#cam boy

✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧

The keyboard clicked under Bangchan’s fingers. His setup was simple but effective, a decent microphone, soft ring lighting, and a webcam. He leaned back slightly in his chair, stretching his arms overhead with a lazy grin.

"Alright, alright. I see you, user... uh—" He squinted at the screen, then snorted. "'BigDaddyBitch69'? Really?“

The chat exploded with laughter emojis and rapid fire messages. Chan scrolled through them, fingers occasionally pausing to tap out quick responses between bites of cold pizza. His apartment smelled vaguely of reheated leftovers and that lemon-scented cleaner he'd use constantly.

The username ‘BigDaddyBitch69’ had been a joke, a stupid, sleep-deprived decision made at 3 AM after your friends shoved their phones in your face, giggling about this "ridiculous cam site." You searched it later alone, purely to mock it, to screenshot the absurd usernames and over the top thumbnails to send back to the group chat. But then the algorithm served you him, Bangchan, smirking at the camera with a half-empty energy drink, and the sharp cut of his jawline under shitty LED strips.

The pizza crust cracked audibly between Chan's teeth as he tugged absently at the hem of his shirt, still chewing. "Y'know what," he announced to the camera, swallowing hard, "This shirt is a bit restricting.." He peeled the fabric up over his head, revealing a torso that was unfairly toned for someone who'd just inhaled three slices of pizza. The shirt landed somewhere off-camera with a soft thwap.

Chat lost its collective mind. Emojis and donation alerts flooded the screen, he had to squint against the sudden barrage of rainbow colored notifications. Chan smirked, licking a smear of grease from his thumb. "Relax, relax," he drawled, leaning forward just enough to make the shadows dance along his collarbones. "It's not like you guys haven't seen me shirtless before. Unless—" He feigned shock, clutching his chest. "Wait. Are there newbies here? Should I be scandalized?"

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, too aware of how rough the keys felt under your fingertips, before finally tapping out a donation message. The screen flashed pink as Bangchan's eyebrows shot up at the amount, his lips parting slightly before curling into that infuriatingly perfect smirk. "Oh? Someone's feeling generous tonight," he purred, dragging a fingertip lazily along the waistband of his sweatpants. The fabric dipped dangerously low, revealing the faint shadow of his hipbones.

You shifted against the pillows, thighs pressing together as warmth pooled low in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really, how the simple flex of his forearm when he reached for his water bottle could make your breath hitch.

The cursor blinked mockingly in the donation message box as Chan’s voice dripped through your headphones like honey. "What do you want from me, my darling?"

The chat was a frenzy of suggestions, some filthy, some absurd, but your fingers twitched, hesitating. Because the truth was, you knew what you wanted. You’d imagined it a hundred times, his hands, his mouth, the way his sweatpants would feel under your palms if you could just—

The screen flashed pink again. Your donation. Your demand.

Chan’s smirk deepened as he read your donation message aloud, his voice dropping into that low, teasing register that always made your pulse stutter. "’Please give us a view of everything…’” He repeated the words slowly, as if savoring them, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair.

"Everything, huh?" He arched a brow, tilting his head just enough to let the light catch the curve of his throat. "That’s a tall order, doll. You sure you can handle it?"

You didn’t breathe. The screen blurred for a second, your fingers gripping the edge of your laptop as Chan pushed back from the desk with deliberate slowness. The chair creaked, and then he was standing, one hand hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants while the other braced against the back of the chair. The fabric dipped lower, revealing the sharp V of his hips, the faint trail of dark hair leading downward and teasing, always teasing. "You’re the highest bidder," he murmured, "Guess I owe you a proper show."

You couldn’t help yourself, donating again, message hornier than the last. “I would love to fuck you 7 days a week.”

The words glowed on the screen for half a second before Chan's laughter, warm and startled filled your headphones. "Seven days a week?" He dragged a hand through his hair, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Bold. You'd get sick of me by Wednesday."

"Though.." he added, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, "I wouldn't get sick of you."

Your next donation notification chimed before he could finish the thought. Chan's eyes flicked to the amount, then back up, his smirk turning predatory. "Oh? Now you're just showing off." He stood in one fluid motion, the sweatpants hanging precariously low as he stepped closer to the camera. The lens caught the sweat gleaming at the hollow of his throat, the way his breath hitched, just slightly when he glanced at your username again. "Tell you what," he murmured, fingers toying with the drawstring of his pants. "Since you're feeling invested—"

Chan’s fingers lingered on the drawstring, tugging it loose with agonizing slowness. The fabric slackened further, dipping low enough to reveal the faintest shadow of skin beneath. The chat was a wildfire now, emojis and demands scrolling too fast to read, but Chan’s gaze never wavered from the camera from you.

"Why don't we make this interesting?" He tilted his head,

"Double the donation, and I'll—" His grin sharpened. "—lose the pants."

Your fingers moved before your brain caught up, the donation notification flashing red this time, twice the amount he'd asked for. The chat erupted into chaos, but Chan's laugh cut through, rich and delighted. "Fuck, you're eager." He hooked both thumbs into the waistband, the fabric clinging stubbornly for a heartbeat before finally sliding down his hips. The tease of it was unbearable, the way he paused just to watch the chat lose its collective mind, the way his abs flexed as he arched his back slightly, dragging the sweatpants down inch by torturous inch.

The sweatpants hit the floor with a soft whisper and Chan bit his lip. His grin was all teeth, all victory, as he kicked the discarded pants aside with one bare foot. "Happy?" he purred, spreading his arms slightly, letting the stream drink in the sight of him. The waistband of his boxers clung low, the fabric straining just enough to outline the shape of him, and you could see the faint tremor in his thighs as he shifted his weight, like even he wasn't entirely immune to the tension crackling through the screen.

The chat was a blur of emojis and screaming capitals, but Chan's eyes flickered to your username again, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to genuine warmth. "Someone's quiet," he murmured, tapping the side of his headset as if he could hear the way your breath had gone shallow. "Cat got your tongue, or are you too busy appreciating the view?" He rolled his hips just slightly, the motion lazy and calculated, and you could see the way his boxers strained tighter, could see the damp spot already forming at the front.

The donation notification flashed gold this time, triple the usual amount and Chan's breath audibly hitched. His fingers, which had been idly tracing the waistband of his boxers, froze mid-motion. The chat went eerily silent for half a second before exploding into a frenzy, but Chan barely glanced at it. His gaze locked onto the screen like he could see through the pixels straight to you, his lips parting around a slow exhale. "I need you," your message read, simple and raw, and something in his posture shifted the playful arrogance melting into something hotter, heavier.

Your fingers twitched against the keyboard, then slid away, down, lower, almost without your permission as Chan’s breath hitched audibly through the headphones. The sound was rough, ragged, like he’d been running, and your palm pressed flat against your stomach before dipping beneath the waistband of your own shorts. Fuck. The fabric was already damp, your skin overheated, and you bit your lip hard as Chan’s voice curled through the speakers: "That’s what you want?" His fingers traced the outline of himself through the thin fabric of his boxers, slow and deliberate, and your own fingers mirrored the motion without thought, your body moving on autopilot, chasing the same rhythm.

The chat was a blur of motion, but Chan wasn’t looking at it anymore. His gaze was fixed on the camera, his pupils blown wide, dark enough to drown in.

The chair creaked under Chan’s weight as he lowered himself back into it, his fingers hovered at the waistband of his boxers for a heartbeat, before he hooked his thumbs into the fabric and tugged. The elastic snapped against his hips, then gave way, and the boxers slid down just enough to free his cock, already hard and flushed against his stomach. Chan exhaled sharply through his nose, his smirk faltering for half a second before settling into something darker, more intimate. "There," he murmured, dragging a hand lazily along his length, his fingers gliding over the slickness already beading at the tip. "Happy now?"

The chat was a mess of emojis and down bad people, but Chan’s gaze flicked to your username, his lips curving into a smirk that was equal parts challenge and invitation. His fingers tightened around himself, stroking once, twice, the motion slow enough to make your own breath stutter.

The screen flashed pink again then again, then red, gold, a rapid-fire of notifications as the chat erupted into a bidding war. Chan's smirk wavered for a fraction of a second, his fingers pausing mid-stroke as the numbers ticked higher, the amounts scrolling too fast to read. Someone had just tripled your donation. Then quadrupled. Then—

"Fuck," Chan breathed, his laugh strained at the edges as he dragged his free hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "You guys are determined tonight." His hips arched slightly off the chair, his cock twitching against his palm as another gold notification popped up, five times your last donation, his breath hitched audibly. The chat was a blur of usernames and money signs, but Chan’s gaze flicked back to the camera, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted around a shaky exhale. "Someone’s feeling competitive," he purred, though his voice cracked halfway through, betraying the effect it was having on him.

Your fingers fumbled for your phone while your other hand stayed buried beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, knuckles brushing damp fabric. The screen lit up with a fresh notification as you tapped in the amount, your thumb hovering over the send button for half a second before committing. The payment went through with a soft chime, and Chan’s head snapped up like he’d been electrocuted, his fingers tightening reflexively around himself. "Don’t stop what you’re doing," your message read, his laugh came out breathless, ragged at the edges.

"Bossy," Chan murmured, but his hand moved again, slow and deliberate, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock in. The camera caught the way his abs flexed, the sweat-slick dip of his collarbones, and you imagined the heat of his skin under your palms, the way his pulse would hammer against your lips if you dragged your tongue along his throat right now.

