lala

he pulled out and groaned at the sight of your creamy cunt. a few times he slapped his swollen tip against your entrance, smearing his precum up and down your slit. then he slid back in so torturously slow that you could feel every inch and vein.

“y’know i think about it all the time,” he murmured against your spine. “how pretty you’d look knocked up. stuffed full of me. round with my baby. fuck.”

your moan was broken and high pitched when he shifted you. a moment later you were on your back, legs thrown over his shoulder, and his weight pressed you deeply into the cushions of the couch.

the mating press - his favorite.

yours too, because he always got so deep like this. his thick cock bullied your cunt like it belonged there. he was carving a home in you, and it turned you on. so fucking much.

“this is where you’re meant to be,” he said against your mouth shakingly. “under me like this, letting me fuck you full. you’re gonna take all of it, okay? gonna let me make you mine.”

“yes enjin. yours. mmm. you’re mine too,” you nodded, dazed and breathless.

your eyes rolled back as he pounded into you. his pace was so brutal and desperate at the same time. he was losing control. so close, you could feel it in the way his thrusts started to falter.

“gonna cum,” he warned. “where do you want it?”

“inside,” you whimpered. “please, please inside—”

that was all it took.

he growled your name and slammed into you with one final thrust. his cock twitched hard, throbbed, as he spilled deep inside your quivering cunt. warm wetness bloomed where you were already stretched and stuffed.

enjin didn’t stop moving. even while orgasming he rutted into you, grinding it in while his big hands kept your hips pinned down.

“just like that,” he whispered hoarsely. “fuck, take it. take all of it. gonna give you everything, baby. gonna keep going until you’re full.”

when he finally let your legs down he didn’t pull out right away. he kept himself buried inside you, chest to chest, golden eyes soft but still blown with lingering lust. you felt so safe there, wrapped up in his arms, flushed and fucked out and owned.

“you okay?” he asked, brushing sweaty hair from your face.

“yeah,” you whispered, “but i don’t think i can walk.”

he chuckled and kissed your forehead. “that’s fine. i wasn’t planning on letting you get up anyway. not until i’m sure you’re bred.”

you let out a giggle as he lifted you up. legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he carried you to his bed where you fell asleep, with you warming his cock the whole night.

or, so you thought.

your thighs were shaking as you slid out from beneath him in bed. the sheets were damp, your body slick with sweat and your inner thighs coated with the sticky mess he’d left in you. you winced as your core clenched involuntarily, still tender and full. you needed to pee. needed to clean up. every step to the bathroom left a drip down your thigh and all you could think was how much he’d given you. he always came a lot, but this time had been something else.

lately he had been more possessive than usual.

the rooms were dark and silent as you got to the bathroom. you didn’t bother with the light as you shuffled over to the toilet, but before you could sit down —

a presence.

you froze, an involuntarily scream tore from you. followed by an arm that snatched around your waist from behind, a hand covering your mouth before the sound could leave your throat. your wide eyes locked on the reflection in the mirror.

enjin stood behind you - tall, bare-chested - and wearing his fucking mask.

“‘jin—what the fuck—” came out muffled behind his palm.

“where do you think you’re going?” he growled in your ear, voice distorted and low beneath the mask. “you think i fucked you full just to let it leak out in the toilet?”

he bent you over the sink before you could answer. his hand yanked your hips back and you felt him already hard again, hot and angry against your ass.

“no. wait, please—” you gasped.

he shoved back inside you in one brutal thrust. you choked on the intrusion, nails scraping the edge of the porcelain sink as your eyes rolled. he didn’t give you time to adjust. just started slamming into you, his hips pistoning like a man possessed.

“you’re gonna hold it,” he hissed through the mask. “gonna keep it. i worked too damn hard filling you up, baby. you’re not wasting a drop.”

your mouth fell open, drool slipping down your chin as the pain-mixed-pleasure washed over you. his rhythm was cruel, merciless with sharp snaps of his hips that hit deep. his grip bruising your hips, fucking into you so hard the mirror rattled. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small bathroom, vulgar and raw. you could barely stand it.

“i love seeing you like this,” he hissed. “trying so hard to stay quiet while i ruin you. you scream, you wake the other cleaners.”

your legs buckled. your body shook. and when you came, it was messy and feral and devastating. you moaned behind his hand. no, you were crying, overstimulated and helpless. your pussy clenched around him as he kept fucking you through it. he groaned, hips stuttering, and you felt it again. hot spurts deep inside, mixing with the first load, making a mess of your insides all over again.

he didn’t let go until you were trembling and limp in his arms, forehead pressed to the mirror, mascara smudged, lips bitten red.

“you’re not cleaning up,” he whispered darkly, removing his mask just enough to kiss your shoulder. “you’re going back to bed like this. plugged up. dripping full. mine.”

he carried you there like you were breakable glass, even though five minutes ago, he nearly shattered you against that sink. you were absolutely boneless, babbling nonsense as he tugged you back in and made sure you didn’t leave the bed again.

the next morning you wake up to the smell of breakfast. you hear plates clinking and the soft hum of enjin whistling some random melody.

you shifted in bed, sore between your thighs and your body aching in that deeply satisfying way. but you also felt the tinge of overuse, the dull throb that told you last night’s bathroom session hadn’t exactly been…gentle. it had been hot. so fucking hot. but now?

“babe?” came a soft voice from the doorway.

you turned your head and there he was. shirtless, hair a fluffy, chaotic mess, carrying a tray with some bread, chocolate cream and two mugs of coffee. his eyes met yours and immediately dropped.

“oh fuck,” he mumbled. “you’re limping, aren’t ya?”

you laughed. “only a little.”

he looked wrecked. not in the sexy, post-sex way, but in the i’ve been pacing the hallways thinking about how hard i railed you while wearing a mask way.

“i’m so sorry,” he said, walking over and setting the tray on the nightstand. “i didn’t mean to get so rough. i saw you leaving the bed, and i… i just snapped. you were leaking and i thought—fuck, i just got this thing in my head and i didn’t stop to ask if—”

you silenced him with a kiss. “it’s okay, enjin,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “you were hot. a little crazy, but hot. i liked it.”

he let out a relieved sigh and kissed your knuckles. “i just wanted to take care of you this morning. thought i’d make breakfast, rub your legs, maybe beg for forgiveness if you were still mad…”

you grinned, slowly sliding the sheet down your body, revealing the curve of your hips, bare and inviting. his eyes locked onto your skin like it owed him money.

“well,” you murmured sweetly, “since you’re already being such a good boyfriend…”

he blinked at you.

“hey, babe?”

his breath hitched. “yeah?”

you leaned in closer, brushing your lips along his jaw. “three times is the charm.”

his brain short-circuited. you didn’t have to ask again. he set the tray aside, climbed onto the bed and hovered above you. his expression a soft mixture of reverence and hunger. this wasn’t the man from last night. this was your enjin, all warm, sweet, heart pounding with love and cock already hard between your thighs.

he guided himself to your entrance and slid in slowly while he kissed your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids. your leg curled around his waist, the other over his shoulder. the mating press wasn’t brutal this time. it was tender and deep. his body pressed you down into the mattress, hips rolling with slow, reverent purpose.

“still full of me,” he whispered, watching your face as he moved. “but i wanna give you more. want you to feel how much i love you.”

you whimpered. one arm wrapped around his neck, lips meeting his again and again. his pace never quickened. he gave you long, dragging strokes that had your toes curling and your heart clenching. he kissed your tears when they came, overwhelmed and overstimulated in the best way. his praise was quiet and endless.

