#oh god his shoulder shimmy and that matching smile | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mintmatcha · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter Nine of Time Constraints

I am giving you a sneak peak of my AO3 work Time Constraints, an Aizawa x reader fic. Simply put, i love this fic and want to share part of it here too!

CW: Aizawa X reader, porn with a little plot, reader has a vagina and fem pronouns, fem receiving oral, PIV sex. it’s smut. it’s basically 90% smut 10% plot. 3k.

Context: after a long, long pining period and a bunch of miscommunications, you FINALLY have sex with your upstairs neighbor... on the fire escape of your building. In the rain.

Your pussy is out.

That’s your first concern.

“Shit,” you curse, batting Aizawa’s chest. Shock and alarm push away the usual post-coital euphoria and you’re left, emotionally and physically bare.

“Fuck.” His eyes drop to your bare pubic area and his eyebrows raise as if he’s surprised at himself and what he’s done. You can’t blame him-- you’re still in disbelief too. Semi public hookups certainly aren’t the usual way you spend evenings.

Your brain starts working faster than the rest of your body. What does this mean? 15 minutes ago he wasn’t talking to you and now he’s literally inside you. You had kissed before apparently, but this. This was more than kissing.

Way more than kissing.

“Fuck,” Aizawa repeats, finally stepping back to tuck himself back into his pants. “That was-”

“Someone’s gonna see us-” You’re still trying to slap him away hopelessly and aimlessly- “And I’m going to end up in a tabloid!”

He suddenly presses against you again and you squeal in surprise as his hands cup under your ass. Spinning on his heel, Aizawa hoists you up and back towards his window.It's all you can do to hold on to his shoulders. The little present you brought earlier is discarded on the ground, the paper melting from the moisture and revealing the cardboard underneath. You make a mental note to go back for it.

In a surprisingly graceful move, Aizawa ducks back inside without slamming you against the window frame.

It's equally quiet in here, but in a different way. There's true silence, the static of the outside world sealed away as soon as the window closes behind you. The only sound is the slow drip of water falling from your clothing and his. The tan carpet beneath you is quickly darkening from the moisture.

"You're getting my floor wet again." Aizawa's voice is even, but there's a slight lift of humor. Despite yourself, you exhale, amused. His cheek, pressed against yours in his position, twitches with a smile.

"Let’s hope it doesn't leak down into my apartment, 5B,” you reply.

Your neighbor lets you down carefully. The scraps of cloth that were your pants sink down to your knees. Despite the earlier activities, you don’t feel very sexy right now: your bottom half is out a la Winnie The Pooh and the rest of you is sopping wet. Your only solace is that Aizawa is just as waterlogged as you. As he wordlessly wanders out of the room, his sweatpants drag down just below the curve of his ass, giving you a delightful peak at the lower muscles of his back.

Okay, maybe you do feel a little sexy.

“Am I just supposed to shake off like a dog, or-?”

Before you can move, he’s back, arms full of obscenely fluffy towels. His outer layer has been discarded all together, leaving him in a skintight layer of a black tee and matching boxer briefs. The

Oh, you’d fuck him again if he’d let you.

Oh, god-- you hope he lets you. This has all the markers of a one night thing, but you can’t help both hope that desire between you is mutual.

“You’re impatient,” he scolds. You hold out a hand for the towel, only to have him push your arm away. Instead, Aizawa steps closer and presses the towel into your neck, then down to your chest, gently patting you off.

“I can do it myself,” you insist, no spine in your voice. Your resistance melts more and more with each touch.

“I know-- it’s called being polite.” The towel slips around your waist, then shimmies down your bare skin. “You should try it.”

You open your mouth to say something sassy, but Aizawa eases himself to his knee to kneel before you, face only inches away from the curve of your stomach. You can physically see the hitch in your breath tightening your core as he continues to towel you off, those dark, stormy eyes trailing down your form.

He’s trying not to look directly at your pussy. His eyes seem to flicker everywhere else, keeping themselves polite except for quick stolen glances of your pubic hair, still smeared with your own cum.

"I didn't think about…" His hands pause as he inhales, "Do we have to worry about consequences?"

"What?" you ask before you can even think that question through, "Oh. Um, no- I'm on birth control and I'm clean."

He visibly relaxes. “I should have asked beforehand, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you say. You bring your knee against his chest for a playful tap, “You're too serious.”

Aizawa runs a bare hand up the leg you’ve presented him, calloused palm rough against your inner thigh, barely ghosting its way to your hip before traveling back down the outer side. His tough follows a pattern you can't see, mandering.

“I've never done that before."

That you process much quicker. You straighten, eyes wide with shock. "Holy shit, you were a virgin?"

Aizawa looks up from between your legs, eyes narrowed as if he's inspecting you. The warm washcloth drags across your inner thigh and the sudden temperature change has you shuddering.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what? Taking your virginity?"

“Asking stupid questions.” His eyes flicker into a roll. Surprisingly immature. "I was not a virgin."

The cloth trails higher, into the crease between your thigh and cunt. "I've never cum inside someone before."

Oh.

“Oh.” You shift, unsure of what to say. Congratulations? You're welcome?

“Was it good?” you decide on. Aizawa shoots you another look, but his tongue is caught in his cheek, holding back a surprisingly cocky grin.

“Another stupid question,” Aizawa scoffs. He guides your legs further apart, sliding your knee over his shoulder. That pulls him closer, tendrils of long hair brushing against your skin. The air between you shifts away from something playful towards something hungry.

“Can I…?” When you don't respond, he glances up, eyes almost concealed by those straight lashes, and searches for approval. You manage a meek little nod; you’re caught somewhere between excited and bashful, wanting and nervous. Slowly, Aizawa moves his thumb to the lip of your pussy, stroking the patch of hair there before pulling one side apart from the other. The muted pop of wetness is so quiet that you can barely hear it, but it’s followed by something much more noticeable-- the warm, unfamiliar slipperiness of cum, working its way down as gravity pulls it. A pearl of it is collected right at the mouth of your cunt, you can feel, and it’s threatening to fall onto the floor.

Aizawa breathes out like he’s been punched in the gut.

“So messy.” His breath is humid against your cool skin. “Let me clean it up.”

The rather chaste press of his lips against the apex of your slit is sweet, but makes your body jump from the want that bubbles up inside you. Then, he moves down. The dry kiss is replaced with something just a bit greedier, with a hint of suction, then followed by another, wetter, wilder one, accented by the flat of his tongue sneaking out to taste you. His arm has snuck around to loop behind you, locking your hip against his forehead and his mouth on your cunt.

Okay, when you wanted him to fuck you again, you hadn’t expected it to be this soon. The quiver of being freshly fucked is still lingering inside you and //his fucking tongue is doing nothing but bringing them back. It’s got none of the messy, uncontrolled feel of your first round: every movement is exploratory, but purposeful, testing exactly how to make you-

“Oh, sh-shit-” Hot, hot, hot pleasure rocks you hard enough that your hands find his hair and pull-- partially in shock, partially just to keep your balance. You’re not cumming, but suddenly - through sensitivity and an aggravating amount of skill on his part- you’re really fucking close.

“Yeah?” he hums, voice even and yet honey thick, “That’s how you like it?”

It’s a question that asks for no answer because Aizawa’s mouth is back on you, stealing the sound from your throat with a rough grind of his tongue. The little details fade away and all you can focus on is how good you feel, how wicked that flutter of his tongue feels, how it pulls something devastatingly delicious from you. Your hands have curled into fists, tugging aimlessly on his long locks, silently begging for both more and less-

You want to tell him it’s not fair. It’s not fair how good this is, how his lips close around your clit just right, how the grind of his scruff against your recently fucked hole makes your legs tremble-

But when you open your mouth, only nonsense falls out.

“Omigod-” you whimper, so high that you don’t recognize yourself, “G’nna cu-”

Thick, strong fingers dig into the fat of your ass, hard into to fucking ache. It’s a command you understand well:

Do it.

You cum. Hard. Muscles you didn’t know you had constrict and you practically buckle over yourself, keening as blinding, incredible pleasure blinds you-- literally. Your vision is nothing but stars and the sheen of his still damp hair as your body finally gives. The peak seemingly lasts forever, ecstasy extended as he continuously laps at you, demanding more with every stroke. It’s not until he finally, mercifully pulls away that your body relaxes and your knees wobble; he hadn’t positioned himself between them, you’d be on the floor.

Before you can even catch your breath, your partner’s moving. Aizawa stands and catches your mouth in a rather slick kiss. The musk of your own excitement is smeared across his cheeks, backed by the unfamiliar tang of his cum. All you can do is breath him in and give yourself to the kiss, head spinning and chest a flutter with the chaos and excitement and whatever chemical cocktail is overwhelming your brain right now-

You’re fucked. Fucked to the point you think you might be broken.

And yet you’re peeling off his flimsy excuse for a shirt, pressing your tongue deeper into his awaiting mouth, greedily demanding more once again-

Earlier, when you thought that whatever exists between you was simply hungry, you were wrong. The flame, the want, the need-- it’s gluttonous. It’s fed, it’s fueled, but never satiated, roaring and ripping through your senses. If you let it, the fire could consume you.

And, fuck, being set on the pyre sounds delightful right now.

Aizawa’s hands find the crook of your armpits and hoist, tossing you back with a surprising amount of strength. You squeal when you hit the mattress, bouncing a bit before he’s on you again. Everything about him is broad, from his shoulders that pin you down to the fingers that clutch under your shirt. His mouth slotting against yours like it belongs there, stealing kiss after kiss like he’s entitled to you. His cock is hard against your stomach, kicking with every sound you make, and the embers inside you spark once again. Fumbling as quickly as you can, you force down the band of his underwear and angle your hips. You’re empty-- painfully, dreadfully empty. The touch earns you a gasp and a growl, his hips snapping against you.

“Jesus,” His voice is low, rolling and deep, “You’re going to ruin me.”

You push your hands up under his shirt and dig your nails into the planes of his shoulders.

“Please,” you beg, not entirely sure what for. Please fuck me, please let me ruin you. Please ruin me in return.

Whatever you want, he gives you; Aizawa sinks forward, driving onto his knees to straddle you, and his cock fills you once again. Your toes curl, cunt pulsing around him almost painfully.

“Shit-” Aizawa is immediately still. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

It takes a second for you to even register what he’s saying. “Wh-what?”

From above you, dark hair haloed by the soft overhead lighting, his eyes are pupil-less, lost in the dark of his iris. The top of his nose and across his cheekbone are blushed, covered with a darling pick that filled the fat of his cheeks in a surprisingly youthful way. Like this he’s almost unrecognizable, a Shouta only you get to see. You lift your chin, straining up and away from the mattress with a tilt of the head, nudging the air for him to come closer. He obliges, meeting you halfway for a tempo changing kiss; it’s slow and tooth achingly sweet, with the drag of skin making not only your cunt flutter, but also your chest.

(Ugh, what the fuck was that?)

“God, that.” Aizawa pulls away to speak, groaning through his teeth, “Are you trying to strangle my cock on purpose?”

Before you can respond, your senses are overwhelmed by the sudden stimulation of Aizawa slamming his hips back into yours. The pace he sets is brutal, hips clapping against your skin so hard your ass stings from the contact. Your core is swollen and sensitive from the attention it’s already received and your poor body can’t help but kick and keen with every stroke. It’s all you can do to take it as he selfishly chases his own high and leaves you there, whimpering and whining underneath.

"Tight girl," he grunts, "Fuck, tight, tight girl."

If your brain wasn’t pumping out a slurry of neurochemicals, you might be embarrassed: you’re drooling, begging, so fucked up that your eyes can barely stay open, but you can’t find it within yourself to care. His cock is unfairly good, but it’s the rest of him that almost pushes you over the edge again: nimble fingers dipping down to circle your puffy clit, chest pressed brazenly against yours. All of it is disgustingly gratuitous.

“Sho-” Your voice twists.

You’re no longer in the rain but everything is still impossibly wet. Your slick is smeared down to your knees and up his stomach, clinging to the comforter beneath you as you move. A bead of it -or maybe his cum from earlier- rolls down his balls-- you can feel it as they slap your asshole with every thrust.

“God,” he whines, open mouthed into your cheek, like it’s the only word he can think of, “God, god, god-”

The crack in his voice makes your stomach flip. Aizawa’s always been a quiet one, so to hear him so unabashedly vocal feels like a treat. “I’m gonna-”

“One more,” Aizawa demands into the base of your neck, teeth searching for skin to clutch. His fingers are messy, tracing sloppy circles around your cunt, mindlessly demanding more for you as his jaw closes painfully tight into the soft spot below your jaw. Your body jolts from the sensation, heart racing so loudly that you’d miss his words if they weren’t right by your ear. “Come on, give it to me. Just one more, please.”

His jaw closes painfully into the soft spot below your jaw and your body jolts at the pain. Your heart is racing so loudly that you’d miss his words if they weren’t right by your ear.

And you do, cumming in a shaking collapse once again. This isn’t as mind altering-ly amazing as the previous, but it’s enough that you think you’re melting, muscles sinking down into the mattress. He follows suit with a groan, warmth spilling and squishing inside of you. The warmth is welcome-- if there was any energy left in your body you’d ask him to eat it out of you again.

After he’s spent, he lingers and catches his breath, still propped on his elbows on top of you. God, he’s good at this. You want to admire the sweat sheen that clings to him, but you can even keep your eyes open.

“Are you okay?” Aizawa’s thumb rubs below your eyelid to wipe away a bead of sweat or a tear. Maybe both. “I’ve never seen you this quiet.”

"I hate you."

Aizawa recoils. "Excuse me?"

“I’m g'nna pass out,” you gripe, voice still quivering, “You fuck too good. You can't just... " Words are escaping you. "Ignore me for weeks-- and then break me.”

There’s shifting above you. For a second you think he’s shaking, then his voice breaks through into a chuckle. He’s laughing.

“Never heard that complaint before,” Aizawa says and you swear you can hear a smile. Ugh, it’s endearing. He’s not allowed to be endearing when you’re this vulnerable.

“Shouta,” you whine, “I’m so… Y’know…”

“You can’t even talk.” His palm cups your cheek with a solid pat before he pulls away, mattress moving as his weight shifts. The sudden lack of body heat leaves you shivering and you whine much too high. There’s rustling around the room and the slowing drum of rain against the window, both of which are slowly drifting farther and farther away…

“Sleep,” Aizawa whispers, tugging you back, “ I’ll wake you up before you have to work.”

You really shouldn’t sleep. That would be weird-- and a little pathetic. Who passes out after right after sex? That’s such a man's move. Besides, your apartment’s right downstairs; if you could just get your legs to move, you’d be home in less than thirty seconds. You'll roll over in just a second after you catch your breath

The room gets warmer as something is draped over you.

“I see you fighting it. Just sleep.” He’s farther away now and yet right there, right to you. “You never sleep enough.”

Because you can’t. Sleeping’s so hard for someone like you, it just doesn’t hap-

When you awake, the apartment is dark.

169 notes · View notes

swifty-fox · 5 months ago

Note

Could you tell us a bit about Amoretti for this post? 🥰

https://www.tumblr.com/swifty-fox/758513453853966336?source=share

Absolutely love your fics, they are so full of feelings and so so good 🤩😍

My favorite scene

oh god EASILY:

“I’m going to close the window on you,” Gale’s whisper is furious but John can see how his eyes sparkle and snap, primed despite himself for the fight.

He wasn’t sure if the blonde even noticed the way he came alive at John’s pigtail pulling; the way his lips parted and he turned to face him full on. A boxer squaring up for the match. He wanted John to throw the punch, just to give him an excuse to hit back.

“No-” John pants, hauling himself onto the tree limb that extended towards Gale’s window and shimmies his way down it, “- you won’t.” He finishes as he reaches the sill.

Gale was looking down his nose at John, which made his dick hard where it pinched between his legs and tree limb. He rolls his hips subtly and wonders if Gale would push him off the branch if he yanked him in for a kiss. That is not a gamble John is quite willing to take so he settles for a practiced crooked grin and a sweep back of his sweat-dampened hair. The blush on Gale’s face isn’t so bad of a reward either.

“I could,” Gale answers stiffly.

This close John could take in the details of him. He was as pretty as the first time John had seen him two months ago at 6 p.m. mass. Angular face softened by sleep, hair that was no longer tamed by gel and fell around his forehead in sweet waves. A plain white t-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders handsomely and clung to his tapered waist. His briefs were black and hemmed to mid-thigh, showing off the curves of him deliciously.

“You won’t,” John croons, shuffling a little closer until their noses are just brushing. Until the branch creaks warningly under his muscled weight. “You wanna kiss me.”

I just think it's so sweet of a moment (before all the filth) it's so highschool romance movie, it's so John Egan. I can picture the way he smiles at Buck so easily and the way Gale is so fucking smitten. I think overall the highschool movie theme to this fic was just so fun to play with even in the horny aspect

Hardest scene to write

Gosh it's been so long I can't even remember that well but I think I fought a bit with their post-coital conversation. Playing the line of them exposing their intimate details to each other just the right amount without it seeming like they were trusting each other too fast. I'm happy with how it ended up but

Favorite character to write in the fic

John. always John in this series he's a fucking Delight

Favorite dynamic to write in the fic

Again barring Clegan it's definitely John and Brady. it's weird thinking about it now a bit because since exploring brady I have a much diff idea of him but I think the big brother/little brother dynamic of them is really fun to play with (guess who is who lol)

Why I chose that title

It's from a 16th century sonnet

I believe specifically this one resonated with me for them

“My Love Is Like To Ice, And I To Fire

My love is like to ice, and I to fire; How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolv'd through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat? Or how comes it that my exceeding heat Is not delay’d by her heart-frozen cold; But that I burn much more in boiling sweat, And feel my flames augmented manifold! What more miraculous thing may be told, That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice; And ice, which is congeal’d with senseless cold, Should kindle fire by wonderful device! Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.”

A fun fact about the fic

uhmmm horny fact you can actually come from getting your neck kissed that isn't just fanfic magic I've done it.

The guy who showed John how to do it was Curt

#swiftytalks #clegan #little beasts

14 notes · View notes

persephonewritessometimes · 2 years ago

Text

me and the devil / unsub!hotch x reader / chapter two

Summary: It's been a week since her unfortunate first run-in with Aaron Hotchner. Has she scared him off, or will she see him at the club tonight?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x (AFAB) Reader

Word Count: 3471

Warnings: verbal harassment, several men following reader, threatening of violence, strip club, cursing, morgan being a cheeky bastard, mentions of a dead spouse

Key: y/n = your name

me and the devil series masterlist

This work is meant for readers aged 18 and over. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Another day, another dollar. That’s what I tell myself as I get off the bus close to the club. My car is in the shop – again – so I have to take the bus until it gets fixed. It had been one week since my run-in with Mr. Hotchner where I laid him out, and every time I think about it, I get embarrassed all over again. He hasn’t been to the club since – maybe I scared him off. Groaning, I grab my work bag and head inside, putting in my earbuds to drown out the shitty music in the locker room. Tia has had the flu for the past few days and hasn’t been to work, so I’m on my own again. I’m grateful that I packed my bag when I was in a better mood this morning and grin when I pull out my rhinestone set. It’s a rhinestone bikini top, with a silver thong, and a matching rhinestone skirt. I always make a shit ton of money in this. I shimmy it on, careful not to mess up my hair and makeup, give myself a once over in the mirror and head out into the club.

It’s already loud in here, but the lights bounce off my outfit, drawing many pairs of eyes toward me. No one approaches though, so I roam, looking for my regulars. I’m passing by the bar and the next thing I know I’m slamming into someone on accident. I’m mortified.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” I apologize quickly, trying to move past whomever I bumped into. A large hand closes around my wrist stopping me in my tracks.

“Hello, Y/N.” Hotch’s low voice reaches me, and I look up at him. “It seems like it’s your mission to kill me one way or another.” He chuckles.

“Oh, Jesus.” I use my free hand to cover my face. “Yes, it would appear so. Sorry.”

He’s looking me over when I peek at him in between my fingers. He gently grabs a trail of rhinestones from my skirt. “I like this outfit,” he says, letting go of the rhinestones and the land lightly on my leg.

“Thank you. It’s my personal favorite.” I sway my hips and the lights catch on me again. I grin and look up at him.

“That reminds me, I wanted to give you my number, just in case you were to ever need me.”

“I don’t understand. First, I flip you over my shoulders, I just slammed into you, and you still want to give me your number?” I furrow my brow as he reaches into the inside of his suit jacket. I see a flash of gold on the inside and grab his jacket, pulling it open and he lets me. “You’re an agent?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.”

“Is that a good ‘hmmm’ or bad ‘hmmm’.” He raises one eyebrow, finally fishing a small piece of paper out of his pocket.

“I’m still deciding.” I give him a grin. “A lot of the agents who come in here are handsy despite them being ‘beacons of the law’,” I say, miming air quotes at the last four words. He tips his head back and laughs at this and I wish I could bottle up the sound and keep it forever.

“And who fed you that bullshit?”

“I think that’s a Derek Morgan quote if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something he’d say.” He slips the piece of paper in my hand and closes my fingers around it. “Put that somewhere safe, pretty girl.” He says into my ear, and I get goosebumps. I look up at him through my eyelashes and nod, giving him my best smile before turning and retreating back to the locker room. I immediately put his number into my phone. I slip the piece of paper into my locker after admiring his harsh handwriting. It makes me think about what else his strong hands are capable of. The rest of the night goes well, with several of my regulars coming in. It’s late – almost 3 AM when I’m finally getting my stuff together to leave. I slide out of my work clothes, putting on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. I sling my bag onto my shoulders, bid Alex goodnight, and make my way out into the night. The bus stop is only a five-minute walk from the club, but the air is very still tonight. Something isn’t right. I should turn around and go back into the club and ask one of the other girls for a ride home, but I don’t want to bother anyone. I walk quickly to the bus stop, and I’m almost there when I hear it, a cough, and the sound of a voice. Several voices. Shit, shit, shit.

“Hey! Beautiful lady! Where you headed tonight? Maybe we can help you?” A voice calls behind me. Several voices laugh. I’m in deep shit. I quickly fish my phone out of my pocket walk straight past the bus stop and veer right, closer to town. Rita’s, one of the local bars, is five minutes from the bus stop and I know they’re still open. If I can just make it there, I’ll be fine. I don’t give myself time to think as I press Hotch’s contact and press the ringing phone up to my ear. He picks up within ten seconds.

“Hi, this is Y/N. I’m so sorry to bother you but there’s a group of guys following me right now.”

“Where are you?”

“Four minutes from Rita’s. Three if I pick up the pace.”

“How close are they?” I listen for a second.

“Thirty, maybe forty feet? Judging by their voices.”

“I’m at Rita’s right now. Be there in a second.” He doesn’t hang up on the phone, keeping me on the line, probably so he can hear everything that’s going on.

“Hey! Why are you walking away from us? We just want to have some fun!” Their voices are getting closer. Two people I can probably take in a fight, but it sounds like there are a least three of them. Those aren’t odds I’m willing to mess with. Rita’s comes into view and I see Hotch jogging towards me, hand on his hip – he’s armed. I shut my phone, shoving it back into my pocket. We make contact in the next few seconds, his arm coming around my shoulders and he hurries me inside the bar. Once inside, he turns to me, grabbing my face in his hands.

“Hey, are you okay?” I nod, tears welling in my eyes. “Come on, come sit down.” He guides me to a small table in the back, away from the crowd. “Where’s your car? Why weren’t you driving?”

“Stupid thing broke down again. It’s in the shop. I have to take the bus until it’s fixed.”

“Yeah, you’re not doing that. No offense, but even with an FBI office here these streets aren’t very safe after midnight. I don’t even let my team members walk to their cars alone when we go out. I’ve got an extra car; you can borrow it until yours is fixed.”

“Hotch that’s very generous, but I can’t accept that.”

“You can, and you will. I don’t want to lay in bed at night unable to sleep because I’m afraid you’re about to get jumped. Do you own a gun?” I nod, still processing the fact that he inadvertently let slip that he thinks about me at night. “Good. Carry it with you.”

“I can’t take it into the club.”

“Then don’t let anyone see it.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Some rules are meant to be broken. And if it comes down to breaking the club’s rules and saving your life, I hope you’d choose to save your life every time.”

The bell on the door rings and the voices that were following me have come into the bar. I feel lightheaded and panicked, and my eyes widen when I look at Hotch.

“What do you want me to do? Scare the shit out of them, beat the shit out of them, or get them kicked out of the bar?”

“I kind of want to beat the shit out of them. How many are there?” Hotch glances back towards the door.

“Four.”

“Yeah, we can take ‘em.” He blinks in surprise.

“You’re a very interesting person, Y/N.” He says, regarding me.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t take martial arts for fifteen years to not use it. Come on.” I slip out of the booth, stretching my arms over my head pulling them tight, and then shaking them out. I pull the hair tie off my wrist and tie up my hair.

“HEY! ASSHOLES!” I shout. They turn and look at me, grinning, but those grins disappear when they see the man lurking behind me. “What makes you think it’s okay to follow women around at night, hmmm?” The whole bar is quiet, watching the confrontation. “I don’t think that’s very nice, and neither does my very, very, scary boyfriend. So please, step outside with us so we can beat the shit out of you.” They glance at each other quickly, trying to decide if they want to take on me and Hotch.

“I, uh, I think we’ll pass. Sorry, miss.” One of the men in the front says nervously.

“Don’t do it again. Or we’ll really beat your asses, got it?” I say sweetly.

“Got it. Sorry.” They duck out of the bar quickly and I feel Hotch’s hand on my lower back. The bar cheers and I give them a small little curtsy. I turn to face Hotch and he’s smiling at me.

“So, I’m your ‘very scary’ boyfriend now?” He says, walking me back to the table and I feel my cheeks grow warm.

“Shut up. They’re more likely to leave me alone if they think we’re together.” I avoid his gaze.

“Fair enough, my very scary girlfriend.” I can hear the smile in his voice but, I avert the topic quickly.

“So, what’s an FBI agent doing out at three in the morning? Don’t you have lives to save or something?”

