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xzaddyzanakinx · 3 months

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Not That Kind of Guy

Part Four: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship, sexual content, pervy behavior, male masturbation, panty kink, sex daydreams [eventual warning for smut; be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is doing his very best, he just loves you and wants you to be comfy around him. Just let him worm his way into your heart babe [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. I’m illiterate so apologies in advance MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 8th

Mr. Nelson’s funeral was today, it really was a beautiful ceremony as I look back on it. Even more so when my inner self smears the background enough to bring you to the front of the mental image.

You’d spoken to the man a handful of times, but I didn’t expect you to come. When I saw you accept the invite to the event on Facebook I thought surely it was a mistake. That was until you messaged Luke and asked him to accompany you, funerals make you nervous, but feeling obligated to do something and avoiding it makes you more nervous.

So your moral support was happy to attend and fight off dear old Alan’s corpse should he rise from the casket and set his sights on you.

And I though I had irrational fears, geez babydoll, how old were you when you watched Night of The Living Dead for the first time? If I had to guess it was too young. It’s alright though I get it, you know what movie traumatized me? The Mummy. Heebied my fucking Jeebies so bad I avoided the beach on family vacations.

You’re telling me there’s not a sarcophagus under all that sand? There’s at least one under there and you can’t convince me otherwise.

Solid ground for me only, please and thank you.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I had a thought that I initially considered to be a sweet reminder of my dear friend Alan. His obituary was in the newspaper and I happened to swipe one from the guest book table at the viewing as well. Have you ever scrapbooked before? I bet you’ve at least tried it.

Well I thought it would be nice to make him a page in my journal. A little celebration of life for the man who gave me an opportunity to grow and nurture my love for you.

Then I realized mid-glue stick on the newspaper clipping that the idea was something that a clinically insane person would do.

I’m not that guy. That guy’s not me.

But the glue was already on there and it felt wrong to toss Alan’s wrinkly old face into the trash so I pasted him into my journal anyway.

Crazy people don’t know that they’re crazy. I’m well aware that little idea was less than tasteful, just felt like I should mention that.

Date:

July 28th

Anakin Skywalker hadn’t been this happy since… ever. The previous record being his discovery of you, was now toppled into second place and overshadowed by ‘Move In Day’.

He could hardly contain himself. It was a dopamine high that he would ride out until he’d drained every last drop.

The movers lugged in box after box, furniture and books, until finally they dropped off the last load and thanked Anakin for the business. He eagerly shook their hand and shoved them out. He had preparations to make.

He set up his Tv, screen mirroring the live feed of the apartment building entrance to the big screen so that he could easily keep an eye out for you while he unpacked his kitchen.

He’d planned your ‘meet-cute’ meticulously, looking to your bookshelf and streaming services to gather intel on your ideal scenario. You were an odd bird, but he liked that about you. It’s part of your charm, it’s part of the challenge. You’re not as predictable in your tastes and interests as others can be.

Anakin formulated the interaction step by step, frame by frame in the storyboard of his imagination until he had the perfect scene. His box office hit that he’d replay over and over again until the next time he stood face to face with you.

It took quite some time and a load of practice. Discarded dialogue, awkward movements that made him feel stiff and less than human when he practiced them in the mirror. Endless options of clothes, shoes, and hair.

Should he get a new piercing? He wanted to. So he did, he knew you’d like it.

It’d match the one he already had on the opposite nostril. It made him feel more complete to add something so permanent to his body, he wished he could do something similar with you. He wanted you to be permanent, so maybe it’s his subconscious’s way of telling him that this was going in the right direction.

He was on the right path. His journey of life alone was coming to a close and a new trail would reveal itself. No more rocky, unsteady tread. No more sharp turns and blind spots, no more impossible inclines.

Scraped knees and bloodied hands would be distant memories. Maybe even distant enough that he could toss them into The Pit.

He would have no need for anger or sorrow anymore.

How could he feel anything but the warm embrace of love as he strolled down the flowered path ahead with you?

Who knew that you could position one box in 83 different ways and hate every single one of them? Anakin was so thankful there weren’t any actual surveillance cameras in the apartment building. It’d be really difficult to explain why he was in the hallway for an hour with his hands on his hips, scooting a box of books a centimeter or two at a time. Turning it sideways and then making sure the book on top was perfectly positioned and would effectively fall to the ground to catch your attention.

He checked his watch nonstop, stared at his Tv screen, willing you to just hurry the fuck up before he vomited from anxiety. He’d waited months for this. If he fucked it up now he’d… well he’d probably keel over on the spot.

Which would promptly traumatize you and not even his ghost would be able to peacefully haunt you. It’s hard to peacefully haunt someone if they watched you die, or at least Anakin assumed it would be difficult. He wasn’t willing to test that theory though.

So, he puffed up his chest and walked back into his apartment and rehearsed the upcoming conversation a few more times. He needed, desperately needed to ensure his facial expressions conveyed what he wanted.

Soft, trustworthy, dependable, safe, caring.

He practiced softening his eyes, knowing sometimes he stared alittle too hard. He worked on his facial fidget; chewing on the inside of his cheek was a quick tell of his nervousness. He didn’t want to be perceived as nervous, he wanted to be confident and sure of himself so that you would be confident in your soon to blossom affection for him.

His eyebrows, that’s a hard one, but he’d meticulously watched bar goers trying to flirt. The successful ones he learned, sometimes use their eyebrows in place of questions or words. A difficult concept, but one he studied until he mastered it.

Now, the other facial expressions and mannerisms… he gathered that information from your watch lists on your streaming services. For the visible examples at least, but your books were just as helpful in describing how he should approach you, speak to you, and simply exist near you.

He hadn’t realized these things were this important until now. Standing and posture was surprisingly very, very important to women. As well as hand movements and subtle glances and minuscule changes of expression.

You were worth the time and effort it took to learn all of it. He’d read and research and practice until he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror any longer. He was determined to make sure you were happy with the results.

He was startled by a loud ping, someone had entered to building and holy shit it was you.

Anakin shook out his hands frantically, remembering the breathing techniques he’d learned as a child, he grounded himself quickly.

It’s okay.

‘She’s gonna love you. She’ll warm up to you quickly, you know everything you need to know about her to make her comfortable and loved.’

‘There’s no way she won’t fall head over heels.’

He smoothed out his band-tee and ran his hands through his hair quickly and headed to his door that was propped open slightly. A few boxes sat in the hall, including the most important one, the one instrumental to his plan.

The apartment hallway was ridiculously tiny, which worked in his favor in this situation.

He heard you come up the stairs, counted your steps until he knew you were almost at the door, 17 and a half steps. Then he swung open the door and bent down to grab one of the boxes.

As expected, he startled you and you dropped your keys. You always wore your backpack on one shoulder, one strap. So when you quickly went to scoop up your keys, your bag swung out of place and toppled a few books from one of the boxes.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Anakin could gloat to himself about his magnificent setup later, right now he needed to woo you with his sweet words.

“Oh, sweetheart I’m sorry.” He said softly, coming over to offer you a hand up.

“It’s okay, my bad.” You laughed, taking his hand.

He managed to keep calm and collected despite his insides boiling him alive at the willing skin contact.

“No, not at all. It’s my fault for startling you like that.” He chuckled, squeezing your upper arm and using his hand already in yours to give you a small handshake. Smooth.

“I’m Anakin.” He said with a bashful smile, dropping your hand and reveling in the lingering warmth your palm left on his.

You introduced yourself in return, gesturing to his apartment door.

“So I take it that you’re my new neighbor huh?” You said, making small talk as you crouched down to pick up the books you’d knocked over.

“No I’m just a one man moving crew.” He grinned.

“Very funny.” You laughed, standing up as you looked through the titles. “Hmm, you’ve got good taste.”

“You think so?” He asked, remembering to make his eyebrows swoop up toward the middle of his forehead to give a quizzical look.

“Oh yeah, this is one of my favorites.” You said, showing him the cover of The Silmarillion by Tolkien.

“Not many people actually read that one, I’m impressed.” He smiled.

“Impressed? Yeah well I’m jealous.” You laughed.

“What?” He chuckled, holding his hands out to take the other books from you.

“This is a really nice edition, it’s similar to mine. I recently lost it.” You sighed. “I think I must’ve left it the park or maybe it fell out of my bag or something.”

“Ah, that sucks… well, I mean I’ve read that one a few times now. It’s been well loved.” He said tipping the books in his arms toward the one you were holding. “Why don’t you keep it?”

He shrugged, acting nonchalant as though this didn’t mean the entire world to him and if you said no he’d sob about it later.

“You’re serious?” You asked in surprise, he was offering you a 50$ special edition book and you’d barely known him for a minute.

“Yeah, ‘course sweetheart.” He said with a cute, crooked smile. “Think of it as a… reverse house warming gift.” He chuckled.

“Thank you, I- this means a lot to me.” You said, grinning widely. “That’s real sweet of you Anakin. I owe you one.”

“No worries.” He chuckled, “I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it even sweetheart.” His gaze flickered quickly from your eyes to your lips, and he turned to go back into his apartment after giving you an almost-missed wink.

You stepped inside your home, and went straight to the bookshelf to put your new-to-you book where it belonged. After the fact you stood there and buffered, just staring at it.

‘There’s no way, this guy has to be too good to be true.’

But he seemed… so genuine. He didn’t ogle you, he didn’t make you feel weird or like he just felt obligated to speak to you.

He seemed to actually, really be a good guy.

Rare. Few and far of those exist in this day and age. It’s uncommon to meet someone who would do something, even as simple as giving you a used book, without expecting anything in return.

But he didn’t seem to expect anything. He didn’t seem to even expect a thank you, it was like he’d already decided he would give it to you before he even offered.

What are the odds that a hot, tattooed and pierced man moves in next door and gifts you an expensive book that just so happens to be an even better replacement for the one that you just lost? That couldn’t happen twice even if you tried to make it happen again.

What kind of second dimension did you step into? The land of dreamy men?

Diary Entry: July 28th

It’s late. But I have to write to you, it can’t wait til tomorrow.

Everything went more perfectly than I could’ve imagined. Thank you so much for being you sweet girl. It made my job of curating the scenery so much easier, you clumsy little thing. I am sorry for having to spook you though, but it worked didn’t it?

Research pays off. Always.

And of course there’s the issue of your book, I hated to see your frustration and your mad scowl when you realized it was missing from your backpack. I really did.

But I’d do it every goddamn day if I knew I’d get the same reaction out of you from giving you that new copy.

Oh god you’re… you’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful. You look angelic when you sleep but you look like competition for Aphrodite when you smile at me.

You smiled, grinned. You smiled all the way up to the corners of your bright and beautiful eyes. For me.

You even laughed for me.

It was so sweet I could taste it. The honey of your voice, I could fucking bathe in it. Just the sound of you speaking, knowing you were speaking to me. Really speaking to me.

In the flesh.

It’s intoxicating. It’s emboldening, it’s dangerous. I’ve never been more worked up in my life. I’m torn all to pieces from at two minute and 6 second conversation.

I think I’ll have to fucking recover from this like a damn hangover.

But what has me so drunk you might ask? Was it your laugh at my stupid jokes? Was it your perfect smile, your radiant glow, your soulful eyes? The softness of your skin or you willingness to let me touch you?

No baby. It’s how you said my name.

I wish I could’ve stayed longer, I wish I could’ve spoken to you more. But it’s so hard to concentrate when my dick is leaking precum down my leg at a rate that should probably be concerning.

The minute you closed that door I shoved those boxes into my apartment and locked the door. Took my elated ass straight to the couch and watched you in your living room, admiring your gift from me while I fucked my fist with a pair of your dirty panties in my mouth.

I couldn’t have your honeyed lips soothing my angry red cock just yet, but I sure as hell could imagine licking your gorgeous little cunt while I tasted you.

I tugged my balls and pumped my cock for over half an hour until I was a fucking mess for you in my new living room’s floor. The cool hardwood letting the heat from my flushed skin seep away from me as I came back down to earth.

I made myself dizzy. Didn’t give myself a break, didn’t slow down, just stroked my cock like the desperate little manwhore that I am for you. The only thing missing was you being there to watch me fall apart.

I think you’d like that wouldn’t you? Watching a man like me get on his knees and beg for you?

Diary Entry: July 29th

I’ve replayed that moment in my head for hours on end. The beginning always stays the same, but the ending… that’s been subject to many changes. It started off simple, we’d chat alittle longer, I’d ask you how your day was; you’d tell me it was ‘fine, thank you’.

Or you’d ask me why I decided to move in, why I chose this side of town, this side of town, this apartment building, across from you. That one always ended questionably and I’d rather not explore that one on paper.

My favorites however were the ones where you’d laugh at a stupid pick-up line and somehow we’d end up in your bed. The bed I’ve sat and watched you sleep in. Those were the best additions.

Now, I’ve been fortunate enough that you’ve been loyal, faithful and devoted to only me since the very beginning. So I don’t really have a clue what you’d actually be like in bed.

But god it’s so fun to imagine it.

You’ve got such pretty, soft skin. You let me mar it up with my teeth and soothe it with my tongue. You let me grip the pillowy flesh of your thighs to spread you open for me. You let me pinch and roll and pull your nipples until they were raw and begging for a break. You let me caress the sensitive slick covered folds between those beautiful pussy lips, plunge my fingers in as far as they’d go.

I took you from behind, watching your perky little ass bounce off my cock while I plowed into you. Your face smushed against the couch cushions and your body folded over the arm rest for me to fuck you like the good little girl that you are.

Against the wall with your arms around my neck while I’ve got my hands holding you spread open and in place by the crook of your knees. You promised you stay real still so that I could drill up into you like you deserved.

God damn. Do you know how good you look like that? Back arched against the wall, tits jiggling in my face with every thrust. Your legs pushed up and back to the sides of your torso, to pin you in place?

It was like a pretty pink flower had bloomed and spread its buttery smooth petals just for me.

Don’t even get me started on how good you suck cock. Have you ever been told you could be mistaken for a warm, wet Hoover? No? Didn’t think so cause that would be rude as hell, but I bet someone’s thought it before.

(Me. It’s me, I thought that.)

Fuck those soft lips. Fuck that smooth snake of a tongue. Fuck that tight, hot throat that just loves to take a beating from my dick.

Can’t wait to prove my imagination right.

Speaking of, my dick has been beat. Like actually. If one didn’t know any better they’d assume it’s on life support, but I’m a freak of nature. Cumming upwards of 16 times in the span of 40ish hours would probably put a weaker man in a hospital bed. Or maybe a psych ward.

But I am not a weak man even if my dick feels raw. I’d still fuck you if you asked.

I’d be curious to know if I’d be able to stave off cumming longer from all the abuse or if I’d be so fucking sensitive that I wouldn’t make it in half an inch.

Probably the latter.

Diary Entry: August 2nd

Being so close to you is killing me. Truly it is.

You’ve sunken your claws so deeply into my very soul and you don’t even realize it. It’s torture. To you, I’m just the new guy, nice dude who gave you a book. But to me? You’re my entire world.

I’ve been told I have the personality of a guard dog. Soft and squishy on the inside, dangerous and fierce on the outside. Which I suppose could be true, but really I think it’s for a different reason. For a human, a dog is one small but very impactful blip in your life. But for the dog? You are it’s life.

Am I comparing myself to a dog right now? Yes I am.

I’ll beg for you to throw me the scraps of your affections until you finally toss me a bone.

Bark.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I’ve been trying my best to give you space. To plan accordingly and in advance. I have our next two interactions simmering on the back burner.

I know that if I go too hard, too fast, you’ll be overwhelmed. That’s the last thing I want. I never want to be the thing that causes you stress, I want to siphon it from you. So, in one week I will set out to help you with a few of your errands and plant a few seeds.

But until then, we have late night snacks and couch chats with Boogie.

I’ve also been doing- you guessed it- more research to do with helpful vitamins and medicines. You’ve responded so well to your SleepyTime tea and since I’ve started making sure your birth control packet is plainly visible in the countertop basket directly beneath that cabinet, you’ve been taking it so well.

I’m so proud of you sweetheart, that’s my girl, look at you taking care of yourself. You’ve done so well in fact, that it’s in my personal opinion that you have earned a very special reward.

Anakin sat on his couch, the live feed of your living room screen mirrored to his Tv. He was watching you cook dinner, he knew you’d be making a stir fry. He’d seen it in your planner, so he’d taken the liberty of ordering himself the same, it’d be here any minute. As would your good friend Sam.

Anakin had originally burned red hot with jealousy at the thought of you inviting a man over to your apartment, that he hadn’t vetted via social media and a quick drop-in. But he was relieved to discover that Sam was just a girl from your book club.

This wasn’t one of his well thought out plans, this was decided upon this morning after you’d returned from book club. So, he was anxious to see if his hunches served him well. Sam seemed like a punctual gal, at least from what he’d seen on social media and the text messages between the two of you from weeks/months before.

Anakin had the wonderful idea to log into your cell service providers website to pull your deleted messages from their data bank. You really should have better passwords.

The thing he was most worried about was his door dasher arriving on time. It was rare that one was too far off on arrival time, but it would be his shit luck and lack of planning that could ruin this little glimpse of you.

The minutes ticked by and he was alerted to the new motion sensors he’d placed near the LED pathway lights on the paved entrance to the apartment building. He quickly switched over to the hallway feed at the front door, seeing that it was his door dasher.

Damn you Trevor. How dare you get there before Sam.

Not to worry, he’d call for the door code and Anakin wouldn’t answer the first time. It wasn’t much but it would buy him a few seconds.

Though it seemed to be that luck was on his side as it often was when it came to you. Sam was so kind, kind enough to let the delivery guy into the building. Which is technically a security concern but Trevor didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d be able to remember a 6 digit door code.

He was too busy staring at your friends ass to pay attention to the numbers she entered anyway.

The footsteps approached your door and his, Anakin waited until he heard Sam knock on your door before he opened his. Trevor stood patiently as Anakin slowly counted out his tip in cash and thankfully you were quick to let your friend inside. After the exchange was complete Anakin gave you a smile and wave.

He could’ve had a heart attack at the response you gave him.

A flirty little finger waggle and smile.

He had to remind himself to breathe and keep his expression a happy-neutral. He’d hate for you to see his blushing cheeks this early on.

“Have a good night girls.” He said as he closed his door and to his surprise you actually answered.

“You too!”

If he weren’t confident that you were a sweet and loving soul, he’d think you were trying to kill him with the siren song of your voice.

Stir fry had never tasted so fucking good.

Diary Entry: July 8th

Grocery day baby, here I come.

I love that you’re so predictable. I love that you’re so fucking cute and always try to strong arm your groceries in one trip. I love that it takes at least two good whacks to the trunk of your shitty old Nissan to properly close it.

It’s cute to watch you struggle with it, the annoyed huffs and angry scowl.

I thought you’d combust on the spot once when your paper grocery bag of flour and sugar ripped open and sent a plume of flour up on your black jeans. The parking lot was very empty and I was very glad because I’d hate for someone to have seen the cursing contest you had with yourself as you picked up your spilled items. Very unladylike you know. But it’s you so I don’t mind, I just like to hear you talk.

It’s almost time. I’ve been sitting in my car for about 10 minutes. Gotta account for the traffic on highway 76. Do you really have to shop all the way out there just because of the Whole Foods? C’mon baby they have the same shit at Kroger.

I’ve been watching your little blue dot on my phone and you’re rounding the corner so I’ll write you later doll.

I love you.

You pulled into the parking lot and sat in your car for a moment. Giving yourself the much need quiet to decompress from your work day and the grocery trip. After you’d checked your messages and scrolled for a moment you decided it was time to head inside before your frozen foods got… not so frozen.

You popped the trunk and fumbled with the faulty latch, your fingers feeling blindly under the metal lip until it finally detached and you were able to open the trunk.

You took a deep breath and scolded yourself for buying the extra few things that could’ve waited till next time. Second trips are for wimps and you weren’t one. So you loaded up your left arm bag by bag until you heard a humored puff of air and the beep of a car locking behind you.

“Need a hand sweetheart?” Anakin grinned, shoving his keys into his front pocket.

He waltzed over and took a few bags off your hands without waiting for a response. It took you aback, not because he hadn’t waited for permission, but because of the way he exuded an odd charm that made you falter.

“Anakin, really it’s alright I can get it.” You said, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion by his kind gesture.

“Mmm no, this seems like a two man mission sweet girl.” He smiled, gathering up a few the last few bags from the trunk and shutting it with one solid push.

“You really don’t have to-“

“I know I don’t have to.” He said tilting his head toward the apartment building to encourage you to walk with him. “I want to.”

“Thank you, that’s… thanks.” You smiled, a light blush creeping across your cheeks.

“Atta girl.” He chuckled, tapping in the door code and holding it open for you despite holding many more bags than you.

Something about the low tone of voice or maybe just the way he looked at you with his icey blue eyes… just sent a chill down your spine. A quick one that was gone in an instant, replaced by a warm glow in the center of your chest.

“Guess chivalry’s not dead.” You joked.

“I’m no knight.” He laughed, “but you’re sure as hell a princess.”

‘Oh that was smooth.’ You thought, trying to ignore the heat at the bottom of your stomach.

What is happening? How on earth can one man be so… everything? Kind, caring, chivalrous and gorgeous to boot.

You felt a wave of embarrassment at the squeaky giggle you let out. He had you tore up from one little comment.

True to the gentleman he seemed to be, he chose not to push it and tease you about your beet red cheeks. He just waited patiently for you as you unlocked your door.

“Do you want me to bring these in for you?” He asked, watching your movements closely.

“Oh that would be great.” You said in relief, leading him into your kitchen.

“Cute little place.” He said, looking around the kitchenette and over to the living room.

He sat down your bags on the counter and started unloading them neatly into rows.

“Oh, you-“

“Mmm mmm.” He shook his head with a smirk, “Just let me help, it’s no big deal.”

You let out a puff of air in an amused sort of amazement and pulled out your little step stool to open up the cabinets. Anakin snickered from behind you as you stepped up and started putting things away.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder and almost said something snarky until you realized he was folding your paper grocery bags in the same way that you always do.

“Huh.” You laughed. “I thought I was the only one who did that.”

“Did what?” He asked, his head cocked to the side.

“Fold the bags.” You said, turning back around to continue placing your things where they belonged.

“Oh,” he chuckled, “I dunno it’s just a habit I guess. Fits better in that stupid slot on the recycling bin this way.”

“Yeah I never really understood why they made them that way? I guess so people don’t just shove other trash in there.” You mused.

“Mmhm probably.” He agreed, stacking them neatly and gathering it in his hands. “Do you want me to take these out back for you?”

“I can do-“ You stopped yourself when Anakin raised his eyebrow and cocked his head to the side with a crooked smirk.

You sighed and gave him a downturned smile. “Yes, I would love for you to take them out back for me.”

“Good girl.” He nodded, clicking his tongue and heading for the door. “See ya princess.”

After he shut the door you let yourself breathe alittle easier, blowing out the air in a short puff through your nose. Maybe even letting a little smile cross your lips before you finished up your task.

You’d be thinking about that low rumble of his voice later. Good girl? Shit.

PART FIVE

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cosmictheo · 1 year

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𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲

gif credits to @peace--n--love

— summary: after neteyam saved you from an attack that almost ended your life, you are determined and devoted to return the favor no matter what, and for that, neteyam has a few very good ideas for you to do it. — pairing: neteyam x female!na'vi!reader — word count: 4.5 k (wow) — warnings: some near-death moments, but there's neteyam ready to save you (as he should), slight post-trauma, smut; explicit sexual scenes, explicit sexual language, oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, neteyam being the king of consent, mating, pure fluff and comfort, completely head-over-heels in love with the reader!neteyam. minors please do not interact and read under your own responsibility. ✧ Neteyam is aged up, of course, for this specific one shot, he is 19 years old

neteyam's playlist i made for inspo

➯ request by anonymous: ❝ smut, in wich Neteyam saved the reader somehow and it’s the whole “how can i repay you” sorta thing, and one thing leads to another ? ❞

writer's note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Everything had happened fast, too fast. In a moment you were flying alone with Tsu, your Ikran, all the sky was yours... and in another moment, the metal bird appeared, a helicopter, you guessed, because it was quite similar to the ones Jake had drawn to show you once, warning you of how dangerous and lethal were the weapons they brought, and that they left nothing but ash and destruction in their path.

And you were good at flying with Tsu, you knew how to fly very well, but not well enough, for it had you cornered; the enemy rider was better, much better and more dangerous than any animal you had ever known. You were terrified, because you had never faced anything like this before, you could practically perceive their thirst for blood, for death and for your eventual defeat.

“Fly, Tsu!” You thought as you manibriated through the branches of the lush forest trees, still with the helicopter basically above you, shooting at everything it could, but at least, your Ikran was the fastest in the clan. “We almost lose it.”

But without you expecting it, you found yourself face to face against a corner with no way out, being literally against the sword and the wall.

You were paralyzed, your body didn't show any signs of reacting, your instincts failed you completely, you had no sense of direction to follow, you had never faced a situation like this before, you didn't know what to do, you felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

With Tsu's alert screeching sounding as if it were miles away from you, behind great walls, you thought you had lost everything, that this was the way you would pass to the afterlife, that you would be with Eywa at any second now.

Your whole life began to flash before your eyes, your sight blurring and unfocusing, Neteyam's eyes appeared on the spotlight inside your head and your heart froze, thinking of him, thinking that you would never see him again. You were going to loose him.

But suddenly, if your ears didn't fail you, everything went silent, the metallic wings of the helicopter stopped and then there was a big explosion; the enemy had been shot down, but how? Had Eywa heard your prayers? Or were you dead? You were dying?

And as an answer to the million questions that were going through your head, Neteyam's Ikran appeared next to you, with it's owner mounting it, of course, his eyes were huge and disoriented, he was carrying his bow in hand and his hair was swaying with the wind and the sudden movement his Ikran made once it landed next to yours on the huge branch of the tree.

Your heart was pounding, like never before and your mind was spinning, vision even blurred from the adrenaline shooting through your body, you barely managed to formulate questions or words.

“Neteyam, what are you doing here, how did you―” Your mouth half opened, beginning to caress yourself with your hands, your eyes widening, face bathing in disbelief, pure shock. “Am I― Am I dead?”

The Ikrans greeted each other, nuzzling the other's head and purring a little, immediately recognizing each other as the close friends they were, it had always been apparent that the two of them held a special connection.

“Hey, (Y/N). Shh…” Neteyam shook his head, ears ducking, his expression quickly shifting to one of pure concern. He proceeded to lean over his Ikran, reaching out to stop your hand movements and bringing your attention to him. “You're not― You're not dead, okay?” His fingers brushed your hands gently, careful not to let his touch and closeness unsettle you any more than you already were. But, his closeness was always the anchor that brought you back to yourself, back to him. “You're here, you're with me.” He closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, noticing how truly anxious and out of yourself you were. “Let's go back, you need to rest. Can you fly, sevin?”

You simply nodded your head, brain focusing on the delicacy of his voice, the softness in his eyes and the nickname he used, making your senses thrill and begin to orbit around him, as they usually did.

Tsu purred under you, feeling directly the effect Neteyam had on you and then flapped his wings, jerking and shaking the tension and fear out of him with the movement.

Neteyam gave your hand a gentle squeeze, bending slightly to meet your gaze. “Talk to me, (Y/N). Can you follow me?”

“Always.” You promised him and he smiled softly, nodding his head before having his Ikran spread it's wings and take flight, Tsu truly did not hesitate for a moment to follow them, as faithfully as ever, flying alongside his good friend back home.

. . .

A couple of days had passed since the attack and Jake was furious, for the sky people had appeared again in the territory and with them, they brought no good news at all, on the contrary, their reappearance only confirmed that the war was still going on and that it would probably never end, since they kept coming, as bloodthirsty as ever. Jake hated them and now you understood why.

But now you were better, you felt full of energy again, angry, furious, because days ago you had been paralyzed at the probability of your death, you had not even fought back, you had not even tried and because of that, you felt frustrated with yourself. Tsu had also seemed to come back to himself, you hadn't flown with him since that day, you didn't want to force him into anything, but now he seemed happier, much less anxious.

“I'm glad to see you better.” Neteyam commented, once he found you, in that special spot he knew you liked so much, your little hideout, the Tree of Souls.

When you turned to see him, you found him with a beautiful smile plastered on his lips, his bright hair falling delightfully down his shoulders and his tail swaying daintily behind his back.

As he made his way towards you, you returned the smile. “Truth be told, I'm angry now that I didn't do anything at the time.”

He shook his head once he was beside you, looking down at you with his glowing gaze, reflecting the beautiful natural glow of the tree in front of him, watching you intently. “Anyone would have done the same in your position, it was a complicated situation.”

Seeing how you were linked to one of the tree's connections, he lifted his braid, pulling it closer as well. His pupils dilated and his smile widened as he heard the voices of his ancestors inside his head, listening as the memories passed through him, hearing the laughter and chanting, hearing the past.

Your eyes lowered for a moment before raising it again to meet his. “But you were there and you did what I could not, Neteyam. You killed them.” You disconnected your bond from the memories so you could return to the present, holding his gaze. “And you saved my life.”

The smile faded from his face, but a sparkle passed through his big, beautiful eyes as he shook his head and disconnected his bond from the tree. “Anyone would have―”

You rushed to interrupt him, raising your hand to his cheek, hesitating to rest it on his skin. “No. You saved me.”

Neteyam smiled at you again and without even hesitating for a second, he lifted your hand and cradled yours, drawing it over his cheek, leaning his head into it, longing to be closer to your touch, to be close to you. “I would do anything to keep you safe, (Y/N). I want you safe.” Now his hand brought yours to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. “I don't want to lose you.”

“What can I do to thank you for what you've done for me?” you dared to ask him, in a delicate whisper, tilting your head slightly, observing as he placed a tender kiss on your knuckles now.

