#𐙚 the feelings mutual | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyuneflix · 2 months ago

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THE CURE 0.2 • Bang Chan

sex therapist!chan x client!reader after years of unhappy endings, your friend suggests a trip to sydney's most up and coming sex therapist. you hadn't expected much, least of all to discover the cure you'd been looking for all this time was your therapist himself.

word count: 13k << back to dash // next episode >>

CONTENT WARNINGS

𐙚 - female masturbation, mutual masturbation, vibrator use, guided masturbation, dirty talk, use of "slut" and similar terms, chan is called sir, light degradation, light spanking, slapping, more orgasm denial, fingering, oral both female and male receiving, sub!reader, soft dom!chan but some hard dom too, slightly possessive chan, praise, very tiny breeding kink in the form of chan pushing his cum inside her.

! - inappropriate relationship dynamic (chan is her sex therapist), reader is written to be neurodivergent though it isn't explicitly stated, therapy talk/setting, descriptions of self help and healing, brief mention of toxic positivity and dissociation, very brief description of reader having a difficult childhood, talk about hopelessness and feelings of defeat. like last time, everything is intentionally vague but approach with caution all the same.

episode two - a cure for self-dissatisfaction

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that you were actually here, again. Making another appointment had sounded so promising in the after-glow of your first ever orgasm–or, at least, the first that felt like that–but now that you were actually here you questioned your sanity. How could you possibly face him after that phone call? Sure, it had been an entire month since then, plenty of time to get over it or just cancel the one-hour slot. You never did, though, and you still couldn’t quite decide why. Was it him that you wanted to see again? So entirely unable to close this chapter of your life now that he’d suddenly made its contents more interesting; turning the pages of your life from dull shades of black and white into hues of technicolour.

Or, maybe it was just that. He made things interesting and you needed interesting.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, the manner with which your fairytale life had twisted and morphed into something so mundane. You had the fancy beachside apartment, the dream job with the fun co-workers. You had the nice clothes and the sparkling jewels to go with them; large wardrobe full to the brim with rare pieces and garaments alike. Even your dating life had been exciting, meeting famous faces and well-off suitors in the upscale establishments you frequented with your friends. But it wasn’t enough. You feared nothing would ever be enough. Nothing exciting enough, glamorous enough, expensive enough to fill the growing feeling of indifference that threatened to paint your entire world grey.

A part of you liked familiarity, needed it, even. Clung to it in the same way you gripped the straps of your favourite tote bag. It was comforting to ease the unknowns of life with something habitual and constant. But when you did settle, when the anxiety did dissipate, it was like you almost missed it in its absence. It was the adrenaline you craved rather than the anxious wracking of your brain; the adrenaline that followed every redundant fear your mind conjured up; the push of chemicals through your veins as you murmurred ‘oh fuck, am i going to miss my train?’, ‘shit did i leave the stove on?’, ‘did i have a meeting today or was that tomorrow?.’ The bubbling of nervous adrenaline, it was like a shot of espresso, or the abrupt sound of your morning alarm clock. It forced you back to reality, tore you from the prison your restless thoughts built around your consciousness.

Chan had been that too in a lot of ways, a rude awakening of sorts. He had astounded you in more ways than one, tearing you from normalcy and forcing you from your comfort zone in the process. No longer just floating through life while your mind hummed with restless noise. Perhaps that was why, despite every anxious part of you that wanted to run away from him, a deeper, unheard part refused. You’d regret it, wouldn’t you? Walking away from him, vowing to never see him again. You’d regret it almost instantly no doubt, the tick of your apartment’s clock taunting you as it reminded you where you should’ve been on the day of your cancelled appointment. Your mind would trap you again, filling your head with thoughts of what could’ve been, should’ve been, if you’d just pulled yourself together.

That was of course without mentioning that you indeed remained uncured. You were still very much afflicted with the same inability to get yourself off no matter how hard you tried. You’d done it once, you so foolishly believed from that moment onwards it would be easy. It was not. Even with the vivid memory of that night playing over and over in your mind like a song caught in a loop, you were back to square one. You needed the dark to find the light. How true that had turned out to be, how unfortunate that your infatuation for your therapist was turning out to be more practical than whimsical. You really did need him.

The timing of your appointment meant that within moments of your arrival, the doe-eyed receptionist was already hurrying off for her lunch break, insisting that you wait for Dr Bang in his office instead. Dr Bang, hearing her say it almost pulled a laugh from your parted lips; what a suitable name for someone in his profession. She didn’t join in with your amused half-chuckle as she gathered her purse and coat. You didn’t blame her, you were sure she’d heard the stifled laughter a million times before. Thanking her one last time as she motioned you toward his office, you pushed open the door expectantly.

Immediately your eyes fixed on the black oak desk situated in the foreground of the furthest wall. The room was empty, no muscular figure tucked behind the neat workstation, nor situated in the same leather chair he had been a month prior. You breathed out a sigh, your throat finally releasing a breath you hadn’t even realised you’d been holding until you accounted for his absence. You made your way inside, letting the door close behind you with a clack. It felt eerie being in the infinite silence of his abandoned office. Not even the sound of the AC lulled in the background as you wandered throughout the space, taking in the details as if it were your first time being here, and in a way, it was.

During your last visit you’d been so distracted by Chan you’d been unable to focus on much else, let alone the intricacies of his office. The much too large windows were the first thing you’d noticed, both today and the last. Unlike a month ago they were covered by enormous blinds, the afternoon heat so unbearable today that having the sun exposed would be as sweltering as standing on a shadeless street corner. The lack of AC left the office tepid, and the vacancy of natural light shadowed the once bright room. You felt as if you had stepped into the embrace of a warm hug; one that sucked all the sound from the atmosphere until all that remained was the thumping of your heart.

You could hear it now; your heart. It beat with uncertainty as your eyes trailed across the shelves upon shelves of awards and personal photos behind his desk. You felt like you’d snuck into a secret place you weren’t supposed to be, taking in every detail of someone’s life without an inkling of what any of it meant. One frame held a picture of a smiling boy, a younger girl tucked under his arm in a near chokehold. Judging by the look of disdain on her features, and the mischievous expression on his own, you figured they were siblings. Another picture captured an older version of that boy, one that now more closely resembled Chan. He knelt on the grass, a dog, who’s white fur was blotched with copper-tones, smiled up at him, pink tongue spilling from its mouth. You knew Chan’s life hadn’t started when he met you, but it still felt strange to see it all play out in front of you now.

The office door opened with a clatter, your body spinning round at the intrusion; trusty tote bag slipping from your arm in the process. You caught hold of the strap before it could fall from your rigid limb completely, eyes settling on Dr Bang himself. He seemed frozen in place, palm clutching the door handle with bleached knuckles. His nervous disposition suggested he’d been preparing himself for this moment, to no avail, and if that were true, you were thankful. At least then you’d be in the same boat. In a second, a mere tick of a clock’s hand, he was back to his usual self, pushing a large smile atop his pillowy lips.

“Hello, y/n. How have you been?” His voice was soft as he closed the door behind him, the hand that wasn’t clutching a stack of papers flicking on a second set of lights. In an instant the room was engulfed in pale yellow hues, your eyes blinking to adjust. He walked the distance from the door to his desk, letting the pile of papers fall down with a dull thud.

“Could be better, could be worse.” You murmured, still feeling like a deer in headlights. He nodded at this, almost as if he silently understood, agreed even. You didn’t know whether you should stay rooted beside his desk or take a seat, body itching for another of his commands. You hated how badly you wanted him to tell you what to do and how to do it, no matter if it were a simple seating arrangement or one of his filthy, guided masturbations.

“That’s a start, hopefully by the end of the session we can turn it around?” He spoke, tone as level as it had always been, though you noticed how quickly his eyes seemed to wander. It had been impossible last time to look anywhere but him, that intentional and scrutinising stare holding yours for what felt like eternities. His gaze was scattered now, moving from your face to his desk and back again, fingers re-arranging his already neat desk as if attempting to regain control.

But, regain control of what? His thoughts, his racing heart, his body? You wanted to know. You wanted to crack him open, let the secrets spill from him like yolk. You wanted to study his mind the way he studied you. It was intoxicating, the mystery that still surrounded him. So intoxicating that you were starting to find you didn’t need to get lost in the shadows of his stare, only needed to be close enough to feel the palpable energy, the magnetic charge, that radiated from him like the sun’s unbearable warmth.

“Should we get started?” He asked, brown eyes leaving the surface of his immaculate desk to search your expression. You nodded, pushing a smile atop your lips as you moved toward the leather chairs, slouching into yours right away.

You noticed he wasn’t wearing that same dark suit this time, instead he wore a crisp white dress shirt with a few too many buttons undone at the top. The bottom part of it was tucked half-hazardly into a pair of tight ebony trousers. It didn’t remain that way for long. With a raise of his hand–fingers combing through dark curls–one side fell from its confines, a slither of pale skin meeting your hungry gaze. You swallowed, drawing your eyes from his figure as it drew nearer to you, stopping only when he reached the chair opposite you.

“Shall we start with an update?” He questioned, taking a seat while his hand tightened around that same large ipad. “How have you been doing, did you manage to climax again?”

“No.” You admitted right away, head shaking in disappointment. It was hard to hide how frustrating it was, even more now than before. At least prior to your first happy ending you were none the wiser to how much greener the grass truly was on the other side. Now you’d grazed in it, tasted it, felt it between your fingers and toes. How could you ever return to astro turf after you’d experienced the real thing?

“No?” Chan looked surprised at this, chin tilting to the side as he drank in your expression. You were sure you looked anything but pleased, brows furrowed as you shook your head no once more. “Okay, did you follow the routine?”

“I did, yeah.” You mumbled, digits playing with the pleats in your skirt.

“What do you think was different?” He asked, looking genuinely curious by your dilemma.

“Do I even have to say it?” You released a huff of air, heart jumping nervously behind its skeletal confines.

“It would help if you did. Guessing games can lead to miscommunications.” HIs smile was back, dimples pressed prettily against his plush cheeks. How badly you wanted to cup them, how badly you wanted to let the pads of your thumbs brush against the indents that dotted them. How badly you wanted him.

“I just… I feel like I need your help, you helped so much that time… ever since I haven’t managed it, I mean, what does that tell you?” You asked, heart racing a little faster now, hands growing clammy; thoughts scrambling as you felt your frustration grow. Your situation felt so hopeless, so entirely unfixable. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did. It always would.

So many past relationships flashed across your mind, so many times when you’d watched the partners in your life walk away. Their promises that you’d never be too much, that there was no storm you couldn’t weather together, ground to dust beneath their retreating steps. There had been other issues that ended the relationship of course, not this one, never this one. Yet it still seemed so unbelievably ironic how, try as they might, they never could fix this little problem. How laughable it was that Chan had managed within hours of meeting him.

“You- you need my help with climaxing?” He seemed taken aback, his innocence almost sending your eyes rolling. How could he be so surprised? Had he not been on that phone call with you after all, had that all been a vivid dream?

“I think so, yeah.” You opted to speak instead, fingers still playing lazily with your clothing in search of some relief from the awkwardness of the conversation.

“I’m sure you just need a little direction and practice.” He shook his head, ever the dismissive party out of the two of you. But you knew better now. You’d heard the way he fell apart, heard the things he’d said when all resolve had vanished. He was just as depraved, just as desperate and needy but he hid it well. He cowered behind fabricated boundaries, crossing one and then inventing another. He pushed, and he pushed, but he always found a new way to hold back. You wanted to test that, wanted to make him snap. Was that bad?

“I’m twenty-five Chan, I think if practice was going to do it I’d have done it by now.” You shook your head, tone uncharacteristically sarcastic as you let your frustrations slip. He winced at this, taken aback by the change in your tone. Easily your annoyance dampened, sigh falling from your lips as quickly as your apology “I’m sorry, that was– I’m just– I feel defeated.”

“It’s understandable, you don’t need to apologise.” Chan offered you a comforting smile, eyes glimmering with a patient understanding that had you thawing instantly.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, tell me what to do. Like give me some direction or something.” You asked, trying to pry more solutions from his all-knowing brain.

“Like on the phone?” He questioned, palm gliding across his thick thigh as he spoke. You couldn’t help the way your gaze followed its movement, long fingers instantly taking you back to that night. You pictured them wrapped around his length, the wet sound of his desperate, thrusting grip, too much to think about right now. You squirmed in your seat, thighs pushing together in momentary distress.

“Yeah like then, is there more I can do?” You asked, trying to hide your growing weariness behind another frustrated huff.

“Perhaps you need to focus on finding ways to relax, maybe you have a problem switching off, moving from one task to the other. If you’re still tense when you’re masturbating then it can be hard to let yourself go.” He was so composed, seemingly so unaware of the way you were breaking down internally. How did he do it? How did he look at you with such easy indifference after that night. Maybe he was just that; indifferent. Maybe you’d been looking at this all wrong.

“Okay.” You shrugged, barely listening by now.

“You don’t look happy with that.” Chan pushed for an answer, clasping his apple pen a little tighter in anticipation of your response.

“I’m not patient enough. I guess I just hoped that it was fixed. But, now I have to get used to the idea of this being some long healing journey as if I haven’t had enough of those. As if I haven’t–fucking–read enough–fucking–self-help books or listened to enough ‘all you need is recharged rose quartz and you’ll be fine’--fucking–influencers.” You felt your hands grip at your forehead in defeat, palms attempting to erase the tension that settled there through half-hazard motions. You wanted to laugh at the way you got so easily wound up, but the idea of starting yet another ‘healing era’, felt suffocating, impossible even.

How much more growing was there to do? Some people say it never stops, but you’ve had a lifetime of it. A lifetime of people pointing out your flaws, telling you what was wrong or what needed fixing. You’ve had a lifetime of changing everything about you until something felt right, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. A lifetime of trying to do everything right just to be told you were doing it wrong, anyway. You weren’t emotional enough, then you were too emotional. You were loud, then too quiet. You were rude, then you were compliant. It took reaching your twenties to realise you didn’t really care who you were, or how you acted, as long as you were happy with yourself.

It felt freeing, so entirely exhilarating to feel as if you were done changing, morphing and growing into someone else’s idea of a normal human woman. It matched you well, but it was also tiring. You’d grown to be independent far younger than you probably should’ve, your therapist said it built character, you thought that was stupid even at ten years old. Having a childhood built character, having healthy relationships and good role models; that was what you needed. People’s incessant criticisms had felt like the only freedom from your independence for so long; the only time you weren’t thinking for yourself. Bittersweet was the lingering feeling that remained for a few years after your new found self-assurance.

It was stupid, to crave something that had been so toxic, but that was just so unequivocally you. Hate something with every fibre of your being when you had it just to miss it when it was gone. Didn’t matter how much it hurt you, didn’t matter that it damn nearly killed you, only the good parts of it remained in its absence. The ghosts of memories even your unrelenting, self-sabotaging brain forgot. Were those the causes of your dissociation? The fragmented memories of times gone by, the missing pieces still stashed away in some untravelled corner of your mind?

“These things do take time, yeah.” Chan pulled you from your thoughts, tugging a sigh from your lips as you shook your head in defeat.

“Fuck that, there’s gotta just be something in me that doesn’t work, right? Like there’s just a part of me that can’t do it and I’m gonna have to just live with that.” Your arms raised in exasperation, frustrated rambles not phasing him in the slightest. You figured that shouldn’t surprise you, despite everything that had transpired between you, despite how unlikely it sometimes seemed, he was a therapist. A person you were paying to listen to you speak. A person you had essentially paid to make you cum. Jesus.

“But you did.” He countered.

“No, you did.” You reminded him, his brows rising at the implication.

“That was all you, I just helped.” He shook his head, dismissive once more.

“Can’t you help me again, then? Just tell me what to do, show me. Make that part of me wake the fuck up and realise it has a job to do. Fix me again.” You murmured helplessly, searching his mind for something, anything that could ease your anguish.

“You want that? You want me to teach you? You want me to fix you?” He spoke after a beat of silence, plump mouth emphasising your latter sentiment. A switch had seemingly been flipped in him, reminding you of his faltering resolve from a month ago. You were sure it was your imagination–after all he was so quick to collect himself–but that was expected, you didn’t know him well enough. You didn’t know how badly he yearned to ‘fix you’.

There was a saying that went along the lines of this; therapists need therapy the most The first part of their adult lives were dedicated to learning the secrets of the mind, just to spend the rest of it fixing other people’s. The perfect distraction; fix others so you don’t have to fix yourself. Yeah, that was him. Finding distraction after distraction to avoid the complicated mess in his own brain. But that wasn’t just it. No, Chan was a people pleaser, a man so desperate to be needed that he put his heart in danger every single fucking time.

He’d lost count by now, the amount of times he’d run in blindly; falling for a pretty girl with pretty problems. A pretty girl with a pretty smile and a pretty big hole in her pretty heart. He did it every single time. He’d never mixed work with self-sabotage though, this was unchartered territory. But that was then, one slip up, one mistake made in the heat of the moment. How could he not? You were so pretty, sounded so pretty pleading for him to help you. Not even he had the patience for that.

“Yes.” You breathed out, eyes turning wide and expectant beneath his weighted retort. There you were again, looking hopeful, as if he really did have the power to cure you. But he didn’t, Chan had learned that again and again; he couldn’t change the last girl, or the girl before, or the girl before that and he couldn’t change you. Not like this anyway, not through lust or–heaven forbid–love. Growing attached, letting them be dependent, it was bad in the end; always bad, never good like he’d intended.

“I can’t, you’re not broken.” He assured you, not a drop of insincerity mixing with the honey sweet tone of his soft voice.

“Then pretend I am and fix me anyway– break me just to put me back together again– I don’t care, just please do something to make it stop.” You felt a little frantic now: he wasn’t giving you the answers, wasn’t providing solutions. Was it really that hopeless? Were you really this cursed? Knowing that the cure was right in front of you, within arms reach, but too far to hold. Too distant and closed off, too unwilling to give you what you know you needed.

Were you crazy for thinking he wanted it to, were you delusional for thinking you could see the fire in his eyes every time you reached for him with words? The air around you didn’t lie though, did it? Or were you the only one feeling that constant chemical reaction that surrounded you both. That fizzle and burn, that electric fever that drove you crazy; depriving you of clean, pure air with every breath. It was filling your lungs with hot embers, you could feel it, could feel the way it choked you of all sense and left only desire in its place. Could he really not feel it too?

“Make what stop, love?” The nickname wasn’t lost on you, its presence sent a ripple of hope across your skin, igniting goosebumps in its path.

“I don’t know, everything I guess. The boredom, the anxiety, the noise, the frustration, the emptiness; all of it went away that night and I’ve been trying to get back there ever since.” You admitted, teeth gnawing at your lip, brows scrunched together in frustration. Chan thought you looked utterly pitiful in the hottest way. Was that possible? To look pathetic and undeniably attractive all at once. Yeah, it was; you were.

“I can’t cure you, you know that right? You have to do that on your own.” He insisted. It was true, wasn’t it? Historically speaking, practically speaking. People can’t change other people, that was how it worked right? They had to change on their own, grow alone, love themselves before they could learn to love someone else. If they didn’t, they’d be forever codependent, clinging to the sun that helped them grow into a fully flourished person. But the sun went down, it didn’t stick around forever; he couldn’t stick around forever.

“But what if…”

“I can’t.” He was quick to cut you off, not wanting to fill your head with pointless sentiments of hope. Whether he wanted to or not, whether you wanted to or not, you had to stand on your own two feet. He knew this to be true more than ever when it came to your own pleasure. You couldn’t depend on him for that; he couldn’t fill the void. He’d fall in love too easily, catch feelings in an instant. How could he ever make it out of that alive? It wasn’t right, you deserved better. Deserved to know your own body, how it felt, what made you feel good.

“Try?” You spoke, voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide and pleading.

“I can’t.” He huffed through gritted teeth, jaw stiff with useless restraint.

“Please?” You looked at him as if he held the world and all its mysteries in his grasp, ready to hand them over if only you could wear him down enough. It wasn’t not working, he hated to admit.

“Don’t… don’t do that.” He shook his head, eyes dipping to the ipad in his grip as he drew mindless patterns across its slick screen. It was enough to distract him for a moment, but not long enough.

“So, I just, I just go home and try the same shit again then is that it? Another month of nothing? Or can I call again, would you pick up if I did?” Your words had his cock twitching, palms growing clammy. That night haunted him. It felt so wrong, so completely fucked up. He lay awake for nights after that wondering if he should resign, turning his dream of owning a successful therapeutic clinic into a distant memory with the same stroke. But more than that, he wondered if you’d call again. Would you need him some more? Would you lean on him a little longer? Was it really true that he was the missing piece? That only he could make you cum.

“You know I would.” He responded in an instant, too quick in fact. “I’m surprised you didn’t call, to be honest.” He chuckled, attempting to seem unaffected. As if he hadn’t been waiting by the phone every evening, as if he hadn’t checked and re-checked for missed calls when sleep didn’t come to him easily.

“I wanted to try on my own; I’m really trying.” You half-whined and that sound alone was enough to have every noise from a month ago flooding his mind at once. His hips shifted, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“I know, baby, you’re so good.” He sighed, resolve slipping; gaze darkening along with it. You saw it happen right in front of you, pupils dilating, mask slipping from his handsome face. “How about this… You show me how you do it at home and I’ll see if there are areas for improvement?” Chan suggested, against what he knew to be his better judgement. Fuck it, though, right? He could cross another line, just one more, find a new one to draw between you to keep you at arms length. You’d seen right through him in that regard, knew exactly how he justified each gradual crawl toward your eagerly awaiting form.

“You want me to… now?” You blinked, fireworks erupting in the pit of your stomach signaling an internal celebration of what you were almost sure was a triumphant victory.

“Isn’t that what you want? To make a mess of my chair? To cum again?” His words sent a jolt of something electric and sweet straight to your core. Your teeth felt like blades, threatening to draw blood from the plump flesh of your bottom lip as you nodded wordlessly, too turned on at the prospect of getting to climax again to formulate a coherent sentence.

