Work Text:
@k4enyu on twt. (unknown)
Part 1 - Obsession
It’s a normal day, just like any other. You come home from work in time to see a wonderfully aromatic spread of different dishes on the table. You never questioned why your roommate cooks for you, you just assume it’s just one of his hobbies. And today, he cooks for you just like any other.
You see the back of a fluffy head of brown hair attending to the stove. Something sizzles and fries, and you drink in the smell of whatever it is he’s cooking. “Smells amazing, as always, Cho.” You say, kicking off your heels and setting your things down. You sit at the table, eagerly awaiting him to finish. “I’ve been waiting all day, what did you make this time?”
Choso turns around, sizzling pan in hand as he scrapes something off with a spatula. “Nothing crazy, just a bit of everything. Chicken parmesan, pasta, salad, dessert. The usual,” he says, a light chuckle escaping from his full lips. He smiles at you as he takes his apron off and sets the pan down back on the stove, then sits across from you.
“I really appreciate everything you do, you know. Everything you make is always amazing,” you remark, as Choso plates your food with a little bit of everything.
He says nothing as you both start eating, eagerly waiting to fill that empty void in your stomach. The flavors are entrancing, and the textures can’t be beat. Everything is cooked to perfection, and you can’t help but let a slight mmm escape from your lips as you try a bite of it all.
His food is always impeccable, every dish deserving of a michelin star. He cooks for you every day, never asking for your help with cleaning or prepping, and doesn’t take your money for groceries. Hell, most of the time he won’t even let you pay your half of the rent. He even cleans for you. He really is the best roommate, a roommate from heaven, if you will.
Choso watches you from across the table, brown eyes peeking from underneath long, beautiful lashes. The corners of his lips turn, satisfaction clearly written all over his face.
“How was work?” he inquires, cutting a piece of chicken cutlet. The sound of a knife scraping a plate is all that fills the air until you respond.
“Tiring, busy, awful. Like always.” You huff, not wanting to spend any moment longer thinking about work. You’re not being paid to give a shit about work, so why even complain about it. Plus, you have a date to look forward to tonight. Better to save your energy for that anyways.
“I forgot to tell you,” you start, drinking a sip of wine from a glass Choso had poured for you, “I’m meeting with someone later for drinks. I don’t need a ride.” You add, not allowing Choso to offer his chauffeuring to you.
The silence is thick. The sound of utensils ceases, as Choso stares at you, gripping a knife. And just as fast as you caught the moment where Choso’s facade cracks, he’s already rebuilding it. “Okay,” he coos, his features softening. “Be safe. And have fun. Let me know if there’s anything you need me to do, okay?”
He quickly finishes his food, leaving you to finish up on your own. You take your plate to the sink, where he’s washing dishes. “Here, let me—“ you start, but Choso snatches your plate from your hands.
“Please, I can do this. Get ready, yeah?” He says, not even looking at you as he scrubs the same spot on the same pan that he has been since he started.
“Okay, thank you…” your voice trails, as you step aside and walk toward your room.
—
The bathroom air is thick with steam. It doesn’t take long for you to dry off, style your hair, do your makeup, and get dressed. And before you know it, you hear a knock at the front door. You grab your things, a smile plastered on your features as you rush out your room.
Choso is sitting in the living room as you hurry by to open the front door. He’s deep in a novel, but he’s not actually reading. You open the door, greet the man, then hug him. His eyes peer past his book to get a good look at tonight’s date. He has bright, white, fluffy hair and blue eyes. Choso locks eyes with him for a brief second with back turned to him, your date’s arms wrapped tightly around you.
And just like that, you turn around, and tell Choso you’ll be back later that night. His features soften as he looks at you, and he smiles. “Have fun, and be safe,” he says, adding that last part with emphasis as his eyes settle on the strange man once more. You smile and wave, then close the door and lock it. You hope tonight will be a good night.
—
While gone, Choso takes his time cleaning up your shared apartment, tidying every corner of the room with such precision that he might be mistaken for a professional cleaner. Everything needs to be perfectly in place, he needs to be in control.