“Well, seeing as it’s early Saturday morning, I’m off the hook until Monday at 8 AM.”

“Touché. But the question still stands, don’t you have things to attend to at home?”

“Well, my son is with my sister-in-law, so I’ve got an open schedule.” Sister-in-law. Fuck. He’s married. That’s my one no-no. I’m fine with engaging with married men in the club – that’s their business, not mine. Damn, and I thought we were gonna have something.

“Oh. I didn’t know you were married.” I shift in my seat, looking down at the table.

“Don’t worry, she’s dead.” I blink in surprise.

“I’m sorry, what?” My pitch tilts up on the last word.

“She died two years ago.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“Hey, look at me.” I feel his hand close over mine. I look up at him. “I’m not upset with you. Just being honest. It was a long time ago, I’m okay.”

“Okay.” I shift in my seat again.

“You can ask.” He says.

“I don’t want to be rude.”

“Yet you’re literally fidgeting trying not to ask the question. Just ask it.” He’s got a half smile on his face – strange for a man who just admitted his wife is dead.

“What happened to her?” I ask quietly and focus on his hand over mine on the table, rather than look into his endless eyes.

“She was murdered.” I look up at him quickly, and he nods. “That’s all I’m willing to say right now.”

“Of course, of course. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine going through that.” He just nods and I change the subject again.

“Is your job dangerous? I mean, what exactly do you do for a living? Besides look intimidating as hell.”

“You think I’m intimidating?”

“Very. Why do you think I just kept staring at you and never actually talked to you?”

“Well, it’s good to know the feeling is mutual, you’re also very intimidating.” I laugh at that.

“Me? Intimidating? Yeah, like I’m gonna believe that.”

“Y/N, you literally just stood up to four men and threatened to beat them up! And yes, you’re intimidating, especially in the club environment. You know everyone’s eyes are on you, so you play a part, coy, seductive, it’s entrancing and very intimidating.”

“Well, I’m disappointed in you. You don’t seem like the kind of man to back down from a powerful woman.” I say, winking at him. His hand tightens imperceptibly over mine. “I’m serious though, what do you do for the FBI?”

“I’m a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We catch bad people, killers, mostly. Morgan is a profiler too.” He says, nodding towards the right. I turn around quickly and see Derek Morgan at a table a few away from us. He takes notice, winks at me, then goes back to talking to three women – two blonde women and one dark-haired woman.

“Are they on your team too? The women?”

“You don’t miss much, do you? And yes, from left to right, that’s JJ, Penelope, and Emily.” I wave at them, as now all the attention is on me, and they all smile and wave back.

“They seem nice. Is that why you’re gone a lot? Working on catching killers?”

“Yeah, we get cases all over the country.”

“A well-traveled man, it seems.”

“You could say that.”

“I know it’s not in the US, but I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. It’s so cliché, but to be able to see the Eiffel Tower in person? I don’t think anything could compare to that.” I shrug, kind of embarrassed that I admitted that.

“You would love Paris.”

“You’ve been?” I exclaim and sit up straighter.

“Many times. It’s a beautiful city, you would fit right in there.” I smile at that, before yawning. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot you worked tonight. Would you like a ride home?”

“As much as I’m enjoying talking to you right now, there’s no place I’d rather be than snuggled up in my bed right now.” He laughs and we slide out of the booth. We have to walk past Morgan’s table, and Hotch stops there.

“We’re heading out, Morgan. Will you walk them to your car when you’re finished?”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything different, Hotch. Hey Y/N, you work tonight?”

“Yeah, and many of the girls were upset that you weren’t there to entertain us,” I say, winking at him. He lets out a laugh at that. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” I say, shifting my attention to the three women. They take their turn saying hi to me.

“Hotch, you didn’t tell us she’s drop dead gorgeous,” Penelope says, grinning at me.

“That wasn’t important to the story.”

“Wait, what story?” I asked, confused.

“The story where you flipped our very unsuspecting boss on his back,” Emily says laughing.

“Hotch! You told them about that?”

“Well, how else was I supposed to explain that I couldn’t do field work due to bruised ribs?” He shoots back, raising an eyebrow. I wince at that and mouth ‘sorry’. He shrugs, placing his hand on my back, a move that does not go unnoticed by the four profilers sitting in front of us.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it,” Morgan says, winking, and I smack him on the shoulder.

“And I better see you shelling out a lot of money at the club next week, dickhead.” The women watch the exchange with amusement.

“Yeah, when can we come to the club with you, Morgan?” Penelope asks, genuinely curious. I feel Hotch stiffen behind me.

“All in good time, ladies. I’ll lose all my favorite girls to you guys the moment you show up.”

“You are welcome anytime, Penelope. We would love to have you. Either on stage or watching.” I say with a slight smile, and she blushes, flattered. “But I really do have to get going now. It was lovely meeting you all.” They echo the sentiment, and Hotch and I make our way into the chilly night. “Oh, you have a nice ass car.” I whistle low. The SUV has blacked-out windows and looks badass.

“Government issued.” He says, opening the passenger door for me and giving me his hand to help me get in the car. He comes around the other side and gets in. “What’s your address?” I give him the address to the Sunningdale Meadows Condos, and he frowns.

“Hey, no judging. I’m a college student, I’m just trying to get by.” He says nothing, just puts the car in drive and starts the short ten-minute drive to my apartment.

“Which number are you?”

“307. It’s towards the back on the left-hand side.” He finds the apartment number lit up just barely by my dim outdoor light. “Thank you so much,” I say, quickly undoing the seat belt and getting out of the car. I hear his door open as well and he comes around to my side. “Hotch, I can walk to my own apartment.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” he says, voice tight. He offers me his arm and I happily take it as we make our way up to the second floor and I unlock my door.

“Can I come in and check your locks and windows?” I laugh but he looks deathly serious.

“Jeez, Mr. Serious. Yes, you can come in and check them.” I walk into the small, but quaint apartment and am greeted by my dog jogging up to us and butting into my legs.

“I didn’t know you have a dog.”

“I got him as protection, but he’s a faithful friend too,” I say scratching his ears. “Aren’t you, Cujo?” He laughs at that.

“Cujo? Very fitting for a Doberman.” I smile up at him, and Cujo wanders over to Hotch, smelling him for a couple of seconds before sitting down and placing one of his paws on his knee.

“That’s really weird, he doesn’t typically take well to strangers,” I say, straightening up and watching Hotch lean down to pet Cujo a few times. “Cujo, come!” I say, walking back towards my small kitchen. “Check what you need to check, Hotch, so you can sleep tonight.” He chuckles and I scoop out some dog food for Cujo, pouring it into his bowl and refilling his water. I can hear Hotch checking the locks and I smile to myself. He seems like a very caring man if he’s going this far just to make sure a stripper gets home safe. “Bedroom is in the back – I’ve got one window in there,” I call out softly, not wanting my voice to travel through the thin walls, but it’s not as if my neighbors are that considerate. He brushes past me, hands pressing into my hips briefly to squeeze behind me in the small walkway. My breath stutters in my chest but the moment is over just as soon as it began. I hear him check the lock in there.

“Where do you keep your gun?”

“In my nightstand, like everybody else. And there’s one in my ottoman by the door. As well as a set of throwing knives. And a couple of spare knives in my underwear drawer.” He pokes his head back into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, throwing knives?”

“It’s just a hobby,” I say, shrugging.

“You keep getting more and more interesting, Y/N,” he says, stepping into the kitchen and leaning on the fridge.

“Are the locks up to your standards, sir?” I ask, mockingly. I watch his eyes darken and I make a mental note to revisit that later, preferably when I’m not bone tired.

“They are. And I’m glad you have multiple ways to defend yourself. Cujo included,” he says, nodding his head towards my dog. Cujo cocks his head at Hotch and we both laugh at that.

“Thank you. For the ride. For everything.” I say quietly.

“Anytime. Give me a call when you’re up tomorrow and I’ll get you that car as I promised.”

“Hotch, seriously, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He says simply.

“Well, let me walk you to the door,” I say, yawning and stretching my arms. I turn and walk towards the door, opening it for him. “Thank you, again.”

“Of course, pretty girl.” He says and presses a quick kiss to my forehead before leaving my apartment, jogging down the stairs, and driving away. I’m smiling the whole time, and the smile is still on my face as I lock the door and get ready for bed.

---

chapter three

---

want to be tagged in future parts? click here!

#hotch x y/n #hotch x reader #hotch #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #incorrect criminal minds #meandthedevil!hotch #matd!hotch

75 notes · View notes

moonlightheretic · 4 months ago

Text

The Bar Scene (Rough draft)

A dwarven woman and two scarred Qunari guards observed from an ornate reception offset from an intricately carved staircase. All three eyed Sahma’el as she made her way past them. She held up a golden envelope fastened with a black seal. The dwarven woman waved her hand in acceptance and she made way for the stairs. A strange-looking figure prowled at the landing; he regarded her with evident suspicion. Her strides reduced in size, and she measured his threat, meeting him with equal apprehension. Her grip tightened on her staff, and she felt rather grateful she still had it in her possession. “What are you supposed to be?” She hissed, “The brothel jester?” When he didn’t answer, she held her envelope up to his reptilian face and tilted her head in annoyance, “Move aside.”

“He isn’t ready for you. You will wait.” His voice was an assault on her ears, a gravelly texture that made her grimace. It’s gravity forced her foot to reach backwards and she briefly dipped her head and a growl crawled out of her throat. “You---”

Her shoulders were swallowed up in someone’s hands, “Madame, why don’t you wait by the bar, have a drink?! On the house!” A slippery suggestion that perched on the edge of desperation.

She peeked out at the figure through her fingers as her palm caught the weight of her head and a smirk lifted the corner of his foul mouth. The doorman steered her to a noir-colored stool that matched the saloon counter.

She draped her leg over it, as some control returned to her. Sahma’el inhaled sharply when heavy cigar smoke wafted into her nostrils, and she sputtered and choked when it tumbled into the back of her throat. She dropped her envelope to cough into her hand, a reaction she would regret.

It shimmied into the soiled flooring below, and a pot marked hand snatched it from its sticky fate. With her lips curling and nose twitching, she glared up at its captor. Oh, for fuck’s sake. The last person she had had ever wanted to see.

“Where in the void did you find one of these?” His fingers leveraged a precarious cigar, its ash spilling onto the gold envelope. The decorated dwarf had the audacity to push further, rubbing the butt of the cigar into the seal. “Been trying to get an audience with that bastard all week.” He absentmindedly fondled the heavy golden chain clinging to his hairy neck. It was abundantly opulent, and it made her abundantly angry. “Which god did you sleep with?”

“None of your concern, Lyall.” She seethed as she ripped it from under the clutches of his cigar and flicked the ashes off. “Thought you would have drowned in a barrel of ale by now in the ass end of some shit hole--”

“Elle! Maker, it’s been years!” The exuberant barkeep strode over, “Last time I saw you,” He gestured with his hand--his palm facing down, before turning his wrist back and forth sheepishly, “You were this tall…roughly? Anyway, how’s your Pops?”

“Evening’, Duman. My father is alive, thanks for asking.” She sighed, attempting to restrain her deep annoyance for the entire situation she now found herself in.

“Well, that’s comforting to hear, what’s he up to these days? Haven’t seen him in…what----?”

“He fishes.” She cut him off before he could bore her with another over familiar tangent.

“Ah, a Lord of Fortune never really retires, Elle. Come on, what is he really doin’?” He leaned over the counter with his fist pressed under his chin. She couldn’t help but notice Lyall draw closer too, pretending to be occupied with his new cigar.

“You’ll have to ask him when he decides to stop by.” She gritted her teeth, forcing out a smile. “Thought I was going to receive a free drink?” She changed the subject with a silent prayer.

“Yes, of course!” He stood abruptly and reached for a tankard behind him on the shelf, “Hey, we still have that Rose-syrup lemonade---”

“I am no longer a child, Duman. I need something strong.” If I am to survive this place, but she kept that portion to herself. “I want wine. Give me the bottle.”

Duman set the tankard back in its slot and spread his hands across the counter. “Anything for the daughter of Kyler Drazhan, so what will it be?”

“A vintage, Something no younger than twenty.”

“I’ve got one for you.” Duman pulled out a wine glass and slid it in front of her and proceeded to disappear behind a shelf of bottles.

Lyall coughed into his fist awkwardly, his golden bangles ringing with the vibration, “So, what do you know of that guy?” She caught herself staring, and she softly shook her head.

“Who?” Her inflection ascending, already anticipating the irritation that would follow his reply.

“Come on, you know! They call him the Shadowman, the one with golden envelopes and black seals--”

“A daughter of Kyler deserves only the finest!” Duman returned with said vintage and presented it to her—a heavily bodied red Cabernet, she nodded, and he popped the cork, then poured her a glass, leaving the bottle with her as promised.

“Is that so?” She no longer feigned any interest in Lyall’s ramblings and poured the wine down her throat.

Duman left to attend to the two men at the opposite end of the bar. Abandoning her to the unfortunate social skills of the dwarf, the rogue, and frequent annoyance, Lord of Fortune Lyall Guerrt.

“They say he promises to fulfill the dreams and desires of those that serve him. But none of his hires come back.”

Sahma’el twirled the wine in her glass, that gave her pause. “Interesting.” But said nothing more on the subject. His lavish body jewelry reflected in the pristine glass; it was enough to keep her occupied. Lyall, spoke first, because of course he did, “So, how did you manage that envelope?”

“It showed up with the Sunday gazette.”

“Cut the bullshit, Elle! How’d you come by it?” He pointed at her with his unlit cigar.

“I just told you.” She faced him, burning her intent into his with her eyes alone.

“Addressed to you?” He appeared perplexed, his features twisting in confusion.

“Who else?” She snapped, adding more wine to her glass.

“Your father, for one.” He leaned in again, his breath reeking of pine and smoke, “It’s not like you’ve had much success at this.” She recoiled despite herself, and he pursued her.

“…and who’s fault is that? Choose your next words wisely.” She warned, “I am not in the best mood.”

“Listen, I’ll make you an offer. “No hard feelings between us, right?” Lyall hooked his thumbs into his gold chained mantle, and jutted it forward, “For the envelope. What do you say?” He snaked a weasel-like grin and bounced the chain up and down.

Her vision swelled, the gold flickering in the feeble candlelight, and her stomach hungered, but she tore herself away from the temptation. She wasn’t that cheap; she wouldn’t be bought for a pretty golden chain. But, turning it down still upset her. A glass of wine already poised at her lips, she hoped to fill her belly with it, and drown her desire.

“Eat shit.”

Lyall dropped the chain and scrubbed his face, his low groan of exasperation distorted by his hands.

Two men, eyed her from the other end of the bar, “That’s Kyler’s pup? Really? Doesn’t much look like em’. Thought he didn’t have any spawn to speak of.”

“I heard he married one of those pale-faced Orlesian courtesans down south.”

“That explains it.” But he didn’t sound convinced. “Wait, didn’t his wife die though?”

Duman flashed her a concerned face, she didn’t miss his silent plead pressed between his pursed lips.

“Heh, they’re gabbing about you.” Lyall prodded her side with his cigar, and she wacked him on the nose with the envelope.

“No shit.” She extended a warm smile and turned in their direction, pivoting on the stool, “Gentlemen.” She bowed her head and raised her glass. “Care to join me?”

“Now, now! Elle!” Duman extended his arms with his palms open. “Let’s keep the bloodshed to a minimum, your father practiced the rule of no bloodshed while nursing a drink!”

“Tis’ only common decency to invite your enemy to drink before you end them. A courtesy he also practiced.”

“We meant no disrespect to your father, Elle.” The scrappy man rose and retreated behind his stool by a noticeable distance.

“Keep his name out of your filthy yappers, or I’ll cut your tongues into fine jewelry.” Elle tapped the base of her staff against the sickening floor for added emphasis. “I think I would fancy something embedded with emeralds.”

“Elle…” Duman came to stand in front of the two cowering men, “Your pops wouldn’t like to hear about this.”

‘A lord of fortune only fights if there is something to gain.’ Her father’s voice filled her head as the memory presented itself. She swiveled forward, her teeth biting at the rim of her glass and shame dappled along her cheeks.

She heard Duman sigh heavily in relief and the two men murmur something foul under their breath.

“Valient Lady, he is ready to see you.” A frayed voice croaked from behind her. It stabbed through her like a lightning bolt lanced into spine and jaw and she felt her shoulders lift and her back arch in defiance of such a horrific noise.

She was thankful her glass was empty. Otherwise, it would have sloshed all over her and Lyall. Well, drenching Lyall in the wine wouldn’t be such a bad thing, it would improve the smell, that was for sure.

Elle pushed herself to stand, and curtly nodded to the creature, doing her best not to look at it. The candlelight illuminated the wine still left standing within the bottle, and regret tugged at her belly. She would need it all to withstand an audience with the Shadowman. “He made me wait, now its his turn. I will finish my drink.”

“My offer still stands.” Lyall sent her a toothy grin, hope still shining in his green eyes, his pinky finger tapping the gold chain just ever so noticeably. “At the very least, a consolation prize for that failed hunt in Arlathan Forest.”

Elle snatched the bottle and brought it to her lips, draining the vintage into the back of her throat. She glowered at the dwarf, raising the golden envelope perched between her fingers right in front of his face. She maneuvered her middle finger free to tap at the seal and bent her other digits behind the envelope. And she stretched that middle finger upwards, conveying all the intent she wished to express in that moment as she binged the rest of the bottle.

Lyall cursed and finally lit his cigar, lashing the rolled blunt with candle flame until tendrils of smoke curled around the envelope. “Greedy—”

“What a conniving little cunt.” The man clearly had meant to be discreet, but unfortunately for him, Elle heard him.

She gulped one final time and hurtled the bottle, a spinning projectile that smashed directly into the man’s sniveling face across the bar.

#rook origin #lord of fortune rook #writing my rook #dragon age fic #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age 4

1 note · View note

ohbuckie · 4 years ago

Text

ALPHA SIGMA WHATEVER-THE-FUCK | B.B.

Summary: Bucky’s a douchebag frat brother, but Christ, is he delicious.

Warnings: smut, bathroom sex, drinking (both parties are sober and able to give consent), mention of drugs

Word Count: 1.7k

Bucky Barnes. Conceited, loud, irritating. Built like a Greek God—with that perfect jaw, and those thick forearms, and that firm chest. All of his t-shirts are a size too small, and he’s never been caught wearing a baseball cap forwards, or without a protein shake in his hand.

“Hey, Y/N,” he jogs to catch up with you, “what’s up?”

“Walking.” You answer dryly. It’s unsurprising, really, that he just randomly bumped into you. He always seems to.

“Where?”

“To class.”

“I won’t keep you long, then.”

“Please don’t ‘keep me’ at all, Bucky. What do you want?”

“I’m having a party tonight. Thought you could come. Wear something cute.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are.” You step up to the building that your class is in, and turn to him to speak. “I’ll come if I don’t have to bring anything.”

“Perfect. Beach theme.”

Of course it is. Any excuse for every girl there to be wearing the smallest outfit possible.

“Okay, whatever.” You step through the door, and hear him again before it closes behind you.

“Wear that blue bikini top you have!”

“You’re a freak, Barnes!”

—

You show up in the bikini top he mentioned, but only because your roommate, Natasha, told you it looked better than the other ones. You’re wearing an unbuttoned tropical shirt over it, and shorts on the bottom, which is a lot tamer than some of the other girls in the house, dressed in only bikinis, or a t-shirt with just bottoms. You won’t allow Bucky to see you like that without working for it first.

He greets you at the door, dressed in only swim trunks and sunglasses and holding a can of cheap beer. His best friend, Steve Rogers, steps up behind him to greet Natasha, who he so obviously wants to fuck. He takes the bowl of veggie dip that she insisted on bringing from her hands and gestures for her to come inside. You roll your eyes.

“What, you got a crush on Stevie?”

“He makes it so obvious how badly he wants to bang her.” You explain, thinking maybe he’ll take the hint. He doesn’t. “Where are the drinks?”

“I’ll show you.” He waves you inside and leads you to the counter through the sea of people already in the house, pointing to where all of the containers of mixed drinks are, telling you about what’s in them. You’re really only paying attention to the way the muscles of his back interact, how they tense and move as he moves his arms to point and turns around to look at you while he speaks. “You listening?” He grins.

“Wha- uh, yeah, of course.” You feel your cheeks heat up, and you hate that he caught you staring. If he wasn’t so insufferable, you’d have slept with him by now, but he insists on being the biggest douchebag anybody’s ever met.

“You want me to get you a drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m perfectly capable.”

“Yeah, okay. Alright, I’m gonna go find Sam. Maybe he doesn’t have a stick up his ass.”

You scoff and find a cup, filling it with whatever the last thing Bucky showed you was; sangria, probably. It’s much too strong, but you don’t mind so much—it’s not like you came here to be sober.

It doesn’t take long for Natasha and Steve to loosen up enough to be grinding on each other—Steve’s chest pressed against her back, his hands on her waist, his lips on the side of her neck. Bucky and Sam are playing beer pong with a few other brothers, yelling everything they say and spilling drinks on each other.

You’re only a couple in—far from drunk—but the way that Bucky’s personality takes up the entire room is far more intoxicating than any alcohol in this house. He has streams of beer dribbling down his chin and chest, and perhaps it’s a little unhinged. but you want nothing more than to lick it off.

You step over to him and he instinctively puts his arm around your waist. “You wanna do this one?”

“Oh, no, I’m not-”

“No, no, come on, I’ll show you.” He stands behind you and takes your wrist in his hand, pulling it back to where it needs to be. “Be gentle with it. Use your wrist more than your elbow.” He places the ball in your hand, and trusts you to do the rest, standing back with his arms crossed over his chest. You flick the plastic towards the gathering of Solo cups across the table and, miraculously, falls into one. Bucky throws his arms up and cheers for you, watching Sam drink across the table.

He looks down at you with a smile on his face, and it goes straight to your stomach. You stick to him for the rest of the game, taking his turns and letting him keep his hands on you. You realize his hands have never been on you before, but you very much like it; he knows where to keep them.

When you win, you take the opportunity to kiss him, feeling overly confident from the adrenaline that comes with an entire room of people cheering for you. His lips are soft, and he holds you close, with one hand on your back and the other on your waist. He’s a decent kisser—not too slobbery, like most other frat guys—and can keep his tongue to himself, for the most part. One of his friends shoves him playfully, and you pull away from him, giggling.

“You’re not drunk, right?” He asks, pushing some of your hair behind your ear.

You shake your head. “Are you?”

“Nope.” He takes your hand and brings you to the hallway near the bathroom, pushing you against the wall and pressing his lips to yours again. His hands cup your cheeks, and this time, his tongue makes an appearance. It moves along your bottom lip, making its way into your mouth. He tastes like beer and smells like Irish Spring, but it acts as a pheromone of sorts, and makes you want him even more.

His knee slides between your legs and presses against your core, and you wrap your arms around his neck to try to get closer, if that’s even possible. His breath fans over your cheek and his thumb rubs your cheekbone, but before anything allows this moment to be sweet, somebody pats Bucky on the back and informs him that the bathroom is now free.

He wastes no time in pulling you through the door, nearly slamming it behind him. Your lower back hits the counter and sends a pain up your spine, but you quickly forget it when his hands move down your torso and stop at your ass. He kisses down your neck sloppily, holding your head back by your hair. He pushes your shirt down your shoulders, urging you to shimmy it off of your arms, which you do.

“Turn around.” He breathes, running his fingers through his thick hair.

You stare at him, distracted, before processing his words and doing as he asked. You bend over the counter and feel him reach around you to unbutton your shorts, letting them fall to the floor.

“You wore the matching bottoms?” He chuckles, hotly kissing the nape of your neck.

You shrug. “They’re cute.”

He responds only by saying “Uh-huh,” and tugging them down past your thighs.

“How many girls have you fucked in here, Barnes?”

“That’s not relevant.” He mumbles, and you hear his belt hit the floor. “Drawer next to you is condoms.” You open it and find what you’re looking for, holding your hand behind your back with the packet between your fingertips.

He unwraps it quickly and takes a moment to roll it down his cock before he rubs the tip against your pussy, earning a surprised gasp from you. Slowly, he breaches your entrance, and he’s a lot bigger than you expected, with how big of a douchebag he is.

“Fuck, Bucky.”

“I’ve been telling you we should fuck.”

“Shut up.” You moan. “You’re ruining it.”

He grabs onto your hips and pulls you backwards, bottoming out completely. He starts thrusting shallowly, and you can feel him staring at where your bodies meet, watching himself disappear inside of you like he’s wanted to for so long.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so hot.” He moans, deepening his thrusts and picking up the pace.

You look down at your hands—pressed against the porcelain, slipping back and forth every time Bucky fucks himself into you. There’s powder beneath your fingers, but you decide you won’t try to guess if it’s cocaine or something else.

You hear his skin slapping against yours, echoing off of the walls, surely loud enough for anybody outside to hear. “God, Buck, it feels-”

“So fucking good.”

You nod. “Uh-huh.”

He continues fucking you, so that your pelvic bones dig into the counter in front of you, and your toes just barely reach the floor. He takes a fistful of your hair and yanks your head backwards so that you’re staring at the mirror.

“Look at me while I fuck you.”

It makes you swallow hard and clench around him, and it’s probably the first time you’ve ever done something he’s told you to do without any hesitation. You look at his concentrated face, the sweat gleaming on his forehead and chest, his teeth digging into his lower lip to keep himself quiet. He’s never been so dedicated to something in his entire life.

You feel him hit a spot inside of you that’s never been touched before, and it makes you cry out. “Goddamnit, Barnes! Fuck, I’m close, don’t stop!”

“Was not planning on it.” He says, snapping his hips until your knees buckle and shake, and you tell him you’re cumming. He fucks you through it, and finishes in the middle of your orgasm, pushing himself all the way into you until he spills everything he has into the condom. “Fuck.” He mutters, and pulls out of you, tying the condom and tossing it in the trash can next to the toilet.

