all the things i’ve been seeing about chan’s shoulders got me thinking and going a little feral 😵💫
18+, 18+!! i swear if i need to block another goddamn minor i will go insane.
“Shit baby… feel s’good,” Chan moaned, hips slamming against yours, his low grunts ‘n groans right in your ear. His body completely caging yours, forearms resting on the bed next to your head, head dropped.
Your moans spilled out of your mouth continuously, Chan hitting that spot almost every thrust. Quickly pushing you farther and farther to another orgasm- you’re third just tonight.
The two of yous sounds were obscene
“T-too much!” You managed to get out, your arms tightening around his neck, just to move and scratch his shoulders.
“You can take it angel, i know you can. Been so long since we’ve seen each other, just one more?” Chan gets out through laboured breaths. One of his hands moving to softly hold your head- his form of comfort even as he wrecks you.
You whine at his words, but don’t refuse. Instead tightening your legs hold around his hips and pulling him closer somehow.
The pleasure was so good and overwhelming, you couldn’t handle it. That on top of your embarrassing sounds was too much- you bit his shoulder again. The firm muscles Chans built over the years being perfectly biteable.
“Atta girl,” Chan chuckled, feeling your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hand holding your head ruffling your hair. A fond, unmatching-with-the-scene smile making its way to his face. “You’re adorable.”
Tags: explicit sexual content, choking kink / neck play, brat taming, praise + possessiveness, slight dom/sub dynamic, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, multiple positions, couch sex, shower sex, best friends to lovers, sexual tension
Word count : 9.6k
Summary: He’s the golden boy of your friend group, also your best friend of ten years. Touchy without thinking. Protective without asking. And hot—criminally hot—without ever being yours. Until one night, in the middle of a crowded living room, his hand wraps around your neck without thinking. And you realize… he has no idea.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
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There was no knock. There never was.
Chan walked into your apartment like he paid rent—hoodie half-zipped, keys jingling in his hand, the familiar scent of clean laundry and whatever cologne he swiped from his dresser that morning trailing in after him. He kicked off his shoes like a man with no shame and made a beeline for your fridge.
You didn’t even look up from your laptop. “You steal one more yogurt and I’m reporting you to the building board.”
He opened the fridge. “You don’t even like Greek yogurt.”
“You don’t know my life.”
“I know you used it once for a TikTok mask and gagged.”
You grinned. “Okay, fine. But still. Ask before you mooch.”
He shut the fridge and padded over, yogurt in one hand, water bottle in the other. “Never have. Never will.”
Chan dropped onto the couch beside you, close enough for his thigh to press solidly against yours. He stretched his arm behind you like he was at a movie theatre trying to flirt with a stranger. His fingers brushed your shoulder, then stayed there. Rested. Comfortable.
Normal.
You didn’t move. Just kept typing, one leg curled beneath you, the other pressed tight against his. You’d long since stopped noticing how often his body found yours. Chan was touchy—had been since high school. Always stretching across your lap, squeezing your arms, playing with your fingers absentmindedly during long talks. You didn’t even flinch when his palm dropped to your knee now, warm and casual.
This was just how it had always been.
People didn’t get it. Not back in school, not in college, not now when you lived a few floors apart and spent most nights either at his place or yours. The teasing from friends had been endless, and the side-eyes never stopped. But neither of you had ever crossed that line. Not even once.
Not even close.
You were hot. He was hot. That was an objective fact. But hot didn’t mean available. It didn’t mean interested. Not between you two.
Chan opened the yogurt with one hand and shoved the lid at you. “Lick this. Be useful.”
You turned your face slowly. “You want me to lick your foil lid?”
“I’m not dirtying a spoon just to eat this.”
“You’re so unserious.”
“I’m efficient.”
You took the lid, licked it once with a dramatic roll of your eyes, and handed it back. “Happy?”
He grinned. “Always.”
He popped the rest of the yogurt into his mouth and grabbed the TV remote, settling in like he didn’t plan on leaving for hours. You weren’t surprised. Most nights looked like this—Chan in your space, touching you somewhere, somehow, while the two of you talked about everything and nothing. He never asked. You never flinched. You barely noticed anymore.
And even when his hand slid just a little higher on your thigh—thumb brushing back and forth across the thin fabric of your shorts—you didn’t think twice. It didn’t register. Just Chan being Chan. Just another Tuesday.
⸻
Chan’s living room was loud. Like it always was when everyone crowded into his space.
Music buzzed from the Bluetooth speaker someone had connected half an hour ago. Your group of friends were splayed across every surface—couch cushions, beanbags, someone cross-legged on the floor—arguing over which movie to watch while the food delivery slowly made its way through Friday night traffic.
You were curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath you, half-listening, half-scrolling on your phone. Comfortable. Cozy. Familiar.
You’d lost count of how many nights like this there’d been. Movie nights, lazy dinners, game nights that never ended with the actual game. And Chan—always at the center of it. Hosting, leaning against walls with his arms crossed, eyes creased from laughter.
Right now, he was behind you, one knee on the couch as he leaned over to grab the remote off the coffee table. The angle brought his chest close to your back, the edge of his hoodie brushing your cheek before he spoke over your head.
“Why are we even voting?” he asked. “We all know it’s gonna end up being some sad indie movie with subtitles.”
“Because you like chaos,” someone shot back. “We’re trying to have feelings tonight.”
Chan huffed a laugh, dropped the remote onto the cushion beside you, and stayed where he was—half-standing behind the couch, his weight shifting from one arm to the next.
Then you felt it.
One hand landed lightly on your shoulder. And before you could glance back or even think twice, it slid upward.
His palm curved gently around the side of your neck.
Not tight. Not firm. Just resting.
His thumb brushed the underside of your jaw once, then paused, like he was measuring something.
“Huh,” he murmured, half to himself. “Your neck’s tiny.”
He squeezed—not hard, just curious. Testing the width of it in his hand. Like he was checking the fit of something he already owned. His fingers spread easily around your throat, thick and relaxed, his thumb nearly meeting his fingertips on the other side.
You didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
You kept your phone up, face calm, body casual. But inside?
You were choking.
Silently. Violently.
He had no idea.
He wasn’t even thinking about it. It was just Chan being Chan—touchy, absentminded, always touching you. Always. You’d never given it a second thought.
But this?
This was the one place you’d never imagined his hand.
The one part of your body that could short-circuit you with just a look, if the wrong person stared too long. And here he was—fingers wrapped casually around it, thumb brushing over your pulse, eyes probably still on the TV while your soul momentarily left your body.
You blinked. Swallowed. Scrolled aimlessly to mask the tension pooling hot in your stomach.
“Chan,” someone called out. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he said distractedly, thumb still grazing your neck. “Just thinking how weird it is that this—” he gave the softest squeeze, “—could pop like a grape.”
You let out a short, strangled sound that you masked as a cough.
Chan chuckled and finally moved away, dropping onto the armrest beside you with a bounce. His arm still brushed your shoulder, but the pressure on your throat was gone. Like it never happened.
Like it meant nothing.
And to him, it probably didn’t.
But to you?
You weren’t even sure if your breath had come back yet.
⸻
The door shut with a final click.
Silence fell over Chan’s apartment, the kind that only came after hours of noise—empty cups scattered across his counter, the echo of laughter still clinging to the walls. You sank deeper into the couch with a sigh, one hand absently rubbing your shoulder where it ached from sitting in the same position too long.
Chan reappeared from the kitchen, hair pushed back by a band now, hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows. He tossed a bottle of water onto the coffee table and plopped down beside you, then paused.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” you said, too quick. “Just… tired.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re stiff.”
You shrugged, not looking at him. “Yeah, well. You try staying upright for four hours while Minho screams at the TV like it insulted his mother.”
He patted the space between his legs. “C’mon. Let me fix it.”
You hesitated, but only for a beat.
This wasn’t new. He’d given you shoulder rubs before—during finals in college, during hell weeks at your old job, after long car rides or moving days. It was Chan. Your Chan. The one person you trusted not to make anything feel weird.
So you shifted forward, sitting cross-legged between his thighs, and let him rest his hands on your shoulders.
At first, it was nothing.
Just firm pressure. The pads of his thumbs pushing slow, rhythmic circles into your traps, rolling out the knots like he had all the time in the world. You melted, just a little, head tipping forward under the strength of it.
“Jesus,” you muttered, “where did you even learn how to do that?”
“Years of stress,” he said. “You get good at fixing what you live with.”
You huffed something like a laugh, eyelids falling shut.
Then his thumbs pushed deeper, finding the ridge near the base of your neck, and you let out a low groan of relief.
It felt too good. Way too good.
But it was still safe.
Until his hands shifted.
Slid higher.
Thumbs brushing the edges of your neck now. Rubbing the muscles that fed into it. Soft. Slow. Intent.
Your body tensed before your brain caught up—and then it slipped.
A sound left you.
High-pitched. Sharp.
Needy.
You bit it back immediately, lips slamming shut, but the damage was done. It hung there in the air for a second too long—too feminine, too out of place for the room’s quiet.
Chan stilled.
You didn’t breathe.
Then—
“You good?” he asked lightly, voice above your head.
You could hear the confusion. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it right. Or if you meant it the way it sounded.
“I—yeah.” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. “Just sore.”
He hummed. Didn’t say anything else.
His hands moved again, this time slower, gentler—sweeping wide across your shoulders before sliding up again, thumbs circling your neck with almost tender pressure. Like he was feeling out the muscle tension—but also maybe trying to see if you’d make that sound again.
You were still. Too still.
“Didn’t think you were holding this much here,” he murmured. His thumbs pressed gently into the dip just behind your jaw. “You always carry it this high?”
You nodded too fast. “Y-Yeah. Must’ve slept weird.”
His touch softened, almost affectionate now, tracing down your neck with his thumbs before slipping away entirely. The absence of it made your breath hiccup.
You couldn’t look back at him.
Not yet.
Because now you weren’t sure if he didn’t notice…
Or if he definitely did.
You hadn’t mentioned it.
Neither had he.
Not when you stood to leave a few minutes later, not when he walked you to the door like he always did, not even when his hand lingered low on your back as you slipped on your slides.
If anything, he looked more normal than usual. Relaxed. Even smiled when you told him you’d come by tomorrow to help clean.
“Don’t forget I’m your friend, not your maid,” you said.
He gave your arm a little squeeze. “You’re both.”
And that was that.
Or so you thought.
—
The next day, his apartment looked exactly the same. A few stray cups gathered in the sink, a throw blanket half-draped off the couch, crumbs on the coffee table. You tossed your bag down and got to work wiping things down while he gathered trash from the bedroom.
“You could at least pretend to clean while I’m here,” you called out.
“I am cleaning,” he shouted back. “I just clean in peace. Unlike someone.”
You rolled your eyes, grinning.
It was easy again. Like nothing happened.
Until it wasn’t.
He emerged from the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck, then padded barefoot across the room to take the rag from your hand.
“Okay,” he said. “Can we talk about something?”
You glanced at him. “What?”
He didn’t speak right away.
Instead, he took the rag, folded it neatly, and set it on the table—slow and deliberate, like he was giving you time to brace.
Then he looked at you. Really looked.
“That sound you made,” he said, voice quiet. “Yesterday. When I was rubbing your neck.”
Your stomach dropped. Not in panic. Just in… sheer mortified awareness.
You played dumb. “What sound?”
Chan tilted his head, amused.
“Don’t do that.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you insisted, backing a step toward the kitchen, like that would save you.
He followed. One step. Two.
“You made a sound,” he said, not letting it go. “High. Like… I don’t know. Not pain. Definitely not pain.”
Your cheeks flamed. “Okay, and?”
“It just surprised me.” His voice stayed calm. Curious. “You don’t usually sound like that.”
You swallowed hard, crossing your arms in a weak attempt at a barrier. “It was nothing. You just hit a spot. I didn’t even realize I—”
“Sure,” he cut in gently. “But… I’m sure I’ve hit that spot before.”
You froze.
He smiled again, but it was slower now. Measured. A little too knowing.
Your voice came out small. “So?”
“So…” he scratched at his jaw, like he was still figuring out what he wanted to say. “I don’t know. It just sounded like… something else.”
Silence.
Heavy. Awkward. Charged.
You looked down. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Chan stepped a little closer.
You could smell him again—clean and warm, the same scent you’d been surrounded by for years. But now? It clung to your skin differently. Sunk into your pulse.
He was watching you carefully. Not pressuring. Not pushing.
Just… observing.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I believe you.”
Relief hit you, fast and fleeting.
“But if you had meant something by it,” he added, voice lower now, “you’d tell me, right?”
Your breath hitched.
He wasn’t teasing anymore.
He wasn’t joking.
You met his gaze—eyes warm, calm, steady. There wasn’t a trace of judgment in them. No expectation either. Just the softest, slightest pull of curiosity.
And something else you couldn’t name yet.
You looked away.
“Clean your damn table, Christopher.”
He smirked. “So that’s a no?”
“That’s a goodnight.”
You grabbed your bag and made a beeline for the door, pulse thudding in your throat, your skin hot all over. You could still feel the ghost of his hand there, even now. Still circling. Still squeezing.
And the worst part? You knew you’d dream about it.
The second you turned toward the door, you knew he wasn’t going to let it slide.
You felt it.
That shift in the air. The narrowing of his patience. Chan wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t oblivious. You’d slipped out of a hundred close calls with him over the years, danced around every whisper of tension—but now?
He had a thread.
And he was pulling it.
“Wait,” he said, quiet.
You kept walking.
“Don’t be weird about it,” you muttered. “I said it was nothing.”
The words barely left your mouth before you felt his hand curling around the waistband of your sweatpants and pulling you back into him with a snap.
Your breath hitched.
Back to his chest. Spine to his hoodie. You froze, lips parting in disbelief.
“Chan—”
He grabbed your face before you could finish. One hand cupping your jaw, the other squishing your cheeks together so your lips puckered slightly, tilting your head back against him.
Your breath caught.
“Tell me,” he said, voice low—so low it brushed against your ear like a hum. “That moan. Was it your neck?”
You squirmed, heat rushing to your face, but his grip was firm. Not rough. Just insistent. Gentle like the beginning of something you weren’t ready to name yet.
“I said it was nothing,” you mumbled through his hold.
“I heard you the first time.” His hand loosened just enough for your jaw to move, but his palm didn’t leave your skin. “But that’s not what I asked.”
You turned your head slightly, but he followed the motion, chest warm against your back, his breath fanning across your temple.
“I’m not judging you,” he said softer now, almost amused. “I’m just asking… do you have a thing for this?”
His hand dropped—slow, steady—fingertips trailing from your jaw down the curve of your throat.
You stopped breathing.
His palm hovered just under your chin, thumb resting at the side of your neck, fingers spread. Barely touching. Barely grazing.
Then— He wrapped.
Not tight. Not firm. Just enough to feel his fingers circle you.
Just enough to remind you how small you were in his hand.
Everything in you went still.
Your lips parted again—useless, breathless, caught. You didn’t moan this time, but the silence said enough.
Chan’s voice dipped, teasing now. “So you do.”
You turned your face away, jaw tensed. “It’s not like that.”
His hand didn’t move.
“Then what’s it like?”
You stayed quiet, hands fisting at your sides.
“I didn’t even squeeze,” he murmured, voice velvet-slick. “And you froze like I switched you off with a button.”
“Shut up.”
He grinned. “Ohhh. So it’s like that.”
You tried to step forward, but his grip on your waistband tightened just slightly—reminding you he still had you. That he could pull again. That he would.
He leaned in, lips almost brushing your ear now.
“I’m not mad,” he said, gentle. “I’m not freaked out. I just…” his thumb grazed under your chin again, slow, sweet, deadly. “I think it’s kinda cute.”
“Chan,” you warned, but it came out too soft. Too breathy.
He let go of your jaw, finally. Stepped back a little.
His hand dropped from your neck like nothing happened.
But nothing about your body felt normal anymore.
“I’m gonna order takeout,” he said casually, walking to the kitchen. “You want the usual?”
You blinked.
Stared at him, stunned. “Are you serious?”
He glanced back with a smirk.
“Dead serious. But—if you wanna talk more about your kinks after dinner, I’m free.”
⸻
Dinner was a blur.
You barely tasted anything.
Chan ordered your usual like it was a normal night, like he hadn’t manhandled your face and wrapped his hand around your neck barely twenty minutes ago. He sat across from you at his counter, hoodie sleeves shoved to the elbows, digging into pizza while casually talking about Genshin.
You blinked at your own bowl, lips still tingling, mind running marathons.
He’d touched you a thousand times before—your waist, your thigh, your cheek, your lower back—but not like that.
Not with intent.
Not while calling you out about your kinks like he was just checking the weather.
You poked at your own noodles.
“So we’re not gonna talk about it?” you asked.
Chan looked up, chewing, one brow lifted.
“Talk about what?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t play dumb.”
A beat of silence.
Then the softest smirk curled on his lips. “Thought you didn’t wanna talk about it.”
You stared at him.
Something low and hot coiled in your stomach. That smug little tone he always used on you when he knew he’d won—when he baited you into spilling, or laughing, or saying something you didn’t mean to say.
