🐦‍⬛

"You're fucking kidding me." You stare at the text message. Three sentences that might as well be a bomb dropped in the middle of your living room.

Hey, sorry for the short notice, but I’m moving in with my boyfriend at the end of the week.

I know rent’s due soon, but I kinda already spent my half on the security deposit for our new place.

Good luck finding someone else!

shit

Rent is due in nine days, and your bank account isn’t exactly overflowing.

You’ve never lived alone before. Couldn’t afford it even if you wanted to. And the thought of scrambling to find a new roommate in a week makes your stomach twist.

You're halfway through drafting a frantic "roommate needed ASAP" text to your groupchat when your phone buzzes.

it's one of your few friends who actually bothers to check in.

Heard about your roomie bailing. Absolute bullshit.

Anyway I know a guy. Chill as hell, works freelance, needs a place.

You'd vibe.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The last thing you want is some rando bringing chaos into your already crumbling life.

But then your landlord's terse "rent due on the 1st, no exceptions" text flashes in your mind.

Fine. Give him my number.

Chan texts you thirty minutes later. His messages are polite. Full sentences, proper punctuation, none of that monosyllabic grunting.

He suggests meeting at the apartment tomorrow afternoon to check the place out, and you agree.

The next day, you're scrubbing the bathroom sink when the doorbell rings. Chan stands in the hallway holding a paper bag that smells like garlic and herbs. "Figured we could talk over lunch," he says, smiling like this isn't weird at all.

Up close, he's so much cuter than you expected, blond hair, unfairly big broad shoulders, dressed in a blank tanktop that showed them off perfectly.

You blink at the take out bag, then at Chan’s easy grin.

There’s no nervous energy radiating off him, no awkward shuffling — just this unsettling calm, like he’s already decided he belongs here. “Uh,” you say, wiping your damp hands on your pants, “you didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupts, already toeing off his sneakers without waiting for an invite. The scent of roasted garlic and rosemary spills into the apartment as he breezes past you toward the kitchen. “But food makes everything less weird, right?”

You trail after him, you don't know whether to be annoyed or charmed.

Chan unpacks the food containers, grilled chicken, some kind of herby rice, roasted vegetables that don’t look like the sad microwave steam bags you usually survive on.

He slides a plate toward you. “Eat first, then interrogation.”

“Interrogation?” You stab a piece of chicken, watching him warily.

Chan shrugs, mouth already full. “Standard roommate shit. ‘Do you snore?’ ‘Are you a serial killer?’ ‘Will you steal my leftovers?’” He swallows, grinning.

“The answer’s no, no, and only if you leave them unlabelled.”

The food is homemade stupidly good, and Chan’s presence is… unsettlingly comfortable.

By the time you’re scraping the last of the rice off your plate, you’ve learned he does something vague with digital marketing (“Basically, I convince people to buy shit they don’t need”), he actually enjoys doing laundry, and he likes to cook.

“So,” Chan says, stacking the empty containers, “you wanna show me around, or should I just start claiming drawers?”

The tour is quick — your apartment isn’t exactly sprawling — but Chan makes appreciative noises at the closet space and tests how sturdy the bed frame is (#whatdatmean).

When you hesitantly mention rent, he waves a hand. “Half’s fine. I’ll pay first and last upfront if you want.”

You stare. “You don’t even know the amount.”

Chan shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got it.” He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and, before you can protest, your own phone buzzes with a notification.

It’s a Venmo payment for double what you were about to say rent costs.

Your mouth opens, then closes. “You—what? That’s too much.”

“Nah.” He pockets his phone, grinning at your baffled expression. “Consider it a ‘sorry for being weirdly pushy’. ”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue — not when your bank account is currently breathing its first sigh of relief in months.

A girls got priorities, and he doesn't really seem to mind. it's a win win scenario.

~

The first month was… strange. Not bad, just strange. he was genuinely nice, easy to talk to. it wasn't long till the initial awkwardness — if there was any — wore off. you'd become something sort of friends, and both of you settled into a quiet rhythm.

he'd left cash for rent in a neat stack on the kitchen counter on first of the month, slightly more than his half again.

When you tried to give him the extra back, he just waved you off.

You caught glimpses of his routine. disappearing into his room at odd hours, the low murmur of his voice through the walls late at night.

And then there was the day you came home early.

You weren’t supposed to be back until ten, but your shift ended early, and the bus was miraculously on time for once.

The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the door, just the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the floorboards under your feet.

You’d barely set your bag down when you heard it — a low noise from Chan’s room.

Your fingers froze on the zipper of your jacket. The sound came again, breathier this time, followed by the slick, rhythmic sound of skin on skin.

you thought it was a girlfriend he never told you about.

The idea punched a weird, hollow ache into your ribs — which was stupid, because it’s not like you had any claim on him.

Still, you stood there frozen in the hallway, his door slightly ajar, listening to the sounds of his pleasure like some kind of creep.

You backed out of the apartment, easing the door shut with just the softest whisper of the latch catching. Your pulse hammered in your throat as you ducked into the stairwell, pressing your back against the cool concrete wall.

The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop being weird, to just walk back in like a normal person. But the irrational part — the part currently in charge — was too busy replaying the sounds spilling from Chan’s room to listen.

You get out of the building and circle the block twice, three times, counting cracks in the sidewalk. The air smells like rain that hasn’t fallen yet, and you bask in that atmosphere till roughly an hour has passed.

When you finally drag yourself back inside, the apartment is quiet. Chan’s door is shut tight, the shower running, and no girlfriend in sight.

she must've left early.

You freeze halfway to your room when the shower shuts off. your feet are planted still go to your room, go to your room

but you weren't quick enough, and a few seconds later, Chan emerges with only a towel slung low on his hips.

He's startled when he sees you, droplets flicking off his hair as he jerks his head up. “oh hey—” His voice is casual before you cut him off, "shit—sorry!" your face heats up at the sight, your eyes wander, trailing down his toned chest that still had water droplets running down, before snapping your head in the other direction.

was he always this muscular?

and you can't help but notice that there are no hickeys on his neck, no marks on his arms, and surprisingly put together for someone who just had his girlfriend over less than an hour ago.

"no no— you're good." he reassures with a smile, "you're back early."

You swallow hard. “Yeah. Shift got cut."

Chan leans against the doorframe, his damp hair curling at the ends. You try not to stare at the way his towel clings precariously to his hips, but your gaze keeps flicking downward anyway, betraying you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

"Y-yeah," you stammer, fingers twisting in the hem of your jacket. "Just—uh. Busy day."

Chan hums, nodding. His eyes flick over your face, lingering a second too long on your flushed cheeks before he grins. "Cool. I was just gonna make some food if you’re hungry."

The casual offer throws you off. You were expecting — what? Awkward silence? Averted eyes? Not this easy warmth.

but you just nod dumbly. "Yeah. Food sounds good."

he pushes off the doorframe, padding toward the kitchen. The towel rides up slightly with each step, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones, and you have to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a noise.

“You good?” he calls over his shoulder, like he can feel your stare burning into his back.

“Fine,” you squeak, following at a safe distance, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The kitchen tile is cool under your socked feet, a welcome distraction from the heat crawling up your neck.

Chan hums again, rummaging through the fridge with one hand while the other keeps his towel secured. The muscles in his back flex as he leans forward, and you’re suddenly very interested in the color of your sponge bob socks.

“Leftover pasta okay?” he asks, pulling out a container with a rattle of plastic. You nod mutely, watching as he moves around the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the tiles.

The stove clicks to life, the hiss of gas filling the silence between you. Chan leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, “So,” he starts, “how was work?”

You blink. “Uh. Fine. Boring.” The words tumble out too fast, your pulse jumping when Chan chuckles. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly you’re hyperaware of every inch of space between you.

he scrapes the leftover pasta into the pan, the sizzle of garlic and butter filling the silence between you. His towel shifts dangerously low with each stir, but he doesn’t seem to notice — or maybe he does.

The corner of his mouth twitches when he catches you staring, and you snap your gaze to the ceiling like it’s suddenly fascinating.

"You know," he says, voice light, "most roommates don’t freak out when they see each other half dressed." The wooden spoon clinks against the pan as he scrapes the edges.

"I wasn’t freaking out."

Chan laughs, "You literally yelped like I pulled a knife on you." He glances over his shoulder, eyes dragging down your body in a way that makes your knees weak. "Unless you’re into that."

The pasta sizzles loudly in the pan, drowning out the choked sound that escapes your throat at Chan’s words. "I—that’s not—"

Chan turns fully now, abandoning the stove, and the towel dips dangerously low. His smirk is infuriating, "Relax," he murmurs, stepping closer, "Just teasing."

You laugh nervously, the sound too high pitched, too obvious. "I'm just gonna—" You jerk your thumb toward your room, already backing away. "Change into something more... home-y."

Chan raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Home-y,"

"yea—!" your voice cracks "y'know comfortable....home clothes"

Then you gesture vaguely at his towel, your voice cracking slightly. "Are you— uh, gonna put on actual clothes before we eat? Because I'm pretty sure health code violations apply to apartments too."

Chan glances down at himself, then back up at you, "Why?" He grins, tilting his head. "Distracted?"

"Yes—no," you sputter, crossing your arms tightly over your chest like armor. "I just don’t want your—" You wave a hand wildly in the general direction of his hips. "That—near my dinner."

Chan laughs, a full blown laugh, and you take that chance to bolt for your room, shoulders hunched as if that’ll make you smaller, less noticeable.

The door clicks shut behind you with a click, and you press your forehead against the cool wood, exhaling sharply.

"And turn the heat down!" you call out, voice too high,"Unless you want to burn the house down!"

Another laugh, muffled through the door. "Yes, mom," Chan drawls, the playful lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn hotter.

The stove clicks as he adjusts the flame, the sound followed by the soft thud of his footsteps padding down the hall. You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to the creak of his bedroom door, the rustle of fabric as he presumably — finally — changes.

You peel yourself off the door, fingers fumbling at the jacket of your shirt. The fabric clings to your skin, damp with nervous sweat, and you wrestle it off.

Home-y. Right. who even says that?

Stupid stupid stupid.

Your dresser drawer sticks halfway open, You grab the first shirt your fingers brush against, soft from too many washes, and a pair of sweatpants with the elastic stretched out.

'He has a girlfriend,' you think, shimmying out of your jeans. The denim catches around your ankles, nearly causing you to trip.

'Probably. Maybe. Who the fuck knows.'

You yank the shirt over your head so hard the neckline stretches. The mirror across the room reflects your flushed face, your hair mussed from the fabric dragging through it.

