valentinevirgo - Tumblr blog

valentinevirgo · 13 hours ago

Text

small things like these.

pairing. clark kent x male reader.

word count. 12.2k.

summary. a moment like having a cup of overly-sweet, sugary coffee spill all over you was one of the reasons why you'd been charmed by a clumsy man named clark kent.

content warning. fluff, eventual smut, corenswet!clark, top!clark, bottom!reader, strangers to lovers, brief lois lane mention, yearning!friends, clark has a sweet tooth, kissing, rimming, blowjobs, praising, sweet verbal, size difference, body worship, breeding, sweet and passionate love-making!

a/n. i recommend listening to the normal people soundtrack while reading!

I: MAY.

It all started with a crash.

The smell of gasoline was poisoning. Cars were lined up like dominos, passing gas from one engine to another, and the scent was festering in Clark’s nostrils, its rotting smell seemingly quadrupled by the summer heat. That was the charm of the city. The smell, and the constant scream of car horns as traffic began piling up. In the eyes of his folks, Clark can see his Ma and Pa doubting his sanity had they ever witnessed Metropolis. His Ma would shake her head in disapproval at the size of his apartment, and his Pa would be overstimulated into disbelief as the trio held hands and swam their way through the swarm of people who were simultaneously being chased in pursuit by one reminder:

FASTER! YOU’RE RUNNING LATE!

“Oh, crap—“ Hugging the coffee cup to his chest after switching arms, Clark rolled his sleeve up to check his watch. Quarter to nine. “Crap, crap, crap, crap!” Panic finally set in, charging Clark forward into the sunny abyss of office-workers.

This would be the last time he would grab coffee right before work. He’d paid for the consequences already by nearly missing his morning meeting multiple times. Heavy emphasis on nearly as his shoes would audibly skid from turning from one corner to another upon the race he had against the clock, as the slippery leather of his shoes would nearly make him take a tumble if he hadn’t corrected his footing once he began sprinting to his cubicle, and as he sat down in the uncomfortable seat of his chair, only to rise back up once Mr. White made his entrance, nearly missing roll-call. Out of relief, Clark would take a sip of his Frappuccino. The whipped cream deflated from the race, though its vanilla flavor was unaffected as the foam happily danced on his tongue, mixing deliciously with the sweetened coffee. he would feel himself replenished with energy the more sips he took. “Damn you…” He would gulp, licking the vanilla foam off his lips, repentant in his mutter, “Why do you taste so good? Right when I’m supposed to let you go, you reel me back in…”

Clark was a certified Metropolitan.

“Sorry—I’m sorry—‘Scuse me! Passing through—“

Nearly there. The man was a mountain of muscle, sturdy and well-knit upon first glance, but Clark used his muscles for good, to protect others in situations where they needed him for leverage, not to harm. Upon instinct, he turned a shoulder for a woman to pass through, sparing little contact, then another when a father chased after his kid. It was hectic, his cup of coffee almost losing his grasp in midst of the scuffle, but Clark managed to find a silver lining in the crowd in midst of the clock ticking: the revolving door to the Daily Planet, an entrance Clark has become irrevocably beholden to.

“S-sorry!”

A man yelled out, “Watch it, asshole!” In midst of bumping shoulders.Few met his height. Many would either desire to have his height, or to be in the arms of the man who towered over 6’4. Though, in the morning of Metropolis, most if not all deemed it a nuisance.

Breaking out of the herd of people, Clark felt liberated. His legs moved in larger steps, and his elbows spanned from his sides like how they normally should as he ran into the revolving door and pushed against the partition to turn. He checked his watch again. Three minutes left. “Come on, come on—“ One hand squeezed his cup of coffee, and the other clasped his ID badge. His fingers felt slippery from the condensation of his drink, so he squeezed harder, pacing forward to the elevator, then faster when the elevator opened with only a single patron, you, occupying the space.

Faster.

Clark’s thighs were on fire.

His watch, two minutes.

Faster. Almost there.

Clark let out one last breath as he was nearing, holding it out in preparation to stop the elevator door from closing. A relief of a smile came to spread across his face when it opened to accommodate his charging entrance from a few feet away. Usually, he was met by an expression of irritation by anybody who was occupying the elevator, but you looked bewildered, your eyes opening wide milliseconds later upon realization.

Fear, as your mouth opened to shout, “W-wait! S-slow down!”

It was all in slow motion, watching your face contort to a various of expressions, and then nothing, as Clark clenched the cup of his drink with the force akin to batter hitting a home-run, popping the lid off the cup in process, and spilling the Frappuccino onto the frightened man, with extra vanilla whipped cream and all. All you needed as a cherry on top of your head, and you were ready to be sold as a Monday lunch special.

Maybe his beginner’s luck was running out of flame.

II: MAY.

Luckily, not many people seemed to use the bathroom in the morning. They must’ve gotten it all out of their system before coming to work. You were bent over the sink, wiping your face with god-knows how many paper towels.

“Just my luck…” You grumbled, squinting at your reflection in the mirror as you wiped the corners of your eyes, then your forehead, and then your ears. No matter how many times you’d lave your face with water, you felt sticky, gross, and worst of all, you looked like a mess. You still had your hair and clothes to clean, the smell of vanilla syrup sickening to your nose. The latter was definitely going to require an insane amount of bleach and arm grease to get the coffee stain off.

The door swung open not too long after, and in came the culprit who’d painted your clothes in brown and white, wide-eyed and panicked like he was searching for a lost puppy, then apologetic and defenseless as if he was the puppy that ran away.

“Shoot, I’m so, so, so sorry—“ He brought his hands to his head, pulling at the messy dark curls of his hair. You side-eyed him, responding with nothing but silence, and then a crinkle of the paper towel as you squeezed out the water.

“Save it.” Your tone was pointed, though you didn’t necessarily mean for it to come across as aggressive as it did. It was already a bad start to your day. Your milk expired, you ran out of frozen breakfast food, and the bakery you liked to visit in the mornings temporarily closed for renovations. All forewarnings to this very moment, where you had been cleaning whipped cream out of your hair. You held out another damp paper towel towards the man, and then waved it when he simply stared, or rather embarrassingly gawked at the mess he had created. “Get my neck.”

“Y-yeah… Of course.”

Silence. You weren’t sure how long you two have been at it, but you’ve managed to fill the trash can half-way with the paper towels. In complete, utterly awkward silence. His touch was delicate, the paper towel gently cascading over your neck in small swipes, even though you’d shown him that you were more than capable to pierce through him with your glare alone. Laser beams would ricochet off your reflection, bounce off the tiled walls of the bathroom, and somehow strike him through the heart and tear that oversized vest right off of his large frame.

The anger only settled when the man repeated his nth apology, moving onto wipe your hair clean. You closed your eyes to calm yourself, breathing out a deep sigh, because it was a mistake. You were having a bad start to your day, and… so was he? Wouldn’t be a surprise. Mondays were notorious in fucking up the week.

“It’s… fine. Not like you meant to do that.” You looked at him through the reflection, his brows scrunched from hyper-fixating on every lock of hair that was blessed with his whipped cream. Was he always this handsome? And why is he towering over you? Why is he so close?

“Who gets a Frappe in the morning though?”

“I—Black coffee doesn’t really help me stay awake.” A nervous laughter now that you were making conversation with him. It was the complete opposite of how he physically looked. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. “Nor does it taste that good.” He muttered, cleaning the last lock of your hair.

“I would tell you to watch your sugar, but I’m guessing… you got that down?” You didn’t mean to make a comment on his broad body, but the difference in stature was laughable. “(M/N). You?”

“I-Uh, Clark. Clark Kent.” He washed his hands in the sink next to you, lips opening to what you could presume to be another apology. You’ve only met him for fifteen minutes, but you were beginning to catch his habits.

“Okay, Clark.” You stepped forward, crossing your arms, and you could feel the rattle of his gaze as he glanced at you from the reflection. “I work downstairs, at the gift shop. You can apologize by bringing me lunch for a month straight.”

“Wait—A month?! T-that’s kind of expensive, don’t you think—“

“Hey, you can make it yourself. Get it from the supermarket. Scraps from a restaurant’s garage bin nearby. I don’t really care.” You leaned against the counter, stifling a smile as Clark looked rather charming flustered like this. “If you were really sorry, you’d be committed to making up for it nonetheless.”

“That’s a little extreme for someone you don’t know…?”

You shrugged, then turned on your heel. “Spilling a drink on someone isn’t exactly an ideal way to introduce yourself, you know.” Dusting your fingers of water droplets, you began your exit. “Also, I need a new shirt.”

“W-wait—“

“See ya, Mark!”

“It’s Clark!”

Maybe his luck was just beginning.

III: JULY.

“So…? Ready to guess?” The smile on Clark’s face was filled with anticipation. He watched you chew the contents in your mouth in an obnoxiously poised manner, an inside joke between the two of you as you two had been binging on cooking competition shows. You tilted your head in thought like the pretentious judge on one of those shows, pausing mid-chew like something strange had collided with your tastebuds, then continued as if it had faded away. “Come on, I’m dying here.”

You swallowed, taking a sip of water to wash down the bread. “Hey, I need more than a bite to figure the ingredients out!”

“(M/N), you’ve practically eaten half of the sandwich already.” Clark took his half of the sandwich and sank his teeth into the pillowy bread.

“Look who’s talking.” You rolled a piece of white bread in between your thumb and index finger until it formed a ball, and playfully threw it at Clark’s shoulder. “I didn’t get to eat dinner last night.”

It was a strange feeling in Clark when you said that. His chest swelled a little, as if his heart kicked it from within. “Why’s that?” He slowed his chewing to clear his ears, putting aside his tastebuds for his attention.

“Well, they’re expanding the gift shop, so they’re asking me to work longer hours to help out. No one else said yes, and I need the money, so there was no question about it, you know?” He watched you dust off your fingers on a napkin. He knew of your habits now. Take a sip of your water, which you did, then fully settle your arms onto the table, unabashedly gazing into his eyes to give your tastebuds a break. His eyes altered to the tip of your tongue, peeking out to lick a crumb off your lip, and Clark mirrored onto himself.

It was a secret vaulted in the deep abyss of Clark’s stomach - well, not so much considering Jimmy liked to run his mouth - but your eyes were his favorite parts about you. Even when they were seemingly set aflame on the day he’d met you, your orbs have since had a way to reel him in like bait and never seemed to have let go. He would find himself free-falling into what soon felt closer to home with every second that would pass by.

“Doesn’t mean you have to skip dinner, though.”

There was a breeze. Gentle and swaying like the jazz music playing in the balcony of the café. It sifted through your hair like sugar would through fine mesh. One got caught on a few strands—wind— and it blew back to recognize your features with the sun, beaming on features that Clark would someday have the courage to say he adored.

“Why? You thinking about bringing me dinner too?” He doesn’t like that you tease him so effortlessly. Clark also doesn’t like how easily flustered he gets, which prompts the cycle of teasing to begin with.

With hesitation, he tried it himself once, saying something about how you looked good enough to eat or something when you styled your hair back for a change. Though, what came out was something along the lines of: “You look like you eat good enough,” and Clark would rather forget that interaction even happening.

“Haven’t stopped bringing you lunch, if you think about it.” The memory of his first meeting with you brought a smile to his lips, and yours as well, because you two tend to sync thoughts.

“Yeah, two months now… When’s that going to stop?”

“It’s a routine now. I don’t think I can find it in me to suddenly stop feeding you.”

“Hm, you’d make a good boyfriend, Clark.”

“Yeah…”

IV: AUGUST.

“Nervous?”

The powdery top note of your hairspray tickled your senses. You counted in your head, holding back a layer of Clark’s hair in your palm. One, two, three, four… Once you reached thirty, you released, sealing the pushed back fringe in place with another layer of the grooming product.

“How can you tell? Do I look nervous?!” He’d been chewing on his lip, playing with his fingers, moving in his seat. It was like a toddler, but unlike a toddler, Clark was an adult. An adult who had enough awareness to refrain from making any sudden movements while someone had a scalding hot styling iron in their hand.

“Clark, you haven’t stopped shaking your leg since you sat down—“ You delicately pulled a curly strand to the front of his forehead, and it was another reminder how easily Clark could pursue a career in Hollywood. If only journalism hadn’t been such a strong passion for him. Though, with the way his nerves had been electrifying his body—maybe he made the right call in the end.

“Oh—Sorry… I’m just—I don’t know. What if I mess up? I say the wrong thing to Lois, and then she hates me forever? Then what? She tells the entire office about what a terrible—”

“Whoa, I think you’re thinking way too far ahead here. What happened to you being Mister Optimistic all the time?” You ushered him to get up from the seat, and then handed Clark his dress shirt and tie. “Besides, I don’t think Lois would do that. If you like her, that must mean she has some type of soul.”

“I guess so.” Clark muttered, changing into his shirt. Perfectly tailored to his body contrary to the oversized button-downs he was used to wearing. “You wanna hang out after?”

“Uh… you sure you’re going to be free? And not… you know,” Your brows raised, giving Clark a knowing look, and it was that flush of skin that you secretly adored coming in hot, boiling on the apples of his cheeks as Clark quickly deciphered what you meant.

“I don’t sleep with people on the first date, (M/N).” It was priceless. The horror on Clark’s face upon the accusation, his orbs retracting like he’d seen a spaceship landing on earth for the first time. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud at his confession while tidying up his living room.

“I know a lot of people do! I just had to make sure.” You waited on the couch as Clark changed, replying to missed messages, scrolling through updates on multiple social media accounts, until you heard Clark approach from behind.

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat, announcing his presence, and you turned upon the sound. “Looks okay?”

It was Clark.

It was Clark, but a more refined version of him. Not that he was sloppy in the first place, but simply… you could see him clearer, his own confidence radiating like it had finally discovered an escape to its freedom. His eyes, clear blues that sparkled even when the approaching night began casting shadows through his blinds and onto his glasses. It helped that you styled his hair back too, framing his face for the whole world to admire, and most importantly, for his date to as well. You reminded him to stand tall, and he took that into consideration through his posture straightening, and his chin raising.

“Y-yeah, you look… great.” It was infectious. His smile while he admired himself through his mirror. His dimples smiled back at him, and you felt your own lips curling on their own, like you’ve eaten a candy that was too sweet for its own good. “Lois is going to love it.”

Cavity-inducing.

“Yeah? Oh—I have to pick her up soon. So, you’ll be here, right?! I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if it goes well—“ Clark let out one last breath, then a shake of his arms, and he found his nerves rattling up again despite as he approached the door.

Ten steps closer than before to Lois.

“It’ll go well, I promise!” It was his moment. Clark’s moment. Yet, you felt weird about it. You wanted to look at him for longer, a sudden greed to keep him in his apartment for longer.

“All right… wish me luck.” He turned to look back at you, appreciative in his smile, but his eyes looked guilty, meaningfully longing akin to the way he had looked when he spilled his drink on you.

That’s right.

“Good luck.” Apologetic, you remembered when he finally exited the room, and closed it shut.

Clark gave you cavities.

And like all cavities, you needed to get rid of them.

You needed to get rid of Clark.

V: DECEMBER.

It was partially his fault, wasn’t it?

There was no doubt in mind that you and Clark have been spending less time together. Clark was never a big texter, but he found himself messaging you a lot more often to make up for the fact that he had rarely seen you the past few weeks. Lunch was spent with Lois, dinner was with Lois, drinks were with Lois, binge-watching TV… with Lois.

“You’re always talking about Lois…”

It was why he preferred meeting up, because you never answered your phone, especially these days. If he was lucky, you’d spare him more than four messages a day before saying goodnight.

You never liked saying goodnight, and neither did Clark. By preference, Clark liked to fall asleep on the phone with you where he would catch your snores, and the embarrassment of it all would keep you awake for a little longer, at least until it was Clark’s turn to retiring for the night. It felt safe, knowing that he wasn’t - to some extent - alone in his bed. That he could mumble your name in his sleep, and you’d toss in bed, his voice ricocheting off into your own dreams.

It felt intimate.

“Hey, give me a call whenever you get back. Lois and I found this really cool aquarium you’d really like! I got a turtle keychain for you too.”

“(M/N)? Hey, I totally forgot about dinner last night! Work’s gotten so busy, and then Lois wanted to go out, and my parents were calling, so—Let me make it up to you? We can go to that diner you’ve been talking about.”

“Hey, (M/N)! Didn’t see you at the shop today… Doing okay? Not sure if you got the sandwich I left for you on the counter. Or maybe someone had stolen it. But text me? Let me know?”

“It’s Clark. Why am I telling you—I saw you the other day, but… you seemed like you were in a rush? I’m guessing renovation is taking a toll on you? Give me a call…”

“Hey, uh… Listen, If I did something… Will you let me know, please? I-I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening here, between us, but… I just. I miss—”

Clark didn’t want to seem obsessive. Absolutely not.

But this was getting out-of-hand. He was panicking. He’d been panicking for the past few weeks since this whole charade had started. It was only right for him to worry like this, about his best friend. To go from aligning his lunch breaks with yours to sitting stone-faced at his cubicle with a half-eaten sandwich in his Tupperware was a huge disruption to his routine. It was like the world had turned against him in solidarity. Knowing his own mind, Clark deserved it.

There had been a farrago of missteps, too many of them to count, for Clark to simply shrug it off and see the silver lining through them for the next day, for the next week, or for the next month. It wasn’t like before he’d met you, where he would simply get caught in a long line of office workers waiting for their coffee, and then received a free pastry because they had messed up his order twice. Or how he would sleep through his alarms, where his body clock fortunately alerted him awake before traffic would begin to dominate the streets.

No, this was different.

He’d earned a raise since then, for his great work on profiling the Superman, but it was all he did now. When it wasn’t Superman, it was being Superman, and Clark wished there was someone to talk to. To celebrate with, now that he can splurge a bit more on himself. To vent towards, about how it was obvious that he’d been holding Lois back since their relationship started. To shout with while he watched a movie because the killer had been in the main character’s house all along. To lament towards, because Lois had called it quits, yet in spite of that, it wasn’t as painful as the way you had been treating him. To scream out the month’s omen with, because maintaining this double-life of his was wearing him down.

Moments of happiness, catapulting his memories of you with laughter and warmth, had felt like a wound. A piece of him was broken. He felt hollowed out - a pineapple without its core - more so than ever, losing you as quickly as he had became friends with you, as quickly as he had fallen for you. Spineless, if he just watched you slip out his fingers and float away.

He needed to bring you back. He needed to tie you around his wrist like a balloon, like how his Ma and Pa would when they took him to the fair as a kid. At least if you float away again, he’d chase after you like he should’ve the first time.

If luck was on his side, you’d let him hold your hand and cruise the winter sky together. And if a miracle was in the palms of Clark Kent, he’d reckon voyaging the four seasons as one would turn over a new leaf.

VI: DECEMBER.

The air was frigid. The glass pane of your window shivered against the cold, frost webbing your reflection from corner to corner as you peered out into the city. Noses red and cheeks flushed, symptoms of the freezing cold as they endured the walk home. Careful steps across the sidewalk, into the street, as flakes of white fell to the earth.

For an alien, it would summon silence. Those sparkling crests that would melt upon contact—an invasion they would yell in terror as the flakes seeped into their skin like acid. But for humans, people like you, it brought laughter. Giggles pierced the air, couples holding each other close to gather heat, but to also keep each other from slipping, and the world had only felt warmer despite the snow’s best efforts.

Your smile reflected off the joy radiating off of multiple passersby. Kids with their guardians. Dogs with their owners. Parents with their own parents. The holiday was nearing, spirits ramping in midst. As the streets emptied, leaving you in nothing but the cruel howl of the wind, you couldn’t bring yourself to caring about your favorite celebration. There was little need for your participation if you didn’t have anyone to spend it with.

To be completely honest, it was your fault.

Clark was happy. He was happy to have someone who shared the same interest in him. He was happy that Lois could bring the best out of him, either out of his work or out of his personal ambitions. Lois would make Clark the man his parents would be proud to see after silently agonizing over months on whether the city would be good for him. He was happy to share this new chapter in his life with you, and you had little patience to see him blossom.

You couldn’t bear it, knowing that it could’ve been you.

God, you were being childish. This felt like high school all over again, except… not really considering you weren’t out in high school. You’ve watched enough coming-of-age films to know that the audience would’ve deemed you immature. Worst of all, you would’ve vented to Clark about how foolish the main character was being.

Your romantic experience had been limited to silently crushing on guys in your classes to hooking up with strangers through an app. Maybe that explained why you were acting out. Why you preferred isolating yourself from the root of your happiness instead of surrounding yourself with it. When was the last time you were ever in love? With the family dog? With her puppies? No, actually in love… with a person, with a man.

“Fuck.” The ice cream in your mouth suddenly stung the back of your jaw the longer the spoon sat in your mouth. You’ve been looping Clark’s voice messages, debating on whether it was too late to reconcile, whether he was too upset at you to even want to have you step a foot inside of his apartment.

“I miss you. I really miss you.”

You winced, groaning in discomfort, tensing your jaw as the voice message looped like some kind of hypnotic spell. “I miss you. I really miss you. Miss you. Miss. You. (M/N). I miss you.”

The sweetness bulldozed your molars. It was unbearable. You tended to your cheek, holding onto it as you hastily slipped on your coat and beanie.

Throbbing. Your gums.

Your hand yanked the door open, and you marched outside, into the blanket of snow.

Beating. Your heart.

The cavity was returning, and you needed Clark’s help.

VII: DECEMBER.

Clark had mixed feelings seeing you at his doorstep.

This was not how it was supposed to go. He was the one that was supposed to be drenched from the snow. Shivering like an unkempt toy, with severed electrical currents making him twitch at the modest breeze, at the welcoming warmth. He peered down at you, where you met his gaze. Clark registered a broken and a contrite heart, and he could only respond in complete silence. Frozen in place because the visit was unexpected, but also because you made his heart swell to the point of nearing combustion, and it took all his might to control himself from pulling you into a hug.

“Hi.” You sniffed, wiping your runny nose. There was a stark contrast between your body temperature and Clark’s, he could feel the frost biting his own skin.

“Hi…” Clark took a step closer, but he couldn’t cross the distance between you and him, halting as if there was an ice barrier. No, control yourself, Clark. “I—Come in.”

A wet layer of skin; narrow hills from your eye bags, past the apple of your cheeks, and down to your chin. Crystals would form along your tears if you hadn’t insistent on wiping them clean. You never liked being vulnerable with him. With anyone, for that matter.

Clark stepped aside to welcome you in. You passed one glance at him, hesitant and apprehensive, but the warmth reeled you in, one shoe at a time. He was so close to you. Your arm nearly brushed against his, close enough as if it had almost nudged his elbow.

“You’re freezing—I-I’ll make some coffee.” He headed towards his kitchen, then paused to glance back at you, resembling the skittish reporter you first met as his indecisiveness staggered his following steps. “No, Tea? Hot water? I don’t know—“

“Clark, that can wait… Uh, how about we talk… first?” Clark could see it. He could see how you felt like a stranger in his apartment, a place he’d nearly asked you to move in as his roommate considering you spent so much time here.

You carefully took off your coat, and Clark immediately went to your aide to gather it into his arms and put it on the coat rock. Though, not before letting the smell of your cologne linger in his nose, because god, he missed this.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s… talk.” He gestured towards his couch, tidying up the sweater that was beginning to feel constricting on his body.

Other than a tiny Christmas tree hiding in the corner of his living room, not much had changed. Everything was right where you’d last seen it, including a polaroid Clark took of you and taped to his ‘Wall of Memories.’

Out of instinct, you sat at your side of the couch, and Clark sat to the left, right beside you. Your palms ran over the cotton upholstery, then paused when your finger dipped into a ripped hole you had accidentally created when you two were watching a horror film.

“So… how are you?” Clark was staring. He didn’t mean to, but seeing you beside him felt… unreal. Maybe he was dreaming. The space next to your hand looked inviting, so his own hand naturally found its place, laying it there with his pinky finger barely grazing yours. You’re real. His pinky twitched when your finger brushed against the tip, and you pulled away. No, no. Come back.

“I’m good, well—long story, but…” You sighed, and Clark was patient as you took a moment to gather your thoughts. It was unlike you. Not that it was bad, but it was extremely attractive how outspoken you could be, especially regarding subjects you were passionate about. It was like you rode the ocean waves, swam with large strokes because you had a goal in mind, to convince Clark that mint chocolate chip was the best flavor of ice cream and whatnot.

“Before we catch up, I’m sorry… I don’t really know what I was doing, but it was my fault. I’m childish, I know that. I pushed you away because I was jealous… of Lois. And—please don’t hate me, but I hated how you looked at her. And how she looked at you.“ You breathed, your eyes casted downward like you were ashamed of being capable of human emotions. Then they clenched, because you heard how incredibly thoughtless you were being, yet that didn’t stop the tears from forming.

“And I was supposed to be happy for you, Clark. I mean, I knew I didn’t have a chance to be with you, but I somehow convinced myself that one day, you’d look at me with the same amount of affection you’d look at Lois. I would wait, and wait, and it was getting… painful. I mean, who am I kidding? I should’ve let you adjust first before growing impatient, but it felt like I was being replaced, and I was afraid of the inevitable, Clark—“

Now, you were floating. And out of fear, Clark felt his hand come alive, and spider close to your hand again. Tie him before it’s too late. It was up to Clark to change the trajectory of your descent. The pinkie that had lain next to your own crossed over and locked over yours. The barrier of ice that had been building between the two of you shattered into a million shard and he was frozen. A million of them pierced into Clark’s skin when he took your hand into his, and the clasp of your hand into his had bonded.

“Clark, what—“ Your eyes widened, letting in fragments of Christmas lights to highlight the glossy sheen of the tears welling in your sight.

Without questioning it, Clark pulled you into his chest and felt the crumbled wetness stain his sweater. One by one, his fingers loosened to let go of your hand to support your body with his arms. Strong, thick arms wrapped around your body, fitted snug against you like a vest. There wasn't any resistance from your end, so he held you longer, then tighter in case you’d let go of him.

It had never felt so good holding someone’s weight.

Two hearts pulsed against one another, and then as one as Clark buried his head into your neck in silence, while you rested your cheek against his shoulder. You clutched yearningly at his back, and Clark ran his palm over yours. Completely different motions, yet they told the same story, the same ending.

“I missed you.” In harmony, Clark’s voice mixed with yours. Clark often marveled at it, how often he came into sync with you as a pair. Another, when you mustered up the remaining energy to blindly breathe out a sweet laugh against his neck, and he followed, his soft lips inking your skin with a grin.

He didn’t want the hug to end, but it had to sooner or later. Clark needed to see you, as much as he needed to touch you. Releasing you from his hold, he settled for the middle. Large hands found their way back to the vacancy of your own pair and he leaned his forehead against yours, watching your eyes come back into focus as you gazed upwards, officially sharing his yearning.

“What are we doing, Clark?” It was dangerous. There was a heat to his cheeks that needed to connect with the one festering on your own. A dryness to your lips that needed a fresh paint of balm. Clark silently leaned closer, yet your gaze steadied, like you were silently anticipating something. “Lois…”

“We’re not together anymore.” He revealed once to his parents, and that was that. It was a strange feeling bringing up his relationship with Lois again, considering they’d both healed from it and moved on as friends. It was better that way, felt better too.

Your lips parted for another question, but Clark was quick to answer. “November...”

“I’m sorry—“ Undeniably, Clark’s patience had run its course. He didn’t spare a single second for you to catch your breath. Instead, letting gravity pull the weight of his head until his nose pressed against yours. Multiple forewarning bumps to your septum that made you crease your nostrils, a charming expression he’d later marvel over.

Clark allowed himself to sink further into you, applying all of his weight to push you back into the cushions of his couch to then finally capture your lips for one yearning kiss. It was cathartic. He’d wanted this for months. His mouth on yours, his hand into yours, and now that it was finally occurring, Clark wanted to savor the moment. Your body was reacting prosperously, opening your legs to close the distance between Clark’s body and yours. You wrapped them around his hips, condensing him groin to groin. Gentle tremors rattled down Clark’s spine as he pressed into you, mouth and hip, stirring wondrous feelings that ignited from the bonded bodies. First with the utmost uncertainty, then with a starry vehemence upon catching your delightful little sounds in his lips, in his mouth, on his tongue. He swallowed, releasing your hands to tuck his left beneath your head. A cushion, or a reminder to him, as his thumb carefully caressed your cheek, that this was real, that this was happening. You gasped, occupying your free hands around his neck because you felt yourself slipping. Whether it was off the couch, or from your original state of delusion, Clark was going to catch you no matter what.

“I love you.” Scratch that, he was never going to let you go. Not this time. You had no doubts about that as he repeated those three words into your mouth like you needed convincing, then kissed you again to lock his stubborn pleas in place. His glasses bumped against your face, but the feeling of his mouth on yours felt too good for you to complain.

A breather, you pulled away soon because Clark was stealing your oxygen, and you needed to tell him before you would embarrassingly faint from overdosing on the simplicity of his kisses. You took one look at him, gently pushing his head back before your hands had taken his cheeks hostage and cupped them, analyzing what made you fall for him in the first place. Thick dark curls that fell gently over his forehead. Clark’s eyes fluttered shut when your fingers ran through them, the pressure of his scalp gratifying like a long stretch in the morning. Wide frames that were too big for Clark’s face, but had he gone any smaller, they would’ve completely hid the beautiful blues of his eyes. You straightened the crook of his glasses, grinning because the bewildered look on his face resembled a puppy’s. His physical appearance made your heart skip more than a couple of beats, yes, but it wasn’t the main attribution to your attraction.

Your hand trailed from his neck, to his chest, then to his heart. Boiling, his heart was pulsating rapidly like yours, and you sighed.

Because it was here. This was why you fell in love with him.

“I love you.”

His heart was making popcorn, and the scorching heat was rising to Clark’s cheeks. “Thank, god.”

Clark pressed one kiss to each of your palm before leaning back into you, and continuing where he left off. Your laughter was eaten up by his mouth. Suddenly ticklish as Clark catapulted your lips with an uncontrollable laughter of his own. His body shook with yours, heart pounding at one’s chest to bond with the other as he held you close once again.

Nothing was funny. Just simply relieving.

Now tighter, drawing you into his arms when the collective laughter was enough for the couch to move a nudge and roll your intertwined bodies onto his floor. Clark could laugh all night long with you, something that could pull a world record if there was someone to verify the interaction, but something began aching inside of him when he was reminded of your hips against his, groins rubbing in simultaneous pleasure. He maintained his position on top of you, in between your legs, and seized the opportunity to press against you. When your laughter was interrupted with a stifled whimper, without a doubt, Clark was a goner.

“Can… I?” He leaned up, his curious palms on your inner thighs kept you spread on the floor. You watched inquisitively, anticipating, hardly masking it with a low-effort grin.

“Can you… what? Not sure what you’re asking, Clark.” Your elbows supported your body, leaning onto them as Clark bit his lips at your obvious teasing. You wiggled your hips while his hands did their best to avoid touching you there, anywhere but there, until you gave him permission. Chewing, because he was trying his best to control himself upon seeing your crotch twitch with agony.

“Come on…” His palms roamed the back of your thighs, then towards the front again, because he needed to occupy the anticipation of his sweaty hands. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I’m not a reporter like you, Clark. Unfortunately, I was never good at deciphering clues or hints. You pulled him down by the collar of his vest, wrapping your legs back around his hips because you loved making him flustered. “Give it to me straight.”

“I—“ Clark surrendered at the touch of your lips on his. Gentle and sweeping, you kissed him like fall of snow, and he melted, whispering into your mouth, “I… want to make love to you.”

His voice registered sweet, in both mind and body. Your tastebuds bloomed when he kissed you again and slipped a tongue in without much warning. Your pants felt tighter as Clark began his antics again and ground himself against you, eagerly rubbing his larger bulge over your own. Clark was a growing cavity, festering right down to the root, but it was no longer painful.

It was indisputably pleasure.

“I’m all yours.”

There was something hidden in Clark’s gaze, something that his glasses had been unfairly shielding from you. You reached up to put aside his glasses and felt your breath hike when the quick glimpse of his gaze matched the avidity of his mark to your neck.

He refused to part from you. Even with the eagerness of stripping you, he needed to be in close proximity. Knit vests off, Clark returned to mark at your neck. Sweaters tossed, he quickly studied your figure and where you were most sensitive with his tongue and palms Wet and warm, you whimpered. Pants kicked, he helped you out of them while he clumsily stumbled out of his. Slow down, you’d laugh with him, and Clark would find his balance with a hug from you before he could embarrassingly take a tumble. A trail of clothing led to his bedroom, where you laid on the bed while Clark sat on his knees, decorating your entire body with the tiniest, yet wettest kisses. He palmed himself to this, squeezing his erection to the restricted pulsation of your own. Every time he ran a marathon of licks up your leg, your briefs twitched. Clark neared closer to your thighs, then inner thighs, every lap, and the twitching doubled.

“Clark…” It accidentally came out as a whine, and you were grateful that it did because you’d been keeping an eye on his clothed erection, watching it unfurl from a stuffy mass to an intimidating thick shaft where it began outgrowing his original side tuck and throb against his left thigh. It would be more than a handful, two if you were being pessimistic.

“Baby, be patient… I missed you.” The pet name came out of nowhere. They didn’t have nicknames for each other, but Clark felt good calling you that, and seeing how your cock began pulsating rapidly at the sound of his voice, he’d reckon it felt just as good hearing it for the first time.

After teasing you with multiple sequences of nearly kissing your bulge, Clark finally caved in and pressed his mouth to where the tip of your erection was hidden. Its location marked with a tantalizing wet spot that made him moan when he could taste your salty leakage through your briefs. Mouthing it, licking it, you watched Clark with an open-mouth, finding yourself mimicking his licks to the open air as you imagined his own erection was in your mouth. You played with your nipples, and it was heaven. You could get off to this. Clark could too, as he began rutting into the mattress, laving the center of your briefs with his wet tongue.

“I wish you could see yourself right now. You look so sexy, so…” Clark never finished his slurry of a sentence, clearly high off of his desire to ruin you. Your lids felt heavy, pinching and twirling your nipples to his languid mouthing like it was your lullaby. His voice came to a complete halt, a beat of silence that you’d come to query, until your eyes immediately widened at the warmth of his mouth surrounding your cock, finding your unspoken question answered.

“O-oh, Clark.. .That’s—mmf!” One hand was fondling your balls, while Clark’s other was stroking himself through his briefs after tossing your underwear to the carpet. His mouth was full. Warm and breached with your stiff shaft. His cheeks hollowed, and your body arced toward the ceiling as a result of holding your moans back.

On the contrary, your body was trembling. Cold tremors electrified every bone in you as Clark explored your cock with his thick tongue, building your excitement to a rattle. He’d secure you in his mouth, sucking and refusing to let you go even when your fingers laced and pulled at his hair, a lazy attempt to push him off, but it only encouraged him to suck harder, lick at the underside of your cock, at your veins, swirling over the glossy tip, tasting the salt you’d produce solely for him, because of him. “S-stop, I’m going to come if you keep—“

“Sorry, you just taste so good…” Reluctantly, Clark pulled you out with a subtle pop, wiping his remaining saliva on the back of his hand. Your cock was twitching in a shiny coat of spit as you and him both watched his masterpiece of a tongue have its remaining effect on you.

“My turn…” It was a declaration. You crawled forward onto all fours while Clark watched in anticipation. He sat up on his knees upon you reaching for the waistband of his briefs. With a slow pull, his large erection sprang free with a heavy bounce, and your pupils dilated. “Jesus, Clark…” You removed his briefs, tossing it to join the floor, and he sat back on his knees while you marveled over his girth. Its size submitted you into silence. A tint of envy, but mainly of wonder as you couldn’t possibly imagine fitting him inside of you.

“Hey, you don’t have to…” Clark could see the fear in your eyes. The intimidation. Though, he would never admit that he was extremely turned on from watching your expression morph into utter astonishment. His cock, however, couldn’t care less. Thick and mighty veins blasted from the base of his raging hard-on to the very plump tip of the bulbous head. It was as equally as inviting as it was intimidating.

“I want to. I’m just… kind of jealous, that’s all.” You laughed to yourself, wrapping a firm grip around Clark’s shaft and watching in awe at how you couldn’t close your fingers around him, even when you had adjusted your hand. Clark’s cheeks were scalding. Was there an adjective to describe someone who was embarrassed, but extremely aroused right now? He’d have to look it up, but he was that. He watched how your mouth practically salivated for him, working him in slow strokes because you were careful not to anger this phenomenon of a creature.

“You’re perfect, wouldn’t change a single thing about you. Where would be the fun in all of this if we all looked the same?” You hummed at the comforting words, somewhat feeling guilty over your cock hardening over such a sweet consolation.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t something you were going to dwell on. You knew Clark loved your body, he would’ve inhaled you whole if he could. As a token of appreciation, you nuzzled over the underside of his cock, lining gentle kisses over the veins that made you the hungry, desperate man you were displaying for him. “I love you.”

Clark would burn this image of you, drooling over the sight of his cock, over the tense of his muscles as you licked his abdomen, sucked at a birthmark on his hip, then hollowed your mouth out to accommodate his erection. “I love you.” He exhaled from his gut, nearly seeing the whites of his eyes as you didn’t spare a second in warming him up to your throat.

“Baby, slow down… You’re going to choke—“

“Mmfggh—“ Sweet sounds. Delicious noises that made his spine tingle, that made his muscular chest puff up as it swelled with so much selfish pleasure. You looked up at him with such pureness, a determination that Clark was afraid to shatter if he made you stop, so he simply watched. Petting your head, brushing strands of your hair that threatened to obscure the parts he’d loved most about you. Your eyes sparked with glee as the salt of his cock watered your tastebuds. You let your hands roam free on his body. One palm admiring the toned muscles on his stomach, the other stroking the inches of flesh that haven’t been in your mouth yet.

Then, your eyes filled with tears, as you became overzealous from your mouth blooming with arousal and heat as you took more of Clark. Past the tip now, your tongue flattened at the underside of his veiny cock to make room for his large shaft. Your cheeks hollowed while you sucked, and you could taste Clark leaking on your tongue again. Thick and salty pre-cum dancing over the bed of sprouts.

“Baby, careful…” Despite his warning, Clark couldn’t help but thrust every now and then into you.

It was difficult stuffing Clark inside of your mouth, but you proceeded. Further and further, you sank your head. Clark carefully held you while his gaze marveled at the warmth of your mouth. You’d splutter into a gag when you lodged him into the back of your throat, cramped and gratifying despite the tears in your eyes. Clark was quick to pull you back in case you choked on your own spit, and he knew you. He knew you were the type to take on a challenge. Before you could complain about him pulling you away, he brought you up for a kiss, meeting you half way as he bent forward. His hand was on your nape, tenderly massaging in case you pulled a muscle, and he smiled at your fluster when he pulled away. A thin line of spit connected the pair of lips, a display of devotion for one another. “You did so well.”

