⁺ . ✦ pairing. streamer!choso x reader
⁺ . ✦ sum. Apparently being down bad and delusional for your favorite streamer, Choso, has finally paid off?????
⁺ . ✦ tags ── ♡ ˚⊹︰mdni (18+), breeding kink, switch!choso, switch!reader, pwp, choso has a crush on his favorite mod <3, eat me out (EMO), good boy choso, choso is romantic asf tbh, delusional/down bad reader, no use of y/n for reader
⁺ . ✦ wc. 8,189
⁺ . ✦ an. this took me way too long to design, and i'm honestly not fully happy with the fake stream site i made (photoshop render issues >:cccc) but w/e. it's been sitting in my drafts for a couple months (ao3 curse got me frfr) but alas, here is downbad!reader x streamer!choso! please tell me you like the graphics i spent way too long making them qq;; also how is this fic 18 PAGES LONG???
“Woah! Are we seriously at almost four thousand viewers?! That’s insane! I don’t think we’ve ever had this many viewers at once! Thank you everyone!!”
You smile at his words. Your fingers move deftly across the keyboard, all while you watch his every reaction. You’ve been watching his streams for a while now, spending lonely nights interacting with his chat, and occasionally getting a response from the man himself.
His late night streams became somewhat of a ritual for you, giving you a chance to talk with others while listening to his silly jokes and serious stories. If only there were a way to catch his attention…
A robotic voice reads your message aloud, notifying your favorite streamer, Chos.owo, of your donation: You deserve every bit of it ♡.
A look of shock crosses his face, as if he couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to send him half a band just because you watch him play games.
“$500? Are you insane? Thank you so much! Chat, do we think this amazing donor deserves to be mod?” He asks, hyping up your “charitable” donation.
Damn, that was expensive. You must have accidentally added another 0, because you did not actually mean to donate so much. That’s like, a quarter of your rent. Whatever, you think to yourself, now you get to be mod. That’s (hopefully) worth it?
You honestly thought his chat might disagree with him, but these are his fangirls you’re talking about. You included. You would do literally anything as long as it was his idea. So it comes as no surprise when his fans flood the chat, chanting your username and various synonyms of yes, all signaling their resounding consensus that you should, in fact, be his new mod.
“Looks like the people have spoken. Aaaaaaaand I just modded you. Welcome to the team,” he says, his voice purring.
Yeah, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe this could be fun.
Your fingers whizz across the keyboard, typing at lightning speed, trying to keep up with the momentum of the conversation. Thank you so much!!! Excited to help out <3 Now tell me what to do <3 please <3
He breaks character for a moment, face flushing at your words. “Uhhh, I’ll DM you ‘kay?... I’m not used to telling people what to do, it’s usually the other way around…” he says, shyness written across his features. As if realizing his mistake, he tries to change the topic by reading other comments.
Wow. It was this easy to break him? You’re definitely going to enjoy working with him.
Thank you <3 <3, you reply, keeping this little game alive. He doesn’t respond to your comment, but you know exactly when he reads it— his cheeks flare and you’re sure you can see a hint of a blush on the tips of his ears.
Later that night, you check your DMs, and sure enough there’s a message from Choso right at the top. You open the chat, but it’s not exactly what you expect. There are no rules or information about how to be a streamer’s mod. No expectations or duties or anything even mentioning him being a streamer.
His message is so short, so succinct yet so out-of-nowhere that you second guess this is the real account. Maybe a bot or fake account messaged you. Yeah, surely it would be, as there’s no way his first (and only) message to you, his new stream mod, would be exactly three words long.
You stare at the words on your screen. Three simple words. Three words that technically mean nothing, but actually mean everything to you. Your heart skips a beat. Then two. Then three. And soon you think you’re having a heart attack with the way his words make your chest flutter. You need to calm down. He probably just wants to explain things himself, not through a chat.
You feel hot. Insanely hot, actually, as if you might spontaneously combust. Is this how people catch fire for no reason? Surely it must be, as you feel your body heat to temperatures that definitely are not good for your health.
You press a key. And immediately delete the letter. Then silently curse at yourself for being stupid. Now he saw you typing! And worse than that: he saw you STOP typing. You actually think about blocking him for a split second, if only to save you from your own embarrassment.
You try to act nonchalant. There’s nothing weird about stopping typing, right? Surely you’re overreacting, right? Your fingers hesitate as they hover over the keyboard. You take a deep breath and type the only word that you think comes off the best.
You let out a deep breath and hit enter. What’s done is done.
And not even a second passes before he calls you. He definitely watched you stop typing, and you wish you could melt into your chair and never exist again.
You accept his call, and you’re instantly greeted by his fluffy hair and cute smile.