You look and feel ridiculous.

You pull up your pants, then pause, fingers hovering at the waistband. Avoid him. Simple. Logical. You can do that.

but it wasn't that easy. after all there is only so much avoiding one could do to someone they live with.

The apartment isn’t big enough for elaborate evasion tactics, and Chan seems to have a sixth sense for popping up exactly where you don’t want him.

Leaning against the fridge when you’re raiding it at 2 am, or lounging on the couch just as you’re about to claim it for a late night tv binge.

So you just ended up being cooped in your room for most of the day.

But Chan isn’t stupid. eventually after days passed by, he’s leaning against your bedroom doorframe when you crack it open after what you thought was a safe half hour of silence.

“So,” he says, arms crossed, voice dripping with amusement, “you’re avoiding me.”

You freeze, one socked foot hovering mid step like a cartoon character caught mid sneak. “No,” you lie too quickly.

Chan raises an eyebrow. “You literally just ducked into the bathroom because you heard me coming down the hall.”

“I had to pee.”

“For the fourth time today?” His grin lopsided, “Either you’ve got a UTI, or you’re full of shit.”

You grit your teeth, fingers tightening around the doorknob. “Maybe both.”

he sighs out laugh, then steps closer, “Listen,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a serious tone, “if this is about the whole towel thing—”

“It’s not,” you answer quickly, too loud, too fast.

“So it is about the towel thing.”

“I’m not—” You exhale sharply through your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can you just—” You gesture vaguely at the space between you. “Give me, like, a three foot radius?”

Chan tilts his head, considering. His gaze drags down your body, before settling back on your face. “Nah,” he says finally, “I like you flustered.”

You bite your lip, eyes darting around, then settle on his, before darting around again.

The silence stretches, until you finally crack under the weight of it. “you—don’t you have a girlfriend?” you blurt, the words stumbling out in a rushed, stuttering mess.

Chan blinks, his smirk faltering for half a second before dissolving into genuine confusion. “A what?” His laugh sounds startled, almost disbelieving.

You press your lips together, suddenly regretting every life choice that led you to this moment.

Chan's eyebrows climb toward his hairline, "A girlfriend?" He repeats, "What, like, some theoretical girl who sneaks in when you're not looking?"

You gesture vaguely at him — the tousled hair, the unfairly sculpted shoulders, the effortless charm that clings to him like a second skin.

"You just—seem like the type." The words tumble out half mumbled, your gaze darting anywhere but his face.

Chan’s laughter echoes through the hallway, loud enough that you flinch—not just from the sound, but from the way it makes your stomach flip.

"Oh my god," he wheezes, leaning against the doorframe like he needs the support. "You thought I had some secret girlfriend sneaking in here to—what, fuck me while you're at work?"

You cross your arms tightly, "It's not that ridiculous," you mutter, but even you hear how weak it sounds.

"First of all, if I had a girlfriend, you'd know. I'm not subtle." His smirk tilts into something teasing. "Second, I'm very single. And third—" He pauses, tilting his head. "Wait. Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I was getting laid in there and didn't invite you?"

Your face burns. "No—that's not—"

His grin softens slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. "So," he murmurs, voice dropping lower, "what is it, then?"

You swallow hard, fingers gripping the edge of your shirt so tightly the fabric threatens to tear. "Nothing," you lie. "Just—roommate stuff. Boundaries."

Chan hums, "Boundaries," he echoes, Then, "You know you can just tell me if I’m doing something that makes you uncomfortable, right?"

You swallow hard, "Yeah," you mutter, gaze trailing to his eyes and holding his stare for the first time throughout this conversation "I know."

Chan pushes off the doorframe with a shrug, "Alright then," he says, clapping his hands together like he's wiping the whole conversation away. "Takeout time. You in?"

it's like all this man does is think about food...and make you weak in the knees.

You blink, "Uh. Yeah. Sure."

Chan pulls out his phone, already scrolling through delivery apps, "Thai? Or that new Italian place that opened down the street?" He glances up, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Unless you're feeling sushi again, but last time you complained about the wasbi being too strong."

The normalcy of it — the way he remembers your stupid, offhand complaints about condiments — makes something in your chest tighten.

You clear your throat. "Thai’s good."

~

The weirdness fades slowly, chan doesn’t mention the girlfriend comment again, and you stop bolting like a startled deer every time he walks into a room.

He starts leaving his door open when he’s working, the rhythmic tap of his keyboard drifting into the hallway. You catch yourself lingering in the doorway sometimes, watching the way his brow furrows when he’s concentrating, the way he bites his tongue when he’s stuck on something.

once, he catches you staring and pats the space beside him on the bed without looking up from his laptop. “Help me brainstorm this dumb tagline,”

You perch awkwardly at first, careful not to touch him, but Chan sprawls like he owns every inch of the mattress, his thigh pressing warm against yours. and before you know it, you’re leaning into him, pointing at the screen. “That one’s terrible,”

~

Movie nights become a thing.

The first movie night starts by accident — or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, scrolling through your phone while Chan sprawls across the other end, his laptop balanced precariously on his thighs.

Then the Wi-Fi cuts out.

Chan groans, tossing his head back against the cushions. “Fucking landlord,” he mutters, jabbing at his keyboard like it’ll magically fix the connection.

You snort, watching him glare at the screen like it’s personally offended him. “Guess we’re gonna have to talk to each other,”

“Horrifying,” he deadpans, then grabs the remote off the coffee table. “a movie it is.”

You end up with some terrible action movie Chan insists is a “classic,” but neither of you pay much attention. Halfway through, you catch him watching you instead of the screen, his head turning back to the movie when you caught him.

You brush it off, focusing on the screen, but your pulse jumps when Chan shifts closer, his thigh pressing against yours.

The credits roll, and he stretches. The couch creaks as he shifts, stretching his arms overhead with a groan that does things to your already frayed nerves.

"Well," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, "that was a cinematic masterpiece."

You snort, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, if you consider explosions and zero plot development masterful storytelling."

Chan’s chuckles “Plot is overrated,” he says, “Sometimes you just wanna watch things blow up.”

Chan then exhales heavily and stands. “Alright, I’m hitting the shower,” he says, stretching until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. You look away — too late — and Chan’s smirk is audible in his voice. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“In your dreams,” you mutter, but your pulse jumps when he pauses by the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Exactly.”

You sit there, frozen, until the bathroom door clicks shut and the shower starts running. The sound of water hitting tile fills the apartment, and you press your palms to your overheated cheeks, exhaling sharply.

Stupid. You’re being stupid. That probably didn't mean anything.

But then your phone buzzes on the couch beside you, and Chan’s name lights up the screen.

forgot my towel. mind grabbing it?

You stare at the message, then at the hallway, Trap, your brain supplies helpfully.

type back,

Seriously?

he answers immediately

dead serious. i’m vulnerable here.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re already standing. His towel hangs on the back of his bedroom door, You grab it, then walk out to the bathroom.

You knock once, then freeze when Chan calls out, “Just come in.”

Your throat goes dry. “Absolutely not.”

Chan’s laugh echoes off the tiles. “Relax, I’m decent.” A pause. “Mostly.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, then shove the towel through the gap in the door, arm outstretched as far as possible. “Here.”

Chan’s fingers brush yours as he takes the towel. His skin is warm, damp, and you jerk your hand back like you’ve been burned.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, voice closer than you expected. You can *feel* his smile through the door. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You bolt back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a groan.

too much for your first movie night.

~

just when things were getting normal, It happens again on a monday.

You’re home early again, the apartment is silent. You toe off your shoes, and you were about to shout a "I'm back" when you heard it again.

Low, breathy moans slipping through the crack in Chan’s door.

Your feet root to the floor, ears straining as the noise curls around you.

His voice, thick with pleasure, murmurs something you can’t quite catch — then a wet, rhythmic sound that sends heat flooding your cheeks.

apparently, this man takes his....alone time very seriously.

that's what it had to be right? you can't blame him — you've been there once or twice.

Your breath sticks in your throat, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The sound— god, the sound — wraps around you, thick and heady, Chan's voice breaking on a moan that scrapes down your spine.

You should move. should bolt to your room, slam the door, drown it out with headphones. but your feet refuse to cooperate.

You tiptoe into the hallway, his door is cracked just enough, and your pulse hammers so loud its drowning out any other coherent thought in your brain.

A peak wouldn't hurt...

The door creaks faintly as it opens another inch, just enough for you to see.

Chan sits on the edge of his bed, but not like you thought. Not hidden, not private. No, this is something else entirely.

A ring light casts a glow over his bare skin, the camera propped on his desk angled perfectly to capture every inch of him. His laptop screen is open with a reflection of him and a rapid stream of comments too fast to read.

Oh.

Oh god.

Your stomach drops, then tightens all at once.

Chan’s head is tipped back, his throat working around a groan as his hand moves lazily between his thighs.

You press yourself against the hallway wall, pulse hammering, thoughts running a hundred miles per hour.

you did not expect this.

His breath hitches, a sharp, punched out sound, and your nails dig into your palms.

Chan’s fingers twist at the base of his cock, his thumb smearing precum in slow circles. The camera catches the way his abs flex as he arches into his own touch, his voice ragged when he murmurs, "Wish you were here." before he bites down on his lower lip. "Could use a mouth right now."

You watch, frozen in place, as his thighs tremble, his free hand fisting in the sheets beside him. The comments on his screen blur into a frenzy of emojis and a bunch of pinging donations. His breath stutters, his jaw clenching as his strokes turn erratic, desperate. “Yeah,” he gasps, voice breaking, “yeah, just like that—”

Then he comes with a choked moan, stripes of white painting his stomach as his back arches off the bed.

Gosh, he’s gorgeous — and you barely register the dampness between your own thighs until Chan slumps back against the pillows, chest heaving.

Chan exhales sharply, his fingers still lazily stroking his softening cock as he leans forward, just enough to tap something on his laptop.

he ends the stream with a wink and a low, raspy comment that you didn't quite catch. The screen goes black, and you barely have half a second to process the situation before your body kicks into motion.

You bolt down the hallway, socked feet silent against the hardwood.

Your bedroom door clicks shut behind you just as Chan gets up. You press your back against the door, lungs burning from holding your breath, and listen.

Water runs in the sink. A towel rustles. Then you hear footsteps.

They pause outside your door.

You purse your lips and hold your breath. Then Chan hums, before his footsteps retreat down the hall.

You slump against the door, exhaling shakily.

Holy shit.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fumble to pull it out.

you home early?

You stare at the text, thumbs hovering over the screen. Lie, your brain screams. Tell him no. but then how would you fake going into the apartment if you're already inside the apartment?