And suddenly?
You’d had enough. You dropped your fork. Sat back in your chair.
“Fine,” you said, eyes locked on his. “You wanna talk kinks? Let’s talk.”
The smile slipped from his face, slow and sharp—like something in him clicked.
“…Now?”
You crossed your arms, chin high. “You started it.”
Chan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Let’s go.”
His voice was low again. Not teasing this time. Steady. Intrigued. Like you’d just pulled a loaded weapon on the table and told him to pick a side.
You swallowed. “We’ve never talked about this before.”
“I know.”
“We said we wouldn’t.”
“I remember.”
“So why now?”
Chan shrugged. “Because you moaned like someone touched your soul when I only grazed your neck and then tried to lie about it. And now I’m curious.”
You flushed.
“Curious about what?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You.”
A silence stretched between you—hot, tight, heavy.
You laughed once, hollow. “God. This is so fucking weird.”
Chan tilted his head. “Is it?”
“Yes!” you threw your hands up. “You’re my best friend.”
“I’m still your best friend.”
“And we don’t talk about sex.”
“We do now.”
Your breath caught.
His eyes were too dark. Too steady. There was no out here.
You inhaled slowly. “Fine. What do you wanna know?”
Chan sat back again, folding his arms. “What else does it for you?”
You blinked. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Dead serious.”
You hesitated.
Then—like the words tasted like sin—you said quietly, “Hands.”
A pause.
Chan’s lips twitched. “Yeah. I figured.”
“Big ones,” you added without thinking. “Veiny. Rough. Confident.”
His eyes gleamed. “That why you always let me manhandle you like a ragdoll?”
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m just observing,” he said. “What else?”
You gave him a flat look. “What, you taking notes now?”
He leaned in again, elbows on the table, voice dark velvet. “I will if you keep talking like that.”
Your thighs pressed together under the table.
You looked away. “You go. Say something.”
He was quiet for a second.
Then—casually—“I like brats.”
You choked.
“Excuse me?”
Chan grinned. “Smart mouths. Girls who push back. Who pretend they don’t wanna listen but fold the second I—”
“Okay!” you raised a hand. “That’s enough, Freud.”
He laughed, head tipping back.
But the tension didn’t ease.
If anything—it twisted tighter.
You bit your lip. “So like… choking. Is that weird?”
He blinked. “Is what weird? Wanting it done to you? Or doing it to someone?”
You paused. “…Both?”
Chan tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not weird. But it’s intense.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Another silence.
He watched you. “You like intense?”
You looked up.
His eyes were too sharp again. Too serious.
You whispered, “Yeah.”
He stood.
You froze as he walked around the counter, bare feet soundless against the tile. He stopped in front of you, hand sliding onto your jaw—soft, slow—and tilted your face up again.
Your breath caught.
“You could’ve told me,” he said, voice low. “Any of this.”
“I thought you didn’t wanna hear it.”
His grip firmed just slightly—thumb brushing your cheek, the edge of your lip.
“I didn’t,” he said. “Until you moaned like that.”
His hand dipped.
Neck again.
Only this time, his fingers wrapped tight—not choking, but claiming. Measuring. Knowing.
And this time?
You didn’t pretend.
You looked him dead in the eye as your lips parted on a breathy, involuntary gasp.
“Yeah,” Chan whispered, smiling now. “That one.”
You should’ve walked away.
Should’ve laughed it off, said something dumb and deflective, gone home and buried yourself in blankets until the heat left your skin.
But you didn’t.
You sat there—his hand on your neck, your thighs clenched under the counter, breath caught somewhere in your throat—and you let him.
Chan was quiet. His eyes searched yours, slow and steady, like he was reading pages of you you didn’t even know were open.
His fingers flexed slightly around your neck. A light squeeze.
Not rough.
Just enough to say, I’m still here. You feel me, right?
And God… you did.
“You’re really into this,” he murmured.
You looked away, cheeks warm. “It’s not like I think about it all the time.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
He hummed.
Then leaned closer.
“But you’ve imagined it.”
You stiffened.
He chuckled lowly, and you felt it through his palm, the softest vibration echoing down your spine. “That’s not a no.”
You turned your head, just slightly, and muttered, “You’re annoying.”
He pulled back.
Only to hook his fingers under your jaw again, tilting your chin up like you weighed nothing in his grip. “There she is,” he said, smiling like you’d done something delicious.
“What?”
“That mouth,” he said, tapping your lip once with his thumb. “That bratty tone.”
“I wasn’t being bratty.”
“Mhm,” he smirked, stepping back. “Sure you weren’t.”
He let go.
The loss of contact was immediate—jarring.
Your neck felt cold without his hand on it.
Chan crossed to the couch and collapsed into it, legs spread, arms stretched along the backrest. Like nothing had just happened. Like your whole reality hadn’t just tipped sideways.
You turned slowly. “What the hell was that?”
“What?”
You gestured vaguely at the space between you. “That.”
Chan shrugged. “Just testing a theory.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What theory?”
“That I’ve been missing out.”
You blinked. “Missing out on what?”
He grinned, head resting lazily against the cushion. “This side of you.”
Your heart thumped.
“There’s no side,” you lied quickly. “That was— That’s just how I talk to you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.”
He cocked his head. “So you’d moan like that if Seungmin gave you a massage?”
You glared. “Seungmin gives serial killer energy.”
“Then what about Hyunjin?”
“Hyunjin cries at perfume ads. I’d never let him near my neck.”
Chan laughed.
You didn’t.
“I’m not teasing you,” he said after a moment. “I just… I don’t know. Feels like we’re finally being real.”
You chewed your bottom lip. “It’s not like I was hiding anything on purpose.”
“I know.”
“I just thought it’d be… weird.”
Chan leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “It’s not weird.”
“You’re not freaked out?”
“Nope.”
You hesitated. “So what now?”
He smiled, that slow, cocky, dangerous smile. “Now I get to learn things.”
Your stomach flipped.
“You’re making it sound creepy,” you muttered.
He stood up again. Walked toward you, deliberate this time.
And when he stopped in front of you again, it felt different.
He wasn’t teasing now. He was… curious. Focused. Like you were a puzzle he’d just realized had more pieces.
His hand came up again—back to your neck—but this time, he didn’t wrap it.
He traced.
Knuckles down your throat. Fingertips skimming your collarbone.
You held perfectly still.
“So sensitive here,” he murmured. “And you never said a word.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It matters now.”
You swallowed. “Why?”
He leaned in. Close. His breath brushed your lips.
“Because now I’m gonna find out what else does it for you.”
Your legs weakened.
Chan reached behind you and gently pushed you back into the nearest couch, standing over you now, looking down like you were a question he wanted to spend the night answering.
He tilted his head. “You like being told what to do?”
You blinked, heart hammering. “Why?”
“Just wondering how deep the brat thing goes.”
“It’s not a brat thing,” you snapped.
That smile again. Sharp. Addictive.
“There she is.”
“Ugh,” you scoffed, sinking back.
“C’mon,” he said softly. “Give me something else. I’ll tell you one of mine.”
You looked at him, wary. “Promise?”
“Swear.”
You exhaled slowly. “I like being touched… slowly. Like… teased. Not rushed.”
Chan’s eyes darkened.
“Oh,” he said. “We’re gonna have fun.”
You blinked. “Your turn.”
He dropped to his knees in front of you. Rested his hands on your knees, just above them.
Then leaned forward and said—
“I like control. But only when someone wants to give it up.”
You froze.
“Like… the second you say stop, I’m out,” he added. “But if you give me the green light…” His thumbs stroked slow, slow circles over your legs. “I’ll ruin you sweet.”
Your breath hitched.
“Too much?” he asked, smiling.
You didn’t answer.
Because truthfully?
You didn’t know if it was.
You weren’t sure what had shifted.
The air, maybe.
Or the weight of his eyes when he looked at you like that—like you were becoming something right in front of him.
But Chan didn’t back down.
He stayed where he was, hands resting on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow, distracted strokes into your skin like his mind was already a step ahead.
“I’ve never really talked to anyone about this stuff,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Not like this.”
You swallowed. “Me neither.”
“I didn’t think I needed to. Thought I had it figured out.”
“And now?”
His eyes met yours again, and there was something deeper in them now. Darker.
“Now I think I’ve been fucking around in the shallow end.”
You stiffened, legs tensing under his grip.
He felt it.
His thumbs stilled.
“That bother you?” he asked softly.
You shook your head before you could stop yourself.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he’d found a loose thread in you. “Then why are your thighs clenched?”
“I don’t know,” you breathed.
“Hmm.”
He moved his hands slightly up your legs, just a few inches, nothing dramatic. But his gaze stayed pinned to yours the whole time.
“Do you like when I talk like that?”
You hesitated.
Chan leaned in, whispering, “Tell the truth.”
Your lips parted, no sound coming out.
He grinned, barely. “Thought so.”
You flushed.
He sat back on his heels, exhaling a little laugh like this whole thing was amusing—and fascinating—and fucking exhilarating.
“I think I like this side of you,” he murmured.
“What side?”
He brought his hand up again, knuckles brushing your neck, then trailing down your collarbone. “The one that can’t sit still when I do this.”
You shivered.
He smiled. “You get quiet when you want something.”
“I’m not quiet.”
“Mm. You’re quieter than usual.”
He leaned in again.
Not touching this time—just watching you breathe.
“You always give this much control without realizing it?”
Your mouth went dry.
“I’m not—” you started.
But he shook his head.
“No, don’t answer. I like watching you try.”
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
You were wet.
God, you were already so fucking wet, and he hadn’t even touched you where it mattered. Not once.
He moved one knee forward, bracing his arm on the cushion beside your hips. The shift brought him closer. Too close.
And that’s when you felt it.
Hard. Heavy.
Brushing your inner thigh.
Your breath stilled.
Chan didn’t move.
His lips quirked—just barely.
And that’s when you knew.
He felt it too.
Still, he played innocent.
“Something wrong?”
Your eyes flicked to his, wide. “Are you—?”
“I am,” he said calmly. “You surprised?”
You blinked.
“No.”
“Because you’re hot?”
You exhaled slowly. “Because you’re different.”
That made him pause.
“How?”
“You’ve never… acted like this.”
He hummed, low in his chest. “You’ve never let me.”
You stuttered. “I— I didn’t stop you—”
“No,” he agreed, nodding once. “But you didn’t give me an invitation either.”
You looked down, eyes on the space between your bodies, his arousal pressed right up against you like a secret you weren’t supposed to notice.
And still, you didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t say a word.
His voice softened. “So now that we’re here… wanna know another thing I’ve never told anyone?”
You nodded without thinking.
Chan’s fingers skimmed your hip, slow and deliberate. “I like watching people fall apart.”
Your lips parted, breath catching.
“But not in a mean way,” he added. “I like the process. The way your body learns to trust me before your brain catches up. I like how shaky your breath gets when I press on the right spot. How your legs tense when you’re trying not to give in.”
He smirked, voice dipping lower.
“I like hearing that little gasp you just made. And I really like how your thighs are squeezing together again.”
You gasped again, this time audible.
He was rock hard now. You could feel him throb slightly against you. A steady pulse through his sweatpants.
And then—God help you—he moved just a little.
A subtle, deliberate shift of his hips.
Just enough to feel how warm you were.
How ready.
Your jaw clenched.
Chan’s eyes flicked down to your mouth.
And that was his breaking point.
Because suddenly his hand was back—on your neck.
Not squeezing. Not dominating.
Feeling.
Like he was trying to understand how something so small could make him so desperate.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, half-lost in it.
You swallowed. “Then show me.”
His eyes snapped back to yours.
Dark.
Ravenous.
But he didn’t kiss you.
Didn’t push further.
Instead, he leaned in—nose brushing yours—and whispered, “Not yet.”
That’s what he said—low, husky, brushing your lips like a secret.
But then his head dipped lower.
And you felt it—his mouth at your cheek first, warm and lingering, then sliding lower still until his lips brushed your jawline… his teeth barely grazing your skin.
You jolted.
He smiled against you.
“Still holding it together?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.
And then he bit you.
Soft. Right on your cheekbone. Just enough pressure to make you gasp—nothing overwhelming, but so intimate, so damn suggestive, it felt like your body cracked open around it.
A moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it.
High. Desperate.
Sinful.
“Fuck…” you breathed, under your breath.
But he heard it.
God, he heard everything.
His mouth dragged to your ear—barely brushing it—before his tongue flicked once at the shell of it and he whispered, “Say that again.”
Your head tipped back into the couch, fingers digging into the cushion beside you.
He watched you fall apart, kneeling between your knees like you were some holy thing unraveling at his mercy.
And then, without even thinking, it slipped out.
“…Chan.”
His name, like a prayer.
Choked. Shaken.
Raw.
He stilled.
Completely.
You opened your eyes slowly, vision slightly hazy, only to find him staring back at you—eyes wide, chest rising visibly beneath his hoodie.
“Shit,” he muttered, like it hit him all at once.
Like he just realized the weight of what was actually happening.
You blinked, cheeks burning. “What?”
He shook his head once. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“My name.”
You bit your lip, too overwhelmed to even fake control.
And that was it.
That broke him.
Chan’s hands flew to your hips, dragging you down the couch cushion just enough for him to lean over you completely. His mouth caught yours in a kiss so devastatingly hot you forgot your own name.
Teeth clashing. Breath mixing.
Tongues tangling like they’d been waiting years for this.
Your fingers curled into his hoodie, desperate for something to hold onto as he kissed you like a man starving—like he was angry you’d kept this from him, angry you made him wait.
And the way you moaned into his mouth? The soft gasp you let out when his hand slipped beneath your shirt and splayed wide over your waist?
It shattered him.
Chan groaned against your lips, grinding into you once—slow but solid—and the friction was unbearable.
You whimpered, breath hitching, thighs tensing around his hips.
“Jesus, babe,” he growled into your neck, voice cracking with restraint. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”
But you did.
You knew now.
And worse? You loved it.
You tilted your head without thinking, exposing your throat like instinct, and the second his lips found the base of it, the moan you let out was filthy.
Loud. Guttural.
You felt him throb against your core through both your clothes.
And he didn’t even try to hide it.
His hand found your neck again—cradling, not choking. Not yet.
Just holding.
Possessive. Protective. Like it belonged to him.
“You were gonna hide this from me?” he whispered roughly against your skin. “This part of you?”
You whimpered, nails dragging down his back.
Chan laughed. Dark. Breathless.
“Not anymore.”
That was the last thing he said before everything blurred.
Your best friend had kissed you before—on your forehead, your cheek, once at midnight on New Year’s when he was tipsy and too sentimental—but this was different.
This wasn’t affection.
This was possession.
He kissed like he’d earned it—like every time he let you sleep in his bed, every time he pulled you into his chest when you were crying, every time he called you baby under his breath without thinking… was just a slow burn countdown to this moment.
His lips moved against yours like he already knew your rhythm. Like he’d been dreaming of it and now he was tasting it for real.
And when you moaned again? He growled into your mouth.
His hands were wild now, frantic. Pulling at the hem of your shirt, tugging you closer by the hips until you were slotted right against him, heat to heat.
You could feel how hard he was.
And when he shifted his weight and pressed into you deliberately, you gasped—high-pitched and startled.
He tore his lips from yours just long enough to pant, “Fuck. You’re driving me insane.”
“Then do something about it,” you whispered, already breathless.
His eyes flashed.
“Say less.”
His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sweatpants so fast it made your breath catch—and when his fingers reached your panties, he froze.
Because you were soaked.
Dripping.
His fingers brushed along the fabric—slick and clinging—and then he dragged them lower, curling them against the wet heat right between your legs.
You gasped. Shuddered.
Chan’s head dropped to your shoulder, lips at your ear, groaning deep in his throat. “You’re fucking soaked.”
You whimpered.
His fingers stroked once—just enough to tease—before he yanked your sweatpants down in one go, panties and all.
You squeaked, legs instinctively clamping together, but he was already on his knees again, big hands sliding under your thighs and pulling them apart with a groan.
“Let me see,” he rasped. “Come on, babe, show me how bad you need me.”
You swallowed, chest heaving.
You had never seen him like this—never even imagined him like this.
Hair messy, lips red, hoodie halfway off his shoulder as he pushed himself between your legs like a man starving.
And it wasn’t until he looked up—until those dark, wrecked eyes dragged slowly up your body and met yours—that you realized:
You were gone.
Undone. Open.
And he loved it.
His fingers returned, sliding into your folds with maddening slowness.
You cried out, knees trembling.
He sucked in a breath, watching his hand work between your legs like he couldn’t believe what he was feeling.
“Dripping,” he whispered, almost reverent. “All this for me?”
You bit your lip. “Don’t be cocky.”
He smirked.
And then he curled two fingers inside you in one smooth thrust.
You screamed.
Your hand shot out, grabbing at his wrist, your thighs threatening to close—but he was too strong.
He pressed one hand firmly on your stomach, keeping you grounded while his fingers moved—slow, then fast, then deeper.
