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DARLING PROFILE:

Nurturing

His darling  doesn’t necessarily need to be nurturing in a traditional sense, but rather that they’re extremely empathetic. He values loyalty in relationships, whether platonic or otherwise, and he would be looking for a partner who is able to care deeply about those close to them.

He sees it as a sign of a strong moral compass and character, as a confirmation that they value connection and loyalty. He’s guided by his own strong set of morals, particularly when it comes to those he loves, and as a result he wants this trait mirrored in a partner.

And when he envisions this nurturing partner, he’s also making the assumption that with this more tranquil, sweet disposition will come another benefit in his eyes: a partner that is more of a homebody.

The association is almost completely based upon his own misconceptions about human culture and social patterns, but Choso would also desire the comfort in knowing that his darling isn’t out at all hours of the day surrounding themselves with strangers and potential threats to their safety.

There’s something alluring about the idea that his darling would prefer to curl up under a fluffy blanket with a good book or tablet rather than go out drinking with her friends. Of course, his darling can absolutely enjoy themselves from time to time (this happens much less once the talons of Choso’s infatuation have clawed their way into them), but in general Choso is smitten with his darling’s more subdued nature.

It feeds into his delusions, too – the thought that his darling is able to understand his worries and love for them, and is thus making the conscious choice to not worry him and instead stay indoors and away from curses, men, danger. It’s not true, of course, but to Choso it absolutely is – and with each kind word his darling says and every night they spend scrolling in bed rather than out on a dancefloor, Choso’s obsession only grows stronger, the roots wrapping around his heart tighter and tighter.

They’re just perfect – he’s not sure if he’s fertile, but he’s absolutely convinced his darling would be a perfect mother – convinced enough that he doesn’t even bother to bring it up, certain that they’ll agree to building a family together. And he believes that process should start as soon as possible.

Patient

As a general rule, Choso is most likely to fall for a darling with a softer personality. Of course, they can have vibrancy and spark, a passion for life and a fighting spirit that equal parts worries and endears him. But the traits that specifically trigger his more obsessive tendencies tend to be those that are softer, sweeter, a sign of his darling’s emotional maturity. And going hand-in-hand with this, his darling absolutely must be patient.

He’s only very recently stepped into the human world, and he’s completely, utterly out of his league. He understands the cold thrill of battle, vengeance and physical brutality, but the moment fists are discarded for words? He’s lost, thrown off balance and unsure of how to even understand his own feelings, much less being able to actually articulate them. He often feels as if he’s bumbling through most human interactions (which is, arguably, very true), and while he has Yuji as a reference and guide to positive human social customs, he’s still a late bloomer.

And so, his darling absolutely needs to be able to consider this when interacting with him. He needs someone who is able to explain each and every facet of human emotion and customs to him, to walk him through everything with care and encouragement without condescension.

A darling who is able to stick with him and not give up on him when he doesn’t understand basic things like a handshake or envy is a deal-breaker for him. He’s attracted to the way they stay loyal, how they don’t give up at the first sign of challenge, how they’re willing to stick by his side and let him make the same mistakes over and over all without that breathtaking smile of theirs faltering.

Choso isn’t particularly insecure, but he does become very self-conscious in the context of unfamiliar human social interactions – especially romantic ones. And so, even beyond just catching his eye, his darling needs to remain patient with him while Choso navigates his festering obsession and attempts at courting them.

Of course it doesn’t go particularly well, but a darling who’s able to simply brush him off and help him try again is an absolutely lifesaver for him – and unfortunately, this single trait is likely what spells defeat for his darling.

 It’s the trait that he reveres them for, the attribute that makes him feel so close to and connected to them, and it’s ultimately their biggest weakness. They’ll become so fiercely protective over sweet, oblivious Choso (though he’s never particularly sweet, that low timbre of his voice and the ominious feeling associated with his half-cursed status never allowing his companions to ever completely relax) that their patience and desire to help him will eventually lead to them disregarding much of his concerning behaviors.

He’s still learning, they’ll reason.

He just doesn’t understand exactly what ‘I love you’ means yet, that’s all, they’ll convince themselves.

He doesn’t realize what physical intimacy means for humans yet, and does he actually even know what he’s asking for when he says he wants to ‘taste me’?

It’s Choso’s greatest treasure and his darling’s greatest downfall, and he’ll tell them as much once he’s got them securely under his thumb, right where they should be.

Easily distracted

In general, much of what fuels Choso’s obsession with his darling is a compulsive drive to be needed. He lives for his brothers, yes, but the picture perfect image of a family that he’s always nursed a hope he’d achieve one day is incomplete without one important, necessary component: his partner.

He wants someone who is a perfect match for him – someone to care for, dote on, to protect and love and shower with his time, energy, and affections.

And so, Choso tends to gravitate more toward a darling who, to put it bluntly, needs this sort of gentle care and micromanaging.

He wants someone who is obviously in clear need of an anchor, of a person who is steady and can keep them grounded. And so, a darling who tends to be a bit airheaded is an ideal match for him. He wants a darling who he can truly believe needs his help. He wants someone who will grow to depend on him, to want him to be by their side every minute of every day.

And while he’d prefer a darling with at least a moderate level of intelligence, Choso is endeared by pretty much any behavior that really reinforces this idea.

His darling is out walking and happens to notice a flower growing between concrete slabs rather than the rather suspicious pickpocket walking toward them? Well, they’re just lucky Choso had been following them for the last three miles.

They’re dicing an onion in the kitchen and are letting their mind wander, not noticing how the knife’s angle has shifted toward their fingers? Well, they’re lucky Choso’s standing directly behind them, dark eyes fixed on them and his hands prying the knife out of their fingers before they can even realize what’s happening.

A darling who’s more easily distracted really plays on Choso’s desire to feel necessary and important in their life, and it’s something that he’s actively looking for in a partner (whether he knows it or not). It’s just so cute – just how badly they need him, how they’d be utterly lost without his presence in their life.

So, so very endearing – so why do they put up a fight when he crosses boundary after boundary, claiming he’s being condescending when he doesn’t let them wash their own hair anymore? It’s for the best, he’s sure of it. And he’ll make sure his darling is sure of it, too.

Non-confrontational

Going hand-in-hand with his desire for a patient and easily distracted partner, Choso is most likely to develop an obsession with someone who he feels not only needs him as an anchor but as a protector, too.

He loves the fact that his darling is softer, sweeter, perhaps not great at standing up for themselves, because it only makes him feel more needed.

It makes him feel as if his darling wouldn’t be able to survive without him – as if they can’t live without him. It sends his protective instincts flaring up, his possessiveness increasing ten-fold when he thinks about how deeply his darling grows to rely on him.

It’s therapeutic, really, because Choso sees his relationship with them as perfect: he gets to dote on them and ensure that they’re cared for in each and every way (including fighting men and with ill intentions toward them, cutting off friendships he feels are no longer good for their mental health (which is nearly all of their friendships in his eyes, really), and become the strong, masculine provider he feels his darling deserves. In return, all his darling must do is stay dependent on him, to return his love eagerly and happily, and to let him worship and revere them in every depraved, disturbing way he feels the need to.

It’s unhealthy, sure, but these more negative traits in his darling only inspire the obsession to brew faster, spurred on by a determination to keep them safe and secure and sound.

And really, that’s exactly what all the movies and books tell him he should be doing – keeping them safe and happy. That’s love, right? So why is his darling so resistant to label it as such?

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Delusional

With his brothers either dead, not yet realized as physical curses, or entirely unneeding of saving (every time Yuuji tells him this, he feels his heart shatter bit by bit), Choso’s somewhat lost. His entire life has been dedicated to protecting and looking after his family, and without them in the picture life feels dull, bland, pointless. He’s not entirely sure what his purpose is, and this is a very, very large factor in the development of his obsession with you.

That is, once Choso becomes aware of the feelings that seem to come from nowhere the moment you step into his line of sight, he begins to hyper fixate on you you you, deeming you his new life’s purpose, for lack of a better term. You become part of his family in many ways – of course, he by no means has platonic feelings for you, but the uncontrollable urge to serve and protect remains.

(He’s never noticed how tightly shirts fit Yuuji’s chest, for example, nor has he ever awoken in a cold sweat with the very vivid fantasy of Eso fresh on his mind and cum freshly staining the bedsheets. It’s different, because with you you’re a member of his family by virtue of being his ‘wife’ – his partner in every loving, domestic way.)

He becomes entirely consumed by the idea of placing you onto a pedestal in his life and shifting his entire focus on protecting for you, caring for you, and being as attentive and successful a lover as he possibly can be. Of course, his knowledge on the subject is very limited – his own conception was rocky at best, his mother and ‘father’ certainly not a good representation of what a loving union should be like. And while he quickly becomes bombarded with all the media-driven ideas of what romance and a healthy relationship look like, something gets lost in translation. That is, Choso is absolutely clueless, but has no idea that he is.