“You like watching me like this?" he asked, his voice dropping into a deep rasp.

Chan’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze flicking between the chat and the camera with lazy amusement. His fingers never stopped moving, but his smirk softened into something almost tender as he read the latest flood of donations aloud. “BigDaddyBitch69—still holding strong, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head before his eyes locked onto your username, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

The chat exploded with heart emojis and exaggerated horny messages, but Chan ignored them, his focus narrowing in on you like you were the only one in the room. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his skin glistening under the soft glow of the ring light. “Seriously, though,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that private, husky register that made your stomach flip. “Thank you. All of you.” His fingers slowed, his touch slowing as he stroked himself.

The donation notification chimed softly, the words, “Thank you Chan.." flashing pink across the screen. Chan’s fingers stilled mid-stroke, his smirk faltering for a heartbeat before softening into something dangerously genuine. He exhaled through his nose, his chest rising slowly as he leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "You’re thanking me?" he murmured. His thumb brushed absently over the head of his cock, smearing precum in a slow circle. "Darling, you’re the one who just funded my next holiday."

The chat erupted into a chorus of “AWWWW" and heart emojis, but Chan barely glanced at them. His gaze stayed fixed on your profile, his free hand lifting to tap the side of his headset like he could pull you closer through the screen. "Seriously," he added, quieter now.

“You don’t have to—" He broke off with a shaky laugh as another donation notification popped up "For the holidays then.” His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock twitching against his palm. "Fuck," he breathed, his smirk returning, sharper now. "You’re gonna ruin me."

Chan's breathing hitched as his strokes quickened, the rhythm turning erratic, sharp snaps of his wrist that made his abs tense. The ring light caught every twitch of muscle. You could see the moment his control slipped, his fingers tightening just shy of rough, his hips lifting off the chair with each upward drag. The chat was a blur of motion, but you barely registered it, your own fingers mirroring his pace beneath your waistband, sticky and desperate.

"Fuck—" Chan's voice cracked, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk like an anchor. His bicep flexed as he braced himself, his gaze locked onto the camera like he could feel the weight of your attention like a physical touch. “You’re watching me," he rasped, not a question but a statement.

Chan's moans punched through the headphones low, ragged, barely held together and your fingers twitched in response, pressing harder against yourself as if you could chase the sound deeper. He arched off the chair, his throat working around another broken noise, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "Fuck, fuck—" His voice shattered into a gasp, his hips stuttering forward into his fist, the motion desperate now. The camera caught the way his eyelashes fluttered, the sweat-damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead as he tipped his head back. You imagined biting there, marking him, and your own breath caught sharply, your thighs pressing together involuntarily.

"You sound so good," you typed, the words blurring slightly as your fingers trembled over the keys. Chan's eyes snapped open at the notification, his gaze locking onto the screen like he could see straight through the pixels to where you were sprawled across your bed.

"Thank you.." Chan moans out, voice cracking around the edges as his fingers tightened around himself. The camera caught the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. "Can I cum yet, BigDaddyBitch69?"

You couldn’t help but giggle at your ridiculous username flashing across the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard with a hastily typed “Yes i want to see you.”

Chan’s laugh punched through the headphones, low, breathless, already way too wrecked as he read your message aloud. "Yes I want to see you," he echoed, his voice curling around the words like he was tasting them. His fingers twisted lazily around his cock, thumb swiping over the head just to watch the way his hips jerked involuntarily. "Fuck, you’re so demanding tonight," he murmured, but there was no bite to it.

His hips jerked forward, the motion uncontrolled, desperate, and the camera caught every twitch of muscle as his control unraveled. "Urghh—" His voice cracked, breaking into a groan as his thumb swiped roughly over the head of his cock, spreading the slickness there. "You like that?" he gasped, his gaze locked onto the camera like he could see the way your own fingers were moving beneath your waistband. "You like watching me fall apart?"

"God—fuck—" His voice shattered as the groans echoed off his walls.

The first spurt caught Chan by surprise a hot, messy stripe across his stomach that made his breath punch out in a ragged groan. His fingers tightened reflexively, milking himself through it as another thick pulse followed, splattering over his knuckles and dripping down onto his thighs. The camera caught every twitch of his abs, every shuddering gasp as he rode it out, his hips jerking weakly into his own grip. The way he came was so dirty, squirting everywhere almost too perfectly.

"Mhmm—" His voice cracked, the word dissolving into a moan as his head tipped back against the chair, throat working uselessly around the aftershocks. Cum glistened on his skin, his fingers trembled where they still loosely circled his cock, squeezing out the last few drops.

Chan groaned, his fingers slipping off the keyboard as another shudder ran through him. "Shit—got it on the keyboard," he muttered, breathless, reaching blindly for the towel draped over the back of his chair. The fabric landed with a damp thwump over his stomach, and he exhaled sharply through his nose as he wiped himself clean, the motions lazy but efficient. The camera caught the way his abs twitched under the rough drag of the towel, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.

He scrubbed half heartedly at the keyboard sticky with more than just energy drink spills now, before tossing the towel somewhere off-screen with a tired chuckle. "Fuckin' mess," he murmured.

You'd been clenching your thighs together, fingers circling just there with torturous slowness, trying to drag it out, trying to match the rhythm of Chan’s lazy strokes on-screen. But then his breath hitched, ragged and broken, and his name tumbled from your lips like a plea, your hips jerked involuntarily, your fingers pressing too hard, too fast.

The orgasm ripped through you suddenly, your back arching off the mattress as your thighs trembled. You hadn’t meant to, hadn’t wanted to yet, but the sound of Chan moaning for you, the way his voice cracked around the edges, undid you completely. The laptop screen blurred as your vision whited out, your free hand clutching at the sheets like an anchor while warmth flooded your stomach, your fingers, the sticky mess between your thighs.

You breathe out, slow and shaky, fingers still curled into the damp fabric of your sweatpants as the aftershocks hum through your veins. The laptop screen flickers, Chan wiping his stomach with the towel, his smirk lazy but satisfied, but your focus wavers, heartbeat thudding in your ears louder than his post-orgasm chuckle.

Chan leaned back in his chair with a groan, the leather creaking under his weight as he stretched his arms overhead. The muscles in his abdomen flexed under the soft glow of the ring light, still glistening faintly from the towel he'd used moments earlier. There was a glint in his eyes, something mischievous, as he tapped the keyboard to bring up the stream schedule overlay. "Alright, degenerates," he announced, voice still rough around the edges, "Tomorrow’s Genshin stream. Got some... new toys." His grin widened, sharp enough to cut glass. "You guys should tune in."

The chat exploded into a frenzy of questions, but Chan just winked, dragging a hand through his hair.

The thought of Chan teasing his audience tomorrow, those knowing smirks, the way his fingers would linger just a little too long on the controller, made your thighs press together involuntarily. Your sweatpants were still damp, the fabric clinging uncomfortably, but the heat pooled low in your stomach. You imagined him leaning into the camera, that half-smile playing at his lips as he pretended to focus on the game, all while his free hand dipped below the desk just far enough to make the chat lose its collective mind.

"Thank you for tonight guys.. i’ll see you whores tomorrow.." Chan grinned, winking into the camera as his fingers hovered over the stream's end button. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "Don’t miss me too much.”

The chat spammed crying emojis and demands for "five more minutes," but Chan just laughed, warm and breathless, as he reached for his water bottle. His gaze flicked to your username one last time before the screen went black.

You sighed, pressing your forehead against the cool edge of your headboard. The glow of Chan’s offline stream banner cast a faint blue haze over your tangled sheets. Embarrassment prickled at the back of your neck, not just for the username, not just for the donations, but for the way your fingers still twitched against your thigh like they hadn’t gotten the memo that the show was over. Again. For the third night this week.

Downstairs, your roommate’s muffled laughter seeped through the floorboards. Normal people had post-dinner conversations. You had post-cum shame with a side of PayPal receipts.

Your phone buzzed against the mattress, the screen lighting up with a notification that wasn’t from PayPal this time. You blinked at it, still half-dazed, Unknown Number and swiped it open before your brain could catch up.

Unknown: Enjoy the show?

Your thumb hovered over the notification for seconds before your brain caught up. Chan? The thought flickered and died, obviously a scam.

Some bot probably scraping donation receipts. You snorted, tossing the phone onto the rumpled comforter. As if Bangchan would actually—

Your phone buzzed again, sharp, insistent and this time, the screen lit up with a photo attachment. The thumbnail was too small to make out details, but the shape was unmistakably human.

Fingers shaking, you tapped the image.

The photo loaded in agonizing increments, first the blurred curve of a shoulder, then the sharp shape of a collarbone still glistening with sweat. Your breath caught when you took in the picture fully, Chan’s torso, lit by the familiar blue glow of his ring light, a fresh bruise blooming just above his hipbone where his thumb had dug in too hard. The caption beneath it read, 'Forgot to show you this.'

Your phone clattered onto the mattress as you scrambled upright, heart hammering against your ribs. This wasn’t possible. Streamers didn’t text donors. Especially not with that photo, still damp at the edges like he’d snapped it right after wiping himself down. You stared at the screen until the pixels burned into your vision, half expecting the message to vanish like some sleep-deprived hallucination.

Your fingers trembled as you typed,

Y/N: Who is this?

and sent it before you could second guess yourself. The reply came instantly, as if he'd been waiting with his thumbs hovering over the screen.