“Not cocky,” he panted. “Just maybe obsessed.”
You cried out again, body arching, trying to grind into his palm. Every nerve ending in your body was on fire—and he was eating it up.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Melting for me. You gonna come already?”
You shook your head, biting your fist.
He chuckled darkly. “Don’t hold back now, baby. We’ve got years to make up for.”
You moaned louder—desperate.
And then he stopped.
Just like that.
Fingers sliding out, breath ragged.
You blinked at him in shock, your whole body pulsing.
“What—?”
He wiped his fingers on the hem of his hoodie like it was nothing, then leaned forward and whispered against your mouth, “I’m not letting you come with my hand. Not the first time.”
You whimpered, a broken, trembling sound.
He kissed you again, rougher this time.
And then his hands were on his hoodie, yanking it off in one smooth motion, chest glistening with sweat, body hard and flexed as he stood to kick off his sweatpants.
You stared.
You’d seen him shirtless. You’d seen him in boxers during sleepovers. But this?
This was feral.
Ripped, flushed, bulging under tension—and fully hard now, cock bobbing as he leaned back over you, eyes wild with want.
“You ready?” he asked, voice wrecked.
You couldn’t even speak.
Just nodded.
Because the fire had already started, and now?
You wanted to burn.
You were breathless beneath him—bare, dizzy, skin hot and tingling in all the right places. And when he hovered over you now, sweat-slick and wild-eyed, your best friend didn’t look like your best friend anymore.
He looked like a man unraveling. One second away from ruin. Yours.
His hand slid behind your knee, lifting your leg over his hip. “You good?”
You nodded again, swallowing hard.
He smirked, gaze dropping to your lips.
“You sure?” he asked, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds—slow, teasing, maddening. “You look like you’re in trouble already.”
And something in you—something playful and wicked—snapped.
“Guess we’ll see if you can handle it.”
Chan paused.
Your voice—usually warm, teasing, light—was lower now. Challenging.
Bratty.
His brows lifted. “Oh?”
You shrugged, purposefully lazy beneath him, your leg tightening around his waist. “I mean… you talk a big game, but—” you made a little face, “—you’ve never even kissing me before today.”
Chan blinked slowly.
Then laughed once—dangerous and deep in his chest—before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head in one swift movement.
“You’re cute when you’re mouthy.”
You gasped, startled, but didn’t stop.
“I’m just saying,” you said sweetly, shifting under him, deliberately dragging your slick heat along his length. “You’ve waited ten years for this. Hope you’re not rusty.”
He stared down at you like you were made of sin and gasoline.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, lowering his face to yours, lips brushing your cheek. “You want me to wreck you, don’t you?”
You smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”
And that was it.
That was all it took.
He snapped.
His hand came down, wrapping tight around your throat and the next thing you felt was the blunt push of his cock stretching you open in one slow, greedy slide.
You cried out, head falling back, legs trembling from the stretch.
“Fuck—”
“That shut you up quick,” he growled, watching your face as he bottomed out.
You whimpered, fully filled now, completely caged beneath him, and for a moment all you could do was breathe.
You weren’t used to this—this intensity. This power shift.
You weren’t used to being his.
Chan didn’t move right away. He stayed there—deep inside you, hand on your throat, his other still pinning your wrists—just watching.
Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “Say my name.”
You bit your lip, eyes fluttering. “…Chan.”
He pulled out halfway.
“Say it right.”
“Chan—ah, fuck—Chan,” you gasped, back arching.
He snapped his hips forward—hard—and your moan broke into a scream.
“You’re soaked,” he panted. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”
“I didn’t know—” you whimpered, completely undone, “—you’d be like this.”
He smiled against your throat, kissed it once, then bit down lightly on your jaw. “This is what you do to me.”
And when you clenched around him at those words?
He lost it.
His grip tightened—your wrists, your throat, your hips—and he started moving, every thrust thick and deep, sharp enough to send your thoughts scattering into stars.
“Still wanna be a brat?” he growled, pulling out only to slam back in harder.
You whimpered, breath catching. “Yes.”
He chuckled darkly. “Wrong answer.”
He dragged your hands down, pinning them to your chest now as he fucked into you, his entire body a weapon. Every thrust hit somewhere new—some place that made you cry out, curse, beg without knowing you were doing it.
“Look at you,” he said, voice wrecked. “You gonna be good now?”
Your pride screamed no.
But your body—your soaked, trembling, wrecked body—sobbed yes.
You swallowed hard, hips twitching, and whispered up at him with all the strength you had left:
“Make me.”
Chan’s eyes blazed.
“Oh, baby,” he growled, snapping his hips forward again. “I’m gonna make you beg.”
And from the way your legs shook?
You knew he already was.
You didn’t remember when your moans got louder than the thoughts in your head.
Didn’t remember when you stopped trying to talk back and started crying his name like a plea.
But your body remembered. Every inch of it was tuned to his touch now—sweaty, sticky, soaked, and strung out beneath the weight of your best friend losing his damn mind inside you.
He hadn’t stopped moving.
And he hadn’t stopped talking.
“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groaned against your skin, hips snapping forward. “Been dreaming about this—about you—for years. You were right in front of me—walking around like that, giving me attitude, pushing my buttons.”
You gasped, fingers dragging down his back. “I wasn’t trying—”
“Bullshit,” he growled, pulling out just enough to thrust back in hard, rocking your entire body against the couch. “You knew what you were doing. You knew I’d snap.”
You choked on a scream, grabbing at his shoulder for balance.
And then, with a glint in his eye, he lifted one of your legs onto the couch arm and pressed forward—deep and low.
You damn near sobbed.
“Fuck, this angle—” he hissed through clenched teeth, “—you’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”
You shivered, mouth open, unable to answer—until a familiar bratty smirk broke onto your lips.
“Still think you’re in control?” you managed, breathless.
Chan stopped moving.
Dead still.
And grinned.
“Oh, baby girl.”
And just like that, he yanked out of you, flipped your body, and shoved your front down into the couch cushions.
His hand was already on your back, pressing you down as he lined up again—and when he slid back in with one long, filthy thrust, your scream was muffled in the fabric.
“Who’s in control now?” he grunted, pounding into you from behind, one hand on your hip, the other wrapped around your neck again—pulling you back, making your spine curve deliciously.
You tried to fight it—tried to sass, to squirm—but every stroke hit your g-spot like he’d mapped your body in his dreams.
And when he growled “look at that arch,” you whimpered.
“I can feel you clenching, baby. You gonna come already?”
You hissed, bratty again through your cries. “You wish—”
So he pulled out, flipped you again.
“Keep testing me,” he breathed, dragging you into his lap, guiding you down onto him so slowly it made your eyes roll back.
He didn’t move.
Just held your hips steady, eyes locked on your face.
“You think you’re the one riding me?” he whispered, almost tender—until his fingers dug into your skin and he thrust up hard.
You screamed, forehead dropping onto his shoulder.
“Oh no, baby. You just get to watch this time.”
He started bouncing you on his cock, fucking up into you, his grip rough, his rhythm feral.
“You gonna be good yet?” he panted, breath hot on your cheek. “Or should I fuck the brat out of you?”
You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.
But you nodded.
You were gone.
Gone for him.
He kissed your shoulder, then bit it.
And then?
He moved you again.
He was everywhere—his weight, his mouth, his cock so deep you felt like you’d split in half.
Your cries were high and broken now, your hands slipping against his sweat-slick back as he pounded you into the cushions with intent.
And then his hand went right back to your neck—holding, lifting, claiming you while he fucked the soul out of your body.
“You’re mine,” he panted, hips relentless. “Say it.”
You moaned, arching up into him. “Yours—yours, fuck—Chan—”
He dropped his forehead to yours, eyes wrecked, heart thundering.
“Come for me.”
And this time?
You did.
With a scream that could’ve broken glass.
Your body snapped, back bowing, thighs clenching around him, tears streaking your cheeks as the pleasure tore through you.
Chan didn’t stop.
He groaned, deep and desperate, as your walls clenched and fluttered around him—and then he stilled, cock buried to the hilt, trembling against you.
“Fucking—shit—”
You felt him pulse deep inside you, hot and thick.
And when he finally collapsed on top of you—panting, wrecked, his face buried in your neck—you couldn’t stop the soft, breathless laugh that left you.
“…That’s one way to discuss kinks.”
Chan huffed against your cheek.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, kissing your jaw sweetly. “You’ve got no idea how bad it’s about to get.”
—-
Your body was buzzing—tender, used, and so completely ruined that you barely noticed when Chan lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing.
You whimpered at the movement, tucking your face into his neck as he carried you down the hall, both of you still catching your breath.
Neither of you spoke. There was only the soft pat of his feet against the tile, your fluttering heartbeat in your ears, and the low, satisfied hum he made when you clung tighter to his shoulders.
The bathroom light flickered on. Warm. Clean. Familiar.
He didn’t hesitate. Just toed off the last piece of fabric on his body and stepped under the stream with you still in his arms.
The hot water hit your back and you gasped at the contrast—already sensitive, skin electric under every drop.
Chan’s big hands slid over you, soothing, slow. He lathered up a washcloth and began running it gently over your shoulders, your thighs, between your legs with such focus you had to fight the urge to melt all over again.
“You okay?” he asked, quiet against your ear, lips brushing your temple.
You nodded. “…Think you broke me.”
He chuckled, chest rumbling against yours. “Not even close.”
But still, his touch was careful now. Reverent. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.
And maybe that’s why you did it.
Why you let your hands roam a little more than they needed to.
Why you leaned in and started trailing soft kisses down his collarbone.
Why your lips didn’t stop there.
Because you couldn’t believe he was real either.
Not like this. Not yours.
He stilled when your mouth reached his chest.
You kissed it slowly, tenderly, running your fingers down his abs, over the ridges of muscle that flexed beneath your touch.
“…Babe,” he whispered, voice low, warning, already unraveling. “Don’t start.”
You looked up at him through wet lashes, lips parted, innocent and knowing all at once.
“Why not?” you murmured, kissing just below his ribs. “You let me fall apart for you. Let me return the favor.”
His breath hitched. He was already hardening again—and he knew it.
You kissed lower.
And lower.
And then you were kneeling—naked, dripping, your knees cushioned by the shower mat, hands already stroking his length back to full, pulsing attention.
He groaned.
“Fuck. Fuck, you look so good down there—”
You wrapped your fingers around his cock, squeezing gently, lips brushing against the flushed head of his cock. He jerked in your hand, and you hummed.
“I never told you my last kink,” you said sweetly, licking a slow stripe along the underside.
His hand hit the wall above your head, unsteady. “Yeah? What is it, baby?”
You smiled up at him—dark, sinful, soft.
“I don’t have a gag reflex.”
Chan let out a noise—guttural, choked, wrecked.
“Jesus Christ.”
And then you took him in.
All of him.
Slow. Deep. Deliberate.
His mouth fell open, eyes rolling back as you swallowed around him, your throat relaxing on instinct.
“Oh my fucking God—” he rasped, hips jerking forward before he caught himself, panting hard, water cascading down his back.
You pulled off with a wet pop, licking the tip before dragging your tongue along the base and sucking him back in just as deep.
He moaned—loud, shameless, one hand grabbing the back of your head while the other gripped the shower wall like a lifeline.
“Fuck, fuck, baby— you’re gonna kill me—”
You moaned around him in response, eyes half-lidded, hands stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach.
Every sound he made went straight to your core—deep and breathy and so needy, it felt like a reward just to listen.
“You’re unreal,” he groaned. “Fucking unreal—how is this even real—”
You let your eyes flutter closed, increasing the rhythm, hollowing your cheeks, spit and water dripping from your chin as you let him fall apart above you.
And when his stomach clenched—when his thighs started to tremble—you just held him tighter, took him deeper, and moaned his name from the back of your throat.
Not until his hips jerked one final time and you tasted all of him—thick and hot and desperate on your tongue.
He roared your name, damn near sliding down the wall as his whole body seized, then shook.
When he finally opened his eyes again, you were smiling, swallowing, licking your lips like you’d just won.
Chan stared.
Then laughed—ragged, disbelieving, utterly in awe.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he panted, hauling you up into his arms again. “Mark my words.”
You kissed his jaw, cheeky. “Then what a way to go.”
He groaned, forehead against yours.
“We’re not sleeping tonight.”
And you knew he meant it.
—
The water was still warm when Chan reached for a towel and wrapped it around your body, gathering you into him like you were something precious. Like you might disappear if he blinked.
You were trembling a little—not from cold, but from the comedown. The wild pace of everything. The stretch, the heat, the orgasm that had left your legs like jelly. The way he’d held your gaze while wrecking you on the couch like you weren’t his best friend—like you were already his everything.
Now? Now he was silent. Gentle.
A hand on the back of your head, stroking slowly.
“You okay?” he asked, voice raw and deep, brushing his lips to your temple.
You nodded into his chest. “Mhm. Just… processing.”
He smiled faintly, lifting you into his arms again—still naked, still wet—and carried you to his room without another word. The towel stayed wrapped around you, his hands never letting go, like it physically pained him to stop touching you.
He laid you on his bed with careful hands, kissed your forehead, then disappeared for a moment—returning with your hoodie, a fresh pair of his boxers, a warm water bottle, and a glass of juice.
You stared at him, body curling toward his naturally as you laid there—wrapped in soft cotton, legs still aching in the best way. “So… this really happened.”
Chan tilted his head, gaze steady. “Are you regretting it?”
“No,” you whispered, too fast. Then, “Are you?”
His brow furrowed like you’d offended him. “Baby. I’d do it all over again right now if you weren’t already shaky.”
You flushed, heat blooming up your neck. He noticed it. Of course he did. His thumb brushed the side of your throat, reverent.
“Still can’t believe that’s your kink,” he murmured, soft and possessive and wrecked. “You have any idea what that did to me?”
You licked your lips, looking away. “…There’s more.”
Chan’s eyes darkened. “Oh, you’re gonna tell me.”
You tried to hide your smile. “We never talked about sex in ten years and now you wanna hear all my kinks?”
“Now I need to,” he replied, curling his hand behind your neck and pulling you closer again. “You let me touch you like that. Let me own you. You think I can go back to pretending you’re just my best friend after that?”
His mouth was so close. His fingers were back to stroking your skin, down your back, over the dip of your waist.
Your voice came out quieter now. “I’ve never given up control that easily.”
“I know.” He cupped your jaw, kissed the corner of your mouth. “And I’ll never take that for granted.”
You met his eyes. “But I’d do it again.”
His breath stuttered. And then he kissed you—soft this time, lingering.
“You have no idea how hard I’m holding back right now.”
“I can tell,” you whispered, glancing down at the way his towel was starting to shift.
He growled against your skin, pressing his forehead to yours. “This changes everything.”
You nodded slowly. “But it doesn’t ruin anything.”
“No,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “It just means we’ve got… ten years to make up for. And I plan to.”
You smiled. “So… you’re mine now?”
Chan pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you.
“No, baby,” he said with a dangerous smirk. “You’re mine. And I don’t share.”
Your stomach fluttered. You pushed at his chest, bratty. “Mm. You weren’t this cocky when we were just friends.”
He climbed over you again, straddling you on the bed with that wolfish glint in his eye.
“You never let me touch you like this before. Now I know what you sound like when you moan my name?”
He leaned down, voice dark, hungry.
“You have no idea how cocky I’m about to get.”
And just like that, you knew.
You’d opened Pandora’s box.
And Chan had no plans to close it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors note: AAAAAHHHHHHH!!! God this was sooo juicy to write!!!! I am so sorry for my absence guys, theres been so much on my plate… I’ve actually started an original book that i plan to publish some time in the future. 🤭 But I’m here now and ill post more frequently. As for all the requests? I SEE EVERYTHING, I WILL WORK ON THEM!! Just hold on for me babes!
Anyway, if you enjoyed this one, leave me a comment, like and reblog guys!! My taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added or removed!
summary: What happens when you call your best friend a good boy?
warnings: p0rn with very little plot, pet names, outdoor s3x, praise, established relationship, friends to lovers, size difference, overstimulation
“Oh, you are so a golden retriever boyfriend, Channie!” You grabbed your phone and in a flash started to scroll and search for the definition. It was summer and that meant BBQ’s and beers at your place. The sun was high in the sky and the two of you were on your fourth or fifth beer. “A-ha! Here it is!” You turned your phone screen to Chan so he could read the perfectly executed Urban Dictionary definition. His eyes squinted a bit as he read, mouthing the words “loyal” and “easy-going” and “sunshine”. His lips slowly curled up into a smile as his eyes flicked up to meet yours.
“You really think that about me?” He asked softly, his eyes still locked onto you.
“Of course I do!” You beamed, smiling so wide your cheeks made your eyes almost disappear. Chan was fiercely loyal, that was the truest part of the definition, almost to a fault. For the better part of a year he had been in a more than toxic relationship. Every fight, every argument, every misunderstanding he had with her, you tried your best to be the supportive friend even though it was killing you inside. You were happy that the relationship had ended and you knew your best friend was better off but there was a part of you that sensed Channie needed a reminder of just how great he really was.
