#holding her gently forever and ever and always | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eddies-ashtray · 25 days

Text

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

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His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island.

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down.

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat.

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes.

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up.

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour.

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.”

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt.

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly. But the growing tension dissipates slightly when a timer dings, shrill and intrusive.

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven.

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop.

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven.

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.”

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass.

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say.

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms.

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest.

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.”

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache.

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended.

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently.

The word lingers in the air between you.

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them.

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows.

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.”

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is.

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back.

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze.

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support.

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it.

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity.

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis.

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound.

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild.

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room.

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh.

“Hey!” He barks.

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.”

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat.

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions.

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you?

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man.

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology.

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.”

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly.

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey.

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over.

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him.

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat.

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs.

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant.

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him.

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair.

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it.

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin.

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days.

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder.

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash.

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad.

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter.

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically.

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan.

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over.

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat.

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure.

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over.

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white.

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax.

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh.

“You know…For an old man, that was-”

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin.

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity.

Finally, he finds your eyes.

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh.

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn.

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape.

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs.

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.”

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly.

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing.

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer.

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now.

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth.

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck.

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin.

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside.

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple.

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand.

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair.

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin.

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate.

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.”

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free.

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’.

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements.

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder.

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves.

“Open.”

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips.

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is.

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut.

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.”

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive.

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat.

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder.

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body.

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect.

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice.

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs.

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind.

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit.

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him.

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly.

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes.

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot.

More. You need more of him.

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair.

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary.

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides.

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him.

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin.

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight.

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse.

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him.

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble.

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it.

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are.

Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you.

He shudders with his release.

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening.

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing.

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close.

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound.

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves.

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs.

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead.

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now.

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too.

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily.

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear.

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed.

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again.

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt.

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Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

2K notes · View notes

pastryfication · 25 days

Note

oscar taking care of his girlfriend who’s suffering with nausea and dizziness. like he helps her around the house, brings her food, turns into her personal blanket… i am a sucker for sweet bf oscar piastri

i’ll always take care of you

pairing: oscar piastri x reader note: haven’t proofread this so i apologise for any mistakes!! hope you like it <33

oscar had always been attentive—the most observant and caring boyfriend you’ve ever had—but today he seemed to have turned his attentiveness into a whole new art form.

you’d been feeling unwell since the morning—waves of nausea and dizziness that left you unsteady on your feet and far too tired to do much more than rest on the couch. he noticed the moment he saw you, a concerned frown creasing his brow as he knelt beside you.

“hey, you okay?” he asked softly, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead.

you managed a small smile, though it was weak. “just feeling a bit off. dizzy and nauseous. i think i might need to rest.”

oscar’s frown deepened as he nodded immediately. “okay, you stay right there,” he said firmly, standing up. “i’ll get you some water and maybe something light to eat, just in case.”

he moved around the kitchen with a quiet efficiency, fetching a glass of cold water and preparing a small plate of plain toast. when he returned, he set everything down on the coffee table beside you and sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your face.

“here,” he murmured, holding the glass to your lips. “just sip a little, don’t force it.”

you did as he said, taking small sips of water, grateful for his patience. oscar watched you with that focused expression he usually reserved for the track, like nothing else mattered but making sure you were okay. after a few sips, you leaned back, closing your eyes as another wave of dizziness washed over you.

“this feeling sucks,” you muttered, frustrated with how your body seemed to betray you. “i can’t even stand up without feeling like i’m going to fall over.”

oscar shook his head and slid an arm around your shoulders, gently guiding your body to rest against him. “you’re just not feeling well, love, and that’s okay. i’m here to help, alright?”

you sighed, leaning into his warmth, your head resting on his shoulder. “don’t you have something better to do?”

oscar’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. “you’re not a burden if that’s what you think.” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “i want to take care of you. it’s what i’m here for.”

he rubbed your back soothingly, his touch light and comforting. he held you like that for a while, his body warm against yours, his steady breathing helping to calm the spinning sensation in your head. you felt a little better, enough to open your eyes and look up at him.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft. “you’re too good to me.”

he smiled, his hand moving to gently stroke your hair. “you deserve it,” he replied. “and besides, i kind of like holding you like this.”

you laughed softly, the sound weak but genuine. “oh, yeah? planning to keep me warm and cozy forever?”

oscar’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with affection. “that’s the plan,” he said. “but first, let’s get you to the bedroom so you can lie down properly.”

he stood up slowly, snaking his arms around your body to lift you bridal style. his touch was gentle, as if you were made of glass, and when you held onto his bicep for safety when he started moving, he smiled softly down at you.

when you finally reached the bed, he helped you sit down and then guided you to lie back, adjusting the pillows behind you. he pulled the blanket up over you and tucked it around your sides, his hands smoothing the fabric with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“do you want anything else?” he asked softly, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “more water? a different snack? i can get you whatever you need.”

you shook your head. “just . . . stay with me?”

oscar’s expression softened, and he nodded immediately. “of course,” he said, climbing into the bed beside you. he shifted closer, wrapping his arms around you, letting you rest your head on his chest.

his warmth seeped into you, his steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm beneath your ear. he held you like that, like you were something precious and fragile, his fingers tracing light patterns along your arm. every so often, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring softly about nothing in particular—little stories, jokes, anything to distract you from the discomfort.

you felt yourself relaxing more, the dizziness fading slightly with the comfort of his touch and his presence. you closed your eyes, breathing in his scent, and felt a small smile form on your lips. “i’m so lucky to have you,” you murmured sleepily.

oscar’s arms tightened around you just a little bit more, his lips brushing against your hair. “no,” he whispered back, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “i’m the lucky one.”

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iheartcurlyfries · 5 months

Text

cause baby, you get me so...

dom!mascellie x sub!femreader

|| authors note: this is the first story I've ever actually felt proud enough to post || also sorry if it's iffy! I'm still new to writing but I've been taking awhile observing my favorite fic writers and have learned a few things so.. enjoy!! :) || (I made this because of shy smith's new song.) ||

|| CW: smut with a lot of plot, mdni, wlw, friends with benefits, ellie loves tits, LITTLE use of 'y/n', fingering, use of swear words, praising, ellie is soft, barely experienced reader, ellie shows reader true pleasure, and light masturbation. ||

you and ellie had been friends since almost forever, you've always been inseparable. and when you both grew older your innocent mind turned into something you never expected, you saw ellie in a different light and seemingly grew a liking to her. she's always protected you from everything and always treated you better than any other girl in jackson (which made you admire her even more), it was almost like she had a sweet spot for you, which you never understood why she did.

ellie was very proudly out, she loved having people know she was gay, she had multiple girlfriends but everything seemed to end up in the same way, ellie gets bored and she breaks up with them. and then there was you, a girl who was scared to come out, you had always pretended to like guys and even dated a few, but no one ever caught your eye as much as your bestfriend did. something about her made you tingle inside, you'd get the butterflies in your stomach even by just thinking about her, but you knew you'd never be able to tell her.

after every stressful day, you'd lay down in your bed, your gaze would shift from the wall to the window, trying to poke at every detail to entertain you. you'd shift and turn, trying to get comfortable, groaning when you couldn't find something to distract yourself with. you'd pick up your phone, scrolling through your messages, trying to find someone to talk to for entertainment.

and that's when it hit you, you saw ellie in your messages, the thought of her instantly creeping into your mind. a small smile formed with a curve on your lips, you'd sigh as you thought about her, putting your phone down as you stared at the ceiling. her being in your thoughts made your thighs rub together, you gently bit down on your bottom lip, picking at it with your teeth.

you couldn't lie to yourself, you always fantasized about ellie, thinking about all the things you'd let her do for to you. you always imagined her in between your legs, you'd yank at her hair as whimpers would escape your lips in a muffled tone. she'd always take it slow with you, making sure you'd adjust to her, she'd never wanna hurt you. she'd slide a finger into you, gently pumping it in and out of you as she swirled her tongue around your bud, making sure to be as gentle as possible. you'd whine and run your fingers through her hair, the sight of her fucking you always made you just wanna cum

you always gave in to your thoughts, everytime they got to intense, you'd gently swirl two fingers over your clit, biting down on your lip to hold back a hoarse whine, your thighs would press together when you got close, you were so very sensitive, a few flicks to your bud and you were done. you'd be a whimpering mess, making sure her name was the only word in your vocabulary in those moments. and when you were done you'd lie there, thinking as if she was the one pleasuring you. but you'd always think to yourself how much more you'd feel better if it was her and not you.

whenever you and ellie would hangout she'd throw flirty comments at you, being oblivious you never knew what she meant by the flirts, always thinking she was just being friendly. you never knew how she felt about you, you could've never imagined the fantasies she'd have, she always saw you as a pretty and delicate thing, like a porcelain doll. she always imagined how good it would feel to be the one to show you a real experience, something that your hand couldn't give you, something that only hers could.

you sighed, leaning back on ellie's couch as you watched her play a game, call of duty. you stared at the screen, smiling when she won and got all excited, you thought she was cute when the game fed her ego, and you rooted for her, giving out gentle and sweet praise to her. 'you're doing great- els.' you cooed as she got another kill. your gaze turned to her hands, she gripped the controller tightly as her fingers pressed the buttons at a quicker pace. you admired how patient she was with this game, how quick she would adjust after getting a kill, it was something you always admired about her.

'thank you ma' she'd say, smiling at you. "ma" was always a nickname she used for you, you liked it of course, it was special, something only she called you.

you'd giggle when she would call you that, a peachy tint covering your cheeks as you looked back up at the screen. "I don't understand how you're so good at this game." you'd tease, you were never really a big fan of video games, it was never something you were good at. but you enjoyed watching her play, you didn't know if it was just her being the one playing or if you actually enjoyed the game, but nonetheless you always found yourself loving watching her play.

'I'll teach you how to play one day, you'll be a natural I bet." she muttered, her eyes never leaving the screen. you looked over at you again, admiring her concentration on the game. "you got this 'els, you got this." you'd praise, the tone of your voice dripping with sweetness.

after your praise she got her last kill, winning the game before celebrating, a big 'ol grin always on her face when she'd win. she leaned back, man-spreading as she put the controller down on the couch, taking a deep breath as she looked over at you.

'do you wanna try, mama?' she asked, handing you the controller with a serious face, a smirk slightly creeping onto it.

"ellie no-" you obliged, 'I'd be humbled instantly.' I said with a nice little chuckle, pushing the controller back to ellie.

'no c'mon ma, I'll show you..' she said, her tone gentle. 'c'mere.' she whispered with a smile, patting her lap. you blushed, and you felt your eyes lightly widened, "okay.." you said with a soft smile, you sat up, crawling over to ellie. she grabbed your hips and sat you onto her lap, lightly rubbing her hands up your sides.

she handed you the controller, guiding you through the loading screen. she leaned over and whispered into your ear- 'this is the shooter..' she began explaining the "simple" instructions, you could barely focus, just the sound of her whispering in your ear and the feeling of her hands on your sides were enough to get you going. 'okay...' you mumbled, your voice lightly cracking. as you loaded in she moved her hands to yours, guiding yours on the controller, helping you get a few kills as she whispered a few praises in your ear. 'you're doing so well mama, look at you go..' she'd say, you'd bite your lip, rubbing your thighs gently together. you felt it, the same feeling, the feeling of being soaked.

after she helped you win the round she smiled, praising you more as she leaned back, her hands creeping back to your hips, rubbing them with her thumb. 'see? you're a natural.' she grinned, running her fingers over your hips, she pulled you back lightly. 'I love how easy you are to teach mama.' she whispered, her tone soft as she tried to get you to turn to face her. you smiled and turned around, facing her as you sat on her lap. 'I still hated it, it was stressing me out..' you giggled, putting a piece of hair behind your ear.

'that's okay, you don't have to play again.' ellie said, her hands now running down your thighs. 'but you did so good ma..'

god her voice.. you thought, everything she was doing made you feel amazing, the way she praised you and the way she stared at you. but oh the way she touched your thighs made you feel the best, it almost felt like she was just teasing you so she could get a reaction. but you didn't care, you got pleasure out of her touch.

you smiled at her, not saying anything as you just admired her, everything from her freckles to the details of her scars on her face. she looked up at you, her gaze softened slightly as she stared at you. 'do you know how beautiful you are, y/n?' ellie said as she lifted a piece of your hair out of your face, moving it gently as you let out a sigh. 'that's sweet, els..' you smiled, licking your lips slowly as you took a deep breath in.

'are you just gonna stare at me forever?' ellie muttered with a teasing tone, it snapped you out of your day dreaming. she giggled before putting a hand on your chin, gently pulling you in. you gasped slightly as she captured your lips in a kiss, she pulled her hand away from your chin, both hands on your hips as her gripped tightened.

you whimpered softly against her lips as her grip tightened on your hips, you put your hands on the side of her face, deepening the kiss more as the butterflies grew in your stomach.

as she kissed you she pulled her hands away from your hips, she guided them to your button up, gently unbutton-ing the buttons slowly, making sure to take her time. she pulled back for a second to slip the shirt off of your shoulders, you helped her, all with a smile on your face. you couldn't believe what was happening.

she smiled back at you, she guided a hand up to your chin again, lifting your jaw up before leaning in to kiss down your neck. she made her way to your collarbone, leaving behind pinky love marks. you let out a delicate moan as she kissed your collarbone, sucking another hickey onto it. 'wear these with pride, ma, they add to your beauty.' she whispered, her tone had a hint of playfulness as she pulled back.

'may i?' she asked, grabbing the hem of your skirt as she waited for your confirmation. 'yes, you're aloud anything..' you reassured her, you smiled as you adjusted yourself on her lap, helping her slide your skirt down your thighs.

as she got the skirt off of you she put it over on the other side of the couch where your shirt was. she turned back to you and leaned in for another kiss, taking everything slow with you. after a good minute she unlatched her lips again, she looked up at you as she made her way to the back of your bra, gently and slowly un-clipping it and guiding it off your chest. she smiled as she saw your perky breasts. 'mm so beautiful mama..' she whispered, gently putting her hands on them, fondling them. she took one finger and gently pinched at your nipple, making you let out a whimper in response. 'so responsive..' she praised, running her thumb over your nipple.

you let a few more whimpers slip as she played with your boobs, her fingers glided over your nipples before she leaned in and took one in her mouth, lightly sucking. 'mm that feels s'good els..' you'd whine, sliding a hand into her hair and gently playing with it.

with a pop she pulled away from your breast, smiling up at you as she kissed up your chest to your neck again, putting a hand on the other side of your neck. you lifted your head up, giving ellie more room as she claimed your neck, as she got closer to your ear she leaned in and whispered. 'mama, m'gonna fuck you..' her tone was smooth and it made your ears tingle, your breath hitched slightly while letting out a soft sigh. she giggled before kissing your neck again, as she was kissing up and down your neck, only leaving more hickeys she slid a hand down your thigh. you let out a gasp as you felt a hand rub at your clit, she rubbed in a harsh way as the wet spot on your panties only grew.

you let out a needy whine, gently spreading your legs more. you slid your hand back into ellie's hair once more, giving it a light tug. 'mmpph..' you moaned, slowly bucking your hips into ellie's hand. you honestly couldn't believe it, one of your fantasies actually coming true, the way she touched you so skillfully through your panties was just oh so fucking good, the way it was just as you imagined, gentle yet quick.

your thighs lightly shook as your head tilted back. she pulled away from your neck, leaning back on the couch with a lustful expression. 'gotta give you something real, princess.' she uttered as she pulled her hand back, guiding them to the hem of your underwear before slowing pulling it down your legs. you lifted yourself up slightly, helping her take them off.

she threw them to where your other clothes were with a grin, looking up at you. 'you're so beautiful..' she cooed, she leaned back again and ran a hand down your thigh. she took her ring and middle finger and gently slid them up and down your delicate folds. her touch making you squirm. she pulled her fingers back and put them in her mouth, tasting your slick, she moaned before pulling her fingers out, making sure they were really wet and ready for your cunt.

she pulled you by your hips, guiding you closer before slowly rubbing your nub with her thumb, 'you ready?' she whispered, looking up at you.

"as ready as I'll ever be..' you giggled, she smiled softly before slowly spreading your folds with her other hands, then slowly sliding the tip of her fingers into your entrance in a teasing way. you whimpered softly before she slid her full fingers into your tight sopping hole. this simple action made you moan, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip, your gummy walls lightly clenched around her fingers. she admired how your cunt swallowed them instantly, after a second she slowly pumped her fingers in and out at a weak pace, but the way they hit your sweet spot every thrust made it feel better than she thought it would.

you were messy as hell, she pumped her fingers into you, slightly increasing her pace as she whispered sweet praises into your ear. telling you how much of a good girl you were being and how well u were taking her. It made you melt, not only her voice but her touch too, you felt a pressure build up in your stomach, something you never truly felt before, and it made you glad ellie was the first person helping you feel that way.

'c'mon baby, you got this..' she'd whisper as she picked up her pace, her fingers pumping in and out of you at a more quickened rate, your walls gently pulsed at the speed changed but you adjusted quickly, gently moaning into ellie's ear as you rested your head onto her shoulder. 'm'gonna cum els, i can feel it..' you got a sentence choked out, it wasn't a cohesive one but it was good enough for these circumstances. she smiled at your words, only picking up her pace more as she rubbed her other hand up your thigh.

you couldn't help it, you lifted your head up and tilted it back with a moan, the way she was fingering you made you feel so fucking amazing. 'mmghh-- ellie..' you whined, you felt it coming, the pressure getting too good.. your eyes rolled back as your walls started to pulse, you felt it, coming down from your high as you let yourself come undone onto ellie's fingers. ellie was delighted, whispering more praise into your ear as she slowed down her pumping, after a few seconds she gently pulled her fingers out of you, licking them clean before she rubbed her hands up your thighs again, you laid your head back on her shoulder, panting heavily.

'good girl, ma, I knew you could do it..'

A/N: ahhh this is so bad but I love it so much!! writing makes me so happy and I hope this fanfiction made you happy too <3

#Spotify #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #smut #the last of us

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prael · 20 days

Text

Pliancy

Kinktember Day 4: Dollification

ILLIT Park Minju x male reader smut

words: 6,488 Kinktember Masterlist

Art is eternal. Who was it that once said that a thing of beauty is a joy forever? Was it Byron? Was it Yeats? Who cares. But that line, however trite, does kind of get the concept down, really, as clichéd and insipid as it sounds.

Minju, too, is a joy forever, with her soft face, her sweet body, and her delicate touch. On this, I will allow you an image: she was the absolute pinnacle of girlhood, the perfect blending of innocence and wanton sexiness. When you pressed her slender wrists down into the sheets of her bed with those pale, thin fingers and pinned her slender body with your cock, you became one with a living, breathing piece of high art. The feeling of that, ah, that is something you cannot ever convey. And that's probably how it started, your obsession with her; she was beautiful and delicate and utterly desirable. She had all the loveliness of a porcelain figurine; just looking at her could arouse you, bring about your lusts and make your mouth dry up.

But there is something, and you realise this, something both primal and shameful, about wanting to sully that image of innocence. Not, of course, that your feelings towards Minju are wholly visceral—you do love her, and genuinely so. The things you do may imply something different, a detachment from her as a person if someone were looking in from the outside, but just as you assured her, it's an act born out of admiration. It's an act out of devotion.

To dollify the living, breathing, loving, feeling organism called Minju, then to make her merely an object for your desires. Ah, there's something wonderfully, gloriously filthy in that—the violation and the liberation. In all those actions and thoughts, you can be sure, is that undercurrent of perverseness and lust. Your lips tracing across Minju's navel is an act of passion, one to express the fullness and warmth that has bloomed inside your chest. Your hands gripping her thighs so tight that they leave deep, crimson fingerprints on the skin is an act of passion too—one to express a primal need.

When it all starts, Minju, a girl so usually full of energy and vivacity, is demure and quiet; she sits in this stoic way in front of you, knees together and her hands resting on her thighs, just below the table. The table holds the tools of your art: hairclips, mascara, lip gloss, nail polish and everything else. She waits, as she always does, in silent expectation.

Minju wears the outfit you laid out for her that afternoon. The fabrics are light and flowing, cotton in a milky off-white colour hugging her upper body and a linen shirt whose billowy sleeves hang around her slender arms; at the wrists, she keeps the cuffs rolled up. Cotton shorts, equally soft, equally neutral in colour, held to her small waist by a ribbon as a makeshift belt. All of it was chosen specifically by you—it's all so very angelic, and comfortable. Innocent.

You set about your work, asking her to place a hand on the table. Nails take the longest to dry so you start there: you paint the end of each of her slender fingers one at a time, taking great care, letting her rest her hand in the palm of your own as you go through the motion. Whisper-like strokes of the brush over the thin keratin in a pastel shade, the pink of newly-blossomed cherry flowers. A compliment to her fair complexion.

One hand done, you raise it closer to your mouth and gently blow over the fingertips, to quicken their drying. Her hand, in yours, is ever so small. So petite. You remark this, smiling, and her expression—wide-eyed and quietly attentive—softens. It's a sight so adorable; how the ends of her lips upturn as if you've said something exceptionally touching. That's the thing with Minju; you just never quite get used to how much trust and affection is conveyed in those big, soft eyes.

Not long until the other hand is done, perfect crisp painting without a single smudge, or mistake.

You screw in the brush, then stand to move the table aside, you pull it away from her and then push it away. You kneel at her feet, hand resting gently on a small calf. You lift a leg, then draw your hand down it, to her heel. Bare feet, too, are a marvel in and of themselves: smooth skin over arched bones. Like all good things, it's imperfect; she's a dancer after all, still, she takes all the care to moisturise and you take all the care to massage them.