“you’re perfect.”

“you take me so well.”

“this is where you belong. right here. with me.”

when he came, it was with a shaky moan and a broken “i love you,” and you felt it pulse deep inside - warm and full, just like his heart.

he didn’t move for a long time. he just held you, buried in you, murmuring promises into your skin.

That little bell on your pink lacy collar continuously ringed with each brutal thrust Toji delivered to your puffy pussy. It almost drowned out the wet sound of skin slapping and your loud whines as Toji drives into you from behind. Your mind felt numb with that you could barely even move and just lay there and moaning and slobbering into the pillow.

You were pulled out your trance when a sharp, stinging slap came down your ass. “Keep that back arched. No more fucking respect for your owner now huh?”

"M'sorry Jiji!—Fuckkk!” A long moan escaped your throat once you felt his tip nudge that spongy spot that had your knees bucking. Your eyes were glossy with those tears from earlier freely falling to your already messy face. 

His hands that were digging into your hips came down to rub your swollen nub, your moans drowning out into a silent scream as your eyes nearly rolled back at the pleasure.

“Look at this little pussy creaming all over me." His eyes were glued to the nasty scene below him. He spread your ass, relishing in the way your folds struggled to accommodate his thickness. The way you pulsed and clenched around him only made him pick his pace up, only getting meaner and meaner. “Don't even—shit, deserve to be fucked like this.” 

You practically gurgled a moan when he planted a foot on the bed and hit even deeper. Your pussy was pressed up against his balls and rutting into places you didn't even know existed. A warm, strong feeling in your stomach snuck up on you. One that had you feeling you were about to pee on him.

“W-wait Jiji, m'gonna pee..” You slurred out but before you could ever warn him a stream of your clear juices sprayed on the sheets, pushing Toji out. 

Your brain barely registered what happened after you flopped onto the bed with any form of energy drained out of you. All you heard was Toji laughing at you and patting your soaked pussy.

“Just pissing all over me. Gotta teach my pup some manners, yeah?”

oh, how much he used to crave to be able to touch you like this, to bury his face in your tits, tweak your perked buds and flick his tongue over them.

he’s completely consumed in them, eyes closed, lips wrapped around one of your nipples, his thumb and forefinger teasing your other. until you’re whining and squirming on his lap, slick gushing out of you and staining his thighs.

the wet slap of skin against skin bounces off the walls, complementing the filthy squelches of your pussy crying out with each bounce.

he doesn’t even thrust his hips up into yours, focused on worshipping every inch of you. finding pleasure in your pitched moans and desperate little whimpers as you try to keep a steady sway.

your eyes roll back, a gasp forced out of your throat when his cock hits deep inside you, the perfect angle and force. your clit grinds against his pelvic bone with each roll of your hips, legs trembling and stuttering in their movements.

“‘toruuu…” you mewl, your bounces becoming weaker, yet your body screaming for release.

“mmm?” his hum vibrates against your breast, his mouth sealed around it.

“satoru, please fuck me,” you beg, whining, eyes glassy with a desperate need.

he releases your nipple with a pop! and pulls back to look at you, a taunting glimmer in those entrancing eyes of his.

“aw, is that all you could do, sweetheart?” he croons mockingly. “c’mon, ride me properly. make yourself feel good.” he squeezes your hip with encouragement, his own hips still despite having a deep urge to flip you over and rail you into your mattress.

tears prick at your pretty eyes and it only makes him grin. the sadistic bastard.

“please, ‘toru,” you whine again. “can’t take it. want you to fuck me. want you to make me feel good.”

something dangerous flickers in his dilated eyes. like a switch that just got flipped.

“yeah, baby? you need me to fuck you nice and good?” his voice drops to a teasing rasp, and you nod eagerly. “alright then, baby… hold on tight.” and that smirk is back, something that makes you realise that you’re fucked. literally.

his large hands slide down to your waist, grabbing onto it tightly to hold you in place before his hips start pistoning up into yours.

you let out a sharp cry of his name, eyes screwed shut and your nails claw onto his arms.

“yeaahhh, that’s it, baby. louder f’me.”

his stupid smirk only widens with each moan and whimper you let out, with each clench of your walls around his cock like a vice, soaking him until there’s a depraved mess puddling on the sheets.

his thrusts are relentless, even as he reaches for your phone on your nightstand, holding it between his fingers like it’s flimsy as he wiggles it in front of you.

“think we should send your ex a little… message? show him what you sound like when you actually feel good?”

and you hate to admit that smug little curl of his lips does something to you. something that makes you nod dumbly, babbling out his name as he drives into that spot so precisely it’s driving you to the brink of insanity.

he presses record on your phone, leaving it aside before holding onto your waist again, squishing your soft skin between his hands as he drills his hips up into yours sharply, with so much determination you can only believe he’s trying to kill you.

“‘toru, ‘toru, ‘toru…” you moan, spilling out of your mouth like it’s the only thing you can manage to say. your salvation.

“hmm, yeah? ‘m fucking you good? fuck, this sweet fuckin’ pussy loves me, huh? squeezing me like that, drippin’ all over me,” he drawls, biting on his lip as a groan vibrates within his chest.

“yesyesyessss…!” you mewl, your body convulsing violently and your limbs feeling like jelly. you’re only upright because of him holding you up, his hips slamming into yours with no doubt that you’ll be sore tomorrow. “‘s so good. please, please…”

“please, what?” he asks, voice too sugary sweet for someone ruining you.

“i don’t know,” you whine, “just-- nngh… just keep fucking me, please.”

who is he to deny such saccharine pleas dripping from your mouth? the same way drool leaks from the corner of your mouth, completely drunk on his cock, addicted to the feeling of his length dragging along your walls, and bumping every crevice and sweet spot.

he reaches up and wipes the string of drool away from your chin with his thumb.

“my messy baby. drooling on me. from both lips heh,” he chuckles to himself, and if you were coherent, you’d probably roll your eyes at him. though, your eyes are too far back in your skull already. “bet you never had her fucked dumb like this, huh?” his voice drops lower, something snarky and of jealousy. of arrogance. your phone catching satoru’s words and every depraved moan of yours.

you shake your head weakly, half-lidded eyes staring down at satoru and he twitches within the warm confines of your cunt at the mere sight of you so ruined. because of him.

“never… only you, s’toru.”

a hint of affection tugs at his smirk, and he reaches up to cup the back of your head, bringing you down to lock his lips with yours in a messy kiss of spit and moans. it’s needy, barely coordinated. a clash of lips, teeth, and tongue.

when he pulls away, he sounds raspier. and his thrusts are nastier, calculated, insistent.

Best Friend!Satoru who tells himself he’s the same old him. You’re the same old you. Except he keeps catching himself staring at your mouth when you talk and your throat when you swallow and your pretty eyes and your pretty smile and your pretty tits (fuck, when did you get those?).

Like, objectively, they’ve always been there.

But now they’re just.. there.

Sitting on your chest like a fucking invitation.

Best Friend!Satoru who finds himself wondering how soft they’d feel, how your nipples would look hard and wet from his tongue. How your neck would look with his marks painting your skin.

Then he blinks, realizes he’s half-hard in his sweats, and immediately starts complaining about being hungry again to distract everyone (mostly himself, and god, he’s hungry for so much more).

Best Friend!Satoru who – when you crash at his place after movie night and fall asleep on his couch with one leg thrown over the backrest and your shorts riding up so high he can see the little dimple where ass meets thigh – has to take the longest, coldest shower of his life.