Just got back

You hit send before you can second guess it.

Cool. Dinner soon?

Your fingers hover over the screen, the weight of his question pressing against your ribs like a stone. The air in your room feels — too thick — and suddenly the idea of sitting across from Chan at the kitchen table, pretending you didn’t just watch him get off on camera, makes your stomach twist.

Gonna shower first.

Your phone buzzes again before you can even set it down,

Can I join?

You nearly drop it, blood roaring in your ears. Then—

jk. don’t use up all the hot water.

You toss your phone onto your bed and drag a hand down your face with a sigh.

You're deeply fucked.

~

That night, you stayed up aggressively googling him till his page came up.

Onlychans? really?

you'd laugh at the username if it wasn't for the videos that popped up when you clicked on his profile.

Chan, shirtless, sprawled across what is unmistakably your living room couch, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweatpants.

Chan, biting his lip as he slicks lube down his cock, the camera angled to capture every twitch of his abs.

Chan, moaning, his head thrown back against the pillows of his bed —your apartment, your shared space — while his other hand works something thick and glistening into his—

You slam the laptop shut.

Your face burns. Your pulse thrums in your ears. The apartment is silent — Chan’s out for a run, or so he’d claimed when he’d left an hour ago.

You open the laptop again.

It’s Curiosity. That’s all.

It starts innocently enough — just checking his schedule, really. A quick glance at his calendar pinned to the fridge.

"For productivity purposes," Chan had joked when you asked.

Then, sure enough, it spiraled.

You memorize the time of his streams, monday nights, Friday nights, he'd timed them perfectly in sync with times he knew you wouldn't be home. that's why you've been blissfully unaware of him filming in different locations around your shared apartment for the past two and a half months.

And the occasional late night surprise session that leaves you fumbling for your earbuds at 1 am. You'd literally be home, but he'd go live anyway. was he into that?

you were into it too, admittedly, because you turned out to be just as shameful as him.

The notification pops up at 1:47 am on a Wednesday 'Chan is live!' (yes, you turned his notifs on) and your fingers freeze mid doom scroll through Instagram.

your room is dark except for the glow of your phone screen, you're supposed to be asleep.

You tap the notification.

Chan’s face fills the screen, his grin already in place as he adjusts the camera. He’s shirtless, propped against the headboard of his bed, one arm draped lazily over his bent knee. The ring light casts shadows along his abs, highlighting every dip and curve.

"Late night surprise," he murmurs, "*Miss me?*" aaaand heat is already pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers work on hinseld, slow and teasing at first, thumb smearing precum in lazy circles while he talks— god, he sure does talk, filthy praises and half formed fantasies spilling from his lips like he’s whispering them directly into your ear. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp, your other hand slipping under the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Chan arches his back on screen, his free hand gripping the sheets beside him. "Fuck, you guys are greedy tonight," he rasps, stroking himself slowly. His thumb presses against the head on every upstroke, just how you’ve learned he likes it — learned from watching, from nights spent with your phone hidden under your pillow, screen dimmed to its lowest setting.

"Fuck, m'close," Chan groans, your fingers moving between your thighs in time with his rhythm, matching the pace, hips shifting under the sheets, your breath coming shallow.

It’s not the first time you’ve watched him like this, but it’s the first time you’ve done it live, with the shaky thrill of knowing he has no idea you’re here.

A whimper almost escapes you when he swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, his breath hitching. You press your palm over your mouth, stifling the sound.

The last thing you need is him hearing you through the thin walls.

The thought alone, him catching you, realizing, sends a sharp jolt between your legs. You squeeze your thighs together, chasing the feeling before it slips away.

His hand speeds up, the wet sound of his skin moving over his cock muffled only slightly by the mic's noise suppression. "God, fuck—gonna come so hard for you," he grits out, his voice cracking on the last word.

You press your free hand harder against your mouth, fingers digging into your own cheek as you watch his stomach tense, the muscles there flexing under the sheen of sweat. Your own movements stutter when he lets out a low, punched out moan, his hips jerking up into his fist.

You’re so close you can’t think straight. The coil in your stomach winds tighter with every stroke of his hand, every filthy sound he makes, matching his rhythm like you’re desperate to prove something— like if you can just finish at the same time, it’ll mean something. Stupid. It’s stupid. But your hips jerk anyway, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts against your palm.

"Fuck, fuck—" His hand stills suddenly, fingers tightening around the base of his cock as he tips his head back, you watch as his body locks up for one second — and then he’s coming, stripes of white painting his stomach, his chest.

Your own climax crashes over you at the same time, so violently you nearly choke on the gasp you swallow down, your back arching off the bed as pleasure burns through you in hot, dizzying waves.

He’s still catching his breath, his free hand dragging lazily through the mess on his stomach, fingers tracing the lines of cum with a slow, absentminded swipe.

His lips curl into that stupid, effortless smirk you’ve seen a hundred times,

"Mmm, fuck," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, still a little breathless. "You all got me good tonight."

He reaches for a towel off screen, the muscles in his arm flexing as he wipes himself clean. You watch, transfixed, as he tosses the towel aside and leans closer to the camera, cheeks are still flushed, his lashes low.

"Hope that was worth the wait," he says, eyes flickering to the chat before he grins. "gosh you guys are generous with the tips tonight." and you catch a few of the comments.

slave4u: how bout you come and give me that tip

sweetheartonline: gone broke just for you </3

Chan just chuckles, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, I’m done. You’re all insatiable." He stretches his arms above his head, his torso arching beautifully, "Next stream’s friday. Be good for me til then, yeah?"

With one last wink, he reaches forward, and the screen goes black.

You yank your earbuds out, Your chest heaves, your skin still buzzing, your thighs still sticky, and you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyelids until colors bloom behind them.

you find it ridiculous that you're actually enjoying this, perverted thoughts. Stupid. So stupid.

~

Two weeks pass after that. You're hyperaware of Chan’s presence in a way that makes your skin itch. Every casual touch sends sparks skittering up your spine.

You try to act normal, you really do.

But you catch yourself staring at his hands when he cooks, remembering the way they moved over himself on screen, and have to physically shake your head to clear the image.

Chan, for his part, seems to thrive on your discomfort. He leaves his bedroom door cracked just a little wider than necessary, and infuriatingly, he's rarely not shirtless.

it's okay. you're okay. at least you tell yourself that.

till it's Friday morning, marking the beginning of your third month.

the apartment is quiet, still bathed in the soft gold of early morning light filtering through the kitchen window. you hum under your breath as you flip pancakes.

then Chan emerges, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair still messy from sleep.

He leans against the doorway, watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk. “Morning,” he rasps, voice still thick with sleep.

this feels too domestic for your liking.

“Morning,” you mumble, not turning around.

Chan pads closer, bare feet silent against the hardwood, until he’s right behind you. His warmth radiates against your back, “Smells good,” he murmurs, and you swear his lips brush the shell of your ear.

The spatula clatters against the pan. too domestic.

Chan chuckles, as he reaches around you to steal a piece of pancake from the prepared stack. His chest presses against your shoulder, his skin searing where it touches yours. “Careful,” he teases, popping the bite into his mouth. “You’ll burn them.”

The pancake batter sizzles violently as you stand there, frozen, Chan’s body heat scorching against your back.

His fingers brush your hip as he reaches for the syrup, and you nearly drop the spatula again.

"You’re jumpy this morning," Chan muses, leaning against the counter beside you. "Bad dreams?"

sure, if 'bad' and 'wet' are the same thing. "something like that."

Chan hums, tilting his head as he studies you. "Got plans today?"

You flip another pancake onto the growing stack. "Just groceries later." The words come out steadier than you feel.

His grin grows. "Mind if I tag along?"

You shrug, "It’s just errands."

Chan snags another pancake, leaning into your space until his bare shoulder presses against yours. "Exactly. Sounds thrilling." His fingers brush yours as he steals the spatula, flipping the last pancake with a flick of his wrist. "Come on. I’ll even push the cart."

You huff a laugh despite yourself. "You’ll get bored in five minutes."

"Bet?" He bumps your hip with his, "Loser buys ice cream."

~

The grocery store is exactly as mundane as you predicted, but Chan makes it unbearable in ways you didn’t anticipate — his fingers lingering when he passes you items, his chest pressing against your back in crowded aisles like it’s accidental. By the time you hit the freezer section, your nerves are frayed.

"Pick a flavor," Chan murmurs, chin hooked over your shoulder as he reaches past you to open the glass door. His breath ghosts across your cheek. "I’m feeling generous."

The freezer air hits your face, but it does nothing to cool the heat creeping up your neck. Chan’s arm brushes yours as he leans in, his fingers tracing the edge of a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "This one," he decides, plucking it from the shelf. "tastes like toothpaste sometimes, but eh" he said with a shrug.

You snort, grabbing a classic vanilla, but he plucks it from your hands and replaces it with something absurdly decadent, something with caramel swirls and chocolate chunks.

"Live a little," he grins, tossing it into the cart.

The checkout line is agony. Chan stands close enough that his knuckles keep brushing the small of your back, each touch sending sparks up your spine.

the cashier — an exhausted looking college student — scans everything, he pushed your hand aside when you tried to pay, and handed the cashier his card.

he caried all the groceries too, and swatted your hand away when you try to carry any.

it feels like he's your boyfriend.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you both, grocery bags rustling as Chan kicks off his shoes. You’re still fumbling with the laces of your sneakers when he brushes past you with the plastic bags.

You follow, already going to pull things out and putting them in their designated cupboards, Chan’s already rummaging through to find the ice cream, His grin is wide as he holds it up. "Scoops or straight from the tub?"

"freezer" you deadpan, "it's probably melted by now"

his shoulders slump a little, turning around to place the tubs in the freezer.

"and, scoops," you mutter, "We’re not animals."

he snickers, "Debatable."

Chan nudges the freezer door shut with his hip, the ice cream safely stowed away for later. "Movie night?" he suddenly asks, casual as anything, "Haven't done one in a while."

You nod, "Yeah. Okay."

You retreat to your room to change, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt before you even reach the door. The fabric sticks to your skin, too warm and you peel it off with a relieved sigh the second you’re alone.

The dresser drawer squeaks as you rummage for shorts and a tank top since its getting too hot, but your hands freeze mid reach when you hear Chan’s door creak open down the hall.

The unmistakable sound of fabric hitting the floor — jeans, probably — makes your throat go dry. You strain to listen, pulse hammering in your ears, as Chan hums under his breath. Something clatters, a belt buckle, and then the soft rustle of fresh clothes being pulled on.

