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bi-writes · 3 months

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you don't think ghost likes you very much. (part 2 of this, but can be read standalone) (18+, semi-dark content ahead, ghoap x fem!reader)

he doesn't like you. no matter what you do, what you wear, what you say, you know he doesn't approve of you, not really.

not like johnny.

johnny adores the ground you walk on. his lips are always on you. in your ear, along your neck, against your collarbone. his tongue is warm, and it slides along your jaw, around your fingers, sucking on your skin.

"what a nice gift, LT," he always says. "got the nicest pussy 'v e'er had." and then he puts those eyes on, those big, soft, blue ones, and he asks, "can i keep 'er, LT? can i have 'er?"

and johnny is so good. johnny does what he's asked of. johnny says yes, he never says no. johnny smiles and nods and does what he is told, and so johnny gets to have you.

johnny gets to keep you.

but you are a pet, and you are nothing more, and ghost never lets you believe otherwise. he doesn't even give you his name; it's ghost, and ghost only, and he never touches you. not the way the johnny does.

he competes with you, but it isn't a competition. johnny doesn't listen to you, not if ghost contradicts you. he will win, and he will win every time, and even though you are aware of this, he reminds you, all the time.

"johnny, please--" you sob, and he laughs, rubbing his stubble against your thigh gently. it's wet, because he's slobbered all over your cunt, and your hole pulses because it wants more. "johnnny...j-johnny, please--"

"oh, relax, my little lamb..." he sucks your clit into his mouth gently, suckling on the puckered bud. you whine at that, reaching down, pulling on the long strands of hair down the middle of his head, and he groans. "makin' a right mess..."

you're crying. tears falling down your face, pleasure like fire at the base of your spine and crawling up your back, and you reach up and squeeze the swell of your breasts, pulling on your nipples gently. johnny always gets you here--right at the top of a glorious fucking hill, and when you come down it, he carries you, keeping you high for as long as he can before he tries again and again and again--

"fuck are y' doing?" a rough voice growls. johnny's ripped off of you, his back arching as a gloved hand yanks on his head. johnny grunts, hissing, and you whine when you see ghost gripping him by his neck, holding the back of his head to his chest. "spoiled. you spoil her, johnny."

"she's so pretty, LT...i--"

"you spoil her." ghost tilts his head to the side, and you see his eyes narrow, a harsh glare at you from under the mask that makes you shake a little. "spoil her fuckin' rotten."

he doesn't let you come. he's a selfish motherfucker.

you don't know why he doesn't like you. for all intents and purposes, he chose you. and he had all but asked you to leave. tortured you, yes, but he hasn't asked you to leave. he still wants you here, doesn't he? if he hated you, if he was jealous, if he really disapproved of you, a man such as he would just kick you out, wouldn't he?

johnny and ghost are gone today. you're alone, and you've decided to occupy your time by cleaning. you put away the clean dishes, fold the laundry that was stuck in the dryer, pick up around the kitchen. ghost keeps the place very clean--but they were pressed for time in the morning, so johnny left you with the softest kisses, and ghost with just a grunt.

you're arranging fresh flowers in the living room when you hear the front door shut. you bounce into the hallway, a big smile on your face ready to greet johnny, but you freeze when you see only one big shadow shrugging off his rain jacket.

ghost is by himself, and he rolls out his neck as he toes off his boots. he hangs up his jacket, still not looking at you.

"wot?" he snaps. "cat got your tongue, little rabbit?"

you swallow, shaking your head.

"sorry...i thought...thought it was johnny."

"yeah? and wot? just 'cause it's not johnny, gonna not greet me like y'should, yeah?" he bites. you stand still for another minute before coming towards him. you lean up on your toes and kiss his cheek, but when you pull away, he reaches down and grips your ass tight, forcing your pelvis against his and rumbling low. he snarls a little, and you tilt your head back as he presses the front of his mask against your lips, kissing you through it. "tha'sit. good girl."

a soft sound comes out of you, a moan, a whimper, you aren't sure, but he smacks your ass gently, nodding his head.

"go on," he mutters. "on the couch."

he eyes you as you walk away.

"'n why the fuck are y'wearin' all those clothes?"

your insides warm at that, and you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder.

"oh. sorry." you slide your sweats off and toss them aside. it's then that ghost realizes you're wearing his shirt. he runs a hand over his taut stomach, adjusting himself shamelessly in his jeans as he watches you bend over to get onto the couch. you wear no panties, and he hums under the mask, tilting his head to the side.

"johnny got held up on base," he murmurs, coming into the living room. you take a seat on the couch, looking up at him, squeezing your thighs together.

"so...we're all alone?" you ask. this is your chance. this is the opportunity you have been waiting for. with no johnny to distract him, all he has is you, and he can't ignore you. not this time.

"all alone, sweetheart."

you swallow hard. "why don't you like me?"

the question is blunt and clear. ghost clicks his tongue under the mask, focusing on you, and he shakes his head.

"tha' isn't wot it is."

"then what is it?"

he just stares, and you shake your head. you need answers. you need to know what you're doing wrong--you want to be good.

"not you, luvie. it's my boy, my poor johnny..." you watch as he grips himself through his jeans again, visibly hard as he squeezes his cock over his zipper. "fuckin' annoying when he isn't the center of attention. my attention. you understand, right?"

you watch him, licking your bottom lip.

"b-but...but--"

"turns into a bloody muppet. pouts like a baby." ghost comes closer, leaning over you, gripping your chin gently. "wot, huh? thought i didn't want y'around?" you whimper when he squeezes your face between his big hand, squishing your cheeks. "'n how could i not, yeah? look at ya..."

he growls under the mask.

"y'wet, sweetheart?" he asks, and you lean back, spreading your knees, and he grunts when he sees between your thighs. the skin is wet, soft and slick, and he hums lowly when he sees how you clench around nothing. "wanna taste, luv. give it t'me."

you reach down gently, sliding two fingers through your folds. you whine a little, scooping a nice handful of slick, and then you pick up your fingers for him. he pushes his mask up, and you shiver when you see the wicked grin on his scarred face. then he takes your fingers into his mouth.

he leans over you. his mouth his hot, and you shake a little when his tongue slips over your fingers, warm muscle swallowing as he tastes you.

"fuckin' hell," he murmurs when he lets your fingers go. "know why johnny spends all his time down there, yeah?"

you giggle, arching your back a little, pulling his shirt up.

"ghost...why dont...why dont you come here?" you reach for the waistband of his pants, tugging gently, and he falls over you on the couch. you meet his eyes as you start to unbutton his jeans. "i want you to spend time here, too, y'know."

"tha' right, sweetheart?"

you smile, "y-yeah." you unzip his pants, your jaw falling open when you pull him out. he's so big, nice and girthy and pretty, and the tip is so pink, dribbling precum and just aching for your tongue to taste him. you rub your thumb over the tip, and he hisses. "and...a-and i love johnny..." you look back up into his eyes. "b-but...i..."

he reaches around and fists your hair, growling against your lips.

"need a right beast to fuck this pretty pussy, yeah? need someone to--" you cry out as he yanks your head back, exposing your neck to him. "--fuckin' ruin ya."

you squeal, arching your back, and he chuckles, but it's mean. you wrap your arms around his neck, and he leans down, resting his forehead against yours.

"yah, luv, y'r mine, just as much as johnny--" you gasp when he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, "y'belong to me. gonna write my name across your fuckin' cunt, sweetheart, fuck that idea right into your pretty head--"

you cry when he fucks you. when he sits up on his knees, gripping you from under your thighs, fucking into you with a reckless rhythm that leaves your thighs shaking and warm tears coming down your face.

"look at you..." ghost hisses, and you cry more, keening as he stares down at where you're connected and the squelch of you dribbles down his thighs. "bloody hell..."

your back bows, your thighs clamping around ghost's hips as he fucks you into the mattress. you can barely think, the only sensation you can really absorb is the way his thighs smack against your ass and the feel of his big, gloved hands spreading you open.

"just needed me right here, yeah?" ghost grunts, slowing his pace as he nestles his pelvis right against yours. you whine; he's so deep, it hurts, but it hurts so good, you don't tell him to stop, you can't. he's so much bigger than johnny, in every way, and you feel suffocated, but if this is how you die, so be it. getting fucked brainless is not the worst way to go, not like this. you gasp when he smooths a big hand over your stomach, pressing the pad of his thumb to where you know the tip of his cock sits. "right there, luv, tha' place is for me, yeah? 's mine, my spot--"

ghost leans down, growling against your neck, a firm grind of his hips punching your cervix again. you claw at ghost's back, and it's painfully obvious how desperate you are--you nearly rip ghost's shirt in pieces.

"this place is for me," he murmurs, spreading his fingers. he grips your waist in both hands and gives you a hard thrust, leaning his head back as he feels you clench hard. you like it when he talks, he can tell--the sound of his voice has you that much wetter, and he clicks his tongue as he leans back, rubbing a gloved thumb over your pretty little clit. "wanna live here...want ya to be my little pet..." he smirks under the mask when you cry, so sensitive. "whenever i want, want you bent over, spread nice 'n wide f'me." he hums low, "whenever i want, yeah?"

he talks like you aren't there. like he isn't cock-deep inside of you, molding the soft places of your pussy to the shape of him. ghost, despite being a little breathless, has no tremble in his voice despite how hot he feels, and he knows, suddenly, why johnny fawns over you. there is nothing that compares to this--there is nothing quite like fucking this pretty princess, watching her tits bounce, her thighs shake, feeling how soft and lovely she is when he gets her right where she belongs--stupid and cumming.

"a princess ya are, yeah?" ghost chuckles. "a right spoiled one, innit?"

and maybe you are a little spoiled. you had no idea you would be getting two for one--johnny and his looming shadow.

you grip ghost's shirt from the front tight, balling it up in tight fists and pulling him close.

"please!" you squeal. "please, please, please--" you moan and sob against the front of his mask. "w-wanted you for so long--w-wanted--"

"ya did?" ghost tilts his head to the side, picking up the pace. he cradles your head between his arms, pressing his face to yours. "even though i was a bastard?"

you mewl, nodding, reaching down and gripping his lower back as he grinds mercilessly. the curls at the base of his cock are rubbing against your clit now, and you angle your hips to catch the feeling every time, and you know you're getting close. you're there.

"almost said your name--" you gasp. "w-when...when he..."

"poor thing--" he chuckles. "thought johnny was what you wanted?" he knows you like the way he's fucking you, and he slows down, wanting to see your face and every expression you make. "what you needed?"

you nod. "i need him," you whisper. "but it isn't enough."

"no, you're such a greedy bunny--" he grips your face tight, sitting up, and you cry when he fucks you. he's an animal, he's lost control, and you are helpless under him. all you can do is spread your knees wider and moan. "johnny can't tame you, but i can, yeah?"

you meet his eyes, big and soft and wet, and he hisses. the look in your eyes, he cums instantly, falling over you and barely having enough time to put his hand out and catch himself. you gasp at the feeling, reaching down, and with a few soft circles of your fingers, ghost lets out a strangled sound as he feels you tighten and cum. the front of his thighs are soaked, and he nudges your chin up with his nose as he breathes in the scent of you from your neck.

"don't say of word of this to 'im, yeah? got ourselves a jealous little bastard," he murmurs against your ear. you nod, and when he kisses you, you can't help the way you relax. cupping his scarred face, licking into his mouth--ghost is your keeper, and he's johnny's keeper, and you know suddenly why johnny does whatever he says, whenever he wants.

ghost is in charge. he just is, and even though you're just a little, innocent civilian, ghost has given you orders, and you will follow them. there is a soft, aching place inside of you that wants to please him so badly--wants to impress him, show him how good you can be. and you imagine, wonder, if johnny has that same feeling in him, that same little press on the inside of his ribs that screams, be a good boy, a good girl, do just as he says, he'll give such a nice reward.

and when johnny comes home, there you are, all soft smiles and tender touches and little giggles that make his belly hurt so nice. and when he tells you he's hungry, you spread your legs, using two fingers to show him your pretty, wet cunt. and he dives in, like he always does, because one of his favorite places is feeling the rub of your thighs against his stubble and your fingers tugging his hair.

his tongue spreads your folds, and he hums with delight when you fall onto your back, pliant and soft and warm. and then he tastes you, and he swallows, and his eyes flicker when there is something else there, something that he knows.

johnny's eyes dart up, looking over you, and he can see ghost lingering in the doorway, watching, and then johnny understands what it is he tastes--and why he likes it so fucking much, and why it tastes like something he knows.

he meets ghost's eyes, and they look at each other, and johnny knows what it is that he's done, what it is he's eating out of you. but ghost knows johnny is a good boy, and he won't pull away, he won't make a scene. no. johnny pulls back a little, wiping his face.

he smiles. and then he leans in for more.

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contact-guy · 5 months

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I was seized with a fervor and could not rest until I illustrated one of my favorite scenes from Sherlock Holmes: the Adventure of the Devil's Foot. While Holmes and Watson take a holiday in the Cornish countryside for Holmes's health, multiple people in the nearby village are found driven mad or dead from horror. Holmes deduces a substance that was burned in their presence is to blame. With a bit of the mysterious powder and a gas lamp in hand, he proposes an experiment to Watson...

content warning for drug use!

I'm not sure if it's supported by the canon but in my mind this is the first time Holmes ever apologies to Watson and he is so overcome with emotion that he immediately makes it weird

Text under the cut:

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments."

They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?"

#it's another love confession #sherlock holmes #john watson #acd holmes #acd canon #long post #my art

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aeyumicore · 4 months

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☾ .⭒˚ heartstring symphony ♡ xavier x afab reader

⋆.˚ ☾ pairing: xavier x afab!reader (very fem!reader)

☾ .⭒˚ genre: smut, pwp, pwf (so so so sooo many feelings like a whole ocean of feelings)

⋆.˚ ☾ word count: 10.1k (oh lawd)

☾ .⭒˚ content warning: mdni, tiny reference/spoiler to chapter 4 of the main story (grandma and caleb), references to xavier/overall lads lore, first time sex (not virginity loss), explicit sexual content, pure pure filth but also so fluffy and emotional, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!receiving and m!receiving), lots of making out, pussy job, finger fucking, tongue fucking, cum as lube, references to xavier’s evol, slight use of y/n, switch!xavier, slight predator/prey play, somewhat vanilla

⋆.˚ ☾ video link: not necessary to watch in order to read and enjoy, but i highly recommending watching the memory for context and a visual for the fic! https://youtu.be/U-OanLwbSVE?si=Um0NFib7gQOTGrLq

☾ .⭒˚ a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY BABIESSSSS COME GET YOUR FOOD. oof this one is a doozy. based off the memory ‘heartstring symphony’ with xavier, there’s a lot of small changes to the progression and the dialogue, but its largely on par with the original memory! there’s a lot of ‘plot’ building as this memory is a bit long and i really wanted to incorporate parts from the beginning, middle, and end so i ended up needing to write for the entire thing. the build up is kinda important to the smut but you can definitely still just skip to the smut (ya filthy hoes)!!

100% dedicated to my bestie who is the downest baddest bitch for xavier!

⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾

The sunlight bounces off the sheen of the strawberries that are finally ripening enough to eat. It’d been months since Xavier and you had started your quaint little rooftop garden atop his balcony, and your collective dedicated gardening was finally rewarded with the most beautiful crimson strawberries you’d ever seen. Having been tasked with tending to his house plants on his sudden trip away, you found yourself spending a lot of time with the strawberries on Xavier’s apartment’s balcony.

"But even though you’re bearing fruit, your owner isn’t here,” you murmur sadly, stroking the slightly sticky skin of the berries. Okay sure, you were undoubtedly projecting your own feelings onto the poor little strawberries, but who could blame you? It’d been ten days since Xavier had suddenly left town and similarly ten days since he’d responded to any of your text messages or returned any phone calls.

And dammit, you missed him. Missed his deep groggy voice when he’d pick up your phone calls at 11 am asking if he’d had breakfast yet, his bewildered face when you’d barge into his apartment demanding that he take you to play crane games, the way he’d pretend not to notice when you swapped hands during kitty cards. Ever since you’d first met the enigmatic hunter in the abandoned protocore research base on your first mission as an official hunter, you found both your night and day dreams being filled with the thought of him.

You’d even missed him enough to send a few regrettable late night texts, confessing just that. At 4am. You groaned inwardly at the embarrassment of recalling your deleted messages. Really, no one should be allowed to send any text messages after 1am. Least of all you, who had so many confusing unresolved feelings for the silver haired man in question.

The sound of keys jingling a door open snaps you out of your thoughts. Your heart pounded, he was finally home! Excitedly, you scrambled back into Xavier’s apartment, to be met with the sight of him struggling to remove his uniform top. The sight of his sculpted torso on display before you like an absolute art piece, had you freezing in your tracks, cheeks heating at the glorious site before you. Xavier also froze, his cerulean eyes locking with yours in surprise.

"You’re…here?” His voice was as warm as you'd remembered, the sound of it forever etched in your mind. But it sounded too soft, tired. Exhausted even.

"Y-yeah…the weather was good today and I wanted to check on the strawberries,” you attempted to remain calm and collected, turning around to stop from staring at his exposed stomach. But the plethora of injuries on his pale skin caught your eye. Instantly, you were at his side, inspecting him and assessing his scars.

“...You got hurt?!” Your heart hammered anxiously in your chest as you reached to touch him. He peered down at you guiltily, pulling his top back down to cover the scars. He gently pried your hands away from his abdomen, letting his fingers linger on your skin far longer than he’d needed to, the touch not going unnoticed by you.