“Whaaaat? No video? Do you hate me or something?” He pouts.
“Sorry, my room is a mess… next time though for sure~” you say, teasing him. Your room was not a mess, actually. In fact, it was spotless— you were meticulous in the organization and decoration of your space. But it was the best excuse you had for not showing your face. There was no way in heaven nor hell that you would video call him.
His breath catches in his throat, all for but a moment, before he talks again. He would never admit it, but the sound of your voice alone was deeply alluring. It sounded like honey, like velvet, like silk enveloping his brain through his ears. It was fucking perfect. Divine, actually. Lewd and impure thoughts flashed across his mind, momentarily stunning him. He definitely wants to hear you say his name, or maybe even a pet name, he can’t decide. All he wants is to hear the voice that is sweetly addicting.
“You good?” you ask, watching as he is stunned into silence. “Cmon, I can’t sound that bad, right?” His reaction almost makes you want to dig your own grave six feet under, to spare him the trouble. He looks like a deer in headlights, paralyzed.
“Nonono, not that at all,” he says, clearing his throat. His words stumble out faster than you can keep track of. “No you sound great actually. Wait, is that weird to say? I’m sorry I’m being weird— who wants to hear their voice is great like that’s such a weird thing to say for real. I take it back—wait, no— then you’ll think I hate it… I don’t know.. Can we start over?”
You laugh, the sound reverberating and focusing in his headset. He swears the sound rumbles within him, like his body physically reacted to your laughter, and is left craving it.
“It’s okay, Cho. I know what you meant. And yeah, let’s start over. You already know me, I hope, and I know who you are, so what’s up?”
His body jolts, as if struck by your words. Cho. No one has ever given him a nickname like that before, and certainly not one that just sounds so… perfect. Even a simple nickname rolling off your tongue is enough for butterflies to flutter in his stomach and his cheeks to redden. This was going to be hard. Or he is. Or both, he supposes.
He forgot what he was going to say. Actually, there was nothing for him to say, for he had not thought of anything at all. His head was empty, the only thing floating around in that empty space were ideas of what you might look like, and how you might sound calling his name out while in his bed and what you might smell and taste like—
“Cho, you’re doing it again. Seriously, what’s going on?” you ask, your voice laced with concern. He was acting pretty weird right now, nothing like his usual flirty self.
He looks away from the camera, and clears his throat, trying to buy a few seconds before he has to respond. Never before has he felt like he was on the spotlight, with an audience of one. He’s streamed for thousands of people for countless hours at a time. He’s flirted with the audience, he’s laughed with them, he’s shared heartfelt stories and silly tales of his life with them, but never has he ever felt like he was on display. Never has he felt shy in front of the camera. And for the first time in his life, he’s anxious. Instead of cool and confident, he’s nervous. Just one simple word from your mouth has him burying his face in the sleeve of his sweater, wishing to hide for all of eternity.
“Yeah, hah… I’m good, sorry,” he says, willing his composure to come back. He just needs to say a few things and then he can go. He can be free of your torment and just go. And right now, the only thought on his mind is the tent pitched in his pants from hearing your sultry voice call him cute nicknames. He thinks you might have bewitched him, placed a curse or a hex on him or something with the way he feels powerless.
He clears his throat for probably the tenth time. He might need to see a doctor or something, at this point. “Um, I just wanna say thank you, for everything. I know you’ve been around from the start, and you were really kind with your donation, so just thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
You smile at his words, feeling a sense of accomplishment.
“Also, will you be going to StreamerCon this year? I’ll have a table there, and we could meet up!” He says, sheepishly, hiding his face a bit once again. God, he’s so fucking cute when he’s shy.
You weren’t sure if you could afford it, to be quite honest. It was on the other side of the country, which is already expensive. But the most expensive part was finding a hotel for five nights. What a long convention, honestly.
“Um, I don’t know if I can.. It’s a bit expensive, and I kind of sent a lot to you already... Maybe next—”
But he doesn’t let you finish that thought before he interrupts you. “I can pay for your tickets and travel stuff! Seriously! It’s no big deal at all!” The part he conveniently left out is how much he would be willing to spend if it meant he could actually meet you.
“Are you sure?” you ask. “That’s a lot of money, and I’d feel bad…”
“It’s fine, it’s fine! Money is no object with how much these brand deals are earning me. Not to mention, my favorite viewer’s little donation~” he coos. “Think of it as reimbursement for helping me out, okay? You can help me wrangle all the crazy fangirls, haha.”
You laugh again. God does he want to hear more of that. He’d do anything if it meant pleasing you. “Alright, Cho, I guess I can go. Thank you, by the way.”
“Don’t worry about it! Okay bye-bye!,” he says, rushing to hang up so that he may relieve himself.