You yank your own shorts up so fast you nearly trip, ears burning. Pathetic.

When you emerge, Chan’s already sprawled across the couch in loose joggers and that stupidly thin white tank top.

"You took forever," Chan drawls from the couch, already eating his way through a popcorn bucket.

"You're picking?" he scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "After the garbage you called 'cinema' last time?"

You snatch the remote before he can lunge for it. "You picked Twilight unironically last time."

Chan clutches his chest like you've wounded him. "Bella Swan is a cultural icon."

You scoff, scrolling through the options, ignoring Chan's dramatic sigh as he flops back against the cushions. His knee bumps yours, but you don't pull away.

"Fine," he huffs. "But if it's another pretentious indie film where people whisper for two hours, I'm revoking your movie privileges."

"Fine," you grumble back, scrolling past a dozen of said pretentious indie films with moody black and white thumbnails. "But only because I pity your attention span."

Chan's grin is immediate as he stretches an arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder.

"pick something with action," then wiggles his eyebrows, "Or nudity."

You elbow him hard in the ribs.

"Ow—," Chan wheezes, but he's laughing, catching your wrist before you can retreat. His fingers are warm and rough against your pulse point, thumb pressing into the flutter there. "Violent and kinky," he muses, tugging you closer until your shoulders press together. "I like it."

You yank your wrist free and snatch up the remote again, scrolling through titles.

Chan's laughter vibrates through the couch cushions as you land on something, anything, just to shut him up. The movie starts with a car chase, tires screeching, glass shattering. Perfect. Loud enough to distract whenever Chan shifts beside you.

"Action and nudity," Chan murmurs, nodding approvingly at the screen where some actor's shirt rips open during a fight scene. "You do know me."

You sink lower into the couch, arms crossed. "Shut up and watch."

The first ten minutes of the movie blur into a haze of gunfire and badly timed one-liners, the volume turned up just loud enough to drown out the way Chan’s fingers keep tracing idle patterns against your shoulder.

You focus resolutely on the screen, but Chan’s warmth beside you is impossible to ignore. His knee presses into yours, his bare arm brushing against yours every time he reaches for more popcorn, and each touch sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

Then, during a lull in the action, Chan shifts beside you, his hand sliding from your shoulder to the back of your neck. His fingers curl gently into your hair, thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"You’re not even watching," he mmurmur.

You swallow hard, refusing to look at him. "Am too."

Chan hums, unconvinced, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. "Liar."

His accusation hangs between you, thick and charged, and suddenly the movie feels like background noise.

His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, tipping your head back just enough that you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

His eyes are dark, there’s no teasing smirk now, no playful glint — just hunger.

Your breath hitches audibly.

Chan’s thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me to stop."

You don’t.

His lips crash into yours before you can form a coherent thought, the remote clattering to the floor as your hands fist in his shirt.

Chan groans into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with so much desperation.

The movie drones on, but all you can feel is the way his hips jerk forward against yours as you press closer. His hands slide down to grip your waist, hauling you halfway into his lap without breaking the kissl.

"You’ve been driving me insane," Chan pants against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to trace the dip of your spine. "Watching me, pretending you weren’t—fuck—" His words dissolve into a groan when you grind down against him, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.

He knows you know. he has all this time. The realization makes your eyes widen slightly—but it doesn’t surprise you. Not really.

Not when Chan’s fingers tighten possessively around your hips, his teeth scraping your lower lip like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

His palm slides up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your thin tank top, and your breath stutters against his mouth.

Of course he knew. The cracked doors, the late night streams he timed too perfectly with your schedule. Those weren't just coincidences.

You pull back just enough to see his face, your eyes wide with the realization that just dawned on you.

his lips are swollen from your kisses, panting, “Surprise,” he rasps, voice wrecked.

Chan’s grip shifts, hauling you fully into his lap, and you gasp when his hardness presses against you. His chuckle vibrates through your chest as he rolls his hips up, slow and filthy. “Thought you’d never crack,” he murmurs, lips grazing your jaw.

Your hands fist in his tank top, the fabric damp with sweat where it clings to his chest. “You—asshole” you pant, hips jerking against his involuntarily. “All that teasing—”

Chan's grin widens "All what teasing?" he murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kisses to your neck. "You mean leaving my door open just a little too wide?"

His teeth scrape your skin, "Or maybe streaming at exactly the times I knew you'd be home?" His palm cups your breast through your shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple.

You gasp when he pinches lightly, hips jerking against his. "You're insane," you manage, though the words come out more breathless than angry.

Chan laughs against your throat, before his teeth sink into the tender skin just below your ear. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hands slide down to grip your hips, guiding your movements as you grind against him. The friction is dizzying, the thin fabric of your shorts doing nothing to dull the heat of him pressed against you.

"Insane?" His breath is hot against your damp skin. "Baby, aren't the one who watched my streams every other night?" His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top, tracing the waistband of your shorts with maddening slowness.

You whine, the sound high and desperate in your throat, and nod before you can think better of it. The admission burns your cheeks, but the way Chan groans against your skin makes it worth it.

"yeah?" he rasps, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

Chan’s fingers flex against your waist, his breath hot against your lips. “Every fucking time,” he admits, voice rough “I’d pretend it was your hand on me,” His thumb presses into the dip of your hipbone, “Your mouth.” His gaze drops to your parted lips, then back up, heavy lidded. “You have no idea how many times I came thinking about you watching me.”

Chan exhales sharply, his nose brushing yours. “cancelled tonight’s stream,” he murmurs, lips grazing yours with every word. “would rather beg you to fuck me instead.” His palm slides up your ribcage, fingers tracing the edge of your bra through your tank top.

“You don’t have to beg,” you murmur, lips brushing his as you swing your leg off his lap. Chan exhales sharply, hands gripping your waist tighter like he’s afraid you’ll pull away entirely, but then you’re sliding to your knees between his legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of his joggers.

His breath catches when you tug them down just enough to free his cock, already hard and leaking against his stomach.

gosh he's even bigger than he looks on camera.

Chan's breath stutters when your fingers wrap around him, his hips jerking into your grip before he can stop himself. "Fuck—" His voice cracks, a hand flying to fist in your hair as you stroke him slow, watching the way his eyelids flutter.

He's hot and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip, and the way his thighs tense when you swipe your thumb over the head is obscene.

Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair when your lips brush the head of his cock, his breath stuttering out in a ragged groan. “Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerk up instinctively, but you pull back just enough to tease, swirling your tongue over the tip without taking him deeper, and you can’t resist glancing up through your lashes to watch his face twist with pleasure.

“So loud,” you giggle, blowing a slow breath over the wetness you’ve left behind. Chan’s thighs tense under your palms. “All those streams,” you continue, stroking him lazily with one hand while the other traces the vein running along his length, “and you never moaned like this.”

Chan’s laugh comes out strained, his chest heaving. “it wasn't you,” he grits out, hips rolling up into your touch. His fingers tug at your hair, guiding you back to him with a quiet desperation that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. “Now stop teasing—”

You swallow him down before he can finish, humming around him just to feel the way his whole body jerks. His moan is filthy, unfiltered, his hips canting up into the wet heat of your mouth like he can’t help it.

You take him deeper, throat working around him, and Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life.

“god—” His voice cracks when you hollow your cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock. His other hand fists the couch cushion beside his thigh, knuckles going white. “So good—shit—you take me so fucking good—”

You pull off with a slick pop, lips brushing the flushed tip as you peer up at him, teasing, thumb swiping over the bead of precome gathered there.

Chan’s chest heaves, his abs flexing as he stares down at you, His grip in your hair tightens just enough to sting — a silent warning — but you just grin and duck back down, sucking him deep until his thighs tremble.

Chan curses, his hips lifting off the couch as you bob your head, the wet sounds obscenely loud even with the movie still playing forgotten in the background.

“Gonna—” He's cut off by his own gasp, “Gonna come if you keep—”

You pull off with a wet sound, lips slick and swollen, and replace your mouth with both hands, jerking him so fast his hips stutter off the couch, his breath coming in ragged, punched out gasps.

“Wait—fuck—” Chan chokes out, fingers scrambling at your shoulders, but it’s too late — his back arches off the cushions, muscles locking tight as he spills hot over your fingers and his own stomach.

His thighs shake under your palms, his cock twitching in your grip as you stroke him through it, slower now, milking every last drop until he’s whimpering and oversensitive, his hands weakly pushing at your wrists.

“Turn around,” Chan rasps, chest rising and falling rapidly. His fingers slide from your hair to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your spit slick bottom lip. “Want you riding me.”

Your stomach flips at the command, but before you can move, Chan’s hands are gripping your waist, hauling you up onto the couch with surprising strength. He settles you over his lap in one smooth motion, your thighs bracketing his hips, and the sudden press of his bare skin against yours makes you gasp.

Chan groans, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he leans back to look at you, really look at you, his gaze dragging down your body with a hunger that makes your skin prickle.

he hooks a thumb into the waistband of your shorts and tugs, sliding them off, his breath hitching when he finds you already soaked through your panties.

"Fuck," he exhales, dragging the damp fabric aside with one finger, his touch featherlight as he traces your slit. His other hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touch, his breath mingling with yours. "You're so wet," he murmurs, voice rough with disbelief. "Just from sucking me off?"

You nod, hips canting into his touch shamelessly, his finger circles your clit —once, twice, before dipping lower, sliding into you, crooking just right to make your back arch. His free hand fists in your tank top, dragging you closer until your chest presses against his, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples harden against him.

His thumb pressing firm circles against your clit, and your vision whites out for a second — just long enough to miss the way his free hand fists in your tank top, yanking it up until the fabric bunches just above your chest. His mouth replaces his fingers, teeth scraping over your nipple through the lace of your bra, and you gasp, hips stuttering against his hand.

“Thought about this,” he pants against your skin, his tongue lapping at the wet spot he’s left behind. “Every goddamn stream—imagined you like this, wet and desperate for me.” His finger curls again, dragging a broken moan from your throat, and his grin is all teeth when he leans back to watch you unravel. “Knew you’d be prettier than I imagined.”

You grab his wrist, stilling his movements, and his brows furrow — confused, frustrated — until you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap properly this time. His cock, half hard again, twitches against your thigh as you grind down, the friction drawing a ragged groan from both of you.

Chan’s hands fly to your hips, guiding your movements as you rock against him, his breath hot against your collarbone.

“Wanna feel you,” you murmur, fingers fumbling between you to grip him, slicking him up with your own arousal. Chan’s head falls back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you line him up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

You sink down onto him with a choked gasp, thighs trembling as he stretches you open inch by agonizing inch. Chan’s hands clamp around your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t rush you —just watches as you take him deeper.