“Why don’t you lift that little skirt of yours and show me how you pleasure yourself.” His voice was low, impossibly dark gaze studying you with an almost predatory stare. Your nerves stood alert like the hairs of your arm, hands moving at their own accord. You moved the hem of your skirt up the meat of your bare thighs, his eyes following your motions closely before fixing on the sheer fabric of your damp panties.

You felt like an imposter in your own skin as you spread your legs, circling the pads of your fingers across your clothed clit in compliance. You tried to stop the heat from rising in your cheeks, from pulsing through your blood like lava, the molton toxicity wetting your panties even more. You were helpless to it; the growing intensity of your lust. It was strange, the combination of embarrassment mixed with desire. It felt like a dangerous cocktail, one destined to leave you with a hangover unlike any other you’d felt; a banging headache, a sick feeling, a desperation for a wellness you could never reach without it.

Was that what this was? A growing addiction? An inability to feel better without him, or an unwillingness to find an alternative cure? You pushed the thoughts from your mind, easily too with the help of his sultry voice, though all the same the bubbling of nervousness remained.

“This is how you do it? What’s rule number one? What did we do last time?” He asked, too put together considering the pornographic movie that was playing out in front of him. His eyes told a different story though, hungry and feverish as you moved your fingers clumsily.

“Umm, take my clothes off?” You managed between huffs of impatient air, wanting nothing more than to skip to the part where your toes were curling, head tipped back in reticent ecstacy. You moved your hands away from your clothed cunt, starting to remove the tight fitting crop top a strap at a time. You watched his jaw grow slack at this, your confidence growing in place of the initial uncertainty.

You put on a show for him, suddenly abandoning the idea of being taught the ways of your pussy in favour of winding him up. Both straps fell past your shoulders, the rough material of your tiny top grazing your perky nipples as you dragged it down your chest, letting your plump breasts spill out from beyond its fabric confines. His brow twitched, lips faltering along with it as he watched the bounce of your tits.

“Mhm and start with your nipples, make them feel good, work yourself up.” Pulling your top off completely, you followed his demands, fingers tugging at your hardening buds. You remembered his advice from the last time, making sure to wet your digits with your tongue in a slow sinful motion. This earned a half moan from the man, his body shifting as he hid his faltering confidence behind a closed fist. With his chin resting against it, he gazed at you through his lashes, watching every pinch and tug with a hawk-like intensity.

“I’m already so worked up.” You groaned, unable to hold his heated glare any longer. You lulled your eyes toward the wet patch growing in your panties, pussy clenching around nothing at the sight of it.

“I make you worked up?” He mused, leaning forward in interest. Leveled as his voice remained, his restless form gave him away; dilated pupils darting between your hard nipples and your soaked underwear. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, moan designed behind a cough at your response.

“Yeah, so bad.” You mewled, one hand traversing the expanse of your smooth skin until your fingers met with the pool of sticky wetness between your thighs. You pulled at the band of your panties, sighing at the feeling of the tight fabric squeezing against your sensitive clit. You watched his expression as you drank in every movement, the obvious stiffness mounting in his crotch area not going unnoticed by you.

You wondered what it would take to have him desperate for his own release again, enough to disregard every one of his frivolous boundaries until his head was too clouded with intoxicating lust to draw a new line between you.

“Don’t focus on me, focus on yourself and your body.” It was almost like he knew, as if he could read your mind; could sense the way it reeled with thoughts of him and him alone. You tugged at your panties again, focusing on the movement of your fingers as they swirled around your excited nipple. “That’s good, don’t be shy now, you weren’t shy last time.”

“You couldn’t see me last time.” You murmured, the tips of your ears and apples of your cheeks the same shade of crimson.

“You’re beautiful, don’t be embarrassed.“ Chan shook his head, shifting in his seat once again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get comfortable, not when the growing ache in his pants became harder and harder to ignore. “Now do what we did last time, feel what works best for you, take your time.”

“This?” You questioned, fingers pulling your panties aside as strings of sticky cum followed suit. You touched your bare clit with care, jolting and wincing with each caress. You were so sensitive, so turned on by the intent stare he fixed on your soaked cunt. You traced a finger down the seam of your pussy, rubbing the thick, juicy substance across your bundle of nerves in a clockwork motion.

“Yeah, that’s right, feel yourself.” He drew a breath, tongue darting across his lips, hands not sure what to do with one another as he watched the sight play out in front of him. “That’s good, does that feel good?” Chan questioned, slouching back in his chair as if the increased distance would afford him some alleviation from your mesmerising performance.

“Yeah, I think so.” You retorted, repeating the back and forth between your clit and dampening folds. You teased your entrance with the gentle prod of your fingers, tight clenching accompanying each experimental push.

“Do what makes you feel good, learn what you like.” It was unbearable how calm he was, a whine leaving your lips as his professional tone.

“How.” You murmured, the strumming of your clit increasing in speed as you felt a pleasurable sensation begin to wash over you.

“Try new things, keep touching yourself–why don’t you take those panties off and give your pussy a slap.” You nodded, eagerly complying with his wishes as you pulled your panties down your legs letting the sheer fabric pool at the base of your chair. You placed your skirt there too, completely bare save the pair of kitten heels snug around your feet.

“What?” The second part of his statement had you puzzled though, or perhaps it was just the intense feeling of being exposed in front of a person who was not only fully clothed but seemingly unbothered. Yeah, maybe that was it; that would be enough to have anyone confused and uncertain.

“You like it rough don’t you? Smack your pussy, give your clit a spanking for me.” His words had your hips shifting, a moan tumbling from your lips. Everything sounded better coming from his full mouth, the gravel tone interlaced with his thick accent–it was unbearable.

“Like this?” You questioned, landing a smack against your sensitive clit. Both of you moved in sync, hips shifting at the shrill noise your palm made abusing your sensitive nub. Your face screwed up at the feeling, the delightful sting accompanied by another wave of self-satisfaction.

“Harder.” He growled, moan mingling with his next words. “Yeah, you like that? I can see how wet you are, keep spanking your pretty little cunt.” You complied, strings of whines and groans following each harsh slap.

“You’re making me this wet.” You mewled, expression still contorted in pleasure. Chan wasn’t sure how he’d expected to make it through this entire ordeal, that had been foolish thinking on his part. He hadn’t expected you to be so brazen though, both nervous in your disposition but shameless in your filthy words and actions. His cock was impossibly hard in his pants now, hand itching to relieve the tension.

“Fuck don’t say that, gonna have to learn how to make yourself cum when I’m not around.” He insisted, though in truth you were saying all the right things to morph him into malleable putty, substance perfect for the palms of your hands; mass supple enough to wrap around your finger. “That’s good, yeah that’s good fuck you’re clenching around nothing.”

“Wanna be full.” You whined, pinching and rubbing at your clit with a rise and fall of your hips. You could tell the chair beneath you was drenched by now, the surface becoming slippery beneath your clammy thighs.

“Fuck yourself with your fingers, start with one and keep adding as many as your greedy little cunt needs to feel full.” His resolve was slipping, you could tell, could connect the dots from that night a month ago. It filled you with confidence, had your heart racing and limbs squirming as you rubbed your clit more furiously.

“Not gonna be enough.” You shook your head, hoping, so intensely, that he would just give up and finish you himself. You could practically sense it, the way his fingers would make you feel, the sharp rush of intense white light that bubbled up with every thrust of his skilled digits. How perfectly they’d fill your tight hole, stretching you open as if preparing you for his fat cock. You slid a finger inside, feeling empty despite the new intrusion.

“You just need to learn how to make yourself feel good baby, curl your fingers, do a scissor motion, whatever makes you feel the best.” He was still instructional in his method, but he looked anything but the calm teacher he’d been previously. Chan was leant forward now, tongue poking out his mouth, elbows propped on his knees as he watched you intensely.

“How?” You questioned, brows scrunched.

“How, what baby? Use your words.” He asked, his palms rubbing together in a useless attempt to distract his mind from the ache in his pants.

“How do I make it feel good, sir.” You elaborated, pushing another finger inside your convulsing pussy.

“Fuck, god, gonna make me crazy if you keep that up.” He run a hand through his hair, hips rising from the chair. His dark hair looked a mess by the time his fingers were done combing and tugging with restraint. You didn’t think it was possible for him to look any sexier, but his disheveled appearance proved otherwise.

“Please.” You implored, the steady back and forth of your fingers slowing to a standstill at his next words.

“You want me to show you, yeah?” He licked his lips shamelessly at you, hungry eyes awaiting your response with uninhabited lust.

“Yes, please, so bad.” You mused, squirming in your chair at the prospect of his fingers tucked snugly inside your needy pussy. You hoped this wasn’t a dream, that you weren’t about to jolt awake to the shrill sound of your alarm clock.

“Beg, show sir how badly you want his fingers inside you.” He murmured, jaw clenching at the sight of your pussy as it squeezed around nothing. “Keep circling your clit, yeah, keep going.” He commanded you, and without hesitation you followed.

“Please, please, want you to fill me so bad, please sir- please.” You keened, fingers toying frantically with your bundle of nerves.

“That’s it baby, keep getting yourself off, you're doing such a good job on your own.” He licked his lips again, chest heaving with every circular motion. You pushed your fingers back between the snug walls of your cunt, moving your hips to accompany the thrust of your digits.

“I need more, please.” You wailed, the edge you’d wanted to revisit so badly gradually inching into view.

“You really want my help, baby?” He asked, almost as if he were undecided. That couldn’t be it, though. There was no conceivable way Chan could doubt your desire to have him, in whichever way he was willing to give. He wanted to hear you beg some more, didn’t he? Wanted to hear just how badly you needed him, as if seeing it wasn’t enough.

“Please.” You gave him what he wanted, putting on your best forlorn expression to better your chances. It worked, a little too well judging by the haphazard way he fell to his knees in front of you. Whatever glimmer of self-discipline he’d been clinging to, it was gone now, and in its place: a man starved.

“You’ll tell me if you wanna stop, can you do that for me?” He looked up at you with hopeful eyes, his final attempt at giving you an out. An insincere part of him hoped you would, that you’d be the one to grasp ahold of your better sensibilities and put an end to your affair. But you didn’t, of course not, you never would, would you? He doubted it, not when your gaze exuded a level of desperation he was sure he’d only seen in wild animals. Instead, you nodded, teeth claiming your bottom lip as you did so. “Good girl.”

Chan wasted no time sliding a finger inside your warm walls, a drawn out groan falling from his lips at the spongy grip that took a hold of his digit. His hips shifted compulsively as you tightened around him, a second finger inching its way in as he studied every rise and fall of your expression. Another moan from your lips–another half-grunt, half-groan from his own. He pushed his digits deeper, thrusting them in and out at a steady pace, letting his knuckles brush against your velvety clit.

“Ugh, that’s good.” You practically screamed out, head tipping back with a wide open-mouthed grimace; face contorted in unimaginable pleasure. How was it possible to feel this good? You thought you’d reached the maximum capacity for bliss that night, but Chan was showing you an entirely new palette of gratifying hues.

“Barely touching you, darling. So desperate, hmm? Not been able to get off without me? Need me that badly?” He mewled, lips pressing wet, desultory kisses to your shoulder and collarbone. Your body twitched and seized beneath him, eyes rolling back at the sensation of his plump mouth against your hypersensitive skin. Every nerve felt as if it were going haywire, every brush of his bony flesh against your clit feeling like a rush of adrenaline. It was then that he did something truly toe-curling, the sudden feeling of something prodding at just the right angle inside of your tight walls; it had your spasming wildly beneath him.

“Yeah I need you, need you to make me cum–need your cock in me, want you to stretch me out.” You sang in between moans, hands clinging to his clothed shoulders, nails latching onto him harshly.

“Fuck, baby, slow down. Gonna take my time; you gotta take your time.” He panted, dark eyes finding yours in among the thick haze of lust that consumed you both. It had you moaning even louder, the combination of his intoxicating stare and that unidentifiable sensation threatening to push you over the edge prematurely.

“Oh god, so much better.” You whined, tears filling your eyes, forehead shifting to press against his own as you clung to him for dear life. The warmth that radiated from his body was like a balmy embrace, the rousing scent of his cologne only adding to the numbing of your senses. He smelled incredible; expensive and masculine but with an undertone of something musky and thrilling. You wanted more of it, more of him. Wanted to taste him, to feel his cock pushed so far past your walls you could feel him rearranging your guts; the head of his member visibly prodding at the pit of your stomach. You wanted his mouth on yours, tongue exploring the inside of your mouth until he’d discerned every inch of you, top to bottom.

You felt safe beneath his strong body, the hand that wasn’t busy splitting your open prying at your thigh until he managed to hook a leg over his shoulder. You felt your head fall back again, eyes squeezing shut as he sped up his pace, the room filling with the sound of your drenched pussy. The squelching was so lewd, so loud that you were sure you’d cum from that alone. Could feel it in the way your cunt clenched again and again, sucking his digits in and refusing to let them free.

“That’s ‘cause I’m curling them. Feel the difference?” He murmured, tone the only thing calm about him now. Looking down at him, you saw the frazzled expression painted across his handsome face, the frantic look in his eyes underpinning that same predatory stare. “Mmm fuck– gonna find your g-spot; gonna make you scream.”

“Chan, fuck, please.” You wailed, hips bucking upwards in motion with his thrusts. He pushed you down with his free hand, cheek pressing against the meat of your leg as he watched you intently. His attentive stare didn’t last long, though, not when your pussy was putting on such a pretty show for him. His arm was soaked, the chair beneath you was drenched, juices pooling on the floor by your clothes.

“So hot–stay still for me baby, did I hit the spot?” You could only nod now, moans coming out in pitchy screams as you bucked against his firm palm, desperately trying to fuck yourself with his fingers. You couldn’t describe it, the pleasure that was building inside of you, the edge that was careening so close to your helpless, frantic body that you could taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue.

“Yeah, think so, oh god, oh my god.” You found your words at last, whining disapprovingly when his fingers left your needy pussy empty in favour of pushing past his plump mouth. Your gaze drank him in as he did so, watching with narrowed eyes as he sucked on them. It was slow and erotic and downright torturous, a string of desperate moans tumbling from his glistening pink lips.

“Fuck you taste so good, let me taste you properly, please can I?” Apparently it was his turn to beg, his nose nuzzling against the inside of your thigh as he adjusted the leg propped atop his shoulder.

“Please, please, do whatever you want, own me.” You nodded frantically, wanting nothing more than to return to that blissed out state you’d been so caught up in.

“You want me to make this pussy mine, for real? Want me to fuck you rough like the slut you are?” You wanted him to mean what he was saying, but something told you he wasn’t. That was as a line you were certain he wouldn’t cross, not for now anyway, but you could live with that. A sentiment that rang even truer when you felt the rough texture of his tongue against your puffy, sopping cunt.

The reverberation of his moans only added to the intense wave of pleasure that overcame you, his frenzied ministrations causing your hips to buck, thighs closing around his head. He took it all, licking up and down your pussy as if lapping up your juices. Whatever lesson this was supposed to teach you about masturbation, you didn’t know, and you weren’t about to question him about it, not when you switched to burying his face in your leaking pussy, tongue fucking you with purpose as his nose prodded your swollen clit.

“Yes, please, sir–ruin me.” You grabbed ahold of his hair, earning another moan from the man as he continued devouring your drenched cunt. Every time he lapped at your sweet juices, more poured from your clenching hole, his tongue drinking up every last drop as he shifted between your entrance and your sensitive nub.

“Fuck this isn’t good.” He groaned, breathing out words in the short amount of time he spent away from your pussy; allowing him mere moments to suck in oxygen before he dove back in. “We shouldn’t be doing this, baby, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Ugh, that feels so fucking good.” This time he focused his mouth on your clit, lips wrapping around your bud as he pushed his fingers inside of you, thrusting in knuckles deep with a pace that bordered on animalistic. Your fingers gripped his hair just as aggressively, hips moving at their own accord as you felt the edge of your orgasm hurtle towards you.

“Good keep going, use my fingers fuck yes.” He moaned, breaths coming out in desperate pants against your sensitive clit. The gentle push of air paired with his relentless thrust of his fingers against your g-spot was enough to have you screaming, head falling backward, cunt convulsing as you felt that white light begin to encase you.“Shit you’re cumming so soon? Oh fuck, yeah, fuck, so messy.”

“Fuck, please, keep going– no why did you stop?” That feeling you’d been so frantic to chase, the bright, welcoming light that you’d been so ready to rush toward was ripped from you the moment his fingers exited your clamping walls. You looked at him in disbelief, body spent, skin aglow with sweat.

“It's your turn, do what I did.” He rejoindered.

“No, no please” You shook your head, tears welling over as you pleaded with him to give you release. This was bordering on mean, knowing how frustrated and desperate you were to feel that warm white release only to pry it from your begging hands.

“Come on pretty girl, you got this. Let me help you.” His palms ran comforting patterns across your skin, face still level with your pussy as his breath fanned across your sensitive core. You twitched beneath him, stare holding his own in hopes your beseeching eyes could reason with him.

“Not the same.” You murmured, shaking your head once more.

“Don’t be greedy now, come on.” He spoke, landing a slap against your clit in warning. Your hips jumped, sensitive pussy clenching around air as you greedily accepted your punishment. Despite your momentary disobedience, you followed his request, pathetic fingers moving down between you both to begin thrusting in and out of your weeping hole. “Good girl, keep going.”

“Need yours.” You sobbed, the feeling of your digits nowhere close to the pleasurable strokes of his thick, veiny hand.

“Hmm, why don’t we try a new toy? See if you can make yourself cum like that?” He suggested, and how he’d managed to maintain any semblance of his role as your sex therapist after annihilating your pussy with his pretty lips, you had no idea. Truly the man was a saint, he hadn’t even touched his hard cock once, too busy pleasuring you to even notice the impossibly tight feeling in his pants.

“Okay…” You agreed, body beginning to ache with fatigue.

“Keep playing with yourself, slap that pretty little clit around while I find a toy for baby girl to play with.” Chan commanded, and you obeyed.

You watched him walk the short distance to his desk, opening one of the cupboards to look over a collection of unboxed sex toys. The consistent branding told you it was probably a sponsorship deal, a collaboration of sorts. But you didn’t pay the toys enough attention to confirm this, no, instead you watched the way his back flexed, vein hands tugging at a box before returning it to its home. It was utterly unfair how even the back of him could drive you crazy; everything about him was thick, masculine and oozing sex appeal. Yet despite the plumpness of his arms, thighs and ass, his waist remained tiny beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. You wanted to see what lay beneath his tight-fitting clothing so badly, the thought enough to have your fingers speeding up in a newfound wave of ecstasy.

“What about this? Long like my fingers, that’s what you like right?” He returned with a different vibrator. Unlike the other one, this had some sort of vibrating node for your clit; making sure to stimulate every inch of you it could touch.

“Lemme show you how this works, okay? Gonna use it just like the vibrator, push it up as far as your little cunt can bear.” Chan grumbled, tongue licking his lips as he lowered himself to his knees again. Removing it from its packaging with ease, he pressed the velvety device against your desperate cunt, quizzical gaze searching for any signs of hesitation.

“I can take it all, please make me take it.” You were quick to retort, squirming in anticipation of what was to come. You hoped, no you prayed, that this time he’d make you cum, not stopping till your body was limp and spent, eyes rolled back in your head and screams so pitchy not a sound came out. You wanted that, you wanted that so bad.

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re all wound up baby, you sure you want that?” His voice was low, free hand coaxing your leg back over his shoulder as he peppered kisses to your inner thigh.

“Please, pretend it's your cock. How would you fuck me?” You whined, hands shifting to pinch at your nipples desperate for any form of release.

“No, no you can’t think like that baby.” He shook his head dismissively, using the toy to push up and down your gushing pussy, chuckling wickedly every time your body twitched.

“You want it too, don’t you? Wanna know what it’s like to fuck me? So do–” You couldn’t even finish getting the words out before he was shoving the toy into your needy hole with force, a dark expression atop his faltering features. “Yeah fuck, like that.” You screamed out, your pussy barely able to sheath the toy with how puffy and swollen your walls were.

“That feel good, baby?” He growled, teeth gritted as he pushed the device in and out of you with fever.

“So good.” You whimpered, bucking your hips in time with his thrusts.

“Gonna have to take over, you need to learn for yourself.” He reminded you, your head shaking in an instant.

“Not yet, keep going please.” You sobbed tearlessly, moans coming out in broken, melodic strings of half-cries and curse words.

“Haven’t even turned the vibrate on and you’re already clenching like a whore.” He tutted, tongue spilling from his lips as he got lost in your pleasure. It looked like he enjoyed this almost as much as you did, his brows furrowed in concentration as he took in every change in your expression.

“Can I touch you?” You whined out, hips bouncing in time with his expertly timed thrusts. Your hands reached out, starting to undo the buttons of his dress shirt with a growing desire to see him naked and exposed like you were. He didn’t show any resistance, even shuddering beneath the graze of your nails against his bare chest as you opened the unbuttoned top. He looked delectable; toned muscles flexing with every thrust of his arm.

“No, then I really will wanna fuck you.” He murmured, setting another boundary you had every intention of crossing; his forehead leaning down to press against yours, bodies as close as they could possibly be given the current position. His lust-filled gaze sparkled in the shadowed confines of your close faces, the soft whimpers and laboured breaths that left his parted lips sending your body into overdrive. You leaned forward to connect your lips, mouth ghosting over his for a nanosecond before he moved his face away from yours. You whined, aching to chase after him but opting to pry a little more instead.

“Will you touch yourself when it’s my turn then?” You questioned, hungry eyes searching his for any signs of defiance.

“You want that?” He whimpered, free palm pushing you down against the soaked leather chair once more, trying to keep your quivering body still beneath him.

“Yeah wanna hear you moan again.” You yelped, clenching again and again around the silicon toy, wanting more than anything to replace it with his meaty cock.

“Does that turn you on?” Chan asked, proud grin on his lips.

