Throughout the years, you had left him behind.


He remembered every moment of itā€”the way you didnā€™t answer his calls, the way you wouldnā€™t look at him in court, the way you refused to hear him when he begged. You had peeled his arms off of you, pried his fingers from the life he wanted to build, and walked away. But he couldnā€™t walk away. Not from you. Never from you.


Even when iron bars closed around him, even when chains clinked against his wrists, he clung to you in his mind. Your voice, your laugh, the way your hand once lingered in his hair. It was all he had.


And when the chance came, when cracks in the prison walls whispered of escape, he took it. He ran into the shadows of the world, faceless, nameless. Hiding. Living like an animal, feeding on scraps, sheltering in corners where no one would think to look. The years blurred, but his gaze never left you.


He watched you from a distance. Always. The outline of your figure through lit windows, the sound of your laughter carrying down streets, the rhythm of your life continuing without him. He told himself it was enough. That waiting was enough. That when the time was right, heā€™d step back into your life gently. Carefully. He didnā€™t want to scare you. He didnā€™t want to lose you again.


But thenā€”he saw it.


You moving on.


With someone else.


Another man at your side, brushing your hair from your face, making you laugh, holding your hand. Another man living the life that should have been his. Another man in the place that was meant for him. He told himself it was temporary, that you didnā€™t mean it, that your heart still belonged to him. But every smile, every kiss, every shared moment you gave away to that man carved deeper into him.


How could you?


How could you let this happen?


He tried to endure it, tried to stay quiet in the shadows. But each time he saw you together, the weight pressed harder against his chest until he couldnā€™t breathe. Until the thought of losing you forever burned hotter than anything else.


And then, one morning, when Gojo left for work, something inside him snapped.


He didnā€™t plan it. He didnā€™t even remember raising the weapon, didnā€™t remember the sound that echoed when it was over. He only remembered the stillness afterā€”the way Gojoā€™s body hit the ground, the silence that followed, and the horror that crashed down on him.


He hadnā€™t meant to. He didnā€™t even understand what he had done until he stared at the limp figure, until blood seeped into the ground and stained his hands. Panic clawed through him. You would never forgive him. Not for this. Not again.


But then another thought cameā€”sharp, terrible, insistent.


If Gojo was gone, if Gojo was erased, then there was no one standing between you anymore.


The next hours blurred in madness. Dragging the body, hiding it away, staring down at the pale face of the man who had taken everything. His mind spun through the same thought over and over: he couldnā€™t let you find out. He couldnā€™t let you leave again. He had to be close to you. Close enough to breathe you in, to hold you, to have you.


So he did what desperation demanded.


The work was messy, unbearable, grotesque. Skin peeled under trembling hands, bones shifting as he forced himself into a shape that wasnā€™t his. He tore, he stretched, he pulled until his own reflection vanished, until the face in the mirror was not Choso but Gojo.


Not perfect. Never perfect. But enough.


Clothes would cover the rest.


And those eyesā€”those impossibly blue eyesā€”he could hide them. He took gojo's wallet, spent the money, bought lenses, masked himself in layers of perfume to drown out the stench of rotting flesh that clung to him. It meant keeping distance sometimes, meant denying the urge to cling to you, to drown in your warmth the way he used to. Every inch apart from you felt like fire against his skin, but he endured it. Because now you were his again.


He could sit across from you at dinner. He could wake beside you in bed. He could kiss your forehead goodnight and feel your body relax against his. He could pretend, even if it meant locking his true self behind a mask of skin and lies.


It was enough.


It had to be enough.


So thenā€¦ how had it turned out like this?


How had the mask slipped?


Why had you seen himā€”really seen himā€”when all he ever wanted was to keep you close, to love you, to never let you go?

---

Well, He didn't really mean to knock you out.. but he couldn't saw you running like that even when he was trying to explain. and now here he is.. on top of your limp form.. dry humping against your squeachy pussy.


ā€œAh..y/n..ngh.." Choso grunts softly as he grinds his clothed erection against your vulnerable, exposed sex. The rough fabric of his jeans rubs harshly against your sensitive pussy lips, sending unwanted sparks of painful sensation through your body. Your mind remains foggy, but you can feel every movement, every touch as vividly as before.


One large, calloused hand reaches up to grope your breast roughly, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. Your nipple hardens against his touch, betraying your body's instinctive reaction, even as your subconscious mind screams in protest.


His other hand slides down your belly, fingers toying with the coarse hair at the apex of your thighs. He chuckles darkly as he feels your dampness, mistaking it for desire. ā€œHuff..you-.. you want this, don't you.. just like I do?" he mutters, voice dripping with smug desperation and self-importance.


You try to shake your head, to tell him no, but your body remains limp and unresponsive. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you feel him fiddling with his belt buckle, the sound of it clinking against the floor echoing obscenely in the silent room.


He lowers his head to your neck, his hot mouth latching onto your pulse point. He sucks hard, his teeth scraping against your skin as he marks you as his own. You can feel his cock throbbing against your entrance, a constant reminder of his desire, his hunger.


Choso's hand slides between your bodies, his fingers finding your slick folds. He circles your clit with the rough pad of his thumb, the pleasure-pain making you whimper and buck beneath him. "Sooo wet for me alreadyā€¦" he groans in approval, slipping a finger inside your tight channel to gather more of your arousal. ā€œYourā€¦ your body knows what it needs, even if your mind resists."


He brings his finger to his mouth, licking your essence from his skin with a moan of satisfaction. "Delicious. Just like you, y/n. Sweet and tangy and all mine..."


Suddenly, he flips up the flap of his jeans, and you feel the heat of his bare cock pressing urgently against your entrance. He's hard and thick, the flared head slick with precum. You shudder involuntarily as he grinds himself against you, coating your folds with his arousal.


His hand returns to your hip, his grip bruising as he starts to push forward, the thick head of his cock stretching you open. You can feel every ridge and vein as he sinks into your silken heat, your walls clenching around him like a vise.


"Fuck, y/n," Choso groans, his eyes rolling back in his head as he buries himself to the hilt. "So tightā€¦ So perfect. Like.. like you were made for me!"


He starts to move then, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace that rocks your entire body. His hips slap against yours, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room along with your cries of pain and pleasure.


Choso leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim every inch of you. He swallows your moans, drinking them down like a man starved as he continues to pound into you, driving you higher and higher towards the peak of ecstasy.


But suddenly his breaths were ragged and uneven. His tears spilled hot against his torn cheeks, sliding down to drip onto your skin.


ā€œiā€¦I am finally.. in- inside youā€¦ā€ His voice broke, his chest heaving as he cupped your face with bloodstained hands. ā€œI didnā€™t meanā€” to scare you baby, pleaseā€”donā€™t leave me againā€¦ā€


You were limp beneath him, head tilted, lashes damp with tears, your lips parted slightly as though caught mid-breath. His pulse raced out of control, thundering in his ears, his heart clawing against his ribs like it might rip itself apart.


He bent lower, pressing his forehead to yours, his tears mixing with the sweat on your skin. His fingers traced your cheek, your jaw, your lipsā€”caressing, memorizing, clinging.


ā€œHowā€¦ how can I be closer to you, y/n?ā€ His words came in broken whispers, trembling with hysteria. ā€œI want to be stuckā€¦ with youā€¦ always. Even ifā€”ā€ His breath hitched, his nails dragging gently over your skin, reverent and unhinged all at once.


ā€œEven if itā€™s in your skinā€¦ā€


His sobs choked the air, his body curling over yours like a shield, a cage, a man possessed.


And still, he clung. he thrusts.


Because in his mind, there had never been any other choice.


Only you.


Always you.