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cherrycranes · 2 days ago

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Pervert (John x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: John (Intermission) x female reader Summary: Your best friend John hates seeing you go out with other men but not with him... Guess he'll have to console himself with your used panties... Word count: 2,098 Contents: (Minors DNI) Panty-stealing, pervert John, best friend John with an unrequited crush on reader, incelish John, spit, panty-smelling, panty-licking, panty-sucking, male masturbation. Author's notes: What? Cherry can write fics by herself???? Rare, I know, but I got possessed by this one. i know this one wasn't on the schedule but dw, my bestie and I are still cooking the promised collabs, so stay tuned for more ;).

For the love of God, somebody please help poor, stupid, desperate John. He was not a catch, or charming; he was good-looking but it was not enough. He couldn’t even win the girl he liked over.

Fundamentally, he was fucked. But actually, he was as celibate as a nun.

It stung. You were so pretty but you always went for some other random guys when John was right there. Quite literally, as he sat on your living room couch drinking a beer and barely watching the movie you had put on. For now, he was your friend. A best friend, to add more salt to the wound. A guy you watched movies with, talked about your problems with and always found out first about your one-night stands and shitty situationships with other men.

It drove him nuts.

You sat comfortably on the other end of the couch, watching Pretty Woman for the hundredth time in your life, already too immersed in the plot to even notice John getting up. He headed to your bathroom, already familiarized with your house.

In about an hour, your latest scumbag would come to pick you up and take you to a most likely disappointing date. John scoffed quietly at the thought, pretending for a moment that he was pissing on that fucker instead of your toilet. What did you even see in him? He had heard rumors of that guy, how he had cheated on his last girlfriend with another ex he had ALSO cheated on. It was messy. And the talent you possessed to always pick the worst fucking guys? EVEN MESSIER.

With a sigh, he zipped up his jeans and flushed the thoughts about that guy away. Why did he even bother? You loved scumbags. And yes, John was not exactly Prince Charming, but he wasn’t serially cheating on every woman in town. And that wasn’t enough for your poor taste in men.

He was willing to let that go. To swallow his jealousy like always and watch you get into the douche’s car to go get plowed while he slept alone in his flat. But the more he tried to forget about it, the more it beckoned him to do something. Ideas of renting a porn film or just going out to a pub to drink himself into numbness popped into his head as he stepped out of the bathroom when suddenly, a brightly colored piece of fabric caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

Standing out shamelessly at the top of your hamper like a cheeky little cherry, was a sexy pair of red panties. Your used red panties.

Oh, this was evil. He wouldn’t. He shouldn’t! Even though he pined for you, he did not want to be an absolute creep. But, God forgive him, it drew him. It called for him…

Maybe… If you didn’t notice… It wouldn’t be so bad… You wouldn’t miss one pair…

Quickly, like the thief he had been in the past, he swiped the red fabric and shoved it down his pocket, he then went back to the living room with you, pretending to not feel guilt.

The minutes ticked by in slow motion, the red fabric of your underwear felt red hot and scorching in his pocket. The knowledge that you were there, right next to him, completely clueless and unaware of the perversion he was doing sent both strikes of adrenaline and arousal through him. Fuck, if this didn’t turn him on…

John shifted a little on the couch, trying to hide his growing hard-on and pretending to pay attention to the movie until your douchebag of the month knocked on your door and it was time to leave.

What a fucking ass, John thought as his eyes raked once over your date, the gut feeling the guy gave him nearly making him sick. John could already picture you crying on his shoulder once again when this son of a bitch wronged you, but alas, it was your choice.

John neutrally said goodbye to you and walked away, heart pounding madly in his chest with every step he took. It felt like he had a bright neon sign pointing toward his back pocket where your stolen panties hid. Look, look what your supposed best friend is doing, see how perverted and gross he is, his remains of guilt yelled inside his head. The fear of being caught and cut off from your life for doing this weighed heavier than morality itself. Yet, he quite liked it.

He acted naturally, as much as he could, trying to not think much about the stupid chit-chat you were having with your new bloke. He didn’t deserve you, it was clear from just hearing you two talk. John kept going, his palms sweating, praying you would not notice what he stole from you.

When he heard you two get into the douchebag’s car and drive off John felt a rush of triumph, your panties had been successfully taken and you were none the wiser. His pulse still raced until he was finally home, locked in his flat and safe from anybody’s gaze.

“Shit…” John exclaimed, his hands shaky from the adrenaline. He reached towards his back pocket and sighed in delight when he felt your undies' soft fabric and lace. Like a kid with a brand-new toy, he yanked it out and filled his curious gaze with it.

They were red, sexy but comfortable, with lace around the edges, and, to John’s depraved fascination, they were damp on the crotch area. Probably your discharge or, he dared to indulge, your arousal?... God, it better be. It was still quite fresh, you definitely had changed underwear right before he went to your place.