While Clark laid you on the bed once again and reached for lube out of his bedside drawer, you were kissing at the underside of his jaw. He’d left a mark on your neck, so it was only fair that you made your presence known as well. Your teeth nibbled on the stretch of skin as your lips wandered off to suck on a patch of skin on his neck. The smell of his body wash was strong in your nose when you buried your face into him, suckling until Clark’s neck had skipped the initial stage of turning pink, and instead, an ardent red. “Don’t finger me too much. I want to feel you.” Your cock throbbed in anticipation.

“No way, (M/N). I’m going to hurt you if I don’t.” He sealed off any potential retorts from you with a smooch to your lips, and then affectionately bumped his forehead to yours, sparing you a teasing smile. “And I promise you, you’d still feel me even if I spent an hour warming you up.”

Your heartbeat spiked.

You brought your knees up after he placed a pillow beneath your lower back. Clark took his sweet time lubing his fingers and erection. There was an obvious motive behind the gaze he’d spare you. A smugness in the curl of his calming smile. He made sure you were watching as he bucked his hips up when he slimed his cock with a glorious amount of lube. The remaining lubricant was used to lather your rim, and then the surface of your lips as he brought his hand up-close.

“It’s cake-flavored. Haven’t used it yet.“ Clark said with a laugh, pressing his lubed thumb to the center of your mouth.

“Of course it is. What’s with you and sweets?” Your lips parted to let your tongue peek out and take a swipe at the wet layer of his skin. Artificially sweet at first, but it wasn’t unpleasant enough to detract you away from it. After taking multiple samples of the lubricant, you closed your mouth around Clark’s thumb, and that was when the base notes hit your tongue. The scent of vanilla tingled your sinuses, as well as the artificial flavor of the sweet commodity spreading pleasantly on your tongue the more you sucked. It tasted more like marshmallows than a cake, but you weren’t complaining. You pushed his thumb out with your tongue and nodded in approval. “Tastes nice. Why do you need it to taste like cake though—“

“Because I like cake.” With a push of your thighs, Clark was back on his knees again. He haunched over to face your exposed entrance once you locked your arms around your legs, holding your knees to your chest. Then, he flattened his tongue over the smooth surface of your crack. One stripe to sample the quality of the flavor. Another to discover the depth of vanilla blossoming on his tongue. And then another few laps, because your bare flesh tasted infinitely better than whatever was mixed in that bottle of lube.

“Clark…” You wished you could properly watch him. For now, you had to settle on blindly watching the top of his head from the opening of your legs, dark curls bouncing as he eagerly devoured and lapped up the layer of lube that slicked up your opening. His tongue swirled over the rim of your hole, teasing at first, to sample you again, then he pressed his mouth to your entrance. The movement of his languid mouth nipping and mouthing made you pucker. It was an automatic reaction, you clenched, then opened, and Clark seized the opportunity and slipped his tongue inside of you, officially tasting you. “C-Clark! That’s—Mmf!”

Clark was under hypnosis. Everything that was said to him, that was plead towards him while he ate you out was drowned out by the sound of his slobbering. Two palms on your asscheeks stretched you out while Clark thrusted his tongue inside of you like daggers. When you clenched around his tongue, Clark pulled back to carefully push a lubed finger inside of you, spreading you back open. “I wish you could see this right now, (M/N). Your hole’s so pretty.” He looked up at you, lips beaten red and his fringe tousled, while he pumped two fingers inside of you now, smiling at the way your body had a mind of its own, floundering within your own hold, completely stripped of insanity and instead, disheveled over the smallest touch. “You look so pretty.” Your cock twitched in solidarity.

For someone who made it seem like he absolutely got no action, Clark was a natural talent in pleasing you. His fingers were thick and deep inside of you, curling at various spots you hadn’t even brushed once in your lifetime. You bit your lip, writhing in suppressed arousal, and Clark would watch in awe as he simultaneously licked around your rim and thrusted his fingers inside of you. Three now, spreading, twisting, and churning in and out of you smoothly with the help of a fresh paint of lubricant. His thick pecs bounced with every draw of his fingers, sweat beginning to form over his neck and shoulders as the heat between you and him only escalated. He broke out into cold sweats, watching you unravel your sanity before his very eyes, and Clark was eager to be the cause of your destruction, for you to equally ruin him.

You’d let your legs collapse onto the bed a while ago, but it was fine, because once you were properly warmed up, Clark took matters into his own hands and balanced your feet over his shoulders, pulling out and orienting his hips before you. He slicked his cock in another layer of lubricant, the smell of vanilla mixing pleasantly with his arousal, and he leaned for a sweet, but confirming, pushing your knees towards your chest in the process.

“I love you.” He softly whispered into your mouth, forehead to forehead. Words of affection that you couldn’t possibly imagine growing tired of. Your stomach was in knots, your heart tugging one way, and then another, as you two shared a gaze. A silent one, but surely meaningful because you felt close to tearing, looking into his sweet, adoring eyes. It nearly ripped when he repeated those three words again in your ear, gentle like the kisses he was adorning the shell of your ear, ticklish like the way he had been tracing your rim with the tip of his cock.

“I love you…” It came out as a purr, and you gave his shoulders a loving squeeze. I’m all set.

Upon the completion of your breath, Clark pushed his hips forth. Slowly, you felt your hole opening. Wider, as it took in Clark’s hot pulse. Gasping, as it was a struggle to fit the head of his cock inside of you. Your body naturally reacted in pushing back the intrusion out of your body, swelling around the plump glans and clenching to prevent him from moving any further. “C-Clark—“

“M-mm, relax—“ He grunted in the depth of your mouth, distracting you with another open-mouthed kiss. But Clark was persistent. He was nearly there. One more push, and he was in. He used the back of your thighs as leverage, pushed your legs further back, and pushed with careful might. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to break through the barrier that refused to let you two bond. Clark was pushing. You were pushing back. It was a battle for territory, a toll on your body as you broke into cold sweats. You inhaled at the increasing soreness, but nonetheless endured because you’d endured worse.

You’d lived through the loneliness that was your life without Clark, and that was absolutely unbearable compared to this. The thought of spending eternity with him reconciled you with near pleasure. You two would go on to do everything together. Holding hands with him in public would be a no-brainer as you helped him shop for a new suit. You’d celebrate his promotion over dinner, either homemade or a fancy restaurant, because Clark deserved the luxury of life. And if all things go well, he’d reward you for staying by his side and supporting him with a ring. Nothing too grand or magnificent, because you were never too keen for the lifestyle of the wealth. And knowing Clark, he’d ramble about how he could buy another engagement ring if you weren’t happy with it, completely forgetting to ask you about the inevitable: Will you marry me?

Exhaling once more, you brought a hand to his nape and gently pushed his forehead to yours. Then his nose squished with yours when you felt your body arched off the bed in response to Clark finally breaching inside of you with one tantalizing thrust, goosebumps fluttering over your skin and amplifying the soreness by tenfold. “H-hh! Clark!” You choked out, straining your neck as your body felt like it was burning. Scalding with pleasure and pain all at once.

“I got you. I got you, baby…” Clark slipped an arm beneath you, cushioning your body when gravity pushed you back onto the bed. He began lathering your neck in pacifying kisses, stilling his hips while doing so. “Doing so well, doing so good. You feel so good, you know that? You make me feel so good.” Clark was drunk on the grasp you had around his cock. So tight, you felt so tight, and he anticipated what you’d feel like beyond the first few inches of him.

“You’re okay?” For moments now, he’d been kissing you to divert your attention from the pain. Wiping beads of sweat off your face with the back of his hand. Massaging your chest and playing with your nipples. Anything to get your body to relax. Though, the most effective remedy was when he gazed into your eyes and rambled. Clark knew that. He felt your muscles loosen when he’d make a silly joke, or when he’d bring up a memory about losing his shoe at work. Touching was the easiest effort and you loved the weight of his palms on you, but you were most sentimental about Clark finding other ways to temporarily shift your mind to a sanctuary. All in all, the power of his humility was a force to be reckoned with.

“I’m okay… Just been a while.” Your lips slurred against his, kissing Clark again, extremely appreciative of his patience. “Think I’m all good now. You can move.” You confirmed with a gentle pat to his cheek.

“I’ll make you feel good.” It was a promise.

Clark kissed at your ear. “I’ll make you feel like you won’t want to stop when we’re about to end.” A symptom.

His lips moved to your neck. You shivered at the ghosting of his mouth, of his tongue, before he’d rightfully claim another spot on your neck as his own.

Clark reeled his hips back until only the tip was left inside of you. You whimpered at the emerging heat, but it was beginning to become bearable.

“I’ll make you feel like you were made for me.” You felt yourself split into two when Clark brought himself forward. A gasp slipped when you felt your hole stretch. And then continued to push itself to its limits as he worked himself inside of you with gentle and subtle thrusts, until Clark was an inch deeper. The grasp you had on his shoulders was extreme, egg-shell white as the sweat in your palms threatened to loosen your grip. The husk in his voice trembled while you swelled around him. Rapid pulsations embraced the thick veins of his cock, seemingly massaging him out of appreciation, a token of your gratitude because pleasure had finally materialized in the loss of your agony.

The toned muscles of Clark’s thighs slapped into the back of your sweaty thighs with every thrust. A salacious sound that wouldn’t cease. Louder. Harder, when Clark was comfortable enough to properly move inside of you. “Because you are.”

Properly stir your insides. Your face said it all. Your sight blasted as you watched Clark with dilated pupils, mouth agape like you had better counter to the flattery of the man’s words. Instead, you found yourself choking back on them. Words. They would’ve been affectionate words. They came out as stifled moans because it was embarrassing for Clark to see you like this. Grunts when Clark lodged himself deeper inside of you. He was just as motivated by a challenge as you were. The challenge of making all sorts of delightful noises fall from your mouth out of your own will.

Sweat dripped off of him like he’d just returned from a blacksmith. A sweltering fire would heat him up. Not to burn him, but to make him pliable enough for the blacksmith to shape the perfect man out of Clark’s flesh and bone. A chisel to carve out the deep dips in his upper traps, where your palms loved occupying. Another at his waist, where you’d hold Clark to help him dig you deeper. Then a hammer, used to forge the sturdy muscles on his athletic body. Deep hills and valley, crafted over his pecs and abdomen to let his sweat drain onto your body.

“You’re made for me, as much as I’m made for you.” Clark murmured.

A vow.

With that, Clark mounted you, both of his palms grounded to the space by your shoulders to stabilize his catapulted position. He pushed his full weight on top of you. Your legs folded towards your chest, alongside the sink of his body, until your knees signaled the end of their mobility. A kiss to your left calf to keep you alert, a bite to the other to warn, and Clark propelled his hips forward without the intention to stop. Further and further, your mouth and eyes widening as he tunneled through your contraction, until his cock was deeply-rooted fully inside of your hole. Clark settled himself inside of you with a yearning groan, and you retaliated with staggered cry.

“C-Clark, I feel so… full. Honey, fuck—” Your skin prickled with goosebumps knowing that Clark had fully breached your hole. There was no doubt about that, yet your hand snuck down to blindly confirm the achievement, to see if you could slot your hand between his pelvis and your ass. But Clark was pressed flushed against you. No gaps. Only the thick hairs of his pubic region came into contact with your fingers, and your cock twitched.

You were completely and utterly full to overflowing.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, baby. You feel so good. So warm. So… tight.” Clark huffed out a few breaths and slid his cock nearly out before slamming it back into you.

“U-uh-huh.” You panted at the sight of his arousal. How gratifying it was to Clark, being inside of you, to the point where his eyes would roll back, and then feel the need to slow his deep thrusts, because he was close. You could tell. You could feel his cock throbbing harder. Veins hotfooting a nearing high as you stimulated his aching muscle, and you were stroking your leaking dick to the feeling.

“I love this… I love you. I love making love to you.” His cock hammered your insides, the thick head of it raking past your sweet spot. It made your cock tremble, your glans crying out with thick, teary pre-cum. When your moans hiccuped a pitch, Clark realized he had mined gold.

“C-Clark, I love you—“ Your firm cock slid through your closed fist every time he moved, the creaking of bed springs following every motion of his thrust. It wouldn’t be long before you made a complete mess on your body. “Oh, god—“ Clark clasped his mouth around your tongue, greedy to feel your moans ricochet off the walls of his cheeks, and into the depth of his throat. Veins charged his arms as he pinned your hips to the bed. You were floating, higher and higher. The roam of your hands, over his sweaty pecs, his shoulders, his neck, his abdominal muscles, his arms—you were stimulating Clark’s body so he doesn’t stop. Motivating him to blind you with his devotion, starry skies and all.

“P-Please, Clark. God, that’s so good. You feel so—“ Forehead to forehead now, Clark was watching you passionately through heavy lids, alternating his gaze from the silent plea in your eyes, to the beaten and swollen muscle of cock in your jerking fist. All while he throbbed inside of you, overwhelming you with the pulsating of his thick cock veins, making love to your hole with the refusal to stretch his approaching climax.

So close, you were so close. You held Clark by his neck with one hand, and refused to let him pull away.

Faster and faster, his cock consistently drilled into your prostate, drumming against it with a deep swivel of his hips and more, until you couldn’t hold back your cries. Your pulse raced as your cock twitched with your heartbeat, speeding the flicks of your wrist to outpace Clark’s thrusts.

It was a tense battle to see who’d erupt first. Harder. Harder. Faster. You were a mess, and so was he. You made him a mess. A drunk intoxicated by carnal desire. Sweat clung onto his fringe, yet he had never looked so attractive, powering into you like a madman, impaling you with his love, with his devotion, with all of his might, brute force, through gritted teeth. You gripped him hard by his biceps, unsure of whether your cries of pleasure were heard between the thunderous sound of his thighs connecting to your asscheeks and the creaking of bed springs. You took a chance to cry out again, to warn him that you were close.

“C-Clark, I’m going to come…” The bubbling feeling had been too irresistible to delay any longer. Clark locked eyes with you upon your alert, and groaned. His tongue came out to skim the bottom of your lip, and you strained forward to cover his mouth with yours, sealing the pair of lips in a slow kiss, contrary to the rapid rhythm that had overtaken the rest of your body, and it stole your breath and made you all dizzy. Your cock only needed three more pumps.

Clark panted a few quick breaths, bracing his body in anticipation by clutching onto your hips until his fingers had turned white. “Want to see you come from my cock…” What you heard in his murmur was beyond want.

It was need.

Two.

You reminded Clark that you were going to come.

One.

His forehead pressed hard against yours, and he switched his gaze to your jerking fist.

“Clark—“

“Let it out. Show me how much you love me.”

You yanked your hand a millisecond before the inevitable, and Clark watched in pure bliss, maintaining his thrusts as your cock erupted with white. Thick shots of cum catapulted across your body with the aid of Clark’s thrusts drilling semen out of you. Layers of creamy ropes messily inked your body from abdomen to chest, and that was all it took for Clark to spill his load inside of you.

His hand like claws on your waist, he pummeled your insides for a few more seconds, delivering your ass with powerful thrusts, and you sobbed out in between breaths, clutching a bundle of his hair in both fists. Finally, Clark grunted, unloading himself inside of you with a scalding bite to your lips. You felt his cock pump, his balls jolting as it drained itself inside of your cavity, filling you up with an unspoken affirmation that you were his. He pushed his cum deep into your hole, powering through the cold tremors overhauling his body, and resumed thrusting inside of you.

Shallow and slow, but enough to spread himself all over your walls. Enough to remind you of the memory when you had been claimed as his, in case you’d ever forget.

You shuddered, dropping your legs to wrap them around his waist, because you could never forget. Couldn’t if you had tried. Not when he was milking his orgasm into you, dumping his warm seed into your hypersensitive hole until he filled you to the brim. Not when you prevented him from pulling out, because you pressed the heel of your feet into his lower back, and countered his thrusts with swivels of your pelvis, gluing him shut to you.

Until you were bonded to him.

“I love you…” Lethargy in his voice, his eyes closed. Clark worked so hard, and you immediately rewarded him with a slow kiss, embracing him close to you after.

“I love you.” He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, evidently gratified by your response as you felt the corners of his lips tug into a smile. You murmured sweet praises in his ear, petting the back of his head to calm the electrical currents stimulating his body.

“We… have a lot of catching up to do, by the way.” Clark suddenly spoke, and your eyes weakly opened, inquisitive over the strange tone in his voice.

It was also funny. How absolutely massive the man was, yet in your arms, he was cuddling up to you as if he wasn’t aware of his own weight plastering you.

“Yeah? Something on your mind, or you wanna save that for tomorrow?” You idly twirled a piece of his hair around your finger, windmilling it out of affection.

“I mean, I guess so? It’s been on my mind since we’ve met. And it’s been killing me on the inside.” The stubble on his chin tickled you when he lifted his head to look at you. The expression on his face suddenly made his warning seem all the more significant.

Concerning, as you propped yourself on your elbows and frowned. Despite your risen position, he was insistent on continuing to rest his weight atop of you, not that you had minded. “You’re kind of scaring me, Clark. What is it? Did you get fired or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I—It’s just…” He stammered, then heavily exhaled. Thoughts of regrets plagued his mind at first, but he trusted you. You could see it in the light of his eyes. “Okay, here it goes. You know... how I’ve written multiple articles about Superman?”

“…Yeah? Got you on Perry’s radar, didn’t it? He seems to only like talking to you, which is impressive. Not surprising though—”

“Yeah, well… It’s just—there’s a reason why… he only sees me.”

“Why? Is it because he saved you or—”

“Clark, what are you doing with your eyes?—“

“Wait, holy crap—“

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

1K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 13 hours ago

Text

“ SHE JUST WENT TO HEAVEN AND BACK ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ sexual content: riding dick ノ playing dumb for a boy ノ some light humping ノ reader has kinda long hair ノ size difference.

you’re so desperate for clueless CLARK KENT’s attention that you play dumb and get him to mansplain his video game to you while you sit in his lap. he’s been busy lately and to get him to take the hint you wear one of your shortest skirts, invite yourself into the best seat in the house, and ask, “what’s this?” gesturing to his lit tv screen.

he explains it all, some boring lore he’s really into and the controls and the tricky part he’s stuck on right now.. and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. his pretty girl is sitting in his lap and he’s not even paying it any mind. but clark is paying it mind. he’s rambling bcos he’s nervous, and if you’d turn your head you’d see the pink dusting his cheeks. he can feel your bare thighs through his denim, and your floral shampoo fills his nose… he trails off mid sentence when he focuses too hard on the growing interest in his pants.

“i wanna play.” you say when you’ve had enough of his aimless babble, and without thinking it through, clark places the controller snugly in your palms, while his larger hands overlay yours.

“alright, so this button…” his thumb atop yours presses down in a click, and you see the avatar swipe air with his sword because of it. “is your attack move… and this—“ you’re not paying any attention to what he’s teaching you. instead, your brain conjures up evil memories of everything you’ve been missing. your eyes wander to the corner of his bed he’s sitting on, and you wish he’d fold you over on it like before. wrestle you down and pin you so he could flip your little skirt up and get to work. you’re tuning out his words while he’s playing the game over your hands which dampen with sweat, suddenly hot and bothered at the thought of him fucking you in this position… if only he were brave enough to unbuckle his pants.

your lips press together, your heart rate quickens, and clark’s ears perk up. thump thump… thump thump… thump thump…

he inhales sharply, right as the sting of what it feels like to be filled by him shoots up your core like lightning. you jump in place a little at the cruel trick your mind is playing on you, and the friction of your ass bumping against his halfie makes it twitch as it chubs up. the avatar’s HP lowers little by little as its enemies overwhelm it, but neither of you move.

“why didn’t you say anything?” clark’s breathless words come out husky and sultry as he chuffs them out of his teeth, lifting you up and down by your hips like you’re nothing more than a weight at the gym. your hands lay atop his, twisting your face as that cock buries itself right where you needed it, bullying that spongy spot in you sore from neglect. “i’ve been thinking about you, too…” he fills the silence, paired with the wet sounds of an eager pussy swallowing him up. he yanks you back, and you land on his chest still clothed, your hair bunches up on his shoulder while his lips find your ear. your hips now married with his, he rolls yours, screwing his dick into you like he’s rediscovering all your nooks n crannies.

one arm rounds you to secure you against him in a warm embrace, seeking out your clit between your spread legs, toying with it like taffy and it makes you whine.

“you didn’t have to act like you cared about my game,” he’s taunting you, right in your ear, ending it with a gentle nip of his teeth to your shell. the point of his canine sends a shock through you, and your legs straighten involuntarily. he keeps you where he wants you with overpowering strength, you can’t raise yourself when he’s got you in a vice. his thumb and index feel cruel against your bud, as if chastising you for trying to trick him.

“well, it worked, didn’t it?” you exhale, leisurely squirming against him desperate for some movement. there’s pride in your voice.

“this skirt worked.” he corrects. the skirt now bunched up around your waist about the same time he’d pushed his denim out of the way so he could free his cock and give you a new seat. “could hear your heartbeat, you were so obvious… c’mere.” he grants your wish for more, pushing you forward so he could gather your arms behind you. bent, your feet barely toe the ground while he uses your wrists to leverage you, tugging you back while he bounces you up with the force of his hips.

2K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 14 hours ago

Text

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.

1K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 21 hours ago

Text

yeah u ate this up BAD

TOO PROUD, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀lsu!fwb!joe burrow x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀8.3k.

summary⠀⁎⠀being friends with benefits with the cool, calm, and collected quarterback has been nothing short of a fantasy. but when he loses his cool in a way you've never seen before, you start to pull away.

author's note⠀⁎⠀happy one month anniversary to this request sitting in my inbox! ty to the anon(s) for requesting <3 not totally in love with the way this one is written, but it's been sitting around for long enough. warnings⠀⁎⠀one use of "y/n", joe pining after reader, features clyde, justin, and grant, 18+ mdni, smut & angst, oral (m. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, public sex, wall sex.

You hummed to yourself as you folded your warm laundry, your eyes scanning the pile of clothes, searching for any pieces of clothing that didn't belong. Joe's clothing always seemed to find their way into your basket, but you weren't complaining. You enjoyed the scent of his cologne lingering on the fabric, a sweet aroma that reminded you of his laugh and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Sure enough, a stray LSU Football tee lay nestled between your own clothes, and you couldn't help the smile that appeared on your face as you held it to your nose.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the buzzing of your phone. It was late, the sky was pitch black outside, and you knew what that call meant. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks. You hadn't seen him - or fucked him - in almost a week. Between his season amping up, your classes, and your social lives, you had barely talked. But when Joe called, it was never just to catch up.

You threw the shirt aside and answered, your voice breathier than you intended. “Hey.”

“Hey, you busy tonight?” Joe's voice was strained, a clear indicator of what he had in mind. You felt a mix of excitement and annoyance. He never called this late unless he wanted you in his bed, yet you couldn't resist the allure of his deep, husky tone. You glanced at the time - 10 PM - and figured you could spare some time before heading to bed. Whether you'd fall asleep at his place or yours remained to be seen.

“Nah, just doing laundry. What's up?” you responded nonchalantly, trying to hide your anticipation.

Joe let out a sigh of relief. “Can you come over?”

You rolled your eyes, playing hard to get. “It's pretty late, Joe. What's so important?”

“You know what's important,” Joe said, his voice dropping lower, more insistent. You could almost feel the heat of his breath through the phone.

“Hmmm, not really. You should tell me why it's so urgent," you teased, your hands setting aside a pair of jeans to hang up later. You knew exactly what Joe wanted, but you enjoyed the thrill of making him ask for it. He was a man of duality - the composed quarterback on the field, the shy soul when it came to expressing his desires.

“Look, I just - I need you. Okay?” Joe sighed, and you giggled, your heart fluttering at his vulnerability. It was a side of him you didn't get to see often.

You bit your bottom lip, the sweet feeling of victory bubbling through you. “Well, when you put it that way... I suppose I can make an exception.”

Joe's sigh of relief was audible even through the phone. “I'll meet you downstairs, call me when you're outside,” he said before ending the call. You felt a thrill run through your body at the thought of seeing him. You pulled on a form-fitting long-sleeve, your cotton shorts barely covering your ass as you strutted out of the house with your keys, wallet, and phone in hand.

When you arrived at Joe's place, you parked your car in an empty spot just two spaces down from his. The building was quiet, the only sound was the distant murmur of music from passing cars. You sent him a quick text as you locked your car door. He appeared almost immediately, his eyes scanning the darkness until they found you. He wore a simple white tee that clung to his muscular chest and sweatpants that hung low on his hips, showing off the waistband of his boxers. You couldn't help but appreciate the view as you approached.

Joe's faint smile grew into a full grin as he saw you approaching. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight embrace, his nose nuzzling into your hair. You melted into the warmth of his body, your hands sliding around his neck as you kissed, a kiss filled with the familiar hunger that only grew with time apart. His hands traveled down your back, gripping your ass and lifting you slightly, making you gasp into his mouth. The chemistry between you was palpable, a silent conversation of passion that needed no words. Your legs wrapped around his waist with a giggle as he swiped his key and opened the door, carrying you into his apartment.

Inside, the room was bathed in a soft glow from the lamp by his bed, casting shadows across the floor. He kicked the door shut with a thud. You could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation thick as Joe carried you to his bed, he threw your body onto the soft mattress. He hovered above you, his eyes dark with desire, his hands skimming the bare skin of your thighs.

Your heart raced as Joe's hands moved with a confidence you had grown accustomed to, yet never failed to excite you. You watched as he peeled off his shirt, revealing the muscular chest you had admired from afar so many times. His abs flexed with each movement, a testament to the countless hours he spent in the gym and on the field. You reached up, tracing the lines of his torso with your nails, making him gasp. His skin was hot under your touch, and you felt a thrill of power knowing you could elicit such a response from him.

As Joe worked your shorts down, you sat up, eager to help. Your eyes locked, the air crackling with electricity. You slid the fabric of your shirt up over your head revealing your bare body. You wore nothing but a black lace thong underneath. Joe's eyes widened as he took you in, his hunger unmistakable. He leaned down, kissing you deeply as his hands found your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, making you gasp. Your own hands were busy, pushing down his sweats, freeing his erection. You wrapped your hand around his length, sinking to your knees before him.

Joe's hand cradled your face as you took him in your mouth, your tongue teasing the tip before taking him deeper. You knew exactly how he liked it, the rhythm that would drive him wild, and you didn't disappoint. He groaned, his hips bucking slightly, and you felt his hands tighten in your hair. You looked up, your eyes locked in a silent challenge, and took him deeper still. His breathing grew ragged as he threw his head back, his grip on you tightening.

“Fuck,” Joe breathed out, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt your warm mouth wrapped around him. His body was on fire, the sensations you were giving him too intense to ignore. He knew he wouldn't last long with your skilled tongue working him over, and he didn't want to. He craved more of you, all of you.

“Hold on, get on the bed,” Joe grunted, his voice thick with desire as he pulled away from you. You complied, your legs trembling slightly as you climbed onto the bed, watching Joe as he fully removed his sweatpants and boxers. His cock stood proudly erect, the tip glistening with pre-cum and your saliva. You licked your lips, eager to taste him again. But Joe had other plans.

With a surge of roughness, he flipped you onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips. You gasped, the sudden change in position sending a thrill through your body. You felt his warm breath on the back of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he whispered, “You want me to fuck you? You want this?” His words were gruff, demanding an answer from you.

“Yes, Joe, yes, please,” you whimpered, your voice muffled by the pillow. You felt the heat of his cock against your ass as he positioned himself behind you. The anticipation was agonizing, your body begging for release. His hand slid down, his fingers finding your slick folds, teasing your entrance before plunging into your wetness. You arched your back, your body eager to be filled by him.

Without warning, Joe thrust into you, the force making your cry out. The sensation was overwhelming, his length stretching you as he buried himself to the hilt. Your nails dug into the bedspread, your body tightening around him as you adjusted to his size. He didn't pause, setting a relentless pace that had your hips pushing back to meet his thrusts. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through your body, the friction of his skin against yours creating a symphony of sensation.

One hand pressed into your back, holding your flush to the sheets with no room for escape, while the other hand gripped your hip, guiding you to meet his every thrust. Your breaths grew shallow, your moans growing louder as Joe's rhythm quickened. His movements grew more urgent, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the quiet room.

“Fuck, Joe, harder,” you panted, your voice muffled by the pillow as Joe's hips pounded into you, each stroke hitting that perfect spot. Your body responded, your inner walls tightening around him, urging him on. The headboard banged against the wall, a steady rhythm that matched your breaths. You could feel yourself getting closer, the pressure building deep within you.

Joe groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he slammed into you. His own release was near, his muscles tensing as he felt your body responding to his every move. He leaned over, pressing his hips against your ass, pounding into you relentlessly. Your moans grew more urgent, your body writhing under his as you neared your climax.

“I'm gonna come,” Joe’s voice was strained, his breath hot on your skin as he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe. The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you pushed back into him, eager to feel his climax fill you. “Where do you want me, pretty girl?”

“On my tits,” you managed to say through gritted teeth, your body begging for the release you knew was coming.

Joe chuckled darkly and pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness making your whine. He flipped you onto your back, your thighs parted, and straddled your hips. The sight of his cock, glistening with your wetness, made your head spin. He positioned himself between your thighs, jerking himself off as he watched your breasts heave with each breath you took.

“Touch yourself, wanna see those pretty eyes roll back when I paint those pretty tits,” Joe instructed, his own eyes blazing with passion as he stroked his cock. You obeyed, your hand sliding down your body to your clit, your fingers circling the sensitive nub as you watched Joe's hand move rapidly up and down his shaft.

Your breaths grew shallower, your eyes fluttering as you felt the first wave of your orgasm building. “Close, Joe, so close,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Come for me,” he urged, his own release imminent. His strokes grew more erratic, his breaths quickening. You could see the veins pulsing in his arms, the tension in his jaw as he fought to hold back.

Your hand moved faster, your hips bucking off the bed. You could feel the tingle in your toes, the warmth spreading through your core. Your eyes locked with Joe's, and you felt the connection between them, the raw, carnally charged bond that had formed over your months of lowkey hookups. The room was a blur of heat and passion as you climbed higher, your body begging for release.

Joe's eyes bore into yours, watching you intently. With a growl, he gave into the pressure building in his balls and shot his load onto your chest and neck. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing under his as you moaned his name. The warmth of his cum painted your skin, your bottom lip caught between your teeth to keep from moaning out too loud.

As you both came down from your highs, Joe collapsed beside you, his chest heaving with exertion. He reached over, using his thumb to wipe a stray drop of cum from your clavicle, a gentle gesture that seemed out of place amidst the carnality of the moment. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of something more than just physical satisfaction. But you quickly shoved the feeling aside. This was just sex, a mutual agreement with no strings attached.

“Need a rag? Or do you like it like that?” Joe quipped with a chuckle, his eyes gleaming with mischief. You playfully pushed him away, laughing as you sat up to inspect the mess. The sight of you, flushed and satisfied, nearly gave Joe a headache from the dizzying satisfaction. He suppressed the urge to pull you back down for round two and instead grabbed his t-shirt from the floor, tossing it to you.

Wiping yourself off, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of something you hadn't felt in a long time: comfort. Sure, your arrangement was unconventional, and Joe could be a bit of an unaware dickhead at times, but moments like this reminded you of why you kept coming back.

You lay there in silence for a while, your breaths mingling in the air. Joe's arm was casually slung over your waist, his thumb idly drawing circles on your bare skin. You felt his eyes on you, but you didn't look over. Instead, you focused on the sound of his heart beating in sync with your own racing pulse.

“So, I accidentally met your parents yesterday,” you said, breaking the quiet. “They were tailgating before the game, and they spotted me in your jersey. They’re super nice, by the way.” Your voice was light, but there was an edge to it. You waited for his reaction, expecting him to laugh it off or maybe even be happy you’d made the effort. “I didn't tell them anything, obviously, just said I was a fan. I didn't want to make it awkward.”

Joe's expression tightened, his thumb pausing on your skin. “Why the fuck would you do that?” His voice was harsh, and you could see the annoyance in his eyes.

You stiffened, your eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean, why? I didn’t know they were your parents. And even if I did, I'm not gonna be rude. I said hello, talked about my major, and said I was a fan.”

Joe sat up, his expression darkening. “You had no business talking to them. You're not my girlfriend. This is just supposed to be us fucking around.”

You felt the blood rush to your face, the sting of his words cutting deeper than you expected. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you snapped, tossing the t-shirt aside. “I can't even say hello to your parents without it being an issue? You think I'm some kind of bitch?”

Joe sighed, his eyes searching yours. “No, that's not it. It's just - I don't want them getting the wrong idea. They're already worried about me with all the pressure from the team and school. They don't need to know I'm messing around with someone, especially when it's not serious. You know how they are.”

Your anger flared up. “No, I don't know how they are. I don’t know them!” You stood up, the sheets falling away from your body. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

Joe looked at you, his eyes filled with frustration. “My problem is that you don’t understand the situation. You don’t get what it took for me to get here. My parents think I’m focusing on football and school, not screwing around with random girls that might try to take advantage of me. My parents don’t need to know about my sex life!”

Your eyes narrowed. “So that’s what I am to you? A random girl trying to take advantage of you?”

Joe’s sigh was filled with irritation. “What the fuck? Does it matter?” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “We agreed on this. The whole point of this is that you’re not my girlfriend. You don’t get to meet my parents unless it’s something serious, and this isn’t serious.”

You felt like you’d been slapped. The room grew colder, and you felt your eyes water. You didn’t know why his words hit you so hard, but they did. You quickly grabbed your clothes and started to get dressed. “Fine. I’ll make sure to keep my random ass away from your precious family next time, Joe.”

Joe watched you, his expression shifting from annoyance to regret. He knew he had crossed a line, and he reached out to stop you. “Come on, don't be like that.”

But you were already dressed, your eyes blazing with anger. You slammed the bedroom door behind you, leaving Joe sitting on the bed, his erection gone and replaced with a sinking feeling in his gut. He had screwed up, big time. With a huff he fell back onto the pillows, running a hand through his hair. He had gone too far, said too much, and now he had to deal with the aftermath. He knew you had blossoming feelings for him, even if you never admitted it. But he didn't know how to deal with them, not when his life was so fucking complicated already.

He threw on a pair of sweatpants and a clean shirt before going into the living room. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his messages, hoping you had sent him something, anything, to ease the tension. But you had blocked him everywhere. The cold realization hit him hard. You were really upset, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Days went by, and Joe felt like a zombie. He went through the motions of practice, classes, and life, but without your fiery energy to fall back on, it was all just a blur. His friends noticed the change in him. Justin and Clyde exchanged worried looks when Joe barely reacted to their jokes, and Grant kept asking him if everything was okay. But Joe just shrugged them off, not ready to admit that a simple no-strings-attached arrangement gone wrong had left him feeling so lost.

“Burrow, you look like shit, man. What’s going on?” Clyde's voice cut through Joe's foggy thoughts as he stumbled into the locker room after a particularly grueling practice.

Joe grunted, not bothering to look up. “It’s nothing.” He reached for his phone, contained in his duffel bag. Nothing from you. Your messages, your snaps, all gone. It was as if you had disappeared.

“If you tell me this pouty bullshit is because of a girl, I’m gonna have to intervene,” Clyde said, smacking Joe on the back of the head. The quarterback scowled at him, but the running back only laughed. “Come on man, spit it out. Maybe my psychology classes are good for something.”

Joe sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s Y/N. We had a fight after the last time she came over. She’s not taking my calls or anything now.”

Clyde whistled low. “Damn, that’s harsh. What did you do?”

Joe looked up, his eyes tired. “Why do you think I did something?”

Justin jumped into the conversation, his smile only serving to irritate Joe further. “Because we know you, Joe Cool. You probably said something dumb and now she’s showing you how cool she can be.”

Grant looked confused. “Wait, huh? What’s going on here?”

“It’s nothing,” Joe mumbled, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He didn’t want to get into it, especially with Grant. The safety had grown to become pretty close friends with you, and Joe didn’t need him to know how badly he had fucked up. He especially didn’t want to hear about how unaffected you were by it all.

“Look, man, if you need to talk—” Clyde started, but Joe cut him off.

“I’m fine. It’s just a misunderstanding, that’s all,” Joe said, trying to sound more convincing than he felt. “I’ll fix it. I just need to talk to her, figure out what I can do to fix it. She’s just upset about something, she’ll come around.”

Justin and Clyde exchanged a knowing look, but they didn’t push further. They had seen Joe like this before, and they knew better than to get in the way when he was dealing with his emotions.

The weekend rolled around, and Joe found himself at a loss for what to do without you. Normally, the two of you would be planning your next meet up, sending each other flirty texts and pictures that sent your pulses racing. But now, there was only silence, and it was deafening. He tried to focus on the game coming up, but his mind kept drifting back to you, to the way you had looked at him, hurt and angry, before you stormed out.

During Saturday's game he searched the student section, hoping he'd catch a glimpse of your dark hair and those brown eyes, but you were nowhere to be found. You never missed a game, even before you started hooking up, but Joe knew you were avoiding him now. The win didn't feel as sweet without you cheering him on, without the promise of hot victory sex waiting for him afterward.

Monday rolled around, and Joe couldn't ignore the pit in his stomach as he walked into class. He had hoped that maybe you’d be there, that you would have cooled off and you could talk things out. You were sitting at the back of the class with your headphones on, ignoring him completely. He attempted to take his usual seat next to you, slowly stalking up the row to the empty seat to your right. But as he approached, you turned to look at him, your eyes cold and unyielding.

“I didn't see you at the game,” Joe said, trying to keep his voice steady as he sat down next to you. You didn’t even look at him, keeping your gaze focused on your laptop screen.

“I had other plans,” you replied curtly, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed away, clearly not interested in his attempt at conversation.

Joe felt a pang of regret. He should have known better than to push your buttons like that. He leaned back in his chair, watching you from the corner of his eye. You looked incredible, as always, in an oversized Saints jersey with an edge tucked underneath your bra and a pair of cutoff jeans, ones he had watched your cut from an old pair of jeans several weeks ago. Your hair was neatly styled into a high puff, showcasing your beautiful features, and Joe couldn't help but miss the way you used to lean into him, your head on his shoulder, while you talked about your weekends in his bed.

The professor began the lecture, and you removed your headphones, but you didn’t acknowledge Joe’s existence. He felt like an outsider in a class you had shared for months. The tension between them was palpable, and Joe's mind drifted from the lecture to your last heated exchange. He had never seen you so upset, so hurt by his words. The silence stretched on, and Joe felt the need to fill it with anything, even if it was just noise.

The lecture seemed to drag on forever, Joe's thoughts consumed by your icy demeanor. He couldn't remember the last time you’d gone this long without speaking. His mind raced with apologies and explanations, trying to formulate the perfect words to make things right between them. As the class ended, students began to pack up their things, chatting among themselves as they prepared to leave.

“Hey,” Joe said tentatively as you stood up, your backpack slung over one shoulder. You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. “Can we talk?”

