Isabel ౨ৎ

The streets were hushed in the hour after tea, the kind of dusky quiet that came when most families had drawn their curtains and switched on lamps. You walked alone, the ribbon in your hair bouncing lightly with each step, your basket swinging at your side. The evening was still, the air holding the faint smell of coal smoke and bread that had cooled on windowsills hours ago.

You liked this time of day. Halfway between day and night, when the sky blushed faintly pink at the edges, when the world seemed gentler. Your shoes tapped against the cobbles, steady, unhurried.

The sound of boots scuffing behind you made you glance over your shoulder. A boy leaned lazily against a lamppost, cigarette balanced between his fingers. His jacket, black, sharp-shouldered, marked him as one of those lads you’d been told to avoid, the kind that laughed too loud and fought too quick. His hair fell in a slick wave across his forehead, mouth tugged into a smirk even before he spoke.

“Well, if it isn’t little Miss Sunshine,” he drawled, pushing off the post.

You blinked, pausing just enough to give a polite smile, the way you might to anyone who addressed you kindly. “Hello.”

He caught up with two long strides, falling in at your side as if he belonged there. “Pretty late for a stroll, innit? Streets get rough when it’s dark. Lucky for you I was here.”

Your steps didn’t falter, though you tilted your head, ribbons brushing your cheek. “Oh… thank you, but I don’t live far. I’m all right.”

John’s grin widened. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his drainpipe trousers, pulling the taut fabric even tighter across his hips. “Yeah, but a girl like you shouldn’t be walking alone. Anyone could come along, try their luck. Could be a shame if your pretty little dress got grubby, eh?”

You laughed softly, thinking it only his way of being chivalrous, a bit dramatic. “I guess not.”

He nodded, grinning. He watched your profile as you walked, taking in the pale of your dress, the slight sway of the skirt, and the completely guileless expression on your face. You were like something from another time, a picture book girl dropped onto a rough street corner.

“Where’ve you been, then?” he pressed, the amusement clear in his voice. “Off to see your fancy fella?”

You shook your head quickly, a bit flustered by the suggestion. “No, no. I was only at the library.”

“Library,” John repeated, savoring the word as if it were something fragile. “Figures. Thought I smelled books on you.”

You glanced at him, uncertain if that was meant as an insult or not, but his expression was too amused to read. His eyes glimmered, dark and full of something you didn’t quite understand.

“Well, what do you read, then? Fairy tales?” he asked, tilting closer, voice teasing.

“Not really... Sometimes,” you admitted, cheeks warming. “They’re nice.”

He let out a laugh that scraped low in his chest. “Course you would. Princesses and happy endings. Bet you believe in all that, don’t ya?”

You shrugged. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it,” you said gently.

John’s tongue darted against his teeth, grin curling. “Nothing wrong at all.”

The way he said it made something in your chest flutter strangely, though you pushed it aside. He was only being cheeky, you thought. That was all.

He let his gaze drop to the slight basket that still swung rhythmically at your hip. “What’ve you got in there, then? Secrets?”

You laughed, a soft, high sound. “No. Just a pastry. A few books. Nothing interesting.”

John’s eyes flicked back up, meeting yours, and the smirk he usually wore seemed to soften just a fraction, a shift that somehow made the look more intense. “To me, you’re interesting,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing the exaggerated drawl and becoming something low and almost rough. “Really interesting.”

The directness of it made your cheeks burn, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the uneven cobbles beneath your shoes. It felt too sudden, too much of a declaration for a conversation that had started with a taunt about your clothes.

“Well, I… I don't know,” you murmured, adjusting the handle of your basket.

He didn’t push, didn't try to touch you, but the awareness of him walking so close, his sharp-shouldered black jacket a definite shadow next to your pale dress, was palpable. He just kept his pace to yours, the silence stretching, not awkward, but thick with the unsaid.

“I like your ribbons.” He paused, a strange, thoughtful expression crossing his face. “They look like they’d come undone easy. Slip right off.”

You quickened your step slightly, a subtle signal that the walk was ending. “It’s a strong knot,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

He chuckled, a quick, almost predatory sound. “Bet you have.”

You’d reached the row of houses now, the quiet part of the street where curtains were already drawn. You slowed, glancing toward your door. The gate was a low, white picket fence, a picture of domestic tranquility compared to the smoky world he seemed to inhabit. “Well… thank you for walking me, but I’m here now.”

John didn't stop, instead walking past your gate, then turning to lean back against the gatepost, his hands staying deep in his pockets, making his shoulders look even broader. He was a silhouette in the amber lamplight. “Pleasure’s mine. Can’t let a girl with ribbons in her hair get snatched up by shadows.”

You stood on the pavement, feeling the soft crunch of gravel under your heels. You were safe, you were home, yet you were still standing outside with him.

“I should go in,” you said simply, your hand finding the latch on your own gate.

“Right,” he agreed, but he made no move to leave. He just watched you, the lazy, half-lidded stare that made you feel thoroughly, knowingly inspected. The amusement in his dark eyes was tinged with a blatant, frank interest that made your stomach flip. It was the look of someone contemplating exactly what they wanted and how they planned to get it.

