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nonnieapple · 2 months ago

Note

Afk journey, Sinbad, trans male/gender neutral reader, nsfw fanfiction. (I love this man very much)🤍

⛈️☂️Hook, Line, and Sinker☂️⛈️

• (Sinbad x trans!male!Reader)

• r a t i n g: e x p l i c i t • 4 1 4 0 w o r d s

• p o s t e d: 01.11.2024🌧️ navigation

n o t e: sinbad is so hot, i wish men were real :( s u m m a r y: sinbad walks in at the worst possible time, and the following events complicate your relationship further.

It was nearing night, and the hamsters were fast asleep as well as most guests of the inn.

When Sinbad walked into your room, you were staring out of the window with a wistful look, like the look his mothers had when they gazed out at the sea, remembering their husbands, lost forever to the fog and unrelenting waves. He wondered who you longed after, if anyone. Maybe you longed for home. Or for something he couldn't possibly imagine.

Before he closed the door, you broke the silence.

"You dare disturb my rest?"

Even turned away, you heard him. Your voice sent tingles up his leg. The room veered towards cold, the windows open, making the curtains flutter like sails.

"You're really living it up in here," Sinbad remarked, inviting himself to sit down on the fancy armchair flanked by another and a couch in the west of your room.

He hadn't ever been in it yet, and he was sure you wouldn't mind if he just sprawled out a little, he stretched, his boots hitting the leg of the short table. Lit candles sitting upon golden thrones flickered on it. Two glasses and a bottle were there as well.

"As I should, I was to have a vacation, and I'm still getting it, Cedartown or not." You made your way to the couch, your visage somewhat blurry from all the glamour swallowing up your form, the air around you swaying.

If he looked at you too long, he could see something was terribly wrong. It was not something anyone could notice at first, or at second sight, only those looking for it might begin to pull at the thread. He stopped examining you. He wasn't sure what he'd find.

You were like the fog that had almost killed him- leading him in mental circles until he went mad trying to get himself out of it.

Sinbad's leg jerked when you approached. You stood, close, your robe made of small, black, and knitted net. It should've revealed everything you wore under it- instead, everything around your chest and hips darkened and blurred.

The magic that wafted off you made his head spin. Or maybe it was that he drank too much. Sinbad sighed shakily as you ghosted your touch over his face, your eyes sharp and inhuman. The next second, they turned warm.

"Did you drink that swill again? Here, drink something good for once."

He barely caught the bottle you threw into his arms, and he thought, somewhat incredulously, You're too kind.

But, really, Magister- I don't know what to think of you. One second you wanna kill me and the next you're my savior.

I'll never know who you are, will I?

His eyes skimmed over the label. Dark liquid sloshed within darker green walls. "Woah! Fancy stuff. It's actually red."

The wine he was used to at most establishments was pale, watered down to save costs. You shrugged. You must've been used to good wine, good food, good people. He envied you.

"It's from an... old friend."

The way you said that with so much hesitance made his heart drop.

"They must be rich."

Sinbad popped open the bottle and poured himself some. He might as well indulge, and your room was a good place to do that. Upon second thought it might be questionable.

He had to hold back on drinking. He couldn't afford to do something stupid.

"Beyond that, and a massive drunkard I could never deny, but as I don't drink I have no use for his gifts." You took up the whole couch, propping up your head with a hand, the other playing idly with the belt of your delicate robe.

If he was to be mean, he'd liken you to a fish caught in a net, but he couldn't lie, you were more of a siren.

You hummed.

"I guess I could have a glass."

You poured yourself nearly half the bottle, and swallowed a third of the glass, drinking like a fish. He struggled not to gawk at you.

"Old friend... bet you have plenty of those. Not like it bothers me," he tacked on at the end, scratching at his scalp lightly.

The fireplace crackled and sputtered red. Strange, it gave off no warmth. Was it magic? Sheesh, what about you wasn't magic?

The rug beneath his boots was sure real, and a real good rug, too. If he were to get piss drunk he'd choose the rug over the street to pass out on. Oh, there were even pillows on the floor. Perfect.