Unknown: Guess.

You snorted, thumb jabbing at the screen with exaggerated disbelief.

Y/N: This isn’t real. 🙄

The mattress creaked as you shifted, knees pressing together under the tangled sheets. "Nice try, scammer," you muttered to the empty room, tossing your phone onto the pillow like it had personally offended you.

Your phone buzzed again before it even hit the pillow, two rapid-fire vibrations that mumbled against the fabric. You snatched it up.

First, the familiar white fabric of Chan’s tank top clenched between his teeth. Chan’s head tilted back, his shirt pulled up just enough to expose the flexed abs, still gleaming faintly from the stream. The message beneath was a single, devastating word.

Unknown: Proof.

Y/N: Proof my ass.

you muttered out loud again, thumb jamming into the screen with enough force to crack the glass protector. The words felt clumsy, too loud in the silence of your bedroom but you sent them anyway.

Y/N: Literally anyone could’ve screenshot the stream and cropped it.

The notification popped up with a soft ping. A video attachment this time, the thumbnail a blur of motion that made your pulse stutter. You hesitated before tapping it.

The video loaded, Chan leaned back in his chair, his tank top riding up just enough to tease again. He grinned at the camera, cocky and triumphant, his fingers tapping idly against his bare thigh. "My god, princess," he murmured, voice rough with post-orgasm smugness. "You are impossible to convince."

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, the motion deliberately slow. "Hello, BigDaddyBitch69," he added.

You buried your head instantly into your pillow, the fabric muffling your scream as Chan’s voice, real, alive, impossibly his, through your phone speakers.

The phone vibrated violently in your hand, not a text, not a photo, but an actual call, Unknown number flashing across the screen. Your thumb hovered over the accept button, your pulse hammering loud enough to drown out the ringing. ‘Answer it.’ your brain screamed. ‘Throw it out the window’, your dignity countered.

You answered on the fifth ring, too late to be cool, too soon to pretend you hadn’t been staring at the screen like a deer in headlights. The video loaded slowly, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, finally the full picture, him sprawled in his gaming chair, shirtless, the neon lights casting long shadows across his collarbones. "Took you long enough," he drawled, his grin sharp enough to cut glass.

"Hi- Chan..." you breathed, the words barely louder than the rustle of sheets as you adjusted your grip on the phone. The screen showed him leaning closer, close enough that you could see the faint pink flush still lingering at the tips of his ears, the way his throat worked when he swallowed.

"Hi yourself," he murmured, voice rougher than it had been on stream, like he'd been shouting. Maybe he had. The thought made your thighs press together under the tangled comforter. "Enjoy the show?"

Your fingers twitched against the phone screen, hesitating before you exhaled sharply and turned on the camera. The screen blinked, adjusting focus, and suddenly there you were, flushed cheeks and tangled hair framing your face like a halo. You nod replying to him.

Chan’s breath hitched audibly through the speakers. “There you are,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something warmer, rougher. His thumb swiped absently across his lower lip, like he was savoring the sight. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

"Shut up," you laughed nervously, the sound catching in your throat as Chan's gaze burned through the screen. Your fingers twitched against the phone, the warmth of your palm making the glass slick. "Thank you," you added, softer now, the words barely audible over the hum of your laptop fan.

Chan’s grin widened. "Thank you," he echoed, his voice dipping into that rasp.

"BigDaddyBitch69." The username rolled off his tongue like a private joke.

You rolled your eyes, smirking as Chan’s voice curled through the phone speakers, that fucking stupid username again, dripping off his tongue like honey. "Seriously?" you muttered, "You’re really gonna keep calling me that?"

Chan’s grin widened, his teeth catching the low light of his ring light. "What, you don’t like it?" He leaned closer, the camera tilting as his fingers adjusted the angle, catching the sweat-damp hollow of his throat. "I think it’s cute."

“What’s your name doll?”

"Y/n," you replied, smiling as Chan's brow arched in amusement.

"That suits you better," he murmured, shifting in his chair. The leather creaked under his weight as he reached for something off-screen. "So," he continued, setting the phone down.

"Y/n who watches my horny streams and donates enough to feed me for a month. You got a last name to go with that?"

"Now why would I tell you that?" you smiled, fingers teasing the frayed edge of your waistband where it clung to skin. His gaze flickered down, just for a heartbeat, to where your pj shorts clung to you for dear life.

Chan's exhale crackled through the speakers, his gaze dropping to follow the motion like a predator tracking prey. "You’re not curious why i called?”

Your phone screen blurred momentarily, your vision still catching up with the fact that Bang Chan was calling you, that his shit smirk was currently taking up 80% of your screen. "I—" Your voice caught, the syllable cracking under the weight of too many competing thoughts.

How did he get this number? Why is he so sexy? Did I actually pass out during the stream and hallucinate this entire conversation?

Chan's smile deepened as your silence stretched, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "What, cat got your tongue?" He leaned back slightly, the camera catching the way his fingers drummed against his bare thigh, lazy and rhythmic. "Relax, princess. I didn't hack you."

“Just... asked my manager to do a little digging after your 30th donation this week."

Your pulse spiked so violently you could feel it in your fingertips. "What?" The word came out sharper than intended, your grip tightening around the phone. "You—you stalked me?"

Chan’s laughter crackled through the speakers, warm, unguarded, the kind of sound that made your ribs ache with how real it was.

"Relax," he murmured, his fingers tapping idly against the desk.

"Sent it all back. Every cent." His thumb swiped across his phone screen, the motion lazy. "Check your PayPal."

Your phone buzzed against your palm, a notification.

BangChan has refunded your payment of $5000.

The breath punched out of your lungs. "You—" The words tangled in your throat. "Why?"

"Well..." He dragged the word out, his smirk turning dangerously soft at the edges. "I was curious about you. After I saw how much you were sending me—" His thumb swiped absently over his lower lip. "It intrigued me even more."

The admission curled warm in your chest, your fingers tightening reflexively around the phone.

"Most people donate fifty bucks and expect me to propose," he continued, his grin sharpening. "You threw a grand at me just to watch me squirm."

Chan’s laughed warmly.

"What can I say?" His grin widened. "I like my girls rich." The words hung between you for a heartbeat before his smirk softened, his thumb wiping absently over his lower lip. "I’m kidding—I truly don’t need your money though."

You can't help but smile as he watches you through the phone, really stares at you, the way his gaze lingers on the curve of your bottom lip where you've been worrying it between your teeth. Chan's expression shifts subtly, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to tenderness as he exhales through his nose.

Chan's fingers stilled against the desk, his smirk stopping for a second, just long enough for you to notice the way his throat worked before he spoke. "I came to ask you something else too, y/n." The words came out softer than expected, his usual rasp sanded down at the edges. The ring light caught the nervous tap of his index finger against his phone screen, the motion too quick to be casual.

You arched a brow, thumb hovering over the mute button like a coward's escape route. "Ask away, streamer boy."

Chan’s gaze darkened, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something heavier, something that made the air in your bedroom feel suddenly too thick. His voice dropping into a whisper that crackled through the phone speakers like static. “Do you want a private show, y/n?”

The question hung between you. Your pulse thudded against your ribs, loud enough that you wondered if the microphone could pick it up. You watched, transfixed as Chan leaned forward, the camera tilting to catch the flex of his bicep when he braced one hand against the desk. His other hand dipped below the frame, the motion deliberately slow.

Your breath caught, sharp and sudden as your head bobbed in a nod before your brain could catch up with the embarrassment coiled in your gut.

Chan's exhaled low and satisfied, his fingers already moving below the frame with practiced ease. The desk creaked again, louder this time, and you imagined the way his thighs would tense under the strain, the way his knuckles would whiten around the base of his—

"Good girl," he murmured, the words rough with approval, and your thighs pressed together involuntarily at the praise. The phone screen blurred slightly as your grip tightened. Chan's smirk deepened, his free hand adjusting the camera angle with deliberate slowness until the lens caught all your favourite parts of him.

"These past weeks I've imagined what you've been doing behind the other side of the screen..." Chan's voice dipped into a husky whisper, the confession curling through the speakers like smoke.

The camera caught the way his fingers paused mid-stroke, just long enough to make your breath hitch before resuming with agonizing slowness. "How your fingers look when you touch yourself." His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, the motion deliberately messy, spreading slickness that glistened under the ring light. "If you bite your lip like you're doing right now."

Your teeth immediately released your lower lip, warmth flooding your cheeks. He knew, knew exactly how his words coiled around your ribs and squeezed, how your thighs pressed together.

"First," he rasped, "I thought about you during last Tuesday’s stream." The confession punched out of him between ragged breaths, his hips stuttering forward into his fist. "When I was playing Valorant and pretending to focus on headshots." His laugh was more air than sound, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard. "Kept imagining you riding me while I fumbled the controller."

The camera wobbled slightly as you adjusted your phone against the laptop screen, the angle catching the way your fingers trembled against your waistband. On screen, Chan’s grin turned wolfish as he mirrored your movements.

"There we go," he murmured. His free hand trailed down his abdomen, fingertips wrapping around his cock with deliberate slowness. The camera caught every inch of him thick and flushed, his grip tight enough to make the veins stand out under the strain.

Your breath quickened as you finally tugged your shorts down. The cool air against your damp skin made you shiver, but Chan’s gaze, heavy and unblinking through the screen burned hotter than any touch. "Fuck," he breathed, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock in slow circles. “Look at you."

