ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ; ᴀᴏ‘ɴᴜɴɢ Xᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴋᴀʏᴀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

JJ Maybank really makes me want to go back to my surfing roots

𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙅𝙅 𝙈𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙠...

ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ

the project by @toomanyfandoms02

summary: JJ gets paired with the quiet girl, and learns why she’s so quiet.

jealous by @mayraki

summary: after a boy asks for your number, JJ gets jealous and tries in every way possible to tell him that you’re his.

Bellyache / part 2 by @pogueszn

summary: after the worst argument he’s had with his girlfriend, JJ ends up doing something he regrets.

Pornhub by @sugarcoatedjj

summary: JJ and reader film a sex tape and the pogues stumble across it.

doe-eyed as you buried me by @msgorillagripcoochie

summary: you wanted to see your friends once more even without the approval of your boyfriend. The pogues had stopped being friends a long time ago.

Voicemails by @pvre-angel

summary: after losing you, jj calls your number every night just to listen to your voice.

Main Rec List

sub!elliot pleaaseee

probably will but this in a fic as well bc the concept is very hot

thank u for suggestion !

OBEY

His thighs would shake, cold nose burning the flesh of your neck. Eyes squeezed shut, fast breaths would part from the boy, his arm thrown around you as you pumped him at a quick pace. His stomach suddenly tensed when you ran your thumb over his slippery tip, another high pitched moan ripping from his throat, “Fuck—I’m gonna cum,” he announced, one of his hands flying to your wrist, “Can I cum, please? I’m so fucking close—“

“Cum,” you simply said, his hips lifting off the bed as white spurts of cum landed on your white hoodie. His other hand rested on his lower stomach, while the other squeezed your arm—jerking from sensitivity when you kept going, “I can’t—“

You ignored him, smiling to yourself as you giggled. He let out a choked groan when your hand sped up once again, only twisting on the tip, his hips trying to escape your grip, “Baby, baby—ugh,” He cut himself off, trying his best to escape your grip. His body began to take over his mind as he thrusted his hips again, “It’s too much—it’s sensitive, holy shit I’m gonna cum again,” he said the last part as if he was genuinely scared, shaking his head.

You hummed, pumping harder, and when your other fingers went to pinch his balls—his head snapped to you before his mouth fell open, a long raspy groan tearing from his chest as he came for the second time.

this is so cute aww

It’s Grandpa!

Aged Up! Miles G

Summary: Miles Takes a Special Person To See His Dads Mural.

A/n: This was inspired by a request I got 🫶🏽

Miles walked out the door of his mother's house. Each step up the stairs towards the roof of the building felt harder than the last, but he knew he had to do it. He had to confront the past, especially for the little boy cradled in his arms, his son Kai Jefferson Morales.

As Miles looked down at his son, he saw a mirror image of himself, a reflection of his own childhood. It brought back memories of his own father, holding him in his arms, walking the same path they were now taking. Kai's eyes twinkled with innocent curiosity as he looked up at his dad and asked, "Are we there yet, dada?"

Miles couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "We are, buddy," he replied, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness. With that, he pulled open the heavy rooftop door, allowing the warm air to caress their faces.

Setting Kai down gently, Miles felt a slight stiffness in his body as he took in a deep breath. No matter how many times he came up to the roof, it was always emotionally challenging. But he had made a promise to himself and his son to his dad.

"Woah, dada, look!" Kai said excitedly, pointing towards the bustling streets of Brooklyn spread out beneath them.

"Don't go too far, son. Be careful," Miles said. He knew that Kai was just thrilled to be in this special place.

Miles turned his body, letting out a exhale as he gazed at his father's mural. The vibrant colors and intricate details seemed to come alive, as if telling a story of their own.

"Hey pops, it's me and Kai. He's getting so big, turned 4 last week. He's got your sass," Miles said with a chuckle. His laughter was tinged with a touch of sadness. "Wish you could've met him," he added, dropping his head and staring at his shoes.

In that moment, Miles felt small arms wrapping around his leg. Looking down, he saw Kai, his eyes wide with wonder.

"It's Grandpa, dada," Kai said, pointing at the mural.

Miles smiled, a mixture of pride and longing in his eyes. "You're right, buddy. That's your Grandpa. He would've loved you," he whispered. He lifted Kai into his arms and asked, "Can you read that for me?"

Kai's face lit up with excitement. "Jefferson Morales. Just like me!" he exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across his face as he turned to his dad. "Exactly like you, Kai. You're named after Grandpa. Pretty cool, right?" Miles replied, a sense of joy and pride evident in his voice.

"Yeah, dada, cool," Kai echoed, his little voice filled with admiration.

Miles held out his fist, and Kai eagerly bumped it. In that simple gesture, a bond between father and son, past and present, was strengthened.

You, silently watching from afar, couldn't help but smile. Seeing Miles share stories of Jefferson with your son brought warmth to your heart.

"Mommmyyy!" Kai suddenly said, spotting you.

"Hey my baby," you said, a soft smile gracing your lips as you walked towards your family. Your son's eyes sparkled with excitement, pointing eagerly towards the distance.

"Look, mommy, grandpa," he said, his tiny finger directing your gaze towards the mural.

Miles, wrapped his free arm around you.

"He would've loved you too," Miles whispered,before placing a tender kiss on your lips

Fifty Seven

summary: prompt fill. between 1982 and 1983, Wally meets and falls completely head over heels for a girl who changes everything. his biggest fan, his greatest love. you. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. AU - pre-canon. dorks falling in love. author doesn't know American football. total disregard for canon lore. HEA.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🏈

Fifty Seven

It was gradual, how things developed between you and Wally. Slow and peripheral at first. Then, like a confetti cannon—pop💥—instant, exciting; a pocket of fresh air in a dense smog. And it was all thanks to Wally's best friend, Rodney.

See, Wally was a baseball guy. Had planned to continue being a baseball guy through high school. He was an excellent pitcher with an impressive BA, and his mama had been over-the-top supportive for Wally to join the team—believed in him so much that she'd even strongarmed Coach Burns to let Wally try out for varsity.

But Rodney? Had wanted to join the football team. And Wally had wanted to do everything with his inseparable since birth best buddy, so he'd found himself donning a helmet and nailing technical drills like it was paint-by-numbers. Obviously, he'd made the team. Had started winning games, gained popularity and praise and attention from girls. Had fast become Coach's MVP only to, in sophomore year, be transferred to the varsity team. Go Devils!

That'd meant training longer, playing harder, and receiving interested elevator-looks from the hottest chicks in school. Seniors who'd graduated out of the awkwardness of puberty and had learned how to flaunt their curves. Don't worry, Rodney had been along for the ride, built like a brick shithouse and equally as formidable on the field, and he'd kept Wally humble.

Not that he'd needed to, because the thing about attention was the more Wally got, the less he was seen.

Yeah, he was the star receiver, the guy whose name everyone knew. But...that was about all they knew about him. People summed him up to the number on his jersey. Shallow. Detached. The girls he took on dates wanted the infamy of having made out with him—"he's such a fantabulous kisser,"—and the guys admired the hell out of him, clapped his back and handed him beers, but no one expressed an interest in peeling back flesh and bone to see what made Wally tick.

Wally wasn't lonely; he had Rodney and Don and Keith. BFFs since kindergarten who gave a real shit about him. It was just that, if people approached him to ask questions, he wanted it to feel less like an interview and more like a connection. Small talk was exhausting.

He'd been contemplating this when you'd first popped onto his radar. Shooting hoops in the gym at lunch to brood over his latest failed effort with a girl—Sarah Miller from History—when, oh shit, look out!, you'd walked through the door the second Wally had decided to unleash his frustration by whipping the ball at the wall. He'd overcompensated. The ball had curved to the left. Smack, you'd taken it square in the head.

Somehow, you hadn't been hurt, though the sound had convinced Wally you should've had a bruise blossoming on the area of impact. He'd run over, eyes wide in panic, visually checking you over to ensure he hadn't concussed you.

He'd rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," You'd grinned, friendly, not even a little bit upset, "Happens more than you think." Which would've raised flags if Wally hadn't been preoccupied by how your proximity smelled like summer.

After a moment of uncertainty, Wally had stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "I'm Wally Clark. I, uh... I'm better at football." He'd felt like in idiot five seconds later when you'd merrily declared:

"I know," still smiling like he hadn't just thoroughly embarrassed himself. "You always feint left." Then, in general consideration, "I'm surprised no one's figured that out yet."

Wally had stared at you in surprise, "I mean... I do what feels right in the moment."

You'd raised your hands, "I'm just saying, your recovery's weak on your left backfoot, so you might wanna switch it up soon."

Wally had crashed through a gamut of emotions in under a second, beginning with insecurity and ending in shockawe. Because you'd noticed something. And, okay, yes, it'd been jersey-number related, but it hadn't been how well he filled out his uniform.

"You come to the games?" He'd wondered as he'd valiantly ignored how his stomach had started to feel squirmy.

You'd nodded, "You're fun to watch." And you'd said it so...casually. Like it'd been part of the Split River High zeitgeist: The stadium became a sardine can because Number 57, Wally Clark, was fun to watch.

"So, I guess you're gonna be there tomorrow?" He'd asked, the seed of an unfamiliar sense of intrigue planted. He'd watched you tilt your head, watched your eyes light up when you'd smiled. Wally had felt his cheeks heat and his eyes go soppy in response.

"That's the plan, Stan," You'd gleefully confirmed.

That'd been where it'd all started.

You and he hadn't become friends or anything like that, but Wally had felt a connection. Like you and he had clicked. From then on, he'd sought you out in the crowd at every game. Where's Waldo between plays. You'd never been in the same place twice, and as soon as he'd find you, you'd hold up a poster-board boasting a glittery '57' in school blue, and cheer him on with gusto.

It'd swiftly become Wally's favorite part of playing football.

Tonight, Wally was mid-search, batting away Rodney's reminder that the team planned to hit Max's Diner after the game, win or lose, when Number 36, Matt Wilson, advised, "Dude, don't interrupt. It's like a good-luck ritual at this point."

Rodney frowned, "What're talking about?"

Even Wally broke his concentration and swiveled his head to look at Matt in confusion.

With a snort, Matt pointed out, "Clark always looks for the girl, finds her, then plays harder than ever and we win the game. He's been doing it for weeks." He shrugged, "I mean, whatever works, right?"

He did? Huh. He guessed he did...

"You got a girlfriend and didn't say anything?" Rodney accused, a little hurt. "Ouch."

"It's not like that," Wally assured him, though he felt his cheeks flush and his lips curve into a dopey smile.

Rodney studied Wally for a moment and then, "Alright, my man, what's her name?" A big, teasing grin on his face.

Wally opened his mouth to answer before he realized, shit, he actually had no idea. You hadn't given him your name the afternoon he'd accidentally pelted you with a basketball.

"You're not serious." Rodney said flatly, "you don't even know her name?" while Matt slapped his knee and crowed.