He pushed off the post, taking one single, slow step toward you, not close enough to crowd you, but close enough to make you hold your breath. “G’night, then. Princess.”

—

The morning came gentle, sunlight pressing golden against the lace curtains of your room. Birds chattered in the garden, and the street outside hummed faintly with the start of another ordinary day. You hummed too, pulling your ribbon tight into place, smoothing the pale fabric of your sundress before reaching for the small basket you used for errands.

It should’ve been ordinary. It would have been... except when you stepped outside, the air seemed heavier, like it carried something waiting. You closed the door behind you, hand lifting to twist the key in the lock...

You jumped.

There he was. Leaning against the porch railing like he belonged there, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes hidden half in shadow. He looked utterly at ease, as though your front step were his own, as though he’d been standing there all morning waiting for you.

“Morning, sunshine,” he drawled, voice thick with amusement.

Your fingers faltered on the key. “Oh! Hello. Um…” You blinked, heart stuttering. “What are you doing here?”

He exhaled smoke in a lazy curl. “Waiting.”

“For…?”

“You.”

The word was so simple, spoken as if it explained everything. His grin curled wider at your baffled expression, eyes darting over your ribbon, your dress, your basket. He made no attempt to move, blocking the way down your steps.

You swallowed, unsure whether to laugh or frown. “Did you… need something?”

“Yeah,” John said, straightening now, stepping closer. His boots thudded heavy on the wood, his shoulders filling the space. “Wanted to see you again.”

Your brows knit, confusion tugging at your lips. “We only just met last night.”

“That’s enough, innit?” His gaze swept over you, slow and unashamed, lingering in ways that made your skin prickle. “Didn’t think I’d let you run off without another word.”

You clutched the basket tighter, shifting your weight. “But… you don’t even know my name.”

His eyes narrowed, not in anger but amusement, as though he’d been waiting for you to offer. The cigarette bobbed between his fingers, ash trembling at the tip. “Go on, then. Tell me.”

You hesitated, the quiet of the morning pressing in around you. It felt strange, handing your name over so quickly to someone who had appeared like a shadow at your door, but his expectant gaze tugged the syllables right out of you.

“(Name),” you said softly.

John let it roll on his tongue, slow and deliberate. “(Name).” He repeated it again, savoring the shape of it, as if he’d tuck it away for later use. Then his grin sharpened, eyes glinting. “Suits you.”

You blinked, not sure whether to take it as compliment or mockery. “And you?”

His chuckle came low, carrying the faint rasp of smoke. “John.”

The name hung between you for a beat, solid and weighty now that it was real.

You tucked your ribbon behind your ear, trying to steady yourself. “Well… John. I guess you can walk with me, if you’d like.”

He smirked, slipping the cigarette back between his lips. “Oh, I’d like.”

And so you set off, heels clicking against the cobbles, basket swinging at your side. He fell into step with ease, shoulders brushing close whenever the pavement narrowed. Every now and then, he glanced down at you, lips twitching like he was holding back some private joke.

“You always wear ribbons, then?” he asked, after a stretch of silence broken only by birds and distant traffic.

“I like them,” you said simply, fingertips brushing the satin bow at the nape of your neck.

He hummed, eyes dragging across the bright loop of fabric. “Makes you look like a present.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you forced a small laugh. “That’s silly.”

“Not silly at all,” he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to touch your cheek. “Pretty as a picture.”

You turned your gaze forward quickly, clutching your basket tighter. He laughed at that, delighted, as if your fluster were the very reaction he wanted.

The streets opened toward the market square, stalls blooming with fresh vegetables, flowers, fabrics bright against the cobbles. You quickened your pace instinctively, drawn to the chatter and color, while John sauntered behind, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

At one stall, you paused to admire strawberries piled high in a wooden crate. They gleamed in the morning sun, fat and red, almost glowing. John plucked one without asking, bit into it, juice sliding down his thumb.

“Oi,” the vendor scolded, half-hearted.

John only grinned, flicking a singular coin onto the table. Then he held the half-eaten berry out toward you, grin wicked. “Want a taste?”

Your lips parted, startled. “No... thank you. I’ll get my own.”

He popped the rest into his mouth, tongue darting across his fingers to catch the juice. His eyes never left yours, and the heat in them made your stomach knot.

You busied yourself with your own small purchase, coins clinking, trying not to think of how casually he stood at your shoulder, as though you belonged to him already.

By the time your basket was filled with bread, fruit, and a few sprigs of flowers tucked on top, the sun had climbed higher, warming the stones beneath your feet. You turned toward home, ribbon bobbing, and John fell in line without needing to be asked.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” you asked, half-laughing to hide the unease curling in your chest.

He shook his head, grin widening. “Already told you, love. Got all the time in the world for you.”

The words hung heavy in the air, settling in your chest in a way you couldn’t quite name. You looked down at your basket, at the neat rows of fruit and bread inside, trying to quiet the flutter that his voice stirred.

But then his boots scuffed the pavement louder, his pace quickening, and before you could even ask why, John swung around in front of you. He stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, shoulders squared, the morning sun catching on the curve of his smirk.

