#cowboy!choso

[shanathegeekyartist]

Yeehaw.

[tacitoru]

above snakes - kamo choso

pairing: choso x reader

summary: “At your service, ma'am,” he says, with an earnest grin and the tilt of his gallon hat. “Always.”

rating: explicit

wc: 7.6k

ch: 1/2

You can’t imagine the number of things I had to google that probably don’t matter but would’ve driven me up a wall if historically inaccurate. Idk how to fucking paint so pls forgive me, artists and art history majors.

read on ao3

There was a particular brand of wildness that seemed to touch everything this far west. 

It had to, you surmised, come from the lack of seasonal rain. Something must’ve mixed into the well water with the first wave of settlers. Grown into the dry cracks and crevices of the desert with the rest of the shrubbery. Crept into the hearts of every untamed beast that could endure the sweltering heat, timid or truculent. 

You’d experienced that wilderness in bits and pieces in your short time this side of the Mississippi River. You’d heard it through the stories men traded on bar stools. Felt it in the rough callouses of the hands that traded coin for drink and paint. In the first few weeks after you had settled, you had attempted to capture it yourself. But no matter how long you spent bent over a canvas, painting broad blue skies and looming canyons and bands of wild horses, your brush simply could not replicate that untamed, beautiful something, native only to nature herself. 

It intrigued you. It called to you from the safety of your New England home and the polite society you’d been indoctrinated into all of your life. The desert and its residents were both beguiling and dangerous, in real, tangible ways that tea parties and gossip circles back home couldn’t even begin to compare to. 

On its worst days, the sun and the heat did terrible things to people who linger in it for too long. But for most of your life - and much of your stay thus far - you’d been lucky enough to have never seen that kind of violence up close, not if you could help it. Not if your father could help it.

The unbearable heat, however, is something you had willingly signed up for the moment you rejected your birthright and fucked off into the countryside for good - something you try to remind yourself at the sight of half of your paints gone runny in their cases.

A sudden wave of anger causes your fingers to twitch against the wooden lid. I don’t understand.

“Is…Is everything alright?” You blink and straighten up, taking a second to compose yourself before turning to face your inquirer with an expression as blank as you can muster. You don’t understand how the paints had melted in storage - since you had moved, you had done what you could to keep them cool and out of the sun. For the two years you had taken residency in the ramshackle saloon, your materials had managed to survive the desert heat from the safety of the trunk you kept under your bed.

  And yet today of all days, half of your case is a watery, separated mess.

Had you been back home, this could have been easily resolved within a day with a few silver dollars and a quick trip to an art store - that very same day if you were early and lucky. The largest commission of your life wouldn’t have to be postponed for longer than mere hours, and you and your standoffish companion could be on your way in a few days. 

It’s been two years since you made the journey west and settled in this small haven in the middle of a dry sea. It was a purposeful two-day travel by horse to get to the nearest train station. When you first rode into this tiny town, it had been the perfect place to escape. He was determined and astute, but you doubted that your father and family would follow you this far out into the middle of nowhere. Life here wasn’t perfect or easy, and there were often times (like now) when you longed for the conveniences of modern society.

But it was yours . For the first time, you could confidently say that you were in control of your own life and content - happy, even.

 And yet looking at the mess in your hands, all you can feel is unadulterated rage as you calculate about many weeks it will take for the general store to have black paint again. 

Weeks. Months , maybe. You don’t have months. 

The sheriff had paid good money to have his deputy’s portrait remade, despite his lack of knowledge in your lack of knowledge. That I-don’t-have-to-worry-about-food-or-rent-for-the-cold-season kind of money that you couldn’t just pass up on. All he had heard was that you were a painter from the north - a skill no one had the luxury for this far out west - and all you had heard was the promise of financial security .

 In your turmoil, you’d nearly forgotten about your unlucky patron - a tall, broad, and stolid man with inky black hair and sullen eyes that tracked you about the room as you had prepared to paint him. Deputy Choso sat atop your rickety stool, poised for his portrait to be painted. His impatience radiates throughout the room.

The portrait painting hadn’t been his idea, but his mentor’s. An apology from the sheriff after his original portrait - the one he received after his installation as deputy of your quaint township, conceived by a much older, real artist passing through town - was bullet-whipped in a close call with a gang member turned near - escapee at the station.

While you weren’t there for the initial conversation - or however Sheriff Nanami decided to break the news to his young deputy - judging by the icy demeanor and rigid posture he had maintained since his arrival, you can only imagine that the gift had been met with some measure of reluctance.

The deputy had arrived at your doorstep in the early hours of the morning looking haggard and half-ready to jog back downstairs and escape on his horse, maybe relay some poorly composed excuse to his mentor about why he couldn’t see this through when you first opened the door to greet him.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen each other at all in the two years since that fateful encounter. Your tiny town was exactly that - tiny. The proximity of everything compared to the vastness of the empty desert made it so that no one strew too far from home without the purposeful intent of doing so. You had always seen Choso in passing on the way your way out of the general store, making his survey rounds about town, or on his way into the saloon after a long day, pretending not to see the way you slide from the bar to the furthest corner of the room at his arrival. 

Admired him quietly from afar all the while he seemed to avoid you like the plague. Straight up ignored you, even.

Head down, gaze averted. Worn gallon hat shielding the upper half of his face. Never offering more than a polite nod if you happen to be roped into the same conversation. But seeing each other like this, up close, without the usual buffers of his colleague, your nosy neighbors, or drunken bar patrons, was an entirely different beast.

At the sight of you, the shock on his face was plain as day no matter how quickly he schooled his expression into one of impassivity. You couldn’t blame him, maybe even look at him similarly - overnight, the anxiety leading up to this appointment had crept into your bloodstream and buzzed in your ears like a pesky mosquito. If he ever asked how you had gotten to the door so quickly, or if you had been waiting up on him by the door, you would lie. Profusely.  

After inviting him in wordlessly with a tight smile and excusing yourself to gather your things, Choso had taken a moment to take in your other works littered about the tiny studio - horses, lots of them, racing thunderously alongside dusty mesas and atop desert plateaus. Vivid oranges, murky browns, and brilliant blues dance across his vision.

Snakes too - long, scaly reptiles with cavernous maws bearing thin, murderous, and razor-sharp teeth. Choso feels like he could prick his finger just touching the painting.

You’d taken careful time to mimic the way the relentless desert sun made the scales of the reptilian appear nearly wet and shiny, its eyes glinting soullessly back at him from different angles. No people, though , he notices. No faces.

 He’s in the middle of wondering when the last time you saw a snake this close to town was when he notices you freeze in his periphery, staring into a wooden case.

The deputy shifts in his seat; this is already taking longer than he anticipated, and you have yet to even start painting.

“Ma’am,” he calls out again when you don’t respond, pursing your lips as you struggle to think of what to say. You can hear him trying to bite back the bark of annoyance in his voice. “Are you okay?”

Not at all. “Absolutely.” You offer him a placid smile if only to see him relax a little. 

Recalling the pale look on his face when he first marched up to your little studio above the local saloon, you get the sense that despite his usual impassivity,  this appointment isn’t easy for either of you.

Deputy Choso Kamo is the young gunslinging protege to your town’s sheriff, a champion fighter with his own tall tales from the desert tied to his name. 

In any other situation - if you were anyone else - this would be an honor beyond your imagination for the amateur artist you considered yourself to be. 

There was a time when Deputy Kamo would stroll through the center of your dusty little square in the early morning hours of a Sunday on his brooding black mare, surly and stolid, and the sun would roll in behind him as if waiting for his arrival for permission to set. Women would flock to the windows of the chapel to snag a glimpse of the gunslinger and peak behind their hands at him in passing. Men would amble out onto the deck of the saloon to gawk at him in the guise of appraisal, arms crossed, fingers resting on the hostlers of their guns. 

Of course, that was in the earlier days, when he first took up the position as Sheriff Kento Nanami’s secondhand man. Before you arrived. That was what was told to you after you had already made your own unforgettable first impression.

You knew the deputy as simply Choso, the man who you fucked half senseless the first night you arrived in his small town.

You had been drunk, celebrating your first night of true freedom with as much ale as your silver could carry. And he had been there. Hair long and unruly, observing you from his quieter corner of the saloon. Never looking away when your gaze caught his, finally noticing him looking, watching. Not a belt or badge or holster in sight - just quiet, confident resolve, and enough money to buy you one more drink before you invited him back to your closet-sized rented room.

He had probably figured you were a city slicker just passing through, journeying to the booming mining cities near the coast. It had probably never crossed his mind that you would stay.

And yet here you were, having never spoken to each other again in the two years since that fateful night and clutching your half-melted paint palette between the two of you like it would shield him from you.

Or vice versa.

Choso glances at the wooden case again and then places both hands on his belt with a sigh, arms akimbo. “Look, if you’re going to be weird about this-,”

“No, no, not at all!” You grimace and sigh, flipping the oily mess in his direction, frown growing when the paints slosh in their pans. “I’ve run out of black. That was the last of the only tube I had.”

“So what does that mean? You can’t paint?” You try not to feel a bit hurt at the hint of hopefulness in his voice. You know this interaction is awkward - you’ve been dancing around each other for two whole years, there’s only so many people in this tiny town - but you hadn’t thought your company was that unbearable.

“No, I can still start, it’ll just take a little longer. It takes a while for the general store to order the paint, and even longer for it to get. But maybe I can order the materials to make the paint a little faster if I can just get my hands on some linseed oil…”

At this point, you’re murmuring more to yourself and into the canvas propped in front of your reluctant subject than to the young deputy himself, who has quickly schooled his expression back into one of disinterest. All he hears is that he’ll be seeing you a lot more often than he already had expected, quickly coming to the same conclusion you have.

Much of his appearance and uniform attire were comprised of dark greys and browns - hell, his hair was black. His skin took on a gold tone from long hours in the sun. Tiredness cast a dark shadow beneath his low-lidded eyes. Like many of the men who spent their time out in the wilderness, he seemed to carry pieces of it with him. If you didn’t come into possession of any black paint any time soon, this process would take much longer than either of you had anticipated. 

 “I can still get started.”