Wally was about to defend himself when, just over Rodney's shoulder, there you were, gaze already on him. His insides instantly went gooey, broad smile stretched across his face, and Rodney leveled him with an unimpressed look that Wally refused to acknowledge.

"For the love of God, ask for her name." Rodney commanded before he stuck his mouthguard between his teeth.

The whistle blew and the game continued.

The Devils won.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Taking Rodney's suggestion was somewhat harder than Wally had anticipated. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, nerves piqued whenever he caught sight of you in the hall. He wasn't a nervous guy—Wally was a big, brave boy, thank you very much—but something about you made him stutter and overthink and, aaah, what would he even say!? Hey, thanks for coming to watch me play after I hit you in the face. Also, what's your name, girl who I share a new, ongoing at-game tradition?

Lame.

He needed more information. ✨A r e a s o n✨. Some unavoidable situation wherein Wally had to go up to you that didn't insist upon itself. Or he could actually be a big, brave boy and just say hi as casually as you'd told Wally he was fun to watch.

Between the last game and the next, Wally began gathering facts from a distance (while Rodney's gaze burned a hole into the side of Wally's head).

He learned that you sat with a group of sophomores in the cafeteria, laughing along yet not interjecting, comfortable giving the stage to your friends. Being a year below him explained why Wally hadn't noticed you before, but since that fateful day in the gym, he hadn't been able to stop noticing you.

You were quiet, though not in a shy way. You often spent time in the library—or, rather, you were always in the library when Wally happened to be, nose in a book on the windowsill. You stepped aside to let people go through a door first, and smiled at everyone; and on Mondays and Thursdays your fingers and jeans were smeared with charcoal from your Art class.

Your clothes changed, but your shoes didn't. Beat up Converse you clearly loved to death. You carried around a Sony walkman like the one Keith had, headphones on in the mornings and around your neck in the afternoons. Wally wanted to know what music you listened to.

Truth be told, he wanted to know a lot of things. Like your favorite movie and what you did in your spare time. If you went to parties or preferred to stay home and play boardgames (he wouldn't mind trading a sticky ping-pong ball for a Monopoly shoe). Were you strictly a cassette girl or did you listen to vinyl, too? Bike or license? Star Trek or Star Wars? Tom or Jerry?

God, Wally had it bad. He wanted to know everything. Every detail.

And, finally, after several failed attempts to muster the courage to cold approach you, ✨a r e a s o n✨ fell into Wally's lap and he decided it was now or never.

Practice had just ended. He was loose and warm and in a good mood, and after saying goodbye to the guys on the field, he turned and saw you sitting alone on the bleachers. Headphones on like a headband, the earpieces behind your ears. You scribbled in a notebook, tongue peeking out of the corner of your mouth, clearly 100% focused on whatever you were working on.

Wally's eyes softened and his heartbeat sped up. You were adorable.

Clearing his throat to announce himself, he climbed the bleachers and shuffled across the middle bench to take a seat beside you.

"Hey," He smiled, broad and hopefully not too eager.

Your head lifted and you smiled back.

Wally melted inside.

"Hi, Wally Clark," You said as you closed your notebook and shifted to give him your full attention. "Not practicing your free throws today?" You teased with a glint in your eye.

Wally ducked his head as he chuckled, "Nah, not today. I decided to leave that to the professionals."

"Mm, yeah, that might be for the best," And then, fixing him with a cheeky grin, "You know, if dodgeball ever becomes a recognized sport, you should totally join a team."

Wally pressed his lips together, doing his best to hide how big his smile would be otherwise, before he glanced at you with a raised brow, "Oh. So, you're funny?"

You giggled like sweet melody, "Let's call it observant."

He released his smile, heart fluttering in his chest, eyes flickering across your face to take in every detail. There was something in him—a magnet behind his ribs—that drew Wally toward you. He couldn't explain it. Barely knew you enough to label it as more than attraction, but it was more. His gaze dipped to your lips, traced the shape of your smile, then skirted back up to meet your eyes.

"Alright, let's call it observant." He agreed, his smile somehow widening.

After a moment of comfortable silence, "Your feints are getting better," you commented, "I can't predict which way you're gonna go anymore."

And he positively preened; spine straight, chest puffed out, proud to have earned your admiration. Maybe that's what'd always been missing. He'd never had to work for it, everyone throwing themselves at his feet just for a split second of his attention. Wally had always been approached, never had to do the approaching.

Was that the thrill of the chase?

No. Of course not. You weren't the deer to his crosshairs. But he had to admit, it was nice that he could trust you weren't talking to him to get something out of it. Which is probably why, before he could stop himself, Wally blurted:

"Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?"

You seemed surprised, brows shooting up. Still, your smile remained and, with a chuckle, you nodded, "That would be nice." And then, eyes narrowing, "Nowhere that involves you having to throw things, though, right?"

Hand to his heart, "I'll save it for the field," Wally promised, suddenly feeling giddy and overwhelmed. He had to resist the urge to bite his lip in excitement. Raked his fingers through his hair and glanced bashfully away to compose himself.

"Very appreciated." You bumped your shoulder against his arm.

The brief contact ignited a thousand butterflies to take flight in his belly. He stood, gathered his sports bag and beamed down at you. You looked back, all cute and sweet and appearing nowhere near as affected as Wally felt which made him feel a little silly for the intensity of his body's reactions to you.

"How about the arcade...around 3?" He suggested, putting as much confidence behind his words as he could.

After a moment's thought, "Can we make it in the evening? Say around 6?" You asked.

"Yeah," Wally replied, "Yeah, we can make it 6." He took a couple of backward steps, "I can pick you up at your place."

You shook your head, "I'll meet you there."

"Great, it's a date," He nearly choked when he registered what he'd said, face absolutely flaming, though he didn't take it back. He almost tripped over his own feet as you didn't correct him.

Instead, all you said was, "Can't wait."

You didn't see it—God, he hoped you didn't see it—but as soon as he was off the bleachers and a good enough distance away, Wally fist pumped, practically vibrating out of his skin. Holy crap, he was going on a date with you! He was going to spend time with you, get to know you, connect with you the way he'd always wanted to connect with someone outside of Rodney, Don, and Keith.

It was only when he was in his car and on his way home to shower that he realized he still didn't know your name.

He could hear Rodney's eyeroll from there.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You'd noticed Wally from the start. It was difficult not to, the guy a high-rise human, towering over most of the student body. But, it wasn't just his physical presence. Nor was it how good he was at attracting attention on and off the field with his exuberance and abundance of energy.

It was the moments between the jokes he made with his friends. Between performing for the crowd when he led the Devils to victory. The somber, introspective moments he thought he had to himself. And he did, for the most part. You'd never meant to intrude. It just so happened that he often used the same spaces you did to find peace.

You weren't surprised that he hadn't noticed you before he'd lodged a basketball at your head. Few people did. Not bitterly; that was just simply how things had befallen you and you'd learned to adjust. In fact, you had approximately two people you considered close and had realized that was more than enough. Still, you enjoyed meeting people where you could. They were fascinating. And, these days, none were so fascinating as Wally Clark.

He had hands that swallowed whatever they held; a smile that brightened a room; and eyes that made your skin tingle, their gaze soulful and heavy whenever they landed on you at his games like a prize. You craved those eyes on you, a flower to sunlight, and were excited beyond measure that you'd have them all to yourself for a night.

When he'd asked you out, it'd taken everything in your power not to kick your feet and giggle in delight. Be cool, you'd told yourself, acting as though you hadn't been daydreaming about Wally Clark since you'd first heard his name in the halls. What you wouldn't have given to spend more of Saturday with him, but things were somewhat strange for you, and you'd had to shave the hours down.

As restrictive as it was, you were only able to go out when the town was sleepier. The streets less crowded, the energy laggard; the shadows darker and the moon visible. Unfortunately, you had hard rules to follow, though, after sundown, no one really paid attention to your whereabouts. You could sneak out unnoticed and do as you please so long as you were back before anyone knew you'd been gone.

It sucked, but it was what it was and there was nothing you could do about it, so you'd set the time for your date with Wally later and hoped you'd be satisfied with the hours you and he did get to be together.

When you arrived at the arcade, Wally was already there, leaning against the exterior wall, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression transforming from teen mag sultry to puppy bright when he caught sight of you. Don't squeal, don't squeal, don't squeal—you did great, kid—you waved sweetly and took measured steps toward him, matching his expression with a happy one of your own.

"Hey, you made it," Wally said as if he'd been worried you'd flake.

"Like I'd miss the chance to kick your ass at Space Invaders." You scoffed, hands on your hips as you pinned him with a challenging look.

Wally laughed and the sound when straight to your chest, settled between your ribs, and you knew your eyes were likely doing something dreamy and dazed. If he noticed, he didn't comment; held out his arm like a gentleman and escorted you inside.

You did, in fact, kick his ass at Space Invaders.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Whatever, you may have beaten him at Space Invaders, but Wally wiped the floor with you at Time Pilot. To further impress you with his skills, he won you a prize from the claw crane. Overlooking the fact that it'd taken several coins and a lot of cursing, Wally felt like the king of the world having handed over a plastic ball stuffed with enough raffle tickets that you could take home a plastic necklace.

He looked for any and every opportunity to touch you, graze the back of his hand across yours, then, bolder, squeezing you into his side as you and he moved between machines. Just as you were about to beat his score at Pac Man, he grabbed you around the waist and spun you away from the control panel, watching triumph when the monitor announced Game Over and Wally's score beat yours by more points than you could come back from.

You shrieked and giggled when he slung you over his shoulder to carry you to the new air hockey table. You sprung into his arms when he defended your honor at the foosball table against another pair of arcade goers. By the end of the night, he had your hand in his, fingers laced, as he walked you home.

It'd been the most fun he'd had in—God—forever. Yeah, he hung out with the guys, went camping and played videogames and did things. Always busy, always entertained. Or, rather, he did the entertaining. A constant performance to keep people interested. Tonight, with you, it'd been different. He was relaxed, completely at ease, feeling like himself for the first time in too many years. His chest felt lighter.

When you and he reached your house, not too far from the arcade, you stopped and positioned yourself to face him, beautiful smile on your face that softened the longer he looked at you. He didn't want tonight to end. Wished it could go on through tomorrow and the next day and the one after that.

"That was a lot of fun, Wally," You murmured as you stepped closer, bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that made his heartrate spike and his head foggy.

He nodded, "Yeah," and lifted a hand to trail his fingertips along the slope of your jaw, "I wanna do it again, like, now."

You chuckled, and when did your lips get so close to his? "You just wanna try and beat my Donkey Kong score." You accused, breath hitching when the tip of his nose grazed your cheek.

Wally couldn't refute that, but didn't want to, his mind already on other things. Better things. Things like—his lips brushed yours, soft and gentle at first, testing the waters, and when you gasped so prettily, he pressed in. Kissed you slow, his hand climbing to rest on the back of your head to angle you just right. The kiss let in and took out, over and over, until Wally was breathless and dizzy.