You leaned forward in your chair so your face was even closer to Chan’s. “I could just pat your head and tell you what a good boy you are!” You giggled softly and patted the top of his head one, two, three times. “Good boy.” You said gently. Not in a teasing tone or as a way to mock him. The words were just stated as fact. Those two words shot through Chan’s chest like a bullet. Bursting through his ribcage clear to the other side. He froze in place for a moment unsure of what this feeling was. He had been praised before, sure. He had been told he was “doing great” by girls while he was inside of them. Slamming away, in and out and in again. Hitting those soft, spongy spots that made their eyes roll back and their tongue loll out of their mouth. He had been told how big he was. “So big!” Was a regular phrase that he never got tired of. His cock stretching and making room inside a tight, wet cunt was a feeling he was used to, a feeling he loved.
But this feeling was new. It was feral, gnawing, needy, aching. You were someone that saw him, really saw him, for everything he was. His accomplishments, his flaws, his ups and his downs. You had been there for all of it and still saw the best in him. He wanted to be good for you. That's what this feeling was. He wanted to hear those words again and again and again while he made you feel the most intense pleasure of your life.
The next few minutes moved like sand through an hourglass. Chan stared at your lips still wet with beer from your most recent sip. He leaned in slowly, lingering in the moment to see what your reaction would be. Would you pull away? Would you be upset with him for evening attempting such a bold move? Kissing his best friend, this could change everything between the two of you. Chan leaned in closer still, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes then back to your lips again. He wanted to taste you so badly. He needed to show you just what a good boy he could be. Your breath caught in your chest as Chan’s button lips lightly brushed against yours. His nose angled against your top lip right in that spot underneath your nose. Cupid’s bow. That’s the word that flashed in your mind as you closed your eyes and started to part your lips for him. He smelled like beer and sunscreen. Like summer and sunshine incarnate.
“Chan…” You moaned into his mouth barely above a whisper.
Chan growled back in response, He snaked his hand through your hair until it rested on the back of your neck. He pulled you in hard, deepening the kiss. Your body responded in an instant. Without hesitation you pulled at his tank top to bring him closer to you. A wordless promise that you were ready for anything he had in store for you.
Chan gripped your thighs hard and wrapped them around his waist while simultaneously picking you up and sitting you down on the edge of the patio table. The metal from the old table legs squeaked and creaked softly as you and Chan moved as one. He reached his arms up and slightly back to pull his tank top up and over his head. His biceps flexed and pulsed with the intense muscle that lay underneath. He groaned in frustration at the sight of your jean shorts. While earlier today he was admiring how perfectly they sculpted around your ass, now they were just too tight and too in the way of where he so desperately needed to be.. He pulled at the buttons clumsily and ripped at the zipper so harshly that it completely broke.
“Channie!” You squealed. You weren’t really mad. In all truth you found it incredibly sexy. You had never had someone want you so badly that they were willingly to tear off your clothes.
Chan gave you a slight smirk and simply said, “I’ll buy you new ones.”
Next thing torn to pieces was your panties followed by the same weak objection from you and the promise made from him.
You lived in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. You rented but you loved your quaint little home. One thing you never gave much concern to was your neighbors. You would have backyard barbeques with your friends almost every weekend and while you weren’t particularly “wild” you didn't let the potential of uppity neighbors stop your fun. Besides, your neighbors would party sometimes too. You’d hear loud music or shouting and shrug it off. Who cares? No, you never really considered the people living around you. That was until your best friend started to slide his hard cock inside you. When Chan’s cock was starting to stretch you, slowly inching its way deeper and deeper, then you considered who might be around. Because now, in this moment, you had to moan, you had to scream, you had to shout something. It was all just so good. It was all just so much. He was just SO. GODDAMN. BIG.
“Ch-Channie..” You murmured. “C-cover my m-mouth. I’m gonna scream..”
Chan looked up from where his cock was moving, almost at the base now. He tried hard not to move his hips too much so you could adjust to his size. You were just so tight it was driving him crazy. He nodded and gently covered your mouth with his large hand. Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out inside of you. You let out a long, muffled moan, gripping hard at his forearms. You wiggled your hips wildly, signalling him to start moving his as well. Then you mumbled something into his hand right before he pulled it away.
“What?” He grunted, his eyes focused again on your perfectly wet cunt wrapped around him.
“I said, Good Boy.” You panted through a smile.
Chan’s pupils widened and his eyelids lowered. His hands found their way to your hips as he gripped hard until the tender sensitive flesh felt like it may bruise. You arched your back from the sensation of pleasure and pain. Chan snapped his hip and began to thrust into you at a feral and unforgiving pace. One of his hands left your hip and trailed slowly down your stomach until his thumb resting on your swollen clit. He rubbed easy concentric circles on the sensitive nub making your pussy squeeze and grip around his cock. Every time you clenched around him he groaned and growled in approval. Little words were used now, just guttural sounds of pleasure and need for release. Only one phrase remained now.
“Say it again.” Chan moaned. His feral cries were mixing with a begging plea that sounded so delicious you felt like you could cry.
Summary: During one of his lonely nights, Chan stumbles upon a camgirl who won’t get out of his head. If only he knew her…..
Bangchan already knew this night was going to drag.
The studio felt way too quiet.He sighed, leaning back in his chair for a second before running a hand through his hair.
Chan hated working this late again.
He had sent Jisung home because his snoring was getting too loud in the studio. He let Changbin go because he wouldn’t stop whining about being hungry. So now it was just Chan.
And god, he was so pent up again tonight.
He dropped to the floor and did some push-ups while listening to the track. Then he got up and jogged around the studio room for a bit, but nothing helped.
When he sat down again, slightly out of breath, he decided that what he needed right now was probably a different kind of letting off steam.
He grabbed his phone and opened that one forbidden site he had discovered recently. Hell, he didn’t even know why he kept going back to it.
He scrolled through the live videos until one caught his eye.
A beautiful girl.
Well—beautiful body. He couldn’t see her face at all.
He clicked on the video.
It loaded, and then he heard her voice.
Damn it… she had a pretty voice.
“Hi CB97, thank you for joining…”
Chan immediately turned red and turned the volume down.
She waited. She wore lingerie and in her hand was a little remote. “The first person to send me some money will be the one who get‘s to choose the first vibrator setting,” she said.
Chan bit his lip hard, his heart pounding as he stared at the screen. She sat back and spread her legs wide, the crotchless panties framing her smooth pussy perfectly.
The little vibrator was nestled deep inside her, buzzing faintly already.
Chan was fucking pathetic when he hit send, his cock twitching in his pants just from the sight.
“You can choose between 1 and 14 ….. be gentle with me…,” she purred, her voice husky.
Chan opened the chat with shaky fingers and typed in a 3.
She giggled softly, her hips shifting. “You are my new favourite Viewer.” She clicked the remote to 3, and a low hum filled the stream. Her pussy lips quivered as the vibrations pulsed gently against her clit from inside, and she let out a soft moan, her thighs trembling slightly.
Chan felt his cock swell hard against his zipper, the tip already leaking pre-cum into his boxers.
The next viewer jumped in quick, sending money and typing “5”. She cranked the remote up, the buzz growing stronger, making her back arch as the toy thrummed deeper into her wet folds.
She spread her legs even wider, her glistening pussy on full display, juices starting to drip down her inner thighs. “Mmm, that feels so good,” she whispered, biting her lip.
Another viewer sent a bigger tip. “Show us your tits pretty girl,” they demanded. She moaned louder, the vibrations making her squirm, and grabbed her lace bra, yanking it down to let her full, perky tits bounce free. Her nipples were hard, begging to be sucked.
Chan couldn't hold back anymore. His hand dove into his pants, wrapping around his throbbing cock as he pulled it out, the veiny shaft hot and pulsing in his grip. He started stroking slowly at first, his fist sliding up and down the length, smearing the slick pre-cum over the swollen head with each pump.
Precum beaded at the slit, and he groaned quietly in his dark room, eyes glued to her writhing body. He sent more money, his other hand flying across the keyboard: “10”.
“Oh you are a naughty man,” the girl mumbled, her voice breathy and teasing. He still didn’t see her face but he could hear her smiling, feel the heat in her words.
She twisted the remote to 10, and the vibrator roared to life inside her, slamming intense waves against her g-spot.
Her pussy clenched visibly around the toy, more wetness gushing out as she bucked her hips, tits jiggling with every jolt. “Fuck, yes... harder...,” she gasped, fingers digging into her thighs. Chan's strokes sped up, his hand flying faster over his cock, balls tightening as he watched her lose control, imagining that buzzing heat milking him instead.
───୨ৎ───
Oh, he was ashamed.
Deeply ashamed.
Chan didn’t listen to Felix explaining to Hyunjin how the new camera worked, didn’t listen to Seungmin asking Changbin to massage his shoulders, didn’t listen to anything, really.
He just stared down at his feet in the dressing room, unusually silent.
“Ahh hyung, why are you so quiet?” Jisung asked loudly.
Way too loud for Chan’s liking.
“Just thinking about the new album,” Chan mumbled.
Lie.
A horrible, pathetic lie.
He didn’t even dare to open his phone.
God.
He had paid a woman last night.
Paid.
For that.
He was such a fake Feminist.
Chan squeezed his eyes shut for a second.
He was raised better than this, right…?
Right??
He dragged a hand down his face, sinking further into his seat like he could disappear into the floor.
The door suddenly opened.
Chan looked up.
Their new PR girl walked in.
“I need two of you for a TikTok in ten minutes, is that possible?” she asked, her voice a little nervous.
Y/N.
She was shy. Everyone knew that.
But she got her work done.
And she was—
Chan blinked.
—really pretty.
He immediately looked away.
Stop it.
You don’t deserve to think that.
You literally paid a girl on the internet yesterday, what is wrong with you?
“Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath.
Before he could stop himself, Chan slapped his own cheek.
The room went quiet.
“…Are you okay?” Felix asked, looking genuinely concerned.
Chan sighed and nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Totally not fine.
Y/N bit her lip, slightly awkward now, and lifted her phone again.
“Boys, I really need two of yo—”
“We’ll do it,” Hyunjin cut in, grabbing Felix’s hand and raising it.
Felix blinked. “Wait—”
Too late.
Y/N smiled, clearly relieved. “Thank you!”
She turned to leave, but just before she stepped out, her eyes flickered over to Chan for a brief second.
He froze.
Then the door closed.
Chan dropped his head into his hands.
Oh, this was bad.
This was really bad.
───୨ৎ───
But he was not immune to the temptation of that camgirl.
Not at all.
He found himself on her page every single night for two weeks straight. It was like a routine now. Finish work, go home, sit in the dark, open that site.
He couldn’t help himself.
“Hi, my sweet boy,” her sultry voice always said whenever he joined.
Every. Single. Time.
And every time, his stomach flipped like an idiot.
He was her highest payer.
That alone made him want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
He had tried—once—to pay double just to see her face. Just once. Just to get it out of his system.
But she was strict about it.
Secretive.
One viewer had asked her before.
“I can’t….. i…. have a day job… with a reputation… they just don’t pay me well,” she had said casually, already pulling out new lingerie to try on for them like it was nothing.
Like this was normal.
Like he was normal.
Chan pressed his lips together at the memory.
───୨ৎ───
Chan was at the soundcheck for the show they were performing later that day.
The stage lights were too bright, the music too loud, everything too much.
His phone vibrated in his hand.
He frowned and pulled it out.
A mail?
On his secret mail account?
Chan’s stomach dropped.
He looked around quickly before opening it.
It was her.
His face went pale.
“I usually never offer this. But would you want a one-on-one stream? I see you and you see me. You pay per 5 minutes and we don’t reveal our identities. I promise. I just have the feeling that you’ll want it… need it even… You can think about it <3”
Chan just stared at the screen.
Speechless.
Heart pounding way too fast for something like this.
“Chan, please take your phone down.”
Her voice snapped him out of it.
He looked up.
Y/N was standing a few meters in front of him, already holding up her phone.
Chan quickly locked his screen and lowered his hand.
She took a photo for the Stray Kids Instagram story.
“Handsome,” she muttered quietly to herself, smiling at the picture.
Chan let out a small, awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck.
“Ah… thanks.”
She nodded slightly and walked away, already pulling out her personal phone.
For a second, Chan’s eyes followed her.
She stopped near the side of the stage and checked something—her emails, maybe.
Her expression changed almost instantly.
A small frown.
Disappointment.
Then she sighed and locked her phone again.
Chan frowned slightly without realizing it.
He didn’t like that look on her.
She looked prettier when she smiled.
Chan blinked.
Then immediately looked away.
What the hell was wrong with him?
───୨ৎ───
He actually did think about it.
A lot more than he should have.
For days.
Every night, every quiet moment, every time he opened his phone and saw that email still sitting there.
But he didn’t answer.
Not until—
They won.
Album of the year.
The cheers, the lights, the adrenaline—it was too much, too overwhelming, too good.
Chan was buzzing.
High on it.
High on everything.
And suddenly, all that hesitation?
Gone.
There was no holding back anymore.
He was sitting in the van, still laughing with the others, trophy somewhere between them, when he grabbed his phone.
Euphoric.
Reckless.
He opened the mail and typed without thinking twice.
“Babe, I’ll pay you per MINUTE. When do you want me?”
Send.
Chan leaned his head back against the seat, grinning to himself, staring out of the window, completely lost in his own world.
Not noticing—
That a phone next to the driver’s seat, right in front of all the boys…
Vibrated.
───୨ৎ───
Back at the dorm, Chan barely made it inside.
“Hyung, goodni—”
The door to his room slammed shut before Jeongin could even finish.
Chan didn’t care.
His heart was racing again.
His phone vibrated.
He didn’t even sit down, just unlocked it immediately.
“I could get ready in 20 minutes.💋”
Chan let out a breathless laugh.
“Fuck, yeah…”
His fingers moved quickly.
“See you then.”
He tossed his phone onto the bed, running both hands through his hair, pacing his room once, twice.
Trying to calm down.
Failing.
Completely.
───୨ৎ───
He got out of the shower just in time. He got on the site. Logged in. And there she was.
Her camera went on, angled perfectly to show her body from the neck down—no face, just the enticing curves he'd clicked into this private session for.
Chan sat on his desk chair. Nothing behind him that could reveal that he was Bang Chan from Stray Kids.
Water droplets still clung to his trained muscular body, fresh from the shower, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist.
“Hi big guy“ she purred, her voice sultry and anonymous through the speakers.
Chan felt his cock twitch and harden instantly at the mystery of her. “Hi gorgeous“ he replied, his gaze devouring the screen.
She wore a dark red set, crotchless as always, fuck, it drove him wild. Her thighs looked inviting, her posture teasing even from this hidden angle.
“You look so fucking hot“ she said, her tone dripping with hunger. “Show me that pretty cock so I can match it with the right toy“
Chan didn't hesitate, yanking the towel free to reveal his thick, veined length springing up, already half-hard and heavy against his abs.
She let out a soft whimper that sent a jolt straight to his balls. “Do you like what you see?“ he asked, wrapping his hand around the base and giving it a slow stroke, watching pre-cum pearl at the tip.
“Oh fuck yes“ she breathed, the sound raw and needy. She reached off-screen and pulled out a dildo that mirrored his cock perfectly—long, girthy, with realistic ridges and a flared head that promised to stretch her wide.
This was his private show; she didn't do toys like this on her public streams.
“This big one's just for you“ she teased, laying back on her massive bed, the sheets rumpling under her. She started by trailing her fingers down her body, dipping into the slick heat of her exposed pussy, spreading her lips to show how wet she already was.
The crotchless lingerie framed her like a gift, the red lace hugging her hips and barely containing her full breasts. “Turn around first—I need to see that ass“ Chan growled, his hand pumping his cock steadily now, the wet slap echoing in his room.
She complied without a word, flipping onto her knees and arching her back, presenting her round cheeks to the camera.
He groaned as she slapped her ass hard, the flesh jiggling enticingly, red blooming on her skin.
She spread her cheeks wide, giving him a glimpse of her tight pussy and the puckered hole above, before turning back and positioning the dildo at her entrance.
Her fingers wrapped around the base, lifting it like an offering as she brought it to her mouth first.
She rubbed the tip against her lips, parting them to let her tongue flick out and lap at the head, swirling wet circles that made it shine. “Mmm, gonna make this taste like your cock“ she murmured, her voice husky as she pressed her mouth down, sucking the shaft deep.
Her cheeks hollowed with each bob, saliva dripping messily down the length, coating it thoroughly in her spit.
She deepthroated it with ease, gagging softly for effect, her throat working around the thickness while her free hand kneaded her breast through the lace.
Chan's strokes quickened, his muscular chest heaving as water trailed down to his V-line, mixing with the pre-cum leaking over his knuckles.
The sight of this faceless stranger worshipping a toy version of him was intoxicating—pure, anonymous filth. “Fuck, that's perfect. Now rub it on your pussy and slide it in deep“ he commanded, his voice rough with need.