As if sensing his uneasiness, you meet his gaze full-on for the first time since greeting him at the door. And then you add, a little quieter, “But we don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.”

His brows shoot up in surprise, contemplative, as if recognizing that this is the closest either of you has ever gotten to addressing the massive elephant in the room. His fingers idly fiddle with the gold plate at his belt, palms curling over the leather at his waist, and you try not to remember the way they felt bracing your hips. Your thighs. The way his grasp had trembled when you touched him.

It was all so long ago, and yet somehow not long enough. The faded memory is now clear in your mind at your forced proximity.

Choso considers leaving. He thinks of Nanami, of how he’ll probably pry the real reason for his reluctance right out of him with little to no effort the moment the young deputy tells him that he’s no longer interested in receiving the sheriff’s gift. He thinks of how the man will most likely march him right back into your meager studio and sit in the corner and watch . He’d rather not have this debacle unfold in front of an audience, much less his mentor. 

The deputy is facing an internal uphill battle of his own as he struggles and fails to repress the memory of your last private encounter with every minute of sitting in your presence. Fighting back a warm blush that threatens to spill over his cheeks when he remembers the last time he was in this room. If he is uncomfortable now, he can only imagine the immense discomfort that would come with the sheriff seeing him so on edge like this. So openly undone by your mere appraisal..

Choso is a grown-ass man who will not run away from a gift just because he can’t unsee you bent over this very same stool two years ago, crying out on his cock.

“I can do this,” he resolves and then reddens with the realization that he has exposed a bit of his inner dialogue when you frown, scrambling to rephrase his words. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

His heart aches a little at the way your expression shutters, closed off, but then again maybe you’re just reflecting his own. “Take as much time as you need, I mean. It’s up to you,” He tries again, but you’ve already returned your attention to your easel with a sharp nod, ducking behind your canvas. 

This way, he can’t see the way your hand trembles when you make your first brush stroke.

Your appointments are sparse and brief. 

At first, the whole ordeal is kind of a burden. It’s not that Choso is too busy to give it much thought - not really . Your town is quiet and picturesque - an unknown speck of nothing smack dab in the middle of nowhere. A watering hole, maybe, to those who wandered across the wild desert in gangs. Choso has done his best to keep the peace in your region, even in the few years before your arrival. Between him and the presence of Nanami - a legendary quick draw -  keeping the unruly at bay, it’s been a while since the young deputy had come across anyone that he could truly consider his rival.

The problem is that he does give it too much thought.

He only sees you maybe once or twice a week. The appointments are brief - there is only so much you can do to add to the portrait when you’re missing such a vital color, and for all of the patience and timeliness rumored to have carried his infamous gunslinging career, Choso is terrible at sitting still for too long.

You being, well, you , doesn’t help his case much either.

When he is not with you, Choso finds his thoughts drifting back to your studio. He thinks back to your many landscape paintings; the snakes and the way you paint their glittering scales. The distinct lack of portraits in your gallery despite being commissioned to make one. There seem to be more iterations of the desert each week he comes to visit as if you’re missing something you can’t quite put your finger on with each new edition. 

He daydreams about the way your bare ankles cross as you sit on a stool of your own. You’ve eventually stopped wearing shoes in his presence (he takes that as a sign of you being more comfortable with him rather than just simply too lazy to do anything about it when he comes through). 

His mind wanders to the pensive look on your face when you tune him out and really get to work. To that scrutinizing gaze you turn on him every so often while he poses, in the moments when you’re willing to pry yourself from the canvas to refresh yourself on the subject you’re replicating. He ruminates on the furrow of your brow, and how the first time he saw it he was knuckle-deep in your wet heat, wringing the sweetest sounds from your mouth.

But worst of all he thinks of your hands. Your fingers more accurately. The digits that wield your brush and paint palette with practiced ease. He imagines the grip of your fingers on the brush and recalls a time when they braceleted his neck and squeezed. The ghost of the delicious pressure of your fingertips against his skin, the band of your knuckles wrapped around his throat, haunts him on the hottest desert nights. 

Choso is reluctantly obsessed with the memory of you choking him, subconsciously chasing that shock of surprise at the sensation, followed by the rush of pleasure that sent him quickly tumbling over the edge faster than he ever had in his life. The feeling had hit him before he had even known was what happening. He remembers with stark clarity wrenching out of the grasp of your tight heat in surprise before spilling onto the wooden floor with a sharp cry. The cocktail of shame and confusion in his stomach at the sight of your pleased smile.

And then, as he makes his way into your modest studio, mentally preparing himself for another round of sitting as still as a statue, he reminds himself that that night was a one-off, one-time thing.

When he’s not plagued by his growing hunger for you, Choso has come to enjoy this moment of silence and stillness away from his usual routine. Typically, his days are filled with patrols about the perimeter of the town or hauling overzealous drunkards from the bar. He has been long familiar with the mercilessness of the desert this far west, the maliciousness that lurks in animals and people alike. 

While the bored bumble of your small town was reprieve itself, the young deputy can’t help but begin to look forward to his afternoons cooped up in your rented room. 

He stares at you from behind the canvas and wonders if you’d sound the same as you remember if he got his hands in the way he’s been itching to. Restraining to. Wonders if he got up from his station and crowded you by your canvas if you’d brace his neck with your small hands again just to keep him at bay.

You refuse to speak to him and yet he craves your presence even in your tense silence. He craves the solace of your company. Knowing he is your singular focus for just a small portion of time. Watching you watch him as you - supposedly – immortalize his face into a masterpiece.

When you finally receive news that the general store has ordered your paint and it will be here before the summer turns to autumn, Choso can’t help but wonder if you’ll paint him with the same quietly murderous black eyes as your snakes. 

He knows now that you are actually capable of painting human bodies, despite his earlier skepticism. Albeit only from the chest up, Choso’s painted double takes on a broad and heroic stance, filling out his deputy uniform with all of the muscle and build of somebody sculpted by hard work and hardship. 

All that’s missing is his face. 

The deputy talks to you now, speaking freely, offering quiet words here and there. There is a shared sense of amicableness between the two of you. A shared, unspoken understanding that you’d both silently chosen to ignore whatever had transpired up to this moment, for the sake of the commission. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice when your gaze lingers on his face for longer than probably necessary. That doesn’t mean his eyes don’t track your hands as you move about the canvas.

 Eventually, every time he comes by, you update him on the last thing the general store told you about the status of your paint order, and he wracks his brain to calculate when he’ll see you next. How long this will last. 

He doesn’t know if he can go back to ignoring each other after this.

--

It wasn’t until Deputy Kamo became a regular fixture in your routine that you would feel the cool bite of the steel and the worn wooden handle between your own two palms.

Guns, the indiscriminate dictators of the lawless West, were not an uncommon sight. Men carried them as casually as cigars. It was a less common occurrence for women, although the wives of cow wranglers were known to be familiar with riffles. Every so often when he would visit, you would curiously watch out of the corner of your eye as he would remove the weapon from his holster and place it gently on your rickety excuse for a kitchen table. When you ended your last painting session by asking Choso if he could teach you how to handle a revolver, he almost whited out at the concept.

He looks at you now as you balance the device in hesitant hands, impassive as ever. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself more than someone else with a grip like that.”

You huff and wordlessly adjust your hold on the weapon, frown furrowing your features. Trying hard to recall the deputy’s earlier patient instruction. The pair of you stand on the outskirts of town, at the lip of his patrol range. As far out into the desert as you’re comfortable venturing. The candlelights of your township twinkle in the distance like little figurines in the fading sunlight. 30 feet away, a beer mug balances on a dead log, perched directly in your line of sight. 

You hope he can’t feel the way you tense when Choso wraps his arms around your frame from behind, readjusting your grip with his own. 

“Breathe,” he admonishes.

“I am.”

“Right.”

His tone is clipped as he takes a step back, and you can’t help but frown a little as he steps away.

“Shoulders,” he corrects you, and you adjust accordingly, rolling them down and back, away from your ears. Not having made your first shot yet, you’re silently taken aback by how cold and still the device is in your hands. Unable to fully comprehend the violence it could administer - loud and quick and unforgiving. Permanent.

The sun sinks. The sound of crickets gets a little louder.

“You’re alright,” the deputy calls from behind you, softly, as though sensing the fear crawling up your throat. “Focus, don’t think. Steady.”

You level the revolver.

“Aim,” your finger rests on the trigger. A slight tremor in your stance. 

“Fire.” 

Too much happens all at once. The crack of the revolver is deafening, the force of the firearm rocking you back in your stance. You cringe. Your ears ring, and your shoulders burn. Tears well up in your eyes on instinct. The once cool metal now radiates with a minacious warmth. Your elbows drop but you keep the weapon extended as far from your body as possible.

“Did I hit it?” You face him rather than your makeshift target, as if afraid to be greeted with the sight of the aftermath of some sort of carnage and not just some shattered beer mug. 

The air tastes like gunpowder when you speak. Choso takes one glance over your shoulder and grimaces.

“Depends on what you were tryna’ hit.”

You whirl around, indignant. “What-,”

A gaping hole now graces the side of the barrel. In your haste to shoot, you’d completely missed your target, the mug having fallen into the shrubbery with the force of your firearm.

Choso is patient and watchful. He slips the revolver from your grasp, easily dismissing your disgruntled look. “Go pick it up. Try again.”

You try not to roll your eyes and gripe at the patronizing tone he’s taken on and fail as you trudge toward your fallen target. Wondering again why you had thought that he of all people would be better to ask to sate your curiosity rather than any of the other gun-totting residents of town. Nanami was just as accessible as his deputy.

He’d probably charge me for the lessons, you muse, take it out of my commission or something.

As you reach for the beer mug, the snake sees you before you see it, but Choso is faster.

A flash of reptilian skin and teeth whips in your direction, sending you startling backward and falling on your ass.

“Shit!”

Two gunshots ring out in quick succession, but you feel the whiz of the bullets go by more viscerally than you hear them. 

The deputy’s gentle hand on your shoulder wrenches you from the shock of your fright.