You halted short, clutching the basket tight to your stomach. “Oh- sorry. Did you drop something?”

“No,” he said, leaning forward just enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “Didn’t drop a thing.”

You glanced to the side, meaning to step around him, but he shifted easily, blocking the way again. The move was smooth, practiced, like a game he already knew the rules to.

“John…” Your voice came out quieter than you meant, a tremor laced in. “You’re in the way.”

Instead of telling you why, he leaned forward, close enough that his shadow cut across your dress. “Go out with me.”

The words landed like stones in your chest. Your breath caught. “What?”

He smirked, repeating it slower, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Go. Out. With me.”

Your fingers fumbled at the rim of your basket. “But… we only just met. Yesterday.”

His shrug was quick, almost dismissive. “So what?”

You stared at him, stunned. You thought of the books you read. The thought of someone asking after only a day felt... impossible. Too sudden.

But then you thought of those very same books, the way a bold declaration sometimes swept the girl away, how the prince or soldier would stand before her, refusing to move until she gave her answer. Your chest fluttered, uncertain. Was this what it was supposed to be like?

“I’ve never-” you began, then stopped, cheeks heating.

John tilted his head, smirk curling into something softer. “Never been asked before?”

You hesitated. “No...”

His grin widened, wolfish again. “Then you’re lucky.”

Your pulse thudded in your ears. You glanced down at your sandals, at the ribbon ends swaying against your shoulder. “When…?” you asked, the word small.

He stepped closer, so close the scent of smoke and leather filled your head, and said, low and certain, “Now.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. He stood there like he owned the path, gaze steady, grin daring you to refuse.

“Now?” you echoed faintly, mind racing with images of candlelit dances, roses, scenes that belonged on page rather than in the dusty morning air of your own street.

“Now,” John said again, and there was no trace of uncertainty in him. Just want, sharp and unyielding, wrapped in a smile that promised trouble.

You held his gaze, your own wide and uncertain, as though if you looked long enough you might read what lay behind his eyes. But all you found was insistence, a refusal to be denied. Your basket wobbled in your hands, flowers trembling on top of bread.

At last, you gave the smallest nod. It wasn’t agreement so much as surrender.

His grin spread, triumphant. “Knew you’d see sense.”

Before you could reply, he reached for the basket on your arm. His fingers brushed yours as he lifted it easily, swinging it against his side. “Light as anything. What’ve you got in here, paper and petals?”

“It’s… my groceries.. you were there... you watched me buy them,” you murmured, still dazed by how quickly everything had shifted.

“Groceries, eh? Well, consider ’em handled.” He ignored everything else you said. He tipped his chin toward the road ahead, already walking, forcing you to follow. “Come on, sunshine. Got places to be.”

You trailed after him, your shoes slapping against the cobbles, ribbon bouncing with each quick step. The sunlight poured down hot, making your skin prickle, but John moved like a shadow even in daylight. Sharp, restless, tugging you into his rhythm whether you wanted to or not.

“Where are we going?” you asked finally, voice catching in your throat.

He didn’t slow, only glanced back with that sly grin. “Out. Didn’t you hear me?”

“Yes, but… where?”

“Somewhere.”

Time seemed to bend as he led you away from the market, through side streets you rarely walked. He didn’t ask what you wanted, didn’t give you room to hesitate. The world blurred past, the red brick of terraced houses, laundry flapping on lines, the cry of children playing in an alley.

The streets thinned out, giving way to overgrown lots and forgotten corners.

Then he stopped before a rusted fence that leaned half-collapsed, one side nearly swallowed by ivy. Behind it rose an odd jumble of brick and stone, a half-demolished wall, the remains of some old building, climbing unevenly upward until it looked almost like a makeshift tower.

Your steps slowed. “We’re not…” You trailed off, uncertain, eyeing the height of it.

John’s grin widened, cigarette bobbing. “We are.”

Your basket swung from his hand as he tossed his head toward the wall. “Come on, sunshine. Up we go.”

Your heart thudded. “Up there? But... it isn’t safe.”

“That’s the fun of it.” He set the basket carefully at the base of the wall, out of the way, then stretched his arms as though limbering up. “I’ll go first, show you how it’s done. Don’t worry, I’ll come back for you.”

Before you could protest, he’d already hooked a boot into a jutting stone and hauled himself upward with a practiced ease that made you dizzy just watching. The black of his jacket flashed against brick, the curve of his grin visible even when he glanced down at you halfway up.

“See? Easy.”

You pressed your hands together nervously, the basket of groceries abandoned at your feet like a forgotten shield. “Easy for you.”

“Don’t be daft,” he called down. “Come on. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

That didn’t comfort you as much as it was meant to. Still, something in his tone, teasing, commanding, propelled you forward. You gripped the rough stone, fingers trembling, and lifted your skirt slightly to place your foot against the first ledge.

“Atta girl,” John murmured when you managed a few steps, his voice closer now. He’d scrambled down just far enough to lean and extend a hand. “Here. Take it.”

