Welcome to my blog! On this post you will find my rules, masterlist, request guidelines, etc. First of all, my name is love-at-first-sight-23! You can call me Love at First Sight, First Sight, or whatever you want. I will commonly call my followers love, darling, or lovelies, hence my name ;)
This blog is 18+ only. Minors please do not interact. 🔞
Requests status: Closed ❌
Header by saradika-graphics
Blog rules:
✧ No hate or negative comments
✧ LGBTQ+, every gender, every race, and every hyper-fixator welcome
✧ No racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, harassment, zoophiles, or pedophiles
✧ Be kind to one another and refrain from being rude or disrespectful
✧ Minors are not allowed!!!
Request rules:
✧ NSFW allowed
✧ Only send asks for the characters I write for *List is below ⬇️*
✧ I will not write pedophilia, rape, incest, or extreme mental/physical abuse
✧ I apologize if I do not respond to a request right away. I will get to it as soon as I find the time!
Request list
Masterlists:
~JJ Maybank Masterlist
~Anakin Skywalker Masterlist (Coming soon, fic All Wrapped Up here)
~Draco Malfoy Masterlist (Coming soon, fic Late to Class here)
~Hazbin Hotel Masterlist
~Headcanons Masterlist (-> Coming soon)
Fic recs
—This navigation post is still under construction. I will be editing it frequently—
“The brightest stars burn the fastest, so we must love them while we can” —Anna Todd
I was already on board with his sweet wholesome open-to-love-and-nurturing heart but I was fully unprepared for getting to that last tweet and seeing how off the hook HOT dude is
Pancake Zarcilla passed away in December ‘23 from a blood clot. Like F. D. C. Willard (aka Chester the Siamese owned by J. H. Hetherington, and co author of several physics papers), he was named co author of Zarcilla’s film Raging Grace
A/n: Went bowling with some friends a few weeks ago, and it got me thinking about Bowler!JJ… SFW and NSFW headcanons (18+)
Bowler!JJ who you meet at either the bowling alley or at a bar or party somewhere, having fun or just chilling by himself.
Bowler!JJ whose bowling skills are top-notch to say the least… The first time you see him bowling or when he first takes you bowling, you are impressed by his obvious ability. If you’re a bowler like him, he’s definitely some competition for you.
Bowler!JJ who’s always excited to take you bowling, he doesn’t care if you’ve never played before, he’ll teach you. He’s patient and makes sure it’s fun, demonstrating for you and guiding your movements with his own two hands if you’re comfortable with it.
Bowler!JJ, who you can’t help but watch in admiration as he bowls, the muscles of his strong arms rippling with each stroke and his right leg snapping over the other. The determined press of his lips as he focuses on landing each strike.
Bowler!JJ, who, once you can match with his level, immensely enjoys playing against you and seeing the frustrated look on your face when you lose to him (don’t worry, he’s always a good sport) and the triumph whenever you manage to beat him. He decides he likes the sport a lot better now that he can do it with you.
Bowler!JJ who, although he loves bowling, never puts his hobby before you. He plays just as much as he did when you first started dating, but now he spends every other moment of his time with you. That is, if you’re not there at the alley with him.
Bowler!JJ who will buy you drinks and food at the alley. He refuses to let you pay for anything. Then he’ll sit in one of the chairs sipping his soda with the straw between his lips while he watches you bowl.
NSFW:
Bowler!JJ who will pull you into the back rooms of the bowling alley to have his way with you… He would pin you in the middle of the bowling lane if he could, and maybe he will if there aren’t people around…
Bowler!JJ who thinks you look sexy as hell when you bowl. He’ll sit by the sidelines, eyes trained on your ass as you send the bowling ball down the lane, thinking not-so-innocent thoughts… then pretending to have been staring up at the ceiling when you turn around.
Bowler!JJ who has imagined shoving the narrow end of a bowling pin up your ass or deep into your pussy a few times… He hasn’t tried it yet. (Yet is always the key word.)
Bowler!JJ who is usually chill and laid-back—Until he sees other guys eying you at the bowling alley or elsewhere. Then he’s telling them off, cussing at them, and dragging you home to make sure you know you belong to him. Let’s just say you won’t be walking the next morning. 😏
A/n: Yup, I finally got back from my trip 😩 I’ll try to be posting more frequently from now on, don’t worry loves ✌️
Tag list: @idfcaboutaname, @dirtyslag96, @gillybear17, @agnxstic, @scrappybear89, @redhead1180, @k-k0129, @lucifersgirl, @immyowndefender, @eddxemxnson, @siriusly0guys, @outerb4nkss, @lanasturns3, @code-canine (Comment if you want to be added or removed)
jj grinned as he felt you gasp and twitch beneath his touch. an idea sparked in his mind, reckless and impulsive as always. without warning, he slipped a large ring off his finger, the silver glinting in the low light.
"hold still, baby," jj murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble. before you could ask why, he pressed the cold metal circle against your sensitive clit. you jolted, a sharp inhale catching in your throat.
jj rubbed the ring in slow, deliberate circles, the cold silver a stark contrast to your heat. you writhed beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations. pleasure spiked through you with each pass of the cool ring, blending with the warmth of jj's fingers still buried inside ya.
"fuck, you're so tight," jj groaned, feeling you clench around his digits. he pumped them faster, curling them as he teased your clit with the indents of the ring. you could only moan brokenly in response.
jj's cock throbbed against your thigh. the feeling of you quivering and moaning beneath him was driving him wild. unable to hold back any longer, he lined himself up and thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke.
"jj - fuck." you cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. the sudden fullness was intense, bordering on painful.
but so was the pleasure.
jj started to move, pulling out until just the tip remained before slamming back in. he set a hard, fast pace, the bed creaking beneath you. one hand gripped your hip, holding ya in place, while the other continued to rub the cool ring against your burning clit.
By the way I love your new profile picture so much!! It’s so cute 🦊🧡 And ignore the damn anons! They don’t deserve you 😌
—First Sight over there in the corner
Awww thank you so much!! I wanted something to match the season <3
As for the anons, the only good thing to do with a anon hater other than ignoring them is roasting them at 350 for a few hours for personal entertainment.
Teasing Vox at a restaurant during a dinner date with the Vees. What will happen?
Warnings: NSFW. Minors do not interact. Contains mature content: Semi-public sex, handjob, reader and Vox have an established relationship, swearing, reader is chronically horny, reader gives absolutely NO mercy to Vox, Vox is a ‘lil whiny in this one (but we like him that way)
A/n: Sorry I haven’t been posting any Hazbin Hotel stuff lately— I’ve been struggling to come up with ideas. I hope you enjoy this short fic (and that the idea isn’t overused)!
You’re sitting at the table in the middle of a fancy restaurant, the buzz of chatter and the clink of glasses filling the air and giving an ambience to the room.
Vox is sitting across from you, his hand under his chin as he stares off in the other direction. Away from you. Next to him are Valentino and Velvette, deep in a hushed conversation. Vel is whispering urgently, gesticulating with her manicured hands. Val is listening to her with his eyes narrowed in concern. When he answers, his voice is equally passionate. Whatever the two Vees are discussing, it doesn’t include you.
Sighing, you turn back to Vox, who’s seemingly still ignoring you. You hold your gaze on him long enough to surely catch his attention. But it doesn’t. The TV demon remains staring into space, distracted with no intention of having you at the front of his mind. You tip your wine glass to your lips and sip the red wine, unenthusiastically. This is supposed to be a meeting for the Vees… But since the two of you are together, shouldn’t Vox be using this as an opportunity to spend quality time with you?
You wait impatiently for your boyfriend to notice and make the first move. After a few moments without results, you open your mouth, meaning to start a conversation. That’s when an idea pops into your head. If you’re trying to get Vox’s attention, why not have a little fun instead?
You cross one leg over the other and fold your hands in your lap. Then you purse your lips together in a pout. “Vo-ox!” you call sweetly.
Vox finally snaps out of it and shifts his focus to you. His eyes widen when he sees you blinking up at him, batting your lashes. “I, er—what is it, sweetie?” He looks confused.
You tilt your head to the side, making your expression as innocent as possible. “Don’t you want to give your sweetheart some attention?” You swipe your tongue over your lips just a bit, just enough to get his eyes trained on you.
“Uh—Attention?” Vox blinks like you’re speaking a foreign language.
You roll your eyes dramatically, keeping up your facade of innocence. “Yes, silly.” You reach out and tap him on the knee with the toe of your heel. He tenses slightly at the contact. “You wouldn’t want to leave me with nothing to do, would you?” You smile.
Vox is really staring at you now. Now he’s noticed your outfit for tonight: A short silk dress the color of blood-red rose and snug around the chest. Not to mention the dress is sleeveless and barely goes down past your waist. You twirl the gold necklace around your neck, letting it draw his attention to your visible cleave beneath.
“N-no, I wouldn’t,” Vox is flustered, stammering past his words. Is it this easy to get him blustering? You should be doing this more often.
“Oh?” Your voice drips with honey. You stretch your hand under the table and trail your fingers up his leg, creeping lightly towards his thigh area. Vox squeaks and tries to press his legs together, but you quickly use your heel to force them apart.
“Oh no, you don’t, sweetheart.” You’re really playing with him now, enjoying the flush spreading up his neck. Your fingers journey in between his thighs, watching Vox sweat down the side of his screen. With a smirk you wrap your hand around his covered cock. A whimper escapes his throat. He clamps a hand against his mouth, legs squirming in your grasp.
You chuckle softly. Vel and Val, presently talking to one another, don’t have a clue what’s going on. Neither does anyone else in this restaurant. You use this fact to your advantage as you stroke your hand up and down against his throbbing cock. “Now, Vox, you wouldn’t want anyone to look over here, would you?”
Vox shakes his head vigorously. His cheeks are bright red and his eyes are tearing at the edges. “No, f-fuck, please, don’t—” He lets out a moan, muffled as his hand comes up again to stifle it.
“Don’t what?” Devilishly and painfully slow, you work at his member, feeling pre-cum leaking through the fabric and onto your hand. Little by little you pick up the pace, never taking your eyes off of Vox’s screen as it becomes harder and harder for him to mask his whimpers.
Your gaze shifts over to the other two Vees, who somehow haven’t caught wind of what you two are up to. You relish in the way you have Vox totally at your mercy—In public, in the middle of a restaurant packed with other demons, possibly in view of anyone who bends down to clean up a spill.
But it’s just you and Vox, falling apart for you without a single person batting an eyelash—Except the waiter is coming back to the table, carrying a plate of fresh drinks as well as the dessert menu.
“Better hurry up, Vox,” you coo, craning your head towards the approaching man. Vox’s chest is rising up and down rapidly and his eyes widen in panic. “Sh-shit…” His clawed hands dig into the tablecloth, ripping straight through it.
With a crackle and a visible glitch in the blue light, Vox cums, white spurts of his orgasm spilling into his boxes and ruining his expensive pants. His chest heaves.
The waiter is at the table now, peering at Vox in concern.
“Er, does anything appear to be wrong, sir?” He asks him.
“Everything’s f-fine.” Vox fights to keep his voice controlled. If only the waiter knew what had been happening only moments before he arrived. You laugh quietly to yourself, your hands currently folded neatly in your lap.
“Ah, I see, alright then. Is there anything I can help you with?” He says after placing the drinks down at your seats. Velvette, who has been examining the dessert menu, raises her hand.
“I’ll take a slice of the strawberry cheesecake please, thank you very much!”
The waiter smiles. “Of course, madam. Coming right up.” He walks away, back into the kitchen.
Vox is eyeing you. His eyes are filled with lust. You know, as soon as the dinner is over, he’ll be pulling you into his bedroom, stripping the blood-red dress off of your body along with your gold jewelry. To make you pay for the “naughty” little acts tonight—But you’ve been expecting this anyway. At least he’ll be paying you all of his attention. Even if he’s pounding into you mercilessly on the bed late into the night…
Thank you for reading! Please don’t copy or my work!! Like, follow, and reblog for more <3
Taglist: @voxslays, @diffidentphantom, @lucifersgirl (Comment if you want to be added or removed)
Teasing Vox at a restaurant during a dinner date with the Vees. What will happen?
Warnings: NSFW. Minors do not interact. Contains mature content: Semi-public sex, handjob, reader and Vox have an established relationship, swearing, reader is chronically horny, reader gives absolutely NO mercy to Vox, Vox is a ‘lil whiny in this one (but we like him that way)
A/n: Sorry I haven’t been posting any Hazbin Hotel stuff lately— I’ve been struggling to come up with ideas. I hope you enjoy this short fic (and that the idea isn’t overused)!
You’re sitting at the table in the middle of a fancy restaurant, the buzz of chatter and the clink of glasses filling the air and giving an ambience to the room.
Vox is sitting across from you, his hand under his chin as he stares off in the other direction. Away from you. Next to him are Valentino and Velvette, deep in a hushed conversation. Vel is whispering urgently, gesticulating with her manicured hands. Val is listening to her with his eyes narrowed in concern. When he answers, his voice is equally passionate. Whatever the two Vees are discussing, it doesn’t include you.
Sighing, you turn back to Vox, who’s seemingly still ignoring you. You hold your gaze on him long enough to surely catch his attention. But it doesn’t. The TV demon remains staring into space, distracted with no intention of having you at the front of his mind. You tip your wine glass to your lips and sip the red wine, unenthusiastically. This is supposed to be a meeting for the Vees… But since the two of you are together, shouldn’t Vox be using this as an opportunity to spend quality time with you?
You wait impatiently for your boyfriend to notice and make the first move. After a few moments without results, you open your mouth, meaning to start a conversation. That’s when an idea pops into your head. If you’re trying to get Vox’s attention, why not have a little fun instead?
You cross one leg over the other and fold your hands in your lap. Then you purse your lips together in a pout. “Vo-ox!” you call sweetly.
Vox finally snaps out of it and shifts his focus to you. His eyes widen when he sees you blinking up at him, batting your lashes. “I, er—what is it, sweetie?” He looks confused.
You tilt your head to the side, making your expression as innocent as possible. “Don’t you want to give your sweetheart some attention?” You swipe your tongue over your lips just a bit, just enough to get his eyes trained on you.
“Uh—Attention?” Vox blinks like you’re speaking a foreign language.
You roll your eyes dramatically, keeping up your facade of innocence. “Yes, silly.” You reach out and tap him on the knee with the toe of your heel. He tenses slightly at the contact. “You wouldn’t want to leave me with nothing to do, would you?” You smile.
Vox is really staring at you now. Now he’s noticed your outfit for tonight: A short silk dress the color of blood-red rose and snug around the chest. Not to mention the dress is sleeveless and barely goes down past your waist. You twirl the gold necklace around your neck, letting it draw his attention to your visible cleave beneath.
“N-no, I wouldn’t,” Vox is flustered, stammering past his words. Is it this easy to get him blustering? You should be doing this more often.
“Oh?” Your voice drips with honey. You stretch your hand under the table and trail your fingers up his leg, creeping lightly towards his thigh area. Vox squeaks and tries to press his legs together, but you quickly use your heel to force them apart.
“Oh no, you don’t, sweetheart.” You’re really playing with him now, enjoying the flush spreading up his neck. Your fingers journey in between his thighs, watching Vox sweat down the side of his screen. With a smirk you wrap your hand around his covered cock. A whimper escapes his throat. He clamps a hand against his mouth, legs squirming in your grasp.
You chuckle softly. Vel and Val, presently talking to one another, don’t have a clue what’s going on. Neither does anyone else in this restaurant. You use this fact to your advantage as you stroke your hand up and down against his throbbing cock. “Now, Vox, you wouldn’t want anyone to look over here, would you?”
Vox shakes his head vigorously. His cheeks are bright red and his eyes are tearing at the edges. “No, f-fuck, please, don’t—” He lets out a moan, muffled as his hand comes up again to stifle it.
“Don’t what?” Devilishly and painfully slow, you work at his member, feeling pre-cum leaking through the fabric and onto your hand. Little by little you pick up the pace, never taking your eyes off of Vox’s screen as it becomes harder and harder for him to mask his whimpers.
