#saving 6

Cherry Wine | johnny kavanagh

summary: 1,4k. in the quiet of his room, with the door locked and the world fading away, johnny takes his time loving you the way he always does: gently, attentively, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

cw: estabilished relationship, fluff, soft intimacy, could be considered a college!au, suggestive content, gentle johnny, english is not my first language xx.

author’s note: there’s not much smut to this but i hope you enjoy it :) sorry for the delay!

currently playing: cherry wine (live)

Johnny’s dorm room smells like laundry detergent and aftershave and something unmistakably him. The desk is cluttered with notebooks and rugby tape, his hoodie thrown over the back of the chair like he never really learned how to put things away.

You’re perched on the edge of his bed, legs crossed, watching him pace while he pretends not to be nervous about the exam he swears he didn’t study for.

“You’re gonna be fine,” you say, amused. “You say this every time.”

Johnny stops mid-step and looks at you, brows raised. “I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

He scoffs, walking over until he’s standing between your knees. “You’re exaggerating.”

You tilt your head. “Am I?”

He stares at you for a beat, then breaks into that familiar grin — the one that always means he’s about to be annoying on purpose. “You just like arguing with me.”

“Not true,” you say lightly. “I like winning.”

Johnny laughs, low and warm, and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers at your cheek, gentle, grounding. “You already won,” he murmurs. “You’re here.”

Your chest tightens a little at that — not in a sad way, just in the Johnny way. He has a talent for saying simple things that feel bigger than they should.

He leans in, forehead pressing to yours, noses brushing. “You always distract me before exams, you know that?”

You smile. “I take my job seriously.”

His hands slide to your waist, warm and familiar. He doesn’t rush it — Johnny never does with you. He just sways you slightly, like there’s music only the two of you can hear.

“Sit back,” he murmurs.

You obey, lying back against his pillows as he follows, bracing himself above you. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, teasing.

“You gonna kiss me,” you ask, “or just stare?”

He grins. “Impatient.”

But he kisses you anyway — slow, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be. It’s soft at first, then a little deeper, just enough to make your toes curl. His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your lip in a way that makes your breath hitch.

You tug lightly at his t-shirt. “Johnny…”

“Yeah?” His voice is already rougher.

You don’t answer — you just kiss him again, this time with intent.

He chuckles quietly against your mouth and pulls back just enough to look at you.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Learned from the best.”

He shakes his head fondly and kisses down your jaw, lingering at your neck, slow and teasing. Every touch is careful, like he’s savoring you, like this is something precious and not just heat.

The world narrows to his bed, his hands, the sound of his breath when you tug him closer.

Johnny presses his forehead to yours again, voice soft. “Door locked?”

You nod.

“Good,” he murmurs, smiling. “Come here.”

Johnny pulls you closer, his body warm and solid as he settles over you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His hands are familiar on you — confident, gentle, like he knows every place you like to be touched because he does.

“Still distracting me,” he murmurs against your mouth, smiling when you smile back.

“Seems like a you problem,” you whisper.

He laughs softly and kisses you again, slower this time, deeper. The kind of kiss that makes time stretch. His hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips tracing lazy lines over your skin, warm enough to make you shiver.

“You’re cold,” he notes quietly.

“Mm, maybe you should fix that.”

He hums in agreement and shifts closer, pressing you into the bed as his forehead rests against yours. His thumb brushes over your collarbone, then lower, unhurried — teasing on purpose. Johnny has always loved taking his time with you, loved the way you react when he’s patient instead of rushed.

“You do this thing,” he says softly, almost fond. “Where you pretend you’re not affected.”

“And you do this thing where you call me out,” you reply.

He grins and kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck. Each kiss is deliberate, lingering, like he’s memorizing you all over again. Your hands slide up his back, feeling the familiar strength there, grounding and reassuring.

The room feels smaller now. Warmer.

The sounds of the dorm fade away until it’s just breathing and quiet laughter and the rustle of sheets as he shifts closer.

He smiles — soft, real — and presses another kiss to your lips, one hand cradling your face as the other stays at your waist, anchoring you there with him.

Johnny’s kiss deepens, slow but intent, like he’s making a decision and committing to it fully. His hand slides from your waist to your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth in a way that makes your breath catch immediately.

“There it is,” he murmurs, smiling against your mouth. “That little gasp. Every time.”

You push at his shoulder lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me,” he replies easily, kissing you again before you can argue.

He shifts, settling more comfortably between your legs, his weight solid and grounding. You can feel the warmth of him everywhere now — the press of his chest, his thigh nudging yours apart, the way his body fits against yours like it always has.