Now, Minju is ticklish, always has been, so when you take hold of her foot in preparation to paint her nails, she struggles not to break composure, and yet a cute little smirk betrays her. With one hand, you hold it steady; with the other, you reach to the table and draw the brush from the pot of white paint. White like the brightest snow, a winter's morn. You make slow, even strokes, over her nails, starting with the big toe and making your way down the digits, till her little feet are thoroughly and beautifully made up.

She flinches occasionally, under your touch, but with great care, you never make a mistake. No stain on her flesh. Repeated for her other foot too, each followed by a patient period of gently blowing, which sees her struggle against the tickling of her flesh even more. This time, she moves, almost unable to help it—and you know that to admonish her would not be the gentlemanly thing.

"It's okay Minju. Relax," you tell her, softly, as she takes a steadying breath, "that's it. Good."

It is here where you see a glow of pleasure and a hint of a smile on her pretty, youthful face, at hearing words of praise from you. This you know well: to Minju, your affirmations have an almost spiritual significance. In all the time you have known her, she has yearned to do well, to make others around her happy, to gain approval and affection, and as someone important in her life, this sentiment extends to you.

"My angel," you call her, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last. You lean close to place a gentle peck of your lips against her leg, just above the ankle, which causes her to stir. But that's okay, a moment of weakness is ever expected. You shift away from her leg, letting the soft flesh slip from your hand, and admire the neat work you have done so far. "There we go."

You bring your chair close to her, so you can sit, knee to knee across from her and set to work on her pretty features. First, you frame her face by clipping back the locks of fine honey-brown that threatened to obscure her eyes. Then you take the lip gloss in a soft rose colour, and a slender, synthetic-haired brush, and begin the work of accentuating her lips. Start at the top and glide over the curve that runs along her cupid's bow. Define the fine edges and then coat, to treat yourself to a shimmering pink glow; a shine over the otherwise natural look.

"Perfect. Oh, how I want to kiss them."

Minju doesn't say a word but the look in her eye speaks all the same, 'I wish you would do it.'

She remains still as you take hold of the thin eyeliner pencil in one hand and Minju's chin with the other, carefully positioning the tip under the lash line, and drawing it slowly, ever-so-carefully. Drawing a light, curved line to the side, first on her right, and then on her left. Do the same, light and clean, under the bottom lashes, being extra sure to define her creases.

Her eyes, as you study them, are so rich and vivid in colour that they command all of your attention and all of your efforts. So you work carefully, deliberately; being this close to her means you can see each speck, each mote in those deep, earthy brown irises. This intimacy, the face-to-face nearness of it all, brings on a unique vulnerability: when she closes her eyes next, to allow you to apply shadow to her lids, Minju puts herself at your mercy.

Minju's lips part and a small but noticeable hitch of her breath follows as you pull yourself away and admire your work. She has this kind of seductive natural pout—soft, shapely. Something alluring that the angles of her mouth lend her. As you sweep blush powder over her cheeks with a fine, oval-shaped brush, she utters a soft question, "How does it look?"

You bring a finger to rest against the fullness of her cheek, letting it trace along her soft flesh, down her jaw, and under her chin—before bringing it upwards, a physical prompting, to make her lift her chin higher. "Perfect. Always."

It occurs to you, as you define her eyebrows in quick, practised strokes, that for all the work you put into her, the inhuman focus and the undivided attention, this effort is nothing against the absolute, undying beauty that is Park Minju. It's a sort of colour-by-numbers deal; with all the perfect lines drawn out, it's up to you—a mock amateur—to simply embellish, to exaggerate, what is already there. To add shadow, light, and life.

You finish your work creating ('Creating' is the wrong word, more so, refining) the perfect doll. Minju keeps still, and patient. Beautiful.

"Precious girl."

By her earlobe, just below the jaw, there is a spot. The most perfect, sensitive area, to which you bow your head. Close your eyes. Place your lips. You kiss this spot, slowly, dragging your lips against her flesh, across it, revelling in the delicate softness. Revelling in her soft little moan, muffled only by pursed lips.

You push your chair back, and stand, looking down at her from above. You draw the clips back from her hair and it falls back into the perfect place. You circle around her once, slow, methodical. Taking all of her in, marvelling.

The greatest treasure in all the world. A masterpiece.

She follows your every guidance as you pull her to her feet. After all, she is, for tonight, nothing more than a doll. Pliable. Openly, and explicitly, subservient. You turn her and position her before a full-length mirror set in the far corner of her room. There she stands, arms at her side, staring back at you with doe-like, innocent eyes. There you stand, tall, strong behind her, hands on her arms.

"Perfect. You really are the most precious girl."

Your grip on her upper arms is gentle but firm as you ease her forward into a bend at the hips, tilting her towards the mirror as you place her into a pose. Fingers playing lightly down her limbs, like stroking the keys on the piano, or the strings on a guitar. You place her hands behind her back, and instruct her expression, "Give me a sweet smile."

Your voice is quiet in her ear as she nods, just the slightest, almost indiscernible incline of the head. She stares down the mirror as her full, kissable lips slowly contort into a charming, simpering smile, the type that the most beloved princesses often wear. You press up behind her, brushing your body tight against hers and see how that lovely little grin of hers slowly stretches up, to become ever so slightly crooked.

In your reflection in the mirror, you see yourself behind her. She holds perfectly still, hands fixed as if bound at the wrists, legs set slightly apart. "Pretty, don't you think?" You ask, teasingly. You press a little into her upper back, angling her in such a way that in the reflection you see down her cotton shirt, revealing the taut, soft curve of her small breasts. The sight of that, the teasing glance, is intoxicating. It brings a slight tremor down your spine, one you swallow down with a sharp breath. "Yes," you assure her, "Very pretty."

Her breathing comes laboured now, sharp little gasps; perhaps it has started to arouse her too, knowing herself to be at the mercy of your hands. Knowing herself to be nothing more than an object at this time—a living doll. To be used, played with, broken, toyed with, cared for or cast aside as you will.

You pull her to a stand and guide her away from the mirror. Her legs are long but you tower over her. She's so light to the touch, the petite girl, that should you need to, you could carry anywhere you desire in one swooping embrace.

You lead her to her dresser, to pose her against it. You guide her lithe left leg, so it crosses over the right one, you place her hands on the wood and let her rest against it. And she, docile, complies. "Like this?" She whispers.

"That's perfect."

You draw the collar of her shirt over her left shoulder, the one closest to you, until it hangs at around elbow height, exposing the skin underneath. A bare arm, all the way up to the strap of her tank top. You smile, admiring your own work, her poise and posture. You adjust her face, so she gazes slightly down in front of her. A final check to ensure the pose is perfect. It doesn't hurt that Minju is a natural when it comes to expressions: there is always some inflexion to the curl of her lips and the shape of her eyes, that says, 'I love this'.

You take the final unused item from the table, a Polaroid camera, one of the new instant types. This one, white, boxy and expensive, is perfect to capture Minju's pristine beauty. One image taken of her here, a pose in the frame, holding the photo to wait for it to develop is worth, it seems, a thousand words. It never ceases to amaze you: how well the camera captures her: how it draws out that natural aura of Minju and depicts it on the fine gloss. It makes, in effect, a perfect keepsake.

You take two more shots, each one giving you pause for appreciation. Each one, was perfect, like it was a scene from an album cover or the poster for a movie. She watches you from her position, gazing intently at you with a lovingly longing gaze. Watching you in fascination, and admiration.

You hold one in front of her. "This is my favourite, look at the way your leg curves here," you point to it, showing her. "And here, the shoulder, just at that angle. See the light dancing in your eyes and on the pink gloss, on the lips. Beautiful."

She remains lifelessly still staring at herself in the print without a word or reaction.

"Now, just one more like this, but first..." You place the camera slowly on the dresser, then grab the hem of her shirt. You fold it in under itself a few times until it sits taut across her stomach, just above her button. Her narrow waist is set into beautiful relief: a curvature down toned abs leading to between her thin hips. Then you pull at the other shoulder of the shirt, more pale skin, more svelteness of form, more smooth flesh. There's a light shiver through her skin as you graze her arm with your finger.

You push slightly into her chest, leaning her back a little over the dresser and then you tilt her head back exposing her neck. Soft lips fall open just the slightest, like the petals of a rose blooming, a faint gasp of a moan parting her pink lips, and her heavy breathing filling her heaving chest.

Taking the camera, you step back, crouch slightly, hold the lens up to eye height and take the shot; a flash and a click of the shutter is followed by a slow hum and a whir of the plastic film rolling out. Another polaroid, you take it to her, tugging lightly at her chin to direct her gaze to it. "This one," you breathe in close to her, placing a kiss on her exposed neck, "is something truly special." You fix on her scent, something fruity and soft: orange blossom undertones.

Minju lets out a soft gasp.

"This one turns me on. The exposed skin. The lustful eyes. Those parted lips, like an invitation," you utter, "do you know how beautiful you look, Minju? How sexy?"

The deepening of her breath tells you what you want to hear.

"New pose. Come here." You take hold of her bare shoulders and pull her to a stand. Her shirt hangs at her back between her elbows. You move behind her as you guide her toward the window, opening her curtains wide and letting the final embers of sunlight in to kiss her skin. You slip her shirt from her arms that hang by her side. "Let's lean you against here."

You guide her hands onto the sill of the window. Let her hands rest flat against it. Hold her by the hips and pull them back, making her shuffle her legs back. Make the curve of her ass tighter, the flex of her lower back deeper.

You pose her into this deep bend, then guide her face up so she faces the evening light. So she basks, regally, in the final glow of the setting sun, and you can see the pinking hue reflected in her eyes.

"Be a good doll and remain still."

The heat has turned Minju's pale flesh red, but you soothe her with a palm, a brush against a soft cheek and an affectionate 'hush'. You fixate upon the curves and lines of her back, following the path of her spine down with your hand, taking care to remain in the hollow. That central channel carved through her back that draws down the centre, passing by dimples in her lower back before widening at the hips and merging into her tapering waist, is a work of art unto itself.

A simple touch of a kiss against that soft flesh at the base of the spine, and Minju fails to disguise a sharp breath as you kneel, her bare calves become a mounting point for your hands. She inhales in soft, controlled bursts as your fingertips stroke around the curve of her lower leg, working around and under the leg, dragging slowly upwards as you make careful circles over her toned calves, till your finger hits the lower thigh. Upward, further. Her body trembles gently as your hand traces along her inner thigh, up to her light cotton shorts where you draw your hand over to the back of her thighs and back down.

"Be a good doll," you repeat, quiet, breath warm against her lower back. You hook your fingers into her shorts, running your palms on her taut, toned little ass. Slight tremors from Minju ripple through your skin as you hook in the fingers of either hand beneath the elastic of her underwear too. A lingering hesitation passes as you focus, and in the serenity of the moment, you draw everything down in one slow, measured pull. The sight of the white cotton dragging down over the firm roundness of her ass has you weak.

You stop at her ankles, and one at a time, you lift a foot out of the clothes, and pull them free, planting her foot back down in a slightly wider stance. You look up, and to her faint reflection in the window, and admire the look she wears, the unnerving determination to hold still and say not a single thing. The deep red hue paints her skin as the day darkens.

"Stay," you command.

You find the camera one final time, to indulge in one final intoxicating shot: Minju, back beautifully lit by the last remnants of the sun's rays, the light striking her skin and making the paleness and tone all the more beautiful; the slight swell of her hips, the small, firm, almost apple-like curve of her behind, and those slim toned thighs in the shadow.

"Hold for me, don't move."

She stares resolutely into the distance through the window, hands clutching the edge of the window sill as you draw the viewfinder to your eye once again. Click, a flash and a whir. The exposure of the light behind her leaves a shadowy image on the thinning film of her nude behind; the smooth line of her legs, her trim waist and that sweet little thing between her legs. An air of sophistication; and one of sin.

"See this?" You show it to her and the embarrassment causes a flutter in her eyes; the arousal of watching her own bare ass on the printed film causes the slightest redness of her cheeks. "I'm going to use that right there. Stay."

There's another twitch in her eyes as you walk away and leave her there, still posing, looking as sensational as ever. You walk out the door, to drink, relax, anything to make her wait. Make her suffer the indignity of exposure and vulnerability.

You spy her through the doorway and never does she move a muscle, your little doll-girl stands there obediently as requested. Time passes—several minutes. And yet she, with such admirable determination, wills herself to stay in position until you return. And you do. You saunter back in, slow. Walking behind her and she never once looks back over her shoulder.

You rest a hand on her waist and the contact is met with a sudden release of tension—her chest falls with a sigh. Her pose remains perfect—adulation for your hand, written in the small shakes of her body and the gradual intonations of her heavy pants. A perfect and delicate angel. Your hand slips from her waist down over the taut curve of her ass, palm resting for the briefest moment on the soft, supple flesh. The pliability. Your hand continues the path it has carved over her skin until it rests lightly between her legs.

A gentle palm over her sex sends a current through her entire form, and a tensing in her muscles is the only indication she offers that there's a struggle to suppress noise in her throat. Hot and wet and you're a man driven by impulse. You step behind her, stroking her, massaging her, then withdrawing to instead spread her slightly with a single, teasing fingertip. "Good little doll."

A clear, sticky, glistening moisture trickles onto the digit and in the way Minju shivers, you are given every impression, you're sure of it, that her lower stomach muscles have clenched tight and are presently squeezing themselves in on each other. A fever pitch is reached within her, and you're ready too.

You draw your hand away, leaving Minju suspended in torment: there is desire, there is desperation and tension that must be alleviated. That itch soothed. She must hear it, the sound of you unbuckling and unzipping. A rustle of fabric as you pull them down and take them off.

With no word, you hit a palm against her ass, a quick and painful swat with your bare hand. Hard, smacking against soft, dough-like flesh. She stifles a soft, bitten-off yelp that sends a vibration up the curve of her back. "Going to play with you," you utter quietly. "Use this doll however I like."

Your hand is drawn back over the red mark on her tender flesh, stroking the mark, massaging, and it soon heats against your palm. You follow it by pressing the very tip of your dick, gently, against her opening. Enough pressure there for you both to know where the next moments go and a slight motion—only the gentlest thrusting—to grind that sensitive flesh in. Just enough to make her bite back her lower lip, to struggle against the overwhelming urge to break her poise.

To add to that struggle, the sensation, you lull her, deceive her, by trailing your length against her slick, tender folds, then abruptly drag it over the tight hole right there at the back. One more light tap there too, right on her little asshole, that drives her into a daze. Then you take her slit again, spreading her open, rubbing yourself over that hot hole and sending her a thousand electric tingles up through her hips.

You thrust once, a single long thrust, right into her little pussy, as much as her wetness will allow until resistance forms. Then back out, completely. Glistening with the slick fluids, you slap your shaft against her ass a couple of times. Wetness dripping, staining those tight cheeks. Then a wet slap of your hand to a cheek. Testing when she will break. Searching for that whimper, that moan, or maybe she'll hold it so well that a tear will form in her eye.

You fill her again, use her a little, rocking your hips back and forth. A careless use of her for pleasure, no consideration for her, for what she might desire and it is pure torture to her. One hand circles over her ass, grazing over the reddened mark, you let it settle on the top of her thigh for leverage and dig your fingertips into the skin. Another few firm pumps into her. Out. All the way out.

Dripping fluid pools around her slit, spilling out down her thigh, hot. "There's no better use for you than this," you hiss, as you smear the wetness over her flesh with the swollen head. The discomfort, the uncertainty, all of it written on her reddened skin and trembling lips. Another few slow pumps up her. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Draw out—slow, torturous—and then fill her again, rough, and violent, driving yourself up hard against her soft skin. Again. "Just like a sex doll," you groan. "Like you're a dirty toy."

Those words draw this low growl inside her, and Minju shudders under the intensity, this vibrating noise rising in her. Fuck, it feels wonderful in her, tight, burning hot—soft, yielding—wet, messy. Drive into that tension, the squeeze on you, where she can feel you so full and snug inside her.

Allow yourself for a moment, to just enjoy her, as she is. She will allow you to, don't fret. Enjoy her as a possession, something lesser than yourself; an object to be manipulated, used and owned. Let her be your slut and let the words roll around in your head. There are times you prefer to fill her with long, agonising strokes, and there are those other times that are frantic and hurried. She takes it all, wilfully and willingly and adoration flows through your veins.

No care for if she cums, you simply use her too. It is not in a casual disregard for her desires, or in selfish pursuit of pleasure at the sacrifice of her. No, no. That is not true. Minju wants this. She cares less about her own pleasure than you. Should she cum, then maybe that would be a nice perk to all of this, but all she wants is to submit herself as a vessel for yours. To serve as the implement to which you expel everything. You have taken her into that dream world she desires to inhabit, where she's an item to be manoeuvred as one wills.

And so you get close, right inside of her—clutch, tense—as she milks you so exquisitely, squeezing and so soft, so fucking silken-smooth and at the very last, you pull out—every last drop is captured on Minju's skin. Her spread ass, her back, thighs.

For all the care you took, perfecting her makeup, now a fine sweat paints a layer across her skin and you're shooting over it and making a true mess of her. All that, her absolute purity and devotion, and what you have done is sullied it. Your doll, your most precious is dirtied. But your most precious thing in the world deserves the best you can give her.

So it is after you have painted your release over her body, that you leave her again—basking in the humiliation of how fluids trickle down her flesh. Just a toy, put aside to stand, vulnerable, debauched and unsatisfied, waiting to be picked up again and played with once more. You could leave her all night. Have her be ready and willing any time you desire. Your toy.

"Fuck, what a sight." You step away, back out of the room, spent and gazing at her. Minju, of course, keeps her back facing you the entire time, she does not dare turn back around to see her, not even to cover up or find modesty, it simply would not occur to her to do so.

Aware of the pain, the hurt of being left this way. Left unfinished. A small smile plays on your lips, the knowledge that this is what turns her on most. Her lover is out there, he's drinking, eating, watching TV, or anything, and she doesn't really know where. She just stays resting over the window ledge with her legs held apart, exposed and vulnerable.

Knowing, feeling, every stroke that has been applied over her body, every part you have made use of, and the places in which you have violated, is enough to turn Minju's insides all warm and fuzzy and soft. Your fingerprints are inked upon her flesh—traced by the veneer of liquids coating her—a record of who has marked her, owned her, as nothing more than an instrument of delight.

Until you're ready to come back, she holds back an unspoken whimper. Tension in her stomach muscles and legs threatened to give out.

Oh, how badly the poor girl yearns to be picked up, taken and fucked again and again.

Eventually, you do return, and without warning. As if you'd never been gone a moment at all, you're just there suddenly behind her, you just have that presence of power that exudes over her. You say her name—nothing else—but the tinge to your voice tells her that you've missed her.

You bring your hands around her slim waist, just above the hips, and trail upwards. Grinding back inside her feels as wonderful as ever. Still throbbing, still wet, still wanton, and she takes you in, spreading wide once again. "Missed me?" You coo, but she still never responds verbally—dutifully compliant, Minju simply moans, her cheeks flushed the same colour as her smeared lips.

You're rough with her, pulling her away from the window and pushing her into the middle of the room. Hasty, impatient, and uncaring. Now, you see, Minju weighs nothing to you, it feels like there's nothing to her; something light, lithe, easily manoeuvrable, like you can twist her and pull her without resistance.

You draw her to you, picking her up from the ground by her waist and walking forward. You set her down on a desk—her ass perching first, then you push her onto her back, drawing up her knees to her chest and pressing onto her. Oh, flexible Minju, sweet Minju: the perfect sexual tool to place and fold and screw whichever way you want.

Minju is pinned there, under you, taking you into her pussy, tight around you. Dutifully letting you shove into her repeatedly, without fight or complaint, only meek, restrained sounds of satisfaction. Letting her limbs fold, letting herself be toyed with however you need or want.

Stretch her as you take hold of her neck and restrain her to the wooden surface. You bear down on her, fucking into her with strong, sure pumps, and with every thrust into Minju, you feel her heat against your thighs and groin, her warm juices seeping down over her, and a vulgar squelching sound filling the air.

The air is dense and hot and she is flushed bright red; she gazes at you, her face etched with need. You're forcing your doll-girl, fucking her raw and hard into her desk. Rough, dominating strokes. And what does she do but squirm and moan and take every ounce of your strength? "F-fuck," she moans out the profanity, her body succumbing to the overwhelming burst of intense, numbing heat. She flinches a few times as her eyes squeeze shut.

So close, now. Another round, and there is nowhere Minju is more content than trapped, helpless, watching you near another orgasm. She doesn't even attempt to hide her delight when you're about to blow. A smile of satisfaction as you unload inside of her. A welcome sight as you feel yourself rupture, as your essence pumps into her little fuckhole. The sticky hot cum that fills her.

And Minju moans for you, breathless, happy, so lovingly joyful that her existence has resulted in this moment—this act—her purpose as nothing more than something you fuck, claim, and own.

But, there is work to be done, work you cannot shirk away from. So, with a light sigh, you wipe your forehead, you gather Minju off of the table—flickering eyelids and all—and you lead her with gentle encouragement. "Let's clean you off. There's a good girl," you say, and she holds onto your neck, as you lift her off the desk.

You perch Minju on the sink for a moment, un-trapping her legs so she can stand once you place her into the shower.

"Stay. Still."

And again, you can see that longing gaze. Sultry, drawn. She wants so much, and she needs so little.

"There," you draw out the word with a certain finality and walk behind her to start the shower, switching from bath faucet to shower nozzle, and taking great care in testing the heat of the water, to make sure not to burn her precious skin.

You start with her shoulders, sweeping her soaked locks down her back, wet, heavy and darker now. Washing her takes time, patience, and gentleness—you bring the palm of your hand over her shoulder while the other directs the shower head. The water trails down her arm, little rivulets tracing over her porcelain skin. You draw the shower across her back and admire how the water caresses the curves of her frame.

She keeps perfectly still, save the tremble that comes with the rise of her chest each time the water meets a sensitive point. Your hand follows in the water, over her sides, slowly. You draw her close against your chest, putting your head beside Minju's, looking down over her shoulder. you bring the head of the shower to her chest and let the water flow across, over the swell of her breasts.

