DO NOT COPY
The soft hum of the city seeps through the thin walls of your shared apartment, mingling with the faint scent of coffee and the lingering warmth of morning sunlight. Choso sits cross-legged on the couch, laptop open before him, fingers moving almost absentmindedly across the keyboard. He’s entirely absorbed, brow furrowed, glasses slightly slipping down his nose—a vision of concentration you could watch forever.
You linger by the doorway, heart fluttering like a caged bird. Your best friend dared you to do it—to flirt with Choso, to tease him like he always teases you. Normally, you’re far too shy for such boldness. You like to watch him, laugh at his antics, and let him chase you in his shamelessly flirty way. But today, today you feel daring.
You take a step closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, your voice low and hesitant but carrying a mischievous edge.
“Baby, your ability… it’s blood manipulation, right?” you ask, leaning against the arm of the couch, your gaze fixed on him.
Choso pauses, fingers hovering above the keyboard, then slowly looks up at you, lips curling into a half-amused, half-curious smirk. “Yeah,” he says, eyes gleaming. “And, why are you asking me that?”
You swallow, feeling your cheeks heat up, but press on, teasing yourself as much as him. “Well, maybe… we could… you know… make løve until your blood manipulation turns… white?”
For a moment, he just stares at you, dumbfounded. Then laughter bubbles out of him, rich and surprised. “Wait, did you just—say that?” he asks, eyes wide, clearly shocked because he knows you well enough to understand that you never flirt like this.
You bite your lip, heart thudding in your chest, then lean a little closer, letting your voice drop into a softer, more intimate whisper. “Or maybe… you could manipulate my blood for nine months?”
His laughter softens into a low chuckle, the kind that rumbles in his chest and makes your knees go weak. He shakes his head, still smiling, a little lost for words. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, though the way his gaze lingers on you says he’s utterly captivated.
Then, standing slowly, he crosses the small space between you. One strong arm snakes around your waist, lifting you effortlessly. His other hand brushes your hair back from your face, thumb grazing your cheek. “But, if that’s what you want,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, yet gentle, “then maybe I should start experimenting a little. Right here, right now.”
He carries you toward your bed, his laughter mingling with soft whispers, warm breaths against your ear. “But be careful,” he teases, “I might enjoy this far too much, and you know I’m shameless enough to make it last.”