nix 📢

You didn’t really know about restaurant employee culture until you started your job as a waitress. Stereotypes, things that fate would just simply decide to come true in every single restaurant no matter what. Waitresses were either the sweetest people you’d ever met or the bitchiest, managers had favourites and if you weren’t one of them they treat you like shit, the kid who gets stuck on dishwasher duty was always younger than everyone and fell in love with all the waitresses— uber specific and odd stuff. Oh, and that linecooks were troubled, or whores.

JJ Maybank was more troubled than the latter. Well, you’d hoped so anyways. You’d had a crush on the blonde linecook from your very first day, a quieter morning at the beginning of spring when the beachside restaurant was criminally understaffed. Your manager had appointed him to show you around before either of you had even made it inside, the tough older woman calling him out as he arrived to work, climbing off his bike, chewing on a toothpick with headphones over his ears. Your heart had fluttered when he bantered with the older woman, pointing to the music-playing-muffs over his ears, mouthing an ‘I can’t hear you, sorry’ when she’d approached him.

You’d felt embarrassed almost, like you were taking up his time. He was clearly comfortable here, had a good relationship with everybody— even the manager who seemed to hate the world tenfold. She’d yanked off his headphones and jut her thumb towards you as he stared her down with a mischievous grin.

“Maybank, I need you to show around the newbie— uh, what’s your name again sweetheart?” She spins to you, and for the first time JJ’s eyes flicker towards you, brows jumping up just a hair, a micro-expression that only you could hold onto for hope. Hope that he might be a little interested. You speak your name, and he’s swerving around the manager in his white tshirt, apron tied lazily around his waist, hung down, not even wearing it over his shirt like he’s meant to, black backwards cap over blonde messy hair.

“Well it is very nice to meet you ma’am.” He juts out a hand with a stupidly large grin that makes you feel even more shy.

You remember that day so clearly, the blonde showing you the ropes, practically training you whilst your manager chain smoked out the back. You remembered how you hadn’t had a proper school-girl style crush like this since forever, and one day into working at the restaurant you were already head over heels for the loud and hyperactive Pogue.

A few months down the line, and your bond had blossomed. Well, somewhat — it was a busy restaurant, lots of waitresses and cooks and customers. There wasn’t always time for chit-chat and flirting. Which sometimes you were grateful for, plates clanking awkwardly in your hands as you spot a more confident waitress trying her luck with him, hair twirled around a long finger. You were delusional enough to believe JJ seemed politely disinterested at the least, choosing to busy himself with ruffling the top of your head with his knuckles as you pass by him, hiding your smile at his acknowledgment.

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends. You’d hoped not anyway, dreading being stuck in the friendzone with the guy you’d spent months pining after. You couldn’t be friends because you’d never hung out with him outside of work, not that you’d deny him but he’d never asked. You’d seen him around, don’t get it twisted — that group of friends of his; the brunette one who always seemed to be the talk of the town, the darker skinned boy who seemed too smart to be slumming it on a boat smoking weed, and a girl — who laughed at all of JJ’s jokes and threw glares to anyone she deemed too ‘Kook-y’. That was some serious intel, but you swear up and down you weren’t a stalker— just paying attention when you’d see him outside of the workplace.

JJ made it clear you were his favourite waitress. Well, he’d said it himself, holding a plate just out of your reach when you’d come to collect an order, playful smirk on his face as he stares down at you. “Can I have my order?” you pretend to hate it, hiding your smile as you huff, reaching out.

“I dunno, I could almost swear there’s a magic word that you’re missing there, girlie. Y’wanna help me out with that? Orrrr…” He tilts his head, playing dumb and you let the smile free— cheeks pushing up as you gaze at his stupid expression.

“Please, JJ.” You offer sweetly instead of sassing him, which makes his heart clench a little because you were just an absolute sweetheart by nature. He lowers the plate, hovering it above your palm and giving you a more serious look.

“Plates hot, alright? Better be careful with those delicate mittens.” You roll your eyes bashfully and he presses it into your palm. The plate was warm at best, it seeming that JJ would say anything just to keep the conversation going longer than it needed to.

“Thank you.” You smile once it was in your hand and he nods, faux solemnly as he backs off back to his work station, ignoring the knowing stare from his partner linecook.

“So polite, s’why you’re my favourite, princess.” He points with a wink and you turn away before he can see how flustered it made you. Princess, are you kidding me? It’s like he wanted to make you drop the plate. He watches the door swing as you head back out into the bustling restaurant, and jumps a little in surprise when he turns back to come face to face with another linecooks smirk.

“Playin’ favourites, huh Maybank?”

The blonde itches his cheek, bashful with a shrug— going back to chopping a carrot like he was before.

“Yeah well— doesn’t everyone do that here?” He tries to brush it off, head swivelling to glance back at the door, just incase you overheard.

“Yeah… yeah, chose a pretty one though, I’ll give you that. Lemme know when you’re done with it, I wanna play.” He speaks with a stomach-turning smile, and certainly doesn’t miss the way JJ’s jaw clenches, knife nearly going not only through the carrot but the chopping board too. Dont cause a scene now, Jayj.

JJ was troubled, like you’d said. You’d heard whispers from waitresses or friends of a friend outside of work — things about his father always being in jail, the blonde himself ending up in overnight cells a series of times. You’d heard about fights, his name always ringing close to the scene, even car chases and rumours about his run ins with big time criminals— but you wasn’t sure how verifiable any of these were.

It didn’t seem totally far fetched though, the Pogue occasionally showing up to his shift with his head down, a new bruise splattered on his cheek bone or a gnarly gash. He had one the day things changed, a cut through his lip, gone almost black from blood constantly drying after he’d assumably lick it open. From a glance, it almost looked like a lip-ring, and he sported it well with a large greenish yellow bruise beside his eye over his temple. You wish you felt close enough to ask where they came from, but knew that would be prying. You didn’t even wanna listen in when you’d see the manager nod him into her office to give him ‘the talk’ and ask about it presumably, which you’d also guessed she’d gained no information from as he’d leave her office looking casual whilst she still wore that slightly frustrated and worried look on her face.

Everyone seemed to be in a weird mood that day, even the customers. It wasn’t really his fault, the man somehow backing into you abruptly enough for you to spill an old container of coffee all down yourself. Well, to rephrase — it was an accident, which was actually the best case scenario considering you’d had drinks poured down you on purpose for making them wrong before.

You get that awful coil of embarrassment in your stomach when you walk into the kitchen, beige staining right through your usual pristine uniform and falling in droplets off the ends of your hair. JJ sees the pout before the stains, and it comes as no surprise to the other linecooks when he rushes over like prince charming.

“You good? Someone do that to you?” He’s already trying to bound past you to go and ‘handle the situation’ (AKA, kick them out) but you shake your head— not really upset just tired, and now cold thanks to the old coffee soaking through to your skin.

“It was an accident. I don’t have anything to change into so I don’t know if I should just… go home, or something.” You hold your hands out in frustration, looking down at yourself.

“Oh, nah— don’t sweat it. Got a spare shirt in my locker you can wear. S’just a white t-shirt, should do the trick.” He steps backwards.

“But it’s not uniform?” You furrow your brows and he huffs out a chuckle at you always being such a stickler for following the rules. “Our manager will have my head, surely.”

“Think she’d rather that than you walkin’ round smellin’ like cold brew.” He fishes through his pockets and tosses you a small key with a red triangle keychain on the end, the key to his locker in the staff cloakroom. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks Jayj.” You smile, excusing yourself shyly at the use of the nickname you’ve heard others use on him but always chickened out on. He noticed, because he shows all his teeth when he smiles and nods, turning back around.

The cloakroom always smells weird— like mulch and rubber, a cold and windowless room with a bench and a wall of seafoam lockers. You flip the key in your hand, spotting the number on the back and match it to the lockers. Wearing JJ’s shirt, huh — you smile to yourself, feeling giddy and stupid at the butterflies that brush their wings against the inside of your stomach. He was just doing you a favour, sure — but you got to prance around wearing him all day, and that was enough to fuel your delusion. You off your stained shirt, leaving you in just a small and flimsy tank top that you usually wear beneath it incase of accidents like this.

You open the locker, and something black immediately drops out onto the floor, echoing loudly and bouncing once a tiny bit by your feet. The weird clinical lighting of the cloakroom casts a dark shadow below where your head searches down for it, so you move slightly— brows furrowing when you see the shape of it.

Your brain clearly hasn’t processed or caught up with just quite what you’re looking at as you bend down, lips parted as you pick the item up in your hand, standing back to full height once more. In your hand, you stared directly at a gun. A pistol, to be precise. You seem to be in shock, the weapon glued to your hand despite anyone being able to walk in and get you fired and or reported to the police within a matter of seconds. You turn the weapon in your hand in fascination, whispering a “What the…” to yourself.

JJ leans against the doorway with a forearm, just now remembering what resided in that very locker other than the shirt he so generously offered. He’s distracted for a moment by your skin, the skin on the back of your arms and your back as you stand with your uniform shirt bunched in your hand, until of course he spots what’s held in your other hand and physically winces.

“Shit, uh—” JJ vocalises and your head snaps around, sighing in relief once you see that it’s just him. You’re back to marvelling in shock at the item in an instant, ogling between him and the weapon. “So, that’s — that’s not what it looks like—”

“A gun?” You whisper the second word, looking up at him with wide eyes and he points the pistol downwards with his finger when you hold it accidentally facing him.

“Well, okay I mean yes — it’s a gun, but I had no choice. Had to momentarily keep it here, alright? I took it in for a friend and —”

“What are you, some kind of hitman?” You shake your head, earrings jangling a little with your stressed little gesture which would usually warm his heart if he wasn’t focused on deescalating.

“Okay, first of all— why don’t I take this from you missy,” He eases the gun out of your hands and accidentally fumbles it inside his locker, the weapon clattering against the echoey walls making him let out a quiet ‘whoops’ before placing a black gym bag on top of it. He turns to you. “Secondly, no okay I’m not a hitman— I haven’t ever shot a person with this thing.”