“So bad.” You murmured, head rolling back as you felt him graze against your g-spot with the tip of your new device. “Wanna watch your cock make a mess– oh my god I’m so close Channie~” He didn’t let you finish, turning the vibrator on mid sentence. The sudden change in sensation caused you to shake and convulse beneath him, creaming the toy with every pointed thrust he offered your greedy cunt.

“Yeah? Take over for me baby, fuck yourself like the depraved slut you are.” You could barely think straight, eyes glazed over with unadulterated, carnal desire.

“Fuck you’d break me open so good, want your cock so bad.” You mumbled, taking the toy from his grip to try and match his relentless pace. You weren’t even close, too tired, too rigid to compare.

“God, bet you do, never enough for your greedy little pussy is it? Just want more and more.” Chan mused, the sound of his belt clattering drawing your attention to his lower half. You watched eagerly, excitement growing with every push of his hands. He pulled his cock out hurriedly, leg still propped over his shoulder as he fisted the base of his cock.

You whined at the sight, free hand clawing at his half-clothed chest before gripping the meat of his upper arm. You hoped, pointlessly so, that the feeling of his toned muscle beneath your hold would ground you, keeping you steady as you worked yourself with the toy. The sight of him jerking desperately at his leaking cock, though, was far too compelling. Moans fell from his mouth, curse words interjecting every sinful noise.

You’d thought his pointed gaze was enough to hypnotise you, but the image of his stiff member as it oozed pre cum transfixed you in an entirely new way. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear your eyes from his thrusting hips and eager fist as it worked its way up and down his length. You were sure you’d not seen a cock quite as pretty as his, either. It wasn’t overly large but it was thick and veiny with an angry red tip that you knew would prod your cunt in all the right ways. You wanted it, you wanted him so bad. You were salivating at the thought, mouth gaping wide open at the prospect of it.

“Bet you’d fuck me dry, so desperate you’d milk my cock of every drop.” He groaned loudly, hips bucking into his first with an air of impatience.

“Yeah, want that so bad sir.” You could feel your high approaching once more, the edge coming into view in new and improved shades of technicolour bliss.

“That’s it, good girl, you’re doing so well.” He praised you, head lulling back as he hissed, teeth clenching, face scrunching; the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. His adams apple bobbed, thick neck glistening with sweat as he squirmed, face falling to rest against your leg.

“Cum on me, in my mouth.” You pleaded, trying to match the rhythm of his thrusts, imagination fixing on the idea of it being him fucking you like this.

“Fuck that’s so hot, you’re so fucking hot.” He instantly complied with your wishes, hand abandoning his cock momentarily in favour of getting to his feet. He gently lowered the leg once propped atop his shoulder as he did so, discarding his trousers and underwear properly when he was stood. He was frantic in his motions, wanting nothing more than to dump his load on your pretty face.

Hovering over you, he watched as you eagerly opened your mouth, head angled to allow him to aim the tip of his length toward your lips. He hummed at the sight, face scrunching again as he began to fist at his cock. The wet sound of his cum streaking the length of his member had you keening, tongue darting out to lick at his tip desperately. He bucked his hips at the new sensation, shoving his cock closer to your mouth in the process. You kept lapping at his head, enjoying the salty taste of his cum as it hit your tongue–the bitter flavour pulling pornographic moans from your throat.

“Oh god that feels amazing. Yeah, keep doing that baby.” He too moaned, pumping his cock relentlessly while you leaned closer to him, sucking the head of his twitching member feverishly. “Such a good girl, yeah, your lips look so pretty around my cock baby.”

“More.” You begged, the initial taste of his salty cum enough to have you craving more. You wanted all of it, wanted to feel his mushroom tip abuse the back of your throat, wanted to choke on his fat cock until breath became a necessity. You were positive you’d see the white, orgasmic light then, when you were deprived of all air, forced to take in every inch of him until he was done using you for his own pleasure.

“No, don’t be greedy. Take what I give you and say thank you like a good slut.” He landed a slap against your cheek, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to sting and fuck it felt incredible.

“Mmm, thank you sir.” You whined, complying instantly, pussy clenching around the toy still thrusting in and out of your numb cunt. Your arms were in a similar position, movements growing sloppy and slow as you tried to chase your high through till the end.

“Good, now you gonna cum for me?” He asked, fucking his fist with the same fierce pace he’d gifted you. “Yeah, fuck you’re so hot.” He moaned, watching you struggle to pleasure yourself, movements ragged and desperate as you became unable to control your limbs.

“So close, so so so�� please.” You cried out, riding the toy with one final push of determined energy.

“That’s it, keep fucking yourself. You’re so close, baby don’t give up now.” He moaned out, his own high building with every snap of your hips, the noises your mouth and pussy were making so sinful it had his eyes rolling back. He resisted though, keeping his well-trained eyes on your abused cunt. You were struggling, he could tell, something in you not quite snapping the way you clearly wanted it to. It wasn’t your fault, he’d tired you out by now; he blamed himself for that.

“Come on, you can do better than that. Like this baby.” He abandoned his own pleasure again, hand leaving his cock to replace yours. His pace was exactly what you needed, your body convulsing the moment he replaced your sloppy grip.

“Oh god, yes, please keep going.” You cried, almost scared he’d deny you again.

“Yeah? You gonna cum? Look at the mess you’re making pretty girl, fuck, I bet it tastes delicious.” He growled, pushing the toy as deep as your puffy cunt would allow, angle directed toward the extra-sensitive spot you seemed to love so much. “You’re taking it so well, such a good little slut.”

“I’m gonna cum.” You wailed, hand gripping his, half-reacting to the sudden feeling of overstimulation that washed over you, the part of the vibrator pressed against your clit sending you into spasms with every hard thrust.

“That’s right, come on baby, good girls cum– you’re my good girl aren’t you? Gonna cum like sir told you to?” He growled, the possessive tone that had overtaken him sending shockwaves across your limbs.

“Yeah, yeah fuck! I’m-” You didn’t have time to respond to his pleas before you were thrown from the edge, same white light blinding you in the process. You lost all feeling, all consciousness as you came, the explosions errupting throughout your spent body going unnoticed by your fucked out mind. Your chest heaved as you started to come to, hand still clamped around his now motionless wrist as his voice broke through your heavy breathing.

“Shit, you squirted everywhere baby. Fuck that’s so hot.” You whimpered, scrambling to sit up in embarrassment. You looked at the chair first, the leather slick with your release, but it wasn’t until you gazed at Chan that you saw the extent of it. His white shirt was dotted with wet spots, looking almost like the splatter of something colourless. His hand and arm were soaked, chest glistening too.

“Sorry.” You frowned, suddenly embarrassed by the mess you’d made.

“Shh, don’t be sorry, you did so well baby; look at you, so messy, so pretty.” He was quick to assure you, abandoning the vibrator in favour of cupping both your cheeks. You took each other in for a moment, no words spoken between you as your eyes lowered to his lips. One of his hands moved toward your chin, tugging our gaze upward again; not letting you linger with the thought of kissing him.

“Lemme make you cum.” You spoke after a beat in time.

“No, no lovely girl, you need to rest a second.” He smiled, pad of thumb caressing your plump bottom lip before he shifted, seemingly ready to clean you up and send you on your way. You weren’t ready for the moment to end, though. Couldn’t bear the thought of not getting to see him like this again for another month, or, god forbid, longer.

“Then use me to finish.” You reached for him, grabbing ahold of his wrist before his back could straighten, reaching his full height.

“Baby, fuck.” He moaned, clearly battling with the idea of you crossing yet another of his lines. He couldn’t blame you, not wholly anyway, he let you do it easily every time. Deep down he knew they were nothing but silly justifications; a safety net to fall back on when he broke every rule in the book.

“I want you to.” You assured him.

“This is supposed to be about you.” He shook his head.

“Then do it for me, use my mouth.” Your persistence seemed to be enough for him, still-hard cock twitching excitedly at the prospect.

“Get on your knees.” His eyes darkened, turning to face you properly as he watched you position yourself on the floor, obedient as ever. “That’s it, good girl.” He swallowed thickly, guiding you toward his painfully hard length. He tapped your outstretched tongue with the tip, wordlessly ordering you to open wide.

“Tastes so good sir.” You mewled as he slid the base of his cock along your tongue, moaning at the texture of your muscle against his veiny member. His patience, or whatever was left of it, was slipping away with every messy lick of your tongue, his hand shifting to grip your hair.

“Squeeze my thigh if it's too much, okay?” Your nod was enough to have him pushing his length past your parted lips, cock giving you no time to adjust as he pushed his hips forward. “Such an obedient little slut, aren’t you? Touch your clit for me, want you cumming with my cock shoved down your throat.” He growled, pushing his length as far down your throat as your tight mouth would allow.

“Oh fuck yeah, yeah, yeah that’s so– ohmygod you feel amazing.” You moaned the moment he afforded you a few seconds to breathe. Your fingers toyed with your clit just as he’d requested, but you were far too focused on swallowing his member to focus on the tingling feeling between your thighs.

“Bet your pussy feels better though, doesn’t it baby? Filled all the way up with my fat cock.” He grunted, grip in your hair tightening as he thrust his length past your lips harshly. You squealed at this, sound muffled by the back and forth of his cock as he used your throat to chase his own release. It was hard to focus his gaze as he pushed his cock all the way to the base, your nose pressing against his toned flesh as you gagged, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Are you crying? Yeah? Sir giving it to you too rough? This is what greedy girls get–a throat full of cock.” He growled, any hints of his prior softness dissipated with the tightening of your throat around his sensitive length. He started setting a pace, no longer mindlessly pushing you down his cock. Rather he pulled out of your swollen mouth, giving you a few seconds to breathe before he thrust in, repeating that motion again and again with a frenzied persistence. If he had any doubts about your feelings on the matter, your soaked cunt gave it all away.

“God your pussy is drenched, sounds so good. Does it feel good, baby? Getting mouth fucked while you play with your little cunt for me?” He moaned, fucking your face with a new found fever, his approaching high numbing his senses until all that remained was the sound of your wet pussy clenching around nothing and the feeling of your tight throat seathing his desperate cock. In all of the blissful chaos though, the man couldn’t help but take pity on you; the tears streaming down your cheeks, drool coating your chin, was enough to have him pulling out. You instantly gasped for air, forehead falling against his thigh as you caught your breath.

“Sit up baby, spread your legs. Gonna paint your pussy with my cum–gonna make it mine.” He instructed, helping you back atop the chair when you looked at him with pleading eyes. Your chest still rose and fell, gaze glossy with fresh tears as you whimpered, barely able to register the possessive way he wanted to claim you beneath your heavy fatigue.

“You gonna cum for me too, yeah? gonna fuck my cum inside you with my fingers while you play with your clit.” He was back to those sinful rambles, an apparent sign of his impending orgasm as he worked his cock, hovering above your spread legs while he watched you circle your clit violently. “Good girl, good girl, fuck.”

“Yeah fuck, mine, my good girl, looking so pretty for me.” His pace picked up, abs tensing with every twitch of his cock. His tip leaked with presumptive release, small bouts of thick cum running down the head, aided in its journey by the drying slick of your spit. “So useless without me aren’t you baby? Can’t do anything without me, need me so badly.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh god.” His words had you quickly barreling toward the edge again, consciousness slipping as you fell in and out of subspace.

“Say you’re mine.” He growled, face contorted in the hottest expression you’d ever seen. He looked determined, the first that fucked his cock thrusting at such a frenzied pace you wondered if it was painful. “Mmm” Was all you could manage, before a harsh slap to your cunt was enough to jolt you away from the fucked-out state you found yourself in.

‘Say it, slut.” He insisted.

“I’m yours, all yours; only yours. No one else can make me feel like this, not even me, this pussy belongs to you.” Your words were all it took, his entire body shifting, twitching and shaking at the sudden onset of his climax. His knees almost buckled, the half-awkward position causing his muscles to burn and tense as he milked his cock of its stringy cum. Moan after moan fell from his lips as he watched it splatter against your lower half, your hungry cunt clenching as the warm liquid painted your clit and abdomen.

Lowering to his knees again, he kept his promise, pulling your hand away from your puffy clit in favour of collecting up all the cum that settled on your skin, sticky substance coating two of his digits as he shoved it inside your overworked pussy. “Cum for me, come on. Don’t make me spank you again.”

You moaned out, shrill noise almost awakening his cock once again as he drilled your cunt with his fingers, pushing his cum as far into you as your swollen walls would allow. “Good girl, that’s a good girl; such a good little cum slut.” He cooed as you lost all control, body seizing beneath the weight of another orgasm; the wave of ecstasy so sudden and unexpected it stole the air from your lungs, the noise from your voice.

Chan rode you through your high, pressing kisses to every inch of your inner thigh, fingers slowing to a halt inside you. Sweet praises filled the air as he pulled his digits from your defeated cunt, palms rubbing soothing patterns against your skin. He kept this up until the ability to move seemed to finally return to your aching limbs, your body shifting to sit upright. Your breathing was laboured as his eyes leveled with yours, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort.

“Are you okay?” He asked, fingers back to tracing your skin affectionately; an action that felt just a little too sweet considering the events that had just transpired. You nodded, still not quite able to form words as you moved forward, pulling him into your embrace, desperate to lean on him for support. He let you, of course he did, arms wrapping around your fatigued body as he pulled you against him. Your head fell to the crook of his neck when you lowered from the chair, awkwardly positioned atop his kneeling form until he shifted to accommodate you.

For a moment you stayed like this, the sounds of your breathing the only thing breaking through the heavy silence. It gave you both time to think, to come down from your post-orgasm bliss and retrace the events of your appointment.

“Fuck, what are we doing.” Chan was the first one to speak, a heavy sigh pulled from his downturned lips.

“I don’t know but I don’t want it to stop.” You whispered, neither of you making any attempt to put distance between you.

“We have to.” His response was instant but insincere, there was no denying that now. Not even your anxiety could trick you into believing that Chan didn't want this.

“But do you want to?” You asked, making the first move as you pulled back to look him in the eyes. Maybe his mouth lied, but his gaze never could.

“...No. do you?” He said after a beat in time, large gaze studying you just as you did him. His palms moved to grip at your bare waist, a single hand shifting to run up and down your right side, tracing the curve of your hips as he waited expectantly.

You smiled, the fireworks that erupted behind every one of his caresses giving you the answer you'd been looking for: “Never.”

“Never?” Chan stared at you dubiously, hand stilling at this.

“Never.” You didn’t hesitate, head shaking. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes flicking from feature to feature in search of any insincerity. He found none, only a flourishing of adoration that threatened to grow tucked behind your gaze.

He decided to believe you. You decided to believe it too–hoped so badly for it to be true–wanted so badly to have finally found the cure. Needed so badly for him to be the cure.

<< back to dash // next episode >>

taglist @mangojellyyy • @diekleinesuesse • @bahablastplz • @jeonginnieswifey • @skzittomebabyuhhuhx3 • @yaorzu-blog • @skzreader25 • @sseungmongi • @swaggylili • @geni-627 • @fun-fanfics • @channiesluvrclub • @iambangchanswife • @bluesungology

A/N: jfc i nearly didn't finish this in time oopsies! semi-unedited again so apologies for any sloppy writing in places. thank you all for 200 followers!! next chapter is due for release at the 350 milestone <3

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 4 months ago

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heaven is a place on earth with you ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

the romance tropes that the blue lock boys would have with you.

ft; rin, isagi, kaiser, nagi

⋆｡°✩₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧₊ °✦

itoshi rin - grumpy x sunshine

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ he doesn’t know how or why he fell for you, but when you’re talking to you’re friends about him, saying that he’s not “even that bad”, he can feel his face warming up. he’s never been so happy about his hair blocking much of his face. why does he feel like someone is tugging on his chest whenever he sees your smile? why are your words always carved into his memories?

⋆｡°✩₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧₊ °✦

isagi yoichi - mutual pining

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ please, just get together already. that was the shared thought between…well, everyone at school. the stares, the secret notes during class, the hand holding, the walking together, the giggles, the “just hang outs, not they’re not dates!”, just let it become official already. it was cute at first—the way that his eyes softened whenever you smiled, but now it was just sappy and annoying.

⋆｡°✩₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧₊ °✦

michael kaiser - childhood best friends

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ you were just a girl on a swing in the park. the girl who always went over to him—his filthy, unwashed self—and offered him food and money. no questions, just that simple action. the simple action that had him falling deep, deep, in love with a girl who didn’t even talk to him over what…over four months when they first met? well, that’s what ness thinks when he sees kaiser’s arm slung around your waist firmly. oh well, he was in no place to talk. as long as kaiser was happy.

⋆｡°✩₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧₊ °✦

nagi seishiro - “it’s just casual” (it’s not)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ you were the girl in the dorm next to him who liked video games too. that was the idea that nagi had repeated to himself over and over again. plus, a crush? what a hassle. overly passionate and positive emotions for someone? such a hassle. and since nagi had…well, no one to talk to other than you for most of his first year, it was only until reo pointed out how it was not just friendship for nagi to literally sleep on your lap every night.

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shouyuus · 10 days ago

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prev reblogs here <3

thanks for the tag @dira333!

LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO i mean >_>

no pressure tags: @rabbbitseason @aimfor-theheart @saetiate @limerlove @hiraethwa @suguwu @opt1mistic @mangostarjam + anyone else who wants to play!!!

which little plushie are you? 🧸

tysm for the tag: @amrplastique 💓

tags: @catchmeonyourceiling @lovethornes @daystarpoet @beaucereza @chxrrybxmbi @dolcecuore @auntiejohn @binibby @bvrnesher @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @certaimromance @effortlesslysweet @aezuria @mothswan @lydiasfalling @peanutalergy @xoxorory @xoxoivy13 @laufeysvalentine @minorlyatfault @jjsblueberry and whoever wants to join <3

#tag games #𐙚 the feelings mutual #why did i just get read to filth by this quiz

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bighitfics · 4 months ago

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recent jungkook fanfics that you should read for your own sanity.

(a recommendation for all the girlies who miss him like crazy!)

one rule by @/jasminefanfics on youtube

— dark romance, mean and morally ambiguous jungkook, hostage au, enemies to lovers, smut, love triangle (but it’s just a deranged schizophrenic being the ‘bone in a kebab’ for the gorgeous couple)

— this is ART. this is true unleashed YEARNING. dark ROMANCE done right, literally the perfect read for winter! this is my absolute fav read of this year 🫦

bonded by @borathae

— werewolves au, forced marriage au, childhood besties to lovers, angst, romance, smut.

— will this queen ever stop producing art after art? she’s not capable of doing that, god this was such a good read, I’m still not over this, THIS IS MY SHEYLA FR! (iyykyk) they’re everything to me gawd 🥺

mon révé by @sweetcarrotsandroses97

— archdeacon jungkook, forbidden love, age gap, romani character reader, dark romance.

— I’ve never read something so beautifully, perfectly executed, every scene she wrote is plastered into my brain, the amount of times i think about this fic is not normal, I’m desperately awaiting the new chapters 😔✋🏼

the love prognosis by @awrkive

— friends to lovers (the og), medical au, unrequited love, roommates trope.

— nobody gets them like I do fr! my precious ship! 🥺😻🤲🏼 i loved how down bad he was for her from the beginning, we love a man who worships the ground his woman walks on LIKE AHHHH the author executed the one sided pining from jungkook so well! THE ANGST IS DELICIOUS IN THIS.

christmas & chill series by @girlygguk & @lovieku

— special xmas edition, jungkook and reader.

— the way I’m about to eat this up. u guys aren’t ready for the obnoxious amount of times I’m gonna be crying ab this whole series on my blog, oh lord have mercy on me, this is so brilliant oh how i wanna kiss their hands for this, SUCH DIVAS BOTH OF THEM 🫦

infrunami by @kooktrash

— friends to lovers, mutual pinning, smut, angst.

— boom shakalaka yes gawd! after I completed reading this fic, i took a moment to myself, clapped and took a lap around my bedroom, then I also did a 7 min standing ovation, this deserves more hype ngl.

burning hour by @jungqkook

— established relationship, smut, exhibitionism.

— the amount of times i’ve re read this is embarrassing but it is that LEVEL of good, oh god when is it my turn to experience something like this?

catch twenty-two by @miraclemaven on wattpad

— forbidden romance, age gap, smut, older reader & younger jungkook, angst.

— im so hooked into this story, even though i haven’t started reading properly, this is a promising one, with really good writing.

chained up by @jikookie17

— obsessed addicted jungkook (my jam), smut, angst, fluff.

— reading this made me feel like im watching a melodramatic story of two idiots who literally can’t live without each other, its a cute lighthearted read, 100% recommend!

THE END OF TODAY’S LIST.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ hope the girlies like it ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

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kajibunny · 10 months ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ we're just friends! (or are we?) w/ the wind breaker boys ✧⋆⭒˚｡

✿ featuring: hajime umemiya, jo togame, haruka sakura, hayato suo, ren kaji ✿ fluff, mutual pining, hidden feelings (aaaa), suggestive for suo, a lil angst (with comfort) for kaji ✿ a/n: i guess by now everyone can tell that i’m very into the friends to lovers trope ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა~♡ it’s def my fav!!! and these wb bois are all perfect friend material, and ofc boyfriend material too! enjoy, cuties! ✿ wc: 2.3k

— you have a closely intimate friendship to the point that everyone around you thinks you two are dating, though you know you're not lovers (yet), but are definitely more than just friends.

ʚɞ umemiya

— sharing hello and goodbye kisses with each other.

ꕤ you and umemiya are the definition of 'affectionate', as your love languages both consist of physical touch. but maybe with each other, a little bit too much for just friends.

ꕤ the word "boundaries" did not exist to the both of you once you were within arm's reach of each other. you and umemiya give each other hello and goodbye hugs, sometimes cheek and forehead kisses, as a greeting, right? to be friendly. though he doesn't seem to do that as often to other people, or at all, even. just to you. only to you.

ꕤ he also loves cuddling up to you whenever he takes a nap on the rooftop, inviting you to join him in picking out some veggies that you two could make a meal together with.

