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preeningpisces · 7 days

Text

Moody

Pairing: Choso x fem reader

Summary: Your tense relationship with Choso comes to a head.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal sex, bickering acquaintances to lovers

18+!

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“This sucks.”

You sit up and scowl at the source of that complaint: Kamo Choso, a mysterious man straddling the line between curse and human.

Today’s mission saw you hauling yourselves out to a shrine in the wilderness, where local rumors of a ghost haunting the surrounding forest spawned a particularly disturbing curse. And it didn’t go down without a long, tough fight, as the burning scratches on your arm attest. They pulse with every furious thump of your heart when you begrudgingly regard your partner.

With thick, black hair, deep eyes, and a finely tuned physique, Choso’s an undeniably handsome man, but a moody bastard nonetheless. A complainer. He’s done nothing but complain since you met him, which was when he first started taking Yuji’s place on missions with you for a reason only he considers good:

He doesn’t trust you.

You shoot him an irritated look. A muscle feathers in his sharp jaw as he stares right back. Dark, sleepy eyes lock onto you, assessing you, judging you. Again.

“Oh, you’re not having fun?” you toss back with mock surprise, narrowing your eyes. “Here I was thinking you liked these missions, considering how often you volunteer for them. How many times have you ‘saved’ Yuji from me now? Four? Five?”

“Doesn’t matter how many. It’s not enough,” he snarls. “And it won’t be enough until you prove you can keep him safe in a fight.”

Your chest tightens, and you glance at the zipper on your tent. You’re going to need some fresh air soon. At this point, his caution with you is just insulting. And considering what he’s seen you’re capable of already, considering the fact that you’ve kept him safe plenty of times, it even…hurts.

“You know, it’s the strangest thing. You don’t take precautions like this with other sorcerers. Sorcerers you know half as well as me,” you spit. You wiggle out of your sleeping bag with a wince and sit up straight.

And because you know it’ll hurt, because he hurt you first, you twist the knife permanently buried in his side.

“So are you sure you’re doing such a good job protecting Yuji?”

And like that knife just wedged itself a little deeper, he jerks back and grimaces.

“Watch yourself,” he seethes. He scrambles to his feet and follows right behind you as you burst out of the tent. “Don’t you ever question my devotion to my little brother. You have no fucking clue—”

“What your bond is like,” you finish for him. You’ve already heard this a million times. “Spare me the speech tonight, Choso. I’m…I’m tired.”

Your shoulders rise and fall against the weight of a heavy sigh. The higher-ups had warned you this mission would probably take all day, and they were right. It was well past sundown by the time you exorcised that curse. With your injury fresh and your energy depleted, you simply didn’t have the strength to walk back to the car parked miles away tonight. So once you found a decent clearing in the woods about halfway back, you pulled out the flimsy tent you’d packed—just in case—and started setting it up.

Until Choso snatched the kit from you and just did the whole thing himself, at least.

You cross your arms, taking care to mind your bandages, and scan the area around you. Under better circumstances, with better company, this might not have been so bad. The weather is mild, the setting serene. Amidst the towering trees and twinkling, cloudless sky, only the crickets and the wind puncture the silence. It’s a nice night for stargazing.

But the circumstances are less than ideal, your stinging arm reminds you. And the company…

You’re already frowning by the time you turn to Choso, who’s glaring at you with his lips pushed out in a pout, hovering around you like a fly. You’re about ready to swat him like one, at least. You won’t be able to sleep with him just…watching you like this. Sizing you up. Hating you.

“Aren’t you tired?” you groan.

“No,” he sniffs.

“Liar. You just can’t fall asleep until I do, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, fuck you.”

“Fuck you back.”

You throw your arms into the air in frustration, rage, desperation, anything that might communicate how you’re feeling with him. But you throw them up with so much force that they fall right back down, leaving you hissing and wincing at your furious scratches.

Choso starts, one hand shooting out to grab your wrist while the other checks your bandage.

“Hey. Be careful, would you?” he grumbles. “That curse got you good tonight.”