He half-opened his lips, letting out a soft breath before speaking, also in a whisper, his eyes seeming to glow as bright as the moons, luring you to fall into them, like a bottomless pit, a pit you would happily throw yourself into deliberately. “You know what…”

You moved a little closer to him, ears lowered. “But... you really want me? There are great women in the clan, strong and beautiful enough to be the next Tsahik.” Your gaze dropped to your feet, blushing slightly under his watchful gaze. “And to be your mate…”

Neteyam smiled once more as he leaned closer to you, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “I've already chosen who I want as my mate. I've known for as long as I can remember.” He then cradled your jaw against his hand, causing you to lift your chin towards him as he noticed how you had lowered your gaze. “It's you. It's always been you. You're all I can think of, the strongest, most beautiful, smartest, bravest in the clan. Perfect.”

Your smile twisted into a sadder one. “But Neteyam, you have a duty, as the next leader of the clan…”

“Love is the death of duty... I would break every rule that binds me to duty for you.” His nose brushed against yours affectionately, but, still, he stopped right there and searched your eyes with his. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please, do whatever you want with me.” You whispered against his lips.

Both of his hands cradled your face as he joined his mouth to yours in the sweetest, softest kiss you had ever been given. Your hands were immediately drawn to his body, like a magnet, sinking into his warmth, his essence, sinking into him.

And if that day you were attacked you hadn't gotten to be with Eywa, now the feeling felt closer than ever, as if the gates of paradise were opening right in front of you, inviting you in, flooding you with the most beautiful, indulgent feeling you had ever felt even a glimpse of them. That was Neteyam's effect on you, the power he had over you.

“You… you taste so good.” He murmured before giving you a couple more short kisses and then, he pulled away a few inches, watching you with a raised eyebrow and a curved little smile at the corner of his lips. “Your face is purple, are you okay?”

“Shut up.” You mumbled letting out a silly giggle, rolling your eyes, before joining your lips with his in a kiss again, now becoming more passionate and desirous, pretentious even. His hands now ran down your neck, caressing your shoulders and arms, until settling on the curve of your waist, fitting there as if missing pieces of a long forgotten puzzle were. As if his hands were made for your body, as if he was made for you. Maybe he was.

He pressed you against him and quickly you were both on the ground, sitting facing each other on the smooth leaves and grass that Eywa provided around the Tree of Souls, glowing with its bioluminescence, the night falling deliciously at your backs.

Neteyam's eyes seemed to dazzle you as they looked at you once more, reflecting all the light he had around him.

“Do you want this too?” He asked tenderly, fingers so meekly and delicately caressing the skin of your cheeks, cheekbones and jaw, as if you were the most delicate flower in all of Pandora, looking at you as the most beautiful and perfect creation Eywa had ever provided.

You could barely nod your head, stunned by all the emotions coursing through you and he smiled affectionately at this, brushing his thumb across your lower lip now, tracing the delicate skin.

“Words,” he whispered, warm breath brushing against your mouth, eyes admiring you affectionately, “I need words, baby. Talk to me.”

The nickname and his voice had an immediate effect on your body, that fluttering in your stomach seemed to intensify you and the heat between your legs shot through your whole body, shooting shivers up your neck.

“I want you― I want this, Neteyam.” You finally answered him, breathless and he smiled once more, leaving a small kiss on your lips. “I want no one but you, nothing else.”

“There's my smart girl.” One more kiss, as he complimented you in a soft, proud tone, and then he bent his head, leaving wet kisses across your jaw, down your neck. “I'll take very good care of you, don't worry. I'll make you feel good.”

You gave him more access to your skin, twisting your head to the side and closing your eyes, completely pleased, feeling each time how your body wanted more of him in you, you were on the verge of madness.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“Okay.” You affirmed, nodding your head slowly, still with your eyes closed.

“Good girl.” He complimented you, you managed to hear the smile on his lips as he spoke and then he planted a kiss on your closed eyelids before he started kissing your collarbone, moving down between your breasts, moving lower and lower. “You are so beautiful. The most beautiful.”

“Yours, I am yours.” You promised in a whisper.

“You will be.”

You swallowed saliva as you felt his hot breath against your pelvis. “Please don't stop.”

His soft lips followed a path he was making for himself across the inside of your thighs, which, you had opened, of course, allowing him to have more access to you, to the most sensitive part of your body, the part that most longed to have him close. His proximity had obvious effects on you, an effect that did not go unnoticed by Neteyam, as he let out a gasp as he sensed the warmth felt between your legs.

His eyes lifted, to look at you once again and you noticed immediately how dilated his pupils were now, his expression had also changed, blinded by desire, passion, longing to have you so close, intoxicated by your scent and warmth.

And even though, verbally and physically you had conveyed to him that you were completely at his mercy, he questioned in a soft tone. “Can I kiss you here?”

Your heart wanted to pound out of your chest as you nodded your head, biting your lip lightly before answering him between shaky breaths. “Yes, 'Teyam, please.”

He kissed your thighs one last time before his hands reached for your clothes, fingers hooking into the fabrics to pull them out of his way, he pulled the tie at the side of your hip and the thin fabric slipped off, sliding down your hips and falling to the floor on the side. And from one moment to the next, you were completely naked in front of him, on full display for his observant eyes, which didn't stop looking at your body for a second. He looked stunned, speechless, as if he was looking at the brightest star in the sky.

And when you felt his lips landing on your heat, you did feel like you were flying, like your body began to levitate and simply orbit around him, around his soft lips, his tongue and how he made you feel. It was a feeling you had never even imagined yourself feeling, you were sure you would see Eywa any moment now, within your closed eyes.

Your back arched involuntarily, body reacting to the wave of pleasure that succumbed against you and you swore you felt him smile against you as your whimpers began to invade the place and reached his ears.

Your hand sought his head, sinking into his silky hair at the same time as one of his ran up your stomach, fingers shooting shivers down his path across your skin and you moaned as his tongue traced a path through your folds and then sucked gently.

“You taste so good, (Y/N).” He whispered against you, wet noises that made you blush even more were heard as he kissed tenderly and so laboriously. Neteyam moaned with delight, as if he was feasting on the most delicious food he had ever savored. “You are the finest meal I have ever tasted.”

At his words and the way his tongue moved against you, your legs felt weak, fingers tugging at his hair. “N―Neteyam…”

As you moaned, your thighs pressed against his head and he seemed to almost purr in contentment, completely thrilled at the way you were crumbling under his mouth, which he withdrew, leaving light kisses on the inside of your thighs, noticing how you were beginning to speedily head towards your climax and all because of his doings.

He smiled as he saw a pout form in your mouth at the lack of friction, dark eyes, dilt pupils, trembling legs, you really were a sight to see. Beautiful, he thought.

“Relax, baby, I want you to let go when I'm inside you, okay? Don't be eager now. I want us to do it together…”

You weren't used to hear such obscene words coming out of Neteyam's mouth, moreover, with luck sometimes you managed to hear him say a couple of curse words, taken from Jake's vocabulary, but, hearing him say all that and with that tone of voice that, it seemed, was reserved for your ears only, turned out to be something so exciting and uncommon that you immediately felt yourself blushing, as your body was scandalized, just for him.

But it was when he followed an imaginary wet path of kisses across your stomach and raised his head, that you saw how his lips and surroundings were totally soaked by your own wetness, glistening against the bioluminescence. At that sight, you felt that knot that was being pulled and tugged with each passing second in his proximity tighten fiercely.

He gave you a small kiss and the taste of your own flavor on his lips shot shivers through your body.

Neteyam took your chin and made you look directly at him. “You're doing so good, baby.” He pressed a small kiss to your nose as he gave you a warm soft smile. “Now I want you to hop up on my lap, okay? Come here.”

And who were you to even think of doubting his commands?

With the support of both of his hands passing around your waist and giving your ass a squeeze, you jumped onto his lap, immediately embracing his neck and attacking his lips with your own, feeling his fangs nibble on your lower lip delicately. You let out a ticklish giggle as he descended his kisses down your neck once more, hands caressing everything they could touch within reach, molding your curves, grabbing and massaging every inch of skin on your body, leaving you breathless and craving for more, you always desired more, you could never get enough of him.

Then, his hand took your braid, while the other caressed the side of your thigh and he smiled at how you had so quickly gotten his idea, when you delicately took the longest braid of his, bringing it closer to yours held in his hand, ready to link up with each other.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Neteyam asked once more, caressing your face now with his unoccupied hand and dragging his gaze from your bonds to your eyes, which softened, giving you the last chance to take back this decision, the last chance to run away from him, the last chance to not spend the rest of your life by his side.

You simply looked at him affectionately and lifted up slightly to give him a gentle kiss, at last joining your bond with his. You both trembled and breathed shakily, pupils dilated, ears ducking.

And so, under the glow of the stars, before the eye of Eywa and all of Pandora, you mated for life. It was done. And none of you seemed to regret it for a second.

“I see you, (Y/N).” He murmured against your lips, forehead pressed against yours, eyes closed, for even so, he could see you, he could feel you, he could admire your gorgeousness, your very soul, through more than just his eyes. Your soul danced next to his and his spirit connected to yours. He was yours, always had been.

“I see you, Neteyam.”

You smiled, feeling his warmth envelop you, his essence, his soul, sink into you and fill you with a feeling you knew only he was capable of making you feel. It was Neteyam after all, your Neteyam

“Please, I need you.” You begged against his lips. “So bad, my love.”

Neteyam lets out a shaky breath, feeling as if his heart would explode, of love, of desire, of pure euphoria. Holding you against him tightly, he lined the head of his cock up against your soaked folds, almost feeling your insides clenching on nothing, longing to hold him inside.

You both moaned simultaneously when he was finally inside you, feeling as he made his way through your tight gummy walls.

“O-Oh, shit, baby.” Neteyam groaned shakily against your ear, from the pleasure, the feeling of being wrapped up by you, from your nails scratching his back, your small, broken little whimpers against him. It all felt so good, so heavenly.

Your body seemed to almost collapse from feeling so full of it, legs trembling.

Neteyam hid his face against your neck, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, trembling lips brushing against your sensitive skin, letting himself fall into how your walls squeezed him so deliciously, how he fit perfectly between them, as if you were made for him.

“So tight…” He murmured between kisses and little nibbles at the base of your neck. “You feel like heaven.”

He had heard stories from his father telling of how religion was back in his world, of how people worshipped a god, a god who lived beyond the sky, in a place called heaven, which was paradise, the highest place anyone could reach, a place of pure splendor, magnificence and harmony. Neteyam was sure that god did not feel as good in his heaven as he did in his, in you.

“Neteyam...” You managed to call out to him, breath coming in ragged gasps and voice trembling. Your voice only makes Neteyam feel higher, more elated than ever, and he responds to it immediately, coming out of hiding so he can look directly at you, noticing how your eyes held tears, cheeks flushed, hands trembling behind his back.

He proceeded to kiss you affectionately, letting out a shuddering breath, as he caressed your waist, ass, back, everything possibly within his reach. “Can I move?”

It took a couple of seconds before you managed to nod your head, starting to feel how, slowly, your body began to get used to him, to his filling, how your warm walls molded to his size.

He left a couple of delicate kisses on your nose and forehead as he began to move, dragging his cock with his movements and begin to slowly fuck inside of you, having to bite his lip to keep from letting out the most animalistic growl ever heard.

At the sudden movement inside you, you gasped, fiercely tightening your grip on his back, making him moan against your lips each time you scratched his skin.

“'Te-Teyam―” You cried out his name and he silenced you with a kiss, so deeply intimate that you felt, amidst all the pleasure and excitement, that you would sob any minute now.

“It's all right, my love. I got you.” He whispered between moans against your mouth, giving you a slightly harder thrust upwards, causing your mouth to slightly half-open, moaning in between breaths. “I got you...”

Neteyam pressed you against his body, bringing you with him once he lay down on the ground, leaving you sitting on his cock, hands around your waist to support you and help you move over him.

The new position made you both groan, feeling closer than ever.

Your back arched every time you moved on him, up and down, circling, whatever you did, it had Neteyam completely spellbound, lips quivering, eyes closed, hands squeezing tightly on your hips.

Your linked braids swayed with the movements, brushing against your hands on Neteyam's chest.

“You do it so well,” He blubbered this time, half-opening his eyes to look up at you, seeing you glowing above him. “oh Great Mother, shit, fuck― (Y/N)”

You could feel his lower abs tensing with every little movement you made on his cock, his hands went down to your ass, grabbing as much skin as they possibly could.

“Oh shit.” You groan, closing your eyes, feeling the head of his cock rub against that spot with every thrust inside you, pushing you over the edge quickly.

From one moment to the next and locked beneath the strength of his arms, you were now under his body, cock filling all the way to the brim, as one hand lifted one of your legs against him, knee on his waist, allowing him to reach where he had not been able to before, which had you basically gasping for air.

“You've been so good, let me fill you up, yes?” Neteyam whispered huskily, forehead resting against yours, eyes looking at you affectionately, but as dark as you've ever seen them. “Let me fill you with my seed, you deserve it, you've been such a good girl to me, let go, let go with me…”

“Yes please.” You managed to plead between whimpers, eyesight blurred from tears, hands sinking through his hair, nose brushing against his before giving him a kiss. “Oeyä Neteyam―”

Your words and voice was what threw him off the edge and growling so animalistic against your lips, his thrust trembled, hips quivering against yours as he felt your walls tighten in a death grip around his cock, barely allowing him to move as he painted your walls his color, shooting his hot seed into your womb. Face hiding again in your neck, sinking into your skin and scent, body pressing against yours, so soft and warm.

You are both barely breathing, slowly feeling yourselves coming back to reality, the world crawling back to you, heartbeat normalizing. You felt how your throat was dry, body feeling so heavy and tired now.

All was silent, your fingers began to stroke and comb through his hair, ears, cheeks, nape of his neck and back.

But Neteyam didn't want to come back to reality, he wanted to stay right there, sunk into you, inside you, forever. His cock softened inside you and promptly, the adrenaline and euphoria stopped coursing through his veins, feeling nothing but love now, drowning love, feeling only you.

“Thank you, baby―” He whispered, choking back a sob.

Your brow furrowed slightly and you rested your hands on his cheeks, forcing him to pull away from you so you could look at him. His eyes were crystallized with tears, but you could see nothing but love and warmth in them, you saw nothing but his soul reflecting yours.

“Thank you, for saving me.” You whispered against his mouth, giving him a small kiss and then, kissing his nose, and eyelids, once he closed them, blinded by your affection.

“No,” Neteyam answered you, opening his eyes, your thumb wiping away a tear that managed to escape, preventing it from wetting his already sweaty cheeks. “You saved me, yawnetu.”

You just kissed him, over and over again.

sevin: pretty.

oeyä: my, mine.

yawnetu: loved one, beloved, lover, beloved person.

3K notes · View notes

ilongfor-the-arts · 7 months

Text

Tea and Music

Pairing: Marquis de Gramont x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut!, language, mild begging, choking, unprotected sex, use of “good girl”

Summary: Part two of Poetry in Motion! These are the events that happen after Marquis meets our ballerina reader.

Word Count: 6.7k

Read Part one HERE!!!

Taglist: @jiawalker

The limo crushed the small stones under its tires as it drove along the white gravel path. The entire estate was completely covered in trees and green once we passed through the golden gates. I couldn't see the sides of the gate from the car, so I assumed his estate extended for miles.

Not a blade of grass was out of place.

I would have flirted with Vincent sooner if I had known he was concealing a mansion.

Our conversation two nights ago was extremely straightforward. He introduced himself, and I asked him one question before he insisted on speaking with me in person.

His address was on a street I'd never heard of before. I thought that perhaps it was in the Paris slums. His fancy suits and elegant demeanor were just a ruse to convince people he was wealthy.

But, alas, he lives in a mansion. Who would’ve guessed?

As the car approached the large front doors, I tried to hide my surprise. His house was something out of a movie. To take it all in, I had to turn my head completely left and right. It possessed at least three levels. It was made of lovely white vintage brick and black shingles. Two poles supported an enormous balcony on opposite sides of the large double front doors.There were dozens of tall arched windows. The architecture was inspired by the French countryside, but it was elevated to the highest level.

It appeared vintage and loved, but not worn.

“Alright madame, we are here.”

My trance was broken by the posh driver.

“Oh, yes.”

He opened the door for me, offering his hand to ensure that I would not be inconvenienced in the slightest.

I could grow accustomed to this type of treatment.

I hoisted myself up by grasping his smooth palm.

“Have a pleasant visit, madame.”

He spoke with a classy accent. His elegance, however, couldn't compete with Vincent's. The elderly driver jumped back into the driver's seat and began bustling away, rocks crunching beneath the tires.

I cocked my head upwards, hesitant. I could feel nerves brewing within my stomach. The butterflies were flying free. I took a deep breath, steadying my mind.

I honed in on the rustling of the trees, waiting until the butterflies had completely dissipated.

I couldn’t believe I was about to enter the home of a man I had just met.

I knew his name.

I knew he liked ballet.

I knew where he lived.

And, that’s it.

I climbed the few steps leading to the glass double doors.

Should I knock?

No, he was expecting me.

I gently pushed open the door. The hinges didn't creak in the least.

The doors opened to reveal a large room with white marble floors and a double staircase that swirled to the top floor. The banisters were made of gold, the dark wood walls were covered in expensive-looking paintings, and each room was separated by a large, open arch.

“Hello? I’m here!”

The waves of my voice echoed around the large, nearly empty room. I felt dwarfed by the high ceilings.

“Welcome.”

my heart skipped a beat. Vincent appeared out of nowhere, sauntering through the archway on my left, hands in pockets.

He remained silent, waiting for me to break the tension.

“Uh-Thank you for having me… your house is beautiful.”

As the gravity of the situation became clear, my tone became somewhat shaky. Vincent gave a small smile.

“Thank you very much. I have quite a few estates-“

Woah, woah, woah. A few estates? As in more than one?

“But this one is by far my favorite. It’s lavish, and quiet.”

The trees gently rustled. In the distance, birds chirped. My heart was pounding in my ears.

“See? Nothing. No sounds except those of nature.”

My knees shook. Those two previous statements felt like one big, blatant sexual innuendo. I hoped that sex wasn't the sole reason for having me in this lovely estate that just so happened to have no neighbors for miles.

He leaned against the wooden arch, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dress pants. Vincent furrowed his brow as he observed my concern.

“Please, don’t be worried. I know I was just given the pleasure of becoming your acquaintance. But, I assure you, I possess a sophisticated character.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards.

“Come.”

He said this as he stepped away from the arch, motioning for me to follow him into the next room.

“I have something I believe you will enjoy.”

I returned his stare. His beautiful eyes shone with warmth. He seemed to have changed slightly now that I was in his house. He appeared to be... more at ease. Neither his gaze nor his tone indicated any discomfort. He was no longer concerned with maintaining any sort of facade.

I couldn't bring myself to be afraid of him.

I smiled.

“Alright.”

My short heels clacked against the marble. As I strolled past him, I captured his familiar scent and was overcome with nostalgia.

The room I entered was significantly smaller than the one prior. Rather than being adorned in paintings, there was merely one green landscape above the unlit fireplace. One wall was entirely covered in wooden shelves, each of which was crammed to the brim. When I looked closer, I noticed that each section was filled with vinyl records. Some are still wrapped in plastic, while others have clearly been loved for years.

“Oh wow! You have quite the collection!”

I exclaimed as I ran my fingers along the spines of various records. Marquis laughed, amused by my intense interest.

“Oh wow!”

I had to use a surprising amount of force to pry one of the vinyls off the shelf as it was jammed into a completely full rack.

“You have the music from Giselle!”

Vincent strolled over to me, leaning over my shoulder to observe what had captured my attention. It was a record, with a lady and man engaged in dance. The lady wore a blouse and bodice, while the man donned tights and a decorated top.

“Do you enjoy this ballet?”

His hot breath cascaded across my face and neck as he inquired. A shiver ran down my spine as I realized he had placed his frame directly behind mine.

“Yes, I do. I was in it a long time ago. And, ever since it’s been one of my favorites.”

“Ah, you were in it?”

I flipped the vinyl to the back, reading each track and reminiscing.

“Yes, I was Giselle.”

“But of course you were.”

I scoffed, dismissing his high opinions of me.

“It really was not that impressive. It was a small community theater, and it was years ago before I decided to pursue ballet professionally.”

“It makes little difference where you do it. I'm sure you danced as well as someone from the Opéra National de Paris. Your talent is just as visible in a small theater as it is in the world's largest.”

I pushed my finger between two vinyls to create a gap so I could slip the record back into its original position.

“You flatter me.”

Vincent dragged his fingertips along the spines. As he did so, I fixed my attention along his veiny digits, my brain beginning to slip into places it hadn't been in a long time. I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to return to the present. Vincent drew his gaze across the records, studying them and searching for a specific item.

“Ah!”

He discovered what he was looking for.

“Swan Lake, another one of my favorites.”

He pulled it from the shelf and began to study it.

“Tchaikovsky's music is a work of art. He manipulates the instruments, allowing them to move in a poetic manner. It truly is unparalleled.”

He cocked his head to the side, meeting my eyes.

“Do you enjoy this ballet?”

He raised his brows, inviting me to respond. I shuffled towards his hot body, nodding.

“Yes, of course, it’s a classic.”

This cover depicted a woman bending over a lake, with a swan at her side. Beautiful blues were used to paint the entire cover.

“One of my dream roles is the swan queen.”

Vincent's lanky fingers pried the record's cover apart, and he slid the vinyl into his palm.

“One day, that role will be yours. I have no doubt about it.”

He handled the record with extreme grace and care. Despite being a large and rather intimidating man, his touch was featherlight. He opened a small cabinet located in the middle of the shelves with his opposite hand, revealing a beautiful maroon record player.

“And when you appear as the swan queen, it will be your role for the rest of your life. The audience will know instantaneously that no performance before or after yours will compare.”

Vincent placed the needle on the record's edge. The sound of a rich oboe filled the entire room. He placed his hands on his hips and viewed the black circle spin in a circle. The atmosphere became cozy and inviting. Despite being in a secluded mansion in the middle of the French countryside, I felt oddly at home. My heartbeat was regular.

Vincent glanced over his shoulder.

“Do you drink tea?”

He inquired.

I was so enthralled by Vincent's lovely figure that I had to shake myself awake when he spoke.

“Oh! Yes, of course. I love tea.”

Vincent unbuttoned the cuffs of his white dress shirt, rolling his sleeves up to reveal lovely veins dancing across his forearms. I gulped, my face growing hotter as butterflies began to hatch within my lower abdomen.

“Would you care to drink tea with me on the porch as we indulge in this lovely music?”

I nodded, unable to hide the grin playing on the corners of my mouth.

“I would like that very much.”

Vincent brought out a large silver tray, atop which was a lovely china set with pink flowers and gold stems.

“I would expect a wealthy man like you to have help. Rich men don’t make their own tea.”

I said, my tone slightly mocking. Vincent chuckled, plopping down onto the cream colored cushions.

“I don't usually make my own tea. But I specifically requested that we spend the day alone. The bustle of people detracts from the peaceful energy.”

I put a sugar cube in one of the adorable cups and poured tea on top, watching the sugar break and dissolve.

I picked up the saucer and leaned back, my body relaxing against the plush cushions. I had a fantastic view. My back was to the house, leaving the entire garden open for inspection. The green stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by a few healthy trees. The property had a gray gravel path that twisted and turned. At the horizon, the gentle hill of the land met the flawless blue sky.

The scenery was lovely. I wish I knew how to paint.

My hair was tousled by a gentle breeze. The soothing music wafted through the house, reaching my ears as a mere whisper.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, savoring the cozy energy as I sipped my tea. The steaming liquid poured down my throat, warming me from within.

“Yes, it’s beautiful.”

I rested the cup in my lap.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I feel like we talk so much about me.”

I said, chuckling slightly.

Vincent sipped his tea while crossing his legs and gazing out at the horizon. His gorgeous side profile was highlighted by the gentle glow of the sun.

“My life is… not very interesting.”

His demeanor had transformed. Instead of being charming, he had become aloof.

“Oh, I’m sure your life is plenty interesting. I mean, come on, this house is ginormous! What do you do?”

Vincent grit his teeth, avoiding the question.

“I made all of my money in real estate.”

He returned my gaze, his fondness restored.

“Oh! That sounds interesting.”

I took another sip of my delicious tea.

“You must’ve gotten extremely lucky.”

He flashed me a tight smile.

“Yes, absolutely. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be where I am now.”

The birds in the distance chirped peacefully, blending with the music to create a cohesive energy that flowed through my being.

“Please, tell me if I am crossing any boundaries with this question.”

I perked up. He had piqued my interest.

“However, you are a very attractive woman. And you are constantly expressing yourself through the arts. I find it difficult to believe you don't have suitors flocking to you at all times.”

I gulped, my gaze fixed on the tea in my lap.

“Well, honestly, it’s difficult to keep a relationship when you’re constantly either in the theater, or searching for your next opportunity. The little free time I have almost never lines up with the free time of others.”

He fixed his gaze on me, listening intently to every word I said. I'd never had a conversation with a man who was so enthralled by me.

“I’ve had relationships, but it's difficult to make them stick. Lately, I’ve kinda given up. It’s stressful, y’know?”

Vincent hummed.

“Yes, I can imagine.”

He sipped his tea one last time, leaning back completely to display his stunning neck. He leaned forward and placed the china cup atop its saucer before assuming his previous position.

"Well, with me, you never have to worry about that, ma chérie." My few important obligations rarely interfere with my personal life. And, if they do, I promise to commit to our relationship and not let it fall through the cracks."

His dedication surprised me. I raised my brows.

“Well, that is very kind of you. I appreciate the reassurance.”

“That is, if pursuing a relationship with me is something that entices you.”

His statement piqued my interest. I suppose I hadn't considered the question, "What are we?" I was definitely interested in pursuing a relationship with him, despite only having become acquainted a few days ago. I felt a genuine connection, and I'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity.

Also, the reality that he was filthy rich drew me to him.

I finished the sweet tea, placing it on the black wire coffee table.

“Yes, I believe I would be interested in that.”

I gave him a genuine smile, which he returned.

“Good, I am glad to hear that.”

He folded his hands and tucked them into his lap, his gaze following. He was deep in thought, as if caught between reality and his thoughts. Vincent came to after what seemed like an eternity. He returned his gaze to mine. His attention had been drawn to a new emotion. He was looking at me with calculating eyes, as if he was carefully pondering what to say next.

This was unusual for him, as he always seemed to know exactly what to say.

“I don’t mean to sound creepy when I say this, but I have been admiring you for a while.”

To be honest, I didn't mind. And I didn't think he was creepy at all for expressing his admiration for me.

“In all honesty, I’m flattered. The way I see it, I wouldn’t put myself on the stage if I was afraid of extreme admiration. I mean, that is kind of the goal of a performer. Y’know, to make people fall in love with the performance.”

Vincent nodded, his smile widening. He was pleased with my response.

“I recall seeing you perform for the first time. It was about two years ago, in Coppélia. You played a minor role, but your beauty captivated me, and the more I sought you out, the more I fell in love.”

There was something sensual about the thought of Vincent admiring me from afar for years. It all seemed so forbidden, him watching me from a box, carefully calculating the best time to ask me out.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you ask me out sooner?”

Vincent shrugged.

“I assumed you were in a relationship. I tried to forget about you, but you were always on my mind. Then I didn't see you at the Opéra national de Paris for a year. My job was particularly demanding at that time. It was best if I concentrated solely on that. So I didn't go looking for you. I assumed that chapter of my life had come to an end. Then I notice you're performing in La Bayadère. And I knew that whatever force governs our universe had given me the opportunity to become your acquaintance.”

I couldn’t stop my face from breaking into a grin. I’ll admit, it felt insanely good to be admired by someone.

“Are you a nostalgic person?”

Yes, extremely.

“Yes, I am.”

“Ah!”

He exclaimed, rising to his feet.

“In that case, I have one more thing I think you would like to see.”

I followed him through the house. If I didn’t have him, I would undoubtedly be lost. Each lavish hallway felt as if it extended for miles. I followed, and followed, and followed. Until eventually we reached a pair of black double doors. They were covered in beautiful flower designs. Vincent turned the golden knobs, pushing the doors open to reveal… a bedroom?

Wow.

It was a nice bedroom, to be sure. The floors were tan wood, and the walls were a dark brown color. A large, black chandelier hung from the ceiling with an expensive crystal thread. The bedframe, curtains, and dresser with a large mirror all looked like they were plucked from the queen's bedroom.

In fact, the whole place felt like it belonged to a king. The gold accents, intricate details, and visibly expensive fabrics all gave me the impression that I was in Buckingham Palace.

Vincent headed over to his dresser, which was located on the opposite side of the room as the bed. He began rummaging through various objects, searching for something.

“Ah! Here it is! I knew I kept it!”

He gave me... a leaflet? No, it's a program. It was the program from my first performance ever at the Opera Nacional de Paris, Coppélia. My eyes shot open.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you kept this!”

I flipped through it, reading the names and contemplating all the wonderful people I'd had the pleasure of working with.

“Of course I kept it.”

I raised my eyes to him. He smiled, pleased that I had found enjoyment in this little bit of nostalgia.

“Um-”

I began.

“I-I don’t mean to take your memories from you.”

I said with a small laugh.

“But, would you mind if I kept this?”

“But of course! There is no need for me to keep a silly little booklet now that I have had the pleasure of meeting the object of my affection.”

We shared a moment of peaceful, happy silence.

“Besides, if it makes you happy, I'll gladly give it to you. We've decided to pursue a relationship. So, it is my responsibility to do everything in my power to please you.”

His gaze darted to my lips before returning to my eyes, implying something taboo.

His eyes grew dark. My posture became stiff. Vincent took a large step towards me, and I had to tilt my head almost completely backwards to look him in the eyes.

I was hit with a wave of déjà vu. I was no longer on the streets of Paris, but rather in Vincent's bedroom. This time, there was nothing preventing us from delving head first into our desires.

He cupped my cheek, running his calloused thumb over my cheekbone. My breath caught in my throat. My lower abdomen was in knots, more from anticipation than from nerves. There wasn't much that could happen on the dark streets of Paris. But suddenly everything was possible and within reach. All I had to do was reach out and grab them.

“The relationships you’ve been in… have any of them had the pleasure of…”

His voice trailed off, beckoning me to finish the thought.

I gulped, a lump forming in my throat.

“No.”

My voice quivered as I felt overpowered by his pressing gaze.