She pulled the dildo free with a wet pop, strings of her saliva stretching between her lips and the toy. She teased the slick head along her folds, parting them to reveal her swollen clit and the creamy arousal coating her inner thighs.
She pushed it in slowly, her pussy lips blooming around the girth, stretching taut as she took the first few inches. “Oh shit, it's splitting me open“ she gasped, her hips rolling to work more inside, the toy disappearing inch by veiny inch until her ass rested against her hand.
She started thrusting it with purpose, her walls clenching visibly around it, juices squelching out with every plunge. Her hand moved faster, fucking herself harder, the base slapping against her clit on each downstroke.
To amp it up, she reached up and tugged the lace cups of her lingerie down, freeing her heavy tits.
They spilled out, nipples dark and pebbled, bouncing wildly as she rammed the dildo deeper.
“Look at these tits bouncing for you“ she panted, cupping them and squeezing, pinching the nipples until they ached.
Chan leaned in, his cock throbbing in his fist, the veins bulging as he matched her rhythm. Her breasts jiggled hypnotically with every forceful pump, the dildo pistoning in and out of her sopping pussy, making obscene, wet sounds that filled the call.
She twisted the toy inside, grinding it against her sensitive spots, her body arching off the bed as pleasure coiled tight in her core.
The heat built relentlessly; she shifted positions, straddling the dildo now, mounting it like she would him.
On her knees, she lowered herself onto the full length, her pussy engulfing it completely, tits swaying pendulously as she began to ride. Up and down she went, slow at first to savor the stretch, then faster, her ass cheeks slapping against the base with each descent.
Her hands braced on her thighs, she rode hard, the toy bottoming out inside her, her walls fluttering around it.
Sweat beaded on her skin, making the red lingerie cling transparently to her curves, her exposed breasts heaving and slapping together with the force of her movements.
Chan's abs tightened, his free hand gripping the desk as he jerked off furiously, the tip of his cock flushed dark and slick. This stranger's body was a masterpiece of motion—faceless but utterly devoted to pleasuring him through the screen.
“Ride it harder, make those tits bounce like you want my cum all over them“ he urged, his breath ragged.
She moaned loudly, obliging by slamming down repeatedly, the dildo squelching deep, her pussy creaming around it in thick rivulets that soaked her thighs.
She leaned back slightly, one hand reaching to spread her lips wider, showing him how the toy stretched her, while the other tweaked her nipple, pulling it taut.
The intensity peaked; her rides turned frantic, hips grinding in circles to hit every angle, her body trembling on the edge. “I'm so close—gonna soak this thing thinking of your cock“ she cried, her voice breaking into desperate whines.
Chan felt his balls draw up, the pressure unbearable. “Cum for me, show me how you squirt on it“ he demanded, his strokes blurring.
She shattered first, riding down hard one last time, her pussy convulsing wildly around the dildo as she gushed, clear fluids spraying out around the base, drenching the sheets.
That pushed him over—Chan's orgasm ripped through him, hot ropes of cum erupting from his cock, painting his hand, abs, and even splattering the desk as he groaned low and primal.
They both caught their breath, the air thick with satisfaction. She slowly lifted off the toy, her pussy gaping and pulsing, a trail of her release dripping down.
After the orgasm glow ended, the room fell into a heavy silence.
Chan was still trying to catch his breath, staring at the ceiling like his brain hadn’t caught up to what had just happened yet.
Y/N moved first.
“I—uh—I’m just gonna… clean up,” she mumbled, voice small again, like that confident tone from before had completely disappeared.
She reached to the side, grabbing for some tissues, still a little shaky.
And then—
Her phone slipped.
It hit the surface with a loud thud, tilting forward.
“Fuck—!” she yelped in shock.
Chan flinched at the sudden noise, his own phone slipping down.
It fell.
For a split second, everything froze.
Then—
The screens adjusted.
The cameras shifted.
And suddenly—
They were looking at each other.
Not silhouettes.
Not shadows.
Not usernames.
Real.
Chan’s breath got stuck in his throat.
His eyes widened in pure horror as he stared at the screen.
( 뮤즈 ) ⃕ ωhen chan gets invited to GQ for an interview, he gets to answer online questions from stay — “incognito”. he can’t help that most of the questions he answers, somehow, gets you involved.
এ smau fluff fem reader public relationship idol chan real tweets from real fans chan pov
When Bang Chan's bubbly 4-year-old daughter invades an episode of SKZ code, her wild stories, tiny tears, and endless charm turn seven uncles into instant softies. They swarm to comfort her—fiercely blocking Chan as he watches, heart shattered yet bursting with pride.
❛ ━━━━━━･❪skz❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜
The set of SKZ code was already a whirlwind. When Bang Chan's four-year-old daughter Chaeri toddled onto the set holding his hand, the entire Stray Kids energy shifted. Cameras rolled, but suddenly it felt less like a variety show and more like a family reunion no one knew they needed.
Chaeri was tiny but mighty: big doe eyes, curly pigtails bouncing, and a voice that could fill the room even at whisper volume. The second she spotted the other members, she let go of Chan's hand and ran straight for them with zero hesitation.
“Uncle Jinnie! Uncle Hannie!” she squealed, arms out.
Hyunjin dropped to his knees instantly, dramatic gasp and all. “Princess Chaeri has arrived to bless us peasants!”
She giggled and launched into him for a hug, then immediately turned storyteller mode on. “Uncle 'Jinnie, I dreamed last night that WolfChan flew me to the moon on his fluffy tail! But moon was made of cheese and we ate it all!”
Jisung, who was crouched next to them, clutched his heart. “Yah… that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Moon cheese date confirmed.”
Felix was next—she climbed right into his lap like it was her throne. “Uncle Lixie sunshinee”
Felix melted into a puddle, burying his face in her hair. “Chaeri-yah… you’re gonna make Uncle cry before the cameras even start properly.”
Changbin flexed dramatically. “Uncle Binnie is the strongest, right? I can lift you to the ceiling!”
Chaeri nodded seriously. “Uncle Bin drop me and i’ll turn into a butterfly and fly away forever!”
The members lost it—Seungmin cooing, Jeongin watching everything with heart eyes, Lee Know pretending to be composed while secretly smiling every time she called him “Uncle Minmin.”
Chan watched from a few steps away, arms crossed, trying (and failing) to look cool. “Yah, she’s my daughter, you know. You’re all stealing her.”
Chaeri spent the next half-hour bouncing between them, feeding tiny spoonfuls of jajangmyeon to whoever was closest
“Open wide, Uncle Hannie! This one has magic beans!”
Chaeri started to elaborate tales about dragons who loved kimbap, and declaring that “Appa Chan makes the best cuddles in the whole galaxy.”
Then came the crash.
During a game segment where the kids were supposed to “help” build a block tower, someone accidentally knocked it over.
Chaeri’s tower—her “princess castle with rainbow windows”—tumbled dramatically. Her lower lip wobbled. Big eyes filled with tears. And then the waterworks started.
“Waaah… my castle… it’s broken… the princess has no home now…”
The sound hit like a siren.
Every member froze for half a second before chaos erupted—in the softest, most protective way.
Felix scooped her up first. “Nooo, baby, don’t cry~ Uncle Lixie will build you a bigger castle! With sparkles!”
Hyunjin was right there, wiping her cheeks with his sleeve. “Hey, hey, princess, look—Uncle Hyunjinnie can draw you a new castle right now. What color do you want the towers?”
Jeongin knelt beside her, holding out a stuffed WolfChan. “Chaeri-yah, WolfChan says he’s sorry. He’ll guard the new castle so it never falls again, okay?”
Seungmin started singing a silly made-up lullaby under his breath, voice soft and steady, while Changbin rebuilt the tower at lightning speed, narrating, “See? Super Uncle Bin is fixing everything. Stronger than before!”
Minho—Mr. I’m-Not-Soft—actually crouched down and gently booped her nose. “Yah, don’t cry or Uncle will have to feed you all the jajangmyeon until you’re too full to be sad.”
Chaeri sniffled, tears still rolling, but the sobs were slowing. She reached out blindly.
Chan tried to push through the wall of uncles. “Baby, come here, appa’s got you—”
Minho blocked him with a playful arm. “No way, hyung. Uncles are handling it. You wait your turn.”
Felix turned, still rocking her. “Chan-hyung, you can have her back after we fix this. She needs uncle power right now.”
Chan threw his hands up, laughing despite himself. “You guys are ridiculous. She’s literally my daughter.”
Chaeri peeked through Felix’s shoulder, tear-streaked but smiling a tiny bit now. “Appa… uncles are making it better…”
Chan clutched his chest dramatically. “Betrayed by my own daughter…”
But his eyes were shining—pure, overwhelming fondness. He watched as Chaeri slowly calmed in their arms, the crying turning to hiccups, then giggles as Hyunjin sketched a ridiculous castle with googly-eyed dragons on a piece of paper.
By the end of the episode, Chaeri was perched on Changbin’s shoulders, directing the “grand reopening” of her rebuilt castle, declaring, “Now it has a boat of chocolate milk and a slide made of clouds!”
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The members were wrecked—red ears, soft smiles, hearts visibly exploding. Chan finally got his turn when she toddled over, sleepy from all the excitement, and climbed into his lap.
“Appa,” she mumbled against his chest, “today was the best. Can we play with the uncles again tomorrow?”
Chan kissed the top of her head, voice thick. “Anytime you want, baby.”
Off to the side, Jeongin whispered to Minho, “Hyung… I think we all just got baby fever level 1000.”
Jisung nodded, eyes still on Chaeri and Chan. “Yeah. Chan-hyung never getting full custody back. She’s ours too now.”
Chan overheard and just smiled wider, hugging his little girl tighter.
Later, when the director asked who melted the most, all seven members pointed at each other—and then at Chan.
“She’s our little Stay princess,” Seungmin said simply.
who knew sharing a flat with a literal greek god would involve so much 'extra-curricular practice' ?
pairing: bang chan x reader, roommates to lovers
genre: smut; fluff
warnings: explicit sexual content (minors do not interact)
word count: 4k
kysa's note: this one is — ahem — pretty self indulgent, and let's just say, i have indulged. a lot. it's a tad bit longer than my first fic and it's about my second husband - bang chan (and this is actually about banging chan — okayokay i'll stop) have fun reading and leave your thoughts in the comments, xoxo
is this legal ?
is looking this delectable actually allowed by law ?
these were the only thoughts that fired through your brain, as you stared at the man standing in the doorway of your shared flat. before you could attempt to gather yourself, the literal personification of a greek god introduced himself with a smile. (wait — were those dimples ?)
"hey ! i'm chan," his voice a low melodic hum, "i guess we'll be sharing this flat."
you shuffled your feet awkwardly and offered a smile, "oh- hi ! i'm y/n, it's nice to meet you, uh — chan."
and that was how you ended up sharing a university flat with the most devastatingly handsome man you had ever laid eyes upon.
chan was a great flatmate — exceptional, honestly. he possessed a kindness that felt both effortless and deeply intentional, manifesting in the smallest, sweetest gestures. he would offer to buy your groceries, even arranging them in the pantry. once he learnt about your favourite snacks — always in the grocery list you gave him before thanking him profusely — he'd make sure to keep them stocked. it became a routine; the comforting crinkle of a fresh bag of chips waiting for you, or the silent, sweet reminder of a fresh water bottle left by your bedroom door to ensure you stayed hydrated.
naturally, you did your best to reciprocate. you kept the common areas spotless and grabbed his favorite coffee on your way home. you’d pick up little things here and there — a candle he liked the scent of, or a new dish soap — hoping your actions spoke louder than your words. but mostly, you tried to be a 'good' flatmate by hiding the massive crush you had developed on him.
was it really your fault though ?
was any human being actually designed to withstand this much temptation ?
he was just the perfect blend of genuine kindness and pure devastation. it was impossible for you to function with him in your line of sight. when he lounged around in a tank top, it was like a master class in human anatomy — every muscle sculpted and defined. and god bless whoever invented the compression shirts he wore for his gym sessions, because wow — the way the fabric clung to his frame should have been a public health hazard. then there was the way he’d just settle onto the sofa, knees wide, manspreading. it was enough to make your brain short-circuit every single time. you had never felt this distracted, this enamoured by someone, but he — he was all you could think about. in a flat meant for two, chan had somehow managed to take up every inch of your headspace.
but you couldn't bring yourself to act on it.
of course the guy was a fucking michelin star meal and you'd love to eat him up — but you were convinced he was just being the world’s nicest guy. you weren't about to ruin a perfectly good living situation because you were delusional. your heart was screaming for him, but your logic was playing it safe.
today was supposed be no different. the lectures had been long and you were exhausted, to say the least. since chan was usually stuck in his own classes at this time, you figured the apartment was your private sanctuary. you had traded your denims and jacket for a soft oversized shirt with nothing underneath, heading to the bathroom to wash your face.
but as you turned towards the sink, your brain short-circuited. your eyes hit a pair of solid, damp legs first. before you could even process why there was a person in your 'empty' home, your gaze traveled upwards, and —
oh.
chan stood in front of you, fresh out of the shower with nothing but a towel hanging dangerously low around his waist. his blonde wet hair was slicked back as tiny droplets of water were racing down his torso, tracing the deep, insane curves of his muscles before disappearing into the folds of the towel.
you were pretty sure you were salivating.
in fact, you were reasonably certain your soul had actually left your body and was currently vibrating somewhere on the bathroom ceiling.
mortified by the fact that you were blatantly staring, you snapped out of the stupor. a string of frantic, nonsensical apologies tumbled from your lips as you bolted for your room, slamming the door shut with a deafening thud.
the next day, you changed your entire routine to avoid him at all costs. you left for university before he woke up and returned when he had left for his late-evening gym sessions. you couldn't bare to meet his eyes and you needed distraction from the mental loop of his damp, glistening skin.
so you drowned yourself in academics, joined debate club, and loaded yourself with every co-curricular possible. slowly and gradually, you became a ghost in your own house, even timing your bathroom and kitchen runs so as to not run into him.
but your body was a complete traitor to the cause. the ache between your legs was constant — a heavy, pulsing reminder — that your self-control was hanging by a thread. it got so bad you had to start wearing a bra at home because your nipples would literally perk up the second you heard his voice.
chan would try to catch you, his brow furrowing as you’d give him a quick, breathless smile before rushing to your room. little did he know, you were terrified that if he said your name in that low, honeyed tone — if he even stepped an inch too close — you’d actually moan right there over the toaster. even your own fingers were unable to ease this ever-present tension.
you had to do something. anything.
and you did.
you ordered a dildo.
a dildo — based on your entirely unintentional mental measurements from the shower incident.
it became your nightly ritual — your reward for a day of acting like his presence didn't wreck you. you would wait for the tell-tale sound of the front door clicking shut as he headed to the gym, and then you’d finally let yourself go. it was the only way to flush the tension out of your system, a desperate attempt to reset your brain so you could wake up the next morning and pretend you weren't dying to have the real thing.
then he posted on instagram.
a video of him working out.
bare chested.
the way that this man managed to find you despite all your attempts to evade him was fucking hilarious. by the time your last lecture ended, you were a wreck. sitting through a double-period of microeconomic theory while your skin felt three sizes too small, was a brand of hell you wouldn't wish on anyone. you practically ran home, bolted into your room, and reached for the silicone substitute. it wasn't him — it could never be him — but it was the only relief you had.
you kicked off your sweatpants, falling back onto the bed and shoving your underwear aside. wetting your fingers, you worked to spread your own slick, the friction of your touch only making the ache worse.
"mmmmh — fuck fuck fuck — chaaaaan," you whimpered into the mattress, your voice cracking as you shoved the silicone deep, trying to mimic the heavy, rhythmic stretch you craved. in delusion of taking him in one go, impressing him, what slipped your mind was the amount of time that had passed.
you didn't hear the front door.
you didn't hear the heavy thud of his gym bag.
as chan unlocked the door of the apartment, he couldn't help but think about the last time he had seen you, let aside talk. as he walked past your bedroom door, he froze. a series of sounds filtered through the wood—stifled, breathless moans, to be precise.
he knew he should walk away.
he knew he shouldn't linger by your door.
he knew he definitely shouldn't look for the slight, accidental gap in the doorframe.
but it didn't stop him.
and how fucking glad he was for that lapse in judgement.
because the view that met him was nothing short of ethereal.
you were sprawled on the bed, hands between your plush thighs. he watched in awe, as your juices dripped onto the sheets from your glistening folds.
you were burying a dildo deep inside your pussy.
well, 'burying' was an understatement — you were ramming the silicone into your cunt, your hips arching off the mattress as you babbled something incoherent into the pillows. your expression was a blurred mask of ecstasy and ache, hanging somewhere between heaven and hell.
chan stood rooted to the spot, his lungs burning as he tried to catch the broken syllables falling from your lips. he strained to listen, his heart hammering against his ribs until — finally — the sound crystallized.
