkward silence; you weren’t sure what to say.
But he was quick to fill that silence before it could settle, “I am sorry if I overreacted to this,” he carefully placed his free hand on your hip and ghosted his thumb against your shirt, where the band aid lay beneath, “but I… I know blood. Even the smallest cut can poison it and tempt extreme illness. You are too important for me to act carelessly. I said I will protect you from everything, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”
Maybe it was a dangerous cocktail of his words, the weighty devotion in his tone, the way he looked up at you with those sparkling purple eyes, the way his hand squeezed your ankle, and the pleasurable heat of his caress that seared your hip, even more so than Nina’s claws… Or maybe the final string of your sanity had snapped…
This is...
But at that moment, you finally came to a decision on the conundrum you had earlier been agonizing over.
...something I want to give a...
“...chance.”
“Chance?" Choso repeated the one word that had just barely passed through your lips in attempt to understand its meaning, a futile task without knowing whatever thought had preceeded it. "Chance of what?"
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Ten: You Will Never Have To Fear Me
‘A friend… who cares for you deeply. I just ask that you give me that much.’
Hours after your very first time of sharing a meal with Choso , you were shut away in the bedroom, mentally working to untangle the many thoughts and feelings his request had provoked.
At first, you were perturbed at the amount of audacity he had to make such a request. It didn’t matter how well he had treated you up to this point or that he had provided all of your basic needs; you were only here because he kidnapped you and refused to let you go. You were calling him exactly what he was. A kidnapper.
Despite this fact, there was a part of you that was excited by the prospect of what might come from giving it a chance. You hadn’t forgotten one of the thoughts you had early on when the reality of your kidnapping truly began to sink in: ‘If you had met this beautiful man under normal circumstances, you could see yourself falling for him quite easily.’ All of the little, yet deeply resonating, moments shared between the two of you and your constant disregard for all rationality when it came to him only provided evidence to the truth of it. Deep down, you really did want to be closer to him, to know more about him, to see where all of it would take you. These desires were like standing right at the edge of a cliff and looking down into the eyes of that terrifying drop, sending a rush of adrenaline through your bloodstream.
But such giddy excitement was quickly followed by shame. How could you think this way about someone who kidnapped you? What the fuck is wrong with me?
These overwhelming and conflicting thoughts brought about a restlessness that urged you into a constant pattern of pacing back and forth across the length of the room and collapsing on the bed, only to fidget until you were spurred from the bed to pace again. You continuously looped through these actions for who-knows-how-long until the cycle was finally broken when you fell face-first onto the bed and Nina quickly claimed your back as her next resting spot . After a quick, little stretch she started ‘making biscuits’, her needle-like claws pricking at the meat of your upper hip, the ‘love handle’ that spilled over the band of your shorts, effectively drawing your thoughts outside of yourself.
“Ow, Nina. It’s evening, the factory is closed. Give it a break.” Nina meowed, in a tone that sounded like protest, as she continued her kneading. Twisting your upper body as best you could to look at your cat without disturbing her work, you shot her an unsympathetic glance, “ It’s not my fault you lazed around all day and got behind on your orders. ”
Just as you finished your lousy joke, the door to the apartment opened and your heart jumped with such a force that your body reacted as well. Choso was back? Already? For all the time spent racking your brain, you were still no closer to a decision on what you were going to do. But you didn’t have much time to linger on your failure because the combined noise from the door and your movement scared Nina. Her fear propelled her from your back, leaving behind only a searing burn at your hip. Reflexively, you covered your mouth with both of your hands, cursing into your palms so that the words were nothing more than muffled groans . You waited for the stinging pain to pass before you finally got up from the bed.
By the time you made it to the kitchen, Choso was reaching up into one of the high cabinets. He had already shucked off his hoodie, leaving him in just his short sleeve shirt and black jeans, the shirt revealing a sliver of his lower back as it lifted due to his body’s extended position. You quickly ran your eyes up, only to subsequently lock onto the fair skin of his nape, sandwiched between the black of his shirt and hair, as if it beckoned you. Even this small part of him, unremarkable on anyone else, was enticing. It was the shape of his neck and the way it curved into the broad shoulders that filled his shirt in such a surprisingly provocative way. You were overcome by a sudden impulse to run your hand up the column of his neck and carefully comb your fingers through the rebellious wisps of baby hair that blurred his hairline. You wondered what his reaction to your touch would be. Would he flinch away? Would his body shiver with appetency? Would he turn towards you with a look of confusion or….
Driven by this impulsive desire, your feet moved you several paces forward and, just as you were about to reach out, Choso turned with plates in hand. Jerking your body away from him, you quickly adjusted your course towards the fridge, opening it and making a show of sticking your head in the appliance as if you were looking for something. You weren’t. You didn’t need a single thing from the fridge. No, you were just hiding yourself away as you cringed at your reckless actions. But, on the bright side, the cool air helped to quell the heat of embarrassment that burned your face.
To maintain your facade, you randomly pulled out some leftover rice, taking it over to the microwave to heat it up as Choso set out the food. Once the rice - that you weren’t planning on eating, but had no choice now - was ready, you took your place next to Choso at the kitchen island and the two of you silently plated the food. After putting everything together, you stood there, staring down at your plate as a sudden wave of repulsion rolled in your gut. You had been eating exactly this as your dinner for countless days now. And to be fair, you never complained; it was actually one of your favorite convenience store meals, but at this very moment, you could hardly stand to look at it without the urge to vomit. With a disgusted groan, you pushed the plate away before flipping your body around and propping your self against the kitchen island counter.
Choso, already concerned by your overall silence – you had been talking to him more and more recently, turned his head to eye your plate of food and then you, “Is something wrong with the food … or…? ”
Were you still upset from the conversation earlier?
“No, it’s fine,” you quickly dismissed his worry and then chewed on your lower lip for a few seconds before offering an explanation. “I was just thinking about how something else would really hit the spot right about now.”
“What’s that?” He asked the question as he turned his whole body so he was facing you directly, prepared to listen to what you had to say. If you wanted something different to eat, all you had to do was ask and he would go get it.
You started off by describing your favorite homemade dinner, one that you had at least once a week, if not more, without fail. That led you to ramble on about your flavor preferences and listing some of your other favorite things to eat in general. By the time you finished speaking, your stomach was growling, tempted by all the yummy food you had mentioned.
Letting out a small laugh, you grabbed at your stomach as if to silence it, “Maybe we should switch things up for dinner, just like we did for breakfast.”
Choso did nothing to withhold the smile that split across his face, happy to hear such a request come so easily from you, “That sounds good to me.”
“So,” you looked over at Choso as you dragged out the vowel, “if I made a list of ingredients that I need for dinner, would you get them?”
“Of course.”
With a grin, you pushed away from the kitchen island, an obvious pep in your step as you made your way over to the drawer where Choso kept the notepad and pen. As you got busy jotting down what you needed, you sensed Choso’s approach, his stance angled beside you so that he could look over your shoulder and watch you write. Your writing hand stalled as your brain shamelessly altered its attention from the task to the intruding form next to you, demanding all of your senses to zero in on it. Without looking back at him, you could feel how close he was by the warmth that radiated from him. You felt his breath gently disturb the strands of your hair that tickled your neck and savored the scent of him that traveled with it. Your spine stiffened and waist tingled with anticipation, hopelessly waiting for his hand to wrap around and embrace you. A few seconds passed as you mindlessly fidgeted with the pen, trying (and failing) to ignore the effect his close presence had on you.
“While you do that,” he spoke up as if attempting to get you back on track, “go ahead and write down everything you will need for the next few days.”
Curiosity compelled you to twist your head and look at him, your upward-moving eyeline meeting his unmoving eyes. Oh. He hadn’t been watching you write; he had been looking directly at you. And he was much closer than you had suspected, only making your anticipation of his next action heighten at a dizzying pace.
“Why?”
There was hesitation , however minute it might have been, that interrupted the flow of your conversation, “Some things have come up and I don’t think I’ll be able to come back to the apartment while I’m dealing with them.”
“Oh, I see…”
Choso had always come and gone when he needed to and, sometimes, he would be gone for hours at a time, even half a day, but he had never been gone for a whole consecutive day before, let alone a few. Every time he left, your imagination would run wild, coming up with all the possible things he could be going out and doing. And your desire to know was now intensified by the conversation you and him had earlier in the day.
He noticed the way you were lost in thought, glazed eyes looking through him. An anxious energy blossomed in his chest and extended out to his extremities, making them restless. He wanted to reach for you, grab your arms and force your attention back on him, but he resisted. “Please, tell me what you’re thinking about,” he was surprised by the strange calmness that filled his voice, when the rest of his body was so disquieted.
Refocusing your attention on Choso, you fiddled with the pen a few more seconds, as you contemplated your response, before finally setting it down, “I’m thinking about what you said earlier. About giving us a chance to be friends. But I’m just not sure how I can, when I hardly know anything about you. You always ask questions about me, but you’ve barely told me anything about yourself.”
“You never asked.” His tone was flat, but that didn’t stop you from feeling like he was trying to place the blame on you.
Turning your body to face him straight on, you looked up at him defensively, “Because I’m scared to.” Standing so close to him like this made your difference in height all the more apparent and punctuated the uneasy feeling within you about this conversation. About him.
“And that’s why I haven’t,” his eyes were serious, but he slightly averted them as he spoke, cutting down their intensity, “I’m worried about how you’ll react. I will answer any questions you have about me, but I want us to be in a place where you are comfortable enough to ask those questions yourself.”
“Really?” You quirked up an eyebrow as you tilted your head enough to force yourself into his direct eyeline once more, “You have to know how unsettling that sounds, right? Like there is a reason for me to fear you.”
“I know, but I am trying to be as honest as I can. There’s a lot more to this world than what you know. You encountered those things in Shibuya, but that’s barely scratching the surface. There are things out there much worse than that.”
Things worse than those monsters… Is he including himself in that category?
“But you will never have to fear me,” with his words all restraint was lost. He slipped his right hand into your left one, his fingers bending loosely around the outer side of it, effectively squeezing the middle of your hand between his fingertips and thumb. “Honestly, you don’t have to fear any of it anymore because I will protect you from it all. You just have to let me.”
For all the times you had waited on bated breath for his touch, you hadn’t been able to predict this offering of affection because you were too preoccupied with the conversation, leaving you wholly unprepared to deal with your reaction. Tingling waves of pleasure and warmth traveled up the wiring of your body, relaxing the knots of tension as they went and making your body feel lighter, so light you almost felt like you might float away. To ground yourself, you gently folded your fingers against his. Typically, when one fantasizes about something so much, they set themselves up for disappointment, realizing in the end that the thing they craved wasn’t truly as sweet as they expected it to be. But his touch, it was as warm as it always was. Every single time. Even now, with this uneasy subject looming, his touch was comforting. Maybe he was right. What reasons did you have to fear him? He protected you from the monsters. He was keeping you safe now. Why not let him continue to protect you?
That’s… ridiculous. Rationality once again pulled you from your absurd daydreams.
“I should probably make this list before I forget,” you announced as you pulled your hand away and turned from Choso.
You sensed him take a few steps back as you began writing, his stare heavy on your back, making it difficult for you to stay focused on the list.
His silence lasted for just a moment when he suddenly said, “You’re bleeding.” You turned to look at him, the confusion on your face prompting him to specify as he pointed down towards your hip, “There is blood on your shirt. What happened?”
You twisted your body to look down at where he was pointing. With the seriousness of his voice, you expected to find your shirt soiled red, but found only a few delicate dots instead. “Oh,” you started as you lifted up your shirt just enough to reveal a couple of small, red slashes, “Nina scratched me earlier. It ha–”
Without warning, Choso grabbed the wrist of your hand and pulled you towards him.
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Nine: I’m Focused on the Past, While You’re Thinking of the Future
After the ‘late night visit’ in Choso’s room, there was a shift in your daily routine.
Cooking breakfast had offered you an enjoyable change of pace to the shell of a life you were currently living, so you took it upon yourself to get up every morning to do just that. Unsurprisingly, Choso was right there along with you, offering his assistance and you didn’t even try to refuse it. So, this became the new norm; the two of you meeting in the kitchen first thing in the morning and divvying up the required tasks. At first, these mornings were comparable to the first one, quiet affairs where you and Choso stuck to your assigned stations and focused on your separate responsibilities, but as the days passed, Choso began to ask you questions. They were innocent enough, just one person trying to know more about another, but despite that, you did your best to dodge the questions or redirect him back to the subject of cooking. You stood strong for a few days, but as his persistence grew, your resistance waned. It wasn’t long before you were answering his questions, the ones that weren’t too personal at least. As you slowly revealed more and more about yourself to Choso, the more you found yourself tempted to ask him some more questions of your own, but there was still so much you were afraid to ask, so you never did.
As if to appease the rational part of yourself that was still resisting the growing relationship between the two of you, the rest of your days were still spent primarily in your room. But as the days dragged on, you came up with more and more excuses to ‘stretch your legs’ a bit. Instead of Choso delivering your lunch and dinner to your door, you took the initiative to go into the main room to retrieve your food. And just as your conversations during breakfast began to grow, so did your interactions during these times. As you plated your food, you would converse with him for a moment, typically being the one to ask him questions, keeping them on-topic of his trips to the convenience store or about the weather. Was the convenience store busy? The rain stopped; is it still cloudy or is it sunny now? Then you would return to your room before the conversation could go much further than that.
At night, you typically found yourself lying awake, tormented by all of your conflicted thoughts and feelings. You would ruminate on your regrets of not asking him the things you were most curious about. Or obsess over those fleeting moments in the day when he moved close and your body would shiver with anticipation, fully expecting him to grab you as he had that night in his room, only to feel disappointed when he didn’t. Then you would berate yourself for thinking and feeling such things. At some point, you distracted yourself from it all by listening for any sounds that might come from Choso’s room. You wondered if he was dreaming peacefully that night or if he was plagued by nightmares again. What would you do if he yelled out like he had back then, on the night that now felt as if it had happened ages ago? Would you actually go to him? Would you actually walk into his room with the intention of comforting him this time?
…
…
Yes…
+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+
One morning you walked into the kitchen to find breakfast already fully prepared and plated on the kitchen island. As surprising as that was, it wasn’t the only new thing to greet you. Placed directly in between the two identical plates, there was a glass vase filled with dark greenery that highlighted a spectacular medley of autumn-time flowers, their varying shapes and colors bursting out from the thin neck of the vase like fireworks. It was obvious the bouquet was not styled by a professional florist and the foliage wasn’t in the same pristine condition that would be found in your typical flower shop. There were many flowers missing a few of their petals or leaves with chewed edges, but it only made you look upon it with greater admiration – the imperfect characteristics of the wild flowers making this bouquet the only one in the world. Unique and undeniably beautiful.