"It’s nothing, let me go get changed,” Xavier finally released your wrists and left you to wait on the couch for him. You felt on edge, waiting impatiently, feet tapping anxiously against the carpet. Xavier finally reemerges from his room in a fresh set of indoor clothes, a ribbed white long sleeve and gray sweatpant joggers. You’d seen him in this exact outfit many times, but suddenly the way his sweatpants sat against his lap made your mind wander, but you shake the filthy thoughts out of your head. When he finally sits down next to you, you can’t help but fret over him, grabbing his arm to inspect his complexion.

"You went missing, and now you return all beaten up…why do you always make me worry?” You reprimanded, pouting slightly, "You’re wounded aren't you? Does it hurt?” Your fingers ghost over the bruises on his forearm, the veins there protruding slightly amongst the bulging muscles. Xavier only turns away, unwilling to meet your gaze, but still leaving his arm in your lap.

His refusal to answer only makes you more desperate for reassurance that he’s alright. You try to lift his shirt, but he uses his free hand to grip your wrist, stopping you. You don’t notice the way he blushes at your touch.

"It’s nothing, just some minor scrapes.” While the mere sound of his voice does wonders to soothe your swimming mind, it does nothing to quell the anxiety you have over his well being. Over where he’d been these last ten days. With not so much as a single text message to let you know he was okay, safe. That’s all you had wanted, to know he was safe.

"I think your definition of scrape and my definition differ greatly,” you mutter sulkily, trying to get him to meet your eyes. When he doesn’t, you take his face in your two hands, forcing him to level with you. His cheeks tinge a peachy red under your palms, his normally slow and controlled breath rapidly increasing at your touch.

"If your wounds aren’t treated they could get worse, get infected, and even become life-threatening,” you murmur, almost threatening him, unable to stop the worry from lacing into your words. You can tell he feels guilty, his eyes opting to stare at your shoulder instead of your eyes, “...this is nothing. I’m used to letting them heal without much thought.”

This does nothing to make you feel better, if anything it makes you feel worse, and you’re unwilling to relent, "The past is the past. This is the present.”

His eyes finally peer into your own, meeting your stubborn gaze. His deep blue orbs are intense, searching for something within your own. While his voice is deep, tired, undoubtedly exhausted, you can still sense the longing heat in them. He sighs, finally caving into your whims, "Alright. So, what do you want me to do?”

And so you find yourself in Xavier’s dimly lit living room, a first aid kit on your lap, and Xavier shirtless in front of you. You try to ignore the fact that he’s very much half naked in front of you, his joggers sitting dangerously low on his waist. So much so that you can definitely see the indentation of his obliques forming a tight ‘v’. It was enough to turn your brain into mush, but you fought those intrusive thoughts away so you could tend to his injuries.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm your raging nerves, you start, "Is there a spot that hurts the most? Or is really sensitive? I’ll try to be extra gentle when I apply the ointment.” Your eyes linger on the way his collar bones frame the muscles on his chest, the skin there pure and untouched from the dark bruises forming on Xavier’s shoulder and abs. You bite your lip to withhold the shiver threatening to overtake you at the image of Xavier in all his muscular glory before you. His gentle voice brings you out of your filthy reverie.

"My neck.”

"Hmm?” Your eyes snap to his, cheeks flaming when you realize he’d caught you staring. He smiles gently, but thankfully doesn’t tease you.

"The most sensitive part of my body is my neck,” he says again, his words almost threatening to make you unleash the shiver you were holding back. Refusing to let your mind wander more, you lean forward and begin carefully cleaning the wound that’s etched onto the muscles that connect his shoulders to his neck. While you wipe the cut with one hand, you use your other hand to rub comforting circles around the red skin surrounding it, hoping to ease the stinging.

Xavier groans, his voice husky and drawn out. You can’t help but wonder what that sound would feel like under a different circumstance, but repress those thoughts deep deep down.

"Does it hurt a lot?” You keep your eyes glued to the irritated skin, lightening the pressure at which you’re pressing down, not wanting him to feel any semblance of pain, ever.

"Kind of.” Xavier’s response is clouded in ambiguity, leaving you confused as to what he wants to say. Before you can press him further he speaks again, "I appreciate you looking after things while I was gone.”

You sigh at his persistent nonchalance, as if he hadn’t just up and disappeared and come back beaten and bruised. You knew him well enough to know he’s not planning on telling you what had happened to injure him like this or why he had to leave town in the first place.

Feeling childish, you decide two can play at that game, "You don’t need to thank me. Neighbors should always look out for each other.” You force down the inexplicable emotions stirring inside of you that threaten to spill into your voice, continuing to tend to the cuts on his neck.

He doesn’t respond and the room becomes suffocatingly quiet. Swapping the alcohol wipe for the ointment, you briefly peer up to find Xavier staring at you with his intense blue eyes. You stubbornly refuse to waver from his stare, but he remains silent.

"What? If you have something to say, say it,” you demand, a bit snappishly, unable to contain the hurt you felt at his repeated silence, both now but also on his days away.

Xavier remains gentle even at your abrasiveness, "You’re really close to me. All I can do is look at you.” Despite yourself, you blush at his words, chest tightening. He keeps his eyes on yours and you can’t help but squirm under his emotion clouded blue eyes, though you couldn’t decipher exactly which emotion swam through them.

The silence envelopes the air once more as you refuse to speak. Xavier speaks up again, his voice low and almost sad, "Are you angry with me?”

Your heart cracks at the vulnerability in his voice, but you can’t seem to let go of your own peeved feelings, "Why would I be? We’re just acquaintances who happen to be neighbors.” You know you’re being unfair, but you can’t help but feel as if you deserve some kind of explanation. You cared about him, far more than he probably knew, and he just up and disappeared without a trace for ten days. And to top it all off, he came back looking like this.

"Are the other neighbors like us?” Though his words are simple, you can’t help but wonder if Xavier is intending to say something else under the veil of those words.

No, you supposed to yourself, other neighbors probably did not feel the least bit in the way you felt for Xavier. Your hands tremble at the thoughts you can’t seem to push away, and you accidentally press a bit too deeply as you apply the ointment. Xavier winces, his eyes finally unfocussing from yours and his brows furrowed in discomfort.

Instantly you feel bad for being even the least bit annoyed with him. Your voice is much gentler now, almost apologetic, "Was I too rough? You're…does it hurt a lot?”

Xavier smiles reassuringly at you, so warm and gentle despite your attitude and the undeniable pain of his injuries, your stomach can’t help but flutter at him, "Sort of, but I'm alright.”

"That’s good,” is all you can sheepishly say as you find yourself lost in his expression.

"Maybe the pain is so intense that I can’t feel anything,” Xavier is smiling so you know he’s teasing you but you can’t help but feel incredibly guilty.

"Really? I didn’t mean to…”

The look he gives you is enough to shut you up. Though he doesn’t say anything, his facial expression makes you wonder what exactly is going on in his mind. Finally he speaks up, "It’s okay. I forgive you, and in exchange you’re not allowed to be angry at me anymore.”

"I told you that I wasn’t angry,” you sigh, "Stay still. I’m going to apply the bandage.” Xavier smiles and nods, straightening his posture obediently. You want to tease him, but instead diligently apply a bit of gauze to his neck and adhere it with some medical tape.

Satisfied with your handiwork, you smile smugly, "All done. Keep your wounds away from water and avoid eating spicy food for the next few days.” Xavier mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, and when you look at him his head is bowed down so low you can’t even see his eyes. Before you know it, he’s collapsing in your arms, completely passed out.

"X-Xavier?!” You catch him easily, but his unconscious weight holds you down. Xavier only murmurs groggily at your words. You can’t help but smile and rub his bare back adoringly. His skin is soft, and warm to the touch. You relish in the feel of his skin against yours and his presence enveloping you, having truly missed him so much.

"Poor baby,” you sigh, contemplating on how you’ll be able to carry him to his bed.

With great effort, you’re able to haul Xavier to his bedroom. As you bend down to lay him on his mattress, you trip over his feet. With his arms tangled in yours like a little koala holding on for dear like, you tumble onto the bed with him. You flop onto his mattress, and his arms tighten around you, locking you in place, tucked into his chest. You move to push him off you, but instead you accidentally graze his wrapped neck.

Xavier moans, still deep in sleep, and his lip pouts as he grips you even tighter. You sigh in defeat at how content he looks with his arms wrapped around you, with his bottom lip sticking out slightly. You can’t help but admire Xavier’s sleeping face, his long eyelashes tickling against your cheek. It’s not long before you find yourself being lulled to sleep by the warmth of his strong arms and the slow beating of his heart against yours.

–

You awaken to Xavier tucking you into his blanket, his movements gentle as to not wake you. Your breath hitches but you do your best to pretend to still be sleeping, unable to face him in this compromising situation. With any luck, Xavier would get out of bed and you could pretend to wake up when he wasn’t so intimidatingly close to you.

But instead of getting up, Xavier only lays back down beside you, nuzzling into your side. Your heart races at the affection, biting your lip to keep from making any noise. His body heat against your own threatens to unleash a shiver of satisfaction across your body, but you force it back so as to not alert him that you are in fact awake.

Xavier is so unbelievably close, you can feel his breath fanning against your exposed neck and his fingers stroking your palm. Unable to withstand the suffocating tension, you pretend to wake up, feigning a yawn as you flutter your eyes open. You come face to face with Xavier, his eyes, still groggy with sleep, analyzing your every movement. His gaze falls lower, seemingly watching your lips part with the steady inhale and exhale of your bated breath.

You squirm, trying to dissipate the tension, remembering to keep your voice groggy, "Are you still tired? It’s not morning anymore, so maybe we should start thinking about what to eat.”

"You’re resting on my arm. I can’t move. At all.” You jolt upwards, and Xavier retracts his arm, rubbing the tender muscles, no doubt they’d fallen asleep, up and down. You hid your blush underneath your hair, unsure of what to do next. You became hyper aware of the fact that you sat in Xavier’s bed, with him. And he was so very shirtless.

Luckily Xavier speaks so you don’t have to, "I saw your texts from yesterday saying you were having trouble falling asleep. Did you sleep well?”

"It was pretty good,” you answered earnestly, genuinely feeling more well rested than you had in weeks, but then your heart stuttered, "W-wait, you saw the message I deleted yesterday?!”

"Yeah, I did. But I'm pretty sure it was a small peek,” his gentle smile changes to one of a teasing grin, "Xavier, if you don’t respond, I'm going to eat all the strawberries. All of them.” He raises the octave in his voice to mock you. To say you’re mortified would be an extreme understatement.

Trying to deflect from the fact that he’d in fact seen your embarrassing late night texts, you counter, "But I didn’t. I saved you a small bowl!”

He continues, deadset on his mission to embarrass the hell out of you, his grin radiant enough to stop your heart. Which you might actually prefer to the sheer embarrassment of being called out like this, "The moment I think about you being somewhere else annoys me to the point where I can’t sleep at all.”

You feel like a deer caught in the headlights, utterly defensive, "Well, of course! You can’t just ask someone to look after your stuff and then ghost them. If that’s not being unreasonable then I don’t know what is!”

Xavier glances at you, his voice calm but his eyes holding inexplicable emotions that you cannot decipher, "Oh, and there's one text that I can't forget.” You hold your breath, already knowing which one it is. Undoubtedly the worst, most incriminating one of them all.

"I think I miss you.” Groaning, you cover your eyes with your hands and fall back against the bed. Xavier laughs, propping up on his side to face you, his fingers brushing some stray strands of hair away from your cheek, hooking them behind your ear.

“...you saw every message!” You accused, peeking at him through the cracks of your fingers still covering your eyes. But did not respond to any of them, you want to add, but hold yourself back.

His expression is that of pure innocence, "I was going to reply to them, but then I got caught up in something. And you deleted them a second later. I could only pretend that I didn’t see anything.” And then slowly, almost painfully, he adds, "Maybe those messages weren't meant for me.”

Despite your burning embarrassment, you couldn’t possibly let Xavier think those thoughts were for anyone but him. The flicker of dejection in his eyes is enough to have you spilling out the truth, “...okay, I didn’t send them to the wrong person!” Your cheeks burn and you’re sure you look just as red as one of the strawberries on the balcony. You prop up on your own side to face him, "I missed you. But that’s not the point!” Your lips jut out to pout at him, feeling like an attention-seeking toddler that had gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Xavier, the relief and longing palpable in his eyes, reaches his free arm out to cup your cheek in his palm, "And I missed you too.” His voice is low, nothing more than a whisper, making your breath catch in your throat.

His thumb brushes across the corner of your lip, "Unbearably so.” His intimate touch literally rewires your brain, making you throw all inhibitions out the window. The tidal wave of emotions you’d had on a tight leash, floods through the dam. Unable to control yourself, you firmly push him down on the bed and straddle him, making sure to avoid any of the bruises on his abdomen.

"Why did you leave me?!” You whine, surprising Xavier and even yourself with your assertiveness. He rests his hands atop your thighs, as they cage him beneath you. His body is warm under your own, and you feel the heat manifesting in your gut at the intimate closeness of your bodies.

His surprised expression is quickly replaced with one of cool and calm, despite the fact that you were literally on top of him like he’d secretly imagined several times before, "Why are you so worried about me?”

“...When there are bad people and wanderers out there, of course I'll be worried about you,” your voice softens at the very thought. The emotions coursing through you make your voice waver, no matter how hard you try to steel yourself.

Xavier smiles warmly at you, his hands wandering upwards to your waist and then to your lower back. You’re acutely aware of his hands on you and it causes your confidence to tremor, your stomach bubbling in anticipation at his touch.

"And yet, you’re way more dangerous than any wanderer could be,” his voice is throaty, tinged with need and desire and his eyes find your lips once more.

"This is different. I would never hurt you,” you counter, your hands resting against his broad chest. Confidence returning ever so slightly, you dust your fingers against his delicate skin. You come close to his nipples, but narrowly and intentionally miss them. Xavier’s hands on your back grip harder, not enough to hurt but enough to leave you breathless and wanting more. You can feel him squirm beneath you, eyes pleading with yours. For what, you’re unsure.

"Yes, but I don’t have the strength to resist you at the moment.” Xavier’s voice is nothing more than a whisper, has hands digging further into the sensitive skin of your lower back. You writhe on top of him, to which he lets out a faint moan, just barely audible in the crackling air around you.

Your voice is but a rasping murmur, as you throw caution to the wind, giving into all the inexplicable emotions your heart held for the man beneath you. At your mercy, "Then…don’t.”

At your words, Xavier pushes you down towards him with the hands he had on your back. You offer no resistance, fully letting him guide your face to his own. And like you’d day dreamed so many times before, Xavier takes your lips into his. Softly, reverently, but so hungrily.

Your fingers entangle in his pale locks, gripping gently as his lips mold perfectly against yours. You sigh into his mouth as your breaths merge together. You breathe him in, basking in his radiance, all around you. Xavier’s hands leave your back to hold the plush of your thighs, kneading softly but so possessively. Your thighs clench around his hard torso, and you can’t help but rock yourself into him until you are resting on his lap, on his crotch. His hands tighten on your thighs, the grip a clear message, a wordless command for you to behave.

His tongue caresses your lips, a silent request for entry. You obediently part them, allowing him access to every part of you. When his tongue ghosts against yours for the very first time, you moan so deep and pleadingly that you can feel Xavier’s smile against your lips. His hands wander up and down your back again mapping out all the ridges of your spine against your thin shirt.

You’d imagined kissing Xavier for the first time, many many times, but none of those silly little daydreams could amount to this. Your imagination paled in comparison to the real thing, so willing, pliant, and tender underneath you. Ready to do anything to serve you.

You finally pull away, gasping for air but only craving his breath against yours again, you can’t help but ask meekly, "Is this okay?”

You can see the answer in Xavier’s eyes, but he responds still, "More than okay. Is it okay for you?”

Breathlessly, you trail your thumb across his bottom lip and mirror his words, "More than okay.” You’re suddenly hit with the reminder of just how much Xavier had you worrying these past few days. Feeling mischievous, you stare down at him, face flushed pink and lips swollen with saliva. Your fingers trail down his cheek, careful not to touch his sensitive neck, and onto his chest, "I should teach you a lesson so you never make me worry like that again.”

Between his breathless pants, he’s intrigued, “...what do you want?” His hands flit to the waistband of your pants, playing with the material and letting his fingers brush against the skin of your waist. You hold back a tremble, and instead of answering him, you decide to just show him. Dragging your fingers across his muscular chest, you let your thumbs brush against his hardening nipples. Xavier’s sharp inhale is immediate and you feel him clench his hands against your hips. You lean your face down to trail a path of small kisses down his chest, over his bruises, all the way to his naval.

You can feel him trembling beneath your every touch as he grinds out, "Is this my punishment?” His hand reaches up to weave his fingers through your hair, collecting the pieces that fall to your eyes as you bend down to kiss his skin.

Grinning, you sit back up, taking his cheeks in between your fingers and squish. You can never help but to tease Xavier, his adorable reactions always leaving you wanting more. You release his face from your hold, only for him to mirror your actions right back at you. His fingers are delectably rough as they grip your chin.