As a curse womb, his pride is high but his understanding of human emotions, customs, and traditions is extremely low. It takes him a long time to be able to articulate the feelings that overtake him at the thought of you – at first, he’s alarmed and, quite frankly, angry. Why is his pulse suddenly sky-rocketing when he catches a glimpse of your smile? Why are his palms suddenly clammy when he hears your voice? Why is he so unbearably hot when he smells even the faintest whiff of your scent?

It’s disorienting, this unfamiliar body reacting in unfamiliar ways, and Choso initially tries to disregard it. You must have some cursed technique that affects his body in such a strange manner – he senses no ill will, though, so he ultimately decides that whatever you’re doing to him doesn’t necessitate a worthwhile intervention.

And that works – for a brief time. He ignores the way he can’t stop staring at you when you’re near him, dark eyes raking over the curve of your nose, the lines of your shoulders, the swell of your hips and ass. He shrugs off the way his throat goes dry when you say his name, something sounding far too high-pitched threatening to tumble from his lips.

It's torture, to say the least, and with each passing incident it grows more and more difficult to simply write everything off as a side-effect of this body. He grows so frustrated, in fact, that he seeks Yuuji’s advice about the phenomenon. The conversation is awkward, to put it lightly, the younger sorcerer’s face twisting up in a bout of confusion and sympathy as Choso broods, his brows knitting tight as he details the bodily reactions he has to you.

Weak knees, over-awareness of his body, unstoppable urge to fix his bangs with trembling fingers, an uncomfortable sensation gathering in his lower stomach and groin when you bite your lip or bend over…

(Yuuji grimaces at that last one.)

As a response, Yuuji throws his arm around the half-curse, smiling cheekily and murmuring out you liiiike her! The conversation is long, drawn-out, Choso’s ignorance about human emotion leading Yuuji to explain each and every detail of attraction and romance he can muster, and all the while Choso’s alternating between staring at his hands and at his brother. He’s listening, yes, but as time passes certain words start to circle in his mind, ringing through clear as a bell the longer they marinate.

Yuuji said men who love a woman feel an undeniable urge to be around her. Check. He said they feel the need to keep her safe. Check.

He said they feel the desire to hold her, keep her warm, press their lips against her. Check.

He said they feel the urge to keep them away from any other men and entirely for themselves. Check, check, check.

Yuuji walks away from the conversation mildly pleased with himself and cautiously excited for his newfound ally, while Choso wanders back to his measly apartment with a dazed look in his eye. Love. That’s what Yuuji had called it. And so, as the sun sets and moonlight drips through his open window, Choso’s scrolling through the TV channels, flipping through the terrible romance novels and magazines Yuki had given him, even watching some of Yuuji’s recommended movies.

(He particularly enjoys the series Twilight, dark eyes widening slightly at the reveal that both Edward and Jacob – the love interests, or so he assumes – aren’t exactly human, either. Perhaps you’d like that too…?)

He’s eagerly consuming as much media surrounding the suffocating, glorious feeling of love as he possibly can, feeling his heart pound faster and faster with every scenario he reads about, every sign of mutual attraction he learns. And all throughout, he’s imagining you – would you enjoy these grand gestures of affection? Would you like him to serenade you or buy you thousands of dollars worth of expensive clothing and jewels?

(He’s never really tried to sing, nor does he have access to large sums of yen, but if you asked him to do it, Choso swears he’d do absolutely anything to fulfil your request. Besides, quite a number of the novels describe the woman as being aroused at the sight of the man taking violent and distasteful means to achieve his goals and win her – and Choso nearly drools at the thought of arousing you. The thought of you covered in blood – not your own of course – is enticing, too, if the way he licks his lips and swallows heavily is any indication.)

He becomes entirely consumed – and this is where his delusional behaviors begin to play a role. It’s not instantaneous like his ‘memories’ of Yuuji, but rather a slow, barely noticeable decline in fabricating all sorts of quality moments with you. Though you’ve likely never held a conversation for more than a few minutes (perhaps on a busy train or serving him at your workplace), Choso nurses onto a fake memory that you’ve spent whole evenings together; rambling about your likes and dislikes, coworkers, your feelings for him, anything and everything.

And the delusion runs so deeply that Choso can even distinctly ‘remember’ what you were wearing – a pretty purple summer dress, one that’d made Choso gulp. (Especially when you’d leaned in, pressing your chest against his arm and breathing out that you’d worn it just for you, Cho, so we could color-match…)

It’s vivid, so vivid in fact that he loses all knowledge that it’s not real. He’s entirely captivated by the idea that your relationship is founded on more than simply his carnal attraction to you and the copious, invasive amounts of information he’s gathered on your personal life, preferences, habits, and insecurities.

It’s alarming, and while he’s doesn’t often let these fake memories slip, every once in a while he’ll look at you, gaze dark and heavy and pleading, almost, low voice murmuring something about the sweet cinnamon bun you’d bought for him when you’d first met, your nervous laughter and regret palpable when he’d told you he doesn’t enjoy sweet foods. (Or that he eats at all, really.)

You’ll be left confused, struggling to remember the interaction in any way, but Choso will only lightly shush you, instead redirecting the conversation to some other topic, wanting to hear your voice ring through his ears like a drug. It’s subtle at first, and you won’t recognize what’s actually happening until it’s much, much too late – by that point he’s metaphorically sunk his claws into you, unwilling and incapable of letting go because oh, you’re what he lives for now, and please, won’t you be good for him? All he asks is that you listen to his commands, stay healthy and safe, and keep looking at him with that smile that makes his stomach twist in knots and something hot, heavy, and possessive stir in his guts.

It’s not so hard, is it? After all, Choso will give you absolutely everything you need – and soon, even you’ll struggle to differentiate what’s real and fake, what with the way Choso speaks with such authority that you’d be foolish to disagree.

Just smile, nod, let him pull you much too close, breath in your scent much too loudly, and murmur that you’re his, his, his.

Protective

Once his obsession with you forms, Choso is fiercely protective over you. It’s irrelevant whether you’re a sorcerer or not – he sees his role in your life as being your guardian angel of sorts. He idolizes you, bordering very strongly on worshipping you, and as a result he dedicates himself to ensuring your complete safety and security at any given moment.

This is especially true if you yourself aren’t a sorcerer – if you are, it’s unlikely that you’re more powerful than Choso, and so really, your position stays the same, with the sole exception that at least a small part of Choso is slightly relieved that you at least know how to use cursed energy. But if you aren’t a sorcerer? Or better yet, someone who’s entirely unaware of the curse world?

Oh.

His delusions kick up again, convincing himself that you’re entirely and utterly incapable of defending yourself against the wide swath of supernatural creatures jumping at the chance to sink their fangs into you.

He’s constantly plagued by thoughts of how they’d slowly rip you apart, your blood splattering in every direction, your pained, panicked screams growing louder and louder as their jaws snap down, biting and gnawing and tearing and feeding – It’s enough to have blood freely flowing from his mark, his fists clenched so tightly his nails leave an imprint against his palm, cursed energy flaring so highly and intensely that it knocks inanimate objects off any table, wall, or surface near him.

And really, it’s a mixture of rage and genuine terror that grips him at the thought. Rage, because how dare some filthy curse lay a hand on his lover? How dare they taint her with their disgusting germs and selfish, violent desires? And if the perpetrator is a human? Well, he’s not on Getou’s side, but the idea of slaughtering humans sounds more and more appealing, his cursed nature rising up and practically begging him to make the man suffer until he can no longer scream, can no longer plead, can no longer think.

And then, of course, there’s the element of terror. You’ve become Choso’s sole reason and motivation for existence, and the concept of you dying or becoming injured makes his heart clench in almost a sense of existential dread. Without you, what is he? Without your wellbeing and love to chase after, guard, and protect, then why is he even alive?

It’s a big enough question to leave him with his head in his hands, fingers shaking and eyes wide open, spiraling down down down until he’s nearly hyperventilating and only able to focus on finding you immediately and making sure you’re without a scratch, blemish, or wound.

And so, Choso takes his job as your protector very, very seriously – to the point that it’s suffocating. Even early into his infatuation, Choso is constantly hovering. He’s asking how you’re feeling, when you last drank water, what you’ve eaten that day, if you got enough sleep the night before. After each question he’ll patiently wait, those dark eyes trained exclusively on you as he holds his breath. It’s innocent enough at first, you suppose, his genuine concern for your well-being sweet. It’s endearing, really, that he wants to make sure that you’re feeling good – it’s kind, and it’ll make you feel seen and taken care of.