Best Friend!Satoru who jerks off so hard he sees stars, biting down on his bottom lip so you don’t hear the way he whimpers your name like a pervert.

Fuck.

You.

He cums embarrassingly fast when he remembers you’re in the next room over. Spilling hot into his hand, groaning at the sheer amount. He then emerges half an hour later like nothing happened and tosses a blanket over you while muttering “slutty sleeping positions, jeez” under his breath.

Best Friend!Satoru who keeps telling Suguru “no, dude, she’s not my type”. To which Suguru raises a brow – because he sees the way Satoru smiles when you laugh.

He hums. Watches Satoru stare at you for a full ninety seconds longer – then raises his brow higher.

"Your balls are on the line, Satoru."

"Fuck."

Best Friend!Satoru who knows that you know that he likes your tits. Nothing really ever gets past either of you when it comes to each other. You call him a boob-obsessed pervert. He doesn’t argue, for once – because there’s nothing false about that statement.

Best Friend!Satoru who ends up drunk at your place one night. His head’s in your lap and you’re playing with his hair and his filter just.. evaporates, because he’s in your bed, and god, you’re pretty, and your tits are staring right at him, and fuck, he likes your tits, and he likes you.

“If I motorboated you right now, would you kick me out or moan?”

“Excuse me?”

He repeats the question, and you stare at him before laughing. So hard you snort, which makes him groan and hide his face between your thighs (out of embarrassment, and not for any other reason. no, no alternative motives at all).

“What would you even do if you saw bare boobs, Satoru?”

He gives you an incredulous look. Like it’s obvious.

“Uh.. duh. Squeeze ‘em. Bounce ‘em. Stick my face between ‘em and go brrr.”

He pauses. Looks at you as if waiting for approval. Then raises a hand and makes a little grabby motion mid-air.

“Honk honk.”

You blink, slow.

And maybe because you’re tipsy, maybe because his cheesy grin makes your stomach flutter, maybe because of some dumb concoction of the two – you tug your shirt up. Letting your tits spill free. “Okay.”

And for once in his life, Gojo Satoru is speechless.

No way.

There’s no way you– you, his dumb, stupid, gorgeous, absolutely-nothing-more-than-friends best friend – are in front of him right now. With your tits out. He’s gotta be delusional. Maybe this is one of those dreams he gets where you lean forward and kiss him and he wakes up with a wet spot in his boxers and the afterglow ringing in his ears.

Your shirt’s bunched just beneath your collarbones, tits sitting pretty like it’s nothing. And you’re perfect, just like you always are, and they’re perfect, just like he thought they’d be, and a flush is spreading across his face, and his dick is twitching so hard it hurts.

“Satoru.”

“Mm..?”

“You’re staring.”

“Whoops.”

You raise a brow. “You begged to motorboat me. So do it, loser.”

He answers with a wrecked noise wrangled from the throat – half-laugh, half-groan. Ridiculously long fingers landing on your bare waist as he surges up.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Mouth dry, hands clammy, eyes blown wide as his gaze snaps from your face to your tits to your face to your tits and then all the way down to your sleep shorts before back up. “You’re serious? You’re letting me–?”

“You’ve got about ten seconds before I change my mind, Satoru.”

And oh, that does it.

Best Friend!Satoru who lunges.

Zero hesitation and zero finesse and pure, greedy desperation. His face buries itself between your breasts with a muffled, ridiculous brrrrrrr that vibrates straight through your skin. Nose dragging along the inner curve of one, lips brushing the other, cheeks hollowing as he shakes his head side to side like he’s trying to drown himself in your cleavage. The vibration makes you squeak, before the sound dissolves into breathless laughter.

“You absolute fucking dork–”

He pulls back just far enough for you to see his face – flushed crimson from the tips of his ears to the hollow of his throat, tongue darting out to lick his lips. Lashes fluttering as he stares up at you in open awe.

“They’re perfect,” he whispers, voice cracking, “so fucking soft, holy shit– fuuuck, I might die. Am I dead? Oh, if I am, I’m so, so happy about it.”

Then he dives back in.

His lips are soft and his mouth is hot and he’s relentless – tongue laving open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skin, swirling slow, filthy circles around one nipple until it stiffens into a tight, aching peak. When he closes his lips and sucks – hard – your back arches off the bed. Fingers twisting viciously in his hair.

He groans at the pull, hips jerking forward. Grinding against the sheets.

“Look at these,” he murmurs, hoarse. Hands sliding up to cup your breasts, long fingers splaying wide as his thumbs brush over your split-slick nipples. “Been thinking ‘bout them for years, y’know? Every time you wore those stupid tops and leaned over to steal my fries and hugged me and they pressed against my body– shiiiiit, had to count backwards from a hundred. Didn’t wanna pop a boner in public like a perv.”

And oh, you see it. His hard-on, all warm and thick and pulsing with every heartbeat.

He’s so hard it has to hurt.

“Perv.”

He freezes. A full-body shudder rips through him.

“Don’t,” Satoru whispers. “Don’t– hah– or I’ll cum in my pants right now. I’m not joking.”

You giggle. Fingers running through his hair, cradling his head to your chest.

“Peeeeervert.”

“You’re evil,” he whispers, nuzzling closer. “You’ve always been evil. I hate you so much.”

“You’re literally suffocating yourself between my tits right now.”

“I take it all back. I love you. Never change. Marry me. Have my babies. Name them all after me–”

Best Friend!Satoru who thinks that taking off clothes is suuuuch an inconvenience. He does it because he has to, but really – you’re best friends. You shouldn’t need to wear clothes around each other. If you’re naked in his room all the damn time, then hey, that’s just what best friends are for. And honestly, while he’s at it, what’s a little cock, too? What are best friends for if not fucking?

Best Friend!Satoru who’s on his knees between your thighs before you can even catch your breath, long fingers spreading you wide, eyes glittering in the low light.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathes. Voice wrecked, thumb sliding through your slick folds just to watch you twitch. “Soaked, huh? Hiii, pretty girl. I know. ‘Toru’s here, baby.”

You barely manage a snarky shut up before he spits – deliberate, filthy – right on your clit. Watches it drip slow and nasty down to your entrance, then drags two long fingers through the mess, mixing it all together before pushing inside without warning.

The stretch makes you gasp – and then he curls his fingers just right, and you swear you see stars.

Best Friend!Satoru who lets out a murmured “attagirl” while he pumps his fingers into your pussy. You’re unsure as to whether he’s speaking to you or your cunt – scissoring you open as his tongue flicks out to swirl ‘round your clit.

“Open up f’me. Been dreaming ‘bout this pussy, y’know? Used to jerk off in the shower imagining your taste and then– fuuuck, yeah, post-nut clarity would hit so fucking hard. Felt like shit. This feels like heaven.”

Best Friend!Satoru who seals his mouth over your clit and sucks. The way he sucked on your nipples earlier, only harder, and filthier. Tongue flicking fast and then slow and then spelling his own name out against your cunt because of course he does.

“Satoru– fuck! Slow down–”

Best Friend!Satoru who does not slow down. Instead, he pulls off just long enough to grin up at you, lips shiny, chin dripping – “No.”

Then he’s hauling you up by the thighs, lying back against the sheets and dragging you over his face.

“Sit,” he grins. “Sit. Want your thighs around my head when I make you cum.”

Best Friend!Satoru who frowns when you hover just above. Who yanks you down until you’re smothering him, nose buried against your clit, tongue swirling inside you alongside two of his fingers, knuckle-deep. He’s moaning like he’s the one getting eaten, hips grinding uselessly against the air, a pretty bead of pre-cum dribbling down his cock.

