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Born To Run // ii.

cowboy!Max Verstappen x reader // part ii. of ii

find part i here!

Summary: Everyone, including Max, says he’s too much for you. You find yourself determined to prove them all wrong. Your summer on the ranch is set to be one to remember. 6.1k

Warnings: sexual content (minors do not interact, 18+ PLEASE!), alcohol/ intoxication, strong use of language, public sex, oral sex fem receiving, and max is a little mean (oops). if you would like further clarifications on the warnings PLEASE send me a message!

Most of the crew are off at the bar for the night, so when you meet Max down at the river, there’s nobody else around to notice or bother you. Just you, and him, and the setting sun, the gurgle of the creek, the cold water wrapping around your ankles as you stand there, looking for rocks on the bottom of it.

You’re trying to distract yourself, is what you’re doing. The summer heat is ebbing away as the sun sets, which leaves you no excuse for the way you can feel your whole body burning. Maybe Max was just being friendly, inviting you down here. Maybe he expected there to be more people. But he has a bottle of wine-though it’s still unopened, sitting in the river to try and keep it chilled- and he’s laid out a blanket on the bank, and… you just don’t know, is the whole thing. You don’t want to assume what his intentions are.

Max teases you from the bank, though you know his eyes are watching your every move. “Your posture is awful.”

You roll your eyes and don’t bother looking up at him. “My posture is fine, thank you. I’m looking for rocks.”

“I know,” he says.

Now you look up- he’s leaning back on the blanket, propped up on his elbows, hat low over his brow. The hat ticks up and down with his line of sight, sweeping down to your ankles and then back up, slowly, like he’s drinking every detail in. You swallow. He grins and pulls a corkscrew from his pocket.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning you with two fingers, and your heart is in your throat. “Grab the wine?”

You wander over, handing him the bottle and reaching down to dry your feet with a towel. He watches the whole time, fiddling with the corkscrew, drying the glass bottle on his shirt. You can feel your fingers starting to shake, can feel the anticipation coursing through your body. You stay standing at the edge of the blanket, hands on your hips, looking down at him. He whistles lowly, again, and you feel your face grow hot, trying to fight the grin that threatens your lips.

“Are you going to sit?” He asks, finally directing his attention to the bottle of wine, to getting it open.

The cork falls to the blanket next to him. You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what exactly you should do here. Sit down too far from him, and you might ruin the mood. Sit down too close, and you might be too eager. He’s so hard to read, it drives you nuts.

You let out a huff and step onto the blanket, walking towards him. He takes interest and pushes himself up on his hands, and when you settle yourself in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, he sighs almost dreamily, and his eyes fall half shut. You run your hands over the skirt of your dress to smooth it out over your lap and his, and he hands you the bottle of wine.

You take a sip- it’s warm and sugary. He clicks his tongue when you repeat the motion.

“Not too much,” he says, quietly, voice mingling with the crickets making their debut for the night.

You scowl at him. “What’s the point? Take it slow? Can’t handle your alcohol, Maxie?”

He gives you an amused grin, eyes crinkling with it, but there’s some sort of electric current running beneath it. You’re buzzing already. You wonder if he’d shock you if you reached out and touched him. If he’d light you on fire the way you feel like you're on the edge of. Does he feel it too?

“I don’t want you to get drunk,” he says.

It takes you a moment, and then the ground drops out from under you. I’m not fucking you while you’re drunk. You take one last sip, a small one, and hand the bottle back to him. He takes a drink with one hand, and his other falls to your hip, squeezing softly. You bite back a whimper.

“Please, Max,” you say, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Max sighs, takes another sip of wine, then sighs again, dragging a hand across his chin. “You’re insatiable.”

You hum in agreement, resting your hands on his shoulders, wriggling just a bit in his lap. “Please?”

“Fuck, honey,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. You giggle.

“I need you, Max,” you say, just to watch his cheeks grow red. Just to watch him struggle with the feeling. “Make me feel good? Pretty please-“

He reaches up and puts his hand over your mouth to muffle your words. You giggle against his grip and watch as he rolls his eyes. He shifts under you, pressing one thigh between your legs, and your laughter gets caught in your chest.

“Y’think you’re funny, huh?” He mutters, and your heart begins to go wild. “Think you can get whatever you want if you ask nicely?”

You shrug, reaching up to run your finger along the brim of his hat. “Mhm. It works on the city boys.”

Max’s eyes go dark at that statement. “Is that right?”

You nod. His hand falls to your knee, and your breath hitches. He smirks, dragging his hand up the outside of your thigh, rucking the skirt of your dress halfway up your leg in the process. His hand draws a trail farther up- over your navel, skimming your ribs, touching at the exposed skin of your shoulder. By the time he cups your face in his hand, you’re vibrating with anticipation. He brushes a thumb over your cheek, and you close your eyes, letting the sparks wash over your skin.

“Need you, Max,” you say, again, steadier this time.

“You deserve better,” he says, for the millionth time.

You purse your lips. “What, you think ‘cause I’m a city girl that I can’t take-“

He squeezes your cheeks together with his hand. Dumbfounded, you look up at him, heart hammering at your ribcage.

“I think you’re a city girl with a big attitude,” he says, leaning closer. You squirm just a bit underneath his gaze. “And that you’d better know what you’re asking for.”

He releases his grip on your face. You blink at him for a few seconds, take in the rosy flush of his cheeks, the way his brows are furrowed, the way his breaths come quick and heavy. And then you grin, wide and bright and, hopefully, oh so tempting.

“I know full well,” you say, rolling your eyes dismissively. “I’ve heard all these stories about you, about how you’re too much cowboy for me, and you know what I think?”

“What.” He says, flat and unwavering.

“That maybe I’m too much for you,” you say, fluttering your lashes at him. “Maybe you’re nervous. Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know what they’re getting into.”

And that seems to strike just the right nerve. That gets him fired up beneath his skin, that sends him over the edge he was teetering on. He grabs you by the waist, hauls you close, and takes. Max kisses in a frenzy, you know this from stolen moments behind barns and buildings, but this is on another level. It’s hot and heavy almost immediately, the way he bullies his tongue into your mouth, the way he bites at your lips, the way he cups one hand around the back of your neck to keep you right there. You arch your into him, writhing and keening at his every touch, at the way his hand slips up to your ribcage, searing into your skin. He’s barely done anything and-

“Look at you,” he says, voice teetering between awe and condescension. “You’re so desperate.”

Your first urge is to say I’m not, petulantly, which would only prove his point. You could point out that he’s desperate, too, but you don’t think it would really make a difference. Instead, you reach up and grab his hat from off his head, setting it down carefully on the blanket next to you, and he watches with eagle eyes. Cowboys and their stupid hats. You distract him from it by rolling your hips against his, the fabric of your skirt bunched up around your waist. His eyes flutter closed when you run your hand through his messy hair.

“Fuck me,” you plead. You’re getting a little tired of asking, and you’re past the point of asking nicely. “Max, please, just-“

He nearly shoves you off his lap, and for a moment you almost panic, until he’s rolling you down onto the blanket and following you down, hovering over you. When he kisses you, this time, it’s to shut you up. It’s harsh and all consuming and you can barely keep up, feeling feverish.

He reaches down with the hand not supporting himself and grabs at your skirt, the soft fabric shoved up and up so carelessly. You fumble with it, trying to yank the dress over your head, but he stops you, grabbing your hands.

“Leave it on,” he says, and you writhe underneath him just at the tone he uses.

“You don’t wanna see me?” You whine, and he groans softly, lips touching yours.

“Wanna make a mess of you and your pretty little dress,” he says, and your eyelids flutter at the words. “You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

You nod fervently. When you look up at him, he’s grinning.

It doesn’t take long from there. You scramble to unbutton his shirt, and he lets you, lets it hang open, lets you run your hands up and down his torso while he kisses you senseless. His skin is feverishly hot under your palms. The sun is down, now, the sky inky blue, stars just starting to peek out behind his head, through the trees. He kisses you until your lips are raw, until you’re writhing and whining underneath him, until he’s got your dress bunched around your hips and he’s toying with your underwear. Soft pink, with a bow. He groans when he pulls away for a moment and looks down.