"I can do that too. Like this.” His face is so full of amusement, making you want to retaliate further. So you let your hands wander back up his chest, slowly moving to wrap around his neck. You see Xavier’s eyes widen in surprise as your fingers delicately tickle the sides of his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath them. As your nails flicker across the sensitive skin of his neck, Xavier lets out a groan that sounds suspiciously like a whimper.

"Ahh, please,” he whines. You notice that his hands have slipped under your shirt now, but not venturing upwards, ever the gentleman.

You giggle at his vulnerability, "You’re injured and don’t know how to take care of yourself,” you hand ventures from Xavier’s neck to hold his face in between your fingers again, "You’re like a helpless animal about to be eaten.” Your voice is a teasing coo, and you bend down slowly, torturously grinding your core along his crotch. He hisses again, fingers digging into your bare skin as if hoping to slow you down. But instead, you lean into the crook of where his neck meets his shoulder, on the side that’s uninjured, and press a barely there kiss into the skin. Even at the faintest touch along his neck, Xavier groans and presses his lower half harder into you. To stop your own moans, and maintain the upper hand, you bite into Xavier’s neck. He swears and his fingers crush into your sides, and you squeal into his neck but your lips stay latched.

His skin is so sweet between the gentle teasing of your teeth, his pheromones invading all your senses. As you suckle on the sensitive skin there, you continue to rock your lower half against him, pleasantly surprised at the feel of his bulging erection against you. Your filthy day dreams of him paled in comparison to the sheer girth of what sat beneath you now.

"You’re not worried about me – hah, retaliating?” But you ignore him, instead relishing in the sound of his pants in response to your touch. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine Xavier would be this reactive.

He continues his delectable moans at your ear, "H-hah, fuck – w-wait. Love please,” your core clenches at the endearment and you detach yourself from Xavier’s neck, a flushed bruise starting to form where your lips previously sat. Xavier hardens further at your disheveled sight. Lips red, swollen, and shiny with saliva, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of red, eyes hazy with lust. He was fighting from coming undone at the sight alone.

"Wh-what? Is this not okay?” You pause, worrying you had crossed a boundary, but you can’t help the gentle and uncontrollable tremors your core makes against his crotch, almost like the aftershock of an earthquake. He groans in response, his head falling back deeper into the pillow as his eyes clenched shut.

His big hands squeeze your thighs reassuringly, and his right palm reaches up to cup your cheek. You lean into his touch, savoring the feel of his warm and protective hand against your flushed cheek. He repeats his words from earlier, "It’s more than okay. You don’t know how long I've waited to have you like this.” His words are filled with a vast expanse of emotions, but one you can make out is indescribable and utter love. Like he’d been waiting an eternity for you to fall into place in his life.

His hands trails down to play with the buttons on your top, fingers grazing the exposed skin on your chest. You shiver as he says, "But I want — I need to savor this moment with you.”

In that moment you think about the way your heart has always throbbed at the thought of Xavier. You think you’ve loved him for a while, it always felt like your life was destined to intertwine with his, in unexplainable ways. You’d long given up on fate, especially after caleb and grandma. But looking at the azure eyed man beneath you, you couldn’t help but think that that very fate had brought you two here today. So when you intertwine your fingers with his hand that toys with unbuttoning your top and bring your joined palms up against your heart, you don’t hesitate to confess, "You have me, forever.”

At your declaration, the expression on Xavier’s face is a haze of inexplicable emotions. With the faintest sliver of hesitation and something that sounds an awful like sorrow he finally murmurs, "And you’ve had me, forever.”

Unable to withstand the intensity of his longing stare and the weight of his words, you dip back down to capture his lips with yours, returning his heavy words with an equally passionate kiss. Your hands move to stroke up and down his naked chest, before landing on his neck, using your thumb to feel the thrumming of his unusually erratic pulse. With your free hand you encourage his fingers that fiddle with the buttons of your blouse, urging him to undo the confines. You can tell Xavier is holding back, likely doing his best to tread the fine line between careful respect for you and losing all control.

Reluctantly, you withdraw from him, whispering through your gasps, "Xavier…please. I want this. I want you.”

His eyes are misted with lust and adoration, his body stiffening even further. His voice is as deep as you’ve ever heard it, "Are you sure Y/N? You have to be sure. I-I'm scared I won’t be able to stop.”

Softly, you use your fingers to trace over the hickey you’ve left behind on his neck. His breath catches and you can see the control slipping from his grasp. Slowly, you bring your fingers to unbutton your blouse yourself. Painfully slow, each finger taking its time to unlatch each enclosure, and you murmur, "I won’t want you to stop.”

His eyes are locked on you, as you slip the blouse off your shoulders, leaving you in your white satin bra. His jaw tightens at the sight of you and he grabs your thighs, "Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And with those words, Xavier’s thick arms are lifting you into the air and throwing you gently underneath him. In a flash, his heavy body is on top of yours, your legs parted to accommodate his unbelievably built stature. You squeal in surprise at his dominance, the sound cutting through the thick sexual tension in the air. Xavier smiles down at you, the dangerous glint in his eyes making heat flare between your legs. The slick forming in between your folds is unmistakable and you bite your lip to keep the moans at bay.

"Am I still a helpless animal? Since you seem to know everything, you should enlighten me.” The deep purr in his voice edges on a primal growl, like a predator with its prey between its claws. It’s enough to have you submitting to his every whim. How quickly Xavier has turned the tables on you, his hand now gently pressed against your own neck, has rendered you a stuttering dripping mess.

"X-Xavier…”

But he silences you, placing his index finger over your lips, his other hand moving downwards to stroke the soft satin of your bra, his fingers flitting dangerously close to the skin of the swell of your breasts, "When faced with a hunter that knows my weakness and how to take advantage of them, is there anything I can do?” You’ve never heard Xavier so threateningly dominating, so demanding. It leaves you utterly speechless, your previous upper hand gone completely.

"Perhaps I should teach you a lesson.”

You shudder at his words. His hands reach under your back to unhook your bra and you arch off the bed to allow him to slip it off effortlessly. Fully exposed before him, Xavier’s eyes burn with such intense heat it intimidates you, so you instinctively cover your breasts. Xavier doesn’t speak, instead dipping his head down to trail delicate kisses along your arms, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. Your breath comes out in shallow pants as he gently pries your arms away, and presses an open mouthed kiss to the swell atop your right breast.

You shiver uncontrollably under his warm lips, needing more friction, "P-please Xavier.”

Xavier’s wide grin is uncontainable, "Look who’s the helpless animal now?” But despite his teasing, Xavier indulges your pleas, capturing your nipple in his warm and waiting mouth. You’re unable to stop the gasp that tumbles out of your lips, your body arching off the bed only to be met with Xavier’s heavy body pressing you back down. Xavier’s muffled moans against your sensitive skin send your eyes into the back of your skull. As the pleasure threatens to overtake your melting mind, you press your dampening crotch into his erection even further trying to gain more friction. He groans, deep and hoarse, making you peer down at your chest and at him. Your eyes meet.

The eye contact as he devours you is enough for your climax to start creeping in, your hand wedging between the two of you to grasp his cock through his sweatpants. Your hands are met with the alarming dampness of his pre cum seeping through the gray fabric that frames his bulging erection. You bite your lip at the sheer mass you hold in your hands, your fingers tracing just how thick he was.

Xavier’s tongue continues to flick along your nipple as your hand slowly makes its way under his waistband and under his boxer briefs. With his pubic hair tickling your palm, you brush your fingers against his thick erection. Your touch earns your breast a harsh nip which causes you to cry out. The pleasure and pain is so blinding you find yourself needing to grip onto his cock just to keep succumbing to your impending orgasm, rooting you to reality.

"H-hah, Y/N, please…ah, not so tight please,” Xavier’s voice is a desperate whine, as he pants against the swell of your breast. At his urging you release his manhood from your grip ever so slightly, but keep it trapped in your palm, your hand has a mind of its own, unable to stop from stroking his length up and down, brushing against the single bulging vein alongside it. He leaks so much pre cum that it feels like he’s already pumped his release all over himself. You collect it all, using it to fist his cock in your hands while he ravages your breasts.

"You’re, hah, making me ruin my pants love,” Xavier pants against you, descending upon your body until you’re forced to release him, much to your dismay. He slots his lips in the valley of your breasts, leaving a trail of wet kisses slowly down your body. When he reaches your belly button, his hands reach to remove your pants and panties in one fell swoop. The cold air nips at your exposed core, as Xavier removes the tangle of clothing from your limbs

Completely exposed before him, Xavier rakes his eyes all over your bare body, admiring every inch of you and breathes out a single word, "Beautiful.” You blush under his gaze and you clasp your thighs tight in an attempt to hide but Xavier keeps your legs open, his grip tight on your knees. With his eyes locked on yours, he guides your calves onto his shoulders, careful to avoid his bandages. You feel nervous as he comes face to face with your undoubtedly soaking cunt, and to your utter embarrassment he notices it too.

"You’re so wet already. Is this all for me?” While his words are teasing, his tone is earnest, almost in awe.

"W-wait Xavier, you’re injured. I don’t want you to strain yourself. L-let me–”

His eyebrows arch at you, "You said I should stay away from spicy foods, you never said anything about this. Let me enjoy myself.” Without letting you protest any further, he lowers his face onto your waiting cunt, his mouth unbelievably warm against your own burning core. You cry out, your back arching to the point it feels as if it may snap. With your legs on Xavier’s shoulders, your lower half is elevated nearly a foot off the bed, his hands on your thighs supporting your entire body.

Xavier’s tongue is fervent and attentive. He explores every inch of you, mapping out which areas make you sing with the most pleasure. His tongue alternates between dipping in and out of your entrance and caressing your clit while his hands move to prop you up by your ass. As he feasts on you, his hands knead the fat of your rear.

"X-Xavier please. So so s’good,” you wail, hands digging deep into his comforter, wishing your hands could reach his hair, his face, anything. Your clit feels like it might explode in pure ecstasy under Xavier’s tongue, making you unable to control your mouth. Your words make him harden impossibly more, still restrained in his soaked sweatpants. He groans into your core, the vibrations intensifying your pleasure. You can feel your orgasm racing towards you, which makes your thighs tremble around his face. Suddenly, he stops and lifts his head. You whine at the loss of his tongue and the disruption of your climax, almost collapsing into the bed if it wasn’t for his strong arms supporting you.

"Can I put a finger in?” His eyes are pleading, as if he’s worried you might deny him.

Your head bobs eagerly, and you have to hold yourself back from telling him he can literally do whatever he pleases with you, "God, yes. Just don’t stop, please.”

"You’re so adorable when you beg for me,” he grins as his lips find your clit once more as he eases not one but two fingers into your waiting hole. Your moans fill the room at being so suddenly and pleasantly filled to the brim, your eyes rolling into your brain. Xavier’s pace leaves nothing to be desired, his movement producing absolutely filthy noises to mix with the sounds of your moans. You can feel him scissoring his fingers in and out, stretching you out against his soaking hands.

"You’re so tight even around just my fingers…” he trails off in wonder, pondering how he’d possibly fit himself inside you, if you’d allow him.

"M’s-sorry,” you pant against his ministrations stretching you to the fullest you’ve ever felt, "Xavier, th-think I might cum soon.”

Your words fuel him further, the squelching sounds music to his ears. The pleasure is endless and you’re starting to see white. Without stopping his fingers, he murmurs against your clit, "Please give it to me. Cum for me, love. I need it.”

Combined with his expert fingers weaving in and out of you, his demand sends your hurtling through your orgasm. Your thighs threaten to crush his skull as they tremble uncontrollably on his shoulders. You release all over his face, his mouth still latched onto you, gushing into his waiting mouth as you chant his name like a prayer. He replaces his fingers with his tongue, giving your aching clit a much needed break while still working you through your fierce orgasm. You softly scream in response to this warm tongue inside of you, shuddering through the final waves of your orgasm while Xavier laps up all of your release, not letting even a single drop be wasted.

As your body heaves, Xavier removes himself from your thighs, softly setting you down against the bed. He murmurs, "You taste so good. Better than I ever imagined.”

His words fuel you with confidence, and you feel the irresistible urge to return all the pleasure Xavier just gave you. Your thighs are absolute jelly, but you crawl to your knees to face him. Taking his face into your hands, you lean in so your lips are millimeters apart and whisper, "My turn please.”

Xavier’s eyes smolder, and he lets himself be pushed down backwards onto the bed, with you slotting between his thighs like he’d done to you. Feeling confident from the aftermath of your orgasm, you lean down and kiss his bulge through his soaked sweatpants. He hisses, as his hands cup the back of his head on the pillow. His reactions only serve to embolden you further, and you lick a strip down his pants, relishing in the salty taste of his pre cum on your tongue. Unable to wait further, you pull his joggers and undergarments down together, and his cock springs free. Your confidence wavers as you’re met with Xavier in all his glory. He was unbelievably thick, and the vein you’d felt earlier bulged deliciously against the pale pink skin. You unconsciously lick your lips at the challenge before you, taking him into both your hands and sinking down to lap up the pearly white beads that had formed on his tip, threatening to spill over.

Xavier lets out a guttural groan, his hands leaving his head to thread through your hair. He whines as you take his tip into your mouth, gripping your hair gently. The salty, yet surprisingly sweet, taste invades your mouth as you struggle to accommodate his girth in between your lips. Determined to please him, you bob down deeper as your tongue lathers the sides of his cock attentively.

"H-hah shit.” Xavier is a grunting mess beneath you, "My – ahh – beautiful girl. You’re doing so, fuck, s’good.” He hits the back of your throat, tears streaming down your face. You bob slowly, your jaw aching already as you do your best to take him. With your hands you stroke the parts of him that aren’t in your mouth.

Xavier’s hands in your hair are slowly guiding your head up and down, encouraging you take him a bit faster. You gag against him, his moans letting you know how much he enjoys your throat closing around his length. While his thickness threatens to split your jaw, you can’t help but enjoy how he feels inside your mouth, an endless dribble of pre cum your reward for taking him so well. After a few minutes of this, Xavier’s hands tighten in your hair.

"S-stop.” You peer up at him through your wet eyelashes. Hes propped up on his elbows now, staring at you with an intensity that excites you to your core.

"I...I need to be inside you. Is that okay?” He asks, but it feels more like a command. More than willing to indulge him, you lick the stray beads of pre cum that had found their way onto your lips, and you get on your knees so you can seat yourself on top of him. Using your soaked slit, you grind on his saliva and pre cum slicked erection, whimpering while it catches on your clit, still sensitive from his tongue.

Xavier massages your thighs soothingly, his smile is as radiant as ever, "Don’t worry love. Take your time. I’m yours to use however you’d like.” His words fuel your pulsating cunt, and you continue to grind on him, letting his tip ghost along your entrance, but not allowing him in. Your teasing drives him to the edge of madness and you love seeing his undoing all over his facial expression. The friction combined with his reactions to you are enough to have your second orgasm building in your stomach. The mixture of your arousals lets him glide so easily in and out of your thighs between your leaking slit.

You’ve definitely never tried this before, but the anticipation of using just your pussy lips to pleasure the both of you is so exciting. The sounds of your combined slick so lewd against both your bodies. His cock so close to just entering your waiting hole and devouring you whole. It’s all enough to have you cumming again right then and there, but you know the next time you finish you need it to be with him stuffed deep inside you.

"So big Xavier…don’t know if it’ll fit..” You whine, not daring to halt your movements across his cock.

"It will baby, I'll make sure it fits.” You shiver at his words and finally, you allow yourself to sink down onto him. You wail at the impossible stretch, much more than his two fingers. Honestly you’d wished he would’ve used four fingers as that might’ve prepped you better, more accurate to what was stuffed inside you now.

Your thighs tremble as you’re able to take his head fully in. The stretch is uncomfortable, but you’re wet enough where there’s as little resistance as physically possible. Xavier throws his head back and pants out words of encouragement, hands kneading into your thighs.

"Y’you’re so fucking tight it feels like you’re trying to snap it off,” he grits, eyes glued to where your body connects with his. You lower yourself steadily, and you finally seat yourself fully, his cock pulsing excitedly inside you. You gasp for air taking a second to situate yourself before you can even think of moving again. Xavier is no better under you, sweat forming on his forehead from the pleasure alone, his chest heaving up and down rhythmically.

"M’gonna move now, ‘kay?” You warn him breathlessly, surprised your brain is even able to still form words.

Xavier is equally fucked out, begging shamelessly, "Please. Need to feel you.” Though Xavier is the one pleading underneath you, you’re not a fool. Ever the wolf in sheep’s clothing, you know he is the one in control of the situation, even if you’re the one setting the pace on top of him.

His pleas are enough to get your thighs moving, rocking up and down, back and forth. You squeeze your eyes shut, falling forward so your clit can catch on the thick muscles alove his pubic bone. Xavier’s hands on your thighs inch up to your waist to better guide you along as your pelvis rhythmically gyrates back and forth to better feel him against your clit and inside you.

"Hah, I've always loved it when you take control on missions. So pretty – shit – f’me, using my cock like this,” Xavier pants, holding onto your body for dear life.

The pleasure of his words swims straight to your head, and you can feel your brain turning to mush as you use Xavier’s cock to pleasure yourself in ways you’d never dreamed of feeling. You can vaguely hear his endless grunts and whines of encouragement as your heart pounds in your ears. The earth shattering orgasm creeping up on you builds monumentally, much more intense than the one that’d already ravaged your body.