And every time you try to lift up to give him air, he pulls you back down harder.

“No, no, use me, baby. Use me. Ride my face. Want you to drown me.”

Your thighs shake.

You’re close, so close, grinding down shamelessly now, chasing it – and he knows. He always knows. Just like he knows the sky is blue and the grass is green and he loves his best friend’s pussy so, so much.

Best Friend!Satoru who sucks your clit into his mouth one last time. Crooks his fingers just right. And then you’re crashing into your high, cumming with his name all sweet on your tongue, gushing while he drinks you down like he needs your arousal to stay alive.

Best Friend!Satoru who doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, oversensitive, trying to squirm away – and only then does he let you collapse beside him. He’s panting, face flushed a cherry pink, lips swollen and glossy with you. Sprawled on his back with an arm flung over his eyes, both of your chests heaving in sync.

You nudge his ribs. “You good, weirdo?”

He doesn’t move his arm. Just lets out the most pathetic little whine you’ve ever heard in your life, then curls into a ball.

“..I came.”

.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, peering down at him. “Wait. Like.. just now? Untouched?”

He peeks from under his forearm, mortified. “Don’t laugh. I’ll actually cry.”

You bite your lip so hard it hurts. Shoulders shaking. And he groans, rolling facedown into the pillows.

“I hate you– shit, sorry, not you.. I hate my dick. Why’s it so loyal to you?–”

You poke the small of his back. “Satoru.”

“–betraying me all the time–”

“Satoru.”

He turns his head just enough to halfheartedly glare at you, cheeks flushed. “Yes?”

“Wanna fuck me?”

His whole body jolts up – dick included. The arm flies off his face so fast it’s comical.

“Hell yeah.”

Best Friend!Satoru who lines himself up with trembling hands. Rubbing the fat head of his cock between your slick folds once, twice, swiping up and coating himself in the mess he’s made of you. And he’s big – bigger than you expected – filling you up with a burningly good stretch. He bottoms out with a groan – long and low and wrecked. Forehead dropping to yours.

“Fuck. Fuuuuuck. Holy shit, you’re tight, baby.”

“Shush.”

He blinks. Pulls back. His eyes dart over your face – embarrassed, like the clarity of the situation is finally hitting him full blast. And he pauses, quiet.

“Sorry.”

“S’okay, ‘Toru. Just give me a sec.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah– are you okay?”

You nod, slow. Silence fills the room.

And then his dick twitches, and the both of you burst out into laughter.

It’s awkward. In that best-friends-really-shouldn’t-be-having-sex way.

But that’s what makes it fun, no?

And god, Satoru thinks he loves you.

He likes when you smile. He likes when you say his name. You’re really fucking pretty all the fucking time and even more so when you’re giggling – something in the frequency of your laugh making his brain short circuit to a pleasant buzz. And when you give him the green light, the buzz spreads all the way down into his chest, into some funny fuzzy feeling that makes his stomach do flips.

Best Friend!Satoru who fucks you like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin and live there forever. Slow, reverent, hips rolling deep and deliberate like he’s trying to mold your walls into the shape of his cock with every inch. His forehead stays pressed to yours, breath hitching every time he bottoms out, those ridiculously blue eyes all wide and adoring and completely fucking gone.

“Shit.. shit, you feel–” he cuts himself off with a shuddering groan, pulling out slow just to watch the way your pussy clenches around nothing, desperate to drag him back in. “You’re sucking me in, baby. Greedy little thing.”

Best Friend!Satoru who can’t decide where to put his hands. They’re everywhere, frantic, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he stops touching. Gentle against your tits, sliding down to frame your hips, then up again to cradle your face while he kisses you all sloppy and open-mouthed, tongue swirling with yours like he’s starving.

And then his eyes flutter open, and he murmurs soft against your mouth – “the clitoris.”

“What?”

He smiles bright, hand drifting down to thumb at your puffy clit. Grinning wider when your head falls back against the pillow and your toes curl and you squeal his name.

“The clitoris.”

Best Friend!Satoru who loses the plot completely when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. The rhythm stutters, turning all messy and desperate, and he pants into your neck, hips snapping hard enough that the headboard smacks the wall with a steady thump-thump. But his hand cradles your head gentle, the other supporting your waist. So, so careful.

“Wait– fu– fuuuckk, m’not gonna last if you keep–”

He chokes on the words when you clench deliberately around him, walls milking his cock.

“Shit, cumming, baby–”

Best Friend!Satoru who tries to pull out. Because he’s a gentleman (allegedly). But you lock your ankles behind his back and your arms wrap around his shoulders as you hold him tight to your body, murmuring a quiet “inside. on the pill” – and he’s gone. Eyes rolling back so hard you’re worried for a second, before he slams back inside with a guttural sound. Hips grinding deep as he spills all hot inside you.

He cums forever. Like, literally. Forever. You didn’t know a guy could cum this much. Pulse after pulse, hips jerking helplessly, face buried in the crook of your neck as he whimpers, muffled against your skin. “Fuck, fuck, take it– take it, baby, shiiiit–”

Best Friend!Satoru who stays buried inside you the whole time. Cock still half-hard and twitching every few seconds like it’s raring to go. Trembling, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, peppering gentle kisses along your collarbone as the silence spills soft between the two of you.

And then he pulls out, slow. Watches his cum drip out of you with a loving sigh. Proceeds to scoop it all up with two fingers and push it back in, smiling when your walls flutter weakly around his knuckles.

“Mine,” he whispers. Rolling your clit beneath the pad of his thumb almost absentmindedly. “All mine.”

Then he flops on top of you like an overgrown cat, face smushing between your tits, arms wrapped tight around your waist.

Best Friend!Satoru who, five minutes later, is hard again. Nudging your thigh with his dick like a golden retriever ready to play.

“Round two?”

You flick his forehead. “You just came inside me like a broken hose, Satoru. Give me five minutes.”

He pouts. Then brightens.

“Cool, I’ll use the five minutes to motorboat you again.”

“Satoru–”

“Brrrrrrbrrbprbrpbrrrrrr.”

Best Friend!Satoru who swears he’s not perving. Surely not.

Best Friend!Satoru who absolutely is.

But he’s doing it respectfully!

Quietly.

Desperately.

In the stupid way stupid guys do when they fall in love with their stupid childhood best friend.

(Satoru is NOT cutting off his balls for this.)

Bang Chan wasn’t just her boyfriend.

He was her provider. Her protector.

It didn’t matter that he was knee-deep in deadlines, producing tracks until sunrise, answering five calls at once, and coaching the younger members like a seasoned general—

────୨ৎ────

The fur coat was stunning. Hand-delivered from Milan.

Not just fur. Cruelty-free, custom dyed in her favorite shade, with a golden nameplate on the inside that read:

“For my queen. - BC”Real Fendi. Snow leopard print, soft as sin, the kind of thing only his girl could pull off. She hadn’t even asked for it—just sighed once at a photo on her phone—and now it was hanging in her closet like it had always belonged there.

“I just mentioned it once,” she breathed, stunned.

“You don’t mention things to me, baby,” Chan said with a lazy smirk from the doorway, sleeves rolled, veins prominent, eyes dark. “You make declarations. And Daddy listens.”

────୨ৎ────

He was at the studio when she sent him the mirror selfie. Her in the coat, nothing underneath but lace.