"I mean it. We were friends, he isn't an old flame- as far as I know."

As far as you knew?

"You sure about that?" He raised a brow.

"Quite. Though one actual old flame, I wonder how she's doing. It's been a while, I last saw her in Holistone, it has been months since then. Damn Hogan for sending me on this "vacation", now I'm stuck in the middle of the sea with no idea when I'll see him or Valen. He should've gone with me."

Pushing aside his slight offense at the Rustport slander, you had mentioned General Hogan and Valen a few times. One was a Magistrate and, guess what, General of Holistone, the other some swashbuckling knight who, as he understood it, was hitting on you.

"Well, I'm glad he didn't."

"Hm? Why is that?" You smirked, your eyes glimmering like the wine you swished in your hand.

If Sinbad was pale, you would've seen his face lose color in an instant.

"I mean- I meant- he would've drowned in his armor, is all! It would've been worse than what happened to Chippy."

He drank quickly so he couldn't see your gloating expression.

"You're holding your glass like you're throttling a neck."

Even if he drank and drank, he still heard your voice, and if he plugged his ears, you'd get into his mind, too.

He couldn't tell if that was a way to hint at his discomfort or point out his terrible manners.

"I'm not much of a wine drinker."

You, on the other hand, held your glass between your thumb and forefinger ever so lightly. That fucking hand was calling him poor just at a glance.

"This better?" He emulated the way you did it, though it was nowhere near as graceful.

"Much better. The wine compliments your shirt."

The red, satin shirt, an illusion you cast, felt good nonetheless, and the wine was divine. It was bright, just sweet enough, and with a hint of berries and zest. It tasted more like the few fruits he had tried than the usual- as you put it- "swill" he drank.

It settled warmly in his chest, with the occasional sour tingle in his cheeks.

Sinbad didn't want to leave your room. It was fancy, and more importantly, it had wine AND you.

"How've you been?" You said between sips, your expression softening.

"Good. I've been spending a lot of time poking around the ship, avoiding going to Brineville so I don't have to explain myself. Things are better than before I met ya, anyway, I can finally do what I want, and... everything's so calm."

It was strange to not have to think about every little expense anymore for the village now that no one threatened its safety, and he was essentially a "hero". Sure, he still had to make money somehow and Rustport was as rusty as ever, but so much had been lifted off his shoulders.

By you, no less.

He'd said he'd repay you. That nagged at his mind sometimes. What could you possibly want?

It was nothing to worry about. It wouldn't be worse than what he had gone through.

"Planning on leaving soon?"

If he wasn't mistaken, he saw you frown ever so slightly.

"Not yet. I've got a lot to do here before I leave. What about you?"

You threw back your head and let your hair spill over the edge of the couch.

"You know, been here and there, helping people as I do, went fishing with my familiars. I like helping people and spending time with them but I do need alone time."

That was why the hamsters were in another room. Sinbad had to admit, they were cute and had grown on him. You truly were the most precious thing he had ever found washed up on the beach. He'd be no one without you.

"Are you leaving soon?"

You shook your head. "I want to stay a bit longer, until you leave, I suppose. I won't have much to do then. I'm dealing with people's problems rather quickly."

Of course, you weren't staying only for him. You were busy.

"I'm glad you're staying a bit longer." He couldn't imagine being without you now. You were the closest friend he'd had. Everyone wanted something from him, and you had asked for the least, always generous, if quirky.

You smiled, returning his giddy expression, which he hadn't noticed himself pull.

He felt his face get warmer. Must've been all the wine.

He and you listened to the crackling of the fire, finishing your glasses. You lounged like a cat. You were the image of peace when you closed your eyes. He rolled up his sleeves, feeling somewhat hot all of a sudden. He waited for you to kick him out, it'd happen sooner or later.

You watched from under your lashes.

"I was surprised that you had tattoos, though they are common here," you said.

He had helm tattoos on each forearm. "Funny story, I got them when I was drunk, like, extremely. I don't remember where or how exactly I got them." At least they healed fine and he had not felt much pain. He hadn't felt much at all.

"They suit you well." Your eyes lingered for a while.