“Are you okay?” The question is asked with such sincerity you have to look up at him in astonishment. The sight that greets you sends chills up your spine. Choso’s stolidity largely remains the same, but after studying his figure for weeks on end, you can see the cracks in his composure. The tightness of his jaw. The knuckle-white grip on the weapon in the hand not holding you. You zero in on his comfortable grasp on the metal, trailing your gaze up his sun-warm arms and well-toned neck and nearly flinch at what you see when you meet his eyes.

It’s a fleeting look, one you would have missed if you had looked back at him a second too late. That wild thing that is found in all desert things. That violence. It dances in the blown pupils of his eyes, wicked, sharp, and hungry and suddenly you understand the stories. Suddenly you can’t help but marvel that once long ago, there had been a moment when you had a creature capable of such violence crumble beneath your simple touches. You know he can feel the way you tremble a little in his grasp, even as you nod and straighten up, dusting off your skirt.

“Yeah I’m-,”

The snake twitches violently in the dry grass and the deputy is quick to react, drawing back from you to stomp on the beast’s neck with such force and precision it shocks you more than the initial attack. The thing makes a pained, high-pitched wheezing sound akin to a shriek before going limp under his boot as Choso twists his heel sharply. Blood turns the desert floor a murky brown. 

For a moment, the two of you stare at the thing. It’s nearly as long as you. White, reptant eyes stare unseeingly back at you. 

Choso sighs, turning away from you almost sheepishly. He considers asking if this is the snake you’ve been painting. Instead, he shakes the blood off the bottom of his shoe and starts with, “‘Sorry you had to see that.”

He knows that despite your few years here, you’re still not akin to the dangers of the wilderness. You never wander too far from the confines of your township. You are far from the comforts and safety of the city you once called home. He doubts the men of New England are shooting each other willy-nilly in the streets. Knowing this, the guilt he feels is immense. He shouldn’t have agreed to teach, let alone see you outside of your appointed painting sessions.

So it is his turn to be shocked when he registers the look on your face to be one of approval. Admiration, naked and plain on your face. The expression of someone who just experienced a revelation. As you stare up at him in wonder, something hot coils beneath his stomach.

“Don’t be,” you finally say, sneering at the snake and spinning sharply on your heel. The moment is broken. “I’m not.”

--

The day you finally get black paint is more momentous than it really should be. The general store owner has to keep you from nearly breaking down his doors when the morning after the shipment arrives, relieved to put an end to your incessant hounding. If there was anyone else more ready for you to complete your portrait commission than your deputy, it was the store owner. 

Choso tries not to frown at the news when he meets up with you for what would now be the very last time, especially when you seem to have lightened up significantly at the return of this pigment to your arsenal. You’re giddy - you can finally give this man a face. And hair!

Caught up in your satisfaction, you hardly notice the subject of your masterpiece fidgeting in his seat more than usual. He’d rather not admit it now, but the deputy is distraught at the thought of things returning to normal after this. The sense of finality that lingers in the room disturbs him.  He revels in your quiet but stern presence, the passion and dedication to your craft. That odd hunger for danger and risk that reflects in your paintings a craving you seem too embarrassed to put a name to, but too curious to fully ignore.

 Choso would like to consider himself an honorable man of the law - he dons his badge with pride and purpose. But before that, he was a boy in the desert with a gun and enough bullets and anger to strike as deadly and indiscriminately as that snake. That life, no matter how far in the past, sticks with him and reflects off of him in an intangible way that even without seeing his scars and bullet wounds, people just know . Most strangers and visitors, especially women from the city, would turn their cheek to his particular brand of unruliness.

For a moment, you seemed to want to eat him whole despite of it. 

As you meticulously mix the black paint, your movements are precise, almost reverent. Choso watches you work, the evening sun casting long shadows across the room. The air feels heavy with anticipation, charged with an energy neither of you can ignore.

With each stroke of your brush, the likeness of Choko begins to take shape on your canvas. His features emerge from the blankness with startling clarity.

The sun sets, dying your small studio in hues of pink and orange, and you finally step back from your easel with an air of completion. Choso can feel his heart pounding in his chest when you gesture for him to come to look, his breaths becoming shallow and quick. He thinks of taking a glance, granting you a decisive farewell, and never speaking to you again, and his chest aches. 

“What do you think?” you ask as he rounds the canvas. 

Your voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it. Choso silently takes in his painting and tries not to sigh in relief. You have captured his stoic demeanor perfectly. Looking astute in his deputy uniform, you have portrayed him as a figure of pride and power. His face looks back at him with a gaze so steady and confident he’s almost unnerved.

“So?” You ask, trying and failing not to appear anxious.

 “Have you always known how to paint faces?”

You blanch and whirl on the man you’ve spent most of your summer studying in this exact same studio. “Did you not think I could do it?”

Choso shrugs, and nods to the little corner cluttered with your other discarded pieces of work. “Didn’t see any other portraits."

“It’s just not what I’m into painting right now,” you sputter, indignant. “Why didn’t you think to ask?”

The deputy mumbles, aptly studying the heel of his boots. “Thought you’d paint mine in the shape of a horse or somethin’.”

The man admits it so forlornly, you can’t help but chuckle, turning away to pack up your materials and allow him to take a closer look. “Maybe I should’ve.”

He says nothing in response, and you don’t look back to catch his expression. The silence that follows. You’re both hesitating and you know it.

Choso is the first to break.

“I’m sorry for what happened after…after we met for the first time. I shouldn’t have left like that.”

You sigh and put your brushes down, unwilling to turn and face him just yet. “I feel like all you do is apologize to me lately. We gotta put a stop to that.”

You wait for him to laugh you off and excuse himself, trying to offer him an out. Your tone is playful, joking, but Choso can sense the sincerity in your words. You can’t see it, but he shakes his head, adamant. “I was scared.”

The omission weighs heavy between the two of you.

“That I’d hurt you?” You wonder aloud, knowing that’s not the truth but pressing him anyways. You think of how he towers over you easily, how he could probably snap your wrists with two of his fingers, and can't help but laugh at the idea of this death machine of a man finding you physically threatening. But there was something else - 

“No,” he admits, almost a whisper this time, still full of resolve. “That I liked it.”

You finally face him, inching closer, still unsure. Your breath catches in your chest at the sight of his expression. Open and vulnerable, eyes wide and expressive with want.

“We can try something else,” you offer, pouncing on the opportunity. “If you’re feeling brave.”

A challenge. For the first time, he is willing to confront the suffocating something between the two of you - desire . The pure longing and awe on your face after the snake incident is imprinted on the forefront of his mind and haunts him as frequently as this memory of your hands around his neck.

He reaches for those very same hands now, in silent askance. Pleading you to collar that untamed unruliness lurking beneath his skin, quell the hunger that boils in his blood.

Choso has been bored . He loves the slow pace of your quaint little town. The stability and predictability are a welcome change from the life he once lived. But… he misses the thrill of the fight. The adrenaline pumping through his veins, the euphoria that follows the moments after brushing that thin margin between life and death

He feels it again, that buzz, as he allows his odd little painter to guide him back to a seated position on the stool, undo his belt buckle and slide the leather through the loops with delicious intent. Permits you to secure the material around his wrist. Encourages you to free his hips from the denim fabric of his pants. 

He is suntanned beneath his trousers too and the thought of how that came to be makes you feel a little lightheaded. The deputy is completely bare beneath his trousers, and it occurs to you that he had been squirming in his seat originally for reasons more than just impatience. 

“Oh,” you sigh at the sight before you, breath ghosting over his cock, and Choso nearly pitches forward in your grasp at the sensation. He wrenches his bound arms towards his chest, away from where you kneel between his knees before him on the floor.

“You’re so pretty down here,” you murmur absently, thumbs rubbing along where the waistband of his pants press into the tops of his thighs, tucked just beneath his balls, and its true. His erection throbs from where it sits propped up against his tummy, red and leaking under the weight of your attention. A smattering of soft, curly hair runs a trail from his stomach to his groin.

He keens when you press a kiss to the base of his dick, thumbs tracing a new path at the crest of his hips.

“Please, quickly, please-,” he stammers, flush from the neck down and willing himself not to tremble in your hold. “Gotta get back soon and, ah -,”

Choso’s resolve and dedication to his job falls apart at the feeling of your wet mouth on him, warm and insistent. You nod and hum in understanding, wordless, but he feels it all with you pressed this close to where he wants you. The deputy would have half a mind to be embarrassed at the high pitch of his voice if he weren’t so eager to feel you again.

“You remember my first night here, right?” You say, mockingly, pressing a soft kiss to his dripping head. “You were pretty then too. With my hands around your neck.”

Choso’s knuckles are pressed tightly to his forehead as he purses his lips. He can’t respond, can’t even bite back and tell you to shut up when you call him something as silly as pretty. Eyes rolling back as he sinks into the warm cavern. He’s in heaven. He’s in hell.

You can’t help but marvel at how pliant he is in your hold, drawing back to press a quick kiss to the inside of his thighs when they tremble. A warmth and wetness builds between your own legs at the sight.  When you draw him into your mouth again, you have to brace an arm across his hip to keep him from fucking into the back of your throat.

“Please, fuck, hurry ,” 

He’s writhing, throbbing as you swallow him down. You had had your fair share of promiscuity on your journey west - part of the reason you had departed high society - but Choso was an impressive task. You moan at the weight of him in your mouth as he struggles against the slow, relentless suction of your mouth. The patch of hair beneath his stomach grows damp with a viscous mix of your saliva and tears.

When you pull back suddenly, his hips stutter forward, and you have to duck out of the way to avoid being blinded.

“Fuck, sorry,” Choso gasps. “Really sorry.”

He watches with breathless anticipation as you draw two fingers from the hand not braced across his hip to your open lips, coating them in spit until they’re slick and shiny.

“Scoot forward a lil,” is the only direction he receives before he feels rather than seems that same arm wrap behind him, wedged between his legs and the seat of the stool. His ass hangs precariously off the ledge, the seat of the stool digging into his lower back. You’re much closer in this new position, straddling one of his elongated legs he sits with a slight bend in his knees to balance against the seat. 

When he feels your slick fingers brush his puckered hole, Choso lurches again at the foreign feeling, and you narrowly avoid being stabbed in the face once more. You can’t help but grin, all teeth. Choso gets the foreboding feeling like he’s about to be eaten alive.