You rolled your eyes with a sigh. “There's nothing to talk about, Joe,” you replied, your voice flat. “I'm not your girlfriend, remember?” You started to walk away, but Joe reached out and grabbed your wrist, trying to halt your retreat. You snatched your hand away, eyes blazing as you continued on your path, pushing through the doors of the classroom and then of the building.

“Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to make it seem like you're just some random girl to me. You know you're not. I just... I'm stressed, man. The team, school, everything's riding on me. I don't need my parents getting involved in my personal life, making things complicated.” His words came out in a rush, desperation lacing his voice.

You paused. You felt a flicker of something that might have been understanding, but you quickly squashed it. You couldn't let him off the hook that easily. “Well, maybe you should have realized that before you opened your mouth and said something stupid.”

Joe's eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of forgiveness, but all he saw was anger and hurt. He knew he had to do something big, something that would show you he was serious about fixing this. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Look, I know I fucked up, okay? I miss you. I miss this. Us. Let's go out tonight. Just us, no strings, no pressure. We'll talk, I'll apologize properly, and maybe we can move on from this shit, okay?”

You hesitated, the mention of your previous intimacy sending a shiver down your spine. You missed the way Joe made you feel too. But you weren't going to be swayed so easily. “Why should I? You're just going to say whatever you think I want to hear to get back into my pants, and then we're right back where we started.”

Joe leaned in closer, his voice earnest. “Because I mean it. I do. I miss the way we laugh together, the way we talk about nothing for hours. And, yeah, I miss hooking up. But I miss you, all of you. I know I hurt you, and I want to make it right.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your emotions warring within you. “You don't get to decide when we're just fucking and when we're not, Joe. You don’t get to treat me like that and then expect me to come running back when you decide you miss me.” Your voice was firm, but Joe could hear the waver in it, the hint of vulnerability you were trying so hard to hide. “I gotta go.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving Joe standing on the sidewalk, feeling like an absolute asshole. He watched your retreating figure, your hips swaying as you disappeared into the throngs of students moving between classes.

For the rest of the day, Joe's thoughts were consumed with you. He couldn't focus on his schoolwork or his football strategies; all he could think about was the pain he saw in your eyes when he called you a “random”. He knew he had to do something to make it right, but he didn’t know where to start.

It was the Tigers' bye week so he figured he had about a week to make this right. And Joe Burrow was not a man to let things slide. He knew he had to act fast before you completely wrote him off. He spent the rest of the day in a daze, his mind racing with grand gestures and apologies he could make to win you back. But as the hours ticked by, he realized that maybe it wasn’t about the grandeur of his apology, but the sincerity behind it.

“Hello?” Alani, your roommate, waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your daze. You had been staring at your phone screen, replaying the conversation with Joe over and over in your mind. Your thumb hovered over the unblock button, the temptation to reach out to him almost too much to handle.

You looked up, shaking your head. “Sorry, this shit with Joe is just... I don’t know. It’s fucking with my head, Lani.”

Alani nodded sympathetically, crossing your arms. “Well, you can’t miss what you never had. Maybe it’s time to move on, girl.”

You rolled your eyes. “Easy for you to say, you’ve been dating the same guy for three years. You don’t know what it’s like to have something so intense and then have it just... not mean anything to the other person. I've never cried in front of him, and when he said that bullshit, I almost did.”

Alani sighed, sitting down on the bed next to you. “Look, I get it. But maybe he just doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings. You guys have always had this... complicated situation. Maybe he needs to spend a little time without you to realize what he’s missing.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, because that’s totally what’s going to happen. He’s going to sit in his room, mope around, and suddenly realize that I’m the love of his life.” You tossed your phone onto the bed, the frustration in your voice palpable. “Why did I have to fuck the quarterback? Why couldn’t I just find literally any other guy to hook up with?”

“Because Joe Burrow is hot as fuck. And because he’s obviously into you, even if he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to show it.” Alani said, her voice filled with a blend of amusement and annoyance. You couldn’t argue with that. Joe was the epitome of gorgeous, and you had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame from the moment you had met. But his emotional cluelessness was starting to wear on you.

The week dragged on, and you threw yourself into your studies and workouts, trying to keep yourself busy. But every time you saw someone wearing an LSU jersey, or spotted one of Joe's teammates, your thoughts drifted back to him. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t ignore the gaping hole in your life where he used to be.

Finally, Saturday night arrived, and you had had enough of moping around. You were going out with Alani and Portia, your other roommate, to blow off some steam. You all got dressed up in your sexiest outfits, ready to conquer the Baton Rouge nightlife. Per advice from Portia, you tugged on the shortest skirt you owned and paired it with a tight tube top that left little to the imagination.

As you were leaving your apartment, your phone buzzed in your pocket. It was a message from Grant.

You still pregaming with us?

The words were a reminder of the world that Joe had brought you into, and how you were now being invited to it without him. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself.

Yeah, we’re on our way.

When you arrived, the bass of the music hit you like a wall, vibrating through your chest as you entered Grant's apartment. There were a handful of guys from the team that you knew by name, eagerly taking advantage of the bye week to let loose. You spotted Grant immediately, his broad smile lighting up the room. Portia skipped over to him first, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him, leaving you and Alani to exchange gagging noises before you were also swept into the rush of pregaming before hitting the frats.

But Joe was nowhere in sight, and you felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Maybe this was for the best, you thought. Maybe you could finally have some fun without the weight of your unresolved issues hanging over you. The three of them took shots, danced, and flirted, the energy of the party building like a crescendo. And then, like a cruel joke, Joe appeared, his eyes locked on yours from across the room.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a sudden urge to flee. But you couldn't. Not with the way he looked at you—like he hadn't seen you in months rather than days. He was dressed in a vintage-style Kendrick Lamar T-shirt and jeans that hugged his muscular thighs, and you couldn't help but remember the last time you had seen him undressed, the way he felt inside you. You took a deep breath, tipping back a shot of tequila to steel yourself for whatever was about to come. Your hair was different from the last time he saw you. Your natural coils exchanged for a sew-in of some sort. He tried to sift through his memories of your conversations, knowing you had to have told him the exact name of the style you frequently reverted to at some point.

Joe instantly recognized the tiny little skirt that barely contained your ass, and his jaw clenched. You had intended on wearing it at least half a dozen times before. But, you had never managed to make it past the threshold of your apartment before he had torn it off you. The sight of you in it now, surrounded by his teammates, made his blood boil with a mix of anger and desire.

He stalked over to you, his eyes never leaving yours as he approached. You felt your body heat up under his intense gaze, the alcohol in your system doing little to dull the effect he had on you. You knew you were playing with fire, but you couldn’t help yourself. You had to keep your walls up.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Joe’s voice was low and gruff.

You rolled your eyes, taking another shot. “Clothes, Joe. It’s a revolutionary concept, I know,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm. You didn’t miss the way his eyes raked over your body, and you felt a thrill of satisfaction. You knew you looked amazing tonight.

Joe’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took in your outfit. “You've never worn that out,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice thick with accusation.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Well, I guess there's always a first time for everything, right?” you said, your voice dripping with challenge. You could feel the eyes of the other guys on you, and you knew Joe could too. It was like a silent battle of wills played out in the middle of a crowded room.

“Joe! Get yo ass over here, boy. We ‘bout to head to the frat!” Clyde’s boisterous voice cut through the tension, slapping Joe’s hand against his back as he pulled him away from you. You smirked at the interruption, enjoying the frustration on his face.

The group spilled out into the cool night air, the scent of spilled beer and sweat mixing with the sweet aroma of a great season that hung over the city. You felt Joe’s eyes on you as you swayed to the music, the beat of the bass echoing through your body. You knew you were driving him crazy, and a part of you reveled in it. The anger still smoldered within you, but you couldn’t deny the thrill you felt at having his attention solely on you.

As you all made your way to the frat house, you felt a gentle nudge against your back, and you turned to see Justin smiling down at you. “You know you a lil' asshole? I ain't seen you show out like this in a minute,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Don't play with me, I had a shitty week and I'm just trying to get loose,” you said, taking a sip of your vodka lemonade.

Justin chuckled and shook his head, “You tryna get turned loose.” You threw your head back with a cackle, taking another sip of your drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread through you, and you felt a bit more relaxed. As you approached the frat house, the music grew louder, and the lights grew brighter, casting a neon glow over the rowdy crowd.

Joe, unable to keep his eyes off you, watched your dance with a fiery passion that had his heart racing. He wanted to stride over and pull you into his arms, but he knew better. Instead, he found himself glaring at every guy who dared to look your way. His friends noticed his mood and tried to include him in your conversations, but Joe's mind was elsewhere.

Inside the frat house, the air was thick with the scent of cheap beer and the promise of a wild night. Your hips moved to the rhythm of the music, drawing the gazes of the intoxicated partygoers. You felt Joe’s eyes on you, a silent battle of wills playing out across the crowded room. With each sway of your hips and flick of your hair, you felt a surge of power knowing you had his attention. Every so often you’d have to pull your skirt down and your top up, giving him a teasing glimpse of what he was missing.

Alani and Portia danced beside you, occasionally whispering in your ear, egging you on. But you didn't need encouragement. The beat of the music and the burn of the alcohol in your system fueled your need to push Joe's buttons. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but the thrill was too intense to resist.

Joe’s patience grew thinner with every passing second. His eyes followed you as you danced, your body moving in ways that had his imagination running wild. He took another shot, trying to dull the ache in his chest, the guilt and frustration melding into a toxic cocktail. He knew he had to talk to you, to explain himself, but you remained elusive, conveniently dancing away whenever he approached.

The night grew wilder, the music louder, and Joe's resolve stronger. He'd had enough of this dance. He wove through the crowd, the alcohol giving him liquid courage, until he was right behind you. He placed his hands on your waist, his touch firm as he pulled your ass against his crotch. Your eyes snapped up, surprise and anger flashing across your face. You tried to twist away, but Joe’s grip was like steel.

“What the hell, Joe?” you snarled, your voice barely audible over the music.

“You’ve been fucking with me all night. What did you expect?” he shot back, his voice a gruff hiss in your ear.

Your body stiffened against him, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and arousal. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. You turned to face him, pushing him back with a look of pure defiance. “Fuck off,” you spat, your voice low and full of warning.

Joe stepped closer, his blown out blue eyes burning into yours. “You want to play games, fine. But know that every time you dance like that, every time you give me that look, I'm going to want you more. So, I'm not playing around anymore. We're going to talk now.”

You felt the heat of his body against yours, and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine. You wanted to push him away, to maintain your cool façade, but his touch was too much. You nodded curtly, and Joe led you through the sweaty, pulsing mass of bodies, his hand tightly gripping your waist. You found a quieter corner of the frat house, the music a distant throb in the background.

Joe took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. “Look, I know I said some fucked up shit that I didn't think through. And I was wrong, okay? I just... it scared me, the idea of you meeting my family. It's not that you're not important to me, but I'm not ready for that shit yet.”

Your eyes narrowed, the anger in your voice clear as day. “I didn't plan to meet your parents, Joe. It just happened. And you know what? It's not fair of you to get pissed at me for it.”

Joe nodded, his expression earnest. “I know. I get that now. I'm sorry. I just... I don't know how to handle all this shit.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling. “What does that even mean, Joe? What is there to handle?” You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts up and causing the tight fabric of your top to stretch even more.

Joe raked a hand through his hair, his eyes lingering on your exposed cleavage before meeting yours again. “I wanted to handle this the right way. I wanted to tell you how much you mean to me without all this bullshit. I wanted to introduce you to my parents when I was ready, not because you bumped into them. But here we are, and I'm fucking it up like always.”

Your anger began to dissipate, but the hurt remained. “Well, you had your chance. And you blew it.”

Joe stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours. “I know. But I'm asking for another one. Please. Give me another chance to make this right.”

Your resolve wavered, the warmth of his hand sending a jolt through you. You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, your eyes searching his for any sign of insincerity. Finally, you sighed, “You're lucky you're hot, Burrow. That's all you got going for you right now.”

Joe cracked a smile, his thumb brushing against your palm. “Is that a yes?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. “It's a don't be fucking stupid.”

Joe leaned in. “So that's a yes?” His voice was back to its baseline, deep and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. You rolled your eyes again, but the heat between them was undeniable. He licked at his lips, hands sliding down to cup your ass firmly. Your breath hitched, your body responding despite your mind’s protest. Your hands snuck up into his hair, pulling him closer to you as you bit your bottom lip with a smile.

The music swelled around them, a pulsing beat that matched the tempo of your racing hearts. Your skirt had ridden up even further, and Joe aching for a greedy look at your barely covered pussy, shimmering from your dance and your desire for him. His cock grew hard in his pants, and he knew that if you didn’t find some privacy soon, you’d be fucking right there in the middle of the party.

“Come on,” he murmured, tugging your hand as he led you through the frat house, ignoring the curious glances thrown your way. The two of you found an empty bedroom, the door barely hanging on its hinges. He pushed you inside and slammed it shut behind them, the sudden silence deafening. The room smelled faintly of weed, booze, and perfume, a scent that only served to excite him further.

You leaned against the wall, your breathing ragged. Joe stepped closer, his hands sliding up your thighs to your hips. He kissed your neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his lips. “Is this what you wanted? To get me all riled up in front of everyone?” His voice was a low growl, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, your nails digging into his back. “Maybe,” you whispered, your voice thick with lust. “You're sexy when you’re mad. Gonna be good and say sorry?”

Joe smirked, his hands sliding around to squeeze your ass again. “I'm sorry. I fucked up. I was an idiot. I just... I don't know what I was thinking,” he murmured, his voice thick with need. “But you look so fucking good in that skirt, I can't think straight when you're around.”

Your breath hitched, your body responding despite the lingering anger. You knew you should be mad at him, knew you should keep your walls up, but the way he was looking at you made your knees weak. “You're still an idiot,” you murmured, your voice betraying your own desire.

Joe leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. “But you want me anyway,” he said, his voice a low growl.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your resolve crumbling. “Unfortunately,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

Without warning, Joe’s lips were on yours, hard and demanding. Your anger melted away, replaced by a white-hot desire that you hadn’t felt since the last time you were together. Your body responded eagerly, pushing into him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he picked you up, your skirt riding up even higher. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, and you moaned into his mouth, feeling his erection pressing against you.

“Fuck me, right here, Joe, please,” you panted against his mouth, the urgency in your voice making Joe’s cock throb.

He didn’t need any more convincing. He moved to rip through your panties, tearing them away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping seemed to echo in the empty room. He fiddled with his jeans as he pressed you against the wall, dropping his pants just enough to free his cock. You were already wet, and Joe took a moment to appreciate the sight before he plunged into you with a groan that was half-moan, half-curse.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he began to thrust, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. The friction was heavenly, his thick length filling you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist. The room spun around them, the music from the party a distant echo as your bodies found a rhythm that was uniquely yours. Joe's teeth grazed your neck, sending shivers down your spine, and you moaned his name, the sound muffled by his hungry kisses.

You were lost in a whirlwind of passion, the anger and frustration of your recent fight forgotten. Your movements grew more frantic, your breaths mingling in the small space between them. You felt the beginnings of your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that had your nails digging deeper into Joe's skin. His grunts grew louder, his strokes more forceful as he chased his own release.

Your eyes locked, and in that moment, the air was charged with something more than just lust. It was a silent understanding, a connection that transcended the tumultuous dynamics of your relationship. Your body tensed as you climaxed, your muscles clenching around Joe’s cock, pulling him over the edge with you. You came together in a symphony of gasps and moans, your bodies shaking as you rode out the intense wave of pleasure.

For a moment, you remained entwined, your hearts hammering in your chests. Then, with a sigh, Joe lowered your legs to the floor, keeping you against the wall. He kissed your glossed lips, his breathing ragged. “I meant it. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you like that. I just... I don’t know how to do this whole relationship thing without fucking it up,” he confessed, his voice filled with vulnerability.

You looked up at him, your eyes softening. “I know, Joe. But I'm not gonna be the one to fix it for you. If you want this to work, you need to be honest with me. And if you can't handle the small stuff then maybe we shouldn't be doing this at all.”

Joe nodded, his gaze intense. “I’ll do better, I promise. I don’t want to lose you.”

You studied him, the weight of his words sinking in. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But if you mess up again, I’m not playing games. You get one more shot, Burrow.”

Joe’s expression grew solemn. “Understood,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Your hand found the back of his neck, and you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Your anger had dissipated, but the sting of his previous words remained, leaving you feeling vulnerable.

You broke apart, your breaths mingling in the quiet space. Joe’s eyes searched yours, looking for any lingering doubt. “I’ll make it right. I swear to god,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity.

You nodded, your own eyes still filled with a mix of lust and wariness. “I hope so, Joey.” You stepped away from him, straightening your skirt and smoothing your hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

You stepped out of the room, back into the pulsing heart of the party. The lights seemed brighter, the music louder, and the energy of the room washed over them like a wave. Joe's hand rested on your ass, you shot him a look that was both a warning and a promise. When you finally rejoined your friends, Justin and Clyde started a round of applause, their expressions marked with amusement. Alani and Portia were grinning, sipping on their drinks, and Grant looked like he was trying not to laugh.

You rolled your eyes. “You're all disgusting,” you said, though the smile took the sting out of your words.

Clyde grinned. “Look who’s talking, Miss 'I just got fucked in a frat house bedroom'.”

You glared at him playfully, but you couldn’t help the heat that crept up your neck. “Shut up,” you said, though the corner of your mouth twitched with a smirk.

“Y'all were gone for almost an hour, what were you doing in there?” Alani teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You shot her a withering glare. “None of your business,” you replied, though the smugness in your voice gave you away.

#joe burrow #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader

680 notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 2 days ago

Text

an inch away from more than just friends (18+)

summary: based on the word prompt "I wanted you to be my first" with Carmy!

title from: "Naked In Manhattan" by Chappell Roan

word count: 5.1k

content warnings: beginnings of smut!!! MDNI!! stripper reader (can still be read as gn!), kissing, swearing, teasing Carmy, innuendos left and right, unprotected sex, brief fingering

side note: if anyone wants to yap about Carmy and stripper reader in my inbox after this, please do!!! they're rotting my brain. i love this dynamic <3 I'm actually so excited to post this raahh!!!

Living in New York was expensive.

This is no secret. But the results meant you worked two jobs. One as a bar tender and one as.... An exotic dancer. To put it kindly.

Two night jobs gave you mostly nocturnal habits, but the tips were good. Most of them were in ones and you couldn't exactly pay for everything with a band of dollar bills.

Which is how you ran into Carmy. Outside of a bank. He was lost and you were in a rush to get to the bar.

"Shit- Watch where you're fuckin' goin'!" You hiss as you stumble back, adjusting your bag strap as you steady yourself.

Your first interaction resembled those videos of puppies and senior dogs. You berating him mildly, him knocking you down with a few sentences and you hesitating before going back to nipping his ankles. You're embarrassed now by the way you trailed after him on the sidewalk. You followed this man just because he ran into you on accident.

Carmy has never told you why he didn't yell at you on that day. Why he didn't tell you off for following him through two stoplights. Just like how you couldn't explain why you felt the need to berate this curly-haired stranger in the middle of New York. It also ended up being a pure matter of coincidence when one of your regulars took you to dinner. A dinner that resulted in a kitchen tour that led you back to the man who ran into you.

You stuck around enough to pry a phone number out of him. He was easy to crack, batting your lashes at him and quiet pleading.

He didn't anticipate quite how many notifications you'd wrack up on his phone. He felt obnoxious, being the person whose phone was always buzzing. You were like a labrador chasing at his heels for his attention. Carmy felt bad about when he tried ghosting you. Letting you lead a one-sided conversation for a day.

Just when he thought he'd gotten rid of his distraction, you showed up in the alleyway where he smoked after work. You were already out there when he got outside, leaning against the wall with a cigarette on your lips. That night you managed to convince him to give you a ride to the club after coming all the way out to Daniel to scold him for trying to ghost you.

The first time Carmy pulled up in front of the club, his face flushed bright pink. When you turned to thank him, you couldn't help but tease him over it.

"Aw, Carmen! You didn't tell me you've never been to a club before," You smile at him sweetly.

"Carmy," He says quickly, trying to clear his throat. "Just Carmy is fine."

His words make you hum, watching him as you rest your head against the headrest.

"Wanna come in? Can give you a free dance for the ride," You offer him, smile widening as you watch flush work over his ears and down his neck.

"I uh- I've got to um- I can't I gotta-" He stutters, trying to get out some excuse.

"Fuckin' with you, Carmen," You giggle as you open the passenger door. "You gotta pay for a dance just like everyone else."

You bid him thank you and goodnight after you climbed out of his car, blowing him a kiss through the window as you went inside. And thus started your friendship with Carmy. Although unconventional, you intrigued him. He had never hung out with someone so.... Brazen. Someone so sure about who they were and so different. Someone like you usually trailed after Mikey, fawning over him in hopes he might take you to dinner or to his bed. You were so different from Carmy that it just... Worked.

You brought a different sort of comfort in Carmy. Neither one of you had any expectations for this, and that was enough.

You took to inviting yourself to Carmy's apartment in the beginning before he started asking you over every night. You never expected him to make you dinner but after a few nights of your intrustion, he started asking about your favorite dishes. Started cooking for someone other than himself or a customer.

Which is how you ended up in his kitchen, telling him about your day before work. Complaining about your car that had been acting up and smoking out of the tire well.

"My car's in the shop.." You pout, leaning against the counter, twirling your pen between the surface and your fingers.

"Yeah?" Carmy asks, distantly. He's making you dinner before you have to leave for your shift.

"'S gonna be... Stupid expensive," You sigh, laying your arms on the counter and resting your chin on your forearm. "And Sierra has been askin' for lots of my shifts so I'm not gettin' as much as usual... Gonna be tight between that and rent... 'S my luck though.."

Carmy glances back when you sigh, heart twisting when he sees how your lip juts out with your cheek pressed against your arm.

Carmy tries not to let his thoughts run too wild. Godforbid he messes a good thing up. But it's really hard when you're looking up at him with wide eyes and mouth twisted in a pout. It's easy to let his mind wander to another scenario where you'd look at him like that. Hands resting on your thighs as you sit on your knees, eyes practically begging him to take off his jeans.

He's quick to turn back to the stove, distracting his mind from those thoughts by focusing on what he knew. Food. Not sex and definitely not how you'd look in bed.

Carmy distracts himself with plating dinner. He pulls out two of his pasta bowls and plates up the chicken alfredo you begged him to make for you tonight. Not that you really had to, he would make anything you asked him to. Carmy can hear your hum of excitement as you stand up straight. You've learned to watch Carmy work from the counter instead of trying to help. It just created a bigger headache for the both of you.

Once he's finished plating and puts the bowl in front of you, you give him a quick 'thank you' befire digging in. You carry most of the conversation, making sure to let Carmy know when you wanted his feedback (you learned early-on that Carmy was content to listen, even when you prompted him for a response. He needed to be invited to share his thoughts with you). To anyone else his responses would seem disinterested, but you knew him enough that anything more than a half stuttered few words was good for you.

Carmy does let you help clean up. Letting you pack up the extra food Carmy has started to include so you could take something to your dancer friends or to take home. Carmy focused on rinsing dishes off before putting them in the dishwasher.

You've both fallen into a routine. Once you're both done cleaning, Carmy goes to his room to collect his things for work. You collect your bag from the living room and slip on your shoes and coat.

When you're both ready, Carmy corals you out the door and letting you lead him to the parking garage across from his apartment building. Again the car is filled by your chatter and Carmy's limited input as he drives you to work.

There's a weird vibe when Carmy pulls up to the curb in front of the club. His fingers tap erratically on the wheel and he looks like he's deep in thought. You're about to climb out of the car when he speaks up.

"Y'know, I could um... I could foot the uh, the mechanic bill for ya?" Carmy suggests.

"What?" You ask, turning back towards him quickly.

"For your car... Could pay it off for ya.." He shrugs like it's not a big deal.

"Carm.." You sigh, preparing to turn down what's actually a great offer.

"'S not a big deal promise. You're tight on money and I don't want y'stressin' and risk missin' out on more.." He says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It's a moments hesitation before you throw your arms around him, leaning over the center console to give him a hug.

"Thanks, Carm," You mutter in his jacket before pulling away. "Means a lot."

You turn back and open the door before turning back to him. Carmy makes a noise of surprise when you place a quick kiss to his cheek, admiring the light lipgloss stain on his cheek. You climb out before he can say anything, ducking down to peer at him from the sidewalk, "Thank you, Carmen!"

You wave him goodbye as he pulls away from the curb, face bright red and stomach full of butterflies.

He's so fucked.

You hope to God Carmy actually picks up his phone. He usually does but you can never be too sure on Carmy's time on his phone.

You're standing in the alley outside of the club, jacket wrapped around you but it's not enough to warm your legs.

"Hey," Carmy's voice is groggy, making your stomach twist with guilt.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Carm.." You sigh, ashing your cigarette.

"No, what's up?" Carmy cuts you off and you sigh again.

"I uh.... I need a ride.. Guy was bein' a major dick and I... I got mad at him and Angie's sendin' me home early.." You tell him. You hadn't bothered changing before you walked out of the club, only grabbing your jacket before you stormed off.

"Give me ten minutes." Carmy's words are final when he says them. He gives you a moment to object before hanging up.

You don't bother to go back inside to grab your things, running on the anger from your customer and manager. It's less than ten minutes before Carmy pulls up to the curb. You climb in the moment the car stops, missing the double take Carmy does when he sees how much of your legs are exposed. You're too busy taking one last hit from your cigarette before dropping it to the sidewalk. When you turn back into the car, Carmy has to tear his eyes away from your thighs, looking for an opening to pull away from the club. He lets you wallow in silence before it hits you.

"Oh, fuck me," You sigh, leaning against your hand on the door and rubbing at your brow.

"What?" Carmy glances at you briefly before flicking on his turn signal.

"Left my keys in my bag and fuckin'- Left my bag at work and I don't-" You sigh heavily, rubbing your hand over your eyes. "I don't have clothes at your place and I can't get home. I'm such a fuckin' mess tonight, I'm sorry.."

"'S okay," Carmy says, taking the gap in cars to pull into the parking lot.

"Carm-" You start.

"It's okay, really. Just give you some of my clothes and I'll uh- I'll sleep on the couch," He says, eyes scanning for a parking spot as if he didn't just invite you to spend the night.

"I'm not gonna make y'do that, Carmy," You tell him while he prepares to reverse into a spot.

"Not makin' me do anything," Carmy tells you once he's parked in the spot. "Now let's get upstairs cause it's fuckin' cold."

You hadn't noticed before but Carmy's only dressed in sweatpants and one of his stupid white t-shirts. You watch as he tucks his hands into his pockets, trying not to stare at the way how his ass looks and how his thighs fill them out.

"Fuckin' stupid f'not grabbing my pants.." You mutter grumpily, bringing the borrowed jacket tight around you. Carmy huffs a few steps in front of you, taking the opportunity to glance at your legs again. Both of you crowd together as you cross the street and enter the apartment building. The building is warmer, making you loosen your hold on the jacket. Being enclosed with Carmy in the elevator makes you open it even more, making Carmy avert his gaze.

You make it more difficult by tucking in close to him, slipping your phone between both of you to snap a quick picture. He still hasn't figured out he doesn't need to look at the screen. When he looks down at your phone, his eyes catch on the deep cut of your top. His breathe catches in his throat at all the skin there, taking in every inch of it.

Within a moment he tears his eyes away, glancing at the numbers as they ding by. Carmy doesn't pay much mind as you hum next to him, bumping him with your shoulder softly. He's gotten used to your casual affections.

Carmy let's you lead him to his apartment door, slipping past you to unlock the door. You still smell like the body spray you showed him. You kept boasting about how it was vanilla and shea and how much you liked it. One of the girls at work had told you about it, and Carmy mentally thanks her for it. Carmy let's you into his apartment, stepping off to the side to toe off his shoes. You sigh as you step in the space, beelining for the island. You drop your phone and cigarette pack before you start shrugging off your jacket. When Carmy looks up from his shoes he feels like he's fucking buffering.

There's so much skin on display and he has to blink hard to fight getting a hard-on. He's not sure what he was thinking, that you had put on a shirt before storming out of work? With the coat off, Carmy can see where your shorts hug your ass, a little bit slipping out of them. He traces up from there to where your top cuts across your skin, breaking up your lower and upper back. There's something else around your middle, a belt of bead strands that clack when you move around and flash refracted light around the room.

You hum as you step out of your shoes, tweaking a strand of hair as you set your jacket on the counter.

"I can sleep on the couch," You tell him, as you turn around to lean back against the counter. He still cringes as you push yourself onto the counter. Carmy's given up on asking you to not. Now he's kind of grateful for it.

"No, it's fine. You can jus' take my bed, not a big deal. Just for tonight, right?" Carmy has to turn away from you to put his locks in place but he can catch your hum as you kick your legs lightly.

"I guess," You sigh. Carmy shakes his head lightly as he walks past the kitchen to his room. You slip off the counter and follow him, beads clacking as you do.

You're not sure why you're surprised that Carmy's room is bland. The rest of his apartment was exactly decorated until you brought things into it. His bedroom was the one room you hadn't seen yet.

"Boring room, Carm.." You tell him, taking it in before your eyes go to where he's digging through his closet. He gives a short hum in acknowledgment but doesn't say anything. While you wait you cross to the bed, sitting at the foot for a moment before you decide to flop back against the mattress.

"What did-" Carmy starts before he turns around. He cuts himself off when he sees you splayed out on his bed, hands resting on your stomach as you trace patterns on the ceiling.

"What did what?" You ask, turning your head so you can see him. Carmy has to clear his throat, folding the sweater he has in half and then in half again.

"What did that uh- that guy from the club? What'd he do?" He asks, setting the sweater on the mattress before he goes to his dresser. He had to buy it when you told him he can't store his extra jeans in the oven. Mostly because he was using it more now that he had you.

You groan loudly, turning back to the ceiling. "Was jus' bein'a dick! Tried coppin' feels left and right, and when I finally told him to stop being a sleazy jackass he got mad and caused a ruckus about me being an ungrateful bitch and then Angie got involved and well.."

You trail off because after Angie had gotten involved you stormed off and called Carmen. You sigh heavily and Carmy turns to look at you before looking back at his dresser.

"I uh.." He clears his throat quietly. "I don't really have... Any shorts or anything, just like uh.. Sweats, jeans.."

"That's okay!" You chirp, pushing yourself up. You lean back against your hands, tilting your head as Carmy turns back to you. You don't miss the way he pushes his back against the furniture, like he's trying to melt into it.

"This'll do," You grab the sweater, running your thumbs over the fabric softly. Carmy nods and you give him a bright grin. "Be back in like... Two minutes!"

Carmy watches as you duck out of his room and make your way to the bathroom. He crosses to the foot of his bed and sits next to where you had been. He squeezes his eyes shut when he hears the door lock click. He tries filling his head with anything he can to keep his thoughts away from you splayed out on his sheets half-dressed.

It turns out that trying not to think about something only makes him think about it more.

Carmy does everything he can think of. Thinks of Chef Daniel, of the dish he was working on this morning. Of Sugar and how he should call her back. Hell, he even let's his mind wander to his mother. But somehow his mind always turns back to you laying back against his bed.

He opens his eyes quickly as he hears you open the bathroom door and the sound of your beads getting farther. He assumes your putting your things with you jacket in the kitchen. It's maybe a minute before you make it back to the doorway to the bedroom.

You look like a vision in his sweater. It's an old navy-colored pullover, 'Brooklyn' across your chest in fuzzy, white letters.

"Very tourist of you," You tell him, pulling at the hem to look at the words. You glance up just in time to find him rolling his eyes at your words, a soft flush dusting his cheeks.

His eyes follow you as you cross to the bed.

"Needed to get some kind of clothes.." He mutters as you climb onto the bed. He doesn't miss the way you huff, shuffling up to the pillows. When he glances back at you he gets an eye full of your baby pink underwear of your work clothes. His eyes widen before his eyes dart quickly up to your face. You're not paying attention, moving one of the pillows over to rest against the other.

"Carmy-" You start, and he feels like he's been caught red-fucking-handed but you didn't even catch him looking. You turn to sit, legs folded out in front of you. He hums for you to continue.

"Lay with me for a little?" You ask him, like you're asking him to hand you something. Like it's normal.

"What?" He chokes out. You huff, the air from it ruffling your hair.

"Lay with me? Stay a little bit before I go to bed?" You cock your head a little, looking at him with wide eyes.

"And do what?" He asks. He doesn't know why he's fucking asking but Jesus Christ you want him to lay in bed with you and his brain is kind of malfunctioning.

You shrug, "I don't know... Sit and talk?"

Carmy seems reluctant, like he doesn't want to be in the room any longer than he has to. Maybe you crossed a line.

"You don't have to," You start, back pedaling on your offer. "Just usually have some sort of like.... Background noise when I go to bed. But my phones gonna die, don't want to steal your charger from you too, tonight."

"Uh... Sure. Yeah, sure.." Carmy sounds hesitant but he gets up and makes his way to the other side of the bed, sitting back against the pillow you left.

You grin at him brightly, curling up against your pillows and tucking your legs under the blanket.

"Tell me about work," You tell him, eyes darting around his face. You always encourage him to tell you about what he does at Daniel, asking questions if you don't know or understand something.

He starts off with reminding you of the dish he did the previous day before coming back to what he did today. You nod along as he describes the menu and the specific dish he had today. You liked watching how animated he could get when talking about a dish.

You let him talk as you rest your head against your hand. You can't help but trace over his features, watching as he licks his lower lip quickly when he pauses. You don't mean to interrupt him.

"Can I kiss you, Carmen?" You ask him softly. Carmy stares at you wide-eyed, mouth open in mid-sentence. His ears are bright pink.

"What?" He blinks a few times.

"Can I give you a kiss?" You say again, like it's the most normal question you could ask him.

"I- Uh- Sure?" He sounds unsure and it makes you furrow your brow.

"Yes or no, Carm," You prompt him gently.

"Yes," He nods quickly, much more sure this time. You give him a quick smile before you're adjusting yourself. You're sitting on your knees now, shuffling forward until they're pressed against Carmy's thigh.

You don't miss how he fidgets and you grab his hand with your left one. "Just a kiss, Carmy."

That's the last thing you say before you bring your right hand to the side of his face and pull him into you. Your lips are soft, is what he first notices. So is your hand. The kiss is chaste and it feels like it's over too soon.

When you pull away, Carmy trails after you, lips ghosting yours as he tries to follow.

"Carm-"

"Please," He cuts you off before kissing you again. Carmy brings the hand from yours to your face, holding you close. You get experimental, turning your head to change the angle. Carmy follows your lead, bringing his hand from his lap to sneak under the hem of your sweater. He pulls at your hip until you get the hint.

Climbing onto his lap gives you the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pulling at his lower lip gently before you slip your tongue into his mouth. His whine is slightly muffled, letting you explore as you please. His grip on your hip tightens as you lower your weight fully on his lap. You don't miss the tent of his sweats pressing against your lower stomach.

You give an experimental roll of your hips, nudging your core just a little over his bulge. He inhales sharply before pulling away, grabbing for the hand that's holding his face.

"I don't um.. I've never..." Carmy trails off. He won't meet your eye, instead focusing on where his hand is holding your wrist.

"Oh! No, that's okay, baby," You coo softly to him, rocking your hips slowly. "Only ever been with like, two people so don't worry.. Pretty new t'this too."

Carmy groans as you continue to drag your core over the tent in his pants. He drops his head to your shoulder, turning his face so he can press soft kisses to your neck.

The kisses are featherlight as Carmy let's himself get lost in the movements of your hips. He groans quietly into your skin when you slowly pick up the pace.

"I uh-" Carmy starts against your skin. You're quick to slip your hand into his curls, guiding his head back so you can hear him clearly. His face is flushed pink as you look at him.

"I want you... I um- I want you to be... Be my first.." He says ths words softly, his eyes are tracing the skin of your neck, mind wandering to how it would look covered in kisses.

"Carm.." You coo softly, bringing your hand from his hair to guide his gaze to yours. "You sure?"

He nods quickly, eyes flicking between yours. "Please?"

Who are you to say no when he asks so prettily?

"Okay," You giggle softly, bringing him into another kiss. This time Carmy tries taking control, prodding gently until you open your mouth to him. He tries to remember how you kissed him, making you huff before you pull away.

"Don't think too hard.." You tell him, placing a gentle kiss to his chin. You nip softly at his jaw before coming back to kiss him. He lets you take back the lead, letting his hands come to rest against your thighs. You bring your hands to his and lead them under your sweater, resting just over your waistband.

Carmy takes the hint, tracing over the skin he glanced earlier. As if to give him some idea, you slip your hands under his own shirt. You let your fingers skim over his abs, following the light trail of hair up his chest. He inhales when you brush your thumbs over both his nipples, pressing his chest into your hands.

You smile against his mouth, pulling away so you can catch your breathe.

However Carmy takes that as the opportunity to kiss at your neck, ducking to nip at your neck. You whine quietly, slowing your hips down to a stop. Carmy groans when you lift your hips but once he realizes why he's less upset. You tug at his waistband, wiggling it as much as you can without his help.

Carmy helps, lifting his hips and hooking his thumbs in his waistband and shoving them to his thighs. You inhale softly when his cock springs free.

Carmy was humble. To say the least.

He didn't act like he had a big dick. He didn't try to boast about it if he ever got the chance. Blush works it's way down his neck at your noise. You're staring transfixed at his cock like you've never seen something like it.

When you look back up you drag Carmen into a sweet kiss. You kiss him slowly, cradling his face as you drag your clothed core over his exposed head. Carmy whimpers into your mouth, taking your lower lip between his.

He lets you go to catch his breath. He can't think of a time he's been more turned on in his life

"Y-You're panties are so- so wet.." Carmy says between pants. He says them like they're not the filthiest thing to leave his mouth.

"Uh-huh," You nod, placing kisses to his jaw.

"Can I please?" One of Carmy's hands has slipped to your waistband, slowly creeping towards your clit. You whine softly into his neck as he ghosts his fingers lower. You can't help but rock your hips into his hand, letting his fingers skim over your entrance.

"Yes, Carmy, yes." You trace a vein with your tongue. He hooks his fingers into your underwear, already prodding at your hole with two fingers.

"Oh my god," Carmy sighs, pressing his mouth against your hair. His breathing ruffles your hair and he has to shut his eyes at feeling of your slick. He dips his fingers into your entrance, making you bite softly at his neck. He pushes until his up to his knuckles. His fingers reach deeper than your own and the heel of his hand presses delightfully against your clit.

Carmy watches in awe as you pull back from his neck and ride his fingers. He gives a few experimental thrusts that make your jaw drop. After a few minutes of this, you bring Carmen into a quick kiss, tugging at his lower lip.

"Need more, Carm," You tell him, lifting your hips off his hand. Carmy mourns the loss as you reach for his dick. His mourning is short-lived when your fingers encircle him, groaning as you angle his head against your entrance. You sink down slowly, and Carmy feels like he could come with just his tip inside you. He won't, but Jesus fucking Christ.