You stand straight and gather your things from the floor—your button-up, your swimsuit bottoms, your shorts—before putting them back on and turning to face him. “I didn’t think you knew how to do that.”

“How to do what?”

“Make a girl cum.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan fluff

1K notes · View notes

semischarmed · 4 years ago

Text

Inside

“Let me ask again- the FUCK do you think you’re doing!?”

I tremble in fear and stare in silence at the massive man in front of me, rank with the sweat of his daily session.

In my hands lay his used gym clothes, inches from my nose. My eyes widen. He was supposed to be showering. My eyes are drawn to the bar of soap among the pile in front of me. Shit.

Fear becomes arousal when he leans down to my ear, tantalizingly close, and whispers. “If you wanted me inside you so bad, all you had to fucking do was assssk”. He draws that last word out with his teeth, lacing it with venom and seduction.

“Cmon, fucking say it faggot. Say you want me inside you” he taunts.

Ashamed. Terrified. Spellbound. He had reduced me to my most minuscule self. I reply meekly to answer him. “...I want you inside me.”

I hear the corners of his face widen into an unsettling smirk. “Good Answer”.

In the blink of an eye, he vanishes from in front of me, rushing past my side to my back before I can even react. Oh shit this is really happening. I am prepared for the night of my life. “Strip.” I comply. I hear him make some movements and then... then... silence.

“What the hell?” I chuckle nervously as I look behind me in confusion and see his naked form crouching in a low squat with his hands clasped in a praying motion. I admire his massive sweaty muscles. He catches my gaze, looking up and giving me wink. I smile back awkwardly. “So-“

I am cut off by searing, unimaginable pain from the motion of him piercing my ass with his hands as he lunges toward me. Pound after pound of his thick arms shove up my asshole with so much force, he pushes me forward several feet. I stay still, breathing heavy for a few moments- not daring to look back- not daring to move an inch out of our precarious position. My mind races. “Shit. Shit. Shit. What was that!? God, was he ok?”

I finally muster the courage to look behind in horror. I could only see his shoulders. Shit. How is this even possible? God. Shit. I couldn’t see his head…he was probably dead- and judging by how far he pushed into me, I probably would be soon too. I whimper, tears streaming down my face, as recount my life and start fumbling for my phone. I felt sick to my stomach. How could this go so wrong? Every fucking time something good happens. Well… at least if I’m going out, I’m- My stomach churns. Wait. That... wasn’t my stomach.

Impossibly, I felt worms squiggle inside me- no they weren’t worms. I dial in on the sensation. They were fingers. His Fingers. He was moving his fingers. I feel them claw at my throat from the inside. My mouth opens uncontrollably as his digging hands choke me from the inside, scrambling for a grip. I reach up trying in vain to get him to stop. Shit Shit Shit. As my consciousness begins to dip, the hands have finally found a patch of my flesh around my shoulder. I pant in momentary relief.

With each patch of my flesh they touch, I feel our nerves intertwine, tangling into each other until I myself could feel his fingers as a supplement to my own. What the hell was going on? Then, I feel him wrap his arms around more of my flesh and bundle more of our nerves together. Whatever this was, whatever he was doing, it was intentional.

He uses his arms as leverage and pulls the rest of his sweat-slick body inside, almost forcing my own to the ground. I fill up. Near-bursting. Impossibly full. As I stagger to stand, I watch from the mirror as he shimmies more and more of himself into me. I retch unprompted, dry heaving at what was occurring before my very eyes, but the motion only seemed to suck in his fleshy mass further inside me. Still, I couldn’t help but begin to get hard. Him being in here was hot as hell.

I take shorter and shorter breaths, which again only slides more and more of him inside me, until the very last parts of him- his grimy toes- get slurped up in my asshole. My body wants to collapse from the strain of having to stretch to accommodate both our forms. Instead, I watch as his body is imprinted in my skin -near my stomach and chest, pulling me impossibly tight while he cemented himself in a fetal position. My legs begin to buckle from the pressure.

Before I fall, he stretches out his legs out inside my skin, stacking his over my own. They are sticky when they slide over my bones and musculature, likely from the sweat he was aiming to wash off with his shower. As he fills into my skin, my toes are lifted off the ground as my body rises to accommodate his far-larger form. My very own body betrays its owner, as it is drawn to his legs over my own and he hastens the process by corralling my skin to realign to match his legs instead. I can only watch and feel in silence as I feel the skin covering my toes detach from myself and overlap over his. I feel pricks as our nerves entangle together. His legs then digests mine, inflating themselves from my added mass. My skin constricts in turn around his legs, crushing them from all sides. From the depths of my body, a moan in his voice escapes my still-hanging mouth. Skin constricts even tighter and I wince in anticipation from the pain. Instead, I am met with pleasure as nerves fire and I reconnect to my new legs. Oh my god. This was everything… I’ve never been this tall nor my legs this muscular.

I wait in anticipation of his next move. His arms unfurl from their place, and I watch them slip over my shoulders. I look hungrily at my soon-to-be biceps. Yummy. This time, I put no resistance, as readily I allow his pythons to coil around my two stick-appendages. I give these arms of mine to him willingly, which he happily assimilates. Then, a massive tension in the skin of my arms, as they are forced to spread out, rocketed outwards from the mass of his flesh filling into them. By all accounts, it was uncomfortable, but knowing what was soon to come had overwritten any fear, any doubt, any discomfort I could ever have with lust. My arms were never buff, so watching him rearrange his arms to become mine makes me go lightheaded with an abundance of elation and desire. As his nerves join with mine, and I finally feel the strength inherent in my new arms, my head leans back from the sheer sensation of our parts being one. He flexes our new arm together, before caressing it over the imprint of his body still in my chest and stomach. This was a dream come true. Still… more to come.

I watch expectantly as the large mass of his head begins to travel up my neck. I prepare to accept my new self. I could want nothing more than to live as this god of a man as his new flesh. Before his head can reach me, however, I watch as the remainder of his body fill into mine, including that perky ass. My arms are helpless to my whim as he commands them himself. He smears my skin around the outline of his body, slotting his abs over my flat stomach, tracing their indents as they fill over, and giving me the exact very same six-pack I had always fantasized over. He pinches my nipples- holy shit- stretching them forward, before releasing. They rebound back, slotting into their rightfully place- right over his. They’re rock hard.

When the bare outline of his forehead head begins to peek over my neck, I feel him flex our entire body. He tenses our entire form, forcing my skin to compress even tighter around him. He continues until I feel a pop in myself. I look down and see the results. I see his wavy hairs pierce and poke through my skin. The scene was bizarre. He was literally wearing me. Though it was my normally supple skin, it was dotted by the roughness of his hairs. When our pores align, I finally release some excess heat. The scent was immaculate. I sweated his sweat, emanated his scent. By all accounts, I am his body. There would be no turning back. In the continuing process, I feel his organs and blood rush into mine. He was I and I was him. We now shared the same insides. With his blood rushing through us, I felt invigorated. Fuck. God. This was what he felt like every fucking day. I happily invite his wellspring of strength and energy as my own. This is what I am going to be feeling like every day from now on. We could do a million pushups right now without breaking a sweat. With him driving me, we would be unstoppable. My trance is broken when I noticed my dick in disappointment, unchanged from the whole process.

I licked my lips as his head finally slotted over mine. I screamed from the pain of my face being stretched out to accommodate both of ours. He had far better control of us and instead contorted my outer face into a crooked smile. He began panting and moaning as the force of my skin stuck our heads closer and closer together. At long last, I feel sweet release when some arbitrary barrier inside me breaks and a spark lights in me as his head accelerates and smashes into mine. I welcome him inside with open ‘arms’. ‘I want you inside me.’

He complies, greedily overlaying his very being into me. In all my memory, in all my thoughts, feelings, perversions, there he was and there he would be. I yield them all willingly, allowing him to become me, to transcend me. Our shared eyes close from the wealth of new identity he has captured as he and I become one. We would have each other in a way no one else ever could. It was beyond intimacy. With his tongue inside mine, he sticks it out of my face with a sneer. It’s a face I never made, but with our new selves, this just felt right. He guides them over my teeth. My jaw redefines itself on his terms, nose corrects itself to his shape. Altogether, he was wearing me as his own, comfortably taking and rearranging me to be a better vessel for him. Fuck did it feel good to be his outer shell. I think we both looked better like this- greater than the sum of our parts.

Dirty, lewd thoughts mix with my own as his personality bleeds into mine. I reflexively try to shake it off, but he is relentless. In his barrage of self into me, tears well in my face. Still… he continues to inject more and more of his self into me. And then... I finally let go. This felt good. Being his. Who’s to say if it was my thoughts on their own or our combined derangement, but the thought of him forever using me, forever being me? Sheer Fucking Ecstasy. This felt great. He subjugates my sense of self to forever be a part of him but I offer it willingly. Becoming me probably shaved a few years off him. Like my skin, He stretches my personality around his, further and further until we congeal into one. Goddamn. Fuck Yeah. This is fucking great. We lick our lips.

I feel a rush of confidence. The new me is brimming with it. We are alpha. My mouth and body move in a way that was alien to myself. He stands up straighter and cracks our neck, getting comfortable in our new form. We take our first real breath together as a new person, taking in more air than my old lungs had been used to. Amazing.

Then, his hormones rush through our body. Fuck. I feel an outpouring of raw, sexual energy. Our body steams up in the heat- look at me, who wouldn’t- and, before I could react further, he starts pumping my dick in manic glee. Fuck. As it stiffens, I hit my old body’s limit. Average. Our grin widens by his command. “Time for an upgrade, baby” I say with a jock-like inflection in my voice. It sounds immediately comfortable, self-assured, and it rolls off my new tongue naturally. It feels wholly unnatural. He speaks in a lower register than I normally do. Still I yield to him, trusting in my new owner and allowing his parts to coalesce into my vocal chords. A disturbing itch runs through my throat as our voices meld together but I know it’s for the best. This newer, hotter me needs a newer, hotter voice. We take a deep breath before roaring “FUUUUUCK YEAH! Muuuuch better!” in a voice that resembled a harmonius mix both of ours.

The itch courses through the rest of my body as I allow him to fully wear the rest of me. He brings my head to face the new me in the mirror for a closeup giving another wink. Beautiful. I watch as my eyes water uncontrollably. His amber eyes then eclipse mine, and we blink away the tears. In my head, I feel his thick, wavy hair push out beside my own, as my old hair merge into his. In its place, we now wear a crown of his hair signifying my new place as royalty. He drags my now-vascular hand across our chin, pulling slightly while a bit of scruff grows where bare skin used to be. He quickly nods our new head in approval as more of my features contort to accommodate their new owner. Yeah. We were fucking hot.

Then, I feel his thick dick slot into mine, filling it out. Jesus fucking christ it was so big. It stretches me further and further, until I am hit by another wave of paralysis, until my skin snaps back into his, constricting weapon and sheath together. The sheer pressure merges them into one. Goddamn we were huge. Our shared tongue hangs from our open mouth, as we release a massive wave of cum. It rockets everywhere, covering me in my new, alpha seed. We sample a taste of our shared genetics. Fucking delicious.

God we were so hot together. The feeling is surreal. There was nothing like it in the world. I was forever his. I am wrack in permanent pleasure from being us. He walks over to his old pile of clothes, putting them on. As they brush over my new body, I am flush with a sense of completeness. A perfect match.

---End---

Ok, Ok, so not as ‘light’ as I would have expected. I was gonna make something cute for Valentines day, but got sidetracked by... I mean... look at him.

#male possession #male shapeshift #male body suit #male transformation

2K notes · View notes

rebelrayne · 2 years ago

Text

James One Shot

Title: The Other Side - AO3 or under the cut

Rating: T - Teen

Pairing: James x OC

@mrsbsmooth I expect my payment to arrive in 3-5 business days (joking - mostly because I couldn't make it smutty for the life of me...)

James groaned at his keyboard. How could his agent expect him to write a love story with more romance? Uh, not that he’d openly like to admit that it was something he lacked in real life… Romance, that is. He’d had a few girlfriends but they never went anywhere. James would lie to you though, he would tell you it was because he was too inexperienced and shy. He was just much too self-conscious to put himself out there like other guys, like his best mate, Bruno. But no, this wasn’t the case. He knew it was because of Estee.

Who was Estee? Oh my God, who was Estee? You couldn’t ask James a question like that, not unless you wanted to see his eyes light up as he gushed over how amazing his best friend was. Estee was something. No, no, wait. Estee was everything. She was beautiful, she was brave. She was so smart. Her coffee and cream colored eyes hung the moon and the stars. The way she demanded attention with just a smirk in a crowded room? Or what about the way she giggled even when things were barely funny?

That was all beside the point. He was meant to be writing a novel, he was meant to be accepting his fate as being ‘friendzoned’. He would never be anything more than the best friend, the guy who inevitably watched these terrible boyfriends come and go like a revolving door. First there was the landscaper, Hazeem. His jokes were so terrible that James could still see the wrinkles he’d caused on his own face by forcing a smile. The guy was bland, he was boring. James could still hear the suppressed groans in his mind lingering around, and that was two fucking years ago.

Then of course, we could never forget the barber. Oh, man… The barber. Did Kobi have a backbone? No. No, he did not. He would laugh about something, or he would talk to James about football for hours. He’d clasp James’s shoulder like they’d been best mates forever then his eyes would spot a pretty girl in the crowd and stare for too long. He was fine, it was fine, but needless to say, James wasn’t upset when he was kicked to the curb.

Who else? Oh! The “professional” volleyball player, of course. Dylan the Villain, as James had dubbed him (at least internally). Thank heavens that guy was only around for a hot minute, even if that minute was still 60 seconds too long. He wore his shirts too tight, and his brain was most certainly two sizes too small to match it.

Oh, but now? Now, he has the privilege to deal with the narcissistic French model. ‘Oui, I’m Youcef, bonjour. I’m a model.’ The guy was a damn intern for a fashion magazine. You walk in one runway show because they need a filler at the last minute and suddenly, you’re a professional fashion model. “Le loser,” James muttered under his breath.

He still hadn’t written another word in his document. He was wasting time, he knew he was avoiding the task. He placed both hands on the edge of his desk and pushed himself away softly. He sighed, leaning his head back on the back of the chair for a moment before picking himself up and rising to his feet. He stretched his arm out to shimmy his long sleeve up and checked his watch. Dammit, he had to be at work in thirty minutes. And he got nothing written for his book. Again. “Why am I like this?” he asked himself out loud.

He shuffled over to the front door and snatched his keys off the side table. The very side table Estee promised him he’d use all the time. He never did, but she looked really happy when she picked it out for him so he bought it. He really was in deep. Not that he’d ever admit it to her but… in the safety of his own mind, he knew. He knew he had it bad.

He wrapped an apron loosely around his waist behind the bar. He’d told himself this was temporary a thousand times over but here he was… Five years later and the best damn veteran bartender there was at Hattrick’s. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of… Especially at parties. He hated parties. Not that he didn’t want to be social, or anything, but um… Well, he didn’t want to be social but he also really hated being in charge of making everyone’s drinks, too. It was just work without the tips. Wouldn’t that be called free labor?

“Hey James!” Cora yelled over the music as she leaned herself over the bar. “Didn’t know you were working tonight. How’s Estee doing?” Oh how his friends loved to ask him. It almost felt like they were teasing but the pitying look on Cora’s face… Well, that almost made it worse.

James grabbed a white bar mop from the shelf closest to the floor and whipped it over his shoulder as he stood up straight again. “Uh, good, I guess,” he said with an unsure shrug. “Same as always.”

Cora’s eyes widened, almost in horror. “Oh my gosh,” she said, “you didn’t know?”

“Huh?” He pulled out a glass and placed it on the counter. “What didn’t I know?” He grabbed the soda gun and started to fill the glass with water.

“Hello?” Cora leaned back and placed one hand on her hip in a sassy motion. “Estee and Youcef? They broke up yesterday? Geez, I thought you two were best friends.”

“What?!” He hadn’t even noticed he moved his arm… Which caused him to clumsily spray water all over the surface of the bar. “Dammit.”

Cora shook her head. “You know she’s going to come here, right?”

James knew it all too well. She did this thing, this thing where she would date assholes then cry on his shoulder about it. No, no. He couldn’t think that way. He needed to be supportive, right? That’s what best friends do, right? God, why was he so pathetic… “Yeah, I guess I do…” He grabbed a few more bar mops and started tossing them onto the bar. “It’s a shame I’ve got Find My Friends on for her,” he said. “She’s definitely coming for a few free shots.”

“Maybe you should take your shot,” Cora answered sternly. She was right, he knew she was but he couldn’t do that. No, she liked this guy. She was entranced by this man… He wouldn’t hit her with his feelings now, not like this.

“It’s not the right time I don’t think…”

“Then when will it be the right time? Come on! Live a little. Tell her how you feel!”

“I just think–”

“Who is James telling how he feels?” Both Cora and James snapped their neck to find Estee placing her purse on the bar and sliding onto a barstool.

“Nothing!” James exclaimed. “I mean, no one! No one, there’s no one.”

“Smooth,” Cora muttered. “Uh, well, I better get ready for my set. I’ll catch you two later.”

Great, now she’s going to keep asking me about it. Thanks a lot, Cora. James grabbed the now-soaked mops from the bar and threw them into a hamper. He grinned, but he knew it looked forced. Oh, she was not going to let up on him. Not at all. “So,” he said, “What can I get you?”

Estee sighed loudly as she placed her elbows on the bar. “Patron,” she answered, “double shots. Four of them.”

Oh boy. “Uh, that bad, huh?” He grabbed three double shot glasses and spun on his heels to grab the bottle from the top shelf. “So what happened with Youcef then?”

“First of all, how do you know something happened?” Estee sat up straight and rolled her eyes. Why did she have to look so perfect? Even when she was frustrated with James, she looked flawless. “Second of all, I asked for four. Having trouble with basic counting there, Barker?” Even when she was sassing him, she was downright exemplary.

James poured the tequila into the glasses carefully, ensuring he gave her every bit plus a bit more in each of the glasses. “If I remember correctly,” he said, “it was you cheating off my math exams and I was mediocre at best in that subject.” Yes, he’d been in love with her since they were 16-years-old. No, he’d never had the damn courage to tell her. Not even once. Or, no, actually he did have it one time when they were drunk one night but she passed out while he was talking… Even though he was the only one there that remembered it, it was still quite embarrassing. “And I see you’re avoiding the question…”

He pushed the three shots her way. He reached under the bar and flipped the lid on the fruit tray. “Normally, I would charge for the bartender therapy session,” he laughed, “but for you, I’ll discount it.” He placed three limes on a plate for her then handed her a salt shaker.

“Won’t be needing those,” Estee answered as she pushed the plate away. She grabbed one of the shots and threw it back quickly. James hadn’t even stopped to look at her yet. Why hadn’t he stopped and looked at her yet?! She wore her hair in long beach waves, her signature look. But tonight, she did her makeup differently. It almost looked… It looked like she went for an understated look. He found it odd, she always did herself up. Maybe the breakup was bad… “It’s one of those nights, I guess.”

“Ah,” he mumbled. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” She took another shot then cleared her throat. God, she looked beautiful even when she was making that face every time she took a shot. “Yes.” She wrapped her fingers delicately around the last glass, but she just kept her eyes fixated on it. “Broke up with Youcef.” She looked over at James. “Yeah, yeah, I know, he was a jerk. Go on then.”

“I don’t think I need to rub it in,” James said. He grabbed one of the empty glasses and poured another. “This is the last one you’re getting, by the way. I know how you get when you drink tequila.”

“Thanks for looking out for me, dad,” Estee answered with a hint of sarcasm. She removed her elbows from the bar and reeled them back into her. She was even wearing something that didn’t quite look like her; Estee was a pretty fashion-forward type. She loved anything glittery but tonight? Tonight, she wore a simple black dress with spaghetti straps. “Don’t think I forgot about the conversation you and Cora were having.” She looked down at the bar, seemingly staring at the two shots filled with liquid gold. “What’s her name?”

She seemed… Sad? Why would she be sad? James tilted his head and scrunched his nose. No, it couldn’t be because of him. She was so clearly upset that yet another relationship hadn’t worked out. James knew she was excited about this one. Youcef was just so ‘worldly’ according to Estee. “Oh, um…” he trailed off. He had to think of something, anything to get her off his back. “Uh, no one. Cora was just teasing me.”

Estee nodded solemnly. James had never seen her so docile before. All this over some French guy? No, something else had to be up. This wasn’t like her. “Oh, I see.” She met his eyes, the smallest and most heartbreaking looking smile on her face. “When are you done here?”

He grabbed one of the glasses from under the bar, which was still wet, then started to dry it off with his bar mop. “Um,” he paused and looked back at the clock on the wall then back at her, “it’s a slow night so I can probably get away with leaving after Cora’s band is done playing… I mean, if you need me to…” He placed the glass down. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh! Yeah,” she nodded her head like a bobble head. “Yeah, everything’s great! Peachy even. Uh, what are you doing tomorrow then?”

She’s acting weird… Maybe this breakup was worse than the others? “Hanging out with you?” He said it like a question, almost like he was asking permission in a way. Why am I like this?

But her golden eyes sparkled at the response. God, what he wouldn’t do to see that smile. He’d go to the ends of the world if she asked him to, all she had to do was mutter the question. No, that wasn’t completely true. She just had to start the question, he’d jump up and do it before she even finished the sentence. Yes, he was in that deep, he was all in that much.

“Yeah! You could come to my place,” she said.

“Your place?” He frowned. “No, your neighbor hates me.”

“She does not hate you.” Estee laughed, that gorgeous laugh. He felt himself falling further as she carried on with that laugh. “Angie’s just rough around the edges and to be fair, you did wake her up pretty late…”

James groaned. “I tripped and hit the shared wall by accident! It’s not like I meant to do it!”

“Yeah, but it was like two o’clock in the morning, James.”

“Uh, I guess you’re right…” He threw the bar mop over his shoulder again and placed the glass under the bar. “Tomorrow at um, what time?”

Estee pushed her two shot glasses forward, the two James should have damn well known she wasn’t going to finish. “Maybe like eleven? In the morning, I mean,” she said, “I know you like to write in the evening and it’s when you do the best work. Plus, I mean, um, I’d like to talk with you about some things.”

“You’re making me nervous,” he said as he grabbed the two empty glasses and placed them onto a tray to be cleaned. “Did I do something wrong or–”

“No! The opposite actually,” she said but her eyes widened, “uh, no not like, opposite but… Wow, I’m talking in circles. Must be the tequila, huh?” She giggled nervously, but he knew she was trying to pass it off. She had this habit, this habit trying to make herself seem calm but she ended up in a fit of awkward giggles. Normally he would find it adorable, his palms would sweat and his heart would race but in a good way… Not tonight though. Tonight his heart sank hearing that nervous giggle. Oh God, what could have possibly happened? What could he have possibly done? Did he forget her dog’s birthday? No, no. That’s next week. You’re fine, it’s fine. Calm down.

“It doesn’t sound like something that can wait,” he said. “Let me talk to the other bartender and I’ll meet you at your place. Are you alright to walk there by yourself? You could aways–”

“That’s sweet, James but you know my place is only one block over. I mean, um, if you don’t mind coming now…” She stood up from her seat and smirked. But… This smirk… He’d never seen her give him that smirk. He gulped. There was no way. “I could use the company.” She flipped her hair as she turned on her heels. She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a sweet wave as she headed off. Of course, she left without paying but she knew she didn’t need to. Oh, she had to know with him behind the bar, she would never need to. But he couldn’t help but wonder… What was that about?

James had somehow talked his boss into letting him go early. The man wasn’t happy about it, he cursed under his breath and complained the whole time while James tried to explain that he needed to help out his friend. The compromise, of course, was that James would be working all weekend as compared to his Friday and Saturday only schedule. James didn’t have the desire to push back on it. Sure, he could have stood and argued about it but what good would it have done? It would have only caused him to stay at the bar later and he didn’t have time for that. He was too busy overthinking, too overcome with the thoughts of what Estee could possibly want to speak to him about.

It couldn’t actually be what I hope it could be, could it? Wow, did that even make sense? He shoved his hands into his jacket pocket as he rounded the corner on the street. Estee swore that she didn’t pick this place because it was close to James’s work, but she always seemed to stop by when he was working. He would actually be able to count on one hand the number of times she didn’t wander into the hole-in-the-wall establishment, it would be easier than counting how many times she did come in to visit him. I’m thinking in circles now.

He took a deep breath as he lifted his hand and knocked on the door. Being Thursday night, it was quiet out on the street. He glanced around but saw no one else around. He put his hand back into his pocket, shrugging his shoulders as if it would help him warm up.

The door flung open and Estee was smiling ear to ear. What the– Did she change her clothes? She had. She had definitely changed but… into something less comfortable? She was now wearing a lacy red tank top with tiny jean shorts. James felt his jaw drop, he knew he was staring… But he couldn’t quite figure out if it looked like he was entranced or if it looked like he was confused.

“Hey! Come on!” She grabbed his arm, which caused him to pull his hand from his pocket as he followed her inside. She practically led him to the couch, finding that there were already two glasses of ice water on the table. What is going on? “Sit. I need to… We need to talk.”

“Those words are usually not good when strung together in a sentence like that,” James answered. He sat down next to her on the couch, his knee bounced uncontrollably and he fiddled with his fingers. “Um, what’s up?”

She sighed then shifted her eyes, seemingly glancing at something right behind him rather than keeping her eyes on his. “I just… I just can’t be friends with you anymore, James.”

Wait… Wait… No, what? “I don’t… I don’t understand. Is this because of Youcef? I mean, I get it, I guess… If that’s what you want…”

“No, it’s not because of Youcef,” she said. Her brows were furrowed, her lips parted but would open and close the gap as if she was searching for the right words. “I just… I need to get over this, I think.”

Get over… this? “What do you need to get over?” James tilted his head but then it finally clicked. It couldn’t be happening, could it? No way. Him? James? Estee was perfect, she was exciting and she was interesting. God, why couldn’t he think straight? “Are you saying…” he paused, because he wasn’t exactly sure if he was correct, “are you saying you like me? I mean, like… like me?”