“Then… why do you have it?” You furrow your brows, seeming to have calmed down a little, which was relieving despite your reaction being totally valid.

“W—you know, gotta stay strapped. Protect my people.” He shrugs, attempting nonchalance and your eye twitches, realising how different the two of you are. JJ, bad boy with a gun in his locker— and you, straight arrow waitress. “Look all m’saying is if you told me someone was messing with you… I wouldn’t hesitate.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, wondering what on Earth he was going through to lead him to owning a gun, but you daren’t ask— even now. You eye him, brows knitting cutely.

“And you’re sure you’re not some serial killer?” You ask, folding your arms. Mostly joking. Mostly.

“Yeah nah I couldn’t do the whole choppin’ up dead bodies thing, m’pretty squeamish n’I got this thing with my gag reflex where y’know, I — I just—” He gestures to his throat, head bobbing with a preemptive gag but sees the way you’re staring at him like he’d just stepped off a space ship from Mars and decides against the bit, clearing his throat and glancing into his locker. “Enough of that uh— why don’t I go ahead and grab you that shirt you were after…” He reaches inside his locker, pulling out balled up white shirt, quickly turning it back from being inside out.

“There y’go…” He murmurs as he does so to no one in particular before shoving his arms inside and pulling the head hole wider before stuffing you inside it, tugging it until your head pops out, still staring at him a little dumbfounded. “Peekaboo.” He smiles nervously before leaving you to shove your own arm holes through, pulling it down over your tank top. He awkwardly watches before you hand him back his key and he locks his locker once more, glancing around at you.

“So about the—”

“Your secrets safe with me JJ. Thanks for the shirt.”

You swan around in the white fabric like it’s a ball gown for the rest of the day. Delusional didn’t feel like the right word, no— he gave you the shirt, which in your head is flirting— handing you the opportunity to daydream about being his girlfriend and wearing his clothes all the time. Each time you moved you could smell him on you, that faint smell of cigarettes and just him — reminding you of the times you’ve caught him on a rough shift fumbling for a pack of Marlboro Red’s and heading out the back door to be angsty for a while before returning with a plastered on smile. You bite your lip, staring into space as you rub the material between your fingers, waiting for a table to flag you down, excited for the next time you could go into the kitchen and see him… have him see you, wearing his shirt only hoping it hot-wires his brain with some sort of romantic association. Oh, JJ Maybank. He just made you so… so…

“Ugh, mmph JJ!” You cry out, later that night. Guilty, you ended up in nothing but the t-shirt and two fingers stuffed into your weeping cunt. You felt kind of perverse, despite the million promises to yourself to wash the shirt immediately after to return to him— but also there was just something painfully arousing about touching yourself wearing it— every layer beneath it removed to have your hardened nipples peak beneath the thin white fabric, tousled and jostled up where your ribcage was as you grind your digits inside of you.

You were home alone, like usual — which gave you the perfect opportunity to moan his name. Too horny to care about the 0.05% chance he’s strolling in your area and walking past the window, hearing. Even the idea of that aroused you further in the moment, wondering just what he’d think if he knew the sweet and harmless waitress was defiling her cunt in his name, in his shirt. You think about best case scenario, the blonde with his rough hand around his cock— and you knew it was rough from the way it felt when he’d touch your arm or brush against your fingers when handing you a dish. Rough from working on his bike and handling hot food and other Maybank shenanigans that still lead him to fist at his dick in his room at night thinking of you, you and only you.

You cum in your palm and feel disgraced. Poor JJ. You’re a total pervert and you must wash that shirt.

Except you don’t, and you fall asleep— returning to work in your spare uniform the next day. Empty handed. JJ doesn’t notice, hell — he doesn’t care. He’s stacked up with so many orders you almost feel bad even though it’s not your fault. Maybe you’re still riding off the guilt of masturbating in his shirt. There’s a sick sense of pride that twists in your gut when you look at him though. Boyish, sometimes thoughtless blonde with no idea that you came so hard moaning his name just a matter of hours before facing him again. You catch him in a quieter moment, leaning over to his station with a stressed expression to tell him that you forgot to bring his shirt back, to which he just responds with a shrug and a careless wave that read as ‘It’s cool.’ That was the JJ you knew. Cool, calm, didn’t give a shit. You got butterflies at the minute gesture. God, get a grip.

The next time it comes up, it’s because he brings it up. Catching you on your break, a cheekful of pasta he’d made for you to quickly cram down before your manager gets onto you for slacking off— JJ approaches your little table outside, blonde hair feathery and light in the sun. “Howdy there, shirt thief.” He grins lightheartedly, pulling out the other chair on the small circle table you sat at and straddling it backwards, leaning his arms on the backrest.

You nearly choke on your pasta at the speed you go to explain yourself— way to not make yourself seem guilty. “It’s in the washing machine, I literally just kept forgetting I’m sorry JJ.” You look all sweet and worried in the way that makes him wanna pinch your cheeks, so he fiddles with his lighter instead, flicking it on and off in his grasp.

“Nah you’re good.” He chuckles, staring out at the water the restaurant overlooked. It was a windier day, and even from where you sat you could hear the loud roaring of distant waves. “Hey uh— you want a ride home on the old bike? I can come in and grab it if like— if that’s cool.” He suggests, almost seeming a bit hesitant, nervous even.

“Oh! Yeah, I mean I’d have to stick it in the dryer first but you’re free to hang out whilst it dries… unless you really gotta go then, you can have your shirt back damp, I guess.” You mirror the nervous energy tenfold, practically stumbling over yourself to not sound as eager as you were. JJ, in your house.

“Yeah, sweet. Cool cool cool cool.” He bops his head, drumming on the table before suddenly his name was called from inside.

“Maybank! These fish aren’t gonna fry themselves, you know that right?” The tough, unmistakable chain smoker voice of your manager rings through the air and JJ winces theatrically for your entertainment, making you giggle the same way a child might after a party clown does something stupid. It was kind of pathetic, but atleast JJ found it endearing.

You weren’t lying about the shirt, thankfully. Honest — the JJ smell was gone so you’d tossed it in the washing machine before you’d head out onto your shift, planning on finally (reluctantly) returning it the next day.

He pushes himself up to leave, before pausing and leaning over the table towards you. You freeze, and he brings his thumb to your cheek — swiping away a speck of sauce from the pasta that has splattered into your skin from how greedily you wolfed down his food. “Lemme just… get that for you.” He mutters as he does so, turning his thumb around to show you the sauce stain that had transferred to his skin and ease your confusion.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he holds your gaze as he leans back, bringing his thumb to his mouth, cleaning off the sauce. Oh, you sick bastard. He doesn’t even try and hide his smirk— and you stare dumbly at the space he stood even after he’s long gone.

The shift dragged on, tip tapping your feet whenever you stood still for too long, excited bubbles in your stomach fizzing up like shaken pop everytime you thought about the linecook. It felt like hours longer than usual, but finally — the end of your shift came. JJ’s had ended twenty minutes earlier, being replaced by another chef whose plates were always too hot and spoke too loud, making the last stretch of your working hour even tougher. You thought JJ might have forgotten about your little arrangement, just taking off to head home or to go and smoke on the rickety little boat you’d seen him on— but lo and behold, you step out the doors to that wretched place and there he is, leaning on his bike like something out of an 80s movie.

“No helmet?” You’re grinning by the time you reach him, barely containing your excitement. You don’t think you’ve even been on the back of one of these bikes before, let alone with the boy you’re crushing on. JJ scrunches his nose, wincing.

“Wasn’t countin’ on having anyone else on board today, that’s my bad.” He helps you climb on, ensuring you’re sat securely. “I’m a good driver, you’ll be alright. Just uh— hold on tight and I’ll avoid any big potholes, yeah?” He reaches back, taking your arms and wrapping them around his middle, forcing you against his warm back. He’d probably done that for plenty of people, the way it came naturally to him— but in that moment you didn’t care, just nodding as you leant more against him. You tell him your address, and he recognises it, someone he knows living near by. With that, the two of you are off.

You’re truly in bliss, closing your eyes with your cheek pressed to his back, wind whipping past your face. He is a good driver, and you dare even let yourself believe he’s being extra careful with you on board, none of the harsh turns or skids you’ve seen him do on the streets alone. Your cheeks start to ache with how much you’re smiling.

“You all good back there my lil’ backpack?” He pats your leg in a friendly manner at a stop light and you giggle, embarrassed with how fast goosebumps break out.

“Yeah, this is fun!” You yell at an unnecessary volume to be heard over the running engine, making him chuckle and glance round at you.

“Good, that’s good.”

You’re almost sad when the ride is over, his wheels coming to a slow as he parks up haphazardly beside your front lawn. You’re quick to pat your head down, knowing that journey must have you looking dishevelled at best and hop off the bike, patting the pocket of your shorts for your keys.

“My humble abode awaits.” You chirp, cringing afterwards but he smirks and follows you regardless, pulling up his pants boyishly as he stalks behind you up to your front door. Inside your head is a chant, one that consists of hoping and praying your parents wouldn’t be home so you didn’t have to do the whole awkward explanation thing, not that you didn’t have a totally valid excuse — and you were grown, so interacting with boys shouldn’t be the awkward dilemma that it was — but to them you were still their sweet girl regardless of age, and you’d like to keep it that way, which wouldn’t be possible being spotted ushering Pogue King JJ Maybank into your bedroom.

You unlock the door, calling out a ‘hello’ to be met with miraculous silence. JJ shuffles in behind you, closing the door for you and whistling quietly. “This place is pretty fancy, yeah… bet you got like, an electric toothbrush n’shit.” He comments, neck craning to look around as he follows you slowly through the house.

You huff a laugh out your nose, cheeks pressing upwards as you stroll through toward the kitchen. “An electric toothbrush?” You question.

“Yeaaah man, kook shit.” He peers nosily at the calendar, eyeing the events your family have coming up.

You spot a note pinned to the fridge and head towards it, shaking your head. “If I was a kook I wouldn’t be working at a restaurant getting coffee poured down me. Are electric toothbrushes the pinnacle of wealth in your eyes?” You laugh quietly, pulling the note off the fridge.