Then he slides lower on the blanket and settles himself between your legs, and you start to fall apart.

“You don’t have to,” you hear yourself say, as much as you really do want him to. “I don’t- you can just-“

He blinks up at you with a clouded gaze. His chest is heaving, lips parted, one finger hooked in the waistband of your panties. You wonder if he can see well enough to tell how wet you are, or if he’ll only figure it out when he touches you. You’re trembling with anticipation. He eyes you, the way you wait with bated breath.

“Do you want me to?” He asks, voice low. You close your eyes, and he reaches up to squeeze your cheeks, waiting until you open them again. “Use your words. Do you want my mouth on you?”

“You don’t have to,” you repeat.

“Not what I asked,” he says.

“I mean. You can. I… like it,” you say. He nods. “But you won’t get anything out of it, and, like, you don’t-“

“Oh, honey,” he says, like he feels bad for you, like he pities you. “Shit, and they say country girls are naive.”

You blink down at him as he gets settled again. “What?”

“Won’t get anything out of it,” he mocks, and your face grows hot again. “S’that what the city boys tell you?”

You whine. He starts to tug your panties down your hips. When he hooks his arms around your legs and buries his face between them, it’s all you can do to keep from screaming. Your first thought, as he does it, is that maybe he really is too much for you. Before you can have another thought, they all float away, and you melt into the blanket and the ground beneath it.

He takes you apart, methodically, messily. He twists his tongue around your clit, he hums against you until you writhe beneath him, he’s messy and loud about it, so into it, so much more into it than any guy you’ve ever been with. You risk a glance down at him and nearly sob at the way he’s got his eyes squeezed closed, blush sitting high on his cheeks, strands of hair falling across his forehead. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but it only adds to the sensation. When he moves lower, tongue lapping at your entrance, his nose nudges against your clit, and your hands fly away from the blanket- one to your own mouth, to muffle your whimpers, the other to his hair, to hold on.

He pulls away slightly, gasping for air. When you look down at him, his lips and chin are slick and shiny in the moonlight. You bite the palm of your own hand. He’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He unwinds one arm from around your leg, lets it fall to the blanket, and when you feel him press his thumb to your clit, you know you’re doomed.

One of his fingers circles your entrance, slipping just the tip inside. You whine, again, and he groans. He leans his head against your thigh, stubble sending pin pricks up your spine.

“You’re so tight,” he says, incredulously. “So wet. So good for me, yeah?”

You nod frantically. He blinks up at you, wide eyed, almost innocent, though he’s anything but. His hand is gripping bruises into your thigh while he fingers you open with the other, and he looks so proud of the way you’re already falling apart.

“You’re close already, huh?” He asks. You don’t bother trying to lie or fight it, you just nod again. He nods back. “Then be a good girl, take your hand off your mouth,” he says, waiting until you do to continue. “And come for me.”

He disappears between your legs again, and within seconds, it surges up, white hot and fuzzy and seizing up every muscle in your body. You see more stars than there are in the sky, your back arches off the ground, and you tug his hair, harshly. It only seems to spur him on- he takes you through it with his mouth and his fingers until you’re kicking your legs and trying to scramble away from him. When he pulls away, out of breath, face soaked, your heart is racing. He leans back and sits up, on his knees between yours, and he sticks his finger in his mouth and sucks. You hide your face in your hands and whine.

“Pretty, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and you shudder. “Knew you’d taste like honey, honey.”

He waits a few moments, for what feels like forever, to do anything. He just hovers there, watching as the aftershocks wrack your body. You suck in air like you’ve been starved of it, letting the feeling ripple through you, wondering how much he’s going to ruin you if this is only the foreplay. You can hear him taking slow, steady breaths- on purpose, like he’s trying to calm himself down, too.

When you peek out from behind your fingers, he’s grinning, staring right at your chest. His gaze flickers up to yours when he sees you move, and the grin goes wider. He’s so satisfied, so smug, like he knows exactly what he’s done to you. You’re already aching for him.

“Are you gonna fuck me now?” You ask, trying to sound steady. Your voice wavers, though, and you’re still half out of breath.

Max laughs, and you whimper, fighting the urge to kick your legs. He leans over you, and you feel all encompassed, covered up. He’s grinning wide and bright. His hand slides up your thigh, and this time he sinks two fingers into you. You cry out again, pleasure spiderwebbing through your whole body.

“Brat,” he says, voice clipped. “I really thought that’d adjust your attitude, but you need more, huh?”

“Yeah, I need more,” you say, reaching up to press your hand to the back of his neck. “Or are you too scared you’re gonna come too quick?”

You choke on your words when he crooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot that has you seeing white and leaves you breathless. The sound that leaves your mouth is almost unrecognizable to you.

Then it really gets frantic. His other hand fumbles- he’s reaching in his pockets, you realize. The metallic packet he pulls out glints in the moonlight, and you gasp eagerly. Your hands fly to his belt buckle, the metal cold beneath your fingers, and he hisses when your fingers brush against him, where he’s so hard it must be painful. You make quick work of the buckle, and the button on his jeans, and the zipper, and then you shove your hand down them, wrapping your fingers around his bulge. His head drops, chin to his chest, and now he’s the one having trouble breathing. He slips his fingers out of you, and you’re too entranced with the look on his face to even care.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, dropping the condom on the blanket next to you and using his free hand to work his jeans and underwear down his hips. “Fuck. Need-“

You wrap your hand around him, his skin hot and velvety between your fingers, and he hisses. He’s wet and messy, precum soaking the tip, and your mouth waters. You shove yourself upwards, mouth open, and-

“No,” he says, reaching for your head and pushing backwards slightly. You pout, and he groans. “I wanna, trust me, but- fuck, want to get inside you first, okay? Just- behave, for once in your life. Lay back and let me-“

You do lay back, but you also reach for the condom. His shoulders heave as you take the foil in your fingers and tear it open. When you roll it onto him, he lets out a shuddery sigh. He’s big- you can barely get your hand all the way around him. He’s going to break you, you think, in the best way. You need him desperately.

He leans over you again as you trace a finger up the vein on the underside of his cock. “You’re sure you want this?”

You nod, and he cups the side of your face in his hand, the softest touch he’s ever given you. “Yeah,” you say, quiet enough for only him to hear. “So bad. Are you sure?”

He lets his eyes fall closed as he takes his cock in his hand, his knuckles bumping against yours. He leans down to kiss you, and there’s a sweetness to it. Like the calm before the storm, like the wind blowing waves in the grass. You breathe him in.

“Oh, honey,” he says against your lips. “I’ve been sure since the day I first saw you.”

He slides into you in one long, swift stroke of his hips, and you hold onto the blanket for dear life. He’s big, but the stretch feels so good, so full. He has his hands on either side of your head, and he kisses you through it, swallows your whimpers as he waits. You reach up, wrap your arms around his neck, and arch your hips up against his. He gets the idea.

He’s not in a rush, now, it seems. Things are much less hurried. He rocks his hips into yours, grinding deep with each thrust, making you see stars every time. He pulls his lips from yours and trails them down your jaw, just to bury his face in your neck. When he groans, loudly, it vibrates your whole body, and you shiver beneath him. You’re melting, you think.

“Is that good, honey? S’this what you wanted?” He asks, pressing the words into your skin. You whine and arch your back. “Come on, city girl, where are your big words, huh?”

You can’t find them, is the thing. You can’t do anything except cry out from beneath him as he hits that spot, over and over again. You feel him deep, you feel him everywhere, in every muscle and bone and nerve of your body. He leans down closer, his nose bumping against yours.

“Max,” you gasp out, when he nips at your jaw.

“So good, honey,” he groans against your skin.

Your nails scrape down his back, sure to leave marks. You hope you leave marks, that his friends tease him for it, that he wears them proudly. As if he’s heard you, he ducks his head to your collarbone and sucks harshly. Then he’s tugging at the neckline of your dress, pulling it down until he can see your chest, too, letting out a guttural groan at the sight. The whole time, he keeps up the rhythm- long, slow, deep. His hand gropes at your chest. You reach up, fist your hand in his hair, and tug his lips back to yours.