Your gaze shifts over to the other two Vees, who somehow haven’t caught wind of what you two are up to. You relish in the way you have Vox totally at your mercy—In public, in the middle of a restaurant packed with other demons, possibly in view of anyone who bends down to clean up a spill.
But it’s just you and Vox, falling apart for you without a single person batting an eyelash—Except the waiter is coming back to the table, carrying a plate of fresh drinks as well as the dessert menu.
“Better hurry up, Vox,” you coo, craning your head towards the approaching man. Vox’s chest is rising up and down rapidly and his eyes widen in panic. “Sh-shit…” His clawed hands dig into the tablecloth, ripping straight through it.
With a crackle and a visible glitch in the blue light, Vox cums, white spurts of his orgasm spilling into his boxes and ruining his expensive pants. His chest heaves.
The waiter is at the table now, peering at Vox in concern.
“Er, does anything appear to be wrong, sir?” He asks him.
“Everything’s f-fine.” Vox fights to keep his voice controlled. If only the waiter knew what had been happening only moments before he arrived. You laugh quietly to yourself, your hands currently folded neatly in your lap.
“Ah, I see, alright then. Is there anything I can help you with?” He says after placing the drinks down at your seats. Velvette, who has been examining the dessert menu, raises her hand.
“I’ll take a slice of the strawberry cheesecake please, thank you very much!”
The waiter smiles. “Of course, madam. Coming right up.” He walks away, back into the kitchen.
Vox is eyeing you. His eyes are filled with lust. You know, as soon as the dinner is over, he’ll be pulling you into his bedroom, stripping the blood-red dress off of your body along with your gold jewelry. To make you pay for the “naughty” little acts tonight—But you’ve been expecting this anyway. At least he’ll be paying you all of his attention. Even if he’s pounding into you mercilessly on the bed late into the night…
Thank you for reading! Please don’t copy or my work!! Like, follow, and reblog for more <3
Taglist: @voxslays, @diffidentphantom, @lucifersgirl (Comment if you want to be added or removed)
I don't wanna explain everything but my mental health has been really bad lately. To the point I was going to commit. I attempted.
You might know this from my insta or twitter, I'm struggling with self harm and depression. I'm so sorry for being inactive. I really love this fandom.
But this happened mostly because of hate coming from charlastor shippers, they were sending me threats, calling slurs, saying really really fucked up shit. I didn't enjoy being on social media at that time because of it, and it was driving me to the point of hurting myself.
I'm saying this because some of you wondered why I wasn't posting. I'm trying to get a lot of rest now and maybe finally feed u some art! That's all.
I’m overjoyed to see you posted an art piece today ❤️ And I’m so, so sorry this is happening. Remember to always take time for yourself and distance yourself from social media for any amount of time you need. You don’t deserve any of this—and keep in mind that there are people who support you and who are there to talk if you need it. Stay strong, queen. We’ll all be cheering you on 💞
summary: the summer you thought would end like all the others turns out to be the beginning of everything
warnings: fluff, angst, no use of y/n, english isn't my first language
word count: 6.0k
a/n: don’t think it’s my best work but it’s not completely bad either. so here we are.
ᯓ★ now playing…
kacey musgraves - golden hour
THE SUMMER YOU CAME TO KILDARE WAS THICK WITH SALT AND SUNLIGHT, the kind of heat that sank into your bones and made the air itself feel heavy, slow, and sweet. The streets shimmered under the weight of it; the sea glittered at the edges of town like a promise just out of reach. You weren’t supposed to stay long — just a season, just enough time to steady your grandparents’ little Saltbeam Café while your grandfather healed and the tide of tourists ebbed and flowed like clockwork. It was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be safe.
But nothing about that summer stayed simple. Not after JJ Maybank.
You saw him first — a flash of wild blond hair and a crooked, knowing grin caught in the smeared glass of the window, like a secret the ocean was trying to tell you. He didn’t move like everyone else; he leaned in the doorway as if he didn’t belong to the ground, letting the breeze tug at his shirt, posture loose and reckless, like he could fall backward into the sea at any moment and wouldn’t fight it. He wore danger casually, like a second skin — not loud, but humming quietly in the careless tilt of his head, the sharp burn behind his lazy smile. Trouble — real trouble — dressed up in sun-bleached denim and skin kissed golden by the sun.
The bell above the door gave a tired little jangle as he pushed it open, and somehow, in that single heartbeat, you knew. Before he even said a word, you knew — whatever life you thought you were living had already been rewritten by the simple, blinding fact of him.
You kept wiping the counter, slow and steady, pretending you didn’t feel the way his gaze landed on you — not heavy, but sharp, electric, peeling you open without permission. It wasn’t just looking; it was seeing. And you had never been seen like that before.
"Hey," he said, voice rough, low, and a little frayed at the edges, like he’d spent too many nights talking to the stars and not enough to real people. His smile was half a dare, half a prayer. "You open?"
The words themselves were nothing special. Ordinary. Forgettable.
But the way he said them — like he'd known you in a thousand lifetimes before this one, like he was already carving out a space for you in his story — made the whole room tilt, made the air taste different. Like the tide had shifted without warning, and you were already caught in the pull.
You nodded, finding your voice buried somewhere deep in the heat. "Yeah. Just barely."
He laughed — a soft, reckless sound that cracked something wide open inside you — and stepped further into your world, dragging the summer storm in with him.
You nodded without daring to meet his eyes.
"Almost," you said, voice softer than you meant it to be. "You can sit if you want."
He smiled — slow, easy, dangerous — and sauntered over to the counter, every step of him loose-limbed and wild, like the whole world was just something he was passing through for the thrill of it. He ordered a black coffee, two sugars, sliding a crumpled bill across the wood with fingers rough from the salt and the sun, from a life lived outside the lines.
That smile didn’t ask for permission.
It promised chaos.
It promised nights you’d regret only because they would end.
You didn’t smile back. You couldn’t. Already, something inside you was shifting, trembling, aching toward him like a tide you had no hope of pulling away from. You turned, poured the coffee — hands steady, heart anything but — and slid it across the counter, the soft clink of ceramic sounding louder than a gunshot in the slow, honey-thick air between you.
Neither of you said another word.
But something sparked — slow and golden and reckless — in the space between you, a wildfire caught in the glance of a boy who didn’t know how to be careful. It stitched itself into the marrow of your bones before you even realized you were burning.
JJ Maybank had never been the type to take a hint and walk away. He didn’t know how to let go of a spark once he’d seen it flicker.
He came back the next day.
And the day after that.
And the day after that — like the tide itself had chosen you, and there was no use fighting it.
Sometimes he dragged his friends along — three or four of them crammed into the corner booth by the window, their laughter spilling out into the dusty afternoon like a song you couldn’t help but turn toward. Sometimes he came alone, tracking sand across the worn wooden floorboards, his hair still damp from the sea, the back of his neck slick with sweat and sunlight. Every time, he found some excuse to talk to you — a bad joke delivered with an exaggerated wink, a fake complaint about the coffee being too strong, too weak, too hot, too cold — anything to make you look at him, anything to keep you standing there a moment longer, caught in his gravity.
You stayed polite. Friendly, but not warm. Professional, but not distant enough. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything — that you were just being kind. That you didn’t have time for boys who smiled like they wanted to set fires just to see what would rise from the ashes. You were here for family. You were leaving at the end of the summer. It didn’t matter.
And yet — somehow, without meaning to — you learned the things that mattered anyway. That he liked his coffee scalding hot, almost too hot to hold. That he always ordered extra toast but never ate it, just tore it into ragged little pieces and left them scattered on the plate like broken boats adrift on an invisible tide. That he picked the raisins out of his muffins and lined them up neatly along the rim of his plate, as if even in his chaos he needed some small, stubborn kind of order.
You liked the way he talked about the ocean — voice going soft and certain all at once — about how the waves moved like they were breathing, alive, calling him home no matter how far he tried to run. You liked how he made plans, casual and bright and thoughtless, always slipping you into them as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You ever been out past the break? I'll take you sometime," he’d say, grinning like he was already halfway there, hand outstretched behind him.
"We gotta find you a real board — not one of those rental pieces of junk."
"Next week, when you're not working, I'll show you where the sunsets are best."
He said it all so easily, like you were already part of the story he was writing in his head — like he'd decided there was a place for you in it, and all you had to do was say yes.
And the more you tried not to notice, the more you noticed everything. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he leaned too far back in his chair, always flirting with gravity like it was a game he knew he couldn’t lose. The way he looked at you — not like you were a puzzle to solve or a prize to win, but like you were something he already knew by heart, something written into the map of him long before either of you could read it.
You told yourself none of it mattered. You told yourself you were leaving. You fed yourself that story, day after day, but every time he walked through the door, every time he smiled that slow, reckless smile, the lie frayed thinner at the edges of your mouth, worn down by the way your heart kept stumbling after him without your permission.
And JJ — God, JJ noticed you too. Not just the easy things — not just the way your mouth twitched with a hidden smile when you tried to be stern, or the way your voice dipped soft and low when you spoke to the regulars like they were old friends. He noticed the quiet parts, the secret pieces of you you hadn’t meant to give away. The way you rubbed the back of your hand against your apron when you were worried, a small restless gesture you never thought anyone would catch. The way your mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line when you read a text you didn’t want to answer. The way you hesitated, just the smallest, saddest beat, before letting yourself laugh — like joy was a door you had to knock on, like you weren’t sure you’d be welcome.
He noticed you — in all the ways that mattered. And he didn’t look away.
Some nights, after long hours fixing busted engines at the repair shop, he would wander in still smelling of grease and sun-warmed leather, a smear of oil forgotten on his forearm, a battered five crumpled in his palm just to leave you a tip you knew he couldn’t afford. You pretended not to see the way he slid it under his empty coffee cup, almost shy about it, almost like he was offering you something bigger than money and didn’t know how to say it out loud — like he was laying down a piece of himself and hoping you might pick it up.
Once, as he was stepping out into the dusk, you caught Pope’s voice drifting through the open window, teasing and easy. "Jesus, J, you gonna bankrupt yourself just so she remembers your name?"
JJ just muttered, low and rough, "Shut up," but he didn’t deny it. He never denied it.
The Pogues knew. Hell, half of Kildare probably knew — the town too small and too sun-drenched to keep secrets for long.
JJ Maybank, who had a hundred better places to be and a thousand better things to do, was spending every spare breath orbiting around a girl who kept pretending she didn’t notice the way the earth tilted whenever he looked at her.
At least — you told yourself you were pretending. You told yourself you hadn’t already begun to fall.
And maybe you would’ve believed it — if it weren’t for the way you caught yourself one night, alone in the stockroom, clutching the splintered edge of a crate, smiling like an idiot just because you remembered something stupid and simple:
The way he had leaned across the counter earlier that day, his voice low and lazy, that dangerous glint in his eye as he said, "You know, sunshine, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like me."
You hadn’t even realized you were looking at him. And worse — you hadn’t realized how much it would feel like he was right. It made you feel… warm. Stupidly, helplessly warm. Like the sun had slipped under your ribs and set up camp there, golden and heavy and impossible to ignore.
You hated it — the way even your grandparents had begun to notice, had begun to tease you for it with that easy, knowing kind of love.
One afternoon, when your grandma caught you stealing a glance at JJ as he wiped down tables with one of his ridiculous, cocky smiles, she only laughed, drying a plate with a threadbare towel.
"Don’t be so hard on that poor boy, honey," she said, voice rich with amusement. "I see you blushing under his gaze just like I used to when your grandpa looked at me."
You groaned, face flaming, but some part of you — some small, traitorous part — tucked her words away and held them close.
Still, you fought it. God, you fought it.
Because you weren’t stupid. Because you knew better than to hand your heart to a boy just because he was charming, just because he was funny, just because he looked at you like you were something rare and golden and worth chasing.
And yet...
You were losing.
Because JJ was patient in a way you hadn’t expected. Not pushing. Not rushing. Just waiting — steady as the tide, quiet as the stars. He let you come to him inch by inch, heartbeat by heartbeat.
He told you stupid jokes over the counter, grinning wide when you couldn’t help but snort into your apron, even when Old Man Harvey gave you scandalized looks from his usual seat at the counter.
He started leaving little notes tucked under your napkin holder — sometimes a compliment scrawled in terrible handwriting, sometimes a bad drawing of a seagull stealing someone’s fries, sometimes just a simple, stubborn question: "Dinner sometime?" (You always said no, and he always grinned like you hadn’t really meant it.)
He stayed late after his coffee was long gone, helping you clean up, stack chairs, wipe down tables.
He never asked — he just picked up a rag and started scrubbing, whistling off-key while you tried and failed not to smile at him.
And when you locked the café up for the night, he always walked you home — hands in his pockets, steps easy beside yours, like he had all the time in the world.
Sometimes your grandparents, especially your grandfather, would invite him inside, offering him a cold drink or a piece of leftover pie. And every time, JJ would duck his head, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy, crooked smile, muttering, "Thanks, but I should get going."
But he never really wanted to go. You could see it — in the way he lingered at the bottom of your porch steps, in the way he glanced back one more time before disappearing into the soft darkness.
You told yourself it was nothing.
You told yourself you didn’t care.
But your heart knew better.
It had already begun to beat out a rhythm you didn’t know how to stop.
And with every small, stolen moment, JJ was growing on you. Like salt on your skin, like sunlight in your hair — inevitable, inescapable. With his reckless sweetness. With his easy laughter and careless winks. With those breathtaking, impossible blue eyes that looked at you like you were something rare and precious, something worth staying for.
So maybe it wasn’t really a surprise, not deep down, when one night you finally crossed the line.
The sky was bleeding out into violet and bruised gold, the café heavy with the hush of the end of the day, and you were just two kids standing on the edge of something you couldn’t name. You were stacking chairs, pretending not to notice the way he leaned against the counter, lazily tossing a sugar packet between his fingers, pretending not to feel the way the whole world seemed to narrow down to him, to you, to the space in between.
You said something — stupid, forgettable — and he laughed. This low, full, unguarded sound that cracked something open inside you. Something you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding shut.
You stepped toward him.Or maybe he stepped toward you. Later, you could never quite remember who moved first. All you knew was that one second you were breathing in the heavy scent of salt and warm wood, and the next–
You were kissing him.
Kissing him like you were drowning, and he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the world.
He tasted like the sea and sugar, like freedom and danger and the last golden edge of summer slipping through your fingers. His hands — rough and sure — found your waist, pulling you against him like he was afraid you might vanish if he let you go for even a second. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently at the roots, and he groaned into your mouth, the sound low and desperate and wrecked.
When you finally pulled away, breathless and dizzy and half-drunk on him, he pressed his forehead to yours, his voice a ragged whisper against your skin: "Been waiting for that since the first day, sunshine."
Maybe you would’ve said something back.
Maybe you would’ve told him you were scared.
Maybe you would’ve told him to stay — forever, if he could.
But you didn’t.
You just smiled — wide and breathless and so stupidly, helplessly happy — and pulled him back into another kiss, desperate to memorize him, to burn every inch of him into your memory before the morning could come and steal him away.
Because some part of you already knew: Some beautiful, breaking part of you already understood that nothing this perfect was ever meant to last.
And to your surprise — to your utter, stupid heartbreak — the next day, he was gone.
No call.
No text.
No explanation.
Just... gone.
You told yourself you didn’t care. You told yourself you should’ve known better, he was never supposed to be safe. He was a storm you chose to step into with your eyes wide open. Maybe he had just gotten bored. Maybe he had gotten what he wanted. Maybe you had been just another chase, another stupid girl who thought she could hold the tide in her bare hands.
You didn’t know what had happened. You only knew that it hurt like hell. So you did the only thing you could: you worked.
You threw yourself into it with a kind of frantic desperation, drowning yourself in it, scrubbing floors until your knuckles cracked and the skin peeled raw. You told your grandma she didn’t need to worry, that she should stay home with your grandpa, that you had everything under control. And maybe she let you pretend for a little while — maybe both of them did — but you knew they saw it. They saw how the light had gone out of you.