"You're even prettier than your profile picture, doll."

The words hit you like a physical touch. Chan's voice had dipped into something raw and unhurried, his accent thickening around the edges as his thumb stroked lazily along his cock, smearing precum down the shaft.

Your fingers dipped under the damp fabric of your underwear, the tips catching on the sticky mess you’d made earlier. His grip tightened around his cock.

The words tumbled out between panting breaths—"Chan... what if I didn’t look like my profile picture?" you laughed dryly as you watched his fingers freeze mid-stroke, his brow furrowing for a fraction of a second before his smirk returned, sharper now.

Chan’s smirk deepened. "Trust me," he rasped, his voice rough with amusement and something darker, "I got my manager to check about you after I spent weeks wanking over your picture."

Your fingers froze against your opening, the sudden stillness betraying your shock. "You—" The word caught in your throat, your pulse thudding wildly in between your legs.

The heat of Chan’s gaze through the screen was almost tangible, like a physical weight pressing against your skin. You could feel it tracing the curve of your bottom lip where your teeth had worried it raw, following the trembling path of your fingers as they dipped beneath your waistband again. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the warm brown of his irises.

"You like that?" you murmured, curling your fingers just enough to make your back arch off the mattress. The movement dragged your shirt higher, exposing the flushed skin of your stomach, nipples hard and peaking through the shirt. Chan’s grip on his cock visibly tightened as he sped up.

The screen blurred momentarily as Chan shifted his phone, the camera tilting to catch the sly curve of his smirk. "Hold on," he murmured, his voice rougher than before like he'd been swallowing gravel. The desk creaked as he leaned away, his free hand disappearing off-screen. You heard a drawer slide open, the rustle of plastic, then the unmistakable click of a button powering on.

When he came back into frame his hair was ruffled perfectly as he bit his lip. The toy in his hand was sleek and black, the silicone glistening under the ring light. "Got this yesterday," he admitted, thumb stroking lazily along his cock. The vibration setting hummed audibly through the phone speakers. "Was gonna debut it tomorrow for the degenerates." His grin turned wolfish as he adjusted the angle, catching the way the toy twitched in his grip. "But I think... I'd rather you see it first."

Chan's breath hitched as the fleshlight kissed the head of his cock, just barely, just enough to make his hips jerk forward instinctively. The dimmer lighting now caught the slickness already gathering there, the way his fingers trembled around the toy's base as he held it up. His gaze never left yours through the screen, dark and hungry, pupils swallowing the warm brown of his irises. "Fuck," he breathed, the word cracking halfway through as he rolled his hips again, dragging the tip through the tight entrance without pressing in. "Look at you—fucking yourself on your fingers like you wish it was me."

Your breath stuttered at the accusation, true, painfully so, as your fingers curled deeper inside yourself, the wet sound obscenely loud in the quiet of your bedroom. On screen, Chan's throat worked around a swallow. The toy remained at his tip, teasing,the black silicone glistening.

"Tell me," Chan rasped, his voice cracking under the strain as he finally, finally pushed the toy down in one torturously slow motion. The silicone stretched obscenely around his girth, the vibration setting making the entire shaft twitch visibly in his grip. "Tell me you imagined this." His hips rolled forward with deliberate slowness, the desk creaking under his shifting weight. "My cock fucking into you just like this—"

The moan tore from your throat before you could bite it back loud and needy. His hips stuttered forward into the toy’s tight grip, the vibration making his thighs tremble harder under the desk. "Fuck," he gritted out, his free hand scrambling to adjust the camera angle until it caught the obscene stretch of silicone around his cock, the way his knuckles whitened around the base. "That’s it, princess. Let me hear you."

Your fingers curled deeper, the heel of your palm grinding against your clit in rough, uneven circles that made your back arch off the mattress. The sheets tangled around you, damp with the evidence of your earlier climax, but the ache between your thighs was already building again, hotter this time.

Your fingers twitched against the phone screen hesitating before you exhaled sharply and reached for the nightstand drawer. The wood scraped open with a dry rasp, your fingers closing around the familiar silicone before your brain could second-guess the impulse. The toy was heavy in your palm, still faintly sticky with lube from last night’s escapades, and you watched Chan’s pupils dilate in real time as you brought it into frame.

"Oh?" His voice cracked mid-syllable, the toy in his own hand stuttering to a halt around his cock. The vibration setting buzzed faintly through the speakers.

"What’s that, princess?"

“You.” you replied mumbling as you adjusted your phone again, angling it just right. The screen wobbled momentarily before settling, the camera catching Chan’s sharp intake of breath as the silicone head pressed against your clit with a quiet buzz.

"Fuck," he hissed, his grip tightening around the toy buried in his lap. The vibration setting cranked up with a sharp twist of his wrist, making his thighs twitch harder.

The toy slid in with a slow, slick resistance that made you moan, half gasp, half whimper as your fingers tightened around the base. Chan's answering groan echoed through the phone speakers, rough and unfiltered, his hips stuttering forward into his own toy with ragged urgency. The camera wobbled as he adjusted his grip, catching the obscene stretch of silicone around his cock, the way his abs tensed with each shallow thrust.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice sandpaper-raw. The ring light glinted off the sweat beading along his collarbones, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to make the tendons stand out in sharp relief. "Taking it so fucking good—just like I knew you would." His thumb swiped over the head of his cock where it protruded from the toy's entrance, smearing precum in a slow circle that made you clench around the dildo.

The confession tumbled from your lips before you could bite it back raw, the kind of honesty that made your phone slip in your sweaty palm. "I wish this was you, Chan," you gasped, the toy bottoming out inside you with a slick sound that echoed through the speakers. "I wish you were in me every time."

Chan's breath hitched audibly, his grip on the toy tightening until his knuckles turned white. The camera wobbled as he leaned forward, catching the way his lips parted around a silent curse, the sweat-slicked hollow of his throat working as he swallowed harder. "Fuck," he rasped, his hips stuttering forward into the toy’s tight grip. The vibration setting buzzed louder, his thighs trembling under the desk.

"Seven days a week huh?" Chan teased, his smirk widening as he watched your pupils dilate through the screen. The camera caught the way his fingers slowed around the toy's base, his thumb tracing lazy circles where silicone met him, like he could physically feel the rhythm of your pulse into his skin. “You’re so cute..”

The words curled warm against your ear through the phone speakers, his accent thickening around the edges in a way that made your grip tighten around the toy buried inside you. Your hips jerked involuntarily at the sensation, the movement dragging a ragged gasp from your throat that Chan mirrored instantly, his own hips stuttering forward into the toy's tight grip with wet sounds.

The toy slipped deeper with a wet drag that made your back arch off the mattress, the vibrations turning up another notch as your thumb fumbled against the controls. Chan’s groan crackled through the speakers as his hips jerked forward into his own toy, the desk creaking under his shifting weight. "Fuck," he gritted out, "That’s it, princess. Faster."

Your fingers obeyed before your brain could catch up, twisting the dial until the toy buzzed violently against your clit, the sensation sharp enough to make everything in you tremble. On screen, Chan mirrored your movements with ragged urgency, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased the same high.

"Chan—I'm about to—" The words dissolved into a ragged moan as your fingers pumped harder, the vibrations swimming through you. Your thighs clenched around the silicone, the muscles trembling under the strain as your back arched off the mattress.

Chan didn’t stop moaning, his hips stuttering forward into his own toy with a wet slap that echoed in the quiet of your bedroom. The camera wobbled violently as he braced one hand against the desk, his other gripping the toy's base like a lifeline. "Do it," he gritted out, his voice shredded at the edges. "Come for me, princess. Let me see you."

The orgasm hit you as you listened to Chan’s words, your hips jerking off the mattress as the toy's vibrations sent shocks up your spine. Your thighs clamped around the silicone with a force that would've bruised flesh, your back arching as the first wave crashed over you. And then, unstoppable..

Squirt arched through the air, catching the dim bedroom light before splattering across your phone screen with a wet smack. The camera lens blurred instantly, droplets clinging to the glass in trembling constellations as your climax ripped through you with shuddering force.

Your fingers scrabbled against the sheets, the toy still buzzing violently against your clit as aftershocks wrecked your body, each pulse sending another spurt against the fogged-up phone.

Chan's entire body locked up, thighs trembling, the veins in his forearms standing out as his orgasm ripped through him with violent intensity. The toy made a wet, squelching sound as he slammed home one last time, his hips stuttering erratically while his cum painted the inside of the silicone in thick pulses. His groan cracked halfway through, transforming into something guttural and raw, the kind of sound that would've made you clench around nothing if you weren't already spent and twitching against the soaked sheets.

"Fuck—fuck—" Chan panted, his free hand scrambling to catch the edge of his desk as his vision whited out momentarily. The camera tilted, catching glimpses of his sweat-slicked torso heaving for air, the toy still clamped around his softening cock with an obscene grip. His fingers trembled visibly as he finally pulled out with a slick pop.

Chan blinked slowly at the mess on his screen, your phone screen still streaked with evidence. His lips parted around a shaky exhale before his smirk returned, lazy and sated. "Holy shit," he rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. He dragged a hand down his face. "That was so fucking hot."

You laughed breathlessly, your fingers twitching against the damp sheets as you watched him through the phone, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, his abs flexing with each unsteady breath. "You're one to talk," you murmured, gesturing vaguely at the toy he'd abandoned on his desk. The silicone glistened under the ring light, strands of cum clinging to the entrance in sticky threads.

