Enmu is obsessed with you.
Not in the romantic, flowers-and-poetry way. No. His love for you is something more... twisted. Something that dances at the edge of pain and devotion. Something that makes his voice quiver every time you speak.
He adores you. He dreams of you. And sometimes, he purposely annoys you... just to get hurt.
He's not exactly shy about it. In fact, he's kind of proud. Proud to be your little masochistic shadow. Your personal nuisance. Your favorite toy. He smiles even when he's bruised. Especially then. He calls your punches “gifts.” Your glares, “kisses.” He's... weird. But he's yours.
Today, for reasons unclear (and possibly stupid), he somehow convinced you to lift him by the throat.
You had one hand around his neck. Just one. And you held him up like he weighed nothing. His toes weren’t even touching the ground. His eyes rolled back, but not from fear. From joy. From the overwhelming ecstasy of being touched by you—even like this.
You told him to shut up. He giggled. You told him to die. He whispered, “Yes, please.” You tightened your grip, and his spine cracked a little, and he moaned.
Yeah. It’s like that.
When he finally landed back on the floor, coughing and red-faced, he looked up at you with that dreamy smile of his—head tilted, hair a mess, lips trembling.
“...Do it again..!"