Looking - V.L
mdni • 18+ only
summary: Just as he suspected, Valarr's fascination with you has become a problem. It finally catches up with him when he gets caught but to his surprise, it's not exactly your anger he has to endure.
tags/warnings: smut, Summer Camp AU, Counselor/stalker!Valarr, sub!Valarr, dom!reader, fem!reader implied but nothing specified, voyeurism, masturbation (Valarr), did i mention voyeurism, thigh riding, regular ole penetrative riding, filming/taking pictures, overstimulation (Valarr receiving), begging omg so much begging, freak4freak <3
wc: 4.3k
A/N: WE MADE IT...today drained me...but it's ok bc we're here we made it family. it was so worth it bc i lurrrrve it now and totally hated it before so it's late but, it's #awesome. i actually don't have that much to say. Tanselle week next who's exciteddd! anyway, enjoy kiss kiss thank u for reading. also ok we r officially doing playlists now, here's Valarr's | Summer Camp AU masterlist
Before you notice Valarr, you barely even notice you’re sweating. It sounds crazy when you try explaining it to any of your non-camp friends, but it is genuinely easy to forget about the heat out here. The first forty-two hours of camp leave everyone sweat-slicked, shiny and squinting against the sun. By the end of the first week, that perpetual gummy feeling between your fingers and the dampness in all your creases becomes mere background noise.
The other thing: Valarr’s staring. You catch him at it constantly, always somewhere in your periphery and watching, head-on with an indecipherable expression. Out of politeness, and maybe something else, you’ve never pulled him up on it. Honestly, that’s become a bit of background noise, too. Which is why, on yet another stifling day at camp, you don’t realise you’ve sweat through every thread of the clothes on your body, until you look up to find Valarr loitering at the lake’s edge.
As always, he’s snapping away with the creaky little film camera he refers to as his ‘old lady’. As you lead your group of kids closer to the shore, he lifts it to his face, presumably to take a candid snap of you mid-row. It’s hard to tell if he caught you catching him, but you keep your eyes ahead and your posture as elegant as the violent heat will allow. For the sake of the photo, of course.
“Looking good,” he calls down to you, before helping you out onto the lake’s short pier. You accept the compliment, even though you’re sure you look anything but.
He sticks around to help you haul kids out of kayaks and make small talk. His voice stays measured and his expression errs on the side of slightly bored, though when the last few campers are wandering off to archery with Aerion, he’s still there. Still there, even as you trudge in the direction of your cabin, in desperate need of a change of clothes. He sticks by your side the whole way, talking less now because ‘by your side’ actually means a few paces behind, probably still with his camera glued to his face.
“You alright back there?”
“Yep,” he answers too fast, voice cracking. You chuckle, then almost as quickly, all humour dissolves as the simmering temperature of your blood rises to a boil. The sweat lathering between your thighs has brought you past the point of chafing and now your legs are just sliding together as you walk. Back on the lake, you’d run out of bottled water and had to resort to Mother Nature herself to cool yourself down. Probably, your underwear is visible through your shorts, soaked both in sweat and a few sloshes of lake water.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Valarr hurries to catch up, nudging your shoulder with his and fidgeting with the buttons on his camera.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, uh–” You press the heel of your hand to your forehead, casting a frown around the camp. Towards the woods, the shade, or back to your cabin to change? “Just thinking.”
Valarr nods, not quite following. “Do you…want me to go?”
“What? No, no you’re fine.” You start walking again, hopeful that our body will pick whichever option gets you out of the dry, raging sun quickest. “Oh, hey. Do you know if they still have those fans in storage?”
Valarr’s lips quirk. “The ones with all the rust?”
Still walking, you grab his shoulder and shake. “I would kill for a breeze right now. A little rust doesn’t scare me.”
For a split second, you notice his mouth agape as if he’s in the middle of saying something. Then, nothing. His mouth clamps shut and he wrangles his face back into mild and aloof. You jostle his shoulder again.
“Are you with me, or are you with me?”
You just about manage to knock him out of his head. He chuckles, nods, runs his finger along the leather strap keeping his camera around his neck. “Yeah. Let’s go and get you your breeze.”
Inside the storage shed, it’s fucking baking. Dust swirls with every step and trickles down your throat. You break out into a coughing fit, wafting your hand in front of your face and hanging back as Valarr treads deeper. Shovels, pliers, hammers and wrenches hang from a far wall, casting long, slanting shadows over a workbench. Tiny windows permit only thin slats of light, otherwise among the maze of shelves, it’s simply more shadows.