"So fuckin' warm.." Carmy sighs. He holds your hips tightly, keeping you in place. You put your hands on top of his, squeezing them tightly as you sink lower. His jaw drops open at the feeling of your walls around him. You clench around him gently, pulling him into a messy kiss. He pulls back to breathe when you thighs sit flush to his. Having you seated on his cock alone almost makes him come but he has to tense his stomach to prevent it.

Carmy's head falls back against the wall, chest rising and falling heavily as you sit flush in his lap. You can't help but bring your hands to his face, holding him gently as you take in the sight.

"You're so pretty, Carm.." You tell him softly, soothing a thumb over his cheekbone. You're too distracted to notice the twitch against your walls.

"Don't- Fuck- Don't say that..." Carmy mutters, leaning into your touch.

"Say what?" You're confused, tilting your head to one side with a furrowed brow.

"Call me pretty... Make me fuckin'- fuckin' bust b'fore I can move.." He grunts softly as he adjusts his hips. You squeak when his movements justle you, pressing deeper against you.

"Fuck-" You sigh, ducking your head to the side. You can't help the way your eyes flutter shut, soothing your thumb over his skin to keep you grounded. Once Carmy settles back down you pull him into a slow kiss, taking his lower lip between your teeth to tug at gently.

You roll your hips into his, relishing the way he groans into your mouth. The noise trails into a whimper as you clamp your walls around him, making his hands hold on tight to your thighs. The sound makes your head spin, pulling away to catch your breath and hold Carmy's face back as he tries to chase your lips.

You smooth your thumbs over the curls above his ears, while you collect yourself. Carmy ruts his hips up into you, making you squeal softly at the motion.

"Relax, relax," You pull away to catch his eyes. His pupils are blown wide when he gazes at you, blinking softly. You can't help but smile at him.

"Let me make you feel good.."

190 notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 3 days ago

Text

Lust for love. // Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

Summary: Aemond's life has always been a bitter and sour one, the only sweet thing in his life was you, his wife, perhaps too sweet for his liking, yet he neglected you in the past but a series of events lead you both together into love.

WARNINGS: mdni, smut, unprotected p in v, cunnilingus, interrupted orgasm, horny aemond, martial duties, clit stimulation, tiddy succin, body worship(?), gentle and kind aemond but he gets rough during sex, + not proofread, lmk if I missed any!

WC: 2.9k

A/N: divider credits @cafekitsune

The cold breeze brushed against Aemond's face as he walked hastily towards your chamber, his boots clacking against the stone floor heavily while his heart banged in his ribcage.

He was feeling light headed, unable to form any thoughts and only the words of the maester rang inside his skull from earlier. ‘Your lady wife seems to be sick’ he had informed him and those mere words were enough to make Aemond spurt up from his chair in the meeting room and immediately rush towards you.

Aemond, frankly, did not know why he was feeling anxious at the information that you were sick, he did not even like you much and only merely married you for the connections and benefits your family provided.

You were just a mere duty to him, so when did he start caring about you?

He stood in front of your chamber door waiting anxiously as the guard gave him a bow before he opened the door, the mental hinges creaking as it slowly moved. He steps inside hurriedly and immediately lets out a sigh of relief when he sees you sitting up. You just stare at him confused.

“Husband? What are you doing here?” The tone of your voice indicated surprise, because Aemond had never visited your chambers even once since the beginning of your marriage and only called you to his chamber when he wanted to consummate.

“I had been informed by the maester that you were sick.” He replies nonchalantly, tone betraying the true feelings that were whirling on the inside. He wanted to get close to you, embrace you.

“I'm not with child.” You reluctantly tell him while looking down, suddenly feeling as though you are a disappointment. It felt humiliating to tell him that, especially when he came all the way to your chambers, he probably expected that you would be with a child.

Except that was not the case.

Aemond was confused on why you were bringing up that topic now, but then it clicked in his head and he cleared his throat, grabbing your attention before shaking his head, “Oh no, wife, I wasn't here because of that.. I was worried.” He admits and your eyes widen in shock.

Worried for you?

For as long as you can remember Aemond never seemed the type to show affection or concern for anyone, perhaps it was due to his past grievances, you had only heard about his eye through rumours, he never opened up to you about anything. You were a duty for him, someone he needs a legitimate heir from; because it is not as though he doesn’t have whores to seek pleasure from so what is the use of you? ; or at least that is what you had assumed and questioned.

But to Aemond, you were his sweet gentle wife, he was afraid of hurting you, in his vision, you were like a white swan, pure, elegant and graceful, he did not want to scare you lest you fly away from him. He did not know when he started perceiving you in this way, but as time went on, he had developed quite a soft spot for you.

“My apologies, Lord husband, I did not intend to worry you.” You apologised, he shook his head gently. “No need to apologise, how are you feeling now?” He questions and you simply blink at him, “I'm well, better than before.” You reply with a soft smile. Aemond's lip curved upwards slightly as he nodded, “Very well.” He says in a dismissive tone.

Awkward silence falls between you both as you look down, he clears his throat before speaking, “If you'll pardon me- I have to—”

“Would you like to take a walk with me?” The question leaves your mouth in a hurry before you could stop it, a desperate attempt at clinging onto this fleeting moment of affection. He seems slightly taken aback but he nods his head, “I'd love to.” He replies and you nod, stepping in his direction and standing next to him. “Shall we go?” You inquire, “Yes, wife.” He answers and you wait for him to take the first step, which he does; and soon you follow him out of the room.

You both stroll down the garden, admiring the scenery, the breeze was gentle today, and the weather seemed perfect, Aemond linked your arm in his, holding you close to him.

Your skin was soft to the touch and it drove him insane, he couldn't help but stare at the way your breasts pushed up against the material of your dress, he never really properly fucked you like you deserve.

Yet now, he just wants nothing to do but push you against the castle wall and fuck you relentlessly in the garden. Aemond realised that he never heard you moan, or show any type of reaction when he consummated with you.

He wondered how your soft voice would shriek in pleasure, calling out his name in pleasure, how you'd cling so tightly to him, he wished he could witness such a sight. He wished he hadn't gone to whores to receive pleasure while he left his wife dry. He missed out on a lot of things due to his decisions.

He mentally made a note to stop visiting brothels as it would taint your honour, he could simply seek the same pleasure from you. He became more bothered as his imagination went wild.

“... husband…? husband…!” He snaps out of his imagination, looking at your confused expression, “Y-Yes? Please excuse me, I was lost in thought.” He apologises and you give him a soft smile, “You were saying something?” He asks and you nod, “I was thinking about; well; if you excuse my rudeness, I realised we don't know much about each other.” You truthfully tell him.

Aemond furrows his brows in question, “What do you mean by that wife?”

“I want to get to know you, husband.” You stare at him in the eye and his eye widens slightly, and just then he recalls the memory of Aegon's words.

“That woman in the brothel knows more about you than your own wife, don't you find it amusing?” He was taunting Aemond, and at that time Aemond ignored those words, but now that you've openly admitted that you don't know him much made his heart shatter.

“Of course wife, what do you wanna know?” He decides to let his guard down, ready to tell you whatever you ask for. “Everything.” You reply, biting your lip anxiously, your hand travels up to his face, caressing his cheek before you trail your thumb down his scar. He knew what that implication meant and he smiles at you in a gentle manner, his own hand coming up to grab your wrist.

“Of course.”

Days pass by just like that, your marriage with Aemond had improved tremendously after your little effort to get to know him better, you felt bad for him when he began to reveal such vulnerable things, yet you never judged him.

He had shown you all of his vulnerability so openly, from the matter of his eye to everything else. You listened in silence, and he appreciated that.

As Aemond grew more comfortable, he began to show his emotional side, which included both his vulnerability and anger. He would utter treasonous things about his own brother.

This night was one of those cold nights, the cold breeze flew into the martial chambers you were waiting in, the maids prepared you for the consummation as they do, you and Aemond consummate according to your moon cycle since your only duty is to provide him with a heir.

And besides, he probably did not want to lay with you in an intimate manner, or for pleasure. You felt insecure because of that.

You were scared that after all this progress, everything would return to the same way it was before because of this night, you doubted that it would happen but your thoughts plagued you.

You winced when you felt the maid tug at a hair strand accidentally, “Sorry my lady.” She apologises to you, “It is alright.” You respond softly, you stare at your own reflection in the mirror, eyes trailing down your features.

The door to the chamber opens, and Aemond strides in hurriedly, the maids quickly finish fixing you up and leave the room immediately, you get up from your seat and turn around to see Aemond undoing his clothes.

“Let me help you.” You offered, usually he would decline and continue to undress himself, and you expected that again, but his actions shocked you.

He immediately dropped his hands to the side and turned to look at you, waiting for you to walk over to him and help him. You blinked rapidly before rushing over to where he stood before you stood in front of him.

Your hands immediately began to work on removing his vest, your fingers delicately undid the loops, you were too focused on the job that you failed to notice Aemond's piercing gaze. He watched with intent as you worked on removing his clothes, his eye taking in your form. His breeches felt tight.

You pushed his coat off his shoulders and peeled away the vest, revealing his tunic beneath the layers, his garments fell to the ground with a shuffle, you stepped back, leaving him in his undergarments.

He grabbed the hem of his tunic before he pulled it off and then began to undo his breeches, untying the strings. You took that as a gesture to lay down on the bed, facing up.

This is what you did when you both consummated before, you would lay down, he would spread your legs, insert himself, finish and leave.

You expected that to be the case, but you were surprised when climbed on top of you, his face right in front of yours, platinum locks curtaining around you. He stared at your lips for a moment before he leaned in, capturing your lips with his.

You were surprised, and didn't know what to do, so you stayed still, but he bit your lip, indicating his disappointment at your freezing up, and so you immediately tried to mimic his movements.

Your lips danced against his, yet it couldn't match the fervent passion he moved with, it was desperate, intimate and most importantly, filled with love and lust.

All your prior insecurities melted away under his warm lips which were filled with desire and want, he wanted you, he seeked you out.

You both pulled away to catch your breaths, his lips were glossy from your saliva and slightly swollen. Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest.

Aemond moved your night off your shoulder before ripping it apart, revealing your breasts which you immediately covered out of instinct. But he gently grabbed your wrists and pinned your hands to the side of your head.

He leaned down, tracing kissing down your jawline, to your neck and to the soft flesh of your chest. His hot breath against your bud made you shiver in delight.

He hooked his tongue on your hardened nipple before engulfing it with his mouth, you let out a squeal of surprise at his actions but you didn't stop him.

He suckled on it gently, using his teeth to trap the bud in between before licking it with his tongue, he grunted in delight, his grip loosening one of your hands, freeing it from his hold.

He grabbed your unoccupied breast with his now free hand, giving it soft squeezes and playing with the bud, rolling and pinching it. You were new to this, not having any understanding of what was happening, after all, you've only read about it, never experienced such intimate acts yourself.

You rubbed your thighs together, trying to ease the ache that was forming in between them, you realised how sticky the area felt, and how it made it difficult for the friction of rubbing to work.

He notices this, lets go of your breast with a pop, he smirks before he rises off from you and settles in between your legs, this was the position you were more used to.

He spreads your legs wide apart, pulling up your nightgown, revealing all of you. He pressed his thumb against your clit which made your breath, you stared at him confused until you felt him rub small circles upon it.

Your body felt pangs of delightful stimulation, you couldn't help but enjoy the feeling, all of this was foreign to you. Aemond takes a deep breath before he closes in on your cunt, before licking a stripe upwards to your clit. You jolt from the sudden pleasure.

Aemond wrapped his lips around it, sucking on the bud slowly, you whined, grabbing his head for support as his mouth worked wonders down there. You tasted absolutely divine to Aemond, your essence trailing down his cheek as your body produced so much of it. You whimpered, thrashing around lightly as his warm tongue flickered with your bud.

Aemond's tongue swirled around your clit before he captured it with his mouth once again; “Oh! Yes!” You moaned, throwing your head back in pleasure when you felt him nibble on your bud. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth rose in your lower abdomen, you felt as if there was a fire inside you, waiting to combust any moment.

Just when you feet the flames beginning to erupt, Aemond stops his manoeuvres, putting out the fire, you furrowed your brows in confusion, wondering why he stopped.

But when you looked at Aemond, he seemed like an entirely different being at that moment, he had risen up back to his haunches again taking deep breaths almost as if he was trying to contain himself.

He was.

He had never felt such an overwhelming of desire in his body, every time he touched you; his mind scrambled into pieces, he wanted to fuck you so badly.

“Aemond?” You call out softly, confused, wondering if he was disappointed by your behaviour but it seems to snap him out of his daze and he stares at you. “I apologise; I'm finding it hard to control myself.” He admits his thoughts.

“Then don't.”

Aemond swore he heard you wrong.

“What?” He questions you.

“Don't try to Aemond, Don't hold yourself back, I want this, I want you.” You admit shyly.

The atmosphere fell silent for a second and you could feel the awkwardness from your own words beginning to sink in, that was until Aemond moved suddenly.

You shrieked as he pulled your hips onto his lap, wasting no time in inserting himself, you gasped at the sudden stretch, feeling yourself become full of him. You grabbed onto his shoulders for support.

He held your waist tightly, grabbing onto your hips for leverage as he began to move, thrusting himself in and out.

This was a movement you were familiar with, yet somehow it still feels new because of the strange sensation, it felt more intimate and passionate, his thrusts held meaning and it was as if every time he pushed inside you; he was reaffirming his love and desire for you.

He pushed you into the mattress, grabbing your legs and shoving them to your chest as he thrusted hard, his skin slapped against yours loudly, the room echoing the noises.

You threw your head back at the sensation, and you felt the fire in your stomach rekindle and you couldn't help but desperately chase it. “Ah, right there.” You moaned, feeling him hit a sweet spot inside you that fueled the fire in you, you gasped for air as every thrust of his knocked it out of your lungs. “You feel so good, you're driving me insane, wife.” Aemond grunts, his thrusts never once faltering.

Everything about this night together was very different from the previous ones, Aemond had never felt this good and neither have you, he regrets not trying to get to know you earlier. He felt like he was in heaven with the way you clenched around him.

He felt his high approaching, and he desperately ran after it thrusting deeper inside as he groaned and moaned.

Your body jolted up and down the bed and you felt the fire beginning to spread out slowly, you closed your eyes, when you felt the fire suddenly go out, you were confused but as Aemond thrusted one more time it erupted in your body like volcano, coursing through your veins and to your mind.

You moaned loudly, grabbing the sheets and arching your back as your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the intensity, you have never felt this way before.

Your vision went completely white before you could see once again, you felt Aemond finish inside you, his cocking twitching as he spurted his seed deep inside you.

“Seven hells.” He groans, riding his orgasm off, you watch as he clenches his eye shut taking deep breaths.

He looked so ethereal.

He immediately falls down next to you, catching his breath, he pulls you close and kisses you on the forehead, “You did so well for me.” He praises you, and you blush shyly.

Neither of you moved from the bed, having no intention to.

Typically Aemond would leave the room right after.

Yet he didn't.

He was stroking your shoulder gently as you dozed off, head resting on his shoulder.

He looks at your closed eyelids and thinks you're asleep.

“I love you.” He confesses, realising his true feelings.

Your lips quirk up into a smile before you open your eyes slightly.

“I love you too.”

You then doze off into slumber immediately, Aemond's heart picks up its pace, embarrassed and shy that you had heard him, but your response made him smile.

6K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 4 days ago

Text

crazy

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, pussy!whipped hotch, age gaps, dirty talk, rough unprotected office sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving in the past), choking, hair pulling, ass slapping, groping, some angst if u squint, love confessions and some asshole behavior, hotch is a munch and masturbates in his office.

word count: 6.5k (yea…)

a/n: this may seem a lil out of character for hotch? we all know he’s a professional thru and thru but the point is this is that he’s pussy whipped! also lots of flashbacks in italics whoopsies <3

Aaron was sure he was going crazy.

Or maybe he already was, and he was just starting to feel the effects of his craziness.

Aaron Hotchner, usually poised in a way that unwillingly intimidated others and made them back away from him, was unraveling in a way he had never done so before.

Having a one-night stand with his subordinate, the same subordinate he had been harboring painfully arising feelings for literal years, often led to such a reaction.

He could still recount every single detail from that night, from the moment the tension between you both began building itself up to the moment it actually snapped. It was as if he had everything engraved in his mind; the views he never thought he'd get to see to the things he never thought he would get to feel etched into his brain.

It had all been a blur that night, and a part of Aaron still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you reciprocated his attraction towards you, letting him, not only touch you but also fuck you.

You two had stayed up late in your shared hotel room only to talk, really. After you and the rest of the team had wrapped up a somewhat good case, you only wanted to rant to one another. Aaron knew that you weren’t a ‘whiskey girl,’ or whatever it was that you said, but he had offered you a drink either way.

Neither one of you had even gotten tipsy, so he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. But the connection had always been there, though, one thing finally leading to another and all the unsaid words and stolen glances between you both began to surface.

It was as if everything you both silently felt for another was starting to seep through and everything that hindered you from telling each other no longer mattered.

It had felt so hot, from the way you held him close with your legs wrapped around his waist to the messy yet passionate kisses you shared, your bodies connected beneath.

It was everything Aaron envisioned it to be. But, as magical and heated as it was, he was the one to have ended things before they even had a chance at starting.

The morning after, as soon as you had both untangled your bodies from one another and got dressed to get back home to Quantico, he had done the stupidest thing imaginable.

“We shouldn’t do this again.”

You froze in your spot, half-way through tugging your pants up your legs. You blink at him from where he stood on the other side of the bed, already dressed, “This?”

“Yes.” Aaron says, voice awfully neutral.

You frown, jutting out your bottom lip that same way you did when you were thinking, “May I ask why?”

He takes a deep breath, “I’m your boss,” he gives you a pointed look, as if he had to remind you after fucking you dumb, “and you’re my subordinate. This goes against several workplace regulations and if anyone were to find out we could both lose our jobs.”

You’re quiet for several moments after that, and Aaron uses the silence to his advantage to prepare for any arguments you could be thinking of to use against him. He can’t seem to read you, though, your expression pensive as you stare at the floor.

Then you shrug. “Okay.” You say, simple and nonchalant.

Aaron watches as you continue finishing getting ready and he doesn’t know if he should ask if you were actually okay with it.

He decides that it’s for the best, not getting any pushback or having to argue on why he’s just subconsciously pushing you away after having one of the best nights of his life.

“Okay.” He repeats, giving you a small nod, even though you weren’t looking at him. With one last glance to your surprisingly calm figure, he finishes collecting the rest of his things and heads out of the room.

Even after the team had checked out of their hotel and settled onto the jet, you didn’t spare him a second glance. You hadn’t necessarily moved to ignoring him or silently lashing out, but it was as if everything went back to normal, with no mentions or glances back to that night.

That should be what was driving him crazy; the way he didn’t know if you were only calm because you were planning on going to the higher-ups, to HR, about what had happened. If you were secretly planning on putting him on blast out of anger or betrayal or telling him that he had coerced you to sleep with him and threatened you in case you didn’t.

No. What was driving him crazy was that he couldn’t get you out of his head, even after he broke things off.

Everything was engraved into his mind, from the sight of you on your knees, mouth full of his cock while you stared up at him with tear-pricked eyelashes and basked in his praises. Or the way your nails dug into his skin as he thrusted into you and the way you felt around him, all while he took pleasure in the sweet sounds he emitted from you every second.

He was going mad, and the already established feelings he had for you weren’t helping, either.

Aaron stared at you from inside his office, studied your features from afar whilst you sat on your desk. Your face was set in a neutral expression, flickering your attention from your computer screens to the physical files in front of you, but all he could see was the same face and person morphed into the one that had been withering in pleasure underneath him.

“Hotch…” you whine, a hand wrapped around his bicep as he dipped a finger inside your glistening pussy.

He watched as your back arched off the bed, throwing your head back against the pillows at the feeling of his thick digit inside you, “What, sweetheart?” He asked, the nickname rolling of his tongue easily. “What do you need? Hm?”

Your hips stuttered as he inserted another finger, thrusting them in and out you, “Y-You. I want you. Inside me.” You peered at him through your fluttering lashes, your mascara smudged underneath your eyes from the tears that had slipped out while you were sucking his cock.

“Yeah?” His voice is filled with amusement and bewilderment, one part of him indulging in seeing you this way—all disheveled and needy for him—while the other was still stunned at the whole thing. “Want my cock inside you after you just had it in your mouth?”

You nod meekly at his words, a sweet pout adorning your flushed lips.

Despite the heat and tension that suffocated the room, Aaron’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. The way you were asking for him ever so bashfully after just giving him the best head of his life tugged at his heartstrings and made his cock twitch.

“Please,” you whisper, bucking your hips upwards. A stuttered gasp emits from your lips when you feel the tip of his dick prod at your sopping entrance, “Aaron…”

Aaron lets out a low, throaty groan at the sound of his first name mumbled in desperation, and he thinks back to all the times he’s thought about you like this. How many times he’s dreamed of having you underneath him, encaged by his broad figure and whining for him.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he says promisingly. He lifts himself to his full height on his knees, lining himself up with your entrance and holding onto the meat of your thigh. Another groan utters from the back of his throat, mixed in with your gasps and puffs of breath as he begins to sink inside you.

A knock on his office door forces Aaron to snap out of his train of thought. He looks down at himself, registering the painfully hard boner he was now sporting. Quickly, he scooted further into his desk so that the tent in his pants wouldn’t be visible by whoever was knocking on his door. Clearing his throat, he lets out a somewhat proper ‘come in.’

In walks Garcia, and Aaron doesn’t know if he should be thankful or mortified it was her out of all people.

“Sir?” She asks politely, files in hand and head tilted in an ever so Penelope manner. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

Right. It was barely nine in the morning and Aaron was already sporting a growing tent in his suit pants.

He nods, doing his best to feign being busy, “I’ll be there in five, Garcia.”

He wants to think he comes out as somewhat normal, but panic surges through him briefly when her expression turns into a curious one.

“Are you alright, sir?” She takes a step forward and Aaron has to hold himself back from screaming for her to stay where she is. “You look red and pale at the same time.”

He shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively yet good-naturedly, “I’m fine. Jack is coming down with something and I think I might be, too.”

Great. Now he was using his innocent son as a scapegoat for his own horniness and bad decisions. Some father he was.

Garcia nods, looking convinced enough before bidding him a nod shuffling out of his office and closing the door behind her.

Aaron lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. His boner had softened the slightest bit, and he was conflicted in trying to make it go down completely or taking care of it right here and now. But the thought of having to face his team after fucking himself into his fist mortified him. Of seeing you, right after fucking himself into his fist to the thought of you after leaving you hanging coldly.

He opted out of it, though it took more than five minutes to settle himself before heading over to the conference room. Once again, he tried to play it as casual as possible while he walked to his seat with everyone staring expectantly at him, including you.

“Let’s get started.”

The team’s briefings went on as so, everyone presenting their perspective cases and discoveries within them. It was a bit easier to lose focus of what he was thinking earlier when the gory crime scenes showed up on the TV screen each time someone went up, but all focus was lost when it was your turn.

You stood from your seat, taking the control from Penelope’s hands and talking everyone through the case you were currently focusing on.

Aaron held his fist up to his face as he tried to focus on the details of the case instead of you and your entire being. Your hair whipped out and into your face each time you looked from the screen and back to the team. The top part of your dress twisted with each turn and motion you made, the bottom part of it creasing along with it. Was it a new dress?

Didn’t matter. It didn’t compare to the pajama shorts he had slowly, almost tauntingly, pulled down your legs before–

“...makes me think he’s keeping them in a secluded space. He obviously likes the control and the pleasure of having his victims’ screams and cries for help to himself, so I’ve advised police to search condemned and empty areas far away from the city and even on the outskirts of the town.” You finished with a nod and once again Aaron was snapped away from his unholy thoughts.

While everyone else added their own commentary and advice, Aaron realized he had been the only to have not said anything during your presentation, too preoccupied with you once more.

“Adding in the possibility of him keeping them outside of the main town the victims have been found in was a smart move,” He quickly added, trying his best to comment on what he had paid attention to. His breath hitched when you turned to look at him. “Law enforcement might have missed that and can collaborate with police from the next town over. Good job.”

You smiled softly and nodded in appreciation, “Thank you.”

Fuck. How were you so nonchalant about this? Aaron’s mind wandered back to the probability of you getting back at him by going to Strauss about your rendezvous. It was only early morning Monday, the first day back in the office after said events, so it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t heard anything from her. Yet.

He nodded back in response, though, casting his gaze downwards and collecting his things, “Great. I expect everyone’s reports to be on my desk by tonight, please.”

Everyone stood from their seats, shuffling out of the room with mumbled conversations. Aaron held back, taking his time in looking through his files and stacking them together while you did the same, leaving the two of you alone once everyone else had gone.

He wanted to say something, gather the courage to ask you something. Anything, just to make sure you were alright. If the two of you were still right, in spite of everything.

Only when you finished collecting things did he bring himself to open his mouth, a soft utterance of your name to get your attention.

You stopped in your tracks, a good couple feet away from him and the door. You stared at him, waiting for him to speak with a neutral expression on your face.

Not one of annoyance or irritation. Just expectant.

God, you really were driving him crazy.

You raised a brow when he didn’t say anything, “…Yes?”

He clears his throat again before asking, “Is everything okay?”

You blink and tilt your head, dumbfounded, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Aaron grips at his files, guilt consuming him all over again. “With us,” he clarifies, swallowing harshly. “Is everything okay with us?”

You blink a couple more times, eyes wandering to the side as if you’re trying to catch onto what he’s implying.

It makes his heart churn.

“Oh.” You finally say, meeting his gaze. “Yes. We both agreed, no? To what you said.”

Aaron can’t decipher if the smile you give him is genuine or jeering, and he can’t tell if what you say last is clarifying as his answer or if it’s something underlyingly petty.

Either way it’s something. You’ve given him something and he’ll take it.

He nods finally, “Yes, we did.”

You shrug, smiling a bit wider this time, “All good then.”

He gives another curt nod, stepping to the side so you could exit the room. He moves to follow behind you, but he gets a whiff of your perfume as soon as you brush past him. The scent makes him halt and he has to hold onto one of the back posts of a chair to stabilize himself.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the remnants that linger behind you for a moment.

He truly was going crazy.

The rest of the day goes by the same and hardly any work gets done on Aaron’s end. He’d scribble whatever he needed to write down or fill out then get distracted by the void of you.

It was getting impossible for him to keep working with the relentless problem that was his ongoing boner. He was tucked into his desk all the way yet it hurt whenever he leaned forward or backwards while moving around. Oftentimes he tried to give himself some sort of relief by running a hand over himself, but it didn’t help much, and the dirty thoughts about you certainly didn’t either.

The sounds that filled the room were lewd, your gags and moans from below mixed in with Aaron’s grunts and words of encouragement echoing off the hotel room’s walls. His large hand was entangled in your hair, pushing your head forward to take more of him, as if your jaw wasn’t aching enough already.

Though there wasn’t a way for him to tell, really. You gave no sign or indication that you wanted him to stop, your tongue swiping at the head of his cock each time he dipped your head even more. Saliva pooled from your tongue and leaked from your mouth, dripping into the carpeted floor and entailing a trail from your lips to your chin.

Aaron’s head was thrown back in utter pleasure and astonishment, bewildered that you’d ever be doing this to him. He didn’t want to finish before you, but it was taking everything him to not give in and fuck your face the way he truly desired.

He’d never received head this good, nor had he received it much recently. His legs were spread with you settled in between them contently. “That’s it sweetheart,” he mumbled, brushing fallen strands of hair out of your face lovingly. “Taking me so good, such a good girl.”

His praises only edged you on even further, bobbing your head up and down a couple more times before pulling off of him with a slick ‘pop!’ You rest your head on his thigh in an attempt to catch your breath, a shaky, stuttered sigh heaving from your chest as your hand comes up to continue the rest of your work.

Aaron has to run a hand over his face to try and keep his composure, his nails digging into the skin of his palm albeit their short length. He throws his head back against his chair, a grunt threatening to emit from his throat as he coercively runs his hand over his boner.

At least he wishes he can say it’s coercively, really it’s just a tainted image of you he’s embedded in his own dirty mind.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to give in and reach inside his pants, sparing another careful glance to his now locked office door before springing his painfully hard cock free. A low, pleased grunt spills from his pursed lips as he wraps his hand around himself. He gives his length a good tug, bucking his hips up instantaneously, the same way he did when you first wrapped your mouth around him.

Still, as cautiously and quietly as possible, he begins to stroke at his length, a hand covering his mouth as he continues to dart his eyes from below himself to his door–as if anyone would walk in at any second and catch him jerking himself off in his own government-issued office.

He begins to imagine that his fist is you. That you’re sitting in the space between his legs with your hot mouth licking long stripes up his length and that your hand is toying with his balls the same way you did before. It only makes him pump at his fist even faster, the hand that was covering his mouth shooting down to the armrest of his chair, gripping at the cushioned leather as he began to reach his high.

“Fuck, Hotch, fuck!” Your whines are eccentric, head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Your legs wrap around Aaron’s waist, pulling him closer to you as he continues to thrust into your sopping pussy.

Aaron groans loudly, silently thanking that his and yours room was placed further down the hall from everyone else’s. His hands rest at the bottom of your thighs, his large hand gripping the flesh for support as he pounds into you relentlessly. Your pussy grips him like a vice and your nails dig into the skin of his biceps from where you hold him.

His sight is focused on you only, the way your tits bounce with each thrust and the way your mouth is curled into a wide ‘o’ from the pleasure you’re receiving.

“So good for me, baby,” he mumbles, hand coming down to grab at your breast, squeezing possessively before leaning down to crash his lips against yours hungrily.

You whine through the kiss, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging while your other hand scratches at his back. A string of saliva connects at your lips when he pulls away, his head dipping down to kiss and suck at your neck while he grabs your hips to better pistol himself inside you.

A moan echoes through the room again and straight to his ear, your back arching into his chest, “Feels so good, Aaron, so good!”

Aaron’s release sputters everywhere messily and he has to bite at his fist to stop himself from groaning loudly. His come spills onto parts of his leg, his desk, and even onto the floor. He leans back into his chair, trying to contain himself and his heaving chest.

He takes a look at the mess he created–the mess you unknowingly entailed from him. Like clockwork, the paranoia and guilt from doing this begins to seep in and he’s quick to snatch a handful of tissues from the box he kept on the corner of his desk to clean himself up. He tucks himself back into his pants then moves to clean at his desk and his floor.

Clearly, he hadn’t known what he was thinking. Not when it came to calling things off between the two of you before they even happened and certainly not now after he realized the spell he was currently in.

The last hour of the work day comes by agonizingly slowly. After his little session, Aaron finds it a little bit easier to get the rest of his work done (key word: a little bit). The rest of the members all begin to spill into his office to hand in their finished paperwork and files, all of them sparing him brief glances of curiosity and concern–the same way Garcia had done earlier–before bidding him goodnight and leaving.

The only one that hasn’t come to hand in anything was you. He knew you were still here, he could see you sitting at your desk from the view through his blinds, scribbling away casually like you had been doing so the whole day. After you had stalled to follow behind the rest of your co-workers, Aaron had gotten up from his desk and pretended to be walking around his office with a file in hand, lifting his head every few minutes to see if you were ever making your way towards him to turn in your work.

He wanted desperately to know what you were thinking. If you were secretly being tortured by the recollections of your hook-up, too, or if you truly didn’t care about him basically dumping you after having sex with you and telling you that it could never happen again due to your perspective titles.

With a defeated sigh, he closes the file he was still pretending to read. His eyes instinctively travel back to where your desk was at and his breath immediately catches in his throat when he sees that you aren’t there. He hears the sound of footsteps approaching closer and closer through the staircase that leads up to his office and you walk in soon after.

You freeze in the doorway when you see that he’s already staring at you. Your eyes flicker to a space behind him then back at him before you take a tentative step back and glance at the clock hung on the wall facing his desk, “Uh, is this a bad time?”

“No!” Aaron takes a step forward when you take another one back. He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, “No, no, it’s not. I didn’t know you were still here. Everyone else left almost half an hour ago.”

“Oh,” you glance back behind you to the rest of the bullpen before looking back at him. “I was just finishing up the reports you said you wanted done by the end of today.” You jut your chin toward the stack of files you were carrying in one arm.

“Right.” He clears his throat, motioning to the pile of files the rest of the team had stacked on his desk. “You can just leave them there.”

You nod, giving him a small smile.

He watches as you walk over to his desk, taking in your appearance while you double-check that everything was correct. He swallowed harshly, taking in the way your skirt hugged your lower figure perfectly the same way it did during the morning debriefing. Your hair flows ever so slightly and he takes in a good look at your side profile when you tuck a loose strand behind your ears while you continue to flip through the pages of your file.

You’re breathtakingly gorgeous and Aaron doesn’t know if what suddenly makes him start walking up behind you is from what he’s felt since sleeping with you or if it’s everything he’s felt since way before that.

You halt your movements when you feel his presence directly behind you, gasping when you turn and find how close he was standing.

“Hotch–” you gulp, heat blooming through your cheeks albeit feeling confused. “W-What are you doing?”

Aaron takes in your tone and he can tell that you’re not asking in a disgusted, annoyed way, more so in a flustered way. He lifts a hand to brush the hair that frames your face past your face but doesn’t actually move to do it, keeping it there to see if you push him away. But you don’t. So he brushes it away.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” He mumbles, eyes boring into the side of your face as you stare up at him as best as you can from your practically rigid figure.

You scoff, a sound filled with so much humor yet so little at the same time, “You were the one that said this couldn’t happen again.” You twist your head, trying to turn your body around more with the way he had you pressed against the front of his desk.

“That was a mistake,” he whispers. He dips his head so that his mouth is by your ear, watching you shiver from the proximity.

“A mistake?” You repeat, brows raised. You lull your head to the side but you don’t know if you do it to get away from him or to grant him access to your neck.

Aaron takes it as the latter and hovers his lips over your skin, the same spot where he had left splotches of pink and purple last time.

“Yes,” he confirms, “a mistake.”

You want to ask why he said it then, want to press him for answers but you can’t when his hot breath sends shivers down your spine and arms. Your legs go weak when he brings a hand around you to wrap at your middle, big hand splayed across your stomach to pull you in even closer, if possible.

“H-Hotch,” you clear your throat. “We can’t. You said so yourself.” You roll your shoulders back in a weak effort to push him away, but all he does is hold you tighter.

“I was wrong,” he mutters, pressing a feather-light kiss to the very side of your neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of your perfume again and letting out a pleased hum from the back of his throat. “I was so wrong.”

You gasp when he flings an arm out in front of you, proceeding to knock over the multiple things from his desk. Files, pens, and other trinkets fly off the hard wood and land on the floor with a loud crash. Aaron spins you around before you can process the whole mess, turning you around so that you were facing him.

“Aaron-!” Your mind is a whirlwind as he grabs at your hips and easily sets you down on the edge of the desk. His lips crash onto yours messily and you hum, satisfied.

The kiss quickly becomes sloppy and hungry, muffled whines as you two practically devour one another. Your hands wrap around his neck while his own roam your body, curious hands searching for the zipper of your dress and bunching up the fabric in the process. You mewl when he finally finds it and slowly tugs it down. You break apart from the kiss in order to help him, scrambling from side to side so that it comes off from under you.

Aaron lets out a groan at the sight of you as he tosses the dress to the side. You’re wearing a matching set: a lacy white bra that cups your breasts gorgeously and a lacy white thong paired with it. It takes everything in him to not come undone right then and there.

Holding your gaze, Aaron sinks to his knees, shrugging off his suit jacket as he kneels before you.

“Aaron…”

He immediately shushes you, discarding the jacket somewhere next to your dress on his office floor. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Instead of obeying, you knock your knees together bashfully, the fat of your thighs pressing against each other.

Aaron’s eyes darken at your shy defiance. “I said spread your legs.” His hands come out to grab behind your knees and you gasp again when he spreads them apart forcefully, large hands holding them in place.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he utters, gaze locked on your soaked panties. His palms slide down your legs, eyes flickering back up at you as he begins to kiss at your calves. Each peck to your skin leaves a wet trail from your earlier kiss and you whine in anticipation as he makes his way up before coming face to face with your pussy. His fingers hook themselves inside the thin fabric and you immediately get the message, lifting your hips once more so he could slide them down your legs

Aaron swiftly shoves the wet material into his pockets, wasting no time before diving straight in and burying his head in between your thighs.

His tongue swiping at your folds elicits a loud moan from you, your hands shooting out to grab at his head, “Aaron!” You yell out, fingers tangling in his hair to stabilize yourself from the suddenness.

Aaron grunts from below you, the sound sending vibrations up your body and causing you to arch into his touch. He didn’t know how he hadn’t thought of tasting you that night in the hotel room, too preoccupied with the pleasure he had received from you. But–dare he say–this was better than head, better than anything else he had ever gotten, tasted or even done. He wasn’t even a minute into devouring you and he had already decided that this was the best pussy he had ever had in his whole life.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this pussy.” He lapped at your juices, mouth hot on your dripping cunt. His hands continued to grip at your thighs, large palms still keeping you in place from where you were writhing in pleasure.

“A-Aaron,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. “Please, I need you. Need you so bad.”

Your head was thrown back in utter bliss, hips stuttering with each nibble at your clit. Your fingers tugged his face closer despite the longing you had to feel him inside you, caging his head to keep him there.

Aaron couldn’t help but bask in the sounds he was pulling from you. It was as if his mouth had a mind of his own and all it could focus on was licking up every single one of your juices, the taste nearly intoxicating. He flickered his eyes up to you, taking in the way your chest heaved and your breasts pushed against the cups of your bra, practically spilling out.

Without removing his tongue from your pussy, he reaches behind you and easily undoes the hooks.

You let the straps fall from your shoulders and aid him in tossing it somewhere in the room along with your dress. Desperately, you reach for Aaron’s hands and place them on your breasts, groaning when he rolls each already hard and sensitive nipple in between your fingers.

Your legs begin to shake and you’re quick to wrap them around Aaron’s head, the heels of your feet digging into his muscular back. “Mm, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you toss your head back as the coil in your belly threatens to snap.

“Yeah?” He teases, angling his head so that he could spit onto your cunt, all before diving right back in and swirling it together with your arousal. “You gonna cum on my mouth, honey?”

You nod, feverishly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Go ahead, pretty,” Aaron ushers, voice deep and rough from his non stop nibbling and sucking. “Come on my mouth, sweetheart.”

A certain bite on your clit immediately has you seeing stars and the office is soon filled with your cries of ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you violently. Your body shakes and stutters as you ride out the high on his face, leaning backwards until your back was resting against his desk.

Aaron doesn’t relent even as you begin to come down from your high, enhancing the way your legs shook from where they were wrapped around him.

“No, n-no more, Aaron, p-please,” you begged, keeping your back on the desk while weakly attempting to push him away.