You watch him with wide eyes as he inspects you. Was that…concern?

“It’s not that bad,” you mutter.

Really, it’s not. You only needed bandages, not stitches. And Choso certainly doesn’t need to be fussing with that tiny edge of cloth falling loose. You try to pull your arm back, but you only manage to drag him along with it. He huffs and mumbles a string of grievances you can’t make out while he tucks that loose piece under another.

“I mean it,” you insist, shaking your arm. He doesn’t relent.

“Hold still,” he demands. “God, you never take your injuries seriously. If you can’t even take care of yourself tonight, then I’ll clearly have to do it for you.”

You sigh and tap your foot while he finishes up.

“Come on,” you mutter. “Just because I’m not losing my mind over a few scratches, you think I’d let Yuji get hurt?”

He stands up straight again and regards you with one brow raised and his head cocked to the side.

“Huh? What does Yuji have to do with—”

Choso chokes on the second half of his sentence, and his eyes shoot open. He clears his throat and takes a step back, staring up at the sky, before he restarts.

“...Yes. Yeah. Exactly. Learn to tend to your own wounds, then maybe I could trust you to have Yuji’s back.”

You watch him as he very pointedly avoids watching you, his neck craned back, his wide eyes glued to the stars. You swear you can see his throat bob before he crosses his arms tight over his chest. He doesn’t say anything else.

And neither do you. You’re too busy trying to identify the feeling bubbling in your stomach as you study the way his features catch the moonlight. There’s no way you’re seeing him correctly. Because if you are…then he’s blushing right now.

And if the warmth rising in your cheeks is any indication, so are you.

You force yourself to turn away and stare at the stars, too, desperate to push down that confusing feeling, as both of you stand there in an eternity’s worth of silence.

But eternity passes. And then it gets worse.

“...I hate camping,” Choso gripes.

Your eye twitches.

That’s it.

“Well damn, Choso, I wish you’d told me that before I packed up the tent!” you holler, throwing your head back, ready to scream at the starry sky. “Because out here, next to this reclusive shrine 20 miles from the city, I was actually planning to book us a 5-star hotel!”

Choso smacks a palm against his forehead and sighs. “Wait. No. I didn’t mean that like—”

“But I thought you loved camping!” You wave your bandaged arm in front of him. “I thought you loved exorcising curses and sleeping in the dirt!”

“I misspoke! I was trying to—”

“I. Thought. You. LOVED. Sharing a cramped tent with the sorcerer you hate most!”

“Would you stop?” he barks, turning to face you, his nose scrunched and his eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, okay?! I worded that badly! I was trying to…to relate to you. Sympathize with you. I know you’re not having fun, either.”

“...Huh?”

You stop and face him in turn. That storm inside you still rages, but the winds have hushed some. You’re quiet as you try to make sense of whatever storm of his own seems to be brewing in his eyes, especially as it contradicts his follow-up, spoken in a low, hushed voice.

“And I don’t…hate you. I’ve never hated you.”

You roll your eyes and huff out a laugh. “Ha! I didn’t know you could tell jokes.”

“I mean it,” he grumbles. He pushes some dirt around with his shoe. “If I really couldn’t stand you, you know, I never would’ve even bothered going on these missions in Yuji’s place. I’d have just found a way to keep you from getting paired up.”

“So, what?” you push, ignoring the uptick in your heart rate. “What does that change, really, if you still feel strongly enough to invite yourself here and judge and assess and berate me?”

Another pause sticks to the air. Choso’s brows furrow when he finally answers.

“Is that really how I come off?” he murmurs, his words low, hesitant. “Like I’m berating you?”

“Well, yeah…” you say. You cross your arms tighter around yourself against a chilly breeze. “Especially tonight. Thought you were gonna bite my ear off when you were wrapping up my arm.” You look down at it and pull it behind yourself. “Which I didn’t ask you to do, by the way.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna let you just try to walk it off without at least disinfecting it.”

“Like I was gonna do that, either?!”