That’s how you come the second time- with his mouth muffling your wails, one hand tugging at strands of blond hair, your other hand slamming against the blanket beneath you. He works his hips the whole time, he takes you through it, his own groans slipping past his lips and into yours. He doesn’t stop. You’re not sure why you expected any different.

“Oh,” you say against his lips. “Oh, Max- I-“

“There she is,” he says, voice taking on a softer edge. “That’s a good girl. That’s it, honey. Fucked that attitude right out of you, huh?”

All you can do is nod frantically and let yourself finally crumble completely under his hands. He’s silhouetted against the night sky, but you can see his eyes, his smile, the way his shoulders heave. His thrusts grow frantic, and the arm he’s using to hold himself up starts to shake.

He kisses you when he comes, hips jerking, and you follow him over the edge. You’re sure you leave bruises with the way you hold onto him. You think his handprint is burned into your ribcage. He’s loud about it, moaning into your mouth, gasping for air when he finally pulls away.

“Fuck,” he mutters into the open air.

He pulls out, and you whine. Then he promptly collapses on top of you.

“Oof,” you groan, and he makes a non-committal noise. “Did I wear you out?”

He sighs. “Does the back talk ever stop?”

You shrug and card your fingers through his sweaty hair. “You like it.”

He hums, his face pressed into your neck. “Do not.”

You roll your eyes up at the sky. He takes your silence, his fingers dancing against your bare skin. Your dress is still bunched around your middle, chest and legs bare to the night. He’s not much better- shirt haphazardly hanging off his shoulders, his jeans shoved halfway down his thighs.

“We should get cleaned up,” he says. “Rinse off the… sweat.”

You whine. “I don’t wanna go back to the house yet.”

He laughs into your skin. “Honey, the creek is right there.”

You swallow. The water is cold, and it’s dark, and there are fish in there. There are rocks and sticks and any number of things to step on. You don’t mind the creek when it’s daylight, when you can see what you’re touching-

“Oh come on, city girl,” he says, and you groan. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“It’s dark,” you reply, and he laughs again. “Don’t be mean to me.”

He pushes himself off your chest. You fight the urge to whine about it, to wrap your arms around him and pull him back into you. He kneels between your legs, grinning, and you sigh happily. He’s a sight to behold, all lean muscle and broad shoulders.

“Come on,” he says again, reaching for your hand. “I’ll protect you.”

He strips out of his clothes fully and leaves them on the bank next to your dress. The water is frigid, but when he wraps his arms around you and holds you close, it’s not so bad. He runs his hands along your body, under the surface, and you wrap your arms and legs around him so you don’t have to touch the bottom. You’re sure he knows- he laughs when you do it- but he doesn’t call you out. He just kisses you, the water lapping at your shoulders, stars reflecting off the surface.

There’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t feel so romantic. That this will come back to bite you, that soon, you’ll wish you never had this. This moment, on a blanket on the banks of the river, stars above your heads in the dark of the night. I don’t come back, he’d said. This can’t mean anything. You can’t get attached. So, to cut the seriousness of it all, you break the kiss and the silence.

“You know,” you say. “I’m not even from the city. I just go to school there.”

Max laughs, his hand squeezing at your side. “If you’d told me that, this would’ve happened a lot sooner.”

…..

He tries to keep you from getting too close, tries to keep you out, but he always melts in the moments after sex, lets his guard down, lets you in. He tells you about his family, about how he never wants to go home but misses his sister, about all the places he’s been and where he wants to go.

In exchange, you tell him stories about the city, about classes and people and parties and how it all feels so silly when you lay under the wide expanse of stars, no light pollution to sully them. You tell him about the guys back at your college who would never hold a candle against him, though you don’t tell him that part. No need to boost his ego.

He points out constellations and teaches you how to navigate without a map, how to follow the stars, and you soak it all in. He teaches you what plants you could eat and which ones would kill you, he saves you from the poison ivy that riddles the ranch, and you spend countless hours together, any second you can steal away. You’ve never felt more free with anyone else in your life.

Sometimes, he pulls away. He gets withdrawn. He’s trying to protect you, he says- himself, too, probably. You remind him, time and time again, that you know he doesn’t stick around. You try to pretend it doesn’t stab you in the stomach to say it every time. No matter how much he pulls away, without fail, a few days later he finds you, pulls you into his chest, and kisses you senseless. You let him come back every time, because you’re not sure you could ever really resist him.

Your favorite night of the summer is the one where you meet him down by the bunkhouse and he steals you away for a whole night. You tell your aunt and uncle you’re going camping with Maddy, and you’re sure they don’t believe you but they don’t ask questions, either. You get in Max’s truck and he drives until you hit a state park. He has a tent, and a tiny air mattress, and a sleeping bag for the two of you to share. You make a fire and eat s’mores while you’re sitting in his lap, and for one night, it feels real. The air mattress is the closest thing to a bed that you’ve ever shared with him. He smells like campfire and tastes like marshmallows and he fucks you like he loves you, and if you stop to think about it it’ll break your heart. You know why he suggested this, why he’s doing this. It’s August. The end of the summer is breathing down your neck, the same way he does when he curls around you as he falls asleep, his lips against your skin.

A week later, you pack up your car with all your clothes, your boots, and one of Max’s flannels. He’d wrapped you up in it one night when you shivered, laying next to him in the bed of his truck, and you never gave it back. He’d never asked. Now you’re off to college, and when you come back next summer, he’ll be gone.

You think you’ll keep it forever, just as proof that he really did exist, that for one summer, you got to have him. You’d tell him he changed your life, but you’re sure he doesn’t want to hear it.

He watches you load your last bag into your car, leaning against the fence, chewing on his lower lip. When you close the trunk, he meanders over, his hat in his hands. You turn and lean against your car, hands on your hips.

“So,” you say, giving him a once over. “Guess this is goodbye, cowboy.”

He lets out a huff. “Don’t get all emotional on me now, honey.”

You blink. “I’m not.”

You’re lying, but he doesn’t need to know that. If he notices, he doesn’t call you out on it.

He’s thumbing at the brim of his hat, holding it in front of his stomach. He shifts on his feet, and you cock your head at him. You’ve never seen him so unsure of himself. It makes your heart clench in your chest. When he reaches out and places his hat on top of your head, you swear your heart nearly stops.

He’s smiling, now. “Looks better on you.”

You reach up to touch it, the brim low on your forehead. “I disagree.”

When you try to take it off, he pushes it back down on your head. “Keep it.”

“Max…”

“Every good country girl needs a hat,” he says, and you grin widely. He matches the expression.

You dig your hand into your pockets and come out with a piece of paper, folded nicely. He glances at your hands and bites his lip. You waver, for just a moment, but you need to do this. For your sake. You reach out and press it into his hand.

“It’s my address,” you say. He opens his mouth, but you shake your head. “For if you ever want to write. You don’t have to. I’m not expecting you to. But. You have it, if you ever need it.”

He closes his mouth and nods. He tucks the paper in his pocket, and then he reaches out, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you, solidly, slow and steady and sweet. Like honey.

When you drive away, he’s standing in the yard, hands in his pockets. His hat sits on the dashboard for the whole journey, a constant reminder of what you left behind.

…..

The first letter comes a month later. It’s not a love letter, not an outpouring of emotion. You had never expected it to be- that wouldn’t be Max. But it’s a letter, all the same, and that’s enough. He tells you he’s been thinking of you, and that says more than you’d ever hoped for. He gives you a return address, too- he’s moved on, at some other ranch for the winter. You read over your reply a million times before you send it, and you wait and wait and wait for his reply with bated breath.

The second letter comes, and you breathe a sigh of relief. It becomes a weekly routine- his letters always seem to show up on Fridays. You sit down, read them, and then pen your response. Sometimes, he doesn’t say much- just that work is good, or slow, or tough. Sometimes he writes about the funny things that happen. He sends a picture, one week- it’s him, bottle feeding a newborn calf, an unexpected winter baby. You pin the picture to your corkboard.