He kept you there, one hand trailing down your side to your hip, the other tangling in your hair, for what felt like hours though it must've only been several minutes. He couldn't let go. Couldn't stop. The taste of your tongue against his the most incredible thing he'd ever experienced.

But, eventually, you had to pull away, "It's late."

He kissed you one more time for the road, watched you stealthily maneuver around the side of the house and disappear around the corner, probably to sneak back into your room before anyone realized you'd been gone. Something about the fact that you'd risked getting in trouble for thrilled Wally.

Once you were out of sight, Wally turned in the direction of home, an obvious bounce in his step as he replayed the night—the kiss, how your lips had yielded under his—on a loop.

Again, it wasn't until much later that he remembered he still hadn't asked for your name.

Fuck.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

In typical 1980s fashion, this movie had a montage that Wally revisited almost obsessively. Sure, things had progressed rather quickly between you and him; one minute you were the stranger he viciously—but not on purpose!—attacked with a ball, and the next you were every thought, desire, emotion, response Wally was capable of.

After sundown, like hoodlums, he took you to the roller rink and skated on legs made of Jell-O because you insisted you needed his limbs to support your stilted efforts. Except, as soon as a single-digit child cried his frustration, there you were, a professional ballerina on wheels, teaching the child how to balance and move. You weren't even sheepish when you fessed up to the ruse.

"I like how it feels," You said simply, shrugged, and tucked yourself into Wally's side to prove the point, "You feel safe."

Yeah, Wally couldn't argue to save his life, addicted to how you felt in his arms as much as you seemed drawn to be there. You and he danced under the colored lights, spun and chased and discoed like divas, deliberately falling into each other at every chance. Wally didn't complain when you brought him to the ground with you after a miscalculated dip.

Days later, you and he jumped and screamed along to live music (the lyrics all totally wrong, but the melody right), crashing bodies pressing you together. Halfway through the concert, the surrounding mania receded as he rocked you gently, kissed you with meaning in the eye of a mosh pit; squawked when you poked his side to tickle him and then booked it through the crowd for an impromptu, wild game of hide-n-seek.

An empty movie theater for a screening of last year's horror films. Popcorn missiles thrown when he dared suggest the Halloween was better than My Bloody Valentine. Finger to his lips, his hand firm around yours, crouched as he led you into another theater after the first movie. Four altogether, most of them ignored in favor of making out in the back row until an usher kicked you and Wally out for inappropriate behavior.

Heads close, toes pointed toward opposite walls, listening to Nebraska in a patch of moonlight on Wally's bedroom floor after a grueling week of exams and Wally's mama nagging him to get fitted for new skates before hockey season. He turned his head, admired your profile, lashes fanned on the arches of peach-blushed cheeks. His heart fluttered and his eyes softened as he watched you doze to the music. Between Used Cars and Open All Night, Wally propped himself on an elbow and kissed you upside-down. Chuckled when you nipped his chin and retaliated by adjusting his position, pinning you beneath his body, and kissing you senseless.

Throughout it all, you never missed a game, football or hockey or lacrosse. You'd put an end to the scavenger hunt, now a pillar of motivation—front row, center—and waved that glittery poster with an enthusiasm that outshone his mama's. The new arrangement made it easier for Wally, sweaty and hot, to leap over the barrier and lift and twirl you after each victory. Or, alternatively, for you to hurdle into his arms to comfort and reassure him after each loss.

Over the summer, Wally reminisced fondly on his junior year and everything you and he had done together. He missed you, a deep ache in his heart while your family apparently traveled for the months between school years. You wrote letters and used payphones to speak to him every Wednesday and Saturday, and it helped sustain him until you returned, but, God, he couldn't wait to see you again. To have you cuddled against him on the couch or in his lap on the bleachers at lunch or under him in his bed.

He craved you like a bad habit. Your scent, your touch, your taste. The soft affection you and he traded; lips stamped to the shoulder, fingers carding through each other's hair. How Wally held you, arm banded around your chest, hand under your chin to angle your face up so he could kiss you from behind.

Soon, he reminded himself. Three more days and he'd have his girl at his side again.

His girl whose name continued to elude him.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

The night of the '83 Homecoming game, Wally felt a dread unlike he'd ever felt before. A lump of lead in his stomach. He had you in his lap, light, gentle brushes of his lips memorized the shape of your neck and jaw, his arms tight around you, as you helped distract him from his uncharacteristic pre-game nerves.

"I'll be right there, Wally Clark," You promised with a sweet smile.

And you were. In the seat beside his mama when the crack of bone echoed across the stadium like thunder.

He spent the following weeks oscillating between grief and rage, too consumed by the confusion and fear and loss of his own death find the strength to seek you out. He didn't want to know how you handled it. Him. His no-longer-thereness. If you were as deeply sad as he was or if you could move on and make it through. Wally didn't think he could handle it if he saw you smile again despite him not being the one to coax that happiness out of you.

Eventually, though, he couldn't deny it anymore. Had to see you. That magnetic pull led him to find you outside, basking in the December sun, no jacket, laying across the middle bench on the bleachers that overlooked the field behind the school.

He climbed up and took a quiet seat beside you. You didn't look any different. Serene, in fact, as you lay there, your notebook rested on the bench above. Wally sighed heavily, traced the air around your cheek as breath choked and his heart shattered. He had so much he wanted to say to you, but didn't know where to begin—I miss you, I wish I didn't die, I need to hold you again. Sentiments that didn't make a difference anymore. He gazed at your notebook and wondered if you'd written anything about him.

And then, to his surprise:

"I was wondering how long it would take before you'd come find me."

His eyes whipped to you and he saw you staring up at him, neck craned back slightly and a warm grin on your face.

"Y-you can see me!?" Wally gaped as you sat up and scooched closer to him.

"Of course I can." You said so easily that Wally had to think for a second if he was supposed to understand how it was possible. No one else had been able to see him, hear him, feel him.

"...how?"

You giggled, the sound a boon to his despairing soul, "Being dead isn't so bad, you know. I mean, it sucks, but you get used to it pretty quick." Taking his hand in yours, fingers laced, "And, when the memory of you starts to fade, you can even leave the school, which is something to look forward to."

Wally stared at you, bewildered, lost, hopeful, elated, "You're dead?" One, two beats, "You were dead the whole time?"

You smiled and nodded, leaned away from him to hold out your other hand for him to shake. That's when he heard it for the first time, your name, the syllables like angelic melody to his ears. You added, "Class of '57. Nice to meet you."

"But...I walked you home. I saw your house."

"You saw a house." You corrected.

You were dead. You were like Wally. You were with Wally.

Without hesitation, Wally scooped you into his arms and kissed you like he'd wanted to since he'd risen from his body. He soaked up all the comfort and reassurance and love you offered with your lips. The idea of eternity no longer seemed so permanent and awful with you in it.

You pulled away just enough to bump the tip of your nose against his, that smile he adored melting every worry and fear that'd followed him off the field.

"So, how do you wanna spend your afterlife, Wally Clark? We could play dodgeball now that you know you can't actually hurt me."

He felt a grin form, wide and joyful, and answered, "Whatever you want." After a soft lull that Wally used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek, "I just wanna spend it with you." His girl, whose name he would treasure forever in his heart.

fin.

🏈___________________________

also on AO3!

Okay, now that you've introduced us to gym crush Dave, what about gym bf Dave where he's a lot more confident in watching you do your sets, and being a total hype gym bf <3

(Sorry if it's not descriptive enough... it's late asf and I'm tired)

aww this is adorable! thanks for the request lovely 🧡 sequel to this fic but not necessary to have read :) short n sweet for this one

The gym isn’t crowded today; you thank the early hour for the emptiness. It’s not your preferred time (5 A.M is a little too early for you), but Dave couldn’t find any other room in his schedule, and it’s always better to have a built-in-boyfriend/gym partner.

You’re benching, the rhythmic movement up and down timed with your breathing, sweat making your hair stick to your forehead. The burning in your arms has already started, a feeling on the edge of pain. You already finished one set, following the plan that you and Dave made this week for your goals together. If it was anyone else, you would’ve told them to fuck off for talking about your workout routine; but it’s how you and Dave connect, among other things. Somehow, it’s easy to listen to his guidance and his encouragement. It helps that he’s always the most sincere, quietly supportive person that you know.

He’s beside you now, scrolling through his phone while he takes a break. There’s a layer of sweat covering his body, the black material of his shorts and tank-top doing nothing to hide his muscles.

Through the haze of your music, you hear Dave’s voice, always patient and calm. “You can do more than that.”

“What?” you ask, frustration seeping through your tone. Ever since you started working out with him, your routine has become decidedly harder, which you’re both thankful for and tired of. It’s undeniable that Dave pushes you past your limits in the best way possible. He takes a step closer to you, leaving his own weights on the ground.

“Come on, baby. You can do more than that. Here-” he helps you rack your weight and adds another five to both sides “you go. Try now.”

“Dave,” you start, peeling yourself off from the sticky plastic of the bench, “I could barely do what I was already doing.”

“But you did it,” he points out. “You go until failure, right? So add more.”

Reasonably, you know he’s right. You’ve got more in you, even though you may not feel like it, but the heaviness of your breathing and the shakiness of your limbs protest.

“Fine,” you huff, ignoring the grin on his face. “But you have to spot me, bub.”

“Of course.” Easily, he steps around you to get into position, ready to help if you need it. There’s no one you trust more than him to spot you; he’s always unfailing protective of you. Quietly, when you lift the bar from the resting position, he urges you on. “You got it, honey.”

Breathing in, you bring the bar to your chest and pause before pushing it back up, breathing out. One rep. Two reps. Dave’s voice steadily counting as you keep going, encouragements littered in-between. You finish the first set and take a breath, sitting up.

“There you go, baby,” Dave cheers quietly, his headphones around his neck, curls sticking out in all directions despite your attempt to pin his hair back. “See, you didn’t even need my help,” he points out.

“Asshole,” you grin, popping the knuckles in your hand. He sees it and takes your hand in his own, massaging your knuckles and giving your wrists a squeeze before helping you lay back down on the bench.

The next set passes and the next set passes, until you can’t lift anymore and Dave has to help you rerack your weights. Your arms are bone tired, burning, and shaking.

“Good job, baby,” he says once you’re sitting up, your face flushed and heated with sweat. There’s pride on his face that makes you feel proud of yourself. “I knew you could do it.”

“That makes one of us,” you reply, taking his hand when he offers it to you. He grabs your water too and hands it to you, and you gratefully take it.

“Come on, have a little faith. You’ve got a great coach, you know.” Running a hand through his curls, Dave starts his own set, not waiting for you to start again, which you appreciate.

When he takes his next break, you take a look around the gym to make sure that no one else is looking your direction. Once you’re satisfied, you wrap your arms around his neck, sweat be damned, and peck him gently. “Thank you,” you whisper before pulling away, leaving Dave to stare at you, open-mouthed, his eyes wide and surprised.

“You’re going to pay for that later,” he warns breathlessly, a half-grin on his face.