Vincent tutted crispy.

“Pity.”

He stated, his voice lowering to a sensuous whisper. I envisioned him whispering sweet nothings into my ear while thrusting mercilessly into my tight cunt.

My stomach flipped.

My knees shook.

All of the blood in my body rushed to my core.

Wetness began to pool in my panties.

I adjusted my weight uncomfortably, anticipating Vincent's next move.

He leaned forward, his lips inches away from mine. I desperately wanted to break the tension by pressing my mouth to his, thereby beginning the downward spiral of pleasure. However, my train of thought was derailed when I felt Vincent’s opposite hand glide up my thigh.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sighing in pleasure as his digits swiftly located my clothed clit. He tenderly massaged my sensitive bud. The subtle sensation was utterly euphoric. My head bowed forward, my hands anxiously clutching his white dress shirt.

Vincent jerked my head upwards, forcing my misty eyes to lock with his lust blown pupils.

“You’re already so wet, ma chérie. And I have barely even touched you.”

His velvety accent became 10 times more seductive now that it had fallen an octave.

“Oh, it will be so wonderful to watch you come undone.”

He pressed his plush lips to my jugular, applying gentle kisses to my neck as he continued to draw figure eights onto my clothed clit. I threw my arms around his neck, hanging onto his strong frame as my knees threatened to give out.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to bury my face between your thighs and taste your sweet little cunt.”

I couldn’t handle the erotic tone combined with the featherlight touches to my clit. It was far too much for my touch starved body to handle. needed something. I was ravenous for his mouth, his fingers, his cock. I wanted so badly to be destroyed by him, to be given such pleasure that I fear coming back to reality.

“Vincent.”

I said between heavy breaths.

“Yes ma chérie?”

My jaw hung upon, mouth unable to form coherent sentences.

“P-Please. I need you-I need you so bad.”

Vincent drew back, his lips slamming into mine. Our mouths matched like puzzle pieces. We were so glorious together that I swear I could hear angels singing in perfect harmony.

“What would you like me to do to you ma belle, hm?”

He said in between fiery kisses.

“Make me cum, Vincent, please.”

His tongue slid into my mouth, giving me a fleeting taste of his passion before he quickly yanked it back. I was flustered. Our connection had been severed, and I was unsure as to why.

Vincent grasped my chin, forcing me to keep my head still.

His hair was struggling to remain neat. The single, dangling strand was a great metaphor for his once well-kept demeanor now crumbling before my eyes.

“Beg. Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to make you cum.”

He demanded.

Mt jaw quivered. His hand had retreated from my core and now lay atop the swell of my hip.

“P-Please Vincent. I need you. I need you so bad.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes disapprovingly.

“Oh, ma chérie, I know you can do better than that.”

He placed his lips to mine, swiftly reigniting the flame before suffocating it once more.

“Be my good girl and beg.”

I locked gazes with Vincent, feeling his sexual energy course through my body in waves.

“Please-“

I began, my desire somewhat strangling the words within my throat.

“Please Vincent… Please, I need you to make me cum.”

I brought my palms to his chest, attempting to quickly unbutton his dress shirt. Unfortunately, my hands were far too jittery and the buttons were far too small for me to make any significant progress.

“What exactly do you want ma belle, hm? Tell me.”

His velvety accent wafted through me whenever he spoke, adding to the wetness that had begun to pool in my panties.

“Please, please. I need you.”

Thankfully, the sexual tension had subsided just enough for me to compose meaningful sentences.

“Please, please, I need you. I need your mouth between my legs. I need-I need you to fuck me. I need your cock so bad. Please, please make me cum it’s all I can think about.”

A devious smirk spread across Vincent’s face.

“Why didn’t you ask me sooner?”

He connected our lips, reigniting the raging fire of desire that burned between us. Vincent hoisted me off the floor, his large hands traveling up my short sundress and resting against my ass. He carried me with ease, his hands gentle but his lips aggressive.

Vincent tossed me onto the bed with little regard for tenderness. However, I was barely impacted by the blow, as the mattress quickly suppressed and conformed to my physique.

I lay, my gaze fixed upwards towards Vincent’s lanky frame. The dim yet sensual lights foregrounded the sharp curvatures of his face. His long digits located his top button and he began to leisurely undo his shirt without breaking eye contact.

Suddenly, I became aware that my dress had ridden up my thighs, exposing my evident desire. I grasped the hem, pushing it downwards in a futile attempt to conceal my yearning. Vincent ceased his movements, crawling over the end of the bedframe with haste.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, pinning my hand above my head.

My eyes darted upwards, the breath hitching in my throat as I perceived his close proximity. Vincent’s previously quintessential appearance was slowly dissolving. A few strands of hair had broken loose from their original location and were now dangling aimlessly above his brow. Furthermore, his shirt was halfway undone, exposing his prominent collarbone and somewhat highlighting his toned chest.

“Don’t cover up for me, ma belle.”

He murmured, his sultry accent sending a wave of desire to my lower abdomen. My cunt throbbed.

“I want nothing more than to see every inch of you.”

Vincent lodged his thigh between my legs, his clothed knee grazing against my hot core. I jolted, a wave of heat coursing through my body. My back arched instinctively, mouth falling open as I involuntarily ground my hips against his thigh in an effort to increase friction.

Unfortunately, he revoked his leg before I was able to procure further pleasure. His free hand followed the soft curve of my side, sending shivers down my spine. My body became cold with anticipation. Goosebumps rose along my skin.

Vincent’s calloused fingertips grazed against my clothed clit. Heat radiated from my wet core as I squeezed my eyes shut. My brow furrowed as he began to slowly draw figure eights onto my clit.

“Ah, you are so wet and I’ve barely even touched you.”

His soft lips connected to my jugular, peppering gentle kisses down my neck.

“I’ve thought about this moment for a long while.”

With his hands required to support his weight as he descended, his powerful clasp released my wrist. I entangled my fingers in his silky hair, further ruining his pristine image.

“Although I pride myself on maintaining a certain level of class, I can’t deny that I’ve often thought about how satisfying it would be to bring you immense pleasure.”

He continued to press his lips against my hot skin, his face now level with my clothed breasts.

Vincent leaned back on his knees. He dragged his eyes up and down my frame, running his tongue across his bottom lip. I suddenly felt small under his gaze.

His tender fingertips located the ball of my ankle, and he hastily removed both of my short heels, tossing them aimlessly to the floor. After he had discarded my shoes, he trailed his large palms upwards, caressing my calves, then my thighs. I watched intently as his veiny hands slipped under the hem of my dress. Vincent hooked a finger in the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs at a painfully slow pace.

Once I was fully exposed, he assumed a position between my legs. Thankfully, the bed was grand enough for him to lay comfortably.

All the blood in my body had rushed to my core, and I could feel my heartbeat throbbing vehemently within my lower abdomen.

Vincent trailed his moist lips along my inner thigh, gazing up at me devilishly through his lashes as he did so. He was well aware that his teasing behavior was propelling me into a state of lust filled desperation.

When he established that he had prolonged my suffering enough, he hastily buried his face between my thighs. I gasped, throwing my head back onto the opulent pillows. My thighs instinctively clenched around his head, but Vincent’s strong hands pulled my legs apart to free himself.

He flattened his tongue against my clit, taking his time to draw out his movements so as to not supply me with an orgasm too hastily. He was thoroughly enjoying the elongation of my pleasure.

After a brief moment of supplying delicate sensations to my clit, I felt the tip of his finger prod at my entrance. I threw my hands upwards, grasping onto the bed frame, my knuckles quickly turning white.

“Oh fuck!”

I exclaimed, grinding my hips against his gorgeous face.

“Vincent-Vincent your mouth feels so good, holy shit.”

I spoke in mangled cries, not caring to keep my voice down. After all, there was no one around for miles to be bothered by my proclamations.

His middle two fingers pushed into my entrance, thrusting upwards to stimulate my walls.

“You taste wonderful, ma belle.”

He uttered, continuing to fuck me with his fingers throguhout the duration of his praise. Vincent located my g spot. My nails dug into the bedframe, undoubtedly leaving prominent scratches. He took note of my non verbal cues.

Vincent increased the intensity of his fingers. Quickly, the coil of pleasure began to tighten within my lower abdomen. I bucked my hips against his face, but Vincent quickly stifled my movements by pressing my hips into the mattress.

“Are you close?”

He murmured against my clit. The gentle vibrations set my nerves ablaze with white hot desire.

“Yeah, yeah I’m so close.”

I mumbled, my arms beginning to tremble as I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt my orgasm begin to seep into the corners of my brain.

Vincent’s long digits expertly located my g spot with every thrust.

His warm mouth continued to duck and stimulate my swollen bundle of nerves.

The erotic sounds of his fingers fucking my cunt reverberated loudly throguhout the predominantly empty bedroom.

“Then cum for me, ma chérie.”

His endearing words proved to be the last necessary step in reaching my release. The tension that had built within my stomach exploded as I came gloriously all over his face. My back felt as though it had been rammed into a solid brick wall.

My chest heaved, and I found it arduous to supply my lungs with sufficient oxygen.

My eyelids began to flutter open as the movements of both his tongue and fingers slowed. When he removed his digits and mouth, I was overcome with a glorious sensation of complete satisfaction. Both my mind and body succumbed to bliss. I had never before experienced such an absence of disquiet.

Vincent climbed over me, his torso now bare.

I cracked a small grin, my palms flattening against the expanse of his soft chest. His lips shone with my arousal. I trailed my fingertips slowly downwards, halting when I reached his thick leather belt. I began to undo the buckle, however, Vincent caught wind of my intentions. With one hand, he engulfed both of my wrists, pinning them above my head. I gasped.

“Oh, no, not now.”

His gentle lips tenderly kissed the soft divot behind my ear. I took a deep breath, the scent of his pricey, heavy fragrance clouding my mind.

“I have waited far too long for this moment. It would be foolish of me to allow you to furnish pleasure when my desire has been consuming me for years.”

Vincent moved off of me and stood to remove the remainder of his clothes. With a pleasurable whoosh, he pulled his belt from the loops of his formal pants. Subsequently, he removed his shoes and allowed his trousers to gather about his ankles.

He met my stare, the mellow hue of the faint overhead lights collecting within his green irises.

“You look beautiful.”

Once again, the heat from my body began to travel downwards.

Vincent’s boxers were the final article of clothing to be removed. I gulped audibly, as his sizable cock was now standing fully erect.

Holy shit, I thought to myself.

He possessed one of the most winsome cock I had ever laid eyes on. I clenched my thighs together, my cunt eagerly clenching around nothing.

When he had finished undressing, he climbed back over me and our lips met once again. I melted into the kiss, exhaling sensually as I sunk into the plush mattress. Vincent’s hand grasped the hem of my dress, tugging it upwards until I was forced to raise my arms.

Thankfully, the supportive nature of the outfit allowed me to function in the absence of a bra. As a result, my entire body was now fully exposed for Vincent’s piercing gaze.

He discarded the dress and dropped his hips suggestively until his prominent erection pressed against my lower stomach.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, beckoning him to progress further. Vincent shuffled his hips, tip now dangerously close to my aching cunt. But, before he slipped inside of me, he raised a free hand and tenderly brushed a few unruly strands of hair from my damp forehead.

“If you wish to stop at any moment, merely apprise me and I shall cease.”

I gave him a nod, throwing my arms around his neck to provide an anchor. Vincent pressed his lips to my neck, applying a few gentle kisses before sliding his cock into my wet cunt.

My walls stretched, hastily conforming to his rather large girth. My back arched into his solid torso. I inhaled sharply as he buried the entirety of his length deep within me.

“Are you alright, ma chérie?”

His body stilled. I groaned in mild frustration.

“Y-yeah. I’m more than alright. P-please just fuck me already. I-I need you so bad.”

Vincent pulled back. His lips were plush. His hair was disheveled. His cheeks were a bright shade of pink.

His disarranged appearance was a stark contrast to the previously sophisticated man I had met at the start of this afternoon. However, I do consider the duality of man to be a topic of the utmost enticement. There is something captivating about the notion of commencing a relationship with someone who has a secret side that solely you have the pleasure of becoming acquainted with.

Without further words, Vincent began to roll his hips. The slight pain of his cock quickly dissipated to create room for immense pleasure.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head.

“Does that feel good? Hm?”

He spoke with a slight vocal fry. The raspiness of his tone elicited a visceral reaction. I dragged my nails along his smooth back, undoubtedly breaking skin.

He grumbled deep within his chest.

When I didn’t answer, Vincent pulled his face back, blown pupils meeting mine. I gazed at him through half lidded eyes. I found it difficult to ignite passionate eye contact when I was presented with the distraction of his cock expertly grazing against my g spot with every fervent jerk of his hips.

He wrapped a large hand around my neck. My pulse rose to the top of my skin as black spots began to cloud my vision.

“Come on, ma belle, be my good girl. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

I exhaled a shuddering breath.

“F-fuck… you feel so good inside me Vincent.”

I gulped.

“Y-your cock feels so good.”

Vincent’s skin began to sheen with a thin layer of perspiration. The unruly strands of brown hair deepened in color as they stuck to his forehead. I moaned pornographically as the grip on my neck constricted once more. My jaw dropped. The brief lack of oxygen only added to the flurry of incoherent thoughts bouncing around my skull.

“Oh, my, you’re such a good girl for me.”

He gulped, a soft sigh escaping his swollen lips.

“You’re taking me so well.”

The erotic words combined with his smooth accent contributed to the tightening of my lower abdomen.

I was close, dangerously close.

I could feel my body reaching the edge, and I would soon fall into a state of euphoria.

Vincent’s adjusted his hips ever so slightly, his tip now reaching deeper than before.

I instinctively turned my head away. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I buried my face into the bed. My brow furrowed. My eyes squeezed shut as I anticipated my release.

Vincent utilized his thumb to reposition my face.

“No, don’t look away. Be my good girl and look me in the eyes.”

I forced my eyelids open, meeting his piercing stare as ever so slightly increased the frequency of his thrusts. Every instinct beckoned me to throw my head back, but I fought the desire. And, I instead kept my eyes fixated on Vincent’s blown pupils that had almost entirely consumed his irises.

“I want to watch you. I want to see your face as you cum all over my cock.”

I gave him a slight nod, indicating that I could hear while trapped in my lustful stupor.

His hand traveled downwards, gently caressing my curves before reaching my swollen clit. Vincent applied gentle pressure, and, with that, I let go.

I kept my eyes fixated on him, allowing my face to contort as it pleased.

Vincent groaned loudly, his cum coating my walls.

He continued to fuck me throguh my orgasm. His movements gradually slowed as the fog of euphoria began to dissipate. My chest rose and collapsed with fervor.

When I deemed it safe to break eye contact, I allowed my eyelids to flutter shut. Suddenly, I became aware of the gravitational pull the bed exerted on my body.

Jesus, I was exhausted.

Vincent removed his cock from my core. However, he remained atop me, tenderly pushing my unkempt hair back to create mild uniformity.

“You may stay here, if you’d like, for however long you wish.”

His voice was as it had been prior to our physical encounter.

I giggled, my mouth breaking into a slight smile.

“Your house is magnificent.”

I met his gaze, his eyes now possessing a tender quality.

“I don’t know if I ever want to leave.”

I said with a scoff.

A smirk played on the corner of his lips.

“Then don’t, stay here for as long as your heart desires.”

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pixiesfz · 5 months

Note

this isnt really a request with an idea but please more jessie 😭🙏

Killing two birds with one stone I am here, I got a request for a jersey swap fic so here we go!

jersey swap? j.f

plot: you and Jessie have always had on field tension but one game when you ask to swap jerseys, she finally makes a move.

warning: smut, obviously I like writing a dom Jessie 🤫. Let’s pretend Sam wasn’t injured for the Canada vs australia match, bi-sexual reader! (Taking inspo from this one tik tok I saw about Lia Walti which made me cackle)

Some matches were more interesting than others you had realised in your second year in of playing at arsenal wether it was against Chelsea or you were playing with the Matilda’s for your national teams.

Nothing had changed within the games except for the fans, since the World Cup people started to know your name and your whole life story but what they loved most of all was seeing you on the pitch with Jessie.

Wether it was Chelsea vs Arsenal or Australia bs Canada the fans loved watching your interactions and your team mates did to.

It was your Australian captain who always whispered jokes into your ear that took the most pleasure out of the two of you.

“I love Canada” you admitted as your team sat on the ferry “why it’s cold” Hayley shivered from behind you “but it’s just so cozy” you smiled as you cuddled into yourself.

“Is that why your always tackling Jessie, cause she’s cozy” Sam teased as she shook your shoulders “no” you said “I tackle her cause she’s good and she’s too nice to tackle me back” you said with a small smile and Sam and Hayley laughed.

“No but seriously what is it between you two whenever you play” Mary asked as she came over “Oh my little Mary, my young prodigy” you started and she rolled her eyes

“Y/n seriously I want to know, I’m also not that young I’m three years younger than you”

“Exactly you’re an infant”

You smirked but gave her an option to lean onto your should “I’m actually not sure how we started it” you admitted “we both had our debuts for Chelsea and Arsenal on the same day and were put on each other we both wanted to make an impact I guess”

“You made an impact all right, two yellow cards” Sam laughed “You’ve had this tension ever since, even when you were dating that Tom guy” she said.

You hid your head as you looked down remembering why the relationship failed, you couldn’t admit you were not sexually attracted to Jessie and he left, funny since later you had found out he had cheated on you with a girl who had been on 2 episodes of love island.

“Yeah well I’m not dating him anymore so” you trailed off and the three girls nodded “Do you think the tension will ever ease off?” Mary asked and Hayley laughed “I think once they finally sleep together-“

“Hayley!” You scolded her “what?” She shrugged “it’s true, even the fans can see it” she defended herself as you scoffed “do you even remember the World Cup!?” she practically now yelled

“Both of your hands were practically around each other when you were on the ball” she said and you laughed “sorry if I just wanted to get possession of the ball so we could score goals”

“We pass with our feet not our hands y/n/n” Mary said and you closed her mouth “hush little one” you said quickly and she shook her head out of your grasp.

“Admit to me you’re not sexually attracted to Jessie Fleming”

“I’m not attracted to Jessie Fleming”

“Now I thought your New Year’s resolution was to stop lying” Sam stepped in and you threw your head back “No you know what I’m going to be nice” you said

“At the game I’m going to ask to switch jerseys as an act of kindness” you smiled and Hayley rolled her eyes “that’s not what I would do” she warned and you shook your head

“Trust me it will work, we will be best friends by the time you know it”

“So you won’t mark her on the pitch?” Sam asked

“Do you want us to lose Samantha?” you shot back and she laughed “anyways” you said standing up “I see Mini standing alone so I’m gonna make sure Kyra hasn’t accidentally fallen off the ferry and drowned”

You ended up finding the girl in the captains area with a bawl of lollies in her hand.

“Don’t tell Katrina”

When you finally made your way to the stadium later the next day you grimaced at the floor “fake grass” you groaned and Polks laughed at you “not a laughing matter” you said and walked into the rooms.

You felt the stadium grow as Canadian watches and a few lucky Australian fans made their way into their seats.

You were tying up your boots when you felt a presence behind you “hey skipper” you laughed as Sam sat next to you “I just wanna say no reds” she said “I know they’re out for blood since World Cup okay and I don’t want a pissy Jessie coming back to Chelsea”

“No reds got it, what about a yellow?” You asked with a cheeky smile “I’ll allow one” she said and you acted like a two year old who got told they can get ice cream.

You both laughed and Sam pushed you out “cmon idiot”.

In the line up, you were out the front behind Ellie when you felt eyes burning into your head, you knew it was Jessie so when you turned around and saw her you just smirked which made her roll her eyes and look back at her team.

“Cheeky” Hayley said from behind you and you just shrugged your shoulders.

You went to your mark on the field where Jessie was as she looked concentrated “stop frowning Jessie it will give your face lines” you told her and she looked back at you “are you talking from experience or?” She questioned as she looked at your forehead and you laughed.

“Let’s just play for now okay and then you can think about my facial features later”

The game wasn’t different than usual, you and Jessie were on each other hot, whenever one of you had the ball the other was quick to try and get you down or stop you from a long kick.

You were a bit more touchier with the legs though as One time you nut-megged her own ball through her feet “come on” she complained as she was to far behind you to stop your assist to Sam’s goal.

You turned to Jessie “you know I can take a tackle Fleming” you teased and she crossed your head at you “Just play the game y/l/n” she said and you smirked from next to her “I seem to be the only person who is”.

Jessie was rough after that, she knew she couldn’t let you get away with anything else, so next time you had the ball she was quick to kick out from under your ankle as you hit the ground, accidentally taking her down with you, automatically you turned over on top of Jessie and you watched the ref walk over to you and the Canadian.

You looked down at the brunette who was still on the floor “did I get into your head?” You whispered before sitting up and reaching your hand out for Jessie to use but she got up herself causing you to roll your eyes and shrug it off.

The red pulled out a yellow for Jessie who shook her head “Still winning” she reminded you with a smirk and you smirked back “ooh she’s coming out of her shell”.

When the game finally finished and Canada came on top you shook all the players hands, lingering on Jessie’s before you joined some of the girls on a lap.

You saw a sign that made you laugh

Australia vs Canada

Nah.

Fleming vs y/l/n!

You smiled as you looked for Jessie and found her with her captain who was having her send off.

“Fleming!” You called out to her and she turned around with furrowed brows “what?” she asked and you smirked “come look at this” you said and turned your head back.

She followed you to the sign and also chucked a smile at it as people quickly grabbed their phones to take pictures of the two of you smiling at the sign as you laughed at each other.

You saw Hayley looking at you with a knowing look in the corner of your eyes before you remembered “Wait Jess” you said before she left, not realising the nick name you let out “yeah” she said “I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to swap Jerseys, last game after all before we face each other off in Olympic hopefully” you asked and Jessie’s cheeks blushed “yeah sure, need some more in my collection honestly”

Your heart raced as you saw the Canadian take off her top, you secretly took a look at her abs as she did so, you don’t know why you waited until she took hers completely off before you took yours off until you hear a whistle from the crowd you laughed and took yours off.

Jessie’s blush grew as she took no shame in staring at your body and your waist.

“Nice tattoo” she muttered as you held your shirt out for her, looking down you looked at your flower tattoo under your sports bra “thanks got it for my mum” you smiled and she gave you hers.

“Ready for the photos” you smirked and she nodded.

When you put them on you heard some fans scream out and you both turned around, you in front of Jessie as she saw her name on your back.

She lingered before stepping next to you and you smiled for some photos before a professional photographer came and you smiled again, one photo where Jessie was looking at you.

You both parted ways after as Jessie kept her eyes on you, pupils diluted as Sam went up to her “good game” she said and Jessie kept her eyes glued onto you and your back.

“She’s staying at the Grand Heir Hotel” she smirked before smacking her Chelsea team mate on the back and walking off with a smile.

You got some shit from the team when you walked in with Jessie’s shirt on, especially from your Arsenal team mates who were whisper shouting.

Sam walked over to you where your cheeks were blushing “I may have told Jessie where your staying” she admitted and you widened your eyes “why?” You asked and she shrugged her shoulders “just cause” she said and walked away.

“Samantha!” You called but she walked away.

You couldn’t help the smile that crossed your face as you turned back to your cubby.

You had showered when you got home and hanged Jessie’s shirt up in the open wardrobe so you could still see it as you lied on your bed.

It was about 10:00 when a knock on your door started. Furrowing your brows you got up and opened it to see a slightly puffed out Jessie Fleming.

“Do you know how hard it was to figure out which room was yours?” She asked out of breath “I’m sorry?” You replied and she nodded “you should be” she said as she made her way in.

“Jessie-“ “call me Jess” she cut you off “what?” You asked and she nodded “I liked it” she said “when you called me Jess”

You smiled “okay Jess” you repeated “what are you doing here?” You asked and she looked around until she found her shirt in your wardrobe and grabbed it and threw it to you “put it back on” she said as she stepped closer to you “excuse me?” You asked and she repeated again.

“Jess I’m in my pajamas I don’t have a bra on” you admitted and she smirked “put it on” she repeated and you grew hot.

fuck she looked hot right now, you thought to yourself as she looked down at you.

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me” she whispered into your ear and you tried not to shudder at her words. “Do it for me” you whispered back as you looked into her hungry eyes, her pupils were dilated and you were sure yours were too.

Jessie gripped the edge of your white T-shirt before grazing her fingers underneath and hitting your bare skin but she kept eye contact.

“I want you to know that I’m going to fuck you, giving me that yellow today and egging me on, I’m not letting that pass today” she said as she grabbed your waist under your top and pulled you closer to her so that your lips were practically touching.

The feeling in between your legs was aching, you needed her.

“Take off my top Fleming” you told her before you stepped back, getting bing her room.

She smirked before grabbing the ends of your shirt and pulling it over your head, looking at your boobs before lightly pressing on them them “you’re beautiful” she said as she kissed on them, leaning your head back you groaned and she tugged on your nipple.

“No noise until my name is on your back” she ordered and you nodded “so loud on the pitch but I can make you silent with just one touch” she cooed and you closed your eyes out of pleasure, trying to not make any noise.

When Jessie pulled your arms up and slipped her jersey over your head you bit your lip and looked down at the jersey.

“Did you know I’d react like this? She taunted as she planted kissed on your neck “Did you know that I’d want to fuck your smirk out of you” she planted more “Did you know that sitting on top of me in the middle of the game would make want to kiss you right then and there” she taunted as she sucked on your skin, marking you.

“Jessie” you muttered out in pleasure as she walked you to the bed and through you on the mattress. You were so wet you didn’t know if she could see it through your grey tracksuit pants or not.

“We’re keeping to top on” she said as she leaned over the op of you and finally brought her lips to yours and kissed you, you let her take dominance of the kiss as her hands roamed your body until they reached your pants.

She looked at you for permission and you nodded “I need your words y/n” she said and you looked at her “yes”

“yes what?” Jessie taunted and you squirmed under her touch as she traveled her hand from your waist and teasingly down your pants without touching your pussy which you craved.

“yes please fuck me with your finger, mouth anything” you groaned out and Jessie smirked.

She returned her lips to yours before she grabbed the edge of your pants and slid them down, her moth following her as she kept them on you, trailing kisses along the jersey and until she hit your undies.

“Lace” she smiled “did you know I was coming?” She asked “I may have gotten a hint” you admitted and Jessie moved her hands up to squeeze your butt as she jerked your body up towards her,

“My favourite colour is blue” she fainted as she played with your blue lace underwear “too bad I have to take them off” she said as she blew on to your pussy and you moaned.

You were pulsing, searching for any friction.

Jessie slowly pulled your underwear down before she spread your legs apart and slid a finger through your folds.

“So wet, just for me” she said before leaning in and pressing her tongue through you, making you throw your head back and your back arch which she responded with putting her hand on your stomach and pushing you down so you couldn’t move.

She kept on going until you started moaning her name “Jessie- Jessie fuck keep going” you whimpered as she shot her head up, her chin covered in your juices.

“Turn around” she ordered and you did and she walked away “Jess” you nurtured and she walked back up to you “I’m not leaving don’t worry” she assured you and pressed her lips into yours as you tasted yourself.

She walked away as you heard her rummage through her bag she brought with her, you smiled to yourself as you saw the glimpse of the strap she held in her hands before stepping into it.

“Who’s name is on your back?” She asked you, her voice darker than usual “yours” you muttered out before she tapped your entrance with her cock “but louder than that baby, who’s name is on your back?” She asked again

“Yours” you moaned out louder and she slapped your ass making you whimper “exactly” she said before pushing in to your entrance.

“Fuck Jessie” you screamed out her name as she grew her paste wuick almost giving you no time to adjust.

“New question” she said as she moaned, the strap rubbing against her clit as she thrusted into you.

“Who’s cock is going to make you cum?” She asked as she somehow went quicker making you moan out in pleasure, your hair was up in a pony tail so she grabbed on to the end of your hair and pulled you back so your face was reaching the roof.

“That wasn’t an answer” she said and you closed your eyes “Yours Jessie, your cock” you whimpered out and she let go of your hair.

“You going to come with me” she demanded and you nodded “make me cum” you whined and she went in Harder and pressed you down more into the mattress.

It wasn’t long until you felt a coil in your stomach “Oh fuck, I’m bout to come” you repeated and you heard Jessie’s whimpers “me too, come with me” she said and you both let out moans as you came together and rides out your highs together.

You both stayed there until Jessie slowly pulled out and slowly rubbed her fingers over her last name on your back.

She then helped you go on your back as she leaned down and kissed you softly.

“Can we do that again?”

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mikuni14 · 5 months

Text

I loved the ENTIRE love scene, but there were a few moments that stood out to me.

Starting at the beginning of the scene - when Phaya just takes deep breaths and stares with that smirk of his that always appeared on his face in all the sexually charged scenes with Tharn. Because Tharn is putting on a show for him.

This scene is absolutely amazing and it blew me away. Because this is his first time, Tharn is standing naked in front of someone and not only is he not ashamed, he is not timid, he exposes himself even more, he wants to be even sexier for Phaya. There is something incredibly beautiful about the fact that Tharn trusts Phaya so much that he is willing to expose himself completely, to be vulnerable in his sexual debut, and that seeing Phaya mesmerized by him gives him the confidence to put on even a little performance 😍 Which of course works, just look at how Phaya practically "land" on him like a bird after this little show, spreading his arms even wider, because yes, he likes it A LOT ✨

I also love the moment when they are naked and hug each other tightly. The actors' hugs show how comfortable they are with each other (I always pay attention to this) and are a great proof of whether the characters fit together physically like puzzle pieces. Phaya and Tharn already proved it by sleeping together once, so I'm not surprised that it turned out great again ✨

I really like this moment because of its masculine element. Maybe it's just me, but this scene is very hot with how masculine they both are here.