"Fuck," you whimper, nails scraping his shoulders when he bottoms out, your body shuddering at the unfamiliar stretch. "You’re—god—you’re so big—"

Chan groans, hips twitching beneath you, fighting not to thrust up. "Yeah?" His voice is wrecked, breath hitching as you clench around him. "Feel good, baby? Stuffed full of me?" His fingers trail up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts while you adjust. "taking me so good."

You roll your hips experimentally, and Chan’s head thuds back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "That’s it," he rasps, hands sliding to grip your ass. "Use me—ride me just like you imagined."

The words send heat flaring up your neck, but you can’t deny them, can’t stop the way your body responds, hips rolling in slow circles. Chan hisses between his teeth when you clench around him, his fingers flexing against your skin.

"Christ—fuck—you’re so tight," he grits out, eyes locked on where you’re joined. "Bet you thought about this every night, hmm? Watching me stroke my cock on cam while you fucked yourself on your fingers?"

You whimper, thighs quivering as you lift yourself halfway up before sinking back down, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. his breath stutters, his hips jerking up to meet you halfway, and the sudden shift punches a ragged moan from your throat. "Oh fuck—Chan—"

"Say it," he demands, thumb brushing your clit as you bounce in his lap. His voice is rough, wrecked, his pupils blown wide, "Tell me how much you thought about this, how many times you came imagining me inside you."

You gasp when he pinches your clit lightly, your rhythm faltering, "Every—ah—every night," you admit, nails digging into his shoulders as you grind down harder. "Watched you—touched myself—god, wanted you—"

Chan groans, fingers tightening on your hips as he guides your movements, thrusting up to meet you. "Knew it," he pants, lips brushing yours with every ragged breath.

"Knew you were getting off to me—fuck—your little gasps when I’d look at the camera—" His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing your nipples through your bra. "Bet you came so pretty for me, huh? All quiet so I wouldn’t hear?"

You nod frantically, hips stuttering as his cock hits that spot inside you, the pleasure building dangerously fast. "Y-yes—*fuck*—Chan, please—"

"Please what?" he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk even as his own breathing falters. He slows your movements deliberately, dragging you through each excruciatingly slow roll of your hips. "Need me to fuck you harder, baby?"

You whine, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to chase your own rhythm, but his grip on your hips is unrelenting. "Yes—god, yes—"

he flips you onto your stomach before you can finish begging, his hands rough and sure as he shoves your knees apart against the couch cushions. The fabric burns against your bare thighs when he yanks your hips back, his cock sliding out of you with a slick sound that makes your face burn.

You barely have time to whimper before his fingers dig into your waist, lifting you on all fours with a sharp tug — his chest presses hot against your back, his breath ragged in your ear as he lines himself up again.

he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. He slams into you with one brutal thrust, punching the air from your lungs as your elbows buckle against the cushions. His cock stretches you open deeper than before, the angle hitting deeper, and you choke on a scream when his hips snap forward again, setting a punishing pace before you can catch your breath.

Hands clamp around your hips, fingers bruising as he drags you back onto him with every thrust. The couch creaks beneath you, the sound drowned out by chan’s ragged groans and the slick slap of skin on skin. His rhythm is merciless, no teasing now, just pure, desperate need as he fucks into you like he’s been starving for it.

Chan's grip on your hips shifts — one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bows beautifully beneath him. "Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice rough with something between awe and hunger as he takes in the sight of you spread out beneath him.

His fingers tighten, pulling just enough to make your scalp prickle, before his palm cracks down against your ass, the sound echoing through the room louder than the forgotten movie still playing in the background.

You gasp, thighs trembling as the heat blooms across your skin, but Chan doesn’t give you a second to recover. His hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that has your nails scrabbling against the couch cushions for purchase. "Take it," he orders, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "God, you feel so good—clenching around me like—" His words dissolve into a groan as he picks up the pace, each thrust punching a ragged sound from your throat.

His free hand slides around your waist, pressing firm circles against your clit, and the dual sensation has your vision blurring at the edges. "That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his rhythm falters for just a second, "Gonna make you come just like this—spread out, taking me so well—"

His thumb presses harder against your clit, and your back arches involuntarily, a broken moan tearing from your lips as the pleasure crests suddenly, violently.

Chan curses, his grip tightening as you clench around him, your body shuddering through the waves of it. "Yeah, there you go, gonna cum for me?"

You nod vigorously, your fingers twisting into the couch cushions as Chan’s thrusts turn erratic, his breath ragged against your ear. "Cum with me," he rasps, and it’s all you need.

Your body clenches around him like a vice, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense your vision whites out for a second. Chan groans, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a broken gasp, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.

Chan pulls out slowly, hissing through his teeth when you clench around him reflexively, oversensitive.

The couch cushions are damp beneath your trembling thighs, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat as you collapse onto your stomach, chest heaving. Chan exhales sharply, running a hand down your spine, before flipping you onto your back, more gently this time.

The shift makes you wince, your body still thrumming with aftershocks, he slides off the couch onto his knees between your legs. His palms skate up your inner thighs, spreading them apart with slowly despite your weak protest. "Shh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. "Just wanna taste you."

You squirm when his breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, but Chan’s grip tightens, holding you open. "Chan—" His name comes out hoarse, your voice wrecked. "I’m—ah—too sensitive—"

Chan’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open despite your squirming. His tongue flicks over your clit, just enough to make your hips jerk, oversensitive and trembling.

“You can take it,” he murmurs against your skin, “You’re a big girl, yeah?” His teeth graze your inner thigh, before his mouth closes over you again, and your back arches off the couch with a choked gasp.

You can take it. You do.

Every swipe of his tongue sends sparks shooting up your spine, your fingers twisting into his hair — not to pull him away, but to keep him right there, his mouth working you through the dizzying aftershocks of your orgasm.

Chan hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl, and his grip on your thighs tightens when you try to press them together instinctively. “None of that,” he chides, nipping at your skin before dragging his tongue up your slit again, “Just let me have you.”

You whine, hips caving into his mouth despite the oversensitivity, the pleasure tipping into something almost painful, but you don’t tell him to stop. Couldn’t if you wanted to.

"so sweet," he groans against you, the words vibrating through your oversensitive nerves. His fingers dig into your hips, pinning you down when you try to squirm away from the intensity. "No— stay still."

You whimper, but obey, letting him spread you wider as his tongue delves deeper, circling your entrance before dragging back up in one long, torturous lick.

"Chan—please—" you gasp, but you’re not even sure what you’re begging for — him to stop or never, ever stop.

His response is to hook your leg over his shoulder, angling you deeper into his mouth, and then he’s sucking you in, his tongue working you with precision. You sob his name, your hips jerking uncontrollably as the pressure builds again, too soon, too much—

You choke out his name, fingers scrambbling at his shoulders, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, before your hips jerk violently against his mouth.

“Chan, gonna—oh god—” The warning spills out brokenly, your thighs clamp around his head as you come with a shuddering gasp, your back bowing off the couch as pleasure rips through you.

he groans against you, the vibration wringing another broken sound from your throat, he doesn’t pull away, just laps at you greedily, his tongue dragging through the mess you’ve made of him with slow strokes.

“Fuck,” he rasps against your skin before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “You’re perfect like this.” His thumb brushes your clit once, testing, and you jerk with a gasp, your body still thrumming with aftershocks.

Chan grins up at you, all dark eyes and swollen lips, before dragging his tongue up your slit one last time.

Chan rises from between your thighs with a groan, his lips slick and glistening with you, you realize with a jolt — before his mouth crashes into yours, the kiss filthy and possessive, his tongue licking into your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, sticky with sweat, and he moans into your mouth when you tug — sharp, just to feel him shudder.

You pull away eventually, both of you panting, sticky with sweat and other things, and collapse onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Chan drags you half on top of him, your head resting against his chest where you can hear his heartbeat still racing beneath his skin.

His fingers trace idle patterns along your back, the movie’s credits roll, forgotten, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.

You nuzzle into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat slowing down, the rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek. His skin is warm and slightly sticky, and you press a kiss to it without thinking, smiling when his fingers pause for a second before resuming their path along your spine.

"Quit staring," you murmur, tilting your head up just enough to catch him watching you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. soft, almost awed, Chan huffs a laugh, his thumb brushing your hipbone where he’d gripped hard enough to leave marks earlier.

"Can’t help it," he admits, voice rough with exhaustion "You’re kinda fucking gorgeous like this."

You snort, but your cheeks heat anyway, and Chan’s grin widens when he notices. He shifts beneath you, rolling just enough to tuck you more firmly against his side, his arm a solid weight across your waist.

The movement makes you wince, your thighs ache in a way that’s equal parts delicious and punishing, and Chan’s fingers tighten reflexively, his smirk turning smug.

"Sorry," he lies, and you bite on his shoulder just to hear him yelp.

his yelp dissolves into laughter, his fingers digging into your sides as he squirms away from your teeth. “Fuck, ow,” he complains, but his grin ruins the effect, “You bite hard—should’ve known you’d be a menace.”

You grin against his shoulder, pressing another kiss to the reddening mark you left behind. “Payback,” you murmur, tracing the outline with your tongue just to feel him shiver. Chan groans, his hips jerking reflexively beneath you, and you freeze when you feel him stirring against your thigh—already half hard again.

“Seriously?” you ask, incredulous, and Chan has the audacity to look proud, his smirk widening as he rolls his hips up against you.

“What?” he teases, voice dripping with false innocence. “Can’t help it—you’re right there, all warm and fucked out—” His hand slides down your back, fingers skimming the curve of your ass before squeezing lightly. “And you bit me. That’s basically foreplay.”

You press a hand to Chan’s chest when he tries to roll you beneath him again, your thighs still trembling from the last round. “Shower,” you mumble, and Chan makes a wounded noise against your collarbone in protest.

“Five more minutes,” he tries, lips trailing up your neck like he’s trying to convince you with his mouth.

You laugh, breathless, and squirm out of his grip before he can distract you properly. “No—shower,” you insist, swatting at his hands when they try to drag you back. “We’re disgusting.”

Chan pouts — actually pouts, like this big hunk of a man didn't just fuck the daylights out of you — and flops back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, but his eyes track your every movement as you stand, snickering when you wobble slightly on unsteady legs.

You stumble towards the bathroom, then you glance back at Chan, sprawled across the couch with his arms behind his head, watching you with that stupid, smug grin, and ask, "When’s your next stream again?"

his grin falters into confusion when your question registers. "Monday," he says automatically, his brows furrowing, "Why?"