“Just one more, honey. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

You don’t get the chance to answer, back arching off the desk as his fingers prodded at your entrance briefly before he shoved two inside. A high-pitched moan emitted from your swollen lips and your hips rutted against his face once more as he scissored the thick digits inside your gummy walls.

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it,” Aaron’s sultry words only encouraged you further, his face wet with your arousal and the release of your first orgasm. “I’m gonna make it up to you, sweetheart. But first you gotta give me another one.”

His thumb came up alongside his mouth to rub rough circles on your already sensitive, swollen clit and you immediately felt that coil snap once more, mixing in with the first orgasm you hadn’t even properly come down from.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!” You mumbled dumbly, mouth agape and head hanging back from the desk as you rode out your second high on his face, the heavy wood shaking with every motion.

Aaron’s head was buried even further in between your legs, lips trying to catch every single drop that leaked from your hole, pulling out your fingers and cleaning them with a swirl from his tongue. He delivered a sweet kiss to your folds before standing, his knees cracking in response to being kneeled on the ground for so long.

He leans over, bringing a guiding hand to the back of your neck to get you to sit up, “You good, honey?” Aaron asks, brushing away the stray hands of hair that had stuck to your face. “Still with me?”

You hum, nodding weakly, “Need you, Aaron.”

Aaron chuckles at your fucked-out form, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “I got you, sweetheart. Bend over the desk for me.”

You stand on wobbly legs and do as he says blindly, the need to have him inside you outshining your nearing overstimulation. You feel yourself salivate as the sound of him undoing his belt is heard from behind you and you look back to watch him pull himself out from his boxers.

He hears you gasp when his cock springs out and hits against his stomach, tip an angry red and leaking with precome. He wraps a hand around himself and groans at how painfully hard he was. He quickly lines himself up with your entrance, slapping his length against your dripping folds before easing himself inside little by little.

You whine from in front of him when he bottoms out, the tip of his dick easily hitting your sweet spot the same way it did before in the hotel. This time, though, it feels even better with how wet you already were, his cock glistening when he pulls out before shoving himself back in roughly.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to set a brutal pace, hands on your hips as he begins to pound into you from behind ruthlessly, a stark contrast from the way he had asked you if you were okay.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how crazy you’ve driven me since I first fucked this pretty pussy,” Aaron grunted form behind, fingers digging so hard into your hips he was sure there would be an imprint there. “Had to get myself off in my own office, that’s how crazy you had me going.”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. Your mouth is wide open, small huffs the only noise you can make while a line of saliva drools from your tongue. It’s only when you feel him wrap your hair in his hand and pull your back flush against his chest that you squeal, the angle pushing his cock further inside you.

“You like that, pretty?” He asks deeply, voice hoarse and gravely as he continues to pound into your pussy, the squelching that comes from beneath scandalous. “Like getting this pussy fucked by me, huh?”

You nod dumbly, too fucked out to properly answer him. A harsh slap against your ass makes you cry out, the sting somewhat snapping you back to reality.

“Answer me,” Aaron commands, tugging at your hair and making your back arch even further against him. “Did I fuck you dumb like last time?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, legs shaking even in your standing position. “I l-love it, Aaron. Feels so g-good.”

He chuckles against your ear, the way you could barely register his questions only making him quicken his pace, “You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna give me one more wrapped around me?”

You nod with as much fervor as possible, “Yes, y-yes, can I, Aaron? Want you to c-cum inside me, please.”

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you full of my cum?” He asks. He doesn’t bother to correct you when you don’t answer, instead snaking his hand to your front and down to your pussy.

The feel of him rubbing circles on your clit is the final push you need before you’re clenching around him, body trembling against him as he continues his assault on your swollen bud.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to spill his own release inside you, giving you a couple more shallow thrusts as he comes down from his own high.

You whine when you feel him pull out, a string of your mixed releases following suit on the tip of his cock.

“So good, baby,” he praises, wrapping a hand around your neck gently and pressing soothing kisses on your cheek. “Did so good for me.”

You lean your head against his shoulder as he reaches for some tissues to clean you up, “So I guess we’re definitely doing this again?”

Aaron laughs, a pink adorning his cheeks, “Yes. Yes, we are. In fact, I’m telling everyone to work from home tomorrow so I can take you on a proper date. I’m not risking going crazy again.”

You suppress a giggle, “You went crazy? Over my pussy?”

He sighs, “If only you knew.”

4K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 5 days ago

Note

on my hands n knees begging for a vi x reader fic where they keep getting interrupted which leads to desperate, whiny, quickie

i’ll be quick | hockey player!vi x fem!reader, fluff, smut (mdni), wc: 6k+ | masterlist

content warnings: college/modern!au, smut (+18); vi being a needy/horny/whiny brat, service top?vi, bottom!reader, semi-public sex, kissing, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), overstimulation [idk what else i’m missing help]

note: first request!! ty for requesting!! i’ve been so excited to write for vi it was killing me. wrote it as modern au iydm as i could think of a more ways they got interrupted/where they would do it lol

Vi swears it’s not her fault—how could it be, when you look the way you do? She doesn’t think anyone could blame her, not really, not when you manage to completely undo her without even trying. You don’t even realize you’re doing it, that you’re so effortlessly pretty that she is left utterly useless whenever you’re around.

And God forbid you actually notice her staring—when you glance up at her from over your laptop, giving her that small, knowing smile, like you know exactly what you’re doing to her.

And she tries to keep it together, she really does, but you make it impossible.

It’s not just about how you look, though that’s definitely part of it. But she loves how you carry yourself, how smart you are, how dedicated you are. You’re an excellent student—always organized, always ahead of your deadlines, always balancing ten different things like it’s nothing.

And Vi knows she’s smart too; she wouldn’t have made it into this school, wouldn’t be holding onto her hockey scholarship, if she weren’t. But there’s something about the way you approach every little thing, like you know you’re capable of anything, that makes her want you even more.

It’s intoxicating, being around someone like you.

And maybe it’s selfish, but she loves the fact that you’re hers—that no matter how busy you both get, you still make time for her, still let her pull you into her arms, kiss you senseless, or fuck you so, so good.

These days, the problem is time.

There never seems to be enough of it.

Between your rigorous schedule and her demanding practices, you’re both constantly being pulled in different directions, and it drives Vi crazy. She hates how little time you get to spend together, how often she finds herself lying in her dorm room late at night, thinking about you and wishing you were there with her, laying in her bed, your clothes forgotten on her floor as she pushes your knees apart, listening to those delicious whines of yours while she inches her face closer… and closer… and closer to your wet pussy.

Vi groans loudly, annoyed she cant have you now.

And it doesn’t help that you don’t even share a dorm. You’ve each got your own roommates, which means that even when you do manage to carve out a few hours together, there’s always the risk of someone walking in.

It’s maddening, really—trying to navigate your relationship around other people’s schedules, stealing kisses in empty hallways and brushing your fingers together under the table in the dining hall, never able to just be with you the way she wants to be.

And then there’s the fact that she can never stop wanting you. She loves making you feel good, loves the way your body reacts to her touch, the way you whisper her name in that breathless, needy way that makes her heart race.

But no matter how much she wants you, something always gets in the way.

Maybe it’s your phone buzzing with a reminder about a study session, or the alarm on her watch going off to remind her she’s got practice in ten minutes. Maybe it’s the sound of your roommate’s key turning in the lock, making you both scramble to look presentable before they walk in.

Whatever it is, it always happens just when things are starting to heat up, leaving Vi groaning in frustration as she pulls away from you, her forehead resting against your shoulder as she mutters something about how unfair this all is.

And you—you always laugh softly, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before telling her that there’ll be other nights, other moments, other chances.

But Vi doesn’t want other nights. Not when she wants you now.

She had been frustrated since that time she was sat next to you in your dorm room, alone and studying.

The soft hum of your room’s desk lamp filled the most of quiet, broken only by the sounds of pages flipping and your voice drifting lazily into her Vi’s ears. You were perched on the carpeted floor, leaning slightly over the low table scattered with textbooks, notes, and half-finished assignments. Vi sat next to you, her legs stretched out in front of her, one elbow propped on the table as she twirled a pen between her fingers.

“And I don’t think he explained it very well, honestly,” you said, absentmindedly brushing your hair out of your face as you scanned your notes. “He kept going off on this tangent about historical context, which, honestly, is fine, but it didn’t really help me understand the actual analysis part. Do you think the midterm essay will—”

You paused mid-sentence, suddenly aware that Vi hadn’t responded in a while. You glanced up at her, and sure enough, her blue eyes were fixed on you, but not in the way you’d expect from someone actively listening.

She wasn’t looking at your notes, wasn’t even pretending to follow along. No, her gaze was focused on you, eyes drifting down to where the hem of your skirt meets the bare skin of your pretty thighs—her eyes a little too intense, a little too amused, and far too obvious for her to deny it.

“Vi,” you prompted, drawing out her name as you raised an eyebrow at her. “Were you even listening?”

“Hm?” she hummed, clearly unbothered as a slow smirk tugged at her lips.

She didn’t even try to cover up her distraction, and instead of answering, she leaned forward slightly, kissing your shoulder as her hand brushes against your knee.

You rolled your eyes, returning your attention to your notes. “You know, this is going to be on the midterm. You could at least—”

But you didn’t get to finish, because her hand was suddenly sliding just above your knee, her fingertips brushing lightly against the skin of your thigh. You stiffened, your words faltering as you glanced at her. She didn’t look guilty, not in the slightest. If anything, she looked like she was having the time of her life, her smirk growing as she noticed the way your breath hitched.

“Vi,” you said again, this time a little softer, your tone caught somewhere between amused and warning.

“Mmhm,” she replied nonchalantly, like she hadn’t just started trailing her fingers higher, pushing the hem of your skirt up with an almost maddening slowness. “You were saying something about… historical context?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, sitting back slightly and shooting her a knowing look. “I think we’re having trouble focusing, Violet.”

“Can you blame me?” she asked, her voice low, her fingers now drawing lazy circles against your thigh before slipping underneath your skirt completely, the tips of her fingers playing with the soft fabric of your panties.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting back the grin that threatened to spread across your face. “We’re supposed to be studying.”

“I am studying,” she quipped, her tone light and teasing as her hand crept a fraction higher and her face coming close, feeling her breath against your neck. “I’m just… multitasking.”

Before you could respond—or give in to the way your heart was starting to pound against your ribs—the sound of a knock echoed through the room. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make both of you freeze. Your head whipped toward the door, your face heating immediately as you scrambled to push Vi’s hand away.

“Hey, you in there?” your roommate’s voice called from the other side of the door.

Vi groaned quietly, leaning back and dragging her hand through her hair, her smirk quickly replaced by an exaggerated pout.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath, slouching back against the table like the universe had personally conspired against her.

You shot her an apologetic look as you stood, smoothing your skirt back down and trying to look as composed as possible.

“Yeah, just a second!” you called out, your voice a little too high, a little too hurried.

Your girlfriend just shook her head, the corners of her lips twitching like she couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or glare at the door.

Then, it happened again.

It had been a long, exhausting week, another one where your schedules never seemed to line up. Between Vi’s practices and your mounting workload for your classes, you barely had time to breathe, let alone spend time together. So when Vi got that text from you that your roommate just left for her classes, she showed up at your dorm that Saturday afternoon, sweaty from an early morning workout but unmistakably eager, you didn’t even think twice before pulling her inside and shutting the door behind her.

She looked good—too good. Her hair was damp from her shower after the gym, and she was wearing that snug black hoodie that you loved, the one that clung to her frame and her muscles just enough to drive you a little crazy.

Her hands were on your waist the second the door clicked shut, her lips brushing against your temple, then your jaw, then lower, like she’d been starving for your touch all week.

And, she practically was.

“You missed me,” you teased, your voice light as your fingers slid up the front of her hoodie.

“Mhmm… missed you,” she murmured against your neck, nodding her head as her hands grip your hips, tugging you closer before grabbing a handful of your ass. “Been thinking about you all morning. All week, actually.”

You laughed softly, your heart fluttering at the way her voice dipped, low and warm. She backed you toward your bed, her movements a little less teasing than usual, a little less patient. It wasn’t like her to rush, but you could feel it in the way her lips moved against yours when she kissed you, in the way her hands tightened around your waist. She’d been waiting too long for this, and she wasn’t shy about showing it.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed, and you sank down onto the mattress, Vi following you immediately. She slid one knee onto the bed, her weight pressing you back gently as her hands trailed up your thighs, bunching your oversized shirt as they went. You could feel her smirk against your lips, her breath hitching slightly when your hands tangled in her hoodie to pull her closer.

And then—like some cruel joke—her phone buzzed.

She ignored it at first, too focused on the way your body shifted beneath hers, too caught up in the way your lips parted for her. But when the buzzing didn’t stop, her forehead dropped to your shoulder with a frustrated groan.

“Don’t,” you whispered against her ear, a quiet plea as your fingers slipped under the hem of her hoodie. “Just let it ring.”

She wanted to—God, she wanted to.

But she knew better.

“It’s probably my coach,” she muttered, the irritation thick in her voice as she reluctantly sat up, pulling her phone from her pocket. Her jaw clenched when she saw the name on the screen, and she ran a hand through her hair, looking at you with an apologetic grimace.

You watched her, sitting there with her phone in hand, clearly torn between staying with you and answering the call. “Vi,” you said softly, placing a hand on her thigh, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” she snapped, though the frustration wasn’t directed at you. She tossed her phone onto the bed and dropped her head into her hands, exhaling sharply. “I swear the universe has something against me or something.”

You could see it in her posture, the way her shoulders slumped, how her fingers curled into her hair like she was holding herself back from punching something. She didn’t say it outright, but you could tell how much this bothered her, how badly she wanted to stay.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, rough around the edges as she looked up at you. Her eyes softened when they met yours, guilt flickering behind her frustration. “I swear I’ll make it up to you.“

You leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek, and smiled. “I know, baby.”

But as she left, throwing her hoodie back on and muttering under her breath about how ridiculous the timing was, you couldn’t help but notice the way her jaw tightened when she glanced back at you one last time. She looked like she was already planning how to make up for it, her frustration tempered only by her determination to make you feel as wanted as she knew you were.

Vi didn’t know how much longer she could go without having you.

It just kept happening. Again and again.

All the way up to the day of her big game.

The noise from the rink was still echoing faintly through the hallways of the arena, cheers fading as the crowd filtered out, but it all felt distant compared to the weight of Vi’s eyes on you. You were waiting outside the locker room as usual, leaning casually against the cinderblock wall as players and staff rushed past you, voices loud in celebration.

The door swung open, and Vi stepped out like she’d been looking for you the entire time. She spotted you instantly, her eyes locking on yours, and you couldn’t help the small smile that curved your lips. She looked a little flushed, her hair damp and sticking to her neck under her hoodie, her bag slung over her shoulder.

But there was something else too, something in the way her gaze didn’t move from you for even a second. It was heavy—her eyes dragging over you, slow and warm, like she couldn’t help herself.

You pushed off the wall and walked toward her, your voice light.

“Hi, superstar,” you teased, hoping to coax her into her usual cocky grin.

She didn’t smile. Vi’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line, and the way she looked at you sent a shiver down your spine—hungry, focused, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“You did so good, Vi,” you went on, trying to fill the quiet. “I heard everyone’s waiting for you at the party. They’re probably already chanting your name. It’s like…”

You trailed off as Vi took a small step toward you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you—her eyes roaming your face, dropping to your lips, then back up again.

Slowly, she shook her head, almost as if she was answering a question you hadn’t asked.

“Vi?” you murmured, tilting your head. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice was quiet, but the rough edge of it hit you square in the chest.

“I need you.”

It was so soft, so desperate… you wouldn’t be lying if you said that it almost sounded like she was about to cry.

Your breath caught, the words landing heavy on your chest. You blinked up at her, trying to process what she’d just said, but Vi didn’t let up. She stepped in closer, so close that you had to tilt your head back to meet her eyes. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing over your wrist before curling gently around it.

“Vi…” you started, unsure of what to say. You could hear the distant hum of people talking, laughter spilling from somewhere down the hall. “Everyone’s going to be looking for you. It’s your party—”

“I don’t care,” she cut you off, her voice low, breathless and strained.

She brought her free hand up to cradle your jaw, her thumb brushing softly along your cheek before letting it fall to your waist to pull you in a bit closer.

“Please… I’ll be quick, baby, I promise. Just…” Her voice wavered as her eyes searched yours, almost pleading.

You swallowed hard, the intensity of her gaze making your pulse race. You could feel the heat of her hands on your skin, could see the desperation written so plainly on her face. Vi didn’t usually let herself get like this—didn’t let her restraint snap—but tonight, it was barely holding together.

“Please,” she said softly again, leaning in to peck your lips softly as another way to convince you.

You didn’t have time to respond before Vi gave your wrist a soft tug, leading you down the hallway with an urgency that sent a thrill straight to your core. Her grip wasn’t rough, but there was no mistaking the purpose behind it.

The sound of the arena faded with each step as Vi pulled you into a quieter hallway, finally stopping when she found an empty room—a storage space of some kind, dimly lit and empty of everything but shelves of sports gear.

The door clicked shut behind you, and before you could even turn to say something, Vi was on you—her hands gripping your waist as she pushed you back against the wall. Any words you might have had died on your tongue, cut off as Vi crashed her lips against yours in a kiss so fervent it sent a shiver straight through you.

She kissed you like she’d been starving for days, her lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. The soft whine that left her throat was barely muffled by the kiss, high and desperate, a sound that sent a jolt of warmth pooling in your stomach.

God, if the universe took this away from her again, right now, she’d probably let the world burn.

Her hands roamed eagerly, gripping at your hips, sliding around your waist as if she needed to feel you.

You tried to speak—tried to gasp out something teasing, anything to break the tension—but Vi didn’t let you. Her lips moved down to your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Vi…” you managed, breathless, but the sound was cut off as her hands splayed across your lower back, then trailing down to grab your ass.

“Fuck, baby, you’re killing me,” Vi muttered against your skin, her voice low and strained. She kissed her way back up to your lips, pressing her body flush against yours as she did.

Her thigh slid between yours, drawing a soft moan from your lips that only made her whine again in response—higher, needier.

“Violet,” you breathed again, half scolding, half pleading, your hands reaching up to curl into her hoodie.

“I can’t help it,” she whined softly, pressing her forehead to yours for just a second as her chest rose and fell, her breathing heavy and uneven. “You—fuck, you always look so good. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Her voice cracked slightly, her desperation bleeding through as she dipped down to kiss you again—slower this time but no less needy. Her lips lingered, moving with purpose, her tongue brushing teasingly against yours.

Your fingers curled tighter into her hoodie, trying to hold onto something, anything, as Vi made a quiet, almost pleading noise into your mouth, like she wasn’t just kissing you—she was begging for you. Her hands slid down to your thighs, gripping just above your knees as she pressed herself closer, her body impossibly warm against yours.

“Please,” she whispered softly against your lips, the word barely audible but heavy enough to make your head spin. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her flushed face inches from yours, her eyes dark and wide.

“I need you so bad.”

Her voice cracked again, and it was almost her undoing. Vi looked desperate—like she was barely holding herself together, like the sheer sight of you had unraveled her completely.

You could see it in the way her hands trembled just slightly against your thighs, in the way her lips were swollen and parted, like she’d been kissing you for hours instead of minutes.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Vi didn’t give you the chance. She kissed you again, harder this time, her hands sliding up under the hem of your shirt, her fingers grazing your bare skin. Every quiet moan you let out, every sharp inhale, only seemed to make Vi whine more—desperate, pleading little sounds that escaped her lips like she couldn’t help herself.

She sighed when she finally broke the kiss, panting softly as her forehead rested against yours again.

“Been wanting to fuck you for weeks...” Her voice was strained, so thick with need that it made your breath hitch.

Vi’s hands slid upward, her palms were warm against your skin as she pushed your shirt higher, her breathing shallow and uneven as though she was holding herself back. But when her hands finally cupped your tits, her restraint shattered.

“Fuck…” she whispered, almost like she was talking to herself, her voice husky and breathless.

Her thumbs brushed over the peaks of your breasts, and the moment her fingertips rolled softly over your nipples, you gasped, your back arching involuntarily.

Vi groaned in response, the sound deep and raw, her lips brushing against the curve of your neck as she pressed herself closer to you. Her fingers teased you again, rolling your nipples between them. She was trembling now—excitement coursing through her veins at the thought of finally being inside you, all wet and warm, all because of her… oh, fuck.

“V-Violet—“

“I’m here, baby.”

She worked her way across your neck and down to your collarbone, her mouth hot and unrelenting as she left a trail of hickeys that you knew would be impossible to hide. Her teeth nipped at your collarbone, making you gasp, and she chuckled softly against your skin—a low, breathy sound that only made you squirm against her more.

But her hands—her hands were just as impatient as her mouth. They trailed down from your chest, slipping under your shirt to tease the bare skin of your stomach.

She gave your tits one last squeeze before moving lower, her fingers dragging purposefully over your thighs and slipping beneath your skirt. Vi’s touch was rough and hurried now, her breath hitching as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down impatiently.

You let out a soft whine as the cool air brushed against you, your hands gripping at Vi’s shoulders to keep yourself steady. She smirked, straightening just enough to pull your panties free before shoving them into her back pocket like a prize.

Her eyes flicked up to yours, dark with hunger, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a teasing grin.

“I’ll keep these safe for you,” she murmured, her voice low and possessive, her fingers brushing over your thigh.

Vi’s smirk faltered the second a hand slid up, brushing over the soaked heat between your legs. Her breath hitched, and she froze for half a second, like the realization of just how wet you were short-circuited her brain. Her fingers pressed against your pussy more firmly, teasing, slipping through your wet folds.

“You’re so wet for me,” she murmured, the words coming out like a growl, low and desperate.

Her lips found your neck again, kissing and biting as her fingers finally moved, slipping inside you with eagerly. Vi groaned at the way you clenched around her, her forehead pressing harder against your skin.

“You feel so fucking good,” she rasped, her voice strained, her fingers curling slightly as she started to move.

Vi’s lips curved into a sly grin as she felt how tight you were around her fingers, the heat of you gripping her so perfectly it made her groan low in her throat. She eased another finger inside your pussy with a soft moan against your neck. The stretch made you gasp, muffling the sound against her shoulder, your fingers digging into her strong biceps as your body trembled beneath her.

Her fingers moved faster now, thrusting and curling inside you, hitting that spongy spot inside you that made your body jerk and your breath catch in your throat. She couldn’t hold back her groans as she felt you grow wetter around her fingers, the slickness making her movements effortless as you drenched her hand. The sound alone—the wet, obscene noises and squelches of her fingers working—had her biting back a moan of her own.

You whimpered softly against her neck, your lips brushing her skin as you whispered, “Vi, d-don’t go too fast, I’ll be too loud.”

But Vi wasn’t listening. She didn’t stop, her fingers curling just right, the angle of her wrist shifting as she drove you closer to the edge. Her lips brushed against your ear, dazed and lost at the feeling of you.

“No… wanna hear you,” she murmured, shaking her head softly. “Need to fuck you like this… please…”

Your response was a broken moan that you immediately tried to smother against her neck, your face buried in her skin as your body shook. Your muffled cries vibrated against her. She didn’t slow down—if anything, her pace became more deliberate, her fingers thrusting deep and curling just right, her thumb brushing over you in a way that made you jerk in her arms.

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but press yourself tighter against her, hiding your face in her neck as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your muffled moans and cries slipping past your lips no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. Your hands clutched at her shirt, desperate for some kind of anchor as she drove you closer and closer to the edge, her fingers relentless.

She slid her thumb up to press firmly against your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through your entire body. You gasped, hips jerking involuntarily as her name slipped from your lips in a breathless cry.

Vi groaned, her forehead pressing against yours again as she whispered, “That’s it, baby. I’ve got you.”

Her pace quickened, her thumb working in tandem with her fingers, brushing and circling your clit. You could feel the pressure building rapidly, your hands clutching at her shoulders, nails digging into her skin as your body writhed beneath her touch.

“Vi—” you whimpered, but she only groaned again, her thumb pressing harder.

“Come for me,” she whispered, her voice raw and wrecked, the need in her tone making your chest tighten. “Please, baby. I want to feel you.”

Her thumb circled faster on your clit, her fingers curling deep inside you, brushing that spot that made your hips buck. Your entire body tensed, and Vi could feel it—could feel the way your walls tightened around her fingers, the way your legs trembled against her.

You jerked again, your hands flying up to grip the back of her neck as your orgasm crashed over you, soaking her hand. Your cries spilled out in broken moans against her shoulder as you buried your face there, trembling uncontrollably.

Vi groaned at the feel of you, her fingers slowing but never stopping, working you through your orgasm.

“Oh.. fuck,” she murmured, her voice thick and low as she pressed kisses to your temple, her free hand running soothingly along your back.

She didn’t stop until you were shaking, your body softening against hers, completely undone. Only then did she ease her hand away, holding you close, her lips brushing against your ear.

Vi pulls back slightly, her chest rising and falling as she watches you with hooded eyes, her lips still parted as though she can’t quite catch her breath. Her hair is slightly disheveled, her jaw tight, and the flush on her cheeks deepens as her gaze sweeps over you—your trembling legs, the way your chest heaves, your swollen lips.

It’s enough to make her look intoxicated, drunk on the sight of you.

Your breaths come unevenly, and you try to regain some semblance of composure as your hands smooth down your skirt—though it does little to cover the disheveled state you’re both in.

With a breathy laugh, you tease, “Your friends are probably wondering where you are by now.”

You press your hands against the wall for balance, trying to steady yourself, but your legs feel weak, unsteady.

Vi blinks slowly, her expression soft yet utterly dazed, like her mind is still stuck on you and nothing else. Her fingers twitch at her sides, and she shakes her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“They can wait,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough, her eyes still fixed on you as though she’s already made up her mind. “A little longer.”

Before you can respond, before you can even process what she’s doing, Vi drops to her knees with a quiet thud, her hands gripping your hips as she looks up at you, eyes dark with determination.

You start to stammer, “Vi—w-what are you—” but the words dissolve into a sharp gasp as she tilts her head forward, burying her face under your skirt.

The heat of her breath against your sensitive pussy is enough to make your knees buckle slightly, and you have to press a hand to the wall for support.

“Oh my god—” Your words trail off into a moan as her lips move with purpose, her hands sliding up to grip your thighs, holding you in place as she starts working you over again.

Her tongue drags along your sensitive folds hungrily. She’s relentless, almost feral in her need to keep going, and every sound you make seems to spur her on, her grip tightening, her pace quickening as if she can’t help herself.

“Vi—” you gasp, your fingers tangling in her hair as your body presses back against the wall for support.

The world outside this storage room feels a million miles away, irrelevant in the face of her overwhelming need to claim you, to pull more of those beautiful sounds from your lips. She clings to your thighs, her fingers digging into your skin as though she’s afraid you’ll slip away, pulling you closer to her face. Her breaths come heavy and uneven, breaking between every flick of her tongue, and you can feel the soft, frustrated whines vibrating against you.

She buries herself deeper, pressing her sexy nose against you, brushing against your clit as her tongue moves faster, more purposeful, and the sounds she makes—those low, needy whimpers and breathless moans—send heat pooling in your stomach.

“Vi—W-Wait—” Your voice cracks, your hands instinctively reaching down to tangle in her messy pink hair.

You tug lightly, trying to pull her back just enough for you to catch your breath, but it only seems to spur her on. She lets out a guttural noise, muffled against you, and tightens her hold on your hips, keeping you pinned against the wall as her tongue delves deeper.

She’s not just eager; she’s ravenous, her tongue lapping at you with a reckless kind of determination. She drags her lips along your folds, pausing to suck gently, then harder, her moans spilling against your skin like she’s losing herself in the act. Her hands slide down, fingers curling just under the curve of your ass, pulling you further into her mouth as though she needs more of you, as though she can’t get enough.

“Tastes so good… fuck,” she mumbles hoarsely between movements, muffled by your pussy.

She tilts her head slightly to look up at you, her pupils blown wide with need, her lips slick and glistening, and her expression is nothing short of worshipful.

You can only moan in response, your body arching involuntarily as she sucks hard on your clit, sending a white-hot jolt of pleasure through you. Your knees buckle, but she’s quick to adjust, one arm moving to support you as she keeps her pace relentless. Her mouth never falters, never stops, even as her breaths turn shaky, and you can feel the tension in her body like she’s wound up so tight she might break.

She starts to whine again, this high-pitched, needy sound muffled against you, and it makes your whole body burn with want. It’s almost too much, the way she’s devouring you so completely, so thoroughly, her desperation written in every trembling moan and ragged breath.

You feel yourself getting closer all over again, the knot in your stomach tightening with every passing second, and you can’t even form the words to warn her.

Vi seems to know, though, because she presses harder, faster, the vibrations of her needy whimpers pushing you over the edge.

You cry out, your voice breaking as another orgasm racks through your body, and she groans deeply against you, her fingers tightening their grip as she keeps going, drawing every last bit of your release from you. Even as your legs tremble and your body tries to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, she doesn’t stop, her tongue still flicking against you with unrelenting hunger.

“Vi—” You whine, tugging weakly at her hair, your head falling back against the wall.

She finally slows down, her lips lingering as though she can’t bear to part from you just yet, her breaths coming hot and heavy against your skin. When she finally pulls back, her chin is glistening with your cum, her lips swollen and parted as she looks up at you with a dazed, almost drunk expression, her chest heaving. Vi stays on her knees for a moment, her hands still gripping your thighs as she looks up at you, her chest rising and falling with every heavy breath.

She’s grinning, wide and wolfish, her lips shiny and swollen, her cheeks flushed, and there’s a satisfaction in her eyes that only comes from getting exactly what she’s been craving. Her pink hair is a mess where your fingers had tugged and twisted, strands sticking out at odd angles, but she doesn’t seem to care.

If anything, it makes her grin even smugger.

She wipes her chin lazily with the back of her hand, the movement slow and deliberate, like she’s savoring the moment.

“Told you I’d be quick,” she says, her voice husky, tinged with a playful rasp. “Though, honestly, I think I deserve extra credit for being that good under pressure.”

You groan, your face still warm from the aftermath, and roll your eyes as you push at her shoulder lightly with your knee. “You’re impossible, Violet.”

Vi stands up slowly, stretching her back as she towers over you again, but her grin never fades. She leans down, bracing one hand against the wall beside your head, her face hovering close to yours, her lips quirking in that trademark cocky smirk.

“Impossible to resist, maybe,” she teases, her voice dropping low, brushing a kiss over your jaw before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

You shake your head, exasperated but unable to fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Full of you, actually,” Vi quips shamelessly, her tone dripping with cheekiness, and she snickers at the way your face heats up again.

You roll your eyes, trying to catch your breath, but her playful expression makes it hard to keep your composure.

“Can I have my panties back now?” you ask, your voice strained but teasing, as you reach down to try and adjust yourself, realizing they’re still tucked into her back pocket.

Vi looks down at the waistband of your panties for a second, feigning deep thought as she taps her chin, her smirk never leaving her face.

“Mmmm,” she hums, looking up at you with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “No.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious.”

And she really was.

Because the whole night, she didn’t let you forget—whispering in your ear about how you were bare underneath your skirt as everyone else danced around you, her breath warm against your skin.

Her playful smirk never left her face as she leaned in close, whispering about how you looked so much better without them, her fingers grazing the edge of your skirt as if to remind you of just how good she made you feel.

ty for reading ! | masterlist

2K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 6 days ago

Text

Insatiable

aemond x wife!reader

Summary: A collection of Aemond and you taking advantage of ovulation week.

Warnings: 18+ breeding kink, swearing, oral(m+f), fingering, p in v, public, dry humping, incorrect explanation/medical information bc its medieval and they actually don’t know anything abt women!

Authors Note: the plot is being desperate for aemond so 🤷🏼‍♀️ this wasn’t on my w.i.p. bc it was written spontaneously in one sitting x

Word Count: 3.7k i think this might just be pure filth like fr

ᓚᘏᗢ

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

You have had the most intense need for Aemond the past two days. Anytime you’re both alone you’re on him begging for him to take you. This morning is no different as you beg on your knees blocking him from leaving your shared chambers. He stands above you with an amused smile on his face as you pout and bring your hands up to his thighs.

“Husband, please.” you bat your eyelashes at him. “Gods please, please,” your pleas but a whisper. “Aemond, please. Let me just suck your cock before you train. Please?” his eye bulges at your brazen words.

“You should hear yourself.” he says lowly as he tilts your chin up. “Utterly indecent.” he clicks his tongue watching you rub your thighs together.

“Aem,” you whine pressing your forehead against his thighs. “Please,” your begging is going straight to his cock and he feels his control slipping. “Husband,” his fingers are tugging at his laces on his trousers the next second. “Thank you, Aemond.” you sit up quickly and pull his trousers down. You reach in and free him, bringing his tip to your mouth quickly.

“Better, my needy little wife?” he groans as you suck harshly on his tip. You hum around him, lashing your tongue against his tip. When his droplets meet your tongue your eyes flutter shut and you suck him down your throat. “Fuck,” he lets out a throaty moan bracing his hands on the wood door behind you.

You start to bob your head quickly while clenching your thighs and listening to his soft pants. His hips softly jerk and you moan around him matching your pace to his. You pull almost all the way off of him to suck and lap at his tip. Your fingers wrap around his shaft and pump him as you worship his tip. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck as you quickly pump him watching his stomach flex. He groans as his forehead presses to the door next as he lets out soft curses.

Aemond can’t help but jerk his hips into your hands and mouth and when he looks down at you he sees you watching him with devotion. You start to suck down his length again and you feel him twitch down your throat. You smile, hollowing your cheeks as his seed starts to fill your mouth. You hum contently as you suck down everything he gives you. He pulls you off of him with a heaving chest and you help him back into his pants. He helps you stand and pulls you against his chest.

“Thank you.” you mumble into his jerkin. “Do you think when you’re done training you could fill my cunny next?” you look up at him and smile seeing his cheeks flush.

“I have some things that need tending to today.” he chuckles as a frown forms on your face.

“Are they more important than filling your wife?” he clenches his jaw, willing his heart to stop racing. “I’m already dripping for you.” you grab his hand and guide it under your night dress. “I need you so badly, Aem.” you whine as he slides his finger down your slit watching you squirm in his arms.

“We will both have to have some patience today.” he says through his teeth as he dips his finger into your warm cunt. You beg and plead him as he slowly pumps his finger before slowly pulling it out and trailing it back up your slit. “I’ll be back.” he presses his lips to your forehead before slipping his finger in his mouth and looking at you with a dark eye. “My sweet wife.” he hums and slips out the door behind you.

ᓚᘏᗢ

When Aemond walks into your shared chambers after his meetings he quickly shuts the doors hoping no one heard your whimpers. As he walks up the stairs he sees that you’re spread out across the bed in one of his tunics with your hand buried between your thighs. Your other hand is squeezing your breast above the material as your fingers circle your bud. You hear his footsteps and peel your eyes open as soft whimpers leave your lips.

“Aemond,” your chest heaves as your fingers speed up. His fingers grab onto the hem of the tunic and he pulls it up and over your head.

“What has gotten into you?” he chuckles as you grab his hand and bring it to replace your own between your thighs. He watches your eyes shut again as your hips roll against his fingers. He dips two fingers into your core and you moan loudly arching off the bed. “Spread your legs more for me.” he pats your thigh with his other hand and he settles between them. He brings his face down to watch your pleasure coat his fingers. His tongue flicks against your bud pulling gasps from you.

“Gods Aem, yes,” you whine when he curls his fingers. He slams his fingers into you as his tongue circles around your throbbing bud. Your whimpers spur him on to lash against you faster as they become more broken and high pitched. “Aemond,” your legs slam around his head as your pleasure bursts through you. He pulls his fingers out quickly and soon his tongue is in their place lapping at your release.

“Is this what you do when I’m not here?” he pulls back and looks at your heaving chest. “Hm?” he hums, starting to circle his thumb against your bud. “You sit here and play with your cunny?” your fingers grip around his wrist as your legs start to tremble. “Gods you’ve been no better than a common whore these past couple of days.” he starts to kiss up your body while his thumb continues to swirl. “Should I take the day tomorrow and just fill you?” he chuckles as you nod your head.

“Yes, please yes.” you nod your head as you feel your stomach tighten. His teeth take your nipple and your eyes roll back as your pleasure is pushed over the edge. Aemonds tongue circles the bud he bit before kissing across to your other as he slowly continues to slide his fingers through your wetness.

“I’ll see what I can do.” he lifts up and presses his lips to yours as he starts to untangle from you.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Aemond had moved most of his meetings to the early morning in hopes that you will still be abed by the time he is done. As he’s walking down the hall to his next meeting he’s greeted by you turning the corner. He watches your face flush as your teeth dig into your lip and he groans knowing he’s going to be late to this meeting. You take quick steps and stop in front of him and look up at him with a small pout.

“You didn’t even wake me to say goodbye.” you press your hands on his chest.

“That’s because I would’ve had to say ‘goodbye’ to you for an hour.” he smiles resting his hands on top of yours. “I only have two more meetings and I’ll be done for the day.” he watches you step another foot closer pressing yourself against him.

“Aem.” you whine softly.

“Can you really not wait?” he cups your cheeks knowing he’ll be dragging you into the nearest tunnel entrance in a minute.

“I need you.” his hands leave your face at your words and grabs your hand quickly leading you down an empty hall. He looks around and nods when he finds the alcove. He presses the door open and helps you in and clicks the door shut behind the both of you. When he turns you grab his face and pull him down to your lips.

“This is going to be quick. I’m to be in the library in ten minutes.” he flips you and presses your front against the stone and starts to lift your skirts. “Of course you have nothing on under here.” he shakes his head as he’s met by your slick cunt. He grabs your ass and you arch back into him and press your cheek against the stone. He unlaces his trousers quickly and is soon pressing his tip around your wetness.

“Aemond,” you pant and your nails dig into the cool stone as he presses into you. He snaps his hips into and you moan loudly. “Please.” you squeeze around him and he groans, digging his fingers into your hips.

“What are you begging for now?” he chuckles at your small whines.

“Fill me. Aemond please.” you roll your hips back into him and he snaps his hips into you harder. You lean back into him and with every snap of his hips he pulls a gasp from your lips. “Mm yes,” you pulse around him and smile as you feel his seed pour into you. He keeps pumping into you as you shake in his arms. “Thank you Aem.” you hum as he pulls out. He groans watching his seed slide down your thighs before he pulls your skirts back down.

“Of course, my needy wife.” he presses his lips to yours. “Go back to our chambers and I’ll be there in a couple hours.” you nod as he helps you out of the tunnels.

ᓚᘏᗢ

“I’m sorry I’m late, Grand Maester.” Aemond quickly takes a seat at the table across from the man.

“Do not worry, my Prince.” he offers Aemond a smile. “What is it that you needed to discuss?” he nods prompting him to speak.