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling his headphones back up to cover his ears. “I’m counting on it, coach.”

of kisses on cheeks

luke castellan x best friend reader 4k

you’re acting weird. luke is going to find out why

— title from how you get the girl by tswift. chapter 3.5 of the killerverse but you dont have to read the rest to understand!

— absolute insane embarrassing cringe levels of pining because they’re in their mid teens ++ its circa killer’s poisoning in the woods.

You think you’re being secretive about it, but Luke knows you’re avoiding him.

Your ‘avoidance’ isn’t silence. You’d never stop talking to him, but this is probably the closest thing to it.

You joke with him like normal when other people are around, sending him smiles so sweet his shoulders relax with relief. But when he tries to catch your eye during a lull in the conversation you suddenly forget who he is, looking straight past him to stare at a tree or passing bird.

The situation becomes so desperate that he resorts to tactical warfare.

In other words, he pulls on your hair to get on your nerves. He isn’t sure what he’s hoping for — preferably an emotion stronger than the lukewarm smiles you’re giving him — but receives nothing but a twitch of your eye.

Frankly, it’s scary. It’s been like this all morning.

—

It’s one of those rare days in October where it reaches just over seventy-four degrees, which means that everyone is happier than usual. It also means that the two of you could play hooky without the usual repercussions.

You decide to head deeper into the woods today. It’s farther in than usual, because even though your counselors won’t care that you skipped out on archery today, they’re bound to give you disappointed looks if they see you lounging around openly by the lake.

It’s only been a couple of years since the two of you have come to camp, but Luke is already beginning to find it insanely boring. There’s nothing to do except the same six activities and there’s nowhere to go except the miles of woods on site. You’ve already combed through what feels like every square inch of the place, taking him with you even when he drags his feet.

You find some spot just south of the shed where they keep the canoes. It’s shielded from the wind by a big oak tree you decide to lay your back against, yawning almost immediately when you sit down. The sun has warmed the ground and made it an optimal nap spot, apparently.

Luke sits a little bit ahead of you, keeping you in his peripheral vision. It gives him an unobstructed view of the small clearing you're in, and it’s fortunately nicer than most corners of the woods you take him to.

(He’s also pretty sure this is where he knocked you on your ass during Capture the Flag once, but he knows you’d deny it if he brought it up.)

Luke unfolds a piece of scrap paper from his pocket. He’s not that bad at drawing for a beginner, but he’s pretty sure art isn’t for him. He’s only doing it because Annabeth encouraged him to try.

She has sketchbooks full of random things. It’s mostly buildings she finds interesting and the occasional scene of camp, but all of it is insanely good and Luke would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit jealous.

He personally finds the act of drawing insanely boring, and it’s even worse because he’s pretty average at it. Annabeth insists he just has to find something he likes and it’ll come natural to him, but he’s seen everything at camp millions of times over again and knows it’ll be lame no matter what.

For now, he’s satisfied with drawing another uninspired view of a tree to give to Annabeth.

From behind him, you take the ball cap off his head, exposing his messy head of hair. He’s too tired to argue for it back when he watches you put it on, letting the bill settle over your eyes.

“No shot you’re sleeping right now,” he says hotly. “All you do is sleep. I barely even talk to you ‘cause all you wanna do is nap all the time.”

“Looking after you is exhausting,” you say, smiling as you do.

He scoffs, but lets you put your feet sideways in his lap while you try and get comfortable.

Stifling another yawn, you explain. “Carter and Nika were up all night talking. They’re trying to pull a prank on Austin.”

“And you didn’t tell them to go to bed?”

You shrug. “I’m not a hypocrite. We’re loud whenever we have sleepovers too.”

He pinches your calf but doesn’t say anything else. There’s absolutely no way you guys whisper that loud.

“I’m giving you an hour,” he lies. He knows he’s going to let you sleep longer than that. He always does. “Then we’re actually doing something.”

You press your sneaker into his thigh before laying back, leaving Luke somewhat alone with his thoughts and a blank page.

It probably takes him fifteen minutes to pick up his pencil. It’s partly because he doesn’t know what to draw, but it’s also because you start complaining whenever he stops passing his hand back and forth over your thigh.

He stops five times and you complain five times, but after the sixth time you’re silent. It’s at this time he decides on sketching the tree ahead of him. It looks just like the ten other trees he’s given Annabeth this week, but some practice is better than no practice. Maybe the wood nymphs will be extra nice to him if he gives them a drawing of their favorite tree, or something.

He adds in the sun just to see what it’d look like, and decides against it when it ends up making the whole thing cartoony. A few minutes later, he gets halfway into a drawing of a bird before it flies away, leaving Luke with a rough shape and making him more irritated than before.

He finally gives up when a squirrel shows up and chews through the flower he was drawing for you.

Luke sighs, leaning back against his hands and letting his eyes go to the only other thing around.

You.

You’re fast asleep already, so he takes the time to look at you. There’s a scratch going up the side of your calf, stopping around the bend of your knee. The hoodie over your shoulders is his — the one with the paint stains he hasn’t worn in a while. He’s never been happier that he gave up that piece of clothing, especially now that he sees how comfortable you are in it. He squeezes your ankle affectionately.

Before he thinks too much about it, he picks up his pencil and begins to draw.

He gets more into it than he thought he would. It takes him a few tries to get the shape of your jaw right, but it’s probably the only thing he’s drawn today that he’s remotely happy with.

It turns out that Annabeth was right. Drawing something he liked did make it a lot easier. Sketching the curve of your cheek was a lot more fun than drawing another uninspired pine branch.

Luke stares at the lead on the paper for so long he only notices you’re shifting around when you jolt awake.

The paper in his lap flutters into the dirt. It’s not like he was doing anything wrong, but his face still grows hot as he shoves it back into the pocket of his jacket.

Grogginess makes your movements sluggish. He lets his hand pass over your leg again, wondering if that'd be enough to put you back to sleep.

“Good nap?” he asks.

He pokes at the back of your thigh, and your eyes snap up at him.

There’s tears in them.

“Woah—hey.” He sits closer to you, trying to get you to look at him. Leaves protest under his knees. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t think you’re going to start crying, but you’re teary and quiet and he doesn’t really know what to do. You’re so warm with sleep that sweat has formed on your upper brow.

He knocks off the cap to see you better, but it does nothing but make you press your palms into your face. The nerves are making you so tense he can’t pry your hands away.

“Killer,” he says slowly. “Come here. Do you want to—”

As if you hadn’t been close to tears a second before, your hands drop from your face. “Can we go back, please?”

You don’t look sad anymore. Just tired.

Your breathing is fine, but he still reaches to feel the pulse at your wrist. Just to check. Just to be sure you’re actually alright.

It doesn’t take you long to get what he’s doing. You frown. “Luke, stop. I’m fine.”

Your pulse thrums erratically under his thumb. He looks you up and down, searching for… something he’s not really sure of.

Injury isn’t possible. He’s been with you the whole time.

“Luke, please,” you insist, rising on unsteady legs. You reach for his wrists this time to tug him up with you. “Let’s go back.”

You look tired, and Luke is forced to accept the fact that you aren’t going to talk about it right now. He gathers his stuff in one arm and you in the other, and you begin the quiet walk back to camp.

—

It’s been a few hours since then, and you’re still not totally back to normal. You’re still avoiding him. Whatever you dreamed about must’ve been bad.

Because that’s what it had to be, right? A bad dream?

There wasn’t anything wrong with you physically. You were a little shaken up, but a bad dream would’ve done that to anybody.

Whatever it was, Luke is determined to figure it out.

He finds the perfect time to investigate when everyone is captivated by Board Game Night. Luke is supposed to be the banker for his siblings’ Monopoly game (he’s the only person trusted not to steal the fake money), but he’s too busy watching you play Clue with Annabeth and your friends.

He sits through thirty minutes of Travis’ failed attempts at stealing money before he catches sight of you getting up across the room.

The plastic container of money goes flying when Luke stands up too. Paper flutters to the ground as everyone fumbles to catch the crumpled bills.

You mumble something to your group before turning in the direction of the exit.

“Luke!” Cynthia complains. Tiny red hotels land all over the floor. Her empire on the left side of the board has been crushed.

“I uh… gotta piss,” he lies, jumping over the board to catch up with you.

“I win, then!” someone (likely Travis) declares.

Luke leaves the ensuing argument in his rearview as he jogs out the front doors.

You’re insanely fast unfortunately, because you’re already about a third of the way to the bathrooms by the time Luke’s sneakers are even touching the grass.

The sound of the crunching leaves beneath his feet catches your attention immediately, if the way that you start walking faster indicates anything.

“Killer,” he says loudly, so you know it’s him and not some rando following you. “Can I come?”

You turn slowly to face him like you’re in a microwave. A smile is plastered on your face, and though it’s not fake, it’s a little awkward. “To the girl’s bathroom?”

He catches up with you in a few strides, more winded than he’ll admit. “I’ll wait outside, if that’s okay. You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself.”

The upturn of your lips softens into something a little more natural. You tilt your head, extending your hand. “Let’s go then, hero.”

The bathrooms aren’t too far away, so Luke makes sure to drag his feet. You are kind enough to match his pace and not leave him in the dust, even if it means you’re walking at the rate of one yard per minute.

You squeeze his hand, a form of a truce. “How’s Monopoly?”

It makes him happy to know you weren’t ignoring him completely. “Fine. I’ve been giving your sister an extra couple of fifties when no one’s looking.”

A wicked smile spreads across your face. “I expected nothing less from you.”

Luke’s chest burns while he looks at you. He’s said it a million times before, but he wishes you were happy all the time.

“Are you okay?”

Luke knows he’s spoken out of turn, but the way your eyes widen makes it loud and clear.

“Uh, what do you mean?” you say, pulling him to a stop.

“Nothing.” He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “I was just worried about you. You scared me earlier.”

You slip your hand out of his to pat his cheek. “You don’t have to be worried, Luke. I’m fine.”

“You gotta see where I’m coming from, though,” he says, catching your wrist when you try to walk away. “You were crying earlier. I thought you were hurt.”

You frown, then give a weird look to his hand around your wrist. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry, I promise.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, watching you try to slip out of his reach again. “I let you worry about me. Why aren’t you letting me worry about you?”

The look you give him is loaded. “Because I actually need to worry about you. You nearly snapped your neck trying to backflip off the dock yesterday.”

“Pfft. I was fine.”

Luke’s not some rookie. He wants to say that he’s done much more dangerous stunts off of much more dangerous structures, but he has a feeling that won’t go over so well with you.

“And I was fine too,” you argue. “No need to worry.”

“Let’s just say we can both worry, and you tell me what you were crying about.”

You almost look upset. “I wasn’t crying—”

“—Didn’t know there’s another word for when tears are coming out of someone’s eyes—”

You scoff so loudly it practically echoes. “You’re being totally ridiculous, Luke.”

“Killer,” he nearly snaps. “You’re my best friend and I care about you. I don’t think that’s ridiculous.”