They noticed there was no more JJ, no more laughter spilling down the hallway, no more lingering goodbyes at the door. They noticed how you came home alone and went to bed early, how you stopped humming to yourself while you swept the floors, how the booth by the window stayed stubbornly, painfully empty.
You ignored it.
You told yourself to ignore it.
You deleted his name from your phone, not because you wanted to forget him. God, no–
You did it because you couldn’t stand staring at it, aching for a message that would never come. But every time the door chimed, every time it wasn’t him, something inside you cracked a little deeper.
The world was full of him. Everything reminded you. The smell of sea salt on the breeze. The dumb little notes still hidden under your bed, all crooked handwriting and stupid jokes. The scalding coffee you poured every morning, still the way he liked it, even though he would never sit at the counter again. The recipes you recited to customers, tripping over the ones he used to tease you about.
JJ Maybank wasn’t near you, but he haunted you all the same. A ghost made of sunlight and saltwater, laughter and reckless promises.
The days stretched out, slow, sticky, cruel, a suffocating kind of summer that refused to break.
Even the Pogues stopped coming by.
You told yourself you didn’t care about that either, but you heard the whispers anyway — bits of gossip floating around town like smoke: talk of some crazy treasure hunt, a ferry sinking, kids running wild from the law, chasing ghosts and gold out past the edges of the map.
You pieced it together without meaning to. You knew, somehow, that wherever JJ was, it wasn’t by accident. You knew he hadn’t just left you behind because he got bored.
But knowing didn’t stop the hurt.
Nothing could.
And the worst part — the part you hated yourself for — was how much you missed him.
Not just the kisses, not just the laughter, not just the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth standing still for.
You missed the dreams you hadn’t even realized you’d started to dream — the ones with him in them. You missed the future you had almost, almost let yourself want.
Until one day, he came back.
The bell over the door clattered hard enough to rattle your teeth, and there he was — soaking wet from the rain, bruised, sunburnt, standing in the middle of the café like he had forgotten how to breathe. His clothes clung to him, hair dripping into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was looking at you like you were something holy, something lost and found all at once. His mouth opened, closed, then he swallowed hard like the words he needed were stuck somewhere deep in his chest.
"Hey," he said, voice wrecked and low, cracked right down the middle. His eyes searched yours, shining with a mixture of adoration and something even heavier — longing, regret, the kind of ache that burrowed into your ribs if you let it. He stayed there at the door, dripping water onto the floor, staring at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered, like maybe you had been the only thing that ever had.
And something twisted sharp and painful in your chest, but you ignored it. You turned back to the counter, to the coffee pot, to anything that wasn’t him.
"Sunshine–" he started, stepping forward.
"Don't," you snapped, sharper than you meant, sharp enough that the old man reading by the window looked up over his glasses.
JJ flinched like you’d slapped him. He stood there awkwardly, shifting his weight, words tumbling over themselves in a messy, desperate attempt at an explanation. Something about needing to leave fast. About not being able to risk contacting anyone. About danger, about treasure, about thinking of you every goddamn day he was gone. His voice cracked when he said that part.
But you didn’t let him finish. You didn’t need stories. You didn’t need gold or apologies or broken promises wrapped up in crumpled napkins. You had wanted him. Just him. And he had kissed you like you were gravity itself — and left the very next day without a word. You hadn’t been his to leave, but it still felt like betrayal all the same.
After that, he became a ghost haunting your mornings.
Sometimes you’d look up from wiping down a table and find him sitting quietly at the counter, a cup of untouched coffee cooling in front of him, blue eyes tracing your every move like he was memorizing you. Sometimes he left notes tucked under sugar packets or wedged behind the register — shaky scrawls of apologies, little sketches of suns and broken compasses that made your throat tighten no matter how hard you tried not to care.
You heard him once, talking to your grandma when he thought you couldn’t hear from where you were hidden behind a stockroom door.
"Give her time, son," she said softly, drying her hands on her apron, kindness weaving through her voice like thread. "You hurt her. But she likes you more than she knows how to admit. Just don’t stop trying."
You pressed your forehead against the stockroom wall and squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to believe it. Not to hope.
And then there was the box.
You found it tucked under the cash register one afternoon, small and battered and trembling with meaning. Inside, a delicate bracelet, thin as a whisper, with a tiny gold sun charm that caught the light when you turned it in your hand. You almost threw it away. God, you wanted to. But instead, you shoved it deep into your pocket, where it burned against your skin, a brand you couldn’t scrub clean no matter how hard you tried.
And maybe — maybe — some stubborn, secret part of you still wanted to believe him.
Because God, you missed him. You missed the chaos of his voice filling up empty rooms, the stupid jokes that didn't even make sense half the time, the compliments that were too sweet and too much and always managed to undo you a little. You missed all of it — and more — but you couldn’t let yourself get pulled back into that mess. Not when you’d finally stitched yourself back together.
It happened on a slow Thursday morning, the kind where the rain had been falling since midnight, soaking the world in gray until it felt like even the bones of the town were damp and shivering.
The café was nearly empty, the windows fogged up, the old radio crackling something low and sorrowful that you barely heard. JJ was there — of course he was — perched on the counter stool he always took, hands restless, thumb tapping against his knee like a broken clock trying to keep time. Frayed and aching. Stubborn as hell.
Something in you snapped. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were the only thing still burning in a world gone cold.
Maybe it was just that you were tired. Tired of pretending you didn’t see the way he waited. Tired of carrying the ache alone.
You slammed the rag down, the sound sharp in the sleepy hush of the room. Your feet carried you to him before your heart could catch up.
"What do you want, JJ?" you snapped, the words too loud in the soft morning air.
He looked up at you — and it was worse than you were prepared for. Because there were no walls left. No bravado. Just wide, open blue eyes, raw as a wound, staring at you like you held the sun in your palms.
"You," he said simply. "Always you."
You hated how easy it would’ve been to fall back into him.
You hated how much you wanted to.
"I don't trust you," you whispered, voice splintering like wet wood.
JJ leaned forward, hands folded in front of him like he was offering something — not a demand, not a promise — just a hope. "Then let me earn it back," he said. "Day by day. Cup by cup. However long it takes."
And maybe you should’ve made him suffer longer. Maybe you should’ve turned away, closed the door, protected yourself the way you promised you would. But–
There were dark smudges under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Your tip jar kept growing heavier, even though you never smiled at him anymore, even though you gave him nothing but frost and silence. Every morning, you found a small bouquet — clumsy, wild — waiting on the porch: daisies, sunflowers, forget-me-nots tucked shyly between them. And even after three weeks of your silence, your coldness, your indifference… he still waited.
Like it was nothing.
Like if it took forever, he would be there.
Waiting.
For you.
And maybe — maybe — love isn’t the grand, sweeping thing everyone says it is. Maybe it’s quiet. Maybe it’s stubborn. Maybe it’s a boy who never learned how to stay, choosing to stay for you anyway. So you didn’t slam the door. You didn’t turn away.
You crossed the last small distance between you. you touched his hand — just once, soft and shaking — and felt him shudder like it was the first good thing he’d felt in weeks and in the small, rain-soaked café, under the humming ghost of a sad old song, you let him stay.
You poured him a fresh cup of coffee — black with two sugars, the way he always liked it — and slid it across the counter without a word. Then, almost without thinking, you added his favorite blueberry muffin, still warm from the oven, the way you used to back when it was easier to love him.
He smiled — soft, reverent — like he was seeing a miracle he didn’t quite believe he deserved. His hands, rough and trembling, curled around the coffee cup like it might anchor him to the moment, to you.
Maybe it would take time. Maybe it would hurt again. But this time, deep in your bones, you knew: He wasn’t going anywhere.
And he proved it, day after day.
He showed up — not just for the easy moments, but for the hard ones too. He gave you rides to and from work when the rain got mean, fixed the flickering lights in the café without being asked, stayed for long family dinners when your grandparents insisted, laughing too loud and making terrible jokes until everyone adored him. He was a real sweetheart, teasing you when you blushed, brushing flour from your cheek with callused fingers, looking at you like you hung the stars.
And, slowly, your heart learned how to beat without fear again.
But summer always moves too fast. The days slipped through your fingers like water. So when the end of the season loomed and your grandmother started acting strange — fussing over nothing, shooing you out of the café — you should've known something was up.
"Go on, honey," she said, wiping her hands on her flour-dusted apron, her eyes crinkling with a secret smile. "You’ve been working too hard. Take a walk. Breathe a little."
You squinted at her, suspicious. "Since when do you want me slacking off?"
She just waved you toward the door, muttering something about young people needing romance, and gave you a little nudge, firm and loving.
Outside, the air was thick with the scent of rain on warm asphalt — that sweet, sharp smell that only comes after a storm. The world felt like it was holding its breath. You wandered aimlessly through Kildare, letting the sea mist stick to your skin, buying yourself a dripping ice cream cone from the stand near the pier. You took a few crooked photos of the sleepy town: the faded murals, the battered boats bobbing in the harbor, the neon signs blinking lazily to life. When you finally made your way back toward the café, the sky had begun to bruise with sunset colors.
The windows were dark. The sign flipped to closed. But inside, you saw it, a flicker of golden light, moving. Your heart stuttered.
Once.
Twice.
And then you pushed the door open. Inside, it was... magic.
The tables had been pushed to the sides, strings of fairy lights tangled across the ceiling beams, their soft glow painting everything in honey and gold. The jukebox in the corner, long broken, somehow wheezed out a slow, scratchy old love song. The air smelled of coffee and sugar and something warmer, sweeter — hope, maybe.
In the center of the room stood JJ, a bouquet of wildflowers clutched awkwardly in his hands, hair damp and curling at the edges, shirt wrinkled like he’d been pacing for hours. He looked terrified. He looked handsome.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said, voice rough with nerves. "You got a minute?"
And you, standing there dripping sea mist onto the floor, heart aching with something too big for your chest, realized: You'd had a lifetime of minutes to give him. And you were finally ready to start.
Someone — several someones, you realized — had strung fairy lights across the rafters like spilled stars, tangled and sagging in slow, deliberate arcs, as if the heavens themselves had leaned down to witness this moment.
On every table, little glass jars cradled tea candles, their flames trembling, casting tiny, captive constellations across the worn wood. Behind the counter, the radio murmured an old, broken love song — the kind with a voice so scratchy and tender it felt like a ghost brushing past your skin — the same kind your grandfather used to sway your grandmother to, in the golden hush of the kitchen.
And in the center of it all, standing as though the weight of hope itself might crush him, was JJ. He held a bouquet — if you could call such a beautiful, wounded thing a bouquet. It was a mess of daisies and sunflowers, stitched together by clumsy hands and stubborn heart, with wild sprigs of green that smelled like your grandmother's herb garden after rain. Dirt smudged his jeans, and a bandaid clung to his thumb — a small, absurd badge of honor.
Behind him, barely hidden, were the Pogues — Pope grappling with a tangle of fairy lights, Kiara shoving him sharply and whispering with the urgency of sinking ships, while Sarah simply grinned at you, broad and wild, flashing a double thumbs-up like a beacon.
And far off, behind the counter, your grandmother stood with her hands on her hips, a wink so outrageous it could have toppled empires.
JJ shifted, the toe of his battered boot worrying at the floorboards, his body thrumming with the desperate, terrible gravity of someone who had dared to hope.
"I, uh..." he started, voice breaking like a brittle shell. "I know I messed up. I know you don't trust me yet. But..." He stopped, swallowed, his throat bobbing like a boy about to leap from a great height. And then — like laying down his sword — he put it all there, raw and bleeding, at your feet.
"I wanted to show you I’m not gonna leave this time," he said, and each word fell heavy and clumsy, precious like dropped pearls. "I’m gonna stay. I’m gonna show up. Every day. However you need me."
The words stumbled, tripping over each other in their rush to reach you. "I want you to stay too... if you'd like that... if not, it’s totally kay and–"
He cursed under his breath, dragging his hand through his messy hair, embarrassment and yearning written in every shattered line of his body. And then — silence. A silence so deep, so breathless, you could hear the candle flames gasping against the dark.
You stared at him — at all of it. The lights stitched across the ceiling like promises. The clumsy, dying flowers trying so hard to live in his hands. The friends holding themselves utterly still, praying without speaking. The grandmother who had believed, stubborn and secret, in second chances.
And somewhere inside you — somewhere deep and bruised and aching — something small and scared finally, finally gave way.
Not breaking.
Blooming.
You crossed the room in three heartbeats, gathered the front of his worn t-shirt in your fists, and kissed him — kissed him so hard and deep you felt the earth tilt beneath your feet, felt the whole universe shudder somewhere in your bones.
Behind you, the Pogues erupted — whooping so loud it rattled the glass in the windows, the walls trembling with their joy. Your grandmother laughed, big and bright, the kind of laugh that stitched itself into the rafters. Someone, Kiara, probably, let loose a wolf-whistle sharp enough to split the stars.
JJ laughed against your mouth — a soft, stunned sound, full of light and wonder — and kissed you again, slower now, reverent, hands cradling your face like you were something made of silk and wildfire, something precious he was terrified to lose.
When you finally pulled away, the world spinning a little less dangerously, he leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours, and whispered, voice barely more than a breath, "Does this mean you stay?"
You smiled — not the small, cautious smile you used to wear like armor, but the real one, the one that cracked you wide open and let the light pour straight through your ribs.
"Yeah," you said, your voice a secret tucked between the two of you, "and I guess I made you earn it."
And he laughed — that wild, golden, too-big sound — and you thought, dizzy and certain all at once, that it was a sound you could spend the rest of your life chasing.
Above you, the fairy lights swayed in the warm night air, and somewhere between the flicker of a thousand tiny stars and the steady beat of his heart against yours, you realized — you were already home.
thankx for reading <3
If you made it this far — thank you, truly. this story grew like a wildflower: unexpected, stubborn, reaching for the sun without knowing if it would ever be enough. I hope you felt the salt in the air, the heat beneath your ribs, and the impossible softness of finding a home in someone else’s smile.
please feel free to share your thoughts — they mean more than you know. you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3
OH. MY. GOSH. This is so incredibly sweet 😭🩷 I can’t put into words how much I love this fic. The emotion, the angst, the slow-burn, and JJ himself… I need this injected into my bones. Immediately.
╰┄ ⛥ synopsis ┊ 「 A man of his word, Adam refuses to let you leave until bringing you to ecstasy a minimum of three times with only his tongue and fingers. But one neighbor in particular doesn't seem too happy about it, much to your embarrassment and Adam's chagrin . . . 」
╰┄ ⛥ content warnings ┊ 「 ⛥ Adam x Reader ⛥ Afab!Reader ⛥ No pronouns or Y/N used, but Reader is referred to as "good girl" ⛥ Human!AU ⛥ Explicit / 18+ Only / MDNI ⛥ Sexual situations ⛥ Breeding ⛥ Dirty talk ⛥ Unprotected sex ⛥ Creampie ⛥ Vaginal fingering ⛥ Cunnilingus ⛥ Hand-job (no finish) ⛥ PleasureDom!Adam ⛥ Overstimulation ⛥ Dacryphilia ⛥ Mild breath play ⛥ Daddy kink ⛥ Multiple orgasms (f) ⛥ Shower sex (oral only, f) ⛥ Edging (Adam, self) ⛥ Nosy neighbor Gladys ⛥ 」
“Food poisoning, huh? So, that's why you left so suddenly.”
Pressing a single finger to your lips, you mimed for Adam to be quiet as you spoke with your boss, quietly shushing him. Adam curled his lips inward over his teeth, struggling to stifle his laughter at your comically poor performance - he was trying so hard, but every word that poured from your mouth only served as fuel for the flames. He closed his eyes and pinched his own wrist in an attempt to remain silent, using the pain as a distraction, but his snorting giggles continued to slip through the cracks.