"— aaan, ch-chan — oh fuuuck — nghhhh," your muffled moans tore through the quiet of the room.
the realisation hit him like a physical blow.
chan had spent weeks wondering why you were so painfully shy around him. he had seen you with your friends — laughing, vibrant, and quick-witted. he had even sat in the back of the lecture hall during your last debate, watching in awe as you stood perfectly confident, articulate, and eloquent.
so why did you turn into a mumbling, avoiding mess the second he entered a room ? why did your words always fail you when it came to him ?
looking at you now, hearing the way you sobbed his name into the mattress, the answer finally clicked.
you weren't afraid of him.
you were starving for him.
the same girl who sat in the library for hours, head tucked over a textbook, was now squirming at the thought of him over her.
the same girl who spoke with such fierce intelligence at the debate podium was currently ruining herself to the thought of him railing her into oblivion.
the same girl who had become a ghost in their shared home was moaning his name into a lonely mattress.
the same girl chan had fallen for was shoving a dildo inside herself, wishing it was him.
yes — chan had fallen. hard.
at first, it had been simple, friendly affection. but then he saw the quiet, caring way you moved through his life. he noticed the way you’d bring him coffee without being asked, the way you genuinely listened when he talked about his day, and how you kept the apartment feeling like a home. you would cook his favorite meals when he was stressed and tell him to rest in that soft, sweet voice of yours whenever he overdid it at the gym.
then, weeks ago, he had heard a faint moan through the walls. it had been the most intoxicating sound he’d ever heard. ever since that night, he had been haunted by it, silently praying that one day, you would finally let his name slip past your lips in that same tone.
that day had finally come.
and chan was beyond elated.
he slowly moved into the room and settled on the chair opposite to the bed. his hand subconsciously moved to his bulge, as he drank in the sights of you. oblivious to this audience, you continued to chase your peak, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back.
all of a sudden, the dildo — absolutely covered in your slick — slipped out of your hand.
your eyes flew open as you reached out for it, but the breath left your lungs the moment you saw him. you were met with chan's sultry gaze locked onto you — or rather — onto your cunt.
"c-chan," you scrambled to sit upright gasping as you squeezed your thighs shut and snatched the discarded blanket to cover yourself. you fumbled the toy behind your back, your heart hammering against your ribs. "w-what are you d-doing here ?"
"i heard a sound — my name," he rasped, his voice vibrating with hunger, "my name — dropping from your lips."
"i-it's n-not what it l-looks like —,' you stuttered, as you tried to claw back some shred of dignity.
"what is it then, sweetheart ?" he purred, as he rose from the chair with a fluid, lethal grace, closing the distance between the seat and the edge of your mattress.
you tried to scramble for an excuse — any lie that could explain why you were moaning his name in the dark — but every thought evaded you. under the weight of his stare, your mind was totally blank. when the silence stretched on, his eyebrow quirked up, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
"i'll tell you sweetheart — ," chan breathed raggedly, coming to hover over you that made you instinctively shrink back into the pillows. his hand reached out behind your back to retrieve the pink silicone, slippery from being buried in your pussy for so long. he brought it up, holding it inches from your face, "you were stuffing your sweet little pussy with this, imagining it was me who was thrusting into you, weren't you ?"
a hot, involuntary blush crept up your neck as your breath hitched. it was maddening — how were you more on edge from his words alone than you had been with the toy ? your brain was short-circuiting, unable to fathom a single lie.
you whispered, "m-maybe — ", holding your breath in hopes of easing the tension in the room.
"aww — i'll give you the real thing, sweetheart," he cooed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "but i need a promise."
at this point, you would have given him your soul, if he had asked for it.
"i need you to throw this thing away, hm ? — ," he said, tossing the pink silicone aside with a dull thud against the carpet, "— if you need anything in that pretty pussy, you come straight to me. i'll give you anything you need — my fingers, my tongue, my cock — okay sweetheart ?"
every word in your vocabulary evaporated instantly. the only thing left in your brain was a frantic, rhythmic yes-yes-yes-yes-yes. you nodded quickly, your body practically vibrating with the need for him to follow through.
to chan, you were fucking adorable. even in the most compromising situation of your life, you were all pink and bashful, staring at your hands like they were the most interesting thing on the planet.
"you'll be the death of me — you know that ?" he groaned, a softness lacing his words, his head thrown back, the veins in his neck strained as he fought for a shred of his own self-control.
you were hit with another bout of shyness, unable to meet his gaze. you felt raw, exposed, and entirely at his mercy. he leaned forward, the mattress dipping under his weight. one hand reached out to tenderly cup your face, his palm warm against your flushed skin, while his other hand found the curve of your waist, anchoring you to him.
"can i kiss you, sweetheart ?" he murmured, caressing your cheek with his thumb.
you whispered, "y-yes, please".
chan tasted like coffee and raspberries — a sharp, sweet addiction. his lips met yours in a searing kiss that swallowed your gasp whole. as your mouths moved in tandem, your skin prickled with a sudden, electric heat. when his tongue swept into your mouth, you couldn't help but arch into him, seeking more of that friction. his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against his solid frame as your tongues swirled together in a feverish dance. he caught your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it until you were dizzy.
the kiss broke, but only so his lips could trail a path down your throat. you bared your neck for him, your head falling back as you exhaled a shaky, broken breath.
then, the hand cupping your jaw began its slow, torturous descent. it traveled down your abdomen, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt until he hiked it up, baring you to the cool air. the second his bare skin finally made contact with your dripping heat, you went dizzy with pleasure.
"oh fuuuuuuuuck", chan growled sinfully, gazing at you as your juices coated his fingers, "is this all for me — sweetheart?"
"y-yes channie —", you mewled desperately, the nickname slipping out in a desperate, broken breath as your hips bucked into him instinctively, " — all f'you, always."
"such a needy fucking baby" chan chuckled, softly tapping your cunt before abruptly pulling his hand away, making you whine audibly.
before you could beg protest, you heard the sound of a zipper sliced through the air. you watched mesmerized as chan discarded his denim and shirt in a few fluid motions, standing before you in nothing but his boxers.
you were certain you were drooling.
while you were busy worshiping his immaculate frame with your eyes, chan moved. he gripped your thighs with a strength that left no room for argument, dragging you toward him until you were perched at the very edge of the mattress. then, he reached into his boxers and freed himself.
the dildo had been a joke. a pale, static imitation.
he was jacked.
his cock was heavy and stone-hard, already weeping a bead of stray precum that you desperately wanted to catch with your tongue. the sight of the broad mushroom tip and the thick, pulsing vein mapping the underside was enough to make your brain malfunction.
chan bent forward, his fingers firm as he grasped your chin and tilted your head back. your lips met in a ferocious, hungry kiss—one that tasted of long-overdue desperation. while he kept you anchored to his mouth, his other hand worked the buttons of your shirt with a frantic precision. when the fabric finally gave way, freeing your breasts, he pulled back just enough to swallow hard at the sight.
"you're out of this world," he whispered, reverantly, as he pressed sweet kisses to your breasts, sucking and biting at the nipples, " just ethereal, sweetheart."
as he leaned over you, his cock grazed against your wet pussy. the contact was electric, a sliding friction that made you bite your lip so hard you tasted copper as you struggled to hold back a shattered moan.
"ch-chan, p-please—p-pleaseeee," you nearly sobbed, your body trembling because he was right there, so close, yet still not where you needed him to be.
"you look so pretty begging — fuck — i'll give it to you, yea ? baby has been so good — fuck, such a good, patient baby." he gripped his length, deliberately rubbing the broad head against your sensitive folds, making you squirm and whimper against the sheets.
"can you take it, sweetheart ?," his silky voice wrapped around you, "can your little pussy really take all of me ?"
oh he would be the cause of your fucking demise — you were certain.
you choked back a sob, a desperate whine vibrating in your throat, "mmmh yesss — p-practised for you c-channie — p-practised to take y-you in one go."
chan’s breath hitched, and for a second, he looked like he was about to cum just from your words.
you had practiced.
for him.
he swore in that moment, he was hopelessly in love.
"yeah ? thank you, sweetheart," he cooed, his eyes darkening with a mix of affection and raw lust. he caressed your lower lip, slipping his thumb inside your mouth, and you instinctively parted your lips to take him in. "shall we put that practice to use now ?"
"fuckfuckfuckfuck — jesus fucking christ — you're so wet, baby, so good" chan groaned as he thrust into you, his cock diving into your wet cunt and good god, your soul might just have ascended. the stretch was agonizingly perfect and his veins provided a friction against your walls that no silicone could ever replicate.
"s'big s'big — nnnnnnnghh — so fuckin' big c-channie," you sobbed, suckling desperately on his thumb as your nails dug crescents in his shoulders.
"yea ? feels good sweetheart, hm ?" he grunted, panting as he continued to slam his cock into you. he used both hands to wrench your thighs even wider, making sure he could bottom out with every punishing, beautiful thrust.
"so good c-channie — ca-can feel you in my stomach — ohhhh goddd," you moaned loudly, breathless with the feeling of him against your fucking cervix.
with every thrust, you could slowly feel the coil of pleasure tighten in your abdomen. clinging harder to him, you frantically mewled, "c-close chan — fuuuuuck — i'm g-gonna c-cummmm."
the confession was all the motivation he needed. he sped up, hitting you with an unparalleled force that made the headboard rattle against the wall. he could feel his own orgasm looming as your walls began to pulse, sucking him in with a desperate, rhythmic grip.
"cum for me sweetheart, give it to me," chan panted, as he felt you tightening around him, "just like that baby, cream my cock — fucking christ — yes baby, yes."
the coil finally snapped. a blinding wave of pleasure enveloped you as your orgasm hit, your internal muscles clenching around him in a frantic, liquid sequence. you felt chan’s pace falter, his breath hitching as he reached his own limit.
"sweetheart, my baby — fuuuuuck i'm close." he huffed, his grip on your thighs tightening until his knuckles were white.
"give it to me channie — need your cum in me, baby — please pleaseeee," you whimpered, craddling his face in your hands.
you egged him on, your voice a broken whisper as you helped him chase the peak.
chan looked down into your eyes, his gaze softening with a sudden, overwhelming heat as he saw you smiling through tear-stained eyes and swollen lips. the sight was his undoing. fire pooled in his abdomen and he let out a low, guttural growl as his cum spurted inside you, coating your walls. you couldn't help but feel your eyes roll into the back of your skull as you felt him fill you to the brim.
the silence was heavy, broken only by both of you trying to catch your breath. chan lingered for a minute, his forehead resting against yours, before he slowly pulled out.
the loss of him was immediate, and you couldn't help the small, needy whine that came out as he moved. you just lay there, dazed, watching as a mess of him and you started to coat your thighs.
"i've got you, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice still low and raspy.
he grabbed a warm, damp washcloth from the bathroom. he took his time cleaning you up, his hands gentle as he wiped your skin. he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered — and for him, you were.
when you were finally tucked under the covers together, chan pulled you into his chest. his thumb was just tracing patterns on your skin as your hands carded through his hair.
"you know i've wanted you for a long time, right?" he said, his voice low. "the coffee, the snacks — i-i was trying to get your attention." you hid your face in his neck. "it worked. clearly." he chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest. "good. because i've been losing my mind living with you and not being able to touch you."
chan pulled back just enough to look at you. "so... we’re not just roommates anymore, right ? i want you to be my girlfriend. for real."
you looked up at him and finally smiled. "yeah. i'd like that."
"good," he whispered, leaning down to kiss you again, those dimples finally showing. "no more hiding in your room then."
Pairing: Bangchan x afab!reader
Genre: smut smut smut no minors pls! (Includes phone sex, voyeurism vibes, masturbation, cam streaming, sex toy use)🔞
Summary: There’s one site you keep going back to. No matter how hard you try to stay away, you find yourself back on your bed, laptop glowing, hands between your legs.
Wc: 8k
Enjoy reading <33 If you want any specific ideas tell me and I will see what I can do!
A/N: I feel like my fics r long but i feel like i am unable to write a short one lmao. Maybe i should write rlly short ones to get used to not yapping.. idk tho 🤔 (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ
☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...
✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧
The keyboard clicked under Bangchan’s fingers. His setup was simple but effective, a decent microphone, soft ring lighting, and a webcam. He leaned back slightly in his chair, stretching his arms overhead with a lazy grin.
"Alright, alright. I see you, user... uh—" He squinted at the screen, then snorted. "'BigDaddyBitch69'? Really?“
The chat exploded with laughter emojis and rapid fire messages. Chan scrolled through them, fingers occasionally pausing to tap out quick responses between bites of cold pizza. His apartment smelled vaguely of reheated leftovers and that lemon-scented cleaner he'd use constantly.
The username ‘BigDaddyBitch69’ had been a joke, a stupid, sleep-deprived decision made at 3 AM after your friends shoved their phones in your face, giggling about this "ridiculous cam site." You searched it later alone, purely to mock it, to screenshot the absurd usernames and over the top thumbnails to send back to the group chat. But then the algorithm served you him, Bangchan, smirking at the camera with a half-empty energy drink, and the sharp cut of his jawline under shitty LED strips.
The pizza crust cracked audibly between Chan's teeth as he tugged absently at the hem of his shirt, still chewing. "Y'know what," he announced to the camera, swallowing hard, "This shirt is a bit restricting.." He peeled the fabric up over his head, revealing a torso that was unfairly toned for someone who'd just inhaled three slices of pizza. The shirt landed somewhere off-camera with a soft thwap.
Chat lost its collective mind. Emojis and donation alerts flooded the screen, he had to squint against the sudden barrage of rainbow colored notifications. Chan smirked, licking a smear of grease from his thumb. "Relax, relax," he drawled, leaning forward just enough to make the shadows dance along his collarbones. "It's not like you guys haven't seen me shirtless before. Unless—" He feigned shock, clutching his chest. "Wait. Are there newbies here? Should I be scandalized?"
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, too aware of how rough the keys felt under your fingertips, before finally tapping out a donation message. The screen flashed pink as Bangchan's eyebrows shot up at the amount, his lips parting slightly before curling into that infuriatingly perfect smirk. "Oh? Someone's feeling generous tonight," he purred, dragging a fingertip lazily along the waistband of his sweatpants. The fabric dipped dangerously low, revealing the faint shadow of his hipbones.
You shifted against the pillows, thighs pressing together as warmth pooled low in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really, how the simple flex of his forearm when he reached for his water bottle could make your breath hitch.
The cursor blinked mockingly in the donation message box as Chan’s voice dripped through your headphones like honey. "What do you want from me, my darling?"
The chat was a frenzy of suggestions, some filthy, some absurd, but your fingers twitched, hesitating. Because the truth was, you knew what you wanted. You’d imagined it a hundred times, his hands, his mouth, the way his sweatpants would feel under your palms if you could just—
The screen flashed pink again. Your donation. Your demand.
Chan’s smirk deepened as he read your donation message aloud, his voice dropping into that low, teasing register that always made your pulse stutter. "’Please give us a view of everything…’” He repeated the words slowly, as if savoring them, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair.
"Everything, huh?" He arched a brow, tilting his head just enough to let the light catch the curve of his throat. "That’s a tall order, doll. You sure you can handle it?"
You didn’t breathe. The screen blurred for a second, your fingers gripping the edge of your laptop as Chan pushed back from the desk with deliberate slowness. The chair creaked, and then he was standing, one hand hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants while the other braced against the back of the chair. The fabric dipped lower, revealing the sharp V of his hips, the faint trail of dark hair leading downward and teasing, always teasing. "You’re the highest bidder," he murmured, "Guess I owe you a proper show."
You couldn’t help yourself, donating again, message hornier than the last. “I would love to fuck you 7 days a week.”
The words glowed on the screen for half a second before Chan's laughter, warm and startled filled your headphones. "Seven days a week?" He dragged a hand through his hair, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Bold. You'd get sick of me by Wednesday."
"Though.." he added, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, "I wouldn't get sick of you."
Your next donation notification chimed before he could finish the thought. Chan's eyes flicked to the amount, then back up, his smirk turning predatory. "Oh? Now you're just showing off." He stood in one fluid motion, the sweatpants hanging precariously low as he stepped closer to the camera. The lens caught the sweat gleaming at the hollow of his throat, the way his breath hitched, just slightly when he glanced at your username again. "Tell you what," he murmured, fingers toying with the drawstring of his pants. "Since you're feeling invested—"
Chan’s fingers lingered on the drawstring, tugging it loose with agonizing slowness. The fabric slackened further, dipping low enough to reveal the faintest shadow of skin beneath. The chat was a wildfire now, emojis and demands scrolling too fast to read, but Chan’s gaze never wavered from the camera from you.
"Why don't we make this interesting?" He tilted his head,
"Double the donation, and I'll—" His grin sharpened. "—lose the pants."
Your fingers moved before your brain caught up, the donation notification flashing red this time, twice the amount he'd asked for. The chat erupted into chaos, but Chan's laugh cut through, rich and delighted. "Fuck, you're eager." He hooked both thumbs into the waistband, the fabric clinging stubbornly for a heartbeat before finally sliding down his hips. The tease of it was unbearable, the way he paused just to watch the chat lose its collective mind, the way his abs flexed as he arched his back slightly, dragging the sweatpants down inch by torturous inch.