Of course, this moment. Phaya is so intense here, I love how his hands cup Tharn's head, how dominant he is, how he is leading. And how passionately he kisses Tharn. And we all already agreed that he can taste himself in his mouth which is 🔥🔥

Here - a scene both hot thanks to Phaya's thumb and tender thanks to Tharn's thumb 👌

But THIS is probably my favorite moment: they are both perfect in it and the perfectly in character that suits their personalities and their fantasies. They are both exactly who they want to be sexually and where they want to be. It's super hot, Phaya, who takes a moment To Look and only then "land" on Tharn again like a bird of prey, grabbing his hair, kissing him forcefully and passionately, Tharn clearly loving being under this "assault" 🔥🔥

And of course the bed scene: the wordless communication taking place between Phaya and Tharn, Phaya all the time being super attentive to Tharn's needs, to Tharn's non-verbal signals, to his consent to whatever Phaya is doing to him. Tharn enjoying every moment of Phaya's complete attention. We can guess what they are doing, because the scene is not literal and vulgar, but elegant, beautiful, classy and even magical, and therefore 🔥🔥

Their entire love scene is Tharn showing complete trust in Phaya, opening up to him, showing his vulnerable side, taking everything Phaya gives him and demanding more. It's also Phaya, enchanted by everything that Tharn gives him, naturally taking control but never abusing the trust given to him. Phaya is clearly the type of lover who is most turned on by his lover having a good time 😊 While Tharn has no problem having that good time and being treated like a spoiled king in bed 😄 Really, this couple is so incredibly harmonious and compatible. What a wonderful dynamic, thanks to them WE also have a good time 😍

#the sign the series #thai bl #bl drama

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rendaze · 2 years

Text

work on you (m)

+ featuring ... manager!taehyung x idol!reader

+ summary ... when your manager, kim taehyung, decides to avoid you after a massage turned sexual, you are determined to kill two birds with one stone: get him to talk to you again by fucking him.

+ genre ... smut, fluff

+ wordcount ... 12k

+ warnings ... fem!reader, possessive/jealous!taehyung, dom!taehyung, perv!taehyung, brat!reader, a lot of dirty talk, orgasm denial, objectification, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, cumplay, cum swallowing, exhibitionism, public fingering,

For much of the night, Kim Taehyung is quiet. He rests on the crème couch, cat eyes observing you through the mirror. Outside, pink skies fade to indigo and crickets popcorn beneath the underbrush; the pattering of your feet against the practice room floor accompanies it. It has been hours since workers have clocked out and the last buses have run, but he knows this.

Your manager of two years is not known for the saccharine politeness of his peers nor the pedantic nature of his seniors. Instead, he is blunt. Reserved. An intrinsic part of your life whom you’d grown reliant on as winter faded to summer and back again.

His diligence is not due to principle but rather habit – if it wasn’t for you, he would be watching cable, cigarette ash tainting work clothes he was too tired to change out of. Instead, he waits—regardless of overtime—to drive you to your apartment where he bids you a weary ‘bye’ only to pick you up three hours later. He doesn’t need to, but he does. A habit.

But as entangled as your lives have grown, he has always kept a distance; hence your intrigue when he approaches you post-practice where he would have ignored you altogether.

“You look tired,” he says in the disinterested tone you’d come to expect.

He studies you through the floor-length mirrors as you spread your legs in a stretch. You had been shy once, all too aware of how little your leggings left to the imagination, but Taehyung’s blank stares had assuaged those thoughts long ago.

You admit, his ignorance bothers you. He is there, but he is not, with all the presence of drapery that sways only when a window is ajar.

“I’m fine,” you say – and you are, for the most part. “Just a little sore.”

“Where does it hurt?”

You dismiss his verbosity as a sign of your own palpable fatigue. “No, it’s just that my shoulders feel like shit.”

“Do you need help?” His fingers flutter before your face. “I could give you a massage.”

As the sole target of his scoldings, the notion of such a Samaritan action is laughable. “Oh, really? You?”

“Why not?” Cherry-tinted lips twitch. “Can’t have your body breaking down on me before your comeback.”

His tongue pokes his cheek and he cracks his knuckles; the sound draws you to the length of his fingers, callused and long. The kind meant to caress piano keys or draw pleasure from a crooning lover. You think of those hands on you, enkindling a different type of satisfaction.

You are pulled to face the mirror as he stands behind you. “Like this,” he says, the ball of his wrist gliding against your upper back. His hands are rough as he kneads, tugging and pressing on the skin as he would dough, a harshness that should hurt but doesn’t. He moves closer, his pulsing heat a reminder of his proximity.

Sandalwood, you realize. That’s what he smells like.

You breathe it in as if the rest of him would follow. Once, twice. Then exhale as he finds a particular knot between your shoulders.

“Your muscles are so tight,” he says, with all the wispy quality of a fever dream.

It’s wanton to clench at such an innocent usage of the word but you do, thighs rubbing against each other in pursuit of friction.

The siren song of his whisper dallies close to your ear’s cusp. “You’ve really been overworking yourself. I guess this is sort of my fault, huh?” He heaves a great sigh. “It’s only right that I make up for it then.”

You nod, unable to part your lips for fear of the sounds that would surface. Had you always been so weak, you wonder, the tickle of his breath inches from your neck enough to compose your compliance. Comets of ideas, bad and worse, streak past your musings. You pluck one, entertaining the thought of grinding against his length until it hardens between your ass.

You instantly berate yourself though your underwear moistens still.

Your manager. He’s your manager. A person of whom your mortification would be parried, and your chagrin discarded. Such constant proximity would be unbearable if awkward, and Taehyung, as curt as he is, means too much to you to be cast aside due to your own lack of restraint.

Stood before a mirror, there is nothing else to focus on but the reflected image of him behind you. There’s no particular difference in his wardrobe today: a beige cardigan, dark jeans, and pale sneakers, reminiscent of a History major, art connoisseur, or both. Curled obsidian hair drapes along the curve of his eyes, eyes focused on his ministrations against your back. One would expect a more formal way of dress, but considering that most of his job revolves around following your schedule all day there’s no reason to.

He grins when he catches you staring.

You scoff, face burning. “What?”

“Don’t you think you’ll feel better if I massage you while you’re lying down?”

His hands rub your bare arms, coaxing a reply out of your quiet contemplation. You hesitate – not out of wariness, but rather embarrassment that he may find a swift reply too eager. Though he is not one to heartlessly poke fun at another, you attempt as casual a shrug as your nerves can handle.

He leads you by a gentle grip on your wrist to the spacious couch opposite where you’d been standing. The same couch he spends most of his time on while waiting for your practices to end.

He motions for you to flip over and lie down on your stomach with a swirl of his finger. The action combined with your obedience is almost dog-like, but you are so deeply entrenched in his spell that if he told you to bark you would.

Face planted into a pillow, you can hear his shuffling as he kneels atop you outside your thighs. He rubs circles against your shoulders, leaning forward to whisper: “Feels good?”

Below, your core aches like the starved, demanding sustenance.

“Sure,” you say, settling on the least innocuous of words. “You’re like… strangely good at this.”

“Good enough to switch careers? I don’t think the pay would be as good, though.”

“I wouldn’t be there either, so that would suck. For you.”

There’s a playful frown in his tone. “Oh, yes, because how could I ever go about my day-to-day life without you in it?”

He’s joking but you do wonder what he does outside of managing you. If he has hobbies, passions, friends… or a significant other he does this to. To be candid, the thought irks you.

“Are you sore anywhere else?” he asks, having focused on your shoulders.

You respond with a breathless ‘yes’, turning your head to meet his gaze. “My lower back.”

His fingers are a paradox of frigid and warm as he grazes your neck, making his way down your spine, then shoulders, then upper arms. He sits astride your ass, touch gliding against the exposed skin below your top. He digs into your muscles as if trying to see what is buried beneath them.

He’s never touched you so purposefully before.

He’s never done much of any of this before.

Talking. Touching. Tempting.

“Is it cool if I lift your shirt?” he asks. “It’s getting in the way.”

Your breath hitches, your heart races, and somewhere outside the company building the horn of a taxi startles you out of reverie.

“Go ahead.” You nod, helping him help you out of the shirt.

He’s clinical as he folds it and places it on the hardwood flooring. He doesn’t look at your bra—a gray, sporty number—and avoids touching the fabric as he continues.

A few blissful minutes pass when he says that he has an idea.

He gets up, walks to your bag, and (without needing to ask) locates the lotion you keep in a pouch. Settling back down, his crotch nestles between the warmth of your ass. The plastic pump splashes white cream onto your back which he massages into the skin.

“Does that feel better?” he asks, hands gliding across the exposed flesh. It smells like nectar on his hands and feels like ambrosia against your skin. His touch is overwhelming, every caress casting electricity straight to your lower stomach.

“My abdomen hurts too.” The words are a muffled whisper against the throw pillow your face is buried in.

“Then, turn over,” he says, as if it’s that simple. Perhaps, to him it is. Perhaps, this is all in your head, that lightning-charged static in the air.

He moves up, allowing space for you to roll over.

When he sits down his crotch directly presses against your clothed cunt.

His pinky rests against your chest, moving with the sound of your breathing. It slips slightly beneath the stretch of fabric, poking the flesh. You hold your breath until you can’t– until your lungs demand air as much as your body demands his.

You hold his wrist. “Is my bra getting in the way too?”

His adam's apple bobs, pretty eyes flickering between you and your concealed chest. “A bit,” he shrugs, sliding another finger beneath the underwire.

Your voice is raspy, the way one sounds when in thirst. “Then you should remove it.”

He moves with the grace of a caught deer, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Your back arches, allowing his hand to slip underneath and unclip it. He slides the straps down your arms, inch by inch, giving you time to say no. You don’t, not able to even fathom the thought of doing so.

He drinks in your chest and the erect nipples standing in the centers of them with dilated pupils and hooded eyes. You imagine that he thinks you’re gorgeous, that it takes all of his will-power not to ravage you on that couch as beasts often do. It is that need to be made into poetry under his gaze that you push your chest upward, seeking his warmth.

He stills your squirming with a hand to your sternum. “Don’t move,” he says, a command you heed the moment it leaves his lips.

The rough pads of his fingers graze your hips then stomach before resting beneath the cusp of your chest. You are hyper-aware of every movement, every stutter, every pulse – if only so that you don’t miss that cataclysmic moment when his hands finally cup the flesh that hides your stampeding heart.

He grips you carefully, digging moon-shaped indents on your skin. Your nipples rest within the crevice of his outstretched fingers, surrounded yet untouched.

“This isn’t a good angle.” He pouts, looking around before finding the tossed pillows. Your back is moved into an arch as he tucks one of them beneath the small of your back, causing your chest to jut out from where you lay. He grins, satisfied.

His hands go back to your chest, working from the outside in circular motions, avoiding your nipples. He then reaches for the lotion bottle, pumping more of the white cream onto you.

“Do you like this?” He asks, fingers dragging around your slippery tits.

“Yeah, it feels really good.”

“Really good, huh?” He laughs when your body jerks at his finger brushing against your nipple. “How about this? Are you sensitive here?”

You groan when he pinches the bud. “What do you think?”

“No one’s giving them enough attention, huh?”

To your embarrassment, you whine when he moves his hands away.

“Shh, you don’t want to be caught getting special treatment from your manager, do you? Unless… that’s the sort of thing you’re into?” He laughs, eyes blown out as he watches you panic. You’ve never seen that look on him before.

“What the hell are you talking about, you dick?”

“Nothing.” He bites his lower lip in an attempt to quell his laughter. If you weren’t insanely horny at the moment then you would’ve been better able to appreciate the rarity of such a display of emotion. “You’re just being really cute right now acting all shy when all I’m doing is giving you a massage. You said you were tired, so I’m helping you.” He squeezes your tits. “That’s part of my job, isn’t it?”

You scoff. “You mean this is you being a pervert. I can feel your definitely average-sized cock hard as hell against me.”

Taehyung gasps as if that was the most insulting thing he’d ever heard. “Okay, three things: one, I’m not a pervert; two, my cock is definitely not average; and three, if you want me to stop then tell me and we can pretend that this never happened. Or, you know, if the pretending fails then we could just die from the inescapable awkwardness. That’d be fine too.”

Trust that he was only ever talkative when he wanted to bother you. You roll your eyes, mumbling: “Well, I didn’t say that…”

His gaze meets yours, dark and tempting. “Then what do you want from your poor, overworked manager?”

You answer by moving his hand back to your chest. “Nothing much,” you say coyly, though what you mean is ‘everything’.

His nails scratch tight circles around each bud, teasing you. He watches your wide-eyed desperation with amusement, alternating between fanning his fingers over the points and holding them between his slippery fingers, squeezing them until they slip out of his grip.

He blows phantom winds against the mounds, hardening them into stalactites. He rocks against you, hips against hips, crotch against crotch, stimulating your clit through the sheer fabric of your leggings. You whine and pant with every motion.

“You’re so noisy. Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” The word leaves you before you can fake nonchalance.

“Then be a good girl and focus on my service.”

Though he’d always been the strict type, you weren’t one to be so obedient: to follow his every command, bend at his will, become a pliable figure; to crave escape through the form of mindlessness. Between his periodic seeking of consent and cautious eyes, you feel safe, safe to drown in his touch and never resurface. You know, even then, that despite the blasé way you were both treating this moment, it was one that neither of you could take back.

He scoots backwards from where he sat on your thighs, moving your feet over his lap. From this angle, he is sure to notice the wet outline of your labia through your leggings.

The soles of your feet are a slight vermillion from having danced barefoot for the past three hours, and he briefly rubs them before moving upwards, to your ankles, your knees, your thighs. It is with an anxious draw of breath that you await his touch at your most sensitive center.

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

“Anywhere,” you say. “As long as you keep doing it.”

“I’m going to need a specific place, sweetheart.”

Head tossed back, you whine. “Just- Come on, Taehyung.”

He kneads your outer thighs, scarcely exerting pressure. “Is this what you want?”

“Please. There. Touch me there. It hurts.”

He chuckles beneath his breath. “Poor baby. I’m sorry, but I don't know where ‘there’ is. Oh, I have an idea. How about you show it to me?” He moves to give you enough space. “Come on, show me where and how you want to be touched.”

You, the rational you, would have been unable to process the erotic words coming from your manager’s lips. These are the whispers you’d conjured in daydreams with not even the hope of being subject. But you aren’t the rational you. The you beneath Taehyung is someone else entirely, someone caught in a dream without desire to wake.

Your hands crawl to the waistband of your leggings but hesitate at the breach.

“Don’t be shy. I know how you like to play with your little cunt in hotel showers, even though you know I’m waiting outside the door, subject to hearing your pretty moans. I’ve always wondered how you pleasured yourself, if you liked to finger your sopping hole until you passed out or if you preferred to press the stream of a shower head against your clit.”

Whilst your right hand sneaks its way into your underwear, your left slaps to your lips, rushed to suppress a gasp. “Are you actually trying to kill me? Have some fucking decorum. And what do you mean you heard me?”

“Decorum? I’m not the one touching myself where anyone could walk in and catch me.”

You didn’t even realize when you’d started the teasing motions, fingers caressing your outer labia.

You scoff. “You’re acting like you weren’t salivating over my tits a few minutes ago.”

“Is that what you want? Me salivating over your tits?”

His hair, like strands of inky silk, drape over eyes that refuse to part from your gaze. He is warm where he touches you, cold where he doesn’t, and temperate only when he mouths against your skin, marking you, in some invisible way, as his own. Your gasp echoes in that cave-like room, his lips an inferno keeping you sane. He nibbles at your breasts, teeth tugging at the perked tips. His spit dribbles down your flesh.

“So soft. I’ve always wondered what you taste like.” His mumbles vibrate against your skin.

You press tight circles against your clit at the same pace as Taehyung’s tongue against your nipples. The sounds, wet and sticky, are loud to an embarrassing degree.

“Baby, look at you. At this rate you’re going to dirty the couch, and then who’s gonna have to clean it? Maybe if I’m too tired I’ll have you lick it spotless instead.”

You push a finger inside, curling the digit with a gasp.

“Interesting.” He grins. “So, you do like it when I treat you like this. I knew it.”

“You talk way too much when you’re horny.”

“Only because it’s you,” he says. “You turn me into an absolute mess.”

“Is that why you only talk to me when you want to scold me?” It’s a childish question. His attention wasn’t yours to have, a fact you’ve grown well-acquainted to.

“Because I knew something like this–” he licks your neck “–was inevitable, and that it’d be my fault. Though… I’m starting to think you’re the type that likes to be scolded.”

His face is inches from yours. The span of a butterfly’s wings, or a fallen autumn leaf. You prop yourself up with the arm that isn’t beneath your leggings, breaching the gap ever so slowly. “So, you imagined it, then? Something like this happening?”

“It usually went a little different.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d already be fucking you, for starters. And I’d probably initiate it with something less lame than ‘offering a massage’.” He notices your slowing hand and laughs. “Tired, already? You really are such a princess. Do you want me to do it for you?”

You nod, though you should have known nothing ever came easy with Kim Taehyung.

His fingers creep up your legs before squeezing your thighs open. Between, a wet spot darkens the fabric, and he notices it with a smugness that annoys you. He moves your arm away before palming your wet cunt from outside your leggings. The touch is electrifying yet not nearly enough to sate you. As if sensing your dissatisfaction, he slips his hand beneath the cloth, directly touching your clit.

He sloppily plays with your juices, spreading them around your pussy. Deeming you wet enough, he sinks a finger into your warmth. The squelch sound is inescapable as he begins a moderate pace. You squeeze your eyes tight enough for your world to burst into starlight, flecks of shimmery white floating across your vision.

He lifts his hand to your face, and you could smell your moisture before you saw it, viscous strands hanging between his fingers. “Look at this,” he says. “They’re soaking wet.”

Without thought, you take his fingers into your mouth, rolling your tongue around the digits. You’d never tasted yourself before. It’s more sour than you imagined, but not as bad as one would expect.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises. “What’re you making that face for? Do you want more?”

You release his fingers. “Fuck, please just touch me.”

He leans over you, nibbling at your ear before whispering: “Too bad.”

All too abruptly, he startles you by clapping his hands and standing up. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “To… fuck?”

He laughs, glancing at his watch. “As much as I would love that, I’m still your manager. And you have to be awake by eight,” he explains with a normalcy unsuited for your half-clothed, aroused state.

“Are we really not going to even talk about-”

He tosses you your shirt and bra.

“Thanks…” You don the clothes in haste. “And for the massage. Though, it was missing one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“An orgasm,” you deadpan.

“Well, there’s always the option of getting me fired, though I’d prefer to keep my livelihood sustained, thanks.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” you joke. “And here I was thinking you’d risk it all for me.”

“I’d risk a lot of things for you, but definitely not if seeing you around everyday was at stake.”

A grin forms on his tinted lips as he turns before you can gather your words. The door slams shut behind his harried exit and you are left, alone.

Several suns have set and risen, and on the eighth turning you decide you’d had enough of his boyish disregard. You recall being eight, blithe with even the gentle breeze lifting autumn leaves into tangerine storms. Boys at that age were difficult, if they weren’t picking at you they were ignoring you altogether, huddled into little clubs of their own. Every attempt at breaching their sanctified playground circles result in them scurrying in all directions, like mice caught lurking in a kitchen. Taehyung didn’t seem much different.

When he picked you up on the morning after that first intimacy, he had nary a word to say. Even a glance too many had his ears reddening and shoulders curling in, as if it were possible to shrink himself small enough to be unseen. He, who’d eat in his car if he weren’t eating with you, found himself talking to the other staff, if only to avoid your confrontation disposition as he knew you were loath to interrupt an uninvited conversation.

Prior to the current state of tension, you’d jokingly asked him to guess what your astrological sign was. His immediate guess was Taurus. As your manager, he was the one most subjected to your stubbornness, your unwillingness to give up if only to prove a point. But you—impatient, tired you—were reaching your limit.

Yes, you were stubborn, but you hadn’t realized how his obstination could rival your own. And more than your missing and wanting of him, the question of ‘why’ burned trails along your musings. Why? Why was he avoiding you when: one, he’d been the one to initiate the tryst; two, during the moment, he’d joked of things being too awkward (and surely joking about things being awkward meant that things weren’t awkward enough to not be joked about); and three, he had acted as if everything was fine until that dreadful morning after, when he picked you up from your apartment (as he always did) except with not a word to say or a glance to spare.

Yes, indeed, you were stubborn. It was how you’d gotten this far in such a consuming career, but you were sure that you’d have given up at this point – he was just a man after all, and you had other problems of greater consequence. However, there was one thing stopping you from ceasing the pursuit.

Alone in your apartment, you are unafraid of moaning or indulging in the characteristic sticky sound of masturbation. That wetness spurs you into speed. A rush to completion. It is more out of necessity than pleasure, and the pace of your fingers exhibit that. You don’t bother fingering yourself, finding the notion too tiring. Instead, your focus is on your clit and massaging tight circles against the protective skin covering it.

You’ve become an expert of your own body, having so few sexual partners over the years. The risk of dating was high for idols, and you’d found that the few times you had risked it it was never sex worth losing one’s career for.

You know how much pressure to apply against the nub, teasing yourself at the edge long enough to draw out the pleasure. Your other hand lazily drapes across your chest, softly gliding across the skin just as Taehyung had that week before.

You’d be quite the fool to not notice how he coughs into his fist, ears red, when he notices your staring, or the subtle ways he checks you out when he thinks you aren’t looking (that much, at least, hasn’t changed).

By this point, you’d masturbated to him and that moment on the couch one too many times.

When you cum it is not as satisfying as it should be. It is but a relief of pressure rather than a gateway to ecstasy. There’s something missing, though to question what it is would be a benign pursuit for you already know the answer.

It is then, winded and shaking, that you come to the conclusion you’d been dreading.

You need to fuck Kim Taehyung… and then you’d figure out it why it is that your heart aches so.

The car’s hum permeates the air and settles on your skin unpleasantly, as if trapping you in its needly weight. Suffocating. There is no better word for it.

When his eyes flicker from the road to you, it is even worse. You hate that he looks good: styled hair, pressed clothes, expensive cologne. But what you hate most is that you don’t see any of it. Instead there is the image of him above you, cock sliding in as if nothing could fit better.

It isn’t silent from a lack of trying, but after the hundredth attempt at conversation you’d grown tired.

He has not regarded you once despite you wearing his favorite outfit (a favoritism you’d deduced when he glanced at you one too many when you’d last worn it). The corduroy atop his thighs becomes his handkerchief, more to wipe sweaty palms against than a piece of clothing.

When he makes a sharp right turn, your hand on the center console knocks against his.

He jumps but plays it off, turning off the blinker and pressing closer to the door than he had been.

You sigh. “Do I have some infectious disease I should know about? That’d be pretty bad for my career.”

He blinks at you, catches himself staring, then turns back to the road.

“No,” he answers plainly.

“You aren’t even gonna berate me for sleeping in this morning?” Tired from last night’s self-ministrations, you slept through your alarms, leaving him waiting in the car for over an hour. On a normal day, he would’ve spent the entire trip either glaring at you or complaining. He did neither.

“You must’ve been tired,” he said.

“Remember what happened last time I was sore and tired?”

He sucks a breath between his teeth, gives you an incredulous look of shock, then proceeds to pretend as if you’d said nothing.

In a series of losses, you consider that a win.

Emboldened, you lean across the controls and press your hand on his thigh, your face so dangerously close to his that you could smell the mintiness of his aftershave. You’d always liked the cleanliness in which he prided himself on. Smoking, he’d always joked, was his only flaw. When stressed, he had a tendency to hit a few sticks more than usual. It didn’t take a genius to surmise the reason as to why, despite the sun’s low place in the sky, you could smell that more-than-few on him. You were both figuratively and literally bad for his health.

He sneaks a glance down your chest, cleavage revealed by the low cut of your top. He’d always been so fond of your breasts, those soft curves of flesh that he spent so much time fondling when he had the chance to. He gulps before looking away.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, coyly. His grip on the wheel twitches as he contemplates removing your hand from his thigh but thinks otherwise, perhaps rationalizing that touching your hand in order to remove it was also a bad move in his plan to pretend you were but a figment of a mind tortured to want what it shouldn’t have.

The main road close to the company building appears before you, a heavy strip of crowded cars anxious to make it in time to their corporate rat living.

You glance downwards. “Did I make you hard?”

He makes a choking sound, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel because the answer is yes, you had. The stiff texture of his pants only heightens the image of his cock struggling beneath, forming a tent you have to look away from lest it distract you from your mission. “I have to focus on driving.”

A pointed look is thrown his way as you gesture towards the windscreen. “We’re going to be stuck in this traffic for probably more than twenty minutes,” you say, untucking his button-up from his pants. Your hands press against his toned stomach, making a home beneath his shirt. “Aren’t you bored?”

“Out of the two of us, I don’t think I’m the bored one.” He turns to face you, putting his hand atop yours. “Did you really like it that much? Me touching you? I’m starting to think that your excuse this morning was a lie. You were probably just playing with yourself, am I wrong?”

“Half wrong,” you grin. “I wasn’t fucking myself this morning.” You press your lips against his ear, chest against his shoulder. “I was fucking myself last night.”

He curses, head thrown back at the notion. “Has anyone ever told you how blunt you are?”

“You do,” you say. “Constantly.”

“That’s because you are.”

“Then what does that make you?”

“A horny fuck, who, by some stroke of luck, got paired to work for an idol that’s somehow even more depraved.”

Though you laugh, relief surges through you at the familiarity of his bantering. “Define ‘depraved’.”

He pushes your hand to his waistband. “This,” he says, as if it is some grotesque and beautiful thing. “How badly I want you.”

You unzip his pants and untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s larger than you’d expected; long yet girthy. You run a finger down the appendage, catching on the prominent veins.

“God,” he hisses at the contact. “You’ve been such a slut recently, it was only a matter of time before you did this, huh? Touching my cock where anyone could see.”

The flesh of him is soft and warm beneath your fingertips. You squeeze the head then trail down to the base, cupping his balls.

He’s beautiful when he moans. His head tosses back, curls cascading over shut eyes as he attempts to move away from the pleasure all the while begging for you not to stop. A beautiful paradox, and you its orchestrator.

“Right there,” he groans. “Rub the head just like that.”

His commands are hypnotic in a way you deign to follow.

“Shit, you’re such a sub, aren’t you? You do everything I ask you to if it means you get a nice, thick cock.”

Despite your forwardness, you lacked much experience regarding the kinkier side of sex, though not from lack of trying. Perhaps it was the consequence of a homogenous industry where every individual was fearful in the face of social ruin if word got out that they were participant in this or that.

“Maybe, I am.” You shrug. “But right now–” you squeeze his cock “–you’re in my hands. And you only get to cum when I say you can.”

With that, you take your hands off him. The look in his eyes is almost comical, as if you’d divorced him, taken custody of his three children, and set his house ablaze.

“Fuck. I was close,” he pleads. “Please don’t do this. I need to cum. Please.”

“You sound so pretty when you whine but that isn’t good enough.” You pout. “You need to promise that you’ll stop being awkward around me.”

“Shit, fine, I’m sorry, okay? I just didn’t want to make things more weird than they already are.”

“See, I want to make things weird between us. So there’s really nothing for you to worry about.”

“You seriously don’t understand how much I think about fucking you on a daily basis. I wasn’t even purposely trying to ignore you, it’s just-” He runs a hand through his hair. “Whenever I see you I…” You wait for him to find his words only for him to say something entirely unexpected. “...Can I cum in your mouth?”

You snort. “Nope, you don’t deserve that.”

“Aw, man. This car was just deep cleaned.”

“C’mon, Taehyung, cum on your dashboard like a big boy.”

You continue your ministrations, tightening your fist around his length as you stroke him faster and faster. “You know you wanna cum for me, don’t you? Tae’s precious little idol.”

His reaction to the nickname you’d heard his colleagues call him was not missed by you.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tilting back. “Say that again.”

“What? Tae?”

His cock twitches. “I don’t know why, but I really like it when you say my name.”

You lean in to whisper. “Then I’ll make sure to scream it when you inevitably fuck me.”

His eyes blink white, head slamming into the headrest. His cock twitches, then releases. You try to catch most of the mess in your hands but some escape onto his shirt and, unfortunately for him, his dashboard.

“You know what you’re doing, hm? My little slut. Made me cum so fast, baby.” He condescendingly pats your head as you help him wipe down the few strings of cum that misaimed.

“Far shooter, huh?”

“Shut up,” he huffs. “What about you? With how much you’ve been chasing after me, you must’ve wanted me that bad.” He nips at your ear. “Let me touch you.”

You feel his teeth drag against your skin, from your nape to your collarbone. You’re aware of the brush of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the way he is pressed so close against you. Across the console, he reaches to slip his hand beneath the band of your bottoms. It is a familiar motion, reminiscent of what happened on the couch that night.

He wastes little time as his finger glides into you with an embarrassing squelch. You feel the rough pad rub against your g-spot, amazed at the swiftness in which he’d found it. Your walls tighten around him when he inserts a second then third digit.

“You’re so fucking tight. I want to bury my cock into this slutty hole so badly, you don’t even know,” he groans into your neck. His hand roughly paws at your chest. In want of more, he lifts your shirt, baring your chest to the traffic. “Thank god for tinted windows.”

He pinches your nipples, tugging them until they’ve extended farther than you’ve ever tried to. “My perfect little fuckdoll. My good fucking slut. All for me– only for me.” Hand confined in the tightness of your trousers, every motion caused his palm to slap against your skin, perfectly blending pleasure and pain.

He continues to rapidly finger you until you feel that telltale drop in the bottom of your stomach. He holds you as you cum, body shaking in the small space of the passenger’s seat. The fledgling feeling in your gut erupts with the incandescent sparks of some other foreign emotion. You wonder if it is happiness, or perhaps some remnant of lust. But then he looks at you—eyes soft as he caresses your hair, trailing fingers to your nape—and you think that it is the beginning of something else entirely.

“You good?” His voice is faint as he pulls you to face him. His flickering gaze searches your expression for some sign of hesitation or regret of which you have none.

“Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Same here.” He smiles. “Don’t blame me though if you have a hard time during practice.”

You punch his shoulder with a chuckle, serenity descending upon you in the afterglow of a cause of stress meeting its resolution.

After lunch you see a carton of orange juice sitting innocently on that couch, a small sticky-note attached to it. In clean handwriting, it read: ‘a peace offering’.

You laugh, stabbing the plastic straw into the carton.

You’d take it.