“Y-yeah, and I don't— hrrk! … t-think I'm gonna make it back to work today. My stomach's really messed uh—”
With an exaggerated gagging sound, you covered your mouth for added effect, hoping that your boss would believe your lie if you could make yourself sound the same as when you were actually sick. You even tried to trick yourself into believing you were ill, if only to better sell your lie. Adam tossed his head back, his face turning red from his efforts. It always seemed like something was ten times more hilarious when you weren’t supposed to laugh, as he’d come to find out when another loud snort escaped, one that you managed to cover up with a louder retching sound, your hand shooting out to cover Adam's mouth.
“Hey, no, ew! Don't throw up while we're on the phone! You're gonna make ME puke!” Your boss began to shout, her own retching noises coming through the speaker, forcing you to bite your lip as a wave of your own laughter fought its way to the surface. “I-I'm so— … Sorry! I can't h-hold it—” you spoke, gagging after every other word, your face contorting to one of anguish in your efforts to suppress your giggling. Seeing Adam fight his own battle only made it that much harder for you to keep quiet.
Setting the phone down on your thigh, you raised your now free hand to once again shush the large man sitting next to you. You were never the type to call off last minute or abandon your shift half-way through, so you needed to make this believable, but the incessant giggling wasn't helping with your delivery in the slightest. “Okay, okay, I'm hanging up on you now! Bye!” Thankfully though, your boss seemed to have bought the lie, as the phone suddenly went dead and the call ended, their name flashing across your screen momentarily before returning to your contact list.
The second you removed your hand from Adam's mouth, a loud, boisterous laugh ripped through the air like a thunderclap, his entire body shaking with each rolling wave. Though you tried not to, you couldn’t help yourself and began laughing along with him, lips curling upwards as you shook your head and reached to slap his arm playfully.
“I told you to be quiet! You almost blew my cover!” Adam waved a hand in the air, leaning back on the couch's armrest and covering his face with one hand, trying to calm himself down enough to finally speak. “Sorry, sorry… but that was some of the worst acting I've ever seen!” he exclaimed, wiping at the stray tears in his eyes as he turned back to face you. “Hey! I thought it was pretty good…” The pouting expression on your face and the way you puffed out your cheeks in mock anger brought on a new, lighter wave of chuckling.
“It was pretty somethin’, alright. I'm surprised she bought it.”
“Hmph! Meanie…”
You continued to pout, crossing your arms over your chest and turning away from Adam. You knew you weren't the best at acting - certainly not golden globe worthy; but he didn't need to laugh so hard at what you thought was a convincing performance. It was a bruise on your ego. Clicking his tongue and cooing sweetly at your actions, Adam reached out and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward him as his amusement began to fade, though one or two chuckles still managed to escape. “Oh come on babe, I'm just teasing. If it makes you feel better, it was pretty cute, too.”
With another huff, you tried to maintain your little facade, but the way his words were dripping with honey had you folding like a house of cards within mere seconds. Clicking your own tongue, you turned back to face Adam, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you admitted defeat.
“I guess it does a little bit… you’re still mean, though.”
Sticking your tongue out, Adam laughed again at your child-like antics, finding them to be quite adorable. He turned your body away from him and wrapped his strong arms around your middle, situating you between his legs draped across the couch and pulling your back to his chest. A serene silence filled the air once his amusement finally died out completely, and he began to absentmindedly play with your hair - running his fingers through the strands and occasionally twirling a lock or two.
Adam wasn't the type to stick around after a good fuck, and he couldn't be sure what it was that people talked about at these points. Aftercare was never his thing - he would always clean himself up and allow his partner a chance to do the same before kicking them to the curb, no kiss goodbye or promises of a second date. But, ever the cliche, things were different with you. With you, he felt content to sit there in silence, no urgency to get you out the door as he held you close. It was ironic, really. The one time he was supposed to send someone on their merry way after rocking their world so thoroughly, he wanted nothing more than to stop time instead.
He chalked it up as a result of contractual obligations and the possibility this attempt at conception ends in failure.
Neither of you paid any attention to how much time had passed, simply enjoying the other's presence and the tranquility of the moment. Laying your head back, you closed your eyes and allowed your body to relax, the gentle strokes of Adam's hand and his steady breathing lulling you into a somnolent state of mind. You needed to get up, to gather your composure and leave if you wanted your relationship to remain strictly transactional. But it was hard to find the motivation when you felt so peaceful for a change.
You didn't want to leave, but you knew you had to. With a heavy sigh, you freed yourself from Adam's hold and swung your legs off the couch. “Hey, is it okay if I take a quick shower here? I feel all sweaty and gross,” you asked, reaching to pick up the shirt you so haphazardly discarded in your salacious endeavors.
Letting out a sigh of his own, Adam raked a hand through his hair, grimacing at the thin layer of sweat drying at the roots before his mouth shifted to a teasing smirk. “You say that like it's a bad thing.” Nodding your head side to side a couple of times, you mulled over his statement for a moment or two, then shrugged your shoulders as you turned to look at him. “The reasons aren't bad, but the feeling is.”
“Eh, tomato, tomahto, or some shit like that. Whatever,” Adam spoke, his words giving you pause, shrugging his shoulders as well as he stood up and offered you a hand. Without hesitation, you took it and let him pull you to your feet, smiling inwardly as his hands hovered over your upper arms when you wobbled slightly, ready to grab hold and keep you from falling if necessary. Maybe you just haven’t given it enough time, but you were failing to see what Lute meant exactly when she told you Adam was a douche. He was crass, sure. But overall he seemed… good—
‘No, no, no! You're not looking for love, you're looking for a baby!’ your brain was screaming, reminding you of what it was that brought you here in the first place.
The moment Adam was sure you were steady on your feet, he lowered his hands and took hold of yours once more, guiding you down the short hallway to a three-way split. You assumed one door was to the bathroom, one to a bedroom, and the third was either a second bedroom or a closet - though considering how narrow the middle door appeared compared to the other two, the latter was more likely.
Opening the door to his right, Adam stepped to the side and let you go into the bathroom first, which meant the door to your left must have been the bedroom. Much like the living room, his bathroom had a minimalist set up - basic amenities such as a sink, toilet, and a standing shower, plus a half mirror and a hook for towels or clothes.
Not much in the way of decoration, but there was a dingy bathmat on the floor next to the shower; a cup with a toothbrush; a comb; and what looked to be a new razor and tub of hair gel on the counter. It wasn't messy, rather, it was just small, with no obvious storage options - the mirror didn't pull out, and the sink was a stand-alone. Fitting for what you assumed was a bachelor pad.
“Reason and feeling aren't the same,” you commented offhandedly. Hanging your shirt on the empty hook, you opened the frosted glass door and started the shower, turning the knobs until the water reached a desirable temperature. “Yeah, but both of them led us here, so the distinction doesn't matter,” Adam called from the hallway, his words followed by the clicking of the closet door's latch before he stepped into the bathroom with a couple towels draped over one arm.
You paused for a moment, thinking over what he said and soon relented, allowing him this win in your light banter. “You're not wrong.” With your back to him, you paid him no mind as you bent down to slip one shoe off. But before you could get much further than that, your attention was pulled back to Adam when you heard the clinking of his loose belt behind you.
Curiosity getting the better of you, you glanced over your shoulder to see Adam supporting his weight on the wall with one arm and one leg in the air, undoing the laces of his boot with his free hand. Once they were loose enough, he slipped it off and repeated the process with the other, his belt buckle jingling with every motion. “... What'cha doing?” you asked, though you were already fairly certain of the answer. Kicking his boots to the side, Adam looked at you again and flashed a devilish smile when he clocked the light pink dusting across your face.
And oh boy, he just couldn't help himself with what he was about to do next.
“What's it look like I'm doing? I'm taking a shower. Why?” he asked, playing the fool and trying to seem entirely innocent as he slowly pulled his belt from the loops. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, Adam lifted his chin and stared down his nose at you with that teasing look in his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he could practically hear your heart thumping away, beating faster and faster the slower he moved.
Adam didn't look away from you, not even for a millisecond as he unbuttoned his jeans and painstakingly lowered the zipper, reveling in the sight of your face turning three shades darker. He pushed both his pants and boxers down just enough to reveal the top half of his pubic hair, then slipped one hand past the layers of fabric and very obviously began to stroke himself within their confines as you watched with bated breath.
He knew he had you hooked the second you turned away again, highly amused by your sudden bashfulness in spite of your earlier activities. “Ohhh, I get it. Did you think you were gonna shower alone?” he cooed sweetly, taking only two half steps to stand directly behind you and tracing oh-so-lightly the pads of his fingers up your back to the taut band of your bra.
‘Yes…’ you thought to yourself, swallowing hard as you released a shuddering breath, a new wave of arousal flooding your veins and clouding your senses. Your heart pounded in your ears as he held you in place by the hip, his other hand moving higher and higher along your spine to eventually settle in your hair. Gently grabbing a fistful of the silky strands, Adam gave it a sudden and firm tug, pulling your head back until you were forced to look at the ceiling. When he heard your surprised gasp followed by the soft moan that escaped your lips, his crooked little smirk widened even further as he leaned down to whisper in your ear,
“‘Cause if you did, you thought wrong.”
Nipping at the shell of your ear, Adam traced the hand resting on your hip around to your front, a blistering heat blooming within your chest and spreading throughout your entire body. He moved to place slow, deliberate kisses to the tender skin of your neck, trailing downwards as he pulled your body against his, allowing you to feel exactly how hard his shaft was. “Adam…” You sighed, closing your eyes as he let out a low, devious chuckle, his hand moving up your front and slipping beneath your bra's cup to massage your breast.
Why was your heart beating so hard, so loud this time around? You'd think after your couch escapades that you would be over the anticipatory build up, but no. It was different this time. Though there was still very much an animalistic hunger in every kiss, every touch, this time there was no sense of urgency, no impatience behind his movements. No, he was going to take his time with you, get you all worked up just to watch you unravel over, and over, and over again until the only thing you knew was his name and how good he could make you feel.
And oh, yes — he was going to savor it.
Shushing you, Adam sucked at your already bruising flesh, tugging your head to the side for better access to your most sensitive spots. “Now be a good girl…” he whispered, tweaking a pert nipple between two fingers and eliciting a low moan from you when he nipped at your pulse point. “— and strip…” trailing his kisses back up your neck, Adam's lips brushed against the shell of your ear and he began to rock his hips against your backside.
“— all the way down for me.”
“A-Adam, please— fuck!”
Your breathless moans and a wet slurping noise filled the air, mingling with the steam of the shower as you yanked helplessly at Adam's dampened hair. With your back firmly pressed to the tiled wall, Adam was kneeling before you with a leg tossed over each shoulder, keeping you suspended, stationary, and completely at his mercy. His strong arms coiled around your slick thighs, bringing any attempt at escape to a screeching halt long before you could even try.
Adam hummed softly, his mouth and tongue diligently working away at your puffy folds, his thumb gently tugging your clitoral hood back to better expose the little bundle of nerves. He would alternate between drawing concentrated circles and rapidly flicking the firm tip of his tongue over your sensitive bud, relishing the way your thighs would jerk and spasm at each stroke. With a single feather light kiss, Adam pulled back and nuzzled the tip of his nose against your clit, golden flecked hues staring up at you through dark lashes, his gaze teasing and possessive, tone drenched with faux innocence. “Hmm? Somethin’ the matter, baby?”
Clenching your eyes shut tight, you let your head loll back and whimpered when it hit the wall just a little too hard. As you continued to incoherently plead for a small break, Adam licked a long stripe through your glistening folds, perineum to clit, patiently waiting for you to answer his question. You pulled at his hair again, but it did nothing to deter his enthusiastic advances, only earning you a pleasured grunt and another swipe of his agile muscle.
Though half his face was obscured by the position and the close proximity, you could tell he was enjoying this torture just a little too much by the occasional chuckle and his vibrating hums. “I— … I can’t—” How long has Adam been at it now? You couldn't remember, your brain having turned to mush after your second orgasm, that heaven sent tongue of his unyielding as he tirelessly lapped away at your cunt.
Adam smirked widely at your tensed reactions, your body betraying your words as your hips rocked against his mouth. Digging his nails into your right thigh, he unwrapped one arm from your leg and easily inserted two fingers into your pulsating heat, pumping at an agonizingly slow pace. He let out another moan, the vibrations sending tingles up your spine as he massaged your inner walls and sucked vigorously on that little nub.
“Guess we're gonna be here a while, then.”
Tears began to form along your water line, threatening to fall with every lick, your walls clamping down around his thick digits. You continued to whine and beg, squirming in his grasp when he curled his fingers and pressed hard on your g-spot. Muscles taut and straining, you tried to push his head away with the palm of your hand to his forehead, struggling against the overwhelming pleasure delivered from every ridge, every divot of his skilled tongue.
Silently cursing yourself and your inability to hold your tongue, you thought back on the events that put you in this position.
Standing beneath the water and letting its soothing warmth relax your tight muscles, you raked your hands through your hair as you rinsed the soap from your tresses. Though Adam’s words, actions, and physical state most certainly hinted at a round two, your hopes were quickly dashed when he began to wash himself as usual, cheeky grin wide and taunting. Face still burning red hot, you stole glances at Adam's naked body when you were sure he wasn't looking, pouting slightly as the water finally ran clear.
“You really got my hopes up for this?” you grumbled, gaze running over his robust figure as he scrubbed away at his short hair, the motions creating a thick lather from the shampoo he used. Letting out an amused breath, Adam nudged you away from the water so that he could rinse his own hair, eyes clenched shut to avoid getting soap in them. “It's your own fault. Water ain't free, and you already started the shower, sooo…” Adam trailed off, but his words went in one ear and right out the other.
Humming softly, all you could focus on were the droplets of water cascading down his back, highlighting every curve of his husky build and pooling slightly in the dimples above his very smackable, plump ass. You wanted so badly to run your tongue up his spine and nibble at the fatty muscle of his neck, to have his heavy breathing in your ear as he brought you to the brink once more, but the embarrassment brought on by his teasing wouldn't let you do anything more than steal glances and pretend like it didn't bother you. It did bother you though, and you were sure Adam was aware of that by the occasional mirthful huff and click of his tongue. And when all he did was smile knowingly when he finally caught you staring, you knew - that bastard was enjoying this.
‘Okay motherfucker, it's on now.’
Chewing your bottom lip nervously, you tried to muster the courage to tease him back, to give him a taste of his own medicine. Grabbing for the body wash, you squeezed a generous amount from the bottle into your hand, then offered it to Adam when he stepped away from the water. “Oh, please. That’s just an excuse,” you sighed nonchalantly as you began to spread the syrupy cleanser all over your body, maintaining an expression of boredom and disinterest even when you felt his piercing stare on your ample bosom. “For what?” You heard Adam ask, the corner of your mouth twitching up into a lopsided smirk as you intentionally moved slower when going over your breasts, ass, and thighs. “You not keeping your word. You lied.”
“... fucking pardon?” Adam asked, slightly offended that you would call him a liar, but too curious to see where you were going with this to say or do much else. You bit the inside of your cheek to stay focused on your goal, watching him from the corner of your eye as he copied your actions with the body wash. “You don't remember? When we first met, you said you wouldn’t let me leave the bed before making me cum on your face at least three times,” you reminded him, and slowly watched the gears start to turn in his head, an unwarranted blush finding residence on your cheeks as you turned away. Though his words had been nothing more than a hypothetical statement back then, it didn’t seem to matter as it finally dawned on him.
Tossing his head back with a short chuckle, Adam unabashedly eyed your figure as you bent over to spread the soap along your calves and ankles, struggling more and more to maintain an aloof demeanor the longer this little game of yours dragged on. “Does this look like a bed to you?” he asked in the same bored tone you were using, only he made it seem effortless, as if he truly wasn’t interested. He knew what you were doing and, never one to back down from a challenge, Adam began to subtly stroke his half-hardened length under the pretense he was cleaning himself to push you further down that line.
With a shrug of your shoulders, you pushed past him to stand under the water once more, moaning softly at the warmth that enveloped you and rinsed away the soap. “Tomato, tomahto, or some shit like that,’” you parroted his earlier statement, earning a snort of laughter from the man behind you. “Ha! Good one,” he said, tone sarcastic as he rolled his eyes at your response.