She met his eyes but her cheeks were flushed bright red. “This is awkward,” she answered. “But it’s… it’s more than that, James…” She looked down at her lap, chunks of her golden brown hair falling to hide her face.

Was it really happening? He had to have been dreaming. He wasn’t big, rugged and buff like Hazeem. He couldn’t be cool and collected like Kobi. He’d never be as handsome as Dylan. There’s no way he could ever be charming or suave like Youcef… He was just… him? “Estee,” he whispered. He watched her twitch her head, almost looking a bit frantic, like she was contemplating on the reason why she chose to even speak up. It was now or never, he told himself. If he wanted her, he had to do something. Now.

He grabbed her face with both hands and lifted her head. Her eyes looked glossed over, they looked regretful. Oh God, did she regret saying something? Did she want to press rewind and pretend like this hadn’t happened? He couldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t let her think that. “Estee, I–” He had to be brave. Say it, just say it so she knows. “I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes grew wider, her lips gapped. There wasn’t really much else to say… He felt the magnetic pull as they leaned closer to one another. His heart flipped and leaped with each inching movement. Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. He was a nervous wreck. The second their lips met, the moment they crossed the line… Nothing could ever be the same.

And that… That made him move quicker. He felt his hands trembling but he never wavered, he didn’t move them from her face. He’d imagined what it would be like to kiss her so many times but nothing he conjured up in his mind could have ever measured up to this. How was she so perfect? Why did her face fit so perfectly in his hands? Why was it so effortlessly easy to fall into rhythm with her at that moment?

She threw her arms around his neck. “I’m in love with you.”

He rested his forehead on hers, breathless and dumbstruck. She could have anyone, anyone in the entire fucking world. And she was choosing to have him? He couldn’t believe his luck. She was staring back with that infamous, flawless signature smirk of hers and this time… This time she was looking at him. Not a buff gardener, not a barber. She wasn’t throwing a glance the way of a handsome French model. She was looking at him. Maybe he’d be able to finish writing that book after all. With her by his side, he could do anything. He was sure of it.

#litg season 4 #litg bombshell #love island the game #litg ff #litg fanfic #litg james #they said it wouldn't be done #look at us now #a bone for my james stans #love y'all

28 notes · View notes

nctsworld · 4 years ago

Text

reigniting

SUMMARY ⇾ your hate for your dance captain (and ex-best friend) melts and evolves into something more for the night. WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ smut (near the end), car s*x, swearing, angst in backstory RATING ⇾ mature FOR ⇾ @markleesflathead

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ yes i’m bitter that most of my fics in ask form don’t show up in tag so i might have to post them as individual fics hhh || @markleesflathead idk how this ended up into car s*x but i’m sorry if it isn’t what you really expected slkfmd also i’m v flattered to be one of your fave writers *_* thanks for the bday wishes!!

“I missed this.”

Mark suddenly says into the air after catching his breath from all the laughing he just did. With the hand that’s been resting on the steering wheel since he parked the car fifteen minutes ago, he swipes his thumb against it.

Your laughter subsides too, turning your head in the passenger seat to get a good look at him.

The closest street lamp isn’t near enough to cast a light to see all his features clearly, but you don’t need much lighting to see the waver behind his bespectacled face, nor the way his Adam’s apple bobs.

“I missed you,” he whispers softly, then matches your eyes with a tilt of his head.

The beginning was simple. You and Mark, best friends since middle school, about to attend the same university and were going to do everything together, including extracurriculars.

Which included the university’s main competitive hip-hop dance team, since both of you were on your high school’s too.

From what you heard from upperclassmen, every year, the team offered at least five spots open. Of course, Mark and you were confident in yourselves and each other to make the team.

But during your first year, only one spot was available on the team.

The straining of your friendship began to slowly occur, since you saw less of each other in order to train more individually for the auditions.

And when the auditions happened, there was a new tension between Mark and you. Still friends, but competitiveness was a prevalent wall between you two.

The wall grew larger, tangled with vines of jealousy and bitterness, when Mark received the spot, not you.

Both parties tried hard to keep the friendship afloat, but it eventually came crashing down.

“You’re just fucking jealous that I got in and you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you said. “and I should be, because I’m the better dancer.”

“As if.” he scoffed. He spat out the next words venomously—

“If you were better they would’ve chose you, but you’ve just never been as good of a dancer as me.”

That was the last time you spoke to Mark... for a while, at least.

When second year came by, you decided to prove him wrong and obtain a spot on the team. Successfully, you did, but partway through the term, the captain dropped out and, to your dismay, Mark was given captaincy.

Fast-forward to today, Mark constantly gave you shit during practices and you knew it was personal.

Sure, you could’ve quit, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. However, you always did wonder why he didn’t decide to kick you off the team when he had the power to do so.

Following one practice, Mark ordered you to come by the studio on a separate night for a talk. He claimed it to be extra training, but you were mentally prepared for him to finally remove you from the team.

However, you were wrong and the unexpected happened—the wall between you two began to crumble. The hostile professionalism during the extra session grew into an area of familiarity, remnants of a lost friendship. After the session, Mark swallowed his pride and apologized about what he said back then, even offering to take you out to dinner.

During the meal, both of you caught each other up on the last year or so, and at the end of the night, Mark drove you home.

Laughing, smiling, and talking with you like the last couple of years were a nightmare faded into nothingness.

And you didn’t mind it, because you missed him too.

But instead of telling him that, you nibble on your bottom lip and rock your head forward with a small smile.

Continuing the conversation from where you left off, after Mark agreed to stop giving you such a hard time during practice, you say, “Can I ask you to stop doing one more thing during practice?”

“What’s up?”

“Please, for the love of God,” you say with your hands clasped in a prayer. “Stop rolling your shirt sleeves up, it’s terribly distracting.”

A hearty chuckle escapes from Mark, leaning his head back into the headrest. “Why is it distracting?”

“You know why!” you exclaim, beaming. “I know you do it on purpose!”

He cocks an eyebrow playfully. “And why would I do that?”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, "Because I know the oh-so humble Mark Lee still loves it when he gets attention."

The driver runs his tongue over the bottom of his teeth in a smirk, hand still on the steering wheel.

"And what about you?” he retorts. “You must still have a thing for arms if you think it's distracting."

You gasp inaudibly, unsure of how he could still remember that tidbit after all these years, and you twist your upper body to inch near him, glaring at him accusingly. "Is that why you do it?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." he shrugs nonchalantly. Leaning closer to you, parroting your stance, he adds in a teasing whisper along with a squint of his eyes.

"You'll never know."

There’s a passing beat as your eyes lock, one that carries the weight of the years of loving each other as friends, hating each other as enemies, working together as dancers, and everything in between.

A moment of connection that represents what everything has been working towards to for a long time, even if you never thought you’d have the chance to ever have Mark in your life again.

His look falters for a millisecond, flicking to your lips, then straight back to your eyes as if he shouldn’t have done that.

The corner of your mouth lifts slightly.

"Are you going to kiss me, Mark,” you whisper daringly. “or are you going to keep staring?"

You’re awfully aware of both of your breathing. Yours, heavy and wanting. His, light and barely existent.

"How do you know I wanna kiss you?" he croaks, a small crack in his voice underlying his question.

Because maybe a little part of you always wondered what it’d be like for Mark Lee to want to kiss you since you were kids—for him to send you that anxious starry-eyed yearning that could send your heart into cardiac arrest.

And now, from first-hand experience, you know it really does.

You hold your breath and question back—

"Am I wrong?”

The tension in the air snaps. He’s fast to cup your cheeks and crash his mouth into yours. Soft lips move in tandem with yours as you rest your hands on his shoulders, lightly tugging at his body.

The first, tender kiss is quickly thrown aside, along with your shirts. The desire escalates immensely and you’re suddenly straddling him in the driver’s seat, now pushed back to give extra room for both individuals.

"Should we slow down?" you ask offhandedly at one point while Mark’s mouth leaves a hot trail down the side of your neck. At the same time, his fingers glide and grip onto your bare waist, making their way to grasp your breasts.

Mark jerks away from your neck and carefully caresses the back of your head. "Do you want to?"

"Mm-mm,” you hurriedly shake your head and drag him into another strong kiss.

The exciting rush continues to run through both bodies present. When you return to the passenger seat momentarily to rid of your pants, Mark shimmies his bottoms and briefs down to his ankles and pulls a condom from his glove compartment.

“How often do you have car sex?” you joke, straddling him once again after he wraps himself.

In his reclined position, Mark looks up and scans your body quickly, both indulging in your natural beauty and in disbelief that you are here with him right now, after all these years.

“Hey, a guy’s gotta be safe—fuck, God.”

All quips and logic are thrown out the window when you sit on his length.

You have one hand pressed against his defined stomach, the other on the car ceiling. Bouncing with no end in sight, you allow the pleasure to enrapture your senses. Muffled whimpers reverberate against the inner side of your wrist as you feel him deeply with every movement.

On the other hand, Mark tries his best to keep his focus on you, but the intensity breaks him down. He groans in pace with your moving body, and he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Mark—” you cry. You rip your hand from the car roof and, without thought, frantically push it against the driver’s window, smudging the frost that all your collective breathing conjured up. You’re surprisingly already coming undone, and so is your lover beneath you.

“I’m close,” he pants thickly. His hazy gaze attempts to meet your half-lidded eyes, but you’re losing control. All you can do is barely nod and as you’re about to bounce more vigorously, Mark releases your waist and raises himself upward, clutching your back and neck to lock lips fiercely with yours.

You barely can thrust against him, but you don’t need to at this point, because the kiss is simply enough to draw out his climax.

You’re pulled back to reality after a few moments, panting with your foreheads tipped against one another.

“And to counter your question from before,” Mark grins, still breathing heavily. “I’ll only stop rolling my sleeves up during practice if you stop tying your shirt up to show off your waist.”

You try to stifle a smirk, but it can’t be helped. You reply to him with a flutter of the tip of your nose against his.

“No deal, captain.”

nctsworld’s birthday week celebration!

#mark lee #mark lee fluff #mark lee smut #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #mark lee fanfic #nct smut #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fluff #nbwc2021 #nctcreations

804 notes · View notes

babbushka · 4 years ago

Note

Take this request however you’d like! A Flip’s titty appreciation post? Just about how he enjoys them. Whether it be sleeping on them, enjoying just looking at them when the Mrs is around, touching on them just randomly while you’re together. A little somethin’ somethin’ along those lines? 🤠

A/N: Lol when I first read this prompt I thought you meant you wanted some appreciation of Flip's tits!! I was like oh yeah, someone's gotta put a bra on that man lol! But then I read it again and realized that's not what you meant lol. I hope you enjoy this short fluffy something!

1k, warnings: mentions of pregnancy, and Flip being handsy and obsessed with tits but it's not smut really lol

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“God, today -- fucking -- !” Flip slams the door a little more aggressively than he intends to, taking in a deep breath to really emphasize, “Sucked!”

What a nightmare work had been, Flip thinks with a deep scowl, as he steps out of his shoes and jacket, leaving them in a disheveled heap on the floor, before going back and righting it because he knows you’d be pissed if he left it like that.

“Is that my honey I hear?” Speaking of you, Flip is a little bummed that you’re not right at the door to greet him like you are most days, because he sure as shit could use a kiss or a dozen right about now.

“Ugh.” Is all he manages to get out, before going on a hunt around the house for you, incorrectly heading into the kitchen first, hoping that dinner might be ready for him. It is, but you’re not there, and you’re more important, despite his growling stomach.

He hears you laughing a little at his theatrics, following the sound of your voice into the living room, where you say those four magic words that make all his bad days turn into good ones, “Aw cheer up, here, wanna see my tits?”

Like magic, his mood is improved, and he makes his way over to the sunken living room where you’ve got reruns of the Dick Van Dyke show to keep you company as you iron. He leans against the arch that separates the dining and living rooms, and watches as you put the iron up on its little stand, away from one of his dress shirts that you’d been working on.

You make a little show of it, unbuttoning the blouse you’re wearing one button at a time, your shoulders giving a little shimmy that makes your tits bounce as you let it drop into the to-iron pile, unclasping your bra tantalizingly slow. Flip can’t help but chew on his lip, the anticipation of seeing your perfect tits nearly killing him.

The torture only lasts a few more moments though, before you let the bra drop altogether, and Flip takes three big strides across the living room to get his hands on you, the way they’ve been itching to all day while he was stuck undercover with these fucking guys on this new fucking case.

“God ketsl,” He breathes out a low whistle, getting his palms full of your flesh and kneading your tits, “You’re a stunner.”

“I know.” You give him a cheeky grin, but Flip shakes his head, leaving down to kiss you all over your face -- your cheeks, your neck, your throat, making his way down in an awkward sort of bend, an attempt to get your nipples in his mouth. You laugh a little and swat at his shoulder, and he straightens up out of fear of accidentally bumping into the iron.

“No no, I mean really. How the fuck did a guy like me ever get you?” Flip backs you away from the ironing board a little, pushes you against the back of the couch, never once taking his hands off your chest.

“You don’t look half bad either.” One of your hands begins combing through Flip’s hair, short soothing scratches against his skull as you tease, “In fact, in the right lighting, you’re kinda handsome.”

That gets a chuckle out of your husband, and you’re pleased, glad that whatever had been bothering him at work was no match for the power of your presence.

“What are you doing?” Flip’s eyes are starry when he looks at you, rubs his nose against yours.

“Putting together a model airplane, what does it look like I’m doing?” You roll your eyes, leaning up to press your lips to his, always forgetting how much you miss him until he finally comes home from his stressful and dangerous job.

“Honey you can’t expect me to look anywhere other than right...” Flip grabs your tits in his palms again, getting a better grip on them to push them together and smack smooches to the tops of them that his fingers can’t quite cover, “...Here.”

“Alright hold on cowboy,” You laugh, pushing him away for a moment to much protesting, instead leading him over to the couch properly, nudging for him to, “Lay down.”

“No, you first.” Flip arranges and rearranges the cushions so that your back is supported, and the small act of care has your playful mood softening into something a tiny bit more tender.

Feeling stupid that you’re just in bottoms, you take them off, laying down on the couch in your underwear. Flip doesn’t bother taking his clothes off too, but that’s alright with you, he’s wearing his soft shirt and those worn jeans of his, nothing’s going to be abrasive against your skin.

“Careful, they’re a little tender right now.” You encourage him to lay down on top of you, mindful of the small baby bump. Your tits have gotten bigger from the pregnancy, and even though Flip was always a little too into them before he knocked you up, he’s all too excited to get his face snuggled against them now.

“They’re perfect.” He sighs out, trying to find a good spot to get one of his hands cupping your left, his face resting on your right.

“Are you comfortable?” You joke, knowing that he could live right there if you’d let him.

“Mmmmmhm.” Nuzzling his nose against your nipple, he kisses all over the spots that he can reach with his mouth, his body tucked up against you. The hand on your left breast gives gentle squeezes, and you smile fondly down at him, kissing his temple, before carding your fingers through his hair once again.

“You know, I’m not so sure you don’t have a complex.” You tease, and unexpected laughter shakes through your husband’s frame.

It’s not that he’s always been a tits guy, Flip doesn’t think. It’s always just been you, your body drives him crazy. The stash of wet white t-shirt polaroids he has of you in his desk could probably get him fired if anyone ever went snooping, there’s just something about the feeling of your nipple hardening against his tongue that makes his life so much better.

“You’re probably right but I don’t want to be confronted with that right now.” He grumbles, and you grin, knowing that whatever is going on in that brain of his, you’re encouraging, because how could you ever say no to your lumberjack of a man when what he wants is so easy to provide?

“Fair enough.” You muse, twirling some of his shaggy hair around your finger, “Will you help me with the ironing? It’ll go by faster if you put the shit on the hangers.”

“You bet your ass I will ketsl...in a minute.” Flip wedges his face into your cleavage, pushing your tits together once again to smother himself between them, “I just want to lay here for a minute.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you reach down to the extension cord where the iron is plugged in, and press the power switch. At some point, he’ll have to get off of you so the two of you can eat dinner, at which point you can turn it back on, but you know that as the rain picks up outside, Flip is not going to be getting up anytime soon.

That’s alright with you, you think, happy to hug him and watch tv together on the couch for a while, and maybe, if he gets worked up enough, have a little sex. You can’t blame him of course, you think with a big smile, you are, after all, a stunner.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tagging some Flip loving friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea @princessflip

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #adam driver fanfic #adcu #flip zimmerman imagine #blackkklansman

326 notes · View notes

ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 years ago

Note

oh beloved writer can you please write a christmas date imagine for will poulter (even though it’s still summer) just pure fluff, where the reader and will go out to like a diner and then go buy a tree for their apartment (it’s their first christmas living together) and set it up and dance to christmas music and it’s super domestic and soft and fluffy thank you bff

Of course, my love! And hey, if Christmas in July can be a thing, so can Christmas in August. And oh boy, I made this one so sweet you might get cavities, so just, beware of that.

~~~~~~~~~~

You were excited, to put it lightly. This was the first Christmas you and you partner, Will, would be having while living together. You knew it was cheesy, but you wanted it to feel special.

You made reservations at this really fancy restaurant in the fanciest part of town. A bit over the top on your part, but you wanted to make this Christmas one to remember fondly.

You still haven't gotten a tree yet, so that was on your to-do list as well. You hoped there would be some nice trees to choose from.

Some people would've probably thought you were going mad with how much you wanted everything to be perfect, and yeah, you kind of were. But you completely ignored your logic and reasoning.

You bought a really nice outfit for yourself to wear to the restaurant, Christmassy but not too Christmassy, you weren't wearing reindeer antlers or red and green bells. It was simple, may or may not to somewhat match Will's outfit that he was going to wear.

With Will's hand in yours, you walked to your car and headed to the restaurant and got there a few minutes early, which was historical for you. You smiled along with Will as you entered the warm building, a pleasant contrast from the winter cold outside. "Hi! Reservation for L/n?" You asked bubbly, the evening already going so well that you were sure nothing could dampen your spirits.

It took a minute for the hostess to check, as the place was fairly busy due to the holidays. "Um, I'm sorry, I don't see your name here."

You immediately tensed, a half a second of anger bolting through you before you simply smiled understandingly. "Can you double check, please? I'm certain it's there, I called this in a week ago." You chuckled nervously.

"I'm sorry, but there is no reservation under L/n."

Your smiled dropped, your eye involuntarily twitching a couple times before your cleared your throat. "That...that can't be right."

Will turned to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. It happens. We can just go somewhere else." He smiled softly. You frowned in response, turning back to the hostess with pleading eyes, only to get a tight lipped smile as another apology.

You hung your head for a second, before walking out of the building at a quick pace, dead silent as you sat back in your car. Will cautiously got into the car, anxiously anticipating your eventual release of your frustration.

"What the fuck?!" You yelled into your steering wheel, causing Will to jump at the sudden outburst, even when he was expecting it. "I booked that table a week ago! Will, you were right next to me when I called the place!" You pleaded to no one, feeling defeated and pissed off. "Ugh..." You drawled out, collapsing against your seat.

Will couldn't help but chuckle at your cute pouting face, reaching over to gently massage your thigh. "It's okay, darling! This is just a minor setback. I'm sure there are other places we can go."

Yes, there were other places you could go, none of them fancy restaurants. You felt even more defeated when you had to settle for some fast food place. This is absolutely not how you wanted this evening to go.

You stared down at your burger and fries with distain. "This should be an overpriced steak at an overpriced fancy restaurant with live music, arrogant chefs and overly nice waiters who wear really fancy suits and ties." You mumbled.

Will raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound quite as nice as being in an almost empty fast food place with no one to bother us. And I quite like my food, I haven't found a single hair in it, so it's practically 5-star."

You rolled your eyes as you chuckled at his silliness. "At least we still get to pick out a Christmas tree, that should be fun."

"Hopefully we won't get hypothermia out in this weather. So, what type of tree are you thinking we get?"

You smiled dreamily. "I've always wanted a full, thick Frasier fir."

"Ambitious. A Frasier fir it is."

It might've been a bit too ambitious, because when you got to one of the only places in town that sold Christmas trees, there were no such trees in sight. They had all been sold out apparently. No worry, there would probably be one at another place. Nope, none there. So, you drove to the last place in town and lo and behold, no thick firs in sight.

"I think the world's against me."

Will trapped you in a hug from behind as you stood dumbfounded at the selection of trees available. Some of them could give Charlie Brown's Christmas tree a run for its money.

"What about that one?" Will pointed towards the corner of the small field you two stood in.

You laughed when you finally saw what he was looking at. The tree was a fir, but it looked so bare that you could call it a Charlie Brown tree. "You can't be serious."

"I'm deadly serious." He smirked, letting you go to jog eagerly to the pitiful looking tree. You chuckled sadly as he held onto it, the thing wasn't even as tall as Will, and even skinnier. "Ain't it a beauty?" He said in a slightly Australian accent, almost cringing at himself.

No.

"I guess."

The look of pure childlike joy on Will's face, you couldn't deny him that stupid tree. It was so small, you could probably fit it in your car, but you didn't want to clean up all the needles it would shed. It fastened to the roof of your car easily, too easily.

By the time you had set it up in your living room with Will, the tree kind of grew on you; it was like an ugly dog, so ugly it was cute, you supposed. Once it had all the decorations on, it didn't look too bad, but it still wasn't what you hoped for. It seemed this whole day you planned out to the T, nothing went the way you wanted it to, and that was a bit disheartening. What annoyed you, surprisingly, was Will's overwhelming optimism. Usually, it was endearing, but today was not one of those days where you needed optimism.

"You okay, Y/n?" Will asked intuitively.

"It's just...this day went to shit. How can you be so...perfect?"

Will blushed at your phrasing, but he knew what you meant. "I was annoyed with certain things today, the restaurant issues, for sure. But, it wasn't enough to put me in a bad mood all day. I chose to let it go so that we could have a good time, that's all."

You frowned, suddenly feeling really guilty. "I was in such a bad mood all day." You huffed, taking a seat on your couch. "I ruined this whole day..."

"No!" Will rushed over to you. "I didn't mean it like that, I-"

"I know, but you're right. I shouldn't have acted like such a child. I'm sorry."

Will smiled sadly. "Darling, you certainly did not ruin anything. None of this was your fault and you behaved how any normal person would. But even after all that happened, I still had an amazing time. We had a nice, quiet dinner. And we got our own little Charlie Brown tree." He chuckled. "Didn't you have a nice time too?"

You smiled sheepishly. "I did."

"We don't have to go to the fanciest restaurant or buy the nicest Christmas tree to have a nice time together. We could've stayed inside all day and I wouldn't have cared, just being here with you is what makes me the happiest."

You couldn't help but lean forwards to kiss him, so incredibly grateful that he was in your life. "Well, I'd say our first Christmas will be one to remember."

"Oh, it's not over yet." He added, causing you to furrow your brows in curiosity. He only winked as he walked to the other side of the room, fiddling with the record player.

"No..." You groaned playfully as Last Christmas by Wham! echoed through your apartment.

Will nodded, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "Oh yeah, come on." He held out his hand to you, motioning for you to take it. You giggled as he started to lip sync the lyrics, shimmying his shoulders as he still waiting for you to take his hand.

"Oh my god." You blushed, finally taking his hand and him instantly pulling you up and grabbing you by the waist to pull you into a hug, violently swaying to the music. "Will!" You laughed uncontrollably.

"What? You don't like my dance moves?" He grinned.

"You're gonna break me if you keep doing that." You grinned back.

Will shook his head, toning down the fast swaying and settled into a relaxing sway, looking into your eyes fondly. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You blushed, resting your head and hiding your face on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat much better music than any Christmas song you've ever listened to.

~~~~~~~~~~

bruh...this...was so fluffy I almost died. I hope me almost dying of fluffiness was worth it to you, @poulterfilms

#will poulter #will poulter imagine #will poulter x reader

148 notes · View notes

silksaddle · 4 years ago

Text

The Traveler 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: 1907, Old West. Talk of the Statesman gang is slowly on the rise while Jack continues to distract you from your chores, taking you on another but entirely different night-time outing.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, guns, mentions of alcohol and gangs, copious flirting, SMUT, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex/piv sex, outdoor sex, thigh spanking, please pardon me for the amount of smut content in this chapter, a crumb of plot development, Jack Daniels again...

Word count: 14k (leave me alone)

A/N: gif credit to @javier-pena once again! thank you my beloved astrid! and as always, much love to my amazing friends who sent me inspo posts and listened to my anxious ramblings about god-knows-what. you are all the best and you have my heart.

Read Chapter One ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: Six Shooter

Jack is spreading his half-naked body over the mattress in a contented stretch when you return to the bedroom, flustered and hot-cheeked.

“You here to take my sheets, darlin’? I must insist I keep ‘em,” he chortles, turning his bright face over the soft pillow as you attempt stripping the sheets from under him, your lungs emptying in a huff when he catches your wrist and draws you to him instead. Your body lands perfectly on top of his with your weak protest, a poor match for his irresistibly gravel-like voice and his buzzing snugness.

“You’re making my job quite difficult,” you mumble into his neck, kissing the smooth skin there although your words are much more harsh. His chest rumbles, fingers running the length of your clothed back from when he’d hurriedly laced you back into your dress, lips skimming graceful but mindless lines on your temple.

“Mrs. Adler thinks you’re doing your chores.” Jack’s palms are now ghosting over your shoulders as you prop yourself up on your elbows, taking his gaze with you as you move, and you can tell your dilating pupils are betraying the falseness of your annoyed tone when you look at his expanding chest. He takes a deep breath in, the angle of morning light catching his eyes just right to melt them into golden flecks, his dishevelled hair incurable without a bath.

You card your fingers through, and though it’s slightly tangled, the texture is silky enough to brush through the messy state and straighten it out, just a smidge. The touch causes his eyes to flutter closed, and shimmying up his body, he leans his head back to expose his neck further, the long lines and tone popping against each other. His breath hitches when he feels your own puffing across it, his chest immobile while he waits to feel something more from you, but you don’t kiss him, don’t nip him, don’t caress him there.