ꕤ while you two were cooking together, you definitely gave off a 'married couple' vibe with the way you held the ladle up for umemiya to taste, the way he had pressed his palm to your back whenever he needed to pass through, the way he fed you with his own spoon and giggling while complimenting how delicious your cooking was, the way he wrapped his arms around you and hummed while he helped you wash the dishes. anyone who saw would have immediately bid their congratulations and would think you two are newlyweds.

ꕤ hiragi took one look at the both of you appearing all lovey-dovey, and the confusion of whether you two were dating or not made his stomach scrunch up in pain.

ꕤ umemiya calls you such adorable names when referring to you in conversation, too. his tiny bean, his ray of sunshine, his cherry blossom, it was always "his", as if you belonged to him. he was openly affectionate with you and was not afraid to show it.

ꕤ many guys also took a liking to you, but never attempted to even make a move or confess, because they were already under the assumption that you were umemiya's, seeing you two playing with each other's fingers and comparing hand sizes like you were made for each other. but how could that be, you and umemiya were just friends, weren't you?

ʚɞ suo

— you get a special seat (on his lap).

ꕤ suo just can't seem to keep his eyes and his hands off of you. you always have to be within his vicinity, or he's not sure how he'll be able to stand it.

ꕤ he sees you at the corner of his eye, after you have made your way back from the restroom. you and the other bofurin first years were at an izakaya, and the moment you returned, all of their eyes were glued to you and suo, as if they already knew something was going to ensue. you two have been friends for a long time, but the way you acted towards each other felt like you two have been lovers for a long time.

ꕤ suo was always up in your space, whether its pulling random pranks on you, inviting you to go out then paying for everything even though you tried to stop him (nothing can stop suo), visiting your home and leaving an endless supply of tea enough to last you a whole year - his excuse being it's there for whenever he comes over, and multiple instances which all prove that suo was no doubt a very clingy friend. not that you minded, anyway. you were used to suo and his antics.

ꕤ he had his ways of persuading you too (he is the master of negotiation, after all), and you just couldn't resist him, as you loved being around suo just as much.

ꕤ this time, he took advantage of your short absence and made himself comfortable in your chair, and wouldn't even move an inch. "hayato, that's my seat!" you exclaimed. "hm?" suo tilts his head. "you can just sit on my lap, then." he smiles, with that damn mischievous smile you know all too well. you tried to get him to move by gently pushing him back and forth but suo seemed to not have a care in the world.

ꕤ you can't tell whether suo is serious or joking sometimes, but nirei and sakura seems to have their doubts that you two are "just friends" as you both claim. "are you sure the two of you aren't dating?" nirei asks you. sakura blushes and lets you know his thoughts, too. "y-yeah...! you two are unusually close!" you always reply to them with an astounding "no!" but suo just laughs and does not affirm nor deny any of their claims.

ꕤ suo pulls you in close, making you sit on his lap regardless of your little outburst, and you weren't sure if it was hot in the izakaya, or if it's just you, but you certainly felt warmth overcome your body while it was pressed flush against his, his arms wrapped around your waist nonchalantly. "hayato!" you protested, trying to squirm your way out of his grasp, and pushing away all intrusive thoughts about his and your bottom halves being so close together, only separated by thin pieces of clothing.

ꕤ nirei, the most observant of the bunch (next to suo), points out that you even call suo by his first name, and that's another one of the reasons why you two seem like you're dating.

ꕤ with suo, everything seems to be a mystery. but in suo's perspective, it's all clear. he loves you, whether it's as a friend or as a lover, that's for him to know and for you to find out.

ʚɞ togame

— leaves everyone on read except you.

ꕤ togame just doesn't understand why people need to type out what they want to say, aren't calls more personalized? he didn't understand at all, until he met you.

ꕤ you were, to put it directly, a chatterbox in all forms. you loved to talk, regardless if it's chats, calls, or in person, you just yapped your heart out to him everytime, and he lives for it. he wouldn't miss a second of you opening your mouth and giving him a taste of your innermost thoughts. he absolutely adored talking to you, because it was you, and you were special to him.

ꕤ the shishitoren guys thought it was so funny and adorable whenever togame picks up his phone so quickly because he thought it was you calling, then scowls when he realizes it isn't, and immediately silences it and shoves it back in his pocket. this caused him to set a different ringtone just for you, so he could pick up on the very first ring.

ꕤ you were also the first reply he ever sent via sms, a simple "ok" to your long message talking about how you thought it was amazing that he won the town's annual eating contest for many consecutive years in a row and that you were totally ready to challenge him next year by stuffing your face with okonomiyaki and invited togame to join you and have some with you so you could keep an eye on the competition. he found your personality totally amusing, his face immediately lighting up with a gentle smile whenever you sent him messages.

ꕤ anyone who sees how happy he is while he rereads your texts over and over would interpret that as togame being totally, irrevocably, head over heels in love with you.

ꕤ he doesn't actually reply to anyone at all ever, but he wanted to share all his firsts with you, he just couldn't help it. you were captivating, witty in your words, and very very charismatic, bombarding him with the cutest and funniest messages everyday. of course, he doesn't mind at all and is always looking forward to them.

ꕤ you two stay on calls for longer than eight hours at a time talking about how each other's day went, and yet you wonder why people always think you two are dating. normal friends don't stay up until the break of dawn chattering for hours on end, expressing all the things they like about each other, do they? at least togame knows he wouldn't do it with anyone that wasn't you, as he valued his precious sleep time dearly, but as time went on, you became more precious and more dear to him than his sleep time ever could.

ʚɞ kaji

— play fighting like an old married couple.

ꕤ kaji is the type to never go down without a fight. needless to say, that also applies to you. but your fights with him were different, more banter adjacent, more affectionate and playful. only lasting for a few minutes.

ꕤ kaji had a huge soft spot for you, as even though you did irritate the heck out of him sometimes, somehow he still could not stay angry or annoyed at you for more than one second. he just couldn't resist the way you crossed your arms and huffed with your cute little frown. he thought you were the most adorable angry little thing he's ever seen and wanted to pinch your cheeks out of cuteness aggression and frustration, but he would never say it to your face.

ꕤ one time, you two had a heated argument because he said he could hear you just fine but wouldn't bother to take off his headphones. you argued that it was impolite and that you won't talk to him at all anymore if he does that again, and you two were at each other's throats, giving one another a piece of your mind, until kaji mutters a 'sorry', and you began to sob uncontrollably and let him hold you in his arms while he stroked your hair to comfort you because you two couldn't stand the intensity and tension of being angry at each other for long.

ꕤ you had your less serious fights too, like when you made him a bento box for lunch and you two had a picnic together with his vice captains. you fed him the food with your chopsticks, kaji teasing you by saying "it's bland." and you reasoning out that kaji was 'as salty as his tastebuds'. kaji then asked you if you wanted to have 'a taste of his fists', which ended up with kusumi and enomoto snickering in the background wishing that the both of you would just date each other already.

ꕤ whenever you two argued, your faces were so close to one another's that you were just a few centimeters shy from kissing, the tip of your noses touching. kaji had to hold himself back, a lot. like an insane amount. friends didn't want to kiss and make out with their friends, right? but kaji did. and you did too.

ꕤ his way of apologizing is by suddenly leaving a lollipop with you. he puts them in your bag, or places them in your pocket while you weren't looking. it was his little peace offering, one that you treasured and collected, accumulating dozens of them by your bedside table. kaji would gladly give up his last lollipop for you, and no one could argue otherwise.

ʚɞ sakura

— blushing wildly whenever you two are around each other.

ꕤ you and sakura always looked like you two were having a blushing competition. the littlest touches and the most minimal contact had both of your cheeks heating up in response.

ꕤ it was like sakura's blushing was contagious. ever since you two became good friends (if you could call it that, though it seemed to be more than that at times), being around him triggered a whole bunch of embarrassing and hilarious but sweet situations.

ꕤ you once dragged sakura off to his very first cherry blossom viewing in the park, and needless to say, with both of you being a chaotic (but cute) duo, it kind of felt like you were on a wild rollercoaster ride with him.

ꕤ you took a stolen photo of sakura while he was mesmerized by the falling pink petals. you thought he looked adorable, but sakura thought otherwise. he was a blushing mess and told you to delete them, but you said they were cute and that you were going to make it your wallpaper.

ꕤ sakura chased after you, and tripped over a stray cherry blossom branch, leaving you two in quite a suggestive position, sakura on top of you, pinning your wrist down with his hand. your cheeks were as pink as the cherry blossoms, and tried as you might, you couldn't keep your eyes off his lips. friends don't observe their friends with wanting eyes, do they?

ꕤ suo and nirei instantly noticed how huge of a klutz you were around sakura. they also noticed how curious sakura was about you, always (not so subtly) asking nirei how much he knew about you, or your likes and dislikes, then asked him not to tell you that he asked about you. but suo told you instead, because they were your biggest supporters and cheerleaders (and biggest shippers, of course) after all.

ꕤ on sakura's birthday, they made you hold the cake and surprise him, which was a huge mistake, because before it could even reach him, you slipped and fell over him. luckily, sakura had good reflexes and was able to catch you before you completely toppled over. some of the smushed cake ended up on his and your face, which you tried to wipe off as you apologized, but sakura dipped his finger onto the icing that got on your cheek and licked his finger. "t-the cake's not bad, i guess..." he looked away from your smiling face as you greeted him happy birthday in a sing-song tune.

ꕤ suo, being a menace, greeted sakura happy birthday as well as gave him a 'best wishes to the happy couple' greeting card, that sakura threw back at him like it had a virus on it.

ꕤ sakura definitely had a memorable birthday that year, but now that he thought about it, all of his memories that were memorable to him had one thing in common: you were in all of them. you, the greatest gift he could ever ask for on any and every occasion.

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shouyuus · 2 days ago

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hello....i haven't been able to stop thinking about a bound inspired vi x reader 😇 be gay do crime..."do i make you nervous, vi?".....ofc those scenes LOL....RAHHHHH I NEED ITTTTTHIJBSJVPSBPJD and in your writing....literally dead in a heap on the floor

omg pluto pls dont do this to me ive been Trying (TM) not to think about that like PLEASE ASDLKFJASOD super sexy vixen mobwife!reader x ex-con vi who just got outta prison (i can't believe this is canon lmfaoooo) and is fixing up reader's kitchen sink, and really shouldn't get back into the underground business again but... hey, if the goods look like you and come dressed in black lace? who's she to disagree?

reader naming one of vi's prison tattoos, asking "are you surprised i know what it is?"

vi, "maybe --" pops her lip over the neck of a beer bottle.

/shoots myself/

#🌧 raindrops #arcane #𐙚 the feelings mutual #omg pluto pls dont do this to me IM WEAK

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rafesangelita · 16 days ago

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…BBF!RAFE X KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER AU

⋆𐙚₊˚🍦⊹♡

BBF!RAFE X KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER who started their secret romance after rafe overheard kook!sweetheart!reader gushing about him on the phone with her best friend, her words making him rethink everything he thought he once knew.. including his own feelings for her. for weeks after that, he drove himself to damn near insanity thinking about the ‘what if’ of things if he just let himself have her the way she wanted. he watched her from a distance, admiring the beauty he never fully appreciated out of respect for her older brother. suddenly they were sharing looks and ‘bumping’ into each other a lot more, rafe’s touch lingering a second too long for her to consider it him being lighthearted or friendly. all it took was one night for rafe to corner her and confess to her before they were sneaking around every chance they got.

BBF!RAFE X KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER who have mutually decided to keep their relationship under wraps since they’re both scared of hurting the one person that means a lot to them; her older brother. having to act like nothing is going on between them when they’re always around each other has been the hardest thing to do, especially when kook!sweetheart!reader’s brother is always trying to play matchmaker and set rafe up with other girls. naturally, she can’t help but leave the room whenever the topic comes up, feeling both frustrated and defeated because she knows she can’t say or do anything about it without her brother raising suspicions and finding out about them. thankfully, rafe shuts everything down just as fast as it comes up, never failing to reassure kook!sweetheart!reader once they’re in private.

BBF!RAFE X KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER who check into a fancy hotel on the mainland every weekend in order to be together without worrying about anyone seeing them. they take the term ‘weekend getaway’ too literal and end up ignoring everyone for two days straight, both of their phones blowing up with missed calls and unanswered messages while they stay up having marathon sex and ordering room service. “it kills me that we can’t do this everyday.” rafe is looking up at kook!sweetheart!reader as her hips move on top of him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as she whimpered at the feeling of his length fill her up. “i know—” she hiccuped, “two days are not enough..” rafe lived in his own condo, but it was deemed useless to stay there since kook!sweetheart!reader’s older brother had his own key and could practically show up at anytime.

BBF!RAFE X KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER who have to act like they’re single in front of their friends, both of them stealing glances at each other when no one is looking. rafe keeps an eye on her if and when they happen to be at the same place, his fists clenching at his sides everytime she gets approached by someone. he does’t even realize he’s intently watching her as she turns each guy down until her brother nudges him in his side. “bro, will you relax? y/n isn’t a little girl anymore, she can handle her own.” rafe recounted the way they used to defend you from boys who only had one thing on their mind back in your teen years, both of them getting into a countless amount of fights all in your honor. while your brother was right, and rafe had no doubt in his mind that you didn’t need ‘saving’ anymore, he was territorial for a completely different reason now..

BBF!RAFE X KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER who often times feel guilty for going behind her brother’s back, both of them feeling conflicted once they’ve managed to sneak away. “i just feel like we’re digging our graves deeper the longer we wait to tell him..” rafe always gave you his full attention while you spoke to him, his fingertips running along your side as you two laid underneath your sheets together. “i don’t want to keep lying to him either.” as much as rafe loved your brother, he knew this was a form of betrayal he wasn’t sure he could ever come back from. to know that they’ve been lifelong friends and have been through everything together absolutely gutted him. how would he even react? despite all of this, rafe knew one thing to be certain; his love for you made any kind of outcome or consequence worth it.

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pandacherryblossoms · 27 days ago

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𐙚 Nct Dream Kinks 𐙚

Genre: Smut MDNI 18+

Mark

• Praise Kink - Mark thrives on hearing you praise him, especially during intimate moments. The way you acknowledge how strong, skilled, and desirable he is makes him feel powerful and boosts his confidence. He loves knowing that you’re completely captivated by him.

• Dirty Talk - Mark can’t get enough of talking dirty to you, and he especially enjoys when you respond in kind. He loves setting the mood with words, and his dirty talk is laced with both affection and command, making you eager to please him.

• Mutual Masturbation - Mark enjoys watching you pleasure yourself, and he loves when you do the same for him. The visual stimulation and intimacy of being vulnerable together while getting each other off turns him on, and it deepens the connection between you both.

• Edging - Mark takes control over your pleasure, bringing you to the brink and holding you there just long enough to make the eventual release even more intense. His control is intoxicating, and the anticipation he creates fuels both his and your desire for the ultimate satisfaction.

Renjun

• Humiliation - Renjun enjoys when he can make you feel small in the most teasing way, pushing your limits while still keeping it playful. Whether it’s gentle teasing or making you admit something naughty, he knows just how far to take it before it becomes too much. The power dynamic in this aspect turns him on, as he loves the control it gives him over you.

• Blindfolds - Renjun loves using blindfolds to enhance the power he has over you. The loss of sight heightens your other senses, making every touch, every whisper, feel more intense. He enjoys watching you squirm as he teases you, knowing that you can’t anticipate what he’ll do next, which makes the experience that much more thrilling.

• Power Play - He loves taking control and putting you in your place, whether it’s through commands or physical dominance. Renjun enjoys when the balance of power shifts and you surrender to him. He finds it incredibly arousing to have you under his command, and he loves exploring every side of this dynamic, making you feel both submissive and adored.

• Overstimulation - He’s all about pushing your limits. Renjun loves taking you past the edge, making you squirm with pleasure, only to pull back right before you hit your peak. He enjoys seeing you desperate and needy, and when he finally lets you release, it’s everything.

Jeno

• Strength kink - Jeno loves how easily he can fold you like a pretzel with his sheer strength. The way he can manipulate your body into any position he desires turns him on. Whether it’s pinning you against the wall or bending you in ways you never imagined, he gets a rush from knowing how much control his strength gives him.

• Breeding kink - Jeno’s protective and dominant nature comes out with this kink. He gets aroused by the idea of claiming you in the most intimate way possible, with the thought of filling you up and marking you as his. It’s about him taking control and enjoying the feeling of having that kind of influence over you.

• Dacryphilia - Jeno is deeply turned on by seeing you in a vulnerable state, particularly when you’re overwhelmed to the point of tears. The emotional intensity of the moment makes him crave you even more, and he feels a sense of pride in being able to push you to that point, all while ensuring you’re safe and cared for in the aftermath.

• Size kink - Jeno loves the way you react to his size. He can’t get enough of the way your body responds to him being bigger and stronger, whether it’s the way you squirm or the way you beg for more. The power dynamic his size creates is something that drives him wild, making him want to push the boundaries even further.

Haechan

• Cunnilingus - Haechan loves pleasuring you with his mouth. The way he makes you squirm under his touch, using his tongue and lips to bring you to the brink of pleasure drives him crazy. He takes his time, savoring every moment of making you come undone. The way you react to his attention between your legs is a huge turn-on for him.

• Face fucking - Haechan loves the feeling of his cock in your mouth. He likes to take control, making you suck him deep and hard. His voice gets rough when he’s in the moment, the sound of him groaning only adding to the intensity. He’ll push you to your limits, encouraging you with dirty words to take it all, knowing it turns you on as much as it does him.

• Voice kink - Both Haechan and you are addicted to each other’s voices. The way he whispers dirty things in your ear or growls your name when he’s close to climax makes you shiver. You love hearing his breath hitch and the way his voice cracks when he’s getting lost in pleasure. When he speaks softly or commands you with that teasing tone, it sends chills down your spine. His voice is your weakness, and he knows exactly how to use it to drive you crazy.

• Creampie - Haechan loves filling you up. The idea of cumming deep inside you is a huge turn-on, and he gets more excited every time he sees the evidence of his pleasure inside you. He’s not shy about showing how much he wants you, and he makes it clear that he’s not holding back when it’s his turn to release.

Jaemin

• Orgasm Denial – Jaemin loves having control over your pleasure. He’ll tease you for hours, bringing you to the edge but never letting you climax. The way you beg for release only excites him more. He enjoys making you wait, the frustration building until you can’t take it anymore. His control over your pleasure is a huge turn-on for him, and he loves to watch you squirm.

• Muscle Kink – Jaemin works hard for his body, and he loves when you admire it. Whether it’s you running your hands over his abs, gripping onto his biceps as he holds you up effortlessly, or just the way you moan about how strong he is—he eats it up. He’ll flex for you, make you feel just how easily he can handle you, and smirk when he sees how much it turns you on.

• Love Making – While Jaemin enjoys rougher moments, he also has a deeply passionate side. He loves slow, sensual sessions where he can worship every inch of you, taking his time to make sure you feel every bit of his love. He’ll whisper sweet nothings in your ear, kiss you like you’re his whole world, and hold you close the entire time. It’s not just about pleasure for him—it’s about connection.

• Praise Kink – Jaemin is always telling you how good you are for him. He loves seeing the way you react when he praises you, whispering sweet affirmations about how perfect you feel, how beautiful you look, and how much he loves making you feel good. He wants you to know just how much he adores every single part of you, and he won’t stop reminding you.

Chenle

• Public Sex – Chenle thrives on the thrill of getting caught, loving the way it heightens the tension and makes every touch feel more electrifying. He enjoys teasing you in risky places, whispering in your ear about how easily someone could walk in and see what belongs to him.

• Degradation – He has a sharp tongue and knows exactly how to use it. He loves putting you in your place, calling you names and making you beg just to see how desperate you can get for him. He’s cruel in the best way, making you feel embarrassed yet so turned on by his harsh words.

• Marking – Chenle makes sure everyone knows you’re his. Hickeys, bite marks, scratches—he loves leaving proof of what he’s done to you. If they fade too quickly, he’ll just have to do it all over again, reminding you exactly who you belong to.

• Hair Pulling – There’s something about the way you react when he tugs on your hair that drives him crazy. Whether he’s guiding your movements or just pulling for the sake of control, he loves the sharp gasp it earns from you and how it makes you even more obedient for him.

Jisung

• Choking - Jisung’s love for choking goes beyond just power; it’s about the control he exerts over you in those vulnerable moments. The feeling of your pulse beneath his fingers as you struggle to breathe, mixed with the sensation of being completely under his command, is something he finds intoxicating. There’s a dangerous thrill in seeing you completely at his mercy, and knowing that every part of you is completely dependent on him. The intimacy in this act is raw, and he thrives on the way it makes both of you feel alive and connected on a deeper level.

• Squirting - For Jisung, there’s nothing more exhilarating than the sight of you losing control. Squirting is an intense experience for both of you, but it’s the way it happens that drives him crazy. He loves the rawness of it — the desperation and pleasure mixed together as he brings you to that point. The feeling of you trembling, your body betraying you in the best way possible, fuels his need to keep pushing your limits. Every time you squirt, he knows it’s because of him, and that power is something he can’t get enough of.

• Breeding - There’s something about the thought of marking you in the most intimate way that excites Jisung. For him, breeding isn’t just about the physical act — it’s about the connection, the sense of ownership, and the deep bond that’s formed in that moment. The idea of leaving his mark on you, knowing you’re completely his, fills him with a sense of pride and satisfaction. It’s a raw expression of dominance and affection, all rolled into one, and he’s completely captivated by how it makes you feel — cherished, desired, and completely claimed.

• Brat Tamer - Jisung loves the challenge of taming you when you’re being bratty. It’s not that he enjoys being bossed around — quite the opposite, actually. But when you test his limits or get a little cheeky, it sparks something inside him. He loves the chase, and the way you push his buttons only makes him want to control you more. He’ll tease, push your boundaries, and make you regret every sassy word or look, but all in a way that makes you crave more. There’s something irresistible about bringing you to the brink of submission, reminding you who’s in charge, and making you feel just how badly you need him to take control.