Making an exaggerated moan this time, you ran your fingers through your wet hair, letting both hands rest in the crook on either side of your neck and giving Adam a side glance. “I'm just saying—” you started, once again stepping away from the water so that he could rinse off too. “I came twice already, but neither were on your face; it's almost time for me to leave; and you're being a tease.” You stared at his back as the soap ran down, leaving a pleasant yet powerful scent behind.
“And? Don't act like you're not getting off on it. I can see right through you,” he chimed before sucking in a sharp breath when he felt your fingers unexpectedly dance across his back in a gentle massage. Determined to not break first in this impromptu game of sexual chicken, Adam turned his head to the side to look over his shoulder at you when you pressed your front to his back, hands gliding up and down his wet skin. “You’re right, I do. But it makes me think—” you paused, reaching around his large frame to brush your fingertips over his now fully erect cock.
‘Damn, must've done something right if you're coming back for more so soon,’ he thought smugly, not minding in the slightest when you finally took the plunge and wrapped your hand around his shaft, pumping him at a slow pace as the game continued. With a shallow buck of his hips, Adam urged you to go faster, the water acting as a lubricant and making it easy to pick up speed. “— you’re nothing but talk,” you finished, placing a soft kiss in between his shoulder blades, cupping his heavy balls with your other hand and experimentally rolling them between your digits.
And there it was - the camel crippling straw. Adam didn’t care about losing anymore now that shots had been fired. Not only had you called him a liar, now you were openly disparaging his abilities - and without any proof, no less! He couldn't let that slide, water bill be damned. Letting out a low, almost wicked kind of laugh, Adam grabbed both of your wrists and yanked your hands away. Faster than you could process, he had turned around, pushed you back against the shower wall, and pinned your hands above your head, leaving you wide open, vulnerable, and completely helpless.
“Someone's got a mouth on them. Let's see how long that lasts.”
A shiver ran up your spine, though you couldn't be sure if it was from the memories replaying in your head or the icy drops raining down on your dangling calves and feet. “T-the water's getting too cold!” But all he did was hum in agreement, unfazed by the cold water hitting his muscled back. “I know,” he said, unbothered even as goosebumps rose along every centimeter of his flesh where the water hit. He was bothered, but it didn't matter - he had something to prove right now, damn it! That was enough to keep him going, to egg him on further as he opened his mouth wider and pressed his tongue flat against your sweet mound.
“I can't feel my toes—” you sobbed, thighs trembling both from the overstimulation and the cold. If you had known he was going to take your little taunts so seriously, you would have waited until you were out of the shower - at least then, you wouldn't be freezing. Biting your lower lip and letting out a long whine, you dug your nails into Adam's scalp and closed your legs around his head, hoping it would be enough to make him relent or at least move things to the bedroom.
But very much so in the same manner as before, your hopes for a quick reprieve were dashed when all he did was groan at the subtle pain and sudden pressure over his ears. Adam curled his fingers inside you, massaging that spongy spot that had your entire body shaking, sucking fervently on your clit and enhancing the pleasure to a near unbearable degree. He continued to alternate between sucking and flicking his tongue over your little pink bud, showing mercy a couple seconds later by pulling back and placing a light kiss to your clit.
Staring up at you, Adam smirked teasingly as he began to scissor his fingers, kissing and nipping at your inner thighs as a low chuckle rumbled through his thickset chest. “What’s that saying about poking bears?” he asked, highly amused by the exasperated whine that clawed its way past your lips as his own latched onto your clit once more, sucking and flicking with a renewed vigor. “Adammm…” you cried, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and mixing with the water that dripped from your hair, walls fluttering around his digits as he pistoned his fingers in and out of your heated core.
Another sinister laugh filled the air at the pathetic state he'd put you in, reduced to an empty-headed blubbering mess, unable to run away from his pleasurable ministrations - whether you wanted to or not. He liked seeing you like this; brows furrowed, teary eyes half shut, cheeks painted a dusty pink, your every muscle taut and trembling as he pushed you higher and higher… Truly a sight to behold, one he so badly wished he could snap a couple lewd shots of for later.
With a harsh suck on your clit, Adam pulled away just as the edges of your vision began turning white, wails of frustration and the involuntary gyrating of your hips testimony to how close you had been to your release. “Please, please, please, please, please—!” you cried as tears rolled down your cheeks, your hands now trying to draw him back in before your orgasm was completely lost. It was enough to pull a guttural moan from him, to convince him to show you a little bit of mercy. Unwrapping his other arm from around your thigh, Adam smirked and nuzzled the tip of his nose against your sensitive bud, voice thick and eyes glazed over with a new-found arousal as he stared up at you.
“Keep those legs wrapped around my head, or I’ll up it to five.”
Swallowing hard, you hesitantly nodded your head after a couple seconds of deliberation, having learned your lesson about poking the metaphorical bear. “Good girl,” he praised, placing a few feather light kisses to your delicious mound before picking up where he had left off, wasting no time in bringing you back to the cliff's edge once more. Opening his mouth wide, Adam went back to devouring the savory meal splayed out before him, his messy slurps and pleasurable moans drowning out every other noise.
“Fuck, baby, you taste so good…” Adam muttered against your heat, wrapping his free hand around his throbbing prick, using the water and precum dribbling from his tip as a lubricant and rapidly fisting his cock in time with his fingers hastily thrusting into your overstimulated pussy.
“O-oh, fuck! Please, don't stop—!” you cried, arching your back off the tiled wall and gripping tight his wet hair as your orgasm started to build twice as fast as before. Adam groaned at the stinging pain in his scalp but was too absorbed in the way your velvety walls resisted the addition of a third finger at first while he pressed his thumb to his weeping slit. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so fucking turned on that he could cum with so little stimulation. All he wanted to do was savor this, to drag it out, but the burning orgasm rapidly approaching with each second that ticked by made it all the more improbable he would last much longer.
In a desperate attempt to stave off his end, Adam released his cock and let his hand fly up to grab at your breast, groping the malleable flesh tight and roughly massaging as his hips subconsciously rutted into the air in search of the sweet friction he had denied himself. “C'mon baby, do it, cum for me—!” he pleaded, his thick digits curling to press against your g-spot once more, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit as he continued to suck, shaking his head up and down, side to side, obscenely slurping at your essence as your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably.
You were right there, right on the cusp of a mind-shattering release when you looked down at the man buried between your plush thighs. The second you locked eyes with Adam, pupils blown wide with lust and desire, you were done for. Inhaling sharply, you clenched your eyes shut and yanked on his hair again, so sure that if you pulled any harder you would rip the lush strands from his scalp. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh fuck, fuck!” You keened loudly as your release ripped through you abruptly, your entire body quaking as you pushed yourself up the wall in a fruitless attempt to escape his tongue that was still diligently lapping away at your cunt.
A loud groan of satisfaction and approval rumbled through his chest, and he reluctantly pulled his fingers from your core, reaching up to let it join his other hand on the opposite breast. “There you go, that's my good girl…” Adam praised, closing his eyes as he slurped at your fluids for a few more seconds, then pulled back when your cries of pleasure turned strained, the pain of overstimulation eventually becoming more prominent.
Licking his lips and savoring the lingering taste of your essence, Adam smirked cockily up at you as your chest heaved, heart pounding loudly in your ears and nearly drowning out his words. “Still think I'm all talk?” he teased, but your gasping for air as you slowly but surely came down from your high made it impossible for you to form a coherent response. “Fuuuuck meeee…”
Laughing airily at your mindless babble, Adam tried to ignore the throbbing ache in his lower regions as he carefully slid your legs off his shoulders and moved to stand up. When your knees buckled under your own weight, he grabbed hold of you by the waist and held you upright as he turned to finally shut the water off, a shudder rolling through his body once he fully acknowledged just how cold it had gotten.
“Well, since you asked so nicely…” Adam turned back to face you and crouched down low enough to grab you by the backs of your thighs, easily hoisting you up and wrapping your legs loosely around his waist. “I can't say no when you got that pretty, fucked out look on your face,” he mused, letting you slump against his much larger frame as he pushed the glass door open with his foot and stepped out.
It took you what felt like an hour to fully process his words, your mind playing catch up to the rest of you as you braced your hands on his broad shoulders. “W-what… wait—” you rasped through your panting, your heart still pounding away as Adam cupped your ass with both hands and made his way to the door. Removing one hand just long enough to swing the bathroom, and then the bedroom door open, he effortlessly carried you to the king-sized bed, its headboard pressed along the wall.
Delivering one sudden, sharp slap to your rear that made you squeal in surprise and his cock jump with excitement, he unceremoniously dropped you onto the bed, not caring one bit that your still very wet body was soaking the duvet that covered it. “A-Adam—” you started, knowing that this was just the beginning when you watched him begin to rut into his hand, that cocky grin of his ever present as he looked down his nose at you.
“You had your fun. Now it's my turn.”
With a whine, you tried to scoot away from Adam, to put some distance between you two just long enough for a brief refractory period. But your muscles still felt like jello and you didn't make it very far before Adam's large hands wrapped around your ankles and pulled you back to the edge of the bed. Still standing, he pushed your legs apart with his fingers splayed across your inner thighs, staring down at the mess he'd made of you and letting a sense of pride wash over him at the sight. Biting his bottom lip, Adam began to rub the underside of his painfully erect cock through your slick folds, grin widening at the way your whole body jerked when his tip caught against your clit. “What’s the matter, baby? I thought you wanted my cum…”
Oh, the condescension on his lips - how utterly sweet it tasted...
Weakly struggling against his iron grip, you were unsuccessful in your attempt to escape and tossed your head back, tears threatening to fall at any second now. “I-it's too much! I need… need a minute—” you begged, fisting the fabric beneath you and wincing every time his thick cock brushed against your overstimulated nub. Adam whined softly at your hesitation, your pleas for a chance to recover before going any further falling on deaf ears as he continued to grind against your slick cunt. “But I can't wait anymore… Need it, bad!” he mewled in mock disappointment, moaning softly at the small amount of friction his movements provided.
Angling his hips on the drawback, this absolute bear of a man slowly pushed his tip past the first ring of your overly sensitive pussy, his jaw dropping at the heat enveloping his dick and the way you were squeezing him so tight. He wanted to give you the time you asked for, he really did - but the persistent ache was becoming unbearable, and he wrestled interminably with his more primal urges the more you begged for him to wait.
“I’ll go slow…” he promised, though he wasn’t sure that he would be able to keep it with how completely feral your cunt was turning him. He could feel his self-control slipping away as he began to shallowly thrust into you, but he never pushed past the tip. Sobbing at Adam's reluctance to grant you this small thing, you moved to sit up and push him away with a hand to his upper abdomen, right below his ribcage until his tip was no longer nestled inside the shallows of your heated core. “I only need a minute, I promise—” you tried to reassure him, struggling to keep him at bay when he tried to move closer once again.
He was persistent, but you needed a chance to recover, and damn it, you were gonna get it! Though you had to admit, his eagerness to get back inside you was certainly a boost to your ego. Chewing on your bottom lip, you stared up at Adam with your big, doe eyes, lashes still damp with your salty tears from just a few minutes ago. You trailed your hand down his front, wasting not a single second as you took his substantial length in your hand and gave him a few experimental pumps.
Your gaze wasn't far behind, taking the opportunity now to fully appreciate his cock. Standing at about eight or nine inches in length with a slight upwards curve, he had a wide girth that tapered off near the tip, the skin only one shade darker than the rest of his body. His tip was a flushed pink in color, with precum dribbling from his slit and a large, very prominent vein running along the underside of his length. Why you hadn't realized how big he actually was until now, you didn't know. You licked your lips, curious to know what he tasted like, but your attention was drawn back to Adam’s face when a guttural moan reverberated through the air.
“Fuuuck, babe…” he rasped, rolling his head back and closing his eyes, hips bucking to match your languid pace. It wasn't your pussy (sadly), but it provided him with just enough stimulation to allot you the time you'd asked for mere seconds ago.
But even so, he needed more. Reaching down, Adam wrapped one of his large hands over yours and his cock, urging you to tighten your grip as he found a rhythm. “Gotta squeeze me a little harder than tha— a-aht!” he started, but your sudden increase in the pressure had his hips jerking forward unexpectedly, a wicked smile etched across your face at his reactions. “You mean like… this?” you asked with that same fake tone of innocence he'd used on you. Pressing your thumb firmly over his slit and rubbing back and forth slowly, you reached with your other hand to cup his balls, smirk growing wider when he picked up the pace and his grunts of satisfaction rose in both volume and pitch. “Is this how you like it, baby?”
Another loud groan erupted from Adam's throat, followed by a curt laugh at your teasing. Tilting his head forward to look down at you again, he reached out and grabbed hold of your face, squishing your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his lengthy digits. “Does this mouth do anything else besides talk?” he asked, his words coming out in a breathless pant as his hips faltered momentarily. Your grin widened in response as you shook his hand away and leaned forward to place light, teasing kisses to his chest, trailing them down his front to his naval.
“Oh, fuck…” Adam muttered, sucking in a sharp breath as he released your hand and stopped moving his hips, watching you intently as you continued to trail kisses until you reached the beginnings of his happy trail. “It does plenty—” you started, and with a devious giggle, you pulled away entirely and leaned back on your palms, sticking the tip of your tongue out in a taunting gesture. “— but not right now.” With that said, you spread your legs wide and motioned with a single finger for Adam to come closer, the oversensitivity having subsided enough now for you to continue.
You let that same hand drift down and slide through your slick lips, a soft moan piercing the air as you let your head fall back and push two fingers inside. “What’s the matter, baby?” you whispered when Adam cursed loudly at your actions, highly frustrated with your teasing yet reaching new levels of arousal as he watched you pleasure yourself. “I thought you needed it…” you taunted, reflecting that patronizing attitude of his from before right back at him.
The soft squelching noise of your fingers pumping in and out was enough to drive Adam up a wall, and the way you quietly keened his name had his cock twitching expectantly as he grabbed your wrist and yanked your hand away from where he so desperately wanted to touch you. Immediately wrapping his lips around your slick coated fingers, he expertly cleaned your essence from them before withdrawing, savoring your taste and licking his lips. Before you could protest or even process what was happening, Adam had pushed you back and lifted your lower half by the backs of your knees, holding your legs apart as he began grinding the underside of his hard shaft through your glistening folds once again.
“I'mma make you regret that little stunt just now,” he promised, eyes dark and pupils blown wide with lust, his wide smirk matching the emotion and intent in those golden flecked hues. You tried to hide the trepidation that flooded your nervous system at his words, knowing full-well that he was capable of it after what he'd done in the shower a few minutes prior. But, call it pride or ego or just plain recklessness, you decided to call his bluff by scoffing at his statement and rolling your eyes. “As if. But you're welcome to try—”
Your words were cut short when Adam unexpectedly impaled you on his cock, your entire body and even the bed itself jerking from the amount of force behind his sudden movements. A surprised gasp forced its way past your lips as you felt so full in an instant, mingling with the prolonged groan that he let out as you squeezed him tight, your walls resisting the sudden intrusion at first.
Still holding you by the backs of your knees, Adam looked down his nose at you just as he had done so many times before, that lopsided, arrogant smirk of his pairing perfectly with the sadism you saw there in his eyes. He retracted his hips slowly after giving you a moment to adjust, then drove himself forward again, bottoming out once more with a single thrust and pulling another shocked gasp from your lungs. He repeated the motions several times, mesmerized by the sounds you made and the harsh bounce of your tits each time he bottomed out - over, and over, and over again.
“You—” he pulled back slowly until only the tip remained inside your warm, wet walls.
Pap!
“Were—” another slow withdrawal, a low whine emitting from you at the sinful drag of his cock.
Pap!
“Saying? Fuck—!” he finished, turning his attention to where you were connected and retracting his hips one more time.
PAP!