Kim Taehyung has always thought your beauty was the kind that accompanied devastation; attractive in a way that halted his breath and stymied his heart. Perhaps a bit too much for his sanity and his cock, which has been rubbed raw to the thought of you one too many times. You are much too pretty for his own good, and it has grown increasingly difficult to be around you without wanting to fuck you against every surface imaginable.

It’s made worse by the mask of nymph-like innocence that you wear around him, wearing those tight leggings and parading your pretty pussy for everyone to see. He knows you aren’t his. Knows it with all the confidence of blue skies and steady lakes, but there are times, strenuous times, where it is difficult to control the possessive nature he is chained by. When his co-workers mention how sexy you are in your latest comeback teasers he simply clenches his fists and stays quiet lest said fists pummel their faces. He isn’t a violent man by any means (and definitely wouldn’t stand a chance in a real fight, because, as his friends have said, he’d never do anything that could potentially ruin his pretty face) but he entertains the thought as a way to keep sane when forced to listen to their ramblings.

When he has to stand behind you during fansigns, he can’t help the bitter feeling that rises in his gut when you hold hands with fans he knows could never know you in the same intimacy that he does. When they talk about how much they love you, an indignant voice in his head fights back: do they know about all the pretty little lingerie you keep in the back of your closet? Do they know about how bad you are at hiding your moans when you play with your pretty pussy in hotel showers knowing that he’s waiting for you outside? Do they know the soft texture of your tits and the way your eyes roll back when he plays with your nipples just right?

It’s an irrational sort of jealousy, but he’s learned to bear it as part of the occupation. There are times, however, where it is much more arduous a task, such as the massage of last week and the car ride of yesterday.

The feeling is not one he is fond of; how at odds his desire to ruin you is with his one to have you ruin him. Such had been a constant in the past year. Blame proximity or his lowered standards of human decency after having worked with only the most heinous people in the industry – you were kind, even when you needn’t be, even when you shouldn’t have been. And it ached somewhere beneath his chest that you thought him deserving of it.

He knows such feelings are ones not meant for him to have, but he has long since been past the denial that it was only but a physical sort of affection. However, even with your initiation of yesterday’s tryst, he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in you in a manner less carnal; his gaze lustful as you prepare for a livestream.

You glance at him once as if sensing the shift in the air before you press ‘start’.

As your manager, he has to be in the room for most of your activities, even the boring ones – but he can think of a few ways to make it less so. For him and you.

You greet your fans with a laugh that is akin to sunlight bursting through foliage. “Of course I missed you guys, it’s why I’m doing this live right now.”

Your company-issued phone, to read and answer comments, is slid across the table with a note meant only for you: ‘Want to play a game, good girl?’

Though your eyes widen, you type your reply in the guise of looking through your fans’ messages, ever the professional. Your glance towards his phone is pointed and when he checks it he sees the notification of your text. ‘I don’t know what you’re planning, you horny fuck, but if you think I’m losing in any game then you’re on.’

There is little ceremony in how he drops to his knees to move underneath, cautious to keep silent. The table tall enough to situate himself. Oh, how he wishes he could see your reaction. He focuses on your voice: the hesitation in which you resume speaking; the hitch in your breath as he spreads your legs; the tremble in your tone as he places his hands on your thighs.

The sight of you beneath is lewd. Your underwear, a simple cotton gray piece, is already soaked. He’d always loved the color gray, especially because of how obvious it made wetness appear.

He allowed himself a moment to appreciate everything about you. The softness of your thighs. The stretch marks on your hips. The dotted marks that lined your legs. His nose grazes your knee, breathing in the saltiness of your sweat. How badly he wants to eat you up. To wholly consume you and spit you out in broken pieces, forced to crawl back to him in order to be fixed. It’s a horrible thought, he’s well aware, but he can’t help but be fixated on the idea that you might want that as well.

Your skin is as silken as he remembers, but touching it feels utterly different, stark raving mad; he leans into that sentiment, urgent in his need to pull you closer and kiss your thigh harder, desperately starved for something he could not yet name.

He imagines it difficult for you to read through the comments let alone reply to them when his hands are caressing your waist and playing with the garter of your underwear. Blood rushes to his cock at the sighs you release every time he teasingly dips his fingers past the fabric. You’re so pretty and perfect for him, his little slut.

Phone in hand, he sends: ‘Your pussy’s so wet for me already, baby. Do you want me to eat you out?’

It’s easy to surmise when you receive it, a light gasp disrupting your sentence.

He struggles to hold his laughter when your consent is given through a grab of his hair and a shove towards your crotch. Satisfied with your enthusiasm, his lips caress you above the fabric, catching against your clit but not wanting to give you what you want. Not yet.

He teases you for ten minutes, licking up and down your clothed cunt until the fabric is fully darkened – only then does he push it aside to expose your pussy lips to him completely. Having tested the patience of both you and him, he wastes little time in capturing your clit between his lips, suctioning onto it whilst swirling his tongue.

You spread your legs wider to give more access, allowing him to move from your clit to your tight hole, slowly edging his tongue inside it. Building up the pace, he begins fucking you with it whilst rubbing your clit with two fingers in quick circular motions.

He gathers his spit around his finger before pushing the moisture into you. You lewdly clench around the digit, sucking him deeper into your depths, just as he thought you would. You’re always so good for him. He could just picture your humiliated face as he slaps his cock around your cheeks, wiping your tears and his cum around your skin. He knows you’re a pretty crier, and he’s never wanted anything more than to see those tears be caused by him.

Another finger is pushed in. Then a third. But he knows you can take it – knows that you’d be able to take everything he gives you.

When your thighs begin to stiffen and you clench around his fingers—the tell-tale sign that you’re close to completion—he stops.

He shoots off another text. ‘What a horny fucking slut, getting fingered in front of her fans like this. I wonder what they’d think if they knew how you were really like. Just a pliant little bitch who’s always ready to slut herself out at her manager’s every whim. Don’t tell me you think you deserve to cum just because you want to?’

Above, he can hear your sardonic chuckles as your knuckles wrap against the table in obvious frustration.

“I know this was a short one, but I have to go practice. I’m sorry for leaving you guys hanging,” you say with blatant venom, kicking his shoulder beneath the table. “Bye!”

He pinches your thigh in retaliation.

Before you can kick him again, he stills your leg with a firm grip.

Accepting your loss with a sigh, you rush to turn the live off, gaping at him when emerges from where he’d knelt. “What was that for?”

He grins, gums showing. “Revenge for what happened in the car. I was scolded by upper management for bringing you late, y’know?”

You punch his shoulder. “At least I let you cum… asshole. This is the second time you’ve blue-balled me.”

“Good thing I prepared this, then.” In his hand is another carton of orange juice. “Peace offering?”

“If a thousand won juice is your form of a white flag then I must say you’re quite stingy.”

“Hey, you’re the rich one in our relationship.”

“Oh, so we have a relationship now?”

His smile drops slightly as he rubs his nape. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, actually.” Though you’re smiling, your eyes are serious, searching his for an answer that he knows he’s not yet ready to give. “I-”

He grabs your hand and places the carton in your grasp. “I’ll get you two orange juices next time, alright?”

‘Next time’, he thinks. It’s the closest thing to an answer he can give you.

The establishment of your newfound ‘relationship’ was one suffused with clandestine trysts in storage rooms and cars, and yet it had never gone past touching and tasting as if it were an unspoken rule. You sensed it in the hesitancy upon which he laid kisses across your neck and jaw, never moving upwards. There was a fragility to his movements that gave you pause as time went on and words left unspoken remained so. Taehyung was gentle even when he called you his whore, and what began as ways to relieve each others’ stress led to hours spent in the afterglow talking about anything under the weather.

What you appreciated most (even more than the times he’d go down on you for hours) were the rare glimpses into his thoughts when he’d let his guard down. His rants about how his friends sucked ass at gaming, him bringing the new mechanical keyboard he’d splurged on just to show off to you his custom-made keys, him quitting smoking when you nagged about the smell and how he subsequently would complain to you about withdrawals before having you suck him off to relieve his other urges.

You wanted to lurk upon every crevice of his mind, know every secret he held close, and you know he craved it just the same. You each felt the devastation of fear, hesitation; you shared moments lovely and small, sat beneath midnight stars in the back of his car, insignificant in the face of endlessness. A month in each other’s company and you’d grown to understand that you wanted more from him than carnality.

It is why it is no surprise to you to find his glare pointed towards the man you’re flirting with. In an effort to leave practice early to meet with friends, your hand lingers on your instructor’s arm, pleading desperation alongside a promise to work twice as hard the next day. Men are easy that way, and the next thing you know he gives you permission with a nod.

…And on the other hand, there are men like Taehyung.

“You really think you’re getting out of it that easily?”

You point at the emptied room. “Seems so.”

He scoffs with crossed arms, the definition of intimidation with his bangs casting shadows across his eyes. “You’ve been getting out of breath too quickly during dry runs.”

“I’ve been getting exercise through other means, don’t worry.” Your eyebrows wiggle.

“I’m sure your newly developed neck and hand muscles will help after hours of performing.”

“I think you’re just jealous,” you say.

His laugh is hollow, forced from the depths of some aching thing. “And why would I feel that?”

“Because you like me but you don’t want to admit it,” you say with a shrug. “And you use the whole ‘manager and idol’ thing as an excuse when really you’re just a pussy.”

There is little he can do to hinder the shocked guffaw that parts his lips at your blunt observation. “Confident, are we?”

“Very, actually.”

He shakes his head but smiles in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you?”

“A lot of things, I hope.” You wrap your hands around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

“I thought you had somewhere to be.” His nose brushes against your neck, the warmth of his breath scattering goosebumps across your skin.

“My friends can wait,” you say. “I can bless them with the honor of my presence in another hour or two.”

“Oh, am I supposed to be honored that you’re choosing to spend time with me, then?”

“Don’t you know how charitable I am even if you can be kind of a dick sometimes. Or, well, all the time. But that’s just semantics.”

He hums in response, arms around your waist tightening.

“You never answered my question,” you remind him.

His brow raises. “And you never answered mine: do you really think I’m going to just let you play hooky?”

“Well, I was hoping to offer you something a little more fun than watching me exercise.” You trail your hand down his arm, nails scratching along his veins.

“Oh,” he scoffs. “Is that the same thing you were offering him?”

“I’m yours, aren’t I?”

He tilts your chin upwards. “You wanna be my object tonight, baby? Is that what you’re saying?” Taehyung tended to be all bark but no bite, but the embers lit beneath his pupils indicated that this time would be different.

“Is that even a question?” you reply.

You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, only to be met with: “Then do fifty jumping jacks. Now.”

“You’re joking, but I thought-”

“Objects aren’t supposed to think. They just do as they’re commanded... Or so your favorite erotic novel alpha males always say.”

You give him a pointed look. “Yeah, the key word being ‘erotic novel’, not ‘workout manual’.”

He holds his hands up beside his head in defense, making a face. “I’m doing this for you. And besides…” He takes a step towards you, caressing your chest. “We can always multitask.”

You groan but comply, though the feeling of doing that specific exercise is tantalizingly embarrassing when he’s watching you so closely.

“Sweating already?” He moves to stand behind you, observing from the mirror. “Let me help you.”

He stills your movement to reach around and unzip your hoodie, pulling the sleeves off your arms. Underneath, you’re only wearing a flimsy white shirt coated with sweat, leaving it transparent enough for Taehyung to see your red sports bra.

He presses his mouth to your ear and whispers, “Did I say you were finished, slut?” He laughs. “Don’t look surprised. What else could you be with your tits bouncing everywhere. The fact that you can’t even comprehend what I’m saying is just proving my point.”

You almost regret sharing with him your favorite romance books. Almost. If only because of the way your knees buckle at his degradation.

You continue the motions and Taehyung does little to disguise how he watches your chest as it bounces with every jump. With your arms outstretched, there is nothing to cover the jiggling weight.

Neither of you are keeping count but after two minutes he ceases your movement with a firm “stop”.

“You like playing games with me, don’t you? Want to play another one? I’ll reach into your panties and if you’re wet, you’ll be my personal little slut. Are you willing to take that bet, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you say without further thought, and his hands dip into your leggings and past your underwear. You already know the answer, have known it since the moment he’d walked into the room with his heavy gaze on your body.

“Oh, you’re soaking, baby,” he purrs into your neck, his fingers caressing your folds but not applying the direct pressure that your humping hips seek. “Does your pussy like the thought of being owned by me?”

His hands still with the promise of moving only when you reply. “Yes,” you cry. “I want to be your personal… I want to be your personal slut. Just please… Touch me.”

“You think you deserve to be touched for your pleasure? Are you forgetting what you’re supposed to be doing right now?”

He retracts his hand but you rush to grip his wrist. “Tae, please. I need it so bad.”

“Need what, baby?” he coos, ever softened when you use his nickname.

“I need you to finger me. To make me cum.”

To your surprise he complies, shoving two into your snatch. His fingers scissor you, stretching you out. He pushes another in, all three pushing in and out of you, making disgusting and lewd sounds.

“Aren’t idols supposed to be pure and innocent? I’m ruining you, aren’t I, slut? What would your precious fans think if they knew you liked being a whore for your manager? They’d probably lose all respect for you. Your latest stage outfit was a pretty little number too. Probably had all your fans jerking their little dicks off to your fancams. I just know if I searched your name up the first thing I’d see is some asshole doing a cum tribute to you.” He laughs. “Too bad for them they’ll never know just how tight and wet your pussy is, because I own it now, right?”

“You’ve always owned me– Fuck!” You yelp when Taehyung bites your neck. Your makeup artists were definitely going to have a hard time covering that up. “I love the way you control me so easily.”

“If you weren’t such a brat all the time it’d be a lot easier.” The speed in which his fingers met your g-spot increased. “You always seemed so uptight. Did you ever expect that you’d get played around with by your manager? The other staff members would love to know that you’re into this kinky shit. Especially your fans. Everyone’s always talking about how sexy you are but I bet you know that, don’t you? You thrive on it – want everyone to jerk off to you.”

To your dismay, he pulls out. “You were complaining about your sore throat earlier, weren’t you? I know a good solution for that.”

He tugs you by the back of your neck, moving you closer to his crotch. He pulls down the zipper, releasing the familiar length of his cock. You run your hands from the tip to his balls as if driven by pure instinct, wrought only with the need for proximity. Taking the head into your mouth, you slowly begin to swallow him until it reaches your throat. As he’d taught you, you let him deepthroat for a bit before releasing him with a gasp for air.

Patting your head, he encourages you to keep going. “What a perfect fleshlight. Born to suck cock.”

It is an all-consuming task, leaving room for little else in your mind as you make sure to avoid your teeth from scraping him as well taking note of when to suction and when to draw him deeper into your throat.

He groans with every ministration. “Doing so good for me, baby. Always my perfect slut, so good at taking dick. It’s like you were meant for it. Meant to have your throat pussy be my cum dump. At this point, this should be your job.” You look up and meet his eyes, a twinkling obsidian shade. “Ready for your medicine?”

He grabs the back of your head and takes control of the pace, roughly fucking himself with your throat. His moans grow louder, taking full advantage of the sound-proof nature of the room. You could clearly hear the sounds of your choking, spit drooling down the sides of your mouth as you struggle to keep with his rhythm. The scent of his cock sends you into overdrive, and, though you’re already wet, you feel yourself gush beneath, your pussy clinging to your underwear.

You know well enough, from his pretty groans and tightening grip, that he was about to cum.

“There you go, pretty girl. Your favorite meal. Drink it all up like the depraved cum dump you are.”

You swallow, and gasp, and swallow again. His cum, sticky and bitter, lingers in the back of your throat as you choke for a decent breath of air. It shoots into your mouth, spilling all over your tongue and lips, dripping down the sides. You gag at the taste, coughing up the creamy fluids onto the floor. Your hands tighten on his thighs, struggling to steady your lightheaded self. When he releases your hair from his grasp, you stumble back onto his crotch, heaving breaths against his softening cock.

His thumb wipes sweat from your forehead. “What are you doing, baby?” He grabs the top of your head, forcing you to look into his eyes as tears stream down yours. “That isn’t what sluts do, and I thought we already established that that’s all you are. Objects listen to their owners, don’t they?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you whine, not really apologetic when you know that he knows that cum isn’t exactly your favorite flavor.

He tugs at your hair, lifting you back onto your knees. “You’re acting like I care about what dumb little brats like you want – I don’t. Lick my cum off the floor. Now.” He grins. “And don’t forget that you got some on my boots, too.”

You hesitate, eyeing the strings of white that decorate the wooden panels and the black of his shoes.

“Consider this as punishment for trying to skip out on your exercises.” He crosses his arms, looking down at you with an unimpressed countenance. “So, now, be a good girl and lick my fucking cum off the floor.”

You move your face to the ground and give it kitten licks similar to how you liked to tease Taehyung’s cock. The taste is salty, and you shudder to wonder when the floor was last cleaned. You look up, hoping that that act of obedience is enough to quell his thirst for domination over you. It isn’t.

“I said, clean it up,” he hisses. “Do I really have to grab the back of your head for this? Yeah?” He pushes your head to stay close to the floor. “Don’t just stay there like a stupid bitch. Open your fucking mouth, let me see that tongue. Yeah… There we go, baby.”

You do as he says, collecting his spilt cum.

“All of it,” he groans, watching you debase yourself for his entertainment. “The boots, too.”

You move towards his feet that are impatiently tapping against the floor. Your tongue hesitantly drops out of your mouth, trying to touch as little of it as possible.

Unexpectedly, he presses his shoe against your lips, causing you to deeply lick the length of it in surprise. “You’re not doing a thorough enough job, slut. Don’t disappoint me.”

Once you’ve deemed it spotless you look up to face him. “Is that good enough, your highness?”

He snorts, helping you stand up after having knelt for the better half of an hour. “You mean, was that good enough for you to finally cum?” He reaches between your legs to smack your sensitive pussy, aiming for your swollen clit. “Still want more, baby?”

You nod, whimpering in pain at the unexpected hit.

“Sluts are always horny, aren’t they? Since I’m so good to you, I’ll let you hump against my boot to relieve yourself.”

“Oh, fuck you-”

He grabs you by the chin, tugging you to his face. “Don’t try to hide that you’re an insatiable slut now. I know exactly who you are and what you want. And I know that what you want is to be humiliated like this. Now be a good bitch and fuck yourself on my shoe.”

What’s more humiliating is the speed in which you position yourself below him as you slowly squat down until your crotch brushes against the hard tip. Your hands grip his trousers as you begin humping his boot. You struggle to find enough stimulation, still wearing your underwear and leggings. “Tae,” you whine. “It’s not enough.”

Frustration makes way for pleasure when Taehyung angles his foot up just right. Your moans are relentless now as you buck your hips wildly without rhyme or reason. You are simply a vessel controlled by pleasure, exactly as he wants you.

“Yeah, rub your clit against my shoe like the well-trained slut that you are.” He spits on your face, the fluid dripping down your nose and onto your lips. “You know that I don’t care about your pleasure, right? You’re just an entertaining toy to me. Who owns you?”

“You,” you whine. “You own me, Tae.”

“Then cum, baby.”

Your orgasm is an all-consuming force that possesses your body. It starts at your stomach, that incendiary pulse, before you feel it between your thighs. You can tell that you’ve lost all bodily control by the numbness in your hands and feet and how one second you are humping Taehyung’s shoe and the next you’re laying flat on the ground, his figure towering over you.

Your pussy is still attached to his shoe, and, as if it is an unconscious desire, you continue to move against it until your senses return, reminding you of the pain that overstimulation causes.

He kneels down and lifts his hand, and you aren’t sure what he’s doing until you feel his fingers brush against your cheek, gently wiping away a tear. “You did so well for me, today.”

Rivers trail down your face as you shake your head with what was left of your strength. “I need more.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

You meet his gaze. “Tae, I want you to kiss me.”

He blinks, gulps, and stutters, “What?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

Despite everything you’d done together you’d still yet to share that one intimate act. Perhaps because doing so would make everything feel so much more real.

You caress the side of his face, watching as he watches you, hesitant to make the first move. The silent anticipation weighs upon you like honey, dense yet saccharine, and you slowly move closer and closer until you feel his breath on your skin. His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes and back.

“You can kiss me already, you know,” he mutters.

“I’m not the one scared of my feelings,” you say. “I can wait for you as long as it takes.”

And so he does.

When you kiss it simply feels right. His head tilts as you deepen it, licking his bottom lip. Your hands run through his hair, the perm he’d kept when you complimented it one too many times. You kiss him until his bottom lip swells and he kisses you until your mouth is numb. He wrestles your top over you, kissing down your arms before meeting back at your mouth.

There are touches that feel like beginnings and touches that feel like endings, but this one felt so awfully far from either, tucked perfectly between as if whispering of times past and times present. It feels like comfort, his hand on your neck, a grip so gentle that the promise of it was what had you gasping for breath. It is new yet familiar all the same, and when he kisses you harder—pressed against you as if in fear of letting go—you kiss him back with all the same intensity.

When you break apart, he steadies himself with hands wrapped around your waist, hair covering his face as he looks down with astonished laughter. You think that he is gorgeous in a way that makes your heart ache, but it is when he looks up, noticing your admiration, that your breath catches.

You collide once more and there are no more questions, no more waiting.

He lifts his shirt off and tosses it to the side before draping his body across the length of your own. Though the floor is hard against your back, you’re distracted by the rigidity of his muscles pressed against you.

“Do you have a condom?” you remind him.

He curses, standing up. He almost trips over himself in his rush to his bag, rummaging through it for the plastic wrapper. He makes a victorious sound when he finds it, holding it above his head. “Got it!”

You laugh into your hand. “Hurry up, you loser.”

He gets back on top of you, pressing kisses around your face. He kicks off his pants until he’s as naked as you are before positioning himself above your hole.

“Is this okay?” He rubs the head of his cock against your clit.

“More than okay,” you say.

The heat of him sliding into your pussy sparks kindles in your gut. He’s rough yet gentle. Too fast yet too slow. A paradox of sensations encapsulated by the longing gaze in his eyes and the torturous grip he has on your nipples.

He pulls out until only the tip is in before slamming his hips against yours, balls smacking your ass with a clapping sound. He repeats the motion until you’re drooling, rocking back and forth.

“You feel so good,” he moans, moving to grip your tiger-striped thighs. He lowers you until he’s buried balls deep into your warmth, and you can feel his hard length spasming as he adjusts to the tightness. “Feels so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. No one compares to you, baby.”

Despite the thin layer of protection you can feel every vein rub against the soft walls of your cavern. It deliciously fills you up until you’re delirious, drowning in the feeling.

“How many cocks have you had before me?”

“Two.” A friend and a boyfriend – neither of which mattered when the only cock you could think of was Taehyung’s.

“What I would give to have been the one to take your virginity.” He sighs. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck the memory of them out of you.”

His hips begin to thrust into you with a pace you can barely comprehend. The head of his cock reaches so deep, much farther than any cock or toy has ever gone. He pushes into you as if you were a pussy pocket crafted for his pleasure, holding your thighs to your chest in a mating press.

Your breath hitches with every upwards thrust as you struggle to speak. Words swim in your head, a thousand lines of ink dotting across pages like stars that twinkle in and out of existence, unable to catch them before they disappear.

He bites the lobe of your ear, tugging it. His hands caress the entirety of your body with wild abandon, struck with the need to feel you – to ensure that you are really the one beneath him. You, the gravitas of which he orbits.

When you begin twitching underneath him he focuses on hitting your g-spot, lessening the speed. He pulls out then slams back in, repeating it over and over and over. He taps your clit in rapid succession, occasionally rubbing before landing a hard smack against the nub. His other hand goes to your neck, applying pressure to the sides of it. Your mind goes blank. Your legs go numb. Then somewhere between your legs you feel it.

The orgasm is euphoric. You thrash in his hold, the pleasure all too much for your mind and body to take. The feeling is everywhere.

“That’s it, baby.” His thrusts begin to lose rhythm as he chases his own release in wild abandon. “So good for me. Mine. All mine.”

He cums into the condom with one final jerk, burying himself as deep into you as he could. The overstimulation is just enough to not be too painful as he stays inside you for a few moments more, barely able to pull himself out of your warmth.

His eyes are blown wide as he flops to the ground beside you, tying then tossing the condom to the side. “That was…”

“I can’t believe we waited that long to fuck.” The punch you land on his shoulder is weak.

He carries your limp body to the couch he’d massaged you on that fateful month before and gently lays your head against a cushion. Brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead, he places a kiss on your temple. It’s gentle.

“How are you feeling?” He slips beside you until you’re laying side by side and nudges his nose against your shoulder like a cat seeking attention. “Was I too much?”

“No, it was really good, trust me.” Try as you did, there weren’t words in your vocabulary that could sufficiently explain what you had just experienced.

His eyes flicker the length of figure as if attempting to convince himself that he, indeed, had not accidentally fucked your body to the point of destruction. He pouts but sighs, taking your word for it.

Abashed in the afterglow, he asks once more, “You know I didn’t mean most of what I said, right?”

“Most?” You grin. “So what did you say that you did mean?”

“I’m sure I called you pretty once or twice,” he grumbles, burying his face in your neck.

“You already know that I like it,” you assured him. “You’re always so good to me, Tae.”

His eyes soften as he laughs, the melody of it soothing. “It’s because it’s you. And I like you.”

“If I had known that the way to get you to admit your feelings for me was to fuck you then I would’ve done it ages ago.”

There’s a long pause as he composes himself. His hair tickles your neck, his arm a gentle weight around your stomach, and you feel the warmth of skin not your own.

“Shut up.” His ears are red as he flicks your forehead with faux nonchalance. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

Dizzy in the moment, you reach up to cup his face and kiss him. He meets your lips with a gentle eagerness, trailing his fingertips across your chest and along the grooves of your collarbones.

“I like you, too,” you say. “But I also really, really hate you. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.”

He laughs, pecking your shoulder. “Good thing I’m here to massage you then.”

thank u for reading!! <3 if u liked it let me know ! : ✉

#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fic #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine #bts scenarios #bts x reader #taehyung x y/n

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rosyheretic · 2 months

Text

little bird (part 1) (steve rogers x fem!reader)

summary: steve rogers has been acting strangely around you for months, and now you know why: he found out about your crush on him and decided to tease you until you couldn't take it, as penance for your insubordination in the field. how much of steve's provocation can you take? and does he enjoy working you up?

warnings: explicit sexual content, upcoming smut, post-endgame avengers au where everyone lives and stays, witch reader, DIRTY TALK, sparring, voyeurism, humiliation a little

notes: hi hi hello! my name is april and this is my first fic on this account. i just can't get steve rogers out of my head and need to express myself tbh. so i hope you enjoy! i love to write, so let me know if you have any requests for steve (or bucky perhaps in the future). and let me know what you think of this one. hopefully this draft is not too rough.

"sweetheart, throw one more thing at me and there will be consequences," steve said gruffly from the other side of his kitchen. his expression told you this would be your final warning.

your hands cast a pink glow and the vase on the table next to you began to levitate. it flew toward the captain and just barely missed his head.

"you knew," you said lowly. "you knew and you were fucking with me."

"i might have heard something from natasha, who heard something from wanda," steve tried to minimize his knowledge of your feelings for him. "your thoughts were too loud, i guess."

"oh, so you decided to tease it out of me in front of everyone?!" you asked, incredulous.

"it's only fair, little bird. you were openly insubordinate from day one," he reminded you. he took a few steps toward your body, which was floating on a cloud of pink a few inches above the floor. "i had to put you in your place. plus, you're cute when you're embarrassed."

with a flick of your wrist, you sent steve flying backwards into the wall. he grunted but made a quick recovery, and in a flash he was next to you again.

"what did i say about consequences?" he whispered in your ear.

"i didn't throw anything at you," you replied, a bratty smile on your face.

"you're out of control. and as the captain of this team, that's a problem for me," steve continued, his hands roaming your body to coax you into submission. "i'm a patient man. you will learn discipline, no matter how long it takes. but i doubt it'll take long for you to fold, because i know all your weak spots."

you shuddered, unconsciously leaning into his touch. in an instant, he manhandled you so your feet were on the ground and pinned you against the counter. steve slotted his right leg between yours, just under the hem of your dress.

"there's this one, of course," he teased, flexing his toned thigh and grinding his knee against your clit through your panties. you couldn't hold back your whimper. "you like that? yeah, i bet you do. can't help how wet and tingly you get around me."

---

once, you and steve were paired up for a sparring match in the gym. according to the avengers' training rules, you weren't allowed to use your powers, so it was bound to be an unfair fight. no matter how much you bitched and whined, you couldn't get out of the match.

"you know if this were a regular fight, i'd kick your super ass, rogers," you taunted as he circled you.

"you think about my ass a lot, y/l/n?" he countered smugly, eliciting laughs and cheers from the other avengers. while your face burned in humiliation, steve pounced. he had you under him in a matter of seconds. one of his hands rested high on your thigh, forcing you to the ground, and the other bound your hands together above your head.

while you thrashed uselessly beneath him, steve brought his lips to your ear.

"i know what this does to you, me pinning you down," he murmured. "i can hear your heart racing, i can feel the heat between your legs, i can fucking smell you soaking your panties."

"time!" tony called, and steve withdrew. your skin tingled with the afterglow of his touch. you huffed and got up, trying to save face by acting unaffected.

"you okay there, y/n?" bucky asked, an amused smirk on his face. "you didn't last very long."

"she's alright, pal," steve answered for you, putting a hand on bucky's shoulder and leaning in. "just a little... frustrated, is all."

---

you felt another gush of wetness seep out of you at his filthy words. he pressed hard on your clit for emphasis, and you jerked in his hold. his hands then ran up your body and came to cup your breasts.

"and these... how many times have you imagined me squeezing them, telling you how soft and pretty they are? i know you were thinking about it when i gave you that shoulder massage."

he was dead-on.

---

after you wrenched your arm on a mission in tokyo, steve had insisted on giving you a massage. he claimed to want to "keep you comfortable," feeling a responsibility as your leader to look after you. you were one of the youngest avengers, after all.

he toyed with you—using his big supersoldier hands to provoke a reaction from your body, only to then leave you wet and unsatisfied. even worse, he did it on the quinjet in front of natasha, sam, and bucky. he stroked all over your body, smiling as he watched you squirm and whimper, basking in his power over you.