“Fuck, wait, wait,” he pleads, pitiful, but you are already rubbing slick circles around his rim. “N-not there.”

You coo, "Relax, I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

The deputy shakes a little more in his seat, but doesn’t protest further, not when you’re returning the attention of your hot mouth back to the head of his cock, tongue torturing him with tight circles and light flicks before you press him further into your throat. He rocks his hips into your mouth with draw out pants of ha, ha, ha that only serve to fuel your own arousal. The sight of such a dangerous man, crumbling at your simple ministrations, has you pressing your thighs together You rock back on the deputy’s leg with a moan, subtly shifting so that the tip of his point leather boot presses blissfully into the soak crevice of your undergarments. 

“Huh?” The deputy hiccups, having given up hiding his face in order to lightly balance his bound hands against the top of your head. “A-are you-?”

Your fingers quicken in pace from where they slide around his untouched rim. This time when he bucks into your mouth, you don’t pull away, leaning in further to trap him between the heat of your mouth and the relentless sensation of your fingers. The deputy cries out, feeling helpless.

“I’m gonna, fuck, fuck m’gonna-!”

Choso sobs, his bound arms fully wrapping around the back of your head to thrust fully into your throat until your lips press fully into his abdomen and hold you there. Barely able to warn you before he locks up in your hold, cumming hard and damn near babbling at the sensation as you choke and struggle in his grasp, surprised. He cums long and and hard, gently rocking his hips into your face even as his comes down until you’re slapping profusely at his thigh to release your head.

The gunslinger is silent, eyes tightly shut as he struggles to catch his breath and regain his sense. Distantly, he hears you get to your feet, allows you to pull his hands away from his face so you can unwind the leather biting into his skin. The red marks they leave behind cause the red flush of his cheeks to flare up again.

He sits upright on the stool and peaks one eye open to glance at you, puttering around your small kitchen for a glass of water. Then he glances at his boots. “Did you get off on my shoe?”

He wonders idly if it was the same foot he used to kill the snake. You don’t respond, but the way you slam a glass of water beside him on a work table is answer enough.

--

Not much is said on his departure. You clean up and share soft smiles. He picks up his portrait, makes his way to the door, lingers with his hand at the handle.

“‘Ppose I should get going then.” His tries to keep the resignation out of his voice, but you pick up on it easily.

He makes to head out resolve to bother you any further fizzling at your slow response, but then you’re crossing the small distance to stop him, fingers digging into the thick material of his uniform.

“This won’t be the last time I see you, right?” You ask him. Implore him. “This time?”

The deputy breaks out into a grin, expressive as you’ve ever seen him, before pressing a kiss to your forehead and ducking before you, hand on his hat.

“At your service ma’am," he says, with an earnest grin and the tilt of his gallon hat. “Always."

--

“Hm.”

The town’s sheriff stands beside Choso, gazing contemplatively at his new and improved portrait from where it hangs in the place of its predecessor. He watches his mentor tilt his head to the side, hand at his chin. “I dunno. Something about it feels very..”

Sheriff Nanami’s gaze flicks between Choso and his replication. “Horselike?”

Choso nearly keels over in his boots. The sheriff waves him off dismissively. “Ask her to do it again, or at least touch it up a bit. We paid good a good amount of money for it.” 

He sighs, pinching his brow, remembering the shoot out and prison escape in the manner parents do when reminded of delinquent children. The deputy gawks at the portrait. Maybe he really didn’t understand art?

As if sensing his subordinate’s hesitation, Nanami clasps him on the back, marching back to his desk. “Can’t hurt to ask, right? Beside, how long could it possibly take?”

[fushipurro]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Chapter 3 - Malevolent Desire

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☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, cowboy!au, darker themes, yandereish!sukuna, sukuna is bad at feelings, brief mention of an implied kidnapping/murders, brat taming, orgasm denial, vaginal/nipple foreplay, cunnilingus, creampie, sukuna calls you a slut (affectionate), biting/small blood mentions

☆ Word Count: 5.9k

Never in your life did you think one town could look as good as it does right now. It’s like a desert mirage that calls your name, urging you closer with the promise of rest.

After reclaiming your fateful bay mare, the trip home felt greater in lengths, heightened by the midday rays of the hot sun down the back of your neck. Now, the city of Valentine sits ahead of you, basked in rich golden hues.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the levels of exhaustion you face now. It pulls on your mind, body, and soul alike ─ demanding everything you’re able to give.

Upon your return with the empty-handed lawmen, Satoru offers a not-so-subtle notion that if you’re sore or injured after any “strenuous activities” to stop in at the neighboring doctor’s office for some care.

You decide to take him up on it, hoping to find some sort of reprieve, at least from the warm sensations where clothes couldn’t protect you from the harsh touch of sunlight. There, you find a woman by the name of Shoko Ieiri ─ an old friend of the two you had spent your day with, and the resident physician.

She proves especially helpful in restocking whatever medical supplies you needed, and even more understanding with any matters relating to ones with Satoru’s involvement. In fact, all you had to do was mention his name and referral, and it was as though you gave her the key to a closet full of tonics dedicated in his name.

During your time shopping, a man clad in dark jeans, a purple button up, and a black vest steps into the office. Just like you, he’s here to restock, claiming to be on the hunt of a local predator who recently claimed another victim.

Turns out, the man you had a shootout with went missing sometime late last night, leaving behind a trail of blood that didn’t go far. The modus operandi matches that of the killer he and his partner are after. Whether they’re alive still or not is unknown, but it won’t be long before a decaying body surfaces with a cryptic message to follow.

You’ve always been intrigued with bounty hunters, at times becoming one yourself to make a few extra bucks if need be. It was something your father had done on the side to put food on the table considering how picky businesses can get with new hires.

In your discussion with Shoko and the man called Choso, you made a mention to your little adventure with Satoru and what all your poor Valentine has been through. Surprisingly, Choso claims to have some veterinary knowledge, offering to look her over for any potential injuries, free of charge.

You accept of course, her health is of the upmost importance to you. Even if you don’t believe Suguru would have purposely harmed her, you can’t say the same for his crew. That, and how she was in the middle of an ongoing robbery. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

Choso not only ensures that Valentine’s in tip top form, but also checks over Clementine. You appreciate it, knowing how much you’d hate yourself if something were to happen before she’s reunited with Kento.

The two of you are joined by his partner, Yuki, who had been resupplying at the weapon’s shop across the street. She reminds you a lot of yourself, perhaps even cut from the same cloth. It’s always a pleasure to meet another woman on the frontier that can hold her own, and you hope to run into her again someday ─ maybe while hunting a bounty to compare skills.

In the meantime, she can’t help but swoon over the two mares in your care, even showing off her own that she raised from a filly ─ a silver turkoman dubbed Garuda. Choso’s steed on the other hand is a leopard appaloosa gelding by the name of Nova.

When everything’s said and done and the hunters take their leave, dusk has settled over Valentine with a thick blanket of stars. All that’s left for you to do now is to get your meat and you can be on your way for some food and rest.

…so long as the butcher’s stall is actually open, which in this case ─ it’s not.

Tough luck.

So much for getting your dinner now, guess you’ll be going to bed hungry. You opt to head for the hotel, which only serves to sour your mood further as the clerk tells you your stay is up and there’s no other rooms left to rent out. At the very least, you’re still able to pay for a bath to wash off the various dirt, grime, and other slick stuck to your body.

Now you could head off into the nearby prairie, or down by the Dakota River to camp, but as highlighted earlier, you’re exhausted. With two horses under your care and all your worldly possessions, you need to be extra careful what you do and where you go as a woman in this wild age.

Luckily, there’s a dozen barns to choose from in town, and even more available stalls to sneak into. At this point, straw poking your back is the least of your problems if it means getting a night of rest.

You lead the two mares over to an empty corral behind one such stable, freeing them from their tack and hiding the evidence under a pile of alfalfa bales. Save for the saloon, the rest of town has quieted down as others have now retreated to their homes and families.

That used to be you once when you were younger, now here you are sneaking inside a barn to get some shuteye. Oh, how your father would be so proud.

There’s just one problem.

You’re not alone.

As soon as you enter through the barn doors, you’re met with a few lit lanterns and a huge horse on the crossties. We’re talking the definition of a war horse here, with a blood bay coat to match. Their feathering is light, and you wouldn’t be surprised to find out there’s some warmblood mixed in with some draft breed. At the sound of their deep, echoing neigh, a head pops up from between their hindquarters.

“Who the fuck ─ ahh, it’s you,” the voice remarks, and it’s one you remember quite well.

The Butcher.

“Come to finally collect what’s yours?” he asks, a tinge of playful annoyance lacing in his words.

You approach the man, narrowing your eyes. He spares you his own sharp look before resuming his work clipping the giant’s hoof.

“Since when does Valentine’s butcher do farrier work?” you question, admiring the look of dark chaps around his beefy legs. It pairs nicely with his black pants and the red shirt he has on.

He snorts, “I do a lot of different work ‘round here, sweetheart.” His nickname falls short when paired with sarcasm. “Whatever pays the bills while I’m here, and besides, this is my own mare so it’s not like I’m being paid.”

“Leave it to a bloodied man to ride a red mare,” you mutter under your tongue, hearing him huff anyways. “Can’t lie though, she’s a beauty.” You reach out to pet the girl, only to retract your hand the second her ears pin backwards and she about bites your hand off.

“That she is,” he chuckles lowly, uncaring to what almost occurred, “Calamity here is loyal and obedient, just how I like it.”

You scowl in response, ultimately realizing any interactions with this man require a level of caution to be taken. He’s not to be trifled with.

Then again, Daddy didn’t raise no coward.

“You sure you’re not compensating for something?”

Not that he needs to. Appearance wise, he’s very attractive, even if he waves enough red flags at you to be called a matador. You are a stubborn bull at times, so it may be a fair tradeoff. Being tired and hungry don’t mix well for any wicked cowgirl.

“Please,” the butcher scoffs. “I have no reason to need to. Why, you interested in taking me on?” He throws a smirk at you from over his shoulder, grabbing a large file in the process to shave down the mare’s hoof.