Xavier’s breathy cries snap you back into the present, "Sh-shit slow down. If you don’t–hah– slow down m’gonna–” he cuts himself off, swearing as he feels you tighten even further around him. As if needing something to hold onto to steel himself, he uses one hand to grasp your breast, squeezing forcefully. You yelp at the painful ecstasy, your steady pace faltering and giving both of you a second to slow down your impending orgasms.

Not giving him too much time to recover, you begin rocking again, slowly, torturously, and passionately, unable to stop yourself from chasing the pleasure only he can give you. Your hand is planted on his abs to steady yourself. Xavier’s eyes lock onto your joined crotches, mesmerized by the motions you make that are akin to the ocean waves pulling in and out of the beach. You pulsate around him wildly and he throbs inside you rhythmically, your bodies meshing perfectly.

As your head is thrown back, your eyes once again inching into your skull, Xavier thumbs at your clit. You squeal and contract at the waves of pleasure he induces onto your body with a single touch.

Xavier swears inexplicably at your vice grip on his length, knowing your body is pushing him rapidly towards his finish. Your slow and intentional bounces have him seeing stars, but he needs more. Keeping his thumb steadily drawing circles in your aching bundle of nerves, he uses his other hand to grip your waist and guide you along, faster and harder.

His eyes admire your naked beauty on top of him, he pants out, "S’perfect, Y/N. You’re beautiful you know that?”

At his words, you’re a faltering moaning mess as the rhythm Xavier sets has his tip hitting deep in your gummy walls, stroking your sweetest spots at every thrust. At this point Xavier’s hand does much of the work, your thighs threatening to give out as the only thing your brain can focus on is the pure pleasure of his cock reaching the most sensitive spots right before your cervix.

You’re reaching a point of no return, unable to stop your babbling mess, "X-Xavier you’re s’deep, s’big. Splitting me open.” You can feel the mixture of slick against the underside of your thighs, smearing against his pelvis as your bodies slap against each other.

"Baby you’re making such a mess…hah..fuck is this all for me?”

You whine at his words, "S’all for you Xavier..m’all yours.” Thighs still burning as you do your best to bounce on him, you grip your breasts with your hands as Xavier uses you like a toy. He seems to know exactly where your g spot is, and he hits it every single time, almost as if he knows your body far better than even you. You’re coming impossibly close to your climax, but you can’t fathom this moment between you two ending.

"Come here,” Xavier whispers desperately, "Let me taste you.” With his hands still shoved between your bodies, playing with your clit, you bend down towards him and let him take your lips into his once more. His soft lips are urgent as they take you, and you can almost feel a lifetime of emotions Xavier has kept from you. You respond with the same desperation, wanting to show him how much he has invaded your very being. Your body, your mind, your heart and soul. It all felt hopelessly intertwined with Xavier, and you couldn’t fight it. You didn’t want to fight it.

His tongue, cock, and fingers ravage you in perfect unison. The blinding tension in your gut threatens to boil over, and you try to warn him, "X-Xav, can’t take much more.”

"You’re doing so good for me, Y/N. I can–f-fuck–feel how close you are. Please, cum for me,” he pants, his breath mingling with yours. Doing your best to maintain your rhythm amidst the climax that descends upon you like a tsunami, you sink your lips into Xavier’s neck, careful to avoid his cuts. The moan that he responds with is a deep guttural warning. That he’s as close to coming undone as you are.

With renewed vigor you bounce atop Xavier, absolutely needing to hear him fall apart for you. You spear yourself onto his ever hardening and throbbing erection as his thumb on your clit sends you into oblivion. The bone crushing orgasm descends upon you, and you bite down on Xavier’s pulsing neck. You let out a string of incoherent babbles right by his ear, and he eats up every single cry you make for him. The tsunami consumes you, manifesting in uncontrollable waves of tremors around Xavier’s leaking cock inside you. Wailing through your orgasm, right into his ear, Xavier takes you into his arms completely and bounces you violently on top of him, desperately chasing his own release.

"Fffuck, you’re milking me Y/N,” Xavier groans through gritted teeth, "Makin’ a mess all over my bed.”

You alternate between nibbles and soothing licks against his neck, feeling how he swelled inside you at his sensitive neck being ravaged. You could tell Xavier was impossibly close, feeling his heartbeat throb in his cock as he speared your overstimulated core onto him with every ounce of fleeting energy he had left.

Exhausted and completely fucked out, you murmur into his ear, "Xavier, please. I-Inside. Make me yours.” You plant a gentle wet kiss on the deep red bruise you’d etched into his neck. It resembles the strawberries you’d grown together on the balcony.

Xavier’s deep and incomprehensible swears ensue, "You’re mine. Say it Y/N, please.” His thrusts are erratic now, losing himself to the pleasure of your body perfectly wrapped around him.

You squeeze your eyes shut, suckling gently on the hickies you’ve littered across his pale neck, "M’yours Xavier, now and always.

Your words send him toppling over the edge, letting out a strangled groan as you feel him release deep inside your cunt, pumping his release as deep as it will go. It’s unbelievably soothing, the warm milky seed relieving some of the ache in your throbbing hole from his intense ravishing.

Despite the overstimulation, Xavier continues to thrust lazily in and out of you, wanting to keep every drop of his spend sealed inside you, as deep as it will possibly go. It makes him wince, but he can’t bear the thought of any of it being wasted when it belongs inside you. But you tap his pecs pointedly, still laying completely naked and soaked on top of him, and whine, "S’too sensitive Xavier.”

He chuckles and brings your face to his, this time pressing a slow and sensual kiss to your lips. You close your eyes, enjoying the feel of his soft lips against yours, your bodies connected in more places than one. With your head still on his broad and muscular chest, you relish in the slowing and soft thumps of his calming heartbeat, absolutely content and blissed out. Xavier strokes your hair with one hand, his fingers massaging your scalp, and his other hand rests tightly on the small of your back. As if he’s scared you might disappear at any moment.

Inevitably, his softening member threatens to slip out, but you’re much to fucked out to be able to move a single muscle. Xavier shuffles gently, and you feel him lifting your body off of him and onto the space beside him. He moves again to shift off the bed, presumably to grab a washcloth to wipe you off, but you clutch his bicep and bury your face into his muscular side.

"Please don’t go,” you whisper. He looks hesitant, wanting to clean you up and take care of you like you deserve.

"I can’t fall asleep counting stars. I need them to stay by my side,” you mumble sleepily, not even caring that the mixture of your collective release dripped down your rear and onto the bed beneath you. When he doesn’t respond, you peer up at him, and find yourself in awe of the man before you.

While his face is utterly exhausted, the sleep in his eyes clouding his azure blues, he almost glows. Because of his evol, Xavier is always incandescent, but this is different. Its almost as if his sweat slicked skin illuminates in the soft rays of fading daylight that spill into his bedroom. He catches your stare and he smiles so brilliantly at you that you feel like you’re in the presence of the sun itself. Like he’s an angel sent from the heavens to derail your entire life.

He relaxes back down beside you, covering the two of you with his thick comforter. Fixating on the sounds of your soft breathing, Xavier softly tucks you into his side, with his arm around the back of your shoulders. Finally, he speaks gently and so heartbreakingly apologetically, "I’m sorry. I should've responded to your messages.”

"Honestly, I'm not that upset,” you sigh into his warm chest muscles that feel better than any pillow ever could. Propping onto your side to face him, worry laces into your voice, "But Xavier, you fell asleep after getting injured. Aren’t you still tired?”

His voice is thick with sleep, deep and comforting to your ears, "Yeah.”

"Will a good night’s sleep fix everything?”

With his fingers tracing patterns into your naked back, Xavier’s pensive for a brief moment. His answer is thoughtful and earnest, "Only if you stay and sleep next to me.”

The butterflies that erupt in your stomach bloom into your chest and you're incapable of keeping your voice steady while you continue your line of questioning, "Is that why you always say everything’s fine and don’t tell me when you’ve been gravely wounded?”

He hesitates as you stare at him, his arm still wrapped protectively over you.

Seconds tick by, "I’m leaving if you don’t answer.” You even make a show of trying to get up, knowing damn well you’re not going anywhere. Xavier’s grip on you tightens, quite possessively.

"I promise it won’t ever happen again,” his eyes convey so much more than his words as he stares into your very being. The ardor in his blue eyes overwhelms you with emotions that sting your eyes.

"Will there ever be a day when you fall asleep and never wake up?” The question comes tumbling out of your lips before you can even stop it. There’s really no reason for you to even fathom that this could happen, but something inside you demands an answer from the silver haired man wrapped around you.

Xavier is silent for an agonizing moment, but takes your hand into his, placing a warm kiss onto it. You shiver at the feel of his lips against your hand. It feels like much more than just a fleeting kiss, but a promise, "If such a thing ever happens, you – and only you – must remember to wake me up.”

You fall back into the crook of where his chest connects with his arm, satisfied with his response, for now. With your hand still in his, you nuzzle into him, doing your best to avoid the trail of injuries that still stained his beautiful glowing skin.

And it felt so good, so right to be held by Xavier like this. Xavier wondered how it could be that you fit so perfectly into his arms, into his life. You both knew there was a heavy conversation to be had, about where this left the two of you. As friends, as hunting partners, but especially as two people whose fates were so indescribably interwoven with each other. You both decided you’d save that for later, opting to savor the perfect bliss of this moment.

Xavier’s unable to keep his hands off you, innocently grazing against every inch of skin he can. His fingers trace unintelligible patterns on your back and his right hand rubs soothingly up and down between your thigh and your hips. His comforting touch feels so inexplicably right, like two stars written in the night sky. Xavier was your shooting star, after all.

Just before sleep consumes you, you feel out for him, "Xavier?” You’re unsure if he’s still awake as you await his response.

"Yes love?” From his voice you can tell he is on the cusp of dozing off, still with his hands all over you. Your heart flutters at his words.

"You better not ever scare me like that again,” your voice, thick with exhaustion, is anything but threatening as you kiss the skin of his chest muscles.

His languid chuckle is deeper than usual, his stroking halts as he grips your thigh tight, drawing you closer to him and pressing an adoring kiss to your forehead, "If this is my punishment, then I can’t make any promises.”

3K notes · View notes

onlyswan · 10 months

Text

summary: in which you make jungkook’s world spin and you tend to… make him a little too dizzy.

> idol!jungkook x reader / est. relationship, fluff, angst / word count: 7k

> content/warnings: yea shirtless jungkook should be a warning… one (1) spank then he kisses it better, also gives a kiss to that lil bow on oc’s undies >:( + a flashback of oc crying and him getting stressed out bcs oc is a careless brat fr

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe i’m here <3 this drabble is basically just oc in a mood and jungkook being the sweetest bf ever 🤨 idk how it got this long either heh it didn’t feel that way at all while i wrote-edited? but i hope u enjoy and i’d love to hear ur thoughts 🥺 reblogs/feedback are appreciated !! <3

—

“oh my god- fuck!”

you cover your mouth in shock, squeezing your eyes shut and flinching at the ear-splitting sound that bounces off the walls of the apartment.

jungkook is rendered frozen, eyebrows furrowed and jaw slacked, staring down at his shirt largely stained by the chocolate milk you were walking around with after brunch.

“damn…”

his eyes are irritable when they communicate with yours.

“baby! really? did it have to be the white one?”

but seconds later, they become worried and calculating — wandering all over the tiled floor, and then your bare feet infront of his slides-clad ones, surrounded by shattered pieces of ceramic.

the collateral damage. an unforeseen tragedy.

suffice to say, jungkook woke up this morning blissfully unaware of the turbulent storm threatening to make a playground out of your mind. it’s craving to feed destruction, and here he is living with you under the same roof, an unfortunate casualty from your antics.

the hand-painted mug, wet from the condensation, slipped away from your hands when you accidentally collided with his tough build at the intersection of the living room and the kitchen. this… wasn’t part of the plan. the plan was a little spill and this is a landslide.

“that was expensive too.” you utter wistfully, chest deflating as you release an exasperated breath. “sorry. i’ll clean up everything. just stay there and i’ll- when did i last see the broom-”

his doe eyes grow two times its size when you start looking around the apartment in search of the broom, and perhaps something you can use to pat yourself and jungkook dry, causing your feet to unconsciously shift on the treacherous ground.

“ba-baby! don’t move! you’re going to hurt yourself. are you crazy?” he interrupts you with a hiss, voice stern as his hands curl around your arms to hold you steady. “it’s okay. this is nothing, i’m not mad… just stay still, understand?”

you nod slowly as he lets go, eyebrows knitting together to convey confusion when he starts pulling his shirt over his head, revealing miles of bare skin and planes of defined muscles on a perfect silhouette. perfect because it’s jungkook.

alright… to see him half-naked wasn’t one of your intentions, but you’re definitely not one to complain.

“tsk, i think i need to shower again.”

figuring that the internet has a solution to every problem one could think of, jungkook has decided to accept the horror that has happened to his shirt. what was it again? salt? vinegar? baking soda? powder? fuck it, he’ll search for it later.

he throws caution to the wind by using it to wipe his damp torso, brushing it over his tan skin glistening with a sheen of the liquid that you wittingly spilled. he winces at the uncomfortable stickiness that could be felt across his stomach, but he can’t help but to laugh when he sees how it further accentuated his abs.

and if only you were in a chipper mood today, you would be laughing along with him. would’ve taken over cleaning him up, apologized with a kiss on his waist. too bad you’re not.

eventually, he gives up on erasing on the feeling, proceeding to fold the shirt in halves.

“what are you doing?” you snap, putting on a guise of harsher irritation over your dreamy stares at your boyfriend’s glorious physique. “are we just supposed to stand here forever like idiots?”

“what is this? why are you so grumpy today?” he questions with a frown, patting your cheek with the soft cottony fabric because the splash managed to reach your face unbeknownst to you.

and then he bends down to place the folded shirt infront of your feet, looking up to you with his galaxy-filled eyes to say, “here- come on. stand here while i clean up.”

you stand isolated on the safe zone he created, childishly pouting with your arms crossed over chest as you wait for him to pick up your slippers in the bedroom.

the simple answer to jungkook’s question is you’re bored and in a bad mood. the more complex answer would be you came up with a one-man game you can only win if you successfully piss your boyfriend off, but you’re too scared to pull off anything that will legitimately make him upset with you.

because the last time you made him angry, it hasn’t been… that long ago. he’s been keeping a closer eye on you since then, and you’ve been trying to be good. keyword being trying. after all, you did lost his car key… at a beach three hours away from home. you searched the entire shore — retraced your steps, made your knees and palms bleed digging through the rocky sand, curled up by the waves to wallow in self-blame and the smell of salt-air defeat. you were nearly in tears as you listened to the call ring for what felt like an eternity, unsure if he already wrapped up the company meeting he mentioned to you the day before.

you still remember the desperate words you greeted him with instead of ‘hello’.

“babe, promise me you won’t be mad.”

—

“____, you didn’t even tell me you were coming here! care to explain that to me first? huh?”

your name, and not ‘baby’? heavens above have mercy; you’re fucked.

jungkook presses the heels of his palms over his eyes to alleviate the dull throbbing of his head, breathing heavily to compose himself, but he can’t disguise the frustration deeply embedded in his voice.

“you scared me!”

not yelling, but tone evidently very upset with you. somehow, that makes you feel worse.

“i had to make up an excuse infront of everyone and drive here fast. i was so worried of you being here all alone when it gets dark!”

“it’s your car so i thought i had to let you know right away. i’m sorry.” you chew at your bottom lip anxiously, eyes brimming with tears as you barely muster up the courage to observe how he’s handling this.

your heart pounds louder in your chest when he finally looks down at you, guilty and gloomy, sat on a wooden bench painted yellow. it drops to your stomach when you see the sullen expression painting his face a light shade of red.

“where did you lose it?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you can only manage to point at the shore with your disoriented eyes, and he traces the direction with his. the majestic orange sky where the sun descends below the horizon fails to be recognized by your foggy, distracted minds.

it’s silent for a few beats, then he huffs, breathing out a sarcastic chuckle before burying his face in hands.

“baby, please. please. are you sure you’re not pranking me right now?”

“no! do you think i’d joke like this? i really tried my best to find it!” you sniffle, roughly wiping away the lone tear that escapes your eye. you’re almost too humiliated to continue talking, volume falling a few notches above a whisper. “but the waves were getting stronger.”

he vehemently shakes his head, rendered speechless and stuttering, malfunctioning. he doesn’t think he has ever imagined this type of scenario before. “this is crazy. really… this is unbelievable… how did this even happen?”

he exhales loudly before removing his hands, revealing a calmer exterior. be that as it may, his skin is more flushed, all the way to his ears and down to his neck, where his veins have become noticeably prominent.

“i mean, what else can we do about it? i’ll request for a new one.”

“but are we just going to leave the car here?”

“did you leave anything in there?”

“i left my bag, but…” you pat the pockets of your skirt to check if your valuables didn’t meet the same fate as the car key. “i brought my phone and wallet with me.”

he nods. “then i’ll call a towing service.”

you pout.

“it’s such a bother.”

feeling exhausted after burning a concerning amount of energy in search of the missing item, you stand on wobbly feet to loop your arms around his waist.

maybe it’s to coax him into forgiving you. maybe it’s to make yourself feel better, nuzzle your face on his chest to drive away the anxiety weighing on your shoulders. but as it’s being lifted off, so is the barrier withholding your salty tears.

“i’m so careless. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i should’ve drove my car instead.”

“ye- no, that’s not…” he cuts himself off with a sigh.

he puts an arm around you, pushing his hair back and repeatedly carding his fingers through it out of habit.

