cw: 18+, smut, au where river is happy and healthy :), stanford!river, ex-girlfriend!reader, intercrural, jealousy, avoidant attachment!reader (1.8k wc)
Breakups between you and River never actually lasted.
You made sure of it. Hell, he made sure of it.
The manipulations that existed in the aristocracy of the well-endowed, down to the shared understanding of being born in the beating hearts of men who rose to the top by chance of birthright —
It's what tied you and River Barkley together.
Whatever the red thread was, however it was tied — even if it curled around your necks like a noose, that was what had you both running back into each other's arms.
Not that it made it any less vexing to deal with.
"Shit. Okay, one sec. I gotta pee." She pulls away from him, gasping, meeting Rivers' confused gaze, followed by a polite, yet slightly judgmental smile.
"Yeah. Alright."
He waits, watching as her silhouette fades back into the heart of thumping music and bad decisions.
"…It's nice to know that you've added stalking to your list of talents."
River takes a step backwards, tipping his head to look at a very caught off guard you behind the beams, stiffening up adorably with a red solo cup you were nursing.
Your eyes twitch in annoyance at the flashy smile of his. So he knew you were there the entire time. Great.
"It's hardly stalking when you're making out with some bimbo in the world's most non-discreet place."
"Bimbo?"
A derisive snort leaves him, half-amused, at your word choice used for someone you knew.
He thumbs over his lips, along with the gloss that transferred over to them. With an infuriating nonchalance, he leaned against the concrete, lowering himself.
"You're one to talk," River raises a brow, raking over your choice in wearing your cheer fit to a party like every cliche.
You crane your neck back in annoyance at just how his voice mocked you, "tell me, has being captain of SU's pom-pom team made you this bitter? Or did it only start after you dumped me?"
He's close enough that you can feel the tremble of his breath, the flicker of his gaze to your lips. Anger swirled in both your mind and soul, but damn if you broke first.
A sweet smile curls up your lips. And he draws back, clearly not having expected that reaction.
"I'm glad your empty jock-head got one thing right." You step closer. Palms flattened onto his chest.
"I dumped you."
Then, it slides down, fixing the stay of his collar.
"Must be nice…settling for the next best cheap copy of me you could find." He flinches when your fingers slide lower, feeling around for the indentation of a ring hung on his necklace.
Rivers' hand curls around your wrist, holding it higher so both of you could see it — glinting in the light. An engagement ring that sat on your index finger.
"Guess we're both pretty hung up."
An arrangement, promised by your parents. That's all it should've been.
"Sentimentality."
He hits a nerve, and he knows it. Especially with how you'd snapped your wrists away. But there was a glimmer in your eyes suddenly.
And you do the damnedest thing. He edges forward, letting your arms curl around his neck. It's a scent he's grown to like, sickly sweet. It's instinctive, the way he drags his nose up your jaw.
River doesn't stop you when you guide his hands around your hips, sliding them higher to feel the pleats of your skirt. He chases your pulse, burying his face there to mouth up your jaw. But then you speak up.
"Just…scooch to the left."
His eyes narrow at your mutter, but he complies regardless. You peek over his shoulders, unwittingly allowing yourself to tilt to where his lips brush before you pull away with a smile.
Loud stomp of last season's Miu Miu's fading in the distance.
River follows your eyeline to the retreating figure of his date — furious and scorned.
"Couldn't let the other cheerleaders think my leftovers were up for grabs."
Wow. Ouch. Part of him should feel bad. Knowing you cared enough still to pull such a stunt quashed all remnants of his conscience.
He turns back to look at you, "this is beneath even you." It sounds like an accusatory observation, but really, there was admiration in his tone.
“Thanks.” You regard it simply. Shouldering past him.
Your footing stutters when River catches your wrist. "I'm not gonna keep doing this with you. Either we cut this off, or you admit there's still something I can come back to."
“I told you. I’m done with you. And this 'relationship'.” The words sting, burn the back of your throat. He's known you long enough to identify your tells when you lie.
River tilts his head, nodding with his lips pressed taut, tearing his gaze away from you.
"I'm not running back to you anymore."
You feel the loss of his hold, rubbing at the ghost of warmth protectively.
"I mean it."
For the most part, River stays through to his words. Stays true to his resolve. You on the other hand, don't.
2 Weeks Later, Stanford University's Interstate Game
"Shouldn't the Captain be out there with his team?"
River startles slightly at the sound of your voice. Jersey ridden up to wipe off the sweat clinging to him. Your gaze briefly wanders to the lean muscle and coarse hair leading down his belly, and you avert.
"I don't recall saying Bloody Mary in the mirror three times."
"Hilarious."
You muse deadpan, plopping down onto the bench opposite his lockers. Crossing your leg in a manner that has your cheer uniform ride up your thighs.
River liked to assume he was better than his kind, this was where he faltered. Predictably, so did his gaze.
"If you're here to pick a fight. Save it."
White gloves thud next to you. And you scowl, hopping away from the grime that fell.
"This locker room. My sacred space."
The implication is clear. Get out.
"Sacred space?"
You were never that good at listening.
"Sacred space," he repeats. Then you move again, tilting your hips higher for the fabric to hike up. He winces, then turns. "We celebrate victories. Mourn losses."
He pauses. Stealing another glance.
"A no drama zone."
"Are you calling me drama?"
"Moment of peace, I'm owed that much."