You roll your eyes, leaning up against a wooden post to admire his workmanship. “Please,” you mock, “I think you’re exactly the type of man my father would tell me to put a bullet into and call it a day.”

“If you think my ‘services’ are inadequate, then you’re more than welcome to,” he retorts, finishing up the hoof with a beautifully crafted horseshoe nailed perfectly on. He stands up after, dusting off his hands and turning to you in full. He certainly has a height advantage on you amongst other things.

You don’t back down, not even when you’re at the disadvantage. “We’re still talking about work, right? ‘Cause you have something of mine.”

The butcher steps forward into your space, like a predator stalking its prey into a corner, only you don’t move. “Is that really why you came creeping in here? Or maybe you’ve been following me,” he muses with sultry words.

“I’m not here for you, your highness.” Those choice words deepen his annoying grin. “But since you are here, then I’d like to get my meat and go. I’ve had quite a long day.”

His eyes darken as a thought crosses his mind. “I think I can help with that… if you’ll give in to me,” he says, moving one hand to brush a strand of hair from your face. You slap him away, earning a click of his tongue, “Don’t be a tease.”

You ignore his accusation. “What exactly are you offering here?”

“Instead of sleeping in a stall full of shit…” he pauses, letting his words register that yes ─ he knew exactly why you were here to begin with. He’s as smart as he is cocky, that’s for sure. Not a bad combination, but only if you can back it up. “…why don’t you come back home with me, and I’ll treat you to some care?”

A tempting offer, but full of risk.

“And how am I supposed to believe you aren’t planning on robbing or gutting me the moment we’re alone?”

He laughs again, only this time it resembles some cackling coyote in the dead of night. “Guess you’ll just have to be good and trust me.”

“Howreassuring of you,” you reply sarcastically.

“It’s up to you, brat.” He shrugs nonchalantly, picking up his heavy western saddle. “Whether you want it or not, make your choice now or forever hold your peace.”

You keep a horse-length behind the man, Sukuna, atop your mare; your eyes are glued to the back of his head with one hand close to your iron if the situation warrants the need. The environment around you both is eerily calm ─ as if nature knows something about a potential threat that you don’t.

Perhaps your foremost thought about him being a serial killer on the side wasn’t too far off.

It doesn’t help your nerves either or his case for that matter when his home happens to be a cabin in the woods. There’s a set of storm doors that immediately catch your eyes upon arrival. They’re tightly bound and sealed with the use of heavy chains but at this point, would it really surprise you if there’s something down there he doesn’t want others to see?

Rationally, it could just be where he stores excess meats and other parts of his work, and that the chains are only there to keep predators out. He is a butcher after all, that would be the safest option.

…Unless of course the seal exists to prevent anything from escaping.

You decide to push those thoughts away for now. You’ve wrestled with bears numerous times after all; if Sukuna decides to betray the trust you’re giving him, then you won’t be going down easily.

Sukuna rides up to the pasture gate, hitching Calamity up to a post to untack her. You join him near his side with both Valentine and Clementine to do the same. Hopefully his mare’s temperament doesn’t affect either of your girls in the field after Choso gave them the okay. Explaining any new injuries to Kento would not be easy after he’s already gone out on a limb for you.

You’re then led up into his cabin, where the interior is surprisingly clean. For a butcher, he seems careful enough about it, as nothing you see has a speck of blood staining it.

“Take a seat,” he practically demands, pulling out one of his dining chairs for you on his way into the kitchen. You oblige, choosing not to comment on his tone.

You watch him from afar as he cooks, to which it appears to be yet another skill he excels in. His precision with a knife also tells you that in the event of any fights to the death, you’re gonna need a gun to win. He spares you a few glances here and there, but otherwise his focus is kept solely on the stovetop until he’s walking back into the room with dishes in hand.

You can honestly say that Sukuna’s cooking is one of, if not, the best you’ve had the privilege to eat. He’s prepared a selection of different meats paired with fresh vegetables and is eager for you to try everything he’s whipped up.

Conversation is kept to a minimum, not that you can complain. His earlier attitude seems to have softened after a good meal, yet the tension still hasn’t let up. After dinner, you offer to help clean up as thanks, but he shuts you down, even taking your plate straight from your hands.

There’s a look of mischief that plays across his crimson eyes as you’re turning back to the table. Now there’s one thing to always be cautious of when sharing company with a predator, and that’s to never turn your back on one.

A full belly must’ve dulled your senses, subsequently lowering your guard to forget that rule. Your mistake comes with a consequence, or maybe a blessing ─ Sukuna now caging you between himself and the dinner table.

His voice, deep and velvety, murmurs in your ear, “Ready to discuss payment?”

It makes your body shiver, and you hope it wasn’t too obvious. He chuckles, so you know that was a bust. Good thing you’ve still got some sass in you.

“You’re telling me you didn’t do this out of the kindness of your heart?” you tease with the man.

“Fuck no.” Sukuna inhales your scent, making your eyes flutter shut. “I’m not about to let some other maggot get in my way,” he says, brushing the hair off the side of your neck, revealing splotches of red and purple bruising. “This time…you’re mine.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” you tell him, but your efforts to remain in control are in vain.

Sukuna starts to pepper kisses across every discoloration his eyes can find, his other hand now pulling you closer to his body.

He’s hard, and nor was he lying either when he said he has nothing to compensate for.

With one hand placed inches above your needy core, he encourages you to grind against his own. It’s an action so specific, you can’t help but wonder if there’s some hidden meaning to it. Either way, Sukuna knows right where to get you along your neck until you’re weak in the knees and grasping the edge of the table for stability.

“What’s the matter?” he asks between kisses. “No more bratty comments?” You can feel his lips hovering over your carotid artery, smiling against the flesh as your heartbeat quickens in response.

“Fuck you,” you spit in a low volume, your grip on the table growing stronger as Sukuna’s hand moves fast to cup your sex.

“There’s plenty of time for that,” he muses. “I intend to enjoy every minute of this.” He lifts his hand upwards, pulling you off your feet for a hot second causing a gasp to leave your mouth. He then lets go of your body, backing away a few steps.

“Strip,” he commands, and you find yourself throwing caution to the wind. As you start to unbutton your shirt, he stops you, “Aht aht, turn around.” He motions with his finger almost impatiently so.

You roll your eyes before doing so, continuing where you left off. “Better, my lord?”

“That’s it,” he drawls, ignoring your snarky tone in favor of the new title of worship. “You’ll do well to listen and take orders.”

“You know, maybe I should put a bullet in you if you think I’m gonna sit back and become one of your pets. Better yet, I could always just cut your dick right off or maybe gelding would be more fun,” you warn him with an amused smile.

“Your words only arouse me, brat.” He stalks closer, baring his canines towards you with a similar, more salacious grin. “Stick around long enough with me and I’ll show you the best way how to do all of those things.”

Unlike you, you don’t believe he’s joking.

Sukuna takes a moment to admire your body, feeling his own cock strain in his pants. He leans his head down, taking you by your mouth in a ravenous embrace. He roughly bites your bottom lip, making you gasp yet again. Sukuna uses this chance to slip his tongue past your teeth, savoring the metallic flavor all while a free hand slips between your thighs.

He spreads you open, prodding his middle finger against your opening. “My… so wet already? I’ve hardly touched you.”

For how much you hate him for his arrogance, he certainly knows how to make a gal feel oh so aroused. You’re enjoying this more than you had expected to.

Without warning, he thrusts his finger upwards, lifting your body to rest atop the dining table. “Fuck!” you shriek, the pain turning to pleasure when his thumb coos your throbbing clit. With deft motions, he pumps his finger in and out.

Sukuna laughs in an almost sadistic manner, thoroughly enjoying the reactions you’re giving him. It’s always more fun when his prey has some fire that makes his efforts to break them all the more satisfying. Pretty soon, you’re rolling your hips against his knuckles on your own, aiding his motions.

“Look at you, slut,” his voice, full of sin, whispers in your ear. He bites the sides of your neck overtop the pre-existing marks, thus overriding the claims. “So desperate. You want to cum, don’t you? I can feel it.”

You nod your head, unable to hold back your noises as you grow closer to that sweet release. His touch is like wildfire against your body, igniting you with otherworldly passion.

“I wonder, what would happen if I were to deny you?” His grin widens and he retracts his hand from your body.

“Asshole!” you hiss breathlessly, groaning from the loss.

Sukuna loves how easy it is to push your buttons. Each action serving to intoxicate you under his full control. If one simple finger of his could do all of this for you, then he can’t waitto impale you with his cock.

“Such a bad girl,” he purrs against your ear once again. Both of Sukuna’s hands hold you at the hip while he rubs his clothed self against you. “Tell me you’re mine and I’ll please you over and over again until all you can think about is me.”

“I’m starting to think it was love at first sight with you,” you chuckle through a moan, “Can’t ask a girl out like a normal person?” That remark earns you another reprimand as he suddenly pushes himself hard against you, forcing you back onto your forearms.

“Last I checked, I already made you dinner and offered you my home. If you’re having second thoughts then I’ll gladly let you go,” he states, but you can tell that’s a lie.

Sukuna would much rather you stay and give in to his desires. The offer is quite tempting to, as with any deal with a devil. It proves even harder to deny the effects Sukuna has on you, your stomach endlessly performing flips with emotions.

His whole domineering self is a forbidden type of decadence that draws you in, hypnotizingly so. There’s a lot you don’t know yet about him, and if one thing is obvious, it’s that the longer you stay at his side, the more you want to slip into depravity with Sukuna.

It might even help you become a better version of yourself. No longer would you be alone trying to survive in a world pitted against you.

Then again, your feisty nature is what got you here to begin with. Where’s the fun in letting that go now when you have someone that can keep up with you, with plenty to offer if he stays true to his word.

With a devious grin of your own, you tell him, “Fuck. You.” Emphasizing each word to better toy with him.

He laughs again, louder, and more boastful this time. He knew you would continue to deny yourself, punishing yourself in the process. You’re only making this easier for him to have his way.