You hesitated, breath caught, before sliding your fingers into his. His palm was warm, rough, callused in a way that made your pulse race. He pulled you up with surprising gentleness, though his grip lingered a moment longer than necessary.

“Not so hard, is it?” he said, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Hard enough,” you muttered, cheeks hot.

He laughed, low and satisfied, guiding your hand to the next hold, his body close behind you now. Each shift upward pressed you nearer, the heat of him brushing your back, the faint scrape of his jacket against your dress. You tried not to think of it, but your breath came quicker, uneven.

At last he swung up over the top, then crouched to help you. “Give me your hands,” he ordered, reaching down.

You lifted them, trembling, and he caught your wrists, hauling you the final distance with a strength that startled you. For a dizzy second, you stumbled against him, his arm catching at your waist to steady you. The world tilted, all brick and sky and the press of him.

“Careful, love,” he murmured, close enough that you felt his breath on your cheek. “Can’t have you tumbling back down.”

Your heart fluttered wildly, though you stepped quickly aside, smoothing your dress as though nothing had happened. He only smirked.

Then you looked around, and gasped.

The ruin’s top opened onto a wide, flat expanse, half-hidden by overgrowth. From here you could see the rooftops stretching for miles, chimneys like tiny matchsticks, the river glinting silver in the distance. Wildflowers had claimed the cracks in the stone, spilling color where no one expected it. It was quiet, private, as though the city below had melted away.

“Oh…” The sound slipped from you before you could stop it.

John watched your face instead of the view, grin softer now, almost smug. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

You turned slowly, ribbon sliding against your shoulder, eyes wide with wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he said, though his gaze never left you.

His eyes stayed on you, and the grin that curved his mouth made it clear he liked what he saw more than any view. You stood there, sundress lifting faintly in the breeze, ribbon brushing your cheek, and the wonder in your face was so open it made you look almost unreal.

Then sprawled down on the sun-warmed stone as though he owned it. “Sit down. Don’t just stand there gawkin’.”

You hesitated, then gathered your skirt and sank beside him, legs folded neatly. “Forget all that. You’re prettier to look at.”

You flushed, eyes darting down, hands smoothing your dress just for something to do. “You’re very forward.”

“Forward’s the only way I know.” He leaned onto one elbow, body angled toward you, his voice lower now, without the careless drawl. “Not gonna waste time pretendin’.”

The air seemed hotter with him this close, his jacket brushing your arm. You glanced sideways, ribbon ends tickling your collarbone, and found his eyes waiting. They weren’t mocking anymore, they were hungry, glinting dark like the shine on wet stone.

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered.

“I know enough.” His fingers reached, not to grab, just to toy with the edge of your ribbon where it rested against your shoulder. He tugged lightly, satin sliding beneath his touch. “Knew the second I saw you I wanted this. Wanted you.”

Your breath snagged. He laid back fully, folding his arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded against the sun. “Come on then, lie down. Stone’s warm. Feels good.”

Shyly, you eased onto your side beside him. The stone radiated heat into your dress, into your skin. You folded your hands against your stomach, trying to ignore how close his hip was to yours.

For a while, you only lay there, silence filled with the faint hum of bees in the wildflowers, the distant shouts of boys on the street below. Then John’s voice cut through, softer than you expected. “Bet you’ve never skipped school, never nicked a thing in your life.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, never.”

He chuckled, a low scrape of sound. “Thought so. Proper little doll.” He turned onto his side suddenly, facing you now, elbow propped, head cradled in his hand. His gaze roamed your face, your lips, then lower, dragging across the curve of your dress where the fabric clung to your waist. “D’you even know what it does to me, lookin’ at you like this?”

You blinked, heart pounding, unsure how to answer. "No..."

“That’s all right.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping, almost coaxing. “I’ll show you.”

Your breath hitched, and you started to sit up, but his hand pressed lightly to your stomach, keeping you down, not rough, just firm. “Easy, love. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The heat of his palm sank through cotton, startling in its intimacy. Your thighs pressed together, confused by the rush of sensation that shot low in your belly. He watched the flicker in your face, lips curling. “That’s it. You feelin’ it?”

You gave the tiniest nod, unable to look at him.

John’s grin sharpened, but his voice stayed low, coaxing. “Good girl. Just let me.” He shifted down, sliding onto his stomach between your knees. For a moment, you didn’t even understand what he meant to do, until he hooked his hands beneath your thighs and eased them apart.

“John-!”

“Shhh.” His breath was hot against the inside of your knee. “Trust me.”

Your whole body trembled with nerves, the stone beneath you hard and sun-warmed, the sky wide above, and him, this boy with the slick hair and dangerous smirk, kneeling between your legs as if he’d been meant to be there all along. You’d never let anyone touch you like this, never even thought about how it would feel, and yet the weight of his hands on your thighs, the rough scrape of his thumbs against your skin, steadied you in a way that aroused you even more.

“John…” Your voice came out as a whisper, breathless, uncertain.

He looked up, eyes darker than you’d ever seen, but softened around the edges. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Nothin’ to be scared of. Just let me make you feel good, eh?”