“Dude in eighth grade I lost my toothbrush and for a year all I had was my finger, some toothpaste and a dream.” He chats, appearing directly behind you and plucking the note from your hand. “Out ‘til late, pizza in fridge.” He reads blankly out loud and you take it back from him, tossing it aside.

“How’d you lose a toothbrush?” You chuckle, leading him out the kitchen.

“I be in situations.” He shrugs, following you to the short flight of stairs. To his core, JJ was truly just a guy— and took very little pride in watching you climb a few steps before he joined you so that he could check out your ass.

“Bet your dentist loved you.” You comment, glancing behind you at him making his eyes snap upwards guilty. He scoffs, wiping his hands on his pants like he was worried about dirtying up your house before grasping onto the bannister, skipping a few steps to hop up.

“Yeah, like I could afford one of those.”

On the landing, you point him towards the hallway, stepping back once you realised you were practically standing on top of him. He didn’t seem to notice, or mind, staring down at you for direction. “My rooms the last door on the right. I’m gonna go toss your shirt in the dryer, ‘kay?”

He nods once, strolling in the direction you pointed him. “Yes ma’am.”

You head to the laundry room and take a moment to collect yourself, sniffing his shirt to make sure it was properly clean before stuffing it into the dryer to turn it on. You lean against its circular door as it starts up, taking a breath before realising you left JJ Maybank alone in your bedroom.

You arrive at the door to your girly haven, immediately yanking a pair of panties off the ground and throwing them into a corner as you spot the blonde by the window, curiously looking around.

“So this is where the magic happens, I assume.” He glances at you, swiping his hat off his head and placing it on your dresser. Something about his gaze and the way it continually flickered to you, waiting for an answer suggested it was a genuine question. He was asking if you were seeing anyone, perhaps. You giggle.

“And if by magic you mean napping after work and reading books, yeah. It gets so magical in here, you wouldn’t believe it.” You sit on your bed, watching him semi-awkwardly pace infront of you, running hands through his hair before stuffing them into his pockets.

“Ah yeah, ha— forgot you were a real good girl. Should stay that way, I like it— and I mean like, there’s hella weirdos round here. Y’know? Better to… steer clear.” He rambles as you watch him with a smile. At work, the blonde seemed more calm, in his element— but here, in your terrain— he seemed slightly more on edge. You tried not to read into it.

Your stomach warms at the ‘good girl’ comment, lashes fluttering only a little before he’s distracted once more. You see him gazing ahead at the shelf above your vanity, opposite the bed where all your baby photos were lined up. His smile grows, and you see the cogs turn in his head.

He strides towards it in an instant, taking the framed image off the shelf. You jump up, following him to try and save yourself the embarrassment of whatever he was looking at but it was too late. He grins, turning his head to look down at you. “Oh wow, now don’t tell me this is you?” He holds the photo up beside your head, glancing theatrically between the two to compare and you bat him away.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re nosy?”

“Oh yeah, all the time. That, that is adorable though.” He’s immediately distracted by another photo, setting the one in his hand down to pick it up. “And who’s this?” He lifts the picture of your mother holding you as a baby.

“My mother.”

“Total fox. As expected.”

“Okay, no more for you.” You hide your amusement well, reaching out for the photo and grabbing it. He puts up little fight, letting you snatch the frame from his larger hand as he reaches for another, making a total mess of your embarrassing nostalgia display. This last picture is of you, around 5 years old— adorned in a pink princess dress and a plastic tiara, grinning at the camera.

“Aw.” He smirks, turning his body to face you. “Guess some things never change. Still a pretty princess.” You’re not sure if he’s mocking you now, because he’s tonguing at the cut on his lip which makes you gain a second heartbeat in your panties and you freeze up— which in itself is more embarrassing that this whole ordeal. He was a tease by nature he’ll admit, but this — this was fun. Seeing you get flustered was his new favourite thing.

You give him the exact reaction he’s after, failing to hide your smile as you lurch for the frame. He hides it behind his back and you stumble into him, stabilising yourself with both hands on his chest. He’s all… warm, and firm.

There’s a silence, but things are never quiet for too long with JJ. Thankfully.

“Damn, if you wanted to touch me up you could’a just asked. Pro’lly would’a said yes.” The smirk is yet to fade, infact you think it’s permanently stamped onto his mouth and your eyes widen just a smidge— scrambling for a witty comeback that didn’t make you look like a perverse idiot.

“I dunno, after you made fun of my baby pictures? Think I owe you two black eyes.” You tilt your head sweetly, proud of the response and his eyes flicker over your expression, eyes softening just a tad. Or maybe you imagined it.

“‘Think that’s a little extreme. How ‘bout a kiss instead?” You freeze, because it’s then you realise how close the two of you are still. Hes practically got you caged against your vanity, can probably hear how fast he’s got your heart beating— maybe smell the pathetic dribble of arousal seeping into your underwear just from being this close to him. You can’t tell if he’s kidding, and it seems he even caught himself a little off guard, blinking a few times during your stunned silence.

But then you look at his mouth, because asking a question like that is totally giving you permission to do so, and he takes that as an answer and leans in.

You’re so hypnotised when his mouth starts moving against yours that you nearly jump out of your skin when his large hands bracket your waist, pulling your body more flush against his. JJ was a good kisser, which lead you to indeed that he was infact— a whore. Well, maybe a former whore. Whatever, in that moment it didn’t matter— nothing mattered, just JJ and his tongue that was sliding against yours as the kiss heated up.

It feels like hours that your tongues are looping round eachother, snapped out the moment by the hungry blondes hands sliding down, your waist in his grip becomes suddenly your ass cheeks through your shorts, squeezing and pulling you against him practically lifting your entire body. It’s then you realise you having a working voice box, because you let out the most pathetic mewl you’ve ever heard yourself make. Even more pathetic than the noises you made only a few nights ago from your own hand.

He groans back almost as like a response, and with that — finally, he manoeuvres you to start walking backwards towards the very bed you fell apart on at the thought of what you were currently doing, or about to do. Your lips detach when the backs of your knees hit the bed, falling to sit down at the edge of it with a few bounces. He stares down at you for a couple of seconds, disorientated and sore-mouthed like even he can’t believe what’s happening— before he jumps into action. Jittery and clumsily like he always is.

“Should probably uh— if we’re gonna get on the bed I don’t wanna— poke you with somethin’” He stuffs his hands into his pockets, unloading them. His phone, his keys, earphones, cigarettes, wallet, other random knickknacks that would otherwise make you raise an eyebrow if you weren’t already so dazed by him. He’s about to return to you, before his mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, as if he just remembered something — and he reaches into the back of his pants, pulling up the shirt that hung over his waistband to there retrieve his gun. He holds it up with a smile that said ‘How silly of me!’

You gape. “JJ, why do you have that?”

He shuffles some things around on your vanity, scrambling to make space for the piece. “Uh, had to bring it home today… lemme just… set that down there.” He places it next to your jewellery stand, the contrast in the items almost making you laugh in disbelief. “The old problem solver.” He mutters, giving it a fond pat before turning back to you, happy to carry on.

“What if my parents were to come home and see that?” You challenge with a pout, not too keen about him bringing a weapon into your house. He huffs out a smirk, leaning back down to where you’re sat, hands on your shoulders as he slowly lays you down.

“Think they’d be a little more concerned about the dirty pogue on top of their little girl, but y’know…” His words get lower and lazier as he draws in before locking his lips onto yours again, this time wasting no time with introducing his tongue.

You’re back in the zone, gun long forgotten within seconds— running your hands through his hair, over his strong arms, touching everywhere you’ve wanted to touch since you started working at the restaurant. Well, not everywhere.

He’s not holding back on being handsy either, body slotted between your legs after he lifts you further up the bed, grappling at your thighs, hips, and eventually tits. You can’t blame him, there’s desperation behind both of your actions — the fact you’d both wanted this for a while now slowly becoming clear. Your heart thumps hard at this realisation, suddenly less able to breathe and you pull back panting, breath trembling.

His eyes flicker over your face, watching your wet mouth as you ramble. “Wanted— mmph— wanted this for a while.”

He drags his lips over your cheek, pressing his hips against yours and you can feel him hardening. It does little to help you calm down. “Yeah, same… Is it… uh, is it weird I kinda didn’t want you to wash the shirt before givin’ it back to me?” He smiles, dropping another toothy peck to your mouth as his hands continue feeling you up.

Your eyes flutter closed once more when he softly grinds his bulge against your cunt, your knees tightening against his hips as you let out a silent moan, lips parted.

“H-had to. I slept in it.” You admit before you think, brain focused on other things. He laughs quietly against your jaw, smoothing his tongue over the now bitten skin.

“Aw, you did?” He creates some space between the two of you, his hand very slowly starting to trail down your body, past your stomach. “You got it so bad for me, huh?” He teases and you whine, openly and pathetically— spoiled and childish even. JJ didn’t seem the type to talk about his feelings easily, but teasing you for yours was outright mean.

“Shutup.” Comes with the whine, your breath catching pathetically as you feel the rumble of him slowly unzipping your shorts zipper at your crotch, lips detaching from your jaw for a second to look at what he’s doing, still chuckling.

“Thats rude.” He grins, quiet and lighthearted, elated when you start helping him pull your shorts down and kicking them carelessly off. If he wasn’t so desperate to get his hands on you, he would have taken more time to appreciate your cute little cotton panties with the bow on top. They were so you, exactly the sort he pictured you wearing, moreso pictured you soaking through the way you were now.

His hand slides over the length of your covered cunt, all but cupping you and pushing his fingers over the embarrassing amount of wetness on the fabric. “What else did you do in the shirt, hm? Talk me through it babe.”

He’s teasing you, not truly expecting much of an answer as he genuinely believed a sweet girl like you wouldn’t have the gall to do anything but sleep in his shirt. His lips trail down the centre column of your neck, and it bobs with a harsh swallow. Now, his interest is piqued.

“Can’t say!” You whimper, eyes screwed up, legs spreading wider as he gently thumbs at your clit through the fabric, just enough to stimulate you. You feel him remove his mouth from you, lifting his head into your direct eyeline with an amused raise of the brow.