His words disarm you. The irritation in your eyes evaporates — your argument fizzles out just as quickly as it started.

The fight leaves you almost immediately. Very quietly, you admit it.

“I had a dream about you.”

Luke knows you hate arguing with him, but he’s surprised you gave in this early on. He was ready for about ten more rounds of back and forth.

You look upset again. He beckons you closer, ready to bat your fears away.

“I get nightmares all the time. You know that better than I do.” Luke’s pleased to see that you step willingly into his reach. He squeezes your upper arms in a way he hopes is soothing. “Half of my bad dreams have to do with something happening to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Luke’s pretty sure he has more nightmares than dreams. He’s seen you die a hundred times over, a fact he’s admitted to you every time he wakes you up with his restless sleep. Sometimes his dreams are about Annabeth or even himself, but you seem to be the most popular star in his night terrors.

When his nightmares are bad enough, they can ruin his entire day. He’s grateful that you’re there for most of them, since your sleepovers are so common. You’re willing to sit with him at ungodly hours of the night, doing nothing but matching each other's breathing until one of you falls back asleep.

When they’re really bad and Luke’s reluctant to let go of you, you play imaginary tic-tac-toe on one of your arms. He’s beyond lucky to have you.

“You coulda just talked to me. Why’re you running away, killer?”

When you’d woken up from your nightmare earlier, you seemed to want to do nothing but get away from him. It would be embarrassing to admit that the thought of that stings, so Luke tries not to think about it.

You shift around nervously on your feet like you’re about to take flight any second. There’s a brief moment where your eyes flicker away from him, and Luke remembers he kind of ambushed you on the way to the bathroom.

“Oh,” he says, embarrassed. “I’ll uh— let you go. My bad—”

You look confused and then irritated all over again. “It wasn’t a nightmare, Luke.”

He turns the information over in his head.

Huh.

You had a dream. About him.

Unfortunately, Luke is a teenage boy.

He laughs.

“You had a dream about me, huh? What kind?”

Whatever emotion was on your face turns quickly into horror. “Not like that, you asshole!”

You whip your head around, walking away faster than Luke can jog. The only reason you probably don’t sprint away is because he drops an arm around your shoulder, sticking you to his side.

He’s still shaking with laughter. You scowl.

You try shoving his face away with the heel of your hand, and you’re very regretful when — as usual — he takes it as an opportunity to lock your hands together.

“Why do I even try?” you grumble to yourself.

For the rest of the walk to the bathroom, you are simmering with anger while Luke smiles, your hands linked in front of you.

“I know! I know, I’m sorry. You looked stressed, I was just kidding.”

(He was only half kidding. He was pretty sure it was that kind of dream.)

“Please never speak. Ever again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees quickly. It’s only a few seconds until you reach the bathrooms, so he lets go of your hand when he’s certain you won’t (rightfully) shove him.

“I’m too nice to you, Luke.” You sigh heavily as you take the steps up to the big building. He trails behind you dutifully. “I’ve made your ego too big. I’m actively hurting the whole camp.”

He gives you a wet kiss on the cheek, lighting up when you don’t wipe it away. “Yeah, yeah, I said I was sorry. Tell me what your dream was about and I’ll let you go.”

“No. You're a dick, but you’re still my friend. If I tell you, your head will get so big that it’ll explode. I already know.”

It is an impulsive decision to ask, “Was I that good?”

“Yes.” Your voice is flat while you push open the door to the bathrooms. “That’s why I was crying.”

Despite the boredom in your voice, Luke catches a glimpse of your smile when you look away.

“Tell me, killer,” he says to the silhouette of your back. He’s sure you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll do you a favor.”

“Already owe me plenty of those.”

“Then you can cash one in right now!”

You sigh loudly again, but Luke knows you’re just being dramatic for fun. You turn around, leaning against the open doorway. There’s a soft gust of wind, and you look rather pretty even when you’re half-glaring at him. The fluorescent lights behind you form a halo over your head.

It’s muffled by your embarrassment, but you say something that sounds like, “I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.”

Luke nearly laughs at the thought, but he knows that you’d take it wrong if he busted out laughing right now. Very calmly, he says, “You gotta speak up, killer. I don’t understand.”

Your hands are clasped together behind your back, probably making creases in the fabric. Very quickly, you repeat, “I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.”

Luke squints. He tilts his head slightly and taps the other side in hopes it’ll fix his hearing issue. “Uh. Say that again?”

You lean forward to shove at his shoulder, your eyes tilted towards the floor.

You’re embarrassed.

“I know you heard it the first time. I’m not saying it again.”

The words ring in his head.

I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.

It wasn’t a hallucination. You actually said that.

He sputters, his face catching on literal fire. “I—oh. I didn’t… couldn’t hear you. Did she… Who was she?”

You roll your eyes at his first choice of question. “I dunno. Some girl.”

Luke definitely feels like there’s more to it, but he’ll take whatever information he can get. “But why were you crying? Was she mean to you?”

You stay quiet. You’re halfway into the building now, shifting away from him.

“She was nice,” you offer, picking at a piece of wood on the pillar you’re leaning on.

“That’s why you were upset?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Killer.”

“What?”

“Just tell me. I won’t joke, I promise.”

He even tucks hair out of your face because he knows it makes you happy when he does. Something he’s learned about you over the years is that just the right amount of affection will get you to do anything — even admit something you find super embarrassing.

The confession spills out of you without another second of prompting.

“I was sad because you had a girlfriend. And nothing was the same anymore.”

The thought of it is insane to him. Sure, having a girlfriend is something he’s thought about before, but not once has he ever thought about it affecting your friendship.

After all, you’re you. No single person could ever come between that.

“Why?” he asks genuinely. “You’re my best friend. Nothing will change that.”

You step out of the doorway to stand in front of him, which Luke takes as an absolute win.

He opens his arms, and you wrap yourself around his torso. “Thanks, hero. But we weren’t spending any time together when you had a girlfriend. And I get why, but I was just upset.”

This is interesting to him, seeing as finding time for you is like a literal power he has. He once communicated with you through paper and a window when you were isolated with the flu.

Luke gives you a self indulgent shoulder rub. “Why didn’t we spend time together?”

You shrug. “You spent all your time with your girlfriend instead. It was so weird. I couldn’t remember the last time I spoke to you.”

Luke thinks the way you’re so worked up about it is sweet. He understands why you’re upset, but he wishes you knew that there was no possibility of this specific dream becoming real.

Even his nightmares where you’re jumped by an evil Chiron are more likely to happen than him ignoring you.

“I wouldn’t stop talking to you, no matter if I had a girlfriend or not. You’re important to me. I don’t know what I’d do if we weren’t friends.”

You stay quiet with your chin hooked over his shoulder. You don’t really believe him — Luke can tell by the way you don’t settle.

“Okay,” you say.

“Hey. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

He says your real name, and you soften into the hug.

(It’s like his trump card.)

He wonders if thinking like this would make him a bad future boyfriend, but he tells you the truth. “Nothing would change my friendship with you. Not even a girlfriend.”

You pick at a loose thread along the line of his shoulder.

“C’mon, you know me. I’d never stop talking to you. Ever. You come first before anything.”

Luke trails off towards the end of his last sentence. If he did have a girlfriend, that part wouldn’t sound normal, but he says it anyway because it’s true. He would choose you over anyone.

When you lean back, it’s to smile at him. He finds himself reflecting it back to you.

“You done worrying now?” he asks.

You’ve been biting your lip. It’s stained a little red, and he presses his thumb into a spot where you’ve drawn blood.

“Yep. I’m done worrying.”

Luke already knows he has a stupid smile on his face when you close the door to the bathrooms. He just doesn’t care.

a/n. killer is the girl best friend luke tells other girls not to worry about (she is going to sleep in his bed tonight btw.)

i tried to make the end as cheesy and sappy and cringy as i could bc i already Know they were traumatizing anyone at camp who’s ever had a crush on the other lol.

when they were ~16 yrs old they were actually crazy and lacked social cues and didnt realize they were acting like this… theyre so interesting #FREECAMPHALFBLOOD

Confessions ✧ Fezco x Reader

A/N - Can someone pls tell me how to add a keep reading lol i’ve forgotten and i can find it online, on mobile btw thank you!!!

✎ Word count - 3,413

✩ Genre - Fluff, gets a little steamy lol

❀ Warnings - Mentions of sex

Fez was never good with words. He always struggled to put how he was feeling in his heart exactly in the right vocabulary. He always spoke with purpose, never saying anything he didn't completely believe or not mean. He was completely impeccable with his word. As your relationship developed though, he struggled to settle with just hugs and kisses, he yearned to tell you more. To tell you the truth. To tell you he thought you made his world rotate and the sun come up every morning. To tell you he trusted you with his life and loved you more than it. To tell you he wanted you forever and even after that. But for him, it was just so hard. Since he was born he always lacked physical touch, he lacked being told he was loved even more. So once he had grown up, all these things were a struggle to him. All the more when you entered his life, giving him new meaning and experiences every second you were around. Though tonight he decided it would have to change. You knew it was difficult for him, giving him plenty of time to say what he needed, unfortunately he didn't know that though. The knock on his door shook him out of his affectionate thoughts and he knew the sound off by heart. He rushed over to the door, opening it with ease to see you there, sheltering yourself with your hoodie from the Californian downpour.

"hey!" you greeted cheerfully, a paper bag of takeout in your dripping hand. He smiled, shyly as he let you inside, you immediately stripping off the damp clothes. He watched you as you dropped the bag onto the couch before going over to him to give him a hug. He almost accepted at first before pulling away quickly.

"Nah get off you're soaked!" He laughed, pulling away with out hesitation, a huge smile now growing on his freckled face.

"What do you mean? i'm dry as a desert." You replied back, laughing. Then shaking your head side to side like a kanine making all the raindrops run down your hair to the ends, splashing him.

"yo, hold up a minute! stop!" He raised his voice, lunging to the side to get away from the fallout. He began pacing away from you but you weren't gonna let him get away that easy. A mischievous look on your face as you strode after him again, trying to wrap your soaked through body around his. You made a lap or two around the 70s decor room before he had a enough. "Right that's it!" He decided, crouching down in front of you and before you realised, picking you straight up in a fireman's lift and throwing you over his broad shoulder. You waist was tickled by his firey beard as your whole weight was taken by him.

"Fez! Put me down!" You giggled, punching light fists into his back. Grabbing onto his white tee.

"No chance." He treaded through the house making a b line for the bathroom. He plonked you delicately on the tiles, a playful smile littering his lips and he leant past you for the shower head. A gasp left your throat but before you could say anything he'd turned the dial and you were now being coated in threads of ice cold water.

"No!" You shouted a grin plaster on your face as you tried to wrestle the shower head of him. He just laughed back at you, with a firm grip on the weapon.

"Do you submit?" He interrogated, the curl on his lips not faltering for a second.