But Choso is not good at maintaining that control, especially when you’re not around. He opens your bedroom door, inhaling the sweet scent of your domain; it smells like vanilla and sugar from the perfume you sprayed not too long ago.
He knows exactly which perfume you put on tonight. In fact, he knows all of the ones you have, memorizing your scent. Based on what you chose, he can only assume you’re feeling playful and sweet tonight— you only wear that sweet, gourmand scent whenever excited and playful.
Choso walks around your room, tidying some things, operating under the pretense that if he cleans your room, it’s okay for him to be in here. He just needs to tidy up, that’s all. And that’s when Choso sees them, and realizes it’s actually laundry day today.
His gaze wanders to your clothes strewn about along the floor. He sighs. You’re a bit messy, but it only gives him more of an excuse to help organize your things.
He starts picking up your clothes off the floor, tossing them into the nearby hamper. His fingers graze the soft cotton fabric of a purple pair of your panties, and his breath hitches. This one… this one is new. He’s catalogued every piece of clothing you own, and he does not recognize this one. He picks it up gently, as if grasping it too hard might break or tear the thin fabric.
Choso pushes the fabric against his nose, and takes a deep, sharp breath. His eyes close, and he moans into the soft fabric as a rush of emotions flood his senses. You smell fucking amazing. He tries to push the fabric even harder against his face, as if he could somehow consume it deeper.
The sweet, musky scent of your cunt is the only thing on his mind. He can tell you were busy at work due to the smell of your sweat mixing with everything else. He sighs, content at knowing you better than you would even know yourself.
He drops to his knees in your room, unable to move away as he’s consumed by the sinful scent of you. His free hand palms his hard cock through his pants, as he whimpers out loud. “Fuck… baby… you smell so fucking good,” he pants, wishing you could hear him and see him.
His breaths are more erratic, they’re all over the place as his free hand rushes to unbuckle his belt. He slides his pants and boxers down, releasing his pale and throbbing member. His rough, calloused hand grasps his cock, and his breath hitches in his throat. The first touch is always the most sensitive.
Before he realizes it, he’s thrusting into his fist, fucking into what he wishes was you. Smelling your panties is no longer enough, as his tongue licks the soft fabric, trying to desperately, so eagerly, to taste you in whatever capacity he can.
He whines as he feels himself getting closer to that oh so familiar edge, that precipice of pleasure. He wraps your panties around his cock as his thrusts frantically search for friction, trying to feel even the mere concept of your cunt. His breathing is shallow and disturbed, as he whines once more. Every muscle in his body flexes as he hunches forward, spewing his hot cum into your dirty panties.
Sweat beads along the ridge of his eyebrows as he struggles to catch his breath. He’s made a mess in your panties, again, and it only serves to further fuel his desire for you. Instead of seeking relief, he has found only lust. He needs the real thing. He needs you.
With his mind made up, he cleans up, and buckles his pants once more. He collects the rest of your clothes and takes them to the washer, cleaning away any evidence of his sin.
—
You stumble into your apartment, late, drunk, and hands all over your date. You can’t keep your hands off of each other as your mouths collide, making your way over to your room.
You giggle as you close your bedroom door, excited and anticipating being stuffed by your super hot date.
Choso’s door is slightly ajar, and he hears everything. Your moans, the bed squeaking and hitting the wall, even the wet squelching noise your cunt makes as it swallows your date’s cock.
But Choso doesn’t enjoy it. Even though your voice is ethereal, like the sound of a goddess blessing his soul, he cannot enjoy it. All he can think about is how that should have been him. How that will be him.
When he’s confident you have fallen asleep, he slips into your room once more, searching for your used panties. He silently takes them and pockets them, bringing them to his room, where he shoves his face full of the musky and sweet scent. He imagines that you wore these while on a date with him, and he cums even faster than the first time.
—
You wake up the next morning, alone in your bed. You’ve become accustomed to this since you sleep in late almost every day. You yawn, and crawl out of your bed, making your way to the kitchen where the smell of breakfast caresses your senses.