---

"dickhead," you whispered, your voice less venomous and more flustered than you intended.

"good point, pretty girl, i almost forgot about that," he replied with a cheeky grin. "how many times have you fantasized about feeling my big cock inside you?"

---

one movie night at the avengers compound, steve showed up wearing only a thin tank top and tight flannel pajama pants. you shuddered and pressed your thighs together when you saw him walk into the kitchen, looking so sexy. seeing the desperate look on your face, he had the audacity to wink at you.

"when are you gonna take notice of the fact that you're huge, steve? you need clothes that fit your supersoldier body properly," you chastised him to cover for the fact that the sight of his skin turned you on so much.

"i suppose you're right, doll," he responded, smiling coyly. "guess i'm still getting used to being big."

"serum makes everything bigger, doesn't it stevie?" bucky strolled into the kitchen, winking at his best friend. "so difficult to adjust."

your knees went weak at bucky's words, unable to stop imagining the monster dick hiding under steve's slutty sweatpants. you excused yourself to the restroom, hearing bucky and steve chuckle behind you.

when you returned to the living room for movie night, you made the horrifying realization that there was no seat left for you. everyone sat in their own individual recliner chair, wide enough for two small people or one supersoldier.

some of the new agents had shown up to movie night, excited to bond with the avengers. this left you sitting on the floor between two seats. both were empty, but reserved with bags. at least it had decently thick carpeting.

"aw, honey, no room left for you?" steve cooed as he and bucky strode back into the room to take their seats. "you're not sitting on the floor. don't be ridiculous. we can share."

your eyes widened and you stood up uneasily. he sat down in his chair and gently pulled you into him, leaving you perched on his left leg. this would be your undoing.

throughout the movie, the captain kept flexing his strong thigh underneath you, sending pulses to your clit. on the third flex, he feigned innocence when you gave him a dirty look.

you tried to change positions so you were no longer straddling his thigh and eventually wiggled free of him. while you considered your next move, he threw his arms around your waist and pulled you to him. soon you were sitting between his spread legs, feeling his cock through his sweatpants.

"why are you flyin' away, little bird?" he whispered in your ear, his hot breath making your head feel warm.

you couldn't help but rub against it. you had no choice, really. you were so turned on and delirious that you could only obey your dirty instincts.

when his length began to harden from the friction, you gave him a victorious smile over your shoulder. even though you were desperate for him, he couldn't deny he liked it now.

your smile faded when you made eye contact with natasha, who gave you a knowing smirk in return. god, how many people knew about this?

no. you can't do this, he's your captain. it's indecent, and he only means to humiliate you for your desire. you snapped out of it, breaking free of steve's hold and taking him by surprise. "i gotta go to bed," you managed, and darted off to your room.

that was the end of the encounter, or so you thought. later that night, you woke up to the sounds of steve groaning on the other side of your shared bedroom wall. he sounded pleasured and pent-up at the same time.

unable to resist temptation, you used your magic to project some of your energy into his room, allowing you to see him.

the sight was magnificent: captain america with his hand wrapped around his cock, moaning and grunting as he stroked himself. and oh, what a cock it was. slick with precum, long and thick and bigger than any you'd ever seen before, even in porn. you wanted his hot, hard length in your—

---

"i know you've seen it. that night at the compound, you watched me touch myself," steve rasped in your ear, caressing up and down your hips as he held you against the kitchen counter.

"how did you—"

"i saw your little pink sparks floating by my door," he interrupted you.

"okay, yeah, i'm desperately attracted to you! is that what you wanted to hear? i won't talk back or disobey your orders anymore. just please, don't humiliate me any more!"

"humiliate you? oh no, honey, you've got it all wrong. i wanted the team to know so that they'd understand i had you under control. can't have them thinking i'm a bad captain, right?"

"well, it's still embarrassing and degrading."

"not if i want it just as much as you," he said gently. "look, i was teasing you because i like to see you squirm. because i like you too. quite honestly, i have to fight like hell every day to resist the urge to take you. bend you over the counter, throw you down on my bed, fuck the attitude out of you."

you paused for a moment, stunned into silence. "and the others?"

"they're laughing at me as much as they are you, if not more. because i can't control myself around the girl who talks back to me. you make me so hard all the time, baby."

the words were music to your ears. you were dripping in your panties as he rubbed himself against you through his boxers.

"then lose control," you said.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #future smut #avengers au #avengers fic #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader

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featherandferns · 11 months

Text

slipping (fic)

jj maybank x fem!barry's sister!reader | the reader is canonically adopted so all my POC lovelies aren't left out!

content warning: drinking; brief mentions of drug abuse and suicide; sexual content (p in v, oral, hand-stuff)

word count: 18k.

blurb: you and JJ have been in a secret relationship for seven months. And it's great. It's perfect. It's just what JJ's always wanted. Except, you don't want to be a secret forever, and JJ can't risk you finding out his history with Barry.

Barry’s house looks like a crack den. To be frank, the word ‘house’ is rather generous. It’s a run-down trailer which looks half-abandoned: surrounded by ditched appliances (like busted washing machines that people had driven out to the farthest stretch of the marsh rather than making the trip to the rubbish tip); overgrown grass and unkept shrubs; a car that no longer runs, pawned off for the valuable parts, now claimed by nature as roots grow within. The only sign that there’s life at this place - outside of the rats and critters and birds - is the tire-tracked make-shift driveway along the grass, so deep that it’s clearly well used.

JJ parked his bike near the road, hidden in the trees of the marsh. His heavy boots sink into the grass - damp from the rainfall last night - and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he works his way up the drive. He knows he’s being somewhat brazen about the whole thing, heading up to the house in clear view, but he has good reason to. As he gets nearer, rounding to face the netted porch, he feels his smile beginning to show.

“Hey,” he calls.

You look from the motor you’re tinkering with. Smile pretty like the first sunrise of the year.

“Hey,” you say.

JJ steps up the three stairs in two steps. Leans against the frame of the porch.

“You here to pick up for your dad?” you ask. You’re wiping your hands on a rag that’s tucked into your short’s pocket.

“Not quite,” JJ says, watching as you stand. “Your brother home?”

“Who? Barry?” you wonder, playing dumb.

JJ rolls his eyes and smiles wider. “That one, yeah.”

“Nah,” you say casually, sauntering towards him, hands tucked into the back pockets of your shorts. “He’s running an errand.”

“Damn. Guess I came at the perfect time,” JJ plays along.

“Almost like someone tipped you off,” you reply.

You’re standing in front of him now, a little shorter than him. He can’t keep his hands to himself any longer. Hooking one around your waist, JJ leans down to press his lips to yours. The abruptness makes you giggle against his mouth and it keens him on. One of your hands lifts to stroke at his face; your fingers gently tracing over his stubble that’s coming through since the last shave. Pulling back, you smile up at him. That sweet, soft smile that he’s privy to.

“Thought you weren’t gonna get here ‘til later,” you quietly say. He notices that your eyes keep flitting down to his lips, half-distracted.

“Missed my girl.”

“Your girl?” you echo, quirking a brow.

JJ doesn’t reply outside of a shrug. You chuckle, blinking up into his eyes. He feels like he could drown in yours. Bathe in the endlessness of them.

Your arms loop around his neck, tugging him down nearer to your face. JJ lets his hands rest on your hips a moment before swooping down to find home just under your shorts. His fingers tease under the denim, tracing the soft skin of your backside.

“You gonna take care of your girl or what, then?”

“Impatient, huh?” JJ chuckles. He cuts off his own laugh by pressing his mouth to yours once more.

You mould against him as if the two of you were made to be together. Follow the tilt of his head with yours as he deepens the kiss. Lusciously tease your tongue against his, pulling back enough to have him chasing your mouth. If he could – if there weren’t too high a risk with him doing so – he’d take you right here on the porch. Bend you over the abandoned entryway table or have you atop of him on the couch. But inside is better and safer, so he lets you guide him in, fingers dancing through yours as you flash a smile at him over your shoulder.

He can remember a time you used to be embarrassed of the interior of your house. JJ knew rough living – his dad was far from house proud – but Barry’s place was a different level. The stove didn’t work and the door hung forever open, broken on the hinges. Half the cupboards didn’t shut right and roaches were so frequent they may as well pay rent. But he never judged and never commented. Especially now, as you pull the two of you into your bedroom, pushing him against the wall with that contagious laugh of yours that makes him smile.

“Was thinking ‘bout you this morning,” you tell him. Your hands are working at the fly of his shorts.

“What about?”

He’s watching the nimbleness of your fingers as you pull down his zip. Has him grinning, body tingling at the thought and the excitement. Being wrapped up in you is like opium: euphoric and addictive.

“Just how good you fucked me last time,” you casually sigh.

JJ gasps through his brimming grin when you shove a hand into his boxers, rubbing at his semi. The way you look up at him, innocence faked on your expression like butter couldn’t melt in your mouth…it’s a deadly trap.

“I got a little impatient waiting. Had to take care of myself this morning. All alone,” you go on, coiling a hand around his neck to coax his mouth nearer to yours.

Your hand is still working at him, pulling him out of his boxers now, and JJ stammers a moan against your grinning lips as you squeeze gently around the head.

“Guess I gotta make it up to you then,” he somehow manages.

“Guess you gotta.”

Moving to kiss him again, you move your hand faster. Take a moment to spit on your palm, to help it slide easier. JJ lets his hands roam your clothed body (why are you still dressed?) and settles on palming at your breast under your t-shirt, touch half-restricted by your bralette. As he feels himself edging, he groans against your mouth, breaking the messy kiss.

“’M close,” he sighs, eyes slipping shut.

The way your spare hand caresses his jaw is a stark juxtaposition to what you’re doing to him, under the belt. It reminds JJ that it’s you – familiar, perfect, wonderful you – and that only drives him closer. Has him moaning out, unashamed for you to hear the sounds he makes. Only for you.

“We got time,” is all you say, voice quiet like it’s a secret, and JJ knows that he can let go.

We got time for more.

He comes with a shudder, groaning against your mouth, eyes clamped shut as he pumps himself in your closed fist, chasing the pleasure. You kiss him through his orgasm, trailing them along his cheekbone and eyelids. He chuckles as he comes down, opening his eyes to take in the mess on your shorts.

“Fuck. Sorry,” JJ mumbles.

You shake your head. “They needed a wash anyway.”

The two of you laugh, prompting his eyes to meet yours once more. You’re smiling at him, leaning forward to kiss him again, like a diver coming back for air, over and over. JJ’s impatient now. Tugs your tee-shirt over your head and shucks down your shorts and panties, following them to the floor as he lowers onto his knees. Your skin smells like rose and bergamot from your lotion. The smell screams of you and makes him smile against your skin, leaning his face softly against your thigh as he presses kisses, teething gently at the skin. You sigh out a moan above him, leaning your hands on the wall for support. JJ eases your legs open wider, mumbling playful demands under breath that have you lustfully giggling. Then he’s going at you, eating you out like a man starved for dinner, and the sounds you make are fucking heavenly. Gasping out his name, your moans are cutting into each other like there’s two sides of your brain competing. He’s only motivated more, lifting higher onto his knees, moving a hand around to roughly grasp at your cheek, manhandling you to appease his hunger. Fingers dig deep into the flesh. He could quite gladly die here, JJ thinks, as he goes down on you. Sinfully sweet and salty on his tongue, like a forbidden fruit. The tell-tale squeak in your voice is his signal that you’re close, but JJ doesn’t want you to come yet. Not yet.

He pulls away with a breath. You whine in protest, one hand even trying to shove his face back on you.

“JJ…”

He can’t help but laugh. Teasing and dark. He gets to his feet.

Your hands are shaky as they cup at his face, pulling his lips to yours. JJ pulls you off him, forces you so your chest is against the wall. The hastiness has you panting. All of your snarky quips are gone, lost to his mouth and tongue. Shoving his boxers down and pulling off his shirt, JJ grabs one of your hands in his, holding it against the wall, fingers interlocked. He’s already hard again, guiding himself to your entrance, forcing your legs apart wider once more with a foot against yours. Eases in with a groan, collapsing his head against your shoulder, fixated on your wanton moan.

JJ fucks you good and hard. He knows how you like it and what you want. His finger slips down to your clit, rubbing fervently, and you whine against the peeling wallpaper of your bedroom walls. His other hand never leaves yours. Squeezing at your interlocked fingers lovingly, strikingly different from the painful pace he’s set.

“Feel so fucking good,” he pants against your clammy skin. Your only reply is a whine. “You getting close, baby?”

“Fuck, yes,” you shiver.

It spurs him on. Makes you louder. It’s obscene and filthy and…And it’s over too soon.

You collapse against the wall when you come, voice so loud he’s only half-worried it might carry across the marsh. JJ shifts his hand away from your bruised clit to help hold you up. It’s like your limbs have turned to jelly. You let JJ use you to find his own relief, groaning against your clammy back as he finishes inside you and thank Christ for the pill. Through the euphoric haze, he half registers your fingers teasing softly at his hair, soothing him through it.

Breathing heavy, he lifts his head to find yours glancing over your shoulder, eyes watching him. You’re veering for a kiss and JJ gladly indulges.

“Jesus fuck,” JJ dozily mumbles against your swollen mouth.

“Language,” you reply with a small, breathless laugh.

The two of you can’t help but groan as he slides out. You wiggle your fingers against the wall.

“My hand’s going dead, JayJ,” you mumble, almost apologetic.

He lets go. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckle.

Turning around, back now against the wall, you loop your arms around his bare chest and lean against him, the way a sloth might wrap itself around a tree. JJ sniggers, brushing a hand through your hair. He feels you press a tender kiss to his chest that’s still struggling to catch breath.

“You tired, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “You came at the perfect time. I was like one minute away from throwing that motor out into the marsh.”

JJ quietly grunts as he lifts you up – your legs hooking loosely around his waist – and he walks the two of you back to your bed. The pair of you cuddle up atop of the sheets, letting the few rays of sunlight that leak into the room warm strips of your skin. He finds himself drawing mindless patterns on the skin of your thigh, and you appear to be doing the same on his chest.

“Who you fixing it up for? The motor?”

“You know Mr Lewis?”

“Is that the guy who works at the deli?” JJ checks.

“Mhm. It’s from the delivery van. I told him I’d have it done by Thursday,” you reply, yawning. It’s currently Tuesday.

JJ forgets sometimes that you’re a high school dropout. You’re smart enough to graduate. Easily smarter than him. One time, when he was losing his mind over some algebra homework that his teacher insisted he do (that was, if he wanted to skip out on retaking a year), you had taken the time to explain it to him. The way you laid it out was so simple and easy, like reciting the alphabet or counting to ten. But whenever he asked why you dropped out you would just reel off the usual self-deprecating excuse. That people from your family don’t get high school diplomas - it just wasn’t a thing.

“How’s school?” you ask as if you’d been following his line of thought.

“Boring,” JJ sighs. “Bit more fun now that John B’s back though.”

“Still can’t believe they survived,” you say. Then, shifting to meet his gaze, you add, “not in a bad way, just-”

“No, no, I know what you mean,” he eases. One of his fingers comes to tease at a strand of your hair, smiling down at you. “I mean, I wouldn’t believe it either. Hell, I didn’t, for a while.”

You chuckle at that, nodding, lowering your head back down onto his chest.

This is good. This is good for JJ and good for you. Not only is it good, but it’s fun. A secret is fun. Nobody else knows: not even the Pogues or your brother. These clandestine meetings and rendezvous and unknown dates are the definition of excitement. Nobody knows that JJ spends nearly every night buried in you, and that the unsaved number on his phone is filled with sweet, soft and sometimes sensual texts that came from you. Inside jokes than have accumulated over the seven months of your relationship. Nobody knows that JJ knows Barry’s younger sister as more than just that flippant title. That he knows your favourite television show and your favourite singer, and he knows the way to twist his fingers just right to have you bordering on screaming. He knows what it feels like to have your mouth on him and your teeth biting down onto the skin of his shoulders, but also what it feels like to make you laugh and to see you work. What it feels like to be at the mercy of your stare. He’s lucky enough to be in your light and be acknowledged by someone so strangely pure for all the shit the universe had thrown your way. If JJ got dealt a bad hand, then you got dealt fake cards. But all the darkness and grit hadn’t made you mean or distant. Instead, it made you glow, like tossing logs into an open flame.

“Wish I could meet him.”

“Who?” JJ asks. He’s lost in thought, eyes staring up at your ceiling. There’s a patch of mould in the corner that you’ve tried to conceal with some cheap, fake ivy vines.

“The president.”

“Really?”

You snort. “No, you moron. John B.”

JJ’s attention comes back to the conversation. He swallows, somewhat nervous. He hates when you bring this stuff up.

“I mean, you have met him.”

“Sure, like I’ve spoken to him at a kegger like…Two years ago?”

“He’s really not that interesting of a guy so,” JJ lamely says.

“Not that interesting? JJ, John B was a wanted fugitive who lived in Nassau with Sarah for like a month or something? Come on!” you reply with a laugh.

He closes his eyes at the sound. You sound so light and cheerful. He just knows whatever he replies with is going to crush it, like treading on a freshly blossomed flower. Why did you have to bring this up?

JJ shifts so he can slip out of your hold. You move to sit, legs half crossed, and he can feel your eyes watching him as he leans to your bedside table for the box of cigarettes you keep there.

“It doesn’t have to be soon,” you quietly say to his back.

He retrieves a cig and slots it between his lips, reaching for the lighter. He’d engraved your initials in it the same way he had ‘JJ’ engraved on his own. Please, please drop it.

“Just…Maybe sometime this month?”

“They’re not very interesting people,” JJ manages out, voice muffled by the cigarette as he flicks at the lighter. He hopes it’ll discourage whatever interest you have in meeting his friends. Hopes his voice sounds casual. “We don’t do much, either. Just sit around and surf and stuff.”

“Well, same,” you eventually reply, happiness already dwindling. “So, I guess I have that in common with them.”

JJ leans against the creaky headboard of your bed and takes a puff of the cigarette. He looks down at the lighter as he fiddles with it in one hand. It seems you won’t let the topic go (not that he expected you to, if he’s being honest with himself). You grab at his attention by taking the cigarette from him, having a drag yourself. He watches as you exhale, smoke filling the space before you as you sit, naked and sweet. Holding it out to him, your smile is now gone. Instead, there’s this shadow of anxiety looming over your features.

“We’re together, right?”

JJ takes the cigarette back. “Yeah?”

“Is that a question or an answer?”

“An answer,” JJ clarifies. Then, “Yes, we’re together.”

“And we have been for seven months now, right?”

JJ takes another pull, looking away from you and to the doorway. “I mean, I don’t know the exact length of—”

“We have,” you interrupt, firmly. “Seven months, one week and two days.”

Crap.

“Didn’t know we were keeping score,” JJ nervously chuckles, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat.

But when he looks to you again, you’re not smiling. You’re shaking your head.

“I don’t want to be a secret forever, JJ,” you say. “I understand why you wanted to keep it quiet at first. I mean, I did too. Whilst we figured it all out and what this actually is.”

As you speak, you gesture between the two of you.

“But…I’m tired of sneaking around, JayJ. Of lying to my friends and my brother. Of not being able to talk about you to them. Because…Well, because I want to,” you meekly admit, shrugging. “I want to kiss you when everyone’s watching, as fucking dumb as that sounds, and I wantpeople to know that you’re taken, and that you’re taken by me.”

It takes everything in JJ not to wince at that. He swallows down your words with an inhale of the nicotine. Doesn’t hold your gaze because how can he? He knew his lie would catch up to him eventually. JJ has a bad habit of spinning these fables as if he won’t get tangled in the mess of it. Hell, his bad habit to run his mouth is the reason why JJ can’t let you two come out to anybody, not even the Pogues. If even one person knows about the pair of you, then Barry will find out. It’s inevitable. The Outer Banks is a small place and news travels fast. The moment Barry finds out is the moment you find out what he did. It’ll be the moment he’ll lose you, forever. And that fear – that genuine risk – is far worse than having to sneak around, in JJ’s world.

“Hey.”

Your fingers brush against his, coaxing his hand into yours, intertwining the digits until you’re holding hands. He looks up at that, looks into your eyes. You’re smiling again, soft but solemn, like you’ve read some mellowing news.

“I don’t wanna rush you, okay? I just…I need to know that eventually, we won’t be a secret anymore,” you say quietly.

JJ smiles at you – the best smile he can manage – and nods. Lifts your interlocked hands to his tobacco tasting lips, pressing a kiss against the skin. Rose and bergamot.

“We won’t be,” JJ tells you. Nods, affirming it. Almost willing it into reality. “We won’t be, alright? Just a little more time.”

When you smile, he swears he feels his heartbeat ease. JJ’s thankful that you kiss him, because he can’t keep looking you in the eyes and act like it doesn’t kill a part of him to lie, straight to your face.

~*~*~*~*~*

U lol

JJ can’t help but smile at the meme you’ve sent him. It’s so stupid, hardly even a joke, but somehow it taps into his sense of humour perfectly. JJ sniggers as he replies.

“What you smiling at?” John B wonders.

JJ looks up from his phone. Instinctively turns it off before anyone can catch a glimpse of the screen.

“Just this thing,” JJ shrugs.

Kiara’s plucking the strings of her ukelele, lounging in the hammock that JJ nearly fought her for. He’s taken one of the deckchair loungers instead. Pope’s sat by the tree. He’s flicking through local history books, trying to see if there might be any clues in there about the island room. JJ thinks it’s a lost cause but got shut down the moment he started to say so. John B is still brooding from his break-up with Sarah. At least the boy wants to drink – now that’s something JJ’s glad to get on board with.

“You’ve been texting someone for the past half hour,” John B says.

“You stalking me or something?”

“It’s hard not to notice when you keep giggling like a girl at your phone.”

“Since when do I giggle?” JJ counters.

“Since today,” John B quickly replies. Then, he pulls out his phone and gives an award-winning impersonation. JJ gladly flips him off.

“I think our little playboy is whipped,” Kiara says from the hammock.

“I’m not whipped,” JJ says.

“But you are talking to someone?” she checks.

JJ rolls his eyes. He hates the grilling. Wishes they’d all back off. Despite his lack of an answer, it seems to be more than enough for Kie.

“Who is she?”

“Nobody. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” JJ says.

“Those are two different answers, man,” John B tells him.

“I thought JB was bad at lying but that might’ve been your worst,” Pope indirectly agrees, not looking up from his book.

“Look, the important thing right now is getting John B macking on someone else, alright?” JJ redirects, pointing to his best friend. “The fastest way to get over someone is to get on top of someone else, I’m telling ya.”

“Spoken like a poet,” Kie comments.

“I’m not interested in anyone else, JJ,” John B says. “Sides, even if I wanted to hook up with someone else – which I don’t - who the hell would it be?”

“Bro, I’m telling you, that chick in English is totally into you,” JJ says. “Like she’s practically drooling at her desk whenever she looks at you.”

“Is she now?”

“Yeah, man. I’ve got eyes, don’t I?”

“Debatable,” John B mutters, looking back to his phone.

JJ feels himself relax back in his chair again.

After the conversation the two of you shared the other night, JJ’s feels haunted. The way that you kissed him, all happy and sweet, when he’d just lied to your face…Kie would tell him that karma was waiting at the ready. That is, she would if she knew about it. JJ didn’t like lying to you. If he could, he’d go back in time and he’d leave the house and the money like the rest of the Pogues said he should. He’d do the right thing for once his sorry life.

Sighing, JJ rocks his head backwards and glances absentmindedly to the hammock. He’s a little surprised to see that Kie’s already looking at him. She’s watching him, practically studying him, and has this expression on her face that makes JJ swallow nervously.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs. Looks back down to her ukelele.

JJ watches her a moment longer before finally looking away. It takes a liar to know one.

~*~*~*~*~*

The tide’s come in.

There’s barely any beach left and it’s pushed you back to the sand dunes. JJ cusses as he spots you, sat with your knees near your chest, staring out to the water like something from a poem.

“Hey! I’m here! I’m here!” he hollers, jogging over.

You turn around at the sound of his voice. No smile. “You’re late.”

“I know, I know,” he says, coming to a stop before you. “I’m sorry, alright? This thing, with the Pogues, it just ran over but—”

“And you didn’t think to text me?” you sigh, holding up your phone. “I mean, my legs are bitten to hell now by the skeeters.”

“I’m sorry,” JJ repeats, dropping to sit beside you. You shake your head, looking away, but don’t move your hand from his when he reaches for it. “I should’ve made up an excuse or something to leave early.”

“Or you should’ve just told them the actual reason why you needed to leave,” you mumble, ticked off.

JJ sighs and leans over, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. It prompts you to look to him. Your lips are still pressed in an unimpressed frown. He gazes into your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” JJ tells you once more, sincere and genuine.

You deliberate it over with a small sigh, rubbing your lips together in thought. Eyes scan his face and his features.

“Okay,” you relent. A twitch in your cheeks, teasing for a smile. “You’re off the hook. Don’t do it again, though.”

JJ nods, smiling too. “I won’t. I won’t, alright?”

“Okay,” you smile, properly. He kisses you, making you chuckle through your nose.

“You look cute, by the way. I like this,” he says, thumbing at the fabric of your top.

“Thanks,” you say. “If you weren’t late maybe I’d tell you that I like your shorts.”

“I thought that I was off the hook!” JJ loudly returns, making you laugh.

He grins at that. He likes when you laugh, and even better when he’s the cause of it. It makes your eyes go all crinkly and cute.

“Not all the way,” you playfully reply. “What were you guys caught up with, anyway?”

JJ shrugs and leans back on his elbows. The sunset looks pretty from here, over the horizon. It shines a tapestry of colours on your legs.

“Nothing important.”

Nothing important, asides from trying to figure out what the hell an island room might be.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”

JJ’s head darts round to you with that, but you’re grinning at him, dispelling his worry that you’re onto him. There’s a smudge of oil near your eye from the latest handy-man job you’ve taken on. He licks his thumb and moves to wipe it away, smiling when you cringe.

“Like I would ever lie to you,” he jests as he wipes at your face.

You bat his hand away. “Ah, the thing every girlfriend wants to hear.”

JJ leans in to kiss you, unable to help it as if he’s craving another hit. He’s gently grabbing at your face to draw you closer. He swears he could make-out with you forever and never get bored. Screw food and screw water and screw air. This. This is what livings about. Humming out a moan, JJ eases you onto your back on the sand, hovering atop of you. His lips leave yours to trail delicately down your jawline. He practically purrs when you bring a hand up to play with his hair.

“You know the bonfire’s this Friday?”

“Mhm,” JJ hums against you, half-listening. His senses are flooded by the smell of you: roses and bergamot.

“You busy that night?”

“Don’t know yet,” he says, barely breaking away from the hickey he’s started working on, at the underside of your jaw. One of his hands slips under the pretty top you’re wearing, palming at your breast.

“Well, I think I’m gonna go,” you tell him. Your voice is a little breathless now. “I was wondering if you wanted to come too?”

“As in whether I’m going or…?”

“As in us going together,” you correct.

JJ slowly eases up on his assault on your throat. He closes his eyes, briefly tensing his lips together. Fuck.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m gonna be free that night,” he says, hoping to sound casual.

Your fingers tether in his hair enough to pull him away from your neck. It’s like you force him to meet your gaze.

“Well, if you are free, then do you wanna? I don’t know, I thought it’d be kinda nice? Could meet your friends and stuff, and you could meet mine,” you say, smiling bashfully.

And it’s sweet. It’s so sweet, and thoughtful, and if JJ wasn’t such a fucking idiot, it’d be the perfect way to publicise your relationship. It isn’t that JJ doesn’t want to. He wants to, more than anything. To have your hand in his in front of everyone at school, and to have you dancing with him and drinking with him, and to let everyone know that you’re his as much as he’s yours.

It isn’t that JJ doesn’t want to. It’s that he can’t.

“I, um,” he pulls away, resting back on his haunches. His hand slips out of your top.

You shift up to sit, watch as he looks away, down the beach. There’s nobody else around. The only thing you can hear is the lapping of the waves, the steady crash and break of the tide, and the distant calling of birds.

Clearing his throat, JJ rubs at the back of his neck and fixes his cap.

“I think if I go, it’ll, uh, be with my friends, you know?”

Quiet. Another bird. Another wave.

His heart clenches at the sound of your sigh. It’s heavy with disappointment.

“Yeah. Uh, right. Of course,” you mumble.

“Just cause like, it’s like a tradition that we go together, you know?” JJ tags on, looking to you. “And John B’s proper losing it with this whole Sarah shit-show.”

You’re nodding, lips pursed, staring down at your hands that twiddle together in your lap. You sniff sharply and force your face up to meet his. The smile you flash him is brief and fake. He can see right through it, like you’re made of sea glass.

“No, yeah. It was a dumb idea anyway,” you chuckle dejectedly, shaking your head. JJ frowns.

“No, hey, it wasn’t dumb—”

“—Look, I gotta be heading back soon. Well, now, actually,” you say, moving to stand up.

JJ watches you do for from his spot on the ground. From here, under the light of the setting sun, he can see the sheen to her eyes as if there are tears welling. Fuck.

“Baby, no, you don’t—”

“—No, no, it’s just cause it’s late,” you weakly continue, grabbing for your cardigan. You wrap it round you and glance behind you. “And I told Barry I’d help him with some stuff tonight and…”

By the time JJ’s on his feet, you’re already starting to walk backwards. You flash him another tense, painful smile.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Well, I’ll…I’ll see you soon, right?”

You nod. Give an awkward wave, in a way you never have with him before. “Yeah. Um, have fun at school tomorrow.”

Then you turn your back to him and walk away.

JJ watches after you, frozen in place like he’s stupefied until you’re out of sight, heading around the bend of a tree. He sighs loudly. He’s mad at himself. Frustrated at the bullshit of the whole situation. Why did he have to steal that money, all those months ago? John B tried to warn him off it but at the time, it just seemed so simple. He didn’t know you then. You were just Barry’s sister: a name in an anecdote, usually revolving about how you dropped out of Kildare High. But now…Now you’re you.