He pictured you during that morning, laying in bed, only wearing these and nothing else, dampening them from just how needy you were. He saw visions of your fingers rubbing over the fabric just to tease yourself, little moans spilling from your lips, and, since this was his fantasy, moaning out his name, of course.

John couldn’t even wait to take this to his bedroom, he sat on his couch, inspecting your panties as he decided what to do with them. It was a world of possibilities…

First things first, he was curious. And like a curious animal, he needed to smell first… He put the garment closer to his nose and took a tentative whiff, groaning at your scent: heady, feminine, mouthwatering…

He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath this time, pressing the tip of his nose against the still-wet patch and closing his eyes in adoration. Oh, your pussy smelled so good.

Slowly, imagining this was your cunt, he let his warm tongue out and moaned when the tip touched the damp fabric. He tasted you, licked you, something so intimate and private now dancing on his taste buds. His palm held the crotch area of your panties like a canvas, allowing him to paint every single inch with his spit. He moaned again. If you ever found out he did this he would be fried.

With lust, greed, and gluttony, he shoved your underwear in his mouth, muffling out his groan of pleasure. His saliva combined with your fluids, dampened the fabric further. He sucked on it like a tit, milking your flavor out deliciously and swallowing with need.

It was heaven, sinful, debauched heaven where the possibility of devouring your sweet little cunt was at arm’s length. John’s mouth sucked and juiced every drop of your essence, his cock throbbing insistently in his jeans.

A hand fumbled its way to his zipper, reaching in to take out his dick. The tip was red and sensitive already, dripping with precum. Your panties in his mouth functioned like a gag as he palmed his cock, muffling out his groans and whimpers, when another perverted idea flashed through his mind and turned into a desperate need.

John pulled your underwear out of his mouth, swallowing all the spit that had gathered in there, and without shame, he plastered the wet, red fabric on his right hand and wrapped it around his aching dick.

Lubricated by his spit and whatever was left of your fluids and beautifully hugged by your damp panties, John started to masturbate, the thrill of taboo pumping in his veins and making him twitch in his hand.

“Fuck…” He groaned, thinking of you. You were too fucking pretty for all those fuckers. He knew that well. You had such a beautiful face, and a body that he died to caress, grab, and squeeze with those big greedy hands of his.

His living room echoed with the slapping sounds of him pumping his cock, now fueled by images of your cleavage. He wondered everything. What color were your nipples? How fast would they harden once he latched his mouth on them? How would you react if he pinched and twisted them? Oh, he moaned from the idea, beating it faster.

With his mind rushing, he immediately jumped onto the next train of thought: what would it be like to fuck you? He saw you, laying naked, legs spread open, your dripping pussy offered up to him like a banquet. He would go insane if he ever had it in front of him. What he had just done to your panties was nothing in comparison to the things his hungry mouth would do to your cunt. He would devour, slurp, suck, stretch, and tongue-fuck the slut out of you, make you so addicted to his touch that you would never feel the need to date shitty men ever again. Make you so addicted that you finally see he is the only one for you.

He groaned in pure, devoted pleasure, purposefully smearing the tip of his dick all over your panties, trying to mark his territory in a way.

You were meant to be his. You had to be his. His balls tightened from the need to make you his own. He beat it faster, madder, gripping your undies around his cock tightly and imagining it was your pussy surrounding him. John would give up anything just to be buried deep inside you, fuck you hard and fast into the mattress until all you could do was drool and babble his name.

“Fuck!” John cried out, the image did it for him. He kept pumping himself fast as spurts of cum stained your crumpled-up panties, serving as the perfect cum rag. He worked himself through it, still yearning for your tits, ass, and cunt until his entire load smeared all over your undies.

John kept it there, refusing to let go of something so you. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he took, and, for a moment, he felt you, all of you, surrounding not only his spent cock but also his entire being. He truly, deeply yearned to feel this forever, with you involved and reciprocating.

Finally, he detached your panties from his cock and used them to wipe off any excess cum. He would have to wash them and dry them as soon as possible, go visit you first thing tomorrow, and discreetly place them back in your hamper. He felt confident in pulling it. If he was able to take them easily…

That night John slept like a baby, dreams of you taking over as your panties hung to dry in his bedroom. In the morning he called you, just to casually ask you if he could go to your place to hang out. As soon as you said yes he got ready, shoving your panties in his pocket once again

The same rush of adrenaline from yesterday pumped in his veins as he entered your front door, seeing your face again after such a perverted night sending shame, guilt, and desire all in one through him. How was he able to sit on your couch and talk with you as your stolen, defiled panties hid in his back pocket? How could he still consider himself your best friend when he was such a pervert?

He made time to not look suspicious, having to sit through the details of your own activities last night. Your date with the asshole went well but he didn’t want to know that. After an understandable and very normal time, he excused himself to the bathroom to finally return what he had taken, but it was that simple action that reminded you of something…

“Oh! John, by the way… By any chance did you take something from my bathroom yesterday?”