“Morning, cho,” you say, sleep still laced in your voice.
“Good morning,” he replies, turning his head to face you. His brown eyes are accompanied by delicious looking dark circles, a signature part of his look at this point.
You take a seat at the table, waiting for Choso to finish cooking. You pull out your phone, and shoot your date a text, hoping he made it home safely this morning. Your message doesn’t deliver. You try sending another one on a different platform, thinking maybe he has bad cell service. You open every social media you are mutuals on, and on each one, his profile is gone. Like it never was there in the first place. Not just blocked, but erased.
Damn, was I really that bad? Anxious thoughts fill your head once more. This always happens. They never text you back, they act as if you never existed in the first place. Fucking assholes.
Your anger brews at the same pace as the coffee does in the machine. Choso pours you a cup as he places a wonderfully plated spread of breakfast in front of you.
He sits across from you once more, no food in front of him, only a cup of black coffee. He lights a cigarette in front of you, ashing it next to him, and blows the smoke out.
You devour your breakfast almost too fast. “Slow down, you’re gonna choke,” he says, concern written all over your face. You look up at him like you haven’t eaten in months, hunger written all over your features.
You check your phone again, hoping maybe your text just didn’t go through yet. You frown when it remains undelivered, a clear sign of no contact.
“What’s wrong?” Choso asks, watching your emotions with intensity. He’s worried about you.
You sigh, taking a sip of your coffee. “He blocked me. Or unaided me. Or whatever, I don’t know. All I know is I can’t text him back.”
He frowns, hurt that you feel hurt. He gets up, and sits aside you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. He hugs you from the side, “It’s okay. He just wasn’t the right one. It happens,” he reassures you, giving your shoulder a tight squeeze. You smile up at him, tears welling in the corners of your eyes.
You sniffle, snot forming in your nose. “They,” you start hiccuping with every word. “They never stay, not even until the morning. They never talk to me again. I’m so alone, Choso. No one wants me.” You sob, leaning onto his shoulder, seeking solace. It’s a good thing you can’t see Choso through your blurred vision, because if you could, you would see the widest grin imaginable plastered on his face. It’s like he’s proud of something.
He rubs your shoulders and back, trying to comfort you. “I think you should focus on you more. Maybe hang out with your friends some more? You haven’t seen them in forever,” he suggests, trying to ease your pain. The thought of hanging out with your friends brings some relief. Maybe that is what you need.
You hug Choso, and nuzzle into his neck. “You’re right. Thank you, Cho… I really appreciate you.” Your words are muffled by the crook of his neck, but he knows exactly what you said. He always knows what you’ll say, a book so easily read by only him. You’re written in a language only he can understand. It’s why he’s perfect for you, and you’re perfect for him.
“You’re welcome,” he coos into your ear, rubbing your back. “Let me know if you need anything else. I worry about you,” he chuckles, tousling your hair a bit.
You sniffle as he wipes your tears away, looking right into you. Not looking at you, in you. Like he can read your soul.
“How about you go text your friends, then take a shower, okay? You need a fresh start to your day and something to look forward to.”
You mumble a yes or something similar to it as you shoot out of your chair, aiming for your room, phone already in hand ready to message your friends.
♡♡♡
Part 2 - Devotion
Choso offers to drop off and pick up you and your friends up from the club. You thank him as you step outside of his car, telling him you’ll text him when you’re ready to go home.
“Be safe, okay? And don’t drink too much, please. Seriously, be safe.” His look of worry comforts you.
“I know, I know. If there’s any trouble, you’ll be the first one I call.” You smile, shut the car door, and wave as he pulls away.
You adjust your skirt, and catch up with your friends who are waiting at the entrance. Tonight is all about having fun and focusing on you.
Back at home, Choso lounges about, reading novels and practicing new recipes. He’s already cleaned for today, and bides his time taking it slow. He writes in his journal all about you, every page filled to the brim with thoughts about you. You wouldn’t know he’s such a great artist since he doesn’t show you his sketches. They’re really good and very detailed, but he could never show you any of them for the simple fact that you are the subject of his artistic musings.