You stare at the black screen, and smile to yourself.
Months pass by, and your late-night conversations and calls become a new daily ritual. Before you both realize it, it’s the day before the convention. You shoot Choso a message, informing him that you just got off the plane. You knew Choso would pay for your accommodations and travel, but you weren’t expecting fucking business class seats for a four hour flight.
You thought that might be the end of his shenanigans, but you’re greeted with your name on a sign held by what appears to be a personal chauffeur. Damn, he really went all out with this. You feel a bit spoiled, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. You’d enjoy it as long as it lasts.
Choso instantly texts back, asking if you’d found the driver yet. He’s relieved to hear that you’re already being escorted to your private vehicle.
Choso: So, how was the flight? Hopefully to your liking, madame?
You: Hmm… coulda been better, tbh. I was expecting a private jet for my travels… don’t wanna be stuck with these peasants, yknow?
Choso: Damn, why didn’t I think of that? Noted. Return flight must be private. Anything for you, mistress 😩🙏
Choso: What? :3 I didn’t say anything.
And like the sneaky bastard he is, he edits that part of his sentence out, like it was never there to begin with. But you know it was there. And he knows that you know too.
You: Getting in the car rn, I’ll text you when we’re there, wherever “there” is???
You: y’know “hehe” is more of a sound, not an actual word you type, right? It’s important to me that you know this
The driver closes the door behind you, and you relax in the plush leather of the seats. The tinted windows provide some privacy, and better yet, cuts down on the harsh sunlight beating down outside. The sunny skies of California were fucking brutal, even if the climate is relatively temperate.
The drive to the hotel was relatively smooth, earning no comments or notes from you. Your driver definitely knew what he was doing. He parked the car, and opened the door for you. You grabbed his hand as you stepped out, and were immediately blinded by the bright sky and the beautiful scenery in front of you.
This wasn’t a hotel, this was some sort of fucking resort. The driver lifted your bags from the trunk, and you immediately moved to pick them up. But a young man in a bellhop uniform rushed over, practically swatting your hands away from the bags. “Miss, please, may I take care of these for you?” He asks, except it wasn’t really a question, as his white gloved hands swiftly pick up your belongings. The young man looked energetic, yet tired with the bags under his eyes. You looked for his name tag, searching for his name.
“Thank you, Mr. Yuta,” you say, smiling as you thanked him. He looked back at you, eyes wide, as he took in your angelic voice and ethereal smile.
“You’re very welcome, miss. Please, follow me,” he turns and walks away, leading you to the reception area. He leads you to a lounge area, and motions for you to take a seat. You follow, and sink into the soft leather of the seat.
He keeps your belongings, and speaks to a woman behind the front desk. She walks over, and offers you a glass of champagne as you wait. “May I have your reservation number,” she asks, in a sweet yet calming voice.
You pick up the glass and set it on the table beside you. You tap the screen of your phone, and bring up a screenshot of your reservation number. She jots the information down, and excuses herself for a moment while she confirms a few things.
You send Choso a message, letting him know that you’re currently waiting for your room.
Choso: how is it? Do you approve of the hotel?
You: well, I haven’t seen the room yet, so I can’t give a definitive answer… but yes. they even gave me free champagne.
You: what kind of place is this fr???
Choso: a magician never reveals a secrets.
Choso: I will not reveal how much this is.
You: back with the hehe again, are we? -_-
Choso: I’m just a boy, okay? I’m just excited ><
You: me too :) we get to meet tomorrow!!
Choso: tomorrow feels like an eternity now…
Choso: nope :D impatient choso arc!
You’re about to text back, but the woman from earlier approaches you instead. “Miss, it seems your room has been upgraded to the penthouse suite. Please follow me.”
You stand up, and walk behind her, shocked that he would get you the nicest room available and the most expensive resort he could find. This will definitely be a good vacation. It’s exactly what you needed after all the bullshit you put up with at work.
You’re sure your jaw is physically, actually touching the floor right now. The double doors to your suite lead to the most spacious hotel room you’ve ever had the luxury of stepping foot in. The room has a second floor with an intricate marble staircase spiraling away towards the top. This hotel room is bigger than your fucking apartment.
It has multiple rooms, an entertainment and lounge area, and even a private spa room. Your room attendant informs you that everything is complimentary, and all services are included in your room package. You have to pick up your jaw which has surely hit the lobby by now, with how shocked you are.
You thank her, and she leaves, closing the door behind her.
You don’t bother texting Choso, as you hit the call button instead.
It doesn’t even ring once before he answers it.
“Heyyy how’s my favorite little viewer? Enjoying the room yet?”
“Choso, this is fucking ridiculous. This hotel room is bigger than my apartment! There’s a second floor to it too?????? And it has a fucking spa room???? What the hell!”