Your hands clutched the folds of your dress bunched at your stomach.

You gave the smallest nod, heart hammering.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice husky but gentle, like he was teaching you how to breathe. He lowered his head, pressing a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh. The brush of his lips startled you, so tender compared to everything else about him. Another kiss, higher now, then another, until heat pooled between your legs and your breath caught.

When his mouth finally pressed against the damp cotton of your knickers, your whole body jolted. A cry escaped you, soft and shocked, before you slapped a hand over your lips as if to hold it back.

John’s grin curved against the fabric, his breath searing through. “Don’t hide from me. Wanna hear you.”

You shook your head helplessly, but your fingers slid into his hair anyway, as though they needed something to cling to. His slick strands slid between your fingers, warm scalp beneath, grounding you even as your body quivered.

The first slow drag of his tongue over you, right through the thin barrier, made your hips buck despite yourself. You gasped, squeezing your thighs together, but he held them firm, strong hands keeping you spread for him.

Each lick sent sparks tumbling through you, each kiss and nudge of his tongue unraveling the knot of nerves in your chest until it was replaced with something heavier, hotter. Your breaths came fast, your head tipping back against the stone, ribbon sliding loose as if your body was giving up every neat little thing you held tight.

When he finally tugged the damp cotton aside and his tongue touched you bare, you cried out loud, sharp and sweet, eyes squeezing shut. The sensation was so raw, so overwhelming, it nearly frightened you.

His tongue moved in long, steady strokes, deliberate and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you. Each pass drew a little sound from your throat you hadn’t even known you could make, half-moan, half-whimper, your hand clapped over your mouth too late to hide it.

The noise slipped out again, and he grinned against you, lips dragging warm and wet over the most sensitive part of you.

“Good girl,” he muttered into your skin, his voice muffled and thick with want. “That’s it, let me hear you.”

Your thighs quivered, fighting the urge to close, but his grip stayed firm, thumbs stroking circles on your skin to soothe even as he held you wide. The warmth of him, the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his hair under your fingers, it was all too much, and yet not enough. You felt like you might come apart if he kept going, but the thought of him stopping was worse.

“John, I- ohh, it’s too-”

“Not too much,” he interrupted softly, between licks, the words rolling over your trembling body. “Just new. Feels strange, yeah? But good strange.”

And he proved it, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, then flattening it to press broad and slow, making you shudder so hard your sandals scraped against the stone. You let out a broken sob of pleasure, fingers fisting in his hair, tugging without meaning to.

He groaned at the sting, the sound rumbling into you, and you nearly screamed at the sensation. “Bloody hell,” he muttered with a laugh that vibrated against your core, “you’re squeezin’ me head.”

You tried to loosen your grip, gasping apologies, but he only laughed again, lower this time, and pulled you closer into his mouth like he wanted every inch of you. His nose pressed into the soft mound above your clit, his tongue driving deeper, greedier.

You arched back against the stone, hair spilling, ribbon half-undone, and for the first time in your life you didn’t care how you looked. Your whole world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the rhythm of his tongue, the rough, wicked pleasure building faster than you could catch it.

Your body shook, hips bucking against his mouth, your cries sharp and helpless. You sobbed his name, legs trembling around his head as release tore through you, every nerve burning, every breath ragged. He didn’t stop, licking you through it, swallowing every sound, every shiver, as though he wanted to wring out every last drop of your pleasure.

At last, when you lay limp, trembling, dress rucked high around your waist and hair spilling loose in tangles, John lifted his head. His mouth glistened, his grin feral and triumphant. He licked his lips slow, eyes fixed on your flushed, dazed face.

“Knew you’d be sweet,” he rasped, voice rough from the effort. “Sweeter than any bloody fairy tale you’ve read.”

Your chest heaved, lips parted, but no words came out. Only a soft, stunned whimper, your body still shuddering with aftershocks.

John crawled up over you, bracing himself on his arms so his weight didn’t crush you, though his chest still pressed against your dress, his breath hot against your cheek. “You trust me now, sunshine?” he murmured, eyes glinting.

Somehow, through the daze, you nodded. And his grin widened, wicked and sure.

“Good. ’Cause I’m nowhere near done with you.”

Your breath still came shallow, body limp against the warm stone, every nerve tingling from the storm he’d pulled out of you. You were dazed, dreamy, your ribbon dangling loose at your neck, skirt bunched high. John hovered above you, his smirk curling like he’d just claimed a victory, though his eyes still glittered with something restless, hungry.

“What... do you mean?” you whispered, voice soft, hoarse from the cries he’d wrung out of you.

His grin widened, wolfish. He leaned close, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “Means it’s your turn. You ever thought about showin’ me a little of what I just gave you?”

Your brows furrowed, confusion painting your tired face. “Show you?”

“Yeah.” He tipped his head down toward his lap, where the stiff outline in his trousers pressed shamelessly against the fabric. He rolled his hips once, slow, letting you see it clearly. “Want you to use that sweet mouth on me.”