You whisper into her ear, "Stay just like this. Let me wash down my toy after use."

Your name comes out of her mouth, a little strained, and when you wrap your arm around her and cup her little breast, she immediately whimpers. This poor girl still hasn't cum, and she's so sensitive.

You rest her against you, keeping your front flush against the curve of her back, and there is something wonderful and sweet in the way she falls back against you. Minju leans her head back on your shoulder, a nuzzle, and your hand continues to cup her and you play with her nipple. The shower, however, you bring lower and lower, down over her slender belly and between her legs.

The lower it goes, the more soft whimpers she makes, and Minju's feet begin to curl, and she draws a slow intake of air through her clenched teeth. You dip the jets of water low, and Minju finally gives out this small groan, her eyes squeezing tight and her mouth opening and closing, the words and sounds catching as she trembles all over.

You press it against her pussy, and she bucks lightly backwards against you—hard—and grinds. A pleasured exhale, a sign of satisfaction. That the poor girl is finally getting her pleasure but "No, no, no," she says—is she feeling guilty for it?—and she struggles forward from your grasp.

"Shh... it's okay," you soothe her, but she still jerks her body. There's this fact, that always rings true, whenever you use Minju like this. Part of it, she told you before, is how in her own head she degrades herself. She tells herself that she doesn't deserve to cum. That a toy's only purpose is for others, and she will deny herself an orgasm until you give her express permission to finish herself. That's why she fights now, she is ashamed of her own arousal and enjoyment.

You press the shower hard into her clit and she groans, "I can't... I can't—"

"Yes, you can." You focus on using the shower in little circles, not allowing any distance between it and the sensitive nub. Her head falls back on you, eyes shut tight as if in anguish. "You have served me so well. You were so wonderful. Let go for me, beautiful." You murmur those things in her ear and Minju opens her lips to say something but no words form, it's simply a long, deep-seated, contented moan. A relief-filled sound that is music to your ears.

Her back goes completely tense, and her hips twist and buck, but you press firmly down, keeping her locked into the jet. She bites her lower lip, almost like she's desperate, and it hurts, the way her whole body tenses up for so many seconds before the relief sweeps over her. The sensations surge throughout her body, leaving her limp and satisfied.

After the rush passes through, she moans, over and over. Shattering pleasure has overtaken her mind and all she can think about is the joy her lover has bestowed upon her, the ultimate show of adoration and tenderness.

"Good girl. That's it. Give in," you breathe out the last sentence, and Minju moans louder, riding it out. Her body writhes violently and her toes curl as her breathing stops, she's stuck at the very height of her pleasure, but finally lets out an ecstatic, long-winded moan. You drop the shower, and cradle Minju with your whole body.

Her hips jump one last time against your hand and then she goes completely lax against you, her feet plant flat down and her whole body gives out. Minju slides back onto her heels, and her face drops toward the floor and she just smiles with pure glee. If not for you, she would collapse to the floor in this exhausted, limp state.

For some minutes, you hold Minju until she can find enough strength until the daze of her orgasm is no longer in effect.

"Now, let's really clean up."

"Let me," she says. "Let me clean you, please."

#kinktember #kpop smut #Minju smut #Illit smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #m reader #smut #Minju x reader #Dollification #Park Minju smut

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luveline · 1 year

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could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her

tysm for requesting, 1k

Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence.

You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign.

You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it.

Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup.

What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed.

Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.

She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no.

What if you're forcing yourself on him?

You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it.

Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks.

"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.

Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside.

"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap.

The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said.

Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal.

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks.

"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says.

"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?"

"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done."

"Don't rush it for my sake."

Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should."

Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.

You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else.

His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder.

"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"

You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it.

"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down.

"What?"

"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea."

"What's not a good idea?"

You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth.

"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield.

"I don't want to torture you," you say.

Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection.

Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist."

You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask.

He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes.

"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone.

Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty.

And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things.

"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?"

You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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venuiscmind · 7 months

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i was replaying part two and all i can think of is the scene where dina and ellie talk about if anyone is still making movies. imagine ellie doing everything she can to find a camera so you and her can make your own type of movies ?? id explode.

Only on Camera (Ellie Williams x reader smut) 18+

Hiiiiii. Loved the request and has been on my mind ever since you asked for it. Bartender Ellie is still on the way but this just inspired me so much!!! ( also this was written at 3am so pls ignore any errors ooph) (W.C 3k)

Scissoring, tribbing, fingering, oral, making out, spit play (only a tiny bit), squirting, pet names.

read this.

</3.

If you asked Ellie, she'd tell you that she never thought she would be like one of those girls that she had seen on the smut magazines or pictures she had come across in patrols or in scavenges for trading material. The thought had briefly crossed her mind while she was on a patrol with Dina, and she had asked her if she thought 'Was anyone still making movies out there.' but she kept her lips firmly shut.

Then she had actually discovered those tapes in Eugene’s Library.

Ellie never watched them whenever she returned to the library, but she was a woman possessed. She had to make trips back whenever she was patrolling the creek trails with Dina, and she would always take some weed back with her to trade or to smoke with you. She had even began trading the leaves with the others in Jackson swapping them for little things that she thought you would love like clothes, certain snacks or trinkets you would store in safe places.

She loved seeing you happy and sometimes wished she could capture these moments of you smiling up at her or hugging her to say thank you forever. Make them permanent and tangible so she could hold onto it for the rest of her life.

That was when she thought back on those tapes again. Not thinking of the girls or what they were doing on them but of you, and how you would look better on camera than any of them. Clothes on or not.

And that was how it started. Her signing in at any patrol spot and then begging her partner to give her an hour to turn the place over to find what she was looking for. She began expanding her search to places that weren't necessarily on the patrol route but still needed to be checked out, schools, malls that seemed to be as stocked as could be in the apocalypse, certain houses that hadn't been too badly ransacked and lone stores that could have what she needed.

Nothing. To say she was getting frustrated was an understatement, but she didn't give up. She wanted to try. So, she kept looking and bribing her partner to look the other way. Then one day it clicked. After weeks of ransacking and mauling properties she looked in the place where it had all started. She tied Shimmer outside of Eugene's library and got to work immediately.

Finally in one of the drawers she found a handheld camera, still in good condition and as luck would have it still had storage. "Yes." She sighed into her frozen hands and silently thanked the soul of the now deceased Eugene. She stuffed the camera into her backpack and rode back to Jackson with a new stride in her step.

She didn't bring up the idea to you immediately, but she did bring the camera to show you. Despite her frantic search Ellie wanted to ease the idea of being on tape onto you as gently as possible. But it didn't take long for her to ask.

It was a rare evening that the both of you had off, Ellie relieved from her patrols for the day and you from your duties in the stables and gardens of Jackson. You spent it how you always did. At each other's respective houses, this time it was at Ellie's, and you had spent the day watching movies and keeping each other warm against the bitter cold of the town's winters.

You started off watching the first few films side by side, sharing a blanket, then Ellie took your legs and swung them over her lap in the name if making you comfier. Soon after you had simply gravitated towards each other, each movement had you growing closer, negating any space between the two of you until you had gotten close enough to sit in her lap.

You slid your leg on the other side of hers, so that you could straddle her and hear her ask a simple "you okay to keep going?" Your responses were always the same. A small kiss to her lips and a "yes els, keep going." mumbled against her lips.

The dim light of the movie, kept Ellie's flushed face visible to you as you stroked the side of her face and leaned in, being met by her halfway as she arched up to kiss you. You always felt so foggy whenever you kissed her.

Like all the heat in your body would suddenly flare up and you could short circuit. You felt as though your heartbeat had started for the first time and you couldn't get any oxygen into your lungs. But you didn't need any. Ellie was all you needed. With her hands gripping your waist before moving the soft flesh of your ass.

You moaned into her mouth at the touch, sliding your hands up into her hoodie palming her tits and sliding your tongue into her mouth which was already open and accepting you into her. Your heart suddenly swelled at this, feeling the love the girl under you held for you and only you.

Ellie leaned back and pulled away from you leaning her head against the arm of the couch, looking at you for a second, lips shiny with a small string of spit connecting the two of you together. She wanted to ask you desperately but didn't to make things weird now especially when she wanted to take care of you. You saw the furrow on her brow and whispered to her "Els, are you okay over there?" looking at the expression on her face. You moved to get off, but she kept her hands firmly planted before opening her eyes fully and settling them onto you.

"Y-yeah just wanted to ask you about something. You can a hundred percent say no, but I just wanted to see if you maybe wanted to-" "It's about that camera, isn't it?" You cut off your poor girl's rambles feeling she'd never actually ask and keep circling. You looked into her eyes lovingly and smiled softly, continuing to stroke the swells of her cheeks.

"I want to if you want to els." This caused Ellie to groan under you and offer reassurance of "we can stop anytime you want just say," or "we don't have to you know?". You knew she was assuming and worrying you were doing this for her, but the idea had popped into your head ever since she placed the camera into your hands. You wanted to make sure your love lasted forever. On film and with each other too. You lead Ellie to her bed, hand in hand and sat her down, kissing her before setting the camera up on her desk opposite the bed, facing the both of you before flicking it on and confirming the red dot was flickering.

You turned to her pulling your shirt over your head and placing it on her desk and heard her breath hitch at the act that she would have this captured on film forever.

You looked back at the girl on her bed, elbows holding her up as she leaned back on them gazing up at you with her shining green eyes. "C'mere." she said holding her hands out to you beckoning you over.

You took them and she pulled you down onto the bed, the movement causing you to realise how much slick had pooled between your legs and probably coated your underwear.

Ellie kissed your cheeks before pulling off her hoodie and her jeans, leaving her in a black wifebeater and her underwear. You took a shaky deep breath as she crawled in the space where your legs were open and lay on top of you, who wrapped your thighs around her middle in response to the intrusion of your space.

You helped her pull off your pants leaving you only in your underwear. You shivered and pulled her in for a kiss which she gave you but quickly pulled back in favour of getting up and gripping your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the bed to make sure the camera would get all of what you were giving her making your shriek at the sudden movement.

You huffed and cried out as she placed a kiss to your underwear. "shh" Ellie placated you rubbing her hands up your thighs to soothe you. She mouthed at you through the garments, listening to you shuffle and moan out at the contact. Her tongue traced around your clit before sucking on the bundle of nerves, making you cover your mouth as your jaw loosened and moans escaped your lips.

"Ellie, please don't tease I can't take it." you groaned, but the girl was through tormenting you, pushing your underwear aside to taste you properly, spitting on your clit before sucking in your clit again. She slid her fingers against your folds, feeling you shiver against her, as she pushed into you, and settled against the spongy spot inside you. She didn't stay still though, as per your request. She never was good at denying you anything.

She couldn't get enough of the taste sticking to her tongue and decided she wanted more before shoving her tongue inside of you after sliding her fingers out of you gently. You were so close you sobbed telling her and reached out to pull her short hair closer to your body scratching at the back of your neck. She loved when you did this groaning at the small bits of pain you were giving her she thought while her nose bumped against your clit due to your hips moving.

She hoped the camera wouldn't pick up on the way she was grinding against her own legs folded beneath her, to get some friction from the wetness in her underwear.

She felt you cream and cum around her tongue, she lapped up as much as she could, tasting the tartness and sweetness of you in her mouth as you came on her lips. She pulled away once she felt you whine, knowing you would be overstimulated too fast if she continued so she kissed her way back up your body, grasped your jaw and you opened your lips before she even said the word "open."

She let the liquid pool into her mouth then spat straight onto your outstretched tongue. She pushed her fingers into your mouth and felt you swallow around them. Ellie groaned watching you swallow yourself down with blown out pupils. "That's it." she said watching you, "My fucking good girl." You hummed, suckling on her thumb until there was nothing of you left to devour.

You leaned up to kiss her then whispered in her ear "want you on me els, please?" You leaned back feeling yourself clench around nothing, aching again to feel her again. Ellie let you wrap her arms around her neck, pressing your tits against hers and kissing up her jawline to try and convince her of something she was going to do from the start.

"Of course, baby." she whispered, kissing your cheeks back and cradling your head. She began taking off the rest of her clothes as you leaned back, letting her climb on top of you. She grabbed the back of your knees spreading them, moulding you into the position she wanted you in. You complied with her, running your hands down the lines of her abs, completely enamoured with the girl on top of you.

She sank down slowly biting her full lips between her teeth to bite back the moans that were threatening to escape them. You wanted to hear her though, so you grabbed onto her hips gently to start fucking back onto her, coaxing her voice out of her lungs. She gasped and moaned, feeling your clits bump and your collective wetness start to mix together. "holy fuck." she groaned. She would never get used to the feeling of grinding against you. Every time she did it, she felt like she was living for the first time.

She looked at you, blushing and trying to keep humping against her without finishing before her and had to close her eyes so as not to cum at the sight of it alone but fuck she was close. "Think I'm goanna cum oh shit-." She said cutting herself off as she felt the heat rise in her core and down to her clit as she felt herself tighten again. "so close els, cum on me please." You begged the girl above you.

She came listening to your babbling underneath you. Ellie gushed and came just as her clit glided up against you, completely coated in your slick and felt herself float out of her body as her eyes rolled back into her skull. She also felt herself gush and squirt around you, holding onto your hands to keep herself grounded and so she didn't fall off your quivering body. She triggered your own orgasm as she felt your folds shake, squeezing around nothing but her slick.

Once she finished panting and recovered from her orgasm she got up, remembering the camera was still on the both of you. She turned it off watching the light blink out and went back into bed after grabbing towels to clean you both. She dressed you in a shirt and kissed you.

"Thank you, pretty girl. Can't wait to watch it." She grinned looking over at you while tossing the camera between her hands, as you blushed and covered your face, before jokingly slapping her arm.

"As long as we watch it together, I want to see you squirt on me." It was her turn to blush at this, but she leaned in before closing her eyes to kiss you again and say, "Love you baby." in a hushed and enamoured tone.

"Love you too els." You said fondly, wrapping your arms around the girl, covering you both in her sheets and nuzzling her nose.

#ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x y/n #ellei williams tlou2 #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #the last of us part ii #tlou2 #ellie smut

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honeyedmiller · 2 months

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When in Positano | Javier Peña

javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors do not interact

warnings: light alcohol consumption, smut (fingering, f & m oral receiving, unprotected piv, major breeding kink, ass slaps), talks of starting a family, an insane amount of fluff, javi is a romantic at heart, bits of spanish with translation, frequent pov switching, no use of y/n.

word count: 6.1k

synopsis: honeymooning in italy with your husband is a dream, especially when he reveals he wants to start a family with you.

a/n: this has been in my wips / drafts since january- and then i ultimately decided to change the whole plot of this bc i've been in a soft mushy mood for husband x reader lately. shoutout to @ilovepedro (ily) for beta'ing this baby for me. hope you enjoy <3

It was times like this that you could hardly believe this was your life.

The morning sun had shown her golden rays through the linen curtains that danced with the wind, illuminating your villa brilliantly. The first thing you get to see when your eyes flutter open is your husband, unknowingly basking in the golden light of the morning.

You stretch your sore limbs, the glint of your wedding ring in the light catching your attention. You can't help the smile that spreads across your lips, eyes shifting down to the man next to you once again.

You study his peaceful features as if you were sketching him from memory — tan, warm skin; dark, thick hair; a mustache that always tickles the tiniest bit when he’d kiss you anywhere on your body; a strong, angular nose; long lashes that fan his cheeks; and plush, pink lips that were slightly parted as he breathed steadily.

The only thing you miss dearly in sight at that very moment are his beautiful brown eyes. The same eyes that had you hooked from the very first time your gaze fell upon them.

Your eyes travel down to his muscular arms — the same arms that always hold you tight and protect you, all the way down to his torso and his naked, but covered, lower half.

Your eyes snap up to his gorgeous face once more, reaching your hand out to trace featherlight lines over his smooth skin. You cup his cheek, leaning forward in the slightest to kiss his nose. His brows scrunch in reaction as he finally stirs awake.

He groans softly as he instinctively wraps an arm around you, bringing your bare body flush to his. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, taking advantage of your proximity to him as you start peppering kisses all over his face.

You pull back and he peeks one sleepy eye open, a half smile immediately forming on his face.

“Buenos días, mi amor.” [good morning, my love] He whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Buenos días, mi esposo.” [good morning, my husband] You beam, and he gently grabs your left hand — the one that decided to caress his face once more — and looks down at it with pride, seeing the wedding band and engagement ring together. It’s something he’ll never tire of.

“Still can’t believe you said ‘I do’.” He chuckles, bringing your hand up to his lips so he can kiss your ring.

“I’d say those two words in a million lifetimes with you, Javier.” You whisper, and his soft brown eyes look up at you in pure adoration.

“Mi vida.” [my life] He shakes his head in disbelief, an undeniable grin etching itself upon his plush lips.

You said I do to each other just seventy-two hours ago, and you both have been luxuriating in the blissful feeling of forever.

Javier surprised you with your dream vacation destination as your honeymoon, and you cried in happiness on your twelve hour flight as you both made your way to Italy.

You don’t know what you did to deserve such a man as Javier, and you truly don’t think you’ll ever comprehend how you got to marry him. What you do know, is that you’re the luckiest woman alive.

Little do you also know, he feels the same exact way about you.

“I love you.” The words flow naturally, easily, and he gives you a look that makes you want to give him the whole universe. Fuck, if you could, you would.

This man—the man that has endured so much in his past, only to open up his heart to you and only you—to protect you, cherish you, and love you the way he does, is a man that deserves everything gracious and peaceful this world has to offer.

And if you told him those exact words, he’d kiss you searingly and tell you that you are his grace, his peace, his god-given solace. You are the reason his heart beats, his days are brighter, his world spins on its axis. You’re everything to him and he’d show you time and time again just so.

“I love you too, cariño.” [honey] His voice is softer, a voice only reserved for you. Underneath the harsh exterior and the stern brow he always wears, there’s a softness that he carries when it’s just you two in the confines of your own space. You always greet him at the door when he comes home, pressing a kiss between his furrowed brows, wrapping your arms around him before telling him “welcome home.” He always relaxes under your touch, and knowing you’re his peace makes pride bloom in your chest.

Your heart aches in the best way possible with how much you love your husband, and your faithfulness and devotion to him will never, ever waver.

Javi buries his face into your neck and leaves a trail of kisses up to your jaw, mustache hairs tickling your skin as he nibbles on your chin playfully.

“What’s on the agenda today, baby?” He asks, hand gliding up the soft skin of your torso, thumb brushing just beneath your breast. The ghost of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you grin lazily as you look at him.

“I was thinking about the street market we passed yesterday, and maybe a new restaurant?” You say, running a hand through his thick brown locks. You twirl a longer piece at the nape of his neck around your finger, and he begins to kiss your collarbone languidly.

He hums in thought, kisses trailing down to the swell of your breasts. You cradle the back of his head gently, not particularly wanting him to stop, but also aware that you should really get out of bed and enjoy the beauty of Positano while you can. Your fingers release his head and skate down to his back, gently double tapping the space between his shoulder blades.

“We should really get up, amor.” [love] Your tone isn’t convincing enough even to yourself, and Javi rests his chin on your sternum as he looks at you with a glimpse of mischief in his eyes.

“Can I enjoy the sweet taste of my wife first?” His tone is more of a statement than a question, and you can’t help but laugh at his eagerness. Truthfully, if it were up to him, you two probably wouldn’t leave the bedroom very much in the week and a half you get to spend here. To you, Italy was paradise, but to Javier, you were his.

He could spend days with his face – or cock – buried between your thighs, savoring every moment of your addicting taste and tight cunt.

“Only if you let me pick the restaurant.” You negotiate poorly, and even then, Javier sports a grin that lights up the whole room. The sun and her radiance doesn’t even nearly hold a candle to your husband’s smile.

“Deal.” He murmurs, lips marking their territory down your sternum. Before he gets any further, he kisses both of your breasts before enveloping a nipple into his mouth. You suck in a breath at the feeling, the sensation shooting straight down to your already needy and aching core.

Something of a whine escapes you, tugging on his hair as you arch your back off the mattress. You can feel his smug smirk against your skin before he switches sides, relishing the other pert bud before letting go with a small pop.

The anticipation is building up much quicker than you expected, and you’re squirming beneath Javi as his lips ghost your stomach, moving down the bed before uncovering your bottom half.

A lazy grin appears on his lips as he takes in the sight of your puffy, glistening pussy, ready for his tongue to drink you up like you’re the finest nectar on the planet.

Javier tsks at the sight teasingly, swiping his middle finger through your folds, preening at your receptiveness to his touch as your hips buck toward his mouth involuntarily. “Now who made my beautiful wife this wet and needy, hm?” He asks, moving his face down to kiss the supple skin of your thigh before biting down gently.

You yelp in surprise, looking down at him only to find him sporting a shit-eating grin. The word wife makes you even needier, loving the fact that you belong to him.

“You, mi corazón [my heart]. Solo tú.” [only you]

Javi closes his eyes at the endearment, nestling his cheek to your thigh as he breathes in a few times. He feels like he’s in an alternate reality where his dream woman just dropped out of the sky, and he gets to spend the rest of his life with her.

But this is real, you’re real, and he nearly has to pinch himself to prove that you aren’t a figment of his imagination. He gets to spend eternity with you, and he deems himself the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

He opens his eyes and his gaze meets yours once more, and you can’t help but reach out for his face. You look so ethereal to him as the golden rays fall upon your body, making you glow like a goddess. Your head is back against the pillows as you watch him with an adoring gaze from above, and he truly has no words to ever conjure up just how much he loves you.

And, for a moment, as he’s watching you watch him, his eyes flicker down to your stomach. Javier never thought he’d be a man who wants to have kids in his life. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d ever be able to get married, let alone to a gem such as yourself.