Like it always will.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him closer. He hums softly, hands roaming with slow confidence, touching you like he has all the time in the world. When his palm finally presses more firmly against you, you exhale his name without meaning to.

Johnny stills just slightly. “Hey,” he says gently, forehead resting against yours. “Look at me.”

You do.

His eyes soften instantly. “You good?”

You nod. “More than good.”

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you again — deeper, warmer — and the bed creaks quietly as he shifts, the blankets tangling around your legs. His touch grows surer, more purposeful, but never rushed. Everything about him says I want you, not I need to take.

Your hands slide under his shirt this time, palms smoothing over his stomach, up his back. He shivers at the contact, a soft laugh escaping him.

“Fair warning,” he says quietly, breath warm against your ear, “you keep doing that and I’m not gonna be very focused.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be studying anyway?” you tease.

He presses a kiss to your neck, smiling. “You’re a menace.”

The room feels impossibly warm now, filled with soft sounds — breathing, fabric shifting, the occasional quiet laugh when you bump elbows or knock knees. Johnny moves with you, guiding without forcing, making sure you’re right there with him every step of the way.

When you finally come together fully, it’s unhurried and close — more about the way he holds you than anything else. His forehead rests against yours, noses brushing, breaths mingling as he moves slowly, deliberately, like he’s savoring every second.

“God,” he whispers, barely audible. “I love you.”

The words settle into your chest, heavy and warm.

Your fingers tighten at his back, grounding him as much as he grounds you. The rhythm between you builds naturally, easy and familiar, until the world narrows to nothing but the two of you — the way he murmurs your name, the way you smile when he kisses your cheek mid-motion, the way it all feels safe and right.

When it’s over, Johnny doesn’t pull away.

He collapses beside you instead, tugging you into his chest immediately, arm draped over your waist like it belongs there. His fingers trace absentminded patterns against your side, slow and soothing.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, voice soft with affection.

You smile against him. “Yeah. Perfect.”

He presses a kiss into your hair, already half-asleep. “Good. Stay here with me.”

You shift closer, legs tangled with his, heart steady.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” you murmur.

And wrapped up in him, in his dorm room, with the world quiet outside — you don’t.

— you NEVER know what someone else is experiencing

— your actions do not define you

— your hardships do not justify your actions

— everyone has their own struggles and traumas

⋆˚࿔ "Hey stud" "Hey queen" ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ the it couple.

𝘫𝘰𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘺𝘯𝘤𝘩♡

Your old bed creaks under the shift of your bodies as you fall with a thud, but neither of you notices. Joey’s hands are on your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. You straddle his hips, bare chest flush to his as you press kisses along his jaw, slow and reverent.

His voice is husky, low. “You sure?”

You answer by grinding against him, the heat of you through your panties dragging a groan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck…” he mutters, hands sliding up to cup your ass as he presses you down against his hard cock. “You feel so good, baby.”

You kiss him again—hotter this time—biting gently at his bottom lip. “I want you, Joey. All of you.”

He flips you with a quiet whimper, settling between your legs, his mouth already trailing down your chest. “Gonna take care of you. You know that, right?”

You nod, breathless, he doesn’t really give you the time to respond properly. Dragging your panties down and kissing the inside of your thigh so softly you whimper. Then his mouth is on you— more specifically inside you—tongue slow and deliberate.

His hands pin your thighs open and his eyes stay locked on yours while he devours you like a man starving.

You moan his name, hips twitching under the weight of his grip.

“Joey—fuck—don’t stop…”

He hums against your clit, that smirk ghosting over his face even as he’s making you fall apart. “That’s it. Let me hear you, baby.”

When you finally come, it’s with a cry muffled into your forearm, body trembling under his mouth. He keeps going through your orgasm, lapping you up like he’s memorizing the way you taste.

When he finally pulls back, his chin slick and his eyes dark, he’s already pulling his boxers down.

“Please” he pants, the head of his cock rubbing against your slick entrance. “I need to be inside you.”

He pushes in slow, stretching you open inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. Both of you moan, breath mingling in the quiet air of the room.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, starting to thrust, deep and deliberate. “Takin’ me so good…”

Your nails dig into his back as he fucks you slow—hips grinding in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. His hand slips under your knee, pushing your leg up to go deeper. Every roll of his hips brushes against that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“Look at me,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “Look at me while I make you feel this good.”

You do. And the way he looks at you? Like you’re the only thing in the world that’s ever mattered.

When you come again, he’s not far behind—his thrusts turning desperate, rougher. He buries his face in your neck as he groans your name, spilling deep inside you with a trembling moan.

You both lie there, breathless, bodies tangled in the sheets and each other.

Tucking a hand behind your neck he leans down kissing your forehead.