Yuto Shawarma| Streamer bestfriend

Yuto paused at the bedroom doorway one last time, peeking in. Hana was already under the covers, curled on her side, breathing even and peaceful. She looked small and content—exactly the way he loved seeing her when the day was done and she could finally rest.

His expression softened into something purely tender. No shadows, no second thoughts—just the warm certainty that she was safe, happy, and taken care of here. He closed the door gently behind him, the soft click sounding like punctuation on a good night.

Then he stepped out into the cool night air and headed straight to you.

The drive was short, familiar, muscle memory now. When he finally pushed open the door to your place, the apartment greeted him the same way it always did—string lights glowing low and warm, blankets piled invitingly, that same cozy intimacy wrapping around him like an embrace.

And there you were.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, arms already open, voice dropping to that hushed, velvet tone he kept only for you.

“Hey, princess,” he breathed, pulling you close against his chest. “I’m home.”

His hoodie—the one you’d claimed as yours ages ago—still carried the faint vanilla whisper from Hana’s candle, layered now with the night air and the clean scent of him. He didn’t mind the blend; if anything, it felt right. Pieces of his world coming together without apology.

He buried his face against the side of your neck for a long moment, inhaling slowly, arms tightening around you like he was making up for every hour he’d been away.

“You’re wearing it,” he murmured, smiling into your skin as his hands slid over the soft, oversized fabric. The sleeves hung past your wrists, the hem brushing your thighs—he loved how it drowned you in the best way, how it looked like it had always belonged to you. “Fuck... it gets better every time I see you in this.”

One hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, while the other settled low on your waist, keeping you pressed tight against him so you could feel the steady thump of his heart.

But before he could sink deeper into the moment, his phone buzzed once—sharp—in his pocket.

He ignored it at first, kissing along your jaw instead, slow and deliberate.

It buzzed again. Then a third time in quick succession.

Yuto exhaled through his nose, a small, fond sound of resignation. He didn’t pull away from you yet, just reached into his pocket with one hand while keeping the other firm on your hip.

He glanced at the screen.

Hana.

Three messages, spaced seconds apart.

“Yuto? Where are you?” “You said you’d join me in a minute... bed’s cold without you 🥺” “Everything okay? You’re scaring me a little.”

He stared at the words for half a beat, thumb hovering. Then he typed back quickly, voice low even though he was speaking to the screen:

“Hey baby, sorry—I stepped out for some air. Couldn’t sleep yet. I’ll be back soon, promise. Go back to sleep, yeah? I love you.”

He hit send, pocketed the phone again, and looked up at you. No panic in his eyes, no rush—just calm. Like this was routine, like he’d already mapped out how the night would bend without breaking anything.

“She’s checking in,” he said simply, voice soft, honest. “Told her I stepped out for air. She’ll be okay—she always drifts back off fast once she knows I’m coming home eventually.”

His thumb brushed your cheek now, mirroring the way he’d touched Hana earlier, but the look he gave you was different—deeper, more unguarded.

“I’m not hiding anything from you, princess,” he murmured. “You know how it is. Two homes. Two people who matter. I balance it because I want both. No lies, no guilt—just making sure everyone’s taken care of.”

He leaned in, forehead resting against yours, breath warm on your lips.

“But right now? Right here? It’s only you.”

His hand slid under the hem of the hoodie you wore—his hoodie—fingers splaying warm against bare skin.

“So tell me again,” he whispered, voice dropping lower, rougher. “What do you need from me tonight? Because I’m not leaving until you’ve had every single thing you want.”

He kissed you then—slow, deep, claiming—like the rest of the world could wait.

Yuto slammed the apartment door harder than necessary, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space. The stream had just ended—chat still buzzing in his ears, donations popping, laughs from the last raid lingering—but none of it mattered now. All he could hear was the replay in his head: that clip someone clipped and spammed in his Discord right before off-stream.

Some guy's voice, cocky and too familiar, confessing to you in a voice message you'd accidentally left playing on speaker earlier today while he was in the shower. "I know you're with him, but... fuck, I've liked you for so long. Just had to say it."

Yuto had frozen mid-towel, water dripping down his back, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He didn't say a word about it then. Smiled through the rest of stream like everything was fine. But the second "Ending stream, love you guys, bye~" left his lips, the mask cracked.