“How can I tell if my wife is with child?” he feels his cheeks flush as the Grand Maester smiles.

“When was her last moon blood?” the maester asks and Aemond nibbles his lip, counting the days.

“About a fortnight ago,” he nods.

“Why do you think she’s with child?” he raises his brow and Aemond knows his cheeks must be bright red now. Gods he should’ve gone to someone else first but he wanted someone with the proper knowledge but divulging this to a maester?

“My wife has been particularly.. insatiable.” he avoids the maesters eye contact.

“I see,” Aemond can hear the smile in his voice and he’s absolutely mortified.

“Nevermind. Speak of this to no one.” Aemond rises rapidly and the maester stands with him.

“My Prince, a moment.” he calls out. “That is a side effect of carrying a child, yes.” he nods his head. “But as you’ve told me it’s only been two weeks since her last moon blood I’m thinking it could be what we call ovulation.” Aemond scrunches his brows unfamiliar with the term.

“And what is that then?” he purses his lips still not happy to be in this conversation regardless of whether he prompted it or not.

“During the years of study we’ve been able to learn more about the woman’s body and what happens monthly along with the moon blood. Many tend to have an influx in certain.. needs around two weeks before their next blood. We think it has something to do with the body being ready to carry a child. It’s still being studied but I wouldn’t be surprised if she is carrying a child soon if what you speak is true.” the maester offers all of the knowledge he knows and Aemond nods, not understanding a thing he is speaking about.

“Thank you, Grand Maester.” he turns and begins walking to his next meeting, taking a mental note to find books on this.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

After his talk with the Grand Maester yesterday he kept you awake all night until he was spent. Gods the thought of you carrying his child had him.. what was that word the maester used? Ovulating. If you were ovulating then so was he. When he woke this morning the view of you in the soft golden light had his cock stirring. He pulled the blankets down your body and groaned watching your skin pebble. Your eyes blink open as he brushes his fingers across your cheek. He rolls over on top of you and you melt into him as he presses his lips to yours.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he slides his tip up your slit. Your hands bury themselves into his unbound hair as it curtains around you. He continues to rock his hips into yours as you hold him closer. He kisses down your neck and sucks softly as you whimper beneath him. He reaches between the both of you as lines himself up with your entrance. As he pushes into you, your breath catches as you arch into him.

“Aemond,” your fingers tighten in his hair as he starts a slow rhythm. He kisses his way back up to your mouth sealing your lips together. His hips start to fall into yours quicker causing you to gasp into his mouth. “Yes, please,” your hands move to his back and hold him closer as he rolls his hips into yours after every thrust.

“I’m going to keep filling you with my seed until I’m sure you’re carrying our child.” you hold him tighter at his words. “That’s what you want right?” he lifts up and watches your face scrunch with pleasure. “Your little cunnys telling you it wants to be filled? Hm?” he chuckles, feeling your legs shake around his waist.

“Please, Aemond yes,” you whine rocking your hips with his. “Fill me, please. I want to grow our child. Please let me.” he presses his forehead against yours as his thrusts become erratic. “My husband please,” you arch up into him. “Let me give you children, Aemond.” your toes curl as your pleasure approaches.

“My perfect wife.” he grunts, still snapping his hips into yours. “I’ll keep you bred and filled on this bed until you’re swollen with my seed.” his words push you over the edge and your eyes roll back as you fall apart. You shutter as he fills you, continuing to slowly rock into you. “Go back to bed. I wake you when I’m ready to fill you again.” he kisses you softly before he rolls back over and pulls you against his chest.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Aemond needs to know what the maester was talking about at their meeting. He makes his way to the library after making sure you were overly satisfied and tucked into bed for a nap. He refuses to ask for help in finding the section and starts where he believes it would be. He lets out a relieved sigh when he finds a couple different books and gathers them before bringing them to a table. A servant scurries over and offers him a couple candles before giving him his space.

The accountings of the maesters tell him more than the Grand Maester did and he was thankful for taking the time. He was shocked to find out how thorough these maesters were doing their studies and was looking forward to seeing these signs appear on you. Thinking about your breasts swelling had his mouth watering. The sensitivity your body will feel when he presses his lips against you. His breathing deepens as he keeps reading and thinking about you growing with his child. He snaps the book shut when someone touches his shoulder.

“What are you studying so dutifully?” he relaxes at your soft voice. You walk slowly around the front of his chair and he looks up at you with a raised brow.

“Why do you have a cloak on?” he starts to open the fabric to pull it off only to be greeted by your bare body. “Gods,” he hisses. “We are in the library.” he silently scolds you yet still brings his hands to your waist and pulls you closer. He pulls the tie and the cloak slips to the ground as you stand between his legs. His eye travels over your chest that’s littered with his bite marks and as he looks between your thighs he can see the trail of your mixed pleasure from earlier still leaking down your legs.

“I can be quiet.” you bite your lip.

“No you cannot.” he chuckles, pulling you onto his lap and bringing his hands up to your breasts. “Do you like that someone could just walk over here and see how you’re begging for me? See how desperate you are?” he pinches your nipples and you let out a soft whine.

“Please Aemond,” your body shutters as you grind against his trousers.

“Take what you want then.” he smirks and sits back watching you hump against him.

“I want you to touch me.” you whine into his neck as you rock your hips. “Please Aem,” you press your lips to his neck. “I need you to touch me, please I’ll-

“Gods be quiet.” he puts his hand over your mouth. “The whole Keep will know what’s going on.” he groans as you continue to rock against his cock. His thumb moves to brush against your bud and you moan into his palm. He watches as your eyes squeeze shut the faster he circles his thumb and the way you shutter. He sees your pleasure ripples through you and onto his trousers.

“We need to go to our chambers.” you nod with a heaving chest. He grabs the discarded cloak and wraps it around you once more. He leads you out of the library not bothering to put the books back. He tugs you along with him half tempted to pick you up to get you in bed quicker. His cock is straining against his trousers and he can feel the wet spot that you left behind.

“Aem, slow down.” you whine and squeeze his hand. He groans and picks you up and continues to your chambers. You pout and dig your fingers into his back to which he responds with a quick spank. “Aemond.” you gasp.

“What?” he chuckles, taking the last corner to your chambers. He opens the doors and thuds them closed behind us. He walks over to the bed and drops you back on it, watching the cloak open along with your legs.

“Please,” you look up at him, spreading your legs wider. He unlaces his trousers and pushes them down enough to free himself. He coats himself in your wetness before pushing into you. “Yes.” you softly gasp as he starts to rock into you. He pushes the cloak open and grabs your breasts roughly as he snaps his hips into yours.

“My perfect and eager wife.” he feels you squeezing around him tightly. “Going to be swollen with our child soon. I know it.” he grunts, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours desperately. You whine into his mouth as he ruts into you. Your high tears through you and you feel him fill you a second later.

“Thank you Aemond,” you hold him tightly as he keeps pushing into you. “More,” your legs wrap around him and he chuckles.

“Let me undress.” he kisses you softly before pulling your limbs off of him. “Pull off your cloak.” you whine sitting up and untying it from your chest. You toss it off the bed and sit up watching him slowly pull his clothes off. After his last piece of clothing hits the ground he starts walking over to you and you spread your legs for him. “Gods,” he rasps watching his seed leak out of you.

“Please.” you reach out for him. “Please Aemond,” you whine.

“Shh,” he shushes as he settles between your legs. He trails his hand between your thighs and slides his fingers through your wet core. He pushes two fingers in with ease and watches as your eyes shut. He feels your body tremble as he kisses across your chest before sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. His teeth tease the hard peak and your fingers tangle in his hair.

“Yes.” you gasp grinding against his hand. “Aem, yes,” his thumb begins to swirl around your bud. Your body is vibrating with pleasure as he coaxes more out of you. He pulls his fingers out of you only to replace them with his cock. “Aemond,” you moan loudly. He lifts up from your chest and looks down to watch as he repeatedly buries himself in your dripping cunt.

Aemond watches your stomach flex and your breasts bounce with every thrust. Your mouth is open as the most obscene sounds come from you along with his name. You open your eyes and look up at Aemonds flushed face and his eye locks with yours. You cup his face and bring his lips to yours. The kiss is slow and sensual as he starts to slowly rock his hips into yours. He thrusts start to become harder, pulling soft gasps from you.

“You’re taking me so well.” he whispers, boxing your head in with his arms. “I can’t wait to see you grow with our child. My beautiful wife.” he presses his forehead to yours. Your fingers dig into his back as your toes curl with pleasure. He groans as you pulse around him and his hips falter. He regains his composure and starts to push into you frantically chasing his pleasure. You squirm beneath him with whimpers falling from your mouth continuously.

Aemond chuckles listening to you babble incoherently as your legs fall limply to your sides. He snaps his hips quicker into you while your fingers dig into his arm as you feel as if pleasure is never ending. A sigh comes from deep within you as you feel him start to fill you. His thrusts become slow as he kneels back and pulls out of you causing soft gasps to pour from your mouth at every inch.

“Perfect.” he groans, flipping you both over so you rest against his chest. You whine when you feel him slip back inside you and slowly roll your hips against him. “Rest.” he runs his fingers up your spine, softly jerking his hips up into you.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌

and a pic belongs here again 🧎🏼‍♀️

taglist ✍️

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501

682 notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 6 days ago

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.

want more? read the sequel to risk here!

2K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 6 days ago

Text

change my mind

carmen berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,876

warnings: swearing, sugar is still pregnant for the sake of this fic, some playful shouting/sibling behavior, clingy and petty carmy, smooching, barely proofread cuz i’m lazy lol

synopsis: carmy takes it personally when you tell him he has separation anxiety. he just wants you to stay with him all the time. since when is that a problem?

a/n: yes, this is absolutely a fic inspired by and named after a one direction song. i’m healing my inner child and this song just never, ever gets old, lemme’ tell you. with my winter break getting closer, i desperately need some clingy carmy.

————

“Natalie!” You practically screech, embracing the woman, arms strong around her shoulders but going easy with how close you bring yourself to her growing belly. She smiles and laughs into your hair. You both sway back and forth, secretly thinking how good it is to be in another sane person's presence.

Sugar says your name in the sweetest tone, the kind that, even though she’s hugging you, gives away the grin on her face. “I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been dying to have some girl time, I swear.”

You both turn at the sound of the door slamming shut, as though someone has kicked it closed with their heel.

Carmy holds a tray of food up above yours and his sisters head. “Good to see you too, Sug. I’m okay with being chopped liver, it’s fine.”

You hear Pete’s voice from behind you. It echoes a little with the windows open, allowing the cool air to seep in. “It’s that girl bond, am I right?”

Natalie pulls away and covers her hand with her mouth. Carmy snorts, patting Pete on the back. “Yeah, man. Sure is.”

Then he makes eye contact with his sister. “You know, you could’ve just invited one of us, seeing as all I’m good for is dropping off food.”

Sugar’s socked feet pad across the floor, the squishy spheres of gel sticking and unsticking with each step she takes. Her arms come up around Carmen’s neck and she pulls him into a hug before smacking him on the head.

“What the fuck, dude?”

Nat gives him an extra squeeze and clears her throat, taking on her worst, but best, male voice. “What the fuck, dude? How could you hit me like that?”

He shoves her away, but you catch how gentle it is, considering she is carrying his niece. “I do not sound like that. And why are you wearing fuckin’ hospital socks around the house?”

“Pete suggested they’d be good while I’m pregnant since I’m so clumsy.”

“They’ve worked pretty well so far,” he chimes in, peeking into one of the trays of food you brought. You go over to him and open it fully, whispering that he can go ahead and eat, if he’s ready. To Pete, if you said it’s alright, it’s like nothing else can touch him.

“I can get you some, Bear,” you say. “All you gotta do is ask, they’re like a dollar at Walmart.”

“Okay, let’s just eat, alright?” He fusses, though there’s that telltale dimple appearing on his face. He drags a tense hand through his hair.

“Yes, chef.”

You’re in the first year of your masters program, and when you called Carmy a few weeks ago to tell him the dates for your fall break, you both decided you didn’t feel up to a stereotypical Thanksgiving this time around. Spending a day with Natalie and Pete seemed much more appealing than waiting for an inevitable panic attack from Carm and a full-on fight, political or not, from any given Berzatto or uncle on your mother’s side of the family.

You’ve spent the past three nights in Carmy’s apartment, but you’re heading back to campus tomorrow morning so that you can focus on submitting your finals and tying up any loose ends. You told him ahead of time that you only planned to stay for a few days, knowing yourself and knowing that the longer you let yourself stay, the harder it would be to head back and finish up the fall semester.

Besides, it would only be a bit longer until you could settle in with him for winter break.

Nevertheless, Carmy was grumpy. He was trying to hide it from you because of course your decision was logical, but he is a selfish man. If it was up to him, you’d stay with him every day of the year and let him treat you like a princess.

Each time you catch him frowning, you remind him that you’ll be coming home to him again in a matter of days. There’s a miniature whiteboard on his refrigerator that you found in the dollar section at Target. It was meant to hang on the wall, but you hot glued little circle magnets on the back four corners. Carmy laughs every time he sees it because he’s splashed something on the fridge door and needs to wipe it clean. You took the lone, failing dry-erase marker from the kitchen drawer and doodled a little calendar on it.

You drew two slightly uneven squares for your countdown. Currently each block has a number, but you know he’ll feel better when the left spot loses any number higher than 0.

All throughout dinner, Carmy’s hand is at the small of your back, your knee, your bicep, the nape of your neck, resting on your wrist so he can feel your pulse. Like he’s afraid you are about to slip out of his grasp, only to be swept away by the current and never seen again.

Sugar clears her throat, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear and wiping her mouth on a paper napkin. “Someone piss in your cornflakes, Carm?”

He blinks over at her, practically jumping at being noticed. You can see his fingertips glistening with sweat under the fluorescent dining room lights.

You have a forkful of pasta in your mouth, but you begin to chew with haste, shaking your head to try and redirect the conversation.

You swallow, “It was me, Nat.”

“What?” she asks, voice raising a tinge. “Are you guys having a fight or something? Oh god, should I have said I was sick tonight?”

Pete coughs, his cheeks red as he fights his body’s urge to choke on the food he’s shoving in his mouth to avoid anything slightly awkward.

The knees of Carmen’s jeans rub together when he sits back further in the dining chair, the sound of the denim, scratchy and rough, communicating his pouty demeanor as he crosses his arms.

“She’s leaving me,” he deadpans.

Forks clatter across plates. “What the fuck, Carm? Are you serious?” He laughs to himself because that vein is protruding from Natalie’s forehead. You elbow him in the ribs.

You exhale hard enough that Pete feels it on the other side of the table.

“I am not leaving him. He’s pitching a fit because I’m going back to campus tomorrow so that I can focus on finals.”

Natalie’s eyes swing back and forth between the two of you like she’s watching a tennis match.

“She thinks I’m a distraction,” Carmy says.

“No duh,” Sugar laughs. “You’re the ultimate distraction. Hell, you’re made of distractions, what with all that unmedicated ADHD.”

“No duh? What are we, five? Y-you think I’m incapable of supporting my girlfriend’s ambitions because I’m some deranged, like fucking—some koala bear?”

Sugar nods once, affirmatively.

“Yes.”

Carmy scoffs.

You throw back the rest of your wine and put out a hand like a cop directing traffic would. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s finish eating, okay? I’ll deal with Carmy’s separation anxiety later tonight.”

He looks at you like he’s been slapped, that crinkle between his brows forming, followed shortly by the appearance of his frown lines. “I do not have separatio—”

“Good garlic bread, huh?” Pete says, crunching loudly. “There fancy butter in this?”

————

“I can’t believe you think I have separation anxiety!”

“You do have separation anxiety, baby.”

Carmen shrugs off his coat and tosses it at the arm of the couch, but he misses and it slides right off. What a perfect metaphor for his life right now.

“Just because I’m sad that you’re leaving me?”

“I’m not leaving you, Bear. I’m going to campus so I can ensure I get all my shit done.”

“And you can’t do that here? You already told me you don’t have any in-person finals. You’re submitting everything online, so you don’t have to go back—not really. I must really be a bother, huh?”

He regrets it already, but his petty, pitiful brain quit thinking logically about half an hour ago.

“Carmen. Anthony. Berzatto.”

He winces. The day Sugar told you his middle name was his last day of peace. He’d had you half-convinced he just didn’t have one because he was the baby and Donna was tired of coming up with names.

You take his face in your hands, your grip on his cheeks much gentler than the look you’re giving him.

“Carmen. Listen to me, alright? When I’m here with you, I’m in a state of like, pure bliss. I don’t want to think about my assignments because you make me so content and happy, and you’re so stupidly cute that I just want to look at you all day and I know I won’t be productive because of it.”

Carmy’s eyes flash. His cheek twitches under your thumb where the muscles around his mouth are fighting an involuntary smile.

His gaze flickers down to your lips when you start grinning as you speak.

“I just want to do really well on my finals, Carm. I’ve worked so hard this semester, and I want to give it my all and finish strong, you know? It’s the fact that I have no self control and would have to pull myself away from you to get work done.”

Carmy blinks at you. “I promise I can keep from distracting you. I’ll even set you up a workspace and bring you lunch or somethin’. So you can do your shit and not be bothered. We could make Richie buy you coffee.”

You laugh.

“I’m serious,” Carmen continues. “I can be accommodating.”

You take your hands away from his face and step back, setting your fingers against your hips like that’s going to help you think better. He’s already winning you over, but you still want to do all the responsible things.

There’s a kind of humorous tension in the room.

Carmy is waiting for you to speak, and you’re trying to pretend like it’s a hard decision to make. If he’s serious about helping you stay focused, there’s no reason you couldn’t just go ahead and stay.

You inhale, just to make Carmy cringe and brace himself.

“Baby…if you say you want me to stay, I’ll change my mind.”

“I want you to stay!” Carmy blurts. “Please. I’ll get down on my fuckin’ knees if you really want me to. Stay. I promise I’ll keep out of your hair and help you be productive.”

You giggle, soft and slow, and it reaches Carmy’s ears, enchanting him like you’re made of some love potion, whatever ingredients you’d need for that sort of thing running through your veins.

“I’d already pretty much decided on staying right after we left Nat’s.”

Carmy swats you playfully on the hip. “Oh, fuck off! Maybe you should go back, if you’re gonna be so mean to me.” He turns to walk towards the kitchen, glancing at you over his shoulder.

You move quickly, launching yourself off the floor and landing on his back. He hoists you up, bursts of laughter leaving his throat.

“You love it when I’m mean to you,” you say, and you press a kiss to the side of his neck, all warm and sickly sweet.

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

352 notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 8 days ago

Text

Drunk on You

Summary: Spencer is completely and utterly infatuated with you

Request: Pussy drunk Spencer where it’s the first time they sleep together and he’s completely obsessed with being inside her and eating her out (initially requested to @imagining-in-the-margins)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, oral (fem receiving), protected penetrative sex, slight overstimulation

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

Maybe it was a bit cliché to invite Spencer into your apartment for coffee after your date. The ulterior motive was obvious but there was no elegant way of telling him what you really wanted. He didn’t seem to mind when he accepted your offer with a grin on his face.

The tension between the two of you was palpable once you stepped through your door. The warm amber of Spencer’s irises shone even brighter under the lighting of your living room. It was mesmerizing to look at him, so much so that you quickly forgot about the coffee.

Spencer couldn’t care less. It was obvious that he knew a hot beverage wasn’t exactly what you craved right then. The way he licked his lips as he looked at you gave away that he was longing for something else, too.

Stepping closer, you left barely any space between the two of you. The warmth he radiated penetrated your skin and spread through your body. You breathed in his scent, a pleasant mix of his cologne and laundry detergent.

“So,” you teased as you leaned closer. “Are you gonna kiss me now or what?”

“Gladly,” he chuckled.

To your surprise, he took his time with you. His fingers found your jaw, gently brushing along your skin before slightly tilting your head. His other hand made contact with your waist to pull you even closer. Then, unhurriedly and with a precise motion, he finally leaned in to close the distance.

Once your mouths made contact there was no more holding back, though. His lips were soft yet demanding and he didn’t waste any time to deepen the kiss. Tasting you broke any resistance Spencer had and he couldn’t keep up his demeanor anymore.

His fingertips dug into your waist before you felt them trembling against your body. His tongue brushed over yours as if you had finally granted him the first taste of water after a life-long drought. When your hands found the nape of his neck to playfully tug at his curls, he unabashedly moaned against your lips.

Spencer was desperate to make you his and he had no intention of hiding that from you. His lips only left yours to gasp for air before kissing you some more. When you wanted to lean back to look at him, he chased your mouth and immediately closed the distance again.

His enthusiasm made you smile into the kiss and he noticed. That was when he finally slowed down, leaving a few more feather-light pecks on your mouth before leaning back.

“Sorry,” he awkwardly laughed. “I’ve been waiting so long to do this.”

“Don't apologize,” you breathed. “I like how eager you are.”

To prove your words, you took his hand in yours to lead him into your bedroom. Spencer wasn’t the only one who had been waiting too long for this to finally happen. You had no intention of acting shy with him when it was clear how much the both of you yearned for each other’s nearness.

Right beside your bed you came to a halt and turned to him. Patiently he watched as you undid the buttons of his dress shirt and brushed the fabric over his shoulders. Once the shirt dropped to the floor, your hands wandered along the waistband of his pants.

Your eyes followed the movements of your fingers and you couldn’t ignore the outline of his hardness straining against his trousers. You looked at the man in front of you and found him staring at you with the utmost adoration in his eyes.

“Can I touch you?” You asked and he nodded.

Your palm carefully made contact with his clothed cock and a sigh immediately escaped Spencer’s throat. He leaned into your touch and twitched against the fabric of his confines. You decided to free him as you undid his pants and slowly pulled them down together with his underwear.

As you took your time to admire the beauty of your lover, you completely forgot your surroundings. Only Spencer’s hand brushing along your arm brought you back to reality. You locked eyes with him again and felt your cheeks heating up.

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled.

His hand found the fabric of your shirt and tugged on it as he cooed, “I want to see you, too.”

Together you got rid of the remaining pieces of clothing until both of you were completely bare. You lay down on the mattress to continue kissing without any barriers between your bodies.

Spencer hovered over you when he began kissing down your neck. He left sweet pecks on your skin before biting down on your pulse point, drawing a whine from your lips. To soothe the angry skin, he carefully licked along it before moving further down your body.

“You smell so good,” he groaned as he kissed your breasts. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He took one of your hardened peaks into his mouth while his hand found the other, teasing it with his fingers until you couldn’t hold back your moans. When he heard your hymn of praise, he hummed into your skin.

Hungry lips found one another once more. “You are marvelous,” Spencer mumbled into the kiss.

While he was distracted with his mouth on yours, a curious hand made its way down his body to wrap around his erection. It made him whimper against your lips. Your fingers brushed over velvety skin until they found the weeping tip to spread his arousal over it.

“Fuck!” he hissed as he looked down his body to watch your hand caressing him.

“Do you like that?” you teased as you kept stroking him a little harder.

His hand found your wrist to stop your movements. “Yeah, a little too much,” he confessed and his words made you smile.

You let go of him and watched as his fingertips danced along your chest and down your stomach until they reached their destination between your legs. Tentatively, he let one finger glide along your slit before spreading your folds apart. When he found you already dripping with desire, he groaned, “So wet for me.”

He collected your dew on his fingertips and dragged it along your folds before circling your most sensitive spot. The sounds of your pleasure only spurred him further on, caressing you some more before he breached your entrance with two digits, finding little resistance from your body.

Spencer kissed along your neck as he curled his fingers inside you, pressing against a spot that made you light-headed and let your walls flutter around him. He seemed to relish feeling your body like this, taking his time to explore your core before settling on a steady pace. It didn’t take long for you to dance along the edge of euphoria.

His lips brushed along your ear as he whispered, “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

That was all it took for your undoing. Spencer groaned as he felt you pulsing around his fingers, your entire body writhing as you found relief. You were still panting when he withdrew his fingers, making you whine at the loss of contact.

With a playful smirk spread over his face, he brought his hand to his mouth to lick your release from his fingers, savoring the taste of your cunt on his tongue.

“You taste so good,” he breathed before moving down your body. “I need more.”

Before he could settle down between your thighs, you grabbed his shoulders. The feeling of being empty was overwhelming and you yearned to be filled out by him. Even though the prospect of having his mouth on you was exciting, it was not what you needed then.

“I need you inside me now,” you whimpered. “Please, Spencer.”

He kneeled between your legs when he chuckled, “How could I say no to that?”

Hurriedly and with little grace you reached over to your nightstand to get a condom from the drawer. Spencer didn’t waste any more time when he took the wrapper from your hands to put the condom on. As he leaned over you, you watched him closing his eyes for a moment before he aligned his cock at your entrance.

Then, after locking eyes with you, he began pushing his hips against yours. He hissed a curse at the sensation of slowly stretching you open one inch at the time. When he dared to look down between your bodies, he got so overwhelmed at the sight of his cock entering you that he almost came on the spot.

Quickly, he averted his sight to get his composure back. Your walls fluttered around him and you felt him twitch in response. Once he had filled you up to the hilt, he took a moment to feel your heartbeat deep inside you.

“Spencer,” you whined as you began rocking your hips against his. “Please!”

He didn’t mean to tease you or test your patience. He just wanted to fully savor this moment. Feeling you tightly wrapped around him made his head spin. He felt inebriated when he began moving and started to think you had cast some kind of spell on him.

“You feel so good,” he breathed when he began moving. “So tight for me.”

Pure magic was the only explanation for what you made him feel. Spencer struggled to wrap his head around the fact that this was reality. Nothing else mattered other than being right there with you, making you his as he fucked you against the mattress.

“Harder!” you cried and Spencer obliged.

It proved to be a mistake, though. As he watched you quiver underneath him, the bedframe shaking with his forceful thrusts, he struggled to delay his downfall. Feeling you getting even tighter around him made it impossible to not fully indulge in this sensation.

With his whole body trembling, he tried but failed to slow himself down. Desperation was written over his face as he attempted to prolong the feeling of being inside you. Of course you noticed it, too. Seeing him fall apart on top of you as pleasure overcame him was exhilarating and you had no intention of slowing him down.

“Come for me,” you murmured and Spencer’s eyes widened at your words.

Then, with a particularly hard thrust, he did. Trembling and groaning, the built-up tension was released as his climax washed over him.

Before you had a chance to wrap your arms around him to welcome him inside your embrace, he pulled out of you and quickly moved down your body. With your head still spinning, it took you several seconds to realize what he was doing.

Only when you felt his tongue glide through your folds did you comprehend that he had found his new home between your legs.

“Oh fuck, Spencer!” You hissed at the feeling of his mouth caressing your sensitive center.

Like a man starved he collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue, moaning into your skin as he tasted your heady aroma. The vibrations he created sent shockwaves through your body, prompting you to buck your hips against his face.

Seemingly unfazed by your reaction, he wrapped his arms around your legs to keep you in place as he continued pleasuring you with his tongue and mouth.

“So good,” he whispered against your heat.

Despite his effort to hold you securely against his mouth, you were sure you might start floating at any moment. Two of his fingers found their way into you, adding more pressure and bringing you closer to your undoing.

It only took a few more seconds until ecstasy overcame you. Your thighs trembled as you rode out your high, rocking gently against Spencer’s face. He didn't let go of you, though. Almost in a trance-like state he kept caressing you, licking up your release as you writhed underneath him.

Your chest was heaving when you looked at him, eyes closed and half of his face buried between your legs. Spencer didn't even consider stopping, not when you tasted so heavenly, even more so after you came. Drunk on your taste and scent, he would have been more than happy to spend the rest of his night right there.

It became too overwhelming for you, though. The constant stimulation was too much to bear and almost became uncomfortable, so your hands found his curls to pull on them. “Enough,” you murmured.

In an instant, he removed his mouth from your core to litter your inner thighs with little kisses. Then he looked up at you, a wicked grin painted on his glistening face. He wiped himself clean with the back of his hand before plopping down beside you.

“Sorry, uh…” he muttered. “I got a little carried away.”

You placed a kiss on his lips, noticing your own scent still lingered on them.

“I’m not complaining,” you purred. “I just need a little break. We can continue later.”

The glimmer in his eyes at your words must have been akin to someone witnessing a miracle. Content with the prospect of doing all of this again, he wrapped you into his arms.

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

5K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 9 days ago

Text

a love song for lady earth | s.r.

in which reader has her first experience with munch!spencer

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: oral (fem receiving), munch!spencer, a little bit of overstim, d/s dynamics if you spin in circles and then squint, pwp, cumming untouched, fingering, dirty talk, a little praise word count: 2.16k a/n: this one goes out to everyone who's ever gotten shitty head from shitty guys. also to people who like their men a little pathetic.

“What are you doing?” Your voice comes out higher than you anticipated. The slight panic in your tone sets your boyfriend on high alert, his eyebrows rising in curiosity as he hovers over you.

Spencer pulls himself up until you meet his eyes, concern and lust fusing together to create nothing short of confusion. He studies your expression, investigating your interruption with the kind of delicacy that he always has when approaching intimacy, “Baby,” he starts, “Have you ever received oral sex before?”

Your lips part in surprise, wondering why that’s the conclusion he comes to, “I have,” you respond hesitantly. “I just—” you falter, “You don’t have to.”

His confusion deepens, “I don’t have to what?”

“You don’t have to give me head,” you answer timidly, “Because it’s not— you just don’t have to.”

Languidly, Spencer drags his fingertips up and down your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s not what? Now you have to tell me.”

You groan in frustration, looking up at the ceiling fan while you search for words that won’t set your cheeks ablaze, “I don’t like it, and I know guys don’t like it. So, you just… we can skip that part.”

“Just out of curiosity, what about it don’t you like?” Spencer asks, sitting up fully between your legs, one hand resting on your knee, keeping your legs parted.

Looking down at him, you chew on the inside of your lip, knowing you have his undivided attention when you speak up, “I just don’t get any pleasure out of a guy trying to French with my vagina while I fake moan.”

“Ah,” Spencer breathes, “So, you’ve never received good oral sex before,” he amends his previous question.

Propping yourself up on your hands, you raise your eyebrows doubtfully, “I’m not entirely convinced there is such a thing, and will you please stop calling it oral sex? It sounds so clinical.”

He crawls over to you, putting his face right in front of yours, “Do you trust me?”

You frown, “Of course I do, what does that have to do with any of this?”

“Would you be willing to let me go down on you?” The earnestness in his tone catches you by surprise. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants to eat you out.

Humming affectionately, you tilt your head at him, “Do you really want to? I always thought guys hated doing it.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows, “Then I guess that demographic doesn’t apply to me.”

“Oh,” you breathe, “You can… We can try,” you offer. Nerves twist in your lower belly as his eyes widen ever so slightly, your eyes fall shut as he leans his head forward, pressing his lips to yours while his hand starts to pull at the waistband of your panties.

Your boyfriend’s lips are almost unfairly soft against your own as his hands continue to undress you, pushing your t-shirt up around your waist and pulling down your underwear to the middle of your thighs. Pressing his forehead against yours, Spencer pulls away ever so slightly, “You can always tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

Nodding, you can’t help but be curious about his plan. You find yourself questioning every partner you’ve had in the past, or maybe Spencer just has a special talent with his mouth—he certainly was good at running it. “Yes,” you say, kissing him again before he moves his head down.

“Thank you,” he mutters, bringing his head back down to where it was before you’d stopped him. Spencer lazily drags your panties down your legs, flinging them across the room to be found later before dropping his head between your knees, littering small, slow kisses along the insides of your thighs. “Pretty girl,” he hums, inspecting your glistening sex with peaked interest.

Your cunt clenches around nothing at his words, earning a chuckle from Spencer as he set on top of your mound, pulling the skin taut before blowing cool air on you. You jump in response, looking down at where he’s smirking from between your legs. Admittedly, you’d never felt so dizzy at the prospect of having a man go down on you, he just looks so pretty.

He hums absentmindedly, “Just making sure you’re paying attention,” he teases.

There could be an air raid siren going off and you’d still be too focused on him to take cover. His movements are calculated as he exposes your clit to the air, leaning his head down and pressing his tongue flat against your folds, licking a stripe before readjusting himself on the bed.

A constellation of feather-light kisses is left everywhere, your inner thighs, up toward your hip bone—everywhere except where you really need him. Your clit aches with need as he continues to tease you, the pad of his thumb skimming ever so slightly over the sensitive bud, relieving only a fraction of the pressure that’s building up. “Spence,” you breathe.

“Are you enjoying this?” He asks, lifting his head up and looking at you curiously.

You nod once, “Are you?” You challenge.

His head drops again, and your breath hitches when he answers, “Immensely.”

Spencer continues but doesn’t move on, studying your anatomy so intently that it only serves to turn you on even more. His hand ghosts over your folds, running a finger over your slit and chuckling when your hips buck up in response to the stimulation.

He could’ve gotten you to beg, had that been his goal, you would’ve babbled please so incessantly that the word no longer held any meaning, but that wasn’t what Spencer wanted. He wanted you to enjoy receiving pleasure in a way that no man had ever wanted before.

“You’re just so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, watching you intently.

Before you had a chance to reply, his mouth was on you again, his tongue deftly slipping between your folds and poking at your entrance. Other than working you up, you didn’t feel any different than you had previously. You give a gentle hum of encouragement—at least he tried, and at least you’d be wet enough for sex.

Spencer curls his tongue, dragging your slick up to your clit, and that’s where he finally got you. His tongue pressed firmly against the bundle of nerves as you squirm beneath him, your body moving faster than your brain as your hips move away from his mouth, “Shh,” Spencer coos, “It’s okay, baby. I know it’s a lot. I’ve got you.”

Taking a deep shuddering breath, you nod. You open your mouth to form a reply, but the only thing that comes out is a breathy sigh.

Carefully, Spencer moves your legs, placing your thighs on top of his shoulders, giving you one more glance before diving back in, kitten-licking your clit while you try to catch your breath.

“Spence,” you cry, feeling an orgasm that you previously hadn’t thought was possible building in your lower belly. A swarm of nerves and aches of pleasure thrumming through your body like electricity.

He readjusts, lifting his head more so that his lips can wrap around the sensitive nub, his mouth gently suckling on it.

At a loss for what to do with your hand, they find their way down to his head, weaving your fingers through his hair as his ministrations drive you closer and closer to an orgasm. Tugging at the soft curls earns a groan from him, the vibrations on your clit causing you to cry out, “Oh my god.”

He drops one of your legs, moving his hand up to grab one of yours before you cum, squeezing his hand as he gently nips at your clit, further encouraging your orgasm.

“I’m— ah, please,” you babble nervously, inhaling sharply as your orgasm washes over you, cunt clenching around nothing as Spencer’s mouth continues working at you, licking softly as your back arches off of the bed, sweat causing the sheets to stick to your skin.

Your thighs are trembling by the time Spencer comes back up, his mouth shining with your arousal as he breathes as heavily as you. His hand cups your sensitive sex when he leans forward, leaning in to kiss your lips.

The taste of yourself on his lips doesn’t even cross your mind as you cup the back of his head and pull his mouth to yours. The tang of your own cunt on your tongue draws a moan from the back of your throat, and you jump when one of Spencer’s fingers gently teases your interest, the sensitivity from your previous orgasm making your head spin.

“Can I go back?” Spencer asks, looking down at his hand briefly before returning to your eyes for permission.

Your mouth gapes, “You want more?”

He groans in response, “Angel, I’d spend all day between your thighs if you’d let me.”

Your stomach flips, mourning the fact that you had plans in the afternoon, “I might just take you up on that someday.”

Lifting your body from the pillows, Spencer tugs your t-shirt the rest of the way off your body, leaving you fully nude in front of him, “Fuck,” he groans, gently guiding your back to the mattress as he attaches his lips to your neck, leaving your fingers clawing at his back.

His head moves lower, nipping and sucking at your collarbones, leaving light marks as he makes his way down to your chest. His lips scatter kisses all along your breasts as he moves down, down, down. Right until he’s right where you want him, and right where he wants to be. “Oh,” you whimper, taking in a shaky breath while he tentatively presses his index finger into your wet hole.

“Poor baby,” Spencer coos at your sensitivity, “You’re doing so well, letting me fuck you with my mouth. All you needed was someone to suck your clit.”

You sigh dazedly in response, every thought in your mind evacuating as his mouth drops to your pussy again, languidly lapping at your cunt while his finger eases into you, “You’re so good at this.”

He hums against you in response, the vibrations causing your body to shudder and your hands to return to their home in his hair. The feeling of his mouth gently sucking on that little bundle of nerves and his finger starting to thrust makes your walls clench.

A strangled moan escapes your mouth when he adds a second finger, his second and third fingers driving into you with a steady rhythm as his tongue flicks your clit in calculated movements. The recognition of your impending orgasm hits you, “’m close,” you breathe, gasping as his movements don’t relent, tears prick at your eyes as you chase that high.

Spencer pushes your legs further apart with his spare hand, keeping your thighs from closing around his head as he moans against your cunt. You pull on his hair, eliciting another groan from him that sends you hurtling into your second orgasm, crying out his name like a prayer as he tapers off his ministrations.

His hand slows first, gently working you through your orgasm as his tongue laps at your clit, gentle movements soothing the hypersensitive spot as you catch your breath, tears trickling down your cheeks as you smooth out the hair on his head. He pulls away from you, releasing your trembling thighs and letting them fall around him as he tiredly rests his head on your abdomen. “Spence,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair, causing him to rest his chin on you, meeting your eyes as he wipes your slick from his mouth.

He hums a response, “My love,” he murmurs, eyes closing as he enjoys the feeling of you playing with his hair.

You chew on the inside of your lip nervously, “Do… do you need me?” Your question was tentative, unsure if he wants you to reciprocate.

“Uh,” he says, equally as unsure, “That’s not necessary.”

You raise your eyebrows, “It’s not like I feel inclined to, but I’d like to… to return the favor.”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, I mean I’m taken care of. I already…” his voice trails off, leaving you to fill in the blanks.

“Oh,” you breathe, “Oh.” Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, hiding your smile, “Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Desperately. You were trying desperately not to laugh at the prospect of your boyfriend cumming in his briefs.

He rolls his eyes in response, clearly unbothered. He seems almost proud, and you suppose it’s not often that a man finishes from giving head. “So,” he starts, moving his hand and using his fingertips to draw stars across your bare skin, “Did you enjoy it?”

You huff in response, the answer is obvious, but he just wants the victory of knowing he’s changed your mind. Who are you to refuse him of that? “Immensely,” you answer.

4K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 9 days ago

Text

kinktober day two • accidental stimulation

aka: melting

steve harrington x fem!reader

kinktober masterlist

cw: 18+, minors dni, dry humping, public sex (kind of), slight humiliation, p in v

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Scoops Ahoy! is the bane of your existence. Shilling ice cream for bratty kids and old classmates is a real pain in the ass. Especially on days like today, when you have to work with Steve instead of Robin. Steve’s annoying, always has been. You were once paired up with him for a biology project in high school and he didn’t do a goddamn thing but took credit and you’ve been holding onto that grudge for years. At the time, Steve treated you like the dog shit under his shoe but times have changed.