The sweatpants hit the floor with a soft whisper and Chan bit his lip. His grin was all teeth, all victory, as he kicked the discarded pants aside with one bare foot. "Happy?" he purred, spreading his arms slightly, letting the stream drink in the sight of him. The waistband of his boxers clung low, the fabric straining just enough to outline the shape of him, and you could see the faint tremor in his thighs as he shifted his weight, like even he wasn't entirely immune to the tension crackling through the screen.
The chat was a blur of emojis and screaming capitals, but Chan's eyes flickered to your username again, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to genuine warmth. "Someone's quiet," he murmured, tapping the side of his headset as if he could hear the way your breath had gone shallow. "Cat got your tongue, or are you too busy appreciating the view?" He rolled his hips just slightly, the motion lazy and calculated, and you could see the way his boxers strained tighter, could see the damp spot already forming at the front.
The donation notification flashed gold this time, triple the usual amount and Chan's breath audibly hitched. His fingers, which had been idly tracing the waistband of his boxers, froze mid-motion. The chat went eerily silent for half a second before exploding into a frenzy, but Chan barely glanced at it. His gaze locked onto the screen like he could see through the pixels straight to you, his lips parting around a slow exhale. "I need you," your message read, simple and raw, and something in his posture shifted the playful arrogance melting into something hotter, heavier.
Your fingers twitched against the keyboard, then slid away, down, lower, almost without your permission as Chan’s breath hitched audibly through the headphones. The sound was rough, ragged, like he’d been running, and your palm pressed flat against your stomach before dipping beneath the waistband of your own shorts. Fuck. The fabric was already damp, your skin overheated, and you bit your lip hard as Chan’s voice curled through the speakers: "That’s what you want?" His fingers traced the outline of himself through the thin fabric of his boxers, slow and deliberate, and your own fingers mirrored the motion without thought, your body moving on autopilot, chasing the same rhythm.
The chat was a blur of motion, but Chan wasn’t looking at it anymore. His gaze was fixed on the camera, his pupils blown wide, dark enough to drown in.
The chair creaked under Chan’s weight as he lowered himself back into it, his fingers hovered at the waistband of his boxers for a heartbeat, before he hooked his thumbs into the fabric and tugged. The elastic snapped against his hips, then gave way, and the boxers slid down just enough to free his cock, already hard and flushed against his stomach. Chan exhaled sharply through his nose, his smirk faltering for half a second before settling into something darker, more intimate. "There," he murmured, dragging a hand lazily along his length, his fingers gliding over the slickness already beading at the tip. "Happy now?"
The chat was a mess of emojis and down bad people, but Chan’s gaze flicked to your username, his lips curving into a smirk that was equal parts challenge and invitation. His fingers tightened around himself, stroking once, twice, the motion slow enough to make your own breath stutter.
The screen flashed pink again then again, then red, gold, a rapid-fire of notifications as the chat erupted into a bidding war. Chan's smirk wavered for a fraction of a second, his fingers pausing mid-stroke as the numbers ticked higher, the amounts scrolling too fast to read. Someone had just tripled your donation. Then quadrupled. Then—
"Fuck," Chan breathed, his laugh strained at the edges as he dragged his free hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "You guys are determined tonight." His hips arched slightly off the chair, his cock twitching against his palm as another gold notification popped up, five times your last donation, his breath hitched audibly. The chat was a blur of usernames and money signs, but Chan’s gaze flicked back to the camera, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted around a shaky exhale. "Someone’s feeling competitive," he purred, though his voice cracked halfway through, betraying the effect it was having on him.
Your fingers fumbled for your phone while your other hand stayed buried beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, knuckles brushing damp fabric. The screen lit up with a fresh notification as you tapped in the amount, your thumb hovering over the send button for half a second before committing. The payment went through with a soft chime, and Chan’s head snapped up like he’d been electrocuted, his fingers tightening reflexively around himself. "Don’t stop what you’re doing," your message read, his laugh came out breathless, ragged at the edges.
"Bossy," Chan murmured, but his hand moved again, slow and deliberate, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock in. The camera caught the way his abs flexed, the sweat-slick dip of his collarbones, and you imagined the heat of his skin under your palms, the way his pulse would hammer against your lips if you dragged your tongue along his throat right now.
“You like watching me like this?" he asked, his voice dropping into a deep rasp.
Chan’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze flicking between the chat and the camera with lazy amusement. His fingers never stopped moving, but his smirk softened into something almost tender as he read the latest flood of donations aloud. “BigDaddyBitch69—still holding strong, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head before his eyes locked onto your username, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
The chat exploded with heart emojis and exaggerated horny messages, but Chan ignored them, his focus narrowing in on you like you were the only one in the room. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his skin glistening under the soft glow of the ring light. “Seriously, though,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that private, husky register that made your stomach flip. “Thank you. All of you.” His fingers slowed, his touch slowing as he stroked himself.
The donation notification chimed softly, the words, “Thank you Chan.." flashing pink across the screen. Chan’s fingers stilled mid-stroke, his smirk faltering for a heartbeat before softening into something dangerously genuine. He exhaled through his nose, his chest rising slowly as he leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "You’re thanking me?" he murmured. His thumb brushed absently over the head of his cock, smearing precum in a slow circle. "Darling, you’re the one who just funded my next holiday."
The chat erupted into a chorus of “AWWWW" and heart emojis, but Chan barely glanced at them. His gaze stayed fixed on your profile, his free hand lifting to tap the side of his headset like he could pull you closer through the screen. "Seriously," he added, quieter now.
“You don’t have to—" He broke off with a shaky laugh as another donation notification popped up "For the holidays then.” His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock twitching against his palm. "Fuck," he breathed, his smirk returning, sharper now. "You’re gonna ruin me."
Chan's breathing hitched as his strokes quickened, the rhythm turning erratic, sharp snaps of his wrist that made his abs tense. The ring light caught every twitch of muscle. You could see the moment his control slipped, his fingers tightening just shy of rough, his hips lifting off the chair with each upward drag. The chat was a blur of motion, but you barely registered it, your own fingers mirroring his pace beneath your waistband, sticky and desperate.
"Fuck—" Chan's voice cracked, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk like an anchor. His bicep flexed as he braced himself, his gaze locked onto the camera like he could feel the weight of your attention like a physical touch. “You’re watching me," he rasped, not a question but a statement.
Chan's moans punched through the headphones low, ragged, barely held together and your fingers twitched in response, pressing harder against yourself as if you could chase the sound deeper. He arched off the chair, his throat working around another broken noise, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "Fuck, fuck—" His voice shattered into a gasp, his hips stuttering forward into his fist, the motion desperate now. The camera caught the way his eyelashes fluttered, the sweat-damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead as he tipped his head back. You imagined biting there, marking him, and your own breath caught sharply, your thighs pressing together involuntarily.
"You sound so good," you typed, the words blurring slightly as your fingers trembled over the keys. Chan's eyes snapped open at the notification, his gaze locking onto the screen like he could see straight through the pixels to where you were sprawled across your bed.
"Thank you.." Chan moans out, voice cracking around the edges as his fingers tightened around himself. The camera caught the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. "Can I cum yet, BigDaddyBitch69?"
You couldn’t help but giggle at your ridiculous username flashing across the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard with a hastily typed “Yes i want to see you.”
Chan’s laugh punched through the headphones, low, breathless, already way too wrecked as he read your message aloud. "Yes I want to see you," he echoed, his voice curling around the words like he was tasting them. His fingers twisted lazily around his cock, thumb swiping over the head just to watch the way his hips jerked involuntarily. "Fuck, you’re so demanding tonight," he murmured, but there was no bite to it.
His hips jerked forward, the motion uncontrolled, desperate, and the camera caught every twitch of muscle as his control unraveled. "Urghh—" His voice cracked, breaking into a groan as his thumb swiped roughly over the head of his cock, spreading the slickness there. "You like that?" he gasped, his gaze locked onto the camera like he could see the way your own fingers were moving beneath your waistband. "You like watching me fall apart?"
"God—fuck—" His voice shattered as the groans echoed off his walls.
The first spurt caught Chan by surprise a hot, messy stripe across his stomach that made his breath punch out in a ragged groan. His fingers tightened reflexively, milking himself through it as another thick pulse followed, splattering over his knuckles and dripping down onto his thighs. The camera caught every twitch of his abs, every shuddering gasp as he rode it out, his hips jerking weakly into his own grip. The way he came was so dirty, squirting everywhere almost too perfectly.
"Mhmm—" His voice cracked, the word dissolving into a moan as his head tipped back against the chair, throat working uselessly around the aftershocks. Cum glistened on his skin, his fingers trembled where they still loosely circled his cock, squeezing out the last few drops.
Chan groaned, his fingers slipping off the keyboard as another shudder ran through him. "Shit—got it on the keyboard," he muttered, breathless, reaching blindly for the towel draped over the back of his chair. The fabric landed with a damp thwump over his stomach, and he exhaled sharply through his nose as he wiped himself clean, the motions lazy but efficient. The camera caught the way his abs twitched under the rough drag of the towel, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.
He scrubbed half heartedly at the keyboard sticky with more than just energy drink spills now, before tossing the towel somewhere off-screen with a tired chuckle. "Fuckin' mess," he murmured.
You'd been clenching your thighs together, fingers circling just there with torturous slowness, trying to drag it out, trying to match the rhythm of Chan’s lazy strokes on-screen. But then his breath hitched, ragged and broken, and his name tumbled from your lips like a plea, your hips jerked involuntarily, your fingers pressing too hard, too fast.
The orgasm ripped through you suddenly, your back arching off the mattress as your thighs trembled. You hadn’t meant to, hadn’t wanted to yet, but the sound of Chan moaning for you, the way his voice cracked around the edges, undid you completely. The laptop screen blurred as your vision whited out, your free hand clutching at the sheets like an anchor while warmth flooded your stomach, your fingers, the sticky mess between your thighs.
You breathe out, slow and shaky, fingers still curled into the damp fabric of your sweatpants as the aftershocks hum through your veins. The laptop screen flickers, Chan wiping his stomach with the towel, his smirk lazy but satisfied, but your focus wavers, heartbeat thudding in your ears louder than his post-orgasm chuckle.
Chan leaned back in his chair with a groan, the leather creaking under his weight as he stretched his arms overhead. The muscles in his abdomen flexed under the soft glow of the ring light, still glistening faintly from the towel he'd used moments earlier. There was a glint in his eyes, something mischievous, as he tapped the keyboard to bring up the stream schedule overlay. "Alright, degenerates," he announced, voice still rough around the edges, "Tomorrow’s Genshin stream. Got some... new toys." His grin widened, sharp enough to cut glass. "You guys should tune in."
The chat exploded into a frenzy of questions, but Chan just winked, dragging a hand through his hair.
The thought of Chan teasing his audience tomorrow, those knowing smirks, the way his fingers would linger just a little too long on the controller, made your thighs press together involuntarily. Your sweatpants were still damp, the fabric clinging uncomfortably, but the heat pooled low in your stomach. You imagined him leaning into the camera, that half-smile playing at his lips as he pretended to focus on the game, all while his free hand dipped below the desk just far enough to make the chat lose its collective mind.
"Thank you for tonight guys.. i’ll see you whores tomorrow.." Chan grinned, winking into the camera as his fingers hovered over the stream's end button. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "Don’t miss me too much.”
The chat spammed crying emojis and demands for "five more minutes," but Chan just laughed, warm and breathless, as he reached for his water bottle. His gaze flicked to your username one last time before the screen went black.
You sighed, pressing your forehead against the cool edge of your headboard. The glow of Chan’s offline stream banner cast a faint blue haze over your tangled sheets. Embarrassment prickled at the back of your neck, not just for the username, not just for the donations, but for the way your fingers still twitched against your thigh like they hadn’t gotten the memo that the show was over. Again. For the third night this week.
Downstairs, your roommate’s muffled laughter seeped through the floorboards. Normal people had post-dinner conversations. You had post-cum shame with a side of PayPal receipts.
Your phone buzzed against the mattress, the screen lighting up with a notification that wasn’t from PayPal this time. You blinked at it, still half-dazed, Unknown Number and swiped it open before your brain could catch up.
Unknown: Enjoy the show?
Your thumb hovered over the notification for seconds before your brain caught up. Chan? The thought flickered and died, obviously a scam.
Some bot probably scraping donation receipts. You snorted, tossing the phone onto the rumpled comforter. As if Bangchan would actually—
Your phone buzzed again, sharp, insistent and this time, the screen lit up with a photo attachment. The thumbnail was too small to make out details, but the shape was unmistakably human.
Fingers shaking, you tapped the image.
The photo loaded in agonizing increments, first the blurred curve of a shoulder, then the sharp shape of a collarbone still glistening with sweat. Your breath caught when you took in the picture fully, Chan’s torso, lit by the familiar blue glow of his ring light, a fresh bruise blooming just above his hipbone where his thumb had dug in too hard. The caption beneath it read, 'Forgot to show you this.'
Your phone clattered onto the mattress as you scrambled upright, heart hammering against your ribs. This wasn’t possible. Streamers didn’t text donors. Especially not with that photo, still damp at the edges like he’d snapped it right after wiping himself down. You stared at the screen until the pixels burned into your vision, half expecting the message to vanish like some sleep-deprived hallucination.
Your fingers trembled as you typed,
Y/N: Who is this?
and sent it before you could second guess yourself. The reply came instantly, as if he'd been waiting with his thumbs hovering over the screen.
Unknown: Guess.
You snorted, thumb jabbing at the screen with exaggerated disbelief.
Y/N: This isn’t real. 🙄
The mattress creaked as you shifted, knees pressing together under the tangled sheets. "Nice try, scammer," you muttered to the empty room, tossing your phone onto the pillow like it had personally offended you.
Your phone buzzed again before it even hit the pillow, two rapid-fire vibrations that mumbled against the fabric. You snatched it up.
First, the familiar white fabric of Chan’s tank top clenched between his teeth. Chan’s head tilted back, his shirt pulled up just enough to expose the flexed abs, still gleaming faintly from the stream. The message beneath was a single, devastating word.
Unknown: Proof.
Y/N: Proof my ass.
you muttered out loud again, thumb jamming into the screen with enough force to crack the glass protector. The words felt clumsy, too loud in the silence of your bedroom but you sent them anyway.
Y/N: Literally anyone could’ve screenshot the stream and cropped it.
The notification popped up with a soft ping. A video attachment this time, the thumbnail a blur of motion that made your pulse stutter. You hesitated before tapping it.
The video loaded, Chan leaned back in his chair, his tank top riding up just enough to tease again. He grinned at the camera, cocky and triumphant, his fingers tapping idly against his bare thigh. "My god, princess," he murmured, voice rough with post-orgasm smugness. "You are impossible to convince."
His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, the motion deliberately slow. "Hello, BigDaddyBitch69," he added.
You buried your head instantly into your pillow, the fabric muffling your scream as Chan’s voice, real, alive, impossibly his, through your phone speakers.
The phone vibrated violently in your hand, not a text, not a photo, but an actual call, Unknown number flashing across the screen. Your thumb hovered over the accept button, your pulse hammering loud enough to drown out the ringing. ‘Answer it.’ your brain screamed. ‘Throw it out the window’, your dignity countered.
You answered on the fifth ring, too late to be cool, too soon to pretend you hadn’t been staring at the screen like a deer in headlights. The video loaded slowly, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, finally the full picture, him sprawled in his gaming chair, shirtless, the neon lights casting long shadows across his collarbones. "Took you long enough," he drawled, his grin sharp enough to cut glass.
"Hi- Chan..." you breathed, the words barely louder than the rustle of sheets as you adjusted your grip on the phone. The screen showed him leaning closer, close enough that you could see the faint pink flush still lingering at the tips of his ears, the way his throat worked when he swallowed.
"Hi yourself," he murmured, voice rougher than it had been on stream, like he'd been shouting. Maybe he had. The thought made your thighs press together under the tangled comforter. "Enjoy the show?"
Your fingers twitched against the phone screen, hesitating before you exhaled sharply and turned on the camera. The screen blinked, adjusting focus, and suddenly there you were, flushed cheeks and tangled hair framing your face like a halo. You nod replying to him.
Chan’s breath hitched audibly through the speakers. “There you are,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something warmer, rougher. His thumb swiped absently across his lower lip, like he was savoring the sight. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”
"Shut up," you laughed nervously, the sound catching in your throat as Chan's gaze burned through the screen. Your fingers twitched against the phone, the warmth of your palm making the glass slick. "Thank you," you added, softer now, the words barely audible over the hum of your laptop fan.
Chan’s grin widened. "Thank you," he echoed, his voice dipping into that rasp.
"BigDaddyBitch69." The username rolled off his tongue like a private joke.
You rolled your eyes, smirking as Chan’s voice curled through the phone speakers, that fucking stupid username again, dripping off his tongue like honey. "Seriously?" you muttered, "You’re really gonna keep calling me that?"
Chan’s grin widened, his teeth catching the low light of his ring light. "What, you don’t like it?" He leaned closer, the camera tilting as his fingers adjusted the angle, catching the sweat-damp hollow of his throat. "I think it’s cute."