But then the questions slowly start slipping into more gray area – what started as a question of are you regularly brushing your teeth becomes how long do you brush for? What directions do you brush, and what kind of toothpaste? What brand of brush?

Simple questions of what’d you eat for lunch transform into how many bites of the protein did you eat, and what was the order that you ate it? Are you feeling any digestive pain? Have you passed gas in the last ten minutes?

Even more invasive questions are on the table as far as Choso is concerned: when did you last menstruate? Did you notice more clumps and clots than usual? When did you last masturbate? Are you thoroughly cleaning the toy each time you use it?

He’s not even remotely embarrassed, either, asking each and every question with a completely neutral face, his expression nothing if not openly earnest to know the answer. It’s off-putting after a while, but like most other things you’ll grow to simply associate it with Choso. He’s not been a human for long, and perhaps he doesn’t understand that asking about the color of your urine recently is not a normal topic of conversation.

(Nor is asking how many fingers you typically stuff yourself with late at night, but the oh-so light flush on his cheeks when he asks that clues you in on the fact that CHoso must know how inappropriate that is to ask. Right? So then why is he holding up that same number of fingers, curling and practicing a come hither motion all while you stare at him with your jaw dropped?)

And really, for the most part it is innocent – the paranoia for your well-being eats away at him nearly every hour of the day, and so knowing the answers to these questions not only quells his drive to learn every little detail about you but also soothes his anxieties. You’re safe if you’ve eaten both breakfast and lunch today, dinner right around the corner. You’re healthy if you’ve drank a few glasses of water today. You’re protected if he checks your pulse a couple times an hour.

It’s neurotic, really, just how panicked he gets when an answer doesn’t align with what he’s looking for, but his protective tendencies really come out when it comes to any situation where your safety is genuinely threatened.

Even a single bruise against your skin from you tripping over an uneven sidewalk has him shaking, strong hands shoving you onto the bed and wrapping you in all manner of blankets and plush pillows, taking your temperature and force-feeding you pain pills. He’ll settle you in and make sure you’re as comfortable and soft as humanly possible,sitting by your side and holding your hand in his for hours on end. He’s silent for most of it, simply staring at you from his seated position, occasionally letting out an uneven, drawn-out breath and gulping loudly.

(You’ll wake up to him lightly playing with your hair, licking his lips and bringing a few strands that’d come loose up to his lips, pink tongue flicking out to lick at the strand, his eyes fluttering closed and something like a whine slipping past his lips. It’s alarming, but the moment he notices you’re awake he’ll only softly smile, murmuring your name and asking if you’re feeling any better.)

He’s nursing you back to health, checking on the bruise every hour or so to see if it’s diminished, making sure to give you cold compresses and cooking you (very bland) soups while hand-feeding you. It’s all way too much and will leave you feeling childish and frankly patronized, but Choso doesn’t mean to belittle you. He’s genuinely trying to help, wanting to make you feel as good as possible to make up for his serious lack of judgement in not watching where you were walking for you. He should’ve gone in front of you, staked out the dangers, made sure to protect you like a good partner would. But he hadn’t – and so, this behavior only becomes worse when the threat is something more serious.

He panics when you hurt yourself through your own clumsiness? Well, the moment there’s a larger threat to you, his overprotectiveness only intensifies tenfold. Choso sticks to you like glue, and so it doesn’t often happen that you encounter a wayward curse or nefarious man with ill intentions. But when it does happen, Choso will stumble into the aftermath and absolutely lose it. When he returns back from checking on Yuji for a short afternoon, Choso wanders your usual routes to the store and work only to find you hunched over, coughing and wheezing, some man in a black hoodie running off with your purse clutched in his hand.

It happens faster than Choso can even process it – his first priority is you of course, rushing over to you as fast as he can, scooping you into his arms and sprinting back to your ‘shared’ apartment. He’s immediately ripping your shirt off of you (much to your very, very strained protests), and immediately sucking in a sharp breath at the way droplets of blood cascade down your side from the shallow cut the man had given you. Tears gather at the corners of Choso’s eyes, beading up and slipping down his cheeks as he whispers apology after apology, getting clean, warm, wet rags to wipe up the blood, bandages and gauze and disinfectant creams to dress your wound, putting you in the softest pajamas you own and gingerly setting you onto your bed.

He’s staying with you as his breathing grows more and more uneven, rage starting to bleed into the panic as he sees you slowly falling asleep. He’s irate, really, and immediately after your eyes finally close and your breaths even out he’s hunting the perpetrator down and absolutely pummeling him. He’s using Piercing Blood to slice him into bite-sized pieces, bringing the blood down again and again and again until all that remains is a large, lumpy pool of blood, all traces of the body gone.

(And no, he doesn’t think to wash the blood off of his skin before he rushes back to you, red smeared across his cheeks and forehead, splattered across his clothes, caked into his hair as he coos at you, thumb brushing against your cheek, his lips planting greedy yet shy kisses against your clothed arms and collarbone, his other hand ghosting his fingertips ever so lightly against the trace edges of the bandages. You’re safe now, he’ll tell you, low voice rumbling, you’re always safe with me. I would sacrifice myself a thousand times just to make sure nothing ever touches you.)

Depending upon the severity of the perpetrator’s actions, he’ll even bring home a souvenir of the kill for you – a man put his hand on your ass and squeezed? You find that same hand in a kitchen bowl by your nightstand, Choso eagerly waiting for you to wake up so he can show off his handy work. If the man irritates or scares you rather than actually hurts you, Choso’s tactics of murder are much less messy, and so he has pieces to scavenge for to show you. He’s more blinded by rage when the man has hurt you, though, so you’re much less likely to receive one of these ‘gifts’ in that instance.

(And Choso truly, honestly thinks you’d like this show of his faith in protecting you – it shows his capacity to be your provider and protector, right? He’s seen animals do it before, so why would humans be any different? Isn’t it romantic? Don’t you like it?)

He thinks of you as his reason for living, and Choso would rather cut off each and every limb than see you suffer – so really, it’s not worth it to fight the way he smothers you. Isn’t it just so sweet, caring, considerate?

Selfless

Going hand in hand with his clinginess and protective tendencies, Choso becomes – for lack of a better term – your slave. He’s so, so eager to do anything and everything he can to make you happy and feeling cared for, no matter what it demands of him.

Though he has a high amount of pride associated with his status as a half-curse, he has much less pride when it comes to traditional concepts of masculinity, boundaries, exploitation.

He wants to be your everything, just as you are his. And in his mind, this means that he should do everything he possibly can to make you happy, just as he’s sure you would do for him. And so, from the moment that he realizes he’s developed feelings for you (even before he’s able to pinpoint them as love with the help of Yuji and Yuki), he’s taking every chance and opportunity to try and please you.

He’s spending painstakingly long amounts of time poking at his cell phone as he types out a rather formal good night, I hope your sleep is restful. He’s frowning and grimacing as he mistypes yet again, the autocorrect warping his words into something unrecognizable, irritating swimming in his gut because dammit, he can’t remember exactly how Yuji said to use this damn thing.

He’s stopping briefly outside the convenience store late at night, dark eyes staring at the particular brand of chips you’ve mentioned you love. The packaging is cute, and there’s a couple stuffed up on the store counter, and before he can really even process it he’s already awkwardly handing over exact change to the cashier, bag in hand.

(And when he drops the snack off to your apartment that night, you’ll notice the way he sucks in a very sharp breath when your hands brush, your warm skin contrasting against his cold fingers, the sensation of you touching him genuinely knocking the breath out of his lungs. He’ll stand there staring at you for another couple of moments, frozen and wide-eyed, and only snaps out of it when you frown and call his name, your hand reaching out to brush against his clothed arm. Some part of him – one that he can hear Yuuji scolding in his head – urges him to rip off his top and ask you to do it again, to feel your entire palm against the scarred, hard lines of muscle against his forearm… But he ultimately stops himself even as his fingers twitch. Touch me, please, his lips almost form the words, just the barest of whispers beginning to slip past them, before you smile and welcome him inside, the moment over as soon as it began.)

He’s putting your groceries away when he comes home from shopping with you, moving like a silent shadow as he puts each and every can, produce bag, and product in its respective cabinet, refrigerator shelf, or counter space. And when you return from the bathroom after a few moments, you’re surprised to see the counters completely clean, not a sign of your groceries in sight aside from the paper bag it came in – the ones Choso knows you like to keep for other things. You’ll be delighted at his thoughtfulness, smiling at him and full-heartedly thanking him, making some off-hand comment about how you get too lazy to do it sometimes and how he’s such a life-saver. And Choso will only smile softly, endeared at how natural and right you look, how it feels so very correct to have you looking at him and letting him take care of you like this.