“seriously, baby… you stress me out so much, do you know that? you’re always wandering around places you’re not familiar with… this is secluded. it’s dangerous. you could get hurt if you bump into the wrong people… really, i’m just relieved it’s not yourself that you lost this time!”

the recollection of old flashbacks playing in his mind like a movie reel elicits a throaty chuckle from him, low and rough, the vibrations of his chest rudely awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“you couldn’t even send me a text. you didn’t turn on your location. i would’ve lost my fucking mind again… did you even thought of that? or is that what you wanted, huh? baby? you enjoy driving me crazy like this?”

and the confession tucked inside his scolding obliterates any coherent thoughts in your head, causing you to lose control of your whirlwind of emotions.

“this isn’t fair. you said you won’t be mad.” you wail out in response, tears fiercely leaking from your eyes akin to a rainstorm. “i didn’t know this would happen!”

he clicks his tongue, gingerly caressing your wet cheeks with his thumb, then with the rest of his fingers, and the paw of his jacket, because the streams just seem to have no plans of ceasing. his wide eyes worriedly scans your tear-stained face, heart squeezed painfully by the restrained sobs forcefully ripping themselves from your throat.

“shhh, shh. don’t cry- don’t cry. i’m not mad, i was just worried about you.”

“jungkook, you’re lying.” you whine. “don’t lie to me. i don’t like it.”

he slowly blinks at you, head hanging low as to compose his thoughts before he reconnects with your eyes. a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips before his tongue unconsciously sweeps over them, its tip catching the silver ring piercing through his skin to play with it.

a moment of silence, thick with restlessness and anticipation, harder to breathe with the unique smell of the salt-air entering and leaving your lungs.

you feel small under his stoic gaze. you want to sit back down and cry harder.

your boyfriend is mad. your boyfriend is infuriatingly hot even when he’s disappointed in you. you need to dig a hole in the sand and live there forever. after everything, these are the only thoughts left running in your head.

“okay, fine. you lost the key of our car in the ocean, ____. but what if someone already found it by chance?” he cocks his head to the side, briefly peering at the road behind you.

he knows that it’s no use. even if he does see the white jeep wheeling by, is he supposed to assume that he can outrun it by some heaven-granted miracle?

“what then? hm…? what else can we do? i guess it could be getting stolen right now and we don’t even know. you parked so far away.”

god, please, not your favorite car.

“it’s not only the car. i still have important documents left in the compartment too.” this only dawns on him now, judging by the look of distress written on his face. he suddenly slaps his thigh, and you flinch a little. “fuck! i should’ve cleaned sooner!”

“then you are mad.” you arrive at a conclusion, chin wobbling as you sniffle. “about a lot of things.”

you resist the urge to stomp your feet. you want to throw a tantrum so bad. tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping such things in the car in the first place, that he owns a safe for fuck’s sake, but you know you can’t get away with shifting the blame because you messed up horribly in comparison.

“i get it. i’m sorry… i take full responsibility this time.”

“shit, baby.” he deeply sighs.

it becomes quiet again. he just looks at your face with knitted eyebrows, not saying anything more, and you try your best to cut off your crying, not to act conscious, but your eyes still fall on the sand. they stay there for a few beats to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

he almost sounds pained when he finally speaks. “how can i stay mad at you when you’re crying?”

he tilts up your chin, and your glassy eyes, sparkling with a new wave of tears, look at him beseechingly.

the setting sun. an eternal witness to a brand new day of humans being humans. it kisses your skin with its golden light, bathing your figure to radiate an angelic glow that drives him to consider once more that you could just be an enchanting character across dreams and the year is still 2017.

you sniffle again, brushing off his hand. sometimes you despise that jungkook brings out messiest, most unstable side of you. you know that he practically signed up for this, and he will always love you the same, love you even more. but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re so embarrassed.

“but i’m not crying just to make you feel bad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“yah, that wasn’t what i meant?” he frowns, eyes softening at your reply. “of course. i know that.”

the cracks in your voice, he seals with a soft kiss on your lips, tender and swollen caused by the onslaught of your sharp teeth.

“anyway, i can take care of replacing it. i mean, it’s not like it can get stolen just like that, right…?”

he sounds rather nervous convincing the both of you.

“but i’m most worried about you. i can lose everything but you.” his tattooed arm pulls you closer, casting aside the tension by leaving not even an inch of space between your bodies. he tenderly rubs your back to console you, and another kiss is granted to your temple, his soothing voice slightly muffled as his lips stay glued to you. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry… it’s okay. things like this can happen.”

“no, i’m sorry.” you aggressively shake your head and he carries on with wiping your cheeks, the back of his hand brushing off the tears that drip across your chin. he dries his hand on the hem of his jacket only to get it wet all over again.

“let’s just learn from this and move on. promise me that you’ll be more careful next time, okay? you can do that, right?”

jungkook does scold you every now and then, but although you stress him out, he would hate it if he’s not the first person you call when you’re in trouble. he would hate it if you act nonchalant and secretly cry when you’re hurt. but most of all, he can’t imagine a life in which you don’t make his world spin, much as he tends to get too dizzy at times.

your defiant hum makes his tense shoulders drop in disappointment.

“there should be a bus stop somewhere, i’ll just go home on my own. i don’t want to keep stressing you out.”

you will yourself to break free from his embrace, dragging yourself away to leave behind a trail of footprints in the sand, and he knows he’ll be running after you today, too.

“oh? you better stop right there!” he warns with a hand over his hip.

you become smaller and smaller in his eyes with every tick of the clock, much like how the sun is gradually getting swallowed by the ocean.

“i’ll get angry for real if you disappear from my sight. really, i’m not joking!”

angry? what a joke. you know that he’d cry blood searching for you if you get lost.

“oh? you’re really not going to stop?!”

jungkook’s voice fall on deaf ears, except that of the dog leashed to a tree that stands infront of a humble home. it seethingly barks at him from many meters away.

“fucking shit. i need alcohol.” he chuckles to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. “____, i swear, you’re getting too stubborn these days. what should i do with you?”

but you’re too far away to hear him, and so, he answers himself.

“eh, it is what it is.”

the wind blows with a quiet whistle, deadly as it fuels the roaring waves.

“AH! nuh-uh!” he exclaims, jaw dropping in alarm when he sees an urgent reason to chase after you, putting those leg days at the gym to good use.

you jump, a squeak leaving your mouth when out of nowhere, a solicitous palm smooths over your behind, sliding down to the back of your thighs to hold down your rippling skirt.

but you’re determined to be unyielding, eyes shooting daggers at jungkook. “leave me alone. i can do it myself.”

“baby, isn’t that a little rude? is that how you say ‘thank you’?”

“thank you. now let’s go our separate ways.”

and just like that, you’re walking away again.

“shit.” he curses quietly through gritted teeth, pulling at his hair. “babe, please come back… i’m sorry! i didn’t mean that!”

—

“jungkook! how many times do i need to tell you to turn off faucet properly?!”

you’re hot on jungkook’s tail as he makes his way to the laundry room beside the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket over his hip. he’s still shirtless, only clad in a different pair of shorts after a quick shower.

“the bathroom sink was close to overflowing! again!”

“i know what you’re doing.”

“what? what am i doing?”

the basket touches the ground, standing beside the dryer, and then he turns to face you, eyebrows shooting up. “picking a fight with me won’t work today.”

“why?” your tone borders on a whine.

“what do you mean ‘why’?” he laughs in jest. “why? why do you want to fight with me so bad?”

“i don’t know.” you exhale loudly, rolling your eyes and shrugging. “just because!”

“well, that’s not very convincing, is it?” he teases you with a grin, proceeding to open the dryer to dump the fresh laundry in the basket. the clothes you wore in the past week once again soaked up the sweet, floral scent the people around you distinctly recognizes to be your own and jungkook’s.

“i know, but i’m done playing now. you’re not hearing me.” you close your eyes in frustration, recounting the other times you had to say these exact words. “you’re going to flood our house.”

“okay, okay. i won’t forget to double-check it from now on. i promise.”

“sure, that’s what you also said last time.” you indignantly scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “i’m not turning it off for you anymore. if we get flooded, i’m leaving you. i’m moving out.”

your threat puts a halt to his movements for a split second before he’s adorably replying in a sing-song voice. “then i’m going with you.”

“no, you’re not.”

and it doesn’t come as a shock to you that jungkook doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“huh! good luck trying to stop me.” he slams the door of the dryer shut, standing up straight. “it’s not easy getting rid of me. you know that.”

he walks to the middle of the room to get a good view of you at the entrance. with the other resting on his hip, he lies his palm flat over the counter, outstretched arm cascading with varied colors of ink in sharp lines and swirling curves.

fuck, he has to know what he’s doing — flexing his muscles like that, not playing fair.

“aigoo, look at you glaring at me. you want to fight?”

and you’d feel intimidated by his challenging stare, the quirk of his eyebrow, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip… only if he didn’t blink to rake a stare over your body, lingering on your smooth legs that couldn’t be covered by your mere underwear. only if they didn’t flicker back to your face, and only if he didn’t smirk like a lovesick fool.

“so cute.” he chuckles. “you’re totally my type.”

“shut up.” you roll your eyes at the random compliment. “i know, i already get that a lot.”

his smile then fades, not so thrilled with the reminder that it’s so easy to fall in love with you, and therefore anyone would die to take his place. he knows that they hover around you like moths to a flame when he’s not there. well, he really can’t blame them, can he? you’re so fucking attractive.

“what does that mean…? who else is saying it, huh? tell me. i think i have a few guesses.”

“does it matter?” you stare at him blankly, which then turns into a piercing glare. “jungkook! i was just talking about you not paying enough attention. look at you proving me right!”

the stomp of your feet on the floor tells him that you’ve reached a level of frustration near to inducing a flood of tears.

oh, he truly got called out, huh?

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry. i admit that. i’m sorry, my love. i was just joking around. i’m listening well now.” he winces guiltily, beckoning you to be where he is. “come here then.”

“i don’t want to.” you stay rooted in your spot. “who do you think you are?”

“m-me…? i’m your boyfriend. boyfriend!” he points at himself, index finger repeatedly poking his bare chest to emphasize his point. his arm then drops to his side. his doe eyes widen as he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “oh, i’m really getting upset now?”

you bite back a smile. the sweet taste of victory.

you can’t be the only one, can you?

“aish, i see you’re having your way again.” he chuckles, taking it upon himself to cross the distance between you. his hands find purchase on the curves of your waist, and every nerve in your body turns into a live wire. “let’s just go out today. do you want to practice boxing at the gym with me?”

didn’t he just watch you do arms day this morning? does he think you have the same stamina as him? you make a face of disapproval and shake your head.

“shall we go to a rage room again then? break more stuff?” he playfully sticks his tongue out, and you glare once more.

for the record, you loved that mug.

“boring.”

“and fighting with me is fun?”

you purse your lips into a thin line. “well, it’s not boring.”

“of course.” he laughs, softly squeezing your waist, pads of his thumbs mindlessly tracing shapes over the fabric of your top.

all of a sudden, he’s tugging you closer to envelope you in his embrace, voice slightly muffled as he sweetly talks. “are you mad at me for real? i’m sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry. sorry. i’ll really be more mindful of the things you remind me about, i swear… i don’t like fighting. it breaks my heart when you cry.”

what is this five foot ten man with bulging biceps, tattoo sleeve, and piercings doing here in the crook of your neck — affectionately nuzzling his face on your skin and telling you in a baby voice that he doesn’t like fighting?

you don’t know, but you feel good.

and his bare body is so comfortingly soft and warm.

he draws back for a kiss but his nose and lips only graze your cheek when you turn away, and you don’t see the sadness that flashes across his face.

“so what i’m hearing is… you don’t like fighting with me because i’m too sensitive? is that the truth?”

“no!” he perks up to interject without hesitation, shaking his head. “but i don’t think that’s a bad thing anyway… being sensitive.”

but you admit being a crybaby. you cry when you’re angry.

that’s when jungkook distinguishes the glint of mischief swimming in your irises. he feels dizzy after having his heart drop to his stomach.

“no. no, no.”

his mirthful grin returns, revealing his perfect set of teeth.

“ahh, i’m stressed!” he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, chest puffing up when he breathes in then out. “i knew it. no, i’m not falling for this trap!”

then he flees the room carrying the laundry basket, leaving you doubled over and covering your mouth to silence your giggles of amusement.

“i’m hanging the laundry now!”

“how dare you walk away from me?!”

“you can’t follow me!”

“i’m not.” you scoff, purposely bumping your hips against his. “i’ll vacuum the living room.”

—

“where are you going? gym?” you genuinely begin to sulk, watching your boyfriend slide into a baggy pair of bleached denim pants. “are you leaving me here?”

he avoids your inquiring eyes, ignoring you as he pulls up his zipper and does the button. you pout when he walks further away to pull out a black shirt from the clothing rack.

“is that it? are you tired of me already?”

he tosses its hanger in the basket where you discard the empty ones before wearing the final piece of clothing, covering himself fully for the first time today.

you sigh, feeling dejected. “you don’t love me anymore?”

and jungkook needs to physically restrain himself so he won’t grab your face and say ‘i love you’ over and over again until he runs out of breath.

you leave the closet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sits on the edge of the mattress to put on his socks.

you stand by him, patience quickly running thin. “hello?”

he brushes away the non-existent dirt on the left sock before switching his legs to put on the right one.

“did i turn invisible?”

your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. this isn’t how fighting works. you need a reaction at the very least.

you tug at the sleeve of his shirt, starting to get annoyed, already planning your exit if he continues this act. “you’re hurting my feelings. you’re not even going to look at me?”

he mumbles, and you almost fail to piece his phrase together. “can’t, you’re too pretty.”

his big brown eyes faintly glimmer with hope when he looks up at you, puckering his rose-tinted lips and making kissing sounds.

your sweet and clingy boyfriend, he’s making this too difficult.

a tsunami of affection washes over you, and it becomes impossible for you not to crack at his cheekiness then. “jungkook, you’re impossible!”

atleast he tried to shoot his shot.

“tsk, see? i thought so!” he grumbles, snapping the elastic band on his ankle. “just want one kiss.”

he disappears into the closet again.

he returns not a minute later, unceremoniously placing a white bucket hat on your head before tugging it down to obstruct your vision.

“hey!”

you hastily take it off, scowling at your laughing boyfriend who turns out to be already wearing a black bucket hat of his own.

“you’re bored, aren’t you? let’s go out, have some sun.”

“no.”

you reply exactly as your boyfriend predicted you would.

jungkook captures your wrist to slip his credit card on your palm, folding your fingers over it, but they aren’t enough to hide the black rectangular thing you can use to buy the world with if you wanted to. your amusement spills out as giggles, brighter as he pushes your hand to your chest so you have no other choice but to accept it.

he scrunches his nose, face only inches away from yours as he persuades you with his natural charm. “what if we go shopping, hmm?”

“thanks babe, but i can’t think of anything i want right now.” you sniffle with teary eyes, flipping the card and holding it between your longest fingers as muscle memory takes control.

“then just keep it incase you see something you want.”

he kneels on the floor out of the blue, and you eye him curiously, your fingers automatically tangling with his silky locks before making a loose fist.

“here, put some pants on. hurry-” he presents your pair of faded gray cargo pants.

you tug at his hair lightly, which prompts him to lift his head. you scrunch your nose cutely, giggling. “i’m spoiled.”

“ey, so what if you are?” he brushes off your observation with his satoori accent, blithe tone listing down reasons. “i love you. i worked hard so i can do these things for you. we moved in together so we can take care of each other.”

and you want to cry. you truly do. your face began to feel warm after he said that he loves you, but the tears never make it past your lash line when his big palm lands a loud smack on your ass, skin-to skin.

“but i do think that you are a brat. does that count for something?”

it catches you by surprise, and a scandalized gasp escapes your mouth as you feel the sting spreading across your skin.

“shut up! give that to me.” you roll your eyes, stealing the pants from his grasp.

“see, that’s what i’m talking about.” he chuckles lightheartedly. “get dressed then.”

his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs when he pulls you closer to kiss the tiny little ribbon on your underwear, heart-shaped lips pressed to you so firmly you can trace their outline bleeding through the thin fabric and onto your skin. “mmm-mwah!”

and then you feel them there next, where it still hurts, a softer kiss in comparison to soothe the sting he left behind.

your heart is beating so loud you can feel it in your throat, feeble knees nearly giving away to crash and break.

who does that so casually? who the hell does that?

oh, right… jungkook. of course.

you raise the white flag today.

perhaps he will flood the apartment tomorrow, and you can stay angry longer then.

—

“what’s taking him so long?” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself, lost eyes scanning the park in hopes of getting a glimpse of your boyfriend and his classic jungkook outfit, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

your sour mood makes a reappearance.

to your credit, taking you out and then asking you to wait here without telling you where he’s going is rude, and you’re lonely and jealous of the couples around you having a picnic. not to mention that the clouds have uncovered the sun and you’re burning.

this scene also leads your brain to wander to those cliche flashbacks in a film or a show where a parent lies to their child that they’ll come back, and then they doesn’t. it’s always, always at some sort of park.

oh, for fuck’s sake, why are you wasting your time giving this a lot of thought?

too bored and antsy to sit still, you finally decide to text jungkook.

to: my baby love

i'm gonna look for food. do you want anything?

orrr is that what you're away buying 😥

WHERE ARE YOU

why didn't you just take me with youuuu

please me lonely :(

[sent 1 photo]

a black cat !! is sleeping on my shoes!! 😭

i miss you :(

are you almost done

i hate u

whatever i'm going. call if you still remember that you're someone's bf i guess.