How he has such a vivid memory of every part of your body, without ever even seeing it, is a subject of another discussion. When he’s been fantasizing about you and drawing you for so long, he’s bound to reflect some sort of truth with each sketch of his pencil. He just needs to know if he’s right, if his fantasy version of you is even comparable to the real you, the better you. There’s bound to be some flaws, of course, there’s no way he could sketch perfection without seeing it first. And even if he saw it, he would never be able to translate it to paper. The act of replicating a perfect subject is, by definition, a mere imitation, the closest any copy can be. It’s for this reason, he needs to actually see you. To commit the curves of your body to memory, finally.
Choso is lost in thought, ruminating and fantasizing about you once again. Pages upon pages are filled with your likeness and obsessed ramblings, each page a further exploration into unhealthy obsession. Some pages are details about you, your body, your personality, you. Another page is a log of names, names he shouldn’t know of men you should never have met.
Choso abruptly shuts his journal. He can’t handle obsessing over you right now. Not when he has important plans he needs to take care of. But more important, most urgently— he needs to take care of himself first. His hard cock demands his attention as it strains against his sweatpants, leaving a wet spot from his leaking cock.
Choso gets up, and makes his way to the bathroom. He doesn’t feel like making a mess and cleaning up, so he decides to combine them into one activity. He strips his clothes off, and steps into the shower, turning the heat to near-boiling.
He stands under the water, facing the faucet, one hand against the shower wall, and another wrapped around his throbbing cock. He huffs as water drips down around his hard muscles. Scars litter his body, evidence of past struggles he’s been in. His knuckles are freshly bruised, little reminders of how much he has to clean up after you. Taking the trash out isn’t easy, but he does it all for you.
His grip strangles his thick, pale cock. The only color concentrated is a dark red blush at the tip of his head, where precum leaks. Choso’s cock weeps, and so does he, crying and whimpering as he thinks about your delicious body. He tugs his cock, imagining how you must taste, how you will taste. His muscles flex as he struggles to keep himself upright, succumbing to the pleasure that is fantasizing about you.
Choso gasps as his strokes increase, desperately searching for release. His hips thrust his cock into his fist, imagining that he’s fucking you right there, in the shower, stuffing you so full of him that you probably couldn’t even breathe.
He whines as tears well at the corners of his eyes, that familiar feeling crashing over him. Cum spills into his hand as he cries out your name, every orgasm another guilty sentence added to the conviction of his passion and devotion.
He quickly cleans himself up and gets out. He needs to get ready.
Before he realizes it, you’re texting him, asking for a ride home. He makes his way to you with haste, urgency oozing from every one of his actions. He picks you and your friends up, dropping each of them safely home, before making his way back to yours.
“So, did you have fun?” Choso asks, looking at you for a brief second before fixing on the road ahead of him.
“Yeah, it was great seeing them. We haven’t talked much, and I filled them in about the whole can’t-keep-a-guy situation,” you laugh, as he joins in with a slight chuckle.
“Yeah? And how was that?” He asks, glancing over at you once more.
“They were surprised, to say the least. They said I ‘shouldn’t have any trouble’ keeping a guy around, whatever that means.”
“Well, you know how it is sometimes,” he adds. “Anything else more eventful happen? Or did you sit and gossip the whole time?”
“We danced, had a few drinks, and I danced with this guy-“ you got lost in yourself for a moment, recounting the night’s events. Choso’s already pale skin drains at the mention of another man being in close proximity with you.
“Did he touch you? This guy?” He asks, knuckles white, holding the steering wheel.
“Well, yeah, duh. We’re dancing at a club, I’m practically grinding on this guy! I wanted him to come home with me so bad, haha.”
But Choso’s not laughing. He’s dead silent, eyes fully fixed on the road. His jaw clenches. hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it might break it in half. The rest of the ride is silent, no other words or glances to be exchanged.
—
Choso unlocks the door for you, and you sigh as you enter your cozy living room. A candle is lit, and music plays on the record player. You sit down on the couch, kicking off your heels as you sign into the cozy cushion sanctuary you call a sofa.