Where did he…?
Out of nowhere, Choso appeared beside the kitchen island, just in the peripheral of your view, “Good morning, I hope you don’t mind that I made breakfast already.” He picked up one of the plates and held it out towards you. He knew he risked seeing less of you this morning by cooking breakfast on his own, but he wanted to prove he now had the skills to cook for you. That had been the goal after all.
“Morning, Choso,” you simply replied, the warm temperature of your voice dropping slightly at the end. Since he already cooked breakfast, there was nothing for you to do but take the food he offered and head back into your room. Was the disappointment you were feeling from the interruption of your newly established routine? Or from the fact that you wouldn’t be spending time with him? You looked at the plate of food he held out and then the flowers again. After a brief moment of contemplation, you placed a hand on the back of the chair closest to you, “Is it okay if I eat in here with you today?”
“Of course. Whatever you want,” Choso replied with a stiff tone as he placed the plate back on the kitchen island. It was obvious he was trying to pass off as somewhat aloof with his response, but the eager way at which he moved to sit down into the other chair easily gave him away.
The room grew quiet as you ate, with only the sound of utensils lightly striking against ceramic to fill the air. Now that you sat closer to the flowers, the earthy aroma of foliage mixed with a swirling, sweet floral fragrance overwhelmed your olfactory bulb, leaving you almost completely incognizant of the smell of delicious food that wafted from your plate. The bouquet was made up of four large kiku flowers, two yellow and two purple, surrounded by an assortment of kosumosu flowers that varied in color, ranging from white to differing shades of pink. They were like a breath of fresh air in the stale apartment; it had been so long since you had taken a single step outside.
Choso noticed that you kept looking at the flowers, “Do you like them?”
You turned to look at him, “The flowers? Yes.” Movement of his hand drew your attention to his plate for a fleeting moment and you noticed his food was still mostly untouched. Had he been watching you the whole time? “Where did you get them?”
“From a nearby field. When I saw them, I thought of you and wanted you to see them.”
Truth be told, he passed by this particular field quite frequently, but it never stood out to him before. It wasn’t until after a conversation the two of you had the other day about wild flowers that he even noticed all of the different colors that spotted the field and decided to take a closer look at them. He found himself amazed at just how much your presence had already brightened and colored his world and was left imagining how else it would affect his life as his relationship with you flourished.
Your heart fluttered at his words, sending heated blood up to your cheeks. To hide your blushing, you sharply turned your head down to look at your plate as you pecked at the food. Only a few days ago, Choso had asked you about your family and the conversation eventually led to you telling him about how you used to pick wild flowers as a gift for your mother because you hated the predictability of bouquets from flower shops. And now he had gone out and picked some for you, an action that affected you so deeply because you had told your ex-boyfriend this story many times, but guess what he got for you for every valentine’s day, anniversary, birthday… Store. Bought. Bouquets.
You couldn’t help but scoff as a thought hit you, “It’s crazy how my kidnapper is way more thoughtful than my ex-boyfriend of 2 years ever was.” Since your head was still lowered, you didn’t notice Choso flinching at your words. You didn’t even register that you had spoken them aloud, not until Choso responded.
“What was your relationship with him like?” He noticed that, in the two times you brought up your ex-boyfriend, you spoke negatively of him. He wasn’t necessarily excited to hear you talk about being involved with someone else, but was curious to know what caused you to be so disparaging towards your ex-boyfriend.
Recently, Choso asked you a few questions about your friends and family, but you refused to answer most of them. The only reason you told him anything about your mother was because she had passed many years ago, so you weren’t worried about any repercussions. This was the first time he had asked you anything about your relationships and, even though you had completely cut your ex-boyfriend out of your life, it would probably be best to not answer. But one of the main things you reflected on during your time with Choso, holed up in the bedroom, was your relationship with your ex-boyfriend. And honestly, you needed to get some things off your chest. Normally this was something you would do with your best friend, but she wasn’t there. She may not even be alive…
“Well,” pushing your plate away, you brought your left arm up to brace your elbow on the counter, supporting your head as you tucked your chin into the cup of your hand. Just as you turned your eyes towards Choso, your words stalled awkwardly. He wasn’t your best friend. He wasn’t even a friend... Could you really be comfortable opening up to him about this? It wasn’t until you shifted your eyes back to the flowers that you were able to continue, “He was my first serious, long-term relationship. Around the time I met him, it felt like things were falling into place; I was comfortable with where I was in life and thought it was time to share it with someone. I thought he would be that someone; he made me happy.”
“From the way you talk about him, it doesn’t sound like he made you happy,” Choso’s words were low and cautious. His apprehension did not arise from any fear of making such a comment; the more you were aware of it, the less he had to worry about this old relationship causing any problems for him. No, he spoke with trepidation because he was acutely aware of the fact that his original decision to bring you here, and ultimately keep you against your wishes, had made you anything but happy.
“I was happy. At first. Then, a few months later, he was passed over for a promotion at work and his frustration with that bled into our relationship; it was our first big rough patch as a couple and we never really recovered from it. I was in a constant state of walking on eggshells around him, but I could empathize what he was going through and did everything I could to support him and show him I believed in him. In the end, no matter what I did, things never got better. In fact, they only got worse.”
You hadn’t realized it, in the midst of the relationship, but things ‘got worse’ around the time you told him you were being recommended for a promotion at your job.
“He would get mad at me over the smallest of things and it would blow up into these huge fights. I wouldn’t eat or sleep properly because I was so stressed from fighting and trying to reconcile with him. Over time, it affected my work and ended up with me losing my promotion. Then his anger turned into chastising me for ‘not being able to do anything right.’”
After all the time you spent reflecting on your relationship, you could now see that he was truly a jealous person. He had failed to succeed in his job and hated that you were being successful with yours. So, every time you offered your support or expressed your belief in him, all he saw was you patronizing him. It could explain a lot of things he did later in your relationship, including the cheating; doing all that he could do to whittle down your drive and confidence until you couldn’t be better than him anymore. Making it so that you spent so much of your time focused on him and neglected yourself.
“That doesn’t sound like a man who loved you.” This, at least, could be said with confidence; the words passing through Choso’s throat as it burned with irritation.
It was upsetting for him to know that this person, who was never meant to have you in the first place, had treated you so poorly. Every muscle in his body began to burn, tensed to facilitate restraint. If only your ex-boyfriend was in the room with him now so he could do something productive with this brewing anger, but he wasn’t, so Choso knew that expressing his emotion now would only make you uncomfortable.
In the midst of your vulnerability, you closed your eyes to keep yourself from looking in Choso’s direction. Going by his tone alone, it was impossible to decipher the meaning behind his words. Was he angry with your ex-boyfriend for treating you that way? Was he disappointed in you for being so weak? Was he pitying you for being such a fool? There was a chance his expression could provide an answer, but honestly…
No matter what he’s thinking… He wouldn’t be wrong.
“No,” you released a sigh as you sat back in your chair, dropping your left hand heavily into your lap, “I know…”
Choso allowed the silence to settle, giving you time to collect your thoughts and to calm his own. After some time, when he realized that you weren’t going to say anything more, he spoke, “Then why did you stay?”
“Because,” the relaxed manner in which you shrugged your shoulders did not match unease that began to twist at your insides, “he was really good at manipulating things so that it was always my fault. And I thought that, if I tried just a bit harder, we could get back to how it was at first, in the beginning. I didn’t want to lose what we had then.”
Choso felt his throat tighten with a mix of resentment and dread, making his next question physically painful to ask, “Did you really love him that much?”
Now, you couldn’t help but look at Choso, the discomfort in his voice pulling at you.
Did I love him that much?
No…
I didn’t love him at all.
Despite these immediate thoughts, you hesitated to answer. It was something you had never wanted to voice; so much so, that not even your best friend knew about it, and you told her everything. It was the very train of thought that had plagued you at the beginning of the relationship with your ex and was probably what caused you to be so clueless to everything else that transpired after that.
“I…”
As much as you wanted to brush off his question, refuse to answer him, there was a part of you that needed him to understand.
But why?
“I didn’t want to lose it because I felt like that meant something was wrong with me.”
His brow furrowed in puzzlement at your admission, “What do you mean ‘wrong with you’?”
“One of the reasons I never had a serious relationship before him was because I never felt a deep connection with anyone. But when I hung out with him at my best friend’s brother’s birthday party two years ago, I felt…something. Something I had never felt before. Our relationship, that had never been anything more than a small, flickering flame, suddenly sparked into a raging inferno of passion, lust, and everything in between. It was a whirlwind of a romance; after just one week of dating, I moved in with him and was convinced I’d spend the rest of my life at his side.”
Choso did his best to listen to you, but he was having a hard time ignoring a particular train of thought when you mentioned you had met your ex two years ago. Not only had you met him, but you seemed to have an overwhelming pull towards him, causing this ‘whirlwind romance’ you described. It had been two years ago when he felt his soul call out to you. Was there a significance to all this?
“But as some time passed, a small shadow of doubt began to fester and haunt me. Everything that had felt so right before, suddenly felt so uncomfortable and suffocating. And this was before all his work stuff affected our relationship, so he was still being nothing good to me at the time. I was happy. But…,” you released a short growl of frustration. How were you supposed to get him to understand if you didn’t really understand it yourself!?! “I can’t explain it. There was a piece of me that was rejecting it and I couldn’t figure out why.”
Why did you suddenly reject the happiness you had been given?
“I tried so hard to ignore that part of myself, to focus on our happiness, and I think I began to overcompensate for it. Even after things started going south, I blamed no one but myself. And what I felt with him early on had been so amazing, so…addictive, that I couldn’t bear to give up on it. No matter how hard I had to fight, I was determined to get it back. So, I thought I had to… I… I don’t know.”
The unpleasant feelings of confusion, guilt, and self-disregard you had experienced back then were creeping up your spine as you spoke, causing your voice to crack as you ineffectively searched for what to say. You honestly couldn’t explain it in any logical way; it all had been so illogical.
Thankfully, before the emotions could become too great, movement from Choso pulled you back into the present as you flinched at his leaned approach, “No, I’m okay. It’s all just so stupid. I was stupid. I’m sorry,” you forced out huff of amusement, to stifle all of the other troublesome emotions, as Choso retreated, “I sure do know how to bring down the mood.”
“Don’t apologize. I was the one who asked you to talk about it.”
Choso shifted with unease. Once again, you recoiled from the prospect of his touch. Maybe his impatience was causing him to get carried away, but he thought that, after what happened in his room all those nights ago, your aversion to his touch would be diminished. It was as if you were teetering on some precarious edge. He was not oblivious to the change of your energy towards him, to the fact that you actively searched him out now, on occasion. But it seemed that every time you leaned closer to him, you would jolt back against the sudden pull of gravity that dared to drag you down to a point of no return.
‘ I should say no, but…’
Those words of yours hadn’t left him since that night. He knew that there was a piece of you that acknowledged the bond you two shared, but the rest of you was fighting it. ‘Rejecting it’. Why? He had to silence that part of you, the part of you that was rejecting him. But how? His thoughts went back to something you had said earlier in the conversation, something that had pained him to hear.
Without thinking much about it, he decided to address this, “Please stop thinking of me as your kidnapper…”
“What?” It was all you could say, jarred by the sudden topic change.
“I know the way we found each other, the way we are getting to know each other isn’t what you would consider normal, but please, give me the chance to be something more. Think me as your s-…” Choso caught himself before he said the word.
Before he could even begin to redirect his words, you cut in, “As what? My soulmate?” Your words were sharp and slightly challenging.
As much as Choso wanted to grab you by the shoulders and exclaim ‘yes!’, he knew such a reaction could backfire on him. You may have been the one who spoke the word into the conversation, but he could tell by the tension stiffening your body that you still weren’t ready for that conversation. This whole situation was so difficult for Choso navigate because it wasn’t in his nature to walk on eggshells around others; if he had something to say he would say it. But with you, he couldn’t help being overly cautious.
“A friend… who cares for you deeply. I just ask that you give me that much.”
At first, you were a bit surprised by Choso’s response. He hadn’t brought up the soulmate thing since the first night when you woke up in his apartment, but he had seemed so serious about it at the time. You had expected him to take advantage of you bringing it up and say anything and everything to convince you that it was true, that you were soulmates. But instead, he was asking you to view him as just a friend.
Soulmate… Friend… What does any of that matter? Like he said, this whole situation is not normal and the way I view him won’t change any of that.
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Eight: Our Hearts In Rhythm
Trigger warning: It’s the reader’s turn to be a perv… Reader has naughty thoughts about Choso as he sleeps.
You were wrenched from your world of sleep by the sound of yelling. In your sleep-induced stupor, there was a brief moment you thought it was you, waking from some horrible nightmare, but then there was more yelling and it became clear that the sound was coming from somewhere else in the apartment. In response, your nerves began to vibrate with a nervous energy as all sorts of horrible thoughts began to flood your mind. Did the people who were looking for Choso finally find him? Did they attack him? Were they going to kill him? What would they do with you once they found you? Would they kill you too?
You laid there, frozen in your fears of what would come, but as the seconds ticked by, you were surprised by the quiet that took over; the only sound holding off complete silence was the thick beating pulse of your heart stuffed in your ears. The quiet persisted for a significant amount of time, giving your nerves the chance to settle and; eventually, you gathered the courage to get out of bed to investigate.
“Sorry, Nina,” the whispered apology slipped from your lips automatically when your cat, disturbed from her precious beauty sleep, let out an annoyed meow.
You unlocked and opened the bedroom door just enough to peek out into the hallway before opening it up further so you could stick your head out and look around. Everything was dark, still, and quiet. Some of the tension in your body subconsciously eased, allowing your shoulders to drop and your lungs to release the breath they had seized. But if all seemed fine, why had there been yelling? Your pondering thoughts left you standing in the doorway when you suddenly felt a softness glide against your leg, drawing your attention to the ground just as Nina slipped out the door. In a clumsy reaction, you scrambled forward to grab her, but she was too fast, easily avoiding your grasp, and trotted down the hall, her light-colored fur easy to see in the surrounding darkness. Annoyance filled your voice as you harshly whispered her name, a poor attempt at coaxing her back into the safe, familiarity of your room. She turned to look at you as she sat down in front of the door, slightly left ajar, that led to what you assumed was the other bedroom, Choso’s bedroom. Then she meowed and you could have sworn she was taunting you.
“You little…,” you seethed as you took careful steps towards her.