The last one seemed particularly brutal in comparison, but you didn't mind one bit - the delicious sting of his fat cock stretching your dripping cunt wide open creating an intense pleasure that drowned out every other sensation and coherent thought. Repeating the action a few more times just to hear that lovely little gasp of yours again and again, Adam eventually adopted a steady rhythm, the bed frame creaking as he fucked into you deep, and rough, and oh-so-ruthlessly. He let his eyes trail upward to your breasts, watching them bounce in tandem with each punishing snap of his hips and tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.
Loud slaps of skin on skin echoed throughout the room as your walls contracted around his thick cock, your wet hair clinging to your face and shoulders, skin glistening with a mixture of water and a new layer of sweat. Laying there flat on your back while Adam had his way with you, you watched his face contort with the building ecstasy your body delivered, double fisting the duvet and moaning in time with every thrust. “Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah!”
“God, you feel so fucking good— … squeezing me so tight!” he praised you, his breathless pants syncing up with your own noises in a perfect harmony. Glancing down to watch how desperately your walls clung to his dick and tried to pull him back in for a few seconds, his gaze eventually moved up to your face, his breath hitching at the way you stared up at him through half-closed eyes and how your lips formed a perfect O. He stared right back at you, his brows furrowed in concentration and teeth clenched as he reached to wrap a hand around the back of your neck, bending you in a way so that you could watch. “Look at that, baby— can barely take my big fucking dick, huh? You like how I pound you?” he asked, voice thick with that same honeyed condescension you've become so fond of.
You could feel that familiar coil tensing in the pits of your belly with each slam of his hips, the way his cock curved allowing him to bully that sweet spot every time. Letting go of your neck a couple seconds later, Adam grazed his fingers across your collarbone, then lower to grope your breast harshly and lightly pinch the nipple, moving lower still to grip your waist, his other hand that had been holding the back of your knee joining it on the opposite side. “So fucking perfect, gonna look so pretty stuffed full with my cum… S-shit—!” he muttered, focusing on the way he shoved his cock in and out of you at a near-inhuman pace, the bed frame rattling noisily and slamming against the wall with a rhythmic ‘thump! thump! thump!’
Your thighs began to tremble, a dull ache of the muscles soon turning into a searing burn from having been forced apart for so long. It was a delicious kind of pain though, a direct contrast to the overwhelming delectation of his increasingly sloppy thrusts, a tell-tale sign that his own release was approaching right alongside yours. Turning your head, you pulled on the duvet until you were able to wad up enough of the fabric to bite, your walls fluttering as you teetered on the edge of bliss yet again. “I-I'm gonna cum—”
“Again? Holy shit, pussy's so fuckin’ greedy!” he interrupted you, a laugh of excitement ripping through the air as he jerked his hips faster, the neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair nestled at the base of his cock stimulating your neglected clit and dangling you over the precipice of euphoric bliss. All you needed was one more push, one tiny little nudge, and all that tension building inside you would release. But just as you felt like you were about to unravel at the seams, Adam pulled out, large hand wrapping around the base of his dick as he forced himself to be still, choking back a displeased grunt at the sudden loss of stimulation.
He didn't want to cum yet - no, he had made a promise, and he couldn't let himself finish before seeing it fulfilled. He needed to make this last for the sake of keeping true to his word, and not at all because he knew the second it was over, you would leave. If he could successfully edge you and himself in just the right way, keep you on the line and skimming the surface of the water without breaking it, then realistically, you would stay… right? So lost in his own world of kept promises and craved companionship, Adam didn't notice at first just how desperate and pathetic you'd become when he pulled away, only being made aware when a loud sob pierced his ears and drew his attention back to your face.
“No, no, no, no— put it back in, put it back, I'm so fucking close— Adam, baby, plee-easeee…!” you begged through hiccupping sobs, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the abrupt denial as you pushed yourself up and reached down to grasp his glistening cock, to guide him back to where you needed him most.
Well. So much for keeping promises.
The way your walls clenched around nothing, your piteous cries for him to continue, your tear-streaked face as you chased the stimulation he’d taken away moments prior? The absolute depravity of it all was enough to break his resolve, strong as it was, and every single reservation went right out the window when he decided you're the best fuck he's had in a long time. “Oh, fuck— Yeah? You want more?” Wrapping a hand around your throat, Adam pushed you down, pressing you into the mattress as he slammed himself back into your quivering hole and resumed his previous pace. Loud, amorous moans filled the air, accompanied by the wet slaps and squelching noises of your cunt. You just had to know what you were doing to him, the effect you had on him with each word of desperation and pleading look, and it low-key pissed him off how well it was working, how easily you managed to shatter his ambition and bend him to your will with so little effort.
Choking on what little air Adam allotted you, a strangled cry forced its way past your restricted trachea as you balled the duvet once more, eyes rolling back and closing tight, your end helplessly inevitable now. Seeing you incoherently mouth something prompted Adam to loosen his grip, and you greedily sucked air into your lungs, chest heaving as he continued to relentlessly pound into you with reckless abandon. “Fuck, fuck— I’m cumming—!” you sputtered, arching your back off the mattress when that taut thread of tension finally snapped, your breath catching in your throat as your walls spasmed around his aching cock and your fluids spilled from your abused cunt.
“Yeeeaaahhh, there it is, baby! That's it, that's my good girl!” Adam let out a short hoot of laughter, his hand shooting down to messily swipe at your clit and forcing more of your essence to gush out, slathering his cock, lower abdomen, and fingers with your creamy slick as he continued to incessantly piston his hips. You simply laid there and let him use you to chase his own high, the sudden release of tension draining every ounce of strength you possessed as he fucked you through your orgasm. You barely had enough control of your autonomy to turn your head and bite down on the duvet again, your weak mewls of pleasure muffled by the fabric. More tears fell from your tired eyes, your muscles twitching involuntarily every time his hair brushed against your overstimulated bud.
“Adam—”
“S-shit… I know, baby. Almost there, just a little more,” he whispered, closing his eyes and focusing on reaching his own end. The uncharacteristic gentleness of his tone and the way his hips began to stutter brought you back down quickly, and you turned to look at him directly now as beads of sweat dripped down his face and chest.
You watched his brows knit together, how his jaw clenched as he took his pleasure from you, how his disheveled brown locks clung to his forehead from a mixture of sweat and water, and the way his Adam's-apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly the closer he got to his peak. You were mesmerized by every movement he made - when the hand that had been thumbing your aching pearl moved up to grip your waist, when his other hand pushed your legs apart with fingers splayed wide across your inner thigh, how the veins in his forearms bulged and the muscles in his abdomen flexed with each bruising snap of his hips, and the way his head would loll back for a couple seconds then return to its original position. You couldn’t recall having ever gazed upon a more captivating sight.
And the sounds he made? Oh, those were just a bonus.
The steady stream of grunts and moans, hums and curses that tumbled past his lips soon began to rise in both volume and pitch, and his thighs started to burn from the unrelenting pace he was struggling to maintain, his heavy balls slapping loudly against your ass as his fingers dug into your waist. He was so close, so fucking close, he could practically taste it as the pressure built higher and higher, ready to burst at any second.
When Adam opened his eyes again and looked down at you, he let out a pathetic whine at the sight that greeted him. You, laying there flat on your back, legs spread wide and shaking like a leaf, your skin glistening all over with a sheen layer of sweat, hair clinging to your face, your neck, and your shoulders. You had a vice grip on the duvet and your chest heaved with every gasping breath, tits bouncing in tandem with his thrusts, your mouth hanging open. With your brows furrowed and your half-shut eyes glazed over with equal parts lust and exhaustion, you met his stare as you whispered in between your panting, “W-want you to cum in me, Adam— mmahh! … come on, give it to me, fill me up daddy—!”
“Oh, fuck!”
Surprised by your choice of words, a whole new wave of arousal surged through Adam's body, electricity shooting up and down his spine and making him shiver with excitement. With the hand that had been holding your waist so callously, he grabbed you by the throat once more, his breaths uneven and frantic as his lips curled back and his nose scrunched up into a snarl. “Say it again, call me daddy again!” he demanded through clenched teeth, moving his other hand to nestle in the crevice of your hip and thigh, pulling you into his bucking hips for a little extra force, his thrusts growing increasingly frenzied and sloppy as his cock twitched inside you. “C'mon, fuckin’ say it for me!”
Choking at the sudden restriction of your airways, you wrapped your hand around his wrist and dug your nails into his skin, leaving crescent shaped indents in their wake, trying to silently convey that he needed to at least loosen his grasp if he wanted you to acquiesce to his demands. The moment he understood, Adam released some of the pressure, but still kept his hand around your throat, his thumb pressing into the junction between your neck and jaw. “Fuck me, daddy! Please—!” you rasped, squeezing his prick as tight as your spent muscles would allow, double fisting the duvet and moaning over and over again both his name and the new moniker that had elicited such an unexpected, delightful response.
Adam growled as he relentlessly pounded into you, the bedframe rattling and squeaking from the brutal motions of his hips, the wet smacking noises of his own sweat coated skin colliding with yours filling the air and nearly drowning out your pretty sounds and his harsh grunts. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, that's it baby, oh fuck, that's it—!” he muttered, eyes trained on your face as his balls tightened and hips stuttered, the first rope of his spend shooting deep into your core.
Adam fell forward, catching himself with a single hand beside your head, his other wrapping around the back of your neck as he slammed his mouth into yours in a passionate, sloppy kiss. Immediately, you released the duvet and placed both hands on the small of his back, your nails digging into the fatty tissue of his ass as you weakly pressed him further into your body. Teeth clashing and tongues swirling, Adam's nostrils flared with each gasping breath, and he fisted the hair at the nape of your neck as the full force of his orgasm came crashing down on him. You couldn't suppress the moan that you let out, strangled and dripping with depravity when you felt his hot seed fill you up, trickling out as he jerked his hips faster, desperately fucking it back into you.
Eventually he began to slow down, his ruthless pace turning to soft rolls of his hips as he quietly keened into your mouth, a mixture of your fluids soaking his pubic hair and leaving a thick white ring around the base of his cock. When he finally stopped moving altogether, he pulled away from your kiss-swollen lips and pressed his face into the crook of your neck, struggling to catch his breath as he came down from his high. You let your head fall back, exhaustion creeping in like a bullet train as you moved your hands up to lightly rake your nails up and down the length of his spine, your heart racing and lungs screaming.
After a few minutes passed, Adam pulled away from your neck and stared down at where you two were still connected, overwhelmed with a sense of pride as he slowly pulled his softening prick from the comfort of your heated core. He reveled in the way your body twitched beneath his touch and, when his cum began to seep from your abused hole, he ran two fingers through your slick folds and pushed it back inside, a broken whimper leaving you at the sensation.
“Shit…” Adam whispers as he retracts his fingers and lifts them to your lips, grazing your bottom lip and prompting you to open, pressing his digits against your tongue the moment you did. With a breathy chuckle, he stared down at you with a sort of gentleness you hadn’t seen before as you lazily sucked his digits clean, moaning softly when he pulled them away. With that same hand, he slid his arm around the small of your back and moved both of you up the mattress with practiced ease, rolling onto his back and holding you close.
Lifting your body up moments later, you moved to partially lay on top of him, your breasts squishing beneath you and pressing firmly to his chest as you pulled him into a tired, lazy kiss. You laced your fingers in his hair, scratching gently at the nape of his neck as your sore muscles slowly but surely relaxed in the aftermath of your endeavors.
A soft hum of satisfaction emitted from him at your light scratches, wrapping his arms around your middle as he began to draw soothing circles on your back, occasionally dragging the pads of his fingers up and down your spine. “And you wanted to keep foreplay out of it,” he joked lightheartedly when you broke the kiss, earning a short laugh from you as you pressed your forehead to his shoulder. Reaching to cup your face, he brought you back up for another slow kiss, this one softer and more tender than before. When you pulled away again, you smiled down at him and brushed your slender digits over his coarse chest hair. “Thanks for talking me out of that, by the w—”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
You jumped at the sudden loud noise of someone banging on the wall adjacent to the headboard, a yelp of surprise escaping your lungs as you turned your attention to said wall. “Are you done screwing like rabbits yet?!” You heard a muffled female voice shouting from the opposite side of the wall, eyes wide as saucers and heart pounding for a completely different reason now. Looking down at Adam, you watched his expression sour as he rolled his eyes and craned his neck back slightly, inhaling deeply before he shouted right back at the mysterious voice, “Fuck OFF, Gladys!”
When his attention returned to you and he noticed your confused expression, Adam waved a single hand in the air dismissively. “My neighbor,” he explained before you got the chance to ask, sneering irritably at the interruption of what he considered a manifest moment of intimacy with you. Slapping a hand over your mouth as your face turned a deep shade of red from embarrassment, your startled gaze flicked back and forth between Adam and the shared wall. “Shit, was I too loud? I didn’t mean—”
“I’m trying to sleep! You’re being too damn loud!” You were once again interrupted by the neighbor’s yelling, a small squeak slipping out as Adam scoffed, his jaw tightening and his eyes returning to the aforementioned wall. “Then take out your fucking hearing aids, you crusty old swamp hag!” he yelled, his voice coming out with a thunderous boom before it shifted to a mumbling whisper of exasperation. “It's like 7:00, the fuck you trying to sleep this early for anyway? Crazy old bitch…” he grumbled, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply.
“Oh, god, I'm so sorry—” You started to say, but Adam pursed his lips together and waved his hand again, cracking one eye open to see your tomato-red face as he shook his head, shushing you. “Don't sweat it, babe. She's a little—” he began, pointing his index finger at his temple, making circular motions as he whistled briefly, “— batshit crazy. Complains about every little noise since she got these new hearing aids. Half the time, the noises she complains about are made up.” Exhaling audibly, Adam let his hand return to drawing circles on your back and shoulders, closing his eyes again as he tried to regain a sliver of the tranquility that Gladys had so rudely interrupted.
“I heard that!” The woman shouted through the wall, making Adam scoff as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance.
“Don't care!”
Stifling a laugh, you felt a little more calm than before, though still highly embarrassed that you were loud enough to disturb Adam's neighbors. Looking at the shared wall once again, you cupped the side of your mouth and took a deep breath, the corners of your mouth twitching up into a small smile.
“Sorry, Gladys!”
“You really have to go?” Adam asked solemnly as he walked beside you, one arm linked with yours to help support your weight as you walked. You had assured him that he didn't need to walk you back to your car, but he insisted for reasons unknown to you. It might have taken you a while to get there on your own considering how utterly weak you felt after everything, but you would have gotten there all the same. Not that you didn’t appreciate the gesture, of course.
Your legs felt like jello with every precarious step you took, each one calculated and carefully executed to avoid rolling your ankle. You made a mental note to only wear sneakers or flats next time - if there even was a next time. A small part of you hoped there would be. Smiling, you leaned into Adam's side and placed your free hand on his forearm. “I do. I am in desperate need of a shower,” you spoke lightheartedly as you stopped at an intersection and pressed the button to cross.
A similar smile tugged at the corners of Adam's mouth as he pulled his arm from yours and wrapped it around your back, hand resting firmly on your hip. “I said you could shower at my place,” he remarked, urging you forward when the sign on the opposite side of the street changed, signaling that it was safe to cross. You let out a laugh, soft and short as you continued to walk, the notary's office coming into view shortly after making it across. “A real shower. You already showed me what showering at your place entails.”
Clicking his tongue in disappointment, Adam glanced down at you and reached to run a hand through his hair. “Ain't my fault. You're the one that fucked around and found out,” he said with a huff. You scoffed at that and turned to look up at him, your smiling mouth hanging open and a look of incredulousness plastered across your face. “After you decided to be a tease! I just gave you a taste of your own medicine!” You defended, playfully slapping his chest when you finally reached your car. Placing one hand on the driver's side door, you pulled away from Adam's embrace and turned to face him fully.
Adam rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, unbothered by your rebuttal as he gently pushed you up against your car. “I wouldn't have teased you if you didn't make it so easy,” he said with a cocky smirk, one hand coming up to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other resting firmly on your hip. You couldn't hide the grin on your face or bite back the hum you made in response, placing both hands on his waist and pressing your body further into his.