The phone slipped from your sweat-slicked fingers, landing face-up on the damp sheets. Chan's laughter echoed through the speakers

"Careful, princess," he murmured, his thumb swiping lazily along his lower lip. "Wouldn't want you breaking your phone before our next show."

"You're insufferable, never happening," you breathed.

The phone screen glistened under your trembling fingers soaked with evidence of your climax. You exhaled sharply through your nose, dragging the hem of your shirt over the smeared surface with embarrassment.

On screen, he was propped lazily against his desk, one hand stroking through his damp curls while the other toyed absently with the abandoned fleshlight.

"So," he grinned, tilting his phone until you could see his cocky expression. "I'll pick you up in an hour?"

The words hung between you like a lit match. Your breath caught, fingers tightening around the damp sheets as reality crashed over you, this wasn’t pixels and paid fantasies anymore.

"I just met you," you huffed, rolling your eyes hard. The phone screen flickered as you adjusted your grip, still shaky from earlier and caught the way Chan's smirk deepened in response. He leaned forward until his face filled the frame.

"Incorrect," he drawled, stretching the word out with deliberate slowness. His tongue escaping along his lower lip.

"We met weeks ago when you watched me cum every day up until now." The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth deepened as your flush crept down your neck. "Seems pretty intimate to me, doll."

"That's not—" You huffed, dragging a hand through your tangled hair.

"Let me rephrase," he murmured.

"You just squirted all over fucking Facetime for me." His teeth caught the edge of his grin. "I think we're past the 'we just met' bullshit, don't you?"

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sharp tap-tap-tap of Chan’s fingers drumming against his desk.

You opened your mouth to argue, to deflect, to say something, but the words died in your throat when Chan leaned forward abruptly, his face filling the frame again until all you could see was his pretty eyes and smirk that pulled you in, in the first place. "One date," he hummed, the words curling warm against your ear through the speakers. "If you hate me, I’ll refund your next month’s donations in advance."

"I hate you," you muttered, biting down on your lower lip to suppress the grin threatening to show on your face. "I'll send you my location now."

Chan's smile widened, infuriatingly, as he leaned forward.

"See you in an hour, pretty girl.”

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...

🏷️ Taglist: @11racha

Tan skin, nice lips, and wide shoulders. His expression unreadable, eyes low-lidded and smug like he already knew you were watching. You clicked “join stream” before thinking twice.

That was six weeks ago though. Now, you were viewer number 7451 and you hadn’t missed a single stream. Mingi didn’t know you. That was part of the thrill. You never tipped. Never commented. Never interacted.

You just watched.

And he was good. Too good. A natural performer, cocky in the way only someone who genuinely knew he was hot could be. The first time he moaned into the camera, chest heaving, lips parted, you’d cum so fast you’d barely remembered your own name.

He looked like sin on screen. Slow, teasing strokes, soft growls when he was edging himself, lazy tongue flicks when he licked his fingers before using them. He had no shame. No rush. No mercy.

You watched him in bed. On the couch. In the shower once. He’d worn a harness in one stream. A collar in another. Once, he’d come untouched just from grinding the sheets, fists clenched in the blankets, hips stuttering. You’d cried that night. Quietly. From how badly you wanted him.

But tonight… something felt different.

The stream started like always. Music low, lights dim, Mingi lounging shirtless in bed. Hair messy. Lips swollen like he’d been biting them. Your heart started pounding. You slipped under the blanket and adjusted your laptop on your thighs, biting your lip as he stared into the lens.

“Alright, chat,” he murmured, voice deep and calm. “I’ve been thinking about one of you.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t know who you are,” he continued, reaching for a bottle of lube offscreen, “but you’re always here. I see the viewer count. It’s always one higher before I even log in. Every night.”

You froze.

“I can’t see your name, so I’ll just call you… 7451.” He smirked, slicking his fingers and lazily stroking his already half-hard cock. “If you’re watching right now… this one’s for you.”

Your mouth dropped open.

He knew.

Your hands trembled as you reached down between your legs. Your panties were soaked already, your thighs twitching from just the way his voice wrapped around the words. He was slow tonight. Teasing. Breathy moans and heavy eye contact as he leaned into the camera, voice dropping into that deep rasp that made you lose control.

“You like watching me, don’t you?” he whispered, his hand working slowly along his thick shaft. “Always hiding in the corner. Never saying a word. Just… watching.”

You whimpered, helpless. The way he looked directly into the camera felt too intimate, like he was in your room, speaking into your neck.

“You wanna know something, 7451?” Mingi exhaled, chest rising with a shaky breath. “I think about you when I fuck my hand.”

You gasped.

“I don’t even know your name, but I dream about you. Imagining you sitting there, legs spread, watching me ruin myself just for your attention. You don’t even tip. Don’t even talk. But I feel you.”

His voice darkened.

“You make me desperate.”

Your body jerked, fingers moving faster, thighs shaking.

“You gonna come for me tonight, baby?” he growled, voice slurring just a little as his pace increased. “Right there, in the dark, like a good girl?”

You whimpered his name.

“And when you do,” he panted, “I want you to say thank you. Even if I can’t hear it.”

Your orgasm hit so hard your vision blurred. You came with a broken cry, hand clamped over your mouth, shaking violently beneath the blanket. And on screen, Mingi groaned. Loud, rough, and needy cumming hard across his chest, eyes locked to the lens like he felt it.

When it was over, he leaned forward, chest rising and falling, and whispered:

“Good girl.”

The stream ended five seconds later.

You didn’t sleep that night.

Your body was still trembling hours after the stream ended, the image of Mingi panting into the camera for you was burned into your mind. It was like he’d crawled through the screen. Like he knew you. And that terrified you more than it thrilled you. Because now? You weren’t just watching.

You were seen.

The next stream didn’t help.

It was two days later. Your pulse skipped as you refreshed the page. His stream title was different this time. It wasn’t a generic “Live Now” or “Play With Me.”

It said: “7451. Come Back.”

You stared. Blinked. Clicked.

The second the screen loaded, Mingi looked up. Right into the camera. Into you.

“There you are,” he said softly. “I was hoping you didn’t get scared.”

Your stomach twisted.

He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, shirtless again, but softer this time. No teasing smile. Just steady eye contact and something deeper and warmer. Hungrier even.

“I can feel when you’re here,” he whispered, dragging his lip between his teeth. “I don’t know how, but I do.”

Your breath caught.

“Everyone in the chat wants attention. But not you. You just watch. You make me feel like I belong to you.”

His hand moved down again. Slower this time. Almost reverent.

“I honestly think I’d let you do anything to me.”

You didn’t touch yourself. Not yet. You just watched him stroke his cock with slow, aching pressure, hips twitching as he breathed through his nose, desperate to keep eye contact even while falling apart.

“Come back tomorrow night,” he panted. “I wanna try something new.”

The stream ended with his cum on his stomach and a half-smile on his lips.

You didn’t even hesitate.

The next night, the title read: “For Her Eyes Only.”

The chat was disabled.

Your whole body locked up.

He appeared again, hair slicked back this time, eyes heavy-lidded. He was wearing gray sweats, no shirt, no underwear and he was already hard. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

And then said

“Take off your panties.”

You nearly stopped breathing.

“Yeah. You,” he murmured. “7451. You think I don’t know when you’re here? You make my fucking skin tingle.”

He fisted his cock roughly once, groaning as his head fell back.

“You don’t get to hide anymore. I don’t want your tips. I don’t want your name. I want your fucking attention.”

You were soaked in seconds. One hand pulling your panties to the side, the other trembling between your legs.

“You watching me touch myself makes me insane,” he growled, faster now. “I close my eyes and imagine you’re here. Knees pressed to your chest. Whimpering. Begging me to slow down. You’d let me break you, wouldn’t you?”

You moaned loudly. Too loud, covering your mouth instantly.

He smirked.

“Shh. Don’t want anyone to hear what you are for me.”

Your climax slammed into you with dizzying force. You couldn’t even breathe. Just clenched around nothing, twitching, thighs soaked and mouth open in silent shock. On screen, Mingi came at the same time. It was rougher this time. Louder, messier, like he was unraveling just as fast.

He leaned in close after, voice low and possessive.

“I need to see you.”

Click. The stream ended.

Two hours later, you got a notification: You’ve received a private message from: “fixon8_”

You stared at the screen. Heart in your throat.

The message said:

“I’m gonna find you.”

You didn’t respond to his message. But you didn’t stop watching, either. Three days passed. Three streams. All private. All for you. Each time, Mingi got a little darker. He didn’t ask anymore. He spoke like he already owned you.

“I know you’re still here, baby.”

“Your thighs shaking for me yet?”

“Next time you cum, leave your window open.”

And when you didn’t respond, not once, not even a tip, he sent one final message.

“Be home tomorrow night. I’ll knock twice.”

You didn’t tell him where you lived. You didn’t have to. When the knock came, soft and deliberate, just past midnight, your body reacted before your brain did. You opened the door slowly, heart slamming.

And there he was. Real. Broad. Bigger than you expected.

Mingi.

He didn’t speak. Just looked you up and down, eyes moving from your bare legs to the oversized shirt barely covering your thighs.

“You’re real,” he murmured. “Fuck.”

Your breath caught.

“You shouldn’t be here. How'd you even find me?”