“I’ve only come to take your sheets to wash them— I should already be downstairs,” you insist and he mopes, your voice softly carrying throughout the bright bedroom, limbs absent-mindedly wrapping around his firm ones until he clings to you.

“Oh,” he hums, tipping his body until you roll under him onto the no-longer-fresh sheets, landing on your back with his hands cradling your head. His handsome smile makes you forget you ever needed to take his sheets in the first place, and when he kisses you deeply, moaning low when you open up for him and his bare skin slides over you, you don’t even remember where you are. “Thought you’d wanted some more of me…”

“Mmm, Jack— she’s already a little suspicious of me,” you giggle, wriggling underneath his heavy weight and it’s a futile effort beneath his affection, his lips laying warm insistent kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. He’s unstoppable, whether it’s the heaviness or the happiness that makes you lie there and take it with quiet laughter as the rough skin of his cheek touches gently to yours.

Jack is as much the sunshine of the room as the real thing, chuckling sweetly along with you and growing more pleased the louder your squealing sounds become, your fingers pulling across the bare skin of his back— he likes it too much to let you off in a timely manner.

Mrs. Adler had only just believed your excuse of a poor sleep as you’d rushed out in a tizzy with your disheveled hair and clothes, and a terrible flourish of panic had bloomed in your chest at the thought of an unchecked mark lingering on your neck. But Jack had looked you over meticulously; deft fingers had worked at the laces of your layers. And even before making it to the kitchen, two dozen kisses wet on your thighs, you’d opened the door only to find the old woman pacing about on the landing of the stairs. Slamming it shut with your back on the wood, panting in the face of confrontation, Jack snickered and peeked out for you a minute later, confirming your chance to slip out undetected.

Now finished serving breakfast, Jack once again prevents you from carrying out your tasks.

“You’ve left me with a lastin’ impression,” he rasps, eyes crinkling as he slips a hand under your skirt and the touch tickles and inspires a giddy laugh from your throat as you swat him away, at last slipping out from under him.

“Give me your sheets, you greedy man,” you order, lifting your chin and furrowing your brow with your arm extended. Jack purses his lips and thinks, sitting up to run a hand through his dark hair, your smile growing despite yourself when it sticks up in bulky curls to leave his contented face in view.

“These sheets have got your smell on ‘em now,” he grins like it’s his most favoured fact in his whole life, leaning back into his palms and his cock is slowly hardening between his legs as he considers his next words, “your cum is on them.”

“Jack,” you chuckle, “you’re dirty.” Inching closer to him, his joyous face turns dark when you arrive in the middle of his strong thighs extending past the edge of the bed, “Get up, please, or I’ll have you explaining why I’m behind schedule for the second time today.”

He presses up onto his feet, his gentle scent covering you as if a fleeting spell, and before any more rational thoughts occur, your hand is reaching into his unbuttoned pants, wrapping around his hard length. His head tips back, the softest growl filling your ears and he pushes his hips forward, placing his hands on your cheeks, urging your lips to slide along his as he fucks into your tight fist. It’s a sweet kiss compared to his already desperate thrusts, his cum still streaking your thighs, inside of you, outside of you, from mere hours before.

“I told you I’d come back here tonight. We’ve plenty of time to ruin more sheets.” Your whisper earns a heavy sigh expelled onto your skin, his grip sliding down to your neck and as his mouth hangs open, you nip at his bottom lip and pull it into your mouth, a tender suckle on the plush softness. He hisses as you let it go, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and stilling his movements with your hand, he lets you work him like that— your fingers tightly curled around his cock as you slide it in and out of your palm.

“Fuck me,” he groans, “I better see you back here if you’re gonna touch me like this, darlin’.”

Smiling, you pump him quickly, whispering how you can still feel him as if he’s fucking you right now, how good he is, how thick, and he growls from his chest, shutting his eyes tight in concentration.

“Maybe you’ll let me touch you tonight, too, Jack, leave your ropes for another time…” Your free hand clamps around the back of his neck, twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of it, before tugging him down for a slower kiss, capturing his striking whine in your mouth.

“Shit, darlin’... I’d do anything you say right about now… Christ,” Jack’s fingers trace the neckline of your bodice as his lips skate along your cheek, and his voice is so husky and rumbly, you almost consider a greater risk of trouble.

He makes no protest as you bend carefully, still pumping his thick cock while you yank the sheet away from the mattress, pulling back to fold it into your arms and finally leaving his hard length unattended. Jack’s eyes snap open in a crushing neediness, his displeased but wrecked voice calling after you in a bid to keep you here and he laughs incredulously, “You get back here right now.”

Backing up into the door, your lip caught in your teeth, you reach behind and find the cool handle, offering a cheeky grin before you slip away and murmur, “I’m busy.”

A mellow afternoon follows Jack’s disgruntled exit to the fractional post office, stealing a rushed kiss in the corner of the parlour for the mere seconds you were alone together, giddy glances spared through the window on his walk to work. You spend a small segment of your time concocting tea for Mrs. Adler who pours over the payment book, thanking you as she slides a list across the bar; it’s full of all things you know to do without the help of paper and pencil.

“How about that Mr. Daniels?”

Spluttering, you swivel on your heel, unsure of the intention of her question, your eyes mistakenly blowing wide with no answer to fill the subsequent silence. She must know, you worry, she must.

“What about him?” You query, looking down at your apron in no need of smoothing, yet your hands fiddle with the pockets, and her amused scoff scrapes through your uneasy stance.

“My, you’d better sleep well tonight... that man whipped those fools down in a second,” she laughs, flipping the page of the large notebook and scribbling something down with a spotted, shaky hand.

“He did.” Wiping your face, you conceal a sliver of a smile under your hand when you think of him— ease and cockiness burned down to his big pleading eyes looking up at you for permission. “Thought you disliked him.”

“Well, I could admit we need someone like that around here more often,” she croaks as you pretend to look over the list of laundry, sweeping, cooking, cleaning. The sentiment lands somewhere uncomfortable in your chest— you no more than agree with her and you could never tell her why or how.

“Oh, and dear, the sheriff came by this morning,” she adds, relaying his spiel of reports.

Only the most notable happenings make it over from town to town, lawlessness rendering crime nothing more than irrelevant. It takes a mass robbery, or a mammoth fire, or an offense so deeply doused and coloured red in rage to make the rounds of neighbouring settlements, so when Mrs. Adler shares the spreading news of heightened gang exploits a little ways north, your heart sinks and adopts a painfully heavy sensation.

“He advises to be extra careful,” she finishes with a stern look, “they could be coming here for all we know. Those Statesman men are horrible…”

“Statesman?” you echo her words, scouring the back of your mind to place the familiarity of that name, but she smiles in return to soften your worried brow. Statesmen, a Statesman. You’d read it somewhere, embellished into leather or stitched into the label of a visitor’s coat while tidying.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If anything, girl, that Daniels boy should be of use.”

A challenge not to snicker, she gives you, when she tells you not to fuss, as if you’ve got the liberty to enjoy the outdoors where a vigilant attitude is required— but Jack is the remedy, you think, eyeing the stray strands of her brittle grey hair twisted up, scrunching your nose.

“Alright, Mrs. Adler,” you agree, passing her through to the laundry closet.

The air is stuffy inside the small, shelved room, where pleasing, cooling, tiny splashes pepper your forearms as you pour the water bucket into one of the tubs, then grabbing the soap, you flump onto the short stool and drag the laundry basket to your side. The first sheet on the pile is the last one you’d taken— Jack’s— carrying his heady and wood-fiery scent now mingled with yours. With a vibration of anticipation up your spine, your thoughts twirl upon your admittedly cruel handling of his need— tonight, you’re surely in for it.

The usual, slowly passing and hot hours fill with inescapable reveries toeing the line of unrealistic: a cloudy day in bed, a sunny evening at the river, clothes discarded to the side. Shaking those heart string-stretching thoughts and trading for a better focus, you hang the wringed sheets on the line as the last blazes of the sun spread over the field, and take a moment to rest your elbows on the log fence at the back of the yard overlooking the vast, lush area.

Something heavy, once more, tugs at your weary limbs, watching the calm breeze push along the beige blades of plant-life, and you think of Sylvie— her bright mane and soothing demeanor, the rush of riding with her and him. The thrill no longer chased, waiting for you still. There must be a few months worth left of him, two at the least, perhaps enough to soothe your aching heart in seeking more vibrant days. But before too long, you set back on your course of chores, trekking up to tidy the bathing rooms for those coming back from a dirty day.

Jack finds you there an hour later in the open door, kneeling on the floor by the bathing tub, scrubbing away at its already-shiny exterior, and he smiles under the sticky and sweaty clothes, watching the way your body jostles with movement.

“Hey, cruel woman.”

Halting, your head briefly hangs between your shoulders before you sit back on your heels and grin up at him, his weary feet leading him towards you, a set of clean clothes hanging off his arm. His shirt is sheer in some places more than others, namely his chest, damp with muscular effort.

“Did you have a hard day, Jack?” You question, making big eyes at him from your low spot compared to his tall height, and his face grows slightly stern.

“Oh, darlin’, you know I did,” he kneels, takes your chin in his hand and you find yourself leaning up into his face, mere inches from his lips, entranced by their pouty curve. But he doesn’t kiss you. He pinches your chin harder, a deep pressure as he looks over you, taking in the way you indulgently advance until you’re on hands and knees, caged by his own, staring at him with none of the power you held this morning.

“You oughta continue what you started…” he whispers almost on your lips, never close enough to touch, your eyelids heavily drooping as you look down his torso, leading to his cock.

“Oh,” you sigh, slick pooling where he can’t see or feel it, “Jack, I can…”

You crawl forward between his spread legs until your nose nudges the material of his pants, resting your weight back on your knees when you reach out for him, but his face is a sinister, knowing grin when steadily rises back up to stand, rocking into his heels.

“Not now, though,” he coos, swiping a damp thumb over your lip, “off you go, little lady.”

“Why—”

Whining involuntarily, you watch while he shrugs off his suspenders and closes his eyes, fluttering back open with a smirk at Mrs. Adler’s distant call for you to prepare dinner.

“That’s why.”

Your mouth hanging open, you roll your eyes, taking his calloused hand as he aids you upward from the hard floor, though he finally gives you a greeting of a peck on the cheek, “Later, angel, you can show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about all day.”

Nudging your body, he sends you off to your chores in a frazzled state and shuts the door with a wink, settling in to wash himself off from the dust and dirt.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so needy, it nearly feels stupid to still have the crushing weight of wanting Jack as you chop ingredients, peek into cupboards, fill plates. It’s even worse when he sits at the table, clean and fresh and irresistibly smooth, chatting in easy conversation with Mrs. Crockett who enjoys his company dearly as she tells him uninteresting stories of her husband.

He watches your back as you turn about the steps, as you pass along plates to each person, and he brushes his fingers purposely along yours when you arrive at his spot, a gesture to offer his silent token of appreciation. Your breath catches, and his wink sets it free again through a quiet sigh, smiling sweetly for him. He tries not to laugh, you notice, and you stop yourself from touching his shoulder here in front of everyone— namely Mrs. Crockett, who has also made a poor reputation of gossip and a budding friendship with Mrs. Adler who is closest to her in age. The last thing you can manage is a rumour about your little life; by that point you’d be begging Jack to take you with him even before the post office is built, even with so much left to explore with him.

As the chitter-chatter diminishes down to an empty table with empty plates, and the visitors disperse into corners or run off to different buildings— they always come back for dinner to get their money’s worth— you sort out the dried laundry, slipping into the ladies’ rooms to aid with corsets, all with distant thoughts in a place where they shouldn’t be. They never ask about your day so much as they speak of theirs, whether time spent with their sweetheart, telling you how they prefer their things folded, or muttering how much they liked dinner. The last one you take lightly, thanking the ladies in whispers. Now, though, it doesn’t cause as much of an ache in your heart when you listen to their free and happy memories— you think of doing the same with Jack, of asking him and receiving his sweet smile in return, ready if you are.

When you finally sit at your simple vanity, it’s with a powerful sigh that you remove your boots, step out of your clothes, and trade them for your nightgown. You pull the threaded pink ribbon taut into a bow, and look over yourself in the mirror, giddy in your stomach for when the time comes to slip into Jack’s room. Judging by the clock, another half hour would do to be sure everyone has settled in so you can sneak in complete privacy, and it feels less daunting now than it ever did before.

Folding your petticoat to lay the soft cotton on the tabletop, you hear the handle click and turn and you gasp fiercely in response, rising from the chair as Jack all but barrels in, haphazardly shutting the door before swooping you into his arms.

“Oh, my—” you squeal, cut off by a rough kiss that you eagerly return, bombarded with the scent of his soap and shaving cream. You only urge him off with your hands sneaking between your bodies to press on his chest and ask a burning question, his lips not wanting to part from you. It’s a tiny struggle but he eventually gives way, fondly looking down at you as you speak. “Did anyone see you?”

“Hall was empty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you… lost my damn patience,” he croons, plushy lips open on your neck, leaving kisses that bloom into pleasant flourishes of need like ink dipped into water. It’s a new spot that you allow him to explore, bringing your hands up his wide shoulders as you turn around the room together, stepping at random. “Had to keep from touchin’ myself and dreamin’ of you…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, reeling him in closer for a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to dream, Jack, I’m here.”

His breath stutters uncharacteristically and it must be your chance to keep him like this, his pleasure dependent on what you decide to do with him— so you pin your front to his and he grunts, giving a miniscule, testing rut back.

“No more teasin’?” he asks hopefully, sweet brown eyes glowing in the low light of your little lamp. “You weren’t so nice this morning…”

“Oh, Jack, I’m not so sure about that.”

In a mirror of the morning, you slip your hand lower to find his cock hard again, splaying your fingers over its thick length and rubbing over the fabric. He squeezes your waist, digging his thumbs in helplessly as he staves off a groan in a bid to keep what willpower is still left with him, then loses it all when you place a simple kiss to his collarbone, not open or rough or wet— just plain, pressed lips to his skin, and he asks you for more.

“Will you let me touch you this time?” you murmur, urging him backward onto the bed. He slumps over the mattress, eyes trained on your face as he places himself further up with his legs spread, palms sinking into the covers. He swallows thickly when he takes you in: standing over him in the sheer, light fabric of your nightgown, its lace edges bordering the slopes of your body.

“I want you in my mouth,” you continue, lowering yourself to your knees, hands over his own as he shuts his eyes and breathes deep, long breaths, grunting when he feels your fingers working at his buttons. “Think I’ve earned it.”

“You could ask me for anything you want, darlin’... shit—” His thighs tense under your ministrations as you reach in and pull his cock out, the tip of it shining in his own, generous arousal. He looks down from himself to your sparkling eyes, and cups your cheek in his large hand, its smoothness traveling down the curve of your face. “Anything you want.”

His lip twitches, mouth falling delicately open and his eyes shutting once more as you place your tongue flat at the base, licking upward, circling around the head while you watch his face strain and pull, his neck sticking out prominently. He’s gorgeous when you touch him like this, still so fresh and clean from the bath. The warm drips of precum glide slowly on your tongue as you hold it out, then wrap your lips around him, whining when he fists through your hair and cramps his fingers.

“That mouth is just about gonna kill me already,” he rasps, bucking his hips up a smidge to perch himself deeper in your mouth, your hand rising to cover his at the base of your neck. Its heat is dangerous yet satisfying in its revelation of just how affected he is, a tiny spot of sweat swiping from his palm onto your neck.

Blinking up at him, you pull off, wetly sliding over half the length of him before moving back down to take more, feeling it brush against the back of your throat. You keep him there as he squeezes you harder, his spine curling over you and the new sound he makes is just begging to be heard, but he smothers it with a bite of his own lip to quiet it.

“Like that…” he sighs, carefully canting his hips forward as you wrap your fingers around his base, enveloping him and spreading the wetness of your mouth over his entire length.

He glistens like that, shimmering in the low and golden light, fisting at the blanket and your hair, puffing focused breaths every time you take him deeper, longer, sucking him harder.

Up and down, you keep your lips wrapped snugly around his cock, its throbbing heft a pleasurable weight on your tongue, the satisfying hit of the head at your throat.

“Where have you fuckin’ been,” he nearly laughs in disbelief that you’re even here, much less on your knees, much less with your mouth around him.

Pulling off for a deep breath, you trace the edges of your nightgown, eyeing him and his debauched, handsome face as you bring the lacy straps off your arms, leading them from your wrists. “I’ve always been here.”

The fabric gathers at your waist in a soft pool of cotton and ribbon, your chest bare and level with his cock.

“Do you like that, Jack?” you preen, settling closer to him this time over the hard and truthfully painful floor— you don’t notice it as much when you feel him hitting that spot all the way down your throat.

“You know I do,” he smiles breathlessly, crinkles and that little dimple creasing in his content face. He leans down for a kiss, its nature unlike the urgency of your own mouth wetting his cock— it’s always sweet like he is to you in every other way, lingering there before you lean into the space between his legs, eager.

“I wanted you all day,” you coo, running a thumb over his tip, a saturated kiss placed there before you put him in your mouth for a brief suck, managing to keep him inside for a few short seconds. “I should have felt so tired after what you did to me, but all I could think of was this.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he then lets it go in a gravelly sigh as he holds your bobbing head in his hands, spanning the sides of your face. Your forehead brushes his soft stomach as you push down, hollowed cheeks hugging every inch of him and he jolts, driving himself the smallest bit further, moaning at the tight and wet sensation of you. You pump him, looking so falsely innocent between his legs, your chest and shoulders bare for him to admire, peeking out of the fine gown.

“Keep goin’ darlin’, I’m gonna fill that pretty mouth up... know you want it down your throat, bet you thought about havin’ my cum drippin’ from your mouth all day, too, hm?”

Licking the tip and rubbing him faster, you nod fervently, opening wide in a stretch to finish him off with firm squeezes and strokes, his breaths now raggedly rough from above you every time he hits that spot. Your mouth is hot on his skin and he warns you he’s going to cum soon, he’s going to fill your mouth up nice and good, and you shut your eyes tight in concentration, focused on the thick feel of him sliding in and out between your lips.

“Wanna see you when I fill you baby doll, c’mere n’ look at me.” Jack’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, and you strain to look upward before you slide your hand over his slick cock. He tenses up by another degree, his chest and forehead damp, throat straining as he swallows thickly.

A final squeeze and he cums all over your extended tongue, the milky liquid sliding off and onto your chest as he moans through gritted teeth, dazed as you are as you both watch it drip all over your exposed half. You swallow what remains in your mouth, letting your jaw drop to show him your now clean slate.

Bending into you and still panting, he smiles, streaking his thumb down your chin to gather up what’s left, guiding it into your open mouth. Heart racing, you take it in, your enthusiastic glow causing his face to soften.

His gaze drifts south to linger on your glimmering chest, pressing his palm flat and firm into the slight pool of it. He paints you with it, spreading his cum all over each breast with a clear sheen from the separation, special attention granted to each nipple with a flick of his wet thumb. Its initial warmth has cooled and with it lingers a soothing cover over your front as you lay your cheek over his knee, toying with the worn laces of his boots.

“Now… how to thank my darlin’ girl and her perfect fuckin’ mouth…” Jack wonders aloud as he cups your cheeks in his hands and puts a contrasting, innocent kiss to your forehead.

Grinning up at him and placing your hands over his, you tell him that’s all you wanted to give him, all you needed was to finally feel him in your mouth.

“Well,” he whispers, “I wanna show you what I was thinkin’ about all day long.”

The spark in your eyes must be a blinding one, his hands gliding over the slope of your body as you work yourself back onto your feet, your knees throbbing and sore. Wincing, you balance yourself on his broad shoulders, glancing down to notice his eyes not relieved of their dark hunger.

“Jack, you’re…”

“Not done, angel,” he finishes for you, and that’s when you feel it, the slick dripping past your core to spread slightly down your squeezing thighs. He pushes his sleeves up as the corner of his lip tugs upward too, straight teeth glinting the same as his eyes.

“Your turn, then,” you murmur, parting his hair through your fingers. It falls back into place, his pillowy and gentle lips finding yours as he stands with you, always chasing you, waltzing you backward until your ass bumps against the thick windowsill.

“I was choppin’ wood, thinkin’ of settin’ you right here,” he confesses lowly, ensuring the curtains are drawn completely open with a quick swipe of his hands over the gauzy lengths previously covering the glass, “thinkin’ of fuckin’ you on my fingers like this.”

You situate yourself properly on the sill and he steps back, taking a comically focused once-over of your seated body, but the desire is still so thick it doesn’t even bring you to laugh when he hurriedly comes back to you. He spreads your thighs wide, his palms a fiery heat that couldn’t be further from where you want it.

Tugging at his collar, you reel him in to place an open kiss just under his ear. “Give it to me how you want.”

The glass cools the staggering temperature on your skin as he knocks you into it, your back sticking to its chilly surface in the midst of his swirling breaths, ghosting the edges of your shoulders before he hikes your thighs up higher to his waist.

“You ready for me?” he murmurs with a husky voice, and it’s a powerful shock from your head to your toes, seeing how easily he’s worked back up to needing you as he lowers a hand to your core. His fingers part you, a slick and effortless slip through your folds to your entrance. “Darlin’... you’re soakin’ my hand already. Did suckin’ my cock do all this to your sweet little cunt?”

A hushed, restrained sound tears from you and is quieted by his mouth covering yours when he rubs his calloused fingers over your clit, rasping those low words sweetly into you, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth as the digits travel lower. The arousal dripping from your cunt makes that first slide so easy, Jack bottoming out to his knuckles with a soft sigh. His stomach nearly touches your own still covered by the bunched nightgown and he pauses there, a reassuring squeeze to your side and then a smooth gracing of his free hand to hold your thigh tight to himself.

“This is where I’ve wanted to be,” he confesses, his nose drawing a line from your shoulder, delicately down to your chest as he bends and swipes his tongue broadly over your sensitive nipple. The signals from your brain to your muscles are jumbled now, feeling the heat of his wet tongue tasting the cum on your chest— it’s out of your control when you arch your back into him and whine, when your fingers tangle into his hair and tug.

He responds in a groan, licking across your skin to your unattended nipple which he suckles on gently, lapping at it. Jack curls his two thick fingers before straightening out to kiss you fleetingly on your lips; he parts and watches your eyes intently, a stray curl falling to hang between his brows.

“So full already, hm?” he teases, his thumb swiping slow patterns on your clit, and you lean further back into the glass with a pant, its surface no longer able to cool you down.

“Yes,” you manage to respond in a gasp as he grants a second, deeper hit, a slight slapping sound causing you both to hug each other tighter and chuckle.

“Tight, sweet thing,” he groans, extended curls and strokes stretching you wholly around his hand, “take my fingers just right. Is that it, darlin’, were you made for me to fill you?”

“Mm,” you suck in sharp breaths, “mhm, you fill me up, Jack, you fill me up so good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his chin hooks onto your shoulder, digging into it hard as he holds you with one toned arm snaking around your waist. Like this, your damp chest brushes his, his fingers pump and work you open another smidge wider as he pushes in, grinds his palm against your clit, pulls his fingers out a fraction of the way. The motions of his hips against his own wrist are gentle, unhurried for now, having already cum into your slack mouth.

With the flat of his free palm caressing your back through soft strokes, he draws his lips back and forth over the curve of your neck.

“You know what I see?” he asks, urging his knuckles deeper in the hardest plunge he's given you tonight, an agonizingly fiery touch to your clit. “Men, walkin’ around all dumb— could see me fuckin’ you right here on my hand if they’d just look up— shit, they got no clue I’m feelin’ the wettest little pussy, huh?”

“Fuck, Jack,” your nails dig into the lean and muscular bulge of his biceps as he keeps you upright against the glass, your thighs squeezing him so close he can hardly fuck you anymore— he just rubs and grinds his hand against you while remaining far inside your aching pussy, soaking his already drenched fingers with more slick.

“And only I’m gonna watch you cum,” he adds in a grunt, working himself into you with every last drop of energy he’s saved, his soft moans and sharp teeth spurring you closer to coming all over his perfect fingers. You might have gone longer if not for the irreversible, desperate need for him that sucking his cock had instilled in you— had you nearly dripping onto the floor, your body left unimaginably sensitive that each time he brushes up against you now, you dig deeper into his skin. He likes it though, and it makes him move with a crazed edge, his moans transforming into snarls.

“Only you…” you echo, starting to grind with him yourself, rolling into and meeting his short, fast thrusts, every muscle tensing and straining and it’s so close, almost there—

“There you go, doll, can feel you squeezin’ me so tight… cum on my hand, fuckin’ soak me, c’mon…”

“Jack, Jack I’m gonna—” Urgently, you tap at his shoulder with wide eyes and worried brows as you feel it start to happen, knowing how close you are to crying— your nails dig into his shoulders so intensely when you cum, jaw dropped and eyes shut and he makes a wincing yet completely pleased noise into your mouth; it’s cruel. You manage not to make a peep at the cost of losing large breaths, and it makes your orgasm all the more intense: light headed, woozy, and tingling numbness reaching the length of your body.

“Sweeter than fuckin’ honey when you do that,” he smiles widely, until his mouth drops fully open at the way you hug his hand inside from coming so hard around him. Your slick gathers between your thighs and you still can’t breathe, his face buried into the spot under your jaw as he pulls them out of you, dragging the pads up to your clit while the rest of it spreads throughout your folds. He stares down at it, at the wetness dripping and glistening from your core, and he groans again, blinking slowly.

Placing his palms on the sill by either side of your trembling figure, he hums, your smile against his skin buzzing at his insatiable drive, how he’d fucked your mouth and your pussy with such short rest, feeling the damp hair at the back of his neck. He drops his head down as an offering and you take him in a gentle cradle, kissing his forehead as he’d done to you while he nestles. He looks up and back down, waiting for another, your fingers smoothing the unruly hair from his face.

“Hell, if I don’t wanna fuck that pretty pussy every night till I die,” he exhales, another glance at his wet fingers, dropping a kiss to your collarbone.