Choso grabs a bottle of wine from the kitchen and a pair of glasses. He pours you both a glass and makes his way over as he sits on the opposite end of the couch, watching you and sipping on wine.
Whatever atmosphere or vibe happening in the car seems to have stayed there, as you both talk about nothing and everything. Choso talks about how he misses living with his big family, where there was always constant excitement or action surrounding him. He misses having a house full of laughter and talking, an area of warmth and support.
“Why did you leave, then? Why live on your own, or with a roommate?” You ask, curious why he would go from a cozy, loving environment, to one of just you and him.
“I don’t know… it was time for a change, I guess.” He shrugs, sipping his wine. “Do you think you’ll ever have one? A large family, I mean.”
“Have one? Not sure. Want one? Definitely,” you respond, finishing your wine. You set your glass down, and Choso instantly refills it, as if he was some sort of personal beverage service.
You turn the conversation on him. “What about you? I’ve never seen you with anyone… you never go one dates or anything.” You peer at him, inquisitively.
Choso’s stomach flutters with butterflies. How is he supposed to answer that question? “Of course I want that. I just haven’t found the right person yet.” He hides his face behind his glass, hoping you think his blush is just an alcohol flush.
“Well, anyone would be lucky to have you. You’re amazing. You’re probably the best person I’ve ever met. Which, thanks for helping me out, by the way.” You have no idea what you’re saying. He’s extremely attractive, you have no fucking idea why he isn’t out living his best life. He could easily get anyone. You gulp down the rest of your wine, blush creeping across your face. Your second glass is downed in a near-instant. Do you want him? Why would you say that?
As if sensing your tension, Choso breaks the awkward air and interrupts your curious trail of thought. “Do you want to play a game?”
You nod, grateful for the distraction. “What game?,”you ask. Maybe you can play some board games, or card games, or something—
“Truth or Dare,” he replies, looking over at you and smiling. “But if you refuse, you have to strip off something the other chooses. Deal?”
The alcohol isn’t helping. In fact, it feels extremely disorienting, moreso than usual. It’s the same brand and type of wine you both usually buy, so why is it extra effective? Why does it hit harder now? Why is it more potent?
There’s no time to be introspective though, as Choso is waiting for your answer. “Deal. But I go first.”
He nods, awaiting your question. “Okay Cho, truth or dare?”
“Dare.” Your breath catches in your throat; you weren’t expecting him to choose that, and honestly, you didn’t have a dare ready for him. You thought this could be an easy game, just asking each other questions. But it seems like he has other ideas.
“Okay, uhm, I dare you to take your shirt off.” He instantly complies, not wasting any time to pull his shirt off to reveal his sculpted figure. Intricate tattoos wrap his entire body, defining his muscles and drawing attention to various parts of his body . What looks like flowing water canvasses along his arms, enhancing his biceps and emphasizing his veins. That same, smoke-like pattern wraps his abdomen, trailing down his hips and that sharp V-line, leading to places you can’t see. They’re covered by the waistband of his sweatpants, as if teasing you.
Your jaw is all but on the floor as you really take in his form. You’ve never seen him this exposed, usually he has some sort of shirt on. His chest and abs glow in the soft amber light of the room, the shadows and light emphasizing the perfection of his body.
“You done yet?” he teases, breaking you away from your eye fucking. There’s drool too, dripping down the corner of your mouth. He laughs, and against his better judgment, sticks a finger out to collect it before licking it off.
You meet his gaze, stunned speechless. “Uh.. yeah..” you say, nervously shifting.
“My turn. Truth or dare?”
You’re not sure what to pick. You’re too distracted by his chiseled form, by the art embedded in his skin to even choose. The alcohol gives you confidence and direction that you didn’t know you had. “Dare,” you reply.
Choso smiles, sitting across from you on the couch, sizing you up from head to toe. He takes his time, before replying. “Open your legs for me.”
A blush covers your entire body, head to toe. You feel warm. Your skirt is already short, and he wants you to open your legs? Just to look? I mean it can’t be that bad right… ? It’s just a game, after all.