You write to him about your classes, about your friends, about the bars and the parties and the city. You tell him you know he’d hate it there. He tells you maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with you. You don’t tell him, but you hate to think of him in the city, trapped in a too small apartment, wandering narrow streets. He belongs out in the open, under the wide expanse of blue sky. Honestly, the longer you stay in the city, the more you hate it, too.

You try not to let it all go to your heart. You know it won’t work- he doesn’t stick around, he’s a nomad, and you won’t change that about him. You would never ask him to change. You write the letters out by hand, and sometimes, you spray the paper with your perfume before you seal the envelope. You wonder if he notices until he writes about reading your words and swearing he could feel you in the room with him.

Four weeks before your graduation, he says he’s moving on to the next ranch for the summer, and that he’ll write with his new return address soon.

The letters stop, and they don’t start back up again.

You’d always known this could happen- he’s probably busy with work. He’s got things to do, more important things than worrying about writing to you. So you walk the stage at graduation, and when you pack up your apartment, you place the flannel, hat, and photo of him in a box, carefully. Just because it ends doesn’t mean you can’t hold on. You wonder where he is, now, if he headed off to the far west coast like he said he wanted to, or if he ended up closer to home. You wonder if his sister will visit him like he’d been hoping. You try not to wonder if he’s met a girl, but you do it anyways. Maybe he found a pretty cowgirl, one who fits him better than you ever could.

You put your stuff in your car and turn on the radio. Springsteen. Born to Run. The road blurs with your tears, and you wipe them away hastily.

You’re headed to your aunt and uncle’s for one more summer. You haven’t secured a job yet, and the sun and warmth have you aching to be back at the ranch. They greet you with hugs when you pull up, help you unpack your stuff, and your aunt doesn’t ask any questions when you hang Max’s hat on a hook near the bed. You wonder if Maddy’s back this year, if they’re planning on going to the bar tonight, if drinking will take away the bitter edge of it all. You’re here, but it feels different this year. Something’s missing. You hope the feeling goes away soon.

You pull the curtains open to look out over the pastures. The cowboys are out, roping cattle, the grass rolling in waves. A stupid thought crosses your mind- that maybe, one of them knows where Max is, that maybe they’d give you his address- but you shove it down quickly. If he wants to be gone, you have to let him be gone. He warned you. If he wants to get in touch, he knows where to find you.

You push the glass windowpane up to let the warm summer air wash over you. It’ll be dinnertime, soon, Friday night dinner with all the staff. Biscuits and burgers and fresh fruit galore. There will be weeds to tend to in the garden tomorrow, and the bar will still be the same as always. It’s just another summer like all the rest. The cowboys are already heading in for the evening. There’s one of them, out on his own, who moves like he’s one with his horse. It reminds you of… you blink, watching as he throws his head back and laughs. Your heart skips a beat. Without even thinking, you turn and run. Down the stairs, through the house, and out the back door in your bare feet. The long grass whips against your legs. You must be seeing things, but- you need to know. You have to go see for yourself.

They’re moving the cattle towards the barn, but he hangs back, face tilted up towards the sun. When he turns his head, you feel your heart lurch in your chest. He breaks away, directs his horse towards you. When he gets within ten feet of the fence, he slips off the saddle. You can’t bring yourself to move or say anything or even breathe. You must be dreaming.

“Hey, city girl,” Max calls out.

His grin lights you on fire all over again. Suddenly, you feel like you can breathe. It’s Max, it really is- your Max. He’s here.

“You came back,” you say.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” He hums, reaching up to take his hat off his head.

“But you don’t come back,” you say, fighting the urge to bite your lip, or scream, or cry, or jump the fence and tackle him.

He shrugs and blinks at you, blue eyes sparkling under the hot midday sun. “Must’ve been something in the air here. Something called me back.”

“Something?” You ask, putting on a brave face. “Or someone?”

Max laughs, the same as he did almost a year ago from the back of the horse, the day you first laid eyes on him. Then he looks around, nods, and puts one hand on the fence, his hat hanging at his side in his other. He leans close and presses his forehead to yours, and you gasp and close your eyes.

“Come on, honey,” he says, brushing his lips against your cheek. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

…..

a/n: this is now the mustiest thing i have ever written. will be unavailable for 3-5 businsss days thank you for reading!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5 @c-losur3 @casperlikej @the-navistar-carol @everyonesluvah @jsjcue @si1ver06 @nicole01-23 @arieslost

HOLY S.H.I.T. HE'S SO PRETTY 👏

Happy halloween!! 👻

........... nobody talk to me

Coy, (18+)

♡ Pairing: Inexperienced!Bang Chan x Experienced Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: fluff and smut with a lil plot :)

♡ Word Count: 7.7k

♡ Summary: What occurs when joking about sex with your roommate leads to a shocking discovery about his lack of experience in the bedroom. 

♡ Smut Warnings: not intended to have overt dom/sub dynamics but you can infer vibes if you want lol, chan is rlly insecure but reader is here to help!!, nipple play, handjob, oral (m rec), fingering (f rec), protected piv

♡ Notes: hey yall, i wanted to write something small and fun before my next big fic so here we are :’) honestly i was torn between writing this for chan or bin and ended up choosing chan but lmk if you'd want to see a fic like this for binnie! i went super perfectionist mode and rewrote this several times…. like at least 7 fsdgdsfg but i don't want it in my drafts anymore !! just take it !!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

All you said was a lighthearted joke- something said in jest to make your roommate-turned-best friend’s face flush red and burn all the way to the tips of his ears.

That was always the reaction Chan had when you brought up having had sex, you noticed; cheeks flushed red, eyes darting away from yours to look anywhere else, thumbs nervously twiddling where his hands rested in his lap. You assumed he had plenty of experience, but was more of a “heat of the moment” kind of guy- where you imagined he’d be confident and sure of himself with his partner, but talking about sex outside of the moment turned him into a shy, stuttering mess. 

And it’s not that you purposely went out of your way to imagine what Chan was like during sex, but your mind would often wander there on its own. He was attractive, to put it lightly- devoted to fine-tuning his muscles with diligently followed routines and strictly maintained effort. You were witness to his toned body on more than one occasion, as he often wandered around the apartment shirtless while having just woken up or doing his laundry.

It was a treat for the eyes for sure, but you were respectful. You never drooled over him- at least not anywhere but in the privacy of your bedroom. But it wasn’t just his body that you adored; he had the absolute cutest smile you’d ever seen, eyes crinkling into the prettiest crescent moons as dimples showed on his cheeks. You loved his fluffy, natural hair, and the deep brown color of his eyes, and the way warmth radiated off him when he pulled you into a hug.

So maybe you have a crush on him- but you aren’t going to act on it. You live together in a careful balance, in which you are close enough to him to become good friends while also hiding your attraction to him to maintain the peace. God forbid he doesn't return your attraction, or he does and down the line it makes things complicated. The last thing you need is to scramble for a new place to live after things between you don’t work out- you’d never be able to afford it, and you’ll gladly swallow your feelings for home security. 

But just because you couldn’t have sex with Chan, didn’t mean you couldn’t talk about it with him.

Chan is shy- that much you knew for certain. And sex, while a natural and fun part of life, is something that some people are embarrassed to be open about despite the normality. That's what you saw Chan as; a shy, easily embarrassed person. You thought it was so cute, and just a teensy bit funny; and with all that in mind, it was fun to tease him- to watch his eyes widen in surprise before he let out an awkward cough and looked away, hoping to hide the red forming on his cheeks.

So today, after bringing up how your last date ended, and seeing how brightly Chan’s face burned when you talked about the way they touched you, you couldn’t help but joke around with him. “Oh, c’mon Channie, don’t be coy. I know you’re drowning in pussy when I’m not here,” you teased him with a smirk. Considering your crush on him, you didn’t like to think about it too hard, but you did believe it- surely he brings people back to the apartment while you’re out on your dates.

“O-Oh, no, I’m not- I don’t-” he started to stutter out, and you giggled, because really, how could you believe anything else? He’s perfect- intelligent, funny, talented, as adorable as he is devastatingly hot; obviously he can get whoever he wants, and you believe he does- because Chan is certainly a fucking catch. But still, he continues to stammer and shake his head, blush spreading down his neck as he refutes your statement.