—

jungkook crosses the street like an excited puppy, long pretty hair bouncing as he practically skips his way to the area where he left you to wait.

only to be greeted by a complete stranger.

his radiant beam fades into a hue of confusion.

the bench is now occupied by a woman chugging an energy drink after running laps around the park.

they lock eyes for a split second. he averts his befuddled stare to pretend that nothing happened, walking past her with a bouquet of sunflowers until he settles down two benches away.

he wears his bucket hat again only for him to throw it aside with a sigh, messing with his hair to release his frustration. of course you left. he can only snort to himself while he reads the last message you sent. you’re so cute. he knows you’ve never been keen on having to wait, but he didn’t expect himself to take so long either.

not wanting you to be upset with him another second longer, he instantly decides to call you.

his forehead creases when his phone vibrates, informing him that he typed an incorrect password. he tries again, slow and deliberate, only for the same thing to happen, and he begins to feel nervous.

what the fuck?

okay, calm down, JK. one more time.

he freezes as the same words flash on the screen. his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he feels the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

“why is it like this…? what’s your problem? what am i touching wrong?”

—

you return to the park more carefree than before. since jungkook is god knows where, you decided to have a picnic on your own. you had to buy a new picnic blanket, though. you can’t get the one in the car because he has the key. but just to be petty, you hope that he figured it out from the text notifications he got when you used his card.

oh, there he is looking angrily at his phone.

you halt on your tracks, instantly pulling the brakes on your feet when you recognize your boyfriend from your peripheral vision. you slowly chew the remaining tteokbokki in your mouth.

he’s holding his phone… and he hasn’t called you yet?

“wow, did you seriously forgot about me?”

upon hearing your familiar voice, jungkook’s features soften, not having to squint at the sunlight either because you’ve kindly blocked it with your back.

“where did you even go? i didn’t see you!”

the password-protected device that’s been giving him a headache for the past ten minutes is abandoned in the depths of his pocket.

“baby,” he utters airily as he stands on his feet, reaching out to hold your forearm. “i’m sorry. i took so long, didn’t i…? i went to buy you flowers but they didn’t have tulips anywhere. anywhere. every shop said someone bought all of them!”

he scratches his head with a sheepish grin, revealing the bouquet he’s been concealing behind him.

“i got you sunflowers instead… they-” he points at them, eyes flickering on the bundle of yellow flowers he’s offering as a gift. “they’re not bad. i think they’re pretty too. you like them too, right?”

sunflowers are pretty. after all, it used to be your favorite in middle school, mostly because it’s the first flower you received from an admirer… it was for your birthday and you felt like you died when it withered, heavily on-brand for a young heart drawn to romance. excluding that, everything has changed. it’s a typical saturday and beads of sweat have formed on your lover’s forehead after running around under the sun. you think you can keep them alive longer this time around.

“i like you the most.”

and then he receives his gift in return, that particularly sweet smile of yours he only sees when you’re so giddy.

his heart flutters wildly at your following actions.

“kiss.” you adorably demand, copying his pout earlier when he was asking for a kiss.

but unlike you who left his wish ungranted, he crosses the distance to plant a kiss on your lips. he pulls away a mere three inches, muttering to confront you. “but i thought you hated me?”

“who said that? that wasn’t me.” you feign ignorance, eyes so wide as to mimic being confused. you carefully take the flowers into your embrace, subtly exchanging it with the paper bowl you’re holding. “thank you, baby… here, do you want tteokbokki?”

he goes for the fish cake first, poking it with the stick and popping it in his mouth. you find yourself too absorbed in admiring the sunflowers one by one to sense your boyfriend staring at you, thinking to himself, you’re always worth the effort and this overpriced tteokbokki is pretty damn good.

“i turned on my location like i promised i would. did you see?” you mention without looking at him, acting laidback, still too shy when anything related to the incident is brought up.

he awkwardly smiles. no, he didn’t, unfortunately. he’s still fucking locked out of his phone.

you whimper when he pinches your cheek. “good job, baby.”

—

jungkook removes his head on your stomach to lie down beside you on the red picnic blanket. his hair touches his face and he tucks them behind his ears for the millionth time today.

“will you type my password for me?”

you take his phone without question, putting yours over your chest for the meantime. you successfully unlock it within a second, experienced fingers nimble after years of typing on the daily.

“here.” you hold it out for him without looking, picking up your own phone to continue scrolling through trending topics. however, seconds pass and the heavy weight on your hand has yet to be eased, so you wiggle it to catch his attention. “hey, it’s done.”

he gasps, gaping at you in bewilderment. “how did you do that?”

“you changed it again last night, remember? because i told you our anniversary isn’t a good idea.”

shit, right. he added a new one to the list of passwords that he uses for everything. he totally forgot about that. you’ve taken over every working brain cell that he has in his body.

“baby, this is your fault!” he groans, finally snatching away his phone. “ah- i wanted to throw it away. i didn’t know what was wrong with it. i was seriously so close to crying!”

that bad? was he about to get all his data wiped out? your poor baby. you laugh out loud at his reaction, belly aching as you roll over to wrap your arm around his waist and bury your face on his side.

“anyone can guess it if they try hard enough.”

“but that was the trick, you know? they’d think it’s too easy. they wouldn’t even consider it!”

“that doesn’t mean they won’t try it!”

“ah, i don’t care. i’m changing it back.” he stubbornly pouts, falling back on the blanket.

you want to cuddle. he feels a tug on the sleeve of his shirt and he immediately understands. he allows you to use his tattooed arm as a pillow. it envelopes you entirely when he reaches for his phone to type with both hands, and you automatically snuggle with him closer by resting your head on his chest.

“fine. do what you want, you dummy. you better not leave your phone lying around.” you mutter, heavy eyelids fluttering shut as the wind blows to softly caress your face. “and don’t take more pictures of me sleeping.”

“you’re sleeping? i thought we’re going to the mall.”

“we are. i’m letting you rest before you carry shopping bags.”

“ah- wow. thanks, baby.”

you don’t how much time passes, a minute or ten or more, but falling into a deep sleep proves to be impossible with the cacophony of sounds you’re surrounded with. you’re resting somewhere away from the crowd, but there’s still the hiphop music from a bluetooth speaker, honking of vehicles… and the main culprit, jeon jungkook scrolling through tiktok on your phone and bookmarking videos for you to watch later on. you can hear his giggles louder than his heartbeat, feel them make his body vibrate throughout.

so, you give up. you open your blurry eyes with a tired sigh, blinking to readjust to the brightness. he feels your movements, your nose brushing against his neck, and he squeezes you to his side, dutifully stroking your head to remind you that you’re safe despite being in a public place because you’re with him. you kiss his cheek to show your appreciation.

you end up harmonizing with his giggles when you do decide to join him, nearly tearing up at the sight of a cat riding a motorcycle toy on the screen. a little while later, your fascination is then stolen by fiddling with his tattooed hand — tracing the veins, the lines, the tattoos; pressing the faded heart like it’s a button connected to the beating one in his ribcage; grazing the rough areas of his palm calloused by lifting heavy weights.

and as you do so, you mull over the house by the sea you’re saving up for. how much longer will it take? should you check out more locations? do you tell jungkook? that it’s your back-up plan, a place where no one knows your name, just like how this city once was. it’s where you would run to, where you would build a new life if the time comes that this one falls apart, too. if not, if not, if not, would it be so bad to wake up beside you with an ocean view when he’s sixty?

fuck, you don’t know anymore. it shouldn’t be this hard— not anticipating the worst, but still being prepared for it. you despise being an adult.

you do it absentmindedly, taking off one of your silver rings and slipping it into each of his fingers to see where it would fit best… he knows you’re only entertaining yourself, but feeling it in his ring finger still puts a lump in his throat.

“are you proposing to me?”

“this is your right hand, silly.” you tease your stunned boyfriend, sticking your tongue out. “if you want me, come and get me.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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crushedbyhyperbole · 4 months

Text

Whiskey on the Tongue

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You are the forbidden fruit Dean had always wanted to taste, and when you steal his whiskey the way you do, he is powerless to resist.

Words: 2.2k

A/N: This is my first ever Supernatural fic after having started watching the show just before Christmas. I know I'm late to the game but is it ever really too late to start loving a fandom? I've tried to make the reader generic in every way other than being cis-female, and Dean finding her hot.

It's been an absolute age since I wrote anything and probably longer since I posted anything here on Tumblr but I'm getting back into it now. Hopefully this finds its way to people in the Supernatural fandom who love a bit of Dean smut.

I hope you enjoy and, as always, I value your comments and feedback.

Warnings: Smut, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, mentions of people who have passed away, profanity as standard with pretty much everything I write.

*** Minors do not read or interact - 18+ content ***

Dean let his head fall back against the headboard, clenching his fists to try to distract himself from the deep ache in his left leg. It had been falling asleep for well over an hour now, but he didn’t want to move and disturb you.

The door to his room in the bunker was closed. Locked, in fact, though he did not remember doing it. You didn’t comment or so much as move when Sam brayed on the door and tried the handle, calling out for Dean to return his book. The very book that was in your hands right now.

“I need that book back, Dean.” Sam grumbled.

“Not now, Sammy!” Dean called back, hoping his little brother would just go away.

“I’m researching Nephilim to help Cas with the Kelly situation, Dean. It’s important.” Sam became more insistent.

“I said NOT NOW, SAM!” Dean hollered with a kind of finality that even Sam wouldn’t argue with.

Outside the door, Sam huffed and stalked away. Dean looked down to see you looking up at him from your position, lay on his bed. Your head was resting on his left calf, his leg bent with his foot tucked under his right knee. You had your knees up with your foot tapping along to his banging playlist, your jeans tight around your thighs and with your head tilted back he could see all the way down the deep V of your t-shirt.

He was going to hell. Straight there. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. And he probably deserved it.

He snapped his eyes up towards the ceiling but it was too late, he could feel himself stirring uncomfortably in his jeans. If Bobby was alive he would have skinned him raw just for having you in his room. Bobby was always protective of you, his niece. You were only a couple of years younger than Sam but Bobby had made himself very clear that you were off limits.

“If you touch one single hair on her body, I’ll make you regret the day your balls dropped. Do you hear me, boy?”

Bobby Singer. That man did not mince his words. And to this day, Dean had taken that threat as gospel. Even now that Bobby was up there with the Angels, that son of a bitch would find a way to keep his word.

You shifted, causing a painful twang to shoot up his leg. The reflexive grunt he failed to stifle made you look back up at him, giving him that glorious view again.

Dean decided he could die like this. If having a dead leg was a legitimate threat to his life, he would go out happy with the view of your rack in that lacy black bra he could see within the V-shaped window of that too-tight t-shirt.

He raised his eyes, once again to heaven, asking Bobby to forgive him or give him strength or something because – god help him – he wanted to take you right then and there.

It wasn’t unusual for you to seek him out after a case when you didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to talk. You would just sit while he drank, reading or working on spells. You said he quieted the noise in your head. Hell, he wasn’t going to argue, you were a sight for sore eyes every time he came home. You were wicked hot and sexy in a non-slutty way. Not that slutty was bad. Dean liked slutty. But that wasn’t you, you were different.

A drink. That’s what was missing. Dean needed a damn drink, especially if you were going to torture him by laying on him all evening.

He reached over to his bedside unit, for the bottle he kept in there for special occasions. A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Speyside single malt that he liberated from the British Men of Letters on his last interaction with Ketch.

The pour made you stir again but it wasn’t until he raised the cut crystal tumbler to his lips did you move. Your hand came up and claimed the glass from underneath, twisting it as you sat up so as not to spill any.

“Where’s yours?”

The cheeky glint in your eye had him pursing his lips in mild annoyance.

“Don’t pout.” You lifted the glass, turning it until the mark left by his lips touched yours and you sipped, looking him straight in the eye.

Dean’s jaw went slack. The glisten of the whiskey on your lips and the satisfied hum you made when you swallowed – he swallowed unconsciously when you did – made his mouth go dry. He had never seen you like this.

You moved to kneel on the bed and walked your way slowly closer, giving his leg a tap; an instruction to move it aside. He did, causing pins and needles to infest his nerves like ants swarming on a log to escape a flood.

Knelt between his spread legs, you brought the glass to your lips again, sipping at the amber liquid. You leaned in.

Dean watched you, breathing shallow, attention rapt. You hadn’t so much as touched him, yet every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way. The closer you got the shallower he breathed until he was almost holding his breath, looking down his nose at how close your lips were. His eyelashes looked to flutter against his cheeks just as yours did when you brushed your whiskey dappled lips against his.

He refused to lick where you had been. He couldn’t. As soon as he tasted, he would pounce, and…

“Don’t.” He croaked out when you moved to lay your lips on him once more.

You looked confused but at least you didn’t look hurt. He couldn’t bear it if you looked hurt because of him.

“Bobby…” Was all he could say through his constricting throat.

You smiled then, full of amusement, lips brushing against his, you whispered “he’ll understand.”

Dean tried not to respond to you but you coaxed his lips apart and teased your tongue to meet his, short circuiting his brain. The taste of the scotch and the sweetness of your mouth made him groan. He had fantasised about having you for years, but never did he think it would be you seducing him.

His hands on your hips guided you roughly to straddle him, the bulge in his jeans pushing up against you as you settled. He took the glass from your hands and downed the contents, his eyes on yours as he dropped the glass carelessly on the bedside unit.

Your lips met his again but this time you devoured each other, tongues stroking together, moans stifled by each other’s mouths. He trailed his hands up your body, dragging your t-shirt along with them. Finally, he could see what he had been having glimpses of this whole evening. Plush breasts cupped in scant lace that was completely impractical for a hunt, Dean realised, like you had meant to come here like this. You had intended this from the beginning.

He tore at the lace, dragging it under your breasts to free them, shoulder straps slipped down. Pawing at them like he had never touched a tittie before, all he wanted to do was suck and nip and nibble.

Your breathy sigh was divine, and the moan that followed was filthy. You cupped the back of his head as he took your nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, pressing him further, asking for more.

While he worked on your breasts you undid his belt and fly, reaching into the front of his shorts to release him from the awkward angle at which he was trapped. You stroked him, firm but slow, feeling him for the first time. You had always wondered what he had going on down there that every woman he had ever been with would come back for more at the drop of a hat. You weren’t disappointed.

Dean lifted his hips, you thought to allow you to push his jeans down but instead he flipped you, making you squeal. Once under him, he ravished your breasts anew, pinching one nipple hard while licking and sucking the other. Soon you were a mewling mess, hips writhing, begging for something he hadn’t given you yet. Excited that he had taken control away from you, you watched him sit up and yank your jeans down, lifting your legs until they were bare. Your knickers followed and he spread your legs without preamble, lowering himself between your thighs until his hair and eyes were all you could see above your mound.

“Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”

You groaned as he suckled against your sensitive spot. Fuck, he was good with his tongue. Everything about him was good except his image. Bad boy Dean Winchester. He was every woman’s wet dream. He had been your wet dream since you were seventeen. But now you were plenty old enough and finally getting what you wanted.

Bobby had told you to stay away from him when you were a kid. Dean had a reputation as a ladies man even then, but he respected your uncle Bobby enough to keep his distance… until now.

Dean dipped two fingers inside, creating pressure in exactly the right spot. You gasped and gripped his hair as your pleasure began to crest, tugging on it for dear life. He looked up at you then, to see your eyes closed against the intensity of it, neck and face flushed red with your oncoming orgasm. When it came, the pulsing of your core was his sign to slow down. He left off his suckling and stroked you through the pleasure, watching you all the while. You were a beautiful mess.

“That’s my girl.” He praised you in that deep rough tone you adored, helping prolong your climax until you took his hand away yourself. “Are you ready for me?”

You nodded, allowing him to lift your knees up and stroke the weeping tip of his cock over your swollen clit.

From the front pocket of the jeans he still wore, he pulled a foil packet with Trojan embossed on it. He was swift with its application, aiming his tip just so.

When he slid home, your eyes rolled back and you reached to grip his forearms. It was something Dean would never get tired of seeing but it felt that much different with you. You were the forbidden thing he had always wanted but could never have. Even now he didn’t know whether he would come to regret this. God, he hoped not.

Balls deep in you, he leaned forward to kiss you, wrapping your legs around his hips. His instinct was to fold you in half and pound the living shit out of you, but you were already overwhelmed and he wanted to make this soft for you.

“Tell me what you need.” He spoke softly as he nuzzled your neck.

“Just you, like this.” You sighed. Who knew Dean Winchester was a considerate lover.

His slow, measured thrusts brought you closer to the edge, your core fluttering each time, he could feel it. It surprised him how quickly is climax built at this pace, but the added connection you both shared seemed to turn him on. He would never give up Busty Asian Babe porn but he could get used to this with you.

You didn’t close your eyes against the pleasure this time, you watched him come undone above you, gasping as his orgasm made his legs and arms shake, muscles clenched tight to keep his weight from collapsing on you. When he swelled you dug your fingers into his hips to pull him deeper with each stroke, and when he spilled you also came, eyes fluttering shut finally.

Dean knelt up, slipping the rubber off as soon as he was clear of you and, tying a knot in the end, tossed it in the direction of the trash can.

“Shot.” You said with a smile as the sticky bundle went straight in the can.