.…...………………………………..:><:……………………………………….

Taglist: @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce

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skzophreniic · 30 days ago

Text

sfw alphabet with bangchan

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 what being in a relationship with chan is like

featuring: Christopher Bahng x reader

notes: yeah...this kinda got out of hand i did not mean for it to be this long.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Bang Chan is naturally affectionate, though he isn’t always obvious about it. He shows his love through small, thoughtful gestures—things that don’t seem grand on their own but add up to something irreplaceable. He tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear while you're talking, rests his hand on your knee when you sit beside him, and instinctively reaches for you in crowded places.

His affection also manifests in acts of service. He’ll warm up your side of the bed before you crawl in, make sure you drink water when you’re too focused on something, and quietly pull you into a hug when he senses you need one.

One night, you’re working late on your laptop, shoulders aching from hunching over the screen. You don’t notice Chan enter the room until he’s behind you, his hands slipping onto your shoulders. “You’ve been at this for hours,” he murmurs, thumbs pressing into a particularly sore spot. You hum in response, too tired to argue.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble.

He lets out a soft laugh before leaning down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Not happening. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

You don’t protest when he gently pulls you up, wrapping an arm around your waist as he leads you away.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Before anything else, Bang Chan would be your best friend—the person you call in the middle of the night just to talk, the one who hypes you up when you’re feeling insecure, the one who sticks by you no matter what. He listens intently, remembers things you mention in passing, and somehow always knows exactly what you need.

Your friendship probably started in the most unassuming way. Maybe you met at a mutual friend’s gathering, or maybe you simply ended up sitting next to each other one day and clicked. Whatever the case, it didn’t take long for Chan to carve out a permanent place in your life.

One particular night, you’re both sitting in his studio, legs stretched out, sharing a bag of chips between you. It’s well past midnight, but neither of you seem eager to leave.

“You know,” he says, staring at the ceiling, “I think I’d go insane without you.”

You snort. “You already are insane.”

He rolls his eyes but smiles, nudging your shoulder with his. “Nah, but seriously. You’re kinda my favorite person.”

Something in the way he says it makes your heart stutter. You don’t say anything, just smile as you lean your head against his shoulder.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Bang Chan is a natural cuddler, though he’d never outright admit it. He just finds himself drawn to you—whether it’s resting his head in your lap while you scroll through your phone, draping himself over you on the couch, or tangling his limbs with yours in bed.

He has a way of holding you that feels safe, like he’s silently telling you that you belong there. His favorite position is with you curled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. He likes feeling your heartbeat against his, knowing you’re right there with him.

One chilly evening, you’re both watching a movie when a shiver runs down your spine. Chan notices immediately, wordlessly pulling a blanket over you before opening his arms in invitation.

You don’t hesitate, shifting closer until you’re pressed against his chest. His arms wrap around you easily, his hand rubbing gentle circles into your back.

“Better?” he murmurs.

You nod, nuzzling into the warmth of his hoodie. “Much better.”

He hums in satisfaction, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Good.”

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Bang Chan dreams of settling down, but a part of him is afraid of it. Not because he doesn’t want it—he does, desperately—but because he worries about whether he can balance it with everything else in his life. He wants to be present, to be the kind of partner who gives his all, but his hectic schedule makes that difficult.

Still, he finds ways to weave domesticity into your relationship. He enjoys simple things—making breakfast together, folding laundry while joking around, doing grocery runs at odd hours. He might not always be around, but when he is, he makes every moment count.

One evening, he insists on cooking dinner. You lean against the counter, watching as he frowns in concentration while chopping vegetables.

“Didn’t know you were such a chef,” you tease.

He smirks, tossing a slice of bell pepper at you. “Stick around, and you’ll see all my hidden talents.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as he returns to cooking, humming softly under his breath.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Breaking up with you would be the hardest thing Bang Chan has ever done. He isn’t someone who gives up easily—he fights for the people he loves with everything he has. If he reached the point where he believed breaking up was necessary, it wouldn’t be because he stopped loving you. It would be because he thought you deserved better.

He’d agonize over the decision for weeks, maybe even months. His heart would war with his mind, convincing himself that maybe things could work, that maybe he could be the partner you needed him to be. But eventually, if he truly believed he was holding you back, he’d force himself to let you go.

The night he does it, his apartment feels suffocating. He asked you to come over, and now you sit across from him on the couch, sensing something is off. His knee bounces, fingers threading through his curls—a habit of his when he’s nervous.

“Chris,” you finally say, voice laced with concern. “Talk to me.”

He swallows hard. He doesn’t want to do this. But he also can’t stand the thought of watching you grow resentful of the late nights, the missed dates, the exhaustion that keeps pulling him away.

“I love you,” he starts, voice thick. “More than anything.”

Your brows furrow, your lips parting to respond, but he shakes his head. “But I think… I think I’m hurting you.” His eyes flicker to the floor, ashamed. “I see the way you wait up for me, the way you pretend it doesn’t hurt when I have to cancel plans. I see how tired you are of this.”

Tears well in your eyes, and you shake your head. “That’s not—Chris, I love you. I don’t want anyone else.”

His breath hitches. God, he wants to believe that love is enough. He wants to believe that he can give you the life you deserve. But he’s scared. Scared that one day, you’ll look at him and realize that his love alone isn’t enough to make up for everything else.

So, with a heart that feels like it’s caving in on itself, he whispers, “I think we need to let go.”

The words taste like regret on his tongue.

And when you break down in front of him, when you reach for him one last time, he hates himself for not pulling you back.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Bang Chan isn’t afraid of commitment—he’s afraid of failing at it. He’s always imagined himself settling down, finding that one person who makes the world feel a little less chaotic. But the idea of marriage, of forever, holds a weight he doesn’t take lightly. He wouldn’t rush into it, but once he’s sure of you, he won’t hesitate to start planning a future together.

It happens on an ordinary night. You’re curled up together on the couch, half-watching a movie, your fingers tracing mindless patterns over his arm. His heart beats steadily beneath your touch, but his mind is racing.

He doesn’t know when it started—this feeling of inevitability. Maybe it was the first time he caught himself imagining a house with you. Maybe it was when he realized he never wanted to wake up without you beside him.

Maybe it was always there, quietly weaving itself into his bones.

“Would you ever want to get married?” he asks suddenly, his voice low.

You shift, blinking up at him. “To you?”

A slow, bashful smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah. To me.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “Is this your way of proposing? Because if it is, you’re gonna have to do a little better than this, Christopher.”

He laughs, warmth flooding his chest. “No, not yet. Just… thinking.” His fingers lace with yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But one day, yeah?”

Your smile softens. “One day.”

And from that moment on, he starts looking at rings.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Bang Chan is gentle in ways that don’t always look obvious. He isn’t just soft with his touch—he’s soft with his words, his presence, the way he loves. He holds you like you’re the most delicate thing in the world, even when he knows you’re strong.

Physically, his touch is always careful. When he cups your face, his thumbs brush over your cheekbones. When he kisses you, it’s slow and lingering, like he wants to memorize the feel of your lips. Even in moments of urgency, there’s an unspoken reverence in the way he touches you.

Emotionally, he’s just as tender. He never dismisses your feelings, never tells you to “get over it” when you’re upset. Instead, he listens. He validates. He reminds you that it’s okay to feel things deeply.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting day, you’re curled up in bed, facing away from him. He notices the way your shoulders tremble, the way your breath hitches. Without a word, he scoots closer, his arms wrapping around you from behind.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your temple.

You shake your head. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “Just let me hold you.”

And so he does. Until your breathing evens out, until the weight in your chest feels a little lighter, until you remember that you’re never alone.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Hugs with Bang Chan are the kind of thing that ruin all other hugs for you. There’s something about the way he holds you—firm, secure, like he never wants to let go.

He’s not shy about them, either. He’ll pull you into a hug without thinking, whether it’s after a long day, when he sees you across the room, or just because he wants to feel you close. His arms fit around you perfectly, and he always holds on for just a few seconds longer than necessary.

His favorite kind of hug is the slow, lingering one—where his hands smooth over your back, his nose brushes against your neck, and he breathes you in like you’re the only thing grounding him.

After one of his exhausting workdays, you barely step through the door before he’s wrapping himself around you. “Hi,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his arms locking you in place.

You smile, running your fingers through his curls. “Long day?”

He just nods, his grip tightening. He doesn’t let go for a long time. And when he finally does, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, like he’s silently thanking you for being his safe place.

I = I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Bang Chan doesn’t say “I love you” lightly. It’s not something he throws around just because it feels good to hear. When he says it, he means it—fully, deeply, in a way that changes everything.

But he feels it long before he says it.

It starts in the quiet moments—the way he watches you when you’re not looking, the way his heart stumbles over itself when you laugh. It’s in the way he remembers the smallest details, the way he worries about you when you’re not feeling well, the way he instinctively reaches for you in his sleep.

The words build up inside him, sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting. And when they finally spill out, it’s in a moment he doesn’t plan.

You’re in his studio, curled up on the couch while he works on a track. It’s late, the city outside buzzing with distant life, but in here, it’s just the two of you. You’re half-asleep, head resting against your arms, the soft glow of his monitor casting shadows across your face.

He looks at you, and it just hits him.

“I love you.”

It’s quiet, barely above a whisper, but you hear it. Your eyes flutter open, and he freezes—he hadn’t meant to say it yet, hadn’t even been thinking about it.

But now it’s out there, hanging between you like something sacred.

You don’t hesitate. You smile, slow and sleepy, reaching for his hand. “I love you too.”

And just like that, he knows he never wants to stop saying it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Bang Chan isn’t possessive, but jealousy still sneaks up on him in ways he doesn’t expect. It’s not about distrust—it’s about how much he cares, how much he fears losing you.

Most of the time, he handles it well. He knows you love him, and he trusts you completely. But every now and then, he catches a glance that lingers too long, a conversation that feels a little too intimate, and something inside him tightens.

He doesn’t make a scene. He doesn’t start fights. But he makes sure people know exactly who you belong to.

One night, at a party, you’re talking to someone—a guy who’s leaning in just a little too close, smiling a little too much. It’s innocent, really. You’re just being polite. But Chan sees the way the guy is looking at you, and his jaw clenches.

He doesn’t storm over. He doesn’t cut the conversation short. Instead, he walks up behind you, resting a hand on your waist, fingers pressing into your hip just enough to remind you that he’s there.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs against your temple, pressing a kiss there. “Everything okay?”

You smile, leaning into him instinctively. “Yeah, just talking.”

The guy shifts awkwardly under Chan’s gaze, suddenly aware of the unspoken message. And just like that, Chan’s tension eases. He trusts you, always. But that doesn’t mean he won’t remind the world that you’re his.

Later, when you tease him about it, he just shrugs. “Can you blame me?” he says, pulling you into his lap. “Look at you.”

And when you kiss him, slow and sweet, his jealousy disappears entirely.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Bang Chan kisses like he loves—with intention, warmth, and a tenderness that makes your heart stutter. His lips are always soft, always seeking, whether he’s pressing the lightest peck to your temple or pulling you in for something deeper, something that makes your knees weak.

He has no single favorite place to kiss you because, to him, every inch of you is worth his affection. He loves pressing his lips against your forehead when you’re sleepy, a silent “I’m here.” He loves the way your skin warms beneath his mouth when he kisses the inside of your wrist, your palm, the tip of your nose. But his absolute favorite? Your lips—because he gets to feel the way you sigh against him, the way you lean into him like you never want to let go.

And when you kiss him? His breath always hitches, no matter how many times you do it. He’s particularly weak for kisses along his jaw and down his neck—places that make him shiver under your touch. If you kiss him there absentmindedly, without any ulterior motive, he melts completely.

One evening, you’re curled up on the couch, Chan’s fingers tracing circles over your arm as the TV plays some random show neither of you are really paying attention to. You shift slightly, turning to press a soft kiss against his jaw, then another along the column of his neck. His breath catches, fingers pausing in their movement.

“What was that for?” he murmurs, voice lower than before.

You shrug, smiling against his skin. “Felt like it.”

He tilts his head, catching your lips with his before you can pull away. It starts slow, soft—then deepens, his hand sliding to cup your face, holding you there like he never wants to let go.

“Mm,” he hums against your lips. “Kiss me like that again.”

And, really, how could you ever say no?

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) Bang Chan is an absolute natural with kids. He has this effortless way of making them feel safe, like they can trust him immediately. Maybe it’s the warmth in his eyes, or the way he speaks to them like they matter—not just as kids, but as people with thoughts and feelings of their own.

He’s the kind of person who crouches down to their level when talking to them, who listens intently to their stories no matter how nonsensical they may be. He makes silly faces, lets them climb all over him, and somehow always has enough patience to entertain them for hours.

One afternoon, you’re both visiting a friend who has a toddler, and within minutes, Chan is on the floor, completely absorbed in a game of pretend. The child hands him a toy phone, and without hesitation, he puts it to his ear.

“Hello? Oh, really?” His expression is completely serious as he nods along. “No way, you’re kidding! Well, you better tell them that’s not how we do things around here.”

The toddler giggles, clearly delighted, and Chan grins before passing the phone back. When he glances up at you, you’re watching him with the softest expression.

“What?” he asks, still smiling.

“Nothing,” you murmur, shaking your head. “You’re just… really good at this.”

Later that night, when the two of you are alone, you catch him staring at you with a thoughtful expression. When you ask him what he’s thinking about, he just shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Just wondering what our kids would be like.”

Your heart nearly stops. But when you look at him, there’s no nervousness, no hesitation—just a quiet certainty, like he’s already imagined a future where you’re both chasing little feet through a home filled with laughter.

And somehow, that thought makes you love him even more.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Chan are the kind that make you want to stay in bed forever. He wakes up slowly, reluctantly, because the second he becomes aware of you beside him, leaving is the last thing on his mind. He’s warm, drowsy, and in no rush to face the world when you’re right there, soft and pliant in his arms.

His first instinct is to find you—an arm lazily slung over your waist, his face pressed against the crook of your neck, his breath fanning across your skin in slow, even puffs. His body is heavy with sleep, but his hold on you is strong, keeping you pinned against him as if you might slip away the second he lets go.

"Mmm, stay," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, one hand slipping under your shirt just to feel your warmth. His touch is lazy, absentminded—slow circles traced against your bare skin, his lips brushing your shoulder in the softest, most tender kisses.

If you try to move, he groans—not dramatic, but real, an aching sort of sound that makes you freeze. It’s not just about comfort. It’s you. He’s spent so much time being everything for everyone—getting up before dawn, running himself into exhaustion—but here, in this quiet space, you are the only thing he wants.

Eventually, he’ll relent—but only if you give him his morning kiss first. And not just a quick peck. He wants it slow, deep, something that lingers even after you pull away. He’ll chase your lips, a soft, lazy smile curving against your mouth before he lets you go.

Once you make it out of bed, he’s clingy—following you to the kitchen, wrapping his arms around you from behind while you make breakfast. He rests his chin on your shoulder, humming softly, pressing sleepy kisses to your neck between murmured compliments. “You’re so pretty in the morning, baby.”

And if there’s no rush to leave? He’ll pull you onto the couch, wrapping you up in his warmth, fingers lazily tangled with yours. There’s something so intimate about it—just being together, existing in this quiet, safe space before the day takes him away.

Because no matter how busy life gets, mornings with you? They’re his favorite part of the day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Chan feel like coming home. No matter how chaotic his day was, how exhausted he is, the moment he steps into your shared space, everything slows.

If he’s had a long day, the first thing he does is find you—dropping his bag, pulling you into his arms, burying his face in your hair as he exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He doesn’t say much at first, just holds you close, grounding himself in your warmth.

"Missed you," he murmurs, voice low, hands splayed across your back like he’s making sure you’re really there.

After dinner, he’s in full relaxation mode—cuddled up on the couch with you, one arm draped over your shoulders, his fingers absently playing with yours. He loves having you curled against him, whether you’re watching something or just enjoying the silence. Sometimes he hums softly under his breath, not even realizing he’s doing it—his voice a quiet, soothing lull against your skin.

But his favorite part of the night? The quiet conversations before sleep. Lying in bed with you, tangled in the sheets, talking about everything—your day, your dreams, the little things that made you smile.

He’s softer at night, more vulnerable, more open. His guard is down, and the words flow easier—the things he doesn’t always say out loud during the day.

"You make everything feel easier," he admits one night, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Like no matter what happens, I know I’ll be okay if I have you."

And when sleep finally takes him, it’s with you in his arms—his body curled protectively around yours, his breaths slow and even, his fingers still laced with yours. Because this—you, here, now—is the safest, happiest place he’s ever been.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves?)

Chan wants to be open with you. He really does. But it’s hard—years of being the strong one, the leader, the fixer have made it instinctual for him to hold things in.

At first, he tells you the surface-level things—the childhood stories, the funny moments, the easy stuff. But the real things? The insecurities, the pressure, the way he never feels like he’s doing enough? Those take time.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you—he does, more than anyone. But vulnerability isn’t second nature to him. He’s spent so long carrying everything alone that even with you, it takes a while for him to realize he doesn’t have to.

The first time he really opens up, it’s late at night. He’s quiet, restless, staring at the ceiling with a tension in his shoulders that hasn’t faded, even in bed beside you.

"I feel like no matter how much I do, it’s never enough." His voice is soft, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid of saying it out loud.

You don’t rush him. You just listen, running your fingers through his hair, pressing a silent kiss to his temple. And that’s what breaks him—your patience, your quiet understanding.

Once he realizes he can lean on you, that you want to share his burdens, he never holds back again. He wants you to know him—all of him. Because if there’s anyone he trusts with his heart, his fears, his everything—it’s you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Chan has patience in spades. He has to. Years of leading, managing, problem-solving—it’s ingrained in him to stay level-headed, to be the calm presence people can rely on. He’s the type to take a deep breath instead of snapping, to think before reacting. Even when things frustrate him, he bottles it up, redirects it, tries to fix rather than fight.

But that doesn’t mean he’s immune to anger. He just holds it in, packs it away—until something really pushes him over the edge.

It’s a slow burn, the kind of anger that doesn’t explode immediately. When he’s upset, he withdraws first—lips pressed in a tight line, fingers tapping against his thigh, jaw clenched so hard it aches. His voice doesn’t raise—if anything, it lowers, taking on that razor-sharp edge that makes people listen.

"I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now," he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose like he’s trying to physically push the frustration out of his body.

He hates losing his temper. It makes him feel out of control, and that’s something he’s never been comfortable with. So when he does—when something really gets to him—it’s because it matters.

With you? His patience is nearly endless. You could tease him, poke fun at him, push his buttons, and he’d just sigh—smiling despite himself, shaking his head like, You’re lucky you’re cute.

"You love seeing how much I’ll let you get away with, huh?" he teases, pulling you into his arms, resting his forehead against yours with a grin that says you win, always.

But if something serious comes up—an argument, a misunderstanding—he’s not the type to yell. He’d rather talk things through, sit down with you, figure out what’s wrong. He doesn’t like leaving things unresolved, doesn’t want you to go to bed upset. Even when he’s frustrated, his first instinct is to fix rather than fight.

The only time his patience snaps? If someone hurts you.

That’s when the calm, easygoing Chan disappears completely. There’s no slow burn, no measured breath—his entire demeanor shifts. His jaw sets, his eyes darken, his stance becomes rigid. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t throw punches, but there’s something in his presence that demands attention.

"You’re not going near them again. Ever." His voice is firm, steady, carrying weight—not a threat, but a promise.

Chan doesn’t act on anger alone, but if someone crosses that line, he will handle it. Not recklessly, not violently, but effectively. He’ll put himself between you and whoever dared to hurt you without a second thought, his protective instincts kicking in immediately.

And afterward? He doesn’t let you go for a while. He checks on you a thousand times, cups your face in his hands, presses gentle kisses to your forehead like he’s reassuring himself as much as you.

"You okay?" he murmurs, voice softer now, hands warm against your skin. "You’re safe. I promise."

Because patience? He has plenty.

But when it comes to you, his patience has a limit. And if someone dares to cross it? He’ll make sure they never get the chance to do it again.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you?)

Chan doesn’t just listen—he collects pieces of you like precious keepsakes, tucking them away in the corners of his mind where they stay, untouched by time. He remembers things you forget you even told him, things that seemed insignificant when you said them, but to him, nothing about you is insignificant.

Like the way you can’t fall asleep without the blanket pulled up to your chin, even in the summer. The way your fingers tap an unconscious rhythm against his arm when you’re thinking. The exact way you take your coffee—not just the standard order, but the little details, like how you secretly enjoy the foam more than the drink itself.

You could mention your childhood comfort movie once, in a random conversation months ago, and one day, when you’re feeling down, he’s pressing play before you even ask, curling up beside you with that gentle, knowing smile. "Figured this might help," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple like it’s second nature.

And it’s not just the small things—he remembers how you feel. The way your voice shifts when you’re excited, the way your body tenses before you admit you’re upset. He knows you, in a way that makes you feel seen, cherished, held.

"How do you always know?" you ask one night, laughing softly when he hands you your favorite snack—one you’d mentioned in passing once, months ago.

He just shrugs, eyes warm with something softer than a simple answer. "Because it’s you," he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "And I don’t forget the things that matter."

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

For Chan, love isn’t just about the grand, cinematic moments—it’s in the quiet, everyday things, the ones that sneak up on him and make his chest ache in the best way. He could spend hours talking about all the little times you’ve made him fall for you all over again, but if he had to pick just one moment, there’s one night that always stands out.

It wasn’t a special occasion. No anniversary, no birthday, no reason for anything extraordinary. Just a regular night in, the two of you curled up in bed, tangled together beneath the covers. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamp casting everything in warm gold. You were half-asleep, head resting on his chest, body relaxed against his like you belonged there—because you did. And Chan remembers looking down at you, his heart beating slow and steady beneath your ear, and thinking, this is it. This is everything.