He isn’t a virgin, you have that much right; but he also isn’t some smooth operator hitting hookups with the classic “my roommate isn’t home 👀” text like you seem to think. He doesn’t even know why you think he’s secretly so cool- he’s only ever shown you the most embarrassing version of himself, much to his own chagrin. He’d like to be the person you think he is, but that’s simply not reality.

And as your giggling comes to a stop, and you really look at Chan and take in his expression, you can tell- he's being serious. "Oh," you blink in surprise, smacked with the realization that all your assumptions about him may have been entirely off base.

You frown, wondering if you've actually been making him uncomfortable this entire time. It was always meant to be in good fun, as you thought his bashful reactions were incredibly cute and endearing; but now you realize the truth. Chan isn’t shy about sex because he’s a private person- he’s shy about sex because he isn't having any.

Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed about all the times you talked about yourself; maybe it's karma for all the times you've subtly teased him. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable or crossed a line or anything, I didn't mean to, really-" You start to apologize, but Chan interjects, quickly shaking his head.

"N-No, no, you're fine! I just, uh-" he nervously stumbles on his words again, not even sure what he’s doing at this point. He doesn't even know why he refuted your joke so strongly- sure, it wasn’t true, but wouldn’t it be better for him if you believed it? 

Chan likes you- like, really likes you; but he can't imagine someone as experienced and confident as you will go for a guy like him. Because while he isn't a virgin, his past experiences have been woefully cringe-inducing to even recall.

He was always so eager and clumsy, with trembling hands and face so red he was sure he looked like a tomato. He was embarrassingly sensitive, every touch feeling so overwhelmingly good that he could hardly contain all the noises threatening to leave his throat. He came so fast that he didn’t even know what to do with himself when it was all said and done, hiding his face beneath his arm while he muttered a string of low apologies. 

And subjecting you to all of that? No thanks, falling off the face of the earth would be more preferable. You're the most sex positive person he's ever met, and you won’t make fun of him, he logically knows, but there’s part of him that fears it anyways. On top of that, apparently you had an extremely positive perception of his skills, and now he's ruined it.

While he's unsure what about him led you to believe he's desirable enough to have people biting at the chance to be with him, that impression, for better or worse, will never come back. So should he just be honest? Admit that he's actually really down bad for you but nowhere near confident enough to think he's enough for you?

That sounds like a bad idea. Terrible, even. Chan swallows as he looks at you, doing his best to ignore the way anxiety builds from deep in his gut. You're looking at him so patiently, caringly, that it makes his heart squeeze in his chest. Fuck it- he doesn't have to be completely honest and bear his heart on his sleeve, but he can trust you enough to admit a little bit of what he feels, right? If he can't confide in you then who else can he confide in?

"I just, uhm, I'm not very confident, I guess," he says after a careful breath, nervously scratching at the back of his neck as he darts his eyes away, "like.. in myself, or.. my skills, you know. So I just, uh.. don't have sex." You don't respond right away, simply blinking as you process the information, and regret starts to flood over the anxiety as Chan begins to overthink everything he’s admitted to you.

Really, you’re just shocked; Chan is sexy- like, really sexy. So the revelation that he isn’t confident in himself enough to enjoy sex to its fullest extent is baffling. He has such effortless charisma in other aspects of his life despite his shy nature, and you always assumed it carried over into his sex life; where his bashful looks and timid grins would melt away into someone confident and assured once the moment kicked off. 

“I could help you,” you finally offer once the initial surprise wears off, and instantly his brain is short circuiting, not even realizing that his astounded “huh?” left him audibly. You didn't really plan on confessing your attraction to Chan this way, if ever, but well.. here you are.

"It's just- you're like, the hottest person I know. Seriously. And I don't care if you lack experience, I'd have sex with you regardless," you explain, a rare blush of your own beginning to heat your face, "So, yeah, you know- if you want me like I want you, then.." You start to trail off, but you think he gets what you were intending to say.

It's a bit embarrassing to be blushing yourself considering all the casual sex you have, but it's not your fault- Chan is the only person you've caught feelings for in years, so you can't help but blush a little. Chan, meanwhile, is still stunned; you're attracted to him? You want to have sex with him? Really?

On one hand, it's exciting- you want him, he wants you, and you don't care that he's inexperienced. But still, on the other hand.. With all the experience you have, don’t you want to sleep with someone who matches your energy? He can't imagine that you'd enjoy watching him fumble his way through your time together, or that he’d bring you any pleasure with his lackluster skills.

And what would your relationship be afterwards? Just friends and roommates who happened to fuck once, or something more? Will the mutual attraction die off the moment you realize his insecurities are way more than you signed on for?

“You don’t have to answer right now,” you assure him, offering all the time he may need to think about your proposition. Maybe it won’t be the most casual of your experiences considering your massive crush on him, but how could you pass up the chance to help him? Especially when helping means having sex with the guy of your dreams- because really, that’s what Chan is.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, swallows the lump in his throat, and takes a breath- because despite all his fears, he really likes you, and of course he wants to fuck you. Chan always figured he’d never have a chance with you unless you experienced a huge lapse in judgment; and maybe this is one and done, maybe it doesn't mean as much for you as it does for him, but he’ll still take that chance, insecurities be damned; he’d be a fool not to.

“I want to,” he tells you, soft and timid, but certain. You smile, equally as soft, as you inch closer to him on the sofa. “Can I kiss you?” you ask him, giggling when he quickly nods. It’s cute- equally as cute as the small, involuntary noise he makes from the back of his throat when your lips touch his. You start slow, pressing long, lingering kisses to his plush lips- as soft as you always imagined.

His breath hitches when you crawl onto his lap, pulling away to look at you with widened eyes. “Too much?” you ask, ready to pull yourself off of him but he quickly shakes his head. “You’re just-” he pauses, licks his lips as his face flushes a deeper pink, but continues “..so pretty. Really pretty. Can't believe this is really happening."

It feels a bit silly being so shy to tell you how pretty you are to him when you’ve been kissing him and are quite literally sitting on top of his dick, but he can’t help the way you make him feel. It’s a simple compliment too, one that normally wouldn’t affect you very much, but makes your heart pick up ever so slightly in speed regardless; you suppose because Chan is the one saying it.

You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with his hands when you kiss him again, keeping them clenched and firmly stuck to his side. You take them in your hands, guiding them to your body and resting them on your hips. “Touch me, Channie,” you breathe against his lips, “anywhere you want.” 

“Anywhere..?” he questions with a shaky exhale, hands trembling where they rest on your body. “Mhm, want to feel you,” you tell him sweetly, and God, he already feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest before he’s even really begun. But he listens, hands carefully traveling up and down your body as you lean back in to continue kissing him.

You let your own hands wander as well- over his arms, across his chest, down the toned abs you can distinctly feel even beneath his sweater. You lick his bottom lip, feeling his body shiver beneath the tips of your fingers as he opens his mouth for you, letting your tongue inside.

He brings his hands to your chest, palming your breasts before he carefully squeezes them. You bring one of your hands to hover over his, encouraging him to continue by squeezing your hand atop his. He’s only touching you over your clothes, but he already feels impossibly dizzy from the excitement- he can’t even focus on how pathetic that would normally make him feel either, because your tongue in his mouth fogs his brain. 

The next time you pull away, it’s to grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head so swiftly that Chan barely even has time to process what he’s about to see. He sucks in a breath as he looks at your tits; it doesn’t even matter that they’re still contained by a bra- it’s still more than enough to send him reeling. Pretty, pretty, pretty, is all he can think, his mind unable to conjure a thought any more complex than simple words.

You move your hands behind your back, ready to unhook your bra and expose yourself to him entirely, but he briefly stops you. “Can I- Can I try..?” he asks, clearly nervous but eager to try and prove himself in whatever way you’ll let him. “Course, Channie,” you smile at him as you let your arms fall back to your side, “go ahead.” You lean closer to him, bringing your hands to his shoulders as he brings his own to your back. 