You’ve given him a softer life; a life full of love and happiness—a complete one-eighty from his time in Colombia—and a house to call a home, albeit you being his home no matter where you two are. You’d also be the one to be able to give him the ultimate gift: fatherhood.

He sweeps his reeling thoughts to the back of his mind for now, his main focus averting back to you and pleasing you until you’re screaming his name.

With that thought in mind, he wastes no more time before he gives your pretty, glistening pussy a kiss, delving his tongue into your folds right after.

You gasp at the sensation, eyebrows pinching together as his muscle works your nerves expertly as he’s done countless times before. He traces the tip of his tongue through your folds, up to your clit and flicks it a few times before moving back down to your entrance. He prods the muscle inside and dutifully fucks you with his tongue, the pace delicious as his nose bumps your clit repeatedly in the process.

You grip onto his hair, hips bucking into his face in tandem with the stroke of his tongue.

You can’t help but cry out his name repeatedly, and he feels prideful that he’s the only one that can make you feel this good.

Javi’s mouth separates from your dripping cunt, bottom half of his face shiny with the taste he loves oh so much.

“Taste like a dream, muñequita.” [doll] He breathes, sliding his hand down to grip your thigh as the other toys with the slick on your pussy. He kisses your thigh again and he looks up at you trying to catch your breath. Your head already feels fuzzy at the immense pleasure your husband’s tongue brings you, and to top it off, he slides his middle and ring finger into you.

He keeps his eyes on your face and watches as you unravel, pumping his fingers in and out of you. He makes sure to curl his fingers to hit the very specific spot he knows you like, and when he does, you lose all resolve. You crumble under his touch as your arousal seeps out of you and down his fingers, coating his wedding band in your juices as they flow down to his wrist.

“So fucking pretty, baby. You like when I fuck you with my fingers?” He asks, and you nod without hesitation.

“Words, corazón.” [heart]

“Fuck–fuck, yes, Javi, oh, god-” You cry, and he squeezes your thigh before diving back down to lap up your pussy once more. The combination of his tongue and fingers is absolutely lethal—you know you aren’t going to last much longer.

Javier is the matchbox to your match, dragging, dragging, dragging you along. The coil in your core is wound up so tight that within seconds, you break and light aflame.

You cry out his name, the sound of your own desperate plea reverberating off of the four walls of the villa’s bedroom eagerly.

You feel like you’re gushing everywhere—his fingers, his mouth, the bedsheets—and it’s pure ecstasy when he blows out the flame, your body the smoke as you dissipate into the luxury of a devastatingly euphoric bliss.

Javi drags his lips up your thigh, to your torso, all the way up to your jaw before capturing your lips in a searing kiss as you both share the taste of you on his tongue.

He hums into the kiss and separates from you, bringing his slick-coated fingers to your mouth. You huff a laugh as you eagerly lick the arousal off of his wedding ring and up his digit, popping both of them into your mouth and suck them until they’re clean.

Javi’s cock is impossibly hard now, but he knows how badly you want to explore the beautiful city. So, he pushes his urges down for now, though you’d likely gladly take his cock into that pretty mouth of yours and suck him dry.

He groans as he gets up from the bed, giving you another chaste kiss before he trudges to the bathroom to retrieve a towel to clean you up. Your eyes follow him as you lay on your side, head propped up by your hand. You study his figure unashamedly, admiring your husband and his bare form in all of its glory. Long legs, toned arms, tan skin, and of course, that insanely cute ass of his—and he’s all yours. Every inch of his beautiful body, face, and mind is yours.

He walks out of the bathroom with a towel in hand, and you can’t help but admire his impressive length. He teasingly throws the towel at you and you catch it, and before you can protest, his body is hovering over yours.

“Someone can’t keep their eyes to themselves, hm?” He quirks a brow at you.

“Well excuse me for admiring my husband and how sexy he is.” You retort, and he can’t help the guttural laugh that escapes his belly.

“You’re something else, you know that?” His tone is playful, snatching the towel from you as he cleans you up.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as you give him a stern look, and he meets your gaze with a boyish grin.

“You’re the one who married me. That’s on you.” You say, and he grabs your shoulders after tossing the towel onto the floor before giving you a light shake.

“And it’s been the best decision of my life, muchas gracias.” [thank you very much]

You roll your eyes before leaning up and giving him a kiss, tapping his thigh as you pull apart.

“Up and at ‘em, baby. Italy is waiting for us.”

You watched Javi as he bought some fresh fruit from a vendor at the street market, patrons bustling on the side as they enjoyed the beautiful weather and scenery before them. The water was a brilliant hue of blue, tying in the bright colors and coastal landscaping Positano had to offer.

Javi holds out his arm for you after he purchases the fruit, and you gladly cling onto his bicep as you make your way down the street. You stop for a moment to look at him and admire his outfit—bright blue shirt that contrasted beautifully against his tan skin, and some white pants paired with brown loafers.

He gave you a face when you originally suggested the shoes to him because it simply wasn’t something he’d ever wear, but they were insanely comfortable and undoubtedly great for walking, deeming you right once more.

“Mi esposa always knows what’s best,” [my wife] He’d said.

Javi peels an orange for you both to share, splitting it in half and hand feeding you the slices. You bite the tip of his finger playfully, and he can’t help but admire the buttery sweet sound of the laugh that emanates you.

You hum at the citrus taste of the orange, closing your eyes in delight at how fresh it is.

“That’s delicious.” You say aloud, and Javi looks at you while sliding his aviators down the bridge of his nose.

“It is, but nothing compares to the taste of you.”

Your face heats up at his words, hiding it in the crook of his neck for a second while letting out a mumbled ‘behave’ from you.

He’s smug when you pull your face back from the warmth of his body, and you lightly swat his chest in mock-chastise.

“You hungry, mamí?” He pulls a food guide of local restaurants out from his back pocket, and you nod eagerly.

“For more than just food.” You murmur, slotting your arms onto his broad shoulders, letting one hand dangle and the other play with the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands instinctively grab onto your waist and he pulls your body flush to his.

“Now who needs to behave, hm?”

“Still you.” You beam.

“Smartass.” He retorts with a chuckle.

“Maybe. But you love me.”

“That I do, bebita,” [baby girl] He leans in for a kiss before handing you the food guide, and you briefly scan the options.

“How about some pizza?”

The restaurant reminds you of your first date with Javier. You remember how much he tried to impress you, and even then, you knew he was someone special. To end up here with him in Italy eating the most delicious pizza and drinking the crispest glass of wine four years later seems like a total fever dream.

Javi raises his glass up to you, giving you his infamous puppy dog eyes and the softest smile you think you’ve ever seen on him. “Cheers to you, amor de me vida,” [love of my life] “You make me the happiest man alive. You’ve given me everything I could wish for and then some, and your beautiful heart and soul never ceases to amaze me.”

Tears prick your eyes as you raise your glass to clink against his, sipping the Prosecco in your glass. You reach for his left hand across the table, bringing his knuckles up to your lips as you kiss them and his wedding band repeatedly.

“I love you, Javier Peña. Thank you for giving me a life well beyond my wildest dreams. I’d do anything for you. It’s me and you against the world, baby.”

“I’ll never know how a bastard like me got so goddamn lucky. You’re a godsend, corazón,” [heart] “What if we had an addition to our world?” He asks, voice almost shy as he tries to gauge your reaction.

“What do you mean, mi amor?” [my love]

”How do you feel about starting a family? With me?”

He’s hopeful with the way he stares at you, squeezing your hand as he awaits your answer.

“Is that something you want, baby? I know a while back you said you weren’t too sure.”

You’d love to have a family with Javier. The thing was, he wasn’t too sure of that awhile back when things really got serious between you two. You were a little crushed by the prospect of not having kids with the love of your life, but you’d learn to make do. It was never a dealbreaker for you specifically, but you’ve always felt like you were meant to be a mom.

“I’m sure now. I love the sound of having a little one of us running around. We don’t need to rush into it, though. I just—I want this with you, and I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Well, besides asking you to be mine para siempre.” [forever]

You try to not let your emotions overwhelm you in the moment. The man sitting in front of you has you in pure awe, with the way a softness has wrapped itself around his heart, showing him that this side of life is full of warmth and love. He’s gradually learned to accept it, unlearning all of the harsh stoicism that seized his being in the past.

“You’d be the best daddy, Javier Peña. No doubt in my mind.”

His face gleams with joy as he brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle individually.

“And you’d be the best mommy, Mrs. Peña.”

Your heart flutters at the sound of your new last name. You still genuinely cannot believe you’re married to this man.

“Chucho is probably going to ask when we’re going to give him grandbabies.”

Javier can’t help but laugh, knowing full well his father would undoubtedly ask that question as soon as you two get back to Texas.

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you. “We should start practicing now then, mamí. Wouldn’t wanna keep him or the rest of the family waiting.”

A sheen of sweat coats your brow and chest as you arrive back to your villa with Javi. The walk itself wasn’t far but the warm weather was starting to get to you. And yet, as soon as you walked through the doors of the bedroom, he was on you.

He was kissing your pulse point while his hands roamed over your body with fervor, skimming over the cotton material of the sundress you were wearing. You giggle as his mustache tickles your neck, playfully nudging him.

“Javi, baby, I’m all sticky and sweaty. Let me take a shower first.”

He hums at your words, continuing the assault of his lips down your jugular before nibbling on your hot skin. His grip on your waist tightens before he leads you backwards into the bathroom, hands moving down to your ass before giving it a playful slap. He spins you around so you’re both facing the huge mirror above the double vanity, and his hands settle onto your stomach.

His eyes travel down to where his hands are as he starts to rub his thumbs back and forth. The look of pure love in his eyes was enough to tell you how badly he really wants to be a father. You reach an arm back to cradle the side of his face, craning your neck to the side to give his cheek a kiss.

“Can you just imagine growing a life that’s half you and half me in here? Nuestro hijo o hija. You’d be glowing even more than you do now, mi amor.” [our son or daughter ; my love]

Your gaze snaps back up to his face, his usual stoic brow softened at the idea of you carrying his child. You didn’t think you could fall in love with this man even more, but picturing him taking your newborn baby out of the carseat after coming home from the hospital and seeing their tiny body resting against his chest in comfort, against someone so loving and so familiar, gives you an indescribable amount of butterflies.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror once more, and you can’t help but give him a soft smile. Both of you are well aware that no words can ever come close to describing the emotions that flow through your minds and hearts, but somehow still connect perfectly like a puzzle piece.

It’s sacred, your love with Javi, and it’s something you’ll both pour into your future child endlessly.

Javi’s lips find your neck once more, fingertips skating over the sticky flesh of your arms before settling on the straps of your dress. His lips move to your shoulder as he slips one strap off, then the other, and tugs down gently so the fabric falls and pools at your feet.

You’re bare on top, and Javi takes advantage of the beautiful sight and kneads your breasts with his hands. You can’t help the way your head lolls back onto his shoulder, biting your lip as he tweaks both nipples simultaneously.

“My beautiful wife.” He whispers, trailing a hand down your torso and over the fabric of your panties, teasingly rubbing you through the thin material. A gasp evades you as the familiar low ache bubbles in your core once again.

“Javi,” You gasp, hand flying up to steady yourself as you grab the side of his neck.

“Fuck, I love the way you say my name.”

Your ass presses against his front, and you feel his cock harden in his pants. You turn around to face him and he grabs your hips instinctively before pulling you forward so you’re flush to his body. He leans in to kiss you ferociously, hands sliding down to grab your ass as you toss your arms over his shoulders.

You stay like that for a minute just enjoying the simplicity in the art of kissing your husband before reaching down to unbutton his shirt. You slide the material off of his shoulders before moving down to his pants, palming his cock teasingly. He groans into your mouth and kisses you like a starved man, backing you toward the shower. You slide his jeans off of his hips once he’s stagnant and he steps out of them, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

Before you two can continue your escapades, he gives your forehead a kiss before turning on the shower to a temperature comfortable for you both. You slide your panties off and he mirrors your actions, sliding his boxers off before you both step inside.

The lukewarm water cools your skin briefly before Javi steps under the stream, face up toward the water. You watch as the droplets stream down his face, to his neck and shoulders, down his torso and down down down into the dark, wiry hairs that sit below his navel and above his delicious length.

Your mouth is practically salivating at the sight before you, and you need to have a taste of your husband.

Your hands are gentle on his torso before they drag down, your body lowering with them until you’re on your knees. Javi looks down at you with his lips parted and a wild look in his eye.

You lick your lips and smirk at him before pushing on his thighs, backing him up so he sits down onto the bench in the shower. You scoot forward on your knees, admiring your man from below as his thighs spread wide and his hard cock is already furious and leaking pre-come, slathering itself onto his torso.

Your nails scratch his thighs lightly before you lean down to kiss them each once, looking back up at him before taking his cock into your hand. You pump his silky flesh a few times before swiping your thumb over his slit, spreading his arousal over the head of his cock before lowering your mouth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the taste, absolutely entranced by this man and his cock that you love oh so much.

“My wife is so pretty with my cock in her mouth.” He says, stroking the side of your face with his thumb.

You separate from him as you sit back on your heels, pumping his length as you quirk a brow. “I think I look prettier when your cock is in me, papí.”

He groans and squeezes his eyes shut, thumping his head against the shower wall. “Got a dirty fucking mouth, bebita. Christ.” [baby girl]

“Just wait to see what it’ll do to your cock.” You can’t help but giggle at the way your words were easily affecting him, but you decide to cease your teasing.

You slowly take him into your mouth, gagging as you reach the hilt. You swallow around him as best as you can manage before bringing your mouth up once more, swirling your tongue around his tip before taking him all the way into your mouth again.

He’s heavy and warm against your tongue, twitching with every bob of your head as you set a steady rhythm. You squeeze your lips around him and he cradles the back of your head, guiding your movements up and down his cock in haste.

“Your mouth feels so– fuck– fucking good, corazón.” [heart]

He struggles to vocalize a coherent thought, babbling on about how good you make him feel and how much he loves you.

The broken praises only spur you on further as you begin to deepthroat him with every pass, tears pricking your waterline as you control your gag reflex. He’s nearly bucking his hips up into you at this point, fucking your mouth at a pace that drives him insane.

“Shit– yeah, baby, just like that. Fuck you’re so perfect, I’m gonna fucking come—”

You hum around him and squeeze your lips even tighter, gripping his thighs as he tenses up. His spend shoots onto your tongue and he can’t help the loud groan that rumbles through his chest, the feeling of your mouth so heavenly around his cock. You swallow everything he gives you, enjoying the view of your husband’s post-orgasm glow.

The late afternoon sun seeps into the bathroom and illuminates him in such a way that even the Greek Gods have nothing against. He looks picturesque like this; mouth parted and panting—a wild and untamable rasp, eyes shut as he comes down from the orgasm he’s been pining after all day long. His wet curls stick to his forehead in disarray, but it suits him.

His eyes slowly peel open and peer down at you, and you know better than to give him a smug smile. Instead, you lean down and kiss his inner thigh a few times without breaking his heady gaze.

“C’mere.” He murmurs, pulling you up by your elbows. You’re standing now, and he leans forward to kiss your stomach a few times before he pats his thighs. You straddle his hips, hands landing on his chest as you trace small patterns.

His hand slides down and in between your thighs where it’s slick with your arousal. You were so lost in pleasing your husband that you didn’t notice the incessant need growing stronger by the minute. It wasn’t a low, bubbling thing anymore—it was a full-fledged monstress clawing her way to the surface, begging to be tamed.

The carnal desire for Javi couldn’t be held off anymore. You leaned in to kiss him, moaning into his mouth as your hips rock against nothing in particular. Javi is already half-hard again, and ever the gentleman that he is, he angles you down to where your dripping core is gliding against his warm, thick length.

A strangled moan leaves your lips as you toss your head back, and Javi leans forward to nose at your jaw before peppering your neck in kisses. He nibbles on the junction between your neck and shoulder, rocking his hips up onto you simultaneously.

You whine his name as you loll your head forward, eyes blinking open and gaze locking with his.

You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to say your next words—maybe it’s the look in his eye, maybe it’s a mixture of desperation and desire, maybe it’s just pure, honest truth. Hell, maybe it was all of the above.

“I want to make you a daddy, Javi.” Your voice is sultry and sickeningly sweet, dripping like honey.

And from that point, he was determined. Determined to make you the mother of his child, determined to start a family with you and grow it to both your heart's content, and determined to love and cherish you and your future child, or children—always—and Javier Peña was a man of his word.

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you forward so you both are chest to chest, and you’re reeling over the look he’s giving you. He notches his tip at your entrance, fully hard once again with the promising tone behind your words.

“Say it again.” He says.

“I want to make you,” You pause, moving your lips down to slot between his, pulling back just enough to whisper the rest of your sentence. “A daddy.” You sink down slowly onto him, and you kiss him again as you slowly adjust yourself to him.

You both moan into each other, pulling apart as he fully sheathes himself into you. You’re so full like this, content in every way possible at the feeling of your husband’s cock stretching you out so deliciously. You rock your hips slightly as a test, moaning at the sensation that surges through you.

You do it again, this time with more intent, and slowly set a rhythm with your hips. The feeling of his cock is otherworldly. A greedy, selfish part of you thinks that you’ll never be able to get enough of him or the feeling of this—being connected as so.

You fist a hand into his thick wet locks as the other grabs onto his shoulder, ensuring you can keep your balance as you rock your hips back and forth. He captures your mouth in a blazing kiss, groping your ass before slapping it once as he picks up the pace for you.

You’re panting into each other’s mouths as he increases the pace, now pounding his hips up into you. You cry out his name as your fingernails claw their way down his back and he hisses in pleasure, cradling the back of your head.

Your mind is fuzzy and your lungs are on fire from kissing him desperately, and the white hot feeling in your core is blazing.

“I–I love you, Javi– oh, god, I fucking love you. I love you and I want you to be the father of my child and I—” You’re babbling so much that you don’t even have a clue as to what it is that you’re really trying to say, but Javi gets the message, you think.

He kisses your jaw as you try and match the movement of your hips to each thrust up into you, but it’s genuinely no use. Your body wants to succumb to Javier and his strong body and delicious cock and beautiful face and his big, loving heart—so you let it. You fall limp in his hold, leaning onto him as your orgasm surges through you unexpectedly.

He can feel you pulsating around him and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“Gonna make you a mama. Gonna be so good to our baby, the best mama ever.” He’s losing all self control, and you cradle his head as you ride out your prolonged orgasm.

“Please, Javi.” You beg, and that’s enough for him to completely come undone. His hips still as he comes in you, a string of ‘I love you’s’ spilling from his mouth. You’re both breathless and completely dazed, immersed in post-coital bliss. The sound of the shower water hitting the tile floor is a relaxing constant as you both try to control your breathing.

You sit like this for a while; you're perched in his lap as he leans against the wall, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

You smatter kisses along his pulse point as a silent plea of love. You’re both pruny and fucked-out, but being here with each other like this is truly a dream in itself.

The prospect of his dream woman giving him a child has him reeling, so perhaps leaving the room this week is an empty promise that flew out of the door the minute you told him you’d make him a daddy.

Even if nothing happens right away for the two of you, that’s okay, too. You’d get to relish in the unbelievable life you already share with him a bit longer, built from the ground up by you and a man who loves you unconditionally. A man that would individually pick out the stars from the brilliant night sky for you. A man that still cannot fathom that he gets to share this life with you.

And if that’s the case, you really wouldn’t mind at all.

tags: @punkshort @endlessthxxghts @javierpena-inatacvest @ovaryacted @northernbluess @clawdee @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 (since all of you were excited about me posting this. ily)

divider by @saradika-graphics

#javier pena fic #javier peña #javier pena imagine #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal characters

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bpmiranda · 26 days

Note

soft logan soft logan soft logan 😩

Need him vulnerable and pleading just for you to stay comforting him at his lowest need to feel some heartache

p.s your mind is beautiful the way you write out these stories

Fix You (Logan Howlett)

A/N: angst, 18+ f!reader, mutant!reader can rid others of any emotion, soft!logan, unrequited love

After Jean’s death, Logan was angry and short-tempered with everyone. There wasn’t a single thing anyone had to say to him that he cared to hear. You knew he definitely wouldn’t want to talk to you, knowing that with a single touch you could bring out of him what he simply wanted to lock away forever.

You and him were close, at least once before. It was silly of you to think he would ever look at you the way he looked at Jean, but it didn’t stop you from feeling the way you felt towards him. At the end of the day, Logan was your friend and you just wanted to help him move on and remind him that he still had people here to love him and console him.

“Lo?” You call softly, knowing he can hear you crystal clear with his heightened senses as you knock gently. “I brought you some lunch.” You say and you hear him mumble something that doesn’t sound like ‘fuck off’ so you go into his bedroom.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his back to the door, and you ache cause you’ve never seen him quite as saddened as he was now. “Thanks.” He mumbles as you set the plate on his desk.

“Need anything else?” You ask, approaching him slowly as to not scare him while you sit beside him. Logan looks at you and your hands and he shakes his head. “I’m not here to try to fix you.” You chuckle and he softens up. “But I am worried about you.” Logan doesn’t say anything and instead he places his hand on your knee and squeezes gently. He’s telling you he’s there, even if he may seem far gone, he is still in there and you want to hug him. “Logan, I’m so sorry about Jean.” You say in a whisper, leaning forward slightly to look at his face and his green eyes meet yours. “I know what’s it like,” You begin and wish you could take it back immediately. “Not exactly like this, but to not have someone and lose them before you get them.”

Logan knows, he knows how you feel about him. How you care for him and you’d do anything for him. He wishes it was you instead of Jean, he wishes he felt that way for you.

Maybe he could. Carefully, he rests his forehead against yours, his nose brushing the top of your lip as he sighs. “You didn’t lose me.” He says and you furrow your brows in pain because he doesn’t understand. “Y/N,” He breathed out and you pull back to look at him. He gives you a small nod and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Take it, please. Take my feelings for her.”