As soon as you were within arm’s reach of her, Nina was up on all four paws once again and slipped into Choso’s room. Your annoyance heated into frustration and, in a temporary lapse of judgment, you followed her into the room. It wasn’t until she slipped under the bed when you realized what you had done. You froze, eyes set on the still body in the bed before you. Thankfully your eyes were adjusted to the dark, allowing you to see that Choso was lying on his side, his back facing you, with the duvet crumbled at the end of the bed. He wasn’t moving, a good sign that he was still asleep, but you were at a loss of what to do. You couldn’t just leave Nina to roam around free, but you were also worried about what would happen if he caught you sneaking around his room. Would he think you were an intruder and attack you? Or would he get some other idea from your ‘late night visit’ into his room?
Late night visit? Yeah, right…
Your actions; however, betrayed your dismissive thoughts as you took several small steps towards the bed and ran your eyes along Choso’s sleeping form. His hair was freed from his signature buns, the dark strands splayed haphazardly against the light-colored pillow. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his light skin making it easy for your eyes to follow the outline of his solid back that sensually tapered to a narrow waist. While the definition of his lean back was hard to make out in the dark, you weren’t clueless. Just recently you had an unencumbered frontal view of his impressive physique, his well-defined chest and abs. So, your brain naturally filled in the blanks here; you could almost make out the shadowed divots that accentuated his traps and lats, the muscles pulled taut beneath his skin.
You began to wonder how those solid planes of muscle would feel under your fingertips as you pressed against them, clinging onto the back of his ribcage and holding him close as he thrusted into you. How would the perfect, pale skin of his back look if it were blemished by bright red marks from your nails biting into him? How would it feel to be the one who put them there? The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as you imagined him whispering sweet nothings right under the lobe of your ear, the smooth timbre of his voice scorching down your spine like lava and licking at your core.
Several minutes were lost to your wild imaginings until a noise sounded across the room, Nina jumping onto the dresser, bringing you back to your senses. You took several steps back as guilt immediately washed over you. What were you doing? If the roles were reversed, if you had knowledge that he watched you while you slept, all while having these kinds of thoughts, you would feel violated. What on the earth made this okay? But as upset with yourself as you were, this was not the time nor place to fester in your self-disgust. Hastily, you made the decision to grab your cat and leave. As long as you were careful and quiet, you should be able to get out unnoticed; he would never know you were there and you would do everything you could to put this night completely out of your mind.
Slouching a bit, to bring yourself closer to the ground in case you needed to escape his line of sight, you slowly moved towards the dresser. During your slow advance, you flicked your eyes around the room. It was set up identically to yours and just as empty, only providing the basic necessities of a bedroom. As you were passing the foot of his bed, Choso moved suddenly. You quickly dropped to your knees to hide, your mind racing with thoughts of how you were going to get Nina and yourself out of the room without Choso noticing now that he was awake.
Your anxiety made the seconds stretch into minutes as you listened to the noises coming from the bed, a body shifting against the sheets and whispers of unintelligible speech. But you never heard him move from the bed or the sound of his footsteps. The room stayed covered in darkness. Had he actually woken up…or? Bravely, you lifted your head and peeked over the edge of the bed. Choso was moving around and making noises, but he was still laying down. The noises he made were not of someone visited by pleasant dreams, but of someone afflicted by a nightmare. Then you remembered what had woken you up in the first place, the very thing that started the chain events that lead you into his room in the middle of the night. Yelling. You watched his body flinch and jerk as he peppered the air with words, his voice graveled by deep sleep.
“…soul…”
“…truth…”
“…wrong…”
Your name was the last thing to fall from his lips when his body finally relaxed. You gasped, surprised to hear your name in this context. You were involved in his nightmare? Why? You questioned it as if there were a logical answer; it was a nightmare, who was to say why you were involved. With silence overtaking the room once more, you finally felt confident enough to proceed with your task. Standing back on your feet, you took one careful step just as Nina jumped down from the dresser, knocking down a bottle of some kind as she did, a thick clang destroying the silence.
Choso lurched up into a seated position, the palms of his hands pressed together and all fingers pointed towards you, “Stop!”
You stiffened in place and held your hands up in surrender, “It’s me, it’s me!!”
He immediately put his hands down as your name fell from his lips, “What are you doing in here? Is everything okay?”
Choso hadn’t seen you since earlier that morning when you abruptly got up from the couch and went into your room. ‘It’s just a cramp. I’m fine.’ That’s what you had said, but going by your folded over position and the expression you made, it had seemed like you were in a lot of pain. Now you were in his room in the middle of the night… Had your pain gotten worse?
“I was just…”
As you began your explanation, Choso reached over to the nightstand that stood to the right of his bed and flicked on the lamp, allowing a soft light to bleed into the darkness, revealing a dark mess smeared across the bridge of his nose and running trails down his cheeks.
“Whoa, is that… blood? Are you hurt?”
Choso could feel the warm liquid that coated the bridge of his nose and cheeks; it was certainly his blood, but it hadn’t resulted from any injury. Sometimes when he had bad enough nightmares, he would subconsciously call forth his blood and the nightmare he just experienced was probably one of the worst so far. At least the blood was easy enough to clean up.
“No, I’m not hurt,” his voice was softer, but still deepened by sleep, as the dark mess on his face seemingly disappeared into his ever-present facial marking.
And Choso left his explanation at that. Even though he had used his blood manipulation techniques in front of you back in Shibuya, you hadn’t said anything about it since then. This left him under the assumption that you didn’t remember and he was content with avoiding that subject for now. He knew that the two of you would eventually need to have a conversation about his cursed technique, about what he was, but he preferred to wait and have it when your relationship wasn’t in such a precarious state. He couldn’t give you yet another reason to be terrified of him, not now.
Before you could speak again, there was a quiet ’purrt’ noise as Nina, seemingly out of nowhere, jumped onto the bed, pulling the attention of you and Choso. You both watched as she took unhurried steps towards Choso until she claimed her new napping spot, curling herself into a tight circle on his lap. Looking down at her, Choso remained deathly still, as if he feared a pending attack if he moved an inch, allowing only his eyes to flick up at you.
You wanted to cartoonishly rub your eyes in disbelief of what had just transpired, but you resisted, only letting out a bewildered scoff, “Are you a sorcerer or something?”
Choso bristled, his anxiety spiking from your words; would he really not be able to avoid this conversation with you right now? “What do you mean?”
“That's the only explanation. She has never cuddled up with anyone that isn’t me. Never. You had to cast a spell on her or something,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at your accusation.
The sound of your laughter allowed the half-cursed spirit to relax; you weren’t actually accusing him of being a sorcerer. It was a joke. Relieved, he dropped his eyes back down to Nina as he tentatively brought a hand to her head and gave her a gentle pet, which she graciously allowed, “I am not… a sorcerer,” though he tried to play it off with an amused scoff of his own, it was forced. His words felt like a lie, even though it was technically true that he wasn’t one.
You watched the unbelievable sight as a quietness settled once again, with only the sound of Nina’s purring to combat the silence. Choso’s head remained lowered as he petted her, his hair hanging like dark curtains around his face, and you utilized the moment to steal another unabashed look at him.
Even though you played the sorcerer question off as a joke, there was legitimate curiosity behind it. Besides the marking on his face, Choso looked like any other man in his 20’s, but you weren’t an idiot. He was most certainly not some normal guy; he was different. And despite the fact that he had treated you with nothing but respect and compassion thus far, he was undoubtably dangerous; he fought monsters, attacked someone with blood, was being pursued by some group of people, and you still didn’t know what his purpose for being in Shibuya was that night. So why didn’t your cat, who was cautious of everyone, pick up on the aura of danger that simmered just beneath his tired expression? If she did sense it, why was she ignoring it?
Not that you could talk… He had kidnapped you and kept you here against your will; yet here you were, in his room late at night talking to him as if he were a roommate. And then there was everything that happened earlier in the day. You spent the morning cooking breakfast with him, watched him do something as domestic as washing dishes, and ran your fingers through his hair as he stared up at you with a burning intensity that made the back of your head ache. Why were you constantly defying your instincts when it came to him?
“She’s made this sound before. It’s…nice.”
“Sound?” You had only caught the last part of his comment, so you paused for a moment to listen for what he might be referring to, “Oh, her purring?” And just like that, with all previous thoughts thrown carelessly out the window, you approached the lower right corner of the bed to adopt a half-seated position there, folding your left leg in front of you on the bed while you kept your right foot planted firmly on the ground. “Cats do that when they are happy, but they can also sense when you're upset and will purr to comfort you. She does that for me all the time.”
Choso forced himself to keep this head lowered as his heart rate ticked up, excited by your approach, “So, why is she purring now? Because she is happy or because she is comforting me?”
You hummed, thinking for a second, “I don’t know. But… You were tossing and turning just now. You even yelled a while ago.”
He finally looked up at you, forcing his hair to fall away and reveal his face once more. The small amount of light in the room exaggerated the dark, warm color that circled his eyes, compared to the light, coolness of the rest of him. His eyes were even darker now, dimmed further by recent sleep. The tangled mess of black that framed his face and neck was further proof of his fitful sleep, but it suited him; he could easily fit in as a member from any number of your favorite bands. It just wasn’t fair how gorgeous he looked despite waking up just a few minutes ago.
“I did? Did I wake you?”
“No,” you lied.
He considered you for a moment. Your lie was evident by the remnants of sleep that lined the corners of your eyes and the disheveled state of your hair; you hadn’t been awake for long. But he ignored it, “So, she is comforting me then?”
You closed the distance even more, scooting further up the bed and folding your legs so that you were sitting in a crisscross fashion directly in front of Choso, your knees almost touching his. “I think so,” you confirmed as you reached out and gave Nina a gentle chin scratch, the back of your hand just barely grazing against the fabric of Choso’s sweatpants.
You were so close; the light from the lamp illuminating your beautiful face so clearly now, reflecting in your downcast eyes. He could feel the tension that existed in the space between his knees and yours; all he needed to do was move forward just an inch and he’d be touching you. This morning had been the first time he touched you in days; he could still feel the softness of your skin under the pads of his fingers, the shape of your ankle in his grasp. He wanted, needed, to touch you again. Why had you moved so close? Had you even meant to move this close to him? Why were you in his room at all? Had you been…concerned about him?
“Are you here to comfort me?” He placed a particular emphasis on ‘you’, dragging the word out minutely.
You withdrew your hand from Nina, as if his hopeful words had taken physical form and were reaching out to touch you, “W-who me?” The question tumbled dumbly over your tongue, but you were quick to recover, “No. Nina ran in here and I was just trying to grab her before she woke you up.”
Choso’s eyes shifted away from you, “I see.”
You tried to ignore the guilt that slapped you across the face when you heard his chilly, dejected tone, leaving you to flounder in your thoughts of what to do next. If you were in your right mind, you would easily push away the guilt, gather Nina into your arms, and leave. But you had already proven you weren’t acting completely rational when it came to this man, so of course you weren’t going to do that. It also didn’t help that you were still a little bit (a lot) curious about why you had been a part of his nightmare.
“It sounded like you were having a nightmare… What was it about?”
Choso hesitated to answer. You just said you hadn’t come in here to console him, so why would you care? But he quickly dismissed his uncertainty; if it meant you would talk to him, stay close to him, he would answer any question you asked. “It was about me failing.”
“Failing at what?”
“Failing my younger brothers…”
He’s an older brother… That actually explains a lot.
During your time with him, he had repeatedly expressed a great amount of worry and concern towards you, tending to your needs immediately and consistently. This was not the first time he had to take care of someone. As you considered it, you could clearly picture him being a worry-wart of an older brother, muttering apologies and gently nagging at a couple of kids. The image almost brought a smile to your face, but your amusement was quickly snuffed out as he continued.
“As the oldest, I made choices that I thought would benefit my younger brothers, but now two of them are dead. I’m afraid I will fail my remaining brothers the same way I did them.”
But that wasn’t the only thing that plagued his nightmare. He also feared that he would fail you, but he felt that mentioning it would make you pull away from him again and he couldn’t take any more of that right now. In his peripherals, he noticed how close you still were and the tension he felt grew into an overwhelming sensation; he could barely keep his thoughts on the conversation at hand. He wanted to touch you, to hold you, anything that would allow him to feel connected to you. After that nightmare, he wanted to be reassured that all of the decisions he had made up to this point, in regards to you, had been the right ones.
“How di—,” your emboldened curiosity wanted to ask him how they died, but that seemed insensitive, so you changed direction, “you said ‘remaining brothers’. How many are there?”
All of Choso’s rushing thoughts, all the overpowering pressure, evaporated the second he heard your question. You were curious about his little brothers? “Six,” he simply answered and paused, waiting to see where you would take the conversation.
You were taken aback by the number, your brain automatically updating your early mental image of him, now picturing him surrounded by six children of different ages, all of varying heights and builds. You could hear six different voices overlapping as each child tugged at different parts of Choso’s clothing, begging for his attention. But juxtaposed to the noise and chaos, Choso’s expression was happy and peaceful. Suddenly, you found yourself wishing to see how he interacted with his little siblings, to compare the reality to your impromptu vision.
And with this wish, a question slipped from your lips, “Will I meet them?”
Choso’s tired eyes widened with surprise as he tilted his head to meet your gaze head-on, “Do you want to?”
“Oh, I’m no—”
“Yes,” he interrupted, not willing to let you take it back, “of course you will.”
I sure know how to make things awkward, you reprimanded yourself as you thought of how to redirect the conversation. Or, better yet, end it. You needed to head back to bed anyways. Not that you would get any sleep now. I’m going to lay in bed for the next hour or two, just looking at the ceiling and thinking about how I shouldn't partake in any more social interactions for the rest of my life… I’m such an idiot.
“Well, it’s late. We both should get back to sleep,” you lamely offered in response as you leaned forward to remove your sleeping cat from Choso’s lap.
Your movement brought your knees forward, finally eliminating the small, vexatious space that existed between you and Choso. He felt the pressure of your knees against his and it should have satisfied him, but he was greedy. The pressure wasn’t enough; he wanted to feel your warmth as well. Overwhelmed by this desperate need and his thoughts, spurred on by your question, his body went into autopilot, extending his arms out until the palms of his hands met the backs of yours, which had been reaching out for Nina. Your body stiffened, but didn’t pull away. So, without hesitation, his hands continued to slowly glide forward, his fingers molding to the outline of you as they traveled from your hands, to your wrists, and ending at your elbows, where he gently grabbed the joint of your arms and pulled you just a bit closer, forcing your knees to press even more firmly against his.
“Thank you,” he said your name with unwavering affection.
“For what?” The words were slightly breathless, your shock at the unexpected embrace stealing the air from your lungs.
“I know you didn’t come here to comfort me,” the fingers of his right hand flexed against your arm, desperate to reach up and caress the expanse of skin that stretched over the pulse point that existed where the back of your jaw met your neck, to feel if your heart was beating in rhythm with his own, “but you have.”