He stepped inside anyway.

“I mean I told you I’d find you.”

The silence that followed was thick. Heated. He stared at you like he’d never seen a woman before.

“Take off the shirt.”

You hesitated.

“I said-” he stepped closer, lowering his voice “take it off.”

You obeyed.

The second it hit the floor, his hands were on you. Hot, rough palms sliding over your waist and hips, mouth dragging down your neck, licking, biting, claiming.

“You’ve been making me fucking crazy.”

He shoved you back against the wall, one hand sliding between your legs, fingers immediately coated.

“Of course you’re wet,” he growled. “You’re always wet for me, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, head tipping back.

“You thought you could just watch forever?” His breath was hot against your ear. “You made me cum so hard I blacked out. And you didn’t say a word.”

Two fingers pushed in with no warning. Deep, curling, pumping hard as his teeth grazed your jaw.

“You gonna stay quiet now, baby? Or you gonna let me hear you?”

You moaned loud, filthy, broken.

He smiled.

“There she is.”

He pulled you onto your knees.

“You owe me,” he said, stroking himself slowly as he leaned back on your couch. “Put that pretty mouth to work.”

You didn’t hesitate. You devoured him. Messy and loud. Tongue heavy and eager. He tangled a hand in your hair and hissed, hips jerking with every drag of your lips around his cock.

“Shit- yes. Just like that. You’re even better than I imagined.”

He didn’t last long. He really couldn’t. The second your fingers massaged the base and you moaned around him, he fell apart with a groan so guttural it vibrated in your chest.

“Fuck, baby—look at me. Look at me while I cum down your throat.”

You did. And you swallowed everything.

When it was over, he didn’t leave. He sat on the couch, chest heaving, hand still in your hair.

“I’m not going back to the camera.”

You blinked up at him, lips still swollen.

“What? Why?”

He smiled lazily. Possessively.

“Why would I stream,” he said, “when I’ve got the only viewer I care about right here?”

You didn’t get a chance to respond. Mingi was already crawling off the couch, already dragging you down with him. Your back pressed into the cushions, his weight heavy and warm above you.

“I waited long enough,” he muttered against your skin. “No more shows. No more cameras. No more pretending you don’t want this too.”

His hand gripped your throat, not tight, just enough to hold you there and his eyes locked on yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of your fear. Or lust. Or both.

“You belong to me now, don’t you?”

You nodded, dazed.

“Say it.”

Your voice cracked.

“I- I belong to you.”

His smile was dark. Like he’d won.

“Good girl.”

He fucked you rough deep. No teasing. No warm-up. You were already dripping wet from just the weight of him, from the way he looked at you like you were something he made.

“So fucking tight,” he growled, pushing in slow but heavy. “You’ve been playing with that pussy every night for me, huh? Getting yourself ready without even knowing it.”

You moaned like he owned your throat.

And maybe he did.

His pace built fast—rough, unrelenting, fucking you into the couch like he was making up for every stream you watched in silence. His hands never stopped moving, gripping your hips, your breasts, your face. Every part of you. All his.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he panted. “I know that’s why you let me in. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

You whimpered, nails digging into his back.

“Want me to cum in you, baby? Make it stick? Fuck it in so deep your body doesn’t even have a choice?”

Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically. Instinctive. Desperate.

“You’re fucking mine.”

He grabbed your jaw and held it firm, still moving inside you, slow and deep strokes that made your walls flutter around him.

“Say it. Say you want my cum.”

You choked.

“I want it- I want you to fill me, Mingi, please”

His eyes burned.

“Beg for it.”

“Please cum in me. Please make me yours. I want it. I want all of it—”

He slammed back in with a groan, loud and broken, hips snapping hard until your moans turned to gasps. You could feel it—his cock twitching, the heat spilling inside as he pressed his full weight down and held you in place.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it. Take my fucking cum like you were made for it.”

Your head tipped back in ecstasy.

“I’m not done.”

You blinked up at him, breathless.

“You think I’m gonna let you walk around leaking my cum without making sure it takes?”

His hips rolled again, slow and filthy. You whimpered.

“I’m gonna fuck you full until your body begs me to stop.”

And he did.

Later, you lay tangled in his arms, your thighs still trembling. His lips pressed to your temple. His voice soft.

“I won’t let you go.”

You didn’t want him to, but this felt a little wrong.

“You’re not just some viewer anymore, baby. You’re mine.”

Mingi stayed the night.

He didn’t ask. Just fell asleep with one arm around your waist and the other slung possessively over your stomach like he was guarding you. And when you woke up the next morning, his face was still buried in your neck, breathing you in.

He didn’t leave for three days.

By the time he did, you had handprints on your thighs and bruises on your hips. Your body was sore, marked, and claimed in every way imaginable. And he wasn’t done.

“No streaming. No pictures. No fucking friends,” he said as he zipped up his bag before leaving. “I see anyone else touch you, I’ll lose it.”

You should’ve felt afraid.

Instead, you said:

“Okay.” with a small giggle.

He smiled like a predator. And he meant it.

He started small. Your phone buzzed with messages every hour.

Fixon8: Where are you? Fixon8: Who are you with? Fixon8: Why didn’t you answer in 7 minutes?

Then he showed up unannounced. Two nights in a row. One time with takeout. One time with handcuffs.

“Don’t make me ask to see you, baby. Just be here.”

And when you tried to tease him, mentioning an old hookup in from a couple of months ago, his entire mood shifted.

“You let someone else touch this pussy?”

You blinked.

“It was months ago, Mingi-”

“Did he fuck you raw?”

You swallowed.

He grabbed your face—tight. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to stop you from lying.

“You gave my mouth to someone else?”

You whimpered, breath catching as he dragged you down to the floor.

“Guess I’ll just have to remind you what mine feels like.

That night, he didn’t fuck you. He devoured you. Tongue flat and filthy, hands locking your thighs down, holding you open like you belonged under him. Mouth on your clit until you sobbed, until you screamed his name, until your legs gave out and your throat was raw.

And he still didn’t stop.

“No one else gets to hear you like this,” he growled between your thighs. “No one else gets to see how messy you get just from my fucking mouth.”

You came again. And again. And again. By the time he finally slid into you, he didn’t even fuck you hard, just deep, controlled strokes, hands on either side of your face as he whispered:

“I want to cum inside you every day until your body forgets anyone else ever existed.”

You looked up at him through wet lashes and whispered

“You already ruined me.”

He groaned, head tipping forward until your foreheads touched.

“Then let me ruin you completely.”

Afterward, he opened your drawer and slipped one of your panties in his hoodie pocket.

“Mine.”

He pulled your phone from your charger and typed his name into your contact list, with a lock emoji, and nothing else.

“No one else calls you this late.”

And when he finally left, he kissed your cheek and said:

“I’m coming back tomorrow.

It was your fault. You left your laptop open, half-buried under the sheets after a lazy afternoon nap. Mingi had wandered in shirtless and grinning, talking about ordering food, until he saw the glowing screen.

His voice stopped mid-sentence.

You rolled over, hair stuck to your cheek, blinking in confusion.

“Mingi?”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes were locked on the screen. On your bookmarks bar.

Your stomach dropped.

Because there it was, clear as day: -Private Folder — ‘M<3’ -Favorites: Mingi moaning.mp4 -Replay: Tongue & Toy — 57min

You shot up, panicked.

“Wait-wait, don’t-”

But he’d already clicked.

The video opened. His video. From months ago. The one where he came untouched just from grinding against the sheets. The one where he whispered, “I feel like someone’s watching me harder than the rest.” You watched his expression shift in real-time. First confusion, then realization, then something darker.

Something primal.

He closed the laptop slowly. Turned to you.

“You saved them huh.”

You sat frozen.

“I- yeah, I…” you swallowed, trying to smile, “I didn’t think you’d care. That was before we even—”

“You fucking labeled them.”

He stepped closer. You didn’t move.

“You made folders. Organized clips. You watched me cum over and over while pretending you were just some quiet little viewer, but you're just a nasty little slut.”

His tone wasn’t angry. It was low. Careful. Controlled.

“How long?”

Your throat dried up.

“Mingi—”

“How long did you watch me like that?”

You breathed, barely.

“Since the first week. I saw you by accident, and I… I couldn’t stop.”

He stood above you now, staring down at your flushed, guilty face.

“So all that time, you were already mine.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands gripping your thighs, forcing them open so he could settle between.

“I used to wonder why I came so hard when I said your name on stream. Now I know.”

You moaned when he dragged your panties down, spreading your legs until your slick thighs trembled.

“You were already touching yourself to me. Like a good little pervert. My perfect fucking girl.”

He buried his face between your legs like he missed it. Tongue flat and messy, groaning like your taste was the cure to something inside him. He licked through you like he was starving, hands gripping your thighs so tight they’d bruise.

“That folder should’ve had a password,” he murmured against your pussy. “But I’m glad it didn’t.”

Your hips bucked. He sucked your clit until your back arched and your legs jerked.

“Say it,” he panted. “Say you were mine even before I touched you.”

You gasped, hands gripping his hair.

“I was yours. I was already yours. I wanted you so bad-”

You came hard against his mouth, crying his name out.

He didn’t stop. Not even when you shook. Not even when your eyes rolled back. When he finally pulled away, your legs were still twitching. He stood over you, cock hard and leaking against his stomach.

“You want the real thing now, baby?”

You nodded helplessly.