“Mmmm, so you do like it?” he purrs. “I’m glad.”
“It’s awesome, but it’s seriously overkill. This is too much, Cho. I can’t ever pay you back for all this.” You let out a huff of air, signaling your disapproval.
“Good thing I wasn’t expecting you to, huh? I told you I’d take care of you, since you’ve been helping out with the streams and just being a good friend. Just accept the good shit, not everything has to be transactional.”
He’s right. You need to learn that not everything that is good comes with strings attached. Sure, you’ve been burned in the past because of said strings, but this was surely different. You just know it.
“Also, I have a delivery coming up to your room. I just got a bunch of stuff that sounded good. I’m sorry I’m not there to try it with you,” he says, and you can hear the little sad pout in his voice. “Next time, for sure though.”
Your chest tightens. He really is taking care of you. You must mean a lot to him, even though you’re not sure to what extent. But even so, you really should just accept it. It’s not everyday that you get to meet your favorite streamer, much less have your room, travel, and food be paid for by him. You weren’t one to question generosity, that’s for sure.
“Thank you, Cho,” you say, smiling at him even though he couldn’t see you. Even now, with how close you’ve gotten, you still feel shy. Showing your face to your favorite online creator has to be on the top 3 humiliating experiences. There’s something deeply intimate about it all, no longer are you a faceless viewer, someone who consumes him without revealing yourself. Now you’re someone tangible, someone who is a part of his life, someone that actually knows him deeper than just the online persona. And because of that, you feel even more shy. Like your face is the only secret you can hold onto.
You hear a knock at the door. “Food just got here, I’ll let you know how it is!” You exchange pleasantries, and wish him a goodnight as you end the call and dig in. Whatever he ordered for you, it was delicious.
You wake up early, and shower, wanting to be as presentable as possible. Your stomach churns with every step you take, with every action you make, as you get ready to meet your online crush. You feel almost like a fool, like you’re trying too hard to impress him, almost like that might make the embarrassment sting less, except the harder you try, the more you blush.
It’s a while before you deem yourself “good enough”. Your hair was perfectly blown out, as if a stylist did it for you. Your makeup was exactly how you liked it, and you swore you never looked better as you stepped outside of your room and into the elevator.
You’re greeted by the same driver from yesterday, as he leads you to the car once more. No words are exchanged, and you’re grateful for it, as the only thing on your mind is the churning sensation in your stomach and the intense feeling of anxiety permeating your bones.
You arrive a bit early, and make your way to the area where he said his table was at. There’s already a long line. Part of you feels like you should skip the line, after all, you were a part of his team now. But that wouldn’t be fair to everyone else. And you were just one of these anonymous fangirls at one point too, so who were you to skip past them like you’re better?
The line slowly moves, and eventually you’re at the front. Choso doesn’t realize it’s you at first, and treats you like every other fan.
“Would you like an autograph?” he asks, smiling at you.
“Yeah, and can you make it out to ‘your #1 superfan, please?” You bat your eyelashes playfully, looking over at him. And that’s when it hits him.
“You could’ve just come to the front, you know. You didn’t have to wait.”
“I know, but then you would have known it was me from the start. I liked the look on your face when you realized it’s me.”
His cheeks flush at your statement. “Yeah, well, here’s your creator badge or whatever.”
“What? Are you serious?” you ask, surprised.
“Uhh. Yeah? I did say you’d help me out at the convention, right? Just get behind this table and help me sort through the prints I have to sign.” You didn’t need to be told twice as you slipped behind the table, and took a seat on a chair he conveniently left out for you.
You were practically shoulder to shoulder with him. You swore you could smell the cologne he had on, a mix of musk and mahogany. You took a deep breath, savoring his presence. You could feel the heat radiating off of his skin, warming you, as your legs touched each other.
You looked away, towards the crowd and the line of fans waiting to meet with him. They all stared daggers into your very soul. If looks could kill, you would have been dead a million times over.
For a while, you could ignore the snide remarks and side eyes thrown your way. You were in a privileged position, one that many envied. But you couldn’t handle the heat, literally and figuratively. Sitting so close to him was actual torture, and it didn’t help that every so often his thigh would graze yours, sending electricity through your veins, igniting your very soul on fire with such a simple, innocent touch that he probably didn’t even notice.
But he did. He noticed every sensation of your soft skin against his, and it had him practically begging to leave the convention with you trailing behind for a different location that was better suited for his ideas. Ideas and plans that he definitely could not share with you right now.