Maybe it was the way your fingers absentmindedly traced shapes along his ribs, your touch featherlight and familiar. Maybe it was the way you sighed in contentment when he ran his hand down your back, his touch just as instinctive, like holding you was second nature. Or maybe it was just the quiet. The kind of silence that wasn’t awkward or empty—it was full. Full of warmth, full of love, full of everything he’d ever wanted but never knew how to ask for.

And then, you mumbled something—soft, sleepy, barely audible against his skin. "Love you."

You weren’t even awake. You weren’t saying it because you felt like you had to, or because he’d said it first. You were just feeling it, so much so that even in your sleep, the words slipped out naturally.

That was the moment. The moment he realized he never wanted to go another night without you beside him. The moment he knew he wanted to hear those words from you for the rest of his life.

He pressed a kiss to your hair, tightening his hold on you. "Love you too," he whispered, even though you were already lost in sleep. Because it didn’t matter if you heard it or not—he was going to spend the rest of his life making sure you felt it.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Chan is protective in a way that feels like a constant, steady presence rather than something overbearing. It’s not about control, not about possessiveness—it’s about making sure you always feel safe, always feel cared for, always have someone in your corner, no matter what.

His protectiveness shows up in the little things: the way he instinctively places himself on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street, how his arm naturally comes around you in crowded places, how he watches people carefully when you talk to strangers, making sure no one steps out of line. He’s not aggressive about it, but there’s a quiet, unmistakable strength in the way he carries himself—like even if he never says it out loud, the message is clear: No one messes with you. Not on his watch.

And when you do need him to step in? He’s measured but firm. He doesn’t start fights, doesn’t cause a scene, but if someone makes you uncomfortable or crosses a boundary, his voice gets lower, steadier, and suddenly, he commands attention without even trying. "Hey, they said no." Just like that, the problem is handled, no unnecessary drama, no escalation—just Chan making sure you’re okay. Because that’s all that matters to him.

But his protection isn’t just about physical safety. It’s about your emotional well-being, too. He can always tell when something is weighing on you, even if you try to hide it. And he won’t push—not right away—but he’ll gently nudge, letting you know he’s there. "You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready. But I’m here, yeah?" And when you do open up, he listens. Fully, completely. No interruptions, no dismissing your feelings. Just Chan, giving you his undivided attention, holding your hand, rubbing slow circles into your palm as if to remind you that whatever it is, you’re not facing it alone.

As for how he likes to be protected? He won’t always admit it, but Chan carries a lot. More than he should. And while he’s so used to being the protector, the strong one, the person others lean on, there are moments—quiet, vulnerable ones—where he needs that, too. The nights when exhaustion weighs heavy on him, when the pressure builds too much, when his own worries start creeping in.

And that’s when it means everything to him when you notice. When you run your fingers through his hair, coax him into lying down, and tell him, "You don’t have to do everything on your own, you know. I’ve got you, too."

Because in the end, that’s what love is to him. Not just being the one who protects, but being with someone who makes him feel protected, too.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Chan isn’t the kind of guy who does things halfway—especially not when it comes to you. If something matters to you, then it matters to him, simple as that. And when it comes to love, he believes in showing it. Not just in grand gestures or on special occasions, but in the little, everyday things, too.

Dates? He’s the type to plan them thoughtfully, even if it’s just a simple night in. If you like surprises, he’ll keep you on your toes—showing up with a bag of your favorite takeout and a playlist he made just for the evening. If you prefer something cozy, he’ll clear his schedule, set up a movie night, and tuck you under his arm like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. And when he does go big? Oh, he goes big—reservations at a place he knows you’ve been wanting to try, an entire day planned out to make sure you feel special. Because to him, it’s not about the extravagance, it’s about making memories with you.

Anniversaries? There’s no forgetting, no last-minute scrambling—Chan remembers. He’ll bring up the little details you mentioned in passing months ago, find ways to incorporate them into the day. He’ll write you a letter—handwritten, heartfelt, pages long—because sometimes, even with all the ways he shows his love, he wants you to see it, to have something tangible to hold onto. And if you’re sentimental, if anniversaries mean a lot to you? Then they mean a lot to him, too.

Gifts? He’s the kind of person who puts thought into them. You could mention something once—"I really liked that candle from that one shop, but I forgot to grab it"—and a month later, it’s wrapped up in his hands, given to you with a soft smile and an I thought you might like this. He’s not about flashy, expensive gifts unless it’s something you really want—he’d rather find something that holds meaning, something that says, I listen. I pay attention. I know you.

Everyday tasks? That’s where his love really shines. Because to Chan, love isn’t just in the big moments—it’s in the small, consistent efforts. It’s waking up first and making you coffee just the way you like it. It’s pulling you closer when he notices you’re cold. It’s seeing that you’ve had a long day and wordlessly doing the dishes, running a bath, making sure you don’t have to worry about anything for a little while.

And he doesn’t just put in effort because he thinks he has to. He does it because he wants to. Because showing up for you—again and again, in every way he can—isn’t something he sees as a duty. It’s just what love looks like to him. And loving you? That’s the easiest thing in the world.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Chan tries so hard to be a perfect boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean he’s without his flaws. He’s aware of them—sometimes too aware—but that doesn’t always mean he can fix them easily. Some are small, quirks you find more endearing than anything else. Others, though, require a little more patience.

The biggest one? His workaholism. Chan doesn’t just love what he does—he lives for it, and sometimes, that comes at a cost. It’s not that he wants to neglect his own well-being (or yours), but he just gets so caught up in his projects, in his responsibilities, that he forgets to step back. He’ll tell you, "Just a couple more minutes, baby," and then suddenly, it’s been hours, and you find him hunched over his laptop, barely awake. You have to be the one peeling him away from the screen, coaxing him into bed with soft reassurances. And even then, he'll grumble sleepily about all the things he still has to do, only relenting when you wrap yourself around him and murmur, "It’ll still be there tomorrow, love. Just rest for now."

Then there's his tendency to internalize stress. He has this habit of downplaying his own struggles, of brushing things off with a weak smile and a quiet, "It’s fine, don’t worry about it." But you do worry. Because you can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. You know when he’s spiraling, when he’s taking on too much but refusing to let anyone share the load. It takes a lot of patience (and, occasionally, some firm nudging) to get him to actually talk about what’s bothering him. And even then, it’s not easy for him—being vulnerable has never been his strong suit. But when he does finally let it out, when he rests his head against your shoulder and sighs, "I don’t have to be strong all the time, do I?"—you remind him that no, he doesn’t. That you’re here, always.

And then, of course, his forgetfulness when he’s overwhelmed. He’s not an absent-minded person by nature, but when his brain is juggling a million things at once, small details tend to slip through the cracks. He might forget where he put his phone (only to find it in the fridge an hour later), or leave his keys in the door, or accidentally agree to two things at once without realizing it. But the one thing he never forgets? You. No matter how chaotic his mind gets, no matter how much he has on his plate, he always makes sure you know you're a priority. Even if it’s just a simple, "Thinking about you, baby. Hope you're having a good day." text in the middle of his busiest schedule.

Oh—and his sleep schedule? Absolutely wrecked. This man runs on caffeine and pure stubbornness. You’ve had to physically drag him to bed more times than you can count, confiscating his laptop or phone when he swears, "Just five more minutes." (It’s never five minutes.) And when he does get into bed, he has the worst habit of scrolling mindlessly through his phone until you yank it out of his hands with a pointed glare. He grins, all sheepish and guilty, before finally pulling you close and letting himself relax.

But the thing about Chan is that, despite his flaws, he wants to be better. Not just for himself, but for you. He listens when you tell him to slow down, he tries to open up even when it’s hard, and he’s always working on being the best version of himself—because, at the end of the day, he loves you too much not to.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Chan doesn’t consider himself vain, but he does take care of himself—not out of arrogance, but out of necessity. His image is part of his job, and he’s always been conscious of how he presents himself, whether it’s onstage, in interviews, or even just walking around in public. That being said, he’s not the type to stand in front of the mirror for hours, fussing over every detail. If anything, he often prioritizes comfort over style, throwing on whatever’s clean and convenient unless there’s an actual reason to dress up.

That’s not to say he doesn’t have his moments. He puts effort into his gym routine, staying active not just to look good but to feel good. He knows how his body looks, the way his muscles flex beneath his clothes, the way his shoulders broaden when he works out. He won’t outright brag about it, but if you so much as glance at his arms when he’s in a sleeveless shirt, he’ll smirk and flex just a little—because, yeah, he notices when you notice.

But when it comes to actual vanity? Chan is his own worst critic. He’ll stare at photos of himself longer than he should, nitpicking things no one else would even notice. "I look weird here," he’ll mumble under his breath, scrolling through pictures with a small frown. It breaks your heart a little, seeing him analyze himself so harshly, so you make a habit of hyping him up whenever he starts spiraling. You’ll wrap your arms around him, pressing kisses to his cheek as you murmur, "You’re literally the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Why do you think I stare at you all the time?" And when you run your hands down his chest, over the dips and curves of his body, whispering, "Every inch of you is perfect to me," you can feel the tension in him melt away.

There are times, though, when he really doesn’t care—especially when he’s home with you, relaxed and unbothered. That’s when the sweats come out, the hoodies that swallow him whole, the backwards caps that keep his curls out of his face. He’s the type to lounge on the couch with his legs sprawled out, scrolling on his phone with one hand while absentmindedly pulling you closer with the other. And you love him like that—undone, effortless, just yours.

And, of course, there’s one thing he never seems to grasp—how much you love looking at him. He’ll catch you staring sometimes, your eyes tracing his features like you’re trying to memorize every line, every shadow. "What?" he’ll ask, a little shy, a little amused. And when you just smile and shake your head, replying with, "Just admiring my gorgeous boyfriend," he turns pink all the way to his ears, ducking his head with a laugh. Because no matter how many times you say it, no matter how much confidence he projects, he’ll never get used to the way you see him—the way you love every part of him, even the ones he struggles to love himself.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Chan doesn’t like to think of love in a way that makes it sound like a person is half of something. He’s always been whole—at least, that’s what he’s told himself. He’s never needed anyone to complete him, never thought he’d be the type to get attached in a way that made being apart feel wrong.

But then there’s you.

And now he’s lying awake in bed, his hand resting on your side of the mattress. It’s cold—too cold. He sighs, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answer to why he suddenly feels so damn restless.

It’s stupid. You’re just gone for the weekend, visiting family. It’s not like you’re gone gone. But without you here, the room feels off. The apartment feels too quiet. Normally, silence is something he craves—his world is so loud all the time that he loves the stillness of home. But this? This isn’t peace. This is missing you.

He reaches for his phone, squinting at the screen before his thumb hovers over your messages.

Chan: You asleep?

He knows it’s late. He knows you probably won’t respond. But just as he’s about to put his phone down, the screen lights up.

You: Not yet. Why?

He hesitates, debating whether he should actually say it. But then his fingers move before his brain catches up.

Chan: Can’t sleep. Bed feels weird without you.

There’s a long pause before your reply comes in, and when it does, he can hear your smile through the words.

You: You miss me.

He exhales a laugh, shaking his head.

Chan: Maybe. Just a little.

The dots appear and disappear a few times, and then—

You: Want me to call?

He doesn’t even hesitate before pressing the dial button.

The second he hears your voice, that hollow feeling in his chest eases just a little. You’re not here, not physically—but for now, this is enough. Because even when you’re far away, even when there’s distance between you, you still have this pull on him, this ability to make him feel whole even when a part of him feels like it’s missing.

And that’s how he knows—this isn’t just love. It’s home.

X = Xtra (Another random headcanon for them.)

Chan has a habit of pulling you into his lap whenever he’s feeling overwhelmed. It’s never in a way that demands your attention—just a quiet need to be close, to have you there, grounding him when his thoughts won’t stop racing.

It usually happens late at night, when he’s been working for too long, the glow of his laptop screen making his eyes burn. He barely notices his own exhaustion until you step into the room, bleary-eyed from sleep, your voice soft with concern.

"Chris… you’re still up?"

He hums in response, rubbing a hand over his face, but you can already see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers keep twitching against the keyboard. You don’t have to say anything else—he just reaches for you, gentle but firm, pulling you into his lap like it’s second nature.

You settle against him easily, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, his face tucking into the crook of your neck with a deep, weary sigh. His fingers slide under the hem of your shirt, not in a suggestive way—just seeking warmth, something solid to hold onto.

"You should sleep," you murmur, running your fingers through his curls, feeling the way his body starts to relax under your touch.

"Mmh," he hums, but doesn’t move. He just stays there, holding you, letting the warmth of your body pull him out of his head. After a moment, you feel the tension melt out of him completely, his breath evening out against your skin.

You smile to yourself, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I meant in bed, dummy."

He groans but doesn’t let go. "Just a minute," he mumbles, already half-asleep. "Just need this first."

And you let him have it. Because you know that for all the strength he carries, all the weight he bears—sometimes, he just needs you to hold him, too.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Chan has an incredible amount of patience, but there are a few things that genuinely get under his skin—things that make his expression tighten, his lips press into a thin line, and his body language shift in that subtle-but-undeniable way that says he’s biting his tongue.

One of his biggest yucks? Dishonesty. It doesn’t matter if it’s a small lie or a big one—if he catches onto it, something in him withdraws. It’s not about being strict or expecting perfection, but rather the fact that trust is everything to him. He pours his entire heart into the people he loves, so if he feels like someone isn’t being honest with him, it lingers. He might not call it out immediately, but he’ll remember, and it’ll take time for that unease to fade.

Another thing? People who are outright rude for no reason. He doesn’t mind sarcasm, and he loves teasing banter, but if he sees someone treating others with unnecessary cruelty—especially waitstaff, retail workers, or anyone just trying to do their job—it immediately puts him off. He’ll be polite, but distant, making a mental note to keep his space.

And when it comes to a partner? He could never be with someone who doesn’t take his dreams seriously. The long hours, the exhaustion, the way his mind is constantly running even when he’s supposed to be resting—it’s not just work to him. It’s his passion, his purpose. He understands that it can be frustrating at times, that it’s not always easy, but if someone were to dismiss it, to make him feel like it was too much or not worth it—it would cut deeper than they’d realize.

You’ve seen it happen before—an offhand comment from someone who didn’t understand, someone who joked that he works too much or needs to get a life. You remember the way his expression faltered, the way he laughed it off but kept fidgeting with his rings afterward.

So when he turns to you one evening, exhausted but buzzing from a long studio session, you just smile and say, “Tell me everything.”

And you watch as his whole face lights up, because this—this is what he needs. Someone who listens, someone who gets it, someone who doesn’t make him feel like his passion is an inconvenience.

Because at the end of the day, the only thing he truly hates—is the idea of giving his heart to someone who doesn’t know what to do with it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Chan has a complicated relationship with sleep. He knows he needs it, tries to get it, but more often than not, his mind refuses to shut down long enough for him to rest properly.

When he does finally crash, though, he sleeps like a log—completely knocked out, barely stirring unless you physically shake him awake. And when he sleeps with you? It’s a whole different story.

He’s a clinger.

It starts off innocent—an arm draped around your waist, a hand resting on your hip. But as the night progresses, it somehow escalates. One leg hooked over yours. His face buried in the crook of your neck. His entire body curled around you like he’s trying to merge into your existence.

The first time you wake up trapped under his weight, you try to wiggle free, only for him to grumble in his sleep and tighten his grip, mumbling something incoherent against your skin.

“Chan,” you whisper, pressing your fingers against his arm. “I can’t move.”

He hums, barely conscious, and instead of letting go, he nuzzles into you—fully content, like you’re the softest, safest thing in the world.

And really, you can’t even be mad. Because in those moments—when he’s finally at peace, breathing deep and slow, completely yours—you realize that this is when he’s at his most vulnerable. No stress, no responsibilities, just him, instinctively clinging to the one thing that makes him feel at home.

So you sigh, resign yourself to being his personal body pillow, and close your eyes again—because if this is what helps him sleep, then really, you don’t mind one bit.

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shouyuus · 6 months ago

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/chanting/ horny on main! horny on main! tobio's panting gasps when he tries to stop himself from doing too much too quickly! the way his arms shake from the pure effort of keeping himself from taking u to hard or too fast! how ur the only person probably in the entire kingdom who can reduce the to-be emperor to a whiney begging mess beneath you!

🗣️🗣️🗣️ horny on main!

@shouyuus is acc trying to kill me… im trying to pour angst and she’s trying to pour smut into second prince!tobio au…

god i am not your strongest soldier (fingers digging into my waist? dead in a ditch immediately)

#𐙚 the feelings mutual #HA #god WHOMST? we only worship at the altar of second prince!tobio

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trashytracktales · 3 months ago

Note

Heyy girliee, first of all I want to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. I’ve been reading your Lando fics for the past couple of days and “endings, beginnings” had me feeling butterflies in my stomach 🫢 I wanted to ask you if you could write something about lando and reader being friends but constantly having sexual tension building up between them. Maybe they flirt with each other but never think of it as something so serious and one night after a party they completely destroy each other. I fully trust you with this and how you’ll develop the story haha and don’t hold back. Thank youuu :*

Think twice | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for the love on Endings, beginnings & I appreciate you for taking the time to share this. Hope you like it 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── What starts as a chill party, where they sit in their old habits, ends with new boundaries crossed and a heavy tension they can no longer ignore.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, friends to lovers, bit of jealous!Lando, smut, slight teasing, praising, fingering & oral (sit on it), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.8k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 21, 2025

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE TWO OF them are always standing next to each other, no matter the room they’re in. The context, just like the reason why this happens, is redundant. Plus, they don’t even do it on purpose; rather, they are unconsciously drawn to each other like two magnets.

The party has finally slowed to a lazy hum, the music just a tolerable background noise now. People linger in clusters around them, their voices a distant murmur blending with the faint bassline of a forgotten playlist. The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of a string of fairy lights drooping across the ceiling.

It was supposed to be a small gathering, but then a friend told a friend, and that friend told their friends. And now, it’s almost impossible to find a private spot to catch your breath without breathing someone else’s air.

Somehow, they did. They are tucked into the corner of a couch, their space a small bubble of comfort. Her legs are draped over his lap, bare skin warm against the fabric of his black jeans. He’s cradling her calf in one hand, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin.

Her fingers thread through his curls at the back of his head, twirling them lazily. It’s a casual gesture, but it sends a shiver through him every time she does it.

Their conversation shifted into easy gossiping about a mutual friend — someone they both think is trying a bit too hard with their Instagram posts.

“It’s fucking obvious he’s fishing for attention,” says Lando, sounding almost conspiratorial.

“I know, right? The cryptic ass captions, the mirror selfies. He thinks he’s smooth with it, too,” she replies, giggling at the thought.

Lando grins, his thumb still tracing circles on her leg. The banter feels safe, the kind of effortless connection they’ve always had. But underneath it, there’s a quiet tension that neither of them is ready to address. Because they are, maybe, a bit tipsy, or because none of them has ever had the courage to take it further, for some reason.

“Alright, I need to pee,” she announces suddenly, getting ready to stand.

But Lando tightens his grip on her legs, his lips twitching in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “If I don’t go, I might pee on you.”

Lando shrugs, “Go ahead. Then I might discover a new kink,” he encourages her.

“New?” she laughs. “That implies you already have at least one.”

Lando winks at her without saying a word, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smile.

She rolls her eyes, smiling back at his immature behavior. “My God. You’re actually the worst. Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Lando, just stares at her with an expression that’s visibly different. His usual playful gaze has shifted to something more intense, and she tells herself he’s just a little... intoxicated. Still, it makes her heart skip a beat, because he looks so adorable when his eyes focus on something so intently. And so hot, that it makes her almost forget why she wanted to get up in the first place.

“Lan, I’m not joking, I actually have to go,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

He exhales, loosening his grip but not before giving her leg a small, reluctant squeeze.

“Don’t get lost,” he says, the words carrying more weight than they should.

She shakes her head, slipping off the couch and disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go, his eyes trailing after her like he’s afraid she might actually not come back.

Which is ridiculous, because he should not care. There are lots of other girls that he can take home tonight if he wants to.

Want, being the keyword.

Leaning back against the couch, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s always known she was the embodiment of the perfect girl for him — funny, kind, and loyal. But tonight, there’s something else in the air that makes his mind wander. The way she carries herself, her laugh, the way she makes everything around her seem brighter.

Lando realized long ago that he wants to he in her presence. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. And he still feels that punch sometimes, especially when he sees her interacting with other people. Especially men.

He’s had thoughts about her before. Many thoughts. Wild fantasies he brushed off as nothing more than fleeting curiosity. And they’ve joked about it, too, their drunken ‘if we’re single at 35’ pact a favorite running gag. But tonight, it doesn’t feel like a joke — he might actually marry her if she keeps letting him invade her personal space like that. Except she wouldn’t have let Lando do that if she didn’t want him there.

He finds himself smiling at his own thoughts. But then, an unwanted stiffness claws his body.

She’s on the way back when a guy leaning against the wall near the bathroom is blocking her path. He’s tall, too close for Lando’s liking, and he is gesturing animatedly. She’s always too polite, smiling as she talks, but Lando notices the way she shifts her weight, edging away slightly.

Something close to jealousy ignites in his chest, but he manages to tame the feeling by looking away, and forcing himself to take a slow sip of his drink. She can handle herself, he knows that. But he’s also ready to step in, just in case he needs to. Most men don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and he’s aware of how insistent some of them can be.

When she finally returns, Lando’s mood has shifted drastically, and she notices it the second she looks at him.

“Hey, you good?” she asks, plopping back down and swinging her legs over his lap again.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, his hand resuming its absent stroking on her shin.

Her brows knit together. “Not you lying to me. Come on, Landinho, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but his tone is clipped, and his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

She punches his arm lightly, trying to break through whatever wall he’s just put up. “You sure?”

He looks at her then, and the vulnerability in his gaze takes her breath away. “Sure,” he says. But his hand tightens slightly on her leg, like he’s holding onto her in more ways than one.