“Oh, Jack,” you laugh, your heels hitting the wall underneath you, “if only you were here for that long.”

His face scrunches a little in confusion before his lips curve, “How many times do I have to remind you I ain’t leavin’ so soon?”

“As many times as it takes,” you whisper, fingers scratching down his arms, his own dipping into your cunt again without a warning, “fuck—”

“Yeah, baby doll,” he croons, “I got somethin’ to prove to you still?”

You nod with a greedy smirk and he retracts his fingers, taking them into his mouth after drawing a line between your breasts to taste your mingled releases, moaning in your ear. “Go n’ get on the bed. You’re gonna ride my face.”

A shiver chills your spine, mainly at the way his voice has dropped a miraculous third time, his hand landing a light swat on your ass when you pass him, shaky legs taking you toward the mattress. He follows to lay on his back, perpetually pleased with himself, arms outstretched and beckoning you forward. You crawl up to him and you can feel your own cum streaking your thighs as you move, soon beside his large body, and he raises his brows impatiently, “Well go on, sugar, I wanna taste some more of that.”

Stretching his neck every which way, his eyes crinkle as he grins between your thighs while you throw one over his shoulder and his arms fall behind him, fingers searching for yours until he laces them together, squeezing.

“You’re not tired yet, old cowboy?” you tease lightly, the force of it lost when he gives a broad swipe of his tongue and moans yet another time, indulgently, swallowing the remnants of your previous release.

“I ain’t ever gonna tire of this,” he replies, another lick from your entrance to your clit, such an easy slip of the muscle, your sensitivity dialed up too many extra notches. His brows knit together in effort, rough cheeks pleasantly scratching on your skin when he moves his head side to side, tongue hanging out of his mouth and edging with a perfect pressure all over your sensitive bud.

“I’d hope not,” you exhale, grinding your hips over his wet mouth until his grip moves to your thighs to prevent you from moving. His eyes look up at you keenly as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, your head tipping in silent rapture as you take it all for him without the relief of motion.

“We go real nice together,” he grumbles into your slick center. Tightening the hold of your thighs, he laves his tongue all over you in focused circles, faster, with just enough force for your legs to start shaking around his handsome face, for another gush of arousal to spread over his swollen lips. All that’s left for you to handle it is to scream it out, how good he makes you feel, how precious, but the house is so silent and only you can hear the slick sounds of his mouth on your clit— he won’t even let you rub yourself over him. You can only bite your lip and hold your breath, yet little puffs and moans sneak out when he does something unforeseen, like a single bite on your thigh or a gentle nip to challenge you— it’s all on purpose and easily noticed by his gratified face.

He tugs your clit a short, miniscule distance and lets it go, shaking his head when you mope over the loss of contact.

“Are you tryin’ for me, sugar?”

“You’re being tough on me,” you whine, shimmying further up his body to regain his lips that are brightly shining.

“If I ain’t tough then it ain’t right,” he whispers, “stay still and quiet for me and I’ll take you out again.”

He tips his head down and forward, swiping his prominent nose to spread you further open, but you don’t even consider the promise of a gift, your focus on the return of his soaked tongue to your throbbing core, biting hard on your lip to quell the need to cry.

“Is my darlin’ gonna come? You gonna cum all over my face? Gimme another one, dolly.” His mouth latches back onto your clit and you can’t think, much less form an answer in your blank head where all you see is white, or maybe blinding stars, or just plain nothingness as you let go, his moustache wet with you, his lips dripping.

By some miracle, the scream you fend off becomes so high pitched in your throat that nothing makes it out of you save for the helpless cry of, “Jack!” as you tremble around his cheeks.

“Yes,” he grunts, and thank goodness it’s muffled by your soaking core; your fingers finally escape his hold to grip at his hair with a fierce, unforgiving tug, and that softer sound fills the room again while your body freezes up and you cum harder this time, covering him, coating him. He grumbles something again, but it’s nothing you could hope to make out in the crushing wave of pleasure that hits you— the light sensation does not leave you, though the shaking eases off as Jack places a tender kiss to your clit, and you jolt at just that velvet brush, his eyes turning sympathetic. You breathe deep, slumping with great exhaustion and the dazed happiness of having him in your room now as you lift your thigh from his body and he leans his head up to grant a quick kiss while it slips away from him.

“Knew you could be quiet,” he smiles under the shine of your second release, resting his arms open over the blanket to welcome you into them.

“As if you don’t make it hard.” Huffing, it’s with a reciprocal smile that you crawl back to him, nearly toppling over on your way with the weakness of his own power against your body, and he chuckles at you, not shying away from his joyous teasing when you throw him a half-glare.

“Did I wear you out again?” he questions, guiding you into his side, turning his body over yours to swipe his tangy tongue over your bottom lip.

Whimpering, it turns into a cheerful giggle as he drops pecks over your nightgown, wrapping his finger around the tail of the ribbon.

“You just keep going, don’t you, Jack?” you cup his face in your hands, and it’s now that he adopts a sheepish expression, turning his eyes away to tilt his neck and kiss your stomach once more.

“Until you ask me to stop, darlin’.” He lends two more kisses, one to each breast, and then gathers the straps of your nightgown from the pooling of fabric underneath your chest, tenderly helping your arms through the holes. You admire him quietly as you sit up to ease the gesture, letting his fingers guide the intricate lace edges back to your shoulders. He pats the cotton down to smooth it, your thumb stroking over his left eyebrow. His hands pry under you to wrap his arms around your middle, his cheek resting over your belly as you scratch through his dark hair.

“I think you’re softer than you realize,” you whisper, twirling a lock around your finger and he peeks up, the apples of his cheeks rising in a twinkling smile.

“I can shoot a gun a million times but I sure don’t like it more than kissin’ you,” Jack coos, tickling up your sides and swatting away your protesting hands until you make an involuntary squeak and his eyes widen, hurriedly covering your mouth with his own. You titter over his smooth lips, his weight pinning you as he opens his mouth, taking more. “I’d think I’d have sold my soul to the devil to end up here with you if I didn’t know any better.”

You let the next bubbling ripple of affection take over you when he whispers that with his gleaming eyes, and you kiss him three more times, each slower than the last.

He rests there for some time, indulging in the carding of your fingers over his scalp, and he ensures you’ve drifted off before he rises in search of a cloth. He finds a green one folded by your petticoat, his fingers briefly dragging across its white lace before he dips the cloth in the small dish of water left beside it. He crawls back up beside you, lazily yet with careful attention guiding it under your slip and over your breasts, relieving you of the stickiness. You stir but don’t wake— his touch is too light, yet still unlike a feather— he cleans you off, sets the cloth back in its spot, and resumes his position, nestled up next to you.

Sneaking into Jack’s room— or him into yours— becomes a habitual routine after the goodnight click of Mrs. Adler’s door, though you often find yourself with an early visitor with eyes too bright and a needy little grin on his face. It follows his giddy lips on your neck hours before in scarce moments of isolation from other guests, or after he’s stared too long across the bar, and to ease the tension, he’ll ride to take Sylvie to stretch her legs, a sympathetic look on his face at the door knowing you can’t join.

And he wears you out. Nightly. A simmering threat to your timeliness in the morning that you can’t let go of. A single time, he’d taken the sheets with him in a rapid roll onto the floor as Mrs. Adler knocked and knocked outside, calling for you to rise, until she barged in and the thump had to be blamed on yourself, standing in your disheveled chemise. Her shifty eyes become less of a fear in your head and more of a laughing stock, though not as much as Jack was in his stupid course of action to thump on the floor behind the side of the mattress, taking the blankets, too.

His dignity is not lost, though, each time you press on him about it— his grip tightens over your thighs as you straddle his lap, feeling the impression of his leather settling into your skin.

A rare clump of clouds settles over town the following week, lingering long enough to darken this evening further and forcing an early lighting of the lamps inside, a cozy glow over the hectic and crazed state of the bar.

“Let’s not slack, dearie,” Mrs. Adler sings in her urgently high-pitched voice as you handle the treacherous beast of the card game hours, handling too many requests for the strongest liquor from the cabinet, working your wrists as you open new bottles and impatient sighs crumble out of overworked throats.

Jack glances at her, a rapid flick of his angry eyes as he sets his glass of whiskey down, furrowing his brows in obvious disagreement with her words.

“She’s doin’ fine,” you hear him grumble, and you don’t have it in you to turn and face him to offer your surely-silencing glare, and without it he continues, “think we could offer a little patience.”

Chest fluttering, you shut your eyes with a bothersome huff, setting your hands flat over the counter as you wait for Mrs. Adler’s response, and the other men waiting at the dining table chat over things well beyond you, another fleeting mention of the Statesmen— but Jack remains silent along with her, and you can already picture the way he must be maintaining a hard stare at the old woman to leave her increasingly frazzled.

“My girl does this every day,” she states primly, blocking his view of your back with her own body after an uncoordinated waddle, “you keep out of it.”

Jack scoffs, soft but pointed, the wood groaning under the slide of his glass as he moves it aside, “If you cared to notice, ma’am—”

Spinning on your boot, away from the assortment of glasses set over the counter in their stage of finishing touches, you raise a hand, his first name almost slipping out until you choke on the unspoken word, widened eyes earning a mirrored expression from Jack, “It’s alright, Mr. Daniels,” you soothe, and his smirk is much too telling in his amusement of your spluttering, that you’d called him the old, proper name.

Mrs. Adler huffs a victorious breath as she checks over the full and heavy tray, granting approval while you giggle at Jack’s silly face made behind her back, followed by a wink of his eye.

He closes his eyes as Mrs. Adler finally limps off into her study— what she achieves in there he does not know— and watches you with affection and a warming dose of admiration in his stomach as you handle the tray, setting down shining crystal glasses on the table, a soft smile on your face as the youngest card player offers his thanks. They rarely ever do.

“You look real nice,” he drawls as you round the counter, his elbows sliding along the surface as he leans in, all sparkling eyes and teeth with his wide grin as he follows your steps. “I think I’d like to get my hands on—”

His words fall away to a whisper as you shake your head in feigned annoyance, the laughter stealing your breath as you lean opposite him, taking in the sly look on his face and the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. His hand reaches for yours, tentatively, and you’re powerless against the sweet touch on your fingers as he traces them out, pulling your palm into a bed of his two hands.

You watch as his eyes set on the random patterns he draws, eyelashes curling against his face every time he blinks, your conscious mind soon oblivious to your placement in relation to the large group at the dining table— but it doesn’t matter. They’re as absorbed in their gambling as you are in his focused touch and feel, your heart an obnoxious flutter when he smiles up at you, a perfect mix of kind and sultry darkness.

“I’d like to get my hands on you,” he murmurs, those repeated words spoken lower this time and with a twinkle, raising the back of your hand to his lips. A gentle press, your eyes locked together in a soft gaze to match, and he gives you back your hand as the spell of slowed-time is broken by a shocking round of cheering from the group behind you both.

With a subdued grin, you ease yourself away from the magnetic pull of your lips to his, “You’ve always got your hands on me.”

“And in,” he huffs, stifling a snicker at the fifth roll of your eyes today, watching the ends of your tied apron’s ribbon swing around over the length of your skirt.

“You’d better find something to do in the meantime, or I’ll be asking Mrs. Adler to send you off herself.”

Jack shudders in a fake paddy of fear, the miniscule shakes of his body diminishing the sooner he realizes the severity of your words, and he merely chuckles. “Why’d you want to get rid of me?”

The pleading pull of his face and the wide and warm eyes he gives are somehow not enough to stop you from gesturing your head towards the pile of dirty dishes from dinner, waiting beside the basin. “You’re distracting.”

“Sweetpea, I’m ‘fraid that’s what you’ve got yourself caught up in,” Jack rests his chin in his palm, eyeing the clearing weather outside, “if you insist on woundin’ me, I think I’ve got a horse who needs to go for a ride, and a little lady who’ll have to join us next time…”

“I’ll see you later, Jack,” you whisper, rounding the edge of his ear with your fingers, easing his hair back into place and he adopts a light blush— softer things always more efficient in pausing his heartbeat than harsher things— and he grabs his hat left to the side of him, placing it over his head and bidding you a caring goodbye, “Miss me, darlin’.”

Once the room has cleared at last, leaving you in that familiar spot with soapy hands, sore feet, and a wandering mind, you arrange the wet dishes to dry, stacking each on top of the other with meticulous attention. You dry your hands on the fabric of your apron, rough cotton soaking up the water, your back leaning into the hard edge of the bar behind you. The strain in your neck grows sharper as you push your head back, groaning, willing away the next few hours until you can put your feet to rest upon Jack’s lap.

And at the thought of him, a whistle from the exterior shoots your stream of mental pictures down as your head whips to look out the window, and there he is— Jack, thighs spread wide over Sylvie’s back as he urges her to stop, his eyes straining to find you through the window. Stomach twisting, you make a speedy trip to the stash of berries hidden away, and you pull a handful of them into your apron’s pocket before sparing the parlour a thorough peek and slipping out the front door.

It’s not loud enough for you to make out, but it must be Jack’s voice in a baby soft tone as he tells Sylvie what sounds like “there she is,” with a pat between her perky ears and a smile towards you.

“Hello,” you grin, stepping to the edge of the porch where you meet the two of them, shamelessly devouring the way he sits tall upon her in the dying sunlight clear of clouds, dark clothes, dark hair, dark eyes, a bandana hugging his neck under his glistening throat. “Back so soon?”

“It was her idea,” Jack pokes, leaning back in the saddle as Sylvie adjusts her hooves into place over the dust and sparse blades of wheatgrass. “Suppose I had to lead her here, though…”

With a hand gliding along her wide neck, you watch his smile only grow in size as he watches you gather the berries from your pocket and throw a quizzical look his way, to which he nods enthusiastically, leaning forward again to watch and guide.

You call her name softly, approaching her from a better angle, and she makes an odd pattern with the movement of her head before she digs into your offered palm of treats, her wide mouth a great tickle on your skin that you try not to flinch at.

“Nice girls,” Jack whispers, swiping his hand over Sylvie’s shoulder, then turning his attention to you. “No more flak from the lady, I’m hopin’?”

“No, haven’t seen her since,” you giggle, “you know, Jack, that was kind what you did, but I am still fine.”

Sylvie chomps down the rest of your stash of berries, licking the leftover juices off your palm as you gasp, retracting your arm, and Jack extends his hand far across to you in a warm beckoning. You give him the dry one and he laughs when he notices, “I ain’t afraid of no horse’s mouth,” steering you around to where he’s sat on the saddle.

“You’re not even afraid of Mrs. Adler,” you say bluntly, resting your laced hands over the meat of his thigh and then your chin on top, and Jack stares down at your widened eyes, his chest stuttering with a slightly choked breath.

“I came here to see you, darlin’, to tell you somethin’.” Running his thumb over your hand, he starts to lean his body down, your own straightening for his lips to meet your ear in a warm breath, sending ice down your spine and a melting heat between your thighs.

He waits for your prompt, his radiating need causing your posture to wither as you slant up and into him, “What is it?”

Whatever upward curve your lips adopted seconds before falls away as your eyes close, that heat between your thighs now wetter, your grip on his leg tight enough to pinch.

“I’m gonna take you out again tonight, gonna lay you in the grass and fuck you dumb, listenin’ to you whine loud as you can.”

He’s utterly pleased with the visible, hitching breath you can no longer take in, your chest pausing in its stunted passing, and he straightens up his back again to look down at you with his face shadowed under his hat. “Ain’t that somethin’ old girl, the little lady is speechless…” Jack coos to the horse and she puffs, followed by another pat of her hoof on the ground, and his grin is a mix of genuine and egotistical happiness.

“Jack,” you purr, all bothered and wobbly-knees, a helpless look in your eye as you tug the looped rope, and he prepares to ride back off. He doesn’t partake in your pleading this time, instead giving a squeeze of his legs over Sylvie’s back.

“Same place, darlin’,” he calls, “I expect you.”

A backward glance and a tip of his hat as courtesy— or to make up for his foolish teasing— and his figure dies off in the gunpowder dust behind him and his girl, his jacket the same one you’d worn your first time away.

It’s cool and dark the next time you step out onto the porch, carefully shutting the door behind you, locking it with your key. You rub your hands over the sides of your arms as you creep over the wood, peeking past the pillars before descending the three short steps. Same place, he’d said, so you set off in the direction of the stables, bathed in the soft light of the spaced lamp posts, the same exhilarating rush as the first time bubbling head to toe.

“Ever heard of a sweet little maid ‘round here?” Jack’s happy rumbling sounds just behind you, turning into laughter at the yelp you let out, its sound squeaky and fearful until he catches you by the waist, pulling your back into his chest to sway your body around aimlessly. “Works for a Mrs. Adler, prettiest face you ever saw…”

An endeared giggle falls out of you, mouth covered immediately by your hand when he comes to place his chin on your shoulder, his fingers pressing tightly to your middle. His clothing feels rough by your neck, unlike anything else you’ve felt him wearing against you, but his cheek is soft and freshly shaven, his lips hungrily kissing behind your ear.

“Oh, I’m not so sure I have…” you murmur, allowing yourself to sink backward into his promising support, and his hum is sweet into your skin when you say so, arms squeezing you just enough for your feet to lift from the ground.

“She’s got angel eyes,” he whispers, a finger coming to trail down your cheek as he lets you back down, until his hand cups your chin, turning your head sideways to capture your lips in a deep, swelling kiss. Your own hand rises to mirror his gesture, knees suddenly like water with their wobbly weakness, and the ball of your foot scrapes over the dust as he tugs you even closer, tasting your lips.

“That might ring a bell,” you smile when you finally part, stroking your thumb over his jaw. He likes the way it feels, tilting himself further into your light grip of his face. The world surrounding you will never be the same level of interest when he stands before you— a daydream of an outing only seems as sweet if he’s there. A guidance, of sorts, a protector.

Roaming your eyes over him, a surprised gasp follows that welcoming kiss when you notice his top half covered in a navy blue poncho, its edges finished with white tassels and the wool adorned with white lines making intricate patterns over the length and width of it.

“Where have you been hiding this from me?” you simper, picking up the edge of it to feel the slightly scratchy material. He grins, weight shifting to one foot with a cocked hip, hands resting at the base of his suspenders underneath.

“Hidin’ it?”

“You’ve always got that jacket on,” you murmur, leaning upward, grabbing his face in an internal fit of fondness at seeing him covered in the blanket-like garment, giving him a harsher kiss that surprises him enough to nearly stumble backwards. He gains his balance, beaming against your mouth as he steadies the both of you, the world returning.

“You sure keep me on my toes, little lady,” he breathes, brows raised in bashfulness that you forget he has stored in that cocky brain. “Don’t you stop.”

Humming, your hand falling to rest on his chest as you recall more private contexts to his last words, you notice he wears a cross-body leather satchel underneath the poncho. “What have you got in there?”

“I can’t be full of surprises if you wanna make me spill ‘em all,” he teases, pushing his nose into yours, “come on, just you n’ me tonight.”

With your fingers laced together, Jack leads you through the familiar field to an unfamiliar spot at the top of a climbing hill, large rocks worsening the upward trek under the minimal light.

His hands find the backs of your thighs as he helps you over the last hump and your frustrated huff gets lost in your throat when you realize his hands are helping you up under your skirt instead of over.

“Jack,” you guffaw, using your biceps to push up and over the hard surface and he plays dumb behind you, a deep chortling following as you roll over to the flat space of dry grass above it. Looking ahead you notice a small gathering of wood placed in a circle around the center of the clearing in the trees while Jack rolls up next to you, much more gracefully with what must be years of practice.

He shares a sideways glance with you, “What?”

His pouty lips drag downward in his falsely innocent question, your eyes rolling without annoyance but with affection. He grabs your hand again, tugging you near the woodpile and he reaches into the satchel, revealing a box of matches in his palm.

“Is this what you did earlier?” you ask, a bewildered softness easing over your shoulders, and he nods with a grin.

“Sylvie n’ I came here to get it ready.”

Sliding the box open, he strikes the match against the rough side of the cover sleeve and the spark ignites a smoking, small flame that he holds to a coil of waxed thread under the arranged sticks and wood. It catches on and flourishes upward, sprinkling tiny sparks that rise then fall by Jack as he recoils, standing back up to his feet.

“How’s that?” he looks at you, pulling you into his warm side, your fingers instinctively wrapping around a tassel. You raise your other hand to hover over the fire, its heat so pleasant and lively on your skin and you look back at him with the same fondness as always for his generous gifts, that might not even be considered a gift to anyone else but you.

“Thank you, Jack.” On your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek filled with all the words you can’t think to say— it’s only a campfire, and to you, it holds all his care, burning there.

“There’s more,” he whispers, and his fingers rise to touch where your lips had just been, then he looks to them and you, smiling. “Said you wished you could run,” he starts, pointing to an old, battered tin can sitting atop a tree stump several feet away, “reckon there’s a few things you’ll need to learn first.”

From underneath the wool, he pulls out one of his revolvers and it shines in the flickering fire, freshly polished. He extends his hand, your own hesitantly touching it’s handle, cupping the barrel with the other as you slowly hold it on your own.

“Jack, I really don’t know about—”

“Careful,” he coos, circling back to stand behind you and placing his hands on your hips, he helps you adjust your grip with the beginning of his lesson whispered into your ear, his hands gentle as they cover yours. “Two hands.”

“I’m not sure I’m the gun slinging type,” you whisper nervously, your palms becoming clammy just handling the weapon, and you remember when its silver glint was pointed at Mr Porter, under its power.

“Always assume a gun’s loaded,” he continues, aiding you in extending your arms out, the aim at the can improving as you go. “Feet apart.”

With the toe of his boot on the inside of your ankle, he pushes your feet further apart until shoulder-width, and your shoe slides over the dry grass as you suck in a deep breath at the physical order.

“Hold it tighter,” he whispers next, ensuring your fingers are hugging the grip tightly, your other hand cupping the trigger guard firmly. “Don’t leave your finger on the trigger unless you’re aimed and ready.”

Jack is rasping now, a growing hardness on your ass from watching you handle his own weapon with determination and he pinches your hips, inciting a gasp as you try to keep your arms steady.

“The cylinder's full,” he adds, “you hit the can and I’ll make good on my promise.”

With the shot of arousal that comes after his words and the reminder of his promise to fuck you hard over the grass, it’s too easy to convince yourself that you’ll miss every shot.

“Won’t somebody hear it?” you question, turning your head as far as you can and he hums thoughtfully, pinching you softer.

“It’s luck if you hear a gunshot from a distance,” Jack soothes. And it hits you, that when Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant started shooting blindly in the house, that those were the closest bullets had ever been to you— and here, you hold them in your palms.

“Go on, sugar, knock it over and I’ll fuck you right by this fire.”

A whine escapes you before you can aim it again, the grip even sweatier than before, the fire merely a glint now as you focus on the target tin.

Locking your grip around the handle, your pointers steadying the direction, you shut one eye, then the other to test the placement, and you pull back the hammer with a stretch of your thumb.

“I’m scared,” you breathe as your arms remain pointed forward, and Jack nods, applying pressure to your shoulders with his palms.

“I’ll keep you steady. S’okay if you miss.” Jack rubs some of the tension away, your arms growing tired from holding them up as you make one last adjustment. The jolt when you pull the trigger is more powerful than you’d expected, and Jack keeps you still as your body reacts to the sharp sound and the full shock of it. The bullet only just skims the side of the can, a tinkling sound following the jarring shot from the barrel.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, his eyes wide and his smile too, when he looks from your near-shot to your frightened face turning into confidence. He throws his hat to the side, smoothing his hand through his hair before bending slightly behind you, “that was fuckin’ close, darlin’. Go again.”

His tone is pure excitement as you shake off the last lingering threads of apprehension, and you aim again, not a one inch difference from your first shot, pulling the hammer down a second time.

You place your pointer over the solid trigger and Jack’s breath hitches as he waits and watches intently, his hands still supporting your shoulders. This time, when your upper body jostles back from the force, the shot is farther off but still close, hitting the bark where a small explosion of wood chips scatter to the grass and you startle at the cracking noise, casting a worried look to Jack.

“Keep tryin’,” he soothes, cuddling his cheek to the side of your neck as he cozies up, and you’re certain it’s not the best condition for a shooting lesson, the middle of your thighs gathering slick and your palms more nervous sweat. With a deep breath, you stretch your arms out once more, muscles pulling up tight as you adjust your feet, your eyesight on the tin can reflecting the flames of the little campfire.

“That’s it,” Jack whispers as you touch your finger to the hammer, “focus.”

Scoffing, you settle your aim, determined to ignore the way he’s still pressing up against you.

“You’re doin’ great,” his voice scratches just before you pull against the trigger’s resistance and the bullet releases, harder it feels like, and pierces the tin with an incredibly loud metallic pang, sending it fast off the stump. Although you’re not too far from it, you don’t trust it yet; looking back down at the weapon in your hand and then to him, his smile already turns smug. It’s a surprise to hit it at the same time that it’s not— luck or natural talent, you don’t think you’ll ever find out. He shakes his head with pride dripping all over, crushing you into his side with a tense squeeze of his arm, your neck fitting in the bend of his elbow.

“That’s too quick,” you breathe in modesty that Jack tells you to shush away, as your disbelieving eyes fall back on the tree stump, tin can-less. “I wasn’t far away enough.”

“Come on, darlin’.” He disembarks, jogs to the stump, picks up the can behind it. A hole burns through the center on both sides. “Still shot it on the third try.”

When he arrives at your feet again, you peer down at the silver gun in your hold. Struggling to accept your own accuracy, you slowly hand it back to him.

“It'll be harder next time,” he purrs, sliding it back into its holster pocket, “but I think you’ll make the most charmin’ gunfighter in the whole damn world.”

“That’s your title,” you smile, brushing the dark hair from his forehead, curling your fist into the wool draped over him. “And the most handsome, too.”

Jack’s chest puffs out against yours as he preens at your softly-spoken compliment, the tone of his hum pitched in a questioning way to urge you on to continue.