You felt hot all over. It felt like a tide turning in your stomach, threatening to spill at a moment’s notice. It was becoming too much. You couldn’t handle being next to him. He just did something to you. And it wasn’t helping that every girl who stepped up to the table glared at you the entire time, upset at your mere presence. Even when Choso tried to explain the situation, they still stared daggers into you, as if trying to murder you with their mind for a chance at sitting there.
You stood up, practically shifting the table aside, as you rushed out. You had to get away, anywhere but here. You felt your world spinning, like you might throw up and pass out at the same time. You hurried your way out, searching for a secluded spot that might just let you catch your breath, that might let you just exist without murder wishes.
You sat on the ground, your head lying against the glass window of the wall. You looked out to the streets below, at the hustle and bustle of the busy city. How you wish you could just escape and never come back.
You tried to get your breathing under control, to no avail. Your anxiety was through the roof. It was so high it might actually reach heaven, and maybe someone up there could rescue you and save you from the horrifying embarrassment of it all.
Rushed steps echoed in the hall behind you, before stopping right next to you. You look over, and to your surprise, see Choso carrying a cold bottle of water and fan, for you.
He kneels beside you, handing you the items, and watching you with a worried look. “Are you okay?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.
“Not really…” you respond, your voice soft and frail. “I feel sick, like anxious and sick.”
“What happened?” he asks, concern written all over his beautiful features. You hate the way he looks at you, like you’re something to worry about. And you hate even more how good it feels, knowing you’re taken care of by him.
“Why are you here? What about your fans?” You ask, trying to change the subject.
“They can wait. Right now I have other priorities. So tell me, what happened?” He sits next to you, not even an inch away.
“It was just too much… it’s already hot in there… and I’m sitting next to you, oh my god— I can’t handle it, and all of your fans are giving me death glares. It’s just too much right now.” You say, clicking the mini fan on to blow much needed cool air.
“You should’ve said something, then. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner…” his voice trails off as he sheepishly looks to the floor. “Do you wanna go somewhere else?”
“Like where? And don’t you need to stay?” You ask, worried that he might get in trouble. It’s the first day of the convention, it’s best he doesn’t miss it.
“I don’t care.” He opens the bottle of water for you and hands it over, urging you to drink. “Drink some of this, please. You’ll feel better.”
He’s right. The water is cool against your skin, and you lift it, drinking it like a madwoman who was lost in the desert.
“Do you wanna go get some milk tea?” He asks, that usual smirk of his on display after he makes sure you’re okay.
“That sounds like a great idea.” He stands up beside you, and stretches his hand out towards you. You grab his hand, and he pulls you to your feet. But he doesn’t let go. No, he will use this opportunity to hold your hand to the fullest.
The tea shop is calm, soft jazz plays on a speaker as brewed tea wafts through the air. You sink into the plush cushions of the chair, thoroughly enjoying the change of scenery compared to the convention center.
Across the round table is Choso, who sips at an iced matcha latte as he fiddles on his phone. He’s thoroughly engrossed in whatever has commanded his (short) attention span, and you take this chance to look at him— to really look at him.
You’ve seen him through a screen countless times, but never this close and personal. You appreciate his classic buns atop his head, full of fluffy brownness. You think it’s soft, and a deep part of you yearns to rustle your fingers through the soft locks.
You take a sip of your tea, trying to distract yourself from your thoughts. But they only revolve around you, dizzying you. You couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, your thoughts fuzzy and muddled with images of him.
Your eyes wander over to him once more, taking in the sharp contrast of the black arrow tattoo on his face and his soft, pale skin. His eyes flit around as he stares at his screen, and the reflection of the light illuminates the sharp brown crystals of the irises of his eyes.
You didn’t realize you had sucked every last drop of your tea through the straw and were making an annoying slurping sound until Choso’s eyes locked with yours. It felt like a jolt of lighting struck you with the way his eyes pierced right through you, like he saw all of you.
“You good?” He asks, smiling as he caught you red-handed.
“Oh. Totally. It was so good I just had to get every last drop, y’know? Can’t waste even a teeny bit.” Yeah, that’s convincing enough, right? Surely he won’t realize you were totally ogling him.
“Uh huh… sure. Anyways, there’s a beautiful garden nearby. Wanna check it out?” He sets his phone down, his full attention placed back on you once more. He takes a sip of drink, and your eyes flick to his mouth, then to his jawline, and finally to his throat, watching as he swallows.
Never before in your life had you wished to be a matcha latte, but here we are. First time for everything, you suppose.
“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. But are you sure it’s okay that you’re missing the convention? I feel bad… that was the whole point of me coming out here.” You look away, suddenly insecure about yourself. You wished you could melt away. Maybe he’d drink you up next.
“It’s fine, really. This is way better anyways,” he smirks. “I’d rather go on a date with my number one fan than sit at a table meeting literally anyone else.” His eyes rest on your form, taking in the way you shift around your seat, embarrassed.