“You need them.” You murmur. “You need to feel it, Logan. You can’t run from it.”

“It’s going to kill me.” Logan says.

You want to help, but if you take away the loving feelings he hold for her, what if he can’t ever form that type of love again? For anyone? The pain in his eyes bends you, makes you give in to him as he knows you always will.

As you stand in front of him, you lightly undo the first few buttons of his flannel, your eyes locked on each other’s as you do. Logan holds gently onto your thighs as you press a shaky hand to his chest above his heart. You focus on love. Love can be a heavy emotion to lift out of someone and you feel it almost immediately in Logan. Lord, he’s so full of love, unable to give it to the one he truly wants to have it. You could hold it, you think to yourself, tears prickling in your eyes as the emotion is so warm and makes you feel so valuable. Jean would’ve been the luckiest woman on Earth to have received this love that you’re now taking from him, ridding him of, and taking for yourself. Burdening yourself with it and the knowledge that he’ll never feel this for you.

In the soft golden haze emitting from his chest, Logan’s tears glisten, his grip tight on your legs as he sobs. The feelings for her rising to the top of his heart, almost choking him. He feels everything, every moment he shared with her, every word, every glance. It’s too much for him to continue to hold and he feels relief when you take it. Logan’s head falls on your abdomen and he’s crying, pulling you into him and holding you close while you wrap your arms around him. Your own tears fall and you’re quick to wipe them away as you focus on comforting your friend.

“I’ve got it now, Logan.” You murmur, caressing his back softly as he’s trembling in your arms. “You’re okay.”

“Stay with me?” He asks, and you nod.

“Always.”

This went a different way than planned and I have hurt my own feelings🙃

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett angst #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine fluff #wolverine angst #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman

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featherandferns · 4 months

Text

risk (fic)

jj maybank x fem!kook!reader | partly inspired by this incredible scene

content warnings: sexual content; physical violence

word count: 18k.

blurb: after a hurricane, a Labrador shows up at JJ's house. After some posters go up around the country, JJ begrudgingly returns the dog to you on Figure Eight. Little did he know that his life was about to change forever.

This is actually insane.

JJ has no idea how everything went to shit faster than a penny falling from the top of the Empire State Building. It seems to be the crux of his life.

One minute Rafe is beating the shit out of JJ’s face, Kelce holding him tight in a headlock, with Pope being strangled to his right by Topper, and the next everyone is still like rock.

There you stand, holding up a gun, safety unlatched, with the aim set directly at the centre of Rafe’s forehead. He’s already called your bluff once. It’s a classic Mexican stand-off. Nobody knows what you’re going to do next, not even JJ. Hell, he’s not even sure if you know what you’ll do next.

And it’s crazy to think that all of this started because of a dog.

Two Months Earlier

It always sucks when JJ admits to himself that Kiara was right. She was right about most things, in fairness, but just this once – just for a change – he had hoped that she wasn’t.

The blonde-haired boy stands in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at a poster taped to a streetlamp. His teeth gnaw on his lower lip in thought as he tugs the poster free, as if gaining a closer look might change what he sees.

MISSING DOG

IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN TO 12 SILVER CANOE WAY, FIGURE EIGHT

REWARD AVAILABLE

The picture is an uncanny reflection of the dog currently sat by JJ’s feet. He’s panting in the sun, blissfully unaware of the curveball tossed at his temporary owner. As JJ looks from the black-and-white poster to the middle-aged dog, he has to begrudgingly admit to himself that Kiara was right. This dog wasn’t a stray. Instead, he was the pet of some bratty, spoilt Kook.

“Whose dog is that?” Kiara asks.

JJ follows her gaze to the labrador cosied up on the porch, soaking up the sun like it was his God-given right.

“Mine,” he says.

“Yours?”

“Yeah, he just showed up after the hurricane."

It was true. The morning after the hurricane, JJ ventured out of his house to assess the damage only to hear a rustling and whimper from under the porch. Getting down on his hands and knees, expecting to find some beaten racoon, JJ came face to face with a petrified, middle-aged labrador. No collar. His cream coat was covered in dirt and dust and a small cut near his eye told JJ he’d found his way to his house during the hurricane, likely seeking shelter. After he coaxed him out with some fresh fish, the dog seemed to take a liking to the seventeen-year-old. JJ took it as the dog distribution system shining the light on him but Kiara didn’t seem so sure.

“And you’re just gonna claim him?”

“He’s a stray,” JJ tells her.

She looks to the dog again, then back to JJ. Her face essentially says, ‘seriously, dude?’

“He is!”

“A dog that well-groomed and that well fed is not a stray, and you know it.”

JJ’s stomach twists. He’d thought the same thing once he’d given the dog a wipe down. A full stomach, trimmed fur, trained to do more than just sit…Strays don’t come like that in Kildare County. But JJ liked the company the dog brought. He’d always wanted one, ever since he was a kid, but his dad would never allow it. Waste of money and food, he’d say. But so far, JJ had managed to keep the dog’s existence on the downlow. He wasn’t very loud or yappy. In fact, he was as calm as sea turtle. JJ liked the bond that had so quickly grown between them. So, swallowing the faint feeling of guilt of keeping someone’s dog, he tells Kiara:

“Well, until someone puts a poster up, I’m sticking to my gut. He’s a stray and he belongs with me.”

It’s like the universe was calling his bluff or something.

JJ crumples the poster in his fist, litters it on the street, and gently tugs on the leash.

“Come on, boy,” he mutters.

The dog gets to its feet and follows JJ down the street, back to the Chateau. He seems rather drained from the brief walk around the cut. Curls up by the front door in a patch of shade, yawning before nestling his head between his large paws for a nap. JJ watches him from the kitchen as he sips on a cold cider. His mind is in battle between right and wrong (as it usually is) as he contemplates the poster.

Kiara nearly falls over the dog as she walks into the Chateau. Then, she shoots a deadly glare to JJ.

“You didn’t go to the vet, did you?”

“Who actually microchips their pets, anyway?”

“Most people, JJ. It’s a clever way to make sure you get your dog back if, let’s say, it runs off in a hurricane without a collar,” Kie returns.

JJ rolls his eyes and takes another swig of his drink. “I’ll take him tomorrow.”

“Actually, there’s no need,” Kiara says. She walks across the room to him and pulls something from her back pocket. As she unfolds the rectangle of paper, JJ comes face to face with the very poster that had been occupying his mind for the past half hour. She holds it out to him.

“See? This is someone’s dog.”

“That could be any dog,” JJ lies.

Kiara quirks a brow. JJ breaks easily, sighing.

“Look, can we just consider the possibility that this dog would be happier with me?” JJ argues. He ditches his cider and makes his way over to the animal. “I mean, he likes me, Kie. And he listens to me. And I like having him around.”

Lowering to his knees, he pets the dog awake from his slumber. He makes an adorable grumbling-whine as he rouses from his sleep. Looking over to Kiara, JJ must resemble an eight-year-old begging their parents for candy at the grocery store.

“I’ll take good care of him,” he promises.

Kiara sighs. Her icy exterior softens, features overcome with sympathy. She joins him and the dog on the floor, scratching at the pet’s back.

“I know you will, JJ,” she says. “But this is someone’s pet. And they clearly want him back. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Since when do I ever do the right thing?” JJ mumbles. He looks down to meet the chocolate brown eyes of his new best friend.

“Since today, hopefully.”

JJ holds the dog’s gaze. There’s such tenderness in his eyes, as the dog stares up at him. Makes JJ feel as though he is the most important thing on this earth. Dogs don’t care about money or mind: you treat them right and give them a good stick, and they’ll be happy forever. Unconditional love like that is rare to find in humans. It seems to JJ like it’s almost impossible, really. But then he thinks of the dog looking at a little girl or boy like that, and how (as spoilt as they may be) the child feels nothing but love for the dog in return. It seems cruel to take that away. He knows deep down what the right thing is. The moral thing.

“Tomorrow,” JJ quietly says. Looking up, meeting Kiara’s eyes, he nods reluctantly. “I’ll take him to the house tomorrow.”

She smiles smally, nodding to herself. Getting to her feet, she leaves JJ alone with the dog to enjoy the last few hours of time together. He ends up falling asleep on the pull-out couch with the dog, face buried in the scruff of his neck, as he unconsciously counts down the hours left until he gives him back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ stretches out the walk to the house for as long as possible. He lets the dog sniff at every scent and even tries to coax a million pee breaks out of him. He lingers by the sea, stroking the dog’s fur, and shares a hot dog as they pass a gas station. Eventually, they arrive at Figure Eight. The hurricane left the cell towers down on The Cut, so he didn’t bother with his phone. That leaves him to follow street signs until he’s making his way up Silver Canoe Way.

The houses are insane. Marvels of architecture and money. Bright green hedges trimmed into the most obscure shapes; useless statutes standing pretty in front gardens, protected by walls and security cameras. Fountains on almost every property, and a pool probably found in every back garden. Lucky sons of bitches.

House 12 is gorgeous: cream stone bricks and oak-style wood accents. There isn’t a gate, which is curious considering all the others down the road have one. JJ feels as though he’s trespassing as he makes his way up the driveway. There's not a single weed sprouting between paving slabs. There’re two cars in the driveway, each probably cost more than his life insurance pay-out. He imagines birds that dare shit on them get taxed: it’s the only way to explain their cleanliness. God, living like this and he can half understand why Kooks are as obnoxious as they are. What appear to be marble steps lead to a huge front door. The dog seems to know where he is, tugging excitedly on the leash as he guides JJ up the stairs.

JJ stands for a long moment. He looks down at the dog, takes in its wagging tail, and sighs. As he lifts his fist to rap against the door, it swings open. JJ is just as stunned as you. He doesn’t have time to apologise for startling you, because your eyes drop from JJ to the barking dog. You sink to the floor, mouth falling open, and willingly let your dog tackle you in a hug. His leash slips from JJ’s hold. You scruff the dog’s neck, press kisses all over his face, and giggle tearfully as your dog greets you after almost a week apart.

“Oh my God! Ranger! Oh my God!” you happily cry over and over again.

JJ immediately feels evil for even contemplating keeping your dog, Ranger, to himself.

The moment Ranger seems to gain some composure, you remember JJ’s existence. Looking up, you quickly wipe away your tears from under your eyes and clamber back to your feet.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I’m so rude!” you laugh, sticking out a hand. He shakes it as you introduce yourself.

“JJ,” he replies.

There’s a moment of recognition that passes over your face but it’s gone as soon as it comes, like the flash of green at sunset on the horizon.

“Thank you so much,” you say. One of your hands reaches down to ruffle at Ranger’s neck. JJ takes in how happy he is, staring up at you, grinning and panting, tongue out with exertion. “Where did you find him?”

“He kinda found me,” JJ replies, scratching the back of his neck. “Showed up under my house just after the hurricane. Guessing he got spooked or something.”

“That’s what we think happened,” you say. “I woke up to find the backdoor open. He must have jumped and bolted; he frightens easy, you see. I felt awful when I realised he was gone.”

As JJ listens to you speak, he’s partly distracted. It’s hard to follow along to what you say when you’re standing gorgeous like the first day of June.

“Well, like I said, it’s no trouble,” JJ repeats.

You smile brighter than a brand-new penny, teeth pearly white and perfect aligned. JJ doubts you ever needed braces. Probably born with a set of veneers. It’s with that bitter thought that he reminds himself what he’s dealing with here. A kook who lives in nothing short of a mansion, who can’t even keep her dog inside during a hurricane.

“The, uh, poster said something about a reward…” JJ awkwardly mentions.

Your face dawns with realisation and he momentarily feels guilty, but then you’re nodding fervently. “Of course! God, I can’t believe I forgot!”

“I mean, I would have brought him back anyway,” JJ bold face lies.

“No, don’t be silly, it’s the least I owe.” You pull your door open. “Come in, please,” you say, heading into your home.

JJ falters in the doorway. It feels as though even stepping into your home might put him short of a few hundred bucks, just from breathing the air. He follows the route you took into the house, closing the door behind him. The minute he’s out of the entryway and in the main corridor, his eyes widen like he’s witnessing a supernova.

“Holy super kook,” he mutters, gaping at the interior.

Marble everything. Expensive obnoxious artwork that must only be interpretable once you reach a certain tax bracket. Framed photos of yourself and your family on the wall at various vacation spots: France, Italy, Mexico, China. There are others, too, of dance recitals. A shelf of trophies and awards. Ornaments and figurines standing on podiums like he’s in a museum. JJ’s terrified to walk, as if one step might send everything falling off the walls.

He finds himself blindly following you into the kitchen. It’s crystal clean and white. Granite counter tops beautifully cluttered with every appliance you can imagine. You head to the fridge.

“You want a drink?”

“Uh, sure. Water’s fine, thanks,” JJ replies.

You nod and grab a glass that probably costs JJ’s entire monthly wage. Then you go to your fridge (it has a touchscreen for Christ’s sake) and dispense ice cold water. Holding it out to him, you smile, sweet like buttercream.

JJ sips and watches as you reach for a bag that lies on the kitchen counter, retrieving a wallet. Holding out two fifties, you wait for him to take them. His eyes stare at the unwrinkled notes. JJ’s momentary pause makes you frown.

“Sorry, that’s a bit tight of me, isn’t it?” you say. You dip into the bottomless wallet and retrieve another fifty. “Is that enough?”

“Uh, I couldn’t…” He clears his throat and finally snaps out of his stupor. Taking the money, he passes two fifties back, saying, “I can’t take all of this.”

You shake your head and push the money back towards him.

“I insist. You brought my dog back! I should be giving you more,” you say.

JJ holds back his laugh.

More? It’s a fucking dog! You’re about to give him $150 for a Goddamn seven-year-old labrador? God, Kooks really do just think different.

He looks up from the money and takes you in, properly this time. JJ recognises you. Not from keggers or house parties – he’s seen you at neither of those things – but from church. He used to be subjected to Sunday school in a desperate bid to ‘send him on the right life path’, and he could remember seeing you there. You’d attend the service, sat safe in your father’s shadow. Even though JJ stopped going, he’d still see people heading in the direction of the county church if he were in the area. You were a regular. Dressed in the prettiest dresses, hair perfect and proper, jewellery to the nines, always sandwiched between your mother and father. You didn’t indulge in the debauchery that most teenagers on the island did. JJ would know if he’d spotted you at one of the many hangs; you had the kind of beauty that demanded to be seen, like a rare bird on the marsh. No, girls like you didn’t partake in those things. You spent time with your parents and a small circle of Church friends, probably just as sheltered and saintly as yourself, and was in bed before sunset and awake before sunrise.

And yet, you never rubbed JJ the wrong way like all the other Kooks did. He didn’t know you from Adam – in fact, the first time he’d ever shared a word with you was today – but something about you…You seemed different. Genuine. Rich, no doubt, but not exactly snobbish.

An idea suddenly comes to JJ. It’s stupid, and rather out of character given his prejudices, but for some reason, it’s miles more appealing than $150. A part of him wonders where his sudden charity is coming from. Maybe it’s something about your personality and his underlying infatuation he’s had with you since Sunday school. Maybe it’s your dog and how doting he appears to be of you. Hell, maybe it’s because you’re pretty. JJ’s always been a sucker for pretty girls – Kook or not – and he’s always wanted the things that he can’t have.

All these thoughts race through his head at a hundred miles an hour, and there’s only half a minute that passes before JJ speaks.

“How ‘bout this?” he says. “I take a fifty, and you let me take you out.”

You blink once, then twice. “Take me out? Like…on a date?”

“Yeah,” JJ nods. The fact that your whole face didn’t immediately shrivel up like a prune at the suggestion gives JJ hope that he might have a chance. “What’d you say?”

There’s a moment where your eyes dip down to Ranger. He’s sat at your feet, watching the two of you interact with his tongue hanging out, mouth in a seeming smile. The second your eyes lock with your dog's, you look back to JJ with new-found confidence.

“Depends,” you say, correcting your posture, chin held high. “What did you have in mind?”

JJ’s never had to pitch a date to a girl before in his life. Usually he asks and they’re there: hook, line and sinker. His brain thinks hard and fast. “I can pick you up. Go for a drive, grab a bite maybe. Get to know one another,” he says.

You quirk a brow. “Is that all?”

Of course, you have standards. Hell, the guys that court you probably dine you at The Ritz and gift you a Rolex. JJ isn’t deterred though. Instead, he’s rather amused.

With a boyish grin, he says, “princess, I promise one date with me and I’ll change your life forever.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Bold statement to make, Maybank.”

JJ takes note of how you know his last name and thinks back to when he introduced himself; that strange flash of recognition on your face. You know who he is and yet, you’re entertaining the idea of letting him take you out. Curiouser and curiouser.

JJ doesn’t beg or barter. Instead, he just stares you down, waiting for your response as you visibly contemplate his offer. There’s a hint of a smile on your face, the type that might come when you’re trying to suss someone out. It’s barely there but JJ’s sure he can see it. He knows that look all too well.

“When would this be?”

JJ’s painfully aware of how desperate he may sound as he says, “Tomorrow night?”

“I have ballet practice tomorrow.”

“Thursday then.”

“Piano recital.”

“Jesus, woman,” he can’t help but mutter. It makes you smile.

“I’m free Friday,” you offer.

And, holy shit, no way you’re actually agreeing to this. JJ hopes the shock doesn't show on his face.

“Friday works. The, uh, cell towers are down on The Cut so how ‘bout I just pick you up? Seven thirty sound good?”

“Sure.”

You speak in a manner that tries to give the impression that this whole conversation is rather mundane to you. That you have Pogues asking you out every other hour, almost like a nine-to-five job.

“But pick me up on the street outside, not in the driveway.”

JJ doesn’t question it. He’s not going to argue to your terms when he’s somehow landed a date with the hottest, goody-two-shoes kook in Kildare.

“Alright. On the street, Friday at seven thirty. Wear something pretty, yeah?”

Your brows quirk. “Any other demands?”

“Yeah. Give me a fair chance?” JJ wonders, half-joking.

Your eyes flit from JJ’s face, down his body, right to his toes, and back again. Smiling, sweet like cotton candy, you reply, “I think I can do that.”

His body goes ice cold. JJ nods, cementing the dates and times in his memory like he’s remembering nuclear launch codes.

“Then, I guess I’ll see you soon, princess."

“I guess so,” you say, returning the leftover fifties to your wallet. JJ pockets his fifty, gives one last pet to Ranger in farewell, and shows himself to the front door. As it shuts behind him, JJ leans against it. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Then, he laughs. He laughs and laughs, mouth upturned in an astounded smile, and shakes his head.

“No fucking way,” he mumbles to himself.

John B is not going to believe this. None of the Pogues are.

Rubbing at his face in disbelief, JJ repeats, “no fucking way” one last time before walking down the driveway. He spares one last glance at the house. Friday. Seven-thirty.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ has never been one to care all that much about his appearance. Half of his clothes have a hole in them somewhere, whether it be on the collar or in a pocket, and his hair is constantly tousled with salt-water from the sea. He isn’t unclean though. He showers and shaves and washes his clothes (though perhaps not as much as he should). He doesn’t think he’s bad looking, either. Lived experience shows that to be true, as he’s never struggled to land a date or hook-up. But there’s something about you, something about this particular meeting, that has him turfing through his chest of drawers.

He’s pretty sure he’s settled on an outfit. It’s ironic that it looks almost thrown together when JJ’s spent fifteen minutes obsessing over it. He washed his hair with shampoo and conditioner (that he stole from Kiara) and even used some hair wax to try and style it. Again, it probably looks the same as usual, but he feels better for it.

All the faffing leaves him running late. It’s closer to 7:45 than 7:30 by the time JJ pulls up your road on his bike. He’s aware of how loud the engine is in this area, rumbling as he slows to a stop. You’re stood in the sidewalk, arms crossed anxiously over your chest, glancing up and down the street. As JJ approaches, your eyes fall on him and a nervous smile sparks to life. JJ bullshits himself by labelling his hammering heart as adrenaline from riding a dirt bike on Figure Eight. You push some of your hair behind your ear as you walk up to meet him halfway. You’re practically glowing under the sunset sky, skin shiny with body butter like you’ve been bathed in glitter. He shuts off the engine and sits back in the seat.

“You’re late."

JJ cringes playfully. “My bad?”

“Mhm.”

You step over to him and linger by his bike. He quirks a brow. “You hopping on?”

As your eyes survey the vehicle, JJ starts to grin, smug. “You ever been on a bike before?”

“Course,” you say, almost too quickly. “Just…Not one like this.”

JJ offers out a hand and you hesitate for a second before taking it. Grasping your hand in his, you climb onto the back of his bike. Your summer dress rides up as you do and you nervously tug it down. Then, your arms gently loop around his waist. Laughing, JJ shakes his head. He tightens your grip on him.

“Gotta hold on tight or you’ll fly off,” JJ remarks.

“Promise not to do anything stupid?” you say, voice thick with nerves.

JJ starts up the engine. “Princess, I can’t promise anything like that,” he grins. Looking over his shoulder, meeting your terrified eyes, he softens his smile. “But I promise you’re safe.”

Your own smile battles through the queasy nervousness. JJ revs the engine and turns his head back to the road, and then he sets off. Your arms immediately latch tighter like a vice. It makes him laugh, and you mutter a meek ‘shut up’ in reply. Having you close like this; he can smell your perfume. It’s expensive, encapsulating you like you’ve been doused in it. Several bangle style bracelets lining your wrists press into his skin through his t-shirt, only slightly uncomfortable, and when he turns a corner, they shift and jangle melodically together.

Zipping down the roads of Figure Eight, JJ drags out the journey the same way he did walking Ranger back to your house. Gradually, mansions turn to shacks and quaint homes, and well-kept children’s parks into overgrown yards surrounded with chain-link fence.

He pulls down a dirt track, heading nearer to the marshland, and eventually comes to a stop. You catch your breath as he turns off the engine.