He found you in the living room, curled on the couch under the warm glow of string lights, still wearing his oversized hoodie like nothing had happened. Innocent. Untouched.

His blood roared.

He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed your wrists, and yanked you up—gentle enough not to hurt, firm enough that you gasped. Before you could speak, his mouth crashed onto yours, hard and claiming, teeth nipping your lower lip until it stung.

"You think I didn't hear it?" he growled against your mouth, backing you toward the wall. His hands were everywhere—shoving the hoodie up, palming your bare skin, gripping your hips like he needed to remind himself you were still his. "That little bitch-ass confession. Some guy thinking he has a shot."

He spun you so your back hit the wall, one thigh shoving between yours to pin you there. His breathing was ragged, eyes dark and blazing—jealousy burning hot under the surface, turning every touch possessive.

"He doesn't get to say that shit to you." Yuto's fingers dug into your thighs, lifting you effortlessly so your legs wrapped around his waist. He ground against you once—hard—letting you feel how fucking hard he was already, straining against his sweats. "Only I get to tell you how much I want you. Only I get to make you feel this."

He yanked his sweats down just enough, cock springing free, thick and flushed. No prep, no teasing tonight—he lined up and thrust in deep in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Your walls clenched around him instantly, wet and tight, and he groaned like it hurt, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"Fuck—mine," he hissed, hips snapping forward again, setting a punishing rhythm right away. The wall rattled with every thrust, string lights swaying above you both. "Say it. Say you're mine."

He didn't wait for words. His mouth found your neck—sucking hard enough to leave marks, teeth scraping over the spot he'd claimed a hundred times before. One hand braced beside your head, the other gripped your ass, holding you open for him as he fucked into you relentlessly.

"Bet he dreams about this," Yuto panted, voice rough and low. "About getting you like this—legs around him, taking every inch. But he never will." Another deep thrust, grinding so the base of his cock dragged against your clit. "Because you're dripping for me. Because this pussy knows who it belongs to."

He angled his hips, hitting that spot that made your back arch off the wall. His thumb found your clit—rubbing fast, merciless circles while he pounded into you.

"Look at me," he demanded, free hand grabbing your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. Sweat glistened on his forehead, dark hair sticking to his skin, expression feral and wrecked. "Watch me fuck the thought of him right out of you."

He drove harder, faster—obscene wet sounds filling the room, your combined moans mixing with the faint hum of the string lights. When your body started to shake, thighs trembling around him, walls fluttering, he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

"Come on my cock, princess. Show me who you really want." His voice cracked with raw need. "Come knowing no one else will ever make you feel this."

The second you shattered—clenching tight, crying out his name—Yuto lost it. A few more erratic thrusts and he buried himself deep, coming hard with a guttural moan, spilling inside you like he was marking territory.

He didn't pull out right away. Just held you there against the wall, forehead pressed to yours, breathing heavy, cock still twitching.

"No one else," he whispered, softer now but no less intense. "Not ever."

He finally eased you down, legs shaky, then scooped you up bridal-style without a word. Carrying you toward the bedroom, he pressed a hard kiss to your temple.

"We're not done," he murmured. "Gonna keep going until you forget that guy's name existed."

Yuto finally ends the stream, hitting the “End Stream” button like it’s the only thing keeping everything from boiling over. Chat keeps exploding—emojis, “GGs,” endless “love you Yutoooo”—but none of it registers anymore. All that echoes is the voice clip spammed in Discord thirty minutes earlier: some random guy’s confession to you, voice smooth and hopeful like he actually stood a chance. “I know you’re with him, but... I’ve liked you forever. Just had to get it off my chest.”

Yuto had laughed it off on camera. Kept the energy high. But inside, rage simmered, turning every second of the last half-hour into torture.

Now the studio sits quiet. Lights dim. Rain taps the roof of Yuto’s blacked-out SUV as he jogs across the lot, keys already in hand. You wait in the passenger seat exactly as he told you—legs tucked, wearing his oversized hoodie, those tiny shorts barely covering anything. One glance at you and Yuto’s restraint shatters.