“You wouldn’t be here without me, of course. ‘Number one fan’ has deep implications, honestly,” you tease, trying to regain your footing in the conversation.
“You’re right, whatever would I have done with my most loyal follower? I’d surely wither away and die!” He says, feigning death. He hides his face with an arm for added effect, before peeking one eye out to look at you, playing with you.
“Yeah, remember your place, peasant. You need me, of course,” you say, laughing as you move to get up. “Cmon, let’s go before it gets dark.”
He stands up across from you, and takes one last gulp of his matcha. He doesn’t ask or gesture for you to grab his hand this time, instead opting to grab you and drag you himself.
The gardens were captivating to say the least. Wisteria trees swayed in the light breeze, adding a twinge of romance to the air. The sound of leaves rustling in the wind just itched your brain the right way, and it didn’t help that the view was absolutely breathtaking. Purple flowers in various stages of blooming swayed, mesmerizing you.
Choso walked beside you, fingers interlaced with yours. To any passersby, you would look like a couple enjoying an evening in the garden. But surely he didn’t think of it like that? Although he did joke about this being a date…
You shook your head. No. Surely this is platonic. But at this point, you were starting to doubt that. Perhaps this was all an intricate plan of his design to court you.
Well, if it is, damn is it working.
You stopped at a clearing, and sat on a bench beneath a tree. No words were exchanged, you both just took in the peaceful serenity for what it is, no need to fill the air or displace the peace with words.
He sat to your left on the other end of the bench, albeit it was a small one. His hand creeped along the stone, inching towards yours. Even though he’d grabbed your hands multiple times throughout the day already, this felt oddly intimate.
His finger hesitated just shy of yours. His heart pounded in his chest, the deafening sound of blood rushing in his ears blocking out all of reality. He watched you as you took in the beauty of it all. He watched as peace settled over your soul, realizing he doesn’t want to disturb it for even a moment.
It was starting to get dark now, at that awkward transition from evening to night. Fireworks were going off in the sky, probably for some festival or celebration, but your eyes were locked on it.
He watches as you were bedazzled and captivated by the explosive decorations in the sky. He watches as the colors bounced off your eyes and shimmered against the darkness.
“Hey,” he says, pulling your attention from the fireworks show. But he doesn’t follow up with whatever he was about to say, as his hand grabs your cheek and he leans in, closing the gap between you with a soft kiss.
A soft gasp escapes your lips, before you melt under his touch. You didn’t realize how bad you wanted this, but damn him for choosing the most romantic moment to execute it. He was really fucking good at this.
It started with a soft peck, then evolved into something more tender, more reflective of the yearning in his heart. He kissed you as if you might shatter beneath his touch, like you were the most delicate thing to ever exist. Like one wrong move would shatter you.
But that tenderness was soon replaced with something deeper, something more carnal. His hand along your cheek slipped down your body, down your chest, down towards something more intimate. You could feel the hunger in him, could feel the animal held at bay.
“Can we continue this somewhere more… private?” He asks, his mouth against your ear, whispering into you. Every syllable sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, igniting every nerve.
Your words have escaped you. Suddenly, you don’t know how to speak. All you can muster is a feeble nod of your head, but that’s enough. He pulls you along once more, and you realize this is a sort of bad habit from him, but one that you’re entirely okay with.
You thought he might take you back to your hotel room, but conveniently, he lives only a short drive away, in the nicer side of the city.
You follow him up the steps, where he greets you with an open door. His house is nothing crazy, but it was simple enough. For a man, the level of decoration was good. But for your standards, it could do with a little more color and whimsy. But why are you already planning remodeling and redecorating as if you live here?
You’re not even fully through the front door before his hands are on you again, this time not holding back. He leans down, planting kisses along your forehead, your cheek, and your lips. He nips at your lip, and tugs at it with his teeth, eliciting a sharp hiss from you from the pain. It’s quickly replaced with the enticing taste of his lips, which tastes sweet, like he’s made of candy.
His tongue prods at the entrance of your mouth, as if unsure of himself. You open wider, obliging him. He pokes around, fully engrossed in all that is you. Without realizing it, he pushes you against the wall, tilting your chin up for easier access.
Your tongues dance and twirl around each other in an intimate dance of passion. You suck his tongue, and he sucks on yours back, as if mimicking you. His soft hands caress the skin of your neck, before searching for the hem of your shirt.
You two stumble into his room, barely clothed by the time you make it to his bed, never once breaking contact. He pushes you onto the soft mattress, before climbing atop, fully encircling you.
It’s only now that you see the intricate lines of his tattoos, the way they dip and weave along his skin, as if a part of him. You trace your fingers along the lines of his biceps, across his shoulder, and his chest. The tattoos converge at various points, all flowing together, adorning his soft skin.