(Nevermind the fact that you’ve never explained to him where you keep your bags of rice, or which drawer holds which vegetables and meats. You’re too delighted to notice, but oh, Choso notices. He always notices – and when you go to cook later that night and find the onions in your produce bowl right where they should be, you’ll only smile, internally wondering at Choso’s attention to detail. Later on, when he’s able to put away your panties in the correct spots, organize your shower products into the exact order you use them, or put your vibrator – that you’d hastily put away when he knocked unannounced earlier in the day – back in its drawer. It’s less endearing then, surely, but for now, as you stand over the boiling water on the stove, it’s sweet.)

And really, as Choso’s delusions begin to warp his sense of reality more and more, this type of behavior only becomes more prevalent, his selflessness becoming uncomfortable for you to be around.

You’ve managed to drag him outside of the apartment under the guise of needing fresh air, and the park you’ve walked to has a small hill? He doesn’t even ask before strong arms are wrapping around your waist, only a grunt falling from him as he lifts you up and starts up the hill, ignoring the way you gasp and clutch at him, telling him that it’s really not necessary, I can walk on my own, you can put me down! He doesn’t, despite your insistence, and when he finally does after the hill has been climbed, he’ll only smile at you, telling you it’s no trouble.

He’s constantly trying to clean things and make your life easier, and for the most part it’s helpful – except that Choso also tends to take it too far, resulting in more work, expense, and effort on your part – like the trash, for example. He’s sitting on the edge of his seat as you dice up an onion in your kitchen, muscles so tense it borders on painful as he watches the silver knife slice down, down, down. He’s faster than you can see as he’s suddenly behind you, not forceful as he moves you out of the way but certainly not overly gentle. The blade is in his hands before you can blink, concentration etches into his features as he carefully slices, his voice ever so slightly cutting when he tells you to be careful, even kitchen knives can be dangerous.

When you leave to take a quick shower, you’ll return back to every vegetable in your kitchen diced and cut, packed neatly into bags in the refrigerator, Choso looking at you with this thinly-veiled thirst for your praise, hoping you’ll say how you appreciate him, thank you, tell him that he’s being so good for you.

Nevermind that you didn’t want all those vegetables cut and diced – he’s just trying to be nice, after all, and he doesn’t want you to touch that knife again. Don’t. He’s taking out the trash when he notices it’s full, having watched you do the same and not wanting you to strain your back with carrying it. And after you compliment him and thank him for making your house chores a lighter burden, he’s immediately perking up, throwing out trash bags the minute you put something small in it.

(Even a single napkin or paper towel will have him tying up the bag, carrying it to your complex’s dumpster, eagerly awaiting your praise and thanks and the way you’re looking at him when you say it.)

It’s kind and you’re thankful for his help, to an extend, but at he continues to forcefully stay in your apartment, it’ll become harder and harder to ignore the way Choso works so hard to make you happy. It’s embarrassing, to an extent, giving you a rather acute sense of second-hand embarrassment because how can one person be so singly desperate for your approval? After each good deed he’s looking at you hopefully, expectantly, frantically, needing you to see him and acknowledge him and admit that you need him.

Because really, that’s what his selflessness boils down to – he wants you to express just how much his presence and love completes you. He wants you to verbalize to him that he’s your ideal partner, just as you’re his. It’s an affirmation of his feelings, really, a non-direct admittance that you love him too – even if you don’t realize it.

So please, please tell him how amazing he is when he hand-washes your dishes. Give him a kiss on the cheek when he wordlessly begins rubbing at your feet when you mention they’re tired from standing all day.

(Ignore the way he marvels at the feeling of your skin against his, even if it’s just the ball of your foot.)

Tell him that you love him when he’s insisting on running your errands for you, wanting you to stay put in the apartment and let him do all the heavy lifting. Isn’t he just so charming? Aren’t you falling in love with him, too?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Choso is, by his nature, a possessive creature. You’ve given him his first taste of romantic, emotional attachment that isn’t purely platonic, and Choso slowly grows to grasp onto the feeling so hard his knuckles turn white. He grows addicted to the way you make his heart race, the ways his palms grow sweaty, the way he becomes hyperaware the moment your name is mentioned.

It becomes all-consuming, pleasurable in a way he didn’t think was possible, and as time passes Choso delves deeper and deeper into this sense of desperation, his feelings toward you growing in turn more and more problematic.

There’s a genuine sense of reverence he feels toward you, sure, but it goes hand in hand with the suffocating feeling of terror that plagues him when he subconsciously thinks of you being injured.

There’s an emotional high that leaves his breath stuttering and his entire body feeling on fire when you’re near him, but there’s also a sudden wave of panic that you’ll move further away from him, that you won’t stay glued to his side like you are now, that you’ll leave him.

And so while Choso is possessive, he’s really more territorial. You’re his – you belong to him in body, mind, and every way that’s important, just as he belongs to you. But because he’s only recently been introduced to human culture, feelings, social norms, Choso is painfully behind and inexperienced as to what constitutes a ‘normal’ amount of jealousy and ownership over someone.

And so, he – very quickly – goes from zero to one hundred in his views on your relationship, completely convinced that because he’s feeling such strong emotional ties to you, surely you must feel the same. Surely you must see him as an extension of yourself as he does you. You must think of him as your destined partner, the one you’re meant to spend eternity with and spend every waking moment with. You must perceive him to be your lifeline – the reason you live and breath.

You have to.

There’s simply no space for doubt in his mind that the sentiment is completely returned by you, and so while Choso’s possessiveness bleeds out in other ways, his territorial nature manifests primarily as him wanting to make sure that you stay pristine, safe, and untouched by others. It has less to do with a compulsive desire to keep you solely and exclusively for himself (though that’s certainly there, too, and he would not take it well if you were to express any sort of attraction toward another man) and more with an uncontrollable sense of anxiety that he’ll somehow let danger slip by him and instead target you. You’re weak in his head, regardless of your own personal combat abilities, and Choso completely, full-heartedly thinks that protecting you is his job.

It’s his duty as your lover (though you haven’t done more than very lightly, very awkwardly hugged), your life-partner, your protector to keep all others away from you to ensure your safety. He’s paranoid and believes that everyone who approaches you must have poor intentions, believing every human and cursed spirit to wish you harm or to steal some selfish thing from you.

(This includes your body and your attention, but because of the way Choso views your relationship dynamics, it’s less about him being jealous and more about him being convinced that you’ll be taken advantage of or hurt.)

And so, for all intents and purposes, Choso will not allow anyone whom he doesn’t already know and trust to get close to you. And this list is small – Yuuji, of course, as well as Yuki, Fushiguro, Maki, and to an extent Yuta and Gojo. He’ll allow you to be in contact with them, even begrudgingly letting them get physically close to you, but always with a watchful, predatory eye trained on the both of you. He’s ready to step in at a moment’s notice, hesitation only barely present as he cooly slides between you two, his expression dark and twisted up, cursed energy humming so strongly it’ll physically hurt.

But beyond these people, his reaction is even more extreme. He assumes the worst of people, naturally, and so the moment he realizes that the woman in the street is staring at you longer than normal, or that the man behind the counter at the deli is giving you a glance one too many times, Choso’s immediately on edge, every muscle visibly tensed.

The first time that he’d really acted on his impulses had not been pleasant – you’d been at the park, letting the sun shine down onto your face as he sat beside you on a park bench. It was a peaceful, warm May afternoon – the perfect temperature and a perfect time to simply relax and enjoy yourself. You hadn’t seen the man approach, but you’d certainly heard his screams, the smattering of warm blood across your legs a sign as to what exactly Choso had done to the man simply trying to ask you for directions. He wasn’t dead, per se, but with a severed leg and being unconscious, the least you could do was call him an ambulance.

You’d been livid with Choso; yelling, accusing, sobbing, asking him how he could have possibly done that to another human being, cursed nature be damned. And while Choso had ultimately apologized, it was done more out of a genuine sense of regret for having upset you rather than expressing guilt about permanently maiming the innocent stranger. Your anger had taken a long time to dissipate, but you’d eventually – somewhat reluctantly – brushed it off as simply Choso’s cursed nature forcing him into extreme instinctual decisions that you can’t truly blame him for.

(And Choso will stay quiet, those dark eyes purposefully kept very muted when you’d told him as much, choosing to omit the fact that he’d wanted to do even more damage to the man. He’d wanted to take his life and squeeze, to force him into an early grave because the thought of him approaching you to hurt you is simply too much for poor Choso to bear.)

And so, in an effort to not upset you he’s become purposefully much more controlled around men that get too close to you. This was done partly out of respect for your wishes, and also to try and stay in your good graces because god it felt agonizing to have you angry with him, like a pain he’d never felt before.