Chan nearly groaned aloud, biting his lip as he watched the photo load. It was late, everyone else had gone home, but he was still at the mixer, sleeves rolled up, chest heaving with the weight of his next verse.

And now? Now he was hard.

He called her immediately.

“You tryin’ to kill me, princess?” he murmured, voice already thick. “You really put that on while I’m here working?”

She giggled sweetly. “I missed you.”

Chan’s response was immediate. “Stay right there. Don’t take it off. I’ll be home in fifteen.”

When he got back, she was waiting.

She was lounging on their bed, that coat slipping off one shoulder, her lips glossy, eyes wide and waiting. Chan stood in the doorway, jaw clenched, watching her like he hadn’t seen her in weeks.

“Come here.”

She obeyed instantly, crawling to him on all fours, the coat dragging behind her like a queen’s train.

He caught her chin between his fingers when she reached him, lifting her face to meet his eyes. “You know what this coat means, don’t you?”

She nodded. “That I’m yours.”

“No, baby,” he corrected, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “That you’re my only. And I take care of what’s mine.”

────୨ৎ────

There were perks to dating the leader of Stray Kids.

Like when she wanted a quiet date night, and Chan rented out an entire theater. Not just the movie—they projected a montage of her favorite K-dramas, edited together by a professional team he personally directed.

While she sat curled up in her fur, eating popcorn from a crystal bowl, Chan lounged beside her in joggers and a tight black tee, arm around her shoulder, legs spread like he owned the whole damn city.

Because he did. When it came to her—he did.

“Everyone should know what kind of taste my baby has,” he murmured against her temple. “And no one gets to enjoy it but me.”

────୨ৎ────

Her nails were fresh.

Long, almond-shaped, with crushed diamonds embedded in a sheer pink base. Chan had flown in a nail tech from Japan who only did private celebrity sessions. She didn’t even ask. He just made it happen.

He watched her trace a finger down his chest one night, those expensive nails glinting in the warm bedroom light.

“You like them?” she whispered.

Chan didn’t answer with words.

He grabbed her by the wrist, pressed her palm flat against his abs, and dragged it slowly lower until her hand was resting right over the hard bulge in his sweats.

“I paid for those hands,” he growled, voice thick. “Now put ‘em to work, princess.”

Her fingers twitched against the heavy outline in his sweats. He was already hard, aching, and she could feel the heat through the fabric—how thick he was, how much he needed her.

She didn’t rush.

Instead, she trailed her nails—slowly, teasingly—up his length, letting the crushed diamonds scrape softly through the cotton. Just enough to make him hiss.

Chan’s jaw tightened. “Don’t play.”

But she only smiled, sinking to her knees between his legs, those glossy, dangerous nails curling under the waistband of his sweats and pulling them down with a drag so slow it felt like torture.

His cock sprang free—heavy, flushed, leaking.

And her breath hitched at the sight.

All that for her.

She wrapped one manicured hand around him—delicate, expensive fingers closing around his base like they were sculpted for this. He groaned low, head falling back, and the sound made her clench.

She stroked him slow. Luxurious. Worshipful. Letting her rings clink softly with every glide. Her thumb swiped across the tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum with a practiced motion, her other hand resting light on his thigh, nails biting down with each twitch of his hips.

He looked down at her, eyes blazing.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Spoiled little thing… working Daddy’s cock like a fucking jewel thief.”

She grinned—wicked and proud—and twisted her wrist just how she knew he liked it. Grip just right. Pressure perfect. The way only she knew how to do.

And when his hips started to stutter, when he cursed under his breath in three different languages, she leaned in and whispered, sweet and smug:

“Wanna come for me, Daddy? All over the hands you bought?”

His groan broke in his throat.

And seconds later, he did.

────୨ৎ────

Studio nights weren’t quiet anymore.

Sometimes, she came barefoot, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies and nothing else, curling up on the sofa while he clicked through beats. Sometimes, she sprawled across his lap, thighs bare, pressing lazy kisses to his throat while he adjusted synth levels like it was just another Tuesday.

“Need to focus, sweetheart,” he’d murmur—but his hand would already be gripping her thigh, stroking slow circles, letting her know she was welcome anywhere he was.

She slid under the console like she belonged there, eyes glinting in the dim studio lights, lips already parted.

He didn’t say a word. Just let out a breath and leaned back slightly in the chair, the hand not working the mixer dropping to the side—to her.

She unzipped him slow. Silently. Pulled him out with both hands like unwrapping a gift she already knew by heart.

He was half-hard already. That changed the moment her warm breath ghosted over the tip.

She started with his balls—because she liked to tease. Wet, open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin. Tongue tracing slow circles. Gentle sucks, one after the other, until his thighs twitched and his breath caught in the mic.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, barely audible.

She giggled against him.

And then she moved up.

Took the tip between her lips. Swirled her tongue around it like candy. Then sank down in one long, greedy motion—until he hit the back of her throat.

Chan slammed his hand on the desk, pretending it was about a track beat.

In reality, he was struggling not to thrust into her mouth.

She set a rhythm—slow, wet, deliberate. Hands twisting at the base, spit dripping onto her fingers as she bobbed her head. Every time she hollowed her cheeks and moaned around him, his grip on the chair tightened.

“You’re insane,” he rasped, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m working—”

She pulled off with a pop. Whispered, “Then work, Daddy. I’ll just keep your stress levels down.”

And went right back down on him.

Deeper this time. No mercy. Her nails dug into his thighs while her tongue worked underneath, tip pressed into that sensitive spot beneath the head. She sucked like she was trying to milk him, and Chan was fucking losing it.

When she went back to his balls—licking, sucking, slurping—and stroked him at the same time?

That’s when he came. Hard. Into her mouth, into her throat, with his head thrown back and a low growl muffled by his sleeve.

She swallowed everything.

And when she came back up from under the desk, licking her lips like she’d just come back from brunch.

────୨ৎ────

When she missed him during tour, she didn’t cry. She waited—with full trust that he would make it up to her.

And oh, he did.

The moment he stepped through the door, he lifted her up, walked her straight to the bed, and unwrapped her like a present.

“My good girl,” he whispered, voice rough, eyes dark with hunger. “Waited so sweet for me.”

She moaned as his hands explored her body like it had been years, not weeks. His thrusts were punishing, praise spilling out between every deep stroke, his voice laced with so much heat and pride, it broke her open.

“Missed this pussy,” he growled. “Missed my perfect, spoiled baby.”

────୨ৎ────

Once, a stylist made the mistake of telling her she “looked expensive.”

Chan had overheard. And later that night, he chuckled as he kissed her bare shoulder and whispered:

“She is expensive. And I’m the only one who can afford her.”

────୨ৎ────

Chan knew she didn’t love him for the money. Not the furs, not the jewels, not the VIP service that followed her around like a shadow.

She loved him.

It was in the way she waited for him to get home, curled up on the couch in his hoodie, sleepy-eyed and soft. In the way she packed snacks for the studio because she knew he’d forget. In the soft kiss she left on his temple every morning before he woke up.

And God—when she showed up at the studio late at night, just to sit quietly and wait?

That did him in.

She’d curl up on the studio couch, that coat wrapped around her, half-asleep but still humming along to the beat he was mixing. No complaints. No demands. Just there for him.

That was why he spoiled her. That was why he had to.

Because she was more than his girl.

She was his Life.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

“fucking hell,” chris grunts, his hands gripping your hips as he fucks into your sopping cunt. the silk sheets under you are soaked with different fluids, mostly from you. “feels so good daddy,” you whimper, earning a groan from him.