“But…”
You were so very confused about what was happening, what had driven Choso to grab onto you as he had, but also undeniably enthralled by the way your heart fluttered as he pinned you in place with his gaze and the way your nerves sparked to life under his touch. The scent that you were coming to recognize as specifically his was so much more pervasive here, surely due to the fact that you were in his room and in his bed, and it was tantalizing. He smelled of the comforting scent of soil right after a light rain and the deep aroma of your favorite roasted nuts with just a touch of honey. Yet still, there remained an undertone to it all that you couldn’t quite identify that added to the uniqueness of him.
No one in your life had ever smelled like him.
“But I didn’t say much of anything.”
He smiled to himself as he tenderly brought his hand up to cup the back of your jaw in his palm, his fingers molding themselves to the shape of your neck and gently applying pressure there with his fingertips.
Her heart is racing…
No, you hadn’t said much, but just asking if you would meet his brothers was more than enough. Such a question alluded to your desire to meet the only other people that mattered in his life, to the possibility that you were looking to see if you would be comfortable being a part of his life. This was just the reassurance he needed.
“Choso, I should…” A whisper was all you could manage as the rational part of yourself was drowned out by an overwhelming torrent of thoughts and feelings. He was a sorcerer. How else could you explain this pull he had on you?
Just as Choso began to carefully pull your face towards him, you stuck out your freed arm and braced your hand against his chest, his pectoral muscle unmoving against the pressure of your palm, effectively stopping your body from moving any closer to him.
His heart is racing…
His eyes, which had been locked on your lips, snapped up and flicked between different points on your face. He could see in your expression that you were confused and flustered, possibly a bit overwhelmed by what was going on, but he wasn’t picking up on any fear or revulsion.
“I’m tired. I should go back to my room,” you stuttered, turning your face slightly away from him.
There was a moment of hesitation, the air between the two of you so thick you could barely catch your breath, but then Choso gently released you. His hands slid away, leaving the warmed parts of your skin to prickle against the chilled air. You both quietly, and a bit awkwardly, exchanged good night pleasantries as you took Nina into your arms and shuffled off the bed.
Before you could even turn to leave, Choso captured your attention by calling out your name, “The next time you are upset, can I comfort you?”
Your body spasmed as your heart kicked into a higher gear. You had to get out of this room if you were ever going to get your heart to calm down. In your haste to leave, you tried to offer an honest response. “I should say no,” you paused, “but…”
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Seven: You, Me, and the… Kitchen?
Trigger warning: Choso thinks about fingering while reader is on period. (Sorry, not sorry)
You hadn’t been awake long, eyes opened but still cocooned in blankets, when the high-pitched beeps of a fire alarm sounded. The sharpness of the sound was dulled by the fact that it was coming from another place in the apartment, but it was still startling. Without much thought of your appearance or what might be awaiting you outside of your room, you untangled yourself from the bed and sprinted out into the main area of the apartment.
The air was lightly hazed with smoke, instantly making your sensitive eyes feel dry and itchy. Choso was standing under the smoke alarm with one arm stretched above him as he waved a dish towel in an attempt to disperse the smoke away from it. Blinking your eyes excessively, you looked around to see if you could identify the origin of the smoke. In the kitchen, you were surprised to see pots and pans on the stove, small tendrils of smoke rising from a couple of them. Had he been…? Your curiosity drove you into the kitchen, the smoke still a bit heavier around the stove despite the range hood running, and you couldn’t help the coughs that escaped from your irritated throat.
All four burners on the stove were occupied. The top left had a pot of rice that had obviously boiled over, the top right had a pan with some kind of overcooked meat, the bottom left had a pan with cooked leafy greens, and the bottom left had a rectangle-shaped tamagoyaki pan with eggs burnt almost beyond recognition. After your inspection of the stove, you scanned the nearby counters, all amess of the same ingredients that you had identified on the stove. There were also some other items that were set aside, untouched, such as green onions, toasted seaweed sheets, and fruits.
Too busy with your investigation, you didn’t see Choso, who was finally able to silence the alarm, turn his head towards you at the sound of your coughs. His lips had parted, ready to form words of apology, but at the sight of you, he snapped them closed. You were wearing a basic, form-fitting shirt and shorts pajama set, not particularly made for seduction, but it might as well have been because it allowed his eyes to follow along the curves of your body’s profile and bear witness to a much more expansive view of your skin, the color of it popping brilliantly against the fabric of the pajama set. He also couldn’t help but notice how heavy your breasts hung in your shirt, the usual support of a bra glaringly absent.
A heat blossomed deep within his core as he suddenly saw himself, in his mind’s eye, walking over to embrace you, pressing his front against your back, and running his hands under the hem of your shirt to trail his fingers against the softness of your skin, slowly hiking it up as they traveled to their desired destination. He would then cup your breasts in his hands, fingers splayed out across the malleable mounds, kneading them roughly as he pinched your nipples between his pointer and middle fingers, all while pulling you impossibly closer. He imagined that you would moan his name as you lulled your head back against his left shoulder, giving him access to your neck so he could kiss and lick at your skin, feeling the vibrations from your throat as it produced your sweet sounds of pleasure. Eventually, when all restraint had left him, he would drop one of his hands, dipping it into the confines of your shorts to run his long fingers along your slit, surprisingly soaked from such little stimulation he had provided thus far. You were, had been, eager for him. And he was eager to please you; without hesitation, he would gather your slick with two fingers and sink them into your pussy, that welcoming hole. The wet warmth of you would sink into his bones as the pads of his fingers rubbed against your spongy walls, adjusting their motions according to your beautiful sounds. He remembered you were on your period now, and couldn’t resist the temptation to withdraw his fingers from you, bring them up into his view, and admire the bright red color that coated them.
Choso’s erotic thoughts were interrupted by a sudden discomfort, his cock throbbing against his restrictive clothing, unforgiving black jeans. With a sigh of frustration, he pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut tightly as he willed away the arousing images. Ever since he was introduced to the concept of period sex, and knowing that you were currently on your period, he had been having a hard time keeping his desires under control. Taking a deep breath, Choso lifted his head, opening his eyes towards the ceiling, and dragged his hand down his face as if he were trying to physically wipe the thoughts away. It’s too soon for any of that; no matter how badly I want her.
He allowed himself a few seconds to wallow in self-pity before he forced himself to recover; he needed to get back on task. But then he became cognizant of what you were doing and his face pinched together in disappointment. While the point of all this was to encourage you to leave your room, he hadn’t meant for it to happen this way.
After yesterday, he had been feeling very optimistic about his relationship with you; it finally seemed to be moving in the right direction. You had talked to him, joked with him, and finally said his name. The way your lips rounded out as they shaped his name, had excited him. The very intonation of your voice as you spoke his name aloud for the first time, had been like music to his ears. And now that he had heard it, he had to hear it again…and again, as greedy as that might be, and this need pushed him to action. No longer would he wait for opportunities to be near you, to speak with you. No, from now on, he would seek them out, create them.
He had stayed up most of the night before, thinking about exactly how he would do that. Eventually, one idea came to mind. He had been providing you with food this whole time, sure, but all of it was pre-made from the store. What if he actually took the time to make food for you? Surely such a gesture would be appreciated and make you see just how much he cared for you and how much he wanted to please you. Maybe the smell of delicious homemade food would entice you from your room, maybe you would even feel inclined to eat with him. Such aspirations seemed out of reach, so impossible, before, but now he was feeling invigorated and emboldened. So, as his first move, that’s what he decided on; he was going to make you breakfast.
He woke up early, went to the store, came back, and started cooking. However, he had definitely underestimated how difficult cooking would be. It had seemed so easy on the cooking shows he had been watching here and there, especially lately with all the time he had to kill, but the events of today sure had humbled him. Now the kitchen was a mess, the food completely ruined, and he had startled you from your sleep. Yes, what a great first attempt, he mentally chided as he walked over to you.
He spoke your name at your back, pulling your attention away from the stove to him, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
You eyed him for a moment. He still held the dish towel in one hand, his black t-shirt was soiled with something that reflected the light, probably egg whites, and a section of his bangs were sticking up haphazardly. It seemed the kitchen was not the only victim of….whatever had happened here. Your eyes flicked towards the stove one more time, as if to confirm something, before returning them to Choso, “Were you…cooking? Or were you trying to fight the stove?”
Choso tilted his head as he brought his free hand up to rub at the back of his neck, his eyes shifting away from yours, as he let out a gentle huff of amusement, “Believe it or not, I was cooking. Or… trying to, at least.” His body language and tone didn’t reveal any embarrassment; it seemed he was disappointed more than anything.
You bit at your bottom lip, a smile daring to split your face in two. ‘Trying’, that was definitely the key word there. Once you composed yourself enough and felt confident you wouldn’t laugh, you questioned him further, “Are you getting tired of convenience store food or something?”
He locked eyes with yours, his eyes giving that look you were coming to recognize, that look of unabashed sincerity and one-sided affection, “No. I just wanted to do something for you.”
In an instant your amusement was replaced by an abrupt sensation of uncertainty and self-consciousness, the latter only made worse when you physically reacted to the sudden emotions and wrapped your arms around yourself in a self-soothing manner, forcing you to realize that you were standing there…braless. Braless, in front of a stranger. A hot stranger… Am I insane? MY CAPTOR! A hot captor… You inwardly cringed at your impropriety as you slowly moved your arms to block your chest from his view, hoping the intention of your action wasn’t obvious to him.
“Well, I am going to go back to my room,” you awkwardly announced before quickly turning away to leave.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you? I’ll try again.”
His words pulled you to a pause. He didn’t have to say the words for you to understand what he really meant. The true meaning behind his words were in his tone - hopeful and pleading. He wanted you to stay. And to be honest, the thought of going back to your room felt a little bit daunting. All that awaited you there was the prospect of sleeping, daydreaming, and regretting the past. Yes, you had your cat to keep you company, but she had grown tired of your presence and was maintaining a hard boundary of personal space for the time being. Could you really keep this up? Could you really isolate yourself until he finally let you go? You had no idea how much longer you were going to be stuck here; what if you went crazy? You stood in place, deep in thought; until, as if working in cahoots with Choso to convince you to stay, your stomach gurgled with hunger pains. You dropped a hand down to your stomach, willing the gurgling to cease, and thought about how nice a home cooked breakfast actually sounded. You couldn’t believe what you were about to propose. Maybe you had already gone crazy.
After returning your arms in front of your chest, you spun around on your heels and looked at Choso, “I’m starving, actually.” But you knew the kitchen wouldn’t survive another one of his attempts, so you felt inclined to offer an alternative, “It’s been a while since I’ve been useful. So, if you’re okay with it, I can make breakfast.”
Choso frowned. He had done all this to be the one to cook for you, not the other way around. But when he eyed the stove again, he remembered just how out of his element he was with this cooking business. Furthermore, if he refused you, would you simply surrender and go back into your room? He couldn’t have that; he had to keep you in here with him. What compromise could he propose that you'd likely agree to? How could he make this disaster work in his favor?
It took a few more seconds of contemplation, but he finally thought of something, “Well, with how all this turned out,” he motioned a hand towards the disaster and huffed out a small self-deprecating laugh, “that may be for the best, but I want to help you.”
You wavered in your response at first. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to do that, but you already knew exactly how he would respond. ‘But I want to.’ That’s what he would say. There was no point in trying to refuse his help. “Okay, but you gotta promise to stay away from that poor stove.”
He smiled easily at your teasing, “I promise.”
So, after you excused yourself for just a bit to get changed and make yourself a bit more presentable, that’s what you did. The two of you first worked in tandem to get the disaster of a kitchen cleaned. Choso washed dishes while you cleaned the stove top and counters. You were done before him, so while he finished up, you got all of the ingredients back out and organized. He had been attempting to make tamagoyaki (with meat and leafy green veggies as fillings) with sides of simple onigiri and fresh fruits. Thankfully those were within your cooking wheelhouse, so you weren’t worried about almost burning down the apartment like he did. With this teasing thought, you couldn’t help but look over at Choso, just as he dried the final dish.
With all of that done, you and Choso finally set to the actual task of making breakfast. While you focused on cooking, Choso did everything else that didn’t involve the stove, like cutting up the meat and fruit. Busy with your tasks, the two of you stayed within your stations and didn’t do much talking. When Choso wasn’t busy assisting you, he was zoned in on watching you work, taking mental notes for tomorrow morning because he had no plans on giving up. He was definitely going to keep at this until he got it right and could be the one to cook for you. Before too long, all of the food was ready to be plated.
Choso set the two plates down on the kitchen island, pulled out a chair, and looked at you expectantly as you approached. Suddenly, those same feelings of uncertainty and self-consciousness were back in full force as if they had never left. He had been expecting you to eat with him? You weren’t sure you were willing to do that. Sure, you just spent the last half hour or so with him in the kitchen, but the most talking that occurred was you giving him instructions of what to do. There was no back-and-forth discussion, especially nothing that was personal in nature. But just sitting here, eating? Surely he would ask questions about… you. And you might be tempted to ask questions about… him. The less I know about him, the better. But how were you going to turn him down without seeming like a jerk about it? Not that you should really be concerned about it…
“Oh, I’m so–. I'm dealing with some cramps from my period. So, I’m going to eat in my room,” it wasn’t a complete lie. You weren’t in any significant amount of pain, but you had been feeling a bit achy all morning.
You didn’t miss the faltering of his lips, that small dip of warmth in his typically cooled face, but his words were brimmed with understanding and, of course, concern, “Oh, okay. Is there anything I can do?”
You shook your head as you grabbed your plate, “No. I just need to rest.”
“Then rest. I hope you feel better soon.”
“I will. I’m sure the yummy food will help too. Thanks, Choso.”
Choso looked away from you, his eyes falling to his plate and his shoulders dropping down as if suddenly weighed down by something, “I only wish I had been able to cook for you as I had planned.”
Earlier, he had been content with letting you take charge of the cooking while he took on a more supportive role, but now he found out that you had been in pain the entire time. If he had just been able to cook everything in the first place, you probably wouldn’t be hurting and might’ve been more willing to eat with him. This whole experience hadn’t helped in the way he hoped it would.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it,” your words, though meant to be encouraging, missed the mark because you didn’t truly understand why he was so disappointed.
Wanting to avoid any more awkwardness, you turned to head to your room. Right before you entered the hallway, words projected from the TV caught your attention: THE SHIBUYA INCIDENT. With your feet frozen in place, you turned your head to look at the TV, listening as the news broadcaster spoke further.
NEWS BROADCASTER :
SEVERAL INDIVIDUALS HAVE BEEN ARRESTED IN CONNECTION TO THE INCIDENT IN SHIBUYA THAT TOOK PLACE ON HALLOWEEN NIGHT.
Curiosity peaked, you redirected your route to the couch, taking a seat and balancing the neglected plate of food on your knees. While your eyes were glued to the TV screen, you felt the couch cushion to the right dip as Choso took a seat next to you. He did this, not because he was interested in the news, but because he was interested in your reaction.