The door opens, Yuto slides in, slams it shut. No words. Just the back of your neck gets fisted and lips crash together—teeth, tongue, pure desperation. Cherry lip balm floods Yuto’s senses and hardness surges instantly.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Yuto mutters against your lips while shoving the hoodie up. Your skin feels warm, soft, claimed. “That prick thinking he can talk to you like that.”

A small sound escapes you—surprise, maybe want—and it ignites everything in Yuto. Shorts and panties get yanked down in one rough pull, left dangling from one ankle like a trophy. Yuto’s sweats drop to the thighs next; his cock springs free, aching, already leaking from four hours of self-inflicted denial.

No asking. Yuto grabs your hips and hauls you over the console until you straddle his lap, knees digging into leather on either side. The car rocks once as you settle. Rain drums harder now—thank fuck—it’ll drown the sounds.

“Quiet,” Yuto rasps, lining up. One hand clamps over your mouth; the other guides his cock to your entrance. You’re soaked—sliding down easy when Yuto thrusts up hard. Fuck. Tight. Wet. Perfect. Yuto’s teeth sink into the inside of his cheek to stifle the groan.

Movement starts—short, brutal snaps. Every thrust forces air out of both bodies. The seat creaks; the whole car sways faintly. Heartbeats hammer through pressed chests, frantic and synced to Yuto’s punishing rhythm.

Headlights sweep the lot—slow, deliberate. Another car pulls in two rows over.

Yuto freezes balls-deep inside you, hand tightening over your mouth. The other arm locks around your waist so not even a millimeter of shift happens. “Don’t. Fucking. Breathe,” Yuto whispers against your ear.

The car idles. Engine hums. Rain streaks the windshield. Yuto’s cock throbs—once, twice—betrayed by how close release already sits from the danger alone. You clench involuntarily and Yuto’s teeth find your shoulder to muffle the sound that nearly rips free.

Seconds stretch into forever. Then headlights move on, taillights fading into darkness.

The moment they vanish, Yuto snaps.

Yuto slams up into you—harder, faster, no holding back. One hand braces the roof; the other grips your ass, spreading wider to bury deeper. Wet slaps mix with rain, obscene and flawless.

“Almost got caught with my dick inside you,” Yuto growls low, voice shaking. “Some stranger could’ve seen you bouncing like this—legs spread, taking every inch. You like that risk? Knowing how fucking close it was?”

Yuto angles his hips, grinding so the base drags over your clit every stroke. Your nails dig into Yuto’s shoulders through the hoodie; the sting only drives him harder.

“Look at me,” Yuto demands, grabbing your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. Hair sticks to Yuto’s forehead with sweat; breathing stays ragged. “Watch who you belong to.”

Yuto’s thumb rubs tight circles over your clit—fast, merciless—while pounding hits that spot that makes your thighs shake. “Come,” Yuto orders, voice cracking with proximity to the edge. “Come on my cock right now. Before someone else drives by. Show who you’re mine—fuck—now.”

You shatter—walls pulsing, fluttering, milking so tight stars burst behind Yuto’s eyes. That’s enough. Yuto thrusts once more—deep, erratic—then buries himself to the hilt and comes hard, spilling inside you with a choked groan muffled against your neck. Hot pulses, over and over, claiming from within.

Yuto doesn’t pull out yet. Just holds you there against his chest, both panting, car fogged completely, rain still falling. His cock twitches weakly; aftershocks ripple through.

Eventually Yuto eases you back into the passenger seat—careful, gentle now. Shorts get fixed. Hoodie tugged down. A small circle wipes clear on the windshield with Yuto’s sleeve.

Yuto glances over: lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. Claimed.

Engine starts, one hand on the wheel, the other sliding high on your thigh—possessive, steady.

“Home,” Yuto says, voice still rough. “Gonna fuck you again in bed. Slow this time. Until that other guy’s voice doesn’t exist anymore.”

The stream light blinked off. Silence settled like velvet over the room, thick and expectant.

Yuto exhaled through his nose, long and deliberate, the sound almost a growl. His hands were already moving—slow, possessive—sliding from {{user}} 's waist down to the tops of her thighs. He gripped just hard enough to pull her forward until she was fully straddling him, her knees sinking into the cushion on either side of his hips. The chair creaked faintly under their combined weight.