Your cheeks burned hot, the words hitting you like sparks. “I’ve never…”

“Course you haven’t,” he cut in, but not unkindly. His hand lifted, brushing a knuckle down your cheek. “Don’t matter. I’ll teach you. Just like I did just now.”

You hesitated, lips parting, still dizzy from the climax that had stolen all your strength. But there was something about the way he looked at you... steady, expectant, utterly certain, that pulled the breath from your chest. Against all sense, you found yourself nodding.

“Okay.”

His grin softened, pleased, though still edged with that wickedness that made your stomach flip. He sat back on his knees, unfastening the button of his trousers, sliding the zip down slow while his eyes stayed locked on yours. The sight of him, hard, heavy, flushed dark against the pale cotton of his shirt, made you swallow hard, your pulse stuttering.

“Come here,” he coaxed, reaching out to guide you up onto your knees, though he didn’t yank, only let you lean into the motion at your own pace. You wobbled, still shaky from your release, and he chuckled low. “Still shiverin’ from me, eh? Don’t worry, love, you don’t have to do it perfect.”

You settled in front of him, wide-eyed, hands clutched in your lap until he gently took one and guided it to his cock. The heat of him burned against your palm, making you gasp.

“There. Soft, yeah? Just hold it for me.” He sighed through his teeth when your fingers closed, trembling, around him. “Bloody hell, that’s good already.”

You glanced up at him, uncertain, but his gaze was heavy-lidded, his jaw slack with pleasure. That gave you courage.

His grin curved slow, lips wet where he licked them. “Start with your tongue. Just a little lick. Like you’re tastin’ something sweet.”

Your blush deepened, but you leaned in, hesitantly dragging your tongue along the tip. The taste was strange, salty, but the groan that ripped out of him made you jolt.

“Ohhh, yeah, like that.” His hand settled at the back of your head, not pushing, just resting, warm and steady. “Again, sunshine. Little longer this time.”

You obeyed, licking slowly up his length, and his hips twitched. He muttered a curse, head tipping back, breath ragged. “Christ, you’re learnin’ quick.”

Encouraged, you opened your mouth wider, taking him in clumsy but willing. Your lips stretched around him, your jaw already aching, and you made a soft, startled noise.

John’s fingers stroked through your hair, coaxing. “Easy, love. Don’t rush. Just take what you can, yeah? Look at me, ahhh, fuck, that’s it.”

Your wide eyes flicked up, meeting his as your lips slid down over him. His face was raw with pleasure, the grin gone slack into something hungrier, darker.

You sucked gently, unsure, and he let out a strangled moan, hips jerking before he forced himself still. “Good girl- fuckin’ perfect, don’t stop now.”

Your lips slid clumsily down over him, spit already slipping from the corners of your mouth, chin slick. You gagged once when he brushed too far back, eyes watering, and pulled off with a startled gasp, wiping at your face with the back of your hand.

“I- oh- God, I’m no good at this,” you blurted, cheeks burning, strands of hair falling loose from your ribbon, sticking to the wetness on your chin.

John laughed, low and rough, the sound vibrating from his chest. His cock twitched in your hand as he leaned down, thumb brushing your damp lower lip. “Don’t talk daft. You’re bloody gorgeous on your knees for me. Doesn’t matter if you’re messy, messy’s better.”

You swallowed, uncertain, but his grin made your stomach flutter. “But I-”

“It's okay.” He tilted his hips closer, guiding himself back toward your mouth. “C’mon,. Lick me again. Slow this time.”

Obediently, you leaned in, tongue dragging up the underside of him. Salty, hot, the texture strange on your tongue, but his sharp inhale, his muttered “fuck, yeah” made it worth the effort.

“Good girl,” he praised, fingers sliding into your hair, the pressure just enough to remind you he was there. “Open up now. Take me in again.”

You took just the head into your mouth this time, lips wrapped tight, tongue swirling uncertainly. The salty taste filled your mouth, and you sucked softly, cheeks trembling with the effort.

John’s voice cracked, his hand tightening in your hair. “That’s it.”

Drool spilled down your chin, your jaw aching, but you kept at it, lips slipping wetly, noisily, around him. Each messy sound made him groan louder, hips twitching no matter how hard he tried to keep still.

You met his gaze through watery lashes, cheeks pink, lips wrapped around him again. His face twisted, jaw clenched, and he swore low and rough. “Jesus, look at that. Sweet little doll, down on her knees, droolin’ on my cock. Nothin’ more perfect in the world.”

Your cheeks hollowed, spit bubbling loud as you sucked, and though your technique was clumsy, too wet, too noisy, he reacted like it was the best thing he’d ever felt. His chest heaved, his hand trembling in your hair, his thighs tense.

You gagged again, eyes streaming, spit dripping from your chin onto your dress, staining the pale cotton. You whimpered around him, but still you kept your lips locked on, trying to please him, trusting the way his voice broke as proof you were doing something right.

Your throat tightened as another gag hit, tears streaking down your cheeks, spit drooling unchecked onto your dress. You whimpered, humiliated but determined, lips clinging to him, and though John groaned like he loved every sloppy second, suddenly his hand slid firmer into your hair, tugging you off.