“Feeling alright?” he checks, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you reply.

You look a little windswept. Instinctively, JJ reaches out a hand to brush some hair from your face. Embarrassed, you help, calming down your hair and fixing your appearance. Then you use JJ’s shoulders as an anchor, climbing off his bike.

“So…You brought me out to middle of nowhere…” you say, looking around.

JJ kicks on the stand and pulls the keys form the ignition. “Scared?”

“Should I be?”

JJ chuckles, shaking his head. “Come on. I got something planned.”

He takes your hand, smiling to himself as you intertwine your fingers with his, and guides the two of you through the shrubs towards the water side. The P.M.S. Pogue sits moored in the marsh. A loan, if he helps John B clean out the chicken hut next week.

“Now, I know this probably ain’t like all the fancy yachts you and your folks have,” JJ starts, walking up to the boat side. “But I promise it runs like a dream.”

As he looks back to you, JJ’s eyes shamelessly sweep along your figure. The dress you’re wearing is pastel green adorned with dainty flowers of white and ivy. It ends just past the point of tortuous on your legs. You’re pretty as a vine and sweet like a grape, decorated with expensive jewellery. Pearl earrings and a Tiffany necklace. On your wrist, though, JJ finds a series of handmade friendship bracelets amongst your bangles. They’re made with shells and beads and tiny pendants of silver. Several rings sit pretty on your fingers.

Looking back to the boat, JJ pulls the ladder free with a grunt. It creaks from want of use: himself and the Pogues usually just climb inside or jump on from the jetty. “Ladies first,” he says, offering out a hand.

You look between his hand and the ladder, and then something deterministic overcomes your face as you place your hands on lip of the boat. With a huff, you use whatever upper body strength you have to climb up. JJ stands, taken aback, and his eyes falls to your bare legs. Your toes are pointed, calve muscles tense and strong, and he can almost picture you in pointe ballet slippers. Amused, JJ lets you clamber up into the boat. Sighing, you correct your dress and jewellery before looking down at him.

“Well? You coming?”

JJ gives a small laugh before nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”

He climbs with significantly less difficulty than yourself, proudly flexing his muscles as he does, shameless in his peacocking. When he gets to his feet, he finds you staring. “Like what you see?”

Your face flushes. You try and play it off though. “Just checking if you needed a hand.”

JJ grins, playing along, and you roll your eyes and walk to the wheel of the boat. He follows, pulling the keys from his short pockets, and turns on the engine which sputters to life. You hold onto the side of the steering hold as JJ guides the two of you into the marsh.

“You wanna steer?” he asks once you’re in wider waters.

You wordlessly step up and take the wheel. It’s easy, guiding the boat along. JJ hovers behind you, testing the waters by placing a hand on your waist. You don’t shrug him off. Soon enough, JJ’s placing a hand back on the wheel and guiding you to a certain spot.

“I found this place a while ago,” he says over your shoulder as he steers. He can feel your gaze on him. It’s terrifying, having you so close to him. God, he hopes it doesn’t show. “Best stargazing spot in the whole county.”

He slows the engine to a shuddering stop and steps away to toss the anchor down. It’s silent out in the water, asides from sea birds and marsh-side insects. Fish that break to the surface for a split-second disturb the water every now and then. Crickets and distant hooting owls. It’s dark now, too. Everything painted in a dusky blue. JJ grabs the old blanket that he stole from the twinkie and lies it down on the nose of the boat.

“Here,” he calls.

You make your way over, accepting his hand as you step up. The two of you settle to lay side by side. JJ tucks his arms behind his head as a makeshift pillow. You stare at the sky, eyes falling open at the endless expanse.

“Woah.”

“Pretty sick, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, laughing quietly. “It’s awesome.”

JJ grins. Nailed it.

For a while, the two of you just stargaze. He can hear your breathing, steady and calm, and once more your perfume invades his senses. A bottle of the stuff probably cost more than his bike. That thought prompts him to break the silence. Sitting up, he looks down at you.

“Alright, I gotta ask,” he says.

You sit up on your elbows, curiosity piqued. It takes everything in JJ to keep his eyes trained on your face and not your chest.

“Why’d you agree to go out with me?”

You smile, somewhat amused. It’s like you’ve been waiting for him to ask. “Well, that’s an easy question.”

“Oh, is it now?”

“Mhm,” you grin, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Christ, you’re angelic. “Ranger.”

“Your dog?”

“Yep.”

“What? You kooks manage to translate what they bark about or something? He give you some words of wisdom?”

You laugh, shaking your head. Sitting up fully, your bracelets chime together. “He liked you.”

“Yeah?” JJ says, brows tugging together in confusion.

“Ranger doesn’t trust easy. He’s a rescue and he practically chose me. The shelter people said he hadn’t let anyone near him since arriving, but with me, he came running over, like he knew me or something. He likes men even less. He won’t let my daddy within five yards of him without barking and cowering. He wouldn’t hurt you, but he gets scared and jumpy. But he seemed to like you. Seemed to trust you.”

“So, that made you agree to go out with me?” JJ checks.

Shrugging, you simply reply, “dogs are the best judge of character, after all.”

Humming in thought, JJ looks out to the marsh as he considers what you’ve said. It’s a little hilarious that a runaway dog is the reason that he’s got you here, alone, on the P.M.S. Pogue.

“My turn,” you say, seemingly initiating a game of twenty-one questions. JJ looks back to you. “Why’d you ask me out?”

“Pretty obvious. You’re fucking gorgeous,” JJ replies.

Whilst your smile turns to mush, you roll your eyes and act as if you’re unaffected by his words. “Seriously, though. I didn’t think I was your type.”

“Smoking hot girls? Nah, you’re pretty much my type to a T,” JJ goes on, charming smile in full view.

“What about Kiara?”

JJ gives a bemused smile. “What about Kie?”

“I know she hangs out with you guys. We’re pretty different people, me and her.”

It’s obvious that you’re far from low maintenance. You're proud of being a kook. You don’t shy away from it: happy to show off your money and beauty. JJ doesn’t get the sense that you’re haughty but it seems rather clear that you live your life to a certain standard.

JJ shrugs. “Guess that’s why I’m not dating her.”

“I know your reputation, you know. About all the girls you hook-up with and stuff.”

“Oh. You jealous or something?”

“No,” you say. Voice turning softer, you continue. “But I feel like I should to tell you that I’m not the kind of girl who has a lot of hook-ups. Or the kind who puts out on the first date.” When JJ doesn’t say anything, you feel the need to add, “just, before you get your hopes up.”

Pursing his lips, JJ nods slowly. He had a feeling that was going to be the case. You weren’t exactly known in the community for being particularly flirtatious. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d ever known any guy to date you. From the way you spoke, careful with your words, and the way you acted, you were almost made of solid gold: pure through and through. So, having you take sex off the table for the foreseeable future didn’t exactly blind-side JJ. That to say, if you had offered it up, he would have jumped at the opportunity. God, he’s half sure he’d die if he ever saw you naked.

He could be a gentleman, though. He could. Something about you had JJ entranced outside of just the physical. So, if a hook-up wasn’t in the cards, maybe getting to know you might be all the better.

He’ll just have to learn to keep his eyes and his dick to himself.

Sighing, JJ lowers himself to lay down again. This time, he only tucks one arm behind his head. The other, he outstretches into your expanse of the blanket.

“Alright, princess. I think I can live with that,” he says.

Seemingly content with his reply, you lay back down, resting your head in the nook of his arm.

“It’s your turn,” you quietly say after a moment’s quiet.

“To do what?”

“Ask a question.”

JJ filters through the many in his mind, tucking the inappropriate ones away for a later date, and finally settles. “Alright. Was Ranger the only reason you agreed to go on a date with me?”

You let out a small tuneful hum of contemplation. “No. I wanted to see what you were like.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I’ve seen you around the island and heard the stories. I suppose I wanted to know for myself,” you say. “Plus, I always do what I’m supposed to do. I guess I wanted to do the opposite, for a change.”

“Rebelling against your dear old daddy with the derelict from the Cut?” JJ jokingly asks.

“Hmm. Something like that,” you say, playing along. You turn your head to the side and meet JJ's eyes. “You’re just a pawn in my game, Maybank.”

JJ’s too sucker-punched from that to come up with something witty in reply. There’s a foreign thump in his chest and a selcouth feeling in the back of his throat as you look at him. JJ swallows it away, returning his attention to the star-lit sky.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ revels in the miracle that he landed a second date with you as he fixes his hair in John B’s bathroom mirror. His best friend sits on the closed toilet lid, watching him.

“I can’t believe you’re seeing her again,” John B says for the millionth time.

JJ grins at his reflection. “I know.”

“I mean, what do you guys even talk about?” JB continues, face contorted in confusion.

JJ shrugs. “I don’t know. We just spent the other night talking about all sorts, really.”

“And you’re sure she isn’t being paid to go out with you?”

“Maybe the first time, but not this time, no,” JJ replies. He stops messing with his hair. Licks over his teeth, checking for trapped food, and dusts of his t-shirt. Looking to his friend, JJ asks, “how do I look?”

John B barely takes his appearance in before saying, “like she’s out of your league.”

“Come on, man,” JJ groans, shoving his best friend’s shoulder. He leaves the bathroom, John B hot on his tail. “You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah. That I’m macking on a kook and you ain’t,” JJ tells him. Opening the fridge, he tosses a beer to John B before taking one for himself. “I know you’ve had a thing for Sarah Cameron since we were kids.”

“No,” John B quickly says, shaking his head. “No, no, I do not have ‘a thing’ for Sarah Cameron.”

“JB, you’re a terrible liar,” JJ sighs. He takes a sip of his drink. Liquid confidence. Eyes glancing up to the clock hung on the chateau’s kitchen wall, he reckons he has about five minutes before he should leave for your house.

“So, seriously: what is this? Why this new flavour of the month?” John B grills.

JJ shrugs. “I dunno man. She’s just…She’s cute. And hot. And rich, and easy to talk to, and kinda funny, and, oh did I mention, rich as fuck. I don’t see any downsides, really.”

“Mhm, well, I do,” John B gladly counters. “She’s a kook.”

“Yeah, but she’s not like a kook kook. Kinda like how Kiara’s a kook,” JJ argues.

John B looks bewildered. “She is nothing like Kiara.”

“Alright, not in personality or looks or actual money, but in general kook-ness.”

“All I’m saying is that if you think this thing has a long shelf-life, you’re way more crazy than I thought you were,” John B says.

JJ doesn’t reply. Downing the rest of his can, he tosses it at the trash can (dismally misses) and heads for the front door. As he goes, he taps John B on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion.

“Nice to know you’re rooting for me, man,” he jovially says in farewell.

Then, he’s heading down the porch steps, climbing onto his bike, and setting sights for your house for the fourth time in his life.

Your house stands like a castle in the streets. JJ practically sees the driveway as a crocodile infested moat. He waits on the street at the foot of the driveway for you, arriving in time to see you make your way down the drive. You’re dressed in Levi shorts and a Tommy Hilfiger shirt, designer sandals on your decorated feet with anklets and toe rings. JJ sits back on his seat, engine running, and finds himself grinning as you smile at him. When did that start to happen?

“Not late this time, huh?” you playfully say.

“Learnt my lesson.”

You don’t hesitate as you climb on the back of his bike. You wrap your arms around his stomach, fingers splaying out across his chest over his t-shirt. JJ revs the engine.

“Ready?”

“Hell yeah.”

Grinning, JJ sets off down the street.

Once again, you’d left the plans in JJ’s hands. It was a little surreal to him, how trusting you were of him. Might be a place of concern, even. But, hey, JJ will take the win.

It’s still light when you get to the cliffside. From here, the view is incredible. An orange-pink sky that looks like it might taste of tangerine and peach hangs above a rolling sea. The view stretches on for miles, with the mainland off along the horizon.

JJ admires you as you stand in breeze, looking out at the view. You turn to face him.

“Why does every place I let you take me get more and more concerning every time?”

“We’re going cliff jumping,” is JJ’s reply.

Your eyebrows nearly shoot off your head. “That’s called suicide, JJ.”

“Nah, not here,” he says, shaking his head. He grabs your hand and tries to coax you nearer to the edge so you can see the drop. “Water’s plenty deep and cliff’s plenty high. It’s fun.”

You catch on that he’s not joking. Laughing nervously, you shake your head and take several large steps back to safety. “No, no, no.”

“Come on! It’s fun!” JJ swears.

Your smile begins to fade and your head shakes faster. “No way. I don’t do…That. And I’ll ruin my hair. And what about my jewellery?”

“You can take off your jewellery,” JJ argues, walking towards you, “and your hair’ll look good either way.”

“Easy for you to say,” you snort, eyeing him up as your arms cross over your chest. “You’re a guy.”

“First of all: rude.”

JJ tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground. Your eyes instinctively glance down at his chest. JJ doesn’t bother hiding his smirk.

“Second of all: live a little, princess.”

You scoff. “I live plenty, thank you.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Really. Have you ever been to Paris? Seen the Eiffel tower? Been in the catacombs? Or gone to Italy and tasted wine fresh from a vineyard?”

JJ raises a brow, sarcastic as he says, “yeah, every Tuesday. Now come on.”

He grabs for your wrist, tugging you towards him. You don’t push him away as he lifts his fingers to the clasp of your necklace, only momentarily struggling to get it loose. He gently places it on top of his t-shirt, and soon your many rings follow. You lean down and take off your toe rings and anklets, and then your earrings. The handmade bracelets stay, though. Standing upright, you take a shaky breath.

“Look, you don’t have to,” JJ quietly says. He can see the fear clear as day on your face. But you shake your head, newly determined by his offer of an out. Clearly you don’t like having your bluff called.

JJ’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as you pull your shirt off. He doesn’t even have time to recover before your wriggling out of your shorts, stepping out of them and carelessly tossing them onto the pile of clothes and accessories like you got them from a bargain bin at a thrift store. Stepping out of your sandals, standing proud in matching Calvin Klein underwear, you grab his hand and interlock your fingers, guiding the two of you to the cliffside. As you pull him into motion, JJ comes out of his filthy thoughts, mouth dry.

You come to a sudden stop a safe three feet away from the edge. JJ’s done this too many times to count but the adrenaline that floods the system before the first jump shocks him every time like a cold plunge. You gnaw on your lower lip in trepidation. JJ squeezes your fingers, mutters your name, and captures your attention.

“You trust me?”

Your beautiful eyes dance across his face. JJ almost sees you go calm, like a baby soothed by its favourite nursery rhyme. It seems that his question, as simple as it is, made something click in your mind.

“Yeah,” you breathe, as if realising it in the moment. “I do.”

With that, JJ gives one last squeeze to your hand and a fleeting smile, and then he starts running towards the cliffside. You run too, only a step behind, and the two of you hurl yourselves off the edge at the same time. Your scream echoes in the wind as air rushes past JJ’s ears. He whoops on his way down. The two of you pummel down towards the water, your hand never leaving his until you reach the surface. His eyes press shut and he prepares for impact as he crashes into the depths. The water is cold but not icy – it cools his skin comfortably. Everything goes quiet in the water, mellowed out and muted. JJ pushes to the surface and takes a breath of air, shoving wet hair off his face. As he looks around, treading water in the currents, he feels the adrenaline rise once more when he can’t find you.

JJ starts calling out your name, looking left and right and left again. Just as he’s about to dive under, you break. He gasps out in relief.

The minute your eyes open, they land on him. Then, the biggest smile he’s ever seen comes over your face. It etches itself on his brain with permanent marker. JJ could be senile and decrepit and still remember that look on your face.

“That was amazing!” you scream, throwing your hands up, spraying water everywhere. “Oh my God! We have to do that again!”

JJ laughs, soaking in your joy.

It’s weird seeing you, wet and without all your dressings. It’s like seeing a priceless painting outside of its frame: it makes it somehow even more beautiful. The setting sun warms your wet skin as you throw your head back, eyes shut, grinning like a mad man. JJ wants to seal this moment in resin and place it on his mantle as a keepsake.

You make JJ climb up that cliff and jump into the ocean about five times over, until the sun has almost fully set and you can’t risk the dark. As it slowly inches down and down towards the horizon, you and JJ sit side by side on the grass. Your hand is so close to his, fingers reaching out like growing ivy, teasing at making contact. The moment the jumping was done, you’d returned all your jewellery to your body. It sparkles with the damp. As his eyes drift down from your profile to your figure, he picks up on those handmade bracelets again.

“What’s with the friendship bracelets?” JJ asks.

You look down at them then up at JJ. “I make them.”

“Why?”

Laughing, you shrug. “I don’t know. Why does anyone do anything?”

“Do you sell them?”

“No,” you say, messing with one. “I just enjoy doing it. I make them for my friends.”

“That’s sweet,” JJ hums, looking back out to the view.

“What about your shark tooth necklace? Someone make that for you?” you ask.

JJ glances down at it. “My ma. She used to collect shark teeth that washed up on the beach.”

“Well, she’s pretty talented,” you smile. “Maybe she can make one for me, one day.”

JJ swallows thickly, jaw ticking tight. “She, uh, ain't around anymore.”

“Oh…I'm sorry.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t know.”

The awkward quiet that comes passes like a summer breeze. Sighing contentedly, the two of you watch as the world gets darker and darker, and the sun gets lower and lower.

“So, how are you finding it?”

“Finding what?” you ask.

JJ gestures to himself, to everything around him. “This. Pogue-life. Rebelling against your dad. Not doing as you’re told.”

You laugh, shaking your head. JJ watches as you pull your knees up to your chest, sitting dainty as a robin balanced on a branch. Tucking some hair behind your ears, you look out to the horizon as if caught in a daydream. A solemn look threatens to cross your face as you say, “it’s making me realise just how much I’ve been missing out on.”

And that…JJ wasn’t expecting that. He was expecting one of your usual playful jabs, soaked in sarcasm. Not that. It makes you more human and less Kook. More real. More attainable, even, for JJ. It’s like with every minute he spends in your orbit, he gets closer and closer to you. But everyone knows the story of Icarus, and what happens when you fly too close to the sun.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

By the fourth date, JJ’s practically foaming at the mouth, feral from restraint.

He still hadn’t kissed you. Hadn’t had the opportunity. You’d kept teasing him with it, temporarily placing it on the table before taking it away. He knew he had to go about this carefully. One wrong move and he could screw up all his hard work and send you off running.

What surprised JJ more than most was the fact that feeling your body under him was one of the lowest ranking motivators to spend time with you. Don’t get it twisted – it was still a pretty bloody strong motivator – but JJ wanted to know you and be known by you. You were interesting and captivating, and caring and kind. You were funny and had this sweet sense of humour that glimmered through from time to time, like a kaleidoscope hanging from a window-frame. With every minute in your company, his prejudice of Kooks was dismantled piece by piece. One run in with Rafe or Topper and it would probably be rekindled ten-fold, but for now, JJ learnt to see past it. You were a little out of touch but you didn’t act like you were better than him. Then again, he hadn’t taken you to his house or the Chateau yet. He kept the dates on common ground, where he never felt out of his depths or wallowing within them.

You hit like a crisp, ice-cold beer on the hottest day of summer. More intoxicating than any blunt he’s ever smoked, or any line he’s ever snorted. Light like a feather in how you move, soft like rain and driven like fresh laid snow. You had hijacked nearly all of JJ’s thoughts, in one way or another, and it fucking terrified him.

“So, I went for white and pastel blue. I think they’re cute. What do you think?”

You hold your fingers out for JJ to inspect your nails. JJ couldn’t care less about nails – half the time, his are dirtied with mud and oil – but you care an awful lot, so he can pretend. To be honest, he had only been half-listening to your story. His eyes had been fixated on your lips, daydreaming about how they’d feed against his own, how soft they might be as he nips at them with his teeth, how wet they might be if he were to slip his dick between them…

“JJ?”

He blinks out of his gutter-brain and takes in your nails.

“They’re pretty. I like the, uh, sheen on them,” he says.

You practically become alight with the comment. It feels like another brownie point that he can tally. Bringing them to your gaze, you nod fervently. “Right? I’ve never gotten metallic powder on them but I think I like it.”

With that, you sigh and lay back on your towel. The two of you are at the beach and have been since two in the afternoon. It’s now nearly seven in the evening. JJ thinks you’re at your prettiest in the golden hour. It’s like God himself is shining a spotlight on you, highlighting every perfection of your features. The way your designer jewellery twinkles in the rays, the sun-kissed sheen of your cheeks, the ethereal-like glow of your eyes…It’s taking everything not to look at your body, proudly displayed in a bikini. It’s blue. It seems you like blue an awful lot.

JJ distracts himself from your figure and his tightening swim shorts by petting Ranger. He’d tagged along for the day and is currently napping in the sun. You’d brought plenty of water and dog snacks to keep him going. JJ had supplied the seltzers and bag of chips for the two of you. He’d noted how you’d been making one can last for about two hours. He wondered if you’d been tipsy before, or drunk even.

When he looks back to you, eyes sweeping up your sand-scattered stomach, he finds you threading the seashells you’d been collecting throughout the day on string. You’d brought a little kit with you in your bag and had spent the last three hours making jewellery on and off whilst talking to JJ. You lay in a sea of designer accessories – Ray Ban sunglasses, Dior lip-gloss, Clinique sunscreen – as you craft.

“That’s coming together nice,” he comments.

You glance up to meet his eyes, smiling. “It’s for you.”

“Me?”

“Mhm. Need to check if it fits, actually,” you mumble, shifting onto your knees.

JJ willingly holds out a wrist for you as you coil it around. It looks hilariously dainty on his built form. Seashells and blue and white and silver beads. Then he notices the small letters you’d interwoven into the design. JJ. His heart makes that awful, jarring tug again. JJ can’t decide he likes this effect you have on him.

“Perfect,” you say.

You tie it off and fasten it around his wrist. He shakes his arm out a little to check its fit. You’re right: it’s perfect.