After only a few minutes of aimless wandering, you’re leaning on the workbench and trying to fan air in through your vest, to little avail. Something about the shadows feels heavy, ever-tightening and only adding to the muggy viscidity swirling around under your clothes. It’s all you can focus on, along with the faint wooziness humming in the back of our head. You should’ve had a bigger breakfast, you should’ve brought out an extra bottle of water.
Valarr hefts a fan onto the counter, panting and leaning on it while he looks at you expectantly. He’s standing so close you can feel his breath fanning warm on your skin. Just as you suspected, it’s covered in coppery blots that will absolutely slow it down, yet you still react as if a miracle has occurred.
“You must really need to cool down, huh?”
“God, you have no idea.” You lift your vest to wipe away sweat and notice Valarr’s eyes flit downwards. “I could use your help bringing that to my room, too.”
Valarr falters, damn near drops the fan on his feet. “O–Of course. Yes. Yeah, I’ll–I should probably keep an eye on you, yeah.”
His phrasing only strikes you as odd for a split second, because as soon as you try standing, your heat-stricken legs start shaking. Instinctively, you lean on Valarr and he has to balance both you and the fan the entire walk back to your cabin.
You do try helping him, but the second you get indoors, Valarr will barely let you stand up.
“It’s too hot,” he insists. If the sweat seeping through his t-shirt in patches is any indication, he’s right. Still, you argue, it doesn’t seem right to let him do all the work.
He waves it off. “I like doing things for you. It’s fun.”
“Fun?”
He huffs out a laugh and busies himself with the fan. As its blades cut through the air, wafting a mild but welcome coolness from the corner of the room, you sprawl out on the bed, sighing with relief. His gaze trails towards you, nervous at first, then unabashed. You don’t trust your judgement in this heat but you struggle to think of a word to describe the look on his face, other than longing.
“Valarr,” you whisper, flashing him a taunting smile. “You’re staring.”
He steps towards the door, then doubles back, mouth flapping open and closed. “Sorry.”
You shake your head. “You’re good.”
Just as he’s about to walk out, you shift in bed, beginning what you know is about to be a painstaking changing process by peeling your vest up from the bottom. Only enough to let a sliver of torso breathe, but apparently enough to stop Valarr in his tracks.
“What,” you joke, “do you still wanna keep an eye on me?”
His jaw ticks but he manages to keep his expression stoic, at least relatively. For a moment he remains stationary, one hand on the doorknob. He stares into space with his jaw ajar, eyes vacant as if he’s sleepwalking. When you snicker at his sudden stillness, he blinks rapidly, suddenly awoken.
“No,” he says. Too abrupt for the long silence he just let pass and oddly defensive. Even he seems to notice this, tries brushing it off with nervous laughter. “Sorry, I just mean–I should probably give you a minute. I don’t want…You know, I should–If you’re gonna change…”
You’re laughing again. Brazen this time, giddy in the heat and at his nerves.
“Oh, uh–Sorry,” he says again. “You were kidding.”
“I was,” you say, smile at once broadening and softening as you gesture to the fan. “But all jokes aside, thank you. You’re the best, I owe you one.”
He’s in the middle of dismissing your thanks, promising it was nothing and that he’d do it any time, when you blow him a kiss. Already pulling your vest higher as he pulls the door open, you’re laughing again. You don’t notice the manic glint in his eyes as he smiles back at you, or that when the door shuts behind him, a shadow flits past your window soon after. As you peel off your clothes and stand directly in the fan’s measly breeze, you don’t notice anything going on outside this room at all.
You kissed him. From a distance, through the air. As a joke, probably. But you kissed him.
Towering pines line the entire perimeter of camp, thinning as they get closer to the centre of camp. Outside the senior cabins, the trees have been allowed to remain, imposing and casting vast blots of shade. Probably, it’s because these cabins are the oldest, the smallest and least tended to throughout the year. An Ashford of years long passed seems to exist among these cabins, something almost haunted about the way they’re cloaked in shadow.
Valarr is only trying to catch some shade back here. It is, he swears, entirely a coincidence that the coolest, most consistent patch of greenery is directly parallel to your cabin’s back window. He’s not going to climb in again; it’s the middle of the day. So really, what harm is there in just–hanging out? Just looking. None, he decides, sliding down the trunk with the most lush array of branches.
You’re taking your time changing. By now, there’s music playing and you’re still half-naked, twirling and bopping in front of the fan, singing along with a faint smile on your face. Valarr doesn’t think about lifting his camera, it just happens. He doesn’t think about it when his index finger is click, click, clicking the camera’s shutter button, his ears so accustomed to the minute, explosive sound that signals yet another photo that it doesn’t register.