You gasped, coughing, wiping your wet mouth with the back of your trembling hand, eyes wide as you looked up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Before you could finish, he tipped you back, strong hands on your shoulders pressing you down flat against the warm stone. Your heart lurched. For a panicked instant you thought he was angry, that you’d ruined something.

And then he kissed you. It was wet, urgent, unpracticed, his mouth clumsy but demanding, yours stiff with surprise before softening under his insistence. You had never been kissed before, not even close, and the sudden slick heat of his tongue against yours made you gasp, eyes flying open.

He groaned into your mouth, clearly tasting himself on your tongue, but he didn’t care, only pressed harder, angling his head, teaching you by force and example. “Mmm, yeah, that’s it,” he muttered against your lips. “Suck on my tongue, love, fuck, you don’t even know how sweet you are.”

You tried, awkward and unsure, teeth clicking clumsily, your nose bumping his. He only laughed against your mouth, delighted. “Terrible kisser, aren’t you?” His tongue licked into you again, swallowing your shy whimper. “But you’ll learn. With me, you’ll bloody learn everything.”

Your heart raced, chest pressed tight beneath your sundress as he kissed you over and over, messy, hungry, until your lips tingled, raw and swollen.

Then his hips shifted, and you felt the hard, hot press of him against the bunched fabric at your thighs. The realization made your breath hitch.

“John-”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hair falling into his eyes, face flushed. “Don’t look so scared,” he murmured, his grin softer now, but no less sure.

You swallowed, trembling, then nodded.

“Good.” He kissed you again, slower this time, gentler, while his hands slid down, gathering your dress higher until your knickers were bare against the open air. He tugged them down, steady and patient, until they were hooked around one ankle. The sight of you, naked beneath your sundress, made him groan low. “Christ. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your breath shook as he shifted between your legs, the heat of his cock pressing now directly against your bare slit, wet from what he’d already done to you. The blunt weight of him there made you shiver, clutching at his shoulders.

“I’ve never…” you whispered, voice breaking.

“I know.” His lips brushed your ear as he muttered, “I’ll take it slow. Won’t be uncomfortable for more than a minute.”

You nodded again, but fear tangled with the ache of anticipation, your thighs trembling around his hips.

He spat into his hand, slicking himself more than he already was, then guided the head of his cock to your entrance. The nudge was foreign, stretching, and you gasped, body tensing.

“Easy,” he soothed, one hand stroking your thigh, the other steadying himself.

He pushed a little more, the pressure building, burning, until you whimpered, clutching his jacket hard.

With a slow, steady thrust, he breached you, the sudden sting sharp enough to make your eyes fill with tears. You gasped, body arching, nails digging into his shoulders.

“There,” he groaned, voice breaking with restraint. “Tight. God, you’re squeezin’ me so good.”

You whimpered, tears slipping, the stretch unbearable for a moment, your body resisting the intrusion. But he didn’t slam, didn’t force; he held still, kissing your cheeks, your swollen mouth. “Shhh, I’ve got you. Breathe. It eases up, I promise.”

And slowly, as your body adjusted, the pain dulled, turning into a strange fullness that made your stomach flutter. You shifted, experimentally, and his cock moved inside you, dragging against tender walls that sparked a new, dizzying sensation.

“Ohhh,” you gasped, surprised.

He grinned against your lips, his relief palpable. “Yeah, that’s it. Feels good now, doesn’t it?”

You nodded faintly, still overwhelmed, but when he began to move, slow, shallow strokes, careful not to overwhelm, the sharp pain gave way to heat, to a stretching that was less burn and more ache of pleasure.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hips rocking gently, his face twisted in bliss. “Your first time, and you’re already makin’ me lose it.”

You whimpered under him, still tight and aching, every stroke a stretch that burned and melted all at once. Your nails dug into his jacket, clinging, overwhelmed. “It still, ahhh, it still hurts a bit…”

John gave a rough laugh, breathless, pressing his forehead to yours. “Course it does. You’re tighter than a bloody vice. You’ll thank me after.”

You gasped, half scandalized by the crude words, half lost in the dizzying way his cock dragged through you. “John!”

He grinned, wolfish, teeth flashing. “What? You want me to lie, sunshine? Say it’s all flowers and fairy tales?” His thrusts nudged deeper now, finding rhythm, drawing out your soft cries. “Nah. You’re takin’ cock for the first time in your life, and it’s mine. Nothin’ dainty about it.”

Your cheeks burned, your lips trembling against his as he kissed you hard, messy, his tongue pushing into your mouth as though he couldn’t get enough. Each kiss made your head spin more, the sloppy mingling of spit and breath as unpracticed as your bodies grinding together.

You moaned into his mouth, and his smirk deepened, hips snapping sharper just to pull that sound out again. “There we go. Knew you had it in you. All dolled up in ribbons, now spread out and takin’ me like a tart.”

The crude word shocked you, your whole body jerking, but the way he groaned at your reaction told you he liked it even more.

“Don’t make that face,” he taunted, kissing your nose, your damp cheek, his thrusts steady and hungry now. “Your cunt’s tellin’ on you, squeezin’ me tighter every time I talk filthy. You like it, sunshine. Don’t you?”

