My name is Autumn, I read and write (mainly for SKZ and the Sturniolos right now, but this blog is not dedicated to any specific fandom).
My masterlist is included in this post, as well as links to my Spotify!
house rules ✯
Rule of thumb for written works: don't like, don't read. I will not be providing an exhaustive list of warnings because I do not want to spoil the entire story before it is read. I will provide general warnings for content that is sexually explicit, gory, or may otherwise be disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.
Requests are closed but my inbox is always open for your thoughts :)
The sound of skin against skin echoed against the walls along with your moans mixed with Hyunjins grunts.
Your shirt was bunched up above your chest, his hands groping your tits while his other rested on the bed next to you. Eye’s half shut as he looked down at you.
“Feel so good,” He moaned. Feeling you clench around him at the praise.
Your hands gripped the sheets, toes curling as he hit that spot in you repeatedly- and the visual above you.
Sweat painting his face, mixing with his hair and causing a few strands to stick to his face. Eye’s half shut. Hair slightly messed from his fallen and forgotten hat. Lips kissed swollen- and his STAY lock-key necklace dangling from around his neck.
You hooked your finger around the jewelry, lifting your arm with effort as the pleasure shooting through your body made you weak.
Hyunjin didn’t notice until he felt the pressure on the back of his neck, glancing down and seeing you pulling gently at the necklace.
He grinned, shifting. “What? You want a kiss?” He cooed teasingly with a smirk, setting down onto his forearms. Chest pressing against yours. “Hm?”
You didn’t reply, simply reached up and kissed him, wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his hips, pulling him closer. Cold of his necklace resting against your neck.
He groaned into the kiss, hips faltering before speeding up.
“You’re insatiable.” He grinned into the kiss, pulling away to catch his breath before his lips were on yours again.
📖 Matt knew you were a private person. But when your first attempt at physical intimacy goes horribly wrong, he finally learns why.
👥 bf!matt sturniolo x fem!reader
For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This series contains themes of sexual trauma, and some chapters contain sexually explicit material and will be marked accordingly. Reader discretion advised.
📖 Matt knew you were a private person. But when your first attempt at physical intimacy goes horribly wrong, he finally learns why. (series masterlist)
👥 bf!matt sturniolo x fem!reader
For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes themes of sexual trauma, reader discretion advised.
divider by @chrisssiren
The goosebumps should have been the first sign.
Matt's fingers traced your arm absent-mindedly, more focused on the movie than anything. Your back was laid on his chest, a soothing weight that almost lulled him to sleep in the dim of his bedroom.
When he "accidentally" brushed over your stomach, you inhaled through your nose; soft, but distinct enough to catch his attention. Your leg shifted. You didn't say anything.
He gave a quiet chuckle, kissing the top of your head. You nearly jumped when his hands skirted your ribs on either side, tensing and relaxing. Something in the air had shifted, become charged with tension. Your chest was rising and falling a beat faster, and you didn't laugh at a joke in the movie.
Normally you'd make some joke about wandering hands or focusing on the movie. You usually kept it PG as far as the two of you were concerned, never going past the occasional heavy makeout. You didn't even kiss him until the third date—he'd tried on the first, but you pressed a finger to his lips, offering a shy smile saying you wanted it to be special.
He'd laughed it off at the time, scratching the back of his head. He promised to give you a more special first kiss than in his car hovering over froyo cups. There was something guarded in your eyes, nervous, but he wasn't going to push it.
Matt let out a long sigh, anticipation pricking at his fingertips as he traced your sides, up, down, gentle and coaxing. Your back arched into him a little, arms still folded resolutely over your chest.
"You okay?" He murmured, smoothing his hands over your hips. You nodded briefly, unfolding your arms. One of your hands came to rest on his knee, the other over his left hand.
. . .
Your eyes hurt from staring at the TV screen for so long, but your body had forgotten to blink in the past few minutes.
Matt's hands were occupying every corner of your brain. They were soft, exploring new territory with utmost care. It felt like fire on your skin, and your muscles were stiff as rock. You willed yourself to give him a reaction, a word, something. You mustered a weak hum, shifting your hands. They felt like lead, lifeless against his warm skin.
His fingers slowly worked over your lower stomach, and your eyes darted to the door. It had been closed all evening, but you couldn't help the instinct. No noise, no light shifting. You let out a shaky breath. You felt itchy. You wanted to dart. Any excuse to get out of here. You wanted to take a hot shower. You wanted to scream.
The worst part was that you couldn't see him. Was he watching you? Could he see your blank stare? Your teeth gnawing your lip so hard you might bleed? The shift of your neck as you swallowed the lump in your throat?
When his fingers brushed your crotch over your shorts, your hand clutched his wrist and your shoulders caved forward in disgust. You screwed your eyes shut, grimacing. That was the only movement you could make?
"What's wrong?" He asked. The sound raked down your back like knives.
You turned, feigning casual. "Nothing. Just, need to clean up a bit." You raised your eyebrows, hoping that your effort to smile seemed genuine in the lamplight.
His eyes were wide, but he just nodded. "Yeah, do what you need to do."
It took all your effort not to leap out the door, even though you wanted to. Once the door was closed, you tiptoed into the bathroom across the hall, turning the lock and turning the fan on.
This isn't fair, you thought. He was being so sweet, so careful, and here you were running away from him.
But when you thought of the way he was touching you, what you knew he wanted to do, your stomach churned violently. You heaved a breath, sitting on the bathroom floor shakily.
No matter how sweet his cologne was, or how many honeyed words he whispered in your ears, each touch felt like something so far away from him. It felt cruel, waiting for a hand over your mouth or a harsh grope that never came. You knew it wouldn't. Matt had never given you that kind of impression. But it was like a different brain was taking over your nervous system.
You let out a sniffle, tipping the toilet seat up. The water in your eyes had long since spilled over, and you had to press the neckline of your shirt into your face to muffle the labored breaths and whimpers. Your chest hurt.
What would happen if you went back in there? He'd keep moving, he'd put his hand in your pants, and then what? You'd lay there in that vegetative state and take it? What would he think then?
Before you could stand to compose yourself, your stomach lurched, and you vomited into the toilet. Three knocks on the door made you jump, still coughing.
"Are you okay?" came Matt's voice.
"Yeah." You rasped, but the sourness in the back of your throat made you gag loudly.
But he wasn't buying it. "Are you throwing up?"
"No!" You sobbed out, clutching the toilet bowl as another heave wracked through you. You faintly heard him rattling the doorknob.
"Babe, unlock the door." He pleaded, and your heart clenched.
Before you could choke out a response, the door swung open, and Matt stumbled in. His eyes widened, and he watched, stunned, as you spat into the toilet bowl.
"I'm fine," you coughed, squeezing your eyes shut as you dry heaved. Stars sparked at the edges of your vision, and your head ached.
"No you're not," he insisted, kneeling down to your level. He swept your hair into a ponytail, holding it out of your face and off of your neck. He tried rubbing your back but you swatted his hand away.
You coughed and retched into the toilet for a long while. The stench of bleach and puke burned your nose, but at least there was a little bit of dignity with your head in the bowl where Matt couldn't see you.
When you were done, you reached blindly for the toilet paper, wiping your mouth and flushing. You drew your knees to your chest, leaning your forehead on them and letting your hair curtain your face from view.
Matt sighed, shuffling somewhere in front of you. "I'm getting water, be right back."
You glanced up when he was gone. He'd closed the door, giving you the relief of privacy if Nick or Chris walked by. Your mouth was dry and licking your lips just moved the foul taste around.
The moment alone did you little good, because now that he knew something was wrong, you desperately wanted to see him, gauge his reaction.
When he came back with a bottle of water and a bottle of Tums, you quickly wiped your eyes, hoping you didn't look clownish.
"Here," he muttered, sitting on the tile across from you.
"Thanks." You sipped the water gratefully.
For a few painful minutes, Matt opened his mouth, closed it, clenched and unclenched his hand. He wanted to say something, but he seemed to be grasping for the words.
"You didn't do anything wrong," you finally told him.
His shoulders relaxed slightly. "Okay." He spoke slowly, picking at the pilling on the edge of his sweatshirt. "So, what happened?"
You scrubbed your face over. "God, it's such a long story."
Matt pressed his lips together in a line. Not frustrated, just anxious. "Do you want to sit on the bed? Just, it's more comfortable. And the guys won't bother us."
You nodded, standing slowly. He hovers slightly as you make your way back to his bedroom, as if he thought you were going to collapse. When you sit, you cross your arms around yourself. You felt like a teenager who got caught by her parents. Matt sat opposite you, at a safer distance than he might normally be.
"I should have explained this a lot sooner." You stare at your feet. "But, a couple years ago..."
. . .
Matt swore he could feel his heart breaking with each detail. He could faintly tell that there was something you were avoiding telling him, but it didn't make your story any less nauseating.
He watches you as you spin the tale, picking at your cuticles and pausing a lot between sentences. You were caving in on yourself, knees pulled tightly to your chest, safeguarded as if that softened the blow as you explained everything.
"So...yeah. I haven't seen or heard from him in a long time, so that's good. But it's like I still feel him sometimes when you do things like that. And it's not that I think anything bad about you. I trust you. I think my body just can't tell the difference anymore." You finally looked up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line that might be an attempt to smile.
"Well," he started slowly, "I'm so sorry that happened to you. I wish you would have told me sooner. But I do want you to know that we don't have to do anything physical. I'm willing to just cuddle and hold hands forever if that's what you want."
You shook your head. "That's not it. I do want to be able to have that with you. I just don't know how long that will take."
"That's okay. I'll wait." When your lip began to wobble, he put a delicate hand on your knee. "Hey, it's not—"
"I love you," you sobbed, blinking through wet lashes. His heart twisted, and he took you in his arms when you held yours out to him.
"I love you too," he murmured, rubbing his palm over your back. "It's okay."
You sniffed when the next round of tears subsided, wiping your eyes with the cuff of your sleeve. "Thank you."
"Of course." He kissed your temple. "Now let's finish the movie, hm?"
You nodded, crawling back to the head of the bed with him. This time, you sat beside him, with his profile in your peripheral vision. His thumb stroked your shoulder, but never wandered. His other hand held yours over his knee, warm and comforting. Tiny little details to show that when you told him what you wanted, he listened.
SO. . .DO YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?: M.S.
in which. . .an unknown account knows a little too much about you
warnings: stalking, phone tapping, horror fic, matt lowk being a freak, masturbation (f), semi based off "scream", dirty dirty dirty talk, hunter x prey themes, phone sex, knife kink, mask kink -> 1.1k
note: this is not a fic for anyone under the age of 18. it is quite dark and not for unseasoned readers of dark romance; it is 100% fiction. if anything like this happens to you irl, please please please call authorities and always practice internet safety!!
you stretched, your legs tensing under your friday the 13th blanket as you surveyed the nail polish options you had set on the coffee table in front of you. it had been a long week of work, and you found yourself alone in your apartment on a friday night, opting for self care, ambient lighting, and your favorite summerween slasher movies. for some reason, though, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
you shook your hair out, trying to erase the chill that had inched its way up your spine. you were fine; maybe a bit stressed from work, but nothing was wrong. you picked a silver nail polish up before turning some music on your phone, smiling to yourself when your favorite rob zombie song came on. it might only be june, but you were craving halloween.