“Doesn't change the fact that I need to go home,” you started, grin widening at the dejected look in his eyes, his large hand moving to cradle your face as his thumb brushed across your cheek. “I have work in the morning, and if I show up in yesterday's clothes, they're gonna think something is off.” You placed a hand over his and turned your head slightly to place a butterfly kiss to the heel of his palm. “And I don't know about you, but I'd rather not be interrogated about my personal life.”
With another tongue click followed by a long groan, Adam reluctantly admitted defeat. “Fine, fine. So, when can I see you again?” He asked, lowering his hand to caress the side of your neck, rubbing the pad of his thumb across a deep bruise near your pulse point, proudly smirking at the memories of what caused it. Your smile faltered momentarily, and you sighed, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth in deep thought. “I wanna say tomorrow, but—” you muttered, only to be interrupted before you could finish the thought.
“So then do it,” Adam said matter-of-factly, a slight twinge of hope lacing his words, his charismatic attitude and the sultry look in his golden flecked orbs tempting you to do just that - and you almost did. Had it not been for a couple pedestrians with their dog walking by and pulling you back down to earth, you would have. Heaven knows you wanted to return tomorrow, and hell knew how badly you wanted to stay tonight. But you managed to resist the impulsivity and laughed it off, shaking the tempting thoughts from your mind. “We can't. I don't think Gladys would appreciate that very much,” you stated in an attempt to deflect the blame for your decision onto anyone, anything but yourself.
Adam rolled his eyes at the mention of his elderly neighbor, his lip curling up into a snarl. “Gladys can suck my dick,” he responded rather childishly, glancing over his shoulder when the dog from before began to bark. You leaned to the side, just enough to see past Adam's large frame and took notice of the pedestrians standing still, failing in their attempts at inconspicuous observation. You raised a hand with your thumb up, hoping that it would be enough to assure them that you were fine, that any intervention wasn't necessary as you waved them away.
When they waved back at you and began to walk away, gently tugging on the leash to urge their dog to follow, you breathed a sigh of relief and turned your attention back to Adam. You pouted for a moment or two, but then a light bulb went off in your head, and your pout turned to a mischievous smirk as you stood on your tip-toes and placed your mouth close to his ear. “But then what would I suck?” you whispered with a short, teasing giggle as you nipped lightly at his earlobe, then pulled back and grabbed hold of the hand still resting lazily on the side of your neck.
Turning your head to the side, you pulled his hand away from your neck and forced his thumb up, taking it into your mouth down to its base. Your tongue swirled around it as you began to suck firmly on the appendage, intentionally letting out an exaggerated moan before pulling off with a loud pop. Your smirk grew wider when Adam growled in response and immediately pressed you further against the vehicle. “Careful now, or we're gonna have to test the suspension on this car.” He reached behind you and slapped the metallic roof, then moved to grip your side opposite of the one his other hand was holding. You could feel his cock harden against your thigh and quietly cursed at the way he tested your patience and self-restraint by pushing his leg between yours to shallowly grind against your core.
You moaned softly at the friction, followed by a whine as you reached to push his leg away, albeit reluctantly. “Maybe another time,” you reassured him, your hand returning to his waist as you closed your legs and turned your lower body slightly before he could wedge himself back between them. “And besides, we’re already pushing the boundaries of the contract by seeing each other right now,” you reminded him, regrettably, to which Adam released an extended groan of disappointment, letting his head fall forward to rest on your shoulder with a surly huff.
With a laugh, you reached up to gently pet Adam’s hair, charmed by his reluctance to see you go. “Oh, don’t do that. You’re gonna make me feel bad,” you chided him, turning to place feather-light kisses to the side of his face. Your words seemed to have sparked something based on how quickly he perked up, lifting his head slightly to give you a side glance. “Bad enough to make you stay?” he asked, eyes full and voice thick with hope. You only smiled and shook your head, shooting down his question with a simple, “Not a chance.”
Another groan escaped his lips and he replaced his head on your shoulder, turning to kiss and nip at your neck gently. He really didn't want to let you leave, but what could he do? Certainly not throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to his apartment, no matter how strong the urge may be. Being forceful in an intimate capacity was never something Adam could get behind, and you were an agent with free will. If you wanted to leave, then it was just something he'd have to accept and learn to suck it up. There would be more opportunities to see you in the future anyway… he hoped.
Sucking lightly at an already prevalent bruise at the junction of your neck and shoulder, Adam pulled away and reached to cup both sides of your face. “Okay, fiiiine. I'll let you go tonight—” he started, but you interrupted him with a scoff and a playful smile. “Oh, you'll let me go? How considerate of you,” you teased in a jovial manner, standing on your tiptoes once more. He laughed at your teasing, but his affable disposition easily shifted to one of refined dominance as he leaned down, his breath fanning across your face with each word he spoke.
“— I'll let you go tonight,” he repeated, his thumb coming up to tug your bottom lip down to reveal your bottom row of teeth. “But the next time we see each other, you'll be lucky if you can still walk to the bathroom when I'm done with you.” Your grin widened at his statement, your cheeks turning a blushing pink at the thoughts running through your mind. Lifting yourself up just a little further, your eyes drooped half shut as you tilted your head to the side, your lips grazing his as you whispered softly, “Is that a threat?”
With a grin to match your own, Adam chuckled darkly when he realized he had you hooked, one hand tilting your face up and the other moving back down to rest on your hip. His stare darted back and forth between your eyes and lips, his pulse quickening and his cock throbbing within the confines of his restrictive jeans. “It's a promise,” he said, and with that, he was pulling back before you could steal a kiss on the mouth from him. With dizzying speed, Adam firmly pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering there for one moment too long before he pulled away completely and took a couple steps back.
Blinking owlishly at him, flustered and confused by his sudden refusal to give you a kiss, you silently stared at him as he began to walk backwards. Adam lifted a fist up to his ear, his thumb and pinky outstretched in a ‘call me’ hand gesture as he shamelessly reached down to readjust himself through his pants, making your blush darken at the obscenity of it all.
“Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
╰┄ ⛥ notes ┊ 「 I intended for this to be a one shot for Kinktober 2024 until a wonderful little darling named Vexi ( redvexillum ) left one of the sweetest reviews I've ever gotten, and it struck my inspiration cord - hard! Thank you Vexi, I loved your review and when I'm feeling shitty about my writing, I go back to read it again for a little seratonin boost. You're such a sweetie pie~! Tagging my moots 'cause I love ya~ If you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, let me know in the comments or inbox! 」
Warnings: None, just a ‘lil creepy dark!JJ and a fem!reader
A/n: This idea has been stuck in my head for a few days, so here are some headcanons for my new AU ❤️ Who knows, maybe I’ll write a fic series for this in the future… Let me know!
🔪 VillainSchool!JJ who you meet on your first day at the secret school that trains villains— Leaning against the wall with a knife in his pocket and his scarred and muscled arms crossed, certainly looking like he belongs there.
🔪 VillainSchool!JJ who for some reason gives you attention, despite talking to basically no one else and acting aloof and confident, not to mention having a notorious criminal dad who busted himself out of jail not long ago.
🔪 VillainSchool!JJ who keeps sending smirks and backhanded-comments your way, over his shoulder during your studies or while you’re training.
🔪 VillainSchool!JJ who loves to watch you from afar. Not talk to you, or even let you know he’s standing there, but just watch from a distance as you practice knife-throwing or combat with your other classmates.
🔪 VillainSchool!JJ who won’t leave you alone, no matter if you ignore him or tell him to fuck off, he won’t get off your back for some reason.
🔪 VillainSchool!JJ who you might end up falling for… Eventually… With his charms and cunning, it’s easy for him to win girls over— But you’re an exception. You have skills and smarts of your own, and a reputation to uphold, but it’s hard to ignore the way you seem to fall in sync with him instantaneously, fighting side by side and easily matching each other’s speed and abilities. Without meaning to, you start to tolerate him….
🔪 VillainSchool!JJ who will let you win during exercises, even though he knows it could make him fall farther in the class rankings. He doesn’t care if you tell him to stop, he’ll keep doing it.
🔪 VillainSchool!JJ who sneaks into your room at night against school rules to see you… It’s a good thing he has the skills to be stealthy.
🔪 VillainSchool!JJ who saves your life at some point during one of your missions… Even though he owes you nothing. But now your life is pretty much in his debt. Whether you like it or not, that’s for you to decide.
Thank you for reading! Please do not copy my work! Like, reblog, and follow for more!! <3
Tag list: @idfcaboutaname, @dirtyslag96, @gillybear17, @agnxstic, @scrappybear89, @redhead1180, @k-k0129, @lucifersgirl, @immyowndefender, @eddxemxnson, @siriusly0guys, @outerb4nkss, @lanasturns3, @code-canine (Comment if you want to be added or removed)
(A/n: I think of something similar to this whenever I’m feeling sad, so I decided to write this down ❤️)
Imagine: Laying on the couch with JJ one evening, on one of those days in spring when the temperature dips suddenly. A fire is crackling in the fireplace and the rest of the room is dark.
You’re sitting on the sofa close to JJ, sipping a cup of hot tea. The warmth of the fire gives the room a relaxing feel. JJ is sitting with his back against the couch, one elbow resting on an arm and his chin in his hand. He’s staring in the other direction, not noticing when you turn to look at him. You observe the firelight reflecting in his deep blue eyes and setting his blonde hair aglow. You notice how warm and inviting his chest looks. While he’s still distracted, you crawl across the cushions and snuggle yourself up against him. He gazes down in surprise, seeing you nestling your head in the crook of his neck and making his body your makeshift-bed. You fold your legs underneath you, closing your eyes and letting yourself sink deeper into his comfort. JJ gazes at you affectionately, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You soon drift off safe and warm in his grasp.
Like, follow, and reblog if you enjoyed!! Please do not copy my work! <3
Tag list: @idfcaboutaname, @dirtyslag96, @gillybear17, @agnxstic, @scrappybear89, @redhead1180, @k-k0129, @lucifersgirl, @immyowndefender, @eddxemxnson, @siriusly0guys, @outerb4nkss, @lanasturns3, @code-canine (Comment if you want to be added or removed)
summary: living with jj maybank is like playing with fire — you swore you wouldn’t get burned, but when he finally touches you, you go up in flames.
warnings: NSFW 18+, language, teasing, edging, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), mild dom!jj, dirty talk, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language
word count: 4.4k
a/n: I'm still insecure about my smut writing skills so if it's bad just live with it :(
ᯓ★ now playing…
camila cabello - shameless
LIVING WITH JJ MAYBANK IS AN EXERCISE IN RESTRAINT.
It shouldn’t be like this. He’s your best friend. Your partner in crime. The only person who can make you laugh even when you're seething with frustration, who knows the exact rhythm of your moods like a song he’s memorized.
But there’s a problem. A serious, maddening, pulse-spiking problem.
JJ never wears a shirt.
At first, you blamed it on the summer heat. The first time he stumbled out of his room, half-asleep, golden in the morning light with sleep-ruffled hair and sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips, you barely spared a thought.
Once. That’s all it was.
But then it kept happening.
JJ, stretched across the couch like it’s his personal throne, one arm tossed lazily over the backrest, his phone in one hand and that trademark smirk tugging at his lips. JJ, fresh from the shower, towel hanging precariously off one hip, droplets of water catching the light as they trailed down the carved muscles of his chest. JJ, in the kitchen at sunrise, humming off-key while flipping pancakes, looking like the most sinful version of domestic bliss you’ve ever seen.
It’s cruel. He’s cruel.
Strutting around like temptation personified, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you.
But deep down, you know better.
Because JJ never fails to be wherever you are. If you’re in the kitchen, nose buried in your seminar notes, he suddenly appears — digging through the fridge, drinking straight from the milk carton, standing there all golden skin and bare torso, with that lazy grin and eyes that flicker toward you like he’s watching, measuring. If you’re curled on the couch, trying to drown your thoughts in some forgettable show, he’s suddenly pressed up beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the heat of him — solid, bare, intoxicating.
It makes you think about things you shouldn't.
About the way his voice would sound against your neck.
About the way his fingers would feel trailing up the inside of your thigh.
About the kind of noises he’d pull from your throat if you just gave in — just once.
It keeps you up at night, staring at the ceiling in the dark, breath shallow, thighs pressed tight together, mind spiraling.
So you run. You bury yourself in your studies, spend long hours in the library under the guise of academia, while Kiara, Sarah, and Cleo tease you relentlessly about your new obsession with “higher learning.” When you’re home, you hide — lock yourself away in your room like it’s a sanctuary, a shield against temptation.
But JJ notices. Of course he does.
Because now, he’s in your doorway more often than not. Leaning against the frame like a goddamn oil painting, abs flexing with every stretch, golden hour light wrapping around him like it’s in love. He doesn’t need a reason to be there. Sometimes he just wanders in, drops himself onto your bed like he belongs there — like he belongs to you — and watches you. Calm. Unbothered. Smirking like he’s in on the joke you haven’t caught up to yet.
It’s like he’s waiting for something.
Waiting for you to break.
And God, you're so close.
BUT ONE EVENING, EVERYTHING CHANGES.
It’s one of those days — the kind that grates down to the bone, fraying nerves until even the air feels hostile on your skin.
You overslept for your ancient literature exam. Rushed across campus half-dressed, only to be turned away — your professor stern and unmoving. Your laptop crashed mid-submission, eating hours of carefully chosen words. And the barista at your usual spot? Got your order all wrong. Too much syrup, too sweet, sticking to your tongue like everything else today.
By the time you unlock the front door, you’re done.
Done with the day.
Done with the world.
Done with JJ fucking Maybank and his entire unbearable existence.
You shed your coat in the hallway, kick off your sneakers without caring where they land, and stalk toward the kitchen in search of comfort — salt, sugar, anything to soften the edge carved into your mood.
And of course — of course — he’s there.
Leaning against the counter like he was sculpted for it, bathed in the golden warmth of the kitchen light. He’s shirtless — because why wouldn’t he be — skin bronzed and smooth, the sharp cut of his abs flexing as he cracks open a beer with one hand. His lips curve into that signature smirk, the one that always manages to feel both lazy and dangerous. He tilts his head back for a sip, throat working slow and deliberate, like every movement was made to be watched.
It’s obscene.
It’s infuriating.
It’s — God — it’s unfair.
You slam the fridge shut harder than necessary, crossing your arms tight across your chest like it’ll protect you from whatever this is.
“For God’s sake, JJ,” you snap. “Put on a damn shirt.”
He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just glances at you sideways, one brow arched, amusement dancing in those sea-glass blue eyes.
“Why’s that?” he drawls, voice syrupy and smooth, laced with mock innocence. “That bother you?”
Your jaw clenches. “It’s just–”
The words dissolve under the heat of his gaze.
And then, without thinking, without filtering–
“It’s distracting.”
JJ shifts. His entire demeanor changes — like a predator catching the scent of something new. He straightens slowly, that ever-present smirk deepening into something darker, sharper. More interested.
“Distracting how?” His voice lowers, slides across your skin like warm honey. “Can’t stop looking?”
He runs a hand through his blond hair — slow, purposeful, like he knows what he’s doing. His abs flex with the stretch, and you hate the way your stomach tightens in response. Hate it. Crave it.
“I didn’t know my abs were such a problem, princess,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Unless... they’re not the problem. You just like looking.”
Your breath hitches.
And that’s it.
That’s all he needs.
His grin shifts — cocky giving way to hungry — as he steps away from the counter, sauntering toward you with the kind of deliberate slowness that makes the air grow thick and hot between you. Every step coils something tighter inside your chest, your stomach.
He stops just in front of you — too close — his bare skin radiating heat, the faint scent of salt and soap and pine enveloping you like a second skin. The kind of scent that would cling to your sheets. To your skin.
Your thoughts go quiet. Your whole body just... buzzes.
He leans in — barely. Just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath, the tension hanging on the knife’s edge between you.
“Say the word,” JJ murmurs, eyes locked on yours. They’re darker now, stormy with something unreadable — desire, challenge, restraint. “Say the word, and I’ll put a shirt on.”