“Well now sweetheart, you’re just gonna have to tell me.” His fingers tuck into the leg hole of your panties, like he wants to pull it aside but won’t. You realise he’s still watching you, waiting for an answer and that he’s not gonna go further until you speak. “Don’t be shy, tell Papa J what you—”

“Touched myself. I touched myself.” You release all in one breath. Now it’s his turn to ogle you, completely off guard. If he wasn’t hard as a rock before, he certainly was now. Probably leaking in his boxers too from how things felt down there. This was poor performance from him, he thought at the back of his mind. This fucked so early on? Shit, he knew he liked you but c’mon.

He peels your panties to the side and you squeak, the boy making no effort to touch you still— just letting the cool air of your room grace your glossy folds.

“And why would you do something like that, baby?” He noses at your cheek, trying to get you to open your eyes. You squeeze them harder before fluttering them open, so hot in the face and embarrassed when you find his gaze you think you might just die.

“Because I like you.” You whisper. It’s sweet, just like he thought you’d be when the time comes. He smiles, dimple deepening as his free hand cups your cheek.

“Because you like me.” He repeats in affirmation. It’s a little smug, he’ll admit — but having his dream girl beneath him had his ego on ten, what can he say. He slides two fingers through your wetness, dragging what he collected up your clit and circling it making you arch your back. “Gotta say, the feelings definitely mutual.”

He kisses you again, and this time it feels like something else. Like a confession, a proposal of some sort. It’s passionate, overwhelming in the best way, intimate — as his fingers start to move, stroking your clit and making your legs tremble in adrenaline.

As you writhe and moan beneath him, his lips swallowing as many as he can, unable to stay away— his other hand starts to slide up your work shirt. You wished you’d been wearing something sexier the first time the two of you got it on, but clearly it sort of did something for him.

If the speed at which he located and stimulated your clit wasn’t enough to convince you that the boy definitely had experience, it would be the way his hand slides around to your back, unhooking your bra singlehandedly. You can’t help but giggle through your whimpers and you’re not sure why, but he smiles too— murmuring “Party trick.” against your mouth. The smile is wiped from your face when his digit glides around your hole, as if lapping up all the wetness and then pushing in— all the way to the knuckle.

You moan and tense up a little, it’s been a while and your own fingers were definitely smaller than his. At your reaction. he pulls back only slightly— a look of concern poorly masked on his face.

“Are you… have you uh, been with a guy before? Or is this…”

“One guy, a while back. Not good at all.” You sigh and he nods patiently, lips twitching up when he starts to move his finger and your eyes flutter involuntarily. “Think I can work with that.”

He twists his wrist a little, working you with just one finger as he paws at your free’d tit, sucking on your tongue. You moan, the sound of your own wetness having its own presence in the room and he hums, pulling back to look down at the way you’re sucking his middle finger in.

“So pretty, you’ve been holdin’ out on me baby. Should be a crime to hide this cute little pussy, damn.” He whispers and you whine in preemptive embarrassment to the way you clench around him, making him chuckle again. “Oh yeah? She liked that, huh?”

“More, please—” You nearly choke on your own swallow as you lift your head, looking down at the way he’s got you spread out. Reaching downwards you gently tug at his wrist, not quite sure of the aim. “N—‘nother one.” You pant. Jeez, already totally fucked dumb and he hasn’t even made you cum. You were going to give JJ Maybank an even bigger head.

He doesn’t say anything, just sinks two fingers into your cunt and you make a noise he’s only heard in amateur porn videos from Twitter, dick usually nestled in his fist. He presses his lips together in a quiet ‘Mhm’ and your hands are back on him, desperate once more to consume him wholly.

Your nails rake through his hair as he finds his rhythm, tonguing at the cut on his lip with wide observant eyes that flicker between your face and your cunt. “Look at you go.” He responds to a moan— but JJ being JJ knows he can do better, which is why he stops thumbing at your nipple and pushes his hand into the bed instead, using the weight on his arm to start sliding down your body.

The first kiss against your stomach catches you off guard, and if you weren’t so dizzy from pleasure you might wanna think about it more. He repositions his hand, stroking your inner thigh as he pushes them wider apart and shushes you, now face to face with your glistening pussy. His fingers slow their movements for a moment.

“She’s real pretty.” His fingers slide out so he can make messy doing of spreading your folds with his fingers, licking his already wet lips.

“Thank you.” You mewl happily, eyes watery as they gaze down at him like he hung the moon and stars for you.

“You’re so sweet.” He smiles genuinely and fairly innocently up at you as he strokes your thigh affectionately— before of course counteracting that by shooting out a thick bubbling glob of spit directly onto your clit, making your jaw drop. Lifting your thighs, he murmurs. “So sweet you get me hard. S’kinda unfair… at work.” Before he chases the spit with the flat of his tongue, bringing the muscle up to then wrap his lips around your clit and suck.

No noise can leave you for a few seconds, brows furrowed and jaw dropped in a silent moan until he forces the noise out of you by stuffing his fingers back inside your weeping hole.

“Oh— oh, JJ!” Your toes curl and in record time you feel your first orgasm approaching. It’s different from the ones you give yourself, it’s a ball of fire in your stomach and heat licking up your spine, eyes even watering at the exertion.

“Yeah say my name, c’mon.” He coaches you, moving his tongue faster like he’s competing with himself to make you cum.

“JJ, mmpph— feels— it feels—” You nearly sob.

“How’s it feel?”

“M’gonna—”

“Cum, babydoll. I got you.”

White noise. Like, almost the sounds of waves crashing. It doesn’t really feel like you’re a person anymore — but one thing is for certain. You have never cum like that in your life. You must of been on autopilot, moaning and whining pathetically, slurring out nonsense and maybe a twisted version of his name— but when you come back to Earth you’re near hyperventilating.

You slap at his shoulders with shaky hands because his lips are still latched onto your pulsing nub, fingers still squelching and working the release out of you. “Ok—okay, Jayj— please!” You let out a pathetic little cry and he eases up, pushing himself off you with a satisfied hum and grinning cheekily, letting you push out his fingers. You suck in shaky breaths, letting him soak in the moment by bringing his fingers to his mouth and cleaning them off.

“Better than anything I make, can tell you that.” He jokes. “Taste that shit, s’fuckin’ delicious.” He eases his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck off the remains with a humiliated mewl before removing them, leaning over you to kiss you. God, it’s embarrassing how much you soaked his face. Really, how it ended up on his forehead— you wasn’t sure. You were too focused on your own taste he was forcing into your mouth with his tongue, purposeful and cocky, making sure to roll his own wet muscle over your tastebuds so that you never forget who made you cum that hard.

It’s then, and only then he realises you’re freaking a little and lets you off for a break, cupping your cheek as he pulls back. “Are you good?” He chuckles and you inhale deeply, still trembling. You’re not sure what he does, because everything’s all hazy but he manhandles you a little until he’s cradling you in strong biceps, brow creased. “Did I go too hard? I may— may have gotten a lil’ carried away there. My apologies.” He holds up a hand that wasn’t cradling you.

“Was just— haven’t — it’s never felt like that before. Never felt that good.” You admit, which brings back his dimple and that sickeningly soft look in his eyes.

“What can I say, you deserve the best there is when it comes to receiving orgasms, and I,” He presses his mouth back on yours, kissing you between each word. “Am the best, there, is, at, giving them.” On the last kiss you lean into it, holding him there, as you’re ambushed by an unexpected feeling.

Some kind of surge in your stomach, like butterflies but bigger, your heart pounding. If you weren’t so dazed you’d be worried the L word was coming to doom you early. The feeling made you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him back ontop of you, jean clad bulge pressed back against your sensitive heat as you moan, high pitched and happy against him.

He pulls back to make some kind of joke, maybe a comment about your recovery time but you beat him to the chase, staring up into his dilated pupils with love hearts occupying your own. “Wanna make you feel good, Jayj.”

“You—how—”

You suckle on your bottom lip, hand bravely travelling down to cup the bulge that was calling to attention in his jeans. His breath catches in his throat, lips parting to let out a quiet and surprised groan.

“I’ve never—” Your face is hot again. “Never given a blow job before but—”

“Next time. Yeah? If you’ll let me I kinda just… wanna fuck you.” He smirks and hides it in your jawline, almost too shy in the moment to look you in the eye. Your brows furrow with a silent whimper at his words.

“Next time?” You mewl happily like you’re floating on air. At this he pulls back, a hopeful grin.

“If you’ll have me, that is. Figured I should take you out on a real date.”

You don’t have time to respond, he doesn’t let you— perhaps out of nerves. Instead, he’s working your panties that had been pushed to the side down your legs, followed by pulling your tshirt over your head. “Peekaboo, there she is.” He smiles quietly and you giggle, thinking back to the time at the locker where he pulled his shirt over your head. You toss your loose bra away from the bed, now laying bare beneath him.

He sits back on his knees, hands instinctually lifting to his head like he wanted to fix his hat, a habit you noticed of his that would occur when he’s overwhelmed or in awe. He settles on running his hands through the blonde tresses instead, big goofy smile on his face.

“Holy shit. I mean like — holy shit.” He breathes and you turn your head shyly, then reaching out to tug at his shirt.

“You too.” You gesture to his shirt and he offs it within a second, not wanting to look away from your naked body from a minute. Once his hands are free again, he’s sliding them up to your chest, greedily massaging your tits in both hands.

“Fuck, you are so fine. I mean like I think I nearly came in my pants.” He admits quietly and you tug at his belt, having to remind him of what you were actually doing.

“C’mon, Jayj— want you to fuck me!” You whine, all doe eyes and pouts, not even registering how pathetic and desperate the sentiment was — only making his cock throb harder. He buckles slightly, like it physically pains him and he nods quickly, fumbling with his belt until he could pull his jeans down just enough to release himself.