“Hell, you might have! You were more interested in setting up the tent. I mean, come on. What ridiculous priorities when your arm was—”

“There!” you bark, pointing a shaming finger directly at him. “There’s the berating! Right there!”

Again, Choso pauses. His lips knit themselves into a straight line, and he takes a deep breath as his eyes travel back to your arm. But this time, his gaze isn’t quite so sharp. It’s softened considerably, in fact, as it scans the edges of your bandages, his expression full of a tenderness you’re not sure you’ve ever seen from him before.

“Oh…” he mutters. “I hear it now.”

“Finally,” you grunt.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hmph.”

He raises his arms above his head in a big stretch before he starts inching back to the tent.

“I’ll…I’ll be more mindful of my wording in the future,” he continues. You regard him with a side eye. Going back to the tent doesn’t require shuffling so close to you. “I just…I worry.”

Another grunt and an eye roll from you.

“As probably the only sorcerer whose company I don’t mind…”

You cock your head to the side and regard him fully. He’s never mentioned that before. And there’s that damn fluttering in your chest…

“…It’s important to me that you’re safe.”

Choso could be forgiven for thinking your lack of a response is simply more of the silent treatment you’ve started meting out tonight. Truly, though, as he casts one last, careful look at you before retiring to the tent, you realize that you simply…don’t know what to say.

You huff and hum and haw and stare straight up at the sky again, which has started to cloud. You tap your foot furiously against the soft dirt and let your thoughts run.

He wants you safe.

He bandaged your arm for you. He did it well.

He set up the tent without a word, insisting you shouldn’t do it with your injury. He did that well, too.

He takes Yuji’s place on these missions because…he worries for you.

…He wants you safe.

Your eye twitches again.

And you spin around, stomping back to the tent with unrighteous fury, your lack of grace as you yank the zipper open alerting an already sleeping Choso to a new disturbance. He jerks upright, eyes bleary and half-closed, shooting open when they register you standing before him. You speak before he even opens his mouth.

“You like me,” you declare. You pull the zipper closed again.

He blinks a few times and clears his throat.

“...Yes,” he confirms. He rubs one eye and sits up a little straighter. You take a step closer to him.

“You like like me.”

He regards you with a smirk, a quick eye roll that communicates his indifference, despite the confession.

“That’s right.”

“You like me so much you go on missions with me not for Yuji’s sake, but for mine.”

Choso’s shoulders slump as he visibly accepts his fate. Not that he seems too bothered about it. Ugh. How annoying.

“Right again,” he mumbles, fighting a yawn, scratching his head.

Your limbs move without any input from your brain. They guide you of their own accord until you’re standing over him. He looks up at you, a little more of his attention focused.

And certainly, certainly, your brain had nothing to do with your decision to not only stare him down, but to crouch until your legs meet the flimsy tent floor, straddled on either side of him. Choso, now fully and undeniably focused on you, fixes his eyes to yours and sits up straight again. Your breaths fight for space as you face each other, silent…

…And he dares to rest a hand on your thigh.

You jolt as some of your thinking brain comes back online, and you glance down at his hand. But you don’t move it. You only lean forward, letting your hips sink more fully against his. A breath hitches in his chest.

“You’ve been putting yourself in a lot of unnecessary danger for a crush,” you scold.

“I know,” he simply answers. His other hand rises to your face.

“Not to mention the stress you’ve been putting me through.”

“I know.” He pushes your hair behind your ear.

“You’ve been a real pain in the ass, honestly.”

“I know.” He hooks a finger under your chin and draws you in.

“Fuck you.”

“Please.”

And finally…his facade shatters. Beneath that moody mask lie glazed eyes and parted lips, flushing cheeks, shaking, hungry hands. Ready and waiting for your touch. Begging for it.

And you, tired and irritated and irate with the aching desire you feel for that pain in your ass, find that you have no choice but to oblige.