Choso practices this new extreme self-discipline just a few weeks later at the local supermarket. You’re humming lightly as you scan the aisles, grocery basket cradled in your elbow with a few assorted goods sitting comfortably inside. Choso’s trailing behind you a few paces away, matching his footsteps with the rhythm of yours. It makes him feel closer to you in some strange, intangible way; like you’re one and the same, your bodies moving in tandem and connected. His dark eyes are focused on your calves and feet, unblinking as he forces his breathing to align with yours, too.

He’s so focused, in fact, that he doesn’t notice the pair of too-perfect sneakers that start to approach you from another direction. You’re tapping your chin, eyes scanning over the large selection of onions and tomatoes on the produce rack in front of you. There’s too many options, and all the swirling prices are leaving your head spinning slightly.

Feeling overwhelmed?

A voice rings out beside you, the slight swagger making you stiffen up ever so slightly. You turn to look and are met with a man a few inches taller than you, looking at you with a smirk spread across his lips. You half-smile, nodding slightly and turning to look away, not wanting to engage with him. He seemed pretentious, just based off those two words, and with Choso uncomfortably close, you didn’t want a repeat of the park incident. (Even if the man felt smarmy, unlike the stranger whose leg was still missing.)

At your obvious disinterest, the man’s smile only widens. Don’t feel like talking, huh? You’re still tense, but irritation is starting to well up in your chest. Gripping hard at the plastic of your grocery basket, you pointedly ignore him. From the corner of your eye you can see Choso’s gaze suddenly snaps from the ground – had he been staring at your feet? – and toward the stranger. His eyes go slightly wide then narrow, his entire body suddenly on edge and flexed, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

For a brief second you brace yourself, terrified to feel that all-too-familiar splash of hot, thick blood against your skin, but nothing comes. Instead, the man opens his mouth again, taking a small step toward you. D’you hear me, bitch? Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you’re allowed to ignore a guy when he’s talking to you.

Your brows furrow, teeth gritting together, and you see the way Choso’s eye twitches. He’s taking a step forward before you can even try to stop him. The air feels cold as he glares at the man, his own stature taller and wider than the other man’s. Choso’s eyes go dark as he glares down at the smaller man, his voice unnervingly cold and low as he mutters you’re disgusting.

It doesn’t go over well.

The man’s bristling, his face turning slightly red as he takes a step toward Choso, who’s moved to be slightly in front of you. The fuck did you just say, you ugly ass –

He’s cut off by Choso’s glare sharpening, cursed energy flaring for a brief moment, irritation brewing in his stomach. Though his gaze may look fixed on the man’s, internally he’s noting and assessing the man’s threat level. Minimal cursed energy that’s too sporadic to possibly be under the man’s control. Obviously not a sorcerer. The man’s stature looks to be rather scrawny, little muscle filling out the ill-fitting brand sweatshirt stretched across his chest. What is the word Yuuji said the other day? Tacky… No visible weapons, but it doesn’t stop Choso from widening his stance slightly, calling up his technique to be prepared in the blink of an eye.

He doesn’t sense the man’s strength as being significant enough to pose a sincere threat against Choso, but the same can’t be said about you. You, who’s much weaker than your ‘lover’ (regardless of whether you are or not, Choso firmly believes this), who seems to be the target of the man’s rather tasteless and aggressive pursual.

Shut up, you’re irritating us. Choso’s voice is still cold, and you pray that the man will get the clue and turn on his heel, practically running out of the produce section. But of course not – instead, you watch with baited, nervous breath as the man snickers, baring his teeth and making a lunge to grab at you. It’s too fast for you to even respond, only a small yelp spilling from your lips as Choso becomes a blur.

Thick, strong fingers wrap around the man’s bicep less than a moment later, nails digging into the man’s skin. Choso’s eyes are wide, veins bulging at his temple, every muscle in his arm flexed as he breaths heavily.

Don’t fucking touch her, he growls out, lowering his head slightly to match the man’s height. It’s taking everything in his power to not slice the man’s neck clean through with Convergence, the image of you looking at him like some sort of monster haunting him in the back of his mind. He won’t hurt the man if it’s what you wish (though the thought tastes sour, something thick and heavy and ugly settling in his gut), but the man’s already wincing, shrinking back from the suffocation of his glare and the pinpricks of blood his nails are conjuring up even through the fabric of the man’s hoodie.

Fuck man, whatever, just get off me, Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with you?

He’s wiggling and prying his arm out, but Choso’s grip remains steadfast, mental images flashing through his head of this man lunging out to you, his mind unable to not jump to immediate worst-case scenarios of what this scum was planning to do to you. It makes him feel sick, protectiveness and unease welling up in his chest and making him grip even harder, grinding his teeth and nearly hissing at the stranger. It’s only when the familiar feeling of your hands against his back that he snaps out of it, his breathing heavy and forcing his chest up and down in uneven intervals.

Choso, please don’t, please can we just go?

You’re pleading with him, pressing your face against his back, doing anything and everything to pull him out of whatever trance he’s been put under. You don’t like this man, surely, but even you don’t want to see him sliced open and dismembered. Choso’s shaking slightly, the combination of rage at the man and awe at the feeling of your body against his leaving him confused, frozen and unsure of what to do.

At the feeling of his confusion, you internally shudder but act before you can think – pressing your lips against the defined muscles lining his spine, the sensation making something like a whine slip past Choso’s lips. You hadn’t wanted to, but your inkling seems to have worked as Choso’s grip on the man goes slack, the stranger falling to the floor, before clumsily picking himself up, grumbling loudly under his breath about how you’re not fucking worth it, some freak isn’t worth it, bet she’s not even that good…

He’s walking away as fast as he can without seeming too eager, but before you can even breath out a sigh of relief Choso’s turning around, a soft pink settled onto his cheeks. He’s whispering your name under his breath, lips curving around the syllables, something reverent and uncomfortably final about his tone.

He doesn’t push you for another kiss right then, but he’s forcing you to keep his hand firmly clasped around yours, quite literally trapping your fingers against his palm, ending the shopping trip then and there because you have enough, we’re going home. Now. He doesn’t mention the kiss, at least not in the car ride home or for the rest of the day, but he’s staring at you, looking at you in a way that feels much too invasive and much too intimate. It’s like he’s looking into you, and he keeps licking his lips, his eyes briefly breaking contact with you to let them roll to the back of his head. It’s creepy, frankly, and after a good few hours of watching you sleeping peacefully in your bed (the one you still seem hesitant to let him into, but he’s sure you’ll eventually get over it – they always do in films, perhaps you’re just more shy?), only then will he slip outside.

And as he tracks the man’s cursed energy, letting his blood spray and splay onto the shitty carpet of his lackluster apartment, Choso can only grin. The murder – or slaughter, really – is drawn-out, but Choso leaves the now sticky, wet apartment to return to your side, kneeling beside your sleeping form. He’s carefully examining your arms and legs, checking over your face and neck for blemishes, taking note of every scratch and bruise with a clinical sort of determination.

Once he decides you’re safe, that no physical harm has befallen you, he’ll only slowly sigh, leaning his head against the mattress and simply watching as you breath in, out, in, out, matching his breathing with you. You’re just too precious and sweet, and so he’ll behave if you want him to – that is, he’ll still absolutely be killing any human that threatens to get close to you, but he’ll do it out of your sight.

It’s a win-win situation, really – he gets to eliminate any threats to your safety while ensuring you look at him with those pretty, glossy, perfect eyes he loves so much. You’re just so damn perfect…

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because Choso has very limited experience living amongst human beings, he’s not particularly well educated in what the pacing of a romantic relationship typically looks like. He has no reference points for how long to wait to kiss you, to say he loves you, to slip a pretty, glittering ring onto your finger.

(And for many of these milestones, Choso can’t even properly articulate exactly what it is that he even wants to do to you – he’s following his instincts most of the time, fueled by a desire to have you looking at him and touching him as often as possible. Really, really often, with as few articles of clothing separating you as possible.)

And as a result, he has absolutely no cluehow long to wait to bring up the idea of living together, much less how he should bring it up in the first place. He doesn’t even realize how big of a step it is; he’s consuming all this romantic media, but the movies all seem to tell him that moving in should come seemingly a few weeks after meeting. They all seem to wind up in the same living space – the one-bed trope, the down-on-their-luck-and-oh-it-seems-their-partner’s-place-is-the-only-possible-option.

He just assumes this is natural, and as the woman is always so very pleased, he assumes you will be, too. You’ll be happy to live with him, yes? He loves you and so you must love him too, and this will only prove it. Now you don’t have to play coy or pretend that you don’t like the way he openly stares at you, the way he’s always at your heels in public, the way he sometimes makes decisions for you with your best interest at heart.