You hum, "Just thinking," then you shrug, "maybe I’ll join you next time."

he's caught off guard when you leave him hanging and close the bathroom door behind you, "don't start something you can't finish!"

Sam disappears into research mode for like three days straight.

You catch him at 3 a.m. with seventeen tabs open: “Physiology of female squirting: a review”, “Role of G-spot stimulation and pelvic floor contractions”, “Does hydration status affect squirting volume?”, some sketchy Reddit threads titled “I made her gush 911”, and an actual peer-reviewed article he printed out and highlighted. With different colors. Because he’s Sam.

He starts operation “hydration protocol” like you’re training for a marathon. Every time you turn around there’s a new glass of water. “Baby, you need to stay hydrated.” “Sam I’ve had four liters today.” “Yeah but that was before lunch.”

He’s so earnest about it. Keeps refilling your bottle with that soft little “I’m doing this because I love you and also science” smile that makes you want to both kiss him and strangle him.

Then night falls.

He’s been edging you for an hour already—slow, filthy, focused oral like he’s writing his dissertation with his tongue. Forehead glistening. Hair falling in his eyes. That little furrow between his brows he gets when he’s concentrating really hard. He’s got two long fingers curled inside you, pressing that spot that makes your thighs shake, and he’s sucking your clit with this rhythmic pull that’s actually insane.

You’re begging. You’re crying a little. You’re definitely soaking his chin.

And then it happens.

The pressure builds different this time—sharper, fuller, almost scary—and he knows. He fucking knows.

He pulls off just enough to rasp, “Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Let it happen.”

You do.

You arch so hard your back leaves the mattress and you gush—hard—right against his mouth. He groans like he just won the lottery. Doesn’t stop. Just keeps licking through it, slower now, helping you ride the aftershocks while he murmurs, “That’s it… fuck, look at you… so fucking beautiful…”

You think he’s done. He is not done.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes black with intent, and says—very seriously, like he’s presenting his thesis defense

“I need to know if it’s just oral or if penetration can trigger it too.”

You blink. Still panting. “Sam—”

“It’s for science,” he says, already hard and leaking against your thigh. “I have a control variable now. I need to test the independent one.”

You’re too fucked out to argue with Winchester logic.

He flips you onto your stomach first—because “angle matters”—slides in so slow it’s torture, lets you feel every inch while he’s whispering anatomy facts against your ear like dirty talk. “See how deep I can get… right against your anterior wall… that’s where the Skene’s glands are… fuck, you’re so wet already…”

He builds it again.

Deliberate thrusts. Deep. Focused. Changes the angle every time your breathing changes until he finds the one that makes you sob into the pillow.

His hand snakes around to rub tight circles on your clit at the same time and—oh god.

You’re shaking.

You’re pleading.

You’re definitely going to black out.

“Sam—Sam I can’t—”

“You can,” he growls, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna do it again. For me. Come on, baby, give it to me—”

He slams in hard one last time, pins you down with his whole body, fingers relentless on your clit and— You break.

It’s louder this time. Wetter. Messier. You squirt so hard it soaks his thighs, the sheets, probably the fucking headboard. He loses it. Groans your name like a prayer, fucks you through it with these wild, desperate thrusts until he’s coming too, buried so deep you feel him pulse inside you.

When it’s over he collapses half on top of you, both of you drenched and panting.

Long silence.

Then, in the tiniest, most smug voice:

“…Hypothesis confirmed.”

You wheeze out a laugh. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles against your shoulder, already kissing the sweat off your skin. “But I’m your insane.”

He reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand without even looking.

“Drink,” he says softly. “Sam—” “Hydration protocol isn’t over yet.”

You’re never going to survive this man.

✰ a/n: sam would deadas keep a little notebook “she reached squirting threshold at 22:47 via combined digital-oral stimulation” “penetrative squirting achieved at 23:12 after 17 minutes of consistent G-spot pressure”

he’s so proud of his data

you’re so in love with him it’s disgusting

Your cheeks heat at the idea of it alone. Realistically, you know you can ask him for anything and he’d happily give it. The insane price tag is what holds you back. There is no way you could ask for something that expensive. 

“I can’t.”

“You can.” Suguru sits up at your hesitation, his knees on either side of your hips. “Listen, he’s just a man with a stupid amount of money and what do men with a stupid amount of money like to do? Spend it on pretty things.” He leans forward, his face in yours again to press a kiss to your jaw as he whispers, “That’s us.” 

“I can’t,” you repeat, tilting your head away to get a better view of the man sitting on top of you. 

Suguru rolls his eyes and huffs. “Do you want it?”

“Not tha-”

“Do you want it?” 

“I don’t need it.”

“I didn’t ask if you need it. Yes or no, do you want it?” He raises his eyebrows, making a poor attempt at not smiling while he waits for your answer. 

You swallow down your shame, avoiding eye contact as you admit, “yes,” through gritted teeth. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” He presses a kiss to your lips and stands.

You push yourself up on your elbows and watch him free his hair from the bun he keeps it in, long hair falling over his shoulders and down his back. You gulp when his shirt comes off next, nothing you haven’t seen before but god, he’s fucking breathtaking. 

6’3 of lean muscle, raven locks down to his waist, sharp jawline and cheekbones. 

The kind of beauty that wars have been fought over. 

Suguru takes your hand and pulls you to your feet. 

“Let me show you how to charm the man who has the money,” he says, guiding you down the hallway and into the living room where Satoru sits on the couch, lost in whatever’s displayed on his phone screen.

You lean against the living room wall, observing the way Suguru moves across the room to settle into Satoru’s lap. He plucks Satoru’s phone from his hand and tosses it to the other cushion, commanding his attention. Satoru’s face blushes a bright, pretty pink as he takes in the sight of Suguru and all of his raw sex appeal. 

“Toru, baby,” Suguru purrs, pressing himself closer to Satoru, guiding his hands to his waist. “I need your credit card.” 

“Mmm, yeah?” Satoru hums, his hands roaming over Suguru’s sides and around his back to lock him in place. His pupils are already swallowing his irises, glazed over by lust. “What for?” 

Suguru cages him against the back of the couch, his hair falling in a curtain around them. He rolls his hips down into Satoru’s just to hear him choke on the air he tries to suck in when their dicks brush; they’re only half hard but it’s enough. “That doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

“You’re gonna bleed me dry, gorgeous.” Satoru surges up to plant his lips on Suguru’s, just for Suguru to pull back. 

“Who says it’s for me?” Their eyes turn to you, still leaning against the wall. You swallow thickly, feeling blood rush to your cheeks. Satoru chuckles and returns his attention to Suguru, attempting to bring their lips together again. Suguru grabs his jaw before they can connect, just barely letting them brush when he says, “Ah- card first.”

Your clit throbs watching the interaction, completely hypnotized by Suguru the same way Satoru is. You’re pulled out of your trance and forward by Suguru holding out a little silver piece of plastic to you that you take too long to realize is Satoru’s card. 

You stumble over your own feet on you way to the couch, gingerly taking the card from Suguru’s out stretched hand. You whisper a ‘thank you,’ and you’re not even sure who you’re thanking or what for, but you press a kiss to Suguru’s cheek regardless as his tongue explores Satoru’s mouth. 

You turn to head back to the bedroom and enter the digits on the card into your phone on a somewhat questionable website, only to be stopped by Satoru’s hand grabbing your wrist. 

When you turn back to face him, Suguru is leaving open mouthed kisses over his jaw and neck, his chest heaving as he pushes his hips up into Suguru’s. 

“At least kiss me before you rob me blind.” He smirks up at you, eyes half lidded. His mouth falls open around a deep moan when Suguru finds a particularly sensitive stretch of skin, and there’s that throb in your clit again. 

Your breathing is becoming just as uneven as Satoru’s. You sit next to them, your knees tucked under you and lean forward, your lips capturing Satoru’s. 

“Thank you, Toru,” you whisper against his lips when you part. 

a/n: not proofread, if this is shit don’t tell me

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you gasp at the slow, smooth circles alastor rubs at your clit with.

“yes?” he prompts sweetly, as if encouraging a trick. his hand reaches up to turn your head, a hand cups the front of your throat as he forces you to look at him. your eyes lock with his, barely an inch of space between you. “you do want to know?”

his grip isn't tight, but no sound comes out anyway. you lock eyes with him. you can't make yourself out in the reflection of his eyes but his smile doesn't change. you know you look desperate, you can never hide how you feel from alastor.

you nod again, mouth fallen open. good thing alastor fills the silence for you.

“well, unfortunately,” alastor chuckles, static warm as he drags his thumb along the thumping pulse of your heart. he is kind enough not to say anything about how loudly it thumps, how shaky you are breathing, “i’m afraid i can’t tell you.”

you're awake and ruined. you feel him pushing inside your tight hole. his hand is steady and slow as alastor slows inch his first finger into you. they're cool compared to the tight, wet heat of your cunt. jolts of electricity spatter along your insides.

"w-why...?" your voice is clipped and hardly there and comes out as a loud whine instead. you want to touch him. you want to move freely but the goddamn tendril around your arms won't let you. and it's hard.

“hm? finding your words now?” he hums. “i knew you could do it.”

he rewards you wih his middle finger curling as it bottoms out, down to the knuckle as he pauses and let you get adjusted to the sensation.

“you see,” he continues, lowering his voice as if nothing, “if i told you, there would be nothing left for you to do. and you so clearly want to do something.”

you open your mouth to speak but the pressure is too strong. another sensation follows you, then - just after you get used to the first. he gives you another finger, his ring finger this time, and repeat the process. fucking you slow and deep, letting your hole stretch out around him and pumping inside.

you feel your jaw go slack at the overwhelming difference between pain.

alastor laughs softly. “oh, but don’t you worry that little head of yours. you’re doing wonderfully.” he sounds pleased with the question, with your attitude. “honestly, i’d hate to spoil that by burdening you with my troubles.”

"but— but i—" you're boneless underneath his touch. your body and sensations reach heights far beyond and in true. you're not usually so spoiled but it's too much. "—care!"

you shake in his grasp as he secures your waist with his free hand. the roundest part of his palm pushes up against your sex, clit throbbing as your head melts.

( it wouldn’t change a thing. it wouldn’t make it any less real. the narrow place alastor has shaped around you belongs to you, even if it steals your breath. it’s yours— and you’d go to great lengths just to keep him satisfied. )

"aren't you very generous?" he replies. it sounds like praise, makes your stomach turn. "you want to make me feel better?"

alastor curls his fingers inside you, pressing and searching until he hits the right spot and you moan brokenly. his fingers curl against the spongy area, silken walls clamping down and pulsing on his hand.