The moment your eyes glance up from his arm, meeting his, JJ forgets all his manners. He takes your face in one hand and presses his lips to yours. You let out a gasp as he does, hands coming up to press at his shoulders, pushing him off.

“What are you doing?” you gasp, fingers flying up to your lips.

His heart is loud in his ears, hammering like he’s thirteen and having his first kiss all over again. In the deafening beat of it, he dumbly replies, “kissing you?”

“Well, you can’t just kiss me,” you say, almost offended. “You have to ask first.”

“Alright…Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes are like raging storms as you stare at him. Anyone would have thought from your expression that he just asked to take you roughly in the streets. Trying to calm yourself with a drawn-out breath, you cock your head.

“Why should you?”

JJ frowns. “What?”

“Why should I let you kiss me?”

Now usually, JJ would be pissed. Annoyed and impatient, and would get up and leave and never look back. But for you, he can’t find it in him. No, it’s all offset by that same damn curiosity that got him here in the first place. You’re like an enigma. A blackhole. He wants desperately to know more, to understand, but is terrified of being sucked in completely. Terrified of what it might all mean.

So, JJ deliberates your question. “Cause you like me?”

“I do?” you ask, quirking your brows.

You must. You wouldn’t have stuck around for this long if you didn’t. Wouldn’t have handmade a bracelet. So, he nods, feeling his confidence grow like the swell of a wave.

“Yeah, you do. I think you like what I bring out of you.”

“Making a lot of assumptions here, Maybank,” you practically warn. But the anger is gone. Gives him hope that he’s on the right track. JJ tries and fails to bite back his smile.

“Maybe,” he says. “But it’s only cause I feel the same way.”

When you don’t speak, he takes it as a cue to continue. As he goes on, his heart shudders with the anxiety that vulnerability brings.

“I like the way I am around you. I like how you make me feel. I like talking to you, and I like hearing you talk. You just have this way of speaking that’s…It just makes everything feel like it’s good. Everything’ll be good.”

Something in what he’s said seems to take you aback. You blink a few times, lips parting as you sit, looking at him all the while. He hopes that if your thoughts are still set on the idea that he’s in this for nothing more than a lay, he’s just proved that wrong. He supposes with his reputation on the island amongst the youngsters, he can’t be all that surprised if that was what you had thought. But surely, after spending so many hours in your company, doing nothing asides from talking and innocently touching, you had seen past that. Didn’t you say that you wanted to get to know him, to see him for yourself?

“Do you mean that?” you quietly ask. It’s almost sad, the tone of your voice and the look on your face, like nobody’s ever said something like that to you before. JJ swallows the sick feeling that it brings.

He nods. “Yeah. I do.”

Slowly, a smile blossoms on your face like the first budding flower of spring. With a small, slight nod, you tell him, barely louder than a whisper, “you can kiss me now.”

JJ does so gladly. But he’s careful with it this time, makes it count. He sweeps one hand from your shoulder, up against your collarbones, until it cups your jaw gently. Tilting your head just-so, he leans forward and pauses just a breadth before your lips. And then, he kisses you. It’s soft and sweet and different to the usual blind-haze rush that JJ finds himself in when making out. The pacing to it makes it almost sensual. The feeling the kiss brings is alien to JJ; he can’t quite place a name to it.

One of your hands finds home on his jaw, exploring his skin, fingers looping into the hair on the back of his neck. When he coaxes your mouth open with his tongue, you sigh gently against his lips.

As the two of you kiss on the beach, that new-found sensation in JJ’s chest intensifies, and then it dawns upon him - this new feeling that your kiss brings. Different from lust and libido.

His eyes fly open. Stomach plummets through the sand.

JJ Maybank is falling in love with you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

As the summer stretched on, JJ realised he’d spent most of June in your company, growing closer and closer. It felt natural now to have your hand intertwined with his. JJ can hardly remember a time when wasn’t talking to you, or talking about you, or thinking of you, or organising his days around meeting you. He knew what it meant, what all of it meant, and this impending feeling of something grew with every word passed and every kiss shared. It almost felt like he was watching a sand-timer. Seeing each grain slip by, counting down until the inevitable end, just like most things in his life did.

He'd introduced you to the Pogues upon everyone’s insistence, including your own. John B was still in disbelief that JJ had managed to keep you around for as long as he had. Pope, on the other hand, was practically suspicious of it. It was as if he needed the cold, hard evidence for proof that JJ wasn’t spinning yarns. Kiara had of course jumped at the opportunity to gloat about the ‘good karma’ she’d bestowed upon JJ, by encouraging him to return Ranger to you. When she’d met you, she’d be apprehensive. Distrusting of your Kook status, having known you more than the others from attending Kook Academy with you. But JJ was sure she’d warm up, bit by bit. It helped that you wanted to try new things. You wanted to try the whole Pogue lifestyle. You let JJ take you surfing and begged to try his bike out. You let John B teach you to fish and wrestled Pope on nights spent around the campfire. You’d share seltzers with Kiara and sang along whenever she played the uke. And, oh, of course you could sing. You’d had lessons, you see, as you had with practically every other extra circular on earth. Piano, violin, ballet, tap…Shit, it was like you were collecting Pokémon or something.

In fact, it scared JJ how easy it was to pick up on the little details about you. It was like collecting stones on the beach: before you know it, your pockets are weighing you down, filled with tiny little pebbles. You were a fruity girl: cocktails and sangria and wine and seltzers – never beer. You weren’t a heavy drinker. Didn’t partake in shots apart from Cherry Bombs. You preferred sweet over salty; always took creamer and syrup in your coffee, in that order; rom coms from the nineties and noughties were your kryptonite, and you loathed fast and furious; skirts before shorts; Tiffany before Pandora; lip gloss over lip stick. God, the tingly sensation from plumping lip gloss was all too familiar to JJ now, from having it smear off your mouth to his.

After the kiss on the beach, mouths and hands had only continued to wander. It’s like JJ’s admission that this was more than just trying to score you for sex was the passcode to open you up. You weren’t prudish. In fact, when JJ met you, he was half certain that maybe you were a virgin. But no…now he found that very hard to believe.

Saying all that, it still felt bizarre to be seen out in public with you. It wasn’t a secret, had never been really, but JJ remained surprised at how willing you were to take his hand in public. To be seen with him by everyone in the County. It was like you wanted to show him off, parade him around like he was something special, like one of your many Prada purses. It almost made JJ want to question if you had ulterior motives.

“You wanna just split a portion of fries?” JJ asks, looking at The Wreck’s menu. You were there for lunch.

You hum in thought. “Maybe. I want mac and cheese though.”

“We can get that, too. I mean, you’re paying, right?”

You prod him under the table with your foot. He gives a playful laugh, grinning childishly. He’d started calling you his sugar mommy since you had to pay for gas when his card got declined. It softened the sting of embarrassment that came with being broke, especially when compared to you. I mean, even now, he sits in a thrifted t-shirt, the decal on the chest nearly faded with how much it had been worn and washed, whilst you’re in your new threads. Dior threads, for that matter.

“Hiya. You guys ready to order?” the waitress asks.

JJ glances up from the menu and shit. Shit shit shit. The minute his eyes meet hers, recognition dawns upon her. It’s weird seeing this girl – Lily, he thinks her name is – from this angle. Last time they’d seen each other, she’d been laying underneath him…

You’re thankfully blissfully unaware, eyes trained on the menu.

“JJ. Long time no see.”

With that, your head darts up. Great.

“Hey…Lily. How are you?”

At least luck is partly on his side: he got her name right. She places a hand on his waist. “Fine, thanks. Been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

“I’ve been busy,” JJ says.

“I bet. Remember a time when you were busy with other things…”

Her tone speaks volumes, as do her eyes as she surveys his body, smiling flirtatiously.

Suddenly, your hand is extending across the table, towards Lily. JJ looks to you to find a sickly, sweet smile on your face.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” you say, voice honied. She shakes your hand as you introduce yourself. “You know JJ?”

“We have a…history, of sorts,” Lily replies.

“Oh. Well, any friend of JJ’s is a friend of mine.”

Looking to JJ, there’s an emotion in your eyes that he’s never seen before. It’s terrifying and sexy as hell. Raising a hand, your fingers leisurely splay across the expanse of JJ’s shoulder, manicured nails digging-in only so. Not enough to cause damage but enough to make a point. Enough to mark your territory.

“Babe? Can you order for me?”

“Uh, course,” JJ says, clearing his throat.

Looking down at the menu, eyes not even fixating on any of the words, JJ reals of an order. Lily scribbles it down, takes the menus, and leaves without another word. The minute she’s out of sight, you drop the act, hand unlatching from his body. JJ raises his brows, holding back his laugh as he turns to you.

"What a bitch," you mutter. You wash away your words with a sip of your water.

“Didn’t take you as the jealous type.”

“Yeah, well, some girls need to learn when to shut their traps,” you lowly return. Sighing, you close your eyes and shake your head. “Sorry. That wasn’t very girls-girl of me.”

“Mm. If only your daddy could hear you now,” JJ adds, sighing disapprovingly.

You shoot him an unimpressed glare. JJ brings his glass to his lips, having a sip of his water.

“You sleep with her?”

JJ chokes and coughs. “Jesus. Straight shooter."

“Better not be talking about yourself there, Maybank.”

JJ laughs, putting his cup down. Looking to you, he shrugs. “Yeah. Like…three months ago, alright? It was before we met.”

“Mhm. You sleep with anyone since we met?” you wonder.

JJ can’t place your tone but something tells him that this question will make or break him. Thankfully, there isn’t even a need to lie. “No.”

“You swear?”

“Scout’s honour,” he says, lifting three fingers whilst simultaneously marking his heart with a cross. “Shit, I don’t want you to claw my eyes out. Or any other girls, for that matter.”

You shove his shoulder gently, smile creeping back to your lips. “Shut up. Like I’d ever. The Bible frowns upon it.”

“What about ‘an eye for an eye’?”

“Ooh. Somebody went to Sunday School,” you tease.

“Yeah, just so I could gawk at you,” he smoothly returns, winking for good measure. With that, JJ knows he’s back in your good books.

When Lily brings the food over, she doesn’t try to strike up any conversation. Dare JJ say, she looks terrified to be within a foot of the table. JJ knew you had an edge but this is different. This possessiveness, this proprietorial energy that came over you…Fuck, he knows what’s the newest addition to his wank-bank.

The two of you eat, talking about what you should do tomorrow (because, of course, he’ll spend tomorrow with you) and then JJ desperately tries to give constructive feedback to your latest Pinterest board of hairstyle inspiration. He gets up to pay. It’ll probably cost half his wage but it’s worth it. I mean, this meal is pretty dismal compared to the feasts you’re used to, but you never complain. Saying that, it doesn’t go unnoticed that when it’s on your dime, you’re far more willing to get a lemonade and a dessert. When it’s JJ paying, you say you’re happy with tap water and splitting a side. It’s mildly mortifying.

Lily is stood at the counter. “Ready to pay?”

“Tell me the damage,” is JJ’s reply.

“Twenty dollars thirty,” she says, punching buttons on the register.

JJ’s stomach twists. Fuck, he hopes his card doesn’t decline. She holds out the machine for him and he swipes his card.

“How long has that been going on then?” Lily asks.

JJ follows her gaze to you. You’re sat at the table, reapplying Dior lip gloss with an Armani compact mirror. He’s half convinced that if anything bought from Target touched your skin you might implode.

“Bout a month,” he says.

“Hm. Never took her as one to venture out of Figure Eight.”

“Never took you as one to judge random people,” JJ counters, anger ticking with her unneeded commentary.

“I’m just saying. She’s a Kook, JJ.”

“Did it go through?” he asks, cutting the conversation short.

Lily sighs, looking down at the card machine. Nodding, she goes to get his receipt. But before she hands it over, she feels the need to add, “just…maybe ask yourself what she’s getting out of this? Girls like that…They’re sneaky. Just, watch your back.”

JJ takes the receipt hastily and walks off before he can’t bite his tongue any longer. As much as it pisses him off to hear someone who doesn’t even know you talk like that, there was a sincerity to Lily’s voice that speaks to JJ’s insecurities. Massages them. It certainly doesn’t help that the minute JJ arrives back at the table, you ask, “did you have enough?”

JJ hates how the rest of the day, that one interaction – that one moment – at the Wreck keeps him disconnected from you. Anytime you ask what’s wrong, it’s the same excuse: ‘I’m just tired, s’all.’ But whenever there’s a second for thought, Lily’s voice echoes around his head.

Ask yourself what she’s getting out of this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“How in the hell do you not get lost in this place?” JJ asks you as you wander through your house.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I grew up here.”

It’s laughable, the difference of JJ’s house to yours. He’s never taken you to his home; kept your dates and hangouts to the Chateau or the Twinkie, or anywhere but his house. He’s half-certain that you might just dip if you saw the state that he lives in. Plus, he can’t risk his dad showing up and meeting you. He’d hate you – the same way he hated most people – and again, you’d be gone in a second. In fact, as more time passes, JJ realises more and more that he’s got an eye on the door, waiting for you to walk through it without a second glance.

“You want some tea?” you ask. JJ shrugs his yes. He’s never tried it before but no time like the present, right?

You guide the two of you to the kitchen. As you pass by room after room, JJ nervously glances around. “So, uh…Your dad or mom home, or?”

“Relax, Maybank,” you grin. “They’re on a cruise. They don’t get back until Tuesday.”

“Oh, cool, cool. I mean, I ain't have been bothered if they were home.”

You bark out a laugh. Opening a kitchen cupboard, you talk as you retrieve two mugs. “Oh really? So you haven’t been avoiding my house like the plague because of my parents?”

JJ rolls his eyes. Busted. You go to heat up the water, grabbing two fruit tea bags and depositing them in each mug. JJ looks around the kitchen, searching for a certain dog. As if you can hear his thoughts, you say, “Ranger’s in the sunroom. If you call him, he’ll probably come.”

So, JJ does just that. Sure enough, Ranger trudges through the house and into the kitchen, tail wagging. He looks as if he’s just woken up from a nap. JJ grins, watching as his energy returns the moment he sets eyes on yourself and JJ, and the blonde-haired boy falls to his knees, arms outstretched. God, he missed this old fart of a dog.

“Why don’t you bring him along to the Chateau more?”

“Where would he ride? We always take your bike,” you laugh.

“Probably for the best, anyway. John B would definitely try and steal him,” JJ mumbles.

“Oh, and you wouldn’t?”

Insecurity picks at JJ like a scab. “What does that mean?”

You quirk a brow, unaware of the almost offence caused. “JJ, you would pick that dog over me in a heartbeat, if it came down to it.”

Of course. Of course you were talking about the dog, and not making some dig about his family reputation, or his sticky fingers. Shit, it’s like ever since that day at the Wreck, his insecurities had tripled in size and volume. Every time you looked at him, JJ wasn’t sure if you were passing judgement and he hated himself for it: for becoming so suspicious of you, when you’d done nothing to warrant it. But he couldn’t help it. It was like a reflex.

Once the tea is made and Ranger’s retired back in another sunny patch to sleep, the two of you head upstairs to your bedroom. JJ began to recount the story of the Grady White discovery and the Motel Room after the last hurricane’s end. He’s half certain that you don’t fully believe him.

“So, what did you find in the motel room?” you ask, pushing open your bedroom door.

“It was fucking crazy! Like a shit ton of money and this weird map. Oh, yeah, and…” JJ ditches his backpack by the foot of your bed and unzips it. Proud as a Superbowl jock, he presents the gun he stole. “This.”

Your mouth drops open. You place the two mugs of tea on your desk (on coasters, because of course) and reach out for it. JJ frowns and holds it out of your reach.

“Let me hold it.”

This reaction, out of all the reactions, was the one he expected the least. “No way.”

“Come on!”

“Nu-uh. You’ll shoot my dick off."

Rolling your eyes, you quip, “wouldn’t that be a gift for mankind? Come on!”

Sighing, he relents. Double checks the safety is on before passing the gun to you. You hold it like it’s a priceless artefact or a Louboutin heel (both as equal in value to yourself).

“It’s heavier than I thought,” you mumble, inspecting it.

Is it bad that JJ thinks you look unbelievably hot holding a gun right now? Probably. He can address that later in life when he eventually winds up in therapy.

“Yeah, these things are the shit,” JJ boasts, taking it back. He pretends to aim with it, gun pointed directly at one of your bears. At your scolding he puts it away again. “Anyway, now we got this dumb ass compass. JB thinks it’s got a clue in it, but I’m not so sure.”

JJ accepts the tea that you offer him as the two of you take perch on your bed, you at the foot and him at the head. You sit cross legged, nodding along to his tale, interested. JJ’s not entirely sure why he’s telling you this, especially when he was so adamant that the Pogues keep it on the down low, but something in him tells him that it’s okay for you to know. Useful, even, though he has no idea how. When he wraps up the story, he takes in your room. It’s just as he pictured it to be. Immaculately clean, psychopath level organised, decorated with brand after brand, China-white and pastel blue detailing every turn of the head. Looking back to you, he sniggers.

“You look like a witch right now.”

You take in the way you’re sitting and laugh, making a point to cradle your mug of tea between two hands. God, you’re adorable. The years of ballet have paid off: your back is straight as an arrow. The two of you sit in comfortable silence as you sip your tea. Outside, you can hear the sounds of nature pass by. There’s something understated and special about spending time with someone without feeling the need to fill the gaps. Just…existing. As JJ finishes his tea, you nod to his empty mug.

“Want me to read your tea leaves?” you ask.

JJ eyes you up, entertained. “No way you know how to do that.”

“Course I do. Here.”

You put your mug down on the windowsill and hold out a hand out for his. He passes you the empty mug and leans back against the cushioned headboard. Hell, if he had a bed like this, he’d never leave. You hum in deep contemplative thought as you look into the mug. Eyebrows knitting together, lips pursing, you study the scraps of tea leaves intently. JJ tries to stifle his laughs. It’s clearly a ploy. He can see right through the act.

“Ah, well…These are very good leaves,” you suddenly announce.

JJ plays along. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm. Yeah, yeah, I see a great fortune in your future,” you tell him. A glance up to his face, stupid grin on your lips, and then back to the mug. “Mhm. Yep, I see a…A boat.”

“Oh yeah? A Grady White by any chance?” JJ jests.

“Oh, no. This thing…It’s like the titanic. Big ship.”

“You have a way with words, princess.”

“And! A rainforest! And stones!”

“Alright, this tea’s gone to your head,” JJ laughs, reaching over for his mug.

You giggle as he takes it back, ditching it half-arsed on the bedside table so he can drag you to him by your forearms. Half tumbling forward, your hands ungainly catch yourself on his sturdy frame. You’re still laughing as he kisses you. JJ smiles against your mouth.

“I’m telling you,” you manage out through kisses and giggles. “You’re gonna be very fortunate in your future.”

“Mm, I’m fortunate now,” JJ replies, chasing your lips.

He uses a hand to hoist you further into his lap. You finally find purchase, a hand sliding along his neck, tantalisingly slow and smooth. As JJ’s lips creep along your jaw and inch down your neck, you lean your head, giving him more and more canvas to work with.

“I’m very lucky, you know,” you say, sounding short of breath.

JJ just hums. He continues his tapestry of love bites and kisses as you ramble on. He loves how soft it is with you; how there’s time for pause, for thought, for laughter. It’s the polar opposite to what he knows. Frenzied hands and sex in a timeframe. The patience of sex with you isn’t without heat, though. It isn’t like a married couple who can hardly remember what they liked about one another, chasing a high before drifting off to sleep. No, it’s like how people take time to pray. Like how musicians fawn over their music for hours, bit by bit, until perfection. So, JJ revels in your half-meaningful speech, slurred like you’re drunk despite being stone-cold sober, as he gently eases your cardigan off your shoulders.

“Every dance team I’ve been on, we’ve won…”

As JJ’s lips descend to your chest, you sigh. Fingers tightening just-so in his hair, spurring him on. One of his hands stays placed on your hip, a thumb rubbing circles on your exposed waist.

“Probably just ‘cause you’re a good dancer,” JJ mumbles against your skin.

“Not just that, though,” you muse. “I’m a good luck charm, I’m telling you. Nothing bad ever happens to the people around me. I’m lucky.”

Whatever you say, JJ thinks as he unhooks your bra. You help guide it off, sitting back against JJ’s thighs and lifting a perfectly manicured hand to his jaw. Your skin is soft like Mother of Pearl. Not a single cut or nick. Guiding his face up until his gaze meets yours, you lean down and press your lips to his. There’s no more laughter and no more silly stories. There’s no room in JJ’s brain to conjure anything other than thoughts of you. Your hair and your skin and your perfume and your nails and you. God, he wants to consume you. Breathe you in like vapour, soak you up like sunlight, feel you like the weather, all over him.

Nobody’s prettier than you.

Nobody prettier from this view, nestled between your thighs, almost suffocating as he swallows you up. More and more – insatiable. The distinct taste of you sits heavy on his tongue. It spurs him on like cocaine, energy unrelenting as he goes down on you. The sounds you make, the way you grab at him, grasp at the sheets, writhe and wriggle like it’s too much, like you can’t take it. But you can. Have before. Will again.

Your body bends to JJ’s will like water. You’re so trusting of him; have been ever since you met him. Let him take you how he wants, faithful in the pleasure he’ll give you. Usually JJ didn’t care much if girls thought him selfish in bed, but you? No, he needed you to give the mark of approval. He needed your praise, your validation, like his sex wouldn’t have meaning if you didn’t think it worthwhile. The way you fit around him; JJ swears to God it’s like you were made for him. He has you on your front, fucking you into the mountain of throw pillows that make up the head of your bed. He keeps your hips and ass angled upwards, holding you steady as he ruts into you over and over again. You’re a drooling, moaning mess underneath him. One of your hands is clenching and releasing the sheets much like your walls are to him. Having you like this – Christ, it makes JJ feel like a young God.