"I have more that you haven't seen." He smirked, putting on that smooth-talking persona again.

"Although tempting, you won't smooth-talk me, Sinbad," you said sternly.

He sighed. A guy had to try. You were so damn hard to scam and trick, it was annoying. You were one of the only people immune to his charms. You were looking at him like he was a helpless animal. Again.

Instead of words of pity, he was hit with:

"You look upset. Mope in another room, I'm exhausted," you said, yawning and turning away from him unceremoniously.

He left with a huff.

"Good night to you too, Magister Merlin."

...

"Good night."

He should've been asleep.

Sinbad crept across the hall towards your newly luxurious room, careful not to make a sound, like he was escaping from a dungeon (like he had many times).

Sinbad cracked open your door. Strange, he left it unlocked, he thought. The room was dark and silent except for the sounds of the breeze coming in through the windows, like breaths.

You seemed to be asleep, as far as he could tell. He was sure he had heard something from your room. Maybe it had been the wind.

"Magister?" he said into the black, closing the door behind himself. It was not entirely dark, he noticed as he moved towards your canopy bed, as there was a lone candle burning close to the window.

The fireplace had no remains of smoldering wood.

The windows- they were closed shut. The sound was not from there. Had it been the draft instead? If this was how noisy the good rooms were, he'd go complain to Bols later.

Sinbad pushed past the closed curtains of the canopy bed, the fabric heavy and lush, a velvet he hadn't even dreamed of touching before, with much trepidation, his heart tense, ready for a beast to lunge at him any moment.

He didn't see what happened, it happened swiftly, the shape in the bed shifting loudly. The sound of the breeze halted.

"Ah, Sinbad. I was just thinking of you," you said, and it was undeniably you, your voice quiet yet clear, a little exasperated, your breathing so shallow he would've believed you if you said you had run around the whole of Rustport in a minute.

He would've believed you if you hadn't been in your bed all this time.

"Why aren't you asleep?" he stammered with wide eyes, gaze lost as he adjusted, making out your fuzzy shape. It was leaner than usual. He sensed none of your usual glamours on you.

"I could ask the same of you."

He leaned his knee on the bed, and you moved away.

"Some noise woke me up, and I thought it came from your room. Was I right?" He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, seeing that you lay rigid and didn't want him to come near you. To him, it seemed that something had happened, and you were uncooperative as to what.

One of his jobs was to get information. Clearly, he wasn't much good at it with you around.

"Did something happen, Magister? You're worrying me." His brows lowered over his honey-brown eyes.

"You didn't knock. You should leave my room." The light brightened against your face. Your skin was dewy and your hair was disheveled, the bedsheets in disarray. You were a mess.

The Merlin, a mess?

"I did know- and- you can't kick me out again!" He leaned over you as you leaned against cushiony pillows.

You pushed on his chest to get him away, your hand hot and humid.

"... Are you dense or what?" you snapped. "What do you think I'm doing in a dark room, alone, in my bed, gasping for air?"

His face transitioned from bewilderment to horror.

Oooh.

Embarrassment hit him like a wave. Holy Tritonus, he had heard you moaning. In this case, he was dense beyond belief. And the reason you were recoiling wasn't because something was wrong, it was, because, well. He chose the worst possible time to intrude.

And the reason your frame seemed leaner now was because you had no glamours concealing your body indeed, and no clothes besides that robe. He could see your bare skin between the fabric you held together with a tense hand.

He had trouble not looking. And it wasn't the wine, that had long left his system.

"Shit, I... I didn't..."

He had no excuse, and so close to you, caging you in, neither of you could escape, captured in the world's most awkward stalemate. The words drowned in the depths of his mind.

"You said you were thinking about me earlier. Do you mean...?" he trailed off, his voice mumbling and strained. Everything felt like a dream. He'd pinch himself if he wasn't frozen.

"I left the door open for you. I didn't expect you to come."

Sinbad's breathing had accelerated. He had already had thoughts about you. He couldn't possibly resist anything you asked him to do. That hint of servitude remained in him, and he was all eager to please.

"I'm here." He tried to smile, but it came out rather strained.