What you didn’t realize was how noticeable of a wet spot was forming on your panties, perfectly visible for Choso to see as you spread your legs open. Embarrassment floods your body as your cheeks flare, breaking eye contact.
He licks his lips as he watches you submit, looking satisfied, for the moment.
You move to close your legs and readjust yourself on the couch, but a firm grip on your thigh stops you. Choso clicks his tongue. “Sorry, not allowed. If I have to keep my shirt off, you have to keep yourself open, on display. It’s only fair.”
You nod, heat pooling in your abdomen and rushing to your already-soaked cunt. Choso watches as your panties hug your hips and hide what’s underneath. He can only imagine how good it must smell, taste, and feel.
“My turn,” you start, voice all but a squeak, nervousness filling every bone in your body. “Truth or dare, Cho?”
“Dare, of course,” he says, eyes meeting your gaze for all but a second before they stare at your cunt.
“Kiss me,” you dare him, your voice basically a command. And it was in that moment you had never seen Choso move so fast, like there was somewhere important he had to be, on top of you. He pushes you against the cushions of the sofa, tongue nipping and licking your lips, searching for a taste.
He does more than kiss you. He devours you. He grips your chin and angles your face so perfectly against his as his mouth makes contact. It starts out gentle, and quickly escalates into a feverish demand for access. His tongue pushes into your mouth, not even waiting for you to allow him in.
His tongue darts around your mouth, tasting every inch of you. He licks and prods your mouth, slipping his tongue past yours as he whimpers and moans into you.
His hand grazes your clothed cunt, and you whimper in his mouth in response. His teeth bite your lip, drawing blood as he licks it clean, all while his fingers rub the soft, wet cotton of your panties.
He’s breathless as he pushes against you, trying to fuck your mouth with his tongue. He wants to savor every taste of you, starting here. His lips crash against yours, tongues dancing with each other. A string of saliva is all that connects you two as he pulls away slightly, ready for his turn. He hovers above you, fingers caressing your cunt as he asks you: “Truth or dare, hm?”
Your heartbeat is deafening in your ears, blood pulsing and rushing to your head. “Truth,” you reply breathlessly.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, free hand caressing your cheek, trying to study every angle of your body.
Your voice is soft and breathless, all but a whisper. “No, fuck no.”
Choso’s eyes darken, and he smiles. “Good girl. Let’s take you to somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” He says, not asks, as he lifts you up and carries you to his room.
He lays you down gently as if you’re an object he doesn’t want to break. He’s gentle with you, treating you with the utmost care and delicacy befitting a goddess. Someone he worships, but also someone he owns. A porcelain doll only for his taking, only for his enjoyment, that only he can protect and preserve.
He lifts your skirt, and pulls your panties off, placing them neatly next to you on the bed. He dives face first into your cunt, inhaling the very scent of your essence as he moans against you.
“Fuck,” his muffled voice says. “You smell so good. So much better than usual.”
You ignore his weird wording as his tongue darts out, flicking your clit. “And so wet too, aren’t you?” He teases, drawing out a moan from you as he licks from your labia to your clit.
His tongue darts through your folds, searching for a taste of every part, as if he needs to memorize your flavor. His tongue pushes into your hole, searching for the deepest part it can reach. You moan as the sudden intrusive feeling of fullness takes over. His tongue fucks into you, lapping up and drinking every bit of juice he can find. None of it will go to waste.
“Choso, hah, fuck it feels so good,” you moan in that singsong voice of yours. How long Choso has waited, how much he has pined after this moment. Hearing you moan his name like that almost makes him cum in his pants, but he needs to hold on. He can’t cum just yet, despite his cock protesting otherwise.
His thick, rough hands grip your thighs, leaving imprints and bruises as reminders along your supple skin. Your cunt flutters around his tongue as you feel yourself getting closer and closer, orgasm building in your tummy.
“Choso, gonna cum, fuck!!” you cry out, as his tongue swirls and sucks your throbbing clit like its his favorite dessert in the whole world. Every lick, every suckle, every movement is a promise to be yours forever. Every moan that escapes from your mouth an oath to him, one of perverted devotion.