"yes, yes, please," your brain feels like it'll pour out of your ears, the words barely forming to speak. you whimper at the touch of his cool hands on your hot skin. "love you."

yes. you do know. there's no way you couldn't. everything is full. heart, body, mind - every inch of you harbors alastor like he's made you in his image.

"i know," he says, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. it's a surprisingly tender gesture that you can't help but whine. “nothing going on in here, is there?”

you nod. a shame you barely registering what he’s saying through your haze of pleasure. you allow him whatever he wants. your head feels full. drunk and floating until you come with a sound that's something between a sob and his name, and your vision speckles at the edges because oh my fucking god—

the high is too much, it's all too much. he's pulling you back againts his chest. everything's okay and the sensation is so horribly relieving that you do cry, properly, within a few heaving breaths.

alastor is good to you as you do. you can't see the hint of mischief in his eyes, but it's there as he pets down your chest, you waist and hips, but he doesn’t retract his fingers that your thighs shake with overstimulation.

“oh, no, no, no,” he tuts as another icy tendril wraps around your thighs and prevents you for closing them. “that won’t do at all.”

his fingers brush over your nipples, and you find yourself arching against his chest. you are so sensitive. he rubs circles, pinching and rolling as you start to squirm as his lips press against your shoulder.

you are not stranger to alastor claws againts your tender flesh, but your nerves feel fried, like they're getting pulled like weeds and laid out. like this is too much.

“you are yet to show me just how much you care, yes?”

you know you love him. no matter how it would look to anyone else. you like to think that alastor loves you too. enough to ruin you completely and put you back together again over and over again.

his veiny girth will only seem to swell at your words, growing bigger n' thicker inside you, and prodding all your sensitive spots easily, your high quickly approaching as you arch your back and moan loudly at the obscene, squelching between your legs, and how dirty it all feels.

in fact, when you go into your puppy heat, it's almost impossible to get you to stop once you've become intimate, your libido heightened and pussy always pulsing and needy for more, so as a result, you and satoru always end up going at it for hours on end.

leopard!satoru who you're on the verge of overstimulating, big glassy tears pricking in his azure eyes while being on his umpteenth orgasm.

"b-baby.. hah.. s-slow down, y'er so eager, fuck!"

underneath you, your powerful hybrid with his rippling spotted coat and lashing tail was rendered nothing but a whining squirmy mess, his jaw slacken with pools 'n pools of hot drool pouring out as his sharp fangs gleam, ears perked up and whiskers twitching to signify his oncoming orgasm.

leopard!satoru whose ears are incredibly sensitive, and as you tug on them, stroking the fur softly, can only whimper before he's cumming, and cumming hard, gushing sticky white ribbons n' ribbons of cum deep into your stomach, filling you endlessly while his big chest heaves up and down, purring in content.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ── WOLF

wolf!toji who is so big and buff, with his broad chest and rippling pectorals, that when you're ovulating on your puppy cycle, you truly cannot resist him, clambering and pressing yourself against him with small whines.

"now now, pup.." his deep, baritone rumble sounds as his big palms roughly cup your tits, causing you to mewl with need. "what's the magic word?"

“pleasee..” you beg, shuddering as he begins to lay you down, sharp claws digging into your wrists as you writhe eagerly, trying to push your desperate hips upward.

he growls at your squirming, leaning forward to bite at your neck, before laving his thick, wet tongue over the mark, fluffy cheek tickling you.

and finally, you feel his girthy cock, veins thumping erratically and thickened, smearing tip tapping on your entrance, his smug smirk plastered to his face as he observes how your eyes roll back at the simple gesture.

“open.” he demands, and you obey, watching as he leans over you, letting a warm glob of spit drop into your mouth, and distracting you as in one motion, he buries himself inside you to the hilt.

you squeal, and he clamps a hand over your mouth, shushing you while beginning to rock his hips back n’ forth and back n’ forth.

his hips are absolutely killer, as he brutally plows into you, marking every inch of you as his, your hands desperately digging into anything you can reach while he has your ankles up to your ears, folding you in such a nasty mating press.

his reddened mushroomy tip repeatedly bumps your g-spot, coiling your stomach tighter and tighter until you’re panting as the smack! of his hips into skin echoes.

in fact, his monstrous wolf hybrid cock is so big, so swollen, that with every harsh thrust, it gives you a stomach bulge, the obscene outline of his veiny shaft and feel of his hefty balls slapping your ass making you cum, screaming his name as you cream all over his cock.

he only relents after he’s ravished you in every position, and made you cum on his fingers, his mouth, and most importantly, his cock, satiating your little puppy needs.. for now.

KENTO NANAMI ── BEAR

bear!nanami can smell when you're going into a heat, so he practically knows it before you do.

"awh, is m'pretty girl horny?" he'll coo, laying you down on your back while his big fuzzy snout comes to sniff curiously between your legs, tickling you as you squeal.

he noses apart your thighs, big beefy arms holding you pinned in place to the bed as he slooowly starts to lap his wet, long muscle against the dampness of your panties, small round ears twitching with excitement at the small moans you let out.

bear!nanami is hefty and a bit chubby with a soft belly but still very muscular. when he lays on top of you, you can barely breathe but instead of fear overtaking you, you seem to like it, snuggling up as close as possible to your warm hybrid and licking anywhere you can reach in gratitude.

but now, it was his turn to make you nice and cozy, and satisfy the aching need you felt when you were on your cycle.

"lemme taste you.." he mumbles, squishing your knees up to your plump breasts as he pulls your panties to the side, drooling strings of arousal connecting you together, and fully buries his face deep into your weeping cunt.

you yelp, tail thrashing behind you but no match for bear!nanami's pure size as he determinedly holds you down while eating you out, hot slithery tongue lapping your honeyed juices while the tip of his wet, black nose presses on your clit, stimulating you even more.

huskily, he groans between your thighs pressing his face impossibly deeper as he makes out with your slobbering pussy, gathering every dewy slickened slosh! of essence pouring out with grateful little sighs and mwahs! of his sticky lips against your entrance.

"ken' m’so.. hah.. close.." you keen lowly, whimpering as the coil in your tummy grows tighter n' tighter, threatening to snap with every breath.

"i know, puppy.." he whispers, not stopping in his slurping as one big paw comes to splay out against your tummy. “just hold on f’me for a lil’ bit longer..”

you whimper, your legs closing tight around his head as you shudder, moving your hips until you’re practically dragging your cunt across his face, smearing translucent slick all over him.

bear!nanami who is tracing circles on you with his tongue, licking every drop of your candied essence until you’re whining to cum, begging in a small voice; “ken.. hah.. please please please!”

bear!nanami who murmurs out a “cum baby. allll on my tongue, cum for me,” before adding a single chubbed finger to your greedy pussy, curling deep inside your gummy walls.

and oh, you do, babbling his name like a prayer as your orgasm races through you all at once, soaking his lower chin in your glossy sheen, his resounding groan of approval rumbling through you.

bear!nanami loooves when you're in heat, because it means you'll go for round after round, and he can lap at your little pussy, making you cum for hours.

RYŌMEN SUKUNA ── TIGER

tiger!sukuna is instantly able to tell when you're in a rut, because of the way you're always on top of him pressing your puppy face into his chest and whimpering as you hump his plush belly, while snaking a hand downward to feel his chubbed cock, stroking at it with no particular rhyme or reason.

"tch pup, so pathetic." he'll rumble at you, but still allowing you to continue your desperate attempts to get the two of you off, soft little growls leaving him as your hand tightens or your finger presses particularly hard on his leaking slit, oozing pools of pearlescent precum all down your wrist.

you whine, grinding harder as the heat in your belly increases, slickness pooling in your panties with every passing second.

but just when you're about to relieve your poor, needy pussy, he stops you, pushing you backward roughly while pinning your wrists high above your head.

you protest, yelping softly as you wriggle in his grip, but he simply leers over you, sharp canines glinting as he settles against you.

"aww, calm down you'll get to cum little puppy." he sneers, watching you gulp as he finally frees his massive cock, twitching between his legs, reddish divot smearing gooey white across his striped tummy.

"just lemme have my fun first.."

tiger!sukuna who will spare you no mercy, hips thwacking! into you ferociously while his slacken maw hangs open, spit dribbling into your awaiting mouth.

his cock is heavy between your legs, and hits deep into your walls, bruising your cervix and french kissing your g-spot with every punctuated thrust.

his tail will wrap around you tightly, keeping you in place for him while he repeatedly rams into you, thickened mushroomy head bumping so hard it has you seeing stars, while drool, tears, and cum pool underneath your limp body, as he coaxes you from one orgasm to the next, never faltering as he fills you to the brim with endless spurts of milky white seed, until your tummy is sloshing with it.

tiger!sukuna who when he cums, cums hard and cums long. his orgasms seem to stretch on for minutes, each gushing so much, it overspills out of your poor, stuffed cunt while he curses low, rocking his hips steadily as he rides it out, creamy white pouring out of you as you cling to him with soft whimpers.

he's so rough with you in bed, but you know he'll take care of you later, gently cleaning you up with his tongue before tucking you in cozily to his chest and purring soundly.

SUGURU GETO ── PANTHER

it's a well known fact that panthers have an excellent sense of smell.

and panther!geto, sprawled out and watching you with slitted eyes as his tail flicks back n' forth lazily was no different, keenly aware as your cheeks flush with heat, thighs rubbing together for more friction when you glance over at him every so often.

finally he rumbles out a sultry, "something on your mind, darl'?"

you turn to him, swallowing thickly, sweltering and feverish. "i-i don't know, i feel hot all over an'.."

your breath is short and ragged, and the look you give him is one of pure carnal need.

he smirks slyly in response, flicking his tail over his spread legs, bulge printed clearly through his sweatpants to beckon you closer.

you're panting at this point, unsure how much more teasing you can take, but before you get any closer, he lunges for you, pinning you down with his tail wrapped tightly around your upper thigh, the fur just barely brushing your core.

"legs up." his words are a slow purr, and he watches with amusement as you obey instantly, gasping fervently as you urge him closer to you, pawing at his thick cock.

he simply laughs as you pull out his enormous throbbing member, the tip a darkish red hue and so big you can hardly fit your hand around it.

"want me to fuck you? yeah?" he encourages as he watches your eager head nodding along. "hard and fast? heh.. such a slut."

true to his word however, he pushes your legs up high, slotting himself in between, heavy length resting against your thigh.

he gives himself a few strokes, luscious black hair hanging over your head as you watch impatiently, already trying to squirm and align your hips with his.