It’s long, pink and pretty like you expected — pearly precum gathering at his tip. He grasps it infront of you, eyes flickering between yours and his dick, suddenly looking hesitant. “So uh, this is what m’ working with.” He announces awkwardly, overthinking everything — but it doesn’t matter because you’re wrapping a delicate hand round it, guiding him to your entrance.

“Woah there missy, okay uh— hold your horses. This job don’t pay either of us enough for you to get knocked up.” He side rolls off the bed hobbling over to the dresser for his wallet, retrieving a condom and returning. You would have laughed, but you get all embarrassed and teary eyed about how overly eager you’d been.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’.” You pout and his eyes flutter up to yours, kneeling between your legs.

“Hey? You’re good.” He tears the packet open with his teeth and you clench around nothing. “You’re good.” He repeats, stroking your thigh as he eases the rubber onto his cock. “Still up for it, babe?”

You bite your lip with a sniffly giggle, nodding and he grins himself, laying on top of you to press a sloppy kiss to your mouth. He pulls away, and he lines himself up before slowly easing himself in.

Your legs around his waist hug him tighter and your toes curl at the stretch, wincing. “You got it.” He encourages, voice breathier like it teetered on a moan which only made you flutter around him.

“S’big, JJ.” You whimper and he huffs against your neck.

“I— thanks.”

Once he’s in, he’s in — and you can see how his fingers and tongue were only just the appetiser. He fucks like it’s the last time, like his life depends on it— rolling his hips, his hands somehow in ten places at once, his tongue — oh his tongue, it’s in your mouth, then down your neck, then looping around your nipple making you clench and whine and cry.

He starts to speed up, unable to control himself as his hands slide under your lower back to hold you, thumbing at your waist. “Shit, shit, shit.” He grits his teeth, having to contain himself there and then from cumming when he sees the way your tits bounce beneath him. “Takin’ that shit so good, huh? Jesus baby.” He wrinkles his nose in exertion, panting.

“S’just so good, JJ— mmph!”

“Yeah? Y’gonna think of this everytime I see you, shit, everytime I see you in the kitchen? Givin’ me those big sexy fuck me eyes everytime I hand you a plate? Shit baby, pretty little waitress, huh. N’ you’re all mine now. So freakin’ lucky.” Hes rambling, nonsensical— already pussy drunk.

You’re in ecstasy. Not only from how he felt, but from how you were making him feel. It occurred to you that no one seems to talk about the validation you receive from finally getting to fuck your crush, watching them come apart over you. You wanted more, wanted to impress him.

In a trance, you push at his stomach, shuffling upwards so he reluctantly pulls out, concern on his clammy face. You fumble, rolling onto your front, sticking your ass in the air, looking over your shoulder.

“Please.” You plead, and you’re not sure what for— but it works, the blonde puffing out his cheeks with a dramatic exhale, lining himself behind you and pushing in. “Gonna be the death of me, babydoll.”

You may have overestimated your abilities, crying pathetically when he bottoms out, his cock feeling ten times it’s size from this angle.

“Arch that back baby, there you go, just like that.” He whispers, pressing down on your lower back making you sob. You fuck back against him, pressing your cheek to your pillow, fingers curling into it for security. “Good girl, that’s right.” He drops a hand beneath you, finding your clit once more and as a surprise ambush, you cum— suddenly and embarrassingly, gushing around his cock leaving a ring of cream at his base.

He doesn’t stop this time, giving you a moment to catch your breath as you whine and mewl like a distressed kitten. No, if anything — he goes harder, his own release on the precipice. The bed is creaking now, wooden headboard smacking the wall as he leans his weight on the back of your arms, pelvis slapping against your ass. Little squeaks are punched out of you with each thrust, and when you think he’s reached a crescendo— he slows.

“Fuck, fuck turn around baby. Need to see that pretty face to cum, c’mon.” He pants in one breath, fighting you back onto your back and sliding back in with ease this time, pushing one knee up to your chest and rolling his hips, eyes squeezed shut.

He tries to keep them open, eyes everywhere— your tits, your big wet eyes, your lips. Like he can’t help himself, he sloppily cups your cheek, a thumb brushing your bottom lip. Wanting to help him along in your post orgasm brain-fog, your tongue peeks out, trying to catch the finger as he bounces you on his cock. Once you’ve got it, you wrap your lips around it, sucking with devotion and love hearts in your eyes.

“Oh my— god” He whimpers, finally dropping his cheek to your chest as he ruts into you, spilling his seed. You moan at the feeling, scratching at his back and fluttering around him. The butterflies return.

After ten minutes, you’re laying on his thick bicep— his blunt fingernails scratching your scalp at the bottom of your skull. The dryer beeps distantly, signifying that it’s completed its cycle.

Maybank is staring at you, like he’s trying to memorise your face, like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you. An amused smile breaks out onto your face, trying to hide it in his arm as you press a kiss there. At this, a grin spreads on his own face, questioning.

“You know… I do actually have an electric toothbrush.”

in true anakin fashion, he takes this as an insult.

you push against his cheeks when he tries burying his face against your wet cunt- your soaking cunt, can't you see you need him? and he's almost annoyed when he loosens his biceps around your thighs so that you can scramble backwards to where he's trying to drag you in over him. You're staring down at him with apprehension clear on your face, and there's nothing he wants more than to push past it and ravage you until you can't keep your mouth closed.

but he raises one eyebrow, waiting for your explanation. when you placatingly croon, 'don't, anakin, just lay me down instead. 'might be too heavy, i don' wanna crush you'.

you have to remember that anakin functions almost purely on ego. he's cocky, he's arrogant, he knows he's too powerful for his own good and he loves it. not only is he powerful with the force, but he's also been through years of rigorous training to refine his body, too, and he knows that he could overpower just about anyone even if he wasn't armed with his saber. so when you dare to suggest that he might not be able to support you- when you practically jump him and grind yourself all over his thighs and then deny him your cunt when he knows you need it the most, when you've been pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing and all of a sudden you're pulling away, suggesting that maybe he can't take it-?

he can't have it? he can't have you? he can't have you and he can't have your needy cunt because he's not strong enough?

your very kind and caring concern for him is interpreted as nothing less than a vicious insult.

he turns his head to the side and bites your thigh. he doesn't nip it, like he would to incite some sort of playful brawl, or lick it like he would before indulging in what's between the two of them. No, he opens his mouth, bares his teeth, and bites into your thigh, grabs a hunk of the meat of it with his teeth and digs in until he can hear you scream. it's rough and he doesn't break skin but he does hope that it bruises, because all of a sudden apparently you need a reminder of his strength.

you're staring down at him with tears eyes as you clutch at the bite mark, blubbering, 'anakin, what-?' but he's not taking pity on you.

"The fuck do you mean by that?" He spits, "You think- you think i'm not strong enough? you think i can't handle it?"

"No, Anakin!" You try to reason, but he's well beyond the point of no return, "No, I just mean that-"

"That you'll be too much for me, is that it, baby?" He asks, eyes ablaze.

"No, I just want you to be able to breathe!"

your words fall on deaf ears as he muscles you forward again, ignoring your squeals of protest as he presses his face into your cunt. he doesn't lead with his mouth, but with his chin, so that from nose to chin he's flush to your pussy. you feel his nose nestled just beneath your clit and you feel him breathe you in, a mortifying sensation because you know you must smell like sweat and sex and filth.

it was meant to be a task like the others. the only unusual thing finnick had found that day was the destination. usually those in the capitol that favored him enough to seek his ‘company’ were shameless in meeting at his home or inviting him to theirs. even those who were married. so finnick couldn’t even imagine what was waiting for him as he stood in the smooth elevator in formal olive green wool attire that left his broad chest on display up towards the hotel room in the most expensive hotel within the capitol. he couldn’t even fathom spending so much money on a room a night. finnick didn’t mull over who awaited him, he didn’t find the importance in it considering he’d just bare through it as he always did. with his charm and looks he’d find his way out of a pit of serpents – and he had on multiple occasions.

the corridor smelled faintly of lavender. it calmed his nerves just a bit as he walked along expensive carpets in clean deep green dress shoes with golden clasps. the corridors of the hotel he’d never been in at that point were beautiful. creams and beiges the apparent theme with beautiful paintings hung up on the walls. beautiful white calla lilies as perfect as the ones in the paintings rested in beautiful vases of intricate designs and paints. finnick admired as much of the scenery as he could, the sights were stunning. then he reached the cream door with golden trims and a beautiful calla lily hung beneath the peep hole. as a warning, he clicked against the golden figure before he used the card to enter the room.

once more – lavender. it assaulted his senses as he stepped into the room. the room of creams and beiges just the same. his client hadn’t arrived yet so he shut the door and took the time to let his sea-green eyes drink in why the room was so expensive. and upon just a first glance alone he could see why.

a complimentary bar in the room that could more be the layout of a small home without a kitchen or dining room. he looked along the beautiful paintings that hung in expensive mahogany frames. his brows stitched and he exhaled deeply as he wondered what kind of thing he’d meet and be forced to enjoy having sex with – who, that could afford such a room, would need to pay for sex? the bed was beautiful, creams and beiges creams and beiges and creams and beiges. gold trimmings. calla lilies. the scent of lavender. windows that gave a view to the capitol and beautiful side of panem, he drew the cream golden laced curtains shut to block out the early morning atmosphere outside.

finnick didn’t realize then just how familiar he’d end up becoming with the room. he walked over to the bar and he fixed himself a drink, no alcohol, just a sweetness to coat his tongue for whatever bitterness was going to arrive. and someone had arrived soon enough. his muscles tensed on reflex when he set down his drink once the door shut.