Her heart clenches. Lando is her friend, the one person she can always count on, but in this moment, she feels the air between them growing in different direction. It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it’s not easy for her to sit in it, either.

“You’re being weird,” she states, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice wavers.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, forcing a small smile. “Just tired,” adds Lando, but there’s something he hides behind his eyes, something that makes her chest ache.

She studies his face, her teasing words dying on her lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded, the usual spark dulled by the late hour and maybe one drink too many. His movements are slow, lazy, his thumb still caressing her skin.

“I can see that,” she says gently, sliding her legs off his lap. “Up. Come with me?”

The sudden loss of contact pulls him out of his haze, “Where?” asks Lando, his voice faintly slurred with exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she replies with a knowing smile, standing up and extending a hand to him. “My god, Lando. My friend gave me keys to one of the rooms upstairs in case I wanted to crash.”

He hesitates, glancing at her outstretched hand before finally letting out a soft laugh and taking it.

They make their way upstairs, the faint thump of music growing quieter with each step. The room isn’t far, tucked at the end of a hallway. She unlocks the door, revealing a small but cozy space. The room is dimly lit, with a single bedside lamp casting a muted glow over the single bed that’s pressed against one wall, a small dresser, and an armchair in the corner.

Lando steps in behind her, the faint hum of the party fading as the door clicks shut. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the space. She lingers by the door for a moment, turning the key with a soft click, locking them in; the sound feels final, and heavier than it should.

Lando notices the bed immediately, his eyes narrowing briefly before he rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his unease. His voice is low and uncertain as he says, “You know what, I can crash on the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she watches him fidget. “You can,” she agrees, knowing that Lando has the superpower to fall asleep anywhere, no matter the place or how loud the background noise is. “Unfortunately, I locked the door,” she adds with fake concern in her voice.

Lando glances at her, his expression caught somewhere between playful and wary. “Yeah. You can unlock it, though.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, her smile softening, her words carrying an unspoken challenge that Lando catches immediately.

His lips part, and for a moment, he says nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then, quietly, his voice dipping lower, he says, “Then don’t.”

His words linger between them, and she feels the weight of his gaze as it shifts to her. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the lighthearted Lando she’s used to.

She lets her arms fall to her side, her pulse quickening.

Lando’s chest rises and falls steadily, though there’s a tautness to his posture. His gaze darts back to the bed, then to her, and she swears she sees a flicker of something in his eyes — fear? Desire? Anticipation?

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching hers, and she feels the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them both. Every glance, every touch, every joke that lingered a second too long — it’s all there, bubbling to the surface.

The tension between them that has simmered for months, maybe even years, suddenly feels unbearable. Lando’s eyes meet hers once again, and the quiet resolve in her gaze breaks something inside him. And then, suddenly, a glance he catches from her it’s all it takes. The restraint he’s held onto for so long snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Before he knows it, he’s closing the gap between them, his hands cupping her face as his lips crash against hers.

She responds instantly, her hands tangling in his curls as she pulls him closer. The kiss is all-consuming, months of buried feelings and unsaid words spilling out in a rush. It’s intoxicating, a heavy blend of alcohol and the faint sweetness of her cherry lip balm. His lips are soft, impossibly so, molding against hers like they were made to fit. The taste of him is dizzying, a perfect balance of warmth and want, and each movement of his mouth sends sparks of heat rippling through her.

It’s overwhelming, the way Lando kisses her — gentle, but with a growing intensity that leaves her breathless, her heart pounding as if it’s trying to match the rhythm of his. His fingers trail down to her neck, squeezing lightly and pulling her against him as they stumble backward toward the bed.

“Do you know how long—” he begins against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Too long,” she cuts him off with another kiss while her fingers are rushing to tug at the hem of his shirt.

Lando groans as they tumble onto the bed. Their breaths are loud and uneven, filling the small space as their lips crash together again, need and desire fueling every movement. Her palm presses against the small of his back, coaxing him between her legs. He instinctively follows her guidance, his body lowering against hers until his forehead rests on hers. At that, Lando sighs, not with frustration but a soft exasperation that halts them both.

“Are we… okay?” he asks, half-amused and half-concerned. “We shouldn’t—we should not do this. Not like this.”

She doesn’t release him, her hands still on his sides, her legs loosely wrapped around him. “We are,” she assures him, her voice calm but insistent. “It’s just us, Lando.”

His brows furrow, his lips parting in disbelief. “I know. I just don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and—”

Her hands move to his face, cupping it firmly and forcing him to look directly at her. “Regret it?” the girl asks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Don’t be silly. You know this isn’t about tonight. I’ve wanted you for a while now. I know you do, too.”

His eyes flicker with something raw, and he swallows hard. “I do,” he agrees. “But. It’d be such a waste to mess it up.”

The weight of his confession settles over them, and he falls onto the mattress beside her. For a moment, they both stare up at the ceiling, their fingers brushing tentatively before intertwining. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the party faintly bleeding through the walls.

And then, “You’re such a good kisser, by the way,” she finally breaks the silence.

He lets out a chuckle, visibly affected. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m already messed up because of you, Lan,” she confesses, turning onto her side, her fingers finding his arm and tracing slow patterns along its length. “I trust us. No matter the outcome.”

Her hand travels to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his collarbone before moving to his jaw. She traces the line of it, her touch light but electrifying. Finally, her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her gaze following her movements so closely, as if she wants to devour him.

Their thoughts run wild, revisiting every stolen glance, the tension, the want — it’s always been there. Every moment brought them here.

And now?

“Do you, really?” asks Lando, his voice laced with curiosity.

She nods, her hands sliding down to rest over his, her fingers curling around his. “Completely. I trust us to figure it out as we go. Don’t you?”

He lets her words settle, a warmth spreading through his body. He does. But he still has to think twice before agreeing to something so drastic, especially when he is faced with something he wants so badly that it makes him burn with impatience.

Finally, Lando sighs, looking at her.

“It’s not a big deal, right?” she says with a quiet laugh, her voice tinged with both affection and relief. “We’ve always been good at just... being us.”

He smiles at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “That’s true. We’re pretty fucking great at that.”

Lando’s breathing hitches as she guides his hand to her ass, pressing it against her curves with an undeniable confidence. His grip tightens instinctively, and she drapes a leg over his waist, pulling herself closer. Their eyes lock, her fingers tracing his features, as if committing every contour to memory. They’ve never been so close to each other, and the intimacy of the moment makes his heart race, while hers almost melts under the warmth of his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he admits matter-of-factly.

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Hopefully,” she whispers, her hand traveling south, to work on unbuttoning his jeans.

Lando swallows hard, his gaze darkening as he grips her tighter. “If I fuck you tonight…” his voice drops, laced with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “I won’t be able to let another guy come anywhere near you again.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, finally able to put the pieces together, understanding why Lando was acting so strange earlier.

“Are you jealous, Lando?” she teases, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Lando’s response is silent; instead, he leans in, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck. He sucks lightly, then harder, leaving a blooming hickey that makes her gasp.

When he pulls back, his voice is firm, “No, I just want people to stay away from what’s mine.”

Her breath catches, and before she can stop herself, the word escapes her lips in a near-whisper. “Yours.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the intensity in his gaze speak for him. She pushes at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress with a soft laugh, and crawls on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.

Impatiently, her hands work on his shirt, pushing it up his chest. “Off,” she demands, tugging until he lifts his arms and lets her pull it over his head.

His hands waste no time, slipping under her skirt and pulling at the lace of her panties. “These,” he says quickly, his breath warm against her collarbone, “are in my way.”

With a sharp pull, he slides them down her thighs, and she shivers as the cool air kisses her damp skin. She leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck to hide her embarrassment as he guides her hips forward, her bare core pressing against the warmth of his abs. The firm ridges of muscle beneath her send a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she lets out a soft moan.

Lando’s hand tightens on her hip, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Look at that,” he breathes heavily, “What got you so excited, hm?”

She whimpers at his words, the heat pooling in her cheeks as much as between her thighs. “Don’t—” she mumbles into his neck, her voice muffled and shy.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of it against her skin making her shudder. “No, that’s so hot,” he teases, moving her hips just slightly so she drags against him. His own breath catches, and his hips shift upward, pressing the hardness of his length against her thigh. “You feel what you’re doing to me? It’s mutual.”

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his as she lets her fingers trail down his chest. Next, she adjusts herself as her hand slides lower, brushing against the waistband of his pants before she pushes them down just enough to free him. His cock springs free, and she bites her lip at the sight of it, her own arousal growing as she reaches out to wrap her hand around him.

Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and full of longing.

As she leans down to press her lips to his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipple, a sound escapes him that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. She glances up again, amused. “Well,” she teases, her voice playful but sultry, “I think I just found your new kink.”

Lando lets out a weak chuckle, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her back up to kiss her. “Shut up,” he speaks over her lips, but the way his hips buck against her hand tells her she’s right. “Everything you do is my kink,” he whispers, the rawness in his voice making her heart race.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and with a playful glint in her eye, her hand squeezes his cock lightly, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. “Sorry,” she giggles, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to make sure.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk before his hands cup her ass firmly, pressing her harder against him. His voice is rough and dripping with need as he almost begs, “Come sit on my face.”

The unexpected plea is leaving her breathless, painting her face in confusion. “What?” she stammers, her voice nearly swallowed by the thrum of arousal coursing through her.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Lando assures her, his tone insistent, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

Without waiting for her to argue, he pushes her skirt up around her waist, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and pulls her closer to his face. She hesitates for a moment, her nerves warring with her desire, but when his strong hands guide her gently and his lips press a teasing kiss against her inner thigh, she gives in. The first swipe of his tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, her hand flying to the wall to steady herself.

Lando groans as he tastes her, the sound vibrating against her core and sending shockwaves through her body. One arm wraps tightly around her thigh, anchoring her to him, while his free hand drifts down to his cock, stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. Her moans spill into the air, mixing with his as Lando’s mouth works her over like a man starved, warm and wet and utterly relentless.

“Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky as the intensity builds. Her hips jerk against his mouth instinctively, and he responds by pulling her even closer, burying his face deeper between her legs.

His tongue flicks, swirls, and presses in all the right places, and she can barely keep herself upright. She has to press both of her palms on the wall, but even then it’s not enough to keep her grounded. Not when Lando laps at her clit, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still as her body begins to tremble.

“You taste so fucking good,” he informs her between strokes of his tongue, his words muffled but clear enough to make her toes curl.

As her breaths turn shallow and erratic, she feels the pressure coiling tightly in her abdomen. Lando senses it, too, and his grip tightens, his movements growing more fervent. “Wanna come for me?” he asks as impatient as she is.

Before she can even process his question, her climax crashes into her like a tidal wave, her thighs trembling around his head as her moans echo through the room. Lando doesn’t stop, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every pulse and tremor until she’s gasping for air.

In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls her down onto the bed and flips her over, positioning himself above her. His lips are slick, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust as he pumps two fingers into her, the wet heat of her still clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit as his fingers curl inside. “Let me feel you.”

Her body arches off the bed as another wave of pleasure crests over her, Lando’s name spilling from her lips in breathless cries. The sheer intensity of his touch and the quickness of it all leave her spinning, her mind barely able to keep up as he drives her over the edge once more.

By the time her breathing begins to steady, Lando leans down, his lips brushing hers in a lingering kiss, tasting her satisfaction on his tongue. He grins against her mouth, utterly smug but entirely captivated.

“See how fucking delicious you are?” he whispers, and she can only nod, still lost in the aftermath of him unraveling her completely.

Seeing the pleasure etched across her face, Lando can barely hold it together. His hands tremble slightly as he shoves his jeans and boxers down for good, freeing himself at last. His cock, heavy and flushed, rests against her thigh, the warmth of her skin giving him goosebumps. He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as he pauses for just a moment, meeting her gaze with a mix of vulnerability and pure lust.

“Are we really gonna do this?” asks Lando, his voice hiding too much desire under its raspy tone.

His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt. Luckily, there is none. She just nods frantically, her hands sliding down his back to cup the firm muscles of his ass.

Her touch sends electricity through him, and she guides him where she needs him most, her body arching in anticipation. “I want you. Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into her, and the world stops for both of them. His head falls forward, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her warmth envelop him, her slick heat drawing him in effortlessly. Her body opens for him so easily, so perfectly, that it steals his breath. The tension that had coiled tightly in her frame melts away as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

Her arms encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly while she gasps Lando’s name. Her voice is music to his ears, and he presses his forehead against hers, the connection between them both overwhelming, yet grounding. Her fingers slide into his curls, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck as her hips shift instinctively, adjusting to his size.

“God, you feel…” he trails off, unable to find the words. Instead, he lets his body speak for him, drawing back before thrusting forward again. His movements are purposeful and powerful, each one making the bed creak slightly beneath them and pushing her up and down the sheets.

Her lips part with soft cries, her fingers tightening in his hair as her body meets each of his thrusts. “Lando,” she moans, her voice full of need and adoration, spurring him on. “Yes, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He catches her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds as his hands wander over her body. His fingers hook under the hem of her t-shirt, and he tugs it upward, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, takes his breath away. Her breasts are adorned with black lace, and the contrast against her skin ignites something primal in him.

“Stunning,” says Lando just as his hand drifts to her chest, brushing over the delicate fabric.

The way she arches into his touch, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulders, drives him wild. His thrusts deepen, his hips moving with purpose as the room fills with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. His jaw clenches as he feels her tightening around him. “You’re killing me. So tight and—”

Before he can finish, she pulls him into a kiss. It’s shallow, their lips barely meeting as they breathe each other’s air. Her nails dig into his back, her legs trembling as she holds him as close as humanly possible.

“You’re so good, Lando,” she murmurs, her voice quivering, her praise like gasoline on his fire. “My favorite boy.”

Her words send him over the edge of control, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep inside her, feeling her walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock. Her back arches, her head burying into the pillow as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Again.

Her moans are unfiltered, and she clutches him like he’s her lifeline, while Lando stills inside her, groaning low and long as her body grips him so tightly that knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his forehead against her chest, their breaths hurried as her aftershocks pulse around him so sweetly. Her nails scrape lightly down his back, grounding them both, continuing to whisper his name like a prayer.

It’s enough for Lando to surrender to his own orgasm, his body trembling as wave after wave of release takes him over. He stays buried inside her, unwilling to part just yet. The warm tightness around him makes him shudder, his hand gripping her thigh to anchor himself.

When he finally pulls out, he hesitates before pressing his knee between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of their combined arousal smearing against his skin. She squirms against him, her overstimulated body trembling, her hips shifting involuntarily as aftershocks ripple through her.

Lando watches her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his voice husky as he whispers, “Forget 35. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m down,” she teases, her tone light but affectionate. “Let’s book the venue now.”

He looks at her, gaze softening, filled with something deeper as he reaches behind her and, with one measured motion, unclasps her bra. The suddenness of it catches her off guard, her eyes widening as he tosses it aside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before she can say a word, Lando leans over the side of the bed, fishing for his shirt. He finds it, holding it up, then tugging it over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame.

“Perfect fit,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against her arms as he helps her adjust it. The gesture makes her chest tighten, her heart swelling with an ache she doesn’t fully understand yet.

After that, Lando slides back into his boxers and pulls the covers over both of them. The bed is small, forcing their bodies to press together in a tangle of limbs. It doesn’t feel awkward, though. It feels like a new home, safe and peaceful.

He rests his head on her chest, his breath warm and steady against her, while his hand absently caresses her through the fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipple. Everything about the moment feels somehow so normal, like they’ve been this way forever.

The silence stretches on, so comforting, until she suddenly breaks it with a soft groan. “I have to pee again.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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fear-less · 3 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 what letter? sirius, what letter?

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you never planned on talking to james ever again, not after your last encounter with him. Luckily Sirius saves the day.

an: omg last chapter, and its my fav.... hopefully this convinces some of y'all to watch anne with an e....I LOVE awae. ALSO!! i’m going to start writing all requests in my inbox, send some! i’m gonna start with the oldest then the more recent ones! also, im not ignoring your request if it takes a while😭 i’ll be writing then get stuck on what to do then move onto the next thing… bad habit but😭

Warnings: angst, fluff, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), another letter James wrote gets lost ayyyyy, literally that's all…

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

It was now June, the end of your final year at Hogwarts. The castle, which had been your home for the past seven years, seemed to hum with the bittersweet energy of goodbyes. If you had told your eleven-year-old self that you’d be leaving these halls without James, she would’ve been heartbroken—devastated, even.

Back then, you’d believed in the stories. You’d believed that the boy who made your heart race would be the one you’d leave Hogwarts with, hand in hand, ready to take on the world together. But life had a way of unraveling those childish dreams, weaving something far more complicated in their place.

James hadn’t spoken to you since that night—since you’d spilled your heart out and he’d told you to marry Finn. It wasn’t anger or malice that kept you apart, but a quiet, mutual understanding that too much had been said, and yet not enough to bring you back to where you were before.

You told yourself it was better this way.

Finn was everything a girl could hope for: kind, considerate, and endlessly patient. He never pressured you for answers when your mind drifted during a conversation, never asked why you’d go quiet whenever someone mentioned James. You were grateful for that. But as the end of term feast approached, with the prospect of leaving Hogwarts forever hanging over you, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything left unsaid.

James sat at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by his friends, but the usual Marauder energy was dampened. He’d won the Quidditch Cup, aced his N.E.W.T.s, and had offers from the most prestigious Quidditch teams waiting for him. By all accounts, he should’ve been ecstatic. But as he watched you sitting across the Great Hall, laughing softly at something Finn said, James felt hollow.

He’d told himself he was doing the right thing. That night in the common room, when you’d asked him if there was a chance for the two of you, he’d convinced himself that pushing you toward Finn was what you deserved. Stability. A future he couldn’t promise.

But watching you now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d made a mistake.

“Mate,” Sirius said quietly, nudging James with his elbow, “you’re staring again.”

James tore his gaze away, his jaw tightening. “I wasn’t staring,” he muttered, though his friends knew better.

“You’ve got one night left,” Sirius continued, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “If you’re going to do something about this, now’s your chance.”

James shook his head, laughing bitterly. “What am I supposed to do? Walk up to her, tell her I’m an idiot, and beg her to take me back? She’s with Finn now, Pads. She’s happy.”

“Is she?” Remus asked quietly, his eyes flicking to you. “Because from where I’m sitting, she looks like someone who’s convincing herself she’s happy.”

James didn’t respond for a while, this was his last chance of seeing her–he couldn’t lose her.

“You're right. I’m going to see her tonight. I’ll tell her that I missed what she was trying to tell me!” James said, now in a bit of a better mood.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Once night fell, James made his way to your dormitory. He prayed no one but you would be there. Out of your four roommates, he only knew two, and he’d seen them sitting in the common room without you. That meant you had to be in your dorm, right?

The corridors were quiet but not empty. Most of the dormitory doors were open, with people wandering in and out. It didn’t take long for him to find your door—how could he forget it when he’d been inside so many times before?

James stepped in cautiously, but his heart sank when he realized the room was empty. You weren’t there. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. This was supposed to be it—the last time he’d ever get a chance to talk to you—and you weren’t even here.

His eyes wandered to your side of the room. It was unusually tidy, and most of your belongings were already packed away. The only things left were a few scattered pieces of parchment, a quill, an inkpot, and an envelope on the desk.

Before he even realized what he was doing, James sat down at your desk. His hand hovered over the parchment for a moment before he began to write, his thoughts spilling out faster than he could process them.

“Dear… (Y/N),” he murmured to himself as the words took shape. “I’m sorry... I was confused before. I’m not anymore. I love you. –James.

P.S. May I please... have Buddy back?”

James smiled faintly as he reread the last part. Buddy was the stuffed animal you’d gifted him on his birthday before you’d snatched it back after losing a bet. If things didn’t work out, at least he’d have something to remind him of what you two once had. Maybe he’d even pass it on to his future child—if he had one.

He quickly folded the note, wrote your name on it and placed it neatly on your desk.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

You’d spent almost the entire day with Finn, and at first, everything seemed fine. But, as always, the cracks begin to show, and yet another argument erupted.

“Do you not trust me?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended, though the bitterness behind it was impossible to hide.

“No, I don’t. No man would if they were in my place!” Finn shot back, his tone defensive, the edge in his words cutting deeper than he realized.

You scoffed, the sting of his accusation hitting harder than you wanted to admit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to stay away from James,” he said, his voice rising. “Someone told me they saw you two talking alone in a corridor. I know you used to be good friends, but you haven’t spoken in months. You’ve never told me why, so I can only assume the worst!”

“We stopped talking for a reason I don’t even understand myself!” you fired back, your frustration bubbling over, your voice shaking with the weight of the truth.

Finn’s expression darkened, his lips curling into a bitter frown. “Yeah, sure. I totally believe you. He definitely didn’t distance himself because he fancies you. He looks at you the way I do.”

His words were a gut punch, the weight of his jealousy and mistrust pressing down on you. For a moment, you stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, you decided you were done dancing around the truth.

“He doesn’t fancy me,” you said, your voice trembling, though you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “And I know that for a fact. Since you want honesty, fine. I dragged James out of that party. I told him…” You hesitated, but the words came spilling out before you could stop them. “I told him how much I love him. That I’d leave you if he wanted me to. And do you know what he said?”

Finn’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, so you pressed on, tears now streaming freely down your face.

“He told me you’re a great guy. That I deserve you. He didn’t even tell me he loved me back.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finn stood there, his expression unreadable, his jaw set like stone. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, hurt, or simply done. After what felt like an eternity, he turned on his heel and walked out without a word, leaving you alone in his empty dormitory.

You stood there for a moment, stunned, as the weight of what had just happened settled over you. Was this the end of whatever fragile future you’d tried to build with Finn? You didn’t know. All you knew was that the room felt stifling, the air too thick to breathe.

Wiping the tears from your cheeks, you pulled yourself together enough to leave. Sitting here, drowning in your own thoughts, wasn’t going to help. You needed air, a distraction—anything to stop the whirlwind in your mind.