“I’d rather like to learn more about that lasso,” you say instead, fingering where it’s attached to his hip, and he looks at you through his eyelashes, closing his hand around the one fisted in his poncho.

“Hell, if I taught you the ropes I doubt you’d let me out of your room for a whole week, darlin’. We’d better work up to that…”

“Oh well,” you tease, perching yourself up to level your lips with his ear, “you’re too soft on me to be my teacher anyway.”

“Too soft?” He raises his brows, eager to know, causing you to step back as he advances on you.

“Too easy. I ought to shoot that can three more times from ten more feet away just to be sure I’ve learned.”

Jack lays the thick blanket next to the crackling fire after pulling it out of the satchel, motioning for you to come.

“Sugar, I’ll show you rough,” he grumbles, dragging you down to the blanket with him, your chest thumping square on his when you land, a stunted breath into his mouth. His promise, listenin’ to you whine as loud as you can, returns to you now as he holds the back of your neck and opens his lips to brush yours, nipping your lower lip to earn the first wince.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you taunt, landing yourself rolled over and pinned under his heavy weight as he lifts the poncho from his head and drapes it over your bodies, hidden and warm together as you share the fiery heat of yourselves and the physical fire beside you.

“I’d hate nothin’ more than to disappoint you.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face as his fingers creep up your leg, a soft ghosting until he reaches the stark wetness compared to your dry skin everywhere but your core and he’s already groaning at just the sensation of your slick covering his fingers. “Think I could fill you right now, hm? Soakin’ me so fast…”

“I need you to fuck me as hard as you can,” you demand, your head tipping back against the ground underneath the blanket, heat accumulating in your own makeshift tent of the dark poncho. His fingers twitch over your clit as he watches your face twist in effort to get your last coherent thoughts out, “This is where I can cry.”

“Jesus,” his head falls into your shoulder and he rubs his cock on your thigh, covered by his trousers. He’s hard and thick, just as he was watching you shoot his gun, and he lifts your skirt higher, bunching the fabric at your waist. “You always get what you ask for from me.”

Blindly searching with your fingers, you find the buttons of his trousers and pull them open, carefully taking his cock out, the tip leaking generously onto your skin. You spread it for him though it runs out quickly, but your own burning arousal is enough for the two of you as he settles himself closer, his hair flopping out of place. His moustache brushes against your temple when he spreads your legs wider, a soothing slide of your skin over the blanket before you feel his cock running through your slick folds, and it’s enough to start whining. Even the little sounds you let out at the house are suppressed and quietened— here, there is no one but the two of you.

“Give it all to me, baby doll,” he rasps over your throat as he positions himself and pushes past your entrance, slowly stretching you open on his thick cock and your thighs fall open wider, too, your breath heavy and low for him to bask in. “Ain’t that sweet…”

Jack’s eyes carry the glint of the fire beside your bodies as he stays there for some moments, letting you squirm all you need before he flattens you to the ground with his chest, cooing encouraging gentleness to contrast with the untamed way he’s going to fuck you here, on the blanket, again. His cock pushes deeper with the added mass, your whimper not enough when he finally thrusts and hits his hips to your wide-spread thighs and works the wetness of you all over his cock.

“Ja— Jack—” you whine, and his hot hand soon comes to glide over the innermost part of your thigh, rubbing it firmly as if he’s about to—

He spanks your thigh and earns the high-pitch moan he’s been working for all along, drawing himself back to return with a harsh thrust as he keeps his hand on the stinging sensation, groaning out his nose.

“Fu-uuck, there we go, that’s what I wanted,” he grunts through stunted breaths as he sets a new, punishing pace, sliding with ease in and out, hitting deep inside to brush against that satisfying spot that when he slaps the same part of your leg, the pleasure from both makes you cry louder, moan louder.

He draws the wool tighter around his back as he lowers his lips to your mouth, emitting an animalistic groan over your face when you clench around his cock and pull him in closer for another open-mouthed kiss, true and full.

“Oh, god,” you groan, his hand caressing the underside of your thigh, until he draws it up to push your knee on your chest, fitting his hand in the bend of your leg.

“Gimme more, sugar,” he demands, landing a sharp swat to the side of your ass lifted off the ground that gives him your neediest, filthiest sound yet as you fist his hair, taking his brutal pace.

“Jack, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Fuck,” he curses back harder, “I’m gonna steal you every god damn night for this.” Jack hisses through bared teeth on your collarbone, keening when you raise your hips to meet his. The fire rises beside you at the same time a wave of building pressure in your abdomen knocks through your lower half, and you place your hands on his face, sliding them up to meet his hair.

A shaky breath puffs out of you, the sting of his spankings spreading over your leg as you crane your neck and cry out while he buries himself and grinds against your clit, “You just get wetter n’ wetter for me,” he remarks hoarsely, “just can’t help but need me, hm?”

“I... Yes,” you sigh into his heated neck, your limbs softening in their hold of him as he fucks you hard over the blanket, his grip deathly on the side of your thigh.

“I want to hear it, darlin’, say it to me,” he scrapes, his voice at the bottom of his register, and when the words get stuck in your mind and jumbled out of order from the fullness of your core, he draws himself out and rolls you onto your stomach. Mindlessly, empty, you whine with an equal hoarseness to his own, the end of it pushed out prematurely when he flattens his chest over your back, lining his cock back up with your soaking entrance.

“I’ll pull every last pretty sound you got left in you if I have to.”

The words are a terrible blow to your senses, sparking a rapid increase in the sound of rushing blood in your ears as he pushes your thigh up to the side and presses down on it with his palm.

“Please…” you breathe, “I’m so close— fuck me, please fuck me again—”

Shutting your eyes, hoping to feel him push himself back inside you, you instead are met with a final, cracking swat on your leg that sends you wailing as Jack waits for you to scream it, “Tell me, sugar!”

“I need you, Jack— I need you!”

It doesn’t sound like your own voice. Never has it been clouded by so much desire and such a sinful edge to your witless begging, but it’s enough for him. A push forward, and he fills you; his own sounds have grown needier too, reaching far out. He plants a hand by your face and you grab onto his wrist as he shoves his cock repeatedly deeper and at this angle, you could consider the punishing stretch of him painful, but it’s everything you need, causing you to whine a step higher every time his hips hit your ass.

“You’re all I fuckin’ think about, darlin’,” Jack mouths at your earlobe, your bodies turning slick under the poncho and your clothes, “here you are, shootin’ my gun n’ lettin’ me fuck your tight little pussy, beggin’ for me— gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

Your jaw drops and an involuntary squeal stumbles from your hanging lip, Jack snarling behind you as he plunges again, hooking his hands under your shoulders and splaying his fingers wide over the tops of them.

It’s a taut stretch of your chest when he pulls on you like that, the soft curl of his hair tickling your neck as he nestles his face to yours and muffles his grunts and groans. You pull up tighter around him, squeezing his cock, nearly driving him to collapse over your back when he feels it happen and what is easily his hardest, neediest and wrecked groan tears out and spreads over your limbs with the rumbling breath he takes after.

“Jaaack,” you whisper, his movements heavily weighing on you, your body resting just at the precipice of something overwhelming, “So… full..”

“I’m gonna fuck my cum into that sweet cunt.” Jack fists the blanket with his supporting hand and the next time he rams his hips forward, a full-bodied scream fills the air, and once more, you squeeze him tighter as you cum hard around his cock, your nails starting to dig into his wrist as he fucks you through it.

“Baby doll, you’re too fuckin’ good to me— squeeze me so fuckin’ tight when you cum, keep it comin’—”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god— fuck!” You can’t stop gushing around him as his thrusts lose rhythm, as he focuses more on the sounds you’re making and the grip you have on his cock and it just won’t end, tears beginning to form in your eyes while the movements never cease.

“That is just heavenly,” he says with a strained laugh, “shit, you really did need me, huh? You want my cum inside you too? Want to be spoiled?”

“Yes!” you cry, miraculously raising your ass just a little against his cock as the orgasm finally calms, a growl and a bite on your shoulder at your ceaseless will to beg.

“Take it.” One final, gorgeous moan from his throat and he buries himself, a wet warmth painting your walls, his chest deflating as he settles around your back and rubs your thigh in a soft contrast to what was his stinging swats minutes before. He blows and pants to recuperate, and as he brings himself out, you feel the warmth spreading and dripping down to your clit. For a moment, you share the breaths you’re both trying to catch, but the sensation of his cum sliding over your skin is yet another obstacle to returning to a manageable state of being.

“This…” he whispers, taking his hand back, leaning on his other elbow to support himself as he slides his fingers under your skirt to lead them to your swollen cunt, “is my favourite, darlin’.” He spreads his cum over your folds, milky liquid sliding wherever he traces, and you push back on your knees to raise yourself for him while he guides it back inside you, your throat tired but still whimpering as he pushes his fingers in.

“Keep me inside,” he murmurs on your temple, urging you to lay back down over the plushy blanket, and as you relax, mussed and twinkling by the fire, he drapes the poncho over your body, tucking the fabric under your sides. He strokes your cheek with the dry hand, lifting your head to his lap as he carefully sits by you, your eyes delicately fluttering closed.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, and without opening your eyes, you shake your head no. Jack makes a purring sound, considering the moans his actions pulled out of you, and he begins to stroke your face some more. “Hope I never do,” he adds softly, studying your peaceful expression under the firelight and stars, “you’re soft.”

The last two words make you blink and smile up at him, finally granting him a peek which he returns with curved lips, and you know that “soft” doesn’t mean “weak” when he says it.

“I got an idea of where to take you next, if you think you can handle it...”

tags for yeehonk idiot:

@filthybookworm @frannyzooey @javier-pena @javierpcna @astroboots @userdindja @pedros-mustache @princessxkenobi @trashcora @writerdee1701 @thelemongeneration @libraryofrecs @fan-of-encouragement @herb-welch @writeforfandoms @queenofthecloudss @leannawithacapitala @the-feckless-wonder @kesskirata @fuck-goes-on @lawfulgranola@apascalrascal @prismaticpizza @xemmaloveskillianx @littlemissoblivious @quica-quica-quica @spideysimpossiblegirl @little-big-mac2 @recklesswit @frankie-catfish-morales

let me know whether you’d like to be added or removed!

#agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #pedro pascal #agent whiskey #pedrostories #userastrid #tuserdaniela #userdindja #xuserannie #userhai #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #western au #jack daniels i love you forever #no devil dealings here...

357 notes · View notes

obsessive-ego · 4 years ago

Text

Jack it to a jacket nsft

Masterbation, voyeurism, you know how I am

Musical beetlejuice x fem reader (reader has a vagina but uses they them pronouns)

Beetlejuice forgets his jacket and you use it while he's gone

Beetlejuice had announced to you he had to spend a few days in the netherworld for bio exorcist meeting or something, you really didnt get it, it's not like he actually had a job, all you knew is that he's been complaining about it since day one. That he had to leave the world of the living for a bit.

The day finally came for him to head out for his little business trip, you could tell the ghoul was less then thrilled to go, slight purple streaks graced his hair, you knew he wasnt too keen on being in the netherworld, the demon had such a fascination with the living, an adoration for living with you, going back to the netherworld, even for a few days was like heading back to work after a long period off, soul sucking.

"Alright Sugar" he starts adjusting his tie, his jacket resting on the arm of the couch "I'll be gone for a few days, try not to miss me too much~"

You give the ghoul a soft smile "itll be quieter for sure" you try to joke

"Yeah..." he trails off, his playful teasing voice dropping along with his grin.

"I know this is gonna suck, but the sooner you get it started the sooner it's over with" you try to cheer him up giving the demon a light punch in the arm.

Beetlejuice's hue was now completely purple, you frown at the sight.

"You know doll, I'm being awfully selfish here, but, how bout ya give me a little sugar before I go?~"

You flinch at the suggestion, you wouldnt say you were shocked at this request, but you were.

"You're stalling"

"Come on babes, humor me, I gotta fill out paper work and deal with my mother, could REALLY use a pick me up~" he nudges you gently and gives a wink, hoping it'll soften you up, it does.

"Fine" you huff out, you grab the demon by the suspenders, yanking him to you level giving him a quick peck.

"No tongue on the first date?~" he snickers, as pink patches pop up in his mossy beard.

"...have a good trip" you utter trying to hide your embarrassment

"Oh doll I will, thinking about your soft lips~" the demon's voice drops to that low growl that never failed to make you warm in your lower areas

"Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Bee-"

You could NEVER make it to 3, the ghoul was always quick to slap a hand to your mouth, pulling you into a side hug.

"Trying to kick me out so soon sugar? So mean~" he chuckles, the ghoul pulls his hand from your mouth and you sigh.

Beetlejuice pauses holding you in this awkward side hug for a few minutes

"Bee?"

"I know" he grumbles, he begrudgingly pulls away

The ghoul makes his way to the empty wall and draws his entrance.

Knock

Your living room wall opens up to the netherworld, it was always a rare sight to you, a little anxiety inducing, you freeze for a moment, but as the demon steps into the world of the dead you shout

"Wait!"

Beetlejuice turns to you

"You forgot something"

The demon's eyes light up and in a flash he was infront of you, his hands cup your face as he slams his lips into yours, you jolt in surprise, as the ghoul pulls away he purrs "almost forgot my second goodbye kiss, thanks doll" and just like that he was gone, the netherworld was out of sight and you were alone.

"Your jacket" you whisper still alittle dizzy from his kiss.

...

The jacket he left behind spent a few hours folded neatly on the couch as you go about your alone time. Everytime beetlejuice was away you always took the opportunity to get some chores done, you liked the demon yeah, but he always got under foot, or he would be creepy while you tried to get things done. There were times where you were just doing the laundry, and the demon would just stare at you, no words, he just sat atop the dryer watching you like a hawk as you loaded the washer, it made your skin crawl and your stomach turn to have that much attention put on you, hell, you'd rather him be lewd and annoying then that.

As creepy as he was, that was just who he was, and you loved him, his awful charms, his terrible jokes, and his over all handsome, to you, look, wormed it's way into your heart and refused to let go.

Every kiss, every grope, every pet name he gave you dug you deeper into your affection. Though you were too terrified to confront him about your feelings, he was a literal demon, could he even share these feelings, let alone would he like you the same way, all in all you didnt want to ruin what the two of you had, friends, good friends.

You missed him, you really did, so what was the harm in wearing his coat, just around the house, and maybe smelling it every now and again, that wasnt too weird right? And it would be fine if you were to fall asleep wearing it right? There was no harm in it, but if beetlejuice was to pop in unexpectedly and if he say you wearing it casually youd never hear the end of it, and yet you never took it off.

It's been a few days since beetlejuice left for the netherworld, you were relaxing on your bed looking at memes trying to ignore how much you missed a certain undead bastard, hell you were wearing the jacket he left behind and stealing a small sniff here and there, beetlejuice never really gives you a time frame as to when he'd be back whenever he goes to the netherworld.

'Time moves differently when you're dead, and boy does it move, but it slows down when I'm with you babes' you shiver and try to swallow the lump in your throat that memory caused, the undead bastard was such a flirt.

You grew a tad lonely without your favorite dead guy, yes you used to live alone before beetlejuice barged his way into your home, but you have gotten used to him, you miss him when he's not with you, especially his no concept of personal space, how the ghoul's hands always found a home on your body, your hips, your waist, your shoulders.

You feel a familiar pulse between your legs, you try and ignore it, though your mind was reeling with old memories of beej touching you, you werent even scrolling through your phone anymore, just staring at the screen, thinking of the demon's strong callused hands running up and down your thighs.

"You win" you grumble sliding off your bed and crouching next to it, you pull out a little tool box. Opening the little box and revealing an average sized bright green vibrator brandishing a nice bulbous tip. You push the button on the toy's base and it buzzes to life, you smile, glad to see the barriers were still alive, it was too late for you to run out and get replacements.

You shimmy out of your pajama pants and panties before you hop back up on the bed. You remove the jacket giving it a deep inhale of its scent before placing it down next to you.

...

Your living room walls silently open up, letting in a thick fog of green reavling your demon friend, the ghoul knew it was late, late enough that his sweet little y/n should be dead asleep, as your living room rearranges itself back to normal the ghoul floats to your bedroom, excited to come snuggle up to your soft warm body after what felt like an eternity with dealing with his mother and newly deads with no sense of humor.

"Ah!"

The ghoul freezes at the sound, standing in front of your closed bedroom door, you could be? He presses an ear to the door, the faint sound of buzzing and muffled moans could be herd.

In a flash Beetlejuice's hair and moss on his face turns electric pink.

"A welcome home present? For me? Oh dolly~" he whispers before snapping his fingers and camouflaging himself. Beetlejuice fazed through the door and froze at the sight of you, yes he has seen you touch yourself before, but this?

There you were Laying on your bed, propped up by pillows, shirt pulled up exposing your breasts, bottom half completely bare, pumping the vibrator he got you (as an apology for messing with your old one) in and out of your leaking pussy, with your face buried in his jacket, muffling your whining.

The ghoul could have blown his load from the sight alone, yes he knew you liked him, and yes he knows you want him, but this? This was dirty, this was naughty, smelling his clothes and jerking off? You were just as horny as him, not really, no one is, but he'll take this.

"And here I thought only I had a scent fetish" he chuckles making his way to the end of the bed, plopping down to get a good view of your soaked vigina, he was fixated on the speed you pumped the toy in and out of you. Beetlejuice fumbled with his fly, pulling out his semi, the ghoul licks the palm of his hand, coding it is a nice layer of saliva before wrapping it around his cock. Beetlejuice starts off slowly, but it isnt long until his pace matches yours, imagining the toy between your legs was him, god slash satan he envied that peice of silicon.

"Beetlejuice" you whine bucking your hips up to meet the vibrator as it slid back in, you take another deep inhale of the jacket's scent and whine, beetlejuice groans in response.

"Such a dirty little thing, fuck- I expected to come home and see ya sleeping it in, ah- but this? Oh babes, I would have left it behind months ago to, oh god- to see you like this" the ghoul babbled, he really didnt want to finish before you, he wanted to enjoy this show for as long as possible.

You were absolutely lost in your little activity, using you non dominant hand to hold the demon's jacket to your nose, the scent drove you wild, you could imagine beetlejuice driving his cock into you over and over again, the idea of him fully dressed fucking you while you were completely naked made you tremble.

“Oh my god Bee, fuck, yes, please, fucking oh my god I want you to…Beetlejuice fuck…” you babble as you begin to pick up pace with the vibrator.

The ghoul drools at the show you oh so kindly are giving him, hearing you moan out his name, oh how he loved that sound, it wasnt the first time beetlejuice herd you moan out his name during your 'alone time' but it still made his toes curl as though it was.

Beetlejuice growls through his teeth, he was almost there, seeing you use his jacket in such a way was better than he ever could’ve imagined, yes he dreamed of you using his things for sexual satisfaction, he just thought he'd never see it.

Beetlejuice found that trying to keep the pace with you was growing too hard, he needed to finish, he needed you to finish. He didn’t want to cum before you, he needed to see you cum while using his jacket, he needed the image of you using his things to cum to be carved into his brain.

Thankfully, Beej is good at edging, this wasnt his first day being a peeping Tom, and it wont be the last, it wasnt easy, but he could do it, watching you whine and buck your hips because of him, sure made it a challenge though.

You were almost there, you stop pumping the toy, only for a second, to crank the vibrations to the higher setting, your hips jolt up as you press the jacket against your face muffling your screams, with the intensity up you were ready for the home stretch, you begin to move the toy again, in and out, imagining it was the ghoul you oh so loved. You could just imagine beetlejuice pressing you into the mattress with every thrust, all the dirty things he'd be saying to you, praising you for how well you take his fat cock, growling, biting, you couldn't take it anymore, you felt like you were gonna explode. God you wanted that smug bastard so badly, you loved him so much, you moved the hand holding the jacket against you face and brought it to your vagina, as one hand pumped the vibrator the other played with your clit. You groan through your teeth at the added simulation, if only you could see the demon infront of you.

Beetlejuice sat before you, jaw dropped, tongue hanging, drool dripping down his chin, panting. His cock was throbbing, leaking pre cum, he was ready to burst, honestly he surprised he hasn't yet, watching his y/n go to town on their pussy. Beetlejuice watched ad you hips bounced, and your toes curled, he could finally get a good look at your face, you were tearing up.

"Feels good doesnt babes? Wait till you get the real deal~"

"LAWRENCE!" You shout as your hips buck upwards, just then, something new happened, you squirted, thought you didnt notice, you were too busy, head lulled back, panting, and using the soft buzzing of the vibrator to ride out your orgasm.

But beetlejuice on the other hand saw, he saw you squirt when you called him, when you called him by his first name, a name you rarely used. The demon blew his load shortly after your little finale, an image that will always be treasured by him. Beetlejuice wipes the cum off his hand on his pant leg, and slides his now soft cock back into his pants. He watches you lay there for a moment before you gingerly sit up, reaching forward to turn off the vibrator and remove it from you, you flinch doing so, still tender. You give out a yawn and toss the toy on the floor mumble how you'll deal with it in the morning, adjusting your shirt to cover hour chest you slide under the covers, in minutes you were asleep, holding his jacket oh so tightly.

Beetlejuice envied the garment, and as much as the ghoul wanted to slide in next you now, he couldnt, you were naked from the waist down. But you did leave him a tasty snack, so he couldnt be mad at you. Beetlejuice snatches up the freshly used vibrator, still warm from your touch, and vanishes

"Good night y/n" his voice purrs in your ears,

"...Lawrence..."

#beetlejuice x reader #muscial beetlejuice x reader #nsft

199 notes · View notes

junghelioseok · 4 years ago

Text

clandestine. | 04

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 6.5k [4/6]

notes: we finally have a set chapter count! did this fic really need to be 6 chapters? absolutely not, but here we are! i’m hoping to have this fella finished up in the next month or so, but we’ll see how that goes given my track record. happy new year, everyone!

warnings: a little underedited bc i’m lazy, shower sex!!! mild? exhibitionist tendencies??? reader is dumb and jungkook is slutty, but what else is new 🤷🏻‍♀️

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

“I swear to god, I am going to amputate your arm with a rusty hacksaw if you elbow me one more time.”

Undeterred, your brother prods you again, pouting at you from his spot in the driver’s seat. “I just want another chip, Noona. Don’t be so mean.”

“Are you a baby bird?” you ask in disbelief, gaping at the way he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. “Seriously, I’m not feeding you. Get your own chips if you want them so badly.”

“But I’ve gotta keep both hands on the wheel,” he replies cheekily. “Ten and two positions, at all times.”

You frown. “Didn’t they change it to nine and three?” Nonetheless, you reluctantly reach into the bag in your lap, pulling out a potato chip and delivering it to his waiting mouth. “Next one’s going straight into your nose,” you warn as he happily crunches down on the snack.

Jimin simply offers you a beatific grin in between chews. “Love you too.”

“Nope, I changed my mind. Next one’s going up your ass.”

Your brother has long since grown used to your threats. “Kinky,” he chuckles as he merges smoothly into the next lane over. The song on the radio shifts into something more upbeat, and Jungkook is quick to start humming along under his breath from his spot in the seat behind you. Within minutes, it’s morphed into a singalong, and the offkey warbling of all seven passengers—no matter how dissonant—is a perfect soundtrack for the remainder of the drive.

The beach, when you arrive, is awash with tourists and locals alike, all clamoring to lay claim to a prime stretch of sand and a decent parking space. Jimin manages to snag a spot just as someone else is pulling out, and the rest of you are quick to disembark and scope out the beach for somewhere to set up camp. Plopping your bag down onto the sand, you rifle through it until you find your sunscreen, mentally patting yourself on the back for buying the spray instead of the cream.

“Can I borrow that when you’re done, Noona?” Taehyung asks, watching you wrench off the cap.

You nod, squinting against the sunlight. “Sure. As long as you help me get my entire back.”

“Deal.”

Flashing him a grateful smile, you shimmy out of your shorts and begin applying sunscreen to your arms and legs. Taehyung peels off his t-shirt, and you spray him down too, making sure to coat his entire back before he takes the bottle and does the same to you.

“I might have gone a little overboard,” he admits once he’s done, capping the bottle and tossing it back into your bag. Warm hands settle onto your exposed shoulder blades, deft fingertips rubbing the excess product into your skin. “There, that should do it. All better.”

“Thanks, Tae.” You turn around and reach out, wiping at a stray fleck of the white lotion on his bicep. “You’ve got a little bit here too, hang on—“

“Mind if I borrow this?”

You turn at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. The dark-haired young man is standing there with your sunscreen in hand, his gaze zeroed in on the way your fingertips linger on Taehyung’s bare skin. Awkwardly, you pull away and nod, hoping that neither of them can hear your heart pounding erratically against your ribcage.

“Yeah. Sure. It’s all yours.”

Jungkook grabs his white t-shirt by the collar, tugging it up and over his head in one smooth motion, and you swallow at the way his taut abdomen flexes as he tosses it aside. “You’ll help me get my back too, won’t you, Noona?”

You nod, moving before he can even finish his sentence. Your feet carry you across the sandy ground on autopilot, and Jungkook exhales audibly as your palms smooth along the golden expanse of his muscular back, dipping down to the waistband of his black swim trunks. Ever since his visit to your bedroom last night, you’ve been itching to touch him—to feel every last inch of him. It’s impossible with your watchful brother and group of nosy friends hovering around though, so you settle for this—rubbing sunscreen into his warm skin while he sprays down his arms and legs.

“Thanks, princess,” he murmurs once you’re done, soft enough so that only you can hear and raising gooseflesh on the back of your neck. “Maybe next time, you’ll let me repay the favor.”

Then Yugyeom is calling his name, and Jungkook sprints down to the shoreline to join his friend in the crashing surf, his face creasing with laughter. Each time he emerges from the waves, droplets cling to his skin like glistening diamonds in the sunlight. It’s impossible to look away from the sight, and your tongue darts out to moisten your lips as you watch water drip off his hair and down his nape, pooling in his collarbones before he shakes his head like a dog and sends it spraying in all directions.