"ugh!" you groaned in frustration as your spotify seemingly glitched for what felt like the fifth time.
your frustration was short-lived, though. a soft, male "hello" interrupted the song, an ad-lib that you were sure wasn't part of the song before. now, your annoyance was replaced with fear. the voice had sounded real, like there was someone inside your phone, not a voice note that had been recorded in a studio.
"you're being ridiculous, y/n," you muttered to yourself, tossing your phone onto the table and resuming your nail art. "no one tapped your phone."
"so innocent." the quiet voice came from your phone again, making you drop your nail polish, the silver polish spilling across the rug.
nausea coiled in your gut as you picked up your phone, watching the open spotify app glitch before your eyes in a way that you'd never seen before. despite living in an extremely safe area, you suddenly felt the urge to barricade your apartment. it could've been high schoolers playing a prank, but something about the man's tone felt sinister.
the ringing of your phone practically had you jumping of out your skin, signaling a call from an instagram account reading "user349765". you knew you shouldn't pick it up, but it colliding with the current events had you hoping you'd be able to track down and report whoever this was.
"hello?" you asked, picking up the call.
the call was dark, illuminated only by a few streetlights. the person was masked, showing only the corner of what looked like a ghostface mask that had been purchased from spirit halloween.
"i see you're not too scared, darlin'." the man said, allowing you to hear the smirk in his voice.
"you have the wrong person. . ." you whispered, voice broken and watery.
the man chuckled. "oh, i'm sure i don't. i've seen the things you like to watch and read when you're alone in your room, thinkin' there's no prying eyes. you love a masked man with a knife, sweetheart."
your blood ran cold. your unusual, completely un-vanilla kinks were something you shared with no one, not even your best friend. you only engaged in porn and books that catered to those specifics types of play at night, alone in your room where no one would ever know. this person had been watching you.
"cat got your tongue?" he cooed, voice dripping with faux sympathy.
"i don't know who you are, but you need to stop before i call the police!" you tried to sound confident, like you were ignoring the mix of fear and the heat pooling between your thighs.
"oh, little dove, you're so innocent," the man chuckled, lifting the corner of the mask just enough to reveal dark brown stubble. "who would believe you?"
you fell silent at that. you didn't actually have any proof that these events weren't just a crazy coincidence of some high school jokers messing with you.
"wanna play a game?" he asked. "get to know each other a little better?"
"you don't know me and you never will!" you hissed.
"oh, but i do. i've been inside your house, doll. i've walked past your building at night. you really should close the curtains, you know. it's like you're just begging for someone, perhaps a man in a mask, to come fuck that pretty body."
you froze, staring at the curtains that led to your balcony. sure enough, despite the setting sun, you had thrown them open, not thinking of it as you aimed to seek out the last ray's of the day's sun. "anyone could have their curtains open." you said, trying to be nonchalant.
"hmmm," the man hummed. "that's true, but a pretty girl like you would have a boyfriend who would be against that, no? do you have a boyfriend, sweetheart?"
a wetness pooled in your panties. you should be afraid. you should be locking your doors and calling the police and yet, you weren't. the man's voice was hypnotizing, like you had heard it somewhere before. "why do you care?"
"because if you were my girl, i'd be pretty angry about my woman on a call with a stranger, touching herself to his voice. so, do you have a boyfriend?"
your mouth ran dry as your pussy continued to drip. how did this stranger know that, during his monologue, your hand had snuck lower and lower until you were playing with your aching clit, his voice driving you to touch yourself.
"how do you know what i'm doing?" you whispered.
"well, baby, i can see you." he chuckled, angling the camera so that you could see his sleeve of tattoos and the long, polished knife, reminiscent of scream, that he held.
as soon as you saw the tattoos, you knew. matt had been your on again, off again friend with benefits for years. you hadn't heard from him recently, presumably because his career had taken off, but the fact that he was choosing this way to come back into your life was hot. you couldn't deny it.
you didn't break character, though. matt was the only person you had ever fucked that knew about your unusual kinks. "please don't kill me!" you whimpered.
"and lose watching you play with that wet little pussy? fuck no. you look so beautiful like this, doll. gettin' off to the voice of a strange man in a mask with a knife. keep going."
you did as told, using your arousal as lube to circle your clit, applying a delicious pressure that made your tummy knot. "mmm, please!"
"please what? please slit your throat while i stuff you full of my cock?" matt teased underneath the mask.
you nodded, tears pricking in your eyes as you played with yourself. "need you!"
"you need a stalker in your house, sweetheart? so innocent," matt chuckled. "how about i make a deal with you?"
you couldn't even say anything. you were so close to your climax that matt's voice was sending you over the edge. you simply nodded so hard it felt like your head might fall off, hoping matt could see it, right as you came so hard you were practically seeing stars.
hyunjins fingers were pistoning in and out of your sopping pussy. the wet squelching sounds making your head spin. he always seemed to hit spots deep inside you you couldn’t reach yourself. his long slender fingers pressing right up against your g-spot, massaging deeply and making your tummy feel weird.
the wet squelching grew louder and your soft pants increased in speed, “h-hyunnie..! feels weird, s-stop..”
his fingers didn’t slow their speed, “feels weird muse? hm?”
your cheeks burned bright and it felt humiliating to utter out the words, “feels like i h-have to pee..”
hyunjin ignored your little complaint, knowing your body better than you and his fingers picked up speed. he even went as far to rub circles on your clit with his other hand. you cried out at the feeling, it felt so dirty but so good and you felt the knot tighten in your tummy, the urge to go getting stronger with each swift movement of his fingers.
“hyunjin! ngh-please, i can’t! stop im gonna-!” you didn’t know how to finish the sentence, you didn’t know what you were going to do but you felt like you were about to snap at any second.
he hummed, fake compassion dripping from his tone, “oh i know baby, it’s so much hm? you gonna make a mess for me?”
your voice cracked, your moans dirty and raw as you let go. the knot in your tummy snapped and your thighs shook violently as your cunny squirted out. hyunjin was quick to pull out his fingers, his other hand speeding up on your clit, your fluids spraying all over him but he didn’t care, this is exactly what he wanted. you arched your back into his touch, craving more even though you were still leaking all over the bed.
“that’s right honey, make a mess for me.” he groaned, voice deep with lust.
your moans turned to pathetic whimpers as the overstimulation hit you. your pussy had calmed down, your climax having washed over as your squirting died down. hyunjin pulled his dripping fingers away from your cunt and brought them to his lips, making a show of wrapping his lips around them and licking your juices off them.
“think you can do that again?” he asked as he pulled his fingers out with a wet pop.
or: oh great. your roommate bailed on you right before the new month's payment, and you need to find a new roommate asap. lucky for you, chan came (literally) to your rescue. he's charming enough, and more importantly, pays rent on time. you've agreed to split rent by half, but rent won't be the only thing getting split in half, because he's hiding a big secret. and no, not just the one in his pants.
warnings: MDNI!!! contains heavy sexual content, camboy!chris x roommate!reader, porn with some plot, perv!reader, masturbation, piv, mānhandling, spānkïng, hāirpulling, too many kinks , kinda switch!chan but he's mostly a dom daddy dwdw, I'm a cocky chan truther so yk what's coming, a sprinkle of fluff and banter.
wc: 11k
a/n: loosely based off this drabble
"You're fucking kidding me." You stare at the text message. Three sentences that might as well be a bomb dropped in the middle of your living room.
Hey, sorry for the short notice, but I’m moving in with my boyfriend at the end of the week.
I know rent’s due soon, but I kinda already spent my half on the security deposit for our new place.
Good luck finding someone else!
shit
Rent is due in nine days, and your bank account isn’t exactly overflowing.
You’ve never lived alone before. Couldn’t afford it even if you wanted to. And the thought of scrambling to find a new roommate in a week makes your stomach twist.
You're halfway through drafting a frantic "roommate needed ASAP" text to your groupchat when your phone buzzes.
it's one of your few friends who actually bothers to check in.
Heard about your roomie bailing. Absolute bullshit.
Anyway I know a guy. Chill as hell, works freelance, needs a place.
You'd vibe.
You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The last thing you want is some rando bringing chaos into your already crumbling life.
But then your landlord's terse "rent due on the 1st, no exceptions" text flashes in your mind.
Fine. Give him my number.
Chan texts you thirty minutes later. His messages are polite. Full sentences, proper punctuation, none of that monosyllabic grunting.
He suggests meeting at the apartment tomorrow afternoon to check the place out, and you agree.
The next day, you're scrubbing the bathroom sink when the doorbell rings. Chan stands in the hallway holding a paper bag that smells like garlic and herbs. "Figured we could talk over lunch," he says, smiling like this isn't weird at all.
Up close, he's so much cuter than you expected, blond hair, unfairly big broad shoulders, dressed in a blank tanktop that showed them off perfectly.
You blink at the take out bag, then at Chan’s easy grin.
There’s no nervous energy radiating off him, no awkward shuffling — just this unsettling calm, like he’s already decided he belongs here. “Uh,” you say, wiping your damp hands on your pants, “you didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he interrupts, already toeing off his sneakers without waiting for an invite. The scent of roasted garlic and rosemary spills into the apartment as he breezes past you toward the kitchen. “But food makes everything less weird, right?”
You trail after him, you don't know whether to be annoyed or charmed.
Chan unpacks the food containers, grilled chicken, some kind of herby rice, roasted vegetables that don’t look like the sad microwave steam bags you usually survive on.
He slides a plate toward you. “Eat first, then interrogation.”
“Interrogation?” You stab a piece of chicken, watching him warily.
Chan shrugs, mouth already full. “Standard roommate shit. ‘Do you snore?’ ‘Are you a serial killer?’ ‘Will you steal my leftovers?’” He swallows, grinning.
“The answer’s no, no, and only if you leave them unlabelled.”
The food is homemade stupidly good, and Chan’s presence is… unsettlingly comfortable.
By the time you’re scraping the last of the rice off your plate, you’ve learned he does something vague with digital marketing (“Basically, I convince people to buy shit they don’t need”), he actually enjoys doing laundry, and he likes to cook.
“So,” Chan says, stacking the empty containers, “you wanna show me around, or should I just start claiming drawers?”
The tour is quick — your apartment isn’t exactly sprawling — but Chan makes appreciative noises at the closet space and tests how sturdy the bed frame is (#whatdatmean).
When you hesitantly mention rent, he waves a hand. “Half’s fine. I’ll pay first and last upfront if you want.”
You stare. “You don’t even know the amount.”
Chan shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got it.” He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and, before you can protest, your own phone buzzes with a notification.
It’s a Venmo payment for double what you were about to say rent costs.
Your mouth opens, then closes. “You—what? That’s too much.”