NEWS BROADCASTER :
ACCORDING TO THE AUTHORITIES, THESE INDIVIDUALS ARE SUSPECTED TO HAVE RELEASED AN AIRBORNE HALLUCINOGENIC THAT CAUSED CHAOS TO BREAK OUT IN SHIBUYA, RESULTING IN MANY TO BE REPORTED AS MISSING OR DEAD.
Your jaw dropped. Airborne hallucinogenic? Are they being serious?
While it was fair to say that everything you had witnessed that night was unreal and unexplainable, you never at any point felt high. You were scared, yes, but you were also lucid. You wished everything had all been just a bad, drug-fueled trip, but it most definitely was not. It really happened. There had to be something behind the false narrative, someone trying to cover something up. It was the only explanation for what you were hearing right now.
“What the fuck?” Your exasperated tone was mixed with confusion. After Choso asked you what was wrong, you elaborated, “What they are saying caused all of that shit to happen in Shibuya, it isn’t true. There really were monsters. They were killing people. They…”
Your words dropped to silence and you turned to look at Choso; he stared back at you, waiting for you to continue. But you weren’t sure if you should. When you first met Choso in the subway, you had assumed he was simply another person unfortunate enough to choose to celebrate Halloween in Shibuya that night, but now, you knew a little better than that; though, not much. Why had he been in Shibuya that night? What part did he play in it all?
No, I can’t ask him questions like that… It’s too personal. The less I know about him the better.
…
But… Maybe I’ll just ask him what he thinks about what the news is saying, about what he thinks happened. Just to see what he says…
“What is it…?”
“Oh, I was just wonder—”
Your sentence was cut off by a yelp, followed by the clattering of a plate and silverware against the wood flooring. Doubling over in your seat, you crossed your arms against your stomach and braced against the sharp pain that was cutting through you like a dulled knife. Period cramps, oh how fun. Choso, surprised by your sudden exclamation of pain, quickly moved off the couch and settled himself on the floor in front of you, sitting on folded legs, so that he could be more leveled with you in your folded position. His hands found purchase on your knees, thumbs rubbing nervously at your skin as he asked you what was wrong, but you didn’t hear him the first time, the pain temporarily eclipsing all awareness. By the time he asked again, the pain had lessened, at least enough for you to relax a bit.
“What’s wrong? What can I do?”
Looking up, you found your vision once again monopolized by the stranger from the subway. Your captor. Choso. He was so close; the two of you breathing the same air. His eyes were widened with their concern and you found yourself, maybe as a means of distraction, questioning the color of his eyes. They were dark, but even the deepest of brown couldn’t match this color. Were his eyes just…black? Before you could reach a conclusion, your eyes caught the movement of his bangs and it brought attention to that section of hair that still stuck up haphazardly. You hadn’t told him about his bangs, feeling like it would be a weird thing for you to comment on, and it was easier to ignore earlier, but now he here he was, his face just inches away from yours. Not so easy to ignore now.
“Your hair…” your words were soft, slightly breathless.
Choso tilted his head just a hairsbreadth to the side in an attempt to hear you better, “What?”
Instead of saying anything else, you loosened an arm from your around stomach and reached a hand up to flatten the disheveled bangs yourself, combing them gently into place with your fingers. Between the lingering pain and fussing over his hair, you were oblivious to the feeling of Choso’s right hand as it slid down from your knee to your ankle. He looked up at you, his view partially obscured by your working hand, as his own gently tightened around your ankle every time his scalp tingled in response to your light touches. Once his hair was back in place, you dropped your eyes to his and were quickly overwhelmed by the burning intensity of them. Unfolding yourself, you broke eye contact and eased yourself to your feet, forcing Choso to release your ankle and back away as he followed suit.
“It’s just a cramp; I’m fine. I'm going to go back to my room now.”
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Six: The Thoughts We Have
Trigger warning: Choso thinks about period sex.
For the next couple of days, you stayed in your designated room and the man did well to respect your request. He kept his distance, only to bother you when he brought food and water. Even then, he would put the items on the floor by the bedroom door, knock, and then immediately leave; though you played it safe by waiting a few additional minutes after his departure before cracking the door open just enough to grab the items and slip them in like a gremlin.
While shut away in the room, when you weren’t forcing yourself to sleep away the glacial passage of time, you spent your time savoring the convenience store food, playing with your cat, reflecting on your past (the good and the terrible parts), and daydreaming. The daydreams were mainly of an alternate reality about how life would be if the horrible night in Shibuya hadn't happened. In the midst of one particular daydream, you looked up at the small dial clock that served as the only decor in the plain room. At this time, you would normally be leaving work and on your way to meet up with your friend for a customary mid-week dinner.
If only...
Of course, to your utter dismay, you could not hide yourself away and daydream in the room 24/7. You had to use the restroom and shower, and of course, the only bathroom you knew of was located outside of your room at the end of the hallway. You treated your trips to the bathroom like some kind of spy mission; cracking the door open just enough to peer out into the hallway to make sure the man wasn’t nearby. If he wasn’t in sight, you would open the door further, take a single step out, and peer down the hallway to check out the bathroom. Was the door opened? Was it closed? If it was closed, was the light on? It was a reliable checklist of questions that helped you determine, to the best of your ability, if the bathroom was occupied by the man or not. It was a successful process that allowed you to do your business in peace. Except for one time…
Door closed? Yes.
Light on? No.
Your assessment of the situation must have been erred by a trick of the eye or just terrible timing because as soon as you approached the door, your hand inches from the handle, the door swung away from you, opening up into the bathroom. Scented steam, herbal and fruity, weaved through the air, reaching for you like haunting ghost fingers that clutched at the exposed skin of your face and neck, the warmth sticking to you pleasingly. In your surprise, you inhaled, taking in the scent further, allowing you to catch the undertones of earthy and nutty scents and something else completely different that cut through it all like a subtle knife. It was an interesting mix of aromas, nothing you had ever experienced before, but nonetheless, undeniably pleasant.
Though something like this would typically feel relaxing, you tensed, frozen in a stupor as you took in the sensual sight before you. First in your eyeline was a well-defined chest dabbled with water drops that trickled down. As if acting on their own, your eyes quickly dropped, following the defining divots and sparkling water lines that led to well-defined abs. Only when your eyes met hard, jutted hip bones, peaking above the soft fabric of a towel, did you jerk your head up, provoking heat to rise to your cheeks that were already warmed by the surrounding air, making you feel as if you might break out into a sweat. The blooming blush only worsened when you locked eyes with the man as he looked down at you with a smaller towel held against the side of his head, seemingly in the midst of drying his hair. In your peripheral you saw his hand and the towel it held drop away, leaving you with an unobstructed view of the man with his hair cascading down in an organized mess of wetted, stringy clumps, ending right around his shoulders, framing his face and neck with black. Droplets of water dripped from his bangs, falling down in front of his reddish-black marking like diamonds.
That ever-present dullness of boredom melted away from his dark eyes as they flickered with something else, something new, when he said your name in a tone that acted like a finger lightly tracing up your spine, making you shiver, “Wh—"
Before his voice could elicit any other reactions, you jolted back and sprinted to your room like a prude maiden, slamming the door closed and bracing your back against it as if you expected him to chase in after you. He was obviously a practiced fighter, a fact made evident from what happened in Shibuya. But still, you had not expected… that ! That body… And for the rest of the day, to your shame, your daydreams took a violent shift; replaying the sight of him and the way he looked at you, over and over again. You imagined what it would feel like if he had grabbed you then, how it would feel to have such an impressive, solid body against yours. If all that you had seen was so impressive, you wondered what was hiding beneath the…
Wait! Why is this happening? I cannot seriously be thinking about that! He is my captor, he is keeping me here against my will, for god’s sake!! That’s it, from here on out, I have to be even more careful about running into him. That…that cannot happen again…
However, the very next day, your resolve of the matter was forcibly shattered. You were using the restroom, concluding your business, only to find the toilet paper lightly colored by pink, pulling an unpleased groan from deep in your throat. Distracted by your kidnapping, you had completely forgotten that you hadn’t been taking your birth control pills, so now your period was coming early and you didn’t have any of your menstrual hygiene products with you because, again, kidnapped.
Awesome.
In lukewarm desperation, you searched the bathroom sink cabinets for pads or tampons, but found none. But of course you wouldn’t find any here. What single man would have such things just lying around in his apartment? This sensible reasoning didn’t stop you from whining with annoyance at the predicament you were in. You dropped down, sitting in a crisscross fashion with elbows propped on your knees as you held your bowed head in your hands; agitation licking at your nerves. You would have to approach that man and ask him for something. While you weren’t completely delusional, understanding that your life was indeed resting in his hands, this situation highlighted the fact that you were relying on him for everything, making it that much more evident, inescapable. It was not something you wanted to do, but what else could you do? Free bleed with the limited amount of clothes you had? Absolutely not.
After allowing yourself to wallow in your feelings for a bit, you begrudgingly got up from the floor and exited the bathroom. Once again you found yourself standing at the invisible line that separated the hallway from the rest of the apartment, scanning and eventually zeroing-in your gaze on your captor. The man had yet to notice you, standing in the kitchen with the side of his hip propped against the kitchen island. He had an apple in one hand and a small knife in the other, his tired eyes cast down as he cut a slivered piece from the apple and slipped it between his lips. You were relieved to find him with his hair pulled up into buns and fully clothed this time, in black jeans and a black hoodie like from a few days ago, because you could not allow your thoughts to wander back to the ‘bathroom incident’.
Shit… I’m thinking about it now… In your haste to fight off the invading thoughts, you unconsciously patted at your cheeks in frustration. Stop thinking about him half-naked. Stop it, stop it!
The small thwacking sound of skin against skin drew the man’s attention and it wasn’t until he spoke your name that you noticed he was looking at you instead of the apple. Driving your hands away from your face and clasping them behind your back, you ruffled yourself into a serious posture, acting as if he hadn’t just witnessed your awkward behavior, and made your way to him. He pushed his body away from the kitchen island, redistributing his weight evenly on both feet as you approached him, stopping just a few feet away from him. Before you could even start, there it was again, a muted musk with earthy and nutty notes that was underscored by something sharper. It was similar to the scent from yesterday, but missing the herbal and fruity scents. This observation caused your thoughts to digress further, speculating that the herbal and fruity aroma from yesterday must have been from body wash or shampoo, while the others were from some cologne he was wearing or maybe even part of his natural…
“Ah, so!…” you blurted out to put an end to those thoughts, “We have a problem.”
If he was concerned about your weird behavior, he didn’t show it, “Are you okay, what is it?”
“It’s nothing bad. It’s just, well, I’ve started my period and I don’t have anything for it. So, I need some things.”
“Okay,” he set the apple and knife down onto the kitchen island and looked at you seriously, “What do you need?”
“You can...” you stopped yourself. Why were you about to assure him that he could finish eating? Why did you care? If anything, inconveniencing him would be a small way of getting back at him for this unfair situation he put you in. “I need some tampons, pads, and pain meds.” At the close of your request, you remembered who you were talking to, a young, single man, and felt compelled to ask, “Do you know what any of that is? Where to get it?”
He knew what periods were and their purpose, but he wasn’t sure what to make of everything else you just said. “No. You’ll have to be more specific about what you need so I can get them for you.”
His response surprised you. You had anticipated him to push back, at least a little, in regards to your request. In your experience, even if a man wasn’t completely clueless about the biological needs of those who experienced periods, he would be grossed out or, at the very least, embarrassed by having to go to the store to fetch such items. Not to mention the fact that this man had no intimate relationship with you, which you felt would make him even more put off at having to help you with this. But he seemed more than willing, no complaints.
After a moment’s hesitation, you finally responded, “D-do you have pen and paper, then? I’ll write everything down.”
+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+
The half-cursed spirit stood under the bright lights of the store in front of the menstrual hygiene product section, his eyes flipping between the paper in his hands and the boxes on the shelves in an attempt to locate the correct items. He was determined not to screw this up; it was a small thing, but it was an opportunity to prove that you could depend on him. Hopefully this would be another step in the right direction, to guide you towards the understanding of what you meant to each other. Progress needed to be made, things had to get better. He couldn’t deal with being separate from you in such close quarters anymore; he felt like he was going absolutely crazy.
However, even in the middle of such an intense search, he heard someone come up beside him and release a sigh heavy with annoyance, “I can’t believe she made me come here and get this shit. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
With a sideways glance, he eyed the man that spoke the complaint out into the air. The blonde-headed stranger was obviously a grown man of tall and solid build with a voice deepened by testosterone, but the attitude that bled from him was childish. He had witnessed many men like this as he spent time blending in with the crowds; men that hid their toxic masculinity and emotional immaturity behind their muscles or God-given good looks. Annoying as shit.
He maintained his gaze until the stranger turned, met his own eyes, and spoke again, “Your woman sent you on this errand too? Women. They are the ones that go through this shit, they should come get it themselves. I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking at.”
The dark-haired man turned his eyes back to task and ignored the other.
Undeterred by the silence, the stranger took several steps to the right, bringing him to the family planning section and continued to speak out loud as he grabbed something from the shelf, “Shit, this is more like it. Might as well get this while I’m here. ‘Course, I can't use it now, not while she’s on the rag. That shit would be nasty, huh, man?”
He could feel the stranger’s eyes fall to him once again. While he had no desire to involve himself in a conversation with the blonde-headed man, he couldn’t help but be curious. Without looking from the shelf of items, he asked, “What?”
“Having sex while she’s on her period. Getting her blood on my dick and probably everywhere else. Fucking nasty. Maybe I can at least talk her into giving me a blowjob tonight. I did come get this shit for her. I deserve some fucking thanks.”
Honestly, halfway through the stranger’s second sentence, the half-cursed spirit found himself lost in some very human thoughts and was no longer paying attention. And this was by no means the first time he had such thoughts. He may have been withholding his desires around you because of the delicate place your relationship was currently at, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Especially after yesterday, when you ran into him as he was exiting the bathroom. He saw that flash of heat in your eyes, which only stoked the suppressed fires of his own desires. He had so badly wanted to ask you exactly what it was you were thinking at that very moment, but you ran off before he could get out a single word. It was probably for the best, but it sure did leave him feeling a bit…frustrated.
And now this stranger was talking about period sex. This was not a thing he had ever thought about before, but as he considered it now, it sounded extremely pleasing. He could picture it: You upon him, riding him, moving your hips as he gripped the underside of your thighs, bruising your skin with his fingertips as he helped you maintain your steady rhythm. He could imagine the ring of pink, made of your blood and slick, gathered at the base of his cock. He wondered if your period would make you more sensitive, increasing the pleasure you felt as he pounded up into you. What kind of expressions would shape the features of your face, what beautiful sounds would you make in the throes of passion?