When you lean in to kiss him, you don’t travel far. He’s already pulled you halfway there. He’s eager to meet you all the same, wrapping his arms around you and dragging you back onto the floor with him, pulling your chest into his as his lips capture yours and coax them open. His tongue is like silk as it travels the shallows and deeper corners of your mouth with precision, eventually meeting your own tongue with a greeting far friendlier than your mingling breaths shared earlier.

And as your lips lock and mesh and acquaint themselves, the rest of your body follows suit. Heat builds in your throat and shoots down to your stomach, where it simmers and boils over into your core, which smolders ever hotter and forces you to grind against his hips in search of relief.

And whether due to your rage or this roiling heat or some combination of both, you feel no need for formalities before you paw at each other’s clothing. After you manage to remove most of them in a messy tangle, Choso stares up at you with reverence, desire, longing in his dark, sleepy eyes.

And you realize you quite like seeing him like this.

You lean down and closer to him, silently asking him to tell you how he feels. A sigh of adoration falls from him, which is the only pause he takes before he makes quick and easy work of your bra and tosses it somewhere to the side.

And that marks the start of a conversation you could never share with simple words.

You close your eyes with a pleased groan when his calloused palms travel a careful path across your chest. They circle your breasts and massage them gently, thanking them profusely for the invitation. Your back arcs and your hands run through that disheveled black hair, giving it the slightest tug, asking his mouth to join.

One of his hands lingers to keep mingling with your left breast as his lips brush past your collarbone and introduce themselves to the right, kissing around your nipple before drawing it into his mouth. His tongue circles it, flicks across it, lavishes it with attention.

The sensation drives the clouds inside you to gather and rumble, forming forceful winds that push your hips down and pull a needy mewl from your lungs. Choso’s fingers tense around your skin, as if to answer you, before he properly responds with a desperate, jagged whimper accompanying the jerk of his hips beneath you.

A plea that makes you smile.

You push yourself up only far enough to pull his underwear down and let his cock, already twitching and dripping, spring up. Nervous flutters overtake your stomach as you stroke it, appreciating its considerable length and girth, its warmth, every ridge and vein adorning it, nearly losing yourself in your study before Choso pulls you back with a barely audible whisper:

“Please.”

Your smile twists into something sinful.

“Please?” you purr, stroking him faster, gripping him tighter, relishing his ardent moans. “Please, what?”

“Let me…feel you,” he chokes out. “All of you.”

“All of me, huh?”

You let him go to rub yourself against him, your slick core gliding across him with such ease as your hips buck back and forth. His eyes widen, his lips fall open, praying for manna, for satiety.

And as if he only just noticed he’d forgotten an offering, he finishes his request.

“And you’ll get all of me, too,” he entreats you, his flushed cheeks nearly glowing in the dim light. “No more bullshit, no more acts. I want to see you because I want to see you. Not because you need your hand held, not because I think you can’t watch someone else’s back. Because you’re always on my mind, and I’m tired of pretending you’re not.”

And as his prayer falls from his lips, as you hear the words you didn’t know you’d wanted from him for so long, your heart swells with new heat. With fresh feelings you’d denied yourself until now.

“Alright, it’s a deal,” you answer, lining him up with your entrance. “No more acts.”

But just before you lower yourself onto him, he holds you steady by the waist, glancing at your bandages again.

“Your arm—”

“Is fine,” you reassure him. You hook a finger under his chin and guide his gaze back to your face. It makes it there, eventually, after a couple stops at your hips and chest.

“All of me,” you remind him, holding his cock in place while you hover over it. He obeys, his eyes traveling over your body with zealous fervor, his hands grasping your hips tightly enough to keep you tethered to him.

You lower yourself onto him slowly, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head as he fills you up and stretches you out. He lets out a deep groan, his hands tensing around your hips before they make their pilgrimage past your waist and to your breasts.

The moment you adjust to his size, you swivel your hips and grind into him, trying a few different angles to hit that perfect spot. When you lean forward and rest a palm on his chest for balance, you feel that divine pleasure start to rise within you.

You release a wanton sigh. There it is. Paradise waiting.