Yanking off his cap, JJ tosses it on the ground, grunting. Rakes his fingers roughly through his hair. He looks out to the water and the dusk-painted sky. Once he’s gathered himself enough to walk home, JJ leans down to collect his cap. He brushes some sand off it and watches how easily it slips away, and how much it resonates with the feeling that you’re slipping through his fingers, too.

~*~*~*~*~*

The bonfire is swarming with people. They stand in crowds and droves, chatting and laughing and heckling one another. Empty bottles and cans lay scattered around, making Kiara sneer and roll her eyes. JJ follows his friends out the van, hooking an arm over John B’s neck. It still feels a little surreal to have him close again and to be able to lean on him whenever. Part of him wonders if he’s still in shock, of having his brother back.

As they walk past Kathy, she’s handing over a red solo cup to John B with a smile. JJ smiles back at her, grins as John B takes a sip, and tries to pretend like his heart isn’t going to beat out of his chest with the anxiety that you might be here tonight. He hasn’t spoken to you since the evening on the beach. Doesn’t really know what to say or where to start, and you haven’t reached out to him either. JJ’s not sure a silence has ever stretched so loud.

John B’s still complaining about the break-up with Sarah. JJ tunes back in and forces his mind away from the incident on the beach. Thinking about it only makes him feel sick.

“So she’s like, ‘that’s it’.”

“I know. I know, I know, but dude, her father blew up right in front of her,” JJ reminds him, moving to stand to his side. “Just give her a minute, alright?”

Ironic, spewing dating advice whilst his own secret relationship is falling apart behind the scenes. But, hey, nobody sees you lose when you’re playing solitaire.

JJ’s eyes catch on to a small pile of cans of larger. Hell yes, he could do with a drink. He swipes a couple of beers and passes one to John B.

“In the meantime, shot gun, right now. Like the old times.”

“Hey derelicts!”

He spins around as an empty cup hits him on the back, coming face to face with the girl that had been eyeing up John B in class.

“Hey! There she is! That’s you,” JJ says, gesturing to John B. He whips out his pocketknife, slicing into the can. “I’m outta here.”

JJ hunches forward a moment when John B jabs him low, making him spill his beer. Turning away, taking a swig, JJ looks around. No sign of you so far. Maybe you didn’t show up. Sighing, he glances down at his phone. No texts, no calls. Nothing. Pocketing it, finishing his beer and already starting on a second that he swipes off a pop-up table, JJ moves to make the most of the night and to get his mind off you.

The drinks continue to flow and the conversations come and go. The warmth from the flames of the fire lap gently at his skin, keeping away any summer night chill. About an hour in or so, he’s leaning against the wall, chatting to Pope and Kiara.

“What I don’t understand is, if Karen’s a computer then how come she still works under water?” JJ says.

“JJ. It’s a show about a living sponge at the bottom of the sea,” Kiara deadpans, raising a brow.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s aiming for realism, dude,” Pope agrees.

JJ shrugs and looks out to the bonfire, absentmindedly scanning the crowds. There’s a nice buzz to him, helping the drinks go down smoothly. “Just always bothered me is all. Like whenever Sandy—”

JJ could recognise you anywhere, even blind. You’re looking at him too. He freezes, beer halfway raised to his mouth.

You look pretty. A pair of shorts – the pair of shorts – and a t-shirt, tucked in. Hair styled all nice, with colourful grips that he can make out, even from over here. There’s a bottle of beer in your hand. At the sight of him, you seem to take a swig. It’s almost like you scoff, but JJ can’t be sure. Then, one of your friends seems to be gathering your attention and you don’t spare another glance to him. Strange, how awful it feels to have you look away from him; to act like you don’t know him from Adam.

“That Barry’s sister?” Kiara asks.

JJ comes back to reality. Looks to his friends to see their eyes on you, too. He takes a swig of his drink, digging in his brain for a new conversation starter to drive the attention away from you. He really doesn’t want to think about all of that right now.

“She the one that dropped out?” Pope checks.

“Yeah. Probably a junkie like her brother,” Kie says.

“She’s not a junkie,” JJ can’t help but defend.

She frowns at him. “How’d you know?”

“Well, cause, like…My dad buys from her brother, right? So, he’s seen her around,” JJ shrugs, cutting himself off with another swig of his drink.

She raises a brow. “And he’s told you that she’s not a junkie? How does that line up?”

“Didn’t you used to have calc with her?” Pope asks Kiara, accidentally saving JJ in the process.

“Yeah. She was actually kinda brainy, too,” Kie replies, glancing back to you.

You’re laughing. JJ’s not sure if he’s imaging the sound or if the noise is carrying.

“I’ve gotta say, didn’t expect someone who looks like Barry to have a sister like that,” Pope mutters.

“Well, she’s adopted, so,” Kie explains simply. It wasn’t a secret, exactly. People just seemed to know that about you. “There used to be three of them: her, Barry and Louis.”

“Louis?”

“The eldest,” Kiara says. “He joined the army too but died in action or something.”

He didn’t die in action. JJ knows that for a fact. He killed himself from the trauma of shooting a man dead-on, leaving a suicide note to explain. He also knows that’s what drove your mom to start abusing pills, becoming hooked on oxy and eventually heroin, until she died with a needle in her arm. He also knows that’s what brought Barry back home, from the army, to take care of you, as a minor, so you didn’t have to go into foster care. Only knows that he did it because it was his mom’s dying wish. He knows that you don’t do drugs, outside of drinking and cigarettes - not even weed. He knows it’s because you’re scared of becoming a junkie like your mom and dying like she did. He knows you didn’t join the army because of what happened to your eldest brother. He knows you prefer to do handy-man jobs instead of following after Barry with the drug-dealing business. That you try to talk Barry out of it almost every day because of all the shit hegets into. Like being involved in fights and helping fugitives and being robbed of twenty-thousand dollars.

JJ finishes his drink in two large gulps.

“I need a refill,” he mutters, crushing the can in his grip.

Pope and Kiara aren’t listening though. He looks up to see they’re now watching something else. He follows their gaze to see a fight breaking out. Squinting through the flicker of the embers, he recognises the flash of blonde hair and the dart of brown. Topper and John B. The trio rush over to help.

It seems the fight with John B and Topper is the warm-up act to the large tiff coming. Before things can get anymore ugly, the Pogues are rushing away from the rowdy crowd, back to the Twinkie. JJ leans against the open window, finishing his beer with a burp.

“Well, that was a little unexpected,” he sardonically quips.

“Was it?” Kie asks from inside the Twinkie.

JJ shrugs, bobbing his head from side to side in deliberation. Then, his eyes catch someone moving in the distance. It’s like you’re a magnetic, always grabbing his attention. Wiping the back of his mouth, gaze still fixed on you as you seemingly mess with your backpack, as if preparing to leave, he deliberates going over. JJ has enough alcohol in him to swallow his pride and do so.

“Hey, I’m gonna be right back,” JJ mumbles, stepping away from the van.

Kiara frowns at him. “What’re you doing?”

“I need to ring it out,” JJ casually lies.

Kie rolls her eyes. The other Pogues are too distracted by discussing the fight to pay too much mind. JJ slips away and follows you out of sight. Then, he quietly calls out your name. You turn around on reflex.

“JJ?”

“Hey, I just…Are you leaving?” he asks, stopping a safe, unnatural distance from you.

Your backpack is slung over your shoulder. You shrug. “Well, you and your friends kind of broke up the party.”

“Topper started that, actually, so,” JJ lamely corrects, gesturing back to the fire.

You roll your eyes. “What do you want, JJ?”

“I wanna talk,” he says, stepping closer. “About what happened at the beach and everything.”

“It’s whatever,” you sigh. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, almost nervously. “It’s in the past now.”

“Is it? Cause we haven’t spoken since and…”

You quirk a brow as JJ trials off. “And?”

“Well,” he sighs, sticks his hands in his pockets. Strange, how after being with you for nearly eight months, it still feels abnormal to be so affectionately open. “Well, I miss you.”

“Wow, what lovely luke-warm sentiment.”

“Look, I’m serious, alright?” JJ says, walking over to you. He grabs for one of your hands and fights to keep it in his hold. You’re obviously reluctant to talk to him but JJ knows you have a weakness for him. That he can sweet talk his way out of anything with you. Part of him feels guilty for it, but the other part is nothing short of relieved. He battles to try and have your gaze meet his. “Where’s your brother tonight?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

JJ’s pretty sure you’re lying. He gently cups at your jaw, coaxing you to look up at him. The two of you hold the gaze for a while. There’s a plethora of emotions swimming in your eyes.

Sighing, relenting, you confess, “he’s collecting. Won’t be back until early morning.”

“Like six-ish?”

“More like eight-ish,” you reply.

Leaning down slowly, pressing his forehead against yours, he lets his eyes slip shut. “I’m sorry for being an asshole on the beach, okay?"

Nothing. Then,

"Asshole’s a strong word.”

JJ smiles. If you’re cracking jokes in his favour, then you’re warming back up to him already. The spool isn’t too far unwound to be past the point of repair.

“I have to go deal with John B, but can I come by afterwards? Make it up to you?”

“There’s a lot of making up you have to do,” you tell him.

JJ grins. “Well, we’ve got a lot of time to get it done.”

His smile dwindles only slightly when you pull your face away from his. He opens his eyes into yours. You’re gnawing on your lower lip, deliberating.

“You hurt me, JJ,” you whisper.

He looks down. Nods and purses his lips. Hearing you say something like that to him feels akin to you hurling a well-deserved insult.

“Don’t do it again, alright?”

“Okay,” he nods. At the squeeze of your hand in his, he finds himself looking back up, meeting your gaze. He nods again, firmer. “I won’t.”

“Okay,” you nod back. There’s a hint of a smile peaking through again, like rays of sunshine breaking through clouds on an overcast day.

Kiara hollers JJ’s name from the Twinkie, in the distance. You lean up and press a chaste kiss to his lips. It’s rude how quick it is.

“Come by later.”

JJ nods. Kisses you back, harder, making you chuckle. Then he’s heading back to his friends, sending you one last smile over his shoulder. It feels so secretive as if something taken from Romeo and Juliet; it’s almost exhilarating.

When JJ gets back to the van, Pope is sat behind the wheel, drumming a tune on it. Kiara and John B are talking in the back, the latter holding a cold can against his banging head.

“Where the hell were you, bro?” Kie asks.

“Did you take a dump in the woods?” John B adds.

JJ clambers into the front seat. Pope starts the engine.

“All them cans, man,” he lies, glancing out the window. “We heading back to the chateau?”

“Uh-huh,” Kie affirms. She sounds sceptical, like she’s deep in thought.

JJ doesn’t pay much mind to it. Instead, he nods and hides his smile behind his fist, leaning an arm against the open window frame.

~*~*~*~*~*

Echoing around JJ’s head is the preen of your voice from when you came. Sedated and spent, it almost works well as a lullaby, soothing him as JJ lies on his back on your bed. Your head has found home in the nook beneath his collarbone, tucked under his arm, nestled like a bird on its favourite branch. He leisurely strokes his fingers against the bare skin of your back, drawing patterns, writing incoherent sonnets. You’ve taken to joining his sparse freckles up by an invisible line, traced with your finger. It’s peaceful and perfect, and you’re not mad at him anymore, and JJ feels as though he can breathe right again. He sighs. Stares at the ceiling.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“What the hell am I gonna buy with a penny?”

“Fine. Quarter for your thoughts?”

“Do I get that now or should I request a down-payment.”

“You know what? Forget it,” you huff, amused, nonetheless.

JJ sniggers. Gently presses his fingers into the flesh of your back as an undefined apology.

“What do you wanna know?”

“What you’re thinking about,” you quietly reply.

“I’m thinking about us,” JJ privately returns.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

And he is. Thinking about the way you were crying out his name, tears in your water line that only turned him on more. The way you whined when he roughly grabbed at your hips, pulling you any which way to appease the both of you. He’s still replaying back the crack in your voice when you came around him. After sleeping with you, JJ’s not sure how he can be expected to think of anything else.

“So, I wanted to ask you something,” you say, pulling away from his hold.

JJ’s peaceful threatens to break, like a truck rattling through a country line road. Please don’t let it be about the Pogues again.

“Yeah?”

The two of you naturally shift so you can look eye to eye, bodies now only connected by JJ’s lose hold around your waist and your entangled feet. It takes all his will power not to stare at your exposed chest. Namely, at the love bite he’s left on your clavicle.

“It’s my birthday next week,” you tell him, voice a little reserved, “and I thought we could celebrate together?”

“Oh yeah? I might have a few ideas on how,” JJ slimily jokes. He suggestively squeezes your hip as a smirk grows on his face. You roll your eyes and flush under his stare.

“Well, yes, that, but also…I was thinking a picnic? On the beach, at our usual spot? Just the two of us.”

JJ’s expression softens. He nods. You grin back in reply.

“Yeah?”

“Sounds good, pretty thing,” he says.

You laugh, raking a finger through your hair. “I don’t think I look all pretty like this but—”

“—I think you look the prettiest like this,” JJ grins in disagreement, leaning up to nudge his nose against yours.

Your laugh bounces off his lips.

JJ’s not lying. Seeing you post-sex is like seeing a Greek goddess in the flesh. Better, even. You sit bare for him, no shame in your figure and any of the so-called imperfections it holds. At the thought, JJ suddenly becomes more aware that he’s naked, too. To be so casual about it requires a trust between two people, surely, and JJ’s never been good at trusting. You, however, are trusting from the get-go. Naïve might be a better word, but that implies that you’re dumb and foolish, which you aren’t. You just have this hopefulness that everybody has a goodness to them, somewhere, deep down. Maybe living with Barry and his crowd drives that trait for you. People do bad things but they’re not bad people was the quote JJ knew you lived by.

JJ kisses you, sliding a hand up your thigh, chasing what the two of you had shared only ten or so minutes ago. You don’t seem to complain. You melt into his touch, kiss him back gladly, hook your arms around his shoulders.

“Wednesday. Next week.”

“Mhm,” JJ hums. He guides you to lay down, clambering atop.

“I’m serious. Seven P.M.”

“Yeah, yeah, seven,” he repeats against the flesh of your neck. He starts kissing down your sweat-sheened body.

Sighing, your fingers loops into the strands of his hair, tugging him to look up at you. JJ can’t hold back the quiet groan it elicits. He loves when you do shit like that. He meets your gaze and this might be the best angle he’s ever had of you, looking up from down below, making out your hooded gaze past your breasts. He feels himself harden at the sight.

“Tell me when and where,” you demand.

JJ manages not to roll his eyes. He presses a kiss to your tummy. “Seven P.M.”

A kiss to your abdomen. “Wednesday.”

A kiss to your pelvic bone, that has you exhaling in bated anticipation. He grins. “At our spot on the beach.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

With that, JJ goes down on you. He’s insatiable.

You’re still soaked from the last time you two fucked. The flavour of your cum mixed with his is fucking pornographic. Pair that with the sounds JJ spurs from you and he’s sure that the two of you have your tickets for hell already in your wallets. No complaints. If this is hell, JJ will gladly burn, all day long.

“Stop wriggling,” he says, lips wet.

“‘m sensitive, you asshole,” you slur.

“That how you should be talking to the guy eating you out right now?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

You hook a leg over his shoulder, urging him back to your cunt. JJ chuckles darkly before pushing your legs open wider, going in again with newfound hunger, bathing in your cries and cusses. He’s only known religion when he’s lied with you. As he lips suckle at your clit, he teases your weeping entrance with his finger. Pushing in, his silver ring cooly slides against your walls. You whine out, fucked up and pretty, and JJ rocks against the mattress, hard again.

“Fuck, JJ,” you whimper.

He glances up a moment to see you’re rubbing a hand to your forehead. Face contorted in overwhelming pleasure, there’s tears in your waterline again for the second time that night, and its JJ’s doing. It feels fucking fantastic.

“You close, baby?”

“Mhm,” you moan.

He uses his other hand that isn’t finger fucking your pussy to hold your hips down to the mattress. Picking up the pace, JJ works at you, watching your face as you teeter closer and closer to the edge.

“Come on, baby. Show me how fucking pretty you look when you come,” JJ grins.

Your body swallows at his fingers when you finish. Walls contracting again and again, JJ mouths swears against the soft skin of your stomach as he gently eases you through your high. There’s a quiet sob of euphoria.

“Nobody fucks you as good as I do,” JJ can’t help but boast, slipping his fingers out of you. “Gonna fuck you so good baby.”

He’s shifting you onto your stomach. Your body’s pliant like a rag doll but he knows you can take more. You’d tell him if you couldn’t; if you wanted him to stop. But as you raise your hips up for him, body dripping with cum that has JJ almost falling over the edge himself, he knows you want more. It’s like you were built for him or something. The yin to his libido-oriented yan. When JJ fucks you into the mattress, your face is mushed against the pillow. Wailing and moaning and fucking desperate. JJ finds himself coming all too soon and he does so with a groan of your name.

~*~*~*~*~*

In between school and treasure hunting and sneaking to and from your house, life still happens. Bills still need paying and food still needs eating.

JJ became used to working like a grown man ever since his mother left. His dad was less than reliable so if he wanted a full stomach and a roof over his head (unless he took advantage of John B), JJ had to start earning. Mostly odd jobs and side hustles to prevent the pockets from going empty. Running groceries to figure eight with Pope always helped. The other Pogues decided to tag along for the ride, too. They’re lounging on the boat, waiting for Heyward to finish bagging up all the produce they needed to deliver.

Sound carries easy on open water. It’s the sound of your laughter that catches JJ’s attention. He glances over instinctively. There you are, stood with three people along the jetty. You’re wearing a pair of denim-short overalls with a tee-shirt underneath. Not any tee-shirt: his tee-shirt. It sits a little big on you. Your hair is pulled back and you’re smiling. One hand in a pocket and the other holding a screwdriver. You must be doing an odd job on one of the local’s boats.

“I didn’t know she worked on boats,” Pope says.

JJ looks to him. He hadn’t realised that the others had clocked you too.

“Junkies gotta pay for their stuff somehow,” John B mutters.

“She’s not a junkie, dude,” JJ sighs. “Just cause her brother is don’t mean the whole family is.”

“Why’re you getting so mad about this?” Kiara wonders, glancing to her friend.

JJ shrugs. Shoves his hands in his short’s pockets. “Jus’ don’t think it’s fair talking crap about someone when there’s no need.”

“Not just anyone though, JayJ,” Kie says.

“Yeah. I mean, did you forget the fact that her brother literally robbed us at gunpoint?”

“And that you stole from him?”

“And that he laid you out for it,” John B finishes.

“I don’t need reminding of all that crap, alright? I’m perfectly aware. Damn,” JJ snaps, shooting the trio a glare.

Pope and John B seem to shrug it off. Kiara’s watching JJ again. It’s starting to become irritating, like a pebble that you can’t get out of your trainer.

“Kie what?”

“Nothing.”

“If you’ve got something to say to me, just say it,” JJ tells her.

She shrugs and glances back to you. Then, she shakes her head.

“Doesn’t matter.”

JJ can’t help but use the opportunity steel another look of you himself. You’re nodding at something one of the fisherman’s saying. Taking a glance over your shoulder at the boat, you point at something. It must be about the job they’ve asked for you to do.

“I wouldn’t trust her to work on my boat,” Pope says. “All I’m saying is, that family is bad news.”

“Since when did we judge others from the cut?” JJ mumbles, looking to his trainers as he scuffs them on the boat floor.

“Since their brother attacked us,” Pope returns.

JJ decides keeping quiet is best. It has to be, because if not, he won’t be able to hold his tongue any longer. He’s going to fly off the handle, in your defence, and they’re going to catch on. Worse, it might catch your attention, and you might just come over and casually introduce yourself to his friends, as if they hadn’t been speculating about you behind your back. The whole situation fills JJ with anxiety. The secret isn’t feeling so fun anymore. It’s bordering on dirty work, pummelling him with dread and shame, the same way a dealer might sleep with one eye open.

Heyward is JJ’s saving grace. He appears with reams of carrier bags in a small cart, calling out for the Pogues to start loading up. Later, as they set off towards figure eight, JJ glances your way one final time. You’re watching him. The smile on your face is gone and JJ’s never wanted to see it more.

~*~*~*~*~*

Time always passes quickly with you. It feels to JJ as though you’ve both been sat on your bed playing board games for less than an hour when two have passed. He sits across from you, messing with his lighter, as you deliberate over your concealed letters. He loves the way your brain works. You always have the most creative mind. It’s a shame it’s going to waste, out here, in the trailer.

A small grin comes to your face. You gather up your letters and lean forward to reach the board that sits atop of your duvet. JJ shamelessly glances down your tee shirt as it gapes open by the collar. It used to be his but you’d claimed it a month into dating him. He didn’t much mind. It looked better on you anyway. It was the one you were wearing at the docks, yesterday. Neither of you had mentioned that though.

“Zealous,” you say as you spell it out on the board.

Your fingers tap on each block as you count up your points. The chipped blue nail varnish shines bright in the sunlight streaking through your bedroom window.

“16 points with a double letter score on the ‘s’, making it 17.”

“17 big ones,” JJ mumbles as he writes your score down.

“Read it and weep, baby.”

JJ sighs in thought and leans back on his arms, deliberating over his letters. The room smells like incense, done to counteract the stench of mould, damp and cannabis.

JJ didn’t even know ‘zealous’ was a word. He debates on asking you what it means but decides against it. He sort of wants you to think he knows the word like you do, well enough to pluck it easily from your mind. It’d be funny to see you and Pope go head-to-head in this game, JJ comes to think. It’s a shame that’ll never come to be.

“Okay,” JJ says after homing in on his word. He begins to spell it on the board. “Asshole.”

“JJ, curse words aren’t allowed,” you tell him.

JJ glances up at you, midway through spelling. “Since when?”

“Since always. It’s in the rule book.”

“Who actually reads the rule book?” JJ snorts. He keeps spelling. “Sides. It’s not a curse word, it’s a factual term. The hole of the ass: asshole.”

“Thank you for that definition,” you sarcastically reply.

JJ finishes spelling and he begins to count up his points. He feels his grin begin to morph into a cocky smirk as he totals up.

“10 points anda triple letter score and a double word score, making this…”

He drumrolls on his knees as he takes a moment to do the maths in his head. “44 baby.”

“What?” you bark, leaning over to check.

JJ sniggers to himself as he goes to write his points. The pen is snatched from his hold.

“Hey!”

“You’re cheating!”

“How am I cheating?” JJ laughs.

“Swear words aren’t allowed!” you loudly tell him. You begin to remove his letters from the board.

“Hey!” JJ repeats, lunging over to grab them off you. You refuse to yield, holding them against your chest. “Gimme them!”

“You’re such a child!” you say, beginning to laugh.

JJ glances up to meet your gaze as he replies, “and you’re not? Stealing my letters from the board cause I got a better score?”

“I can’t give up my ‘z’ just for you to get more than double the amount of points with ‘asshole’!”

“Sore loser,” JJ mutters.

He’s still battling you for the plastic letters. In the process, he ends up knocking the board, sending all the other letters out of whack.

“JJ!”

“That was technically you, bro…”

“Let go!” you laugh.

You’ve tumbled onto your back now. JJ’s laughing too, trying to prise your hands open. He grins as he moves a hand under the shirt to tickle at your rib cages. Now you’re in hysterics, crying out, shaking from the humour.

“Stop! Stop! You win, alright! You win!”

Your hand tumbles open and JJ steals the letters back. He lamely tosses them onto the ruined scrabble board with a chuckle, instead leaning down to kiss your giggling mouth. You barely kiss him back through your laughter. JJ doesn’t much care. Hearing you laugh might be the best sound on earth.

“You can’t just kiss me and think you’re off the hook for ruining the game,” you say, opening your eyes into his.

JJ rolls his eyes mirthfully, propping himself above you with one arm. “Well, I didn’t ruin the game—”

“—You messed up the board!”

“Because you wouldn’t give me back my letters!”

You’re vivaciously laughing again, prompting JJ to do so, too. He presses wet kisses to your jawline. Breathes in the scent of you – rose and bergamot – and wishes he could bathe in the smell. Wishes he could bottle it up and carry it around with him, so he never has to be without. He doesn’t say that though. Knows you’ll laugh at him if he does. Instead, he kisses you once more before pulling back to meet your gaze. You’ve mostly calmed your laughter now. Reaching up a hand, you steal his skew-whiff cap and place it on your head with a playful grin.

“How’s it look?”

“You’re almost as handsome as me,” JJ returns, flicking at the lip of it.

You snort. “Impossible.”

JJ can’t help but kiss you again. You sigh into it. Stroke lovingly at his jaw. The moment he pulls away for breath, you’re talking again. He thinks he could listen to your ramblings and never get bored.

“Can you sleep over tonight?”

Plucking out a strand of her to mess with, JJ replies, “what time’s your brother home?”

“Why? You wanna sleep in his bed instead?”

“Har har,” he deadpans. Blows a raspberry against your throat, making you laugh. “Seriously, though. What time?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Maybe one-ish, in the morning?”

JJ nods. He tucks the hair behind your ear. “I don’t think I can.”

You sigh, not particularly irritated, smile still on your face. “He’s not that scary, JJ. I don’t get why you won’t just meet him. When you talk to him, you’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t want him thinking I’m treating his little sister badly. Gotta wine and dine you first,” JJ returns teasingly. He lies through his teeth as if it comes as natural as breathing.

“We’re not Catholics, JayJ,” you snicker. “I don’t think he’d drop dead if he knew there was a guy in my bed.”

“Still,” JJ says. “I don’t want to meet him by bumping into him in the morning.”

You sigh. You run your fingers through his hair in a way that has him weak in the knees. JJ loves how you touch him like he’s something precious; dote on him like a rich parent might to their only child. The way you look at him, it makes JJ feel somewhere between a young God and an innocent man. It’s like he couldn’t do wrong in your eyes. The thought shouldn’t bring as much dread to JJ as it does.

“Could you at least stay over on Wednesday night? Barry’s out of town for a couple of days, then.”

“Sure,” JJ shrugs. “Why Wednesday?”

Your smile momentarily falters. “Wait, for real?”

Oh. Fuck, of course. The picnic. Your birthday. His mind has been so scattered lately, with sneaking around and throwing the Pogues off his scent, and the chaos with the cross and the island room and Sarah and John B…Days seem to merge into one. It’s hard to keep track sometimes.

JJ hopes he plays it off well as he grins. “I’m just messing with you. I know it’s your birthday.”

Your sigh of relief is a little too real. It makes him feel guilty like a man on trial. You gently bat at his chest. “Asshole.”

“Hey! That’s a 44-point word,” JJ winks.

You roll your eyes and smile up at him, and JJ considers staying like this forever.

He doesn’t miss how your smile doesn’t stretch all the way like usual.

~*~*~*~*~*

It’s starting to feel like JJ needs organisers for his mind and thoughts. They’re racing, twenty-four-seven, robbing him of sleep. Daydreams about the cross and what the hell the island room might be. Daydreams about riches if they somehow find it. Daydreams about the future, with you always finding yourself at the forefront. White dress, gold ring, swollen belly��Thoughts about you and fears about people finding out. About the robbery that haunts him and how, because of his own stupid choices, the two of you may never reach that future. How he knows that you’re slipping away from him, slowly but surely, like sand falling through his fingers, grain by grain. How he might not be able to keep his grip. How it might all have been inevitably doomed from the start. I mean, aren’t all the greatest love affairs?

“You’re thinking an awful lot over there, JayJ,” Kiara says.

“Yeah. You’re probably gonna end up hurting yourself,” John B adds.

“Charming, man. Thank you,” JJ sighs.

He tugs off his cap and tosses his head back with another deep exhale. The Pogues are lounging around at the chateau.

“What’s bothering you so much?” Kie wonders.

“You know, just…” JJ gestures lamely. “All this bullshit cross stuff. No offence, Pope.”

“None taken, I don’t think,” he replies.

“I mean, couldn’t Denmark have just written co-ordinates or something. And made a spare key,” JJ mutters. He’s aware of the glare Pope shoots his way. “Jus’ saying.”

“It is a bit cryptic,” Kie backs.

Pope sighs. “Look, it’s somewhere on this island. If we get to it first, then the key doesn’t really matter. All I know is that it’s somewhere on this island.”

“Great. That narrows down our hunt,” JJ says under-breath.

“So broody,” John B teases.

“Yeah. I refuse to believe the cross is bothering you this much,” Kiara says.

“Why’s everyone on my back all of a sudden?” JJ snaps, looking to his friends. “Like, can we all just back off for now, alright? I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

John B holds his hands up as if he’s surrendering. “Easy, JayJ.”

“We’ve woken the beast,” Pope mumbles, making the other two laugh.

JJ rolls his eyes. He lays back on the hammock and folds his arms under his head. The weed and the liquor haven’t made him loosen up. His eyes trace the clouds in the sky above, through the canopy of the tree. Somewhere in his daydreams and thoughts, as the rest of the Pogues chatter, he ends up closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

When JJ comes to, it’s with a start. It seems to startle Kie, too, who’s sat on the grass, lazily thrumming her ukulele.

“You good?”

He sits up slowly. Rubbing his face, JJ retrieves his cap. “How long was I out for?”

“Three hours.”

JJ is suddenly awake, any drowsiness gone in a second.

“What?”

Kiara shrugs and keeps plucking out the easily melody she’s invented.

“We tried to wake you up but you just shrugged us off, so we thought it was better if we just let you sleep. Seemed like you needed it.”

JJ only half hears her. His mind is still reeling from the reality that he was asleep for three hours.

“Wait, what time is it?”

He retrieves his phone from his short’s pocket. Pressing the power button, JJ cusses when he realises it’s dead.

“What’s the big deal?” Kie mutters, watching him get to his feet in a hurry.

“What fucking time is it?” he sharply returns. He’s lacing up his boots again.

She mumbles a less than needed comment under breath but pulls out her phone nonetheless, glancing at the screen.

“Almost nine.”

No.

No, no, no.

It must be written on his face, the soul-crushing, body numbing horror overcoming JJ. The kind of dread one gets when they remember on some idle Thursday a piece of paperwork they needed to do the previous day, though only worse. A million times worse. Kiara frowns up at him in concern.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” JJ mumbles darkly.