You nod your head, embarrassed, and the moan that slipped out betrayed you further.

He chuckled darkly. “Yeah, thought so.” He kissed you again, biting at your lower lip until you gasped. “Can’t go runnin’ back to your fairy tale books now.”

The sting had dulled by now, replaced by a thick, aching fullness that made your toes curl. Every shallow thrust rubbed deeper, sharper, until you couldn’t stop the soft cries spilling past your swollen lips.

John’s grin faltered into something rawer, his breath ragged, his pace roughening. “Ohhh, fuck, you feel so good. Thought I’d tease you, take my time, but, Jesus Christ, you’re squeezin’ the life outta me. I’m not lastin’ long, sunshine.”

Your arms tightened around his neck, your face buried against his shoulder as the heat inside you coiled tighter, sharper than before. “John-I-I-”

“You’re close,” he groaned, slamming a little deeper, his voice cracking. “Gonna come for me, yeah? Gonna soak my cock like you soaked my tongue.”

The filthy words burned in your ears, but your body betrayed you, clenching around him as waves of pleasure ripped through you. You sobbed his name, hips jerking up helplessly to meet his.

His own rhythm faltered, his face twisting as he growled, “Fuck, fuck, yeah, that’s it.” He thrust hard, deep, burying himself to the hilt as his climax hit, hot and sudden, spilling deep inside your trembling body.

He groaned, long and guttural, collapsing down onto you, chest heaving, sweat dripping onto your flushed skin. His cock twitched inside you, still pulsing with aftershocks, holding you stretched and full.

For a long moment, the rooftop was silent except for your mingled breaths. Then John lifted his head, hair sticking to his forehead, smirk tugging at his lips again.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of your loose hair back, his fingers rough but surprisingly gentle. “Prettiest bloody thing I’ve ever had my hands on.”

Your breath caught, your head spinning. The same boy who had teased and smirked and pushed you past every limit was now speaking in a voice that left no room for doubt, no space for anything but the rush of warmth flooding your chest.

John kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips again, whispering between each kiss, “You’re mine now. My girl. Nothin’s ever gonna change that.”

John was sitting down on the sofa, leaning back slightly as he anticipated for you to sit on it. You were only in a pair of panties and a large tee-shirt that was Johns. You placed yourself on his plump upper thigh and he grabbed your hips to keep you balanced. You gripped onto his shoulders as you slowly dragged your clothed pussy over him. Your mouth fell agape as you softly moaned at the strange sensation, it felt like a hand rubbing on you. Except the hand was big, and squishy. “Johnny~” You gasped as he bounced his leg up slightly sending a jolt of arousal up down your spine. 

He grinned to himself when he saw your reaction and he started bouncing his foot up and down more and more. “Bloodly hell, you look so pretty like this,” He cooed. After a little of the extra stimulation you buried your face into his shoulder and you were a moaning mess as you rapidly approached your orgasm. 

The studio hums with white noise, red lights glow across the soundboard, and the reel-to-reel machine clicks as it rewinds. Its late — hours have passed, everyone else has gone home except you and John.

He’s in the booth still, half-lit through the glass pane. His guitar no longer in his hands — He’s standing there, watching you, studying you through the studio window.

“Play it back,” he says, voice low, crackling through the intercom.

You play it back.

You can feel his eyes on you as the tape rolls, his voice starts to fill the quiet room, raw, layered and intimate.

“Im just a jealous guy..”

That line makes your stomach flip, his voice does that. Not just the way he sings — but the way he talks to you. Like he’s always thinking something that you’re not supposed to know yet.

Then he comes back in. Quietly. He doesn’t say anything at first, he just stands behind you, tall, warm and close enough that the heat of his body is enough to make your hands sweat.

“You’re always so good, aren’t you?” He murmurs. “Every time i tell you to run something back, you do it, no back talk.”

You swallow, your heart rate picks up.

“Like havin’ someone that listens.”

He leans over your shoulder, his finger slowly adjusting a dial on the board — but his hand brushes yours.

“You like being told what to do, love?”

You freeze,

You can hear your heartbeat.

He sees it.

He smiles to himself, slow and crooked.

“Mm, he hums. “Knew it. You’re the type that wants to be good.”

You glance up at him — he tilts his head, amused.

“I bet if i told you to sit here and not make a sound, you’d do it for hours.”

He moves closer, his hand slides down the back of your desk chair.

“I bet if i told you to get on your knees under that desk over there, you’d do that too.”

Your breath shutters, you look at the tape deck to avoid his gaze, but he doesn’t let you off that easy.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you”

You do, wide-eyed and nervous for what is coming.

His voice drops.

“Good girl”

Your eyes widen, thighs pressing together instinctively. He notices that too.

“Knew it. You’re all sweet and quiet up front — but underneath?” He chuckles, “You’re just dying to be told exactly what to do.”

The red light blinks.

The tape clicks to a stop.

Silence.

“Now,” he says, brushing his hand across your lower back, leaning into your ear. “Be a good girl again — rewind it, from the top.”

And you do.