“i’m sorry for being late – i was hesitant to come.” those were the first words you’d ever speak to him. and they were so soft. your voice was so soft. delicate and almost pure like the petals on the calla lilies that rested in the vases around the room. not the sultry, skeevy, perverted seductive voice of a woman old enough to be his mother and sometimes his grandmother. finnick’s brows twitched and he turned around, his sea-green eyes nearly snapped open in surprise. you weren’t anything of what he was expecting. your introduction had fallen deaf on his ears as he tried to keep his composure while his eyes drank in the sight of you.

you were young. twenty-one at the most and eighteen at the youngest. you were a stark contrast to the room, a beauty dipped in crimsons and deep reds. the shade didn’t click then but now he knew the shade to remind him of pomegranate juice. you donned a beautiful dress that hugged your figure down just a few inches past your knees. dark pantyhose disappeared up the dress with a sweetheart neckline. you donned a black and inky coat that fell down to your knees, to match the dark pointed toe heels you wore. beautiful rubies glittered in your ears and a dainty diamond necklace was around your throat. you carried a purse on your elbow, a designer one that might have cost more than a home in the victors village. your hands wore soft black satin gloves that stopped at your wrists.

and you were so pretty. jarringly so. with the warm lights your eyes twinkled and a shade that looked as if you rubbed a bitten pomegranate seed on your lips fit your skin perfectly. you wore a sweet smile as you stepped towards him with poise and an air of expensive elegance around you. finnick didn’t notice he’d been staring for so long until you tilted your head in question and he found himself as quickly as his heart beated. the man cleared his throat as he walked towards you, that award winning grin spread on his lips.

“yes – finnick odair but please just call me finnick.” he answered with that charm that always seemed to ooze off his deep voice that dragged with rasp when it grew quiet. it wasn’t his job to question why someone like you wanted to pay for sex, how someone like you paid for the room and paid for his company. as he walked closer towards you, he tilted his head and raised his brows gently. “you seem nervous – would you like a drink to relax?” finnick asked as his hand reached out and gently took your jaw. your skin was so soft, you were even more beautiful up close.

but suddenly your hand encased in that soft satin glove pressed to his chest. his brows lowered to furrow in slight confusion and some surprise. "no, no. i don't want to sleep with you." your voice was so soft. god. it was so delicate, almost as delicate as the frown of surprise on lips painted a shade that's since burned into his memory. you looked to your hand on his chest then to his sea-green eyes before you pulled it back and it joined your other hand against your navel. "i just - want your company. to talk with you. genuinely." you clarified with a soft smile and gentle nod.

"you...just want to talk?" the question left his lips tightly, his facade had fallen hard as he blinked and his brows furrowed. he couldn't remember the last time he'd been genuinely surprised. only a few minutes in and you'd caught him off guard more than he'd been that past year.

your brows sewed up and you smiled a bit sheepishly. “if that’s allowed. i-i’m married and i would never cheat on my husband it’s just a uhm…well, she isn’t a friend but she isn’t a stranger so–” you rambled. finnick could practically see the nervousness that dragged at you as your eyes averted and your brows screwed. gloved hands played with fingers on each hand. with a deep inhale and deeper exhale, you shook your head and met his eyes. “well someone told me that you’re good company and i–find myself needing good company. my husband is always busy and i don’t have much in common with those around me.” you explained, your eyes flickered to his sea-green ones.

finnick grinned lightly, but that grin he donned was genuine. for the first time he showed something genuine before the eyes of a capitol dog. “can i speak freely?” he asked. for some reason finnick didn’t feel fear or anxiety with you, he felt something he hadn’t been able to discern. you nodded at him eagerly as if you had been waiting for him to ask that. finnick believed your permission. “what could you and i have in common? i’m sure whoever told you about me didn’t mean my company was good for talking.” and you nodded with a hum as your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

then you gasped softly and you looked at him with a smile. “you’re from district four, right?” you asked as you walked past him.

“that’s correct.” finnick responded as you stepped over to a dresser and you set down your purse.

and you turned to finnick with a nod as you tugged your coat off. “tell me about life there. fishing, swimming – i’ve always wanted to go swimming.” you confessed as you set your coat onto the dresser before you began to undo the button on your gloves. finnick blinked, another surprise. he wondered what exactly was happening. but as he met your expectant gaze while you dropped your gloves onto your coat, he found nothing deceitful and nothing untrue. you looked genuinely interested – you looked almost enthralled at the idea of hearing him.

and finnick smiled. he truly smiled.

it became something usual. every friday you would visit him in the hotel room. and every time finnick was still wary. he expected you to switch, to place your manicured hand on his thigh or to paint his tan skin in that lipstick you never seemed to be without. but every friday you filled him in on things in your life as he filled you in on things in his and shared other conversations. finnick found conversing easy with you, you were excitable and sweet and a conversationalist unlike anyone he’d ever conversed with. and it wasn’t so bad you were so beautiful with that bitten pomegranate lipstick and that expensive perfume on your skin he still couldn’t figure out. so by the time the tenth friday came by, finnick found his mind spinning with thoughts.

his sea-green eyes watch you attentively, he listens to the way you excitedly chatter about your first swimming lesson. but he begins to wonder whether or not it’d be inappropriate to ask you to stop with the visits. but to instead just be a friend to him. you’re sweet, fun, funny, interesting – you’re a woman he wants to know better and he feels he’ll be unable to to the fullest within the four beige-cream walls. he hums softly as you wrap up your telling with a big smile and a shift of your sleeves that push off your shoulders, your dress is a pretty deep purple. he wonders for a moment how you look when you’re not put together and beautiful.

then again he doubts there is a moment when you're not beautiful.

“but yes – i think it’s going really well i just need to get used to the feeling of my hair being wet.” you scrunch your nose in distaste before you smile softer and hold his gaze. “though i really do love being in the water, i wish i could go more often but too much and my skin could get ruined. i’d rather not upset my husband with that.” a light laugh leaves your lips.

the husband. finnick’s only heard of your husband a few times and he doesn’t like the man that happens to be one of the capitol’s top elites – the reason you can afford the hotel room as he owns plenty of businesses in the capitol and panem. including the hotel. he doesn’t like the man for countless reasons. maybe the fact that he’s fifty while you’re only eighteen and he married you when you were only sixteen. maybe the fact that he rarely ever talks to you and when he does all he offers is criticism. maybe because he’s been rumored to have multiple affairs. maybe it’s all of it. maybe it’s because finnick knows that you deserve better, that he doesn’t deserve you. not by a longshot.

but he doesn’t criticize. because finnick’s been struggling with some late night dreams that aren’t good of him to be having for you – a married woman, a woman married to such a powerful man. because the reason finnick wants to take whatever it is you both have outside of the hotel might not be the most platonic and friendliest of reasons.

then you turn your head and that expensive perfume wafts into his senses to awaken the butterflies in his stomach. “oh! before it gets too late i brought you something.” you say with a lilt of excitement on your tongue as you stand up. “let me get it.” you walk over to where your inky coat, purple lace gloves, and dark black leather purse rest on a beautiful antique chair.

finnick hums with interest and curiosity, he usually receives gifts when he finds himself with a capitol elite but it’s under much different circumstances. usually before he’s bare in front of them with his skin stained in lipstick and that disgust coiling around his insides. and usually gifts he doesn’t necessarily need or like are received. but he feels somewhat excited as you reach into your purse with a tilt of your head and a focus in your eyes. pulling out a pretty velvet box a chocolate shade of brown, you turn to him and curl your index finger at him. those butterflies.

“you didn’t need to buy me anything.” finnick says as he walks over to where you stand.

you shrug gently as he stops in front of you. “i saw it and it made me think of you.” finnick’s heart squeezes and his restraint begins to tug at the chains that rest at the floor of his heart. you’re so sweet, so kind – so soft, warm. finnick smiles at you, dimples prodding into his cheeks as you hold out the pretty box. “a thank you for making my weeks so nice.” you add as he takes it from your hand. finnick’s tan skin warms when his fingertips brush your polished nails. as if he’s a schoolboy and not a man who’s slept with more women than he can count.

finnick looks down and he opens up the box. his brows twitch and he blinks rapidly. it’s a beautiful thin-chain silver necklace with a small trident that hangs off the end. he can recall the conversation with you on the third friday, his trident – the most expensive sponsorship gift ever sent in the games – he’d mentioned how it was a prized possession despite its origins only because it stood as a symbol of all he survived. he blinks softly and he looks to your gaze, you smile up at him with your hands folded against your navel. “do you like it?” you ask softly, hesitantly as worry glitters in your eyes.

he exhales softly and he nods. “i–i really like it.” his voice catches for just a moment, those chains drag at the floor of his heart. “thank you – very much. it’s really beautiful.” finnick says almost breathlessly as his eyes admire the beauty of it. the charm is almost an exact mini model of the trident he held. the man doesn’t bother asking about it. he just enjoys it and his eyes meet your gaze.

smiling in relief, you nod and exhale in the same feeling. “that’s good to hear.” your pretty hands take the box from his and you set it down onto the chair while pulling out the necklace. “here let me see…” your voice softens, it quiets as you step closer to finnick.

and those chains shake as you unclasp the necklace and step so close to him that your body presses to his. he can feel the warmth, he can smell that perfume. and his chin lifts to give you access to his throat as your soft hands brush his skin that he hopes doesn’t feel as hot across his flesh as his nerves and insides do. you clasp the necklace at the nape of his neck, his eyes cast a glance down and he smiles at your face of focus. it’s too soon when you pull your body away from his, but your hands fix the necklace and you smile big. finnick’s sea-green eyes fall down as his tan skin sparks with the remnants of your touch.

“i don’t think i’ll ever take it off.” he says lightly though he isn’t joking. his hand touches the small charm. “i should get you something in return.”

with a gentle laugh, you shake your head but you practically radiate happiness. “i’m glad you like it!” you chirp as your hands fold down above your navel. finnick’s gaze flickers to your eyes that admire the look of the necklace around his neck. then your pretty eyes flicker up to meet sea-green eyes. “it looks good on you.” and your eyes flicker to his bronze hair worn tousled as it almost always is. finnick feels warmer, his jaw tenses for a moment. your eyes meet his sea-green ones and you shake your head. “i don’t need anything in return. like i said – it’s a thanks for your company.”

finnick exhales a soft laugh, it’s quiet and he shakes his head. “i should be the one thanking you, sweetheart.” you never mind his petnames. in fact, he often notices you smile a bit bigger when he uses them. and while your smile twitches upwards at the corners, your brows furrow gently in question. finnick finds his own confusion – isn’t it obvious? “spending these fridays with you are the highlights of my week. especially compared to the women i usually have to entertain. you’re…” he trails off as his arms cross over his broad chest loosely. “you’re kind of like diving into the ocean after being away for a while.”

your smile grows and you roll your eyes while turning away from him. anytime he compliments you, you get shy. he’d squeeze a compliment into every sentence for that if it wouldn’t sell out what he doesn’t want to feel and crave. “refreshing?” you ask with a gentle raise of your brow and an amused smile once your eyes meet his. his grin grows and he chuckles with a nod. you gently smack his chest and cross your own arms over your chest. “you’re too sweet. i’m honored i can be such good company for you.” you say as your pretty eyes flicker between his glittering ones.