"Yes! Yes! Please stop!" You pleaded, hands in front of your face to somewhat stop it from drenching you more than you were before. He let out a chuckle as he turned the dial back to zero and swung back round to see the damage. There you stood, head to toe with hair that had grown a good length and see through clothes that clung to your body in crescents. He looked you up and down, noticing he could slightly see your areoles through your saturated tee and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take a mental picture. A small wash of guilt washed over him as he saw your shoulders tense up, arms crossed over your body as your teeth began to chatter away. "Let's get you in some warm clothes." He smiled, handing you a towel before leaving the room briefly. you quickly covered yourself with the old, slightly grey cloth. The fibres quickly sending a chill down your spine before beginning to feel warmer. He returned with some boxers and a tee, placing them down on the only part of the counter that was dry and then turning to you. He rubbed his large freckled hands up and down your sides to help warm you up slightly before you both stop. He takes the towel from your grasp and you go to strip your t shirt off. The material is heavy and adheres to your curves but you shortly win the battle. He watches over you, not blinking as he watches you remove the shirt. His eyes nervously watching as your breasts bounce at the motion. "Shit.." He curses quietly under his breath, his eyes lay low and you watch his curled eyelashes blink once, his face full of admiration and desire. You just shake you head as you take the towel from him again, rubbing over your body before he takes it back without words. You grab the spare grey tee, pulling it over your head now you were dry and pulling your damp hair out the back. His eyes burn holes, making sure to watch your chest for as long as possible before it was covered up again.

"My eyes are up here!" You joke, afterwards you take off your jeans and pants, him sheepishly spinning around to give you somewhat privacy. He was afraid he crossed a line. "It was a joke Fez." You laugh, putting on his clean, white boxers as he turned back around, you now fully dressed. A smile adorns your lips and he mirrors you perfectly. "Let's eat that food before it gets cold." You say, moving towards the door as you notice his tongue peeping through his teeth. He follows behind you quickly as you jump on the couch. ripping open the bag on your lap as he sits next to you politely. You share the food equally, lying your heads back with hands on your stomach at the indulgence. The dealer turns on the remote, selecting some random action film on a channel as you cosy up. He instinctively places an arm around your shoulder and you hold his large hand. He presses a kiss to your temple, then check and you flush at the touch, his lips transferring a fuchsia glow to you. You were drawn closer, folding into his lap so you could lay your head on his warm thigh, covered in his sweatpants.

"You warmer now?" He asks briefly, rubbing small circles in your palm as his other hand was gently resting in your hair.

"Not thanks to you." You laugh lowly, thankful you were in dry clothes again.

"Stop playin." He adds before you go back to silence, the only sounds playing from the tv. He held you close, treasuring the feeling of your head resting on him, your small, soft hand held by his large warm ones. He traces your hands down to brush along your exposed thigh. He couldn't focus on the film, but only you and how much he adored you. He couldn't keep his hands off. Afterwards he bring your hand up to his mouth, where he takes your hand in both of his. Your elbow bent for ease of position. Lightly, he pulls it up to his lip where he lays a few light kisses along your knuckles before he keeps it there, his breath streaming down though your knuckles and down the back of your hand like veins.

"Fez baby, are you okay?" You ask sensitively but tired in a velvety calm voice. A voice like music to his ears.

"Uh yeah." He replies, confused as to why you'd pick up on anything.

"It's just you're being so clingy tonight." You laugh softly, not hating the feeling.

"Oh shit was I? Do you want me to stop?" He asks a slightly sad flicker in his voice. His body tensing up as he moves your hand away from his lips.

"Not at all." You reply quickly pulling both your arms into your chest to keep him close as his spare one dropped down again. You lay some kisses to his hand this time. lightly over every auburn freckle you could see. He relaxed into the movement, a sigh leaving his chest.

"There's sommin I wanna tell you." He admits gingerly, tagging your name onto the end. He sits there, heart pounding in his chest as he deepens his breaths, trying to calm his heart rate.

"Sure baby." You return, in a tranquil tone. You could feel his nervousness but didn't want to push him.

"It's just I-I.." He stuttered, trailing off. The words seemingly caught in his throat. He cursed himself for not making a plan before hand. He sighed again as you began to rub him soothingly to calm his nerves.

"Don't worry baby, you can take your time." You eased his worry as he let out another sigh frustrated with himself. Now annoyed, in a pleasantly subdued manner he lifts you up so your now sat next to each other again. He waste no time in pulling your legs over his and leaning into your lips. You were surprised at the action but quickly melted in to him. His speckled hand came up to your face, holding you firmly as you kissed tenderly and slow. His cold, gold rings stinging your inflamed cheeks. He passionately moved his lips and swiped your bottom lip a few times. He then moved his hand to your waist pulling you so you were straddling on his lap as he tugged you into his hold, your bodies aligned as one. You could tell what he was trying to say. You always knew how his mind worked about this thing, he could show his love but struggled to say it. Struggled to say all the deep and emotional things he felt inside him as he never learnt how. You tried to put his mind at ease with a "Fez it's okay, I know." You cooed. You knew he cared for you, you knew he loved you. Yes you would love to hear it, but if it was too painful for him to say, you didn't mind his lack of words. He looked back, his brows knotted together and a pained look on his beautiful face. His lips were pink and swollen in a small frown. You looked back with a sad and worried smile, watching him closely. His eyes drew glossy as he shook his head, unsatisfied. He moved in again, pressing his forehead to your own and kissing harder this time, with more aggression. His hand grabbed on to your upper back as the length of his forearm ran down your spine, trying to hold you as closely as possible. He soon carried you into the bedroom, Your legs wrapped around his middle as he lovingly put you in his sheets. Your contact not breaking for a second. You'd never seen him like this, so tender and unravelled. You feared what was running through his mind, was he safe? You kissed him back, matching his passion and longing. He then lay down, pulling you on top of him as he went to your neck smothering you in kisses.

"Baby I-" He breathed for a second, his head still tucked into your neck. He let out a disheartened groan so you pulled a hand up to stroke his shaved head. The groan rumbled through his chest into your neck, you could feel his frustration. You knew how much this meant to him but also the torment it put him through. He continued to intensely kiss you all over, his arms holding you so tight like some how you'd drift away. You pulled away and he looked up at you, a perturbed look across his face. His big blue eyes looking at you through his thick long lashes, full of concern. Your heart ruptured at the view.

"Shhh.. my love." You whispered. His eyebrows slightly dropped from there agitated state and he relaxed, defeated. His head then almost dropped before you lifted it again with one hand. You kissed him with care one last time before shuffling across the bed and pulling his head onto your chest. His weight was heavy but you didn't mind, you ached for the feel of him trusting you and having all his walls pulled down. He melted into the embrace his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you securely as you cradled his head with both arms, slowly stroking him to ease his worry. "Shhh, baby. I got you." you hushed. He demeaner was sorrowful and you could almost hear his heart snapping. It took years off your life to hear the sound. He lay in your warmth his tears welling up in his eyes but he didn't let them descend. He praised you for what you did to him, how far you had got through his hard exterior. Soon you both fell asleep as you lulled him sincerely to rest.

✧ ✧ ✧

A few hours later your eyes fluttered open, you shifted an inch or two before noticing the bed was too spacious. You were alone. You flipped your body to find the sheet unaccompanied. A frown dropped onto your face and you thought for a moment. Your body flashed back to the night before, his desperate kisses and hungered touch. Dread set in and you rushed to get up before you noticed a slip of paper on the bed beside you. You sat up noticing the paper had your name with a small heart next to it in Fezco's sharpie handwriting. You picked it up quickly opening the note to find a page long letter. Your eyes sprinted to read it.

"To my love,

There's no minute that passes where you’re not in my mind. No second where I don't want you in my arms and no lifetime where I'm not meant to be with you. You mean the world to me and I hope one day your able to see yourself through my eyes. You're kind, smart, humble, funny and a better person than anyone I know, me included. I know I struggle to find the words what to say but I just need you to know you have my entire heart. Every single cell of it. I will always be yours in this life and the next. I love you tremendously now and forever,

Fezco.”

Your heart began running marathons, racing like it's life depended on it and you brought a hand up to your chest. You felt so overwhelmed you could faint and so filled with love you could cry. Your eyes had already began dotting droplets that shot to the page like knives and you quickly moved the paper from causing anymore damage to the sheet. You processed the letter for a moment before knowing you needed to find him. You needed to tell him the same. You shot up from the bed, still dressed in his boxers and tee and dashed down the hardwood floor to the kitchen. The room was quiet, undisturbed. The streetlights flooded through the blinds, lighting it up enough for you to see Ash lounging on the floral couch.

"Yo Ash where is he?" You asked hurriedly. A hand unconsciously going to your mouth to bite your nails, to somehow relieve your worry.

"He's uh... out doing business." Ash said, not seemingly matching your anxiousness.

"What do you mean? He didn't tell me about any of that." You pried, walking closer to the child. His eyes moved up from his phone, the brown circles looking innocently into your own.

"It's just some hand over or somin’, nothing to worry about." Ash lied, his eyes dotting back down to allow himself to say those untruthful words. You nodded, eyebrows still merged together as you sat on the sofa opposite him, body tense and your nails corroded.

"When's he back?" You asked. He swiped his iPhone screen to see the time before replying.

"Not long, maybe 20." The minutes felt like hours, sat here watching the clock tick, some stupid tv show playing on the TV that you tried to focus on but couldn't. You heard a shuffle behind the door, your body jolted to stand up as you gave it your whole attention. Ash did the same. You heard the gate clatter and open before the handle to the door dipped and moved towards you. You saw his foot first, a black trainer step into the house. Your eyes moved upward to where he was as you ran to him quickly.

"Fez!" You cried, jumping onto him before he had time to shut the door behind him. He quickly made eyes with his brother before throwing him the black knitted balaclava that was behind his back. Now hidden from you. He then softened into your embrace his eyes closing as he moved his hand you comfort you. "Baby i love you." leaked out of your mouth. "Where were you? You had me so worried." You whined into him, his skin slightly flush from the outside.

"I had to take care o' somin, it's okay now." He sighed. "Let's go back to sleep." Ash got up from behind you as you continued to embrace, Fezco sending him a nod to go back to his room. You pulled slightly away as you heard the click of Ash's door and soon noticed the crimson liquid, dried over the back of his hands.

"Baby.." You trailed off, looking up at the ginger in front of you. He looked down to see what you were referring to before one hand went to the back of his nape to scratch it nervously.

"Nah It's cool." He said, then knowing you weren't satisfied with his answer as a concerned look danced over your appearance again. "It's not mine." He watched as you chewed your lip to the side, taking a deep breath before nodding ever so slightly. "Now cmon, you go to bed i'll get washed up and come join you." You swallowed the lump in your throat before turning slowly, lazily walking back into his room and lying on the now icy sheets. You spread out unenthusiastically, thinking. 'what was he up to?' 'where had he gone?' 'why didn't he tell you?' Your contemplating thoughts were interrupted by a click off the door and him gently moving a hand to your legs so he could get in. You wasted no time in clinging to him, wrapping both arms around his neck as he practically yanked you to lie on him. His warm weight beneath you.