He quirked and eyebrow and give you a slightly smug lopsided smirk that said: What can I say? I don’t miss.

When you moved to sit, he stopped you.

“Here, lemme get that.”

“Thanks.”

He stripped his t-shirt off and used it to clean up the wetness between your legs. Though none of it was his, it would still dribble when you moved. Afterwards he tucked it under your ass and flopped down on the bed at your side, moving his arm behind your head so you could rest it on his chest. You were both content. Both had goofy grins on your faces. Both disbelieving that you had finally gotten what you wanted.

A loud knock at the door started you.

“Are you done?” Sam said. “I need that book.”

“NO!” You and Dean shouted back in unison, laughing afterwards.

“Bobby’s gonna kill you.” Sam called back through the door.

“I KNOW!” Dean yelled gruffly, pulling you closer.

There might be a time in the future where the ghost of Bobby Singer came to make him regret the day his balls dropped and, if it happened, Dean would be happy to see him again. In the meantime, you and he could work on a whole bunch of reasons to make the cranky old bastard come down from up high for a visit.

Dean pulled the sheets over both of your heads, nibbling at your neck until you moaned his name. Aside from the roar of Baby’s engine, he had found his new favourite sound.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #spn #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #dean winchester fic #cloudy's writing #my first spn fic

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mariahcarreyyy · 4 months

Text

.ೃ࿐𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 | 𝐦𝐯𝟑𝟑 |

max verstappen x fem!reader

plot. when max visits years after your split, the strong facade you've worn crumbles at his fingertips

wc. 3.4k

warnings. smut 18+, angry n rough sex, p in v, degradation kink, reader cheats on her longterm boyfriend lol, oral sex (f!recieving), rough fingering (f!recieving), dry humping, name-calling, doggy + missionary style, dom!max and reader who thinks shes a dom, hairpulling, slight choking, and very angsty in some parts

Two seconds.

The amount of time it takes Max to grasp your door handle and trudge into the dimly lit apartment instead of patiently allowing you to let him in is two seconds. A fitted black suit adorns his body. His body, who glides assuredly into your humble kitchen. His eyes, who choose to ignore your irritated frame.

Then his lips. His big, red lips, who swallow the copious amount of popcorn that his hands were shovelling down his throat. His massive, veiny hands who used to intertwine perfectly in yours.

Him, Max. The figure leaning over your marble counters with slouched shoulders and forearms resting against the cool surface is Max. Two cups, he notices, stand side by side on the sink. A pink Stanley cup and a cheap protein shaker that isn't his.

Max’s fingers twitch.

From where you’re frozen by the door frame, only his side profile is visible. You curl your fists tight. Suddenly, wearing an oversized Metallica t-shirt and panties didn’t seem so comfortable.

“Max.”

Your eye twitches at the acknowledgement you receive. Or lack thereof. The recently crowned third-time world champion huffs at the bowl of popcorn in his hands before turning to open the fridge. He doesn’t look very satisfied. But then again, he never really was when it came to you, was he?

The light of the furniture illuminates Max’s face rather annoyedly, contouring his sharp jawline and the curve of his lips like it had a point to prove. This is what you could’ve had, it taunted, if you hadn’t broken up.

Much louder and more irritated than before, you call out for him. And then, your eyes meet. You had spent the last few years meeting his gaze solely through the rectangular box in your living room; now, you pinch yourself in disbelief—anger, as well.

“What,” you stutter, and almost curse yourself when you catch a glimpse of his cocky smirk you remember all too well. “What are you doing here, Max?”

The fridge begins beeping loudly. Rolling his eyes, the Dutch slams it closed, slipping past you and into the living room. You follow him. The room is lit up by what feels like a thousand scented candles and it’s cold despite it.

The blond collapses on top of your couch, and the cushions pull him in like they missed him. It’s been so long, they think, and you feel better than the girl who’d been crying on us when you left.

“Where’s that guy?” Max asks bitterly, eyes stubborn on the television before him. “The one you posted yesterday at that restaurant.”

Max doesn’t follow you on any social media anymore, and an evil part of you feels content with the fact that he’d had to manually search your name to see that photo. Last night, Scotty had made a reservation at a fine, respectable Italian place to commemorate your one-year anniversary.

You had a good time; Scotty would quip about everything and anything, and you would laugh exaggeratedly. You two were a great pairing, you think— hope, for the sake of your sanity.

You make yourself home in the space next to him, pulling your knees to your chest and tugging at your shirt to cover your bare legs. “You need to leave. Now, Max.”

A quiet ‘hm’ slips past his lips. But he’s still stuck on the couch, toeing out of his dress shoes and crossing his legs together like it was his home—but, it isn’t. Not anymore. Not while you are evidently a meaningless speck in his glorious life.

When Max turns to you, disgustingly pretty blue eyes and all, you succumb to the tight grasp he has on all of your logic. “Business trip. Milan.”

An empty chuckle raises the tiny hairs on your arm and echoes across the room. Max clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth; his eyes refuse to leave yours. He brings a cold hand to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear; his fingertips leave burn marks against your cheek.

“You don’t even like Italian food,” he continues, because does he ever really know how to stop? “Does he even know you?”

And that. It shouldn’t have made you as frustrated as it did, not when you had gotten over Max. Totally. Completely. Utterly. “What, like you did? Max, you wouldn’t even give a fuck to remember our anniversary!”

The sarcastic glint in his eyes turns sour. “I had to race—Fuck! y/n, I was leading the championship, you knew that.”

“Yeah, Max, how could I forget? Red bull this, Red bull fucking that,” you seethe through gritted teeth, face inching closer to him and squinting eyes shining predatorily. “It’s been two years, Max, two years since you broke up with me. So, congrats. You got what you wanted—a trophy and a name under your belt. Why don’t you fucking leave me alone?”

Max’s breath hitches, but your uncontrolled panting inhales enough air for the both of you. Then, his hand wraps around the side of your neck, not squeezing, but it’s there. It’s warm, and it feels painfully refreshing against your skin, and your protests die in your throat.

The Dutch whispers an octave lower, and only then, when his minty breath tickles your cheekbones, do you perceive your proximity, “Because I think if you really wanted me gone, I would be by now.”

And, well. He might as well be ripping open your ribcage and twisting your heart until it breaks in half, crimson blood making a mess of the carpeted floor.

You’re left speechless under his gaze because as much as you try to deny, you know it’s true. Max would leave as fast as he did two years ago if there was even a hint of honesty in your words.

“And you know what else I think?” Max takes your silence as encouragement to continue. “I think he doesn’t fuck you well enough if you’re this desperate for it.”

Somehow, you muster up enough irritation to murmur, “I—m’not desperate.”

“No?” he taunts, extending his thumb to the underside of your chin and tilting it upward. “Why haven’t you properly kicked me out, then?”

You rack your mind for a response, a reaction—fucking anything to prove you aren’t wishing he’d just inch a bit closer to close the gap between you.

“I . . . I hate you, Jesus Christ,” you curse defeatedly, craning your neck upward and frantically meeting his stupidly large lips.

The kiss isn’t slow or loving; it’s wet and filthy and you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s a lingering taste of honey on his tongue when he brushes it between your parted lips, and you can’t help but pull him in deeper for more.

The hand on your neck tightens significantly, Max’s breath tickling your upper lip as the other seizes around your under thigh and swiftly pulls you onto his lap.

A gasp flows out of your mouth and he greedily swallows it. You want to skin him alive when you feel him grin arrogantly, but then he presses a hand on your ass and lowers you flush against him—Him, and the massive bulge straining his black trousers—and the thoughts spill right out of your head into a gooey puddle beside your feet.

“I hate y— oh,” your murmur morphs into a shaky gasp when he rips his lips away from yours and attacks the canvas of your neck; you say those three words like you could them words into existence.

And I hate that I still want you so fucking bad; those eleven words are left unsaid like you expect him to read your mind. But Max couldn’t two years ago, and you know he can’t now.

Your hands glide over his muscular frame, relearning the sharp edges and smooth skin of his body and you moan breathily when Max sucks on the sweet spot beneath your ear. “Y’might hate me, baby, but your pussy doesn’t. Fuck, she’s dripping all ov’me.”

A pathetic whimper slips past your lips. He’s not wrong— you could feel your slick coating your panties and rubbing against Max’s pants. You were usually one to stand your ground, but fuck, you need him. Need him the same you did the first time you met, both young and inexperienced. Maybe more.

Probably more.

But he isn’t doing anything to relieve the ache between your thighs, so. Before you take matters into your own hands and grind your pussy against his covered dick, Max’s hands cup the mounds of your ass and lift you sideways to splay your body on the couch.

“Max,” you say like the breaths have been knocked out of your poor lungs, but it might not be so far from the truth.

Max positions himself in between your legs, hips and thick thighs parting them wide, and the itchy fabric against your naked skin spins your head in dizzying circles. You could fucking see the damp patch your slick left on his crotch. Your hips buck into the air; you hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

His dishevelled hair lay atop his head and you want to pull. His flush trails down his neck and you want to bite and kiss and mark it till pretty bruises litter his soft skin. Your hands and lips stay pliant under his body instead.

“Y’d only get this wet f’me, though, hm?” he groans when his fingers push your skimpy underwear to the side, unblinking like the sight of your glistening folds would disappear if he looked away.

I’m always like this for you, you feel the need to reassure, even when you aren’t here—especially when you aren’t here. But your blood still boils at his stupid hair and stupid smirk, so. He’s met with silence.

Growing impatient, Max slaps at your swollen clit, humming satisfactorily at the loud gasp you let out. He grazes his digits past the bundle of nerves, and your incessant need to murder him and fuck him till he realized he’d made a mistake letting you go only intensify.

“Answer me or I swear to fucking God I will leave you like this, shatje,” he ends up growling lowly, thick fingers hovering over your hole. “And then it’s your boyfriend’s problem.”

“Max, fuck off–”

The warm body abruptly stands up, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this cold. But the empty sensation doesn’t last long, anyway. Max barely has any time to walk away before your fingers latch onto his forearm tightly.

You splutter, “M-Max wait, wait.”

When he tilts his head down to meet your eyes with a raised brow, you have no recollection of what you'd even wanted to say.

“Please…please, just fucking help me.”

And apparently, that's all Max needs because his hands are immediately tugging your shirt off, lips trailing hot kisses in the divot of your tits. Your lips part around a moan when he purses his lips around your hard nipple, stomach stirring uncomfortably with need. His mouth leaves marks like cigarette burns in its wake; it stings against the wounds that have already healed years ago.

The Dutch doesn’t leave you much to dwell on before he lays between your thighs again, trails his hand across your body till his fingers nudge at your lips, and shoves his index and middle finger inside the wetness of your mouth. if you were slightly more desperate, you would've whimpered at the pleasent pressure on your tongue.

If.

“Fuck, lieverd,” Max exhales when you suck your cheeks in, wet muscle darting over and between his digits— wide, innocent eyes and all. “Can he get you like this? Fucking dripping and desperate for dick?”

You shake your head frantically because it’s true. Because he couldn’t, not like Max can. Satisfied, Max only presses against your throat slightly to watch you gag around him. He brings his hand back down to the space between your legs agonizingly slow and alas, pushes them both in like he’s in a rush.

“Max! Oh, oh m’God, fuck,” you gasp, the twinge of pain is quickly overshadowed by the hot pleasure bubbling in your lower stomach.

Your hips involountarily buck upwards into the fullness, but Max flattens his palm on your lower stomach to shove you down. Eyes rolling back and threading your fingers through his hair before tugging his insatiable mouth on your pussy.

“He doesn’t,” Max cuts himself off with a groan when his tongue flicks at your clit, familiar tasting slick pooling on his taste buds. “He doesn’t know you like I do, can’t make you cum as hard as I do, can he?”

He doesn’t expect a response; it isn’t even a question, as well as you’re aware. Max knows he’s the only person who can have you writhing and moaning on his fingers, cock, tongue— all three, one night.

And he’s right. But. Max’s control of the situation makes you feel queasy, so.

“No– ohh, fuckfuckfuck,” you moan, high and needy, when Max curls his fingers upwards, like a reward for agreeing with him. “He–, he fucks me better.”

From under you, Max’s face visibly dims, but you aren’t able to bask in the satisfaction it gives you before he drags his thick digits out of you—your hole clenching in protest, crying out at the emptiness when it fails to keep them inside—hooks his hands into the small of your waist, and your ass meets the hardwood floor.

“What the fuck–”

Your breath hitches when he flips you over on your elbows and knees. Back arched almost uncomfortably, furrowed brows with Max’s bruising hands on your hips to lift your ass further in the air.

When Scotty slips into bed tomorrow morning, you hope he’ll see the ugly hues of blue and green on your tainted body and leave soundlessly.

Shaking your head at the intrusive thought, you curse internally. Scotty’s nice, and you don’t deserve him. Not when you’re willingly presenting yourself to Max, the folds of your pussy connected by the lewd lines of his spit and your slick.

"Y’wanna act like a whore?" Max whispers hotly from behind you– his breath tickles your ear and his hands rise to your hair, gather your locks into a makeshift ponytail, and tug it forcefully to tilt your head back, making you wince. "I'll fucking treat you like one."

A string of your desperate whines fills Max’s ears like a symphony, and he groans with you when you begin to grind your ass backwards against his dick. His dick. Fuck, Max needs it wrapped around your tight walls, milking him for all he has; needs to watch you writhe on his cock like it was what you were made for.

“I hate you,” you repeat, much more breathless than the other times you said it, and Max has the audacity to laugh.

Though, you guess it has more to do with the fact that all the while you were saying those three words, you were still needily humping your ass against his covered dick.

You still are, and it’s driving him fucking insane. Max curses when he realizes he’s still trapped by the confines of his pants. Whoever thought wearing clothes was a good idea?

Clumsily and with only one hand whilst the other grips your hair, he fumbles out of his suit. And Max throws the articles of clothing mindlessly—on the couch, on the floor. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t fucking care.

A relieved sigh fills the room as the cool air wraps around his painfully hard cock. Your breath hitches when you feel the thick tip graze your pussy. His hand hastily grips at his base, aligns it to your folds, and coating it in your slick as he strokes it once, twice.

“Ah! Max, holy shit,” you blabber when his cock nudges against your swollen clit, and finally, thrusts his hips forward, the tip fitting snugly against your walls. “Oh, oh, fuck, moremoremore, please.”

And Max. Well, Max is doomed.

“Fuck, liefje, your pussy missed me so fucking bad, I know, I know,” Max coos when your hole clenches around him greedily, and spreads your cheeks with one hand, gazing obscenely at the sight of you sucking more and more of him inside.

The familiar stretch burns and yet your hips push back against his cock— three words ringing in your otherwise empty mind: full, full, fuller. Max’s hips stutter as he meets your movements halfway, fucking his stupidly massive cock into your wetness and tightening his hold on your hair.

You wish you could say you hate the pain as much as you hate him.

“Max, Max, Max,” you urge him as your eyes roll to the back of your head, but you don’t really know what for; your neediness took over your senses the moment Max kissed you.

But Max, he’d already memorized all of it— all your tells, those things that pushed you over the edge—, protected them inside a dust-covered chest buried in his mind. It was no surprise he knew what to do with you now, filling you to the brim and pounding into you ruthlessly.

“Yes! Yes! Mm fuck, please, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you sob happily, and Max wouldn’t fucking dare.

The man behind you tugs you upright with the hand on your hair, his chest flush heatedly against your back and tilting your head to pounce at your neck.

“Tell me,” Max growls slowly, slowing his assaults on your wet pussy, and now, you’re almost sure that your hate is reciprocated. “Tell me he means nothing to you.”

A loud yelp leaves your lips when he slaps your clit again, and a slight gush of slick slides down your walls, dripping lewdly onto his balls. Your hand reaches up to grip his hair and pulls his pillowy lips back onto your neck; tears brim at your waterline. You aren’t sure if it’s because of how badly you want to cum or miss him— you blink.

No, no, no. That wouldn’t be possible because. Because you don’t miss him.

“He’s nothing, Max, nothing compares to you,” you cry out, and Max falters.

Then, he pulls out.

“Huh? Wha…” You inhale sharply, feeling so stupidly empty.

Before you dig a hole for you and your pussy to crawl in and die, Max is swiftly turning you over by your hips and engulfing his dick in your walls again. Your mouth falls open again; Max takes it as an opportunity to press his lips against yours.

Your hands cradle his face and kiss him back gently like he isn’t fucking the life out of you. Like he isn’t projecting his pent up frustration for the last two years onto your wet, tight pussy. A muffled cry escapes your mouth when Max thrusts into you with newfound fervor.

His lips detach from yours, burrying his forehead into the crook of your neck to, hopefully, muffle his groans. “Max– ah! Oh m’God, I’m so close, please just.”

Max nods, wild and frantic and horny, slipping a hand between your sweaty bodies. He tweaks, pinches, and rubs at your clit until you let out a shriek and your thighs close instinctively around him.

He bottoms out, grinding helplessly inside the heat of your pussy. “Cum f’me, shatje, wanna feel you cum on m’cock. Fucking cum.”

And, well, if you were even the slightest bit good at denying Max, you wouldn’t even be in this position. So. You arch your back off the ground with a high, loud moan and savour the white specs in your vision that only Max seems to bring out of you.

He fucks you through your orgasm—chasing his own with short, wild thrusts. “Ah, fuckkk, if only y’were as good as y’pussy is to me, liefje, y’d be getting m’cock like this every fucking night— Fuck!”