When you start actually changing, his brain just about slips from his skull and starts oozing out of his ears. Your back, the expanse of skin as you peer into the closet and pull out a new shirt. Legs, underwear riding up your ass as you pull down your shorts. Your bare chest–God. His camera stays glued to his face and his mouth stays agape. It’s almost as if he can taste you, the air’s thick heat as good as your warm, perfect body pressed against his lips, his tongue.
Busy drooling over you, he still isn’t really thinking about the fact that you’re practically naked and that he’s capturing it from damn near every angle, totally without your knowledge. Eventually though, he has no choice but to pay it attention, when he blinks and realises he’s wandered right into the light.
Both of you freeze. Valarr’s fingers instinctively tighten around the camera, pulling it to his chest as if it might shield him from vision. Yours fly over your chest, eyes wide and then instantly narrowing.
“What the fuck?”
“I–”
You give him no time to respond, repeating yourself with a more vicious hiss in your tone. “Valarr, what the fuck?”
Finally, he lets the camera drop. Its weight at the end of the leather strap tugs his neck forward, makes his head dip in a way that he hopes comes across as deferential. Eyes still narrowed and one hand still covering your chest, you reach for the window. Before slamming it shut, you poke your head out and hiss at him again.
“Get in.”
He does as he’s told and once inside, stands shifting from foot to foot with his back against the door. When he opens his mouth to speak, you shush him and gesture to the camera. With a flannel acting as a robe, you no longer seem at all self conscious about how scantily clad you are. Valarr, of course, can be conscious of absolutely nothing else.
“Show me,” you bark. He blinks, busy gawking. What’s left of his brain only congeals into something solid enough to croak out a desperate, pained sound. He means for it to communicate guilt. It just sounds like he’s moaning.
You scoff and reach for him, wrangling the camera from around his neck without any more words. Valarr is half-certain you’re about to beat him over the head with it but instead, all he can do is watch as you fiddle with its buttons, scowling.
“How the fuck do you work this thing?”
“You–” He flinches when your searing gaze meets his. “You can’t, uh–It’s film.”
“So?”
“The, uh–” His breath catches and he has to wipe his palms off on his t-shirt. “There’s kind of a whole process, it–”
“Whatever,” you snap. Sidling over to the bed, you gesture in its direction, still messing with his camera. “Alright, it’s your turn. Sit down.”
Valarr’s eyebrows raise. “What–”
“Get on the bed.” Your tone hasn’t gotten any friendlier, so Valarr scrambles to sit, pushing back towards the headboard on his hands. “Clothes off.”
He follows your orders more immediately this time, tossing his t-shirt, shoes and jeans to the floor in a careless heap. In just his boxers and socks, he looks up at you with wide, awe-filled eyes. His mouth hasn’t stayed totally shut since he got inside and when he closes it now, it’s only so he can swallow deeply and wet his lips.
You circle around him like a shark surrounding its prey, continuing to frown down at the camera in your hands. “Were you touching yourself?”
Despite himself, his nerves instantly dissolve. His posture straightens against the headboard and he struggles to keep the look on his face sane. “No ma’am, I haven’t. Not ever.”
“Ever?” You look down your nose at him with disdain. “But you wanted to, right?”
He shakes his head. You don’t buy it for a second.
“So you were just gonna, what? Take these pictures and look at them?”
To Valarr, this seems like the greatest gift in the world. It’s hard to imagine how much more he could hope to want. Chest still puffed, he shakes his head again.
“I wanted to wait. For you.”
“For us to fuck?”
He flinches, perhaps at the vulgarity, in both your words and tone. You cross your arms over yourself and half-heartedly fight through a smirk.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“We don’t have to–”
“No shit, we don’t have to. From what I recall, I’m in charge.”
“Yes ma’am.” His response is immediate, shaky and hoarse. “Anything you want, I’ll do.”
“Yeah?”
“Anything.”
Your expression remains unimpressed but you kneel on the opposite end of the bed and hold the camera to your face. “Alright,” you mutter again, “your turn.”
Valarr is suddenly hyperaware of the bulge in his boxers that glaringly outlines is dick, straining with need against the waistband. “Are–Are you sure?”
All you give him is a nod, and then a flinch backwards as you take a practice shot and the flash catches you off-guard. Giggling, you line up for another one, biting on your bottom lip and tilting your head. The rest of Valarr’s brain turns to mush and of its own accord, his hand runs up his thigh.