You pulled him in by tangling your hands in his freshly dried hair. Your lips were one push away.

He had already gotten ready for bed- his skin infused with whatever fancy soaps he managed to snatch this time. It mixed with that woody scent of a faraway home that clung to you no matter how many times you got drenched with rain or seawater.

"So?"

He felt your every breath. Berries.

"So..."

You kissed him first.

You were far from a reserved, shy mage. You nipped at his lip and broke the kiss just to piss him off.

He cursed like the sailor he was. Next thing he knew, his boots were lost in the dark along with his scarf (it felt like sacrilege to wear it during this), his shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned by your nimble fingers. You traced over the anchor tattoo between his collarbone and shoulder.

That wasn't how he expected you to find it.

Your hips were fuller than they appeared, filling him with thoughts he couldn't possibly speak, and your waist was small, perfect for holding when he-

Your chest wasn't quite... flat. That made him stop. His silent question hung in the air.

"I'm trans," you said, amused at how he was surprised by you again and again. You had hidden your chest to a point where he couldn't have guessed.

He had never been with someone like you (in any sense), but he didn't mind.

Your chest was soft, each breast perfectly fitting into his hand. At each caress and pull you reacted accordingly. It was his turn to be amused, and he was enjoying it immensely.

Your face and voice did not falter, the only thing betraying your feelings being your shallow breathing. Would your breaking point be easy to reach, or would he reach his first?

Goosebumps raised on your thighs when he felt them up with his calloused fingers. Only the richest of the rich could have pristine hands in Rustport. Sinbad spread your legs with little resistance from you, his hand wrapping around most of your thighs' circumference.

His hand dipped between your legs. You were wet, the wetness covering parts of your inner thighs. The hotness ignited a fever in him, a fever he hadn't felt in a long time, and never so strongly. Most of his prior fucks were hookups, and sometimes, to get out of uncomfortable situations in his jobs. They didn't happen often and he hardly looked forward to them. With you, he could hardly stop his hands and other body parts of his from thrusting right into you. You were by far the hottest guy he'd been with.

At the rough touch on your clit you jolted with a soft sigh, your legs closing on instinct, but they were stopped by Sinbad being in the way.

The thought crossed his mind that you were surrounded by others from all sides, and at any second, anyone could walk in. He didn't mind- he liked a bit of danger.

"How are you feeling?" he whispered close to your ear, hand exploring all the places that could feel best for you. He would make sure you'd remember this as a positive memory, and even if you left and never saw him again, the scene would stick in your mind.

"I've been better," you said with a shortness of breath, but impressively coherently.

"Don't you think this is a bad time for jokes?" Would you still talk like that if he filled you up? Would your face still be so serene?

"It's a perfect time for-" he interrupted you as he slid his finger over your clit over and over again, making your legs tremble and your brows lower. He might've not been experienced, but he was a quick learner.

After he got you to a point where you were panting and your pulse hammered relentlessly, he lowered his finger to your entrance, teasing it. You covered your mouth. A thin string, like fishing line, followed his hand as he withdrew.

Sinbad began with one finger, your tight walls even hotter than your wetness. Fuck. It felt amazing on his fingers. It might've made him cum instantly if he tried fucking you like that.

"Relax your muscles, there's no need to be tense," he said soothingly.

You visibly stopped straining and let him push his finger in fully. It circled your smooth cervix. You were pretty shallow inside.

He was clueless at that point, unsure of what to do for you.

"Curl your finger towards yourself."

Now you were the one close to his ear, leaning on his shoulders so he could have better access and less lewd sounds would be heard.

When he curled it as you said, he felt a spongy tissue that gave way under his prodding. You bit into his shoulder with little regard for how much that shit hurt. It would leave a mark, or even better, a scar. Yay. One more to the arsenal. He would have a hard time explaining that one, as it was in a visible place between his neck and shoulder muscles.

He groaned at the pain, pulling you halfway onto him. One hand of his rubbed your clit, and the other, inside you. You must've been leaving a hickey judging by the slight tingle on his neck. It made him harder than he already was.