“Nah.” He pockets his phone, grinning at your baffled expression. “Consider it a ‘sorry for being weirdly pushy’. ”
You don’t argue. You can’t argue — not when your bank account is currently breathing its first sigh of relief in months.
A girls got priorities, and he doesn't really seem to mind. it's a win win scenario.
~
The first month was… strange. Not bad, just strange. he was genuinely nice, easy to talk to. it wasn't long till the initial awkwardness — if there was any — wore off. you'd become something sort of friends, and both of you settled into a quiet rhythm.
he'd left cash for rent in a neat stack on the kitchen counter on first of the month, slightly more than his half again.
When you tried to give him the extra back, he just waved you off.
You caught glimpses of his routine. disappearing into his room at odd hours, the low murmur of his voice through the walls late at night.
And then there was the day you came home early.
You weren’t supposed to be back until ten, but your shift ended early, and the bus was miraculously on time for once.
The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the door, just the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the floorboards under your feet.
You’d barely set your bag down when you heard it — a low noise from Chan’s room.
Your fingers froze on the zipper of your jacket. The sound came again, breathier this time, followed by the slick, rhythmic sound of skin on skin.
you thought it was a girlfriend he never told you about.
The idea punched a weird, hollow ache into your ribs — which was stupid, because it’s not like you had any claim on him.
Still, you stood there frozen in the hallway, his door slightly ajar, listening to the sounds of his pleasure like some kind of creep.
You backed out of the apartment, easing the door shut with just the softest whisper of the latch catching. Your pulse hammered in your throat as you ducked into the stairwell, pressing your back against the cool concrete wall.
The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop being weird, to just walk back in like a normal person. But the irrational part — the part currently in charge — was too busy replaying the sounds spilling from Chan’s room to listen.
You get out of the building and circle the block twice, three times, counting cracks in the sidewalk. The air smells like rain that hasn’t fallen yet, and you bask in that atmosphere till roughly an hour has passed.
When you finally drag yourself back inside, the apartment is quiet. Chan’s door is shut tight, the shower running, and no girlfriend in sight.
she must've left early.
You freeze halfway to your room when the shower shuts off. your feet are planted still go to your room, go to your room
but you weren't quick enough, and a few seconds later, Chan emerges with only a towel slung low on his hips.
He's startled when he sees you, droplets flicking off his hair as he jerks his head up. “oh hey—” His voice is casual before you cut him off, "shit—sorry!" your face heats up at the sight, your eyes wander, trailing down his toned chest that still had water droplets running down, before snapping your head in the other direction.
was he always this muscular?
and you can't help but notice that there are no hickeys on his neck, no marks on his arms, and surprisingly put together for someone who just had his girlfriend over less than an hour ago.
"no no— you're good." he reassures with a smile, "you're back early."
You swallow hard. “Yeah. Shift got cut."
Chan leans against the doorframe, his damp hair curling at the ends. You try not to stare at the way his towel clings precariously to his hips, but your gaze keeps flicking downward anyway, betraying you.
"Everything okay?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.
"Y-yeah," you stammer, fingers twisting in the hem of your jacket. "Just—uh. Busy day."
Chan hums, nodding. His eyes flick over your face, lingering a second too long on your flushed cheeks before he grins. "Cool. I was just gonna make some food if you’re hungry."
The casual offer throws you off. You were expecting — what? Awkward silence? Averted eyes? Not this easy warmth.
but you just nod dumbly. "Yeah. Food sounds good."
he pushes off the doorframe, padding toward the kitchen. The towel rides up slightly with each step, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones, and you have to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a noise.
“You good?” he calls over his shoulder, like he can feel your stare burning into his back.
“Fine,” you squeak, following at a safe distance, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The kitchen tile is cool under your socked feet, a welcome distraction from the heat crawling up your neck.
Chan hums again, rummaging through the fridge with one hand while the other keeps his towel secured. The muscles in his back flex as he leans forward, and you’re suddenly very interested in the color of your sponge bob socks.
“Leftover pasta okay?” he asks, pulling out a container with a rattle of plastic. You nod mutely, watching as he moves around the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the tiles.
The stove clicks to life, the hiss of gas filling the silence between you. Chan leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, “So,” he starts, “how was work?”
You blink. “Uh. Fine. Boring.” The words tumble out too fast, your pulse jumping when Chan chuckles. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly you’re hyperaware of every inch of space between you.
he scrapes the leftover pasta into the pan, the sizzle of garlic and butter filling the silence between you. His towel shifts dangerously low with each stir, but he doesn’t seem to notice — or maybe he does.
The corner of his mouth twitches when he catches you staring, and you snap your gaze to the ceiling like it’s suddenly fascinating.
"You know," he says, voice light, "most roommates don’t freak out when they see each other half dressed." The wooden spoon clinks against the pan as he scrapes the edges.
"I wasn’t freaking out."
Chan laughs, "You literally yelped like I pulled a knife on you." He glances over his shoulder, eyes dragging down your body in a way that makes your knees weak. "Unless you’re into that."
The pasta sizzles loudly in the pan, drowning out the choked sound that escapes your throat at Chan’s words. "I—that’s not—"
Chan turns fully now, abandoning the stove, and the towel dips dangerously low. His smirk is infuriating, "Relax," he murmurs, stepping closer, "Just teasing."
You laugh nervously, the sound too high pitched, too obvious. "I'm just gonna—" You jerk your thumb toward your room, already backing away. "Change into something more... home-y."
Chan raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Home-y,"
"yea—!" your voice cracks "y'know comfortable....home clothes"
Then you gesture vaguely at his towel, your voice cracking slightly. "Are you— uh, gonna put on actual clothes before we eat? Because I'm pretty sure health code violations apply to apartments too."
Chan glances down at himself, then back up at you, "Why?" He grins, tilting his head. "Distracted?"
"Yes—no," you sputter, crossing your arms tightly over your chest like armor. "I just don’t want your—" You wave a hand wildly in the general direction of his hips. "That—near my dinner."
Chan laughs, a full blown laugh, and you take that chance to bolt for your room, shoulders hunched as if that’ll make you smaller, less noticeable.
The door clicks shut behind you with a click, and you press your forehead against the cool wood, exhaling sharply.
"And turn the heat down!" you call out, voice too high,"Unless you want to burn the house down!"
Another laugh, muffled through the door. "Yes, mom," Chan drawls, the playful lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn hotter.
The stove clicks as he adjusts the flame, the sound followed by the soft thud of his footsteps padding down the hall. You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to the creak of his bedroom door, the rustle of fabric as he presumably — finally — changes.
You peel yourself off the door, fingers fumbling at the jacket of your shirt. The fabric clings to your skin, damp with nervous sweat, and you wrestle it off.
Home-y. Right. who even says that?
Stupid stupid stupid.
Your dresser drawer sticks halfway open, You grab the first shirt your fingers brush against, soft from too many washes, and a pair of sweatpants with the elastic stretched out.
'He has a girlfriend,' you think, shimmying out of your jeans. The denim catches around your ankles, nearly causing you to trip.
'Probably. Maybe. Who the fuck knows.'
You yank the shirt over your head so hard the neckline stretches. The mirror across the room reflects your flushed face, your hair mussed from the fabric dragging through it.
You look and feel ridiculous.
You pull up your pants, then pause, fingers hovering at the waistband. Avoid him. Simple. Logical. You can do that.
but it wasn't that easy. after all there is only so much avoiding one could do to someone they live with.
The apartment isn’t big enough for elaborate evasion tactics, and Chan seems to have a sixth sense for popping up exactly where you don’t want him.
Leaning against the fridge when you’re raiding it at 2 am, or lounging on the couch just as you’re about to claim it for a late night tv binge.
So you just ended up being cooped in your room for most of the day.
But Chan isn’t stupid. eventually after days passed by, he’s leaning against your bedroom doorframe when you crack it open after what you thought was a safe half hour of silence.
“So,” he says, arms crossed, voice dripping with amusement, “you’re avoiding me.”
You freeze, one socked foot hovering mid step like a cartoon character caught mid sneak. “No,” you lie too quickly.
Chan raises an eyebrow. “You literally just ducked into the bathroom because you heard me coming down the hall.”
“I had to pee.”
“For the fourth time today?” His grin lopsided, “Either you’ve got a UTI, or you’re full of shit.”
You grit your teeth, fingers tightening around the doorknob. “Maybe both.”
he sighs out laugh, then steps closer, “Listen,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a serious tone, “if this is about the whole towel thing—”
“It’s not,” you answer quickly, too loud, too fast.
“So it is about the towel thing.”
“I’m not—” You exhale sharply through your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can you just—” You gesture vaguely at the space between you. “Give me, like, a three foot radius?”
Chan tilts his head, considering. His gaze drags down your body, before settling back on your face. “Nah,” he says finally, “I like you flustered.”
You bite your lip, eyes darting around, then settle on his, before darting around again.
The silence stretches, until you finally crack under the weight of it. “you—don’t you have a girlfriend?” you blurt, the words stumbling out in a rushed, stuttering mess.
Chan blinks, his smirk faltering for half a second before dissolving into genuine confusion. “A what?” His laugh sounds startled, almost disbelieving.
You press your lips together, suddenly regretting every life choice that led you to this moment.
Chan's eyebrows climb toward his hairline, "A girlfriend?" He repeats, "What, like, some theoretical girl who sneaks in when you're not looking?"
You gesture vaguely at him — the tousled hair, the unfairly sculpted shoulders, the effortless charm that clings to him like a second skin.
"You just—seem like the type." The words tumble out half mumbled, your gaze darting anywhere but his face.
Chan’s laughter echoes through the hallway, loud enough that you flinch—not just from the sound, but from the way it makes your stomach flip.
"Oh my god," he wheezes, leaning against the doorframe like he needs the support. "You thought I had some secret girlfriend sneaking in here to—what, fuck me while you're at work?"
You cross your arms tightly, "It's not that ridiculous," you mutter, but even you hear how weak it sounds.
"First of all, if I had a girlfriend, you'd know. I'm not subtle." His smirk tilts into something teasing. "Second, I'm very single. And third—" He pauses, tilting his head. "Wait. Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I was getting laid in there and didn't invite you?"
Your face burns. "No—that's not—"
His grin softens slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. "So," he murmurs, voice dropping lower, "what is it, then?"
You swallow hard, fingers gripping the edge of your shirt so tightly the fabric threatens to tear. "Nothing," you lie. "Just—roommate stuff. Boundaries."
Chan hums, "Boundaries," he echoes, Then, "You know you can just tell me if I’m doing something that makes you uncomfortable, right?"
You swallow hard, "Yeah," you mutter, gaze trailing to his eyes and holding his stare for the first time throughout this conversation "I know."
Chan pushes off the doorframe with a shrug, "Alright then," he says, clapping his hands together like he's wiping the whole conversation away. "Takeout time. You in?"
it's like all this man does is think about food...and make you weak in the knees.
You blink, "Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Chan pulls out his phone, already scrolling through delivery apps, "Thai? Or that new Italian place that opened down the street?" He glances up, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Unless you're feeling sushi again, but last time you complained about the wasbi being too strong."