“you gonna cum for me again baby ?” he asks, his hands trailing down to grip the back of your thighs. “can’t, can’t do it anymore,” you suck a breath in as he starts thrusting faster. “oh yes you can, you’ve been doing it all night,” chris throws his head back, you’re clenching around him.

you squeeze your eyes shut, letting out breathy moans. “n-no, please not again,” you cry, trying to reach your hand to push his hips away, your efforts futile. “shhh you can take it,” he says, looking at how your the base of his cock is wrapped with a ring of white from your pussy.

he spreads your legs further, his fingers reaching to rub your puffy clit at an aggressive pace. you writhe, feeling yourself getting closer to cumming. regardless of how spent out you are, you buck your hips at the sensation, chasing the feeling you thought you couldn’t take anymore.

“oh fuck,” you curse, gasping loudly. “i know baby, cum all over daddy’s cock,” chris cooes, thrusts getting faster. a hot flash surges through your body as you cream around him. his speed slows down, helping you properly ride out your orgasm.

but once it fades away, you realize he’s still rubbing at your clit. you try to close your legs “stop, feels like i’m gonna pee,” you complain, shivering. “it’s okay, come on,” chris says, forcing you to squirt all over his fingers, coating his cock and thighs in the process.

you’re fisting the sheets under you, breathing hard before feeling him start to softly rut in you again. your vision is hazy but you still manage to make out his hazy gaze staring at your cunt. “just a little move, alright ?” he whispers, knowing damn well he’s lying to you, and to himself.

Then your favorite underwear disappeared. The one with the tiny bow. You looked everywhere it could've been, under your bed, in your laundry, in the laundry machine, maybe you left it in there— but you didn't, you couldn't find it where you looked. Then two days later, it was back. Folded, perfect. You stared at it, trying not to imagine someone folding it, trying not to imagine why.

Then things started appearing instead. Chips you liked. A book you mentioned once. Notes in messy handwriting. "Thought of you." "Hope this makes you smile." You showed your friends. They laughed. You laughed, yet your laugh didn't reach your eyes.

Then the curtains were open when you knew you’d closed them. You started locking the windows, checking doors twice, listening to the floorboards. Every sound was louder than it should be.

The notes changed. They came with your things. Your underwear. Your mug. The handwriting looked rushed. "You looked pretty today." You didn’t tell anyone.

You started changing your schedule. Coming home early. Coming home late. You waited, trying to catch someone. Or maybe to catch nothing. The pipes, the fridge, the creak of your floor, all of it felt wrong.

Then the knock came. Sharp. Single. You froze. Stared at the door. Nothing. You looked through the peephole. No one. There was a small box on the floor. You picked it up. It was light. You didn’t want to open it. You did anyway.

Inside were photos, a USB, and a note taped on top. "Music to my ears." You recognized the handwriting.

The photos were of you. In the shower. Steam and blurry light. The angles were too close. Too private. Your chest went cold before your hands even shook.

The USB sat there. You told yourself not to touch it. Your hand moved anyway. One folder. One video. You pressed play. Watched for half a second. That was enough. You slammed the laptop shut, heart racing.

Then you started tearing through your apartment. Not just checking anymore, really tearing. Under the bed, behind bookshelves, inside lamps, behind the TV. Then you saw it. A tiny black dot in the corner of the ceiling. You climbed up on a chair and pulled it down. A camera.

You held it in your hand. Tiny. Harmless-looking. You sat on the floor, shaking, thinking about how long it had been there. How long he’d been there. The detergent smell made your stomach twist. You used to love it. Now it made your skin crawl.

You thought about him. His small smiles. How he listened. How safe it had felt. Maybe it never had. Maybe it had only ever been him watching.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You didn’t move. You wrapped the camera and USB in a towel and shoved them in a drawer. Sat on your bed. Still dressed. Still shaking. Still listening. Waiting.

You told yourself you’d call someone tomorrow. You just needed to breathe first.

—~~—

Morning after feels off in all the small, wrong ways.

You wake up with your phone face-down, still warm from where you held it all night.

You haven’t slept more than a twitchy hour at a time. Your eyes are puffy. Yesterday’s clothes are in the laundry basket where you chucked them like always.

There's a new note under your pillow, not stuck to the counter like usual.

Your hands shake as you pick it up.

The handwriting is the same: messy but careful.

It doesn’t say “thought of you” this time.

It says what you wore.

You read it once, then again, because your brain doesn’t want to believe someone would catalog you like this.

“Blue shirt. Hair tucked. Socks. Shoes. Headband. Necklace. And that white set.”

Your hands tremble. You’re furious. You’re scared. You’re stupidly curious. You dress like someone daring fate — jeans, a big sweater, shoes you can run in — on purpose. Hair in a messy bun. Mismatched socks. Necklace left on the bedside table.

You breathe and step into the kitchen. On the counter: a new thing. Not a gift. Not folded underwear. A small Polaroid leaning against the sugar jar. Your stomach drops. It’s a photo of your underwear. Ruined, sticky, out of place.

You shove the Polaroid in your pocket and walk out like you don’t care. But you do. You check the mirror anyway. The voice in your head cataloguing the cataloguer: neat handwriting, careful timing, notes left like a performance, not a coincidence.

Yes. He’s describing you from head to toe. Yes. He’s noting what’s under your clothes.

The rest of the day is small tests. You leave five minutes early. You leave five minutes late. Carry a grocery bag that ruins your silhouette. Switch shoes in the lobby. Pretend you forgot something so you can come back.

The notes escalate, not in detail but in confidence. They stop listing outfits and start making comments: “You looked tired this morning.” “You hum that song when no one hears.” “You laughed at him too long.”

Possessive now. Accusing. Notes about you “flirting” with other men — the ones in your friend group. You wrinkle your forehead. Change the list in your head. Chan. Of course. That explains the handwriting, the timing, the notes. Only he would care enough to leave a map of your life like this.

You imagine him with a camera hidden in the corner of your room, stealing your underwear, writing the notes like a meticulous diary. You imagine the smug way he’d sip his coffee and wait for you to notice.

That night, a new voice note pops up from an unknown number. You press play because you know you’d always regret not.

His voice is low, casual, like weather talk. “You wore the blue shirt yesterday. Hair down. Bare feet on the tile. Light was perfect.”

Pause. A quiet groan. “And that white set — fuck, princess."

You drop the phone. It hits the couch and bounces.

He’s narrating. Every note, every comment, every photo is written like it belongs to him. You. The subject.

You sit on your bed, cold, hyper-aware, imagining him somewhere, maybe grinning, writing the next note. You try to think about how you’ll call someone in the morning. But tonight… tonight you just breathe.

Hours later, you finally pick up your phone. Chan’s name lights up. You feel it in your chest: the sick mix of fear and power.

“Princess,” he says when you answer. His tone is casual, smooth. “So you figured it out.”

You pause. Part of you expects panic, an apology, maybe rage.

Instead, you say: “Come to my place.”

Silence. Then a soft chuckle that makes your stomach twist.

The line goes quiet, just long enough to remind you that you’re still in control. But only just.

You sit there. Waiting. Knowing that the next few minutes will decide everything.

You hear the knock and your stomach does that tight flip again. You try to steady your breathing, tell yourself to be calm, but your palms are sweaty. The doorknob rattles in the way it always does when someone turns it slowly, testing.

You open the door. He’s there. Chan. Smiling like he’s been waiting in line for this moment his whole life.

“You asked me to come,” he says, teasing. No apology. No hesitation. Just that casual confidence.