Feeling every little groove inside and outside you couldn't be replicated by just ramming his dick in, and he thanked you that you had made the choice, since he was unwise- in general.

"What would your love-struck Knight think, Magister?" He pressed his lips into your shoulder. Slim, but surprisingly muscled from carrying every situation you got into on your shoulders.

You'd look good on top of him. With other people, his mind veered into nonsense and mundane thoughts of what he'd have for breakfast. Right now all he could think about was you, you in every way, in every angle, his. Everyone was right- he was greedy. Just not about money.

"Getting fingered by someone you met, what, a month ago? If even that?" Sinbad smirked, making sure you saw his expression. You bit your lip and gazed at him like you were oh so woeful. Would you tell the Knight what you'd done tonight? He didn't care if you did or not, but if you did, Sinbad would've loved like to see his face.

"He'd be jealous, I bet," you stuttered out with each thrust and curl of his finger, and when he added a second, you were reduced to adorable huffs and sighs, far from the virtuous Magister Merlin out in Rustport streets, a man of class and poise. A man who was now gasping for air with Sinbad's fingers deep in his cunt.

He kissed from the swell of your chest, up to your collarbones and neck. You were not a man, not a human, you were a dream, a fog a foolish sailor like him would lose himself in.

Screw him trying to make you never forget him. He'd never forget you, as he fell for you hook, line, and sinker, a fish falling for bait. He would never find someone like you. Someone who so easily saw through his tricks and had him willingly serve.

He could do it every night, sneaking in, fucking you whichever way you wanted him to, and acting like nothing was afoot.

You got him.

He kept gently fingering you as you gasped in an orgasm, one quite notable, your body going soft against his, your skin sticky and heart pounding.

What he had done felt automatic, like his body wasn't entirely his, his rhythm mechanical in nature, following your every whim and whine. He had just gotten you off, willingly, giddily, even, and enjoyed it.

That had been a first for him.

The first thing you said to him once you regained your breath and composure was: "Go wash your hands."

What a sweet way to snap him out of it.

It was fortunate that you had a bathroom attached to your bedroom. He didn't feel keen on doing a walk of shame through the halls.

The mirror revealed to him how hard you'd bitten him, leaving not only a hefty tooth mark, but even a hickey, too high for his scarf to hide. He cursed you inside his mind. All things considered, it was expected to have him do whatever he wanted to you, not the other way around. If you told him to jump into the sea right this second he probably would've done it. A flush was blooming across his face, not too obvious, but there.

You were next in the bathroom, and when you returned, Sinbad was on your bed, grinning. He did not budge a muscle.

"You're not kicking me out again, Magister. This handsome face needs its beauty sleep."

"I'll allow it," you said, tucking yourself in on the other side. Sinbad lay curled to take up as little space as possible. It wasn't exactly comfortable. You neared him, tugging his arms around your back, and you entwined under the thick blanket.

Hook, line, and sinker.

He didn't want the morning to arrive and so cruelly take you away. He'd savor every moment he had with you. For once in his life, he did not feel bound to you by duty, but by the call of his heart, similar to how he felt about the sea. Like the sea, you'd pull him in, and keep him wallowing in feelings so alien.

Did you know what you did to him? He didn't need you to. He just needed you close.

"Good night," he said.

"Seriously this time?"

"Seriously, I promise."

The lone candle flickered out.

#w r i t i n g #☂️#a f k j o u r n e y #afk journey #afk journey x reader #afk sinbad #afk sinbad x reader

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miraclewoozi · 1 year ago

Text

[ 22:38 ] - b.sk

pairing : seungkwan x fem reader. content : smut. literal pwp. (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT.) w/c : 1.5k. notes : i’m down horrendous for boo seungkwan and his fucking hands. what else is new? SMUT TAGS UTC. notes 2.0 : my first timestamp! wow. how fun. (i honestly just needed to get this out of my system, so. sorry about it.) boosadans, u guys are are so starved. pls accept this little token of my love to you.

smut tags : soft!dom seungkwan, sub!reader. swearing (obv). physical restraining (if you squint there’s maybe the tiniest implication of a size kink but not really?), some possessiveness but it’s minimal and mc likes it, unwrapped piv sex (he pulls out but still. be safe out there team), nipple play, clit stimulation, praise, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart), some orgasm control. LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANYTHING.