He yanks his cap off and paces the garden. He can’t call you – his phone’s dead. Would you even answer anyway? Will you still be at the beach? Should he go? No, of course, he should go. He has to go.

“JJ, it’s clearly not ‘nothing’.”

“It’s none of your goddamn business, Kie, alright?” he snaps.

JJ doesn’t have time to feel guilty for snapping at his friend. He has to see you. He has to make this right. The sand is falling through his fingers now, the gaps between digits nothing more than gaping caverns.

JJ pulls back on his cap and heads straight for his bike. He kicks off the stand and starts the engine in a hurry. Then he’s hurling towards the beach-spot; secluded and quiet and serene - everything JJ feels as though he’s not. He practically dumps his bike in the process of rushing to see you, racing down the familiar track to the dunes. He’s panting, panic deep in his chest, a hand coming up to rub at his heart as if worried it might beat out his body. He looks up and down the beach, searching for any sign of you, and then his eyes fixate on something. He runs over, ducking down to see it’s your cardigan.

“Fuck,” JJ mumbles.

He looks out to the water. It’s sunset. Reflects on the water, shimmers on the sand.

“Fuck.”

JJ tightens his grip on your cardigan like it’s a part of you and heads to the house without thinking. He needs to find you and make this right. The stairs creak under foot as he hurries up them, onto the porch and inside the house. Ditching the cardigan on the kitchen table, he makes a b-line for your bedroom. The door’s shut. Rapping twice on the wood, quick and short, impatient, JJ leans against the doorframe. Calls out your name.

“I know you’re home, okay? Look, can we just talk?”

Knocks again, louder. Tries the handle. Locked. He repeats your name, calling out to you, tone desperate.

“I just wanna talk, alright!? Please! I know I messed up but just hear me out and—”

The door swings open. He’s breathing heavy, trying uselessly to alleviate his anxiety, and looks down to meet your gaze. His stomach constricts like a boa snake. You’re crying. Shoulders hung like you’ve lost a battle and body sagging like you’re exhausted.

“I…”

JJ’s words die on his tongue. An apology seems so minuscule now. It’s like trying to put out a dumpster fire with a glass of water.

“I lost track of time.”

You scoff. Shake your head, breaking his gaze.

“You lost track of time,” you repeat, under breath, voice unfamiliar.

“I did and…I know I messed up, okay? I’m sorry I just…I forgot and--”

“You forgot? You forgot, huh?”

You’re looking up at him now but your eyes are narrowed. The pain has morphed into anger. Lips are downturned into a disapproving frown.

“Did you think that’s how I wanted to spend my birthday, JJ?”

“I know, but I—”

“No,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. The tears are still falling and each one feels like a pinprick to JJ’s chest. “I’m talking now.”

JJ swallows thickly.

“Did you think that I wanted to spend my eighteenth birthday on the beach having a picnic? I mean, did you think I didn’t have better offers? That my friends didn’t want to throw me a party, and that I didn’t want to get drunk and celebrate with the people in my life that care about me? No! I wanted to go for a picnic because I wanted to spend my birthday with you. And you don’t even show up! You don’t call me, you don’t text! You just leave me, sitting there, like a fucking idiot, on my own. And do you know the worst part, JJ?”

He can feel his own lips quivering. Purses them together to fight back the tears. He can feel the tapestry ripping.

You hold his gaze as your lips form a demented smile. A solemn laugh accompanies your confession. “The worst part is, I wasn’t even surprised when you didn’t show up. In fact, I had a feeling that it would happen.”

“Don’t say that,” JJ whispers.

“‘Don’t say that?’ What? Say that you treat me like shit?”

“I don’t treat you like shit,” JJ argues back. Because he doesn’t, does he?

“You don’t—JJ! What can’t you see here?” you snap at him, gesturing around you. “You’ve been losing me for a long time and you’ve just let it fucking happen! It’s like you knew you were on thin ice and you just kept on jumping! I mean, did you want us to fail? Was it easier than just breaking up with me?”

“Why would I want us to fail!?” JJ shouts back.

You turn around and retreat into your bedroom, shaking your head. JJ finds himself following.

“Answer me!”

“I don’t have to answer you, JJ!” you scream at him, spinning around. “I mean, how else am I supposed to interpret this whole situation!?”

“I love you, alright? Isn’t that enough for you?” JJ yells. His tone is angry but his face is crumbling.

You shake your head. Wrap your arms around yourself like a hug. “No! It isn’t! It can’t be, okay? I told you before: I don’t want to be a secret forever, JJ.”

“You’re not a secret—”

“Then tell me why I can’t meet your friends? Why you can’t meet my brother? I know I don’t come from the best home, JJ, and I know my family is a mess and I’m probably gonna end up in an early grave like the rest of them—”

“-Don’t say that—”

“And I know I’m not the kind of thing that people want to show off but…” You catch your breath through your sobs. Steel yourself. “But I’m a good person, JJ. I know I’m a good person, and I deserve good things, and I deserve someone who makes me feel good.”

“I can,” JJ pleads. He clears the space between you. Grabs for your hands. Feels the ground break beneath him when you fight out of his grip. “I can make you feel good.”

“You don’t, though,” you cry. “I don’t feel good, JJ. I feel fucking used.”

No.

No, no…It’s falling apart and JJ can’t lose you. He can’t…This can’t end like this. He feels like he’s a kid again, begging for his mom not to walk out, begging for forgiveness from his dad. It’s screamingly familiar. He can’t lose another thing. He can’t lose you. Wasn’t that what all this was for? The lying and the secrets was all some desperate attempt to keep you. JJ had to keep you.

JJ pants, stood before you, feeling more vulnerable than he ever has before, even more so than when he’s laid bare in front of you. You’re still crying and it’s because of him, and that hurts worse than any punch JJ’s ever had thrown at him.

“Tell me how to fix this,” JJ begs.

You shake your head.

“Tell me how to fix this,” he repeats, demanding it. “I need to fix this!”

You lift your head slowly to meet his gaze. He knows he looks desperate. Sounds it, too. But he doesn’t care. Hell, he is. He needs you in his life. With everything else that has been going on, you’re the one ray of sun, always warming his soul. His smile and his shine. JJ doesn’t know joy without you. Doesn’t know love or pleasure or trust, like he does with you. His daydreams of the future are falling apart in this moment. No dress and no house and no family. Nothing. Just him and a bottle and his wasted heart.

“Let me meet your friends,” you manage out. “I meet your friends, and you meet my brother and meet my friends, and we go on dates together like normal people, and we don’t keep this a secret. And you show up to my birthdays and you’re not late to our dates and you stay overnight and…And I get to have you. All of you. Just…Just do that and we can try and make this work, JJ.”

JJ starts crying. He’s sobbing, stood before you, because he knows that this is over now. It’s over.

You nod. It seems his tears are answer enough.

“You can’t,” you whisper. You say it, as though something has just become clear to you. Shaking your head, taking a step away from him, the distance is already gaping. You cry. “Even when you know you’re going to lose me. Your reputation is still more important to you than I am.”

“That’s not it,” he argues, wiping at his face. “That’s not what it is.”

“I don’t care, JJ,” you confess in a breath. Wipe furiously at your cheeks and stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t have the energy to care, anymore.”

JJ hadn’t experienced heartbreak before. The songs and the films lied about it, though. They play it down. It’s torturous. Slow and cavernous and insurmountably painful. He clutches at his t-shirt, over his chest, as if thinking he could make the pain stop. He wants all of this to stop. And with the next words you utter, he feels as if it does. He feels as if his whole world stops.

“We’re done, JJ.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Since the break-up, JJ feels as though he’s sailing through a storm-ridden sea without a compass or guide. No direction and no sign of freedom from the turmoil. He’s drowned his sorrows and anxieties with drugs. Booze for the tears and cannabis for the regret. Numbs the anger with nicotine and waits until he’s exhausted to drop to sleep for fear of dreaming about you, in any capacity. He can’t decide which dreams are worse: the ones where you’re mad at him and crying, or the one’s where you’re happy and laughing over a scrabble board. All of them feel like nightmares.

The group must’ve sensed a difference in him, but if they have, they don’t bother to mention it. JJ’s grateful. It’s not like he could talk about it anyway.

“Wake up, JayJ,” Kiara says. She kicks at his feet.

“Quit it,” JJ mumbles into the pillow.

“Come on. We’re going on a walk.”

“Have fun,” JJ sighs. He’s been awake for about five minutes and can already feel the craving for another beer starting up.

Kiara keeps kicking at his feet. It’s starting to tick him off.

“I mean me and you are going for a walk. Now get up,” Kie tells him.

“I don’t feel like walking, Kie,” JJ says impatiently.

“I don’t care, bro. I’m sick of seeing you wallow in the chateau. We could find the island room at any moment and we don’t need you like this when we do.”

He knows that’s not the truth. JJ knows his friends care about him (as hard as it is to fathom sometimes) and he knows that the way he’s acting must be of concern. Especially because they don’t know why. Who would suspect a break-up for a guy who’s been nothing but single his whole life?

But JJ doesn’t feel like pity. He doesn’t feel like talking or spending time with anyone else but a bottle of corona. His plans to fall back to sleep and ignore Kiara’s demands are thrown out the window, however, when she dunks a pint of cold water on his back. JJ cusses out, shooting up, feeling his head pound at the motion. Still a little drunk.

“What the hell Kiara!”

“Rise and shine,” she smiles in faux sweetness. She ditches the glass on countertop and heads out the front door, onto the porch. “You got five minutes, princess.”

“Fuck off,” JJ mutters under breath.

Clearly, Kie’s not going to lay off anytime soon. If he goes on this walk, even for five minutes, maybe JJ can be left in peace for the rest of the day to drink himself stupid. Besides, it would work as a nice distraction from falling into thoughts of you and checking his phone every five minutes in case you decided to text him. With that motivation, JJ tugs on a muscle tee and ties up the laces on his boots. Kiara holds out a joint in an act of peace when he steps onto the porch. It works in moving her back into his good books.

“Come on, man. Let’s go into the marsh,” Kiara says, standing up.

JJ walks by her side, smoking the blunt, passing it to her now and then. The sounds of the world somewhat mellow out when they pass the threshold into the marsh. Trees and shrubberies and bushes surrounding them. Their feet follow a path made purely from being trodden so many times. JJ kicks at a nettle plant as they pass. He’s taken to trying to distinguish the different birds around them purely from their calls.

“I know, by the way,” Kiara says, breaking their silence.

JJ looks at her. “Huh?”

“I know. About Barry’s sister,” she tells him.

JJ’s stomach drops. He’s surprised he doesn’t lose his footing. Clearing his throat, looking ahead again, he shrugs.

“What are you talking about?”

“It was kinda obvious, JayJ.”

JJ clenches his eyes shut. “Kie…I really don’t wanna talk about this, alright?”

“I had a feeling about it at the bonfire,” she says, ignoring him. “I mean, I knew you were into someone that day at the chateau, but I didn’t know who. And then you were jumping to her defence for like no reason. The real clue was when you went into the woods literally right after she did. Like, seriously, bro? Subtle much?”

“Did you not hear what I said, Kiara? I don’t wanna talk about it,” JJ hisses.

Kiara continues, nonetheless. “Then at the docks, you were defending her again. That wasn’t the giveaway though. The giveaway was the fact that she was wearing your tee-shirt, bro. That just sealed the deal for me.”

“Congratulations, alright? You solved the mystery. Now can you please just let it go,” JJ sharply tells her. He takes another hit of the bud, hoping it’ll help to calm him down.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell us,” Kie says.

“Kiara-”

“I mean, I get wanting to keep it on the downlow maybe, but we’d have been cool with it,” Kiara tells him.

“I don’t wanna—”

“I haven’t told the others yet but—”

“Just shut up, alright!? Shut up!” JJ snaps.

His patience snaps like the fraying rope of a river swing. Plummets him into anger and drenches him in regret.

“What the hell, JJ? I’m saying that we support you, alright?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Kiara,” JJ shouts. He tugs off his cap and wrings it angrily in his hands. “None of it fucking matters!”

It seems as if he’s yelling at her, but he isn’t. Not actually. He’s mad at himself. Furious at managing to muck up one of the only good things in his life. JJ meets Kie’s gaze dead on.

“She left me, alright? It’s over. So, it doesn’t matter anymore, okay? So just drop it.”

Saying it out loud feels as though JJ’s shoving his nails into an open gash.

He collapses onto a fallen tree trunk, dropping his cap and hanging his head into his hands. When he rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration, it isn’t sweet like when you do it, and it only makes him miss you more.

JJ hears Kiara sigh. She sits down next to him and he watches her in his peripheral a moment.

“Is this why you’ve been acting the way you have?”

JJ doesn’t reply. He only sighs deeply into the clamminess of his palms. It seems to work as an answer in and of itself.

“Shit, JJ.”

“Don’t pity me.”

“Too late.”

He sighs again. Slowly, he lifts his head out his hands, keeping his fingers pressed near his lips as if in silent prayer.

“Can I ask how?”

“How what?”

“How it all ended,” she clarifies.

JJ glances to her. Kiara’s eyes are soft with sympathy. JJ shrugs as if he doesn’t know. As if it’s a mystery why you up and left, when the clues are as a clear as a confession note.

“I fucked it up. That’s how.”

“I feel like that’s not the whole truth, JayJ.”

“But it’s the point, okay? I fucked it up, like I fuck up everything, like I knew I would. It was a fucking pipe dream anyway.”

“I don’t understand,” Kiara mumbles.

Leaning down, she retrieves his cap and dusts it off. It stings just to look at it. It’s the same one you stole from him during one of your usual scrabble-offs. You always beat him. Always.

“Can you just tell me what happened?”

“Why?” JJ sighs tiredly.

“So I can understand why you didn’t trust us enough to tell us,” she replies. JJ hates the momentary hurt that swipes across her features. “Pogues don’t keep secrets from Pogues.”

JJ shakes his head smally, like a boy in confessional. “It wasn’t because of you guys.”

“Then…Why?”

“It’s because of me,” JJ admits.

“JJ. Self-blame isn’t going to work—”

“No, Kiara. I actually mean it this time, alright? It’s because of me,” JJ doubles-down, holding her gaze. It’s suddenly exhausting to try and keep a lid on his emotions. “She didn’t want to keep it a secret, okay? She wanted to meet you guys, and for me to meet her friends and stuff. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to. She’d get along great with you lot. I mean, she’s as damn smart as Pope and funny as hell. And she’s kind. Like actually kind, but not in a boring way, or in a push-over way. Just in a pure perfect kinda way. When she looks at me…God, this is going to sound corny as hell, but she makes me feel like I’m a good person. Like I can’t do anything wrong in her eyes. Least, she used to.”

A consoling hand is placed on his shoulder. It spurs him on.

“In all honesty, it started out as a secret because I didn’t think it’d last longer than a month. But then I started to fall for her, so hard and so fucking fast, and it scared the shit out of me. And I knew that if I wanted to keep her around, then she couldn’t ever find out about what I did to Barry.”

Kiara frowns as he says that, as if trying to follow. “Wait. Do you mean with the money and stuff?”

JJ nods, pursing his lips.

She shakes her head with a deep sigh. “JJ. That shit was so long ago—”

“It doesn’t matter. I still did it, alright? Barry’s all she’s got in terms of family and I stole from him. And not just a little bit. A lot. So if she ever found out; she’d leave me.”

Kie holds his gaze. “‘She’d leave you’? How do you know that?”

“I just do, okay?”

“No, JayJ, you don’t,” Kie tells him. “I mean, if she’s as good a person as you say she is, then how do you know she wouldn’t look past it? I’m sure she’s not blind to the fact that you do stupid shit, bro. Or that her brother isn’t the nicest of guys. He had a gun to our head, man.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Cause I lost her anyway,” JJ returns, perhaps a little sharply.

Out of guilt, JJ looks away from his friend’s eyes. He rubs at his face, perhaps in an attempt to distract himself from this pitiful conversation. JJ could do with a shower and a shave. Didn’t seem all that important in the last week, though.

“Can I say something?”

“I have a feeling that you’re going to anyway,” JJ mutters.

“Is there a chance that you were using the thing with Barry as an excuse?”

JJ face darkens into a deep frown. Looking to her, he asks, “what?”

“I mean…I don’t think it’s exactly a secret that you aren’t good at accepting love.”

“Gee, thanks, Kie.”

“Just, hear me out,” she says, stopping him before he can go off in a huff. JJ does so reluctantly. “Telling her about Barry means that she sees you for your good and your bad, and keeping it from her, and from us, and from everyone really, means that it doesn’t actually become real.”

“I’m not following,” JJ mumbles.

“Lemme put it another way then,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Maybe – on some level – by keeping it a secret, you felt like you couldn’t really lose her if things turned out bad.”

JJ frowns again, though this time, it isn’t out of offence. Instead, it teeters on the line of confusion and understanding.

Kiara doesn’t expand more. Just lets him sit with it for a moment. JJ looks down at his feet, skimming at the overgrown plants.

Was that it? Was the thing with Barry – JJ’s big motivation to keep your relationship a secret – mostly an excuse?

He didn’t want Barry to find out because he’d definitely beat JJ’s ass again and hound on him for getting with his sister, and you probably would be crushed to know he stole from your brother, but…But then what? Then things would surely move on. He’d either have you or lose you, but it’d be reality. By keeping things secret, it was as if JJ was only playing half his hand. That maybe the stakes would be somehow smaller if he didn’t have you completely, because then he wouldn’t lose you completely either. Ironic, how wrong that was. How it didn’t matter in the end.

JJ had taken beatings before. He could stomach another from Barry if it meant he got to have you in his life. He knows that now. In fact, having you leave him hurt worse than any right-hook Barry could send his way. Being down in the dirt wouldn’t matter all that much if you were there to pull him out and dust him off. It wouldn’t matter if you were just there.

Looking to Kiara, JJ swallows his pride. “I don’t know how to fix it, Kiara. I…I don’t know if I can.”

She sighs and nods in thought.

“Tell me what the last straw was.”

“The last straw?”

“The thing that made it all end, for good,” Kie says.

JJ purses his lips. The shame comes slow and simmering when he replies. “I stood her up. On her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday.”

“Ouch,” Kie eventually whispers.

JJ nods, looking down at the ground. “Yep. ‘Ouch’.”

“Okay, you know what you gotta do then,” she sighs, hopping to her feet. JJ looks up and takes her in.

“What?”

“You gotta go all out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You gotta swallow your pride and pull a romantic gesture.”

JJ doesn’t have it in him to burst into fits of laughter. Instead, he stares at Kiara as if she’s sprouted an extra head. All he can do is repeat himself.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re righting your wrongs and throwing her a birthday gesture, and you’re going to do some serious sucking up and swoon the shit out of this girl,” Kiara instructs. She holds out his cap for him.

JJ eyes it as if it might be laced with chloroform. “She’s really not the romantic gesture type, man.”

“Every girl is, deep down. Sides. Not like you have anything much to lose now.”

His eyes dart back up to Kie’s. She’s not wrong.

With that numbing thought, JJ grabs his cap back, shoves it on, and jumps onto his feet. “Fine. Fuck it.”

“Atta boy.”

~*~*~*~*~*

It was nice to realise that JJ’s week in purgatory hadn’t impaired his planning capabilities. Once he’d finished confessing to the rest of the Pogues about his nearly year-long secret relationship with Barry’s sister (and taken the brunt of the onslaught of questions, teasing and berating), they were more than willing to help out their friend.

JJ took advantage of your trustworthiness and willingness to help others to lure you out, with Kiara as bait. She’d go to your trailer, sneak to your bedroom window (which JJ identified in his incredible, Louvre-worthy drawing) and lure you out to ‘help with her faulty car motor’. JJ knew Barry was out collecting until later that day, so it was fairly safe to send Kie out there. She was more than willing to do it anyway. In the meantime, John B and Pope helped JJ set up some romantic gesture per Kie’s instruction. He felt like an idiot as he did it. This wasn’t your style or his, but he was throwing the hail Mary now. In for a penny, in for a pound.

I.E. Fuck it.

But now that everything is set up, JJ feels like he might throw-up with nerves. He’s already ran his vape dry and it feels like the nicotine has hardly touched him. Sat on the jetty, illuminated by a myriad of candles which are definitely a huge fire risk, JJ meddles with his lighter anxiously as he waits for Kie to come back with you on the boat. The water laps at the rotting podiums, holding him up. He sighs and listens to the sounds of nightlife, as the clock nears midnight. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees your tear-soaked face, the moment before you broke up with him. JJ doesn’t close his eyes.

The symphony of nature is broken apart by the hum of a motorboat. He glances to the sound to see Kiara stood behind the wheel. You’re sat in the back, legs crossed; face the look of scepticism. It morphs into daylight-clear betrayal when you spot JJ.

“Wait. What the…”

JJ shakily exhales and gets to his feet. He’s not used to feeling this nervous around you. Kiara slows the motor to a stop at the jetty, but you don’t move.

“You said you needed help with your motor,” you say to Kiara.

She smiles apologetically. “Well, JJ said you were pretty trusting.”

“I don’t want to see you,” you say to JJ now.

JJ nods. Instinctively he shoves his hands in his pockets, letting his nails anxiously dig into the flesh of his palms. “I know. I know you don’t but I can’t let you have a shit birthday, no matter how things go between us.”

It seems with that; you take in the sights of the jetty. The candles placed around the peeling-paint wood. Two pillows to save you both from splinters. Between them sits a scrabble board, already set up. You gnaw at your lower lip. There’s the smallest movement of your head as you try to shake it.

“Just…Just give me this, and then you don’t have to talk to me ever again, if you don’t wanna. Okay?” JJ sighs.

He extends out a hand for you. His heart thrums with anxiety as he waits for your reaction.

Your eyes move up to his. You regard him a moment. Then, with a sigh, you’re getting to your feet and taking his hand, letting him help you onto the jetty. Kiara flashes JJ a small, reassuring smile, and then she’s making off into the night.

“This might be the corniest thing you’ve ever done, by the way,” you mumble.

You remove your hand from his and stand defensively on the edge of the wood, making him a little nervous that you might fall in.

“I know,” JJ chuckles uneasily, glancing down to the set-up. “Don’t bust my balls yet though, alright?”

He sits down on one of the pillows. Nods for you to take the other spot. After a moment’s consideration, you do. You bring your cargo-covered legs near to your chest as if closing yourself off from him. He watches as your eyes dart down to the scrabble board, void of letters, and then down to your selection.

“What is this?”

“One last game.”

“JJ…”

“Just one,” he almost pleads. The two of you look at one another. Sighing, he shrugs. “I can’t let our last conversation end the way it did.”

“I don’t feel like scrabble,” you say.

JJ nods and looks down to pick at his fingernails. This was such a dumb idea. Why the hell did he let Kiara talk him into this? John B and Pope are probably watching from the chateau, placing bets on how long it takes for you to leave him there, sniggering at his uselessness.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t wanna do this, JJ,” you tell him, glancing out to the water.

“Just please let me get this out,” JJ says. “Then I can get John B to drive you home, if you want. Or Kiara can come back with the boat. Whatever you prefer.”

You swallow. “John B knows I’m here?”

“Yeah,” JJ nods. “They all do. They all know.”

“Know what, exactly?”

“That I’m a fucking idiot, for starters,” JJ tells you. “And that I was dumb enough to lose you.”

“The pity parade isn’t going to win you points, JJ,” you say.

JJ shakes his head. “I’m not trying to win anything.”

“So this isn’t a ploy to try and win me back? Shame. You had me going for a second.”

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I am,” he affirms. It makes you chuckle quietly. He can’t tell if the humour is genuine. “This whole time, I was telling myself we had to stay as a secret because of something I did, but I was bullshitting myself. I just…Well, I think a part of me just wanted you to myself, and none of the pressures of everyone else, but I think another part of me didn’t want to risk losing you.”

You frown.

“Yeah, dumb, I know, cause I did anyway,” JJ mutters. Makes your smile halfway return. “But then you thought that it was because of you, for some reason. That it’s because of who you are. That’s not it. That was never it. It’s just…It’s hard to explain…”

“You don’t have to explain it, then,” you say. JJ closes his eyes at the sound of your voice, sweet with understanding. “But you do have to explain this thing you did. The thing that made you want to keep us a secret.”

JJ shakes his head and purses his lips. “You’re gonna hate me.”

“I don’t hate anyone,” you tell him.

Shakily exhaling, JJ looks out to the water. He steadies himself like a first-time surfer, then looks to you. You’re watching him expectantly, waiting.

“I have a past with doing stupid things. I mean, I think you know that but…I can do really stupid things sometimes. I don’t think ten steps ahead and I make bad choices and I can’t be talked down from them. And it makes messes. I’m not proud of it, I need you to know that.”

You nod.

JJ sighs. “Do you remember when I told you about the gold?”

You nod once more.

“Well, we tried to pawn some of it off one time. We got sent out into the middle of nowhere on a fake-out and this guy stops us and robs us all at gunpoint.”

“Wait, what?”

JJ swallows and nods. “Somehow we got the upper hand and it turns out to be Barry. I recognised him as my dad’s dealer, you know?”

You’re shaking your head. “He wouldn’t…Why would he do that? He wouldn’t do that…”

“I got angry, like a fucking idiot,” JJ sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair as he hangs his head a moment. “So I take the wheel and take us to his house and…And I rob him. Twenty-thousand.”

There’s no reply for a while. Merely the lapping of the water and the faint crackle of the candle’s wicker as it burns.

“You robbed him?”

“Eye for an eye, you know?” JJ mumbles, no conviction to his words.

“Why…Why didn’t you tell me this?” you can’t help but ask.

JJ swallows thickly. He shrugs as he raises his head to look at you.

“I don’t know. I guess because I wasn’t sure if you’d tell Barry, or if you’d leave me, maybe? Or maybe I just…You always do the right thing and you have this way of looking at me like I’m this good person. I didn’t want that to go away.”

Your expression is stoic. He can’t quite read the emotions on your face, as each seems to come and go so quickly as you process JJ’s big confession. It’s like trying to understand a story from a torn-up foreign book.

In the silence of your deliberation, JJ feels himself shrug again. He meddles his fingers together, gazing down at them; his forearms resting atop of his knees, legs brought up to his chest similar to your own.

“I’m not a good person. I do bad things and I make bad choices and I suck at doing the right thing.”

“Stop it, JJ.”

He looks up to you with that. You’re shaking your head.

“There are no good people and bad people, so don’t start falling into some self-destructive spiel thinking it’s going to make me feel better about any of this,” you tell him.

JJ nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I just…Why would Barry…I don’t understand,” you sigh. You clasp your hands over your face.

In that moment, JJ’s nearly certain he’s lost you for good. He half wants to gloat to Kiara that he was right; that you saw the real him and didn’t like it. But it isn’t a nice feeling. JJ hangs his head and prepares himself for the final blow. He’s already planning his request for John B to drive you back home. Debating if he’ll try and kiss you goodbye. Wonders which alcohol to wash it all down with.

“I’m sorry he did that to you, JJ.”

JJ’s head nearly flies off his head with how quickly it darts back up.

“What?”

“He told me he doesn’t do shit like that anymore,” you’re saying. JJ’s taken to watching your mouth, like he’s having trouble following your words in the silence of the night. “I told him I didn’t want him doing shit like that anymore. He lied to me.”

“I don’t understand,” JJ manages out.

You shake your head. “I’m not mad at you, for robbing him. People make bad choices, JJ, but that doesn’t make them bad people. The same way he went after you guys first. The same way I jumped to conclusions about why you wanted to keep this a secret.”

“How is that a bad choice?” JJ frowns. “I didn’t give you any better explanation for why. I was just so fucking scared that I’d lose you if you knew the truth.”

“Because I knew you weren’t the type of dumbass who gives a shit about family and reputation and appearances, but I still let my own fucking insecurities lead me to think that it was because of me. That you didn’t want to be seen with me because of my family, and all of their shitty choices. Including the gunpoint bullshit thing he pulled on you and your friends.”

JJ shakes his head. He instinctively reaches a hand out to you, grabbing at your trainer clad shoes and squeezing.

“I know more than anyone that people are more than their dumbass families.”

You chuckle solemnly at that. Moving your hand, you lay it atop of his and you don’t pull away when he flips his, palm up, and intertwines your fingers. It feels like you’re mending all his gashes from that single touch alone.

“I know you have every reason to say no to me here,” JJ begins. “I mean, I’ve been nothing short of a dumbass and…Well, I’m kinda beating around the bush here, but…”

You quirk a brow. There’s that smile he loves. Teasing and playful and perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.

“But here’s a crazy idea. How about we date, like normal people, and I don’t forget your birthdays, and I’m not late for our dates, and I sleep over at night. And you meet my friends, and I meet yours, and maybe I steer a bit clear of your brother still. Just to be safe.”

“Just so you can keep your balls.”

“Ideally, yeah.”

You both laugh at that. Both somewhat tearful.

You squeeze his hand.

“Well, if your friends know about us, we can just crash at the chateau more, I guess,” you say, voice reserved still, as if he might laugh in your face.

JJ doesn’t though. He smiles wider. Nods. “Now there’s an idea.”

“I think I’d be cool with that, then,” you half-whisper.

JJ smiles at you like you’re the sun and he’s the moon, and he’d spend forever in your orbit if you’d only let him. You might just.

Leaning forward, he kisses you, sweet and tender. You don’t let him pull back; moving to slide a hand around his neck, another slipping along his jaw like a priest’s gentle touch during baptism. This close, he can smell your perfume: rose and bergamot. And this; this is what living is for.

“I love you,” JJ confesses, the moment your lips break apart.

You laugh smally; your cherubic voice easing the cacophony of thoughts that had been plaguing JJ for the past month or so.

“I love you too, you idiot,” you return. Swiping your thumb over his cheek, smiling wider as he leans shamelessly into your touch, you add, “just stop doing stupid things, please.”

“Darling, there’s no way I can promise you that,” JJ returns.

He cuts off your wonderful laughter with a grinning kiss. He doesn’t care if his friends can see. If they’re making fun of him for how much he’s at your mercy. Afterall, JJ is in love with you. It’s not like it’s a secret or anything.

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