He’s still braindead as he toys with the waistband of his boxers, watching you study him through the lens, just like he’s been doing to you for weeks. With his head leaned back against the headboard, he rubs a hand over his crotch slowly. He lets out a low moan of relief and closes his eyes, hips rolling forwards to gain him more friction. You sit back and watch, enthralled, as he palms himself as languidly as if he was giving a massage, letting out long, breathy moans. His lips are twitching into a satisfied smile when, eyes still closed, he speaks again.
“Ah, God, can I look?”
“Hm?”
“Can I–Mm–Can I look at you?”
You giggle. “Of course, what?”
His hand slips beneath the waistband and his eyes crack open, just enough to see you. “Thank you,” he whispers.
“I had no idea you were so…”
“Devoted,” he gets out through a stuttering moan.
“Obsessive.”
“I–Oh my God.” His hand moves quicker and his hips jut further upwards. It may have something to do with the way you’ve slipped off the flannel, and are now slowly running your fingers lightly across your chest, nipples hardening under your own touch. You pretend not to notice what it’s doing to him and another click-flash startles his senses.
Eyes squeezed shut again, he swears the overwhelm might just make him pass out. “Shit, shit, oh shit.”
“Everything okay there?”
“Can I taste you? Please?”
“Taste what?”
He whines. “Anything. Anything, please. A kiss. Your–Anything. God, I wanna put you in my mouth, please.”
“You think you’ve earned it?”
“I–uh,” he whines. Probably not, but he keeps begging anyway, spurred on by the giggles bubbling out of you and the flash that goes off every time he bucks up into his hand.
“Hang on, hang on,” you interrupt. When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of you crawling forwards, straddling his leg with your flannel in tow. You lean forward to tie it around his head, making sure the sleeves are wrapped tight over his eyes. Then, he doesn’t really know what you’re doing.
Your warmth on his leg disappears and returns changed. Wetter, warmer. A bundle of fabric is pushed into his palm.
“Alright,” you whisper, tugging lightly on his new makeshift blindfold. “You gonna be good and keep this on for me?”
“I will,” he answers in a rush, chest heaving. He brings the bundle in his hand up to his face, shoving his nose into it and inhaling, only to let out a moan so obscene, his whole body erupts with heat. Your smell, straight from the core of your body, pressed flush against his face. Before he can help it, he’s tangling his tongue into the fabric, swirling your panties between his teeth to suck. He’s still sniffing, cupping his balls with his other hand and gyrating against the torturously empty air. Every cell in his body is static with desire; he hums with it. Figuratively, then literally, deep longing purrs coming from the back of his throat.
The flash goes off again, though all he can really interpret is the button clicking and the rush of the shutter opening and closing. Much closer to his face this time, as your seeping warmth stays on his thigh. He whines into your panties and lets his longing come out ragged, shredding his throat to pieces.
“Please.”
“Mm,” you moan. “What’s that?”
“Your–Ah–On my thigh. Can I see? Please, let me watch you.”
This time, your laugh isn’t coy and giggling. It’s a dark chuckle, breathed right into his ear. The vibration and your warm, sudden breath sends a shiver through him. “Oh, I think you’ve done plenty of that.”
He whines and strains his hips forwards, though there’s only so far he can do that now that you’re on top of him.
“Ngh, God, baby.” Beneath his boxers, his hand pumps faster. “Can I–Ah–More. Please? More.”
“Getting a perfect view of my tits through the window isn’t enough?” You tease, leaning forward so your lips brush his neck. “You need to see them up close, too?”
He groans and then whimpers, letting his voice drop low. “Please, baby. Please, please, please.”
You can absolutely understand how Valarr ended up like this. It’s addictive. Index finger on the shutter button, eye squinting through the viewfinder. Up close and in his lap, you probably have a better view of Valarr right now than he’s ever had of you, and the thought has you dripping all over his thigh.
“God,” you whisper, “you look so good like this.”
His face flushes as he bites down on his lips, which are rosy pink and puffy with how much his tongue and teeth have been swiping at them. He’s rubbing your panties against his cheek and whining mindlessly while you grind against him and pretty soon, the camera isn’t doing your real view nearly enough justice. As you rub yourself on his clenched, shaking muscles, one of your hands slips down to circle your clit.
“Fuck, Valarr.” A moan hums sweetly from the back of your throat and Valarr lets out a groan so pained it turns into a growl. He says your name and bucks his hips, thigh clenching deliciously under you with the strain.