That knot snaps, and your insides melt around his tongue. You cum in his mouth, and he slurps every. single. drop. The taste divine and sanctimonious. This moment forever etched as a memory for Choso, sealing your fate even more.
He pulls away from you, and rubs his finger along his chin, trying to drink every scrap of you can he can. “So, so, so pretty. So perfect, aren’t you? You taste even better than I had hoped.” He smiles, pulling his sweatpants off and pushing himself atop of you.
He grabs a condom from the nightstand, expertly unfolding it in mere seconds, as if he’s practiced this very moment. He pushes your legs apart so far that they decorate you like earrings. He pushes his cock into you, practically crying out as he stuffs you full. “Fuck, it’s so tight,” he whimpers, in pure ecstasy as his cock throbs in your cunt.
He pushes into you, whining and whimpering as his cock pistons in and out. His voice is breathless as he pumps into you, cooing at you. “Such a good girl, hah, for me aren’t you?” His words spill out in between thrust. His hand reaches for your dirty panties, pulling them to his face and inhaling your lewd scent. He sniffs and licks the wet spot, evidence of your arousal to him. Proof that he’s doing the right thing, proof that you are made for him.
You whimper, clenching around him as the praise sends chills down your spine. Watching him devour your panties pushes you closer to that familiar feeling of euphoria. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long, you know.” He adds, pumping in tandem with his confession. “It’s been torture, ah, listening and watching you fuck everyone in the world but me.”
He pulls his cock out, and slams it back in, pushing into you so deep you see stars and can’t breathe. “I’m the one for you, I take care of you, I do everything for you.” He whimpers, fucking into you. “I deserve this, I deserve you. You need me. I need you.” He moans, slamming his cock into you, pushing you into the bed in a mating press. He fucks into you with possession and obsession, wanting to stuff you as deep as he can get.
His face is practically inches from yours as drools forms at your mouth, his cock fucking any coherent thoughts right out of your head. “Choso, fuck!!” You gasp, as his hand grazes your clit, circling and rubbing the sensitive bud.
“I’ve been waiting so patiently to fill you and stuff you so full. I know you need the right person to fill you up so perfectly. It’s like we were made for each other, you know?” He practically laughs, fucking into you. Delusion crowds his mind, fantasies playing in his head. He thrusts into you, warm breath caressing your cheek, as he watches you from above.
“Every cock you take after this will only serve as a reminder of what you’re missing out on. But from, ughh, from the looks of it, you’re never going to want another one.” He grins, taking in your fucked out look. Your eyes are glazed over as he fucks into you, nails scratching his back. He loves that you’re marking him, that you’re just as into it as he is. He wants evidence of you everywhere he can. He wants you to own and be owned.
“I’m gonna cum, baby. Fuck, you take me so well,” he whimpers, his climax nearing. His thumb vibrates your clit, bringing you along with him.
You both cum in tandem, your cunt squeezing his cock and only prolonging his orgasm. His cock throbs as it fills the condom full of his seed.
He kisses your lips, oh so gently, as he slides his cock out with a satisfying plop!
He cleans you up, and cuddles you after, giving you both a chance to catch your breath.
—
Weeks pass by like usual, the only difference that you don’t search for random men anymore. Whenever you’re cockhungry, Choso willingly satisfies that hunger and stuffs you so full you can’t think straight for days after. You’ve also gotten closer, to the point that you could be classified as dating. You enjoy every moment of it, your sweet Choso that would do anything for you.
Your period was supposed to start a few days ago, and you’re worried. You bring it up to Choso, yet he doesn’t seem to reciprocate that worry.
“Oh, that? I’ve been wondering when it would happen.”
“What do you mean?” You ask. “We always use condoms, how can I be pregnant?”
He turns and smiles you. “Oh, love. I forgot to tell you. I poked holes in some of them. Well, all of them, actually. Now we can start our own family,” he smiles, as he stands behind you, rubbing your tummy. “Now you’ll always have a reason to be home, with me.”