The normalcy of it — the way he remembers your stupid, offhand complaints about condiments — makes something in your chest tighten.
You clear your throat. "Thai’s good."
~
The weirdness fades slowly, chan doesn’t mention the girlfriend comment again, and you stop bolting like a startled deer every time he walks into a room.
He starts leaving his door open when he’s working, the rhythmic tap of his keyboard drifting into the hallway. You catch yourself lingering in the doorway sometimes, watching the way his brow furrows when he’s concentrating, the way he bites his tongue when he’s stuck on something.
once, he catches you staring and pats the space beside him on the bed without looking up from his laptop. “Help me brainstorm this dumb tagline,”
You perch awkwardly at first, careful not to touch him, but Chan sprawls like he owns every inch of the mattress, his thigh pressing warm against yours. and before you know it, you’re leaning into him, pointing at the screen. “That one’s terrible,”
~
Movie nights become a thing.
The first movie night starts by accident — or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, scrolling through your phone while Chan sprawls across the other end, his laptop balanced precariously on his thighs.
Then the Wi-Fi cuts out.
Chan groans, tossing his head back against the cushions. “Fucking landlord,” he mutters, jabbing at his keyboard like it’ll magically fix the connection.
You snort, watching him glare at the screen like it’s personally offended him. “Guess we’re gonna have to talk to each other,”
“Horrifying,” he deadpans, then grabs the remote off the coffee table. “a movie it is.”
You end up with some terrible action movie Chan insists is a “classic,” but neither of you pay much attention. Halfway through, you catch him watching you instead of the screen, his head turning back to the movie when you caught him.
You brush it off, focusing on the screen, but your pulse jumps when Chan shifts closer, his thigh pressing against yours.
The credits roll, and he stretches. The couch creaks as he shifts, stretching his arms overhead with a groan that does things to your already frayed nerves.
"Well," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, "that was a cinematic masterpiece."
You snort, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, if you consider explosions and zero plot development masterful storytelling."
Chan’s chuckles “Plot is overrated,” he says, “Sometimes you just wanna watch things blow up.”
Chan then exhales heavily and stands. “Alright, I’m hitting the shower,” he says, stretching until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. You look away — too late — and Chan’s smirk is audible in his voice. “Try not to miss me too much.”
“In your dreams,” you mutter, but your pulse jumps when he pauses by the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Exactly.”
You sit there, frozen, until the bathroom door clicks shut and the shower starts running. The sound of water hitting tile fills the apartment, and you press your palms to your overheated cheeks, exhaling sharply.
Stupid. You’re being stupid. That probably didn't mean anything.
But then your phone buzzes on the couch beside you, and Chan’s name lights up the screen.
forgot my towel. mind grabbing it?
You stare at the message, then at the hallway, Trap, your brain supplies helpfully.
type back,
Seriously?
he answers immediately
dead serious. i’m vulnerable here.
You groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re already standing. His towel hangs on the back of his bedroom door, You grab it, then walk out to the bathroom.
You knock once, then freeze when Chan calls out, “Just come in.”
Your throat goes dry. “Absolutely not.”
Chan’s laugh echoes off the tiles. “Relax, I’m decent.” A pause. “Mostly.”
you squeeze your eyes shut, then shove the towel through the gap in the door, arm outstretched as far as possible. “Here.”
Chan’s fingers brush yours as he takes the towel. His skin is warm, damp, and you jerk your hand back like you’ve been burned.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, voice closer than you expected. You can *feel* his smile through the door. “You’re a lifesaver.”
You bolt back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a groan.
too much for your first movie night.
~
just when things were getting normal, It happens again on a monday.
You’re home early again, the apartment is silent. You toe off your shoes, and you were about to shout a "I'm back" when you heard it again.
Low, breathy moans slipping through the crack in Chan’s door.
Your feet root to the floor, ears straining as the noise curls around you.
His voice, thick with pleasure, murmurs something you can’t quite catch — then a wet, rhythmic sound that sends heat flooding your cheeks.
apparently, this man takes his....alone time very seriously.
that's what it had to be right? you can't blame him — you've been there once or twice.
Your breath sticks in your throat, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The sound— god, the sound — wraps around you, thick and heady, Chan's voice breaking on a moan that scrapes down your spine.
You should move. should bolt to your room, slam the door, drown it out with headphones. but your feet refuse to cooperate.
You tiptoe into the hallway, his door is cracked just enough, and your pulse hammers so loud its drowning out any other coherent thought in your brain.
A peak wouldn't hurt...
The door creaks faintly as it opens another inch, just enough for you to see.
Chan sits on the edge of his bed, but not like you thought. Not hidden, not private. No, this is something else entirely.
A ring light casts a glow over his bare skin, the camera propped on his desk angled perfectly to capture every inch of him. His laptop screen is open with a reflection of him and a rapid stream of comments too fast to read.
Oh.
Oh god.
Your stomach drops, then tightens all at once.
Chan’s head is tipped back, his throat working around a groan as his hand moves lazily between his thighs.
You press yourself against the hallway wall, pulse hammering, thoughts running a hundred miles per hour.
you did not expect this.
His breath hitches, a sharp, punched out sound, and your nails dig into your palms.
Chan’s fingers twist at the base of his cock, his thumb smearing precum in slow circles. The camera catches the way his abs flex as he arches into his own touch, his voice ragged when he murmurs, "Wish you were here." before he bites down on his lower lip. "Could use a mouth right now."
You watch, frozen in place, as his thighs tremble, his free hand fisting in the sheets beside him. The comments on his screen blur into a frenzy of emojis and a bunch of pinging donations. His breath stutters, his jaw clenching as his strokes turn erratic, desperate. “Yeah,” he gasps, voice breaking, “yeah, just like that—”
Then he comes with a choked moan, stripes of white painting his stomach as his back arches off the bed.
Gosh, he’s gorgeous — and you barely register the dampness between your own thighs until Chan slumps back against the pillows, chest heaving.
Chan exhales sharply, his fingers still lazily stroking his softening cock as he leans forward, just enough to tap something on his laptop.
he ends the stream with a wink and a low, raspy comment that you didn't quite catch. The screen goes black, and you barely have half a second to process the situation before your body kicks into motion.
You bolt down the hallway, socked feet silent against the hardwood.
Your bedroom door clicks shut behind you just as Chan gets up. You press your back against the door, lungs burning from holding your breath, and listen.
Water runs in the sink. A towel rustles. Then you hear footsteps.
They pause outside your door.
You purse your lips and hold your breath. Then Chan hums, before his footsteps retreat down the hall.
You slump against the door, exhaling shakily.
Holy shit.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fumble to pull it out.
you home early?
You stare at the text, thumbs hovering over the screen. Lie, your brain screams. Tell him no. but then how would you fake going into the apartment if you're already inside the apartment?
Just got back
You hit send before you can second guess it.
Cool. Dinner soon?
Your fingers hover over the screen, the weight of his question pressing against your ribs like a stone. The air in your room feels — too thick — and suddenly the idea of sitting across from Chan at the kitchen table, pretending you didn’t just watch him get off on camera, makes your stomach twist.
Gonna shower first.
Your phone buzzes again before you can even set it down,
Can I join?
You nearly drop it, blood roaring in your ears. Then—
jk. don’t use up all the hot water.
You toss your phone onto your bed and drag a hand down your face with a sigh.
You're deeply fucked.
~
That night, you stayed up aggressively googling him till his page came up.
Onlychans? really?
you'd laugh at the username if it wasn't for the videos that popped up when you clicked on his profile.
Chan, shirtless, sprawled across what is unmistakably your living room couch, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweatpants.
Chan, biting his lip as he slicks lube down his cock, the camera angled to capture every twitch of his abs.
Chan, moaning, his head thrown back against the pillows of his bed —your apartment, your shared space — while his other hand works something thick and glistening into his—
You slam the laptop shut.
Your face burns. Your pulse thrums in your ears. The apartment is silent — Chan’s out for a run, or so he’d claimed when he’d left an hour ago.
You open the laptop again.
It’s Curiosity. That’s all.
It starts innocently enough — just checking his schedule, really. A quick glance at his calendar pinned to the fridge.
"For productivity purposes," Chan had joked when you asked.
Then, sure enough, it spiraled.
You memorize the time of his streams, monday nights, Friday nights, he'd timed them perfectly in sync with times he knew you wouldn't be home. that's why you've been blissfully unaware of him filming in different locations around your shared apartment for the past two and a half months.
And the occasional late night surprise session that leaves you fumbling for your earbuds at 1 am. You'd literally be home, but he'd go live anyway. was he into that?
you were into it too, admittedly, because you turned out to be just as shameful as him.
The notification pops up at 1:47 am on a Wednesday 'Chan is live!' (yes, you turned his notifs on) and your fingers freeze mid doom scroll through Instagram.
your room is dark except for the glow of your phone screen, you're supposed to be asleep.
You tap the notification.
Chan’s face fills the screen, his grin already in place as he adjusts the camera. He’s shirtless, propped against the headboard of his bed, one arm draped lazily over his bent knee. The ring light casts shadows along his abs, highlighting every dip and curve.
"Late night surprise," he murmurs, "*Miss me?*" aaaand heat is already pooling low in your stomach.
His fingers work on hinseld, slow and teasing at first, thumb smearing precum in lazy circles while he talks— god, he sure does talk, filthy praises and half formed fantasies spilling from his lips like he’s whispering them directly into your ear. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp, your other hand slipping under the waistband of your pajama shorts.
Chan arches his back on screen, his free hand gripping the sheets beside him. "Fuck, you guys are greedy tonight," he rasps, stroking himself slowly. His thumb presses against the head on every upstroke, just how you’ve learned he likes it — learned from watching, from nights spent with your phone hidden under your pillow, screen dimmed to its lowest setting.
"Fuck, m'close," Chan groans, your fingers moving between your thighs in time with his rhythm, matching the pace, hips shifting under the sheets, your breath coming shallow.
It’s not the first time you’ve watched him like this, but it’s the first time you’ve done it live, with the shaky thrill of knowing he has no idea you’re here.
A whimper almost escapes you when he swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, his breath hitching. You press your palm over your mouth, stifling the sound.
The last thing you need is him hearing you through the thin walls.
The thought alone, him catching you, realizing, sends a sharp jolt between your legs. You squeeze your thighs together, chasing the feeling before it slips away.
His hand speeds up, the wet sound of his skin moving over his cock muffled only slightly by the mic's noise suppression. "God, fuck—gonna come so hard for you," he grits out, his voice cracking on the last word.
You press your free hand harder against your mouth, fingers digging into your own cheek as you watch his stomach tense, the muscles there flexing under the sheen of sweat. Your own movements stutter when he lets out a low, punched out moan, his hips jerking up into his fist.
You’re so close you can’t think straight. The coil in your stomach winds tighter with every stroke of his hand, every filthy sound he makes, matching his rhythm like you’re desperate to prove something— like if you can just finish at the same time, it’ll mean something. Stupid. It’s stupid. But your hips jerk anyway, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts against your palm.