Both of your wrists fit so perfectly in just one of his hands.

It’s the best revelation he’s ever made. In the months you’ve been together, there have never really been any true power dynamics at play in the bedroom, both of you always too caught up trying to please instead of dominate. But when you release your hands from where they’ve been tangled in his hair and they fall onto the mattress just above your head, something clicks inside him. Seungkwan finds himself now gently pinning your arms down to your bed sheets as he leans over you, his long fingers spread wide to keep you in place, his hips rocking against you rhythmically. Just hard enough to rile you up. Just a little too slow to have you shaking.

It’s perfect, Seungkwan thinks, because it keeps his other hand free to use however he desires. He can cup your cheek, and murmur ‘my pretty baby’ at you as your eyes roll back into your head. He can toy with your nipples, if he wants, and tell you how perfect your tits look when he thrusts hard enough to make them bounce. He can grip your waist, holding you still as he fucks into you slightly rougher, watching your smooth skin depress under his touch.

He can even tease his fingers over your clit and make you squeeze your sweet little pussy around his cock. That’s his favourite, he thinks. By the way you react, it might just be yours, too.

“Harder,” you gasp as he readjusts his hold on your wrists, and he looks down his nose at you with that raised eyebrow, sideways smirk signature he has. You swallow, biting your lip briefly before you say, “fuck— please, Kwannie. Hold them tighter.”

“Oh, princess,” he coos, cock throbbing at how you sound so angelic and beautifully fucked out. More-so as you whine in desperation when his fingers curl more harshly, giving you enough pressure to immobilise your hands entirely. “Is this it? This how you like it?”

“Yes,” you tell him, nodding and tugging against his hold, testing it, but it’s to no avail as he presses you further into the sheets, rolling your clit now between his thumb and forefinger on his other hand. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Not yet,” he interrupts you, shaking his head with a pout that you’re almost inclined to believe is condescending. “You can’t come yet, okay?”

Well, fuck. You’ve never been too good at holding your orgasms off, and thankfully Seungkwan has very, very rarely asked you to try. He loves the way you feel around him when you unravel, and he’s always so eager to get you off before he does that the moment you tell him you’re close, it’s music to his ears. You’re just so velvety around him. So warm and wet and he sometimes feels bad that he can’t always last that long, but it’s all your fault for being so damn perfect.

You try your best, but you don’t even have anything to grab onto. You can only ball your hands into fists to try and anchor yourself as he snaps and snaps and snaps his hips into you, as he pinches and massages at the bundle of nerves between your thighs. That little smirk makes a comeback on his features, but you don’t notice. Not until —

“Wish you could see yourself right now,” he sighs as he angles his thrusts a little bit deeper and your eyes fly open, your lips parting in a squeak of surprise at how far up in your stomach you feel him. “God, you’re doing so well, baby. Feels like this pussy was made for me.”

It makes your head spin. This is the first time he’s ever said anything like this in bed — he’s usually so… shy, so decorous. But thinking about how every vein in his cock must surely leave imprints on your insides, how the fucking your cunt takes multiple times a week makes you inarguably his? You’ve only ever been turned off by a possessive man, before now, yet this, from your usually so sweet boyfriend? Sends pulse after pulse of pleasure straight to your core.

You think you need to try and bring this out in him more often.

Talking back to him is a waste of the effort you’re using to try and hold yourself back from the edge, so you just nod, pinching your lips together as you swallow the words. The issue here, though, is that in your silence, your ears are left to pick up on every single other thing. The lewd sounds of your hole sucking him in over and over. The way your old bed frame squeaks with every single movement. His breathy sighs and moans. The slap of skin on skin when he eventually uses that free hand to hike your left leg up around his waist and he manages to get even closer, still.

“Please tell me you’re—” you start to say, the fire inside you warmer than it’s ever been without you letting it consume you. “I don’t know if I can…”

“You really need it, huh?” he asks, dipping down to kiss your lips softly, slowing until he almost stops. “You gonna come?”