“What’s your name doll?”
"Y/n," you replied, smiling as Chan's brow arched in amusement.
"That suits you better," he murmured, shifting in his chair. The leather creaked under his weight as he reached for something off-screen. "So," he continued, setting the phone down.
"Y/n who watches my horny streams and donates enough to feed me for a month. You got a last name to go with that?"
"Now why would I tell you that?" you smiled, fingers teasing the frayed edge of your waistband where it clung to skin. His gaze flickered down, just for a heartbeat, to where your pj shorts clung to you for dear life.
Chan's exhale crackled through the speakers, his gaze dropping to follow the motion like a predator tracking prey. "You’re not curious why i called?”
Your phone screen blurred momentarily, your vision still catching up with the fact that Bang Chan was calling you, that his shit smirk was currently taking up 80% of your screen. "I—" Your voice caught, the syllable cracking under the weight of too many competing thoughts.
How did he get this number? Why is he so sexy? Did I actually pass out during the stream and hallucinate this entire conversation?
Chan's smile deepened as your silence stretched, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "What, cat got your tongue?" He leaned back slightly, the camera catching the way his fingers drummed against his bare thigh, lazy and rhythmic. "Relax, princess. I didn't hack you."
“Just... asked my manager to do a little digging after your 30th donation this week."
Your pulse spiked so violently you could feel it in your fingertips. "What?" The word came out sharper than intended, your grip tightening around the phone. "You—you stalked me?"
Chan’s laughter crackled through the speakers, warm, unguarded, the kind of sound that made your ribs ache with how real it was.
"Relax," he murmured, his fingers tapping idly against the desk.
"Sent it all back. Every cent." His thumb swiped across his phone screen, the motion lazy. "Check your PayPal."
Your phone buzzed against your palm, a notification.
BangChan has refunded your payment of $5000.
The breath punched out of your lungs. "You—" The words tangled in your throat. "Why?"
"Well..." He dragged the word out, his smirk turning dangerously soft at the edges. "I was curious about you. After I saw how much you were sending me—" His thumb swiped absently over his lower lip. "It intrigued me even more."
The admission curled warm in your chest, your fingers tightening reflexively around the phone.
"Most people donate fifty bucks and expect me to propose," he continued, his grin sharpening. "You threw a grand at me just to watch me squirm."
Chan’s laughed warmly.
"What can I say?" His grin widened. "I like my girls rich." The words hung between you for a heartbeat before his smirk softened, his thumb wiping absently over his lower lip. "I’m kidding—I truly don’t need your money though."
You can't help but smile as he watches you through the phone, really stares at you, the way his gaze lingers on the curve of your bottom lip where you've been worrying it between your teeth. Chan's expression shifts subtly, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to tenderness as he exhales through his nose.
Chan's fingers stilled against the desk, his smirk stopping for a second, just long enough for you to notice the way his throat worked before he spoke. "I came to ask you something else too, y/n." The words came out softer than expected, his usual rasp sanded down at the edges. The ring light caught the nervous tap of his index finger against his phone screen, the motion too quick to be casual.
You arched a brow, thumb hovering over the mute button like a coward's escape route. "Ask away, streamer boy."
Chan’s gaze darkened, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something heavier, something that made the air in your bedroom feel suddenly too thick. His voice dropping into a whisper that crackled through the phone speakers like static. “Do you want a private show, y/n?”
The question hung between you. Your pulse thudded against your ribs, loud enough that you wondered if the microphone could pick it up. You watched, transfixed as Chan leaned forward, the camera tilting to catch the flex of his bicep when he braced one hand against the desk. His other hand dipped below the frame, the motion deliberately slow.
Your breath caught, sharp and sudden as your head bobbed in a nod before your brain could catch up with the embarrassment coiled in your gut.
Chan's exhaled low and satisfied, his fingers already moving below the frame with practiced ease. The desk creaked again, louder this time, and you imagined the way his thighs would tense under the strain, the way his knuckles would whiten around the base of his—
"Good girl," he murmured, the words rough with approval, and your thighs pressed together involuntarily at the praise. The phone screen blurred slightly as your grip tightened. Chan's smirk deepened, his free hand adjusting the camera angle with deliberate slowness until the lens caught all your favourite parts of him.
"These past weeks I've imagined what you've been doing behind the other side of the screen..." Chan's voice dipped into a husky whisper, the confession curling through the speakers like smoke.
The camera caught the way his fingers paused mid-stroke, just long enough to make your breath hitch before resuming with agonizing slowness. "How your fingers look when you touch yourself." His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, the motion deliberately messy, spreading slickness that glistened under the ring light. "If you bite your lip like you're doing right now."
Your teeth immediately released your lower lip, warmth flooding your cheeks. He knew, knew exactly how his words coiled around your ribs and squeezed, how your thighs pressed together.
"First," he rasped, "I thought about you during last Tuesday’s stream." The confession punched out of him between ragged breaths, his hips stuttering forward into his fist. "When I was playing Valorant and pretending to focus on headshots." His laugh was more air than sound, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard. "Kept imagining you riding me while I fumbled the controller."
The camera wobbled slightly as you adjusted your phone against the laptop screen, the angle catching the way your fingers trembled against your waistband. On screen, Chan’s grin turned wolfish as he mirrored your movements.
"There we go," he murmured. His free hand trailed down his abdomen, fingertips wrapping around his cock with deliberate slowness. The camera caught every inch of him thick and flushed, his grip tight enough to make the veins stand out under the strain.
Your breath quickened as you finally tugged your shorts down. The cool air against your damp skin made you shiver, but Chan’s gaze, heavy and unblinking through the screen burned hotter than any touch. "Fuck," he breathed, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock in slow circles. “Look at you."
"You're even prettier than your profile picture, doll."
The words hit you like a physical touch. Chan's voice had dipped into something raw and unhurried, his accent thickening around the edges as his thumb stroked lazily along his cock, smearing precum down the shaft.
Your fingers dipped under the damp fabric of your underwear, the tips catching on the sticky mess you’d made earlier. His grip tightened around his cock.
The words tumbled out between panting breaths—"Chan... what if I didn’t look like my profile picture?" you laughed dryly as you watched his fingers freeze mid-stroke, his brow furrowing for a fraction of a second before his smirk returned, sharper now.
Chan’s smirk deepened. "Trust me," he rasped, his voice rough with amusement and something darker, "I got my manager to check about you after I spent weeks wanking over your picture."
Your fingers froze against your opening, the sudden stillness betraying your shock. "You—" The word caught in your throat, your pulse thudding wildly in between your legs.
The heat of Chan’s gaze through the screen was almost tangible, like a physical weight pressing against your skin. You could feel it tracing the curve of your bottom lip where your teeth had worried it raw, following the trembling path of your fingers as they dipped beneath your waistband again. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the warm brown of his irises.
"You like that?" you murmured, curling your fingers just enough to make your back arch off the mattress. The movement dragged your shirt higher, exposing the flushed skin of your stomach, nipples hard and peaking through the shirt. Chan’s grip on his cock visibly tightened as he sped up.
The screen blurred momentarily as Chan shifted his phone, the camera tilting to catch the sly curve of his smirk. "Hold on," he murmured, his voice rougher than before like he'd been swallowing gravel. The desk creaked as he leaned away, his free hand disappearing off-screen. You heard a drawer slide open, the rustle of plastic, then the unmistakable click of a button powering on.
When he came back into frame his hair was ruffled perfectly as he bit his lip. The toy in his hand was sleek and black, the silicone glistening under the ring light. "Got this yesterday," he admitted, thumb stroking lazily along his cock. The vibration setting hummed audibly through the phone speakers. "Was gonna debut it tomorrow for the degenerates." His grin turned wolfish as he adjusted the angle, catching the way the toy twitched in his grip. "But I think... I'd rather you see it first."
Chan's breath hitched as the fleshlight kissed the head of his cock, just barely, just enough to make his hips jerk forward instinctively. The dimmer lighting now caught the slickness already gathering there, the way his fingers trembled around the toy's base as he held it up. His gaze never left yours through the screen, dark and hungry, pupils swallowing the warm brown of his irises. "Fuck," he breathed, the word cracking halfway through as he rolled his hips again, dragging the tip through the tight entrance without pressing in. "Look at you—fucking yourself on your fingers like you wish it was me."
Your breath stuttered at the accusation, true, painfully so, as your fingers curled deeper inside yourself, the wet sound obscenely loud in the quiet of your bedroom. On screen, Chan's throat worked around a swallow. The toy remained at his tip, teasing,the black silicone glistening.
"Tell me," Chan rasped, his voice cracking under the strain as he finally, finally pushed the toy down in one torturously slow motion. The silicone stretched obscenely around his girth, the vibration setting making the entire shaft twitch visibly in his grip. "Tell me you imagined this." His hips rolled forward with deliberate slowness, the desk creaking under his shifting weight. "My cock fucking into you just like this—"
The moan tore from your throat before you could bite it back loud and needy. His hips stuttered forward into the toy’s tight grip, the vibration making his thighs tremble harder under the desk. "Fuck," he gritted out, his free hand scrambling to adjust the camera angle until it caught the obscene stretch of silicone around his cock, the way his knuckles whitened around the base. "That’s it, princess. Let me hear you."
Your fingers curled deeper, the heel of your palm grinding against your clit in rough, uneven circles that made your back arch off the mattress. The sheets tangled around you, damp with the evidence of your earlier climax, but the ache between your thighs was already building again, hotter this time.
Your fingers twitched against the phone screen hesitating before you exhaled sharply and reached for the nightstand drawer. The wood scraped open with a dry rasp, your fingers closing around the familiar silicone before your brain could second-guess the impulse. The toy was heavy in your palm, still faintly sticky with lube from last night’s escapades, and you watched Chan’s pupils dilate in real time as you brought it into frame.
"Oh?" His voice cracked mid-syllable, the toy in his own hand stuttering to a halt around his cock. The vibration setting buzzed faintly through the speakers.
"What’s that, princess?"
“You.” you replied mumbling as you adjusted your phone again, angling it just right. The screen wobbled momentarily before settling, the camera catching Chan’s sharp intake of breath as the silicone head pressed against your clit with a quiet buzz.
"Fuck," he hissed, his grip tightening around the toy buried in his lap. The vibration setting cranked up with a sharp twist of his wrist, making his thighs twitch harder.
The toy slid in with a slow, slick resistance that made you moan, half gasp, half whimper as your fingers tightened around the base. Chan's answering groan echoed through the phone speakers, rough and unfiltered, his hips stuttering forward into his own toy with ragged urgency. The camera wobbled as he adjusted his grip, catching the obscene stretch of silicone around his cock, the way his abs tensed with each shallow thrust.
"Look at you," he rasped, his voice sandpaper-raw. The ring light glinted off the sweat beading along his collarbones, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to make the tendons stand out in sharp relief. "Taking it so fucking good—just like I knew you would." His thumb swiped over the head of his cock where it protruded from the toy's entrance, smearing precum in a slow circle that made you clench around the dildo.
The confession tumbled from your lips before you could bite it back raw, the kind of honesty that made your phone slip in your sweaty palm. "I wish this was you, Chan," you gasped, the toy bottoming out inside you with a slick sound that echoed through the speakers. "I wish you were in me every time."
Chan's breath hitched audibly, his grip on the toy tightening until his knuckles turned white. The camera wobbled as he leaned forward, catching the way his lips parted around a silent curse, the sweat-slicked hollow of his throat working as he swallowed harder. "Fuck," he rasped, his hips stuttering forward into the toy’s tight grip. The vibration setting buzzed louder, his thighs trembling under the desk.
"Seven days a week huh?" Chan teased, his smirk widening as he watched your pupils dilate through the screen. The camera caught the way his fingers slowed around the toy's base, his thumb tracing lazy circles where silicone met him, like he could physically feel the rhythm of your pulse into his skin. “You’re so cute..”
The words curled warm against your ear through the phone speakers, his accent thickening around the edges in a way that made your grip tighten around the toy buried inside you. Your hips jerked involuntarily at the sensation, the movement dragging a ragged gasp from your throat that Chan mirrored instantly, his own hips stuttering forward into the toy's tight grip with wet sounds.
The toy slipped deeper with a wet drag that made your back arch off the mattress, the vibrations turning up another notch as your thumb fumbled against the controls. Chan’s groan crackled through the speakers as his hips jerked forward into his own toy, the desk creaking under his shifting weight. "Fuck," he gritted out, "That’s it, princess. Faster."
Your fingers obeyed before your brain could catch up, twisting the dial until the toy buzzed violently against your clit, the sensation sharp enough to make everything in you tremble. On screen, Chan mirrored your movements with ragged urgency, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased the same high.
"Chan—I'm about to—" The words dissolved into a ragged moan as your fingers pumped harder, the vibrations swimming through you. Your thighs clenched around the silicone, the muscles trembling under the strain as your back arched off the mattress.
Chan didn’t stop moaning, his hips stuttering forward into his own toy with a wet slap that echoed in the quiet of your bedroom. The camera wobbled violently as he braced one hand against the desk, his other gripping the toy's base like a lifeline. "Do it," he gritted out, his voice shredded at the edges. "Come for me, princess. Let me see you."
The orgasm hit you as you listened to Chan’s words, your hips jerking off the mattress as the toy's vibrations sent shocks up your spine. Your thighs clamped around the silicone with a force that would've bruised flesh, your back arching as the first wave crashed over you. And then, unstoppable..
Squirt arched through the air, catching the dim bedroom light before splattering across your phone screen with a wet smack. The camera lens blurred instantly, droplets clinging to the glass in trembling constellations as your climax ripped through you with shuddering force.
Your fingers scrabbled against the sheets, the toy still buzzing violently against your clit as aftershocks wrecked your body, each pulse sending another spurt against the fogged-up phone.
Chan's entire body locked up, thighs trembling, the veins in his forearms standing out as his orgasm ripped through him with violent intensity. The toy made a wet, squelching sound as he slammed home one last time, his hips stuttering erratically while his cum painted the inside of the silicone in thick pulses. His groan cracked halfway through, transforming into something guttural and raw, the kind of sound that would've made you clench around nothing if you weren't already spent and twitching against the soaked sheets.
"Fuck—fuck—" Chan panted, his free hand scrambling to catch the edge of his desk as his vision whited out momentarily. The camera tilted, catching glimpses of his sweat-slicked torso heaving for air, the toy still clamped around his softening cock with an obscene grip. His fingers trembled visibly as he finally pulled out with a slick pop.
Chan blinked slowly at the mess on his screen, your phone screen still streaked with evidence. His lips parted around a shaky exhale before his smirk returned, lazy and sated. "Holy shit," he rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. He dragged a hand down his face. "That was so fucking hot."
You laughed breathlessly, your fingers twitching against the damp sheets as you watched him through the phone, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, his abs flexing with each unsteady breath. "You're one to talk," you murmured, gesturing vaguely at the toy he'd abandoned on his desk. The silicone glistened under the ring light, strands of cum clinging to the entrance in sticky threads.
The phone slipped from your sweat-slicked fingers, landing face-up on the damp sheets. Chan's laughter echoed through the speakers
"Careful, princess," he murmured, his thumb swiping lazily along his lower lip. "Wouldn't want you breaking your phone before our next show."
"You're insufferable, never happening," you breathed.
The phone screen glistened under your trembling fingers soaked with evidence of your climax. You exhaled sharply through your nose, dragging the hem of your shirt over the smeared surface with embarrassment.
On screen, he was propped lazily against his desk, one hand stroking through his damp curls while the other toyed absently with the abandoned fleshlight.
"So," he grinned, tilting his phone until you could see his cocky expression. "I'll pick you up in an hour?"
The words hung between you like a lit match. Your breath caught, fingers tightening around the damp sheets as reality crashed over you, this wasn’t pixels and paid fantasies anymore.
"I just met you," you huffed, rolling your eyes hard. The phone screen flickered as you adjusted your grip, still shaky from earlier and caught the way Chan's smirk deepened in response. He leaned forward until his face filled the frame.
"Incorrect," he drawled, stretching the word out with deliberate slowness. His tongue escaping along his lower lip.
"We met weeks ago when you watched me cum every day up until now." The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth deepened as your flush crept down your neck. "Seems pretty intimate to me, doll."
"That's not—" You huffed, dragging a hand through your tangled hair.
"Let me rephrase," he murmured.
"You just squirted all over fucking Facetime for me." His teeth caught the edge of his grin. "I think we're past the 'we just met' bullshit, don't you?"
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sharp tap-tap-tap of Chan’s fingers drumming against his desk.
You opened your mouth to argue, to deflect, to say something, but the words died in your throat when Chan leaned forward abruptly, his face filling the frame again until all you could see was his pretty eyes and smirk that pulled you in, in the first place. "One date," he hummed, the words curling warm against your ear through the speakers. "If you hate me, I’ll refund your next month’s donations in advance."
"I hate you," you muttered, biting down on your lower lip to suppress the grin threatening to show on your face. "I'll send you my location now."
Chan's smile widened, infuriatingly, as he leaned forward.