You frown, standing up. He eyes you with a weary look.
"I just came here to congratulate you."
He lets out a mirthless laugh, dragging his gaze over your figure that skirted past him and to his locker. Poking your nose in like you owned it.
Maroon and white ribbons sat high on the peak of your ponytail. He swallows when his gaze drops to the nape of your neck.
"That so?" River hums, unconvinced.
"I'm not a bitch, River."
His lips press into a purse, withholding words that would likely just get you even more upset.
"Look," he begins, running a hand through his sweat-slick hair. "I don't want to fight. Not today. Not here."
You weren't exactly listening, much more curious about what was stuck on the inside of his locker. A Polaroid was pasted on the inner side. An older picture of the two of you together.
"That…I forgot that was that," he tries, voice raised a tinge, his shoulders dwarfing your back, "and why —" River grunts, his palms wrapping around your shoulders. You blink up at him when he pushes you up against the neighbouring locker.
"— are you going through my stuff?"
"You were never a good liar." You mutter, breathing softly at his proximity, following the trail of sweat trickling down his jaw. He hears a crinkle and watches the crushed Polaroid fall next to his shoes.
"So much for not being a bitch."
You shrug, looking up at him through your lashes when his fingers run through the edge of your hair, coiling the red tinsel braided into them.
"You don't want to be with me. I'll respect that. So why make me feel like crap for it?"
"…Again."
You tilt your head in thought. Tracing your fingers down the indents forming on his cheeks at his tense expression. "A lot of people…liked seeing these when you smiled."
River winces, the corner of his lips twitching. "Your dimples. I always liked it better when you were tense."
"There you go again," a groan rips through him. "You fucking psychopath."
Your surprised whimper is cut short when River groans into your throat. His palm snakes beneath your jaw, and he actually pulls at your ponytail. Forcing you to tip your head up.
"Ow—!"
He smirks at that, dragging his lips down your jaw.
Your gasps come out strained when he drags your uniform up your hips, tugging your safety shorts and panties down your thighs at one go.
"Stay quiet."
He was being rough.
You nod, panting heavy through a broken smile.
And you liked him like this.
River turns you over, forearms flush against the lockers, and he kicks your legs apart more. A surprised squeal leaves you, turning into an airy giggle.
"Ugh—…jerk."
"Mhm."
He hikes you flush to his chest, peppering hasty kisses down your shoulders and up your neck, where you attempted to squirm away from him.
It's hot — and warm where he's pressing against you. Your thighs instinctively tighten around the thickness that sits snug there.
"Shit—…River."
He knows the restless tone, but he tuts. Sliding his hand up your skirt to brush your clit. "I know, baby. Missed this, haven't you?"
God, you had.
"Hurry up." You grit.
It's the best he would get.
Your hips bend at the waist, inching back to push against him. River looks down, his hands merely hovered over them.
It was a sight that burned in him. He'd never admit how much he liked seeing you in your cheer uniform. River's palms slam over yours on the lockers when you circle your hips onto his abdomen.
"Easy. Easy — Jesus..." His head falls flush onto your back. Trembling in the effort of your folds, coating him with your slick entirely.
"River."
He lets you guide his hand back to your clit, and he palms at you, grunting as you grind your hips back into him — muffling your whines into your skin.
The sounds fuel him, thrusting harder into the tightness, slick from your combined arousal.
"River," you repeat, louder.
"Mm?"
You don't see the way his expression twists, but you get to see his surprised look when you nudge him back, forcing him to sit on the bench.
He looks up at you, lips parted with a huff. Gaze fixed on the maroon that sat flush in his eyeline. He leans back with his palms planted on the edge of the bench.
"Always making me do all the damn work."
River presses a kiss up your sternum. Rubbing the fat of your thighs.
wake up, iced matcha, hit the pen, pilates, brunch with the girls, you come home to david corenswet, he lets you invite aaron taylor-johnson, challengers, sleep.
Note: this is more headcanons than a fic ngl, also hella short cause I finished this literally at midnight
CLARK:
- Clark would LOVE to do matching costumes, of course with the acception that you’d be picking since he couldn’t decide to save his life.
- Your favorite movie? He’s all for it. A really niche show couple he knows nothing about? He’s going shopping with you to find the perfect outfit.
- He’ll take so many pictures to show off to Jimmy and Lois at the Planet the next day, bragging about how genius you are for coming up with the idea.
SCOTT:
- He would reluctantly agree to match costumes, but would most likely half-ass it on his part.
- He’d try to convince you to do simple costumes that don’t require much from him. Fred and Daphne, Narrator and Martha, anything where he can kid throw on a tie or a different shirt and he’s more than content.
- He’d be reluctant to take pictures with you, but ultimately give in and agree to only 2 or 3, them all being on your phone because he has no interest in showing anyone.
- Of course you’d have to show Javi, which ended up with Javi teasing Scott for it for the next week or so.
RIVER:
- He’d be more than happy to match with you, no matter how much effort he needs to put into it.
- Face paint and sfx makeup? He’s all for it. Having to hand make pieces as well? He’s spending weeks on it and perfectly every detail to make sure you’re happy.
- He’d be willing to do any and every costume, no matter how cliche or obscure it may be. Hell, he’d do multiple in one day just for you.
- He’d show it off to anyone and everyone, posting countless pictures on his stories, making sure to let everyone know it’s your brilliant idea.