He slid into you with one smooth, hard thrust. Deep and full, like he wanted to wipe every fake memory clean and replace it with this. He fucked you like he was memorizing the way you felt. Slow at first. Then deeper. Hips grinding as he filled you again and again, praising you between every thrust.

“You were mine even when you didn’t say a word.”

“You made those clips for me, didn’t you? Touched yourself while you named my files.”

“No one’s ever gonna know you like I do.”

You moaned with every word, helpless beneath him.

And when he came, deep inside you, groaning into your neck, he didn’t pull out.

“Keep it in,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Don’t waste a drop.”

You were quiet for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling, full of his cum and full of… something bigger.

Then he reached for the laptop again.

You panicked.

“Wait—!”

But he just opened a blank folder, titled it: ‘Real Life: Mingi + 7451’

“Guess it’s time to start a new one.”

You felt your phone buzz next to you. It was a message from Mingi saying:

Mingi<3: “Set an alarm. 7:45 AM. No panties. Call me after you wake up.”

You stared at it.

A week ago, he’d been fucking you into the mattress while calling you his favorite little pervert. Now he was setting your schedule like he owned your time too.

Which, honestly… he kind of did. You followed every instruction.

No panties. A cropped hoodie and nothing else. Face flushed when your alarm went off and you sat up, already soaked. Already thinking about him.

Your phone rang at 7:46.

“Good girl,” he said. “Let me hear your voice."

By the end of the week, he was managing more than just your mornings.

“Wear that black dress today.

“No touching yourself after 10PM unless I say so.”

“Drink water. Three bottles. I’m serious.”

It kind of scared you at first, but you actually liked it. You liked the sound of his voice cracking through your speakers. You liked that he kept track of your cycle, your work schedule, your moods.

“You’re mine,” he said one night, whispering in your ear as you lay in bed. “So I get to make the rules.”

You broke a rule once. You touched yourself past midnight. Just one night. You were desperate and needy from his teasing, throbbing from his last message.

He found out. You didn’t even know how. But the next time you opened your door, Mingi was already inside, hood up, expression unreadable.

“What did I tell you about breaking rules?.”

You froze.

“Mingi—”

“Don’t speak.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulled you into the bedroom, and stripped you in seconds. Then he tied you down. No ropes. Just his shirt and his hoodie. His hand pressing firm into your belly.

He made you cum five times.

“You wanna cum without permission?” “You’ll cum when I say. Over and over. Until you cry for me.”

He used his mouth, his fingers, a toy you didn’t know he’d brought. He didn’t even let you catch your breath.

“No running, baby. This is what you wanted, right?”

By the end, you were shaking, twitching, tears streaming down your face as you begged him to stop. And he did, but not before licking his fingers and whispering:

“You taste so good.”

Later, wrapped in his arms, your body trembling with aftershocks, you heard the softest thing you’d ever hear him say.

“You don’t need to control anything anymore.”

You blinked up at him, sleepy and ruined.

“Why?”

He kissed your cheek.

“Because I’ve got you.”

He just showed up one afternoon with a duffel bag and threw it on your couch like it had always been his.

You blinked at him, wide-eyed.

“You’re moving in?”

Mingi smirked.

“You really thought I’d let you live alone after everything?”

He kissed you before you could respond. Slow, dirty, final. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for space or permission. Just took.

The first night he stayed, it was quiet. No toys. No games. No control. Just his arms wrapped around your back as he pulled you onto his lap, your thighs bare, the stretch of him inside you slow and sweet as you cockwarmed in his lap.

“This-,” he whispered against your shoulder, “is all I’ve wanted.”

You shifted slightly, your walls clenched, and he hissed.

“Keep doing that and I’ll fuck a baby into you.”

You froze.

“You’d let me,” he said, trailing a hand down your spine. “You’d take it. You’d be perfect.”

You whimpered, burying your face in his neck.

“Do it, then. I’m yours.”

The shift was quiet, but final. Your fridge had his energy drinks. Your bathroom had his cologne. Your nights ended with his hands under your shirt, your body already open for him, your moans soft and easy like they belonged in the background of his new life.

The final stream on his channel uploaded two days after the move.

A black screen with one sentence:

“Logged out. I found her.”

No comments. No replies. The account vanished hours later.

That night, he fucked you like he was recording with his whole body.

No camera. Just memory.

Slow strokes, heavy breathing, his thumb rubbing soft circles over your clit while he whispered:

“I used to jerk off to the idea of your voice. Now I get to hear you beg for real.”

He came inside you multiple times before the sun came up.

And in the morning, you found your laptop open.

A new file was on your desktop.

"Viewer Number 7451 – Complete."

It started at girls’ night, sprawled across your friend Mina’s couch with a bottle of rosé and too many snacks. The conversation had veered from celebrity crushes to… well, less conventional topics.

“Okay, but have you heard of this guy?” Mina giggled, cheeks flushed from the wine. “He’s, like, the hottest audio creator online. Username’s ‘FoxVibe’ or something. His voice? Pure sin. And sometimes he streams—naked, mind you—but never shows his face.”

“Never?”

Your other friend, Lia, chimed in, fanning herself dramatically. “It’s torture. The guy’s got abs for days, but he’s so careful with that camera angle. All you see is his neck down or, like, his lips if you’re lucky.”

You’d laughed, rolling your eyes. “Sounds like a tease.”

“Oh, he is,” Mina said, smirking. “But the kind that makes you beg for more. You should check him out, babes. Live a little.”

You’d brushed it off, but the seed was planted.

That night, alone in your apartment, curiosity got the better of you. You grabbed your phone, opened an incognito tab (because, duh, boundaries), and typed “FoxVibe” into the search bar. The profile popped up on a discreet streaming site, nothing too sketchy, but definitely not your usual Netflix.

The bio was short: “Just a guy with a mic and some thoughts. Let’s have fun.” No face, no name, just a grainy thumbnail of a toned torso… really nice abs.

You clicked an audio first. His voice hit you like a bullet train—low, smooth, with just enough rasp to make your skin prickle. He was describing a scenario, something about a late-night rendezvous, and the way he lingered on certain words… God, it was like he was in the room with you. Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop listening. Then you saw a link to a recent stream. Against your better judgment, you clicked.

The video loaded, and there he was—FoxVibe, completely naked from the waist down, lounging back in a chair with his legs spread.

The camera was angled low, cutting off just below his jaw, but what it captured was explicit enough to make your breath catch. His hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, deliberately, the tip glistening under the soft lighting. He let out a low groan, his voice that same sinful timbre from the audio, murmuring to the camera about how good it felt, how he wished someone was there to take over.

As the stream progressed, he reached for a fleshlight on the desk beside him, slicking it up with lube before sliding his length inside. The wet sounds filled the speakers, paired with his breathy moans and whispered encouragements like “Just like that, baby, take it all.” It was raw, unfiltered, and impossibly hot.

But then something else caught your eye amid the haze—the background. A poster on the wall. A familiar poster. The same one Jeongin had tacked up in his dorm room, a limited-edition print from some obscure anime you both loved.

Your heart stopped. No way. It couldn’t be.

You rewatched the stream, pausing to zoom in on details: the stack of books on the desk, the faint outline of a gaming console. It was Jeongin’s room. Your sweet, clumsy best friend was FoxVibe? The guy your friends were thirsting over?

You slammed your laptop shut, heart racing. This was too much. Jeongin, the guy who once apologized to a chair for bumping into it, was out here making half the internet weak in the knees?

You spent the next two days spiraling, trying to act normal when he texted you about grabbing coffee or sent you a meme. Every time you saw his name pop up, your brain short-circuited, replaying that sinful voice and the way his hips bucked into the toy.

You should’ve confronted him. Should’ve said something. But instead, you did the worst possible thing: you went back to his profile.

Late at night, when your rational brain was offline, you scrolled through his archived videos. One showed him on his knees, pumping his cock with a tight fist, precum dripping down his shaft as he edged himself, his voice cracking with need. Another had him using the fleshlight again, thrusting into it with rhythmic slaps, moaning about how tight it felt, how he imagined it was someone real.

Each video left you aching, your body responding despite the guilt gnawing at you. It was wrong, he was your best friend, but you couldn’t stop. You wanted to see more, to hear more, even as your mind screamed at you to delete the tab.

Then came the fateful night. You’d forgotten—completely forgotten—that Jeongin was supposed to crash at your place. His dorm’s AC had crapped out, and you, being the good friend you were, had given him your door code months ago for emergencies.

“Just let yourself in anytime,” you’d said, not thinking twice.

You were too busy, lost in another one of FoxVibe’s archived videos, the audio playing low through your laptop speakers so as not to disturb the neighbors. The volume was just enough to fill the room with his soft grunts and the slick sounds of him stroking himself, but not loud enough to mask the world entirely.

You were on your bed, propped against the headboard, legs spread wide, one hand slipped beneath your panties, fingers buried deep in your cunt, pumping in and out in time with his movements on screen. Your other hand teased your nipple through your thin tank top, pinching lightly as heat built between your legs. You were soaked, your breaths coming in shallow pants, eyes glued to the way his hand twisted around his cock, speeding up as he chased his release.

“Fuck, I’m close,” his voice groaned from the speakers, and you whimpered softly, curling your fingers to hit that spot inside you, your thumb pressing against your clit.

You didn’t hear the front door unlock with the code he punched in. Didn’t hear his quiet footsteps down the hall.