“You won’t say it?” He stares down at you with a darkened expression, flashing those wolfish fangs again. One of his hands swoops up to cup your breast, pinching the bud as he makes you lie flat for him. “Oh, I’ll make you say it.”

In the blink of an eye, his mouth latches onto your swollen pearl, sucking with an intense force that leaves you writhing beneath him. One way or another, he’ll shatter your will. He knows it’s just a matter of time before you admit what you already know to be true.

Sukuna’s tongue swipes upwards once before pushing inside. He licks up every last drop of your arousal, feeding into his own animalistic desire to claim you.

To ruin you.

He moans at this thought, savoring your delectable taste like it’s his last meal on earth. The sweet flavoring pairs perfectly the way you cry his name out. One of your hands even holds the table in a white-knuckle grip, with the other struggling against his head. You can’t escape his touch, even if you tried. His own hands brandish your hips tight enough to bruise ─ making you in his name.

“S’kuna,” you groan, feeling your mind reaching a state where it has no choice but to unravel.

“Just say those three words,” Sukuna insists, spelling it out for you with the tip of his tongue. He’s edging you a second time now, knowing all too well how close you are. “Three words, and I’m all yours,” he urges.

“Fuck! Please, please, let me cum!” you beg the man, rocking yourself against his mouth for the needed stimulation. Sukuna clicks his tongue but doesn’t let up, sucking more vigorously now. Your eyes practically roll into the back of your head, your spine arching off the table from the force your climax hits you with. “Sukun-aah!” you cry out in pleasure.

Your mouth falls agape with a silent scream, falling limp against the wood. It takes a minute to come down off the high, but when your vision clears, you look to Sukuna whose shirt has been discarded. Now, you can clearly see his sculpted chest and all the black ink that adorns his body.

The sound of metal teeth fills your ears, and his jeans are the next to go. He doesn’t even give you a chance to see the rest of him in his full glory before you’re scooped into his arms, forced to wrap your tired legs around his waist. Contrary to his abrasive personality, he holds you with a lot of care, and you think you if this goes on, you could fall asleep just like this.

Sukuna lowers himself onto his bed, and in the process forces you into a straddling position. He briefly kisses your lips ─ another sweet act ─ and then leans back, tucking his hands behind his head.

“Ride me,” he commands. You shoot him a questioning glare in response. “What, you thought I was going to do all the work tonight?” he scoffs, “I told you already what I want to hear.”

You sigh, lips stretching into a fine line. It doesn’t seem like any amount of begging will save you from those three words he wants you to say, but are you ready to admit it?

“Come on, cowgirl.” Both his tone and expression carry a hint of mocking, albeit playful as part of his nature. “Let’s see some bareback riding… I want to watch you make yourself cum on my cock.” Sukuna pats your thigh before pulling it back behind his head.

You lift upwards, feeling a burn in your legs as you do so. Between days of being on the saddle and Sukuna marking the fourth man in your unintentional conquest of the city of Valentine, you ought to get a medal for how hard you’re working. At this rate, you may as well embrace the buckle bunny trope.

Reaching between your thighs, you take his cock in hand. The size is bigger than you imagined, even after feeling it through his denim. He’s no doubt the biggest you’ve taken thus far, and you can’t even feel the tips of your fingers around his girth.

There’s a bit of uncertainty that starts to bubble up, but as the famous saying goes ─ country girls make do.

And so, you line him up, rolling the fat mushroom tip across your slit to gather the necessary lubricant before even attempting to sit over this monster. You wince at the first stretch, your insides burning unimaginably so.

Sukuna wants to laugh. He’d love to keep teasing you but even he’s having trouble forming words in this situation. It’s hard enough resisting the urge to go all in and get it over with, but that won’t end well for him.

He wants you to trust him after all.

He wants you to be his.

After what feels like a century, you finally bottom out, hips kissing his pelvis in full with a deep, guttural moan to follow. Any slight movement on either of your parts sends shockwaves heavier than his heavyweight draft.

In this moment, Sukuna decides to play nice. His hands move from his head down to the dips of your hips, helping you through the motions with a gentle touch. It’s mostly an excuse to get you moving already, but also due to how deeply he wants to feel every bit of you.

Pretty soon he lets you take over, as he originally planned. At first, your pace is agonizingly slow, fueled from your exhausted state much to his discontent. Despite this being his way of tormenting you, it affects him equally so. Sukuna’s also punishing himself for not making his move earlier when he had the chance.

“Is that all you got? Here I thought you wanted to cum,” he teases. “You look so pretty with my cock buried in you, slut.”

The degrading term aside, his sudden compliment has you moaning a saccharine tune. Your body hunches forward, curving his length to reach greater depths you didn’t think possible.

“Oh?” Sukuna groans deeply. “Does someone enjoy being praised?”

“Y-yes, ‘Kuna.”

“Good girl,” he hisses with lustful joy, clenching his teeth together. Sukuna wasn’t prepared for the feeling you created by saying his name in such a delectable way.

He could eat you right up for that.

“My dove is doing so well,” he murmurs against your ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth. “Now if only you’ll say those three words already,” he urges you once more, wishing for you to give into him.

You huff, “What haa-happened to saying please?”

“Tch.” The palm of his hand meets your ass. You gasp into a cry, clenching around his length. “Don’t be a brat after I’ve been nice and complimenting you.”

Fresh tears gloss your eyes but are quickly soothed by him rubbing circles over the forming red handprint. That hand then moves deftly over your stomach to where it had rested earlier. Sukuna pushes with his palm slightly, feeling himself deep within you.

Fuck, it feels good, but it’s not enough.

Your pace begins to slow as your body tries desperately to balance exhaustion with your building orgasm. Sukuna’s breathing turns disheveled, a sign that even he’s losing his patience ─ ready to fill you to the brim with his seed.

Nearing the precipice of your release, you finally come to terms with your inner turmoil. You’re here now, you may as well make the most of it. As downright intimidating as Sukuna can be, he just wants to please you in his twisted sort of way.

It’s not easy to admit, but in a way, he reminds you of your father ─ always pushing you past pain to grow stronger. It’s what made you into a rattlesnake in a world full of predators. Sukuna brings out that venomous side of you but also rewards you with subtle soft touches.

One might argue that your affection for Sukuna could be the result of losing your father years ago. On the other hand, this possessiveness Sukuna shows might be his own way of dealing with issues from his past. Whatever the case may be, you hope the lengths he’d go to protect what he deems his isn’t anything too maniacal in nature.

Maybe for the first time in your life, you will let go of control ─ let someone else carry your burden without always needing to put up a strong front.

“’Kuna,” you whine, leaning down in front of his face, cupping both sides of his jaw. A bead of sweat falls from a strand of your hair, disappearing in an instant from his hot flesh.

His eyes narrow in your hold, obsidian swallowing garnet. “Say it.”

And you finally do.

“I’m yours, Sukuna. All yours.”

That’s all he needed to hear for everything to snap into place. Sukuna’s arms reach around your torso, holding you tight to thrust himself into a brutal pace. His cabin now but a domain of lust, fueled by a cadence of sounds as body and souls unite as one.

“’Bout time,” he growls, the pitch of his voice noticeably lower. “I was just gonna mess with ya at first, tease you a bit ─ see how far I could back you into a corner,” Sukuna starts to reveal, his pace unrelenting. “Then I saw you showin’ off at the bar, fucking that bastard’s hand up without breaking a sweat. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on in my life.”

The two of you bury your faces in each other’s neck, your hands struggling to find a grip anywhere to provide relief from the mounting state of rapture. The knot in your abdomen growing tighter and tighter by the second.

“Had to watch that blond fuck get to you before I could, and then,” he growls, “you ran off with that white-haired freak of a sheriff this morning.” His arms coil around you with more force. “Don’t think I’m not aware these marks are from him.”

“’Kuna, please,” you whimper into his collar.

“That’s right, tell the world who you belong to ─ who’s ruining you,” Sukuna’s laugh mixes with deep, groaning exhales. “Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my fat cock. You better be proud of yourself for what you’re doing to me.”

You cry out his name a dozen more times as he ravishes you, no sooner reaching the plateau of an ecstasy that unravels every fiber of your being. Your only thoughts now are of the man beneath you, drunk off his cock now shooting thick ropes of cum deep inside you.

The stimulation gets to be too much that you feel the overwhelming desire to bite down on his neck. Sukuna revels in this, spilling out every last drop he can manage until it overflows from within you and around the base of him.

You relinquish your hold on him, allowing your body to slump against his. “You’re mine now,” Sukuna declares with your name following his words. He moves one hand up and down your back, reminding you of his softer side, all before flipping your positions, still nestled within your body.

“Suku–“ You’re cut short by his lips pressing against yours in a warm embrace.

He kisses every tear down your face, and even the drool that trails the sides of your mouth before returning to your lips. Amongst everything else, you can still taste yourself on his tongue, paired perfectly with his own like seasoning on the finest of meals.

“Did you think we were done?” One hand moves to hook the backing of your knee, lifting it up to grant him better access. “I said I’d take good care of you, and all you had to do was submit your trust to me.”

You might’ve just created a monster without realizing.

“Take every bit of me now… you’ve earned it.”

You have no memory of when sleep overtook you. Sunlight peeks through the curtains now, illuminating the cabin in warm, rich tones. Your body, while sore and aching, feels renewed in all aspects ─ mind, body, and soul.

Sukuna’s arm is wrapped around your waist, with his other acting as a pillow beneath your head. Feeling you stirring, his eyes flutter open, glaring at you with his own tired expression.

“Mornin’, dove,” he greets, voice thick with sleep.

You stretch in his arms, moaning slightly as you wiggle closer for comfort and warmth. Sukuna smiles against your forehead, tightening his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll fly away if he lets go. It’s fine for now. After all, you made your choice to give in and it’s one you don’t regret.

He may joke about “fucking the brat out of you”, but let’s face it ─ Sukuna had plenty of frustrations of his own to get out. Now, you get to experience his softer side. While Sukuna will never admit he has one, he is glad you’re here and wants to keep it that way.

After another bout of sleep, he prepares a nice, fulfilling breakfast for you. It’s quiet as the two of you eat, both knowing full well you weren’t going to be staying for another night.