"I missed you, please don't do that again." You pleaded, kissing into his neck as the curtains now slowly started to lighten with the morning sun rising.

"Sorry ma, it won't happen again." He smiled softly, graciously having you in his arms again as he wished he never had to leave. His mind wondered for a moment. "Did you find the uh.." You interrupted, going straight to the point.

"Yes." You said caressing your lips across the male again, arms running over his body with care. "It was so, so beautiful baby, i feel the same way.” You whispered delicately in his ear before placing a kiss behind it.

"For real?" He asked, almost mockingly with his voice above a whisper.

"Of course, but let me show you." You smiled, moving to lay a lustful kiss on his small sweet lips. Deepening it til you could go no further. You showed him all the love he needed that night. You showed him how he should be respected, praised and adored. Just how he had treated you the whole time. He felt closer than he ever has before, with you that night, now knowing one day he had to make you his wife.

all mine

pairings: luke castellan x fem!reader

synopsis: luke won't hesitate to show anyone you're all his.

The clang of metal on metal echoed across the training grounds, mixing with the laughter and grunts of kids sparring under your watchful eye. You had been tasked with teaching the younger campers swordsmanship, and while you loved the challenge, it was more like wrangling a group of overly energetic kittens than training warriors.

Leaning against a wooden post, Ryan from the Apollo cabin stood nearby, his bow slung casually over one shoulder. He was in charge of teaching archery to the same group of kids, and your breaks often overlapped, giving you time to chat while the campers practiced—or in most cases, ran amok.

“Looks like someone’s been promoted to babysitter,” Ryan teased, his sun-kissed face breaking into an easy grin as he nodded toward a pair of kids wildly swinging their swords at each other. “Think they’re trying to joust or something.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a laugh. “It’s like herding cats with weapons. They’ve got more energy than sense.”

Ryan chuckled, his golden hair glinting in the sunlight as he leaned a little closer. “Well, if you ever want a break from that chaos, I can offer a much calmer lesson. How about trying archery? No wild sword flailing involved—just focus, patience, and a bow.”

You gave him a skeptical look, crossing your arms. “I think I’ll stick to swords, thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” he pressed, flashing a boyish grin that always seemed to get the younger campers giggling. “The kids won’t mind if we borrow a bow for a minute. It’ll be fun! Besides, you’re already teaching them something—why not learn a new skill yourself?”

Before you could protest, he was already grabbing a spare bow and quiver from the stand nearby. “Here,” he said, pressing the bow into your hands. “Let me show you.”

“Ryan, I don’t think—”

“Relax,” he interrupted, stepping behind you. “Just hold it like this.” His hands guided yours to grip the bow properly, his fingers brushing against yours. “Straighten your arms a little. Good.”

Your heart skipped slightly at the proximity. His voice was low and smooth, close enough that you could feel his breath on your ear as he adjusted your stance. “Now, draw the string back,” he said, his hand brushing your arm, then settling lightly on your waist to steady you.

Your face warmed as you tried to focus on his instructions, convincing yourself this was just part of the lesson. He was just being helpful, right?

“Okay, aim for the center,” Ryan continued, his voice encouraging. “And... release!”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the target dead center, earning a chorus of cheers from the kids nearby.

“Yes!” you shouted, throwing your arms up in triumph. Ryan grinned widely, his excitement mirroring yours. “I told you, you’d be great at this—”

Before he could move closer or even finish his sentence, a firm arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest.

“Luke?” you breathed, startled, recognizing the familiar warmth of his touch immediately.

You blinked, suddenly reminded of what he’d been doing not long ago—working with the kids in the Arts and Crafts cabin, helping them string beads for their camp necklaces. You’d passed by earlier, stealing a glance as he patiently worked with a group of little campers, his usual sharp edges softened by the way he guided their hands with practiced ease. Seeing him in that light had made your chest feel oddly tight, a mix of admiration and fondness that you couldn’t quite shake. And now, here he was, standing behind you, but with none of that softness in his stance.

Before you could say anything else, his lips crashed down on yours in a deep, possessive kiss that sent your thoughts scattering. His hand rested firmly on your hip as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a confidence that made your knees weak. The world around you seemed to blur until there was only him—his warmth, his touch, his undeniable presence.

When he finally pulled back, you stared at him, dazed and breathless. “What... what was that for?” you stammered, your cheeks burning.

Luke’s brown eyes burned with intensity as he glanced at Ryan, who stood a few feet away, frozen in awkward silence. “Just making sure there’s no confusion,” Luke said smoothly, his arm still wrapped securely around your waist.

Ryan cleared his throat, his expression tense as he gripped the bow tighter. “I, uh... I should check on the kids,” he muttered, his jaw tight as he turned on his heel.

“Yeah, you should,” Luke said sharply, his voice dripping with finality.

“Luke!” you hissed, glaring at him as Ryan stormed off, fists clenched at his sides. “Was that really necessary?”

Luke turned to you, his jaw still tight, though the fire in his eyes softened slightly. “Did you see the way he was looking at you?” he demanded. “And how close he was? His hands were all over you!”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him. “He was just showing me how to shoot, Luke. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was to him,” Luke muttered darkly, his arm tightening around your waist as if to prove a point.

You sighed, shaking your head before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down into another kiss. This one was softer, slower, meant to reassure him as much as to silence him. When you pulled back, his lips lingered against yours, his brown eyes locked onto you.

“Luke,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced. “You don’t have to worry. I’m yours. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as a slow, confident grin spread across his face. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and smug. “All mine, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as his grip on you remained firm, his eyes gleaming with pride. You might have been exasperated, but one thing was certain: Luke Castellan never left any doubt about how much he cared for you.

uhmm not to add to ur torture but art does this after patrick finishes inside of u

https://x.com/yul_erotica/status/1567267102502912001?s=46&t=7TmegSCVL2oWlJID6RaplQ

sorry if this is too gross bye ily

this is not too gross at all. link (twt porn link, MDNI 18+)

i absolutely agree w u. i think that with art, it takes him a second to warm up to the idea of cleaning you up like this, but once he does, he's all in. however, this rlly speaks to me as patrick cleaning you up after art cums in you.

patrick is nastier, less restrained with his displays of desire. you and art have both called him gross with the biggest smiles on your faces, so he's leaned into it by now. that's who he is, the Gross One. he takes on the characteristic whenever he gently nudges art out from between your legs while he's trying to calm down. you're in the same boat as art, eyes focused on the ceiling and blinking slowly. and then you feel him, his presence and warmth between your legs.

"patrick," you warn, not even looking at him as you shake your head. patrick just protests in a whisper.

"'m just gonna help you out. clean you up a little, okay?" and then his head is between your legs and he's absolutely brutal with it. he adds to your stimulation instead of takes away from it.

when art has done it in the past, he was gentle. you knew what to expect from art, you knew he would swipe his fingers through the leaking cum and bring it to his lips. he would work his tongue in wide, long stripes, maximized space to minimize the time.

but when patrick does it, it's like he's giving you head. after a minute or so, when you get that wanton feeling low in your gut, you figure he is giving you head.

haven’t read it yet but I’ll be back!

as it will be - rafe cameron

You can find my other work here!

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Soulmate! Reader

Warnings: tattoos, slight suggestive content, just overall fluff (let me know if you find something else)

Word count: 3.1K

Synopsis: You’ve had a tattoo on your wrist since you could remember, one that is supposed to match your soulmates’. With an ever evolving tattoo, you question the validity of such a system. That is until you meet Rafe. You meet Rafe Cameron in the library and he suggests you both glimpse at your possible futures together.

a/n: this was inspired by the story The Way We Love Here by Dhonielle Clayton in the book Meet Cute: Some People are Destined to Meet, and this is love by baby-bearie!

—

Finals week always feels particularly stressful, especially to you as you walk into the library. Just locating a table causes you to overthink, which random person will hate you the least if you sit next to them? With lots of thought you finally select a table already occupied by a golden haired boy. As you scoot out the chair diagonal from the boy you make eye contact. You subconsciously trace the set of lines on your wrist, your cheeks heating up at the soft grin he sends you. Something about him already feels so familiar, as if you have known each other for longer than three seconds. 

“Hey,” he whispers across the table to you as you take a seat. Your eyes find his brilliant blue ones before his eyes drift to your wrist, “nice tattoo.”

You glance down at your wrist before replying in a hushed voice, “thanks… I mean, it’s all natural.” You tease, a smile slipping onto your lips. You’re normally much more reserved with strangers but something about this boy makes you speak as though you’re friends. 

He chuckles, tugging down the arm of his sweatshirt. He holds up his left wrist, the same side as yours, which displays the same tattoo as you. “I know what you mean,” he shares, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

Your eyes trace the abstract pattern, a mess of lines that progress over your lifetimes. A flutter of something erupts in your chest, this boy could be your soulmate. You’ve dreamed of who they would be since the very idea was introduced to you in school. “Wow,” you exhale, “I’ve never met someone with the same pattern as me before.”

He nods his head in agreement, “Well in that case, nice to meet you, I’m Rafe Cameron.”

You smile, “And I’m Y/n L/n.”

“Y/n,” Rafe repeats, “It appears this is the start of something new." 

It is now your turn to nod your head, feeling a sense of urgency suddenly. You dig through your backpack, pulling out what you originally came to the library to do, "I hope so, but as of right now it needs to wait. I can’t afford to fail any classes." 

He chuckles, glancing over the multitude of books you pull out of your bag. "I can see that,” he plays, dropping his head back to his own book. You don’t catch the way his cheeks light up pink. 

Blushing, you whine, “Hey! Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?" 

He shakes his head, looking up through the hair that has flopped over his forehead. 

You lean forward on your elbows, wanting to run your fingers through his hair. Your gut flips when he sends you an impossibly charming grin, "You know I’m just messing with you. What about we take a break in an hour, I’ll leave you alone till then." 

You nod your head, excitement bubbling through you, "Sounds good!" 

—

It is exactly 59 minutes later when your train of thought is interrupted, a excited tone to Rafe’s otherwise quiet voice "Have you ever looked at someone and thought about your possible futures?" 

You blink a few times, lifting your gaze to the boy in front of you. You know exactly what Rafe means once you process his question. There has long been a fairytale that touching matching tattoos together reveals your possibilities with the other person. 

You think back to the obsession of your childhood, finding all of the fables of soulmates. Your parents only found their tattoos to not match when you showed up, flushed cheeks and a head of hair, weighing 6 pounds 4 ounces. "I guess when I was a kid,” you answer, leaving the sob story out of the conversation. If this boy really is your soulmate he’ll be around long enough to hear it. 

Rafe seems more bouncy than an hour ago, his left hand twirling around an orange highlighter in the air. The boy seems to radiate energy, shifting forward in his chair, “What happened to that spirit?" 

You hesitate before rambling out, "You know, life happens. I got older and read more and more about soulmates who didn’t work out or about people born without tattoos. It made me question who or what decides these marks and how much they define everyone’s lives. What makes us more worthy of love than anyone else?" 