The softness of your touch leaves trails of fire along his skin, and it only drives him more insane. He wants to feel you scratch his skin and dig your nails into him in pleasure.
He breaks your kiss, the only evidence of it ever happening are the puffiness of your lips and the trail of spit connecting you two.
“You look so fucking beautiful,” he says, peering down at you with lovestruck eyes. “So fucking perfect,” he mumbles.
You blush under him at the heartfelt and intimate compliment. He doesn’t give you time to savor it though, as his head dips down, searching for a nipple to suck. He finds one, and flicks his tongue around it, forcing a whimper from your mouth.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized countless times about how you must sound. And all of it was right here, only display, all for him. He tugged on the sensitive bud, before releasing it with a sharp, wet plop!
He crawls along your frame, kissing and licking along your skin on his way down.
He nestled his way between your thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it was the place he was destined to be, like he was made for it.
Choso dives in, like a man starved for weeks on end, like it will be his last meal and he needs to savor every fucking bit of it. And savor this, he will, as his tongue slips between your lips, searching for that one place that will make you melt beneath him.
He flicks his tongue once, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Then another. And another, before he’s licking and sucking and flicking every pattern he can think of onto your sensitive clit. Every movement only pulls that thread inside of you tighter and tighter and fucking tighter.
“Tastes… so… fucking... good,” he says, words muffled by the wetness of your cunt. He doesn’t stop for even a second to tell you his thoughts, lost in the pleasure that is devouring and consuming you. What a greedy boy.
Every flick of his soft, wet tongue only coaxes you closer to that edge. It sends you hurdling toward ecstasy, tumbling down that familiar abyss of pleasure. Your hand grabs at his head, pushing him into your cunt, as you feel yourself catapulted across euphoria. You grip his hair, tugging at it as you sink into pure bliss. This might very well be the rapture, and you very well might have died, but you don’t fucking care. Every millisecond is pure exhilaration. Every flick of his tongue riding your climax alongside you is intoxicating, drugging you to the point you might be addicted to the way he devours you.
Did you die? You think you did. This must be heaven, you think to yourself. You’d be happy if you died with his tongue buried in your cunt. What a great way to depart from this world.
After what feels like an eternity of pure, unadulterated heaven, he pulls away from you, slowly. Your wet juices cost his mouth and chin, dripping off of it, creating an obscene site to behold. Choso’s cheeks are flushed, sweat is collecting at his skin, his soft, brown hair is tousled, and he’s breathing heavily. He doesn’t take his eyes away from your used sex, unable to think about anything except what just happened and what is before him.
He smiles, collects a glob of your juices, and sucks on his thumb, making sure not to waste any of your wetness. He thinks this might be ambrosia, the nectar of the gods with the way you taste. You taste divine, and he would be content only eating you out for the rest of eternity.
His brown eyes look up at you from his place between your legs. He smiles, and doesn’t even know where to begin when he says, “That was fucking amazing. You taste so fucking good.”
It’s his words that make you blush— being praised for something so intimate makes you want to hide inside yourself. But you can’t, and you don’t. You run your fingers through his hair, softly smiling at him. “You’re so good at it, like you were made for it,” you say. It was all his word that made it feel so good, he deserved to know.
Your words were like a switch that flipped in his head. One that often flips back and forth, unable to pick a set position. Your praise did something for him, it stirred something deep inside. Something he didn’t realize was there.
He pulls away from you, trailing kisses along your hips and abdomen, before crawling back up to kiss along your jaw. “You’re so perfect,” he whispers, hot breath tickling your ear and sending shivers through your body like jolts of electricity.
He gets up, and pulls his clothes off, practically ripping them to threads in anticipation. He lines himself up with your entrance, pulling your legs against his chest. And like the good boy he is, he still asks you for permission, despite it all. “Can I?” He asks, referencing the obvious need between his legs.
“Yes. Please, yes.” If there was anything you were ever so sure of in life, it would be how bad you fucking wanted him. No, that’s not right. You needed to feel him stuff you so full you might burst. You needed to feel him as he finishes inside, making a mess of you.
He leans closer as he pushes himself in, slowly— to the point it’s almost agonizing. You appreciate the fact that he’s making sure you’re well adjusted to his size, but he can fuck right off with that. You wrap your legs around his back, and squeeze, pulling him close enough to bury himself inside. He whines at your sudden movement, and it’s like heaven to your ears.
“Fuck!” He says, voice cracking and adding that cute little charm. You smile devilishly as you lock eyes with him.
“Cho~” you purr, capturing his full attention. “You don’t need to be gentle with me like that. I want you to show me how bad you want this— want me, okay?”