You press kisses to his jaw as you wait for him to act, eventually trailing down to his neck. It makes him gasp and bite his lip, the skin of his neck evidently more sensitive than he ever even realized. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying his best not to get too distracted by the feeling of your lips on the sensitive spots of his neck before he continues.

His fingers fumble with the hooks of your bra, his trembling hands causing his grip to slip more than once. It’s embarrassing how badly he’s failing at this simple task, but you pay no mind to it, continuing to kiss him as he takes his time to figure it out. You caress his arms, pulling away to reassure him when his shaking fingers mess up for the third time.

“Relax, baby, you’ve got it,” you tell him, the affectionate term unintentionally slipping out- but Chan seems to welcome it, offering you a soft smile and nod as he timidly tries again. He lets out the breath he was unconsciously holding when he finally succeeds, watching attentively as you bring your hands to the now loose straps, sliding them down your arms.

You toss your bra aside when your arms are freed from the straps, and Chan can’t help but stare at your now bare chest. He can count on a single hand the amount of tits he’s seen, so his thoughts may be a bit biased in your favor, but he firmly believes yours are the prettiest he’s ever looked at. Chewing on his bottom lip, he looks to you for permission to touch them again, which you easily grant him. 

The soft noise you let out when his thumbs brush over your nipples both surprises him and makes his cock throb; he can still hardly even believe you’re really letting him touch you. “Is that good?” he asks as he does it again, intoxicated by the way you whimper and squirm. “Mhm, feels good. Feels better when they’re wet, though,” you tell him, watching as the gears turn in his brain. 

He licks his lips and leans down, bringing his face to your chest. He sticks out his tongue, slowly swiping it against one of your hardened nipples, eyes glued to your face as he does. “This what you want?” he asks, repeating the action when you gasp and nod. You thread your fingers through his hair, another whimper leaving you as he wraps his lips around your nipple and swirls his tongue around it.

You reach for his other hand and bring his fingers to your mouth, licking and coating them in your saliva. He whines at the feeling of your tongue sliding against his fingers, his imagination running wild with images of what it’d feel like on different parts of his body. Once satisfied with the wetness of his fingers, you take them from your mouth and bring them back down to the nipple currently not in his mouth. “Use them to touch me, please-” 

Chan wastes no time in doing what you ask, a soft whine escaping him when you gently tug on his hair. His cock is painfully hard and straining against his jeans that are now uncomfortably tight around him. You can feel it pressing against your ass, his eyes fluttering shut when his treatment of your nipples cause you to squirm and rub against his erection. The friction is overwhelming, your noises are intoxicating, the combination makes him dizzy with need for more. 

More of your touch on his skin, more of your pretty whimpers in his ear, more of anything and everything you’re willing to give him, he wants it all. Soon you’re reaching for the hem of Chan’s sweater, and he separates from you, allowing you to pull it up and over his head, discarding it to the floor with the rest of your clothing. You admire him, trace his pecs and his abs with your fingers, smiling at him sweetly when he shivers beneath your touch. 

“You’re so handsome, Channie,” you tell him as you continue to run your fingers along his torso, “so hot, you have no idea how bad I’ve wanted you.” He whines and turns his face away, a vain attempt to hide the heat that rises to it. “That’s- I-I.. didn’t know..” he mumbles shyly, hesitant to meet your gaze again- mostly because he thinks his heart will burst if he looks at you while you’re saying things like that to him.

He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to be able to look at you without going red in the face after this, or how he’s going to be able to hear your voice again without his cock getting hard. Better yet, how is he going to look at you without thinking about how bad he wants you to be his, or for him to be yours? Either way, that’s a problem for the future- because your hands and lips are all over him, and that’s what he wants to focus on now. 

Chan sucks in a breath when your hand brushes his erection over his jeans, bites his lip when you start to undo the button, lets out a shaky exhale as you begin to pull down the zipper. He’s not sure what you’ll think of his length, but he hopes you like it, prays that it’s enough to satisfy you. “You should have more confidence in yourself, Channie,” is the first thing you say as you take it in your hand, “you’ve got the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.” 

“W-What? No way, that’s- you’re just saying that,” he pouts, the blush covering his face and ears becoming unbearably hot. You can’t mean that- he almost refuses to believe it; because he simply can’t comprehend that you would prefer him to anyone else. “I’m not, baby. I mean it,” you tell him, and the way he throbs in your hand gives away that he likes the compliment, even if he doesn’t entirely believe it’s true. 

You really are being honest; it’s not the longest you’ve ever had, but it’s among the thickest, with pretty veins that accentuate it. You want to trace them- with your fingers, your lips, your tongue, everything. And then there’s the way his pre-cum leaks from the tip, steadily dripping and pooling where it falls- all you can say is that it’s mouth-watering. The look in your eyes makes Chan feel impossibly shy, and it takes everything within him not to cover his face when your eyes meet again. 

He never imagined that look would be for him; that he would ever be deserving of your touch and affectionate words. And the sweet smile you offer him when you start to earnestly stroke his cock- he’s done for, absolutely done for. He’ll never be able to hide how bad he wants you after this- maybe he should listen to you and gain some confidence, ask you to be his before someone else steals you away. 

Chan quickly loses his ability to form coherent thought once you start picking up your pace however, your hand having quickly become slick from his pre-cum. His head falls back against the sofa, breaths growing more and more labored with each stroke of your soft, warm, wet hand. You can feel his thighs twitch beneath you, and the way his hips jolt up to try to seek further friction from your hand, though your weight atop his legs prevents him doing so. 

“Want you in my mouth,” you tell him, pleased with the way the words make him gasp and squirm, “You want that, Channie? Will you let me suck you off?” Fuck, do you even have to ask? As if there is any reality in which he would ever say no; you can have him, all of him, he doesn’t care as long as it’s you- he’ll never deny you any part of him. “Yeah, yeah, want that, please,” he breathes, an almost shameless plea for you to do whatever you want with him. 

You offer him a pretty smile, placing a quick but affectionate kiss to his lips before you remove yourself from his lap. Sinking to your knees, you pull Chan’s jeans and boxers down his legs and to his ankles, and wait for him to step out of them and spread his legs wide enough for you to fit between them. There’s an apprehensive look in his eye when you scoot closer to him, and you pause, looking up at him with concern. “Are you nervous?” you ask, ready to stop at a moment’s notice if he needs you to.

“Ah, yeah, sorry, I just-” he pauses, an awkward, nervous laugh leaving him as he averts his gaze away from yours, “I just.. ‘m worried I’m gonna cum too fast when you.. Uh, yeah, you know.” He feels a bit pathetic admitting it, and he keeps his eyes locked on a random corner of the room, still holding onto the irrational fear that you’ll judge or laugh at him. Of course, you do neither- you simply lean forward on your knees, reaching a hand up to touch his face and bring his eyes back to yours. 

“Don’t worry about that, I won’t mind if you cum fast, okay? It won’t bother me, and I won’t be mad. Just enjoy yourself,” you tell him earnestly, smiling sweetly at him when he slowly nods. You want to show him that you’re more than happy to take care of him until he gets the confidence in himself he needs, that there’s no shame in feeling so good that he can’t help but let go, that you’ll want him regardless. 

You settle back on your knees, rubbing your hands up and down his thighs until you feel like his nerves have settled. He nods to you when he’s ready, and you give him one last smile before you bring your face directly to his waiting cock. The kisses you place to the tip are already enough to have him gasping and squirming in his seat- soft, delicate, and wet. Your fingers hold him at the base, keeping it held in place even as it twitches in response to every kiss you leave behind. 

You stick out your tongue, let spit dribble down and further wet his leaking tip, and it’s positively the most erotic thing Chan has ever witnessed; he has to cover his face to stop himself from losing his mind. Head fallen back against the sofa with his arm thrown over his face, he gasps once more when he feels your tongue press against his skin. You lick slowly- whether to savor the taste or prolong the moment, Chan is unsure, but he welcomes it either way. 