“Please, let me see you. Please, I’ll–Ah–I’ll make it worth it, I’ll–” he gasps, “fuck you so good, be so good for you. I’ll be good, feels so good, baby, please.”
You let him keep babbling, periodically humming, “yeah?” just to spur him on. Eventually, you’ve teased him so long that it’s even starting to drive you crazy, so you lift off him for just a second, cradling his face before padding away from the bed. After rifling through your clothes piled together on the floor, you set your phone up on the bedside table. With the front facing camera, it’s angled just right to watch yourself climb back into Valarr’s lap, this time taking his dick in your hand to slide onto it, nice and slow while he whines for you.
“Baby, oh my God,” he splutters. “So good, oh–So good, fuck.” Likely to avoid gripping you without permission, he tangles his fists into the sheets, biting his lip and moaning in short, desperate bursts. He can’t steady his breathing the entire time you ride him, and you can’t help but reach for your phone to train the camera on him.
You pan down his body to capture his heaving chest, squirming torso and the dark, swirling happy trail that rises and falls just as desperately with each breath. For a moment, your hips still so you can steady yourself, to take two fingers and trace them over the spritz of white hair that streaks through said happy trail. Of course, Valarr responds with a sudden upwards thrust and a broken moan, his dick burying deeper into you and hitting a spot that has you gasping into his mouth.
You hold the phone out to film you making out, tongues sliding against each other as you work up a sweat in his lap. Finally, he seems to have built up the bravery to touch you, and his hands squeeze your hips with a pinching pressure.
“Baby,” he moans into your mouth. “Please, I–Oh my God.”
“What?”
“I’m–I’m gonna–”
You lower the phone to cradle his face in both hands, holding him tenderly as he rambles his way into orgasm. “It’s okay, honey. Go ahead.”
“Can I–”
“Uh uh, baby. You’re gonna cum just like this,” you taunt. “Surely you’ve seen me enough times to remember what it looks like.”
You expect more arguing but he wails and bucks upwards again, nodding as a spurt of warmth fills you. He keeps pulling you down, fucking himself through it until all he can do is twitch inside you. Already, his breaths are slowing in anticipation of a gentle, permissive come down. But that’s not what you’re here to give him.
While he’s gasping and pawing at your body, you untie the flannel from his face. He looks up at you with downturned brows and a faint, exhausted smile.
“Thank you,” he whispers, letting his head fall back on the headboard.
“That was good?” you ask, tilting your head.
“So good.”
“So, we’re gonna go again, right?”
“Uh–”
Hips rising and falling to make lewd slapping sounds when your bodies meet, you lean in. This time, it’s not to mutter into his ear, but to be inescapable in his line of vision. You clutch his jaw for good measure, smirking when the downward turn of his eyebrows only gets more pronounced. “This isn’t what you wanted?”
“I–” he gasps. “Baby–I can’t.”
“Oh, but you can.”
“I can’t, I–Oh, shit. It’s–God, it feels…” Once again, his words devolve into moans and you taunt him further, insisting he be good, that he’s earned this, that if he can take it, maybe next time you’ll be nicer to him. Phone forgotten in the messy sheets, you ride him ragged yet again, this time purely chasing your own pleasure. His pained, broken moans fill your ears as his weeping, sensitive cock pumps you full, and you cum around him so hard that your bitten lip starts to bleed.
On the come down, with your sweaty bodies pressed together, you’re already thinking about watching the video back tonight. About the embarrassed flush he’s sure to greet you with, the next time you see each other around camp. Of course, you keep the video a secret. Seems only fair and besides, you start opening the window extra wide when you change in the mornings, take your time bending to pick things up when you know Valarr’s around, and even when it seems certain that he couldn’t be.
What you keep totally secret is the folder in your phone full of camp photos. That night, after watching the video with your legs pressed together and your bottom lip between your teeth, you scroll through a seemingly innocuous array of memories. Wildlife and selfies, group lake pics and sunsets. It just so happens, that in the background of every other picture, you can catch a glimpse of Valarr’s lean arm raised candidly in the distance, or him in profile, jaw sharp and right behind Tanselle striking a peace sign. Or the most recent, of his shirtless back at a campfire, pretending he might join in as all the boys took turns jumping over the flames.
You drift off to sleep with a faint smile on your face and a fresh sprout of lustful sweat across your whole body. At one point you might’ve called yourself crazy, but after this afternoon, how much of an issue could a few candid photos really be? You’re just looking.
taglist: @summer-nabi @haervenya-targaryen @absentlysubtleraider7