He shook away his wild imaginings. This is really not the place to think about that, he thought as he discreetly adjusted himself. After he got himself back on track with his task, he found the required items, pulled them from the shelf, and turned to leave. However, he paused when the stranger, who was still scanning the shelves, came into his eyesight once more.
After a few seconds of contemplation, he finally asked, “Did she ask for pads or tampons?”
The blond-headed man turned, obviously surprised by the question, “Oh, uh, pads.”
“With wings?”
“I don’t fucking know, man.”
It took a lot for him not to roll his eyes and call the man an idiot as he grabbed an extra box of the same brand and type of pads you had requested, shoved it into the man’s hands, and left without another word. They may not have been what the stranger’s partner had actually requested, but he hoped that since they worked for you, they would work for her too.
+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x+
There was a knock at the bedroom door and you paused what you were doing to listen for the accustomed sound of retreating footsteps, but such a sound never came. Instead, after a few suspended seconds of quiet, you heard your name spoken by a familiar voice, though muddied by the door, “I want to make sure I got the right things.”
At first, you were set on telling him to just put the stuff on the floor and leave. Even if he hadn’t gotten exactly what you had written down, surely he was competent enough to get something comparable and you would make it work. But that was a fleeting sentiment, snuffed out like dying embers by the obtuse inclination to see him. You were really letting his looks have too much of an affect on you. When you opened the door, he was standing there with the items in hand and promptly extended his arms out so that you could take them from him. You picked each item up one at a time, making sure to avoid touching his hands, and inspected them, finding that he had gotten exactly everything you asked for.
“Can I ask you a question?” It was something that had been bugging him since his interaction with the stranger at the store.
You weren’t sure why he would need to ask anything since he got exactly what you needed, but you decided to amuse him, “Umm, sure.”
“Do men hate shopping for feminine products?”
You shifted your weight onto one hip as you thought about his question for a moment. You wanted to be petty and say ‘yes’, but you knew that was a reflexive response due to the fact that you had been jaded by your ex-boyfriend; he was ‘one of those’. In truth, you knew that not all men were like that. Eventually, you replied, “No, not all, but there are definitely a lot out there that do. Why? Did you?”
“No,” his response was immediate, “I was getting something you needed. I was glad to do it.”
You pulled your bottom lip up between your teeth to stop yourself from smiling. There was so much sincerity in his words that it was endearing, but you couldn’t allow yourself to be distracted by that. No matter how nice and caring he seemed to be, he was keeping you here. It shouldn’t be hard to remember that and maintain your emotional distance from him. Yet here you were, constantly having these conversations with yourself.
For a split second, you thought he may have been waiting for a response, but then he added, “There was another man at the store, he was complaining.”
“What did he look like? He might have been my ex,” you huffed out a laugh, though it was a bit forced. You had spent quite a bit of time reflecting on your relationship with your ex-boyfriend and had come to some upsetting revelations, things you had ignored during your time with him. Some of them still stung a bit.
One of the man’s eyebrows quirked up at your statement, but as the seconds passed, whatever pattern of thought that followed, his brows furrowed down. Was he feeling offense on your behalf? Or was it jealousy? Either way, the proper response would have been for you to tell him fuck off; you didn’t need him to be upset by something that didn’t have anything to do with him and you certainly didn’t care if he was jealous, he was still a stranger after all.
But instead, you flicked a hand in the air, waving off the topic like an annoying fly, “Sorry, it was a joke. So, what exactly was this guy complaining about?”
He gave you a run down of the conversation; though he specifically kept the part about period sex out because he could not risk getting lost in those thoughts while being within arms reach of you. There was a natural progression from his retelling of the interaction to a back-and-forth discussion, critiquing the man and his immature behavior, pulling several huffs of amusement from the both of you. It was by far the easiest conversation thus far, the two of you speaking more as friends instead of captor and captive.
When the chat began to hit a lull, your senses opened up once again and that scent, his scent, crept back into your awareness. What was wrong with you? Ever since the ‘bathroom incident’ his scent was haunting you, refusing to give you a moment’s peace. Then you looked down at the items still in your hands. Ah, that explained it. It was typical for your period to make your sense of smell sensitive, as well as other things… You squeezed your thighs together at the thought.
Okay, time to end this conversation.
“Well, I am sorry you had to deal with that, but tha--.” You paused. Once again you found yourself thanking him and you still didn’t know his name. And you told yourself you shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t. But… you did. “Umm, I’m sorry, I think you told me your name before, but I forgot it,” you lowered your head, looking down and away from him as you spoke, feeling a bit awkward.
“My name…”
Your eyes flicked up at him discreetly, curious to see his smile. You knew he was smiling because of how bright his tone sounded. Unlike the restrained smile he had when he talked to you after you first woke up in his apartment, this smile stretched wide, forcing creases to form under his eyes that slightly played with the shape of his facial marking. Once again, you couldn’t help but think about how handsome he was.
“... is Choso.”
Pushing past the awkwardness, you looked back up at him. You met his eyes, which gleamed with the happiness that was reflected from his smile, “Thank you, Choso.”
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Five: Your Smile, My Light
At some point, after shutting yourself in the bedroom, you fell sleep; though you were unaware of what time it was when that happened. One moment you were dealing with a storm of emotions that crashed and wailed so intensely you could barely keep yourself from screaming and, in the next moment, your emotions calmed just enough for your tired body to successfully fight its way back into the tranquil world of unconsciousness. Though you couldn’t be sure how many hours you laid there asleep, it seemed it wasn’t long enough when a pressure on your stomach caused you to stir and groan with already-simmering irritation.
“Stooop,” the angry whine roughly spilled from your throat like shallow water flowing along a rocky riverbed, softened only minutely by the sleep that clouded you. If you had been an outsider looking in, it would seem that everything was completely normal, as if you were at home in your bed being bothered by your cat.
It was when the pressure on your stomach suddenly started to fluctuate, deepening on the right side while lightening on the left side and then those degrees of pressure constantly flip-flopping in a steady rhythm, that your awareness finally broke through the sleep enough to perceive an all-too familiar sound, purring. Your eyes snapped open to find your pet cat on top of you, front paws kneading at the meat of your stomach.
“Oh my god,” in your surprise, you quickly sat up and grabbed the cat into your arms, pulling her close to your chest and smothering her in a desperate hug.
The uncertain future of your beloved cat had been one of your main concerns with being kept in this apartment against your will. The only person you had in your life who would be willing (though begrudgingly) to take over responsibility of her was your best friend, but at this point, you weren’t even sure if she was still alive or not. You could only assume the worst, fearing that your cat would eventually die alone from dehydration and starvation. Having her in your arms was such a huge relief.
As the seconds passed, you began to sober from your joyous surprise and started to question how exactly it was that your cat got here. Easing the near-suffocating hold on your very forgiving cat (though, only forgiving when it came to you), you looked up towards the bedroom door. Knowing the fact that you were being kept here against your will, you should have no desire whatsoever to speak with the man from the subway; you should want to avoid him at all costs. But despite that, you found yourself wanting to go to him. Why?
I’m curious. That’s all it is. I have to know why , but more importantly – how, he brought her here to me.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you shuffled off the bed and made your way out of the bedroom. Stopping right at the edge of the hallway, it didn’t take long for you to scan the small apartment and land your gaze on the back of a head, adorned with spiky buns that are becoming all the more familiar, though you are a bit thrown off by the black fabric that had replaced the purple you are used to seeing. If it wasn’t for the hair, you would have assumed the person sitting on the couch was someone other than the man from the subway and retreated back to the safety of the bedroom. Undeterred, you took a couple steps towards the couch. You aimed to be quiet, though it seemed not enough (or maybe he had exceptional hearing) because the man immediately turned his head towards your direction.
As soon as he saw you, he abandoned his spot on the couch and rounded the furniture to stand directly in your path. His previous getup of white and purple had been replaced by a zipped up black hoodie and black jeans. Even the purple scarf was gone, revealing his long neck which was paled by the backdrop of black fabric from the hood. You couldn’t help your eyeline from dropping when he swallowed in preparation to speak, causing his Adam’s apple to bob from the effort.
Before he could utter a single word, you blurted out an incomprehensible word salad, a product of being distracted by his appearance and mixing two separate questions into one. This caused the man to take pause while your face heated with embarrassment as you rushed to correct yourself, “How did my cat get here?”
“I went and got it.”
His response didn’t give you the explanation you were looking for, but it did bring up another concern, “How do you know where I live?”
“Your ID.”
Hah! Caught him in a lie! Your ID was located in one of the slots in your phone’s wallet case. So, that meant…
With slitted eyes, you pinned the man with your incredulous gaze , “I thought that boy had my phone? If he really had my phone, he would have my ID too.”
“When I grabbed you, I grabbed what I thought was your phone from off the ground and it wasn’t until I got you here that I realized it was just the case.”
Your phone case was old and a bit damaged, which meant it didn’t take much for it to pop off from your phone. So, if it fell out of your pocket when the boy dropped you, what the man said happened could very well be possible. Willing to accept his story for the time, you refocused on your original concern, “Okay. So, how did you get my cat here?”
He was confused by your repeated question. What else was he to say about how he brought your cat to you? “I… went to your apartment, got it---”
“Her,” you corrected.
“Her… I got her and brought her back here.”
“No, I mean… How?! She is a furball full of unadulterated hate and hates everyone except for me,” you were exaggerating a bit.
But not much.
“Oh,” his gazed dropped to the cat as you absentmindedly petted her , “Well, she did seem pretty leery of me at first, but I found some leftover fish in the fridge that still seemed good and fed that to her. She ate it and she let me pet her. Eventually, she let me pick her up.”
You couldn’t help the shock and disbelief that shifted your features. The way he detailed the event made it seem like he had absolutely no issues, like it had been the easiest thing in the world, but this particular cat didn’t just let people pick her up, let alone approach her (even with the promise of food).
You had first come across this cat at an animal shelter you were volunteering at. She was young at the time, recently liberated from an extremely abusive situation and, although the staff at the animal shelter had successfully healed her physical wounds, they hadn’t been able to heal her mental ones. She was outright vicious and extremely difficult to deal with; it took a team of people to remove her and place her back in her crate when it was time for it to be cleaned. In fact, they were about to make the decision to put her down, deeming her completely unadoptable, but you argued against it, promising them that you could at least get her behavior to a good enough place where she could be adopted by a very experienced owner that didn’t have any pets or kids living at home.
It took some convincing, but they allowed it. So, for months, you carved out time every single day to work on socializing her. It was a painstakingly long and difficult process, but she eventually became comfortable with you, though still a bit standoffish, and the shelter was finally able to consider her ‘adoptable’. Going into this experience, you had never planned on adopting her. You were far too busy with your personal and professional goals to feel comfortable with making such a life-altering decision, but after working with the cat for so long, you couldn’t deny that you had grown attached to her. In the end, you made some adjustments in your life and adopted her. Ultimately, it had been a good decision; she bought a lot of happiness to your life that you never expected to get from having a pet. Though, it did make your relationship with your ex-boyfriend a little tricky. She may be your sweet angel baby, but she was still a demon to everyone else.
But then this guy just feeds her some fish and she’s fine with him approaching her, picking her up? How could…?
“Is…something wrong. I didn’t hurt her, did I?”
The way his eyes widened with alarm as he asked the question left no room for you to question the sincerity of his concern. He seemed to genuinely care and you couldn’t help but feel a tugging at your heartstrings that dared to pull you towards the man. How did he keep doing these small things that made you feel this way towards him? Like he was a loved one, instead of your captor?
“No…,” you shook your head, not in response to his question, but to free yourself from this new encroaching thought and settling back to the previous one, “I’m just…shocked.” And so very curious. “Do me a favor. Come over here and pet her.”
For a second, the man couldn’t believe what he had heard. After your earlier outbursts, he was lost on what to do to make you see what he was to you – your soulmate. You were so unaware and upset about the situation that he worried if he could ever establish your trust and affection for him. It was obvious you wanted nothing to do with him, but here you were now, asking him to approach you?
No matter. He wouldn’t question it. He wouldn’t let himself be dithered by his disbelief. Any chance you allowed him to be close to you, he would take it. So, he took several steps towards you; though honestly, he still anticipated you to match his action by taking several of your own steps back, but you never did. Once he was at a close enough distance - not wanting to push his luck, he extended his right hand, palm up, towards your cat so that his middle finger was just a few millimeters from her nose. He paused, giving your cat a chance to sniff at his finger, until she tapped his finger with her nose. With this show of approval, he finally slid his hand under her jaw and gave her a few gentle scritches there. She angled her head to give him better access, her body vibrating with a deep purr. As if the purring wasn’t damning enough, when you looked down at her, the angle at which she held her head made it look like she was smiling. She was seriously enjoying this; pets from a stranger.
You stood there in a stupor for a moment before coming back to your senses and asking the next important question, “Why would you even go out of your way to do this for me?”
“Because I know your upset about being stuck here,” he sighed before looking at you, his eyes locking with yours, “Out of everything you are upset about, this was the only thing I could change while keeping you safe.”
In a brief lapse in judgement, you appreciated his kindness. “Thank you…” the two sincere words trailed off into silence when you realized you were aiming to say his name, but you couldn’t recall it. Feeling a bit awkward from not knowing his name and wondering if you should even ask at this point, you dropped your face down and rubbed your cheek against your cat’s head, unable to contain the smile that formed.
This was your first true smile he had seen since coming in contact with you and it brightened your face in such a way that he felt as if he were being bathed in a comforting light. It warmed him, giving him a moment’s respite from the chilling cold of your overarching rejection of him. He had finally done something that made you happy; maybe this was the turning point of your relationship, maybe things would get…easier. In his excitement, he again felt that pull, that urge, to slip his arms around you and greedily soak up the warmth of you. But he was quick to restrain himself. If he tried to hold you now, this small amount of progress could all be lost. No. Instead, he took a moment to appreciate your smile; the way your soft lips stretched across your teeth, the way it made the corners of your eyes crinkle. He would kiss your lips one day, the lids of your closed eyes. Soon.
“You’re welcome,” your name fell from his lips so softly, you barely caught it.
While you remained mostly incognizant of the fact that you never gave the man your name, the man was silently bracing against the gravitational pull of shame that made him want to drop his eyes away from yours. He knew that you were uncomfortable with him and; therefore, had refused to tell him your name before, forcing him acquire such precious information from a piece of plastic.