You’d sprouted tits and actually learned how to take care of yourself— how to wear makeup and style your hair. It’s landed you in a weird spot with Harrington. He hits on repeatedly, almost on the hour during hour six hour shifts. Maybe if he’d hadn’t been such a dick to you in high school, you’d consider it because let’s face it; Steve Harrington is a babe. A stupid, arrogant babe. It’s kind of fun, turning him down. Feels like you’ve won something. Even though, you ponder what would happen if you gave into his incessant flirting.

However, today, you wanna sock him right in his beautiful face. He’s been incredibly annoying, complaining how he hasn’t felt the touch of a woman since Nancy and how the uniform really isn’t helping his case. You’d beg to differ. He unfortunately looks… attractive in it. But he’s fallen off the social ladder and that’s why the girls reject him.

It’s closing time, you’re bent over into the drop ins. Covering the big gallons of ice cream when Harrington tries to sneak behind you to close up the topping bar. His crotch grazes your ass and he freezes. Pathetically, makes a shocked noise and presses his hand against the small of your back.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice echoing inside the drop-in freezer.

Steve doesn’t move, keeps his crotch firmly pressed against your ass and even rolls his hips. You can feel his cock hardening behind his polyester shorts and your eyes widen. Why the fuck isn’t he moving? And worse, how did he get hard just from barely grazing against you? He’s really down bad.

You try to look back at him but then he’s grabbing your hips, rolls his again and you stare stunned down at the tub of U.S.S Butterscotch.

He jolts back, you can hear his body making contact with the counter behind him as he exclaims, “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to…”

You pull your head out of the freezer and turn to him, a sly smile spreading across your lips, “Did that make you hard?”

“No,” he lies but the proof is staring you in the face, those little blue shorts doing nothing to help him hide it.

You laugh, soft and shocked and fine, okay— flattered.

“Wow,” you exhale, “I didn’t realize it was that dire.”

“Shut up,” he shakes his head and tries to look nonchalant, but his cheeks are red, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Another laugh, your eyes trained on his erection straining through his uniform and then he moves his hands to cover it. His eyes everywhere but on you. You hum, pout and tilt your head, “You’re not as suave as you think.”

He swallows hard, “I need to, close the topping station… I uh—“

“Yeah… and I need to finish covering the ice cream. I’m gonna bend back over and do that…” you tell him, feeling bold because well, it’s been a long time for you to and you can’t deny you enjoyed the feeling of him against you. “If I feel something… I’m just gonna keep doing what I’m doing.”

You spin back around and get back to covering the tubs. Steve’s not as stupid as you thought, because when you duck back into the freezer, his crotch is pressed against your ass again. His large hands wrap around your hips, holding you steady.

Thank god you guys were behind tonight. The mall has to be empty, gates all closed and the whole food court is quiet. You wiggle back against him and Steve lets out a sound you hate to admit is pretty.

Keeping true to your word, you act as if nothing is happening as you cover all the tub while Steve grinds against you from behind. And you let him. Welcome it, actually. Feel pretty because of it. You even grind back against him, feeling your thighs heat up. This is dangerous yet it feels like maybe it was bound to happen. A part of you thinks that maybe if you give Steve this, he’ll stop being so insufferable. Like he needs to have this kind of interaction with a woman in order to stop seeking it out so desperately. You want to give Steve what he wants— what he’s been begging for for months.

The pair of you keep grinding into each other for a while. Until you start to feel uncomfortable from the coldness of the freezer. So you pull yourself out of it. Move over to the register and bend over the counter. Steve follows you, presses himself up against your ass again and drags his hands down your back.

So you reach behind you, pull the skirt of your uniform up and then push your underwear down your thighs.

“Fuck,” Steve exhales as he watches and you can hear him undoing his shorts and shoving them down. “I’ve had dreams like this.”

Yeah, that’s a big inflation to your ego. And you can’t help but admit, “Me too.”

Steve groans lowly, brings his fingers to your cunt and rubs them up through your folds. He scissors your clit and then brings them back down, circling around your entrance. “I’m kind of big, I should probably get you ready,” he says and sinks two fingers into your pussy.

You gasp and moan, rolling your hips back on his fingers. Part of you wants to look back, see if he’s exaggerating but from what you could see in his shorts, you don’t think he is. Steve thrusts his fingers in and out of you slowly, spreads them while they’re deep inside and you have to bite your lip to keep quiet. You’re sure you’re alone in this mall, aside from the security guards but they don’t hang around the food court this time of night. Better be safe, though.

“You dream about me?” you ask, voice shaky.

“All the time,” Steve breathes out, pulling his fingers out but circles the tips of them along your hole. “Didn’t know it’d be so easy like this.”

You giggle, pushing your ass back against him as you tell him, “Me either. You’re a pain in my ass, but you are cute.”

“Am I?” he asks, leaning over you and kissing against your neck just as he slides his fingers back inside you.

A groan pours from you as you close your eyes, “Shut up, Harrington, you know you’re hot.”

He licks your jaw, then nips at it gently before pressing his lips against your ear, “I know I am. I didn’t know you thought so, too.”

God, you wish you could see his face— to remind you how much you really think so. You know he’s still wearing that dumb sailor hat he hates so much and you haven’t had the guts to tell him he looks cute in it. He adds a third finger and the stretch of it has you crying out. Steve fucking tsks, tells you, “Just wait until I get my cock inside you.”

“Do it,” you plead, pushing your ass back against him desperately.

He nips at your jaw again, fingers leaving you abruptly as he grips his cock and guides his tip towards your hole. Once you feel it prodding, you inhale sharply. He slips the tip in, stretching you beautifully— almost has you in tears but he goes slow. Allows you to adjust to every inch as he mouths at your jaw and neck.

You feel like you're melting, hands gripping the counter as he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt. He’s completely inside you, hands clinging onto your hips as your walls grip and pulse around his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine out, “You’re so fucking big.”

He groans, right against your ear and mumbles, “I told you…”

Everything is fuzzy. Scoops Ahoy! doesn’t exist. You’re in space with Steve’s impressive cock buried inside you, not in the mall where there’s a potential to be seen. He thrusts forward hard and deep, making you yelp. He grabs your jaw, turns your face towards him and kisses you sloppily, silencing your involuntary noises. He tastes sweet, like the maraschino cherries he snacks on. You wonder if you taste like the ice cream sundae he made you for your break. You try to think about when he slid it to you and said he made it with love. Which is easy to forget as he rolls his hips, cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

“You’re so tight,” he babbles out.

You reply with, “you’re so big…”

“Feel good, yeah? Me stretching you out?”

“So… fucking… good,” you give in, gasping into the sideways kiss as he delivers a hard and deep thrust.

Steve’s hands reach around, cupping your breasts over your uniform and you wish you weren’t at work— but somewhere where he could feel you up, completely exposed. This will have to do, though. He kisses your neck sloppily, repetitively across the expanse of it that his lips can reach. Small, quiet moans falling past your lips, hopefully muffled by the tinny speakers playing easy listening throughout the mall.

“Oh, god, Steve…” you whine, hips jutting into the counter from the force of his thrusts.

His hands knead against your chest as he presses his face against the crook of your neck and breathes, rugged and heavy. He picks up his pace a bit more and you know he’s close, so you shove your hand down between you and the counter. Get your fingers pressed to your clit and rub circles, mirroring the rhythm of Steve’s thrusts. The feeling of his breath against your neck is surprisingly pleasant. You focus hard on reaching your climax, luckily getting there before Steve. Unfortunately, you can’t keep your volume under control as you moan. Feel too good to really care, even. Steve whines from the sound, pulling out of you quick and then you feel thick, hot ropes of cum landing on your exposed ass.

Then the pair of you stay still, awkwardly— just panting. You turn your head to look back at him as he uses his apron to clean the mess on your skin. It makes you laugh, which causes Steve to smile and laugh. He’s got his shorts back up and he moves to pull your underwear up. Then you turn and look at him. He chews his bottom lip, staring back at you.

“I uh, forgot to ask you earlier but, could you give me a ride home tonight?” you ask, cheeks red in embarrassment.

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” he nods, looking as awkward as you feel.

You grab onto the collar of his uniform and suggest, “Maybe we could hang out at your place for a bit, first?”

Steve grins, gorgeous white teeth on display and he puts his hands on your hips, leans down and says, “Yeah, that could be fun.” before he plants a kiss on your lips.

2K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 9 days ago

Text

wanna be yours — vi (league of legends) !

⟢ synopsis. in the gritty underbelly of zaun, you find yourself entangled in the life of a new pit fighter: vi, a hardened fighter who wears her pain like armour. as a medic working in the fighting pit, you are tasked with patching up her wounds after matches, and you realize that while you can heal vi’s injuries, you can’t mend the broken pieces of her heart that belong to someone else.

⟢ contains. afab!reader, arcane!vi, feminine characteristics, angst, lesbians, lots and lots of longing, kinda enemies to lovers (but worse), nsfw, fingering, 17+ kinda explicit.

⟢ word count. 15.2k+

⟢ authors note. i spent the last few weeks working on this fic and i am really happy with how it turned out!! eek!! happy reading!! <3 :)

You’ve grown used to the sight of blood.

It streaks across the tiled floor in dark smears, trails on the edge of your workbench, and stains the tattered cloths shoved into the waste bin. The scent of copper lingers in the air, mingling with the faint tang of disinfectant.

You’ve made it work, though. You have to.

Your bench is lined with the tools: sutures, gauze, tape, and a half-empty bottle of antiseptic you’ve been meaning to replace. You keep it organized, and meticulous because chaos out there demands control in here. The pit fighters appreciate it, and you, in their own way. There’s always a pep in their step when they leave your little corner, heading to the bar with fresh bandages and a story to tell.

Some linger longer than they need to, chatting while you clean up. The regulars know your rhythm—when to crack a joke to ease the tension or when to stay quiet and let you focus. The brawlers come to trust you, and trust is hard to come by lately.

Maybe it was because you weren’t trying to punch the lights out of their eyes.

The room itself is far from perfect. Cramped, poorly lit, and barely adequate, it feels more like a storage closet someone forgot to clear out than a proper medical station. You’ve done what you can to make it your own. A few paintings hang crookedly on the walls—cheap prints, but bright enough to cut through the gloom. Candles flicker in the corners of your desk, casting a soft glow that doesn’t do much for the lighting but makes the space feel warmer, more welcoming.

The pit fighters notice. They never say much about it, but you catch the way they relax when they sit down, their shoulders loosening just slightly as the room wraps them in its quiet. It’s your small rebellion against the harshness of Zaun, a reminder that even here, there’s room for gentleness.

Sometimes they repay that gentleness in their own way—a drink after a fight, a nod of thanks, or a protective presence when the streets get dangerous, walking you home. You’ve been here long enough to know that loyalty is rare in Zaun, but somehow, you’ve earned it.

The fighting arena roars with life, the crowd’s cheers rumbling through the walls like distant thunder. Tonight’s fights have been loud—louder than usual. People running around with their coloured tickets based on who they were betting on. You glance at the clock.

There’s been a buzz all week about a newcomer, someone fresh and untested.

Vi, they call her.

Scrappy and wild, with a chip on her shoulder and fists to match. The kind of fighter who comes in all swagger and leaves in pieces.

You haven’t met her yet, but the bookies’ chatter alone has you bracing yourself. First fights are always the worst—too much pride, not enough sense.

The door rattles, hard enough to make the jars on your shelf tremble and you can hear muffled shouting from the other side.

It slams open, rattling on its hinges, but you don’t look up right away. Your focus is on threading a needle carefully through the gash along the side of Ryker’s jaw—a nasty wound from an earlier fight. Ryker’s been coming here for years, but never with complaints. He’s one of the good ones, fighting not just for himself but for his daughter, scraping by on the cash these matches earn him. He sits hunched over, still radiating the heat of adrenaline.

“Don’t fucking shove me,” a voice grumbles from the doorway. “Fuck off, Loris!”

Your attention shifts to the two figures stumbling into the room. One of them—a broad-shouldered man with a face like he’s eaten rocks for breakfast—could easily pass for one of the fighters. But it’s the girl he’s dragging by the arm that catches your eye.

She’s all jagged lines and sharp edges, her messy, dark pink hair sticking up in uneven tufts. Blood drips lazily from her nose, smudging against the back of her hand when she wipes at it, and her scowl is carved so deep it feels like her only expression.

“I don’t need a medic,” the girl—Vi, you hear the man mutter—snaps, yanking her arm free. “I need a drink.”

“Protocol,” He replies flatly, giving her a shove that nearly sends her sprawling.

Vi catches herself with a stumble, shooting him a glare before surveying the room with obvious disdain. Her gaze lands on you, and her lip curls faintly. “This it? Cozy,” she mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

You ignore her, focusing on the final stitch on Ryker’s jaw. “You can take a seat,” you say evenly, nodding toward the empty couch by the far wall.

“No thanks,” Vi shoots back, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. She leans against the wall instead, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Too proud to sit down, blue belly?” Ryker mutters, casting a sharp glance from his seat. His voice is low, edged with a warning. “Or has the guilt of hunting your own finally caught up with you?”

“Ryker,” you say softly, your tone a quiet scold. The last thing you need is a fight breaking out here.

But his words make you look at Vi more closely. Her features are familiar, in a vague, nagging way. It clicks as you take in the hard set of her shoulders, the stubborn way she holds herself, and the bruises already blooming across her cheekbone. A new batch of enforcers had swept through Zaun a few weeks back, leaving havoc and clouds of Grey in their wake. They’d brought their brutality, painted their violence into the walls of the city, and then disappeared like ghosts, leaving Zaun more broken than before.

That’s how it usually went with them.

However, you had never heard of someone from the undercity becoming an Enforcer before.

Vi scoffs, slurring her words just slightly. “I don’t know—d’you wanna find out?”

You pause, needle halfway through a stitch, tension coiling tight in the air. “Don’t,” you warn softly, already sensing where this is headed.

Ryker shifts forward on the bench, his battered knuckles flexing. “You wanna go another round?”

Vi pushes off the wall, stepping closer. “You wanna lose again?” she challenges, her voice low and sharp.

“That’s enough,” you snap, moving quickly to step between them. Loris mirrors your movement, his larger frame serving as an immovable barrier.

“Sit. Down,” Loris growls at Vi, his glare enough to make her hesitate. With a huff, she leans back against the wall again, though her fists remain clenched in her jacket pockets.

You shake your head and turn back to Ryker, finishing the last stitch with practiced ease. “You’re done,” you tell him, rummaging through your cabinet and handing him a small bottle of pain meds. “Keep it clean, change the bandage twice a day, and stay out of trouble—for your sake and your daughter’s.”

Ryker stands slowly, still throwing a glare Vi’s way. But his expression softens when he looks at you. “Thanks,” when he says your name, his voice is warmer than before. “You’re too good for this place.”

You offer him a faint smile. “Take care, Ryker.”

He leaves, brushing past Vi with a grunt, and the room feels quieter—tense but quieter. You turn your attention to the newcomer, who’s leaning against the wall, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, tracking your every movement.

“Alright,” you say, already washing your hands and gathering fresh supplies. “Your turn.”

Vi doesn’t move from the wall. “I’m fine,” she insists, “patch up the ones who actually need it.”

Your gaze flicks over her—the bloody nose that’s started to run again, the gash seeping through her sleeve, and the raw swelling on her knuckles. “Sit,” you say, your voice firm.

She doesn’t budge.

You meet her gaze, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long, a quiet standoff neither of you seems willing to break. Your fingers tap once against the counter, but your glare doesn’t waver. You won’t repeat yourself.

Loris, the man who dragged her in, steps forward with a roll of his eyes, giving her a nudge with his elbow. “Sit down, Vi.”

She winces at the pressure on her back, her bravado faltering for just a split second. With a low grumble, she finally drops onto the bench, slouching with exaggerated indifference, her arms crossing tight over her chest.

You grab a clipboard and step closer. She watches you like you’re some kind of nuisance.

“Name?” you ask, clicking your pen.

“Vi,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on the far wall.

“Vi what?”

“Just Vi.”

You suppress a sigh. “What’s your full name?”

“I said, just Vi.”

There’s an edge to her tone, enough to make you glance up. Her jaw is set, her expression daring you to press the issue. You don’t. Instead, you scrawl it down and move on. “Fine. Age?”

“Old enough to fight.”

Your pen stills mid-note, the corners of your mouth tightening as you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Of course, you are,” you say dryly, setting the clipboard aside with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, let’s start with the obvious,” you say, gesturing at her face. “Your nose is bleeding. Tilt your head back.”

Vi’s brow arches like you’ve just said something funny. “I said, I’m fine.”

“And I said, tilt your head back,” you reply, your voice steady but no less firm.

Her gaze sharpens, a flicker of defiance lighting in her eyes, but she tilts her head back with a dramatic huff. “Happy?”

You ignore her tone, stepping closer to inspect the injury. The faint scent of sweat and iron lingers between you, and for a moment, you notice the heat of her skin where your gloved fingers gently tilt her chin.

“Doesn’t feel broken,” you mutter, reaching for a clean cloth to dab away the blood. She flinches as the fabric touches her skin, her muscles twitching under your fingers. “Relax,” you say softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters.

Your hand falters, just briefly. There’s a weight to her words, a sharpness you weren’t expecting, but you push past it. “Well, I mean it,” you reply quietly.

Her silence stretches as you work, less hostile but no less charged. The closer you look, the more details you notice: the faint scars lining her skin, the inked letters etched into her cheekbone, the edge of a tattoo just barely visible beneath her collar, and the faint shine of her silver nose ring.

“Jacket off,” you say, gesturing to the gash on her arm.

Her gaze snaps to yours, wary and sharp. “Why?”

You give her a flat look. “Because I can’t stitch it through fabric.”

For a second, she doesn’t move, her body tensing as if bracing for something. Then, with a muttered curse, she shrugs out of her jacket, tossing it onto the bench beside her.

Her arms are a mess—old fighting hand wraps soaked with blood and dirt wrapped tightly around her forearms. You offer to replace them, but she cuts you off. “I’ll do it myself.”

You let it go, focusing instead on cleaning the fresh wound. Her muscles tense every time you touch her, but she doesn’t flinch again. “You can relax, you know,” you say, trying to sound light. “I’m just trying to help.”

Vi lets out a bitter snort. “You’re not the first to say that.”

You pause, but you don’t press. She’s lashing out on you. That’s the most you can make of it.

The silence stretches again as you stitch the wound, her eyes watching you closely, unreadable. When you finally glance up, your movements stilling, she shrugs.

“What?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

“Nothing,” she says, leaning back.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer before shaking your head and returning to your work, wrapping the freshly stitched wound with clean bandages. She stays quiet, watching until the silence becomes heavy again.

Then, without warning, she speaks, her voice quieter but cutting. “You know, you’re wasting your time on these people. Half of them wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

The words hit like a punch, sharper than anything she’s said before. You freeze mid-motion, your fingers hovering over the bandage as you process her bluntness. Slowly, deliberately, you resume wrapping her arm, tucking the end of the bandage into place with more care than you think she deserves at that moment.

“Good thing I don’t do this for their gratitude,” you reply evenly, though the edge in your voice betrays a flicker of irritation. You’re trying not to let it get to you.

She’s new. Clearly, she’s fighting off some kind of pent-up frustration. She must have anger issues or something. You wonder how many hits Ryker got on her before she knocked him out.

Her chuckle is low and humourless, more of a scoff than anything else. “Right.”

You hope he got a solid six or seven punches in.

You step back, peeling off your gloves with a deliberate snap. There’s a moment where you consider saying something more, but you swallow the impulse. Professionalism, you remind yourself.

“You’re all set,” you say curtly, gathering up the soiled supplies. “I’d suggest taking tomorrow off. You know, to let the wound heal before you go back out there.”

Vi grabs her jacket, standing in a single fluid motion. She doesn’t look at you when she replies, her tone casual but dismissive. “I’ll live.”

You wish Ryker had broken her nose.

You shake your head, already turning back to tidy your workstation, unwilling to watch her saunter out.

Loris, standing by the door, offers you a small, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks,” he says, his voice warmer than hers ever was.

You manage a smile back, but it’s shallow, worn. The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone in the cramped room. The exasperation settles in like a weight, not heavy but persistent.

For a moment, you stand there in silence, staring at the supplies on your counter. You shake your head again, this time at yourself.

What the fuck is her problem?

You know you shouldn’t be surprised when Vi stumbles into the medic room again the very next day. The fights at Antis’s brawling ring are infamous for their relentless schedule, especially on weekends when the bets come pouring in before sundown. It’s barely dusk now, but the underground buzz is already unmistakable—the muffled cheers and jeers vibrating through the walls.

Vi comes alone this time—or at least she leaves Loris waiting outside the door. You catch a brief glimpse of him through the crack in the door, leaning against the wall with a drink at his lips, shaking his head like this is just another day for him.

The door slams shut as Vi shoulders her way in, her boots heavy against the floor. She’s holding one hand against her face, blood dripping sluggishly through her fingers and trailing down her arm.

You have to bite back a smile at the sight.

She’s ditched her jacket, and the sleeveless collared top she’s wearing looks like it’s seen more fights than she has—worn thin, patched up in places, and stained with a lifetime of blood and sweat. Her hand wraps are shredded and still filthy, hanging loosely around her forearms. The gash on her arm has reopened, the stitches torn apart as if they were never there to begin with.

You take all of this in within seconds, and something tightens in your chest—a mix of frustration and satisfaction. “You can’t fight back-to-back nights,” you say, your voice sharper than intended as you grab your gloves and a fresh set of supplies.

Vi grunts, brushing past you to sit on the bench. “I can do what I want,” she snaps, her words muffled by her hand still pressed to her face. Her defiance is unshaken, but the tremble in her shoulders gives her away. She’s hurting.

Now you start to feel bad. But just a little bit.

You’ve seen this before—new fighters crashing into the medic room with the same mix of bruised pride and bloodied skin. They fight like there’s no tomorrow, each punch is thrown carrying something more than just adrenaline. Some fight for money, some for escape, and others just because they don’t know how to stop. There’s always a reason. You can’t help but wonder what—or who—Vi is fighting for.

With a quiet exhale, you turn to the counter and grab your supplies. The clatter of tools fills the silence as you steel yourself for the inevitable pushback. “Let me guess,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at her. “Antis needed someone to keep the bets high, and you couldn’t say no.”

Vi drops her hand from her face, and for the first time, you see the full extent of the damage. A deep bruise blooms across the bridge of her nose, nearly swollen shut in one eye, while blood smears across her mouth and drips down her jaw.

She glares at you through the mess, her voice sharp. “It’s none of your business.”

“No,” you admit, stepping closer and gesturing for her to tilt her head back. “But I’m the one who has to patch you up. So humour me.”

She scoffs but tilts her head back, letting you inspect the damage. Up close, the bruise looks worse—angry and dark, already spreading across her pale skin. Her nose isn’t broken (unfortunately), but it’s close, and the blood smeared across her upper lip makes her look like it’s been bitten off. You grab a clean cloth and start wiping the blood away. Your movements are brisk but careful, and she winces slightly as you press the cloth to her skin. Still, she doesn’t pull away, just sits there stiff and unyielding.

“You’re going to tear open the stitches every time you fight like this,” you mutter, reaching for the antiseptic. “You’ve gotta take it easy. I know how these guys fight out there—”

“I don’t need your pity,” she cuts in, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Not pity,” you reply, keeping your tone even. “Just words of advice.”

“I don’t need that either,” she snaps, her jaw tightening as you dab antiseptic on the wound. “Just patch me up so I can go. I’m only here because Antis won’t clear me for my pay otherwise.”

“Yeah, it’s protocol,” you say, capping the bottle and setting it down beside you.

“It’s stupid.”

“It was my idea.”

Her head jerks slightly, her eyes flicking toward you for a beat. There’s something almost vulnerable in her expression before she quickly looks away. She doesn’t answer right away, her gaze fixed firmly on the far wall. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter, almost bitter. “...Still stupid.”

You smile faintly as you reach for fresh bandages. “Yeah, well, stupid or not, it’s keeping people alive. Even stubborn ones like you.”

Stubborn is definitely a nicer word than what you really want to say.

She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between you as you unwrap the old bandage around her arm. Her fingers twitch against her thigh, like she’s itching to leave, but she stays seated, her posture rigid. You can’t tell if it’s pride or exhaustion keeping her there—or maybe both.

For the rest of the session, Vi is quieter than usual. Her sharp retorts are replaced by a heavy silence that seems to weigh down the air in the room. Outside, the muffled roars of the crowd echo through the thin walls.

As you work to clean and re-stitch her arm, you glance at her every so often, noting the way her jaw tightens and her fingers tap restlessly against her thigh. It��s like she’s bracing for a blow that might never come, her body constantly coiled, ready to spring.

You take a step back, pulling off your gloves with a snap. “You’re good to go,” you say, your voice softer now. “But you need rest.”

She snorts, grabbing her jacket off the bench without looking at you. “Can’t rest. I’m on a winning streak.”

You arch a brow. “You’ve only been here two days. I wouldn’t count that as a streak.”

“Don’t really care what you think.”

“You should. You’re sleep-deprived, by the way. Your eyes barely focus. Get more sleep. And you need to drink more water.”

Vi huffs a dry, sarcastic laugh, “Sure, doc. Whatever you say.”

You want to argue, but she’s already out the door, leaving behind only the faint scent of iron and the lingering weight of words left unsaid. Loris nods at you through the open door as she stalks past him, his gaze flicking back to you briefly.

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone with the distant hum of the crowd and the bloodstained bench. For a long moment, you just stand there, staring at the scraps of torn bandages scattered on the floor, the mess she left behind.

It’s not long after that you learn her name is Violet.

The knowledge of it nearly makes you laugh.

Violets. You’ve never actually seen them, but a friend of yours, a painter, once gifted you a piece featuring soft, delicate purple blooms. It hangs over your bedside table, a rare touch of beauty in an otherwise bleak city. You like to imagine those flowers are violets, though you’re not entirely sure. Flowers aren’t exactly a common sight in Zaun.

The irony of her name strikes you every time you think about it. Violet. There’s nothing soft or delicate about her—not the way she fights, nor the way she speaks to you.

She didn’t tell you her name herself, of course. That would require her to speak more than three sentences in your direction, which feels like an impossible feat. No, funnily enough, it was Loris who let it slip, though you suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t much of a ‘slip’ rather than straight-up telling you her name.

It happened a night at a bar near your work. You’d gone with some friends, seeking a much-needed reprieve. The bartender, a friend of yours, had slipped you a couple of free drinks, and in a haze of warmth and exhaustion, you noticed Loris at the bar. He looked out of place, all gruffness and silence amid the lively chatter, so you invited him to join your table.

Several drinks in, your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned closer to him, your voice barely cutting through the music and chatter as you asked him about his pink-haired friend.

Loris wasn’t much of a talker, you realized. He’d spur out a few words or two, maybe a grunt or nod.

Loris made a face, his usual stoic front slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement. He leaned in, his breath heavy with the scent of cheap beer, and gave a rare grin. “Sleeping,” he said simply, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Her name’s Violet, by the way.”

Violet. You didn’t expect that, and it must’ve shown on your face because Loris chuckled softly.

It doesn’t take long for her name to start climbing the ranks at Antis’s. Fighters and spectators alike talk about her with equal parts fear and admiration. “Antis’s money-maker,” they call her, and it’s not hard to see why. When word spread about the unbeatable pink-haired girl, business began booming. Crowds flooded in, the promise of blood and spectacle drawing them like moths to a flame.

At first, she was just another new fighter, opening matches against scrappy, overconfident rookies. But that changed quickly. Within weeks, she was headlining brawls, her name alone enough to pack the stands. She didn’t just win—she dominated, often taking on two, three, even four opponents in a single night. And you? You kept count. You had to.

She tore through supplies faster than you could restock them. Bandages, antiseptics, meds—all of it consumed at an alarming rate. You’ve patched her up more times than you can count. But what stands out most isn’t just the state of her after a fight—it’s what she leaves behind.

Her opponents don’t come to you for minor injuries. No, they stumble in half-broken, their faces smashed and unrecognizable. Each night growing worse for wear. She fights with a ruthlessness you’ve rarely seen, a fury that feels almost personal. You can’t help but wonder what drives her. Is she trying to make a point?

She’s changing, turning into something the crowd craves. Her old, worn clothes have been replaced—black jeans, already ripped at the knees, and a sleeveless black tank that clings to her frame. She’s losing pieces of herself, or maybe just hiding them.

You still can't believe that there's a girl named Violet out there beating the shit out of people for money.

One day, you accidentally walk into her in Antis’s office. You’re here to drop off some invoices for medical supplies, your mind preoccupied with balancing the clinic’s dwindling stock against the rising demand. But when you open the door, you find Vi and Antis inside, deep in conversation.

Antis looks up first, his sharp eyes narrowing at your intrusion. “You’re early,” he grunts, though there’s no real annoyance in his tone. If anything, he seems amused. “Perfect timing. We were just talking about her look. What do you think?”

Vi shifts uncomfortably, her arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t meet your gaze, her expression unreadable. You glance between them, caught off guard. “Her… look?”

Antis gestures to Vi with a sweep of his hand, his grin wolfish. “Yeah. Gotta sell the whole package, y’know? The crowd loves her, but they’ll eat up a good aesthetic, too. We’re thinking something that screams ‘unbeatable.’ Right, Vi?”

Vi’s jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, you think she might snap at Antis. But she doesn’t. Instead, her gaze flicks to you, like she’s waiting for something—your reaction, maybe, though you can’t figure out why it matters.

You clear your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “She doesn’t need to change anything. She’s already pretty... unforgettable.”

Antis’s booming laugh fills the room, but you barely hear it. Your focus is locked on her. Something flickers in her eyes—a fleeting softness, vulnerability, gratitude, maybe?—before she schools her expression and looks away. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just a trick of the dim light.

A few days later, she shows up in the medic room again. But this time, it's different—she’s not limping in, not dripping with sweat or covered in bruises. She’s just there, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual air that catches you off guard. Her knuckles brush the doorframe absentmindedly as if she’s unsure whether to knock or let herself in.

“Do you need something?” you ask, glancing up from where you’re restocking the shelves. “Are you hurt?”

She shrugs, pushing off the door and stepping inside. “No, just… it’s quiet in here.”

Your brows knit together. Quiet?

She didn’t seem like the kind of person to seek out quiet, especially not in a place like this. “You came all the way here because it’s quiet?”

“Yeah,” she says simply, her tone flat, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She grabs the chair from your desk, spins it around, and sits backward on it, resting her arms over the backrest. “Problem?”

“No... it’s just…” You trail off, unsure how to articulate the strangeness of it. Instead, you turn back to organizing supplies, aware of her eyes on you. “Never mind.”

These visits became more frequent whenever she didn’t fight. And she even stays back for a bit after you patch her up. Sometimes she speaks, but more often than not, she doesn’t—simply sitting in that chair, letting the distant noise of the arena, the cheers and shouts, fade into the background. She’ll stare at the walls or absentmindedly tap her fingers against the chair’s edge, lost in thought, but there’s a serenity about her, an unfamiliar stillness that you start to recognize.

She never tells you what brings her in—if something is weighing on her mind or if it’s just a need to escape the chaos. And you don’t ask. Instead, you begin to anticipate her visits, a strange comfort taking root in the space between you.

The conversations are sparse, but you begin to notice the small things: the way her body relaxes when she settles into the old couch, the weight lifting from her shoulders as she stretches out, the way she’ll let herself drift off into a light sleep. It’s almost like you’re giving her a moment of rest she didn’t know she needed.

Vi strides in, her steps heavier than usual, and tosses a small, overstuffed bag of coins onto your desk. You recognize it immediately—one of the payout sacks Antis gives to the fighters, filled with their share of the betting pool. This one looks heavier than most, jingling with an unmistakable weight as it lands right on top of your paperwork. You pause, your pen hovering midair, and stare at it.

Her grin spreads as she catches the look on your face—wide-eyed and mildly incredulous. “Don’t worry, it’s not for you,” she teases, her tone light and mocking.

You roll your eyes, setting the pen down with an exaggerated sigh. “This from your fight last night?”

Vi nods, her grin twisting into something sharper, a little more wicked. “Some of my best work,” she replies, her voice carrying the faintest edge of pride.

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as your gaze sharpens on her face. “I don’t know,” you counter dryly. “He broke your nose, and the whole side of your face is swollen. Doesn’t sound like your best to me.”

Standing up, you step closer, brows knitting together in concern as you get a better look at the mess of bruises she’s sporting. Without thinking, your hands lift, reaching toward her face to assess the damage.

Vi flinches. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but enough to make you hesitate. Your hands hover in the air, faltering. “Sorry,” you murmur, your voice soft.

She coughs awkwardly, shifting her weight. “No, uh—no. It’s fine,” she says, a little too fast.

This time, when you move again, she doesn’t flinch. She lets you gently brush your fingers over the swollen, splotchy skin along her cheekbone and jaw, and you feel the heat radiating off the inflamed area. Your touch is careful, clinical, but you can’t help wincing at the sight. “You’re kidding yourself if you call this your best work, Vi” you mutter. “Did you even ice this like I told you?”

Her eyes roll so hard you’re almost worried she’ll sprain something. She grabs your wrist—not roughly, but enough to lower your hand—and shrugs. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

You give her a deadpan look. “I did.”

Her smirk returns, a little more genuine now, though she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits on the edge of your desk and starts digging absently through the bag of coins, her fingers brushing over the shiny hexes and cogs. She doesn’t pull anything out, just lets her hand linger there.

“I brought you food,” she says suddenly, her voice casual.

You blink, momentarily thrown. “Food?”

She lifts a greasy paper bag into your line of sight, and you realize you hadn’t even noticed it when she walked in. “Yeah, you know. The stuff you eat when you’re hungry.”

“Okay, asshole,” you mutter, but the corner of your mouth quirks up despite yourself.

She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Got it for Loris and I, but he’s, uh… busy. Doing... someone else.” Her tone is flat, like she couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something there—an edge of amusement, maybe. “So, more for us.”

You watch her for a second. You like to think that you can see right through her sometimes, that you can read her, but as usual, she’s an enigma. There’s something in the way she said us that makes your chest feel a little lighter, but you don’t let it show. “Thanks,” you say simply.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” she shoots back. There is kindness she tries to hide, though it’s written all over her expression.

She settles onto the old medical bench, pulling out boxes of food from the bag. You wince internally at the sight, thinking about the number of people who’ve bled, puked, and worse on that very bench. Just hours ago, Vi had been sitting there herself, nose snapped out of place, grinning through bloody teeth and swollen lips and teary eyes. Now, she’s perched there like it’s nothing, tearing into her meal with that same reckless ease she carries into every fight.

“Is this where I’m supposed to remind you how unsanitary this is?”

She shrugs mid-bite, unbothered.

You don’t bother arguing. Instead, you take the box she pushes toward you and settle in. The two of you eat in silence.

The days begin to blur into one another as Vi’s visits grow more casual. At first, you barely tolerated her—a pit fighter like so many others, bruised and bloody and reckless, shuffling into your medic room with the same bravado they all wore like armour. But somewhere along the way, you start to realize you actually don’t hate her company.

And as Vi continues her rise with pit fighting, you realize you also like to take care of her afterwards, even if it is your job or not. Each fight ends quicker than the last, her victories coming faster and fiercer. With every knockout, her confidence blooms—bold, intoxicating.

You’ve always been able to tell why people fight. Some thrive on the violence, seeking it out like a drug, their eyes lit with a manic fire that never seems to dim. Others do it out of desperation: to keep a roof overhead, food on the table, some semblance of stability in their lives.

At first, you were certain Vi belonged in the first category. The way she took punches, how she barely flinched when you patched her up—she didn’t just endure the pain. She absorbed it. Relished it. She wore her scars like trophies, and it almost seemed like she was chasing something more with every bruise and break.

But then you started noticing other things. How her clothes, once old and frayed, began to look newer. The leather jacket she bought just last week, the new earrings glinting against her skin, the sturdy boots she’s traded her worn ones for. Loris mentioned she moved out of his apartment recently and got her own place, though most of her money seemed to go toward booze.

You realize that fighting for Vi isn’t just about survival or enjoyment. It’s an outlet—a way to lose herself in the chaos and the violence, to drown out whatever it is she doesn’t want to face.

One night, you do something you’ve never done before: you buy a ticket to one of her fights. You’ve seen enough carnage in the medic’s room to last a lifetime, but something about Vi pulls you in, like gravity. The crowd is as raucous as ever—cheers, boos, the metallic clang of Antis’s bell marking the start and end of each match. You don’t join in the noise. You just watch, feeling out of place among the spectators who are here for the bloodlust.

And then Vi steps into the ring.

It’s the first time you’ve seen her fight, and it’s nothing like you imagined. You’d seen the aftermath—the blood, the bruises, the broken bones—but witnessing her in action is something else entirely. She’s skilled, fast, brutally efficient, her punches calculated yet devastating.

The man she’s up against is nearly twice her size, but it doesn’t matter. She ducks under his swing with ease, her fist connecting with his jaw in a single, bone-crunching motion that sends him sprawling. The fight is over in less than a minute, and the crowd roars its approval.

Your eyes linger on her, unable to look away. Her back is to you, sweat gleaming on her exposed skin, highlighting the intricate tattoo that snakes across her shoulders. When she turns, she seems to know exactly where you are, her gaze locking onto yours even in the chaos of the crowd.

Your breath catches. The rise and fall of her chest, the bead of sweat tracing down her neck, the raw, undeniable power in her every movement—it’s overwhelming.

Something stirs deep inside you, hot and wanting.

You leave before her second fight starts, slipping through the crowd and into the tunnels. The line waiting for you in the medic room feels endless, yet the blur of bruised faces and bloody wounds can’t distract you. Vi’s image lingers—sweat on her skin, her breath heavy after the fight, and the way her eyes found yours in the crowd.

You never bring it up, and Vi doesn’t either.

But something changes.

That night, as you treat her wounds again, it feels different. She’s quieter than usual, her usual cocky smile missing. You notice how her eyes linger on your hands as you work, following the glide of your fingers over her skin.

Your gloves feel thinner tonight, or maybe it’s just your imagination. You’re hyperaware of every small movement—how her skin feels warm under your touch, the sharp contrast of the calluses on her knuckles against your palm when you steady her hand to examine it.

She doesn’t flinch when you press a damp cloth to the gash on her temple. Normally, she’d tease you, mutter something about your bedside manner, or complain about the sting even though the both of you know she can take it. Instead, she just watches you, her gaze unwavering.

It’s almost unbearable.

Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That is what she smells like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you finally say, your voice softer than you intended.

Vi’s lips quirk, but it’s a faint ghost of her usual grin. “Just tired, I guess.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it.