“honored? fanning my ego isn’t a good idea.” finnick teases as he leans down closer to you.

laughing, you shake your head and place a hand on his chest. “as if my fanning would do anything to the inferno that it is already, finnick.” he grins a bit bigger, dimples pressing deeper into his cheeks. then your eyes flutter down and you seem to deflate. he knows what it means as you sigh softly and pull your hand away. “i should be leaving now.” you offer softly, your eyes flicker back to finnick’s, then to his necklace, then back to his eyes as you smile softly.

“you should let me walk you out this time.” he offers as you turn and shut the small box the necklace came in. setting it aside, you begin to pull on your gloves while you shake your head gently.

“i wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” you say softly as you tug on the lacy gloves. finnick snorts and you turn to him for the usual routine, one of his hands gently grasp your forearm. skin touches skin and the chains of restraint within his heart begin to rattle further as his other hand gently does the jewel button on your gloves. “besides – you know i always stop to talk the ear off of the sweet woman at the front desk.” finnick smiles at the little fact he does indeed know. and he swallows his bitterness at the sight of your wedding band around your ring finger when he takes your other arm.

“i don’t mind.” finnick reassures you. as his eyes meet yours. that perfume. those eyes. that lipstick. the way your chest rises and falls in a sweetheart neckline. you favor those. “let me, yeah?” he asks with a tilt of his head as he reluctantly releases your forearm.

you smile at him and finnick suddenly stills when your hand reaches out. “you’re too sweet for the card you’ve been dealt, finnick.” you say softly as you brush a wave of his bronze hair back and into his tousled locks. finnick blinks softly, he only breathes when you turn away to grab your coat. “i’ll be happy to be walked down by you but only if it’s not an inconvenience.” you often worry too much, finnick finds bitterness as he catches his breath. it’s probably because of your husband.

finnick helps you pull on your coat. his hands are gentle as he fixes your hair outside of the collar. knuckles brush the nape of your neck. your skin is hot. “do you have everything?” he asks as he attempts to rub the sting off of his skin while you turn and grab your purse. you nod after looking around the room, finnick takes the small velvet box and holds it in his hand. but then his eyes fall down and he stifles a laugh, turning away and covering his grin of amusement with his hand.

“what? what’s–oh my god.” you burst out into laughter as finnick does. smacking his chest before grasping his forearm. finnick turns back and he laughs as he looks down at your pantyhose clad feet missing the expensive heels. since the third friday you’ve been taking them off. “where is my head…” you mutter as you shake your head with a gloved hand over your embarrassed face. finnick laughs and he walks over to the edge of the bed.

“you have your coat on, sit down and let me.” finnick offers and you giggle as you walk over to the edge of the bed.

“it would’ve been humiliating if i left without my shoes.” you say with a grin on your lips as you set the purse down onto the bed. finnick nods as he grabs your heels and crouches down onto one knee.

they’re a pretty black, a strap across the top of your foot and one around your ankle. “i should have let you, it would’ve been hilarious.” you gently swat his shoulder as he slips your heel onto your foot. nimble fingers begin to sort the straps, and his sea-green eyes glance upwards. those chains yank hard against the wall of his heart they’re bolted to when he looks to the lace and garter of your stockings. so they aren’t pantyhose. your dress shifts up on your thighs. finnick drops his gaze.

once your heels are on, you hum softly and he stands. his hand holds out to yours. “thanks, finnick.” you say with a smile and soft exhale as you take his hand. and once you stand, you both leave the room.

it isn’t until you’re in the elevator that you speak. “so, finnick, i’d like to think we’re friends.” you begin with a sweetness. he notices the way your hands fidget with your wedding band, he ignores the bitterness on his tongue and looks to you with a gentle tilt of his head. his heart warms – friends. you’re cute in the way you say the word, excited and joyful. it’s contagious. with a soft exhale, you look to him and you smile sheepishly. “would you want to get lunch tomorrow? i–i’ll pay for your company still but i just want to be with you some place that isn’t well…so…” you trail off trying to find the right word, finnick chuckles and expertly conceals his surprise and feel of butterflies that flutter in his stomach.

“dirty?” he finishes with a raise of his brow.

you laugh and nod while you stand close beside him. “i know it’s a fancy hotel but yeah pretty much.” you smile with amusement and sweetness. then you smile with hesitant expectancy while your eyes meet his sea-green ones. the elevator dings and finnick lets you step out first. “so what do you say?” you ask as he follows you into the corridor that will lead to the lobby.

finnick smiles at you as he stops just before entering the lobby. turning to face you, he nods. “i’d love to. just no seafood – i get sick of it.” he says with a gentle nod. you smile and you glow again with excitement, shifting on your heels with an excited dance before you lean forward and wrap your arms around his neck. finnick wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close against him as his face pushes into your neck. he wants your scent seared into his nose for bed tonight, for other activities tonight. you’re so warm, kind, lovely.

your husband doesn’t deserve you.

the district seven library is a small library, probably no bigger than an average-sized house. johanna enjoys the smell of wood, the smell of the pages bound within the books, but she mostly enjoys the smell of rosewater that’s stuck to her senses. it’s quiet and she likes it, silent spare the sound of your light humming to a tune she doesn’t recognize but enjoys the sound of. she’s, however, irritated by the fact that you’re in the library yet again waiting for the old woman with the gray streaks in chocolate-colored hair to return with the extensive three new books the library received. you’ve read every single book within the library three times over, you show up in hope there are new books every day and when there is you read those three times over. it irritates johanna because you refuse to let her buy you whatever books you want from the capitol’s bookstores and shops.

she has more money than she knows what to do with and yet you’re stubborn. you refuse to let her spend any of it on you unless it’s a special occasion. it irritates her because she bears witness almost monthly to how elated and happy you get when you find the district seven library has new material. you get that stupidly happy smile on your face that lights up a whole room, you do your stupid dance where your hips and shoulders shake. the same happiness you get whenever she gifts you books on those special occasions you allow her to give you them. the old librarian shouldn’t give you such joy if she’s perfectly capable but you won’t let her.

eventually the librarian comes out and she shows you the new books, the old woman as happy to converse with her favorite reader as you are with her. johanna listens, standing some distance away with no desire to talk about books. the moment the librarian brings up a romance book, she knows you’ll have your face in it for the next day. you offer your gratitude to the woman before you turn and you walk over to johanna. her annoyance and irritation goes away almost instantaneously when you smile big at her while holding the bag of books on your shoulder. taking her arm and looping it with yours, you begin to pull her out of the library.

“thanks for coming with me – i know you get bored being in there.” you say once you both step outside. the sky is shrouded with dark and gloomy gray storm clouds. the scent of rain sticks to the chilly and cold air. johanna looks at you as you hold onto her arm, a breeze blows and she smells that rosewater. squeezing her arm with an excited squeal, you shake your head gently. “but i’m so excited! a new romance book we barely get those here!” you exclaim as you reach into the bag without removing your arm from around hers.

“as nauseating as it is – it’s better than being in the victor village.” johanna offers as response as her eyes flicker to the book you tug out and look over. the cover is a soft pink with a single rose beneath the title and the back is bare, spare the description. “what’s that one about now?” she asks with curiosity and you turn it over for her to read. a drama love story, an arranged marriage tale. johanna frowns deeply and she gives you a pointed look, you meet her gaze and frown.

“oh shut up. you just don’t get them.” you defend before you open up the book and begin to read the pages on the walk back to your small home. empty since the death of your mother. one of the reasons johanna will come by even if it means just existing with you as you read your stupid books.

johanna can’t help but admire you as she walks with her arm still held by yours. your eyes glow and sparkle as they read the pages of another romance book. you always look prettiest when you’re reading. calm, content – and she likes the way particular parts make you smile big and kick your feet. it’s endearing, it’s lovely. but half-way to the cozy home, the sky darkens further and johanna feels a water droplet hit her skin. and you inhale sharply as a droplet hits the page, shutting the book – you tuck it into the bag. and the moment you take her hand, rain begins to pour hard.

“we would have been here sooner if you didn’t slow us down reading your damn book.” johanna states pointedly as she shuts the front door behind her. annoyance runs along her veins as she shudders, icy and cold rain soaks through her clothes and darkens her already dark hair that drips droplets of water. “now we’re all soaked and you might get sick.” she grumbles as she squeezes out her clothing onto the hardwood floors of the entryway into the home. you scoff out.

“what! why would i be the only one getting sick in that case?” you ask with obvious annoyance evident on your tongue as your books thud against the wall you hang your bag against.

johanna rolls her eyes and pushes back her choppy hair that stops just above her shoulders. “because you have the immune system of a premature baby.” she offers pointedly and you laugh lightly. her own smile twitches at the corners of her lips as she kicks her boots aside. “i’m gonna have to borrow some clo–” when her eyes flicker up, she finds that familiar hotness rush through her insides and stain her fair skin red along her cheeks. you nod gently as you wring out your clothes on the hardwood flooring without a care for the wet rot that could happen. you don’t have a care in general it seems.

“you can get in the shower and i’ll get us clothes.” you say with a nod as you bend down and pick up your wet clothes off the ground. johanna’s seen your body before, you’re as uncomfortable getting undressed as she is. but every single time she finds herself tongue-tied as if she’s some repressed dork. her brows twitch as you look at her in your bra and underwear that cling against your skin, your breasts practically on display. “johanna?” you call her name in slight concern and she clears her throat. nodding as she tugs off her own clothes to not trail water.