You don’t say anything.
Because the truth?
You don’t want him to.
You never have.
“You could just admit you like me and save us both some time.”
JJ’s voice is quieter now, stripped of the usual teasing lilt. There's still self-satisfaction tucked into the edges — but underneath it, something else coils. Tighter. Waiting.
You scoff, reaching for something to ground yourself. Anything.
“Oh, please, I…”
The words stumble, falter, because he steps closer — and the warmth of his skin hits you before he even touches you.
JJ tilts his head, smirk deepening. “Yeah?” His voice dips, thick with amusement. “Did you say something?”
You exhale sharply, forcing your gaze away from his chest. But it’s no use. Frustration sparks, flaring hot in your gut, tangled with something you don’t have the guts to name. You meet his eyes with a scowl, jaw clenched, lips tight in irritation.
He sees it.
And he relishes it.
His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, fighting a grin. His eyes flick to your mouth — slow, deliberate — then back to yours, darker now.
“Oh, you’re annoying me.”
JJ laughs, low and rough, raking a hand through his hair as he watches you—really watches you. Not just looking, but studying, like he’s learning every inch of you by heart.
“Liar,” he murmurs.
Something twists low in your stomach.
“Excuse me?”
He leans in — not enough to touch, but enough that your breath shortens, your skin prickling from the heat between you. And then, almost casually, his fingers graze your wrist.
Not accidental.
“You could’ve asked me to wear a shirt weeks ago,” he says, voice velvet-soft, touch featherlight. “But you didn’t.”
His fingers skim higher, ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner arm. “You just watched.”
His voice drops again, almost reverent.
“And I was disappointed.”
Your breath catches. A shiver dances down your spine.
He notices — of course he notices.
His smirk shifts, darkens into something heavier. Hungrier.
“Tell me to back off,” he says, quiet now, the tease barely hanging on. Beneath it, something real. Something dangerous. “And I will.”
The silence thickens, clings like humidity before a storm.
“But if you don’t…” His gaze dips to your lips, and your knees damn near buckle. “I think we both know what’s going to happen next.”
You open your mouth — but nothing comes out. Not when he’s this close. Not when his lips hover by your cheek, not when his breath dances across your skin like a promise.
Your body betrays you. Heat blooms low in your belly, every nerve aching, reaching, wanting.
He lingers. Waiting. Testing. Letting you break.
“You don’t want me to stop, do you?”
You should.
You really should.
But your fingers curl into the waistband of his sweatpants, gripping the soft fabric like it’s the only thing tethering you to gravity. His breath catches — barely, but it’s there — and then, without hesitation, you pull him in and crash your mouth to his.
And the world shatters.
It’s not gentle. It’s heat and hunger, teeth and tongue, all the tension you’ve fought against burning through you like wildfire. You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows it whole, pressing you back until the counter bites into your spine — but you don’t care. You just want.
The kiss deepens, greedy and overwhelming, stealing your breath and every last coherent thought with it. For a second — for one sharp, electric second — you forget anything else even exists.
Only this.
Only him.
JJ moans into your mouth, low and guttural, as if the sound is torn from somewhere deep inside him. His hands slide around your waist, fingers splayed and gripping like he needs to anchor himself, and then he pins you back against the counter in one fluid motion.
You gasp as he lifts you, your spine arching with the sudden motion. The cold marble kisses your thighs before his hands part them and then his hands pushing the hem of your skirt higher, standing between your legs like he was always meant to be there.
“Jesus,” he breathes against your skin, his lips skimming down your jaw, warm and reverent, like he’s memorizing you. His palms press flat against your hips, grounding you, burning into you. “You should’ve just told me.”
“Tell you what?” you manage, your voice trembling as your fingers thread through his hair. It’s grown out a little — just enough for your hands to sink into — and the softness of it, the familiarity, makes something inside you ache. You’re breathing like you’ve just run a race, chest rising and falling against his with every ragged inhale.
“That you wanted me,” he murmurs. His teeth graze your throat, just barely, and a sigh escapes your lips — soft, helpless, aching. “Would’ve saved us months of pretending.”
“Shut up,” you whisper, but your voice is wrecked — breathless and wanting.
He laughs against your neck, but it’s not cocky anymore. It’s shaky. A little desperate. Like he’s unraveling in real time. And then you kiss him again — harder, deeper — and that’s when the teasing ends.
The tension snaps, turning molten in an instant.
JJ growls low in his throat, hands tightening on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His body pushes into yours, chest to chest, hips to hips, until you feel every sharp angle of him. His hands slip beneath your shirt, callused fingertips skating down your sides, and the heat of him makes your knees tremble.
You moan into his mouth, and he answers with a sound that makes your whole body shudder — part hunger, part prayer.
You don’t even register the moment one of his hands slides down, bunching the fabric of your skirt in his fist, the other curling beneath your thigh. He draws you closer, dragging you toward the edge of the counter with a strength that makes your breath catch. You tilt your hips instinctively, and the pressure between your legs spikes like lightning in your veins. You lift your hips for him, heart pounding like a drum in your ears, and the fabric pools around your ankles.
And his hands–
God, his hands are everywhere.
Skimming over bare skin. Tracing lines down your thighs. Gripping, squeezing, worshiping.
You’re dizzy with it.
Every ounce of restraint you’ve fought to keep? Gone. Obliterated the second his lips crash back into yours.
JJ moans into the kiss like he’s starving for it, pulling you closer, tighter, until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the heat of him, the weight of him, the tension humming through every inch of his body as he grinds forward — slow, just enough to tease.
Your fingers slide over his chest, skimming sweat-slick skin, and he twitches beneath your touch, breath hitching when your nails graze down his abdomen.
His grip on you tightens in response, enough to bruise, enough to make your head spin.
“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” he whispers, voice rough, wrecked, as he mouths at your jaw, your throat. He stops just beneath your ear, breath hot as he bites — soft, sinful — and then soothes the sting with his tongue.
You inhale sharply, tipping your head to give him more access. “Am I going crazy?” you rasp. “You’re the one walking around here like some goddamn sinner straight out of an Abercrombie ad.”
JJ lets out a laugh — hoarse, strained. “Could’ve just said something, sweetheart.”
You grab a fistful of his hair and tug, forcing him to look at you.
His pupils are blown, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding it together.
“Do you think I’ll give you pleasure?” you breathe, dragging your nails lightly down his torso again, watching him flinch, jaw clenching.
He exhales harshly — and then his hands slide under your thighs, gripping your ass and lifting you off the counter like it costs him nothing.
You gasp, but he swallows the sound with another kiss — hungrier, rougher — as he carries you across the apartment. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and the friction between your bodies steals the breath from your lungs.
He pins you against the wall outside your bedroom, pressing into you like he’s trying to burn himself into your bones.
There’s no mistaking how much he wants you now.
No more games.
“Still want me to wear a shirt?” he murmurs against your mouth, teasing, breath fanning over your lips.
You don’t hesitate. Not for a second.
“Shut up,” you whisper, tugging at the waistband of his sweats, voice ragged, eyes burning. “And get in my fucking bed.”
JJ grins like the devil himself before throwing open your bedroom door and tossing you onto the mattress.
"You're going to regret saying that, honey," he warns in a low, dangerous voice.
And when he leans over you, eyes darkened with real, bone-deep desire, you realize — he’s absolutely right.
JJ doesn’t waste a second.
The moment your back hits the mattress, he’s on you — all over you. His mouth is hot and demanding, kissing you like he’s been starving for it, like he needs you just to breathe. It makes your stomach flip and your thighs tighten around his.
"You have no idea," he croaks between kisses, his hands sliding under your shirt, "how long I’ve wanted this."
Your breath catches as his fingers trace up your stomach, slowly — deliberately — moving higher.
“Yes?” you tease, trying to keep the upper hand. But your voice betrays you — already breathless, already unraveling for him.
JJ giggles — low, cocky, and utterly rude — but it slips into a sharp gasp when you grind up against him, the friction catching him off guard.
“Hell, yes,” he growls.
His lips find your neck next, kissing wetly, sucking just enough to make you shiver before biting down — leaving a faint mark that makes your pulse race.
“You’re gonna be trouble,” he murmurs, his hands gliding down your sides like he’s memorizing every inch. “I’m already fucking squirming and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”
You want to snark back — but then he yanks your shirt off and just stares.
That hungry, greedy, possessive look in his eyes steals the words from your throat.
“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then his lips are on you again — hot and open-mouthed — trailing fire down your collarbone, over the curve of your breast, until his tongue flicks over your nipple.
You arch beneath him with a moan. “Damn, JJ…”
Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging hard.
He groans, rolling his hips against you — and God, you can feel how hard he is.
“Can you feel that, honey?” he pants, voice wrecked and teasing all at once. “That’s what you do to me. Walking around, acting like you don’t want to–”
He bites again, sharp enough to make you gasp.
“Like you don’t want me to ruin you.”
Your nails drag down his back, digging in until he hisses.
“Then do it,” you whisper — your voice cracking, already undone.
JJ freezes.
Just for a second.
He stares down at you with wild eyes, dark and blown wide, like he’s about to lose control completely.
Then–
His hands are on your thighs, yanking off your skirt and underwear in one swift, fluid motion.
Before you can even catch your breath, his mouth is on you.
Your head falls back against the mattress. “Fuck, JJ–”
He moans at the sight of you, sprawled out beneath him, your legs parted, your body offered up like some fevered prayer.
“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs against you, voice muffled, drunk on you. His tongue teases, circles, slides — then sucks you in deep, pulling a desperate cry from your lips.
You clutch at him — his shoulders, the sheets, the headboard — anything.
But he just laughs, sinful and smug, squeezing your hips tighter to hold you exactly where he wants you.
“Take it, baby,” he rasps, pushing two fingers inside you, curling them just right. “Be a good girl. Let me have you.”
And you do. God, you do.
He fucks you with his mouth like it’s a goddamn art, like it’s the only thing he was born to do. His tongue works you relentlessly while his fingers curl and thrust, and soon, you’re a mess — whimpering, clawing, begging.
“JJ, I… fuck, I can’t–”
“Yes, you can,” he growls. One of his hands reaches up, finding yours, intertwining your fingers.
You squeeze his hand like a lifeline.
Your back arches, a strangled sob caught in your throat, moans pouring from your lips like prayers.
“Come on, baby,” he groans, mouth hot against you. “Let me feel it. Give it to me.”
When he sucks at just the right spot, your vision goes white at the edges.
Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave — violent, shaking, devastating.
JJ moans as you fall apart against his mouth, as your body trembles under him. He doesn’t stop — licks you through it, drinks in every sound, every shudder, until you’re spent and wrecked and still gasping his name.
You're breathing hard, blinking up at the ceiling, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened, when JJ wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks down at you.
“Yes,” he murmurs, crawling back up your body, voice thick with arrogance. “That’s what I thought, baby.”
You don’t even get the chance to fire back with something smart, because his mouth is already on yours — and fuck, you can taste yourself on his tongue.
You moan into the kiss, needy and undone, and your fingers tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, desperate for more.
JJ chuckles against your mouth. “Patience, honey.”
“To hell with patience.” Your palm slides over the front of his pants, and he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, body taut with restraint.
For a second, it seems like he’s going to tease you again — draw it out, make you beg.
But then he pulls back, sits up, and yanks off his sweatpants in one quick, determined move — like he needs to be inside you, like he’s got something to prove.
And… yeah.
You stare.
Because holy. Shit.
Of course, you’ve heard the rumors. Everyone’s heard the whispers on campus about JJ and his — well. Let’s just say his confidence isn't unfounded.
But seeing him like this? Big, thick, hard — real? That’s something else entirely.
JJ smirks like he knows exactly what you're thinking. His hand wraps around himself, slow and deliberate as he strokes, watching your face with a look that’s all heat and hunger.
“You’re looking at me like you wanna eat me alive,” he rasps, voice ragged now.
You lick your lips, pushing up on your elbows, gaze locked on him. One hand reaches out, fingers aching to wrap around him — to feel every vein, every inch.
“Maybe I do.”
JJ groans, grabbing your hips and pulling you flat again.
“No,” he growls, voice dropping dark and deep. He hovers over you, pinning your wrists to the mattress, eyes blazing. “Your turn comes later.”
Then he shifts between your thighs, spreading them wide, and you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance.
“Right now,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”
You shudder beneath him, breath catching. “Bold of you to assume I remember it now.”
JJ laughs — really laughs — and your heart stutters.
And then his grin fades, eyes darkening again, and he pushes in.
Deep.
Slow.
Devastating.
Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your fingers flexing in his grip as he fills you inch by inch.
JJ curses under his breath, pressing his forehead to yours, shaking.
“Jesus fuck,” he groans. “You’re so tight. So warm. Fucking perfect.”
He pulls out just a little, then pushes back in — deeper, harder. You moan, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.
And then he does it again.
And again.
And again.
Each thrust hits deeper, harder, rougher — his grip on your wrists tightening as your body arches up to meet him.
The world narrows to this — his breath scorching against your ear, the way his hips snap into you, merciless and unrelenting. The mattress creaks beneath you, the headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall, but it all fades into nothing compared to the sound of JJ breathing your name like a curse, like a promise he knows he’ll break the second you ask him to.
Your back arches when he angles just right, dragging a broken moan from your lips. He grins, teeth grazing your jaw.
“There she is,” he pants, dragging his hand up your side, fingers splayed wide like he’s memorizing the feel of your skin. “Knew you had it in you.”
He palms your breast roughly, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaks beneath his touch, and when you whimper, he pinches — sharp, sudden, delicious.
You cry out, clenching around him, and he groans like it physically hurts to hold back. “Fuck, you like that, huh?”
“JJ–” you gasp, nails raking down his back, leaving angry red lines in your wake. He hisses, slamming into you harder, the sound of your bodies echoing in the humid, sex-thick air.
“Yeah?” he growls, mouth finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, sucking until your hips jerk. “That what you needed, baby? Me–… ugh… inside you, owning you?”
“Yes–… God, yes–”
His hand moves to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, firm enough to make your breath catch, intimate enough to make your head spin. His other hand tugs your leg higher around his hip, and he thrusts deeper, grunting low in his chest.
JJ grabs your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes lock.
“Then look at me when you come,” he says, voice thick and rough. “Take it like you fucking mean it.”
And you do.
Your body bows beneath him, pleasure snapping through you like lightning, your vision going white as you clench around him, shaking. He holds you through it, murmuring your name over and over, like it’s grounding him, like it’s the only word that still makes sense.
You barely register his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering — until he lets out a broken groan and spills into you with a shudder so full-body it pulls a whimper from his throat. He stays there, buried deep, panting against your neck as his weight settles over you, heavy and warm and exactly where you want him.
For a long moment, neither of you speak. His hand traces lazy patterns along your ribs, then drifts lower, slipping between your legs just to watch you squirm again, already too sensitive.
"Fuckin’ insatiable,” he mutters, kissing your breast, dragging his tongue over your nipple before giving it a soft bite. You twitch, gasping, and he grins like a man who knows he’s wrecked you.
Eventually, he shifts, pulling out with a wet, obscene sound that makes you both hiss. You can feel him dripping out of you, thick between your thighs, sticking to your skin.
You should care. You don’t.
You’re still catching your breath when he breaks the silence.
“So…” JJ says, grinning crookedly, his voice still hoarse. “You still want me to start wearing shirts?”
You smack his chest weakly. “You’re such an asshole.”
But you kiss him anyway — deep, slow, and toe-curling. He tastes like sweat, like salt, like the stupid grin he’s still wearing when you pull back.
To hell with the shirts.
To hell with the rules.
Roommates with a problem?
Yeah.
The problem is, you’ll never get enough of him.
And the real problem?
He feels exactly the same.
thankx for reading <3
gosh, writing smut is so hard for me. every time I do, I feel like it’s awkward or badly written and I get so embarrassed lol. so if you’ve got any thoughts, I’d really appreciate any feedback—whether in the comments or my inbox! :3