He can’t suppress the throaty groan that leaves him when you drag your tongue across the entirety of his length, tracing the veins with it just as you wished to. “O-Oh my god, baby-” he gasps when you finally start to take his cock into your mouth, too far gone to realize that he too let the pet name slip out. You don’t seem to mind, at least; after all, despite this “casual” encounter, you’ve already done the same, and been more affectionate than he ever anticipated.

Chan wants to believe you’re affectionate just with him; that none of your other casual partners have ever been looked at the way you’ve looked at him, that you never called them sweet names or given them such caring glances. Maybe he’s feeding himself a delusion, but he wants to believe you want him as bad as he wants you- beyond just the physical. He wants to believe this isn’t just a one time thing, and most of all he wants to believe that you’ll fall in love with him. 

Is it normal to think about love when your cock is deep down your crush's throat? He doesn’t know- but all he can think about, apart from how amazing your mouth feels, is how much he loves and adores you. Letting his arm fall back to his side, he lifts his head from the sofa to look at you once more, and fuck, what a site you are. Eyes glassy and pretty as you gaze up at him through your lashes, cheeks flushed red, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

The sounds you make as you bob your head are so salacious it makes his head spin, his thighs tremble with each motion of your tongue on the underside of his length, and every time his tip touches the back of your throat he can’t help but let out a moan. His fingers struggle to find purchase on the sofa’s cushion, so instead he clenches his fist, knuckles quickly turning white. You notice, of course, so you bring one of your hands to his, intertwining your fingers and letting him squeeze your hand instead. 

God, that fucks with his heart- but he hardly has any time to dwell on it. He’s barely been holding back his orgasm, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last. “Babe, baby, feels so good, I can’t- o-oh, please, ‘m gonna cum-” he babbles his warning, whimpering when you hum in response and continue to take him as deep into your mouth as he can go. His eyes roll back, cock throbbing and entire body trembling- and one more swipe of your tongue and swallow around his length is all it takes to have him cumming.

“O-Oh my- fuck, fuck, sorry, ‘m cumming, baby-” he rambles, thankfully too far gone to be embarrassed by all the things he’s saying to you. You swallow all he has to give you, not pulling off him until he starts to come down from his high and cock begins to soften. He’s dazed and breathless as he looks at you, chest heaving as his brain tries to recalibrate itself after how good you just made him feel.

You rise from your knees and set yourself back on the sofa, leaning towards Chan to kiss him after he’s caught his breath. He can taste himself on your lips, but he doesn’t hate it; there’s a strange part of him that even enjoys it. “‘m sorry,” he mumbles with a nervous pout when you pull away, “I tried to hold it back, but..” 

“Channie, I told you not to worry about that. It felt good, right? That’s all that matters,” you tell him, directing him to look at you when he tries to avert his gaze again. He swallows the anxiety down, trying to look at you without feeling like disappearing into a void. But he can tell after just a moment how sincere you’re being, and it spreads relief through his veins. It’s not that he really doubted you, but his internal dialogue is far from rational.

You’ve been so good to him since the start, and though he’s incredibly shy and equally as nervous, there’s nothing more he wants now than to return the favor. He still doubts he’s good enough to give you what you deserve, to skillfully make you cum and cry out for him, but he’ll try- God, he’ll fucking try. 

It takes all the confidence he can muster to speak what he wants to say, but he thankfully manages alright. “I want, uh- ..w-want to make you cum too,” he admits, doing his best to hold your gaze despite the way shyness claws at him and his blush burns his face. “Yeah?” you smile, honestly pretty eager to let Chan touch you more. 

While you were more than ready to keep taking the lead, to guide him along and take care of him, you’re happy to see a surge of confidence in him- even if it’s a small one. “Touch me then, Channie. Make me cum,” you tell him as you beckon him closer, letting out a soft, content hum when he kisses you. You let him guide you back until your back is flat against the sofa, spreading your legs so that he can nestle between them. 

You can feel his hands trembling again as they travel your body, but Chan doesn’t let the nerves prevent him from hooking his fingers into your pants. He continues to kiss you as he slides them down your legs, along with your panties- not just because he loves kissing you, but also because he’s not quite ready to look at your bare pussy; he genuinely thinks his heart will give out if he doesn’t mentally prepare himself first.

Pretty soon though, he does have to separate from you so he can let you slip your feet out of your clothes, and subsequently toss them to the floor with all the rest of your discarded clothing. He tries to keep his eyes locked on your face, but he can’t help but let his eyes trail down and roam over the rest of your exposed body. He’s mesmerized in an instant; you’re so impossibly pretty, every inch of you breathtaking and beautiful and- God, just perfect.

He knows his words will fail him, so he hopes his lips on yours will do enough of the talking for him, hopes that he can show how bad he adores and desires you with actions alone. You intended initially to let him take his time, but you’ve been impossibly wet and worked up this entire time; and besides, doesn’t he need a little push? 

So you take one of his hands, guiding it to your dripping center. Chan lets out an involuntary whine from the back of his throat, body shivering in response. “Y-You’re so- oh my god, how are you so wet?” he asks, as in awe of you as he is surprised. “You, baby,” you answer, voice growing shakier now that he’s rubbing his fingers between your folds, “I told you, you- you’re so handsome, you know? Get me so hot, ‘ve wanted you so bad.” 

God, he still can’t believe it- how is it possible that you’ve wanted him as bad as he’s wanted you? And there’s no way his insecurities can make him believe you’re just saying it to make him feel good about himself anymore- because he can feel the proof of your words with his fingers. “Tell me- tell me what you like, what you want, please,” he softly pleads, “need to make you feel good.”

“Inside, want your pretty fingers inside me,” you tell him, shivering when you feel the tips of his fingers pressing against your hole. He starts slow and careful, gently pushing one of his fingers inside, alternating between watching his hand and looking up to your face. You’re so slick and warm, and the way you squeeze around even just one of his fingers makes his head spin- because he can’t help but imagine how you’d feel on his cock.

“Another, add another, please,” you all but beg once you’re adjusted to how one feels, and he wastes no time in obliging you, delighting in the way it makes your eyes flutter closed. You bite your lip when he starts to instinctively move his fingers faster, little whimpers escaping as your breaths become heavier. “You sound so pretty,” he says, gasping when he realizes it caused you to clench harder around his fingers. 

Do you like when he talks to you? He doesn’t know if it’s his voice you like, or what he said in particular, but if you like it then he won’t stop. “F-Feels so amazing, I can’t- can’t stop thinking about what you’d feel like around me, want it so bad, want to be inside you,” he starts to ramble, doing his best to voice everything that comes to his mind, anything he thinks you’ll like and will have you clenching again, even if it embarrasses him to say it.

He experiments with his fingers as he talks to you- changing angles and curling his fingers, trying to find what you like the best. You gasp when he finds your spot with the tips of his fingers, body trembling and back arching. “R-Right there, fuck, feels so good, Channie, your fingers feel so good,” you tell him breathlessly, and he can’t help the way he stiffens and throbs once more in response. 

And really, how is he supposed to look at the way you shake beneath him, hear your pretty voice praise the way he’s touching you, and not get hard again? He wants nothing more than to make you cum- to make you cry and writhe in pleasure for him, because of him; almost desperate for it, he hits your spot over and over again, hoping to bring you closer and closer to the release you both crave. 

He’s mesmerized by the way your eyes roll back, by the rise and fall of your chest and tremble of your thighs; addicted to the way your moans and whimpers grow higher in pitch, and the messy, wet sounds his fingers create between your legs. Chan glances down to your pussy, taking notice of your puffy, neglected clit. 

He wants to taste it, to wrap his lips around and let his tongue lavish it, but he doesn’t trust himself to be able to get down smoothly or without messing up his rhythm; so instead, he brings his thumb to it- something he’s seen done in porn that woman always seemed to like (and he desperately hopes you like it too.) Thankfully, he gets the effect he was hoping for- you let out a whimper and squirm, nails digging into his skin. 

Chan doesn’t let up even when his wrist begins to grow sore, running purely on desire and instinct. “F-Fuck, Channie, baby, ‘m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum,” you gasp out, voice whiny and strained, but still oh so pretty in his ears. He can’t believe he’s actually going to make you cum, can’t believe how lucky he is; and he's utterly transfixed on the way your body moves, drunk on the sounds that freely spill from you. 