"Fuck, fuck—" His hand stills suddenly, fingers tightening around the base of his cock as he tips his head back, you watch as his body locks up for one second — and then he’s coming, stripes of white painting his stomach, his chest.
Your own climax crashes over you at the same time, so violently you nearly choke on the gasp you swallow down, your back arching off the bed as pleasure burns through you in hot, dizzying waves.
He’s still catching his breath, his free hand dragging lazily through the mess on his stomach, fingers tracing the lines of cum with a slow, absentminded swipe.
His lips curl into that stupid, effortless smirk you’ve seen a hundred times,
"Mmm, fuck," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, still a little breathless. "You all got me good tonight."
He reaches for a towel off screen, the muscles in his arm flexing as he wipes himself clean. You watch, transfixed, as he tosses the towel aside and leans closer to the camera, cheeks are still flushed, his lashes low.
"Hope that was worth the wait," he says, eyes flickering to the chat before he grins. "gosh you guys are generous with the tips tonight." and you catch a few of the comments.
slave4u: how bout you come and give me that tip
sweetheartonline: gone broke just for you </3
Chan just chuckles, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, I’m done. You’re all insatiable." He stretches his arms above his head, his torso arching beautifully, "Next stream’s friday. Be good for me til then, yeah?"
With one last wink, he reaches forward, and the screen goes black.
You yank your earbuds out, Your chest heaves, your skin still buzzing, your thighs still sticky, and you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyelids until colors bloom behind them.
you find it ridiculous that you're actually enjoying this, perverted thoughts. Stupid. So stupid.
~
Two weeks pass after that. You're hyperaware of Chan’s presence in a way that makes your skin itch. Every casual touch sends sparks skittering up your spine.
You try to act normal, you really do.
But you catch yourself staring at his hands when he cooks, remembering the way they moved over himself on screen, and have to physically shake your head to clear the image.
Chan, for his part, seems to thrive on your discomfort. He leaves his bedroom door cracked just a little wider than necessary, and infuriatingly, he's rarely not shirtless.
it's okay. you're okay. at least you tell yourself that.
till it's Friday morning, marking the beginning of your third month.
the apartment is quiet, still bathed in the soft gold of early morning light filtering through the kitchen window. you hum under your breath as you flip pancakes.
then Chan emerges, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair still messy from sleep.
He leans against the doorway, watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk. “Morning,” he rasps, voice still thick with sleep.
this feels too domestic for your liking.
“Morning,” you mumble, not turning around.
Chan pads closer, bare feet silent against the hardwood, until he’s right behind you. His warmth radiates against your back, “Smells good,” he murmurs, and you swear his lips brush the shell of your ear.
The spatula clatters against the pan. too domestic.
Chan chuckles, as he reaches around you to steal a piece of pancake from the prepared stack. His chest presses against your shoulder, his skin searing where it touches yours. “Careful,” he teases, popping the bite into his mouth. “You’ll burn them.”
The pancake batter sizzles violently as you stand there, frozen, Chan’s body heat scorching against your back.
His fingers brush your hip as he reaches for the syrup, and you nearly drop the spatula again.
"You’re jumpy this morning," Chan muses, leaning against the counter beside you. "Bad dreams?"
sure, if 'bad' and 'wet' are the same thing. "something like that."
Chan hums, tilting his head as he studies you. "Got plans today?"
You flip another pancake onto the growing stack. "Just groceries later." The words come out steadier than you feel.
His grin grows. "Mind if I tag along?"
You shrug, "It’s just errands."
Chan snags another pancake, leaning into your space until his bare shoulder presses against yours. "Exactly. Sounds thrilling." His fingers brush yours as he steals the spatula, flipping the last pancake with a flick of his wrist. "Come on. I’ll even push the cart."
You huff a laugh despite yourself. "You’ll get bored in five minutes."
"Bet?" He bumps your hip with his, "Loser buys ice cream."
~
The grocery store is exactly as mundane as you predicted, but Chan makes it unbearable in ways you didn’t anticipate — his fingers lingering when he passes you items, his chest pressing against your back in crowded aisles like it’s accidental. By the time you hit the freezer section, your nerves are frayed.
"Pick a flavor," Chan murmurs, chin hooked over your shoulder as he reaches past you to open the glass door. His breath ghosts across your cheek. "I’m feeling generous."
The freezer air hits your face, but it does nothing to cool the heat creeping up your neck. Chan’s arm brushes yours as he leans in, his fingers tracing the edge of a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "This one," he decides, plucking it from the shelf. "tastes like toothpaste sometimes, but eh" he said with a shrug.
You snort, grabbing a classic vanilla, but he plucks it from your hands and replaces it with something absurdly decadent, something with caramel swirls and chocolate chunks.
"Live a little," he grins, tossing it into the cart.
The checkout line is agony. Chan stands close enough that his knuckles keep brushing the small of your back, each touch sending sparks up your spine.
the cashier — an exhausted looking college student — scans everything, he pushed your hand aside when you tried to pay, and handed the cashier his card.
he caried all the groceries too, and swatted your hand away when you try to carry any.
it feels like he's your boyfriend.
The apartment door clicks shut behind you both, grocery bags rustling as Chan kicks off his shoes. You’re still fumbling with the laces of your sneakers when he brushes past you with the plastic bags.
You follow, already going to pull things out and putting them in their designated cupboards, Chan’s already rummaging through to find the ice cream, His grin is wide as he holds it up. "Scoops or straight from the tub?"
"freezer" you deadpan, "it's probably melted by now"
his shoulders slump a little, turning around to place the tubs in the freezer.
"and, scoops," you mutter, "We’re not animals."
he snickers, "Debatable."
Chan nudges the freezer door shut with his hip, the ice cream safely stowed away for later. "Movie night?" he suddenly asks, casual as anything, "Haven't done one in a while."
You nod, "Yeah. Okay."
You retreat to your room to change, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt before you even reach the door. The fabric sticks to your skin, too warm and you peel it off with a relieved sigh the second you’re alone.
The dresser drawer squeaks as you rummage for shorts and a tank top since its getting too hot, but your hands freeze mid reach when you hear Chan’s door creak open down the hall.
The unmistakable sound of fabric hitting the floor — jeans, probably — makes your throat go dry. You strain to listen, pulse hammering in your ears, as Chan hums under his breath. Something clatters, a belt buckle, and then the soft rustle of fresh clothes being pulled on.
You yank your own shorts up so fast you nearly trip, ears burning. Pathetic.
When you emerge, Chan’s already sprawled across the couch in loose joggers and that stupidly thin white tank top.
"You took forever," Chan drawls from the couch, already eating his way through a popcorn bucket.
"You're picking?" he scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "After the garbage you called 'cinema' last time?"
You snatch the remote before he can lunge for it. "You picked Twilight unironically last time."
Chan clutches his chest like you've wounded him. "Bella Swan is a cultural icon."
You scoff, scrolling through the options, ignoring Chan's dramatic sigh as he flops back against the cushions. His knee bumps yours, but you don't pull away.
"Fine," he huffs. "But if it's another pretentious indie film where people whisper for two hours, I'm revoking your movie privileges."
"Fine," you grumble back, scrolling past a dozen of said pretentious indie films with moody black and white thumbnails. "But only because I pity your attention span."
Chan's grin is immediate as he stretches an arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder.
"pick something with action," then wiggles his eyebrows, "Or nudity."
You elbow him hard in the ribs.
"Ow—," Chan wheezes, but he's laughing, catching your wrist before you can retreat. His fingers are warm and rough against your pulse point, thumb pressing into the flutter there. "Violent and kinky," he muses, tugging you closer until your shoulders press together. "I like it."
You yank your wrist free and snatch up the remote again, scrolling through titles.
Chan's laughter vibrates through the couch cushions as you land on something, anything, just to shut him up. The movie starts with a car chase, tires screeching, glass shattering. Perfect. Loud enough to distract whenever Chan shifts beside you.
"Action and nudity," Chan murmurs, nodding approvingly at the screen where some actor's shirt rips open during a fight scene. "You do know me."
You sink lower into the couch, arms crossed. "Shut up and watch."
The first ten minutes of the movie blur into a haze of gunfire and badly timed one-liners, the volume turned up just loud enough to drown out the way Chan’s fingers keep tracing idle patterns against your shoulder.
You focus resolutely on the screen, but Chan’s warmth beside you is impossible to ignore. His knee presses into yours, his bare arm brushing against yours every time he reaches for more popcorn, and each touch sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.
Then, during a lull in the action, Chan shifts beside you, his hand sliding from your shoulder to the back of your neck. His fingers curl gently into your hair, thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear.
"You’re not even watching," he mmurmur.
You swallow hard, refusing to look at him. "Am too."
Chan hums, unconvinced, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. "Liar."
His accusation hangs between you, thick and charged, and suddenly the movie feels like background noise.
His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, tipping your head back just enough that you have no choice but to meet his gaze.
His eyes are dark, there’s no teasing smirk now, no playful glint — just hunger.
Your breath hitches audibly.
Chan’s thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me to stop."
You don’t.
His lips crash into yours before you can form a coherent thought, the remote clattering to the floor as your hands fist in his shirt.
Chan groans into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with so much desperation.
The movie drones on, but all you can feel is the way his hips jerk forward against yours as you press closer. His hands slide down to grip your waist, hauling you halfway into his lap without breaking the kissl.
"You’ve been driving me insane," Chan pants against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to trace the dip of your spine. "Watching me, pretending you weren’t—fuck—" His words dissolve into a groan when you grind down against him, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.
He knows you know. he has all this time. The realization makes your eyes widen slightly—but it doesn’t surprise you. Not really.
Not when Chan’s fingers tighten possessively around your hips, his teeth scraping your lower lip like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.
His palm slides up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your thin tank top, and your breath stutters against his mouth.
Of course he knew. The cracked doors, the late night streams he timed too perfectly with your schedule. Those weren't just coincidences.
You pull back just enough to see his face, your eyes wide with the realization that just dawned on you.
his lips are swollen from your kisses, panting, “Surprise,” he rasps, voice wrecked.
Chan’s grip shifts, hauling you fully into his lap, and you gasp when his hardness presses against you. His chuckle vibrates through your chest as he rolls his hips up, slow and filthy. “Thought you’d never crack,” he murmurs, lips grazing your jaw.
Your hands fist in his tank top, the fabric damp with sweat where it clings to his chest. “You—asshole” you pant, hips jerking against his involuntarily. “All that teasing—”
Chan's grin widens "All what teasing?" he murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kisses to your neck. "You mean leaving my door open just a little too wide?"
His teeth scrape your skin, "Or maybe streaming at exactly the times I knew you'd be home?" His palm cups your breast through your shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple.
You gasp when he pinches lightly, hips jerking against his. "You're insane," you manage, though the words come out more breathless than angry.
Chan laughs against your throat, before his teeth sink into the tender skin just below your ear. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hands slide down to grip your hips, guiding your movements as you grind against him. The friction is dizzying, the thin fabric of your shorts doing nothing to dull the heat of him pressed against you.