"alright, ready?" he exhales while starting to push in slowly, thick inches stretching your tight pussy, even as your walls clamp and suck him in for more.

hiking your legs up higher with his big hands, they're practically by your ears as he starts to mount you, rolling his hips in n' out with precision.

"mmph.. so tighttt baby, you're killing me." he groans when you tug on his hair softly; his sensitive scalp has always been his weakness, and as a result, his thrusts grow sharper, deeper, hitting directly into your cushy sweet spot.

you cry out and moan, nails digging in sharply to his back as he huffs curses into your ear, angling himself juust right to push up against your cervix, rough palm coming down to smack! on your sensitive, puffy clit.

you squeal, and he bites down on your tender, floppy puppy ears, your stomach growing taut, and your release so close you can practically taste it.

"don't cum yet, doll, not 'till i tell you.." he hoarsely moans out, skin meeting skin with echoing thwacks!

you quickly whine in protest, wriggling your hips as you try to hold off and obey him like a good puppy, but knowing with a few more seconds, you weren't going to be able to stop yourself from coming undone.

urgently, you jerk and twist, trying to push him off, but he simply chuckles, thinking you're playing rough.

"stop moving, and take this fucking cock, baby." he whispers out, voice low and breathy as he thrusts his thick inches in you particularly harshly for emphasis, blunt tip ramming so hard into your sweet spot, you're dazed for a second before you realize you're cumming.

your vision turns white and spotty, and your legs twitch weakly beside you as you squirt, absolutely drenching his abdomen and pelvis in your shimmery slick, saturated and pouring out of you in gushes.

he pauses for a second, taken aback as his eyes survey your quivering form.

"oh? did i say you could cum yet?" he chuckles, the sound low and menacing, and your blood runs cold. "let's see if you're still so eager after ten more.."

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don't copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

Lying on top of him while sunbathing, claiming you’re “counting his freckles”:

It had already become a habit. Every time you traveled to Australia together, you and Felix would end up at the beach. After playing in the ocean and drawing silly things in the sand like two happy kids, you’d eventually settle down— Felix would nap on one towel while you read a book on another, right beside him. But it never lasted long.

Eventually, you’d roll over to his towel, ending up right on top of his warm, solid body, your ass turned to the sun.

Felix opened his eyes, half closed, cause of the bright light, and smirkedz “What are you doing up there, angel?”, he asked lazily, “Did the book get boring?”

One of his hands brushed your hair away from your face, the other finding your waist.

“Im counting your freckles, Lixie”, you said, pretending to be innocent 

He chuckled, fully aware that all you really wanted was to feel him— his abs, his thighs, his chest, his strong arms pulling you closer, pressing you even more against him.

“Oh yeah?”, he asked, skeptical, “And how many have you counted so far?”

Caught redhanded, you pouted, “hum… I lost count”, you lied, then laughed, hiding your face in his chest.

Felix, whi never missed an opportunity, subtly jerked his hips up against yours.

“Then keep counting, angel”, he said, “The more you lose count, the better”

You spent the rest of the afternoon like that— half asleep under the sun, bodies pressed together, with absolutely no idea how many freckles Felix actually had.

Biting one of his muscles just to hear him groan in his deep voice:

Of course his biceps already looked tempting but that wasn’t why you bit him— you just wanted to hear that sound.

And of course, a low groan slipped out of him, deep and rough, pulled straight from his chest— a third demon, third villain, third Vecna— making your heart skip a beat..

“Hey!”, he exclaimed, eyes wide in disbelief, “Did you just bite me?! That hurt!”

You giggled, covering your mouth, “Couldn’t help, it looked appetizing”

He smirked, his voice still low when he spoke again, “Too bad cause now I’m biting you back, angel”

Just like that, he pinned you on the couch, teeth sinking into your shoulder, making you moan.

“You like that?”, he asked, smug.

“Y-yeah… Lixie”, you whispered, “Please… use that voice again”

His smirk only widened, “This voice?”

You nodded, and he bit at your hip this time, “Naughty angel”

Distracting him while he’s gaming:

Felix might be bronze when it comes to games, but he was definitely gold at pleasing his girlfriend— you. Except when he was logged in all night playing with Yang Jeongin.

You’d already threatened them saying you were going to put the bread in the oven and the chick in the air fryer. But neither of them took you seriously so you played your final card— sliding into Felix’s lap 

He didn’t push you away, not when you fluttered your lashes, fake pouting, claiming you missed him. With his arms wrapped around your waist, he kept playing with Jeongin, resisting to all your provocations— even when you shifted against him, even when you pressed kisses along his neck. 

But the moment you gave up and simply relaxed against his chest, one hand slipping under his hoodie, gently stroking his toned chest and abs—

Felix’s mind wandered. You felt it in the way he twitched under your thighs.

Less than five minutes later, he told Jeongin he was tired and logged off, then he stood up, lifting you effortlessly, bridal style.

“Lixie…?”, you asked, confused.

“Gotta take care of my girl now”

French kissing him:

Besides Louis Vuitton, Paris and croissants, Felix had another favorite French thing— french kissing. And you knew that very well.

Whenever he was exhausted from practice, or tour, or just emotionally drained, your mouth on his was his salvation.

You would sit on the living room floor, some movie playing forgotten in the background, empty wine glasses nearby, you on his lap, tongue warm and insistent against his, tracing slow, random shapes as your hands explored his muscles—his arms, chest, jaw— while his danced over your curves, squeezing your waist, your chest, your ass. Completely lost in each other.

Things Felix would do with his muscles because he knows you can’t resist (and he still wants to get laid):

Spill stuff on his abs on purpose:

Felix was an incredible cook and since he always cooked for you, every Sunday you made breakfast for him and brought it to bed. And every Sunday, he would win.

After feeding each other pancakes dripping with the topping, Felix would always accidentally spill something on his abs— honey, chocolate, whipped cream, maple syrup. Always by “accident”.

Pouting, the little menace looked at you with pitiful eyes, “Ynnie… I made a mess”

You smiled, rolling your eyes, knowing it was on purpose, “I’ll get a napkin, then”, you said, playing along.

His eyes widened as he pulled you closer, “Nooo, that’ll take too long! It’s sticky, this is torture, ugh” he complained dramatically.

“Then what do you want me to do?”, you asked, already knowing the answer 

“You have a tongue, angel”, you could hear rhe smirk in his voice

Straddling him, you leaned down and slowly licked his abs from his navel up to his chest, your warm tongue tracing every ridge of his defined belly. 

Felix didn't look away, not even once, propped up on his elbows, one hand sliding into your hair as he mumbled in a low voice, “Good girl. I think I might spill some honey in other places too”

You looked up at him, smirking,  “Do it. I’ll clean everything”

Locking his arms around your thighs while you sit on his face:

Felix loved working with his tongue— on your lips, your skin, between your thighs. Literally everywhere.

You were sitting on his face, hands gripping the headboard, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his head. Every time it became too much, when he sucked just right, your hips tried to pull away, bucking up on instinct.

So Felix would lock his arms around your thighs, holding you firmly against his mouth, forcing you to feel every single stroke of his tongue. And he wouldn't stop, not even when you begged.

“Calm down, angel”, he whispered against you, “You’re doing so well” 

Arm wrestling (and the winner gets to do whatever they want):

“Best of three”, he’d say and you’d agree, even though you knew it was useless. Cause every time, he’d let you win at first, then he’d flip the switch— strong arms turning yours with ease, pinning your hand down effortlessly, hypnotizing you.

At the end, as expected, he won, “So?”, you asked, “What do you want?”

His eyes darkened, deep and full of lust, “Hands and knees on the bed, angel”

Fucking you in front of the mirror:

Every now and then, he’d take you to a motel.

Not for privacy, or fetish— for the ceiling mirror. Felix loved watching you in the reflection while he fucked you— the way your body arched against his, the way your face contorted when he hit just right. But more than anything, he loved watching you lose your mind over his muscles.

Every time you caught him staring at yourselves— you’d look away. And he’d gently grab your jaw and force you to look again.

“Keep watching, angel”, he’d say, flexing his abs just a little more, smirking of course, “You look so pretty like this… falling apart for me”

Your entire body would tremble, weak and overstimulated.

At the end, after both of you came, he pulled out so you could watch his cum drip from you, running down your inner thighs until it landed on his abs.

“Lick it”, he would say, never once breaking eye contact with the mirror.

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"He's barely got an eye for anyone," she muttered to you in a stage whisper from behind a cheeky hand. "I don't think he's ever even kissed a girl!"

Across the table, Alastor grins at you, all charm and sharp teeth.

Naturally you'd believed her. Mimzy was one of his closest associates, and besides, it was true - Alastor made you vaguely nervous with his dark eyes like pools of still water in a cave. The way he regarded people was like... like a shark, maybe.

But you liked being in his vicinity, and really, when Mimzy so kindly introduced you to each other, how could you turn down the opportunity? Being around Alastor was like being in the sun’s warmth. People flocked to him to bask in his wit and charm and style, and through him you could pretend to be a social butterfly while working half the magic.

"You smell nice." Your words slur into each other, your fingers curling into the pressed cloth of his dress shirt.

“Do I, my dear?” he asks distractedly. One arm curls around your waist, keeping you close to him, which you have no trouble obeying as you nose at his pulse. The other is behind him, unlocking the door to his suite. “What do I smell like?”

You barely register what’s happening. His pulse is so slow - not at all thrumming like an unmarried man’s should when he’s bringing someone into his bed, not racing, not stuttering in the least.

“…Roses.” It takes a moment for you to find your tongue. “Fresh soil. Metal.”

“Metal? Like iron?” You catch a glimpse of a raised eyebrow, before Alastor leans in to press his forehead against yours.

“Like blood,” you mutter, and sling your arms around his neck, and kiss him.

You find yourself on your elbows and knees an hour later on the verge of collapse.

“A-Alastor,” you choke out. “Ah, mmph, Alastor…”

“Yes, my sweet,” he coos, not at all sounding like a man with his fingers buried knuckle-deep inside you. “That is my name.”

Alastor twists his fingers around, curling them to stroke against a throbbing vein within you. You gasp, whine, your legs slipping close.

“Keep them open for me,” he says in that sing-song way of his. “My darling. Your head is full of nothing but me, isn’t it? How adorable.”

You feel the heat of Alastor as he leans over you, and consequently the sharp bite of canines into the nape of your neck. Your cry of pain and pleasure is accompanied by a ruthless thumb circling your swollen clit.

“Say my name again, my sweet. I want to hear you sing.”