The fact remains that Sukuna has some unfinished business to attend to, and you yourself must return Clementine to Kento before making any lifechanging decisions in your journey of life.

On your way out the door, Sukuna grabs your wrist, spinning you back and up against the door. His knee wedges between your legs, one hand holding your jaw up for him to claim your lips in a fervent kiss goodbye.

“Come back to me soon, dove. I’m not finished with you.” He smiles, but it lacks the malicious intent he held earlier.

You think.

“See you around, cowboy.” You tap the back of your hand to his chest when he releases you, walking off from the porch and over to the pasture. “Oh, and by the way,” you call out from over your shoulder, “I give you five stars for your excellent service.” You wink, licking your lips.

Sukuna smirks from afar, remaining by his doorstep until you’re nothing but a shadow in the distance. His eyes pan over in the direction of his cellar, eager to pass the time until your hopeful return.

…but will you?

☆ Notes: I got stuck on this for a while during my writing slump as I’ve come to realize I’m not all that big on smut writing, tbh. It’s not something I feel confident with, nor is it something I actively seek out to read.

But god, writing Sukuna was a BLAST and a nice start for me cause I have several ideas I want to do for him in the future <3 I hope you guys enjoyed how I wrote him though; I tried to balance all my favorite aspects his personality and my own little headcanons.

Also had to throw in my own choso & yuki cowboy headcanons… originally I was gonna have choso working in the office with shoko, but I ship him with yuki hard and really wanted to include them one way or another in the series. blood manip just screams doctor AUs to me, and I think he’d be an awesome vet or peds doctor!!

For all the red dead 2 players though… do you recognize what house we’re in? :3

[whoishotteranimepolls]

"Who's Hotter?" Pride Month Event: Fanon LGBTQ+ Characters

[kurooh]

CHOSO IS SOOOO COWBOY OMG he puts his cowboy hat on your head when you flirt with him and tilts the brim down so it covers your eyes and you can’t see his blush <3333 fave position is reverse cowgirl tooooooo

HELP IM ACTUALLY LOSING MY MIND. this thought has done unspeakable things to me and i WILL be thinking about it for the rest of this week

[sonarspace]

thinking about them on this fine wednesday ..

till the leather straddle disintegrates, till their suspenders snap, till the rope burns n becomes ashes

thank you @aransmind for these masterpieces

[clackclackboom]

[chosowhore]

i'd ride cowboy choso so hard

[pca-art]

They just don't get it like he does

[aransmind]

cowboy choso

[classyrbf]

CLASSYRBF’S JJK KINKTOBER SPECIAL 2024 !

(CANCELLED)

ᯓ★ — welcome to classyrbf’s kinktober special! This is my very first kinktober that I’ve ever done but I’m so excited. I’m doing this a little differently compared to others, so instead of days I’ll be doing weeks instead that way it gives me time to process my ideas and fics and if id like to edit anything. Also, most of these short fics/drabbles will be horror/halloween themed in some way. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

WEEK 1 — there’s someone in the woods w/geto suguru + 7 minutes in heaven w/gojo satoru

— there someone in the woods (stalker!geto x fem!reader): walking home from a halloween party you decided to take a shortcut, but an eerie feelings creeps up your spine and it feels like eyes are watching your every move

— 7 minutes in heaven (ghost!gojo x fem!reader): during a game of hide and seek at a halloween party, you end up locked in a small, dark closet all alone only to find out you’re not the only one hiding in there

WEEK 2 — scream queen w/toji fushiguro + freak on a leash w/choso kamo

— scream queen (ghost face!toji x fem!reader): ghost face!toji is back to make his mark on you, it just seems he couldn’t get enough of you last time (pt 2 of ghost face!toji fic)

— freak on a leash (choso x sucubus fem!reader): choso can’t seem to figure out why he’s been so horny all week, growing frustrated that he can’t properly get off, he accidentally summons a sucubus

WEEK 3 — nosferatu w/nanami kento + bewitched w/ hiromi higuruma

— nosferatu (vampire!nanami x fem!reader): it isn’t everyday where you wander into an old abandoned castle far away from the village, curious of the rumors that’s surround this place, except your quick to find it isn’t abandoned at all

— bewitched (higuruma x witch fem!reader): you have your sights set on hiromi, needy for him, greedy, but you can’t have him, and in order to make him yours forever…you turn towards witchcraft

WEEK 4 — love you to death w/ryomen sukuna + cowboys from hell w/jjk men

— love you to death (werewolf!sukuna x fem!reader): sukuna can’t help the beast inside of him when he lays his eyes upon you, becoming obsessive and seduced by your every move

— cowboys from hell (cowboy!jjk men x fem!reader): what happens when demonic cowboys rise from hell? Well of course they need to get a taste of the very pretty girl in front of them

taglist closed!

CLASSYRBF 2024

[tacitoru]

pairing: choso x reader

summary: “At your service, ma'am,” he says, with an earnest grin and the tilt of his gallon hat. “Always.”

or:

you don't know how you managed to have beef with the deputy of your tiny town so quickly after moving this far west to escape the "promise" of polite society, but he does well to remind you not to forget it.

rating: explicit

tw: cowboy!choso, dom/sub undertones, bondage, mentions of violence and alcohol, afab!reader

read on ao3

[satoruhour]

I’m good been kinda lazy on my writing lately but slowly getting back into it. Plus I have to redo my Masterlist to cause tumblr wanted to delete the last one.

omg why did it want to delete it??? tumblr always doing these kinds of things it’s so annoying 😭😭 was it bc of nsfw stuff :/ and yay! proud of u even if you’re taking it slow w/ your writing 🩵 pace pace and take breaks

[frenchcoucou]

cowboy choso 👩‍🌾

ac: zuunary

[nightdncer]

“ 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 ”

✦ A/N : cowboy Choso fan art at the end ;)

✦ warnings : cowboy!Choso , fem!reader , female reader , smut , cowgirl position , doggy position , deepthroat , pet names , teasing , Choso x fem!reader, A/N’s

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦

“fuck…” Choso grunts as he rubs his bulge on your thigh. you look up at him and giggle at his cheeks being a faint rosy pink. you gently grab his wrist and say, “come on, give me more than that.” you tease him. Choso cheeks became more flustered when you said that, knowing what you meant.

“… but-” before he could finish what you say, you interrupted him by saying, “no. you know you want it too, Cho.” he whispers in his ear. he sighs softly and lays down on his back on the bed, you sitting on top of his bulge. “come on, just seeing me makes you hard?” you tease him as you ruffle his hair lightly, his hair becoming a slight mess.

“give it to me, please…” he begged, grabbing your wrist. you gave him a slight smirk and just unzips his jeans {A/N : his jeans are baggy btw ;)} and slid off his boxers where his length caresses your clit. you slightly shiver in pleasure, not sure who will be dominant in this moment.

he grabs your ass and spreads it, putting his full length in your hole. “f- fuck…” you softly whine.

“do the work, mommy.” he says, in a very slight teasing tone as he looks up at you. you get surprise when he calls you mommy, as he was usually a cold and dominant man, but this side of him was only for you to see.

you then started bouncing on his length, both of your hands intertwine together. “mgh….” he grunts. “ah..! huh, you’re…” you’re eyes twitch in pleasure. “you’re so hard..” you say in pants n between as he chuckles at your body twitching in pleasure and your little moans.

“fuck, fuck, fuck..!!” he moans out loud, as you gently caresses his hands. “don’t be so loud… the people might hear.” you tease him, slowly picking up your pace.

“you last longer than I expected..” he comments, as he forces you to leans down on his chest and kiss your forehead, him taking care of it now. he gently tugs on your hair. “ahh, fuck..” he moans his hand on his mouth as he finishes inside of you.

“h- hah..!” you moan in his chest, it being muffled. he pulls his length out, panting from the intense orgasm.

he gets a load of your hair and forces you onto your back. “face down, ass up now.” he commands, thee being a teasing tone in between his command. you were embarrassed to do that. you do as he says, as he grabs another fist full of your hair.

he then slid his length into your ass, making you whine out of pleasure. he then picks up his pace, becoming faster and faster as he tugs on your hair. your head burry in the pillow, your eyes rolled back. “hah! a- ah…. you’re going to fast, Cho..” you whine.

“shut up.” he commands once again, you being the submissive one now. he then smacks your ass, “be a good girl and stay quiet for me, yea?” he whispers in your ear.” you look up at him from the corner in your eyes and nods.

he picks up his pace, him panting as he grabs both of your waist. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come..” he warns you. “Choso..!!” you whine out his name. “yeah… scream my name for me, come on..” he grunts as he finally comes in you once again.

he pulls out his length and it you on his lap, his length caressing your clit, his arms wrapped around your waist, making you trapped in between him. “you were so wet..” he pants in your ear.

“I wanna..” you mutter out, then finishing your sentence by saying, “suck it.” you pant out, e,breasted that you just said that. he looks at you in surprise but gave a smirk. “of course.”

and just before you know it, you were on your knees and sucking on his length. he grabs your hair and forces all of his inches in your mouth. “f- fuck…” he moans, not getting the full pleasure from you deep throating him as you felt his tip at the back of your neck.

he guides his length out of your mouth, a bit of pre-cum dripping from his length. you then start giving him a hand job, your tiny hand going up and down on his large length with veins popping out. he grabs your hair and starts guiding you where it gave him the most pleasure.

“n- ngh…!!” he grunts out in pleasure, finally reaching the spot where it gave him the post pleasure, his hand twitching and his eyes being half opened.

just then, he comes in your mouth which wasn’t shocking since pre-cum was dropping from his tip. you made sure to get all of the come in his length and slide out of it, his come leaking from your mouth. “fuck… this is so much to clean.” he whines.

you then sit on his lap his length in between your ass. “I’ll help you, dear.” you say as you kisses his cheek.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦

A/N : CHOSO COWBOY FANART !!

made by salmonfurai on X

[colonelarr0w]

Across the Universe

The JJK characters in various alternate universes!