When you fall apart, it pushes JJ over the edge too, almost like a suicide pact. He’s not sure heroin could touch ecstasy quite like it. Drifting away on dopamine, JJ pulls out of you and flops onto his back, chest heaving. You shuffle atop of your sheets, curling up as you let the afterglow take over. JJ knows he should dote on you but he’s so tired and spent. After tying off and tossing the condom out in your bedroom trash, and tugging on his boxers, JJ lays back down on the bed beside you, flat on his back. One of your hands rests on his chest – damp with sweat. Just for a minute, JJ thinks. I’ll just close my eyes for one minute.

JJ tunes into the sensation of you stroking the bare skin of his back. It rouses him from sleep. Somehow, in his tiredness, he’d rolled over onto his front. Your sheets smell of fabric conditioner and safety. Goose feather pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets; a memory foam mattress that mimics what JJ might imagine falling asleep on a marshmallow to feel like.

“JJ?” You continue to run the side of your hand up and down his skin. "Are you awake?"

"No," he mumbles into the sheets.

“I want us to make this official.”

JJ groans sleepily. “Wha’dya mean?”

“I mean, I want us to put a label on this thing. I want to be your girlfriend, and I want you to be my boyfriend.”

It’s like the mattress has become a gaping wormhole and it’s sucking him in. That very thing that he was drawn to, entranced with, that very thing that he was learning and dreading to be true, every little insecurity and anxiety that had built and built since the second date…It’s all arriving at once, hitting him hard and fast like a meteor strike.

JJ turns his head, looking up at you. You’re watching him patient, a giddy-type smile on your face, slightly disquieted with nerves.

“Well…How do you know that?”

Brows furrowing, your smile doesn’t move. Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know…I just know. I…I know it because I feel it.”

Those words do nothing to ease the panic that’s building up JJ’s body. He shuffles until he’s sat upright, staring you down like you’re something dangerous. For some reason, your innocent request feels like a trap to him. A con. A joke that he’ll be the unwilling punchline of if he agrees. And he realises what that impending feeling was, all this time. It was him waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Lucy’s point to come true and for the curtains to be pulled. To find out what the hell you wanted with him.

“You can’t just say things like that. That’s a really messed up thing to say to someone,” JJ mutters, moving away from you.

You’re frowning now, befuddled. “Why is it? It’s true, and it’s how I feel. I want to make us official. I want us to be together.”

“Well, you’re saying that now but what about if we do get together, and I meet your parents and your friends, and you realise how different we are but you feel like you’re stuck with me, and then all of it was for nothing.”

Face the picture of perplexed, your mouth contorts into something ugly. “Where is all of this coming from? What did you think we were doing? I mean, we’ve been fine this past month and I know that there’s something between us.”

“How do you?”

“Because I’m not stupid, JJ,” you sharply reply.

Good, JJ thinks. You’re getting angry. You’ll lose your temper and you’ll let something slip that you weren’t supposed to, and he can bolt without a muddied conscience. He moves away from the bed and starts grabbing his strewn-about clothes in a frenzy to bolt.

“If there’s something between us, why haven’t I met any of your friends yet?”

You stare at him. He takes your hesitation as confirmation to his doubts. Pointing accusingly at you, he snarls, “because you’re embarrassed of me. You’re embarrassed to be seen with a Pogue-nobody from the Cut, in front of your Kook friends.”

“What is your obsession with me being a Kook!?” you exclaim. “Have you ever noticed how I never bring it up? How it’s always you, JJ, talking about it.”

“Well, I feel like I ought'a!”

“Why!?” you vociferate.

“Because what the hell do you want with me anyway!? You’re going to mess around with me for the summer, and get your kicks, and rebel against dear-old daddy, and then ditch me for some Kook jackass, who you’ll marry and he’ll take you on ski trips and summer’s in the Hamptons, and send your snotty children to expensive summer camps, and then you’ll laugh with all your trust-fund friends about how you went slumming once too.”

With that narrative, you laugh in disbelief, mystified. “What kind of fucking story are you spinning?”

“One that’s based on nothing but the facts,” JJ shouts. He’s shaking and angry, but it’s just his panic in disguise. He saw a glimpse of happiness with you and instinctively wanted to smash it up, like a psychopath child and a harmless butterfly. “I mean, you said it yourself - you wanted to do what you’re not supposed to do, for a change. Have a taste of rebellion and then go back to your rich-ass bubble wrap.”

JJ’s seen you possessive before. He’s seen you jealous, and scared, and snippy. But he’s never seen you angry. It’s horrifying.

“Did it ever occur to you that all of that has nothing to do with you? Has nothing to do with you being a Pogue, or me being a Kook?” you yell. Hands flying up to your chest, holding on like your heart might fall out of your skeleton, your voice turns thick. “I was miserable JJ! I was never allowed to do anything; never allowed to go anywhere. I did what my parents told me to do. I went to bed by nine every night. I was wasting my time with all these fucking after-school extra-circulars which I don’t even care about! I hate ballet! I hate piano! Christ, I hate all of it! And my friends are fake as anything. They say one thing to my face, and come to my house for pool parties, and then bitch about me behind my back! They’re assholes, JJ! So, yeah, I didn’t want to waste my time introducing you to them because I don’t actually like them!”

His lips start to quiver uncomfortably as he watches you unravel. It’s like JJ was pulling and pulling on a spring, and now he has to stand and watch it snap.

Make-up free, hair still tousled from earlier, oversized t-shirt half hanging off your frame: there’s no Kook defining thing about you here. It’s just you - just as it always had been.

JJ’s heart cracks as a tear falls down your cheek. With a shaky breath, in a quiet, defeated voice, you tell him, “I wanted to go out with you because I wanted to live. Because most of the time, I feel so useless and so alone that I wonder if I’m even here at all.”

And hearing you say that finally allows the curtain to fall. Only, it revealed to JJ something entirely different to what he expected. To what he’d told himself time and time again. Seeing you cry on your bed because of him…JJ’s made some real big mistakes in his life, but this one surpasses them all.

“So don’t put your shit on me because you’re the one that’s afraid,” you say, stealing yourself as you aggressively wipe your eyes. JJ’s narrow. It’s like poking a searing hot skewer into his most tender of wounds.

“Afraid? What do I have to be afraid of?”

“You’re afraid of me! You’re afraid that I won’t love you back! You’re afraid of what all the shallow people in the County will think! You know what, JJ? I’m afraid too! But fuck it - I want to give a try!”

It feels as exposing as having you peel back his skin. JJ pulls on his t-shirt and shakes his head, turning for the bedroom door, mumbling something about ‘I’m not doing this right now.’

You dart from the bed and grab at his arm, stopping him. “No. No, you’re not leaving,” you blubber.

JJ yanks out of your grip, turning around, lashing out like a stray animal approached all too quick. “What do you wanna know!” He yells. You recoil. “What? That I don’t have a great life? That I’m jealous of how you live compared to me! That I don’t want you to see how I really live because I’m ashamed shitless of it!”

You’re crying, hard, but JJ can’t find it in himself to stop. Why won’t he stop? The butterfly is dead, wings torn from the body, antenas shattered from the beating: but it’s like he doesn’t even want dust to remain.

“That my dad beats the shit out of me, so I sleep at John B’s house!? That I’ll probably end up in a prison cell or an early grave!? You ain't wanna hear that shit! Don’t tell me you want to hear that shit!”

“I do want to hear that stuff! I do want to hear it!” you argue through your sobs. You lift your hands as if you might try and cup his face. “I just want to help you.”

He retracts from your almost-there hold. “Help me! What the fuck! What, do I got a fucking sign on my back that says Save Me?”

“No!”

“Do I look like I need that!?”

Reaching for him again, tears streaming, you wail, “no! God, I just want to be with you because I love you!”

JJ grabs at your wrists, driving you away from him, driving you towards the door until your back presses against it, all the while yelling at you. Don’t bullshit me! Don’t fucking bullshit me!

JJ’s never been lucky to have good things. He waits for his friends to get up and leave. Knows his dad will too, one day, just like his ma. He’ll end up alone, drunk, high, and not long after, dead. You? You’re just a glitch in his programming. A girl who saw a project - yeah, that’s it. A girl who saw a project, a thing to fix, and the moment you have will be the moment that you get bored, and leave him broken hearted and alone. JJ knows more than anyone: you’ve got to leave before you get left.

But as you’re standing with your back against the wall, you don’t cower from him. Don’t wait for him to land a hit on you. Always so trusting. And seeing you, crying, sobbing, begging for him to listen to you, repeating that you love him over and over…JJ knows you’re not the malicious enemy he’s created in his mind. He knows you’re not.

“I want you to tell me that you don’t love me." A shuddering breath, trying to calm your quivering voice. “Because, if you do, I won’t call you anymore. And I won’t be in your life…”

And JJ’s never been good at admitting when he’s wrong. Maybe he learnt it from his dad. Maybe it’s a defensive mechanism. Maybe it’s dumb, childish youth that he never outgrew. So, as you sob, waiting for him to say something - to say you love him - JJ feels his face turn to stone. Cold, emotionless stone.

“I don’t love you.”

He grabs the rest of his shit in one quick sweep and he leaves your bedroom before he has to see the long-lasting damage he once again inflicted on someone. Slams the door. Rushes down the stairs. Passes the barking Ranger, alarmed by all the yelling, and dresses as he stumbles to the front door. In the air of the driveway, he takes a gasping breath, cringing with melancholic agony. Panic rises in his chest like a fist is clenching around his heart, over and over. He raises a hand, rubbing at the uncomfortable pain. JJ knows this feeling well. Knows it from childhood and from adolescence. Knows it almost as much as he knows breathing.

Heartbreak.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ distracted himself with drinking, smoking and treasure hunting. Indulged at night and diverted throughout the day to avoid any thoughts of you. He was lucky, in a way, that his friends were there to keep him busy. They only asked once why he wasn’t seeing you anymore, wondering why you were never around, and learnt their lesson never to ask again. He tried to hide behind the lie that he’d so easily told himself: that you were a spoilt-bitch Kook who would have ditched him soon anyway. But he remembers your voice and your face clear as day, begging for him to tell you that he loved you. He can picture all too easily your reaction the minute he stepped away from you, after telling the worst lie of his life.

Throwing himself into work was a good distraction. It’s hard to think about you when he’s thinking about how heavy the motor is that he’s lugging, or how close he’s cutting it on time to deliver groceries with Pope. His hurt made him wreckless, like he deserved whatever bad thing might come. You were good karma for returning Ranger and his mistreatment was bound to be paid back to him by the universe. Maybe that was why he’d been so eager to exact revenge on Topper and Rafe. Their attack on Pope certainly made it easier for JJ to handle his hurt when he was reminded of how awful most Kooks are. It was almost possible to group you in with them, to help mitigate the sting of guilt that came whenever your name crossed his mind. Almost.

But, like always, the consequences of his actions were bound to catch up to him. So, as JJ sits beside Pope and Kiara watching the outdoor movie play under the watchful gaze of Topper, Rafe and Kelce, he knows bad things are coming.

“JJ,” Pope says, nudging his leg.

“What?”

“Gotta take a piss.”

JJ’s leg is quivering with building adrenaline. “Hold it.”

“I can’t hold it. I drank too much soda.”

“It’s too exposed, they’ll totally see us,” JJ argues.

“I gotta go,” Pope insists.

JJ purses his lips and glances back over his shoulder the same time Pope turns around. Their eyes land on the three pissed off Kooks, sat like mob bosses, biding their time. They might as well be smoking a pipe and stroking their one-eyed cat like some '50s Bond villain.

“They’re blocking the bathrooms,” Pope observes.

Yeah, no shit. JJ looks around, noticing the woodland behind the giant projection screen. “Alright, come here. I know where.”

The two of them get to their feet, hunching over as they go to move. When Kiara asks where they’re going, JJ shrugs and tells her, ‘we gotta ring it out.’ With that, they venture to the screen and relieve themselves just behind it, out of view, into the shrubs. As they piss, Pope and JJ banter. JJ finishes first, zipping up his fly and turning around to keep watch.

“You bring the peacemaker?” Pope asks, referring to JJ’s beloved gun.

His stomach drops. “Oh, shit, I forgot it.”

“You forgot it?”

“Hurry up! Hurry up!”

“Dude, you had one job. That’s all I asked you to do, man,” Pope complains as he finishes up.

“I know, let’s go,” JJ quickly replies. The moment he turns, JJ comes face to face with Rafe. Fuck.

“What’s up Pogues?”

“What’s up, Rafe?” JJ casually replies, walking backwards with Pope as Rafe approaches steadfast. He won’t let on that he’s scared - learnt that from his dad. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

As Pope tries to make a run for it, Topper emerges, Kelce in tow. “Hey that was some nice work you did on my boat!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Pope fumbles.

JJ assesses the situation. Three on two. Pope isn’t the strongest fighter. No gun. Yeah, the odds are not stacked in their favour.

“Not so burly without a gun now, are you?” Rafe taunts.

JJ’s jaw ticks, his anger rising with his annoyance. The adrenaline is pumping and working its usual magic. Bring it on, pussy. I can take a few licks - it’s my birth-right.

“Take one more step and I’ll rip that prepubescent face off,” JJ warns through clenched teeth. He watches as Topper approaches Pope leisurely.

“Hey Pope, do you feel good about yourself, stealing shit? Is your mom proud of you? Is your dad proud of you?”

Pope slams his head into Topper’s upper chest and pride swills through JJ. “Attaboy! Attaboy!” He grabs his friend’s shoulder, lifting his clenched fist. “Now with your fist, see?”

With that, Rafe claims him. They begin to get in a dust-up. JJ takes the first few punches; each one that lands on his cheek brings searing hot pain that quickly vanishes with shock. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. He taps into the pit inside of him, deep and angry and bitter. His self-hatred, for all the shit he put you through, for all the shit his dad and mom pegged on him…Throws his own punches, then. Wrestles too. Blood begins to draw. Lips crack open. Eyebrows split. But then it’s two on one: Kelce grabbing at him, holding him steady so Rafe can just lay into him. JJ’s winded as Rafe’s fist meets his stomach. He collapses in Kelce’s hold as Rafe right hooks him. And every hit, JJ takes like it’s his earnt punishment.

“Come on, Rafe,” JJ provokes through the agonising pain. “That all you got?”

“Let go of him Topper! You fascist asshole!”

Kiara. She helps Pope first, hitting Topper with JJ’s backpack. At least, that’s what JJ sees through the double vision. The backpack. The gun. Topper grabs it off her and tosses it, and then JJ’s too busy getting the shit beaten out of him to see what follows. It’s all just noise. Blends almost cinematically with the sound of the old-timey movie playing. At some point, it even sounds like there’s a dog barking. Blood fills his mouth like he’s at some sadistic dentist surgery. Pain numbs his nerve endings and softens his muscles. Air becomes a rarity as he’s held in a headlock, half-strangled.

“Let go of them right now!”

Everyone goes still. JJ only notices because he finally has a second to catch his breath, gasping as the arm around his throat loosens just slightly. He opens his eyes, desperate to get his vision steady, and…no fucking way.

There you stand like some designer vigilante heroine. Hair perfect, as always, with not a strand out of place; jewellery to the nines; make-up enhancing your gorgeous features. In your hand, clasped between perfectly manicured nails, is JJ’s gun. It’s pointed directly at Rafe’s forehead.

Rafe laughs. “What? That supposed to scare me or something?”

You grit your teeth, harden your stare, and remain stoic and strong in your stance. Rafe just quirks a brow, a sick smile twisting upwards.

“Oh, what, you’re gonna be the hero here? Why don’t you just run back to your daddy and mind your own fucking business?”

“Let. Them. Go.”

JJ realises then that Ranger is standing by your side. He’s growling, looking feral like Cujo, salivating at the mouth, death-glare set on Kelce who still holds JJ in a headlock. Your command and Kelce might lose a leg.

“What’s it to you?” Topper snaps.

“They’re my friends.”

Okay, no, JJ must have fucking blacked out or something. In the brain damage caused by Rafe, he’s seeing things. You’re his own guardian angel that his dying brain has conjured - that is the only explanation.

All of the Kooks laugh. “Your friends?”

“I won’t ask you again,” you darkly warn, not a spit of humour in your voice.

Rafe whistles lowly. He mockingly raises his hands to his head in surrender. Shares a laugh with Topper and Kelce. It vanishes the minute you unclip the safety.

“You wouldn’t,” Rafe tells you.

Slowly, maleficently, the faintest shadow of a smirk forms on your lip-glossed mouth. “You really want to test that theory?”

And that, ladies and gentleman, is how JJ Maybank ended up in the most insane predicament of his life. Nobody knows what you’re going to do next: not JJ, and probably not even you. As JJ waits, his eyes dart down to Ranger. The very thing that started all of this.

Rafe sniffs. He juts his head at Kelce. When Kelce finally lets JJ go, Topper does the same with Pope. Kiara helps Pope up. JJ leans over, hands on his knees, coughing and gasping in air.

“You’re gonna regret this, you know that? Better keep a fucking eye out, princess,” Rafe warns you as he saunters away with his posse. If JJ wasn’t on the brink of passing out, he’d lay him out for even looking at you.

The minute the three Kooks round the screen, acting as if nothing even happened, you drop the gun on the backpack and race over to JJ. It’s hard not to flinch after his moments-before assault when you clutch his shoulders. He realises that you’re shaking. Hears in the quiver of your voice how shit-scared you are.

“Oh my God! Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

No and no.

“Do you need to sit down? What should I–”

No, definitely don’t sit down.

“Come on - we need to go,” Kiara tells you. She has Pope’s weight on her.

You seem to copy, taking her guidance from her years of experience with hanging with the guys, and guide JJ away from the scene of the crime. You grab the backpack as you go, the gun shoved inside (safety now on). Ranger licks anxiously at JJ’s hand, whining in worry.

“I’m alright, boy,” JJ lies to the dog in a slur.

swirling, becoming blacker and blacker with every step. His body is screaming for rest and reprieve. He vaguely overhears you tell Kie where you’re parked. Lets you half-drag him to your ride. The minute JJ’s helped into the backseat, safe in the smell of you, he blacks out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first thing JJ notices when he wakes up is how much his head hurts. There’s a headache above his brows, similar to that which you get when hungover. It feels like his brain was a ping pong ball, rattled around in there for hours on end. Sniffing, he groans as he tries to sit up. There’s a hand pushing him back down to the bed gently.

“Just lie still, for now,” you say softly. “No sudden movements, okay?”

JJ groans again, eyes pressed shut. At the sensation of a straw pressing against his lips, he drinks.

“Open your mouth,” you say after he swallows. JJ does as he’s told, in too much pain to argue. You give him a few pills - presumably painkillers - and help him chase them with water. “I’ll be right back.”

JJ must fall back asleep. When he comes to for the second time, the pain in his head is significantly lessened, as are all the general aches and pains of his body. He dreads the idea of looking in a mirror: he’s probably black and blue. Saying that, it’s not like it’s an unfamiliar state to him. Opening his eyes, he immediately recognises your bedroom. As if on cue, you walk through the door, a mug of what must be steaming hot tea in hand. When your eyes meet his, a relieved smile comes to your face.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he rasps.

Making your way over, tea deposited on the bedside table, you take the seat next to him. Shit, no wonder he was sleeping so well. Your bed is like sponge cake.

“How you feeling?”

“Like shit,” JJ grunts. You stifle a laugh. Shifting to sit up, his brows furrow as last night comes back to him, piece by piece. “Did I…Was I hallucinating, or did you save our ass?”

“Mmm, I might have maybe just saved your ass,” you innocently reply.

Shaking his head, JJ rubs tiredly at his face.

“I’m not even going to ask what Rafe and his gang of fairies were angry about.”

“Yeah, that’s probably the best idea,” JJ cringes.

He finally braves holding your gaze. There’s a distance there - a reluctance to be fully present - and JJ knows it’s because of him.

“That was really ballsy, what you did,” he tells you.

“It's nothing,” you quietly reply.

“You’re probably going to lose your Kook card now.”

“Never liked it that much in the first place,” you say with a half-smile.

JJ silently laughs, shaking his head, mesmerised. He was so wrong about you. About all of it. “I was, uh...kind of a dick to you.”

“Yeah…”

“And…you were right,” he mumbles.

Brows lifting slightly, a small, amused smile teases your lips. “What was that sorry?”

“You were right,” he repeats, no louder.

Leaning in, a finger to your ear, you say, “one more time, I didn't quite catch it.”

“Fuck off,” JJ groans, shoving you away with hardly any force.

You snort out a laugh. The moment the humour passes, you look back to him. He feels as though he can hear your thoughts. Your anger and annoyance and insecurity and pain. He hears it all in the emotion swimming through your eyes. So, he nods.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, JJ,” you whisper.

One of his hairs falls into his face. Before he can react, you’re leaning forward, brushing it out the way. JJ captures your wrist quickly, keeping you near, almost panicked that if you move even a millimetre away, he’ll lose you forever. In that same frenzy, desperate to have you close, he forces out the three words he’s never let himself say to anyone. Ever.

“I love you.”

Face an exact replica of the one you made that day on the beach, you blink at him. Once, then twice. JJ nods again.

“I just…I can’t…It doesn’t…”

“I know,” you say, forehead bumping against his own as you lean down. Then, in a whisper, you add, “I know. It’s okay.”

JJ sniffs, suddenly overcome with emotion, and nods against you. As his eyes press shut, you kiss him. It’s slightly salty with tears but no less welcome. He winces as your hand cups his jaw. Kisses you through your mumbled apology against his lips.

And as the two of you kiss, JJ realises that this was all it ever had to be. It was never that complicated, never that layered, because all that mattered was you. Wonderfully, princess-perfect, Kook-turned-Pogue you.

#jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj #obx #outer banks #obx fic #jj x kook!reader #kook!reader #jj maybank x kook!reader #obx kook #kook x pogue

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