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging like you couldn’t care less. You step aside, letting him in, even though a small, stupid part of you knows that letting him is dumb. “Don’t just stand there.”

He steps in, slow, scanning the apartment as if he hasn't been there before. You catch him staring at the Polaroid tucked in your pocket. You don’t say anything.

“You’re… bold,” he murmurs, his eyes following you. “Even after everything.”

You raise a brow. “Bold? Or just tired of you guessing?”

He moves closer, you can almost feel his breath on yours. "You know,” he says. “I’ve been keeping track for a while. Everything. And you… you play it like it doesn’t matter.”

You shrug again, like you’re not aware of the way your body tenses. “Maybe it doesn’t,” you tease back.

"You’re impossible,” he mutters. “Do you even realize how much trouble you’re in, princess?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Depends on what you mean by trouble.”

He tilts his head like he’s studying you, reading your reactions, but not pushing. Not yet.

“You’re teasing me,” he says quietly, almost accusingly, “and you know it.”

“Am I?” you say, letting yourself smile a bit. “Maybe I just like seeing how far you’ll go.”

He exhales, long, amused. “Oh, I’ll go far. Farther than you think.”

You pull the Polaroid out of your pocket, pretending to inspect it casually. “You leave gifts now? That’s new,” you murmur, holding it like it’s nothing.

He leans slightly, chuckling. “You’ve always been quick. That’s why I like it.”

You tuck the Polaroid back into your pocket. “You think you’re scary,” you tease. “I think you just like being noticed.”

“Maybe I do,” he admits, his boice teasing. “But don’t forget — I know everything.”

You nod slowly, calm, collected, letting the weight of his words sink in while secretly loving it. “Good. Then you’ll know I’m ready for you.”

“Is that so?” He grabbed your hips and pinned them to the door so you couldn't move. You tried to move them, but his grip was strong.

“Chan, what are you—” Before you could finish, he covered your mouth with his hand.

“Shh. I'm gonna take care of you now.”

He moved his hand from your mouth, and before you could say anything, his lips were on yours. His tongue pushed into your mouth as he let go of your hips, allowing you to move them.

He moved one of his hands under your shirt and started to play with your nipple. You pulled away from the kiss as you let out a soft moan. He smirked down at you before kissing your neck.

“Tell me, did you like knowing you had a stalker? Did it turn you on?” His voice was low and husky. You nod your head as he continued to kiss your neck.

He pulled away and looked down at you with a smirk on his face.

He used his free hand to pull down your shorts and panties, leaving you exposed.

“You're already wet.” He let go of your arms and spread your legs a little. “You were thinking of me, am I or am I right?”

You didn't say anything as you felt his fingers brush against your soaked pussy.

He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you from the door.

He walked you over to the couch and sat down. He spread his legs a bit as he pulled you down onto his lap, facing him.

“Answer me.”

You gasped as he pushed two fingers inside you. “You,'re right” you let out a soft moan.

“Good girl.” He pulled his fingers out of you and undid his pants, never stopping the movement of his fingers.

Once his cock was free, he removed his fingers from your soaked cunt. "Fuck, you look so hot, baby." You hovered up a but when he tapped your thigh.

"Sit on my cock," he spat. "Ride me like the horny slut you sre. Fucking your stalker like the last thing on earth."

He wrapped his arms around you and started bouncing you up and down on his cock. He kissed your neck as you threw your head back, moaning loudly.

You could feel the pleasure building up inside you as you continued to bounce on his cock. You grabbed his shoulders for support as he started going faster.

“Are you going to cum already?” he asked in a mocking tone. He stopped bouncing you and held you still, his cock deep inside you. You whimpered and tried to move, but his grip was firm.

“Not so fast, babygirl,” he murmured. "You're not cumming until I say so.”

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, and you tried to move your hips, but he held you in place.

“Please, Chan,” you begged, your voice a soft whimper. “I need to cum.”

He pulled back, a smirk playing on his lips. “Not yet, my good little slut. You need to earn it.” He started moving you slowly, just enough to keep you on edge but not enough to send you over. You moaned, your body trembling with need.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he commanded, his voice low and demanding. “Tell me how much you need my cock.”

“I need it,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his hold. “Please, Channie, I need to cum.”

He chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Not until you beg properly.” He increased the pace slightly, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Please, Channie,” you whimpered, using the name that always seemed to get to him. “Please let me cum. I'll be your good little slut, I promise.”

He groaned, his grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck, you're so beautiful when you beg.” He slowed down again, edging you mercilessly. You could feel the tears spilling over mixing with the sweat on your skin.

“Channie, please,” you sobbed, your body shaking with the effort of holding back your orgasm. “I can't take it anymore.”

He leaned in, kissing your tears away. “You can and you will, my darling. You're going to be my good little slut and take whatever I give you.” He started moving you faster, his cock hitting all the right spots. You could feel your orgasm building, but he pulled out just as you were about to tip over the edge.

“No, no, no,” you cried, your body aching with need. “Please, Channie, I need to cum.”

He smirked, his eyes dark with lust. “Not yet, babygirl. You need to earn it.” He helped you get off, helping you kneel down in front of him. You could see the wetness glistening on his cock, and you licked your lips, wanting to taste him.

“Suck it,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “Show me how much you want it.”

You leaned forward, taking his cock into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the head, tasting the salty pre-cum. He groaned, his hands fisting in your hair as he guided your movements. You took him deep, relaxing your throat to accommodate his length. He started to fuck your mouth, his hips moving in a steady rhythm.

“That's it, my good little slut,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. “Take it all.”

You could feel your own arousal building, your pussy throbbing with need. You reached down, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. He noticed and pulled back, a wicked smile on his face.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” he asked, his voice a low growl. You shook your head, your eyes wide with anticipation. “Good girl. Now, suck my cock like the good little slut you are.”

You redoubled your efforts, taking him deep and swallowing around him. He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening. You could feel his cock swelling in your mouth, and you knew he was close. He pulled back, his chest heaving with exertion.

He guided his cock back into your mouth, his hips remaking your hair into a makeshift ponytail. You could feel his cock pulsing, and you knew he was about to cum.

“Swallow it all, my good little slut,” he groaned, his body tensing as he released into your mouth. You swallowed, taking every drop, your own body aching with need. He pulled out, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Good girl,” he praised, helping you to your feet. “Now, let's see about that orgasm of yours.”

He laid you down gently on the couch, spreading your legs wide. He positioned himself between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit with expert precision. You moaned, your hips bucking against his touch. He leaned down, his tongue replacing his fingers, licking and sucking your sensitive flesh. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing with anticipation.

“Cum for me, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against your clit. “Let me taste that sweet cum.”

You cried out, your body convulsing as your orgasm crashed over you. He continued to lick and suck, drawing out your pleasure until you were a trembling, boneless mess. He crawled up your body, kissing you gently, tasting yourself on his lips.

“My good little slut,” he murmured, his voice soft with affection. “You did so well.”

“Thank you, Channie,” you whispered.

"We're not done yet baby, let me make you feel good, hmm?" He asked and you nodded.

He inserted his fingers back into your awaiting hole. You moaned and arched your back, needing more. He added another finger, curling them and hitting the perfect spot.

You whimpered and reached out, gripping his hair. He leaned down and kissed you.

He removed his fingers and you whined at the loss.

“Don't worry, baby girl. I'll take care of you.” He kissed his way down your body until he was settled between your legs. He looped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer to his face.