“Please,” you beg, trying to move beneath him, trying to fuck yourself on his length. You’re so close. You just need a little more. “Please, please, please—”

He lets go of your wrists altogether and immediately, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your fingertips into his back as he settles back into a delicious rhythm.

“Okay,” is all he says, the word hot as it fans over your parted lips, as his exhale disappears into your mouth. But it’s all he needs to say. Frankly, it’s all he gets the chance to; it happens before you’re ready, before you can communicate it, even though you’ve spent what feels like forever being built up to this. All of your muscles stiffen as it hits you and you’re seeing stars behind your tightly closed eyelids. Your breaths escape you in a series of moans and whines, each inhale more like a gasp. He feels you clenching around him, feels how you try to pull his whole weight down against your stomach, feels how much wetter your cunt gets and how your leg tightens around his waist to try and keep him buried inside you.

It almost tips him over the edge, too, and even though he stills, he finds himself having to go back naming all of his highschool teachers in his head just to try and keep a shred of composure while your walls do their best to milk him dry. Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long for your arms to go slack around him, and (though reluctantly) he hurries to pull out of you. Seungkwan takes his cock into his hand instead and he fucks into his fist at the same pace as before – and no, it’s not as plush or warm or tight as you, but it doesn’t need to be. You take him to the point of no return every time — this just needs to be enough, and wow, it is. In seconds, his balls tighten and his forehead scrunches and he grunts as he releases in spurts all over your stomach.

He comes, and he comes, and it feels a bit like he’s never going to stop coming. But whenever it does end, when his agonisingly sensitive length starts to soften, and squeezing out every last drop onto your waiting body is almost an impossible task, he feels exhausted. He made such a mess. It’s everywhere. All on his hand, on the sheets, on you; you’re lying there looking so fucking pretty, breathing like you’ve just finished a race, and your belly is pearlescent with his cum, and all he wants to do is go to sleep.

But you half-sit up and reach out to him, taking hold of his wrist, now. He lets you (he’d let you do anything in these afterglow moments, and he knows that you know it too), softening the muscles in his arm to straighten at the elbow, and he watches you. Watches you drag your tongue over the skin between his thumb and his pointer finger. Watches as you lap up and swallow back the cum he was about to get up to wipe up with a tissue. Watches as you clean up every trace he left of his orgasm on his own hand, before you flop back onto the pillows, giggling and licking over your kiss-swollen lips.

He almost feels like he could get hard again at the sight of it. But — much to his own dismay — Seungkwan’s refractory period has never been quick. Even if he did pop another hard-on right now, he knows he’d be way too sensitive to do anything with it.

“You can’t do that to me,” he pouts, leaning over you to the bedside cabinet to grab a few tissues to start cleaning you up. “Not without a warning.”

"A warning wouldn't help and you know it," you tease him. He gives a 'hmmph', pulling a few free from the box and rolling his eyes as you squirm, ticklish when he starts to wipe his release from you. “You’d whine about it anyway.”

“I don’t whine,” he-… well. “Come on. Get up — bathroom, baby.”

You think that this is supposed to be distracting, to stop you being able to call him out for his immediate contradiction. On the other hand, maybe this is just his way of looking after you — it could be both, even. But you reach both arms up, first, silently asking him to come down to you one more time. He does, rolling his eyes and meeting you in another kiss, the tissues still scrunched up in his palm.

“Two minutes?” You ask, locking him into a cuddle he could probably escape from, if his strength ever happened to overpower the love he has for you. Yet, he rolls onto his back and tosses the tissues with alarming accuracy into the bin next to your dresser, pulling you into his chest.

“One and a half,” he agrees, nodding up at the ceiling.

He can never say no to you. Not especially when you hum into his collarbone and drag your fingers down his arm to take hold of his (clean) hand.

thank u sm for reading!! as always, likes, reblogs & feedback are all greatly appreciated.<3

#seungkwan smut #boo seungkwan smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #seungkwan x reader #j writes.#*#timestamps.#sorry if the ending feels a bit all over the place i promise i agonised over it for like forty minutes lmao.#n e way bye <3

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