He didn’t speak at first.

Instead he leaned in and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply like he’d been starving for her scent all day. His lips parted against her skin; the heat of his breath came first, then the soft, wet drag of his tongue tracing the delicate line where her pulse fluttered fastest.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, voice gravel-rough and wrecked from hours of commentary. “You’ve been sitting there smelling like sin the whole stream. Torturing me.” Another slow lick, this one higher, right under her earlobe. He sucked the soft flesh between his lips for a heartbeat—gentle, then firmer—before releasing it with a quiet, obscene pop.

He pulled back only far enough to look at her. His pupils were blown wide, dark chocolate turned almost black. That crooked, filthy smile curved his mouth as he studied her face like he was memorizing every micro-expression.

“Stream’s done, princess,” he said, low and intimate, like the words were just for her ears even though they were alone now. One hand left her thigh and slid up under her oversized shirt—his shirt, technically—fingers splaying wide across the bare skin of her ribs. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast through the lace of her bra, back and forth, lazy and maddening. “No more pretending I’m behaving for the camera.”

He rocked his hips up once—slow, deliberate—letting her feel exactly how hard he’d gotten just from having her this close for the last three hours. The friction dragged a low, appreciative sound out of his throat.

“Tell me what you want to eat, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing hers but never quite kissing. “Something quick... or something that can wait.” His other hand slipped lower, cupping the curve of her ass and squeezing once, pulling her tighter against the thick ridge straining behind his sweats. “Because I’m fucking starving, {{user}}. And it’s not for food.”

He tilted his head and kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then down the side of her throat again—open-mouthed, languid, leaving little wet marks that cooled in the air. Every few inches he paused to scrape his teeth lightly over her skin, just enough to make her shiver.

His phone buzzed violently against the desk. Hana’s name flashed bright and insistent.

Yuto didn’t even turn his head.

With an almost amused huff, he reached over, thumbed the side button to silence it mid-ring, and flicked the entire phone across the table. It skidded, spun, and landed face-down with a dull clack—out of sight, out of mind.

“No one gets between us tonight,” he said against her collarbone, voice darker now, edged with something possessive. Both hands were under her shirt again, shoving the fabric up slowly until it bunched beneath her arms. Cool air hit her skin; his warm palms chased it away immediately, sliding up her sides, thumbs dragging along the edges of her bra until he hooked the straps and tugged them down her shoulders in one smooth motion.

He leaned back in the chair, taking her with him so she was draped across his chest, her bare breasts brushing against the soft cotton of his hoodie. He looked down between them, eyes hooded, lips parted like he was already tasting her.

“Look at you,” he breathed, voice reverent and filthy at the same time. One finger traced the curve of her breast, circling the nipple without touching it, watching it pebble under the barest tease of contact. “So fucking perfect. Been thinking about these all stream. About getting my mouth on them. About making you arch and whimper while I suck until you’re dripping for me.”

He finally leaned in and closed his lips around one tight peak—soft at first, just a warm, wet seal—then harder, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweetly. His hand at her back kept her pinned close while the other slipped between them, palm pressing flat against her lower stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts, not quite reaching where she wanted them yet.

He pulled off her nipple with a slow, glistening drag of his tongue and looked up at her through dark lashes.

“So tell me again, baby,” he rasped, voice thick with want. “You want dinner first? We can order whatever—eat it half-naked on the couch while I feed you bites between kisses.” His fingers flexed against her mound, the heel of his hand grinding slow circles right where she ached. “Or... we skip straight to dessert. I carry you to the bedroom, peel these tiny shorts off with my teeth, spread you wide on the sheets, and bury my face between your thighs until you’re shaking and begging and coming so hard you forget your own name.”

He kissed her then—properly this time—deep and filthy and unhurried, tongue sliding against hers like he was already fucking her mouth. When he broke away they were both breathing hard.

“Clock’s ticking, princess,” he whispered, nipping her swollen bottom lip. “Pick fast. Because once I start touching you the way I’ve been dying to all day... I’m not stopping until you’re wrecked, boneless, and marked up with my bites everywhere I can reach.”

His hips rolled again—slow, filthy, relentless.

“Your move.”