And just like that, with your blessing and permission, he fucks the life out of you. He doesn’t miss a beat before pulling himself almost all the way out, then slamming it back inside. He hums with every stroke, as if satisfied with the way he ruts into you. Every move of his hips sends shockwaves through your body. Every thrust of his thick cock only stretches you open more, filling you in all the right ways.
Moans drop from your lips like liquid gold, and Choso cannot stand it one bit. He has half a mind to just pull out and eat you again, just so he can hear your delicious whimpers and moans without any distractions. But he resists that urge— he has far more important things to do, like fucking you silly and filling you up with his cum.
His hand skirts along your waist, reaching for yours, before locking fingers with your hand. Such a simple act is oddly intimate and insanely comforting. With just one squeeze of his hand, you’ve gone from brutally fucking to making love, and Choso wouldn’t have it any other way.
He doesn’t want to feel like he’s just taking from you, especially when you’ve already done so much for him. The least he can do is love you and your body the way it deserves to be loved. And with that, he pushes into you deeper than before to the point you think you might rip apart. But you don’t. The only sensation is the feeling of fullness, which only pushes you further and further towards your demise.
He grunts as he pushes in, then whines as he pulls out, creating a viciously lewd cycle. Sounds of wetness and skin slapping skin fills the air, accompanied by various low-breath curses and moans from the both of you.
“F-uuck, you feel so fucking good~” he pants against you, his body slick with sweat. You watch as the light hits the smooth ridges of his muscles in just the right way, reflecting the essence of perversion. His hand finds yours, grasping onto it for dear life as he fucks you mercilessly, relentlessly, like it’s the one thing he was put on this Earth to do. And it is.
He kisses your wrist before locking fingers once again. Of course he’d do some romantic shit like that.
You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer as he whimpers in response. Soft curses, pants, whimpers, and moans fall from his soft lips, like music to your ears. His voice is needy as he pushes into you, finding a comfortable rhythm.
“You’re doing so good, Cho~ So good for me,” you say, filling his head with little praises, little affirmations that only serve to push him further. Who knew being praised would feel so. Fucking.
He never takes his eyes off of you, watching every reaction as he stuffs you so full it completes you. His free hand trails down your body, before resting between your legs, searching for the one place that will make you feel good. His soft, slender finger flicks around your clit, sending shockwaves through your body.
The slick wetness provides little resistance as his finger expertly slides along the small bundle of nerves, eliciting mewls from you. He wishes he could stay like this forever, a cycle of unadulterated ecstasy flowing between you two. His finger works in tandem, pulling you along with him until you’re teetering on the edge of oblivion.
“You’re so—“ he starts, his little breathy, whiney moans breaking apart his train of thought. “So fucking, ah— tight,” he hisses, feeling you clench around him, squeezing him so tight it might literally drain the life out of him. “S’fucking perfect.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel yourself tumbling across that faint line. “Choso!!” You whine. “Gonna cum, fuck, please don’t fucking stop!”
He doesn’t need to be told twice as his fingers circle your clit, drawing your orgasm near, pushing you over until the pinnacle of euphoria takes over your body. Choso watches as you writhe beneath him, clenching your body and legs so tight he can barely move.
Watching you unravel because of him kicks him over the edge. Before he realizes it, he’s panting and shuddering as his cock shoots cum inside of you to the point it leaks out, a lewd sight to behold.
He whines as his hips thrust into you, erratically as he pushes deeper inside, filling you out completely. His hand pushes gently on your abdomen, appreciating the feeling of his thick cock pressing back.
His eyes take across your body, taking in every inch of your fucked-out form. He leans down, pressing his body against yours, as he plants kisses along your neck and jaw, eventually resting against your lips.
His tongue pushes into your mouth, tasting you, committing to memory the sweet flavor of you. His hand clenches yours, tighter now as he deepens the kiss, wishing he could devour every bit of you. He moans against you, thinking— no, believing he just might be addicted to all that is you. Your very essence enthralls him.
He pulls away, and only a string of spit connects you two. His cock was the plug that kept you full, and now that he’s pulled out of you, evidence of his love spills everywhere. He doesn’t care. The lasciviousness of the sight is enough to excite him again, though he thinks he might shoot blanks if it were to come to that. Still, though. He can’t get enough of you.
He leaves briefly, before returning with a towel to clean you up with. “Wanna shower together?” He asks, a blush creeping across his face despite the intimate act you shared just moments ago.
“Only if you wash me~” you reply, teasing him gently. He looks away, trying to hide his face with his hand.
Goddamn, he will be the death of me.
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⁺ . ✦ notifs. @vvxxccaa @luckyrunnybunny (i need u to see how down bad i am for choso)