In a delayed reaction to hearing his response, you snapped your head back up and dropped your smile at the realization that you were thanking the man for something that would be completely unnecessary if he would just let you go, “But don’t think this makes up for anything…”
All that warmth, those pleasant daydreams were ripped from him all too soon. Once again, he was chilled by your rejection, smothered by his anguish, “No, of course. I know… I just want you to be as comfortable as pos-“
“I’ll never be comfortable here,” your words were so serious and finite that he couldn’t respond, daring to leave the two of you in an uncomfortable silence. However, you were quick to add on, “Just leave me alone until…” you felt the flickers of irritation singe your nerves once more, “you’ve done whatever it is you need to do and can finally let me go.”
Before you could completely turn away from him, he said your name again and urged you to wait, “There’s food and water in the kitchen,” he pointed towards a plastic sack on the kitchen island counter, “please take them. They’re fresh; I brought them in not long ago.”
At this point, you didn’t have the willpower to turn down his offer; you were beyond starving and thirsty. So, as you adjusted the hold on your cat so that you were carrying her in one arm, you walked over to the kitchen, retrieved the plastic sack, and then resumed your walk to the bedroom without another word.
However, when you entered the hallway, the man gently shouted out again, “Also, I brought some other things from your apartment, mostly clothes, but let me know if you need anything else.”
You bristled at his announcement. He brought my clothes? Does that mean… You quickened your pace to the bedroom and shut the door behind you. Though your hands were full, you made a beeline to the lone dresser in the room and opened one of the drawers. A mixture of embarrassment and outrage burned at your cheeks when you saw a number of your underwear and bras inside.
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Four: We Wish Things Could’ve Been Different
You allowed yourself to cry even after the man exited the apartment, expecting him to come back at any second, but 5 minutes passed, 10 minutes passed, 15 minutes passed, and the door remained closed. The longer the man was absent, the more your emotions calmed, your pain subsided once more, and your resolve grew and strengthened, eventually motivating you to push yourself up to your feet and into action.
The very first thing you did was attempt the door again, this time approaching it slowly. Just as before, something stopped you from reaching the actual door, your hand pressing against what could only be described as an invisible wall. Feeling around, you discovered that the invisible wall only existed in front of the door.
Utterly confused, but not yet discouraged, you searched the apartment for other exits which in of itself was not a difficult task. There were three windows total, one over the kitchen sink and one in each bedroom, but each one was also protected by their own invisible wall, meaning you weren’t able to physically reach them either. As if that wasn’t distressing enough, the windows were also blacked out, making it impossible for you to see anything that was outside. So, you couldn’t be sure if you were on ground level or not and, even if you were, you wouldn’t be able to see the people walking past the windows and they wouldn’t be able to see you.
With little idea of what else to do, you resorted to throwing different objects at the front door, testing to see if you could ‘break’ the invisible wall. You tried throwing a knife, a small lamp, one of the kitchen-island chairs, and everything else you had the strength to pick up and throw until you wore yourself out. You didn’t hear any sounds or see any signs of the wall breaking, but you reached your hand towards the door anyways, feeling out the space in front of it, hoping your hand wouldn’t be met by any resistance.
But it was; by a solid wall of…nothing.
You forced out a humorless laugh as you dropped your hand in defeat and backed away. Maybe you spent too much of your free time watching anime, but you couldn’t help but think you had been isekai’d to some strange world that only looked like your own. It was the only thing that could explain how your normal life had turned into this nightmare. You were chased by literal monsters, then you were kidnapped by a guy that attacked people with blood, and now you were trying to break an invisible wall. Such things, monsters and magic, didn’t exist in your world. Did they?
Before you could think on it much longer, you were yanked out of your thoughts when the sound of muted footsteps approached the front door. Instinctually, you grabbed the knife, that you had used earlier in an attempt to break the invisible wall, up from the floor and dashed into the kitchen to hide yourself behind the kitchen island. You had two options. (1): If he came into the kitchen, you could surprise attack him before he saw you. (2): If he went into the living room, you could use a stealth attack while his back was towards you.
You closed your eyes when the door opened and closed in quick succession, willing your sense of hearing to focus. The sounds of slow, crackling footsteps filled the silent apartment; you could mentally picture the man taking careful steps around the mess you had created, unable to avoid the shattered lightbulb that littered the floor. You also picked up on the rustling sound of a plastic bag as the footsteps grew louder, closer, a sign that the man was making his way into the kitchen. Your grip on the knife tightened as you opened your eyes and waited for him to pass by where you were hiding. But he never did.
The next thing you heard was the sound of something in a plastic bag being placed on top of the kitchen island counter before the footsteps continued, but this growing quieter and further away. You peaked out from your hiding place and saw the man from the subway, his back towards you as he walked away, seemingly headed for the hallway. This was your chance to sneak up on him and attack.
You rounded the kitchen island, exiting from the side of the kitchen that would allow you to avoid the debris from your mess, keeping yourself crouched down as you took cautious, quiet steps behind the man. The more you closed the distance, the higher your heart rate rose. If you didn’t successfully hit him, what would happen? You forcefully pushed the thought from your mind. If you wanted to get out of here, you had to hit him; failure was not an option.
Once you were close enough, you straightened your stance while simultaneously bringing the knife up and over your head. Putting all of your power into the motion, you slashed the knife down, aiming for the man’s upper back. But the man swiftly and effortlessly twisted his body around and grabbed your wrist, bringing your motion to a complete stop. His right hand, that was wrapped around said wrist, held on tightly as he brought his left hand up and worked the weapon from your grasp. You struggled against him the whole time, but it was pointless against his strength.
When he successfully removed the knife from your hand and threw it away aimlessly, you desperately started hitting the arm of his restraining hand with your free one, “Fucking let go of me!”
“I only grabbed you because you just tried to stab me,” the man exasperated like he couldn’t believe what was happening, like you were doing this to him. If he had just let you go, this wouldn’t have had to happen.
In your frustration with his tone, you doubled down on your efforts, squirming in his grasp and attacking his arm. A yelp jumped from your throat when he grabbed onto your flailing upper arm and used his overwhelming strength to push and maneuver you over to the nearby couch. Your body awkwardly tumbled and fell back onto the couch when he finally released you in the midst of your struggling. You fully expected him to further subdue you in some fashion, but instead, as you recovered from your fall, he shot out a firm command for you to stay put as he retreated. In no time at all, he was back with a plastic bag, taking out its contents and placing them on the coffee table in front of you. The items he set out were a couple of steamed buns and a bottle of water, all of which most likely came from a nearby convenience store.
The man took a few steps back, to avoid hovering, as you looked at the offerings for a few silent seconds before he sighed, “I understand that you are upset, but you’ve got to be hungry and thirsty. I got these for you.”
You shot him a skeptical look, “So you can roofie me?” You crossed your arms and looked away from him, like a defiant child, “No thanks.”
At your response, he balked for a second before his features sharpened, his strong brows dipping into a deep, angry ‘v’. While he wasn’t necessarily what anyone would consider an ‘expert’ in the dating scene, he knew exactly what you meant.
He knew because he had inserted himself amongst human crowds on many occasions during the last two years. One specific crowd he tended to frequent was the bar scene because it served as the ideal environment for him to learn more about humans. He could blend in and it was a little more difficult for people to pick up on just how different he was from them, their inhibitions and critical thinking skills laxed by the copious amounts of alcohol they drank. And as he mingled with the full-blood humans he’d come to understand many different things, one of those being what a ‘roofie’ was - a drug meant to render someone unconscious or unable to function normally. To think that people would actually use such means to ‘have their way’ with another person was intolerably repulsive to him, so much so that he had actually foiled several such attempts he just happened to witness in the past.
“You really think I would do something like that?!” He had expressed frustration with you before now, but this was the first time he spoke to you with a disgusted anger.
“Again, I don’t know you, at all,” your words were firm and pointed; how many times would you have to remind him of that fact? “As far as I know, you could very well be some kind of serial rapist that acts all nice and trustworthy at first, like it’s all a sick fucking game.”
“My mother,” he paused, his anger all but deflated when he finally continued, “suffered at the hands of a sick man. What you’re trying to accuse me of, it’s the last thing I would ever want to do to you.”
You couldn’t help but stiffen your spine at the shock of his harrowing admission. Empathy threatened to flood your system and persuade you turn back towards the man, to really gauge his expression, but your self-preserving, instinctual brain fought hard to maintain control. He could be lying in another attempt to gain your trust.
It wasn’t until you sensed the man moving when you finally turned towards him. However, it wasn’t so much you he had moved closer to, but the coffee table. He reached out and took one of the steamed buns, freed it from its packaging, and took a bite. He put the bun back down and then made a similar show of action with the bottle of water, opening it and taking a sip.
When he set the water bottle down, he withdrew a few steps once again, “There, I wouldn’t drug myself would I?”
He was attempting to prove his trustworthiness through action and you would be lying if you said that it didn’t work and you weren’t tempted to trust him. As if in response to seeing the man eat and drink, your throat was suddenly dry and your stomach gurgled painfully. In truth, it had been so long since you last ate or drank anything, but you had been so preoccupied with your predicament, with trying to get out, that you hadn’t realize just how hungry and thirsty you were. And yet, you still hesitated.
Instead, you decided to press him further, “Let’s say I believe you; that you really didn’t bring me here for such a nefarious purpose. Then why did you? And don’t give me any of that,” you really didn’t want to say the word he used earlier, “…stuff you said earlier. That’s insane. It’s not real.”
The man knew exactly what ‘stuff’ you were referring to, but he wasn’t sure how else to explain himself without bringing that up, “I… I know you want to go home.”
“I do,” you inserted firmly, “I really do. Please let me go.”
Your words made his heart ache, as he hesitated with his reply, “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve gotten word that the boy from the subway found your phone,” his words were very soft, barely reaching your ears, as if he were ashamed to say them aloud, “They will use it to find you.”
“Who is ‘they’? And why would they look for me?”
He ignored your first question, “...To get to me.”
Everything that the man was saying sounded like something you’d hear in a mob movie or TV show. Even if he was being honest about not wanting to do anything bad to you, he had to be involved in some shady shit. He had people looking for him? And even though the boy with pink hair seemed nice enough, who was to say that the people who were looking for him were ‘good’? With your new reality being what it was, there was always the chance they could be ‘worse’. The longer you were stuck here, the more your chances grew of getting caught in the middle of whatever was happening between the man and these other people. You had to get out of here.
You stood up, “But I don’t know anything about you, I don’t even know where I am. Blindfold me, drop me off somewhere. If you let me go now, even if they find me, I won’t be able to tell them anything. So, just let me go, please.”
He was quiet for an extended moment, giving you hope that he was considering it; though that hope quickly died when he finally spoke, “I can’t risk it.”
“So, then,” you huffed out a sound of faux amusement, “do you plan on keeping me here against my will for the rest of my life?”
“No, just until…” he wasn’t sure what kind of timeline he could give you.
“UNTIL WHAT?!” You screamed at him, irritation building in your chest.
“Until the situation changes,” before the words even left his lips, he knew they wouldn’t please you nor put you at any sort of ease. He knew that anything besides ‘yes, I’ll let you go,’ would upset you further. He really hated that it had to be this way, but what else was he to do?
He just needed more time…
By this point, you understood he wasn’t going to give in or even provide you with a measurable answer, making you see red. Throwing caution to the wind, you approached the man and shoved him, your body begging for physical release from the anger that burned at your muscles. The man moved a step backwards, only because he willingly chose not to brace against your outburst. He could understand your frustration and anger and he felt extremely guilty for being the one to cause it, but he had to believe that it would all be worth it. Eventually, everything would click for you and all would settle into place as it should. So, until then, if you needed to scream at him and shove him, he would take it. If it meant you would be his (and he would be yours) in the end, he was more than willing to do that.
You screamed at him more, additional shoves punctuating each compliant, “I can’t just stay here!!! I have a life! I have a job! I need to find out if my best friend made it out alive; I need to let her know that I’m alive! I have a cat at home to take care of! You can’t do this to me!”
You balled your fists as you dropped them to your sides, fuming as you glared up at him. You were so angry with him, but you were also angry with yourself. Angry with yourself because, even as your body burned with anger at this man, you couldn’t help the way his dark eyes affected you as they stared down at you. You could see the guilt and hurt that wetted his eyes and there was a tiny piece of you that wanted to… comfort him. Such an obtuse desire brought your thoughts back to earlier when he had comforted you, how it had felt to be in his embrace. You couldn’t help but think that, if you hadn’t met him because of this totally fucked up situation, you could see yourself falling for him quite easily. It almost felt… unfair that it had to happen this way.
You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood in silence until he finally offered the only response he could give, “I’m sorry.”
”Yeah, I’m sure you are,” you replied with a stoney voice, completely devoid of any emotion as you stomped off, making your way back to the bedroom you had not long ago escaped from and slammed the door shut behind you. You couldn’t look at him anymore, it was too confusing.
Curse Me With Your Love and I’ll Stain You With My Blood
Choso x reader fanfic.
18+ only. Minors, do NOT interact.
Chapter Three: The Things We Reject
Awareness of a dull pain slowly seeped into the darkness behind your closed eyes. At first, you felt the pain coming from your head, but as your awareness amplified, you realized the pain wasn’t just localized to you head; your whole body was tight and sore. What had you done that would cause this?
As you laid there, eyes still closed in a desperate fight to fall back into the realm of unconsciousness, your brain lazily flipped through recent memories. Your best friend coming over to your apartment, bullying her way into your bedroom closet so she could pick out the outfit you were going to wear for a night out in Shibuya, and you flopping yourself on your bed in childish defiance. You must have fallen asleep shortly after laying down and your best friend decided to be kind for once and give up on her stupid plans. You loved her, you really did, but she inserted herself too much sometimes.
While all of that was a nice thought, it didn’t explain the soreness you were feeling. With your body still clinging stubbornly to awareness, you realized that you were laying in a loose fetal position. Maybe that was the culprit. In attempt to alleviate some of the pain, you slowly uncurled your body and extended your limps, allowing yourself to stretch. There was something solid that stopped your legs from completing their full stretch, but it barely registered to your sleepy mind.
After another 30 seconds or so, you gave up on the prospect of more sleep and cracked a single eye open. The first thing your tired eye locked on was a door. Which was weird considering the fact that, with your bedroom set up the way it was, the door would not be the first thing you would see from your current position on the bed. Clumsily, you brought your right hand to your eyes to rub the sleep from them and assessed the door further. There wasn’t much light filling the room, probably just a small lamp’s worth of light originating from behind you, but it was enough to help you see that the door you were looking at was of a darker shade than your bedroom door. After a few more seconds of lag time, all of the information finally clicked within your sleep-ridden brain.
It was not your room.
The adrenaline that rushed into your bloodstream was enough to temporarily flip off your pain receptors and chase away every bit of fogginess that clouded your brain, allowing your body to lurch up into a sitting position on the bed to take in the entirety of your surroundings. Though your examination of the room didn’t get very far, as the very next thing you saw was the man from the subway, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was at that moment you finally became cognizant of what your feet had hit when you stretched your legs earlier, and what they were currently resting against, his solid thigh.