The cool night air greeted you as you made your way to the Black Lake. The walk was long, but with every step, your nerves began to settle. The gentle lapping of the water and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze worked to quiet the storm in your head, if only for a little while.

As you stood by the Black Lake, the moonlight dancing across the rippling water, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep your emotions from unraveling. Finn's words echoed in your mind, but instead of providing any sense of resolution, they left you with a heavier burden of confusion and regret.

You had laid everything bare—your feelings for James, your failed attempt to move on with Finn—and now, for the first time in ages, you felt unmoored. The certainty you’d desperately tried to force, the future you envisioned with Finn, had shattered. All that remained were questions, unanswered and painful.

You closed your eyes, letting the cool breeze wash over you, as though trying to cleanse the ache that lingered in your chest. Your heart still aches for James, despite everything. But what was the point in holding onto hope? He had made his feelings—or lack thereof—clear. And now Finn, the only thread that had tied you to some semblance of stability, was slipping away too.

After what felt like an eternity of sitting there in solitude, you made your way back to Hogwarts. When you reached your dorm, you didn’t bother tidying the mess on your desk. The next person who would stay there would find scattered pieces of parchment, half-used ink, and a neglected quill—unless the house-elves came to clean and dispose of it all.

You opened your luggage, only to realize you’d packed everything, leaving no clothes behind for the night or morning. That’s when your eyes landed on the small stuffed bear. A wave of emotions washed over you at the sight of it. You wiped away the tears you hadn't even realized had been falling. Sniffling, you stood up and made your way to the washroom to shower, hoping the warm water would wash away at least some of the weight on your heart.

Once you were out of the shower, the thoughts continued to swirl in your mind. After a long pause, you decided to write to James. You didn’t think you could face him—not after he rejected you, not when your emotions were still raw and all over the place.

Dear James, Since we are parting ways, perhaps forever, I feel I must unburden my heart. You are the fond object of my affection and my desire. You, and you alone, are the keeper of the key to my heart. Please don’t be alarmed--I don’t expect your favor--but I can’t, in good conscience, not reveal myself. I’m not engaged--nor will I be--unless, it’s to you, James. It always has been and always will be you.

With love, (Y/N)

PS: Here’s Buddy, in case you want him. I don’t think I can keep him without crying whenever I see him.

As you finished the letter, you sat there, staring at the words that held every ounce of your vulnerability. Your hands trembled as you carefully folded the parchment and slid it into an envelope. For a moment, you hesitated. Doubts surged in your mind—was this the right thing to do? What if he never read it? What if this only made everything worse?

But deep down, you knew it was the only way to find closure. You couldn’t carry these feelings any longer, locked away inside. This letter wasn’t just for him—it was for you too, a way to finally release the emotions that had weighed you down for so long.

You reached for Buddy, the small stuffed bear that had once brought you so much comfort. Seeing him now only reopened old wounds, but at the same time, he reminded you of the love you had for James—the love you still had, even though it wasn’t returned. You hugged Buddy tightly one last time, letting a few tears fall before tucking him into the package with the letter.

You had considered waiting until morning to deliver it, but the thought of sleeping on it felt impossible. You needed to let go of this weight before you could rest. So, once all your roommates were asleep, you slipped out of the dorm and made your way to James' room. The dorm was empty, just as you'd expected. Whenever there was a holiday, the boys would often roam the grounds late into the night, returning well after curfew.

You placed the package—Buddy and the letter—gently on James' bed. You glanced around the room, the usually cluttered space now oddly quiet and foreign. Standing in it alone, you couldn’t shake the feeling of how much had changed. With a final, shaky breath, you turned and left, the door clicking softly behind you as you disappeared into the darkness.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

It was nearing three-thirty in the morning when the boys finally returned. Sirius stumbled in, clearly drunk beyond belief, while Remus went straight to the shower, and Peter collapsed into his bed, too tired to think. James, however, stood frozen in his doorway.

His eyes were locked on a small brown-covered package resting on his bed. Confusion washed over him as he approached. He quickly tore it open, finding a folded piece of parchment with his name written in your handwriting—and Buddy.

His chest tightened with anger. "Oh, really, (Y/N)? You couldn’t even face me? World class!" His voice was laced with frustration as his eyes flicked from the bear to the letter. All he could focus on was how you'd read his letter and now returned Buddy.

You actually gave Buddy back? He remembered you promising, no—vowing—never to part with it, no matter what. Yes, he'd asked for it, but this… this was more than just a simple request.

Without thinking, James ripped the letter apart. His fists clenched around the torn pieces as he made his way into the empty common room. In a fit of rage, he threw the scraps into the fire.

As the flames flickered, a sudden thought struck him, and his stomach dropped. “What if... oh, shit!” he muttered, cursing himself. What if you had come to speak to him, only to find he wasn’t in the dorm, and in desperation, wrote that letter? What if it was your way of telling him that you felt the same, that you regretted everything, and that you still cared?

But now, it was too late. The letter was gone, burned to ash.

James stood frozen, clutching the remaining pieces of the letter in his hands, the ink smudging as he frantically pieced together the broken words:

Parting ways... Don't... Heart... Finn... Engaged... Don't love... Alarmed... Not... Alone... Forever...

What was all of this? Engaged to Finn? You just met him, for Merlin’s sake! And why would you tell him that in the letter? Did you want to make him feel worse, to confirm that you had truly moved on?

The sound of a door creaking open snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Remus stepping into the room, his expression one of quiet surprise. With Sirius and Peter asleep, James saw no reason to keep this to himself any longer. Remus was always the one who could make sense of things, the one who could calm him down when nothing else could.

“Remus, don’t go back to sleep, please," James blurted, pacing in frustration. "I’ve got breaking news! That night at the party? Forget it. Turns out (Y/N) doesn’t love me after all. She wrote me a letter explaining it—and told me she’s engaged to Finn!”

Remus paused, looking at him with wide eyes. “You told yourself—and us—that you would get over her. If she’s really engaged to Finn, then... let’s start now.”

James shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t, Remus.”

“You can, and you will,” Remus said firmly, his tone softer but still resolute. “Once you’re over her, you’ll be able to move on. It’ll be a new chapter, James—one without her in it.”

James’s face twisted in pain. “I want to be happy, Remus. I just can’t. (Y/N) is marrying the man of her dreams, and that man isn’t me.”

Remus sighed, stepping closer to his friend. He knew James too well, and knew how deep this went. “Let’s go to bed,” Remus said gently. “We’ve got an early morning ahead of us. Maybe you’ll have a chance to speak to her tomorrow? Tell her—and the others,” he added, gesturing toward Peter and Sirius, “maybe they’ll have a better plan for you.”

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

You were on the train now, staring out the window as the platform slowly filled with students saying their last goodbyes. You were ready to go home—or at least as ready as you could be. Ready to return to your parents, who still thought you were with Finn. The truth of your relationship, however, was far murkier. You and Finn hadn’t officially broken things off, but the silence that followed your last argument felt louder than any words could. It was obvious, even if neither of you had said it out loud.

The weight of everything sat heavily on your shoulders as you watched the scene outside. Friends hugged tightly, some with tears streaming down their faces, while others exchanged laughs and promises to write over the summer. There was a bittersweetness to it all—a kind of closure, even in the goodbyes. But you didn’t feel that closure. Instead, you felt like you were caught in a loop of unresolved emotions and unanswered questions.

You’d managed to find an empty compartment. It wasn’t hard when you were one of the first to board while everyone else lingered, reluctant to leave the castle behind. The quiet was what you needed—time to think, to breathe, to let the ache in your chest settle.

Diana, who's your best friend and practically your sister from how close you two are and your friends had offered to sit with you, but you told them you wanted to be alone. They understood, of course. They always did. You’d confided in them about what had happened with Finn, and while they’d tried to offer their support, you knew this was something you needed to process on your own. They couldn’t fix what was broken—not with Finn, and not with James.

The hum of the train as it prepared for departure filled the air, a low, steady rhythm that somehow felt comforting. You leaned your head against the cool glass of the window, watching as more students climbed aboard . You envied the lightness in some of the students—their laughter, their certainty about who they were and where they stood with the people in their lives.

For you, everything felt like it was in limbo. The argument with Finn had left you reeling, unsure of what came next. And then there was James—the boy who had once been your closest friend, who still lingered in your thoughts even after months of strained silence.

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment as the train gave a soft lurch, signaling the start of its journey. Home felt both too far away and far too close.

The train began to pick up speed, the platform slowly fading into the distance as the familiar rolling hills of the countryside came into view. You opened your eyes, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The quiet of the compartment wrapped around you like a fragile cocoon, but your thoughts refused to settle.

James. His name echoed in your mind like a song you couldn’t quite forget. You hadn’t seen him at the station, though you’d looked for him instinctively. The habit was hard to break, no matter how strained things had become between the two of you.

You thought back to that day in Finn’s dorm, where everything had shifted. The weight of your confession to Finn, the raw honesty, and the pain that followed. But it wasn’t Finn’s face you pictured now—it was James’s. His messy hair, his lopsided grin, the way his hazel eyes lit up when he laughed. And the way those same eyes had avoided yours for months, the distance between you growing wider with each passing day.

You shook your head, as if the motion could clear your mind. It didn’t. Instead, it only made the ache in your chest deepen. The truth was, you missed him. More than you cared to admit, even to yourself.

It wasn’t just the friendship you missed, though that alone had been a loss. It was the way he’d always been there, the way he could make you laugh even on your worst days, the way he’d look at you like you were the most important person in the world. Somewhere along the way, things had changed, and you weren’t sure if you could ever get back to where you’d been.

The train rattled along the tracks, the countryside blurring past the window. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if you could ward off the coldness that had settled deep in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you wished James were here, sitting across from you like he used to. You could almost hear his voice, teasing you about something silly, his laughter filling the space between you. But the compartment was empty, and the silence felt heavier because of it.

You leaned your forehead against the glass, the cool surface grounding you. Maybe this summer would give you the space you needed to figure things out. Maybe time apart would help you understand what you really wanted, and what you were willing to fight for. But as the train carried you further away from Hogwarts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers you were looking for weren’t waiting for you at home—they were somewhere back there, tangled up in the boy you couldn’t stop thinking about.

You closed your eyes again, letting the rhythmic motion of the train lull you into a state of uneasy calm. The journey home had only just begun, but you already felt like you were carrying the weight of an entire year’s worth of emotions with you. And no matter how far the train took you, there was one thing you couldn’t seem to leave behind: the hope that somehow, someday, you and James could find your way back to each other.

A knock startled you awake. For a fleeting moment, you hoped it might be James, but when you opened the door, it was Diana. Despite your insistence on wanting no company, you never minded hers. You mustered a small smile as she entered.

“So,” Diana began, sitting across from you, “you wrote him a letter saying you still love him?”

“Yes,” you replied softly, avoiding her gaze.

“And he hasn’t talked to you?”

“Mhm.”

“And you called it off with Finn?”

“Well...” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “I still need to, but he despises me now. Once I get home, I’ll owl him. He’s... not exactly happy right now.”

“Because of the fight?” Diana’s tone grew sharper. “I know you lied to us. It wasn’t about your parents, was it? If you want to tell me the real reason, just say it.”

You hesitated, your throat tightening. “I... I ruined it with him. He got mad about James, and I snapped. I told him what I told James at the party. He didn’t even say anything; he just stood there, then left. We haven’t spoken since. I haven’t even told my parents yet—I don’t know if he’s told them.”

“Wow...” Diana’s expression was a mix of disbelief and frustration. “And James hasn’t said anything? You went through all that struggle, and he’s just blatantly ignoring you?”

“I know! But maybe I shouldn’t have told him how I felt again. Remember what happened at the party?”

Diana softened, reaching out to touch your hand. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I can’t imagine being in your situation.”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore,” you mumbled, though the lump in your throat betrayed your words.

“Of course it matters!” Diana said firmly. “Finn demanded the truth and then got mad when you gave it to him? That’s not fair!”

“Well, at least I won’t be engaged to him anymore.”

“When did he pro—” Diana started, but her words were cut off as Sirius suddenly barged into the compartment.

None of you had noticed him outside, and you had no idea how long he’d been listening.

“How much did you hear?” Diana demanded, her eyes narrowing.

“Enough to know that (Y/N) is no longer with that Finn bloke,” Sirius replied with a grin that was far too smug for the situation.

“Well, if you’d listened more, you’d also know—” Diana began again, but Sirius interrupted her too.

“(Y/N), have you even tried to speak to James about this?!”

“Had I had the opportunity, I would have,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “In fact, I went over—”

“You’ve had every opportunity!” Sirius exclaimed, cutting you off again. You stared at him, then at Diana, who looked just as shocked as you felt.

“Admit it,” Sirius said, his voice rising. “You’ve been smitten with James since the moment you two met! The clues have been everywhere! And don’t deny that you were completely beguiled by him at the party—even though you were dating some random bloke you barely knew!”

“That’s not—” you started, but Sirius plowed on, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“Then you drag James out of the party, demand to know how he feels about you, and give him all of thirty seconds to decide your entire future!”

“Well, that’s because—”

“And worst of all,” Sirius thundered, ignoring you, “you callously ignored the letter James wrote to you, where he told you he loved you!”

If confusion were a person, it would have been you at that moment. You exchanged a bewildered look with Diana.

“What letter?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Even Sirius looked thrown off. “What do you mean, ‘What letter?’”

“Sirius,” you said more firmly, standing now. “What letter?”

“The letter was the whole reason he stopped talking to you!” Sirius snapped. “He put one in your luggage—slipped it into a pocket—and then left another on your desk yesterday!”

You blinked, your mind racing. “Which pocket? I don’t use most of them, and I left everything on my desk at Hogwarts—it was just extra parchment. Why didn’t he just tell me?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Sirius said with a shrug. “But what are you waiting for? Go find James! He’s crying like a bloody baby—that’s the only reason I came to find you. Took me five minutes to track you down!”

You nodded quickly and scrambled to your feet, your heart pounding like a drum. You knew exactly where James would be. After sharing the same train compartment for seven years, you could find it blindfolded, even in your sleep.

Without hesitation, you hurried down the train, determination and nerves tangling in your chest like vines. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the narrow corridor, your mind racing ahead.

Then you froze.

James’ laugh drifted through the crack in the door—warm, familiar, and effortless. It was the kind of laugh that made the world tilt, like gravity had shifted just enough to pull you toward him. The sound wrapped around you, igniting a fire in your chest and a tremor in your hands.

You pressed a shaky palm against the cool surface of the compartment door, drawing in a deep breath.

This is it.

With a steadying exhale, you slid the door open. The soft creak barely registered over the hammering in your ears.

“James,” you began, your voice trembling but determined. “Can we… could we talk? Please. If that’s okay with you?”

James froze mid-laugh, his body stilling like a snapshot in time. His gaze locked onto yours, wide-eyed and searching, as if trying to confirm you were real. Slowly, he nodded, his brow creasing in quiet confusion, curiosity flickering behind his eyes.

You stepped inside and let the door click softly shut behind you, the faint sound reverberating in the small, enclosed space. Here, at the back of the train, there were no prying eyes, no curious ears—just the two of you and the fragile weight of the moment.

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt electric, thick with unspoken words and barely restrained emotion. James watched you carefully, his gaze tracing your face as if committing every detail to memory.

Your chest tightened, the words caught like a stone in your throat. You’d waited too long, carried this too far. But you couldn’t falter now.

Swallowing the lump of fear, you took a step closer, and then another, until the space between you vanished completely.

You weren’t sure who moved first—if it was him, or you, or maybe both of you at once—but the distance dissolved like it had never been there at all. His hands found your waist as yours slid up to cup his face, and then his lips were on yours. The world outside the compartment disappeared in a rush, the hum of the train fading into nothingness.

It wasn’t frantic or hurried. It was soft, almost tentative at first, like neither of you could quite believe this was real. But then, the kiss deepened, and with it came a flood of emotions—relief, longing, and something you didn’t dare name just yet.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. James’ cheeks were flushed, and his glasses were slightly askew. His lips curved into the smallest, shyest smile you’d ever seen from him. It was a look you wanted to commit to memory.

But the weight of why you were here—the reason you’d sought him out—pressed against your chest, demanding to be spoken to.

You took a deep breath, looking James in the eye as you began. “Sirius told me about the letters. The one in my luggage, the one on my desk… I didn’t even know they existed. I never read them.”

James blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “You… you never read them?” he repeated, his voice breaking slightly.

You shook your head, your chest tightening as you stepped closer to him. “No. I only found out about them because Sirius barged into my compartment and told me everything. He said you hid one in my luggage, and the other was on my desk, buried under a pile of parchment I never cleaned up. James, I had no idea.”

James ran a hand through his hair, his face clouding with frustration and regret. “Merlin,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “All this time, I thought you knew. I thought you read them and just… ignored me.”

“Why would I ignore you?” you asked, your voice trembling. “James, I didn’t know because I didn’t even think to look. And the letter in my bag—I didn’t even realize there was a hidden pocket until Sirius told me.”

James stared at you, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he managed, “I wrote them because I didn’t know how else to tell you how I felt. I thought if I put it on paper, it’d be easier to say everything I couldn’t say to your face.”

“James, I didn’t read them, but you need to know something,” you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I wrote to you too. I wrote you a letter and left it on your bed with Buddy.”

His expression shifted, his brows knitting together in a mix of guilt and realization. “The letter with Buddy,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I tore it up.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and your heart sank. “You… tore it up?” you asked softly, your voice breaking.

James nodded, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I was angry,” he admitted, his tone thick with regret. “I thought you’d moved on, that you didn’t care anymore. I saw Buddy, and I just… I lost it. And when I saw you’d written me a letter instead of talking to me in person—well, I just… I thought you were giving him back to me because you didn’t need him anymore. I thought you were telling me that you were done with me, that you’d let go. So, I tore it up without even reading it.”

You stared at him, your heart heavy with the weight of the misunderstanding. “James, I wasn’t telling you that I was done. I… I was just too scared to face you. After what happened at the party… when you told me to marry Finn… I didn’t think I could bear hearing you reject me again. I didn’t think I could face you after that.”

James' face softened, his brows furrowing with understanding. “I never meant for you to feel that way. I thought I was doing the right thing, telling you to marry Finn, but it wasn’t because I didn’t care. I was trying to push you away, trying to convince myself that it was better if you were happy with him. I couldn’t bear to see you hurting, but instead, I just made it worse.”

You shook your head, your voice catching. “I didn’t think you wanted me, James. You told me to marry Finn, and you didn’t even give me a chance to tell you how I felt. I thought if I wrote the letter, maybe that was my chance to say what I couldn’t say face-to-face.”

James’ breath hitched, and he stepped toward you. “I was wrong. I should have listened to you, should have seen that I was the one hurting you. I was so confused. I didn’t want to lose you, but I didn’t know how to tell you that I felt the same.”

“James, that letter wasn’t about moving on. It was about you. I told you everything—how I felt, how I couldn’t be with Finn because my heart wasn’t his to have. It was yours. It’s always been yours.”

James’ breath caught in his throat as realization washed over him. “You… you said that?”

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. “I told you that I loved you. That I’ve always loved you, no matter how much I tried to deny it. And I gave you Buddy because I didn’t think I deserved to keep him anymore.”

James’ face crumpled, and he took a shaky step toward you. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For tearing up your letter, for hiding behind mine, for not saying what I needed to say.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “We both made mistakes, James. But I’m here now. And I’m telling you everything because I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t care.”

James reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he leaned in. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw and unguarded. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ve been such an idiot for not saying it sooner.”

You let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over you like a tide. “Well, you’re saying it now. That’s all that matters.”

He kissed you then, the world falling away as the weight of years of miscommunication and doubt finally lifted. His lips were warm and familiar, and when he pulled back, both of you were breathless and flushed.

“We’re terrible at this,” James said with a small, rueful laugh, his hands still resting on your cheeks.

“We really are,” you agreed, smiling through your tears. “But we’ve got time to figure it out.”

James grinned, his eyes shining with hope. “Together?”

“Together,” you confirmed, your voice steady and sure.

James kissed you again, slow and tender, as if he was savoring the moment. The warmth of his lips, the familiarity of his touch—it was everything you had wanted, everything you had longed for but been too afraid to claim.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath shaky, both of you flushed from the rush of emotions. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything that had been left unsaid finally settling between you in a peaceful, unspoken understanding.

“I don’t know how we got here,” James said softly, his voice hushed, as though he was still trying to piece everything together in his mind. “We both made so many mistakes, (Y/N). I hurt you, and I never meant to. I’ve been a coward, hiding behind my letters, my words... not telling you the truth when it mattered.”

You shook your head, gently cupping his face in your hands. “James, we both let fear dictate everything. We were both too scared to face the truth. But we're here now, right? That’s all that matters. We don’t have to figure it all out right this moment. We just have to start somewhere.”

James looked into your eyes, his gaze intense, as if he was memorizing every detail, afraid that if he blinked, the moment might slip away. “I love you, (Y/N),” he said again, this time with complete certainty. “I’ve always loved you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you laughed softly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I love you too, James. I always have. I was just too afraid to believe it.”

James smiled, a real, unguarded smile, the kind that made his entire face light up. “So... do we get to be happy now?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

You nodded, the warmth of his hands still holding your face. “Yes,” you whispered. “We get to be happy. Together.”

For a long time, neither of you moved, just stood there in the quiet, the weight of everything finally lifting, as if all the confusion and misunderstandings had just melted away.

James let out a soft laugh, breaking the stillness. “I’m not perfect, (Y/N),” he said, his thumb gently brushing the tear on your cheek. “But if you’ll have me, I’m willing to try.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart full to bursting. “I think we both need to try, James. And we will. Together.”

He kissed you one last time, and this time, it wasn’t hurried or filled with desperation. It was a kiss that held all the promises of a new beginning. The kind of kiss that said, we’ve found our way back to each other.

And when you pulled away, you both stood there, smiling through the tangled mess of emotions that had, somehow, become beautiful in their own way.

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