Beads of Max’s thick cum fill you to the brim with a loud groan and a long string of curses, tainting your insides a heavenly white. His hips stutter when you clench around him, milking him for all he has just like he’d wanted. And, when Max pulls out with a shaky gasp, he takes another piece of your heart with him.

Maybe, if you make this same mistake enough, he’d realize he has your heart already, full and pieced together.

But Max was never one to take a hint, never one to read your mind, so you settle for the parts of him you can have once in a blue moon; you settle for him picking you up, carrying you to your bedroom, cleaning the mess between your legs, and pulling the covers above your naked frame; you settle for the scowl on his face when he notices the polaroid of you and Scotty on your bedside table.

“I hate y—”

Max leaves the room before you can finish your sentence.

He knows.

authors notes dedicating this to @enchantecafe + @scuderiahoney bcs they were hor knee for max on this poll (me too) i hope you guys like it and thank you to @cafekitsune for the dividers once again xx

i feel like this isn't my best work but i'll post it anyway because i spent a lot of time on it and yolo. also i think i fried my brain with it.

also, writing this fic made me realize idfk how to write angry sex it just ends up being angsty so. i think at times theyre angry but as they go on, some of that tension dissipitates and they both realize they want but cant have each other. tried my best tho!! xx

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🐢

taglist in separate posts bcs tumblr chooses to be annoying <33

p.s reblogs and likes are always appreciated 💚💚

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lonelystczennie · 1 month

Text

“I Like Being Yours”

Chan x Reader

Summary: Just a lil blurb about making Chan blush in the morning

Warnings: Suggestive, not proofread

A/N: Hey, I actually posted over here again!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"Morning." Chan's voice is low and raspy with sleep, his smile crooked against his pillow as he grins at you. "Sleep okay?"

"Mhm, even with your snoring." You said teasingly, stretching slowly.

You roll over to sit up next to him in the bed, huffing from the minimal effort. Staring down at him dreamily.

Chan’s stretched across the bed, body lax as he basks in the morning light that streams through the bedroom curtains. He's wearing a pair of loose shorts and nothing else, as usual for him, giving you a glorious view of his toned chest and arms.

"What's that look for?" He asked, even though he knows perfectly well, he can read your eyes better than anyone, but he still likes to hear you say it.

“I just like you.” You said simply, making him grin.

“Yeah?” He chuckled, reaching a hand over to rub your hip soothingly. “How come?”

“Cause you’re cute, and funny,” You lean over him, punctuating your words with the barest of kisses to his lips. “And sweet, and sexy, and kind, and handsome.”

“Sexy?” He blinked up at you in surprise.

“Yeah,” You chuckled. “What?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just never called me that before.” He said, blushing lightly.

“Well, we need to fix that, because I think you’re very sexy.” You said, sitting back up to look at him. “I think you’re sexy when you drive with only one hand, so you can hold onto my thigh or hand. I think you’re sexy when you’re focused working on a new song, and of course when you perform. And when you work out, cause I remember that you could throw or push me around if you wanted to, but you don’t because you’re a gentleman, which is also super sexy.”

His face flushed an even deeper shade red.

“And the little noise you make when we kiss.”

“What?!” He laughed. “What noise?”

“You make this cute little hum noise.” You grinned.

“Okay, I think I get it.” He said, hiding his face in pillows in embarrassment

“But I’m not done yet!” You giggled. “I also think your eyes are sexy, and your voice, and your laugh-”

“This list is getting long.” He complained.

“Well, that's because I think everything about you is sexy.” You said.

“Really?” He looked up at you softly.

“Yeah,” You said, pulling him closer. “I think my favorite though, is when you refer to yourself as my boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” He grinned up at you. “You like that?”

“Yeah,” You leaned in closer, letting your lips ghost over his as you spoke. “I like being yours.”

“I like that too.” He breathed, silencing you with a deep kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, gently carding your fingers through his hair, earning a contented hum from him.

You broke away with a breathless laugh.

“You just made the sound.” You giggled against his mouth.

“I’ll do more than that.” He promised, flipping you over onto the mattress.

Tags: @bethanysnow

#stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan blurbs #bang chan drabbles #skz x reader #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz x y/n #stray kids blurbs #stray kids timestamps #bang chan timestamps #lonelystczennie

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kechiwrites · 8 months

Text

gentle touch

könig x massage therapist!reader kinktober countdown day 5 (body worship)

synopsis: oh, the military boys were your favourite.

wc: 2.8k

cw: massage therapist reader doing bad medical-ish practice, body worship, light sub!konig, mentions of edging, hand jobs, a little oral as a treat, biting, konig being petnamed as he should (honey), size kink, hints at touch starvation, groping, begging, uncut konig, afab!reader, no gendered pronouns or language.

author's note: i know his dick hex code and it's glorious. mdni.

He’s your last appointment of the day. And what a fucking day it had been, ten hours that should’ve been eight, cinnamon scented candles instead of eucalyptus, a rushed lunch because a client had shown up early, not taking “I’m on break” for an answer.

You knock on the faux bamboo door, waiting for your appointment to allow you entry. When he does, so quietly you almost miss it, you open the door, only for your eyes to land on a broad, strong back, still wrapped in a dark grey long sleeve. He turns slightly, just enough for you to see the thin stubble on his chin, cheek and jaw.

"Hello! I didn't catch you undressing did I?" This time he turns all the way around and you are sure your swallow is audible. Hell, you hope it's audible, you want this dude to know just how impressed you are with what you're seeing.

"No." He shakes his head, rubbing his aquiline nose against the inside of his wrist. It must’ve been broken once before, if the uneven bump on his bridge is anything to go by. Why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You eat up the motion, eyes tracking every twitch or movement of his massive arms.

“Oh…" you're ogling him. You need to stop ogling him. "I actually need you to strip down.” The words burn on your tongue. You must say that a thousand times a work week, but this time, when you say it to him, it sounds…dirty. Like a shitty porn set up. Makes your clean white polo feel vacuum sealed to your skin. He takes a step towards you and you shudder a breath, tensing until you realize he’s getting closer to the lockers to your left.

He’s huge, you think, and when he still doesn’t look up at you, content to let the strands of dark brown hair, nearly black hair, hang in his face, you figure he’s shy too.

Cute.

“And you can use the towel to maintain modesty, Mr. König.” You get the inflection of his name wrong, you know because you’d googled it prior, held your phone to your ear in the staff washroom and listened to a soft spoken German man lilt it to you. There’s a hard ‘g’ on the end where it shouldn’t be, and you apologize, trying again to master it. “König.”

“Right.” He murmurs, “Just around my waist, yes?”

Or it could go on the floor and I could rub my clit on your abs.

“Yes, sir. Around your waist.”

You exit the room, closing it softly behind you. You figure you’ll use the few minutes you have to get a bottle of water, or a sedative. Something strong enough to bring you back down to your customary professional detachment.

When you return, he’s where you expect him to be. Face down on his stomach, his head in the cushioned hole. “S-sorry.” He speaks, voice muffled by his position. The apology comes immediately upon the sound of the door closing and you worry his large frame has cracked the massage table or something. You peer around him, looking for any chunks of polished wood or loose screws.

When you don’t find anything you realize he’s apologizing for his scars, the pit marks of bullets dug out in haste and healed with spite, lacerations haphazardly stitched, then redone a second time with the careful, practiced hands of a doctor in no rush.

“Oh, please don’t be. We get military boys all the time. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” You murmur, and it’s a lie of course. Not that you’ve seen scars, of course, you’ve seen some really storied skin in your time here, being near a base and all. No, it was the man who was an oddity. Mandy at the front desk told you that he’d had to duck through the front door.

His skin is also ultra pale in a way military men usually aren't. Near transparent, the sprawling blue lines of his veins thread underneath his skin, and you can see yourself getting distracted tracing some of the pathways with your fingers.

He hums, and you hope you’ve put him at ease a little bit. You haven’t even touched him yet and the tension in his back is glaring. Anxious people tended to hold a lot of stress, anxious soldiers? You’re just glad he’d booked a two hour instead of the customary hour and twenty.

The oil is cold straight from the bottle and you warm it between your palms before you make contact. He’s warm to the touch, bridging on hot, and he flinches when your hands meet his skin. “Was that too cold?” He groans, but doesn’t affirm or deny it, so you figure it must just be the contact. Slowly, you begin with his calves, tending to and pushing on knotted muscle and tense areas, working out kink after kink, soothing his compounded aches. The oil smoothes down his leg hair and you must be going insane because even that is hot to you. His thighs are even worse, strong and muscled and dimpled in the sweetest places. He shivers when your palms glide over his inner thighs, and he clenches them together when your fingers brush the hem of the towel shielding his ass from your greedy view. As quickly as it happens, he relaxes, murmuring another apology. You hum your own response, and push your thumb into an adorable cluster of moles you see just under the towel.

By the time you get to his lower back, König is almost purring, his gentle breathing often interrupted by drawn out, guttural moans. Whines and whimpers that make your blood hot. He’s holding the worst of his tension there, and you have to lean almost all your body weight into the motions of the massage. His hips jerk up and then down just as sharply when you crest your palm over her shoulder blades, and you don’t imagine the keening noise he makes as he grips the massage table. You’re used to military clients being a lot more stoic but it seems Mr. König is most assuredly not the sort. You reach his neck, framing his throat with your palms and using your thumbs to rub firm circles into his nape. His breath hitches and you find yourself cooing. “Breathe for me, I got you.” The soldier’s hips snap downward again, this time hard enough to shift the table beneath him. Which is more than enough to make you pause.

No.

It couldn’t be.

The soft music and sound of the water feature on the wall nearly drown out the curse König whispers, but you catch it, and can’t stop your lips from curling into a pleased little smile. This was just too good. You start to finish up his neck, brushing some of his hair out of the way so you can rub your fingertips into the skin just below his earlobes. You guide him to turn over and when he doesn’t respond, you wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

“Mr. König?”

He makes a wordless groaning noise low in his throat, laying motionless.

“I need you to turn over, honey.” You don’t even realize you’ve pet-named a grown man you don’t know. Which is just as well, because it seems to be what the soldier needs, and he rises from the table, clutching the towel in a tight fist to maintain his scant modesty.

You turn towards the side table, pouring more oil into your palm. When you return to face him, you witness why exactly he was so reluctant to face the ceiling.

He’s at least half-hard, a very noticeable ridge lifting his towel. You can’t stop staring at it, even though you know König is trying his best to ignore it. You circle around him, and begin at the foot of the table, going through the massage cycle again; feet, calves, thighs, arms. You zone out, following through your motions, listening to the man beneath groan and sigh his contentment. You reach his chest, spreading your hands over his pecs. They’re big, just like the rest of him, you think and it’s hard not to fucking drool on him. He’s firm but soft, still pleasantly warm, despite being exposed to slightly below room temperature air. He shifts again when you hit a stubborn knot right below his collarbone, and you pause to check in.

“Still good?”

His breathing is uneven, shuddering and laboured. His hands clench and relax from white knuckled fists.

“Yes.” he hisses through gritted teeth, and you’re worried he’s undoing every bit of relaxation you’ve tried to bring him. It’s painfully clear where the stress is coming from, hidden underneath a paltry white towel, the enticing elephant in the room. You put your hands back on him.

Still got 45 minutes left, after all.

You try your best not to look smug, and you fail miserably.

Every stroke and rub you perform across his chest makes his cock jerk and twitch under the towel. You can practically see the cloudy drops of precum that’d be beading as his tip. Your thumb nail skates across his pectoral and catches his nipple and the whine he makes is so sweet you just have to do it again. Soon, you’re barely massaging him, groping the poor man under the guise of your job. A weak grunt snaps you out of your reverie, and when you glance down his abdomen at that godforsaken towel, you can’t stop the quiet gasp of shock you release at his erection. “Ah, I’m so sorry. Very sorry” His flush spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, a gorgeous stewed cherry colour that overwhelms the pale skin you’d worked into submission. His eyes are screwed shut when you can bear to drag your eyes from his cock to his face. His soft, pink mouth is pulled down at the corners, and the heavy, dark slashes of his eyebrows are furrowed together, creating a wrinkle between them you want to smooth out with a kiss.

“It happens all the time. Are you alright to continue?” Your voice is deceptively calm, serene and soft, when all you really want to do is snatch the towel off the battering ram he’d smuggled in here. Your blood thrums, and you ache at the sight of it, at the mere thought of the ungodly stretch he’d put you through.

You will yourself to keep your hands where they are, force yourself to look literally anywhere else. The faux waterfall ahead of you, the wireless speaker droning pleasant, melodic mood music, fuck, you even try staring at the dimmed light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. But every cry and whine forces your eyes down, tempts you to catalogue every inch of flushed skin and threaded muscle. You gnaw on your own lip, and find your hands drifting down, back around his abdomen. You’ve worked through the area already, there is no excuse to be down there, to slip your finger tips under the towel, to push your digits into the skin around his pelvis. “Is this okay?” You have the gall to ask, when you push your fingers lower still, and basically sign your own severance package. Oh but it’d be worth it, to get what you want, to make this big strong man sob with pleasure, to have his mouth on your throat while you stroked him to completion. The memory of his cock in your hand will keep you warm in the unemployment line.

König nods, turns his head towards you but doesn’t open his eyes. His hips cant upwards again, and his towel shifts, parting to reveal his angry, desperate hard-on. He raises a hand from the massage table, letting his mammoth paw land on your hip. He squeezes you, and exhales sharply through his nose when his thumb touches your bare skin, skating over your flesh underneath your work shirt. “Say it.” You mutter and his eyes crack open, just wide enough for you to spot the crystalline blue of his irises between his inky black lashes.

“Please.”

And that’s all you need.

He’s uncut, and the veins blanketing the length of his cock are visible under his foreskin. Pretty in a way you aren’t used to, a denser blush than the rest of his body, but still quite pale. It feels like your hand is moving in slow motion towards it, your fingers twitching in anticipation. The heat of his dick warms your skin before you even make contact, and when you do, wrapping your fingers around the root of it, your fingertips can’t touch. You press your lips together and try not to squeal happily, glee crinkling your eyes.

God is real and he’s an uncircumcised cock on a shy giant.

König’s erection is searingly hot. Soft skin and hard core, jerking in your palm, leaking steadily, nudging at your hand, insistent. Your brain is working full steam and connections necessary to utilize common sense are still not being made. Slowly, you tighten your hold on him, the weight of it is so imposing, you wouldn’t be surprised if imprints of the veiny surface were branded onto your hand once you withdrew. If you ever withdrew. You should fucking withdraw.

You do not withdraw. Instead, you slide your hand up slowly, choking up on the head of his cock before dragging your grip back down. You chance a glance up at his face, watching his Adam’s apple bob with each laboured swallow. The poor man’s jaw clenches and relaxes while you slide your palm over his flesh again and again. Somehow, he hardens further and your eyes widen impossibly larger, the pit of your stomach doing somersaults at the idea of where you want that thing to go, what you want it to do. You get fevered flashes of König bending you over the massage table in your mind, hands on your hips, rutting without sense or logic into you, so hard the surface scrapes against the floor, all while he sobs, his overwhelmed, overstimulated tears splashing against your back while he rearranged your insides. The head of his cock is exposed every time you slide your hand down towards his pelvis. By the third peek, you’re dragging the pointed end of your tongue over the tip of his dick, licking against his head, and coating your mouth with the taste of him. He grips at your side harder, his fingers digging into your hip as he chases the warmth of your mouth. He keens loud, almost mewling when you pull off him, using your spit to ease your hand’s path. By this point, your handiwork is audible, noisy and wet, König’s voice filling the small room. You use your free hand to guide his head to your chest, letting him bend toward you, press his nose into your tits while he begs for you to finish him.

“Are you gonna come, Mr. König?” You thread your fingers in his hair, letting your nails scratch against his scalp, drift down to his nape and up to his crown again.

“Yes, please, please. Fuck.” His voice is reedy and thin, and he wraps his arm around your waist, burying his face deeper in your chest. And then his whole body trembles, and his hips roll towards you, and for a fleeting minute you consider edging the poor bastard, sliding your hand completely off his cock and watching it twitch violently, uselessly in the air.

But he begs so sweetly. And his next session was already pre-booked.

The hand you kept on his head leaves his hair, and you rub the head of his cock with your flat open palm, jerking him off with firm, fast strokes. He bites down on the curve of your breast, and you’re grateful he still managed to retain enough brain cells to not break skin.

“Do it then. Come, honey.” You trill, feeling his tears wet your skin through your shirt. It’s almost instantaneous, so fast it’s kind of impressive. His body goes bowstring-tight, and he squeezes you so hard it almost hurts. Ropes of sticky white seed shoot from his cock, covering your hand and his spasming abdomen. You slide your hand up, milking just the first two inches of him through his orgasm, until he stops your movements himself, covering your hand with his own.

When you finally break contact, you stare at your hand for what feels like ages, thick beads of his cum rolling down your palm, sliding to your wrist. You extricate yourself from his hold, using your clean hand to brush his sweat damp hair from his forehead. You press that kiss you wanted to the space between his brows. Why start restraining yourself now? His body shivers periodically, and you turn to the sink, to wash your hands clean, clenching your own thighs together, his moans and sighs echoing in your mind. You turn to face him, grinning wide and cheery,

“So...I’ll see you next week?”

hoe, you are getting fired! at least you got a man outta it though.

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