“Holy shit,” you exclaimed as you shuffled yourself backwards, breaking your physical contact with the man and bringing your back flush against the headboard of the bed.
“It’s okay, it’s me,” the man gently announced, his silken voice heavied by fatigue.
It had been a long day. He had partaken in the preparation and attack on Shibuya (though, to be honest, he did the bare minimum in that regard), fought Itadori, and saved you from the dangers in Shibuya. Even after all of that, he hadn’t been able to rest, spending the last 3 hours worrying away as you slept. Yes, he was tired – extremely so, but there was also no way he would be able to sleep restfully until he knew you were okay.
“I just came to check on you. How do you feel? Any pain?”
Different memories flooded your mind. You and your friend arriving at Shibuya, being alone and running from monsters, the man promising to protect you, the man and boy fighting each other, and then the two fighting for possession over you. The very last you thing you remembered was being slung over the boy’s shoulder, but now you found yourself waking up in some random bedroom with the man sitting next to you.
You ignored the man’s question, “What happened? Where am I?”
“I was able to get the boy to drop you, but you hit your head,” the man looked away from you, as if he were ashamed of the admission, “I’m sorry. He was gaining distance and it was the only thing I could do to get you from him.” He allowed a few seconds of silence to pass before he turned back to look at you, “You’re in my apartment now.”
The apartment wasn’t technically his; it belonged to the man whose body was now serving as his vessel. Geto used his connections to keep the utilities on so the place would be usable for whatever purposes he deemed necessary. However, Geto gave him permission to use it as well. During the last year and a half, there hadn’t been much reason for him to use the apartment because he stayed close to his brothers, but after they were killed, he found himself spending more and more time in it. However, all of that was just pointless details that really didn’t matter in the moment. You were safe and you were with him. That’s all that truly mattered.
You didn’t like his answer, “Your apartment?"
There were other questions you wanted to ask him due to your curious nature. Who was the boy? Why had they been fighting each other? What was up with that floating and exploding blood? But your survival instincts pushed all of those insignificant questions aside. You were in a stranger’s apartment, not an ideal situation to be in no matter the circumstances. You had to get out as soon as possible.
“I see. Well, thank you…” you started as you quickly scrambled off of the bed and onto your feet, the sudden motion offsetting your blood pressure.
As your blood pressure dropped, you felt the room go off-kilter and a creeping blackness began to overtake the edges of your vision. You stumbled forward a couple of steps, determined to maintain your blinded stride towards the bedroom door until your blood pressure normalized. But you weren’t expecting the sharp pain that followed, assaulting you as the blood rushed back into your battered brain, causing your body to tense up. With eyes closed, bracing against the pain, you felt yourself falling forward, an unwelcomed déjà vu.
But this time, you never hit the ground.
Your body made contact with something that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, bracing you across your diaphragm, then proceeded to carefully twist and pull you until you were enclosed by something. Blindly, you grabbed onto the firm softness that surrounded you, steadying yourself against the lingering dizziness. For a brief moment, you struggled to open your eyes and look up, see what exactly it was that encircled you now, but the pain was still an excruciating pulse that made your head feel unbearably heavy. Ultimately, you surrendered, permitting your head to rest against a welcoming wall of comfort.
In your confusion and pain, you were completely unaware that the ‘thing’ you were clinging to, resting against, was the man; your hands held onto his arms for dear life and your head rested against his chest. The man had his arms around you, one hand on your ribcage and the other on your waist, holding you in place, though his reluctance to touch you in such a way caused the grasp he had on you to be quite loose and light. He hadn’t forgotten your initial hesitation to his touch, the way you had kept your distance from him. And though he had touched you after that, when he grabbed your hand to run and when he carried you here after you had been knocked out, these were ultimately done without your consent. Even now, you hadn’t truly consented to this, but he couldn’t just let you fall and possibly injure yourself further.
But as moral as he was trying to be, he was just a man. Well… half-man, half-cursed spirit.
His morality snapped like a brittle stick when you snuggled your face impossible closer to him and let out a soft groan that vibrated against his chest; your action further drawing out his already burning desire to hold you properly. So shamefully, he did, wrapping his arms around you further, tighter, and pulling your body flush against his as he leaned his face against the top of your head. Flyaway strands tickled his nose as he gently breathed in the scent of your still slightly-dampened hair that smelled of some type of fragrant soup, water, and a touch of salt from your exertion in Shibuya.
He was still at such a disbelief that he had found you, that he was holding you now.
Eventually, your blood pressure normalized and the pain in your head dulled, releasing their hold on your awareness. You pulled back, albeit a bit reluctantly, from the warm comfort that was supporting you, experiencing no resistance from whatever had its hold on you. A gasp punctuated your surprise to see the man enveloped around you.
The man, following your lead, had pulled away as well, but just enough to look at you properly. He was searching for any hints as to what you were feeling, what you could possibly be thinking. You had been a bit suspicious of him before, but he could sense that something was different now. Had everything finally clicked for you like it had for him back in Shibuya? Did you finally realize…
But even if he had been a mind reader, there would be no possible way for him to truly understand what you were feeling or thinking. You couldn’t even be sure; you were feeling and thinking about too much at once. Your brain was at war with itself; the instinctual part urging you to pull from the stranger’s embrace, run away, and the reasoning part convincing you to find out more about what had happened and where you were. Of course, your brain was also bruised and wanted nothing more than to command your body to lay back down and sleep so that you could avoid everything – the situation you were in, the pain.
However, amongst all of these, there was still something else. An eerie feeling of familiarity that you hadn’t felt towards the man until that very moment as his warmth embraced you, as his face monopolized your field of vision. His dark eyes flicked between different points of your face until you unconsciously parted your lips, forcing him to lock his eyeline upon them.
Acting of their own accord, your lips moved in a poor attempt to say something, but you quickly snapped your mouth shut before any inarticulate words could escape. Your thoughts were far too jumbled to formulate a coherent sentence. And on top of that, the man’s pressuring gaze, though endearing, was intense. It was as if he was uncomfortably on edge, waiting for you to say something, anything.
But you didn’t know what to say…
He was seemingly patient (though, unbeknownst to you, his patience was indeed fraying like old tethered rope) as you permitted the silence to permeate the minimal space between the two of you. As the seconds slowly ticked by, you were once again drawn to the man’s features, just as you had back in Shibuya. You realized the marking across his nose was back to ‘normal’; the rectangle shape, ending just under the midpoints of his eyes, that graced his features when you very first laid your eyes upon his handsome face. It was a mysterious thing, and maybe that’s what added to the man’s already alluring appearance. He was so strikingly beautiful.
Your intense stare was broken by the man, him looking away as he attempted to suppress a shiver, which forced you to become acutely aware of how crazy this was. You were allowing yourself to be drawn in by the fact that this man saved you and that he was incredibly attractive, but at the end of the day, he was a complete stranger. Your instinctual brain finally seemed to gain some control, motivating you to squirm and pull away from the man’s embrace. Though disappointed by it, he understood your silent request for release and submitted to it without issue.
You took a couple carefully-placed, backward steps from him. Only now that you had separated yourself from his embrace did you realize that your clothes were still slightly damp, making the room feel a bit chiller than it actually was.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“To keep you safe until you woke up,” looking at you once again, he said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world.
“Well, I mean, why didn’t you just take me to the police? Or a hospital? Why did you bring me to your apartment?”
“You got hurt because of me; I wanted to take care of you,” he paused for a moment, as if debating if he should say more, “And so that we could talk.”
He wants to ‘take care’ of me?
“Talk? Talk about what?”
“Anything. Everything,” a small, restrained smile played at his full lips, as if he was having a hard time containing the happiness that such a prospect brought him, “I know you aren’t feeling well,” he added quickly, “So, all of that can wait, but maybe we can at least start with our names. My name is Choso.”
He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to respond in kind by introducing yourself, but hardly any of his words registered as your instinctual brain finally took hold of the reigns of your conflicting thoughts once more, reigniting the urge to get yourself out of the apartment. This complete stranger was talking about ‘wanting to take care of you’ and apparently had to ‘talk’ to you about something. It was all just so strange.
“Well, as I was saying…” you started once more, taking a couple of sideways steps towards the door to keep the man in your sight as you tested his reaction, “Thank yo…”
The happiness that lightened all of his features drained from his face, replaced by concern, “Wait, you shouldn’t be wal--”
“I’m fine, really,” you interjected, trying to sound like your normal self, all while you moved your hand as inconspicuously as possible to your pocket where you typically kept your phone, but the familiar outline of it was missing. Did he take my phone? “I really need to get home. Now,” you tried to make your voice as firm as possible, but you couldn’t help the building anxiety that shook your words slightly. Hopefully it wasn’t enough for the man to notice.
The man shot you a perplexed look, “You want to leave?”
“Yes, I do” you said, thankfully a little more firmly than before.
“But I finally found you. I saved you.”
Finally found me? That…that didn’t sound good.
“And like I said, I really appreciate it. If you want… something, you know, for saving me, I can…,” you flicked your eyes up for a few contemplative seconds, as if actively reaching into your brain to pull out an idea, “I guess I can give you some money? I don’t have much saved up, but whatever I have I’ll give it to you. We just need to go to an ATM.”
It was desperate, but it was an attempt to bribe him with something that could get him to agree to take you somewhere outside of the apartment. Whether you ended up giving him the money or not wasn’t your main concern. You just needed to get someplace where you weren’t alone with him. Once you were in a public space, you’d make a break for it once you found your chance.
“I don’t want your money,” his tone was a mixture of offense and hurt, “I want to know more about you.”
Know more about me? Why?
“Well, do you have a phone? I can put in my number. You can give me a call sometime and we can meet up, but I really need to go now.”
Another desperate attempt. Meeting up with him was the last thing you wanted to do, but you could easily give him a false number. But then again, if he had your phone as you assumed, he could attempt to confirm the number before letting you go. If he found out you gave him the wrong number, he may not let you go. So, it would probably be best just to give him the correct number at first. That’s fine. I’ll just get a new phone number, a new phone. Whatever. Problem solved.
“I don’t have a phone.”
His response threw you off for a split second. Who doesn’t have a phone nowadays?
“Oookay, I’ll write down my num--”
The man interrupted by taking a step towards you, unable to help the frustration that now colored his tone, “How can you suggest these things? Were these two years not hard, not difficult for you as they were for me?”
In your fear of his advancing movement, his words didn’t truly register as you took a step back from him, bringing you that much closer to the door, “Please don’t come near me.”
“And why do you retreat from me, pull away from me?” He was unaware of his heighted voice as frustration continued to build, beginning to overpower his hurt and confusion, “You should wa--”
It was your turn to interrupt him, “You’re scaring me.”
The man faltered at your admission, forcing himself to take a step back and inhale a calming breath as he took in the details of your facial expression, your body language. As soon as he realized that you really were scared, he sat himself back on the edge of the bed where he had been previously. He did this to better control himself as his emotions roiled within him and to lower the physical intimation his height might have been contributing to the situation.
He slowly exhaled before speaking again, “I… I don’t mean to scare you. I want… You should feel comfortable with me.”
“Just because you saved me doesn’t mean I should feel comfortable with you. Especially when you just up and bring me to your apartment. You should have just taken me to the police or the hospital or something. There was absolutely no reason to bring me here! I don’t know you!”
Those last four words were hard to hear and, in the midst of drowning in his emotions, the man chose to reject them, “Don’t… Yes, you do. You do know me. Two years ago, our souls called out to each other. We are…,” he hesitated to use the term he just recently learned, but how else was he to describe this connection the two of you shared? “We are soulmates. You feel it, don’t you?”
You wanted to ask him what the fuck his was talking about, but you couldn’t form the words with your mouth that was gaping open as you attempted to process his words. ‘Soulmates’? ‘Know more about you’? ‘I finally found you’? Everything he was saying was so odd, confusing, and insane. So, did that mean that coming in contact with him at the subway was not as random as you originally thought it to be? Was he some kind of stalker who had some weird, delusional obsession with you and took advantage of the desperate situation you were in to finally kidnap you?
Oh god, he really isn’t going to let me go, is he?
At this realization, you immediately gave up on convincing your way out of the situation and, instead, made a mad dash to the door, swinging it open. Exiting the door, you found yourself in a hallway. To the left, the hallway dead ended into a bathroom, you could tell because the door was left slightly ajar and you saw a bathtub. So, you ran to the right, passing another door that you assumed led to another bedroom. The hallway gave way to an open-concept living room and kitchen area; your eyes immediately locking onto the front door of the apartment. There was no one else in the apartment and the man hadn’t caught you yet.
Escape felt possible.
But when you came up to the door, your body slammed into something just inches before reaching the actual door itself, which caused you to fall back onto the floor, landing at an angle on your back. The wind hadn’t been knocked from your lungs, but the fall further wracked your brain against your skull, bringing back the pain in full force. You grabbed at your aching head as you looked up at the door dumbly, confused about what had stopped you from reaching the door.
A concerned voice sounded from behind you, though it wavered with hurt,“Are you okay? What are y-”
You twisted your head over your shoulder to see the man approaching. Scrambling onto all fours, you desperately crawled away in a sad attempt to maintain distance from him, whimpering at the pain in your head and the fear that gripped at your insides. Your survival instincts were pushing you towards the kitchen; if you could grab a knife, you would have a chance at protecting yourself. However, when you reached the small kitchen island and tried to stand up, your body buckled beneath you as your anxiety spiked. All of a sudden, it was all too much and you weren’t even sure why you were trying. No matter what you did, he would get you.
At this thought, you dropped down onto your butt and leaned against the kitchen island, your body breaking into a desperate, angry sob as you looked at the man, who was standing by the front door where you had fallen, “Stay the fuck away from me!”
The man was baffled; this was not how he imagined things would go after you woke up, especially not after the way you looked at him when he was holding you, “I know you felt something. You can’t tell me you didn’t.”
Deep down, you knew exactly what he was referring to, but you rejected it all the same, “I DON’T!! I feel nothing towards you. I don’t even know you!!” You screamed the words, deflating your anger, leaving you with your despair, “I just want to go; I want to go home. Please let me go,” you begged as you curled your body into a tight fetal position.
Your words might as well have acted as a curse technique cancelling weapon that stabbed the man in the gut, leaving him unable to control his blood as he bled to death. He already felt so deeply for you and he thought you were beginning to feel the same, but now it was obvious that such was not the case. He had been wrong. You were not feeling any connection to him; in fact, with the way you spoke to him now, you might as well of hated him.
He loved you. And you hated him.
At this thought, the man stoically made his way towards the door, easily avoiding any obstruction, and exited the apartment, leaving you alone as you cried.
Honestly, Just Here To Share My Choso Fanfic. @warinthetangledstars - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