Rafe pauses, sucking in a sharp breath, he had never thought of life in such a way. "Maybe different people have different life plans, people who aren’t interested in romantic relationships exist. I don’t think anyone is more worthy of love, just different love." 

"I can’t help but feel that it’s just too imperfect for it to be true, you know?” You glance down at your book, rereading the same sentence you had been stuck on earlier. Your literature class somehow managed to mirror real life. 

Rafe’s wrist adorned with the tattoo plops into your vision, “What would you say if I proposed a deep dive into the inner-workings of soulmates?" 

You lift your gaze, eyes landing on the suddenly still Rafe. His eyes shine with what you can only assume is hope. "What if it doesn’t work?" 

"What if it does? There is only one way to know.” His eyebrows knit together, “What is there to lose?" 

You sigh, placing your own patterned wrist atop his, squeezing your eyes shut. Nothing seems to happen, you are highly aware of the warmth of Rafe’s hand latching onto your wrist. His cool ring contrasts the warmth of his fingers, pulling you back into the reality of the situation. 

You peek your eyes open, catching the lazy grin on Rafe’s lips, his eyes closed. You open your mouth to call him back, realizing the library is where you’ve stayed, only to close it when your surroundings blur. 

Your stomach churns, you’re easily phased by motion, cars, boats, and planes, making your palms sweat. You squeeze your eyes shut again, giving in to the swirling motion you both seem to be traveling in. 

—

You seem to wake up, reality, or whatever this is, hitting you. You sit on your surfboard, the one you left in California with your grandparents. The familiar scent of the ocean washes over you, the feeling of home rapidly trails behind. 

You kick your feet under the board, looking down at the white wetsuit you don’t recognize. If you had ended up here any other way you would have enjoyed the moment, instead you can’t help but question why. 

Where is the boy who had this idea in the first place? You glance around as much as you can, observing your fellow surfers. As you paddle, turning back towards the beach a tug pulls in your stomach. You paddle towards the beach where you feel you need to be. 

Your eyes are finally met with the now familiar face when your feet touch the sand. Standing on one of your favorite California beaches, Rafe toys with a film camera around his neck. 

"I was looking for you,” he greets you, stepping towards the waves. 

You tuck the board under your arm, jogging up to Rafe, “Me too.” You meet where waves barely brush your  ankles, smooth sand between your toes. 

Rafe glances you up and down. Something you would normally detest. And yet you don’t feel the need to hit him. Something about the way Rafe is holding your phone makes you suspect you’re there together. 

“You know how to surf? That’s so cool,” Rafe steps forward, his shoulder brushing your board. His eyes meet yours, a blush spreads across your cheeks as you toy with a loop on your wetsuit. 

“My grandparents taught me when I lived with them in middle school,” you respond then look around, “This feels like home, does it to you too?" 

"I didn’t want to make it weird but yeah, I’ve always liked California but I have never felt like this.” He thinks for a minute, glancing down at his left hand. 

No ring sits on his ring finger, something which makes you question what you want. Why did an air of disappointment bubble up in your chest? “We live here,” You share as the realization dawns on you, “And I’ve been waiting for you to propose for a while now." 

Rafe pauses, gaze shifting slightly above you. As his eyes land back on you he tucks the items in his hands into his pockets, coming up with a box instead. "That’s what I was going to do today, I just have bad timing apparently." 

You giggle, "If I wasn’t wet and you didn’t have a camera I would hug you right now." 

"Wet?” Rafe teases in a tone you know you’ll come to love, a smirk playing across his lips. 

Once again you are left to wonder the power this boy already holds over you. If he were any other boy that comment would have earned him a scowl. Instead, you lightly smack his forearm and quip, “way to ruin the moment." 

Rafe slings the camera around to his back. You watch his eyes crinkle as he grins at you, stepping closer as the world begins to spin once again. His arms wrap around your waist, your arms slipping around his upper shoulders. "Bye,” he whispers in your ear. You smile, closing your eyes and enjoying the sensation of time slipping by. 

—

When you open your eyes this time you aren’t feeling as comfortable. Instead of the warmth of the beach, you are met with snow, large chunks falling down before you. You peer out the window, taking in the expanse of white contrasted by a mountain range you don’t recognize. 

Twirling around, you nearly trip over the heavy amount of clothes you are wearing, a long white dress. Today must be your wedding day. 

The door behind you creaks open, someone enters with a limp. The step followed by a heavier one keys you in to who exactly is here. 

“Papa,” you greet, turning towards the door, smiling at the man who raised you. 

He grins at you, taking in the expanse of your dress, “Are you ready?” He questions, “I’m sure you’ve been anxious out of your mind today, ready to take the final step and become Mrs. Woods?" 

You inhale sharply, "Woods?” Rafe’s last name isn’t Woods, where is the boy who you have quickly become attached to in these timelines? 

Your grandpa looks at you, forehead wrinkling as he raises his eyebrows, “What’s wrong?”

You only realize your hand is squeezing your wrist when you look down, freeing it to take a look at the pattern. The mess of lines you had in the library looks starkly different now, a progression of time. You return your eyes to your grandpa, dwelling on the slight sense of comfort he provides, “What about Rafe?" 

"Rafe? You know what happened better than I do, soulmates sometimes don’t work out I guess.” Papa smiles a remorseful smile, his gaze shifting to the snowy landscape. 

You follow his gaze, eyes darting across the cold. If you still feel love for him why didn’t you work out? Why is one of your possible futures a failed romance? 

“I’m ready,” you state, wanting to see who you are set to marry. How does this man compare to Rafe?

Taking your left hand in some sort of formal gesture, Papa guides you to the door he came in. You grab the last bouquet by the door when two helpers open the doors. In front of you is a giant, traditional wedding. You never wanted to have an indoor wedding, your love for nature prevented it.

You both walk down the aisle at an agonizingly slow rate, giving you time to look at each of the guests. Most of your family members take up the right side of the chapel. On the left, plenty of faces who appear to recognize you. Once you reach the stairs up to the wedding party Papa squeezes your hand then drops it, taking his seat in the front. 

Anticipation pulls your gaze up as you take the final few steps. First to the man you are set to marry, the name Seth comes to your mind, then to your bridesmaids. Your best friend steps forward, taking the bouquet from your hand and giving you a smile. As you stop across from your groom, your eyes land on his groomsmen. There, standing in a tux, is Rafe who sends you a sad smile when your eyes finally find him. 

You stumble, tripping over your dress slightly, Seth’s left hand shoots out to catch you. His sleeve rides up, revealing a tattoo vastly different from yours. You know deep down that this timeline doesn’t work out, how could you go and say yes to a proposal if you felt hope for you and Rafe? The simple answer is you couldn’t. 

As Seth takes both your hands in his own, the world slowly begins to tumble. Wanting this timeline to be over as soon as possible, you squeeze your eyes shut. You wait patiently for the next world, hopefully happier this time. 

—

When your senses come back to you, you realize you’re laying on a bed somewhere familiar. A warm weight on your chest and a calm sense of life. You quickly realize who the weight belongs to, Rafe, as you thread your fingers through his hair. You breathe in a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to stay here forever. 

Rafe seems to take a little longer waking up but when he does, you jump. His head picks up quickly, landing on you before both of his arms wrap around your waist, “Oh thank the gods,” he remarks. His head lands right in the middle of your chest as you giggle, arms wrapping around him also. 

You grin, butterflies dancing in your stomach. You quickly forget how the last timeline felt, taking in the love in this one. In the pit of your stomach guilt sits, you caused the timeline where it didn’t work out. “Rafe?” You question with an uneasy tone prompting his head to pick back up. 

He hums, urging you to go on. Eyebrows pulled together, his thumb traces the skin of your waist. You feel some comfort over the way he traces a circle in your skin, warm hands on you. 

“I’m sorry for marrying someone else, I don’t even understand what happened." 

Rafe smiles softly, "Did you still love me? Cause I still loved you, a lot actually." 

You nod your head, smiling. "I just wish we knew what went wrong, you know, I don’t want that to be our timeline.” 

"Good,” he then adds, “And I don’t think it will. As long as we love each other I think any situation can be resolved with enough work. I think people rely too much on being soulmates when all relationships require work.” Rafe shifts, sitting back onto his lower legs. You shiver at the loss of contact, already craving the warmth and comfort of Rafe’s touch. 

You frown at him, crossing your arms to retain some heat, “It’s cold now.” The cold metal feeling of a ring pauses your thoughts as you look at your left hand. Wedding bands sit on your ring finger, matching the one on Rafe’s left hand. You hold up your hand towards him, “We’re married!" 

Rafe’s eyes trace your rings, smiling, he glances to his own hand, "I wouldn’t expect anything less." 

You blush, sitting up some on the couch. Life like this feels sweet to you. 

He chuckles, picking up your legs at the end of the couch. Rafe takes a seat then pats his lap, "I wanna see you." 

You blush once again under his gaze. Sitting on his lap you feel the need to fill the silence. As his thumb traces circles on your waist again, you whisper, "Hi." 

"Hey,” he whispers back, much like his first greeting to you in the library. His eyes leave yours, bouncing to your lips then back, “Can I have a kiss?”

Your stomach flutters at the gentle question, leaning forward as you hum in confirmation. Your lips meet in a soft kiss that quickly sucks you in. Melting at Rafe’s hand which guides your chin slightly higher before cupping your cheek. 

Your hands tangle in Rafe’s hair, pulling slightly on the golden strands. You enjoy the moment and the warmth of his hands pulling you closer. As you pull back slightly to breathe, noses on each other, the world begins to spin again. 

Rafe pulls you closer and whispers, “This is my favorite one yet." 

"Me too,” you agree, pecking his lips before you are both transported somewhere else. 

— 

This time you recognize your surroundings, the library. Your wrists are still touching, it appears not even a minute has passed. You look up at Rafe, grinning when you find his eyes already on you. 

“So,” he whispers, leaning in, “would you say that was a good idea?" 

You look down at your wrists, flipping your hand over to find a new detail. After months of tracing the same pattern over and over you are quick to notice the detail. You scan Rafe’s wrist, finding the same wavy line. "Look,” you trace the new line on his wrist, “Both our patterns have expanded in the same way." 

He shivers at your cold finger, making you smile knowingly at him. His eyes trace the new line on both of your wrists, "We’ve already gained something.” His right hand comes over and squeezes yours in a comforting way. 

You nod your head, realizing the time. The setting sun behind the mountains lights up the library in orange and pink colors. You much prefer this scene out the windows to the snowy one. Turning your attention back to the boy in front of you, you suggest, “why don’t we go get dinner, you can continue to establish what a good idea this was then?”

Rafe nods his head in excitement, pulling his hands away to pack up all of his stuff. You do the same, standing and pulling your backpack on, you wait for him. Once he finishes, he takes your hand and you both walk out into the warmth of the setting sun. Not knowing which timeline you will end up in but both confident it will work out.

—

likes, comments, and reblogs always make my day, thank you for reading!