You focus on cleaning the cut, trying to steady your hand. But her closeness throws you off. She’s sitting on the edge of the cot, her knees brushing against your thighs whenever she shifts. The room feels smaller.

“Almost done,” you murmur, though it feels like you’re saying it more to yourself than her.

Vi tilts her head slightly, giving you better access, and the movement draws your attention to the curve of her jaw. There’s a bead of sweat lingering there, catching the dim light, and you have to force yourself to look away.

“Take your time,” she says.

Your fingers pause for just a second before you continue cleaning the wound. Her words hang in the air, charged and heavy, and you wonder if she knows how they’ve started to affect you. You reach for the bandages, your hands brushing against her skin again. Her breath hitches—just barely—but it’s enough for you to notice.

“There,” you say, pulling back slightly. “Done.”

But your hands linger for a moment too long, your fingers still ghosting over her cheek. You’re not sure if it’s you or her that doesn’t pull away first.

Vi’s eyes are on you again, darker now, and the air between you crackles with something unspoken. You don’t know if it’s the proximity, the adrenaline still lingering from her fight, or the way her lips part slightly like she’s about to say something—but you can’t take it anymore.

“I should clean up,” you say abruptly, turning away to gather the used bandages and cloths.

For a moment, she doesn’t move, and you think she might say something to stop you. But then you hear the rustle of her leather jacket as she stands, the creak of the cot as her weight leaves it.

“Thanks,” she says.

You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see her slip through the door. She doesn’t look back.

Her visits dwindle after that night. Fewer and fewer until she stops coming altogether. She starts fighting nights back to back, ignoring protocol and refusing to see you after each one.

You try to shake it off.

To ignore it until you can't.

And then you visit her one day.

It’s not in the medic room or the fighting ring. It’s at her door, and it’s jarring, her address scribbled on a small piece of paper that Loris gave you.

You can’t tell if Antis is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through it every day. She is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. It’s gotten to the point where people are betting on how long Vi could remain undefeated.

You hate how you immediately perk up when her door opens.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice low and guarded.

Her hair is black, dripping wet and staining her pale shoulders with inky streaks. The change startles you, but what’s more disarming is the sight of her like this—stripped-down, raw. Bandages are wrapped haphazardly around her chest, serving as an impromptu shirt. Her arms, usually hidden beneath gauze and gloves, are bare, revealing the countless scars that crisscross her skin. You can kind of see where her tattoos start and end. You think they’re beautiful.

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come. Why are you here? For some reason, you hadn’t thought much about it before knocking. Now, standing here in her doorway, it feels like a mistake.

You’re not really friends.

“Uh,” you stammer, fumbling for an answer. Your gaze keeps straying to her hair, the stark black making it look longer, heavier. The pigment stains her hairline, dripping in uneven streaks along her temple. You notice how the damp strands cling to her neck, how the water pools in the hollow of her collarbone. It feels intrusive to look, but you can’t help it.

She’s staring at you, her shock quickly shifting to irritation. “You gonna stand there all day, or what?”

“I—your hair,” you blurt out. “It’s… different.”

She scoffs, brushing past you as if you’re not worth the effort of a proper reply. The door swings open wider, an unspoken invitation—or maybe just a lack of concern if you follow. You hesitate, then step inside.

Her apartment is small and dim, almost claustrophobic. The air is stale and thick with a faint tang of alcohol. The small bed in the corner is unmade, the sheets rumpled and half-pushed onto the floor. A punching bag hangs in the center of the room, its surface worn and cracked from overuse. There’s a stack of clothes shoved into the corner, and a few empty bottles litter the floor near the bed.

But it’s the quiet that hits you the hardest. It’s so different from the loud, chaotic energy she carries at the ring or the silence in the medic room. Here, everything feels muted, almost sad.

“You dye it yourself?” you ask, trying to fill the awkward silence as she settles onto the edge of the bed.

She glances at you, the bottle in her hand tipping slightly. “Yeah.”

“Antis didn’t make you do it?”

Vi snorts a small, humourless sound. “No. He suggested green.”

You try to picture her with green hair and fail. “Why black?”

“Needed a change,” she says simply, taking a swig from the bottle. The way she winces as she swallows tells you it’s not her first drink tonight. “Why are you here?”

The bluntness of the question knocks you off balance. For a moment, you forget. Then the weight of the box in your hands reminds you. “Oh, uh, I brought you some new hand wrappings. I saw them at the store and thought you could use them since yours are... shit. Yours are shit.”

Her eyes snap up to yours, something unreadable flickering in them before she looks away. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” you reply, though your voice feels stiff and awkward. You shift your weight, unsure whether to stay or leave. Her gaze returns to you, steady but unreadable, and you feel the strange urge to say something—something meaningful.

“You... you okay, Vi?” you ask softly, not even sure why the words come out. You immediately want to take it back.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You look at her, really look at her. Not in the way you do at work, but right now, as a friend(?), guest(?) in her space. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she grips the bottle of cheap beer as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She looks… tired. Beaten down, in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice quieter now, careful. “I guess you just… you haven’t come by in a while. It looks like you need a good patch up again, no? Don’t worry, I won’t charge.”

The words sound too casual, too light like you’re trying to make a joke—and you are, but you can see the way her face stiffens after you say it. The faint bruises on her face, the bandages on her arms and hands, they’re a clear sign of how badly she’s been pushing herself—she’s been taking supplies from you without checking in, and you’ve noticed. You know she hasn’t gotten her pay yet. You haven’t had the chance to clear her for it since she stopped coming by after fights. It’s a faint sore spot between you both, an unspoken thing she won’t acknowledge, but you know she’s not getting the care she needs.

For a moment, her face hardens, and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line, if she’s going to snap at you. Instead, she just stares at you, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure out what your angle is.

You feel her gaze like a weight pressing down on you, making your skin itch.

Then, she exhales slowly, the tension in her posture easing just a fraction.

“I’m fine,” she says finally, though the words lack conviction. She shifts, setting the bottle down on the floor. “You done?”

You’re about to say something else—maybe ask again, maybe push for more—but then you realize it’s not your place. You step back, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “Yeah.”

You place the box of hand wraps on the counter, but your hands feel clumsy as you do. You want to say something more, something comforting, but the words stick in your throat. “Good luck tonight, Vi.”

She doesn’t respond right away. You turn to leave, your feet dragging slightly, unsure if you should even be leaving at all. It feels like there’s something more to say.

Just as you reach the door, her voice stops you. It’s softer than you expect, quieter, almost hesitant.

“Thanks.”

As you walk down the hallway, the ache in your chest lingers, a nebulous knot of worry, pity, and something else you can’t quite pin down. It tightens with each step, and you wonder, not for the first time, what weight Vi carries with her—and why it feels like it’s starting to settle on you too.

You shake it off, reminding yourself that you're not working this weekend. A rare luxury. Vi doesn’t need to know, and honestly, you doubt she’d even care. If anything, she’d probably be glad to be rid of you for a few more days.

That’s what you tell yourself.

The next time you’re sitting in your cramped little medical room, fussing over how some of the things on your desk are now out of place, the door creaks open just a sliver. You pause, mid-motion, and glance at the shadow shifting on the other side. When whoever it is spots you, the door swings wide with an almost violent energy, smacking against the wall behind it.

“Hey,” Vi stumbles inside, the loud thud of her boots and the echoing cheers from the fighting pit outside spilling into the room with her.

You stand abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor as you take her in. “Vi?”

It takes you a second to recognize her. The black hair throws you off again, though the pink is already creeping back into the ends, the dye washing out like it’s given up trying to keep up with her. Paint smears her face—thick streaks running from her eyes down to her chin like some warped battle mask. She’s gripping a large bottle in one hand, cradling it as if it’s precious, her knuckles stained red.

Her smirk is crooked, her words slurred. “Won’t believe it,” she drawls, letting herself fall unceremoniously onto the old, battered couch in the corner. The springs squeak loudly in protest, and she almost knocks over one of your carefully hung paintings. “Hey.”

You frown, stepping closer. “Are you drunk?”

Her smirk widens, playful and defiant. “No.”

“No?”

“I just won,” she says, like that explains everything. “Again. Beat that big guy��metal jaw. You know the one. Knocked it clean off.”

She’s grinning like she just told a funny joke, but you don’t laugh. Fighters don’t go into the pit drunk, at least not that you’ve ever seen. They also don’t win, which is why Antis is strict about that; drunk fighters are bad fighters, and bad don’t bring in any money—he’ll kick anyone out who even smells like shimmer, let alone someone stumbling around with a bottle of booze.

You move closer cautiously, studying her.

She sits up straighter as you approach, her hair falling messily across her face. You catch a glint of her blue eyes through the strands—sharp, even with the haze of alcohol dulling the rest of her. Her gaze flickers down to her bloodied knuckles, and so does yours—red seeps through the white of her hand wraps, staining them in uneven patches.

She murmurs something, but it’s too soft to catch.

“What?”

“You weren’t here.”

Her words surprise you.

“Yeah,” you say, unsure how else to respond.

“Four days.”

“I know.”

“Why not?”

You hesitate, caught between wanting to downplay your absence and knowing she’ll see through it. “I’ve been busy. I have a life outside this place, you know that, right?”

“Right,” she mutters, though there’s something bitter in the way she says it.

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers gripping the bottle loosely. She stares ahead, her face unreadable, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet despite the muffled roar of the crowd outside. You’re counting the seconds until someone from the pit shows up looking worse for wear, but she just sits there, unmoving.

Finally, she speaks. “Loris and I are going out for drinks at the bar next door.”

“More of them?”

She scoffs, but there’s a faint smile playing on her lips. “Fuck off. I was gonna invite you.”

“You want me there?”

“Sure,” she shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “Since you and Loris are so close.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing a plastic bag and filling it with ice. “Oh, yeah. Best friends. I thought you knew.”

She grins at that, her expression lazy but amused as you press the makeshift ice pack to her cheek. She winces, hissing under her breath, but doesn’t pull away. The familiarity of the moment settles between you, a rhythm you hadn’t realized you missed. You didn’t know how much you liked being around her, with all her flaws and quirks, until it was gone.

When she stands to leave, there’s a lightness to her movements. She pauses at the door, glancing back over her shoulder.

“But you’re coming, right?” she asks, her voice softer, less guarded.

You nod, tugging absently at the rings on your fingers. “Yeah. I’ll stop by after I finish up here.”

Her smile catches you off guard. It’s not the smirk or grin you’re used to—it’s warmer, something you’ve never seen before. “Good.”

And then she’s gone, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room. The ache in your chest hasn’t gone away, but it feels different now, lighter somehow, settling into the pit of your stomach like a flutter of butterflies.

You can’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried.

Your night stretches on, each task blending into the next. Stitches to pull, bruises to ice, concussions to monitor. This is your rhythm—calm, focused, efficient. You don’t dwell on the blood staining your gloves or the bruised faces looking back at you. Usually, there’s a detachment, a quiet understanding between you and the fighters. You help them, and they leave.

But tonight feels different. The weight of the work presses a little heavier, the hours crawling by as the thought of Vi’s smile keeps replaying in your head. You remind yourself to focus, to get through the line of battered fighters who rely on you, but every second drags, making your usual rhythm feel offbeat.

It’s not just Vi’s smile—it’s the invitation, her softer tone, the way she paused at the door like your answer mattered more than usual. You don’t let yourself overthink it, but you do catch yourself checking the time more often than you’d like.

When the last fighter leaves, mumbling a tired thank-you, you exhale in relief. The medic room is quiet now, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. You pack your supplies, stuffing gloves, gauze, and a few stray pins into your cabinets. The bathroom across the hall catches your eye as you pass, and for once, you pause.

The bathroom is dimly lit, the bulb above buzzing faintly as it flickers. The mirror is cracked in one corner, the surface smudged and grimy, but it still reflects more of you than you’re ready to see. Your sleeves are stained, and your hands are scrubbed raw but not clean enough. The uneven greenish light only makes you look worse, casting harsh shadows on your face.

You roll your sleeves up and run water into the sink, trying to scrub the splotches from your clothes. The water’s cold and your hands ache from the effort, but it feels worth it—like a small chance to put your best self forward. You straighten your shirt, brush off your jacket, and fix your hair as best as you can.

It’s not enough.

It’ll never be enough for a bar full of fighters, let alone for her. You think about going home to change, but it’s already late, and the idea of missing her is ridiculously unbearable.

Clutching your jacket tightly, you step into the downpour outside. The rain pelts against your skin, soaking through your boots as you jog the few steps to the bar. The hum of voices reaches you before the neon glow of the sign above the door does.

Inside, the place is alive.

Most of the crowd from the arena spills into the corners of the bar, still riding the high of the night’s fights. Tables are crammed with victorious fighters and their friends and sponsors, their voices rising above the heavy bassline of a song playing in the background. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, beer, and the faint tang of spilled liquor.

The dim lighting casts a warm, golden hue over the room, softening the rough edges of the crowd. People laugh, shout, and toast to victories. Some are already slumped over the bar, lost in exhaustion or celebration.

Your eyes scan the room, searching for her. Instead, you spot Loris first—his brick-like frame standing out even among the chaos. He’s leaning casually against the bar, arms crossed, but his face lights up when he sees you.

He waves you over, and you weave through the crowd, dodging dancing bodies and familiar faces who call out greetings as you pass. Your heart beats faster, a mix of nerves and anticipation, as you approach.

“You made it,” Loris says, his grin wide and genuine.

You huff, brushing a damp strand of hair out of your face, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Hi.”

Loris gives you a nod, his usual gruffness softened just a bit for you. He calls the bartender over, jerking his chin toward you to signal it’s your turn to order.

You glance at the menu briefly, though you already know what you want. After placing your order, the two of you settle into a quiet rhythm. Loris doesn’t seem like the type to fill silence for the sake of it, and you don’t mind. There’s a strange comfort in his presence.

You find yourself scanning the crowd without thinking, your eyes searching for pink hair at first, a flash of brightness that would stand out even in a place like this. Then you remember her hair is black now. Your eyes adjust, searching instead for the sleek leather of her jacket or the familiar glint of its spikes catching the dim, shifting light.

The bartender sets your drink down in front of you with a solid thud, breaking your focus. Your heart skips a beat, and you reach for the glass more out of reflex than thirst. The cool edge of it presses against your palm, grounding you.

“Happy you’re here.”

Loris’s voice cuts through the noise, low but steady. You look up at him, caught off guard. His eyes remain fixed on his drink, but there’s a weight to his words that makes your chest tighten.

“Maybe it’ll keep Vi from doing something stupid,” he adds after a beat, his tone rough but not unkind.

Your eyebrows knit together as you bring your glass to your lips. The liquor burns on the way down, but it’s nothing compared to the unease settling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Loris hesitates, his fingers drumming against the counter as he considers his words. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost reluctant. “She gets into fights sometimes.”

Your stomach sinks further. “Here?”

“Only happened twice,” he says quickly like it’s supposed to make you feel better.

“Oh.” You set your drink down, your fingers lingering on the glass. “Why?”

Loris exhales through his nose, his shoulders shifting as if the question itself is a burden. “Dunno. She won’t talk about it.”

You blink, caught off guard. “She doesn’t seem…” You trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

“Like a drunk?” he finishes for you. “She’s good at hiding it, most of the time. But she’s been drinking more. Gets worse when she’s stressed.”

You bite your lip, your fingers tightening around your glass. “Stressed about what? Fighting?”

He shakes his head, never answering. “She’s stubborn as shit, you know that. But something’s been eating at her, and I don’t think she knows how to deal with it.”

The words hang between you as the clamour of the bar continues around you. You glance down at your drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and take another sip. It doesn’t burn as much this time, but it doesn’t settle the knot in your stomach, either.

“I can keep an eye on her,” you say quietly, more to yourself than Loris. “She’s not supposed to be in the pit intoxicated anyway.”

He nods, a faint hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes. “She’s lucky to have you.”

The comment catches you off guard, and you look at him sharply, but he’s already turning back to his drink. You swallow, your cheeks warming for reasons that have nothing to do with the alcohol.

You look away.

And then you spot her.

Vi pushes her way through the crowd, a storm parting the sea of bodies on the dance floor. Her scowl deepens as she brushes off someone’s outstretched hand, her movements sharp, purposeful. The smudged paint on her cheeks—likely streaked from the rain—gives her the appearance of someone worn down by more than just the weather. Faint lines trace across her face like tears.

Your eyes trail to her arms, bare and flexing slightly as she adjusts the leather jacket slung over her shoulder. The spikes catch the dim, flashing lights of the bar, their edges softened by the haze of the room. In her other hand, she grips a glass of something amber and strong.

Your heart jumps, and you realize you’ve been staring when her gaze lifts to you. For a moment, she pauses in her tracks and just looks at you, her eyes scanning your face as if confirming you’re really here. Then, she grins—a slow, crooked thing that tugs at her lips and sends your pulse hammering in your chest.

The smile is lazy but unmistakably pleased.

She changes course, heading straight for you.

She doesn’t look drunk—not like before—but the memory of her swaying slightly in your medic room comes rushing back. You don’t miss the way her drink is already nearly empty, or how smoothly she downs the last of it before setting the glass on the bar with a clink.

When she reaches you, the faint scent of rain and leather clings to her, mingling with the sharper tang of alcohol.

“Hey,” Vi says, your name rolling off her tongue in that low, slightly rough voice of hers, and she leans against the counter next to you.

“Hey,” you grin, trying to keep your voice light even as your pulse races and Loris laughs at you. “You seem surprised to see me.”

“Not surprised,” she replies quickly, her eyes flicking to yours and then away, her smirk faltering for just a second. “Just… glad.”

The simplicity of her words sends your thoughts scattering, but before you can respond, she tilts her head toward your glass. “What’re you drinking?”

You lift it slightly, letting the dim light catch the remaining liquid. Vi eyes it for a moment, nodding in approval. “Good choice. Finish it.”

You blink, “What?”

She nudges your elbow lightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Come on. You’re here to have fun, right? Finish your drink, and I’ll show you what that looks like.”

Her tone is playful, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of sincerity beneath it. You hesitate, then take a longer sip, her expectant gaze making it impossible not to comply. The drink burns a little less this time, and when you place the empty glass down, she’s already holding out her hand.

“Come with me,” she says, and it’s not really a question.

Her fingers are warm when they curl around yours, her grip firm and steady as she leads you toward the heart of the bar. The crowd thickens as you move closer to the dance floor, the music pounding louder with every step. The bass thrums through the floor, climbing up your legs and settling in your chest, and the swirl of bodies around you becomes a blur of movement and heat.

Vi doesn’t let go of your hand, even as she turns back to glance at you, a faint smile pulling at her lips. For the first time in a while, there’s a lightness in her expression, a spark of something you’ve missed seeing.

Her usual confidence is there, but it’s softened, almost shy. You follow her lead, feeling awkward at first, but her laugh—low and husky—eases some of your nerves.

The two of you move together amidst the shifting pulse of the dance floor, the heat of the crowd wrapping around you like a living thing. You’re acutely aware of every brush of her fingers against yours, the subtle way her body angles toward you as if she’s drawn to your orbit.

You’re staring at her, looking at the few freckles on her cheeks you can still see under the smudged paint, at the pink ends of her dark hair, at the way her leather jacket has found itself back on her shoulders, muscular arms hiding inside the sleeves.

You think you’re a little obsessed with her.

The question forms on your lips before you can stop it. “Why did you stop coming by?”

Your voice is soft, barely carrying over the music, but it’s enough. Her gaze sharpens as she hears you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.

“I like taking care of you, Vi.”

For a moment, she freezes. Then, almost imperceptibly, she steps closer. Her hand slides to your waist, the calluses on her fingers warm against the thin fabric of your clothes. She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, her thumb brushing against your jaw, coaxing you to look at her.

Her eyes search yours, hesitating just long enough for you to realize what’s about to happen. Her breath, warm and faintly tinged with alcohol, fans across your lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.

And then she kisses you.

It’s quick at first, almost testing the waters—a soft brush of her lips against yours that leaves your breath caught somewhere between your heart and throat.

You pull away from her, face burning, when you notice her eyes are still closed, only to flutter open questioningly. Bright, piercing blue meets yours, and for a moment, you see panic flare in her expression.

“Fuck,” she mutters, running a hand through her rain-damp hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” The word comes out instinctively, you cannot get rid of that stupid smile on your face. “No, don’t apologize.”

Your fingers find their way to the lapels of her jacket. Her face scrunches up, caught somewhere between hope and disbelief, but you’re not looking at her eyes anymore. You’re focused on her lips, on the faint scar cutting across the corner of her mouth.

You tug her closer.

You kiss her back.

She exhales sharply against your lips, the sound half a gasp, half a groan, as her hands come up to cradle your face and the nape of your neck. It’s as if something inside her has snapped, all her restraint slipping away as she pours herself into you.

The world around you dissolves—the music, the crowd, the cacophony of Zaun’s nightlife fading into a muted hum. It’s just her, her warmth and her touch, her breath mingling with yours as she holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring her to the moment.

Her lips move against yours with a fervour that borders on desperation, her hands mapping out the curve of your waist, the small of your back, your hips, and your ass with her eyes closed. She’s eager to have you close, to feel you.

You respond in kind, your hands sliding up her abs, your fingers tangling in her hair, tugging slightly as her groan vibrates against your mouth.

The sound she emits makes your head spin. Vi’s warmth is all-consuming. A tangle of heat and want that leaves you both breathless by the time she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours.

“I need to—” she starts, her voice hoarse and trembling. She glances around, as if suddenly aware of where you are. “Let’s go somewhere. Outside.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, her hand finding yours again as she guides you through the crowd. You barely register the shift in the air until you’re stepping into the rain-soaked streets of Zaun.

The alley she leads you into is dimly lit, the flicker of a neon sign casting faint, wavering light against the wet pavement. The rain is light but steady, cool droplets clinging to your skin as she turns to you, her chest rising and falling like she’s been running.

Her gaze is intense, unwavering, as she steps closer, crowding you against the brick wall. “You’re making me crazy,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough. Her hand cups your jaw, her thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your cheekbone.

“I could say the same,” you admit.

And then she’s kissing you again, this time with a fervour that leaves no room for hesitation.

It’s embarrassing how fast you tangle together after this, melding together into a pathetic heap out on the sidewalk for god and everyone in this podunk city to see. This time, you note with a ticklish glee settling in your stomach, your lips moving in tandem. They slit against each other with ease.

The rain seeps into your clothes, cold against your skin, but Vi’s touch is fire. Her hands are everywhere, rough and sure as they explore your body, pulling you closer, as if afraid you’ll slip away.

You thread your fingers through her hair, pulling her to you, matching her passion with your own softness. She groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, your tongue brushing against hers in a slow, deliberate caress.

Her grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into damp fabric as she presses you harder against the wall. The rain patters around you, mingling with the sound of your ragged breaths, the occasional distant noise of the bar fading into irrelevance. She parts your thighs with one of her own and places a steadying hand right next to your face. She takes you in, wholly and completely and you let her.

The rain beats down relentlessly, plastering your clothes to your skin, but you barely notice it. Not when Vi is kissing you like this—like she’s trying to consume you like she’s been starving for this. Her body is warm, her lips are hot, insistent, and messy against yours, her teeth occasionally graze your lower lip in a way that sends shocks through your entire body.

Breathy moans expel from your mouth in tandem with curses as her leg creates delicious friction against the lace of your underwear.

“Vi,” you manage, though it comes out as more of a broken whine, breathless and desperate.

Her name on your lips pulls a moan from her, low and guttural, and the sound is enough to make your knees weaken. You think you might collapse if she weren’t holding you so tightly.

Your head spins. You feel like you’re dissolving, every nerve alight as you lose yourself in her touch. Your lungs burn, screaming for air, but you can’t pull away. You don’t want to. Instead, you cling to her, fingers tugging in her hair.

It’s overwhelming—her heat, her strength, her desperation. She’s chaos and want, all Violet and nothing else, and you’re caught in her pull, like a leaf tossed about in a gale. It terrifies you, the way she consumes your thoughts, your senses. It feels like being set aflame, every kiss, every touch fanning the fire until you’re sure you’ll burn to ashes.

Her hands slide lower, shoving into the back pockets of your pants, and she grips you firmly, guiding your hips to rock against her. The movement is deliberate, slow at first, but the friction makes you whimper, a sound that seems to drive her further. Vi pulls you closer, dragging your body against hers in a way that makes you shudder.

Your breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, each one punctuated by her low moans. You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this—untethered, your body moving on instinct as you grind down against her leg. Her hold on you tightens, fingers digging into you, her strength reminds you of all the noses she’s broken, all the wounds you had to tend to because of her. The thought makes you dizzy, makes you crave her more.

Vi’s hips roll up into you, meeting your movements with a messy rhythm that leaves you trembling. The heat pooling in your stomach builds steadily, like a fire that refuses to be sated, even under the torrent of rain.

You let your hands wander, sliding up the hard planes of her stomach, your fingers tracing the ridges of muscle through her soaked bandages. You’re struck by how solid she feels, how strong, and it makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name. When your palm presses lower, cupping her over her pants, she keens—a quiet, needy sound that has you aching to hear it again.

Oh, you want her to do that again, you’re going to make her do that again.

Her grip on your hips becomes almost bruising, her breath coming faster as she sighs into your mouth. “Fuck,” she mutters, the word a rough exhale that sends a shiver down your spine. And then, barely audible, she mumbles, “Cait.”

You falter, the word barely registering over the storm and your own pounding heartbeat. It’s unfamiliar and foreign, and it sticks in your mind like a splinter.

Her lips are on yours again, insistent and wild, her teeth catching your bottom lip as her hands slide up under your shirt. Her fingertips are warm despite the rain, leaving trails of fire along your skin as she pushes the wet fabric higher. You shudder under her touch, goosebumps rising in her wake, your body arching instinctively toward her.

Your mind is a tangle of emotions and half-formed thoughts. You’re hyper-aware of everything—of the rain soaking through your clothes, the way her breath mingles with yours, the quiet groans she can’t seem to hold back.

She moves with purpose, her lips finding the sensitive skin along your jaw, then lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Each touch sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making it harder to think, to breathe.

Your fingers are clumsily slipping into her underwear and then you’re there, fingers brushing right against her clit—she’s so wet that your fingers brush right through her folds, gliding like silk.

“Vi,” you whisper again.

Her answering hum vibrates against your skin, and she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes are half-lidded, the blue of them dark and turbulent, like the sea during a storm.

You lean in, pressing your lips to the sensitive spot just below her jaw. It’s a place you know well, one you’ve touched countless times in the dim light of your medic’s room, dabbing at bruises and wiping away blood. Each time, she’d jerk away ever so slightly. Now, you press your lips there with the same precision, but the sense is wholly different.

She shifts beneath your touch, her breath hitching as your mouth moves deliberately along her neck. The breathy moans she leaves by your ear fuel you, spurring you on as you focus on the rhythm of her breathing, the way her body responds to you.

“Good,” she mutters, her voice rough and uneven. “Fuck, feels so good.”

Her hand moves beneath your shirt, her palm rough and calloused against the softness of your skin, digging under your bra. She cups your breast, her thumb brushing over your nipple, and the sensation sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric. Her other hand tangles in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make your scalp tingle.

It aches, but you’re smiling, even as the rain continues to pour, soaking through your clothes and plastering your hair to your face. You sneak a glance at her, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her dark lashes clumped together with rain and dark, smudged makeup against pale, bruised skin. Her lips are parted, searching for something—your lips, your skin, something to kiss.

You don’t make her wait. She bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin, and you gasp, your hand instinctively moving to her hair. You tug, and the sound she makes—a guttural, desperate moan—sends heat pooling low in your stomach.

She mutters your name, her voice soft yet filled with a hunger that shakes you to your core. There’s a plea disguised in her tone, a silent plea to give her everything, to let her take all you have to offer.

And you will. You’ll give her everything. Your time, your care, your thoughts and prayers, every piece of yourself. Your leg, an arm, the air you breathe, and the food you make. You’d give her your heart, too, if only she’d take it.

Her body trembles against yours, her chest heaving as her breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. You can’t tell if it’s from the cold rain seeping into your bones or from the way your fingers move against her. You trace light circles over her clit, teasing, testing, and the way she reacts—hips jerking, her hands clutching at you desperately—you think she wants your warmth, and you hope that is what she chases after.

When you slip a finger inside, she gasps, her voice breaking into soft, fractured sounds that make your chest ache. It takes a few tries, careful adjustments to find the spot that makes her fall apart, but when you do, it’s like a floodgate opens. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her body tensing beneath your touch as she winds tighter, tighter—

“Cait…” The same name from before slips from her lips like a whisper at first, so faint you almost miss it.

Then she says it again, her voice catching on the syllable, and your world tilts.

“Cait… Cait…” she chants, the name tumbling from her lips in fervent prayer, each utterance cutting through the haze that had clouded your mind.

It tastes bitter. Bitter like the alcohol still lingering on her breath. Bitter like the realization sinking into your chest.

You freeze, suddenly sober.

Your hands falter, and Vi doesn’t seem to notice at first, still panting, still trembling, her forehead pressed against yours. The furrow in her brow deepens when you pull back, untangling yourself from her arms.

“What—? Why’d you stop?” Her voice is hoarse and confused, the desperation still thick in her tone.

“Who’s Cait?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

“What?”

Vi blinks, her face a mask of confusion before her expression shifts. Guilt flashes in her eyes—raw and unguarded. It’s a look you’ve seen before, maybe once or twice.

“You keep calling me ‘Cait.’” You can’t meet her gaze as you say it. Your chest tightens, your throat burns, and suddenly, the space between the two of you feels suffocating.

You reach for her hand still under your shirt, running your thumb over her split knuckles. It’s a gesture that feels too tender now, and you pull her hand away from you, stepping aside to put distance between your bodies.

“I don’t know…” Your voice cracks as you say it, your mind grasping for anything to make sense of this moment.

“Shit. Shit.” Vi curses under her breath, running a hand through her wet hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—Cait’s just… someone I used to know, alright?”

The rain pours harder, the chill sinking into your bones as you cross your arms tightly against your chest. You glance down the alley, to where the streetlights cast faint glows on the wet pavement. Anywhere but her face.

“Um… I think I need to go,” you mumble.

“You just got here.” Her voice is low and unsure, and it makes you stutter for a moment. She takes a step toward you, one hand lifting as though to touch you, but she freezes mid-motion, her fingers curling into a fist.

“I know.” You force the words out. “But it’s been a long day.” You take a step back, and then another.

“Please.” Her voice cracks on the word. “Don’t leave.”

You pause, your breath hitching at the desperation in her tone. It tugs at something in your chest, something that still wants to turn around, to reach for her and say everything is fine. But it’s not fine. Not anymore.

“Vi…” Her name feels raw on your tongue. “You’re drunk. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

“No.” She cuts you off, the panic in her voice sharp enough to pierce through the rain. “No, don’t say that. I’m not drunk—”

“You are.”

Her words are rushed, and frantic, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you. You shake your head, stepping back again, the cold of the brick wall scraping against your palm as you steady yourself.

“You’re clearly not in the right state of mind right now,” you say, your tone firmer this time. It feels like a lie, like a mask you’re slipping on to hide the crack forming in your resolve. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Just… rest easy. You fight early tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a sound halfway between a sob and a growl, her hands clenching at her sides. “Fuck. Fuck!” The frustration explodes out of her as her fist slams into the brick wall beside her, the dull thud reverberating in the air.

The sound makes you flinch, your shoulders stiffening as you start walking away. Her voice chases after you, raw and broken, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back.

Your lips burn where her mouth had been, a phantom heat that refuses to fade despite the freezing rain. You wipe your hands against the damp fabric of your pants, but the scent of her lingers—smoke, leather, and something wholly hers. It clings to you like a ghost.

The sunlight catches you off guard the next morning. It filters in through the grimy window of the medic room, cutting golden beams through the usual haze of smog. The light feels almost intrusive, prying into the shadows you’ve grown accustomed to.

You glance at the old clock on the wall, your eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Last night replays in your mind like a broken record—Vi’s voice, raw and regretful, the taste of her still lingering on your lips, and that name, Cait, slipping like a shard of glass between your ribs.

Outside, the faint hum of Zaun waking up filters through the walls. Fighters pass by the door, their voices carrying muffled excitement or hushed murmurs about Vi’s loss.

“She’s never been this off her game,” someone says as they pass. “Wonder what’s eating her.”

You tighten your grip on the bandage roll in your hand, trying to ignore the way your stomach clenches.

The sunlight persists, illuminating every imperfection in the room—the cracks in the walls, the scuff marks on the floor, the faint stains on the counter. It’s the first time you’ve seen this much light down here, and yet it only seems to highlight everything you want to forget.

You try to focus on your work, lining up supplies that don’t need organizing, folding bandages that don’t need folding. You think about how Vi’s presence, chaotic as it was, had somehow made this job bearable. Her grins, her dry wit, the way she sat in that chair like it was her throne—it had all made this dim room feel a little less oppressive.

But today, the chair stays empty.

Word of her loss had swept through the Pit hours ago. Even the ones who bet against her—out of spite or fear—seemed shocked. You’d caught snippets of conversations, whispers about how Vi had gone down hard, how her opponent’s hit had landed with a sickening crack that echoed through the arena.

Ryker confirmed the details when he came in, his voice low as he described the sound her body made hitting the floor. The image had stuck with you, sharp and unrelenting, as you waited.

You expected her to show up the way she always did—bleeding but defiant, swaggering in with that cocky grin, already downplaying her injuries. But as the hours stretched into evening, the worry settled deeper.

Maybe she’d gone straight to the bar again, skipping protocol out of spite. You wanted to believe it, even if it wasn’t fair. If anyone had the right to be upset, it should be you.

You paced the cramped room, the sound of your boots scraping against the floor the only thing keeping you grounded. You told yourself you didn’t care—it wasn’t your job to chase after fighters who wouldn’t take care of themselves. But deep down, it stung.

The thought of her turning back to old habits—of her brushing you aside like you never mattered—settled in your chest like a bruise you couldn’t rub out.

And then the door creaks open.

Vi steps inside, her silhouette framed by the soft, golden light spilling through the window behind her. She hesitates in the doorway, a shadow of her usual self. Her confident swagger is gone, replaced by a tired, battered figure. The black paint streaked across her shoulders has smeared into her skin, blending with dried blood and sweat. Her leather jacket hangs heavily from her hands, and her makeshift top is damp, torn in places, and caked with dirt.

Her face tells the rest of the story. A swollen eye, a nose bent at an angle that makes you wince just looking at it, and a constellation of bruises across her cheekbone and jaw. Blood has dried in crusty patches along her hairline and temples, merging with the remnants of the black paint she hadn’t bothered to wash off.

She lingers there, gripping the edges of the doorframe like she’s bracing herself for rejection. You’re about to speak when her gaze finds yours, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“Hey,” she says, her voice scratchy and low.

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, willing your tone to stay steady. “Took you long enough,” you say lightly, turning toward the counter to grab the salve and bandages.

When you glance back, the ghost of a smirk flickers on her lips, but it vanishes just as quickly. She steps further inside, lowering herself into the chair with a muted groan. There’s no quip this time, no offhand joke. She just sits there, shoulders sagging, staring at her bloodied hands like they belong to someone else.

You pull on your gloves, the snap of latex breaking the silence. “What happened?”

Her shrug is stiff, “Guess I wasn’t fast enough.”

There’s an edge to her voice, sharp and bitter. It’s self-directed, steeped in frustration, and it takes you by surprise. You soak a cloth in antiseptic and step closer, gently dabbing at a jagged cut above her eyebrow. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” you ask, your tone soft but firm.

Her jaw tightens, and her hands curl into fists on her lap. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

You pause mid-motion, your hand hovering just above her skin. Her words feel like a slap, and you’re not sure if the sting comes from the accusation. “I still like to take care of you,” you say quietly.

Vi scoffs, the sound is humourless and tired. “That’s your job.”

“Yeah, but,” you counter, meeting her gaze head-on. “I like doing it.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken between you. Her shoulders tense as she processes your words, her eyes darting away like she can’t bear to look at you.

You try to focus on cleaning her wounds, “You should’ve come earlier. You shouldn’t do this to yourself.”

“Why not? Seems to be what I’m good at.”

Her words strike a chord, a pang of hurt and anger swirling in your chest. You step back, giving her space as you set the cloth down. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on her hair, painting her in a halo of gold. She looks almost ethereal, and it breaks your heart, because you know she doesn’t see it.

“Vi…” You hesitate, unsure of what to say.

She looks up then, her eye searching your face. Her voice cracks when she speaks. “I don’t get it. I’m a jerk, right? Always have been to fucking everyone, even Loris and my sister and I... I mean, I’ve been a dick to you since day one. Why don’t you just… let me fuck myself up?”

“I’ve thought about it,” you admit, a hint of teasing laced in your voice. “But then I’d be a pretty shitty medic, wouldn’t I?”

Her lips twitch upward again, but it doesn’t quite stick. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice so quiet you almost miss it. “For everything.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I didn’t mean to…” She trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The sincerity in her voice twists the knife deeper, but it doesn’t change the truth. “It’s okay,” you manage.

“No, it’s not.” She finally looks at you, her blue eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Shame? “I… You deserve better than that. Better than me.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. “You’re being dramatic. I’m fine, really.”

Vi shook her head, leaning back against the chair. “You’re not. You’re just too good to say it.”

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. You can see the pain in her expression, the regret and the sorrow, but there’s something else, too—a longing that mirrors your own.

But it’s not enough.

You step back, and the distance between you feels like miles. “You should rest. I gotta fix your nose.”

Vi nods, leaning back in the chair. The sunlight catches on her bruises, highlighting every mark, every scar. She looks like a warrior, battle-worn and beautiful, and you know you’ll never forget this image of her.

As you work in silence, you can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if things were different—if whoever Cait was didn’t haunt her, if she could see you the way you see her.

But deep down, you know the answer.

She’ll never be yours.

But you’ll always be hers.

When you finish, Vi hesitates for a moment longer than you expect, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she doesn’t know where to go next or what to do. She stands, and the way her shoulders rise, like she’s summoning what’s left of her strength, makes your heart ache.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Of course. It’s what I’m here for.”

As the words leave you, they feel hollow. You want to reach for more, to say something else, to make her understand. You want to scream, to tell her that you could be enough for her if she’d just let you. You could make her believe that she’s worth more than the pain she’s carrying. But instead, all you do is smile. It’s soft, strained, and bittersweet.

She doesn’t meet your eye as she turns toward the door. You watch her move, each step deliberate, like she’s carrying an invisible weight. For a fleeting moment, it’s as if she’s pulling the room with her, dragging everything back into the shadows.

And then, she’s gone.

The door clicks softly behind her, leaving the room eerily silent. You sit back in your chair, the quiet pressing in around you like a heavy fog. The warmth from the light seems to linger, but it doesn’t reach you anymore.

You sit back in your chair, staring at the empty space. The room feels colder and quieter, and you realize that, no matter how much you wish otherwise, she’ll always carry pieces of someone else with her.

2K notes · View notes