(He’d ordered your food for you once in public, and while you were too shocked to say anything, Yuuji and Kugisaki – your lunch companions – certainly were not. Kugisaki had whacked him upside the head and lectured him, while Yuuji grimaced and muttered not cool, man. Choso didn’t totally understand, but he knew to be careful the next time – only giving suggestions, and letting you ultimately tell the waiter. Though, the waiter’s playful wink had him clenching his fist under the table, working very hard to control himself and not slice the man’s head off with his technique – Yuuji had warned him that women typically don’t like violence, though Choso idly wonders if you’d like it if it was in defense of you. The films say it’s romantic, after all…)

Moving in together simply makes sense in Choso’s mind, and so it’s extremely likely that one day he just sort of… doesn’t go back to his own apartment. He’ll show up with takeout and a small, strangely robotic smile when you open the door, sitting too close to you on the couch while you watch the movie you’d told him was a must-see – a cultural touchstone, if you will.

You won’t say anything about the way he wraps his arm around your shoulders, physically pulling you into him, his other hand finding your thigh and running his thumb in small circles.

You won’t say anything about the way he leans down a bit and puts his nose against the crown of your head, deeply inhaling and not even pretending to watch the film.

You won’t say anything because you’re not quite sure what to even say, convinced that Choso’s unawareness of human customs means he’s confusing platonic feelings with romantic actions, that it doesn’t mean what you really know it does deep down inside.

The movie will crawl by at a snail’s pace, the dialogue suddenly stretching a lifetime, and when it’s finally over you’ll worm your way out of his grasp. He’ll pout up at you, only standing and returning his arm around you – but at your waist this time, to which you’ll let out a nervous laugh. You’ll thank him for the takeout and subtly try to edge him toward the door, mentioning how late it is, how tired you are, how the walk back to his apartment is long so he should probably get started.

Choso will only nod, and tell you in the most monotonous voice that he will be staying here tonight. It’s not a question.

He’s firm, no wavering or hesitance in his voice, and try as you might to redirect him, he just doubles down and responds with the same air of sureness, not a hint of doubt present. Eventually you’ll give in, begrudgingly telling him that he’s welcome to spend the night on the couch, convincing yourself that perhaps Yuuji had told him about sleepovers or some other childish friendship experience, and you knew Choso would have no reason to not believe him. At least, no reason to think of why it’s inappropriate given both your relationship with Choso and your ages.

You’ll pull your entire supply of blankets and a fluffy pillow from your bed, even an extra toothbrush and towel for him in case he’d like to use them. (Choso cocks a brow at this – why wouldn’t he just use yours? When your eyes go wide and you meekly ask which item he means, his confusion only deepens as he responds with both, of course.)

He’s not completely sure why you’ve relegated him to the couch, but he’ll obediently stay there for the night, eyes staying wide open as he dutifully listens to every breath you take through the wall separating your living space from your bedroom. His superhuman hearing comes in handy, his eyes falling closed as he counts your breaths, a steady one, two, three…

And when morning comes and he’s still there, you’ll worriedly shrug, heading off to work and assuming he’ll wander his way out at some point. But when you get back that night and he’s waiting at your kitchen table, knee bouncing and immediately approaching you as you open the door, you’ll be forced to wonder exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.

And even if you try to bring it up with him, Choso will just point blank tell you that he doesn’t understand. Don’t all lovers do this? And while you’ll laugh off the fact that he considers you lovers despite you having never done anything even remotely romantically intimate or sexual, it gets harder and harder to do it.

Eventually, he’ll be staying every night, forcing his way into your bed by simply not listening to your explanations of why it’s inappropriate. He’ll insist on making all of your meals, being careful to use ingredients that are nutritious and high-quality, keeping in mind all sorts of food idiosyncrasies of yours that you know you’ve never told him. He’ll start mixing your clothing with his, forcing his way into your sweatshirts and insisting on you wearing his robes, despite the possible mismatches in sizes between you.

(He’ll also start wearing some of your more personal items – he knows the lacy lingerie you keep stuffed away at the very far back corner of your drawer isn’t necessarily for men, but he knows you’ve worn it, and what’s yours is his, just as what’s his is yours. So when he slips it on for the first time, the pretty pink color standing out against his pale skin and dark hair, Choso can only idly trace patterns along the lace detailing. They’re clean, but he swears he can feel the phantom touch of your cunt against the material – warm and wet and so very empty. As the day progresses, the only giveaway that he’s wearing them will come in the form of the frequent readjustments he makes – the material isn’t made to contain his genitals, of course, and he’ll blatantly reach down inside to move his shaft or scoop a ball back into the soft material. And when you receive them later that night, with his unbothered expression as he hands them to you, you really, really shouldn’t ask why they’re warm. Or wet. Or sticky.)

He’ll begin to function as an unwanted, uninvited roommate – he’s cooking and cleaning, doing more than his fair share of the domestic duties, but what makes the situation so uncomfortable is that Choso really, truly doesn’t understand why you’re uncomfortable. He’s done everything right – provided for you, listened to your needs, keeps any wayward curses that come near your apartment complex from getting even remotely close to you.

He’s the ideal partner – so why do you still reject him? He doesn’t understand, and it only leads him to try harder.

He’s getting all the advice he can – chatting with Yuuji, asking for a woman’s perspective from Yuki, even going so far as to bite the bullet and ask fucking Gojo, who claims to be such a lady’s man.

(Of course, Choso’s recounting of what’s transpired between the two of you is wildly misleading to those he seeks advice from. He’s claiming that you agreed to live together, that you’re always showing him that you care, that you’re pleased and happy when his cold fingers brush your soft skin. And so of course Yuuji’s giving him a sympathetic look and slapping him on the back, his megawatt smile leaving Choso nearly blinded as he says to keep it up! She’ll see that you’re great any day now, and it’ll all work out! Of course Yuki’s tapping her chin, a devious smile spilling across her lips as she wiggles her brows and tells him to get her something raunchy, maybe she’s just feeling bored! Keep things spiced up so that it doesn’t feel dull and monotonous, ‘kay? Of course Gojo is practically jumping with glee, excited to be helping this oh-so-clueless curse with his woman troubles – too bad the only advice he can offer is to boast more in the hopes of impressing you and ‘reigniting the spark of young love’! Nevermind that Choso’s five times his age, and Gojo himself isn’t much older than you.)

And frankly, even as he ups the acts of service and pushes even further into your life (following you to work, waiting outside your building the entire day just to walk you home, picking up your fork or chopsticks and feeding you himself, insisting on washing your hair and scrubbing at your teeth for you), there’s almost something too earnest and raw about it for you to be truly angry. Choso’s never bashful, really, unless you’re brazen and initiating things yourself – to which you’ll be blessed with the slightest tint of red along his cheekbones and under the markings on his nose – but there’s this sense of unbridled yearning for you that will simultaneously unnerve and endear you.

Because really, while this objectively stronger, terrifying curse of a man simply will not leave you alone, there’s something oddly flattering about his persistence, his dedication to you, the way he always needs physical contact and never, ever looks away from you. There’s something about it that will make you feel seen and cared for in a way that you’ve never felt. You’ll feel needed and wanted to a degree that’s overwhelming at first but will satisfy each and every possible insecurity you have, and really, how can you be expected to just give that up? Sure, it might be alarming that he collects your discarded pads and tampons to nibble and suck at later, but with time you’ll find yourself absentmindedly just giving him the used products, something warm fluttering in your heart when he swallows heavily and maintains eye contact the whole while.

Yes, it may be disturbing that you’ve stumbled across him with his hands clasped to activate his technique, your terrified male coworker cowering across the alleyway from him, but you’ll find yourself making all sorts of excuses for Choso.

He’s still new to the whole human thing, he doesn’t understand emotional regulation well, he probably mistakenly thought your coworker was trying to hurt you.

Over time, you’ll become completely complicit with Choso’s behavior – to an extent even enabling it, as he grows more bold in crossing your boundaries. It’s a vicious cycle, but ultimately you’ll wind up blaming yourself – after all, when it comes down to it, what can you really complain about?

A strong, painfully whipped half-curse that would stop at absolutely nothing to make sure that you’re safe, happy, and trapped by his side? Well, couldn’t it just be so much worse?

PUNISHMENTS:

Because Choso never explicitly kidnaps you and rather just inserts himself into your life, the dynamics of your relationship are a bit complicated. Of course, he’s the instigator in most ways – he’s the one that could kill you with a flick of his wrist if he so desired after all. (Though just the thought gets him hyperventilating, frantic to see you and make sure that you’re still intact and breathing.)

He’s the one pushing the envelope of your ‘relationship’ to every extreme much too quickly and with far too little proper communication. But at the end of the day, if it’s not about your direct safety or health, Choso will often acquiesce to your demands. Of course, making sure that you avoid curses, questionable men, and sharp objects is non-negotiable, as is making you drink enough water every day.