He gasps when you reach out and unexpectedly pull him closer, letting out a soft, surprised whine when you eagerly crash your lips into his. It’s the messiest kiss he’s ever had, tongues dancing and drool falling from the corners of your mouth, hot and heavy breaths passed between each other. Your thighs squeeze his hand as your orgasm takes you, entire body shaking as your back arches off the sofa, arousal gushing and further coating his fingers.

Chan slowly slides his fingers out of you as you catch your breath, meeting your gaze shyly when you open your eyes to look at him once more. He’s so fucking hard, again, and you instantly notice, much to his embarrassment. He wants to fuck you, there’s no denying it- but he can’t help but continue to feel self-conscious, even now. 

You sit up and kiss him once more, as if to dispel all doubts and worries from his racing mind. “Want you, Channie,” you tell him, voice soft, sweet, and reassuring, “do you still want me? Wanna fuck me?” He whines from deep in his throat, knowing he’d never be able to deny it, even if he wanted to. 

“Yes, God, yes, wanna fuck you,” he answers honestly, nervously chewing on his bottom lip, “b-but I- I just.. don’t want to disappoint you.” He’ll never forgive himself if he fucks this up and leaves you wanting and unsatisfied; he wants to be nothing less than perfect for you and he already knows that he isn’t. 

“Channie, baby, look at me,” you say as you reach a hand to his cheek, urging him to meet your eyes again, “you won’t disappoint me, you could never.” You place soft, comforting pecks to his lips, holding his hands and rubbing soothing circles with your thumbs until you feel him start to lose his tension. “Remember what I said? Don’t worry about anything but feeling good. I want you to cum again,” you tell him, smiling as he nods, his face flushing a deeper red. 

Leaning towards the coffee table, you reach for where you dropped your purse before sitting down with Chan, digging around inside until you find one of the spare condoms you make sure to keep for your dates. He swallows as he watches you pull it out, beyond nervous but equally as excited to finally feel you wrapped around him. 

Even just watching you tear open the packaging is enough to have him trembling, and when you glance at him to make sure he’s ready, he ignores his insecurities the best he can to offer you a timid smile. You return the smile, taking his cock in your hand and giving it a few slow pumps to make sure he’s ready. He squirms and softly whines, still sensitive from his previous orgasm, but there’s no way he’s going to let that stop him from having this moment with you. 

He shivers when you easily roll the condom down his length, biting his lip as you crawl back onto his lap after you’ve finished. His heart is beating fast and erratic, and he wonders if you can hear how loudly it’s thumping against his chest. He lies half propped up by one of the sofa’s cushions, looking up at you with eyes akin to a puppy, watching your every move with bated breath. 

You reach between your bodies to hold his cock at the base, angling it with your still soaked entrance. You let go once you start to sink down on it, moving your hand to his chest to support yourself as his cock pushes inside. “Oh, fuck-” Chan lets out a choked gasp, already overwhelmed by the sensation even before you’re fully sat on his length. 

Even with a condom on, he can still feel how warm and wet you are, your walls squeezing him so tight it takes his breath away. “Fuck, baby, oh my god, it already feels so good, what the fuck-” he gasps again once your hips are flush together. He doesn’t remember it feeling this amazing the last time he had sex; is it because he’s more sensitive from before? Or is it because it’s you? 

No matter the answer, he’s certain of one thing- and that’s that he’s definitely going to cum fast; he just hopes you meant it when you said it’s okay. He lets out an obscenely loud moan when you start to lift and drop your hips- one that would normally make him extremely embarrassed, but he feels way too good to even focus on it; all he can think about is how fucking good you feel. 

His hands squeeze your hips, and he looks at you with stars in his eyes. How can you be so pretty, so beautiful? How can you feel this good? The way he’s looking at you makes your heart stutter and pussy clench, an act that makes Chan’s head fall back against the cushion as he moans. He’s so handsome, with the way his curly hair clings to his forehead with sweat, his bitten lips and flushed cheeks- it's insane that he can't see how crazy for him you are. 

You lean forward to kiss him, bringing one of your hands up to thread your fingers through his hair as your tongue slips past his parted lips. He feels dizzy with pleasure, each of his loud moans and whines muffled only by your lips on his. You’re both panting by the time you separate, with you falling forward and burying your face into his neck. 

Your legs and knees quickly begin to scream at you, but you ignore it as best you can in favor of chasing pleasure, bouncing on his cock with all the energy you can muster. You know he won’t last much longer- he was already sensitive to start, and you can feel him twitching and throbbing more and more with each additional motion of your hips. 

“Baby, ‘m so close-” Chan whimpers, eyes rolling back when you clench around him harder. “Yeah? Gonna cum again for me, Channie? Gonna cum with me?” you ask as you snake your hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit in quick circles so that you can cum together. He quickly nods and bites his lip, hands squeezing you tighter and hips rising to chase you every time you lift off him. 

It only takes a couple more rolls of your hips to have him cumming again, white, hot pleasure coursing through his veins and overwhelming every inch of his body, filling the condom with all he has to give. You follow quickly behind, hips stuttering and losing all sense of rhythm as you ride out your release. 

You collapse against his chest with a heavy sigh once you’re done, utterly exhausted from all the effort, but completely satisfied. You’re both breathless, eyes closed as you collect yourselves and racing hearts start to return to normal speed. Well, in Chan’s case it doesn’t completely return to normal; because you’re still naked on top of him, and even after having just had sex, he still can’t believe you’re here with him right now like this.

You lift your hips and let his softening cock slide out of you, laying on Chan’s side with his arm as support so you don’t fall off the sofa. You carefully remove the condom, tying it off and preparing it to be thrown away once you’re ready to get up- for now, you’re too tired to move, and you just want to stay next to Chan for as long as you can. 

You lay your leg across his body, cuddling close to him while he continues to support your weight with his arm. “How was it? Fun?” you ask him, smiling when he blushes and looks away, still unable to help being shy even after all you just did together. “Of course, you’re.. incredible,” he answers honestly, chewing on his lip before he continues, “But, were you- ..was I good enough for you..?”

“Channie, are you kidding? You were perfect, I promise,” you assure him, giggling softly when he breathes a sigh of relief. “You get stuck in your head too much, baby,” you continue, absentmindedly tracing circles in his skin as you speak, “I promise you, you could have anyone you want. I mean it when I say you’re perfect.” He still doesn’t quite believe what you’re saying is true, but he can at least accept that you believe it. 

But he wonders if you know- it’s not just anyone he wants, but you. He was only able to do this because it was you that offered- anyone else, and he would’ve instantly turned them down, or wouldn't have been able to enjoy himself if he did accept. Looking at you now reaffirms what he’s long since thought- you’re the only one for him. 

“Baby, I want you to be mine- want you to be my girlfriend,” is what he wants to say- but Chan is much too shy, and can’t bring himself to do it. “C-Can we- can we do this again sometime..?” is what he ends up saying insead. And you smile as you nod, sweetly running your fingers through his messy curls before you give him another kiss, “Course, baby. Anytime you want me, I’m yours.”

network tags: @skzstarnet @ksmutsociety

Clears throat

I AM HERE TO MAKE SOMETHING VERY CLEAR!

YOU SEE THIS

THIS

THIS IS CUTE, WE WANT THIS! WE NEED THIS!

BUT THIS.

THIS

HUNK OF A MAN

THIS FRICKING HOT ASS MAN

I-

Deep breath

HOW CAN THIS

TURN INTO THIS

FUCK!

On the other hand, I have no idea what happened and why it deleted half the post.

Deep breath

I was just MINDING my own business, scrolling on my phone. THEN OUT OF NO WHERE I GET THIS?!

THIS FUCKING FINE ASS MAN!

I'M SORRY BUT

I MEAN

HE IS

SO

DAMM

FINE!

screams into pillow

I WISH HE WAS REAL! I wouldn't have a chance either way but still, I WISH HE WAS REAL!

holy….

I’m lost for words