He licked his lips and looked up at you. “Ready?” he asked. You nodded and he lowered his head, licking a strip up your pussy. You moaned and closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his tongue on you.

He licked and sucked, focusing on your clit. He knew just what to do to drive you crazy, and he wasn't holding back.

You gripped his hair tighter and pulled him closer. He moaned against you, the vibration sending shocks through your body. He inserted two fingers into you, curling them just right. He continued his ministrations, and you felt your orgasm building.

“Fuck, Chan. I'm going to cum,” you moaned. He sucked your clit into his mouth and hummed, sending you over the edge. He continued licking as you rode out your orgasm, only pulling away when your body relaxed.

“Good girl,” he whispered, kissing up your body. He settled next to you and pulled you into his arms.

Chan's fingers trailed down your body, tracing the curve of your hip, the soft skin of your thigh. You shivered at his touch, your body already craving more. His fingers found your clit again, circling it gently. You moaned, your hips lifting to meet his touch. He added another finger, pushing into you, curling them to hit that spot deep inside.

You could feel the pressure building, a strange sensation in your lower belly. "Chan, oh… fuck- right there," you gasped, your body tensing as he continued to stroke you. He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, his fingers never stopping their relentless pace.

The knot in your stomach tightened, a feeling of urgency and fear mingling with the pleasure. You could feel something building, something new and unfamiliar. Chan sensed the change, his fingers slowing their rhythm, switching to a fast, swiping motion over your pussy lips and folds. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

"You're so close, baby," Chan murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Let go for me." His fingers moved faster.

Suddenly, you felt it—the release, a gush of fluid, your body convulsing as you squirted for the first time. Chan's fingers continued their swift motion, your juices soaking the couch, his chest, and even his cheeks.

He hovered on top of you, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. "You did so good, baby," he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

You were still catching your breath with the aftermath of your intense release, when Chan rolled you onto your hands and knees. He positioned himself behind you, his hard cock pressing against your entrance. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his body tense with need. "Fuck, you're so sexy like this," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Ready for me, aren't you? Ready for me to fill that tight little pussy again?"

You shivered, your body already overstimulated but craving more. "Yes," you moaned, pushing back against him, inviting him in. He entered you slowly, his thick cock stretching you, filling you completely. You gasped as he hit a spot deep inside. "So deep," you whimpered, your body adjusting to his size. "You're so big, Chan. I can feel you everywhere."

He groaned, moving his hips slowly, his cock driving into you with each thrust. You could feel your own pleasure building, the sensation of his cock inside you pushing you towards another climax. "You're so tight," he grunted, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "You feel incredible. So fucking good."

He leaned back, changing the angle, hitting a spot that made you cry out. "Fuck, Chan," you moaned. "Right there. Don't stop."

He chuckled, a low, dirty sound. "I won't, baby. I'm going to fuck you until you cum all over my cock. Until you're screaming my name."

He increased his pace, his hips moving faster, his cock driving into you with relentless force. You could feel your own pleasure building, the sensation of his cock inside you pushing you towards another climax. "I'm close," you gasped, your body tensing. "I'm so close, Chan. Fuck, I'm going to cum."

He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit, circling it gently. "Cum for me, baby," he growled, his voice a dirty promise. "Cum all over my cock. Show me how much you love it. Show me how much you love my cock inside you."

With a final cry, you came, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you.

"Shit, baby I'm so close," he grunted, his thrusts growing messier. Chan leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his lips at your ear. "Where do you want me to cum, baby?" he grunted.

"Inside," you moaned, your body already craving the feel of him releasing inside you. "I need your hot cum inside me. Don't worry, I'm on the pill."

"I know," Chan smirked, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his hot, white cum. You could feel it, the warmth of his release, the sensation of him marking you from the inside.

But he wasn't done. He pulled out slowly, his cum spilling out of you, dripping down your thighs. But Chan wasn't done. He used his fingers to push his cum back inside you, his touch gentle yet firm. "I want every drop inside you," he murmured, his voice thick with possession. "You're mine, baby. All mine."

He rolled you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes roaming over your body. "So sexy. I could fuck you all night."

He entered you slowly, his cock filling you, stretching you. You moaned, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts. He moved slowly, drawing out each stroke, making you feel every inch of him. "You feel so good, baby," he groaned, his voice strained with effort. "So fucking good. I could stay inside you forever."

"Fuck, I-I can't go anymore," you moaned, your body aching for release despite yourself.

"Yes you can baby, give me one more," he obliged, his hips moving faster, his cock driving into you with relentless force. You could feel your own pleasure building, the sensation of his cock inside you pushing you towards another climax.

"I'm close," you gasped, your body tensing. "I'm so close, Chan. Fuck, I'm going to cum again."

He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit, circling it gently. "Cum for me, baby," he growled.

With a final cry, you came again, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Chan followed soon after, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his hot, white cum.

He collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, your body still tingling with the aftermath of your orgasm.

He leaves the room for a few minutes and comes back with a warm, damp cloth in one hand, the shirt you’d thrown on the bed earlier in the other.

“Here,” he says softly, kneeling to help you sit up. He presses the cloth gently to your sticky inner thighs. You flinch at how sensitive it feels, and he chuckles.

“Wear this,” he murmurs, handing you the shirt, “I’ll be back.”

You pull it over your shoulders. It’s warm, soft, still faintly smelling like the detergent you’d used the night before. He steps out again, leaving the room quieter than it’s been all night.

When he returns, you’re sitting on the edge of the couch. It feels… safe, but the quiet between you is thick.

“You could’ve just… asked me,” you say finally, trying to keep it steady. “Instead of… all this. All of it.”

He smirks, tilting his head. “Asked you what?”

“You know,” you say, struggling to keep your hands from trembling. “You didn’t need to watch. You didn’t need to…” You trail off, frustrated and trying not to let the fear slip back in. “You could’ve just… talked to me like a normal person.”

“Normal?” His laugh is low, amused, almost scolding. “I wouldn’t have gotten this view of you if I had done it ‘normally.’”

You narrow your eyes, wrapping the shirt tighter around yourself. “It’s not a game. I don’t want it to be a game.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “But you should know… I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… couldn’t help myself.”

“Couldn’t help yourself,” you repeat, voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve been hiding in the shadows, watching me, leaving notes and… gifts, and you call it ‘couldn’t help yourself’?”

"I call it… careful observation. Admiration. You’re worth the patience.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch into the tiniest smirk. “Careful observation… huh? That’s what we’re calling stalking now?”

“Only when you make it sound so serious,” he teases, sitting just close enough that you feel him without being crowded. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

“This isn’t cute, Chan. Not this. Not all of it. You could’ve said something. You could’ve been normal.”

He's putting his arms around your shoulder now. “I know,” he says, almost whispering. “But you’re… worth bending the rules for.”

You feel your throat tighten. Half of you wants to laugh, half wants to scream. Instead, you just sit there, shirt loose around you, hair messy, hands clutching at the fabric like it could anchor you. He’s there. He’s real. And despite the fear, despite the anger, despite everything… you can’t look away.

“Fine,” you mutter finally, voice low, trying to regain some control. “We’ll… talk. But… no more games. No more hiding in shadows.”

He smiles faintly, that infuriating, slow smile. “No promises, princess.” before capturing your lips in a kiss.

You freeze for a moment, then melt into it.

When he pulls back just enough to let you breathe, he opdns his mouth to say something, “You really couldn’t wait to make me beg, huh?”

You smirk despite yourself. “Normal people don’t do what you do.”

“Normal is boring,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again.

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