"Insane?" His breath is hot against your damp skin. "Baby, aren't the one who watched my streams every other night?" His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top, tracing the waistband of your shorts with maddening slowness.
You whine, the sound high and desperate in your throat, and nod before you can think better of it. The admission burns your cheeks, but the way Chan groans against your skin makes it worth it.
"yeah?" he rasps, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.
Chan’s fingers flex against your waist, his breath hot against your lips. “Every fucking time,” he admits, voice rough “I’d pretend it was your hand on me,” His thumb presses into the dip of your hipbone, “Your mouth.” His gaze drops to your parted lips, then back up, heavy lidded. “You have no idea how many times I came thinking about you watching me.”
Chan exhales sharply, his nose brushing yours. “cancelled tonight’s stream,” he murmurs, lips grazing yours with every word. “would rather beg you to fuck me instead.” His palm slides up your ribcage, fingers tracing the edge of your bra through your tank top.
“You don’t have to beg,” you murmur, lips brushing his as you swing your leg off his lap. Chan exhales sharply, hands gripping your waist tighter like he’s afraid you’ll pull away entirely, but then you’re sliding to your knees between his legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of his joggers.
His breath catches when you tug them down just enough to free his cock, already hard and leaking against his stomach.
gosh he's even bigger than he looks on camera.
Chan's breath stutters when your fingers wrap around him, his hips jerking into your grip before he can stop himself. "Fuck—" His voice cracks, a hand flying to fist in your hair as you stroke him slow, watching the way his eyelids flutter.
He's hot and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip, and the way his thighs tense when you swipe your thumb over the head is obscene.
Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair when your lips brush the head of his cock, his breath stuttering out in a ragged groan. “Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerk up instinctively, but you pull back just enough to tease, swirling your tongue over the tip without taking him deeper, and you can’t resist glancing up through your lashes to watch his face twist with pleasure.
“So loud,” you giggle, blowing a slow breath over the wetness you’ve left behind. Chan’s thighs tense under your palms. “All those streams,” you continue, stroking him lazily with one hand while the other traces the vein running along his length, “and you never moaned like this.”
Chan’s laugh comes out strained, his chest heaving. “it wasn't you,” he grits out, hips rolling up into your touch. His fingers tug at your hair, guiding you back to him with a quiet desperation that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. “Now stop teasing—”
You swallow him down before he can finish, humming around him just to feel the way his whole body jerks. His moan is filthy, unfiltered, his hips canting up into the wet heat of your mouth like he can’t help it.
You take him deeper, throat working around him, and Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life.
“god—” His voice cracks when you hollow your cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock. His other hand fists the couch cushion beside his thigh, knuckles going white. “So good—shit—you take me so fucking good—”
You pull off with a slick pop, lips brushing the flushed tip as you peer up at him, teasing, thumb swiping over the bead of precome gathered there.
Chan’s chest heaves, his abs flexing as he stares down at you, His grip in your hair tightens just enough to sting — a silent warning — but you just grin and duck back down, sucking him deep until his thighs tremble.
Chan curses, his hips lifting off the couch as you bob your head, the wet sounds obscenely loud even with the movie still playing forgotten in the background.
“Gonna—” He's cut off by his own gasp, “Gonna come if you keep—”
You pull off with a wet sound, lips slick and swollen, and replace your mouth with both hands, jerking him so fast his hips stutter off the couch, his breath coming in ragged, punched out gasps.
“Wait—fuck—” Chan chokes out, fingers scrambling at your shoulders, but it’s too late — his back arches off the cushions, muscles locking tight as he spills hot over your fingers and his own stomach.
His thighs shake under your palms, his cock twitching in your grip as you stroke him through it, slower now, milking every last drop until he’s whimpering and oversensitive, his hands weakly pushing at your wrists.
“Turn around,” Chan rasps, chest rising and falling rapidly. His fingers slide from your hair to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your spit slick bottom lip. “Want you riding me.”
Your stomach flips at the command, but before you can move, Chan’s hands are gripping your waist, hauling you up onto the couch with surprising strength. He settles you over his lap in one smooth motion, your thighs bracketing his hips, and the sudden press of his bare skin against yours makes you gasp.
Chan groans, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he leans back to look at you, really look at you, his gaze dragging down your body with a hunger that makes your skin prickle.
he hooks a thumb into the waistband of your shorts and tugs, sliding them off, his breath hitching when he finds you already soaked through your panties.
"Fuck," he exhales, dragging the damp fabric aside with one finger, his touch featherlight as he traces your slit. His other hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touch, his breath mingling with yours. "You're so wet," he murmurs, voice rough with disbelief. "Just from sucking me off?"
You nod, hips canting into his touch shamelessly, his finger circles your clit —once, twice, before dipping lower, sliding into you, crooking just right to make your back arch. His free hand fists in your tank top, dragging you closer until your chest presses against his, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples harden against him.
His thumb pressing firm circles against your clit, and your vision whites out for a second — just long enough to miss the way his free hand fists in your tank top, yanking it up until the fabric bunches just above your chest. His mouth replaces his fingers, teeth scraping over your nipple through the lace of your bra, and you gasp, hips stuttering against his hand.
“Thought about this,” he pants against your skin, his tongue lapping at the wet spot he’s left behind. “Every goddamn stream—imagined you like this, wet and desperate for me.” His finger curls again, dragging a broken moan from your throat, and his grin is all teeth when he leans back to watch you unravel. “Knew you’d be prettier than I imagined.”
You grab his wrist, stilling his movements, and his brows furrow — confused, frustrated — until you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap properly this time. His cock, half hard again, twitches against your thigh as you grind down, the friction drawing a ragged groan from both of you.
Chan’s hands fly to your hips, guiding your movements as you rock against him, his breath hot against your collarbone.
“Wanna feel you,” you murmur, fingers fumbling between you to grip him, slicking him up with your own arousal. Chan’s head falls back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you line him up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
You sink down onto him with a choked gasp, thighs trembling as he stretches you open inch by agonizing inch. Chan’s hands clamp around your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t rush you —just watches as you take him deeper.
"Fuck," you whimper, nails scraping his shoulders when he bottoms out, your body shuddering at the unfamiliar stretch. "You’re—god—you’re so big—"
Chan groans, hips twitching beneath you, fighting not to thrust up. "Yeah?" His voice is wrecked, breath hitching as you clench around him. "Feel good, baby? Stuffed full of me?" His fingers trail up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts while you adjust. "taking me so good."
You roll your hips experimentally, and Chan’s head thuds back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "That’s it," he rasps, hands sliding to grip your ass. "Use me—ride me just like you imagined."
The words send heat flaring up your neck, but you can’t deny them, can’t stop the way your body responds, hips rolling in slow circles. Chan hisses between his teeth when you clench around him, his fingers flexing against your skin.
"Christ—fuck—you’re so tight," he grits out, eyes locked on where you’re joined. "Bet you thought about this every night, hmm? Watching me stroke my cock on cam while you fucked yourself on your fingers?"
You whimper, thighs quivering as you lift yourself halfway up before sinking back down, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. his breath stutters, his hips jerking up to meet you halfway, and the sudden shift punches a ragged moan from your throat. "Oh fuck—Chan—"
"Say it," he demands, thumb brushing your clit as you bounce in his lap. His voice is rough, wrecked, his pupils blown wide, "Tell me how much you thought about this, how many times you came imagining me inside you."
You gasp when he pinches your clit lightly, your rhythm faltering, "Every—ah—every night," you admit, nails digging into his shoulders as you grind down harder. "Watched you—touched myself—god, wanted you—"
Chan groans, fingers tightening on your hips as he guides your movements, thrusting up to meet you. "Knew it," he pants, lips brushing yours with every ragged breath.
"Knew you were getting off to me—fuck—your little gasps when I’d look at the camera—" His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing your nipples through your bra. "Bet you came so pretty for me, huh? All quiet so I wouldn’t hear?"
You nod frantically, hips stuttering as his cock hits that spot inside you, the pleasure building dangerously fast. "Y-yes—*fuck*—Chan, please—"
"Please what?" he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk even as his own breathing falters. He slows your movements deliberately, dragging you through each excruciatingly slow roll of your hips. "Need me to fuck you harder, baby?"
You whine, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to chase your own rhythm, but his grip on your hips is unrelenting. "Yes—god, yes—"
he flips you onto your stomach before you can finish begging, his hands rough and sure as he shoves your knees apart against the couch cushions. The fabric burns against your bare thighs when he yanks your hips back, his cock sliding out of you with a slick sound that makes your face burn.
You barely have time to whimper before his fingers dig into your waist, lifting you on all fours with a sharp tug — his chest presses hot against your back, his breath ragged in your ear as he lines himself up again.
he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. He slams into you with one brutal thrust, punching the air from your lungs as your elbows buckle against the cushions. His cock stretches you open deeper than before, the angle hitting deeper, and you choke on a scream when his hips snap forward again, setting a punishing pace before you can catch your breath.
Hands clamp around your hips, fingers bruising as he drags you back onto him with every thrust. The couch creaks beneath you, the sound drowned out by chan’s ragged groans and the slick slap of skin on skin. His rhythm is merciless, no teasing now, just pure, desperate need as he fucks into you like he’s been starving for it.
Chan's grip on your hips shifts — one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bows beautifully beneath him. "Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice rough with something between awe and hunger as he takes in the sight of you spread out beneath him.
His fingers tighten, pulling just enough to make your scalp prickle, before his palm cracks down against your ass, the sound echoing through the room louder than the forgotten movie still playing in the background.
You gasp, thighs trembling as the heat blooms across your skin, but Chan doesn’t give you a second to recover. His hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that has your nails scrabbling against the couch cushions for purchase. "Take it," he orders, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "God, you feel so good—clenching around me like—" His words dissolve into a groan as he picks up the pace, each thrust punching a ragged sound from your throat.
His free hand slides around your waist, pressing firm circles against your clit, and the dual sensation has your vision blurring at the edges. "That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his rhythm falters for just a second, "Gonna make you come just like this—spread out, taking me so well—"
His thumb presses harder against your clit, and your back arches involuntarily, a broken moan tearing from your lips as the pleasure crests suddenly, violently.
Chan curses, his grip tightening as you clench around him, your body shuddering through the waves of it. "Yeah, there you go, gonna cum for me?"
You nod vigorously, your fingers twisting into the couch cushions as Chan’s thrusts turn erratic, his breath ragged against your ear. "Cum with me," he rasps, and it’s all you need.
Your body clenches around him like a vice, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense your vision whites out for a second. Chan groans, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a broken gasp, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.
Chan pulls out slowly, hissing through his teeth when you clench around him reflexively, oversensitive.
The couch cushions are damp beneath your trembling thighs, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat as you collapse onto your stomach, chest heaving. Chan exhales sharply, running a hand down your spine, before flipping you onto your back, more gently this time.
The shift makes you wince, your body still thrumming with aftershocks, he slides off the couch onto his knees between your legs. His palms skate up your inner thighs, spreading them apart with slowly despite your weak protest. "Shh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. "Just wanna taste you."