All that sunscreen is going to waste, a tiny voice in your head points out, but it’s hard to worry about that when you’re too busy following the path of the water streaming down past his dusky nipples to the ridges of his abdomen. And it’s almost as if he feels your gaze on him, because he’s suddenly staring right back at you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“Come on, Noona,” he calls, raking a hand through his drenched hair. “The water’s fine. Don’t make me drag you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you call back, immediately regretting it when something equal parts mischievous and dangerous flashes across his face. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before, and you back away nervously as he emerges from the waves and saunters toward you. “Jungkook—”

“Yes?” he asks, his voice dropping down into a low purr. “What is it, princess?”

You edge around the towel that you’ve laid out in the sand, as if such a flimsy barrier could stop him in any way. “Just—just don’t dunk me under,” you plead.

Jungkook looks genuinely offended by that. “I would never,” he says, laying a hand over his heart and grabbing yours with his free one. “Now come on—let’s get you wet.”

You groan at the innuendo and try to tug free from his grip, but Jungkook only tightens his grasp, cackling the whole way down to the water.

///

The sun is just beginning to set, streaking the blue sky through with wispy strands of orange and gold, when Jimin raises his hand and declares it dinner time. For the past two hours, you’ve all been engrossed in a very tight three-on-three volleyball match with Jimin serving as referee, and upon hearing your brother’s declaration, Minho looks about ready to chuck the ball into the ocean.

“Dude, are you fucking serious? We’re literally two points from winning!” He gestures wildly at an invisible scoreboard only he can see. “No way we’re stopping here. I refuse on principle.”

“Yeah, I wanna see who the real winner is, too,” Jungkook drawls from the other end of the court, where he’s flanked on either side by Taehyung and Yugyeom. “I mean, we’ve been leading for most of the tournament, so…”

Minho scowls. “And we’re about to win the whole damn thing. Just you wait, Jeon.”

Behind him, you and Taemin exchange helpless glances. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen Jungkook and Minho squabble over the years, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Both possess a razor sharp competitive streak and a certain pigheadedness that only emerges when it comes to athletic endeavors, and luckily, your brother knows this just as well as you do. Heaving a sigh, Jimin wearily gestures for them to continue, resuming his post at the end of the net. “Fine, fine,” he mutters. “Next point wins.”

On the other side of the net, Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “I’m good with that if you are.”

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho retorts. “It’s our serve. You ready?”

Jungkook smirks. “Bring it on.”

Minho cracks his knuckles and tosses the ball over to you for the serve. “All right then, let’s fucking do this.”

You sigh. Taking a deep breath, you heft up the ball, testing its weight before hitting it smoothly over the net. Yugyeom jumps up to intercept, batting it back over to your side, and Minho attempts to spike it back and into the sand. Unfortunately, Jungkook is too quick, and dives down to bump it back over to you. The back and forth continues like this for a while—you see Jimin boredly scrolling on his phone out of the corner of your eye—and you’re strongly considering calling it quits when Jungkook smashes the ball over the net and into the ground right at Minho’s feet.

“And that’s game,” he declares proudly, raking his sweaty hair off his forehead with a triumphant grin.

“Are you finally done?” Jimin asks, rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone. “Thank god. Can we eat now?”

Jungkook claps him on the back in affirmation, ignoring Minho’s loud, adamant protests that your team still technically won. Together, you head back to where your towels and bags sit in the sand, grabbing bottles of chilled water out of the cooler and fishing for snacks. Jimin pulls a package of hot dogs out while Taehyung rips open a bag of chips, and you follow their lead and grab the hamburger patties and buns. “Huh, I swear I bought ketchup,” you mumble to yourself as you rummage through the half-melted ice in the cooler. “Is it not in here?”

“I have it.” Jungkook materializes at your side, proffering the little red bottle. He’s pulled his white t-shirt back on, the material a stark contrast to his tanned skin, and you silently rise to your feet to take it when a sudden wave of lightheadedness rushes over you and sends the world spinning.

“Whoa,” you gasp, swaying on your feet. “Oh, god.”

Jungkook frowns and drops the ketchup bottle, steadying you until most of your weight is leaned against him. “Noona? Are you okay?”

You swallow, hard, and try to shake the unexpected bout of dizziness away. “I don’t know. Got dizzy, all of a sudden. I think I might have stood up too fast?”

Gently, Jungkook presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You feel pretty warm,” he murmurs. “Have you had enough water today?”

“I thought I drank plenty, but maybe not,” you admit, and he nods decisively and gestures for you to follow him.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s grab some water and go somewhere quiet so you can rest. Minho isn’t going to shut up about that match anytime soon, and it’s cooler down by the water.”

You laugh weakly. “We did technically win, you know. We had one more point than you guys.”

“God, not you too,” Jungkook sighs, casting you a playful look over his shoulder as he digs two bottles of water out from the cooler. He uncaps one and hands it over before taking a swig out of his, and you take a grateful sip, relishing in the cool liquid that trickles down your throat.

Nearby, your brother and the rest of the boys have commandeered one of several firepits scattered around the edges of the beach. They’re piling up pieces of driftwood and some of the long, tall sea grass that Taehyung has found, and Jungkook waves at them as he slowly guides you toward the ocean with a hand on your back. “We’re gonna go find some more wood!” he calls, and Jimin raises a hand in acknowledgment before turning back to the firepit.

Water laps gently at your toes as you and Jungkook walk along the shore, washing away all traces of your footprints. The sun dips below the horizon at last, illuminating the sky in one last burst of red and orange and gold that slowly fades into deep purples and blues as night falls. The temperature dips as the moon ascends to her lofty throne, accompanied by a smattering of starry pinpricks. Most of the beachgoers have packed up and left by this point, and here, with nothing but Jungkook’s quiet, familiar presence and the lapping waves, you feel more at peace than you have in a long time.

“You know, I’m really glad I came this weekend,” you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of you. Your gaze drops down to your toes, fixing your attention on a pearly white seashell that’s sticking out from the wet sand. “I think you were right—I really did need a break from everything.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that,” Jungkook says, swirling his pinky in his ear. “Could you say it again? Something about me being right?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Jungkook casts a quick look over his shoulder, and when you follow the trajectory of his gaze, you notice just how far you’ve gotten from the firepit where the others are sitting. Darkness has settled over the beach, the sand painted a wan silver from the light of the moon, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand finds its way around yours.

“Jungkook—” you begin, but trail off when he twines your fingers together and gives your hand a squeeze.

“They can’t see us, Noona,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

Easier said than done, you want to say. Nevertheless, you suck in a deep breath and take another sip from your water bottle, trying to ignore the way Jungkook swings your interlocked hands between you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we be trying to find more driftwood?” you ask after several long seconds have dragged by. “We need way more if we’re gonna keep the fire going.”

Jungkook hums softly and veers inland, until the sand beneath your feet is dry and starts sticking to your wet toes. You come across a few scattered pieces of wood, dried out by the sun, and tuck them beneath your arm. Likewise, Jungkook gathers a few pieces of his own, hefting them up before reaching out to take your hand once more. His fingers slot all too comfortably into the spaces between yours, and your heart stutters a few times in your chest before plunking down into your churning stomach.

Nighttime has well and truly settled over the beach by the time you and Jungkook start picking your way back over to rejoin the group around the firepit. You pull your hand out of Jungkook’s well before you reach the ring of orange light that the flames cast across the sand, your arm now swinging free at your side and your fingers cold from the loss of his warmth. Silently, you hasten your pace and plop down onto the towel that Jimin has spread out, stretching out your legs toward the fire and wiggling your toes.

“Where have you guys been?” Jimin asks curiously. “You just kinda wandered off.”

“Getting more driftwood,” you reply, gesturing at the small pile you’ve dropped at the edge of the towel. “We told you that’s where we were going.”

Jimin frowns for a few seconds before the memory resurfaces. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

Jungkook snorts and takes a seat beside you, dropping his stack of driftwood on top of yours. “Dumbass.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Jimin retorts.

“You’re both dumbasses,” you sigh.

The fire crackles merrily, sending orange sparks up into the velvety black sky. There’s a grill situated over the flames, loaded with hamburger patties and hot dogs, and you watch as Jimin tears open a bag of hot dog buns and begins to place them around the edges.

“Hey, can you throw me the hamburger buns?” he asks you. “I wanna try toasting them.”

“You’re gonna burn them,” you tell him flatly. Nonetheless, you locate the second bag and toss it over, watching as he makes more room on the grill.

Dinner is a loud, chaotic affair, filled with laughter and conversation and plenty of booze to go around. Jimin has procured a flask of whiskey from somewhere in his clothing—an impressive feat in and of itself, considering he’s only wearing swim trunks and a thin blue t-shirt. You wave him off when he offers you a sip, and he shrugs and throws back a generous swallow himself. Then he offers it to Jungkook, who shakes his head and raises his water bottle. “Designated driver,” he says. “I’m sticking to water tonight.”

Curiously, you glance over at him. “You don’t have to do that. I wasn’t planning on drinking, so I can drive us back.”

“With the way you were looking earlier?” Jungkook fixes you with a look of pure disbelief. “Not a chance. Besides, we’re going back to the real world tomorrow, and the last thing I need is to be hungover. I have to get us back home in one piece, not to mention the entire menu I still have to memorize for work.”

You hum. Jungkook has mentioned his new job a few times—a summer stint working as a server at a new restaurant opened by a family friend named Seokjin. “Right, I remember you saying that. You start on Monday, don’t you?”

“Dinner shift,” Jungkook confirms. “I stole a whole bunch of pens from Junghyun’s room the other day in preparation. Jin said I’d probably end up losing two-thirds of them by the end of the week.”

“That sounds about right,” you tell him with a laugh. “Some guy stole my favorite pen last summer when I was working at that diner on Main. Lesson learned, forever.”

Jungkook laughs. “Yeah, I bet.”

You grin. “But, hey, seriously. If you need me to quiz you on that menu, I’ve got time to spare.”

“Honestly, I might take you up on that offer. I have flash cards, and everything.” He uncaps his water bottle and takes a long sip, his throat bobbing with each swallow, before glancing back over at you. “What about you? You ready for your internship?”

You sigh and offer him a helpless little shrug. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. I don’t think I’m going to stop stressing about it until I get through my first day. The entire thing still doesn’t feel real.”

“I get that,” Jungkook hums. “Well, I can imagine it, at least. I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through, since I’ve never had an adult job, but—“ He shrugs a shoulder halfheartedly. “I can kind of relate, I guess.”

“All jobs suck a little bit,” you tell him, and Jungkook lets out a derisive huff of agreement.

“I’ll drink to that,” he says, and the two of you tap your water bottles together before rejoining the conversation with the rest of your friends.

///

The drive back to the lake house is shorter than you remember it being—though that might be because you spend most of it watching Jungkook drive. He steers with one hand slung carelessly over the wheel, his expression relaxed as he sings along to whatever pop hit plays on the radio. Unloading the car is a team effort, though you hear no shortage of complaints from Jimin as he heaves the cooler over the threshold of the house before collapsing atop it in a pile of limp limbs.

“Thanks for leaving me to carry this thing by myself,” he snarks, not even bothering to raise his head. “Really appreciate it.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Taehyung scoffs, tossing a game console at him. “Have a beer and pick something to play. We’re waiting on you.”

You watch as your brother immediately hops up and darts over to join the rest of the boys lounging in the living room, fighting back the sudden wave of exhaustion that washes over you. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” you tell them, hiding a yawn behind your hand. “Goodnight, guys.”

A chorus of goodnights and see you in the mornings rings out in response, and you wave before heading down the hall to your room and into the adjoining bathroom. Your hair is crusty from being submerged in the salty water of the ocean, and a shower to rejuvenate your dehydrated skin is just what you need. Turning on the tap, you wait until it’s flowing warm before stripping out of your clothes and tossing them onto your bed to deal with later. Then you step into the shower and tilt your head back, letting the water stream down your face and soak into your hair.

You’re midway through squeezing a generous dollop of shampoo into your palm when there’s a soft knock on the door. “Noona?” Jungkook’s voice filters through the sound of rushing water, low and lilting like a song. “You left kinda fast. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

You cap the shampoo bottle and replace it on the shelf, peering out from behind the shower curtain. “I’m fine,” you call, hesitating before you steel your nerves and continue. “You can come in, if you want. I don’t like yelling through the door.”

Slowly, the bathroom door eases open, revealing Jungkook standing in his and Jimin’s shared bedroom. His brown eyes are wide as he takes in the sight before him, and you have no doubt that he’s thinking about just what the palm tree patterned curtain is hiding from his view. Your lip finds its way between your teeth when you notice him shuffle his feet awkwardly for a moment before stepping a little closer to where you’re standing beneath the spray, his mouth opening to speak.

“Join me?”

The invitation slips past your lips, unbidden, but you have no intention of taking it back. Not when Jungkook’s gaze darkens to obsidian at those two simple words, his mouth snapping shut and his hands already reaching for the hem of his white t-shirt. Not when he strips it off in one smooth motion to reveal all the dips and ridges of his abdomen, his skin golden even under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lights. And certainly not when he pulls aside the shower curtain and joins you beneath the spray, his dark eyes appreciatively raking up and down your bare figure.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a low purr.

“Hi,” you respond, reaching out and trailing a fingertip down his chest.

And then you’re dropping down to your knees, your tongue darting out to tease at the tip of his already rising cock. One hand finds its way to his balls while the other traces the line of his pelvic bone, and you smirk when you feel him let out a shuddery breath.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Someone’s eager.”

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, humming, and Jungkook’s fingers fly into your dampened hair. “Oh, fuck. You’re really trying to kill me, huh, princess?” he asks, and you respond by taking a little more of him into your mouth, laving at the vein running along the underside of his length before hollowing your cheeks. Jungkook throws his head back, a deep groan escaping his parted lips, and you preen under his encouragement as he urges you to take him deeper.

You’ve just begun to settle into a rhythm—figuring out exactly how much pressure he likes and what makes his hips buck—when he suddenly pushes you away. “Jung—” you begin, only to have him silence you with a searing kiss, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you to your feet.

“Wanna fuck you properly,” he rasps. His hand finds its way between your legs, experimental fingers sliding through the wetness that’s gathered there, and your cheeks heat up when he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean. “Just let me go grab a condom,” he whispers urgently. “Don’t move a muscle, okay? I’ll be righ—”

You silence him with a hard kiss. “Don’t,” you mumble. “I’m clean. Are you?”

Jungkook nods slowly, his eyes wide. “Does that mean… I mean, are you…?”

“I’m on the pill,” you murmur. “Fuck me raw, Jungkook.”

A sharp gasp escapes you when Jungkook cages you against the cool tiled wall of the shower, the slick surface dampened by the spray from the showerhead. He grabs ahold of your thigh and hoists it up to wrap around his waist, and you’ve never been more thankful for the ugly fish patterned shower mat that your mom insisted on putting down to prevent slipping. Jungkook nestles into the newly created space between your legs, his cock hot and slick against your center, and you keen when he grinds against you in a slow, deliberate motion.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, his breath hot against your cheek. “Feel how hard you get me, Noona?”

“God, Jungkook,” you breathe back. “Just fuck me already, will you?”

His answering chuckle sends a shiver from your toes to your crown. “So needy,” he murmurs, his hand sliding from your thigh to your hip. His mouth seeks out yours as he positions the head of his cock at your entrance, meeting little resistance as he slowly begins pushing inside. Your walls part willingly for him and your lips do too—his questing tongue slipping inside when you moan and beginning his seemingly endless task of mapping out every corner of your mouth.

“God, I forgot how big you are,” you breathe when he bottoms out—the entirety of his hot, heavy length sheathed within your walls. Your head falls back against the tile as he rolls his hips experimentally, a moan that sounds vaguely like Jungkook’s name escaping your lips. Your arms come up to brace on his shoulders as he picks up his pace, but he intercepts one of your hands and twines your fingers together, settling them onto the wall just to the left of your head. His other hand returns to your thigh to keep you stable and spread out for his increasingly harsh thrusts, and you whimper helplessly in his ironclad grip.

“That’s it,” he whispers, groaning when you clench around him. “God, you’re so fucking tight, princess.”

“Fuck me open, then,” you moan back, squeezing his hand and meeting his next thrust with one of your own. Jungkook’s breathing stutters, and you laugh breathlessly at the way his mouth falls open at the spike of pleasure. Emboldened, you grind against him, the spray from the shower easing the movement. “Jungkook, please.”

He chuckles hoarsely. “Careful what you wish for,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, punctuating the warning with a harsh roll of his hips that sends all remaining thought flying out of your head. In this moment, there’s only Jungkook—his dark hair dampened and dripping, the spray from the showerhead slicking his chest and pooling in his clavicle before trailing down each ridge and dip of his honeyed skin. His lips find yours again, and you sigh into the kiss as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

“Hey, Jungkook! You in there?”

Your eyes fly open at the new voice, your body tensing when there are several loud bangs on the door. Jungkook freezes mid-thrust with an expression that can only be described as a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, his throat bobbing nervously as he fights to find a response. You can practically see the gears whirring in his brain, and shove uselessly at his chest in an attempt to escape his steely embrace.

“That’s Jimin,” you hiss urgently, turning his face toward yours and prodding his cheek until his gaze refocuses. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Dude.” Jimin’s voice is laced with irritation. “I wanna brush my teeth! What the hell are you doing in there?”

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between you and the closed bathroom door. Then he inhales deeply, pressing a light kiss to your furrowed forehead before pulling the shower curtain closed, ensuring there are no gaps. “I got you,” he murmurs softly, his brown eyes boring into yours. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin, but they fly open again when Jungkook breaks away and yells for Jimin to come in. Warm palms slide soothingly down your sides, but that doesn’t stop you from tensing up when the bathroom door creaks open, your brother’s soft footsteps approaching the flimsy palm tree patterned curtain.

“Have you been showering this whole time? Jeez. Leave some hot water for the rest of us, will you?”

Jungkook chuckles. Ever so slowly, he pushes forward until he’s fully seated inside you again, and you do your best to level a glare at him even as pleasure flares at the base of your spine. “There’s plenty to go around,” he says. “Relax.”

You get the distinct feeling that he’s not just addressing Jimin anymore. Jungkook pulls back until only the top of his cock remains nestled in your folds, and you open your mouth to berate him but all that comes out is a low moan when he sinks back inside you in one swift push.

On the other side of the curtain, you hear the faucet turn on. “Man, I can’t believe we leave tomorrow,” Jimin says over the sound of running water. “The weekend flew by.”

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, brushing a thumb across your clit. The pace he’s set is slow and deep, and is made all the more sensual by the steam that’s steadily building up in the small room. You try once more to push him away—to quell the growing ache between your legs—but it’s all in vain as he chuckles softly into the crook of your neck, his bare shoulders quaking. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a wicked little whisper that’s immediately lost in the spray of water. “Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

You don’t have a chance to answer. Jimin starts speaking again, this time accompanied by the sound of toothbrush bristles scrubbing against his teeth. “I’m starting up at the studio as soon as we get back—isn’t that crazy? I mean, I’ve never taught anyone how to dance before. Not really. Not for real.”

Jungkook snaps his hips up so sharply that you nearly mewl in surprise, forced to bite down into his meaty shoulder to muffle the noises that threaten to escape from your throat. “You’re a great tutor, man,” he says, his voice steady even as he resumes his slow, lazy thrusts, his cock dragging along your fluttering walls. “You’ve been helping people with math for, what, two years? What makes you think it’ll be any different with dancing?”

Jimin spits into the sink and sighs. “I don’t know. It’s scarier because there’ll be more people, I guess. Tutoring is one on one, y’know? And at the studio, I’ll have a full class of people watching me. Every single move I make, they’ll be looking at. That’s fucking terrifying to think about.”

Slowly, Jungkook’s hips still, his cock buried to the hilt in your cunt. Your heartbeat drums in your ears, backed by the relentless spray from the showerhead, and Jungkook leans down to plant a wet kiss on your cheek, his hair dripping.

“You’re a great dancer, Jimin,” he says once he’s pulled back and straightened back up to his full height. “Best one I know. You’re also one of the smartest people I know, but right now, you’re being really fucking dumb.”

There’s a clatter that sounds like a plastic toothbrush being dropped into the sink, and Jimin lets out an affronted squeak. “Hey!”

Jungkook just chuckles, his shoulders quaking. “It’s true,” he says easily. “Seriously, man. You don’t have a thing to worry about. You’re gonna kick ass out there, and your class is gonna be awesome. You’re already, what, almost maxed out on the number of registrants? You’re already killing it.”

Your brother lets out an unintelligible grumble on the other side of the shower curtain, but you can still hear the smile in his voice no matter how hard he tries to mask it. “All right, you fucking sap,” Jimin says at last, his soft footsteps padding toward the door. “Hurry up and get out of there, yeah? You’re really gonna use up all the hot water.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you immediately smack Jungkook in the middle of his stupidly toned chest. “Oh my god!” you hiss. “Are you kidding me right now, Jeon? We could’ve been caught!”

“But we weren’t,” Jungkook replies easily, shaking his dampened hair out of his face and fixing you with an indolent little smirk. “So why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me now?”

///

The next morning brings with it a whirlwind of frenzied packing, and you mentally congratulate yourself for preemptively gathering all of your belongings together last night. Minho is wandering every last inch of the house with a piece of half-eaten toast dangling from his mouth, and you can hear Taehyung in the distance asking if anyone’s seen his strawberry body wash. Jungkook is seated on the floor near the front door, his brows furrowed and his lower lip jutting out in a pout as he fights to close the zipper of his suitcase.

“Got it!” he exclaims after a few seconds, triumphant. “Where’s your stuff, Noona? I’m gonna load the car.”

You begin to stand up from your spot on the couch. “It’s in my room, let me go get—”

Jungkook is on his feet and halfway down the hall before you can even finish your sentence. He returns a moment later with your luggage in tow, shooting you a grin and a wink as he passes by. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs. “Remember?”

Of course you do. You remember like it was yesterday—because, well, it was yesterday and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You remember the moment you shared at the beach and the way his hand felt so right wrapped around your own. You remember the way you’d dropped to your knees for him so readily in the shower last night. And you definitely remember the way he’d fucked you afterward—slow and deep in the best possible way, even with your brother’s untimely interruption.

After what feels like an eternity, both cars are finally packed and ready to go. You bid goodbye to the boys who are riding with Jimin, promising to stay in touch, before climbing into the passenger seat of Jungkook’s beat-up sedan. Jungkook himself is already lounging behind the wheel, his sunglasses perched low on his nose as he fiddles with his phone. He looks up at your entrance and flashes you a smile, tapping his screen a few more times before holding it up so you can see.

“I changed your contact photo,” he says. “Like it?”

You peer at his phone, and something in your chest clenches when you see the photo he’s selected. You’re on the beach beside the volleyball net, illuminated by the setting sun. The sky is streaked through with pink and orange behind you, but through some editing magic, Jungkook has made it so that you are glowing even brighter in the foreground—with laughter etched across your face and the wind in your hair. It’s a beautiful photograph, and you tell him so, unable to contain the dangerously warm affection blossoming in your chest.

“I love it,” you say. “I usually don’t like having my photo taken, but wow. You have a talent for this.”

Jungkook’s smile grows. “I have a pretty muse,” he replies, and your cheeks warm.

The door to the backseat opens with a bang, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden sound. “Yo,” Yugyeom says, plopping down and buckling his seatbelt. “We ready to roll?”

Jungkook scowls and puts his phone back into his pocket. “Careful with the door, man. I need this thing to last through the summer.”

Yugyeom puts his hands up in apology, and Jungkook turns back to face the front, starting the ignition with a flick of his wrist. The engine sputters to life, and Jungkook waits for Jimin to pull out first before following after him, tailing the van out of the driveway and onto the winding road that will take you back into the city.

“Music?” you ask, gesturing at the stereo.

“Go for it,” Jungkook replies. “You want my phone so you can put on the roadtrip mix?”

“Sure.”

With the help of the upbeat music and Jungkook’s tendency to drive just a touch over the speed limit, you make it to the winding roads of Yugyeom’s neighborhood in what must be record time. “You missed the turn,” Yugyeom says lazily from where he’s sprawled across the entire backseat. “Turn left here—we can circle around and approach from the other side.”

Two more turns and a descent down a steep hill later, Jungkook manages to successfully drop Yugyeom off at his house. The drive across town takes no time at all, and before long, you’re cruising into your neighborhood, coasting past Jungkook’s driveway and straight into yours.

“Looks like we beat Jimin back,” you remark, looking at the empty spot where the van usually sits.

Jungkook hums. “Makes sense. He has more people to drop off.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

The sudden awkwardness that falls doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Clearing your throat, you reach for your purse, grabbing it from where it’s fallen to the ground near your feet. “I guess I’ll see you around then,” you begin, turning to open the door.

A strong hand wraps around your wrist, forcing you back into your seat. “Is that it?” Jungkook asks, and there’s an edge of something you can’t quite place in his voice. “Are you gonna go back to pretending like there’s nothing between us?”

You shake him free. “There isn’t anything between us,” you whisper. “We’re not on vacation anymore, Jungkook. We’re back home. Back to real life. We can’t do—whatever it is that we’ve been doing.”

“But you’re attracted to me,” Jungkook growls. “You like me. So why do you keep running away?”

A sigh escapes you. “Jungkook, it doesn’t matter if I like you or no—”

He interrupts before you can even finish your sentence. “Yes it does. It’s the only thing that matters.” And then he’s pulling you into his chest, taking advantage of your skewed sense of balance, and crushing his mouth to yours.

This kiss is different from the others you’ve shared so far. It’s hungry and passionate, and yet it’s tinged with something else—something that feels strangely akin to desperation. Jungkook kisses you with urgency, and it’s so raw and unbridled that it steals the very breath from your lungs and leaves you lightheaded.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word when he pulls away. Instead, he reaches down, popping the handle that opens the trunk and stepping out to pull your suitcase from within. Silently, he presses the handle into your hand.

And then he’s turning—climbing back into his car and leaving you with nothing but the memory of his lips and a whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

#bangtanarmynet #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #jeon jungkook #bts #lia writes

824 notes · View notes