INCLUDED - Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Hiromi Higuruma, Ino Takuma, Yuuta Okkotsu, Inumaki Toge, Yuuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

!TATTOO ARTIST GOJO is such a smug bastard — pearly skin adorned with intricate inked designs that each house their own specialized meaning and sparkling aquamarine eyes that search for you every time that the tiny shop bell dings. If it is you dropping by with a bag of his favorite takeout, he’ll momentarily pause with his client to lovingly greet you. Sure, it may annoy his client, but when it comes down to you, Satoru would allow cities to burn before his attention was ever pulled away from you.  

!TATTOO ARTIST GOJO is absolutely over the moon when you tell him that he can practice designs on you, offering him your arm or your leg with that smile that he can’t help but press a loving kiss to. He’ll make sure that you’re nice and comfortable before starting; he likely offers you a stress ball or something similar before getting to work. And once the piece is finished, he happily accepts the compliments (and kisses) you give him for doing such a beautiful job. (He also will not say no to the thousand Instagram pictures that you order him to take). 

!BIKER GETO is, quite literally, a doberman wearing a pristine leather jacket. So when you politely text him to pick you up from your girl’s night, he’s already grabbing your helmet and speeding his way from your shared apartment to whatever bar you were at. He tells you to stay put, that he would be there in ten minutes, and that he loved you. The moment that you hear his bike’s engine, you’re moving towards it like a moth to a garden light. He wastes no time in throwing his jacket over your shoulders and wrapping you up in his arms, tucking your face away and pressing comforting kisses against your hairline.  

!BIKER GETO absolutely adores the fact that you want to use his bike as a prop in your Instagram pictures, posing with the vehicle in an outfit that is planned to perfectly match the color of his bike. He doesn’t mind being your photographer at all, praising you and making sure that he gets all of your good angles. He also doesn’t mind helping you pick which ones to post — just as long as you make sure to tag him in them. And as long as you don’t mind him mercilessly attacking any other male in your comments that even dares to compliment you.  

!COWBOY NANAMI is an absolute sucker for the domestic mornings that you both share; he loves waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, bacon, eggs, and occasionally, sausage. (Though he doesn’t like waking up to you not lying beside him, you making him breakfast is a very easy solution.) He loves coming downstairs to see you humming and dancing around the kitchen, wearing one of his button-ups that dwarfs you completely. He just loves how comfortable and in your element you are — you make him so incredibly soft. 

!COWBOY NANAMI is already picking out a ring after you meet his family for the first time … extended cousins and all. The little ones dance around your legs and compliment you in those adorable Southern accents, his aunts and uncles smile fondly at the way that you present yourself and talk about your relationship with him, and his parents are simply overjoyed at the little jewel that their son decided to bring home. His hand wraps comfortably around your waist — and in that smooth Southern accent that melts you into a puddle — he agrees with his parents’ compliments and sneaks in one of his own. 

!DAYCARE WORKER CHOSO doesn’t want to think that he likes you at first. After all, you only ever stopped by his room to check in on the little ones, other than that, you remained in the daycare’s main office working as an assistant to the owner. So then why does his heart flutter every time that you make your routine stop to his room? Why do his cheeks feel warm every time that you talk to him? Why does he never want you to leave every time that your checks are finished? Why doesn’t he ever want you to leave? 

!DAYCARE WORKER CHOSO who can’t help but smile a little wider when he watches you interact with the kids in his rooms on your days off; how you never fail to make sure that each and every child is accounted for and is included. And Choso also doesn’t fail to notice how the children light up when he mentions that you’re stopping by — already asking what toys you were going to bring and what games you were going to play. It warms his heart that they love you just as much as (if not more) than he does. 

!BLUE COLLAR WORKER TOJI who spots you on his lunch break, talking so prettily with your little gaggle of friends. The coffee cup in your hand is decorated with the deep red of your lipstick — it makes him wonder what shade of red it is (and how it would look on his skin). Of course, he can’t talk to you at that moment, but his coworkers make sure that you know that he’s interested in you. And sure, you don’t catch his gaze just yet, but he knows that it’s only a matter of time until you do.  

!BLUE COLLAR WORKER TOJI who all but melts into your arms when he returns home after a particularly long day, savoring the warmth of your arms and burying his face away into your shoulder. Your hands rub up and down the length of his spine, cooing sweet reassurances into his ear and pressing kisses against his temple. He can’t help but smile at the fact that he was being babied, but considering that it was you … who was he to say no?  

!BODYGUARD SUKUNA who, at first, is very cold and distanced from you — considering that it was your father who hired him and gave him the instruction to keep an eye on your every move and make sure that you were properly kept safe. His answers to you are short and clipped, spoken in a tone that is laced with venom. It only drives you further away from him, which both satisfies and frustrates him. He really does love you from the moment your words are directed at him, but because of his current situation, he pushes those feelings deep down and forces himself to forget about them. 

!BODYGUARD SUKUNA who sneaks into your room in the middle of the night, smirking to himself when he enters to see you patiently waiting for him. You smile softly at him as he enters, crawling into his arms once he makes himself comfortable on your bed. Your head tucks comfortably into the crook of his neck, arms winding around his waist with your legs tangling with his own. He tilts his head to rest his cheek against the side of your head, humming against you — savoring the warmth of your embrace and relishing in the chaste kisses that you plant against his neck.  

!PROFESSOR HIGURUMA who is the first member of staff to greet you on campus, standing in the doorframe of your empty classroom with his arms crossed over his chest. You pause what you were doing — which was reviewing your lesson plans — and turn to the mysterious man standing outside of your classroom. He greets you politely, clearing his throat after realizing that he might have been staring at you for a moment too long. You return his greeting, and a comfortable conversation flows between the both of you; it’s mostly him inquiring about your lesson plans.  

!PROFESSOR HIGURUMA who enjoys the nights that you both spend grading together. You sit beside him with your legs propped up on his lap, essays piled high on top of your legs while he quietly scans over the last few tests that he had procrastinated. On the coffee table are your unfinished cups of tea, sugar completely dissolved and milk creating a swirl across the top of the tea. The silence is comfortable, occasionally filled by the sound of a turning page or a hum that rumbles up from the back of his throat.  

!PHOTOGRAPHER INO who adores when you sit beside him to go through the pictures he’s taken on his laptop, offhandedly commenting on how many candid shots he has of you (three folders to be exact). Your chin is resting on the top of his head, eyes trained on the pictures that he tries so hard to click quickly through. His cheeks are burning red, not that you can really see them from your position above him. You want to tease him, but pause at one of the pictures. It’s of you on your latest date, body half-turned to look at him with a bright smile painted onto your face. You think you look terrible, but with the way he gazes at the same picture, you could have hung the moon and stars. 

!PHOTOGRAPHER INO who never misses an opportunity to capture precious moments with his camera. Each date you go on, you can bet that he’s going to be snapping photo after photo to “commemorate the moment.” In reality, you know he’s just gathering pictures of you, but the thought behind it all is so pure-hearted and tooth-rot-tingly sweet. Nine times out of ten, he’ll pick his favorite from the night and frame it, gifting it to you after the night’s over.  

!ROYALTY YUUTA who can feel his heart momentarily stop in his chest the moment that he sees you standing at the top of the palace steps, dress sparkling in the light provided by the ballroom’s grand chandelier. He watches you carefully as you descend the stairs, waving politely to the other patrons who greet you first. The warmth in his chest transfers to his cheeks as you approach him, greeting him with a gentle peck and a smile that has him weak in the knees. He regains himself quickly however, offering you his hand and asking you to dance — an offer that only a fool would decline.  

!ROYALTY YUUTA who is all smiles and giggles when you sneak out of your room to join him in the palace’s darkened hallways. He tugs at your hand as you both sneak past the various guards that are stationed throughout the palace’s second floor. He turns to you with a finger pressed against his lips, smiling in response to your own as he finally sneaks you into the palace’s grand library, where the both of you remain until sunrise and the king and queen go searching for their son and his betrothed. 

!COLLEGE STUDENT TOGE who makes it very known that you are his beautiful, stunning girlfriend. Yes, you’re set as his wallpaper (on both his laptop AND his phone). Yes, he references you in almost every conversation that he has. Yes, he’ll hold your hand in the crowded halls and sit next to you during the class that you both just so happen to share. No, he has no shame in hugging you tightly in public. No, he has no shame in kissing you and emphasizing it with a disgusting “mwah!”.  

!COLLEGE STUDENT TOGE who memorizes your coffee order and, before class every day, surprises you with it along with a small pastry. Does it absolutely ruin his bank account? Sure. But is there anything that could ever compare to your smile and the kiss you lay against his cheek in thanks? Absolutely not. He would gladly run his bank account into the ground if it meant making your Monday mornings just a touch brighter. 

!BARISTA YUUJI who swears up and down that he doesn’t have a favorite regular — besides you that is. He swears that he doesn’t remember your coffee order at all … and yet it’s always waiting on the pickup side of the register when you walk in. He swears that he has no idea who you are … and yet he perks up like an excited dog when the coffee shop’s bell dings at 9:15 every morning. No, he definitely doesn’t have a favorite regular. 

!BARISTA YUUJI who adores when you accompany him during his closing shifts, waiting patiently at your designated table and watching as he finishes up any nightly tasks. He jingles the keys to the shop in your face when he’s finished, already asking you about your day and peppering your face with a flurry of kisses that you can never escape. His fingers lace into yours as he locks up, both of you already setting off down the sidewalk back to your apartment complex.  

!SHELTER VOLUNTEER MEGUMI who promises you before his weekly visit that he won’t bring home another dog — knowing that your apartment was barely large enough to house the two Shepherd pups that he had brought home. He kisses the top of your head and promptly leaves before you’re able to get another word in … and deep down you know that he’s going to return with something. He can’t help it, and when he holds the puppy up to your eyes, you quickly understand why. 

!SHELTER VOLUNTEER MEGUMI who all but melts when he comes home after a long day to see you and your (now) three dogs all curled up on the couch together. The two black-and-white shepherds are laying protectively in front of the couch while the newest little addition lays comfortably across your chest, little puppy snores rumbling in its nose. He has to resist the urge to take an unhealthy amount of pictures of you and the dogs — instead, he decides to silently lower himself to sit down and watch you. He reaches a finger out, stroking it over your cheek and smiling to himself … God, he was so absolutely in love with you.