“yeah – sorry i thought i had water in my ears.”

the warm shower is godsent. johanna stays in the bathroom for a few moments drying off her hair, she can hear the sound of your bedroom door opening and shutting down the corridor. you finished your shower no doubt. tossing the towel onto the wet floor, she runs her hands through her damp hair for a few moments before she grabs the doorknob. but she pauses. as a warmth fills her cheeks and butterflies dance around in her stomach, she brings the shirt to her upturned nose. rosewater. then she leaves the bathroom and enters your bedroom, you lean against the wall your bed faces with that book in your lap, she ignores the warmth at the sight of your underwear beneath your shirt she recognizes as an old one your mother owned.

“this book is amazing!” you exclaim as you flip a page, shaking your head gently as johanna snatches a ball off your desk and walks over. she hums out for you to continue and you toss her a glance as she falls down onto your bed beside you. her feet adorning your socks rest at your thigh while your own mismatched socks rest beside her head that lays at the foot of your bed. “the chemistry between the leads is immaculate and this kiss – the way the author described it…i can’t even imagine what it’d feel like. kissing someone with your whole body – what do you think it’s like?” you ask her and johanna shrugs while tossing the ball up and down.

“i wouldn’t know. anyone i’ve ever kissed was crap.” johanna admits honestly. any kiss she’s experienced was for a lie, a game, a con, a manipulation – whatever reason it may have been it was always for gain. johanna’s never kissed anyone because she wanted to, she’s never been kissed because someone truly wanted her.

you hum softly. “maybe the element of mutual like is necessary for that kind of kiss.” you observe in a pensive manner.

a snort leaves her upturned nose, a bitter laugh as she shakes her head. “well then i’m fucked in that department.” tossing up the round blue ball and catching it, she shakes her head when she catches your glance of confusion. her dark eyes look back to the ceiling. “nobody likes me.” she says as if she’s saying it’s raining and storming outside. johanna grins bitterly. "as if i could experience any of that crap..." she grumbles with an eye-roll, slight sinking in her stomach and a bit of a fog in her head knowing the reality she's found herself in. it is her own fault and yet still. only when you lean forward does she catch the ball one last time and look at you.

you frown at her deeply. “hey.” you say with obvious irritation and johanna tilts her head at you, she smacks your legs when you hit her head with your foot gently. “i like you.” and she finds those butterflies crowding her stomach, a pink begins to spread on her cheeks and tips of her ears as she forces her gaze away from your soft expression. she frowns deeply and furrows her brows.

“that’s different.” johanna says with a shake of her head as she drops your ball down to the ground, her arm hanging off the edge of the bed. a big difference, she knows it and you should too. the way you like her is in no way the way two people who can kiss so passionately like each other. but for a few moments there’s a long silence, an extended silence. she worries she may have hurt your feelings as she always accidentally manages. pushing her dark eyes to yours, you look down at your book with a knit in your brows. “are you–”

“what if it isn’t different?”

johanna blinks softly. “what?” is all she can manage as her mind goes blank and her heart begins to quicken in her chest. you blink softly and sigh heavily, shutting your book and setting it onto the bedside table. johanna slowly sits up and you turn to face her, your eyes sparkle and twinkle with the warmth of the lights in your room.

“what if i like you in the way that – that makes me want to kiss you with my whole body?” your voice is soft. she can tell your shyness and timidness is bleeding through in the way you blink and your brows twitch – but you keep her wide eyes. and you push off your ass to press your hands into the bedding to shift onto your knees. johanna’s lips part as you lean closer towards hers. “have you ever thought of it?” you ask softly and johanna pushes herself onto her knees on the soft surface of the bed. her heart may just burst out of her chest to kill her, but she doesn’t care. not as her eyes hold yours and her knees touch yours.

“about kissing – you?” johanna asks with a gentle tilt of her head. and you nod gently as your eyes flicker between yours. she wonders if she’s having a dream again. a dream where she’ll wake up sweaty and hot with an ache between her legs. an ache that grows as she holds your gaze and her hands reach out. she’s trembling – shaking. “yeah. i have…i’ve thought about more than just that.” she confesses. your eyes widen and your own hands reach out to her. soon you find yourselves holding one another by the face. your skin is hot and warm beneath her palms and fingers, your hands soft and warm against her ivory skin.

“more? like what?” you ask. you sound breathless. she leans in close and you pull her in. “i’ve never…” you trail off with an embarrassed look away.

and she doesn’t miss her chance. she grasps it as she exhales a shuddery breath. “i’ll teach you.” the pad of her thumb brushes your bottom lip and she nods as her gaze flickers from your lips to your eyes. “i’ll show you.” she promises softly. pressing her lips against yours, johanna’s eyes screw shut and her brows furrow tightly. your lips are as soft as she’s imagined them. she relaxes and melts into the kiss as your hands hold her face firmly. you’re so soft, it feels so right. butterflies burst at her insides and her heart drums in her chest as she deepens the kiss while tilting her head.

she understands your stupid books now.

when your tongue slides from the tip of her tongue to the center, that ache between her legs grows. and she can’t help herself as she presses forward and your back hits the soft surface of the bed. your legs spread for her and she rests between them as the kisses grow hotter. two tongues toying with one another as hot skin touches hot skin. and she practically rips down your sheets when her knee presses up between your legs and you moan sweetly, softly while tightening your arms that have wrapped around her neck. she revels in the wetness she can feel through your underwear against her knee.

pulling back slightly, heavy panting fills the air and johanna’s hands grasp the sheets on either side of your head as she pushes her knee up harder. your brows sew upwards and your eyes flutter half-lidded as your hands that slip down to her shoulders grasp tighter. you rock your hips against her knee, moaning softly as your hands slip to rest on either side of her neck. looking up at her, your eyes then flicker downwards as her hands push up your shirt. “a-are you sure, johanna?” you pant as your hands fall to rest on either side of your head. johanna nods rapidly, eagerly.

“very.” and the smile that splits across your lips makes her own soft and thin lips spread into a smile. “just—just tell me if you want to stop, okay?” her hands grope your soft breasts and you shake your head, moaning out softly as your hips continue to rock against her knee.

“n-never…” you moan tightly. johanna’s butterflies burst throughout her as she leans down and admires your soft breasts. the smell of rosewater assaults her senses as her tongue wraps around your hardened nipple before her mouth catches it. your brows sew up as she grasps at the soft flesh in one hand while her mouth satisfies the other. your hips rock against her knee and you whine, writhing beneath her. “j-johanna…” you moan her name and it feels as if she’s been lit on fire. her hand pushes down as your hands weave through her wet hair.

your name fumbles off her lips against your breast as her hand pushes beneath the band of your underwear. you sit up on your elbows as she lifts her mouth off your breast. “what?” she asks with heavy breathing. you shake your head and you nod down for her to keep going. a smile spreads across her lips and she runs her index finger and middle finger down between your folds. she can practically feel your heartbeat against her fingers and her eyes watch the way one of your eyes scrunches close, brows sewing upwards, lips parting for moans as your hand grasps her wrist.

“does that feel good? you like that?” johanna pants, teases as she leans down and her lips brush yours, the tip of her nose bumping against yours. nodding eagerly, she circles your sensitive clit. “use your words…” she breathes against your lips.

“it–feels so good–” you moan out as your eyes hold hers. and she smiles against your lips when your elbows drop and hands raise. grabbing her face and pulling her lips against yours. johanna finds those butterflies taking up her entire stomach as you kiss her sweetly, the heat on your face radiating off onto hers and her own hot face radiating off onto yours. she touches your cunt the way she does her own and it seems to make you go crazy, moaning and panting against her lips for the sloppy kissing. johanna shudders when she feels your hand pushing down her underwear. “i-is this okay?” you ask softly between wet kisses.

she nods eagerly, her spine tingling and nerves buzzing. your fingers are shy, she can feel their hesitation and she notices you’re trying to copy her movements. and you’re a quick learner, her fair skin a brighter red as your fingers find her sensitive bud. what she does to you, you do to her – and it feels euphoric. panting and moaning fills the air alongside soft whines and whimpers, sloppy kisses spill some drool down the corner of your lips. as your other hand holds the back of her head. you gasp out against her mouth and your hand falls when she pushes her index and middle finger into your cunt, johanna’s hand falls to grasp the sheets you grasp beside your head when your middle and ring finger push inside of her cunt.

moaning, the kissing stops. johanna’s face pushing against your shoulder as your face buries into her neck. “y-you smell – so good.” johanna pants against your shoulder. and her heart skips a beat when she feels your lips start to kiss along her neck. but more of a shyness oozes in when she feels your hand slip beneath hers at the side of your head. johanna raises her head and she meets your gaze, you look up at her as you interlace your fingers with her. the fingers inside of her grow messier in their pace but her’s do too – she can feel her climax approaching and she imagines yours is too.

“do–you mm–mm want to–go on a uhm…” your moans and soft whines interrupt your words before your brows stitch. shyness overtakes your features as your hips rock to allow your soaked cunt to take more of her fingers, she practically rides your surprisingly skilled fingers. johanna’s brows twitch and you lean up, planting a soft kiss against her cheek. “do you want to go on a date? sometime?” you push out as your glassy eyes full of lust and need invite more warmth and soft care. johanna’s heart skips a beat, her stomach coils and your jaw falls open as you moan out louder and at a quicker pace. “a-a-ah!”

johanna’s hand tightens in yours and she drops her forehead against yours. her climax hits and a familiar wetness hits the cloth of the underwear and pools into the palm of her hand. your cunt tightens around her fingers as her arousal drips down her thighs, the wetness darkening the fabric of the underwear. riding out her high and letting you ride out yours, you slowly pull your hand out as she does. johanna pants heavily and she can’t help herself as she pushes her index and middle finger along your tongue in your open mouth. your eyes roll back and flutter shut while your back lays down onto the bed. you suck her fingers, licking up between the digits.

“y-yes i’d li-like to go on a date.” johanna breathes as she pulls her fingers from your lips. you smile up at her big and your arms wrap around her neck, turning over and landing on top of her waist. she smiles up at you as you hold her face.