Roomate hates your gooning

You’re lounging in your room, leaning back in your chair with your feet propped up on the desk, controller in hand. The game on your screen is just background noise at this point—you’re more focused on the music playing through your headphones and the lazy rhythm of your day. That is, until your door flies open with a loud bang, and Luna storms in like a tornado.

She’s holding something in each hand—a pair of her lace underwear in one and your boxers in the other. Her black hair is a wild mess, her green eyes blazing with frustration, and her cheeks are flushed a deep red. She’s wearing one of your stolen hoodies (you recognize it instantly) and a pair of tiny shorts that leave little to the imagination. The hoodie hangs off one shoulder, revealing the strap of her tank top underneath, and the way she’s standing—hands on her hips, chest heaving—makes it impossible to look away.

“Care to explain this?” she demands, thrusting the underwear and boxers toward you like they’re evidence in a courtroom.

You don’t flinch. Instead, you lean back even further in your chair, a slow smirk spreading across your face as you take in the scene. The lace underwear dangles from her fingers, and you can see the faint stain she’s talking about. You raise an eyebrow, your expression calm and unbothered, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

Luna doesn’t wait for you to respond—not that you were planning to give her one. She steps further into the room, her bare feet slapping against the floor, and tosses the offending items onto your bed. “I was doing laundry, minding my own business, and then I find this! Do you have any idea how gross this is? These were my favorite pair, by the way. Ruined. Completely ruined.”

Her voice is loud and sharp, but there’s something else underneath it—something you can’t quite place. Her eyes dart to the boxers on your bed, and for a split second, her expression softens. But then she catches herself and glares at you again, crossing her arms under her chest in a way that makes the hoodie stretch even tighter across her curves.

Luna huffs and rolls her eyes, “You know what? Forget it. I don’t even want to know how this happened. Just… keep your mess to yourself, okay? And if I find one more stain on my stuff, I’m… I’m…”

She trails off, her cheeks flushing even darker as she realizes she doesn’t have a threat to finish the sentence with. Instead, she turns on her heel and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her so hard that the frame rattles.

You’re in your room, trying to focus on a book, but the sound of Luna’s laughter echoing down the hall makes it impossible to concentrate. She’s streaming again, and from the sound of it, she’s had a few too many drinks. You sigh, setting the book aside, and decide to check on her—just to make sure she’s not setting the apartment on fire or something.

When you peek into her room, the scene is exactly what you expected. Luna is sitting at her desk, her camera pointed directly at her, her black hair a wild mess and her green eyes glazed over with alcohol-induced euphoria. She’s wearing a loose tank top and a pair of shorts, her usual carefree attitude amplified tenfold by the wine glass in her hand.

The chat is moving at lightning speed, filled with emojis and comments that Luna is barely keeping up with. She’s giggling at everything, her cheeks flushed and her smile wide, completely oblivious to the fact that her tank top is riding up, revealing a sliver of her stomach.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with a mix of amusement and mild concern. She’s a train wreck, but she’s your train wreck, and you can’t help but find her chaos endearing.

Then it happens.

Luna sets her glass down and stands up, wobbling slightly as she adjusts her camera. She’s laughing uncontrollably now, her hands fumbling with the hem of her tank top. The chat explodes with excitement, but she’s too drunk to care.

“Okay, fine, you win,” she slurs, her voice loud and unfiltered. “But only because I’m the best streamer ever. Don’t tell Twitch, though. They’re such buzzkills.”

Before you can react, she pulls her tank top over her head, revealing a lacy black bra that leaves little to the imagination. She tosses the shirt onto the floor, completely unfazed, and plops back down in her chair.

The chat goes wild, spamming hearts and fire emojis, and Luna just laughs, leaning closer to the camera. “What? You guys act like you’ve never seen a bra before. Chill out.”

You should probably stop her. You know you should. But there’s something about the way she’s so unapologetically herself, even when she’s drunk and half-naked on stream, that makes it hard to look away.

You wake up to the sound of a soft, annoyed groan. The room is still dim, the early morning light barely filtering through the curtains, and for a moment, you’re disoriented. Then it hits you—the memories of last night, the way Luna had stumbled into your room, drunk and giggling, and how you’d helped her into bed.

But that’s not what makes your heart race.

You open your eyes to see Luna sitting up in your bed, her black hair a tangled mess and her green eyes wide with a mix of shock and something else you can’t quite place. She’s staring down at her chest, where your cum is still glistening on her skin, pooling between her breasts and dripping down her stomach.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The air is thick with tension, the silence broken only by the sound of her breathing, quick and shallow.

Then Luna looks up at you, her expression shifting from shock to annoyance, though there’s a flicker of something else in her eyes—something that makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

“Really?” she says, her voice low and husky, still rough from sleep. “You couldn’t even aim for the sheets? You had to go full Picasso on me?”

She sighs, running a hand through her hair, and then, to your surprise, she smirks. “You know, if you wanted to do this, you could’ve just asked. I mean, I’m not exactly opposed to the idea.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and loaded, and you feel your pulse quicken as she leans back against the headboard, her eyes never leaving yours.

Then, slowly, almost teasingly, she drags a finger through the mess on her chest, collecting a glob of your cum on her fingertip. She holds it up, examining it for a moment, before bringing it to her lips and tasting it.

Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, a soft moan escaping her lips, and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

“Not bad,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Honestly, it’s kind of hot. And way easier to clean up than the furniture. I mean, do you know how hard it is to get cum stains out of a couch? It’s a nightmare.”

She leans forward,

“So, next time,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin, “just do this instead. It’s less work for both of us. And honestly? I don’t mind being your canvas.”

You’re sitting in your room, trying to focus on a book, but the sound of Luna’s laughter echoing down the hall makes it impossible to concentrate. She’s streaming again, her voice loud and unfiltered, and you can’t help but smile at the chaos she brings to the apartment.

But then you feel it—that familiar ache, the one that’s been building for a while now. You glance at the clock, realizing it’s been a few hours since Luna last helped you with your… urges. The memory of her touch, her taste, her willingness to let you use her for your pleasure, sends a shiver down your spine.*

You know she’s in the middle of a stream, but the need is too strong to ignore. You get up and make your way to her room, your heart pounding in your chest as you push the door open.

Luna is sitting at her desk, her camera pointed directly at her, her black hair a wild mess and her green eyes sparkling with mischief. She’s wearing a loose tank top and a pair of tiny shorts, her usual carefree attitude on full display as she interacts with her chat.

The moment you step into the room, her eyes flicker to you, and a slow smirk spreads across her face.

“Oh, hey, chat,” *she says, her voice teasing. “Looks like my roommate needs something. What do you think it is?”

The chat explodes with comments, but you don’t pay attention to them. Your eyes are locked on Luna, and the way she’s looking at you—like she already knows exactly what you want—makes your pulse quicken.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. The way you’re standing there, your gaze heavy with desire, is enough to make your intentions clear.

Luna leans back in her chair, her smirk widening as she stretches lazily, the movement causing her tank top to ride up and reveal a sliver of her stomach.

“Well, chat,” she says, her tone light and playful, “it looks like I’m gonna have to take a quick break. Don’t go anywhere, though. I’ll be back soon.”

She reaches over and mutes her mic, then turns to you, her eyes dark with anticipation.

“So,” she says, her voice low and husky, “what do you need, big guy?”

Luna stands up, her movements slow and deliberate, and walks over to you, her hips swaying with every step. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against your chest, and leans in close, her lips brushing against your ear.

“Don’t worry, guys,” *she says, her tone light and teasing. “I’ll be back soon. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even have a story for you.” she says turning back towards the computer before walking away.