But Choso isn’t a monster – if you want Thai food for dinner or to watch a certain TV show, he’s more than happy to cater to you. (Perhaps even eager, really, if the way he immediately says yes is any indication. He’ll diligently write down exactly what you want, going to the restaurant himself to order and pick up the food all so that you don’t have to take a step outside the apartment – all so that he can see the way you light up at the sight of him, the way you’ll wrap him into a hug, the way you’ll let him hold the chopsticks up to your lips and feed you, the way you’ll be much more hospitable and receptive when he sits too close to you and lets his hands linger on your thigh for too long.)  

If you want to shower or bath, he’s not delegating your personal grooming habits but he will, of course, need to be present in the bathroom with you for safety reasons. He’ll be perched on a chair or stool in the corner, lips slightly parted and breathing heavily, those dark eyes not blinking once as you try to cover your body with as many bubbles as possible in the bathtub, but he won’t insist on actually being in the tub with you.

(Should you offer, though, Choso’s literally ripping at his clothing, tearing everything away before you can even finish your sentence, strong arms scooping you up and gently settling you into the tub, kisses being pressed against every inch of your skin he can reach.)

He’s intense, yes, and unable to fulfill your requests that involve distancing yourself from him or rejecting his role as your caretaker and dutiful protector, but he’s not too terribly controlling. But with that said, even Choso’s patience with you has its limits.

He’s a worshipper in every way, thinking of you as an angel, something divine and perfect, someone completely and utterly made for him, just as he was made for you. But there are times when Choso doesn’t fully understand why you don’t seem to see this reality.

There are times when he’s sure you must be confused – why do you not tell him I love you back? Yuji has mentioned that women often ‘play hard to get’ – is that what you’re doing? Why? You already have him, why would you need to play games with him? He’s not going anywhere, he swears – he’d rather rip his own arm off than be away from you for even five seconds, so how could you ever possibly entertain the idea that he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life pressed against your side, inhaling the air you breath out, totally consumed by you you you?

Why do you pretend to not like when he touches you? He’s not pushing too far, he doesn’t think – your clothing is still on, and he’s only touching your thigh. Why are you shivering? Is this good? He’s read that sometimes women do this when they’re aroused – so why can’t his superior sense of smell pick up on anything between your legs as you tremble?

It’s confusing, and Choso will be equal parts confused and frustrated. Why must you test him like this? Can’t you see that he’s already in love, just as you are with him? It’s infuriating, really, and so the most similar thing you’ll experience to a ‘punishment’ with Choso mostly fear tactics that he isn’t even aware he’s inciting.

His delusions aren’t normally too terrible to deal with if you choose to just turn a blind eye, but it’s in these moments that it will become uncomfortably obvious that Choso’s view of reality is not accurate. And most of the time what triggers this behavior falls into two main camps: you verbally or physically lashing out at him, or you hurting yourself in some way.

(Generally speaking, Choso is often more devastated about the latter, but it’s very rare that you’ll receive a punishment as a result of you trying to harm yourself. You’ll see him cry, feel the way he presses you too tightly against his chest, his fingertips digging into your soft flesh because he forgets his own strength and needs to make sure you’re still present, still real, still alive. But he won’t punish you – rather, you’ll spend the day curled in his arms, his nose pressed tightly against your neck and he breathes in and out, murmuring your name under his breath like a prayer.)

Rather, you’re much more likely to be on the receiving end of his ‘punishments’ if you were to lash out because your misbehavior doesn’t fit his perception of your relationship. You hitting him or begging him to not touch you doesn’t track with the romantic, life-long partnership he’s convinced himself the two of you share, and so he’ll often become angrier in these situations. He’ll never hurt you (that’s a line he’s unwilling to cross no matter how enraged he is, simply because he’s so concerned for your health that the thought makes him physically ill), but you’ll watch his body language change in real time.

It’d been a rash decision, in all honesty – the straw that broke the camel’s back in an otherwise shitty couple of weeks. Choso had been ‘moved in’ for going on a month, your couch smelling of his cologne (one he frequently asks if you like, his voice husky but strangely vulnerable, his stuttered breath as he hears you lean in and sniff difficult to ignore), even your bed starting to take on the scent. Day after day of coming home to him eagerly awaiting by your apartment door, cold hands already grabbing your jacket and pulling it off of you, smoothing down your hair and swallowing heavily, always leaning in and stopping himself like he’s waiting for something. It’s uncomfortable, but what’s really caused you to be so on edge is the exact same thing that he’d been doing moments ago.

The box of pasta in your hand was suddenly gone, Choso’s own hand clutching the cardboard and wordlessly placing it in a cabinet behind you. You’d only taken a long breath, trying to calm yourself – he was probably just trying to help, right? Maybe he felt guilty about the freeloading in your apartment?

But then you picked up the bananas and suddenly they were gone, too, his heavy footsteps padding over to the fruit bowl. Your eye had twitched, but before you could say anything Choso was back at your side, a soft smile on his lips as he told you sit down, I’ll put everything away.

You opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his head, guiding you over toward the couch. I can do it, just relax. You’ve worked hard today. And really, as you sit tensed up on the couch, anger flushing through your system, you can’t even articulate exactly why you’re so mad. Was it his tone? The thinly veiled condescension? Or maybe it was the way he moved your body with such ease, obviously not having to even try to get you to stay put on the couch and do exactly what he says?

Or maybe it had all started even before this (exceedingly rare) solo grocery visit – was it when he grabbed the comb out of your hands yesterday and told you your arms will get sore and tired, let me do it before forcing you to sit down in front of him, the process taking much longer than it would have otherwise?

Or maybe it was when he’d heard you groaning last week in pain, clutching your abdomen and wincing as you headed to the bathroom to change your tampon?

(Of course, him following you in and crouching down between your legs, cheeks flushed a bright red and his breathing unsteady as he offered to take it out for you, it will be easier if you don’t have to do it certainly didn’t help your mood. Nor did the wet spot on his trousers when he stood back up, or the way that you caught him sneaking the used tampon out of the trash later that night.)

You weren’t entirely sure, but all of it together pushed you to clench your fists against your thighs, jaw working as you stared straight ahead.

Why are you treating me like I’m incompetent? You’re not my boyfriend, so stop pretending like you are.

The moment the words slipped from your lips the apartment went eerily silent. The rustling noises of him digging through the grocery bags suddenly stopped, the sound of your own heartbeat suddenly much, much too loud. You bit your lip, eyebrows twisting together as regret settled in your chest, the fear starting to climb up your throat as you turned slightly to face him.

A scream ripped its way out of your throat when you’re suddenly faced with dark eyes, pale skin, and black hair mere inches away from your face, Choso’s body suddenly right beside your own without you having heard a single sound. You’d known he wasn’t human, sure, but this? The scream forced your body backwards onto the couch, your chest heaving as you stared at him in fear, his expression entirely blank.

You were still breathing hard, Choso taking a step closer and closer, Adam’s Apple bobbing and his fists clenching, a wave of something like confusion slipping across his face before returning back to that flat look.

You’re lying, is all said to you, his voice low and unsteady, like something was fighting its way up. I know you’re lying.

Your hands were still shaking, even as you pressed yourself further back against the couch to create more distance between the two of you. Your mouth open and closes, fear pumping through your veins leaving you paralyzed.

Say it to me. Tell me you’re lying.

It doesn’t sound like your own voice when you answer, stuttering and shaking as you say ‘m lying, I’m lying I promise!

He stares at you for a moment, the tension nearly suffocating you, before he lets out a low, long breath. Don’t scare me like that again.

And, twenty minutes later when his arms are wrapped around your waist, thighs curved behind your own and his body practically molded against yours in a fetal position on your bed, he’ll finally speak again.

Yuuji said that lying is bad, and that partners shouldn’t lie.

He’s quiet for a moment, contemplative, and your heartrate spikes up again in response. I know you didn’t mean to. You would never do that to me. Would you?

He buries his face further against the soft skin of your neck, a shiver running down your spine at the sensation. He’s always so cold, even his breath against you has goosebumps prickling up along your skin. He grip on you tightens.

Please answer me.

You can feel his breathing getting heavier, and quickly you’re forcing out in a voice much too high that no, of course I would never lie to you! I lo- A small sob wretches up your throat, but you bite it back. I love you, I’d never lie to you.

Your voice is just a whisper now, quiet enough for you to hear the way Choso groans, hips pressing into your ass harder as he squeezes you to him even tighter, something wet slipping against the nape of your neck. He’s crying, you realize, and even though you tell yourself not to, guilt settles in the pit of your stomach.

You don’t say anything else, even as Choso’s tears continue to fall. You don’t say anything as he starts to murmur I love you back at you, his hands no longer staying stationary. You don’t say anything as lips press against the curve of your neck, suckling at the juncture of your jawline and ear, his lips clumsy, inexperienced, hungry.