You squirm when his breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, but Chan’s grip tightens, holding you open. "Chan—" His name comes out hoarse, your voice wrecked. "I’m—ah—too sensitive—"
Chan’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open despite your squirming. His tongue flicks over your clit, just enough to make your hips jerk, oversensitive and trembling.
“You can take it,” he murmurs against your skin, “You’re a big girl, yeah?” His teeth graze your inner thigh, before his mouth closes over you again, and your back arches off the couch with a choked gasp.
You can take it. You do.
Every swipe of his tongue sends sparks shooting up your spine, your fingers twisting into his hair — not to pull him away, but to keep him right there, his mouth working you through the dizzying aftershocks of your orgasm.
Chan hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl, and his grip on your thighs tightens when you try to press them together instinctively. “None of that,” he chides, nipping at your skin before dragging his tongue up your slit again, “Just let me have you.”
You whine, hips caving into his mouth despite the oversensitivity, the pleasure tipping into something almost painful, but you don’t tell him to stop. Couldn’t if you wanted to.
"so sweet," he groans against you, the words vibrating through your oversensitive nerves. His fingers dig into your hips, pinning you down when you try to squirm away from the intensity. "No— stay still."
You whimper, but obey, letting him spread you wider as his tongue delves deeper, circling your entrance before dragging back up in one long, torturous lick.
"Chan—please—" you gasp, but you’re not even sure what you’re begging for — him to stop or never, ever stop.
His response is to hook your leg over his shoulder, angling you deeper into his mouth, and then he’s sucking you in, his tongue working you with precision. You sob his name, your hips jerking uncontrollably as the pressure builds again, too soon, too much—
You choke out his name, fingers scrambbling at his shoulders, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, before your hips jerk violently against his mouth.
“Chan, gonna—oh god—” The warning spills out brokenly, your thighs clamp around his head as you come with a shuddering gasp, your back bowing off the couch as pleasure rips through you.
he groans against you, the vibration wringing another broken sound from your throat, he doesn’t pull away, just laps at you greedily, his tongue dragging through the mess you’ve made of him with slow strokes.
“Fuck,” he rasps against your skin before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “You’re perfect like this.” His thumb brushes your clit once, testing, and you jerk with a gasp, your body still thrumming with aftershocks.
Chan grins up at you, all dark eyes and swollen lips, before dragging his tongue up your slit one last time.
Chan rises from between your thighs with a groan, his lips slick and glistening with you, you realize with a jolt — before his mouth crashes into yours, the kiss filthy and possessive, his tongue licking into your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, sticky with sweat, and he moans into your mouth when you tug — sharp, just to feel him shudder.
You pull away eventually, both of you panting, sticky with sweat and other things, and collapse onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Chan drags you half on top of him, your head resting against his chest where you can hear his heartbeat still racing beneath his skin.
His fingers trace idle patterns along your back, the movie’s credits roll, forgotten, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.
You nuzzle into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat slowing down, the rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek. His skin is warm and slightly sticky, and you press a kiss to it without thinking, smiling when his fingers pause for a second before resuming their path along your spine.
"Quit staring," you murmur, tilting your head up just enough to catch him watching you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. soft, almost awed, Chan huffs a laugh, his thumb brushing your hipbone where he’d gripped hard enough to leave marks earlier.
"Can’t help it," he admits, voice rough with exhaustion "You’re kinda fucking gorgeous like this."
You snort, but your cheeks heat anyway, and Chan’s grin widens when he notices. He shifts beneath you, rolling just enough to tuck you more firmly against his side, his arm a solid weight across your waist.
The movement makes you wince, your thighs ache in a way that’s equal parts delicious and punishing, and Chan’s fingers tighten reflexively, his smirk turning smug.
"Sorry," he lies, and you bite on his shoulder just to hear him yelp.
his yelp dissolves into laughter, his fingers digging into your sides as he squirms away from your teeth. “Fuck, ow,” he complains, but his grin ruins the effect, “You bite hard—should’ve known you’d be a menace.”
You grin against his shoulder, pressing another kiss to the reddening mark you left behind. “Payback,” you murmur, tracing the outline with your tongue just to feel him shiver. Chan groans, his hips jerking reflexively beneath you, and you freeze when you feel him stirring against your thigh—already half hard again.
“Seriously?” you ask, incredulous, and Chan has the audacity to look proud, his smirk widening as he rolls his hips up against you.
“What?” he teases, voice dripping with false innocence. “Can’t help it—you’re right there, all warm and fucked out—” His hand slides down your back, fingers skimming the curve of your ass before squeezing lightly. “And you bit me. That’s basically foreplay.”
You press a hand to Chan’s chest when he tries to roll you beneath him again, your thighs still trembling from the last round. “Shower,” you mumble, and Chan makes a wounded noise against your collarbone in protest.
“Five more minutes,” he tries, lips trailing up your neck like he’s trying to convince you with his mouth.
You laugh, breathless, and squirm out of his grip before he can distract you properly. “No—shower,” you insist, swatting at his hands when they try to drag you back. “We’re disgusting.”
Chan pouts — actually pouts, like this big hunk of a man didn't just fuck the daylights out of you — and flops back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, but his eyes track your every movement as you stand, snickering when you wobble slightly on unsteady legs.
You stumble towards the bathroom, then you glance back at Chan, sprawled across the couch with his arms behind his head, watching you with that stupid, smug grin, and ask, "When’s your next stream again?"
his grin falters into confusion when your question registers. "Monday," he says automatically, his brows furrowing, "Why?"
You hum, "Just thinking," then you shrug, "maybe I’ll join you next time."
he's caught off guard when you leave him hanging and close the bathroom door behind you, "don't start something you can't finish!"
📖 You have a...creative way of keeping cool when the AC goes out in the middle of June.
👥 fem!chan x fem!reader, poly!fem!skz x fem!reader
🎧 the altar is my hips, a spotify playlist by me!
For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes sexually explicit material, reader discretion advised.
🖋️ This one's for you @magicficwriting <3 also this may or may not turn into a mini series...stay tuned ;)
📸 divider by @strangergraphics
Six hours and the hosts still haven't called back. Six hours of toggling between ice cream and swimming and sleeping naked in front of the fan, head perking up at every sound just in case it was the phone ringing.
Six hours and the whole house was losing it.
The air conditioning had gone out around five in the morning. Changbin was the first to notice, as she was the only one who woke up that early. Jeongin, a light sleeper by nature, was the first to have her sleep disturbed by the sudden temperature change. One by one, everyone's hopes of beauty sleep was ruined by the suffocating heat that pervaded every corner of the beach house.
And there was no shortage of complaints.
"Channieeeeeee," Jisung whined, dragging her feet into the kitchen, "has the landlord called yet?"
"Nope. Not since the last time you asked ten minutes ago."
Her head drooped. "Sorry."
Chan offered her a sympathetic smile. "Why don't you go jump in the pool?"
"I just got out of the pool." Jisung sighed, finding her seat beside you at the barstools. She laid her head on your shoulder, and her wet hair was cool on your skin. You carded your fingers through the strands absently, watching Chan scoop frozen berries into the blender cup.
"Well I can't change the weather." Chan sighed. She scooped up a single ice cube in her hand, tossing it towards Jisung. "Here, rub this on your neck."
Huffing, Jisung pressed the ice into her skin, dragging it over her neck and collarbones, leaving a shiny trail in its wake. You could have sworn you could see the water evaporating off of her body.
As Jisung tilted her head over, she caught your gaze, snorting.
"Want some?" she asked, holding out the half-melted cube.
You nodded, and instead of putting it in your hand, she dropped it down the front of your shirt.
"Hey—Jisung!"
Before you could dig it out yourself, she pulled down the front of your tank top, blowing a raspberry into your chest and rubbing her nose on the wet streak.
Chan was laughing at you from the other side of the kitchen, and you rolled your eyes. Jisung looked very self-satisfied as she scrubbed the water droplets over her face.
"Ah, I feel much better now." She giggled, giving you a smug grin.
"Yeah, did my boob water cool you down?"
"Yes, very much."
"Boob water?"
Felix had rounded the corner just as the commotion had died down, and the confused raise of her brow made Jisung kick her head back in another round of laughter.
"New cooling strategy," you answered, fishing what was left of the ice cube out of your clothes and smearing it on your arms.
Felix hummed, and you could see the gears turning behind her eyes. She glanced at the fridge, then at Chan, then back at the fridge. With a finger to her lips to you and Jisung, she reached for another ice cube, then slowly crept over towards Chan and dropped it down into her shorts.
"FELIX!"
But before Chan could do anything Felix had sprinted out of the kitchen and out of sight. Chan sighed, tugging her shorts down to her knees. Your eyes widened when her ass cheeks rippled with the movement of the waistband.
"Damn."
You glanced over at Jisung, who was right there with you, head tilted to the side like a curious puppy as she admired Chan's...gym progress.
Chan laughed through her nose, dropping the cube into the sink and redirecting her focus to the blender with a shake of her head.
Meanwhile, you and Jisung shared a look, lizard brains syncing up.
. . .
"HAN JISUNG!"
An hour later and you, Jisung, and Felix had found an alternative source of entertainment.
You watched from around the corner as Jisung sprinted out into the backyard, giggling maniacally. Minho was trudging out after her, taking her sweet time.
"Again?" You heard Chan muse.
"Third time. I don't know where she's going, the gate is locked and she can't climb for shit." Minho grumbles, and you hear a squeal and a splash before the sliding glass door closes again.
You exhale silently, turning the melting ice cube in your hand. You were waiting for the opportune time to get Chan, who was lounging on the couch with her back to you. You couldn't see her front, but judging by the lack of fabric on her shoulders it was a safe bet that she was topless.
Just as you were getting ready to step out and ambush, you heard Changbin yelp, followed by a scuffle in the kitchen and a string of sorrysorrysorry coming from Felix. Chan tilted her head over lazily, but realizing she was too far away to see, she returned to her movie.
You stepped forward, slowly, flinching when Felix let out a peculiar sound in the other room. Your heart was thudding in your ears, and you were practically standing over Chan now. She definitely wasn't wearing a top. The shorts she had on hardly qualified as pants either, hiked up high to show off plush, muscular thighs.
You nearly dropped the ice cube on her head when she let out a soft laugh.
"I can see you, y'know."
Before you could run for cover, she snatched your wrist in one hand, looking up at you.
"TV reflection."
The look on her face was smug, and it sent a shiver down your spine. A single brow arched on her beautiful face, daring you to try her. Your hand wiggled, suspended above her body.
You dropped the cube into her lap.
"Alright, if that's how you want it." She huffed, turning around the couch faster than you could blink.
"Waitwaitwait—ah!" She scooped you up over her shoulder, smacking your ass and trudging toward her bedroom.
"This is what you wanted right? For me to give you attention?" She retorted, plopping you on the bed and caging your hips in with her legs. "Don't back out now."
You wiggled fruitlessly under her, giggling and pushing at her knees. "I didn't mean to, Channie—"
"That's a fat lie," she snorted, taking your wrists and pinning them beside your head. "And you know it."