Jeongin paused in the doorway, backpack still on his shoulder, frozen in place as he took in the scene. There you were, legs splayed open, fingers knuckle-deep in your dripping pussy, moaning to the sound of his voice. He stood there for a full minute, brain short-circuiting, awe-struck and painfully aroused as he watched you pleasure yourself to him—unaware, lost in the moment.

His cheeks flushed, but he couldn’t look away, the sight of you so vulnerable and turned on making his cock strain against his jeans. This was something he’d only ever dreamed about, fantasized in the dark while making those videos, imagining it was you.

It wasn’t until you shifted, your eyes fluttering open for a second amid a particularly loud moan from the video, that you noticed him. Your blood ran cold.

“Jeongin!” you screamed, yanking your fingers free with a wet pop and scrambling to pull a blanket over your lower half, your tank top still askew. Panic flooded you—heart hammering, face burning—as the video kept playing, his recorded groans filling the awkward silence.

“What the fuck? Get out! Oh my God, get out!”

Jeongin didn’t move. His eyes were wide, glasses fogging slightly from his heavy breathing, backpack slipping forgotten to the floor. He was brain-fuzzed, staring at the spot where your hand had just been, the glistening evidence of your arousal still on your fingers.

“I… I…” He swallowed hard, voice hoarse. “You were… to me?”

“Get out!” you repeated, voice shrill with embarrassment, but he just stood there, rooted, his gaze flicking between your flushed face and the laptop where his own voice was still murmuring filthy things.

Finally, he shook his head, stepping inside instead and closing the door behind him.

“Wait, no. That’s… that’s me. You knew?” His voice cracked, a mix of shock and something darker—desire, maybe. He pushed his glasses up, but his hands were trembling.

You clutched the blanket tighter, mortified but unable to deny it. “Yes, okay? I figured it out from your stupid poster! Now leave before I die of embarrassment!”

He took a step closer, his usual shyness warring with the heat in his eyes. “You kept watching. Even knowing it was me. Why?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you shot back, anger bubbling up to mask the humiliation. “You’ve been doing cam shows, Jeongin! Making audios and… and that—” You gestured vaguely at the laptop. “—and you never said a word! We’re best friends!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks red, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Because it’s embarrassing! It’s just… a side thing. To blow off steam. I didn’t want you to think I was some perv.” He paused, eyes darkening as he glanced at your bare legs peeking from under the blanket. “But you… you were getting off to it. To me. Knowing it was me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words stuck. The tension in the room was thick, electric, your body still humming from the interrupted pleasure. “It’s not… I shouldn’t have. It’s wrong.”

“Is it?” he challenged, voice dropping lower, closer to that FoxVibe tone. He took another step, now at the foot of the bed. “You looked like you were enjoying it. Fingers deep in your pussy, moaning to my vid—well, my porn.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but there was no heat in it, just a fresh wave of arousal at his words. You were still half-naked, arguing like this wasn’t the most insane situation ever. “You’re the one hiding this whole double life!”

“And you’re the one creeping on your best friend’s porn,” he retorted, but his breathing was ragged, eyes locked on you with an intensity that made your core clench. The back-and-forth was charged, each accusation laced with unspoken want, the air growing heavier.

“Jeongin, I swear—” you started, but he cut you off, lunging forward to grab your wrist gently, pulling you closer across the bed. His other hand cupped your neck, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse, which was racing.

“Say another fucking word,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, FoxVibe fully emerging, “and I’ll lose my cool.”

His eyes bored into yours, dark with lust, and you could feel his restraint cracking—he was inches away, body heat radiating, and you were still exposed from the waist down under that flimsy blanket.

The tension snapped. Instead of pulling away, you crashed your lips against his, desperate and fierce. He groaned into the kiss, immediately deepening it, his hand tightening on your neck as his tongue swept into your mouth. It was all hunger, all the pent-up angst exploding in a frenzy of teeth and lips.

He broke the kiss first, breathing hard, but his eyes were pure fire now. “Fuck this,” he muttered, yanking the blanket away and stripping your tank top off in one swift motion, leaving you completely bare. “Show me,” he demanded, voice commanding like in his streams. “Show me what you were doing to my videos.”

You shivered under his gaze, but defiance sparked. “Only if I get a live show,” you whispered, bold despite your flushed state.

He smirked, shedding his clothes quickly—hoodie, shirt, jeans, boxers—until he stood naked, cock hard and leaking, just like in his videos.

“Deal.” He sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, hand wrapping around his length as he started stroking slowly. “Your turn.”

Heart pounding, you mirrored him, spreading your legs and sliding your fingers back into your soaked cunt, moaning at the relief. You watched each other, his eyes on your fingers pumping in and out, yours on his hand twisting around his shaft, thumb swiping over the tip to spread precum. The room filled with wet sounds and gasps, tension building as you both edged closer.

“Faster,” he ordered, his own pace quickening, hips bucking slightly. “Show me how you touch yourself when you watch me fuck that toy.”

You obeyed, adding a third finger, curling them deep while your other hand rubbed your clit. “Like this… God, Jeongin, your voice always gets me so wet.” He groaned, free hand reaching to pinch your nipple, heightening everything. “You’re so hard for me right now,” you teased, voice breathy.

“Fuck, yeah, all for you,” he rasped, stroking faster. “Keep going, baby. Wanna see you come undone.”

You came first, crying out as your orgasm hit, walls clenching around your fingers. “Jeongin—oh shit, yes!” He followed soon after, spilling over his hand with a guttural moan, but he wasn’t done—his cock stayed hard, eyes hungry.

Before you could recover, you slid off the bed to your knees, pulling him to stand. “My turn,” you said, wrapping your lips around his cock. It was sloppy, messy—saliva dripping as you took him deep, tongue swirling around the head, hands stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach. He tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding you, hips thrusting gently at first, then faster.

“Fuck, your mouth… just like I imagined,” he panted, voice strained. “Look up at me, baby. Let me see those eyes while you blow me.”

You hummed around him, gazing up through your lashes, sucking harder as he groaned.

“That’s it, take it all… you’re so good at this.” His praise made you moan, the vibration pushing him over. He came with a shudder, hot spurts filling your mouth.

“Swallow for me,” he murmured, and you did, licking your lips as he hauled you up for a deep kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.

He groaned before breaking the kiss, then he spun you around, bending you over the bed, ass up. His hands gripped your hips, cock teasing your entrance, sliding through your folds without entering. “You want this, huh?” he teased, voice pure dominance. “Tell me how bad.”

“Please, Jeongin,” you whimpered, pushing back against him. “Need you inside me… been thinking about your cock for days.”

He chuckled darkly, dipping just the tip in before pulling out, over and over, edging you until tears pricked your eyes. “So desperate… love hearing you beg.”

Finally, he slammed in, filling you completely, both of you moaning at the stretch. “Fuck, you’re tight. Feel that? Made for me.”

He started thrusting hard from behind, one hand on your back to keep you arched, the other reaching around to rub your clit in tight circles.

“Oh God, right there,” you gasped, gripping the sheets. “Harder—please, don’t stop.”

“Like this?” he grunted, pounding deeper, the slap of skin filling the room. “You’re soaking me, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“So good… you’re so deep,” you moaned, meeting his thrusts. “Jeongin, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he pulled out, flipping you onto your back and hooking your legs over his shoulders before sliding back in. The new angle had him hitting even deeper, his mouth crashing onto yours in a sloppy kiss.

“Look at me,” he demanded between thrusts, hands pinning yours above your head. “Wanna see your face when you come.”

You nodded frantically, nails digging into his hands. “Kiss me again… please.” He obliged, tongue tangling with yours as he slowed to deep, grinding rolls of his hips. “You’re driving me crazy,” you whispered against his lips. “Feels too good.”

“Good,” he murmured, picking up speed, thrusting frantically now. “You’re mine tonight, baby girl. Say it.”

“Yours,” you breathed, the pressure building again. He released your hands to tease your clit, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

With a smooth shift, he sat back, pulling you onto his lap without pulling out. You sank down fully, grinding at first, then bouncing as his hands guided your hips.

“Ride me, just like that,” he groaned, thrusting up to meet you. “Fuck, you look so hot on top.”

You leaned forward, forehead against his, moaning into his mouth. “Jeongin… touch me, please.” His hand slipped between you, fingers on your clit while the other squeezed your breast. “Yes, like that—oh shit, I’m close.”

“Me too,” he panted, pace relentless. “Come with me, baby. Now.”

You shattered together, your walls pulsing around him as he spilled inside, both crying out each other’s names, bodies trembling in unison. He held you close, hips stuttering through the aftershocks, until you both collapsed, spent and sated, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

—

When morning came, you lay there, his arm draped over your waist, his glasses slightly askew. He looked at you with a shy smile, the nerdy Jeongin you knew peeking through. “So… that happened,” he said, laughing softly.

“Yeah,” you replied, still catching your breath from the last round. “And I’m gonna need you to do it again. Like, a lot.”

He grinned, pulling you closer. “Guess I’ll have to start streaming exclusively for you then.”

You laughed, swatting his chest. “You better. I’m your number one fan now.”

Authors note: Lets show this fic some love 🫦 Where are my Innie enthusiasts? This ones for you! And thank you @blxksun for blessing me with his beautiful idea, i hope i did it justice?? ❤️❤️🌼🌼.

I’m still clearing the requests backlog for now so please remember REQUESTS ARE CLOSED!!!