You don’t say anything even as he starts to rut against you, his breathing turning low and heavy, groans and whimpers of your name becoming harder and harder to ignore. You don’t even say anything as he suddenly whines your name and a slurred I love you directly into your ear as something wet and hot seeps against the curve of your hip, or even as he slowly comes down, petting your hair and mindlessly toying with the soft fat of your stomach.

What is there to say, really? How can you say anything, when you’ve let it get this far? The guilt eating away at you transforms into something darker, sadder, worse, and as Choso drifts off into sleep with your name whispered on his lips, you can only stare into the darkness of the room, tears slipping down your own cheeks.

What can you even do?

OVERALL DANGER:

4/10

As a yandere, Choso is less inherently dangerous and more intensely, borderline unbearably steadfast in his belief that what he thinks you need is correct. He’s entirely convinced that he knows what’s best for you, and that while you’re smart and a grown woman, you’re still in need of protection and care.

He’s attentive to your desires and likes, aiming to please you and make you smile (preferably at him, perhaps even with his name falling past your lips), but his ultimate purpose is to protect you. Regardless of the reality, he full-heartedly believes that he is stronger than you, and thus his role is to be your guardian angel. He’ll provide for you and protect you from other curses or ill-intending humans, ready to fight to the death to keep even a slight scratch or frown off your pretty face.

You become his absolute everything – his every thought, feeling, and action stem from a motivation that involves you. And at the start, you’ll think it’s sweet. You’ll think it’s endearing that he’s so steadfast in his worship of you, finding it strangely flattering just how intense he is when he’s saying things like I swear to protect you until my dying breath or you mean absolutely everything to me. It’s oddly romantic, but as time passes that twinge of adoration deepens into a festering, open obsession, his feelings for you becoming more and more smothering with each passing day.

He’s so unaware of human customs and relationships that he dives headfirst into every major milestone, relying entirely on instincts, Yuji’s (well meant but ignorant) advice, and the romance media he consumes, believing it’s entirely realistic.

So really, he’s not the worst yandere by any means – he’s loving toward you, but perhaps too much. He’s obsessive, constantly fabricating all sorts of memories of the two of you and twisting your words into meaning so much more than you originally meant.

He’s unnerving, painfully stubborn in his overprotectiveness and insistence on your ‘relationship’ being loving, genuine, real, and mutual, and at a certain point you’ll stop trying to explain that he’s moving too fast or that it’s way too early to start a family together. He just doesn’t understand, and eventually that encyclopedic knowledge and unwavering dedication he feels toward you will be too much for you to fight.

After all, Choso knows exactly how you tick, what makes you smile and frown and laugh and scream – you’re his after all, and isn’t it a lover’s job to love their partner? Please them? Be their sole reason for living?

Catching his attention is a difficult, nebulous thing, but once you’ve managed to snag it, you’ll never shake it off. Very early on he’s attached to your hip, following you around and always, always blabbering on and on about this and that, asking you all sorts of questions that leave you simultaneously disgusted and exasperated.

(Questions like hey, if you had to eat another human, where would you start? Questions like when you menstruate, can you feel it coming out of you? Describe it to me – and show it to me too, okay? I can smell that you’re currently in that phase, what do you mean you won’t take your pants off right now? Why does it matter that we’re in a grocery store? Maybe they'd like to watch too.)

He’s irritating and strange, and you’ll know that there’s something seriously wrong with him without ever even needing to see him using his cursed energy.

And as he grows more attached and invests more time and curiosity in you, a rather disturbing situation begins unfolding – you absolutely did not invite Mahito to live with you, but he doesn’t seem to understand that you don’t want him in your apartment every moment of the day.

When you wake up in the mornings, he’s standing over your bed, face so close to yours that he can feel your breaths against his cold lips, his own stretching wider than humanly possible to morph into a grin that immediately has you awake and alert.

He’ll follow you around your modest apartment as you get ready for work, those mismatched eyes of his glued to your figure watching as you get dressed, your movements hurried and uncomfortable because why the fuck is he looking at you like that?

And he’s not quiet about it either – he’s commenting the whole time, talking about how he’s read that the discharge stains visible on your underwear are a sign that you have good vaginal health.

He’s telling you that you really should tighten up the straps on your bra – all the Playboy magazines and borderline pornos he’s seen in theaters always have the women wearing very perky bras, and shouldn’t you be insecure about that like most human women?

(He’s quick to point out that yours aren’t perky, but rather some other description, something much less flattering and much more damaging.)

He’ll watch as you brush your teeth, tilting his head like some sort of animal as those mismatched eyes take in your every movement, a smile slowly forming on his lips that makes something heavy and sick sit in the base of your stomach.

Immediately after you’re done, practically before you’ve finished spitting out the toothpaste, he’s immediately snatching the brush and settling it against his own tongue, twirling around the bristles against his teeth and tongue as he hums. He’s narrating the taste to you, telling you that it’s minty but also a bit sweet and earthy, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucks at the bristles and giggles. He’ll follow you around with that damn toothbrush in his mouth, staying glued to your heel like some oversized, murderous puppy.

He’s touching your breakfast as you cook it, a finger reaching in to burst the yolk of your fried egg, a thumb and pointer finger reaching into the toaster to squish and pinch at a section of your toast so that it’s cracked and crumbly and has the imprint of his fingerprints against it.

He’s slipping in through the bottom crack of the door as you use the toilet, peeking up at you and smiling too widely, asking you if it feels good when you urinate? I’ve heard that some women think it feels good to hold it in. Next time you have to go, get me first. I want to see how long you can hold it for.

And as time passes, it only becomes worse – he gets more invasive, more pushy, wanting to insert himself into every possible aspect of your life because you’re just so fascinating and the way you respond to him is just so delicious. He’s still forcing you to share intimate supplies like toothbrushes and underwear.

(Though he never returns the underwear clean after stealing them for a few days. There’s always a multitude of mysterious stains in colors you don’t understand – you can handle the very obvious cum stains, albeit begrudgingly and with bile rising up your throat, but what the hell had he been doing that resulted in bright orange stains?)

He’s still asking you all sorts of questions about extremely personal topics, blinking at you with all the innocent curiosity in the world, making you feel like the crazy one for being uncomfortable when asked how many fingers you’ve ever managed to stuff inside yourself and oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask – have you ever tried fisting? I bet I could put a finger inside you and then just expand it bigger and bigger until it’s the size of my fist or maybe even more. That sounds fun! Let’s do that. Right now.

He’ll be standing next to you as you brush your hair or brush over it, watching intently and prying the brush out of your hands, pulling at the caught strands and plopping them into his mouth, swishing the hairs around before audibly swallowing them, licking his lips and running off to the shower to find any stray hairs against the tiled walls.

(He won’t verbally explain this particular habit to you, but it stems from a strange, possessive desire to have a piece of you inside of him, the concept of having your DNA within his body making him strangely giddy. He refuses to touch or alter your soul simply because he doesn’t want to change anything about you, and this feels the closest he can get in place of it. The closest he can get to you.)

He’ll open up your makeup bag and drawer, digging with grubby fingers and opening each and every product, smearing a bit across his wrist and returning it back uncapped, occasionally grabbing sticks of lipstick and letting his tongue run across the pigmented product, teeth sinking down as he takes a bite, face twisting up a bit because yuck, it tastes like chemicals!

He’ll grab your makeup brushes and run them along the areas of his body that he’s read are the main production points of pheromones, some raunchy article he’d read claiming that women are highly affected by them and are subconsciously attracted to them.

(The brush gets rubbed across his underarms and navel, a few silver, curly hairs getting stuck in the brush bristles that he figures only imbues more of his natural scent into the tool.)

And Mahito isn’t at all shy about doing any of these things in front of you – in fact, he actively encourages you to look, telling you that it’s good to be honest with each other, that it’s sweet how interested you are in what he’s doing, even if that interest manifests as you angrily yelling at him and begging him to stop being such a freak.

Really, Mahito consciously learns about human societal standards and perceptions of privacy and actively breaks them when it comes to you. He likes to see how far he can push you, just how much you can take before you start crumbling.

He wants to understand what makes you tick, how you function, what your biggest fears are, the order you eat your food, the way you breath, how you sniffle and hiccup when you're crying.

He's a freak in every sense of the word, and once he's grown any sort of attachment to you, he's like a parasite that you just can't get rid of. He'll feed off of you, growing greedier and greedier, but still somehow managing to find some new way to humiliate you, some new way to get you angry enough to scream and lash out at him but terrified enough to stop yourself.

And oh, seeing that look on your face when you're angry enough you could cry makes him feel so, so very good, all the blood rushing south and making him tell you in that sing-songy, too-chipper voice of his to give me your panties you're wearing right now, but stay here. It's better when you watch.