She pulled your arms above your head and held them there with one hand, using the other to reach over to the glass on her nightstand and fish out an ice cube.
"Let's see if you can take what you dish out, yeah?"
The first touch of the ice cube on your sternum made your whole body tense up. You were determined to remain completely still, but the stiffness made it that much harder, and you couldn't help the groan you let out.
"Channie..." you whined, twitching when she dragged it down in the valley of your chest. You shifted your hips against her, trying to shake off the shivers.
"Nuh uh. You asked for this." She hardly bothered to hide how much satisfaction she took from making you shudder, pressing her hips down against yours. Your body tensed at the feeling of her skin pressing on your clit, however brief.
She brushed the cube over your nipple, soaking through your shirt, and your brain blue-screened, eyes screwing shut. Fuck, how long was she going to do this before you came untouched?
The face you made must have been pitiful, because she cooed at you in false sympathy. "Silly girl."
"Am not!" You argued, hardly concealing a gasp.
"Yeah, you kinda are," she mused, spreading the remnants of the ice over your stomach, frozen fingers skirting the skin just above your underwear. The water was refreshing, sure, but you were the furthest thing from relaxed. "Can't sneak around me, pretty girl, we've done this before."
You finally opened your eyes, meeting hers. "Wasn't trying to."
"No? You wanted to get caught?"
You rolled your eyes again, turning your head to the side coyly to hide the sheepish smile tugging at your lips.
She hummed, running her fingertips up your sides. "I figured. Just needed some attention, hm? You could have just asked."
You finally looked at her again, and boy, was that bad for your composure.
Everything about her screamed sex icon. You could see the pudge of her pussy outlined against her thin little shorts, seam pressed right in the middle. Her legs were toned, perfect to weigh you down and make you take whatever she gave you. Her tits were right in front of your face. You were almost jealous of the way they sat, full and soft and shifting subtly with every movement of her arm. Your salivary glands agreed, and you had to swallow to avoid drooling all over her.
"Ahem."
You nearly jumped, meeting her gaze. She passed her tongue over her teeth, completing a smug look that made shame burn your ears.
"You're so cute when you're flustered." She purred, bending forward to press a single kiss to your ear.
"Canyoueatmeout?" You blurted, immediately pressing your lips together before you said anything else embarrassing.
Chan paused for a moment, then laughed. Red-hot embarrassment made you want to shrink into the mattress, or come, or both.
"So impatient." She pressed a kiss to your burning cheek, shifting off of your legs and holding them open from under your knees. "Say please?"
You huffed, turning to stare her down. You reached over to the nightstand and pulled out another ice cube from the cup, holding it out to her. Wordlessly and without breaking her stare, she leaned forward and parted her lips in a manner that made your stomach flip.
"Please, Channie..." you whispered, touching your nose to hers and wiping a drop of water from the corner of her lips.
"...put your tongue on me."
She smiled dumbfounded, and for a moment she looked impressed. Before you could whine for her to hurry up already, she slithered down to the foot of the bed, rolling the ice around on her tongue.
"Since you asked so nicely."
Even though you were anticipating it, the first touch of the ice cube to your clit over your panties made you flinch.
"'S'cold?" She mumbled, kissing the spot as if to soothe the sting.
You nodded, breath stuttering.
"Mm." She dragged the cube up and down the seam of your pussy lips, holding it between her glossy lips. "You wanted to cool down."
"Take them off," you breathed, wincing at how your underwear was clinging to your skin more and more with every drag. "Please."
This time, she obliged, tugging the gusset to the side. She shifted the ice into the side of her cheek, then pursed her lips and dropped a cold glob of spit onto your clit.
Chan always ate you out like this. Playing with her food. Winding you up before stringing you out. Staring at your pussy hungrily, like tasting it would satisfy her.
Leaning her head down, she blew cold air onto the wet spot, earning a surprised sound from you, fingers instinctively reaching for her hair. "Channie..."
"Aw, I know." She murmured, tone unrepentant. "All that heat is getting to your pretty head. But don't worry, we'll get you de-stressed."
Her tongue, chilled and slippery, traced the outside of your hole, pushing in a little when you clenched. She groaned, pulling your lips apart with her thumbs and angling her head so that the cold water would drip down out of her mouth, effectively drenching your whole crotch in spit and cold water.
"Tastes so sweet," she sighed, tongue traveling up towards your clit, leaving pinpricks of chill and desire in her wake. "Can never get enough of you. Maybe I should just stay here until they get the AC fixed."
You groaned, hips bucking up into her face when she nudged a finger inside you, massaging slowly. "Wouldn't—ffuck—wouldn't mind..."
You could feel her smile around your skin, warm breath of her laugh contrasting the ice cube. Her tongue was heavenly, twirling, stirring the whirlpool of pleasure building in your stomach. She stared up at you through her lashes, sucking lightly on your clit before letting it go with a wet pop, then capturing it in her lips and starting the process all over again. Just enough to bring you to the edge of insanity but keep you off the edge. The ice has long since melted, but neither of you could be bothered to pause for more. Not when you could hardly catch your breath over the pulsing warmth in your loins.
"Sound so pretty, lovey," she purred. Her lashes fluttered when you tugged her hair gently with the rhythm of her movement. There was a surprising sense of urgency in her voice, and when you looked down, you noticed her hips moving in tight circles on the edge of the mattress. "I can hear you getting close, baby, let go."
Instead, you shook your head. "Not...not yet. Want to cum with you."
Something between fondness and excitement flashed over her eyes, and she placed a few soft kisses on your thigh. "Yeah? I want that too, pretty."
She sat upright, shuffling her dampened sleep shorts off—no panties, obviously—and throwing them to some forgotten corner of the room. As she stooped over her suitcase, you took a moment to admire her. The contours of her back, the slope of her waist, her wavy hair whipping around her face. The heart shape her hips and thighs made as she bent over. She was gorgeous.
"Here we are," she hummed, holding up a small purple vibrator and crawling back to you. Her fingers squeezed your thighs as she held you in place, maneuvering herself to sit above you with one ankle swung over her hip. The silicone was cool on your clit, and you squirmed at the pressure.
"Let's get you taken care of, hm?" She purred, clicking the vibrator on to the lowest setting.
You nodded, feebly grasping her thighs for leverage as you lifted your hips into the toy. "Yes, please, please take care of me mommy."
Chan's expression was cool, but the twitch of her lip told you she was thrilled at the name. "Such a sweet girl, asking so nicely."
The buzzing felt heavenly against your pulsing clit, hitting all the right spots to make your eyes droopy with pleasure. You felt Chan shift over you, and when you opened your eyes, the vibrator was trapped between your pussy and hers, glistening with the combined wetness. Her fingers held the toy in place as she rocked her hips forward, pushing the toy further into you. The noises in the room were filthy as the vibrator rocked back and forth between you, with squelching sounds echoing off the walls between gasps and sighs.
"M-mommy, I—" you whined when she kicked the intensity up a notch, clawing at the sheets under you. "It's so good, I need to—"
Chan cooed at you, smoothing a hand over your chest and groping at one of your tits. "Yeah? Gonna cum for mommy?" It was unfair how steady her voice sounded when she was doing most of the work. All those hours in the gym paid off because you felt seconds away from your muscles giving out.
You nodded fervently, clasping your hand over hers. "Kiss me."
When the two of you had first started dating, she'd told you that if she ever said no to a kiss, then it wasn't her. Luckily, Chan wasted no time shifting her body weight forward so that she could lean over you, pressing her soft tits up against yours while she kissed you. Her hips, still holding the vibrator between you, rotated in a slow, mind-numbing circle. You could feel the slick dripping out of her, drooling from her pussy down into yours.
"Mmm...my pretty girl," she murmured between kisses, "is mommy making you feel good?"
You choked on a moan when she sucked gently on your tongue, keeping you from answering past a breathy "mmhm".
"Yeah? How good?" She continued her assault of kissing and sucking down the side of your neck, licking a wet stripe down the column of your throat.
"So good, so good mommy, please, can I cum?" When she gave the flesh of your neck a soft bite, your hands flew to her shoulders, nails dragging over her skin just enough to earn a deep, wrecked sound from her.
"Mm, so demanding," she clicked her tongue. There was no real scolding in her voice, of course there wasn't. "Keep scratching mommy up and you can cum as many times as you like."
In an instant, she took one of your nipples in her mouth, tongue flicking against the peak while her fingers pinched the other. You cried out, voice raspy and high, and raked your nails down her back, earning a satisfied sound to harmonize with yours. Heat was stirring in your gut, and it was as if Chan could feel it with you. Letting out a frustrated huff, she tossed the vibrator away, still buzzing into the carpet, and ground her clit against yours.
This feeling was much different. The vibrator was sharp and overwhelming, but the heat from Chan's body couldn't be replicated with any toy. Her clit was swollen and pink, drenched in her (and your) sweetness, making that warm fuzzy feeling wash over you in waves.
"You're so wet baby, I can tell you're close," Chan murmured into your chest. She stared up at you with glossed-over eyes. Her hair was mussed from your fingers running through it, but somehow she still looked stunning. "Come on, give it to me."
Her voice was a balm to the heat licking up your spine, coaxing you right where you wanted to be. You felt so good you could hardly breathe.
"Chan—mommy—I'm gonna—hah—right there, fuck!"
Your head thumped back onto the pillow as your high crashed over you. Your jaw was dropped in a silent scream, letting Chan's pretty voice fill your ears as she quickly followed after. Her hips slowed into a deep grind, drawing out both of your highs as long as possible until you were twitching.
"Channie, hurts..." you rasped, although you couldn't find it in you to push her away.
She dropped her head into your shoulder, slowing her hips to a stop. There was mess all over your thighs and the sheets under you, and you definitely needed a shower, but that was a problem for later.
"You did so good, pretty girl," she whispered, giving you a hazy smile. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, Channie." Your brain was still floating above the clouds, and for a moment, you two just sat there, content to listen to each other's breathing and heartbeat.
...Until it got really hot again, and you became uncomfortably aware of how sticky you were.
You were the first to break the silence. "You know we're gonna have to wash the sheets before tonight, right?"
Chan lifted her face from your stomach, raising a brow at you. "Who's we? You made a mess."
"Nuh uh!"
"Yeah, I think you did." She swiped a thumb between your pussy lips to make her point, earning a sharp inhale from you. She held the shiny finger up to you as if presenting criminal evidence. "This is all you, babe."
"You're the one who was spitting ice everywhere."
"That was also your idea," she mumbled, bringing the pad of her thumb to her lips.
You groaned, pulling a pillow over your eyes.
"Tell you what."
You felt her lift off of you, making the mattress creak miserably. For a moment you couldn't sense her, until she took your thighs in her hands and you knew exactly where she was going with this.
"You can clean the sheets..."
Yup. You should have known better than think she'd be satisfied after one round. Chan used two fingers to spread your wetness around, chuckling to herself.
But first! We must thoroughly understand this man's fractured and devastated sense of self. Only then can we truly appreciate how connected he feels to her while finger-banging the soul from her body.