You tuck your feet under his legs as well as you can to anchor yourself at that angle, bouncing at a sudden speed that has him hissing and grunting and clenching his teeth. He closes his eyes and lets you push your palms into his chest as you grind, swivel, clench around him.

And what a perfect angle it truly is. But your arm, which you’d kept anchored to the floor as you bounced up and down, begins to burn. It’s enough to put a gap in your rhythm and yank you back from those pearly gates. You scowl at it, cursing it for betraying you, right when you were getting so close.

Choso, the devoted admirer he is, notices the problem immediately. And he doesn’t waste a moment fixing it.

“For fuck's sake,” he growls. “Your arm is hurt. Let me spare you some work.”

He doesn’t wait for you to protest before he lifts you off his lap and rolls you onto your back. He hovers over you, his arms forming a cage around you that you don’t want to escape. You let out a surprised gasp, but the rest of your body flows naturally with his: your hands run up and down his back. Your legs part. The moment he pushes back in, they wrap around his waist, demanding his full and unyielding adoration all over again. Now that you know the fullness, the satisfaction that comes from his ultimate show of devotion, you may very well need it now.

And he offers it freely. Fervent praise tumbles from his lips to your ears, every word exalting the softness of your skin, the melody in your moans, the divinity of your hips and waist and thighs. He’s worshiping you, truly worshiping you, as his hips slam into yours and his lips lavish your neck and his teeth graze your throat. And you have to wonder…

“How long…” you pant, “...have you wanted this? How long have you wanted me like this?”

“From day fucking one,” he forces out. His feverish rhythm never yields. His cock drags itself across your walls over and over, hitting every sacred spot, bringing heaven back within your reach. “From the moment I first met you…and found any excuse to go on that mission in Yuji’s place.”

You can’t help but snicker between labored breaths. You remember that first day. He did a masterful job pretending he just couldn’t trust you. Now, knowing the context, it’s almost a little—

“Funny, right?” he chuckles. He lifts his head, his deep eyes full of fealty as they lock with yours. “Or closer to pathetic, I guess.”

“Hey. I never said that,” you pout.

“It’s a little pathetic,” he insists. “In hindsight, I could’ve just…asked you on a date.”

“Ask me when we get home,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your legs tighten around him, too, as do your walls around his cock, signaling just how close you are to elysium in his arms. “Then I’ll forgive you.”

“How merciful,” he teases, but the urgency in his eyes tells you he felt you fluttering around him. And that tells you, in turn, that he’s close to breaking, too.

So you both let your words fall to the wayside, letting your groans and moans and kisses and whimpers speak for you. He plunges into you without relent, granting you pleasure that just keeps building. What an irreplaceable type of pleasure, too: the way he feels inside you, the utter satisfaction, the completeness, the perfect, impeccable fit.

And finally, you fall into paradise, a vision so sweet it blinds you. Your eyes screw themselves shut as each euphoric wave overtakes you, your beatific cries washing over the silent night and your fingers digging into his skin. And it’s not long before he follows suit, his own climax undeniable among his hissing and cursing and jerking hips.

Both of you lie together in a silence that’s anything but; your heavy breaths and satisfied sighs and lingering moans fill the tent with plenty of noise, capped by his single groan as he rolls off of you. But he doesn’t leave you, not truly. His arms are still wrapped around you. He’s still got a leg tangled with yours. Like he’s not ready to let you go. Like he never will be.

Once you catch your breath, your exhaustion finally hits you in full force. Your eyes are already closing, the fingers you’d had caressing his cheek slowing to a stop when you decide to tease him one more time.

“It’s almost a shame,” you murmur. “Now you don’t have an excuse to wedge yourself into my missions.”

“Who said I would stop doing that?” he huffs. “Somebody has to look after those injuries.”

You stifle a laugh as he buries his face in your neck and pulls you in closer. Moody bastard.

#their bickering was so fun #choso’s reverence for the reader is just 🤌🤌🤌#also going about his crush in such a roundabout way is too funny lol #fics ♡#choso ♡#reblog ♡#smut ♡

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