: 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 — (𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 + 𝐥𝐨’𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲)

As with all nsfw works, all characters are aged up to 18+ Dave Lizewski is the kind of person who needs to grind against something while he goes down on you. he absolutely has to. he's so chronically horny all the time, now you're letting him eat you out??? god if he doesn't grind against something or jack himself off with one hand he'll get so turned on from being so close to your cunt, actually getting to touch your pussy like this that it hurts. you make him so horny it literally hurts. his cock is so hard it aches and his balls feel like they're going to burst and it's all for you. because of you. he whines a lot, panting into your cunt, addicted to the way you taste. you're so tight you even squeeze around his tongue. he can feel the way your walls give way as he flicks his tongue in and out, making out with your pussy. it's something he's only ever dreamed about, something he never knew if he was going to experience, but now your hands are pulling his hair and your thighs squeeze on either side of his face and it feels so good. you feel so good he could die. he would literally live between your legs if he could. he might not be able to literally, but by god he'll try. he wants to taste you as often as he can, and he begs so pretty for you. it's almost impossible to say no to how sincere and desperate he is for you, to turn down his little whimpers and puppy dog eyes with pretty tears prickling at the corners. when he's on his knees in front of you, hugging your thighs and kissing your stomach and begging you so sweetly to let him taste you it's impossible to say no to him like that. idk if there's a name for it but there's a 100% chance that he'll be so eager for you, so eager to please you that when you say yes you don't even have time to sit down. he goes just lowers himself a little more and throws one of your legs over his shoulder and eats you out while you're standing up I think that's called eiffel towering but I could be wrong?? Dave really really just cannot get enough of you. he looks at you with those sweet sparkly eyes and wistful lusting looks and he knows he's yours. he's only ever going to be yours.

╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮

— fuck his brains out

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In which you pretend not to know your boyfriend is Kick-Ass. maybe OOC characters, I got a little carried away, and maybe mixed timeline, I haven't watched the movies in a while... Also, Dave x Mean! reader because who doesn't love that?

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

“I think Kick-Ass is hotter,” you look over at Dave, licking your ice cream almost teasingly. “If I had the chance, I’d fuck his brains out.”

Dave blushed madly, rubbing his cheeks before you stand and tug on his arm. “Dave, I think we should start heading out. You’re walking me home, right?”

Dave nodded quickly, as you thought that it was best because you had been taking care of him since his injury or said that because it had been a while. “Y-Yeah! I will, I’m coming.”

He waved at his friends as you tugged him out, throwing away the napkin that previously held your ice cream cone away. “I mean it,” you said abruptly, smiling over as you held his hand. “I would fuck him so hard he wouldn’t be able to talk.”

“W-Would you?” Dave finally speaks, looking over at you as you smiled.

“Hell yeah I would.”

Later that night, Mindy stared at him as he fixed his mask. “This isn’t a good idea, Dave."

In all seriousness, he really thought she would fight him to make him stay. What he was doing was stupid, but he was about to get laid. By you. The most beautiful girl in the world.

"This," he grinned back at her. "Is an amazing idea. I'm going to get laid so fucking hard."

"What if she wants to take off your mask?"

"She won't."

"What if she recognizes your voice?"

He paused, then smiled. "When I'm nervous, my voice gets higher. She won't recognize it. I'll see you later!"

He ran out, quickly going to your home. How was he going to get in? Would he sneak in through the window you always had unlocked that was right next to your dresser? Or would he throw rocks at your window, begging for you to let him up so you could fuck him?

He started to panic, how the hell would he sneak into your house?

In nervousness, he paced in the back alleyway behind your house before his phone buzzed, your name blaring on the screen.

Y/N 8:57PM come in through the window ;)

It made him pause before he looked at your window, gasping as you stared at him with your body lit in light of your bedside lamp. He could see your bright smile as you gave him a small wave, a gulp echoing through the alley as you opened up the window a bit and leave it open with a hairbrush.

He inhaled deeply as he slowly jumped over the fence, climbing up the tree that led up to the window, easily slipping through after pushing it up before carefully pushing it down. He gasped as he looked back, staring at his reflection through the mirror from where you sat in front of your vanity.

"It's slightly... perverted to sneak into a woman's house, right?" Your fingers rubbed moisturizer into your face like he had seen you do in the nights he slept over. "Dave knows that, but I'm assuming Kick-Ass doesn't."

Dave cleared his throat, pushing his hands to cover the front of his suit, specifically over his crotch. He loved it when you said his name. "I-I uhm... you know Dave as well? I know Dave too."

He watched as you giggled. "I do know Dave, very well. But something's telling me you know him a little better than I do."

He swallowed, humming before making his voice deeper. “I-I’ve known Dave a long time… Y/N.”

“Have you now?” You stood, slowly walking over and swaying your beautiful hips before you stood in front of him. “How long?”

“M-My whole life.”

You giggled as he slowly stepped forward to meet you in the middle, your fingers trailing down his chest as you pressed firm kisses wherever your fingers went and you slowly got down on your knees, your skimpy lingerie-like pajamas. "Did Dave ever tell you what I want to do to you, Kick-Ass? Hm?"

He whimpers, his false persona of confidence never even giving the chance to rise as you kissed over the bulge that he tried to hide. "H-He did... oh fuck, he did."

"Oh, well he didn't have to tell you, right? You knew it because you are Dave, right?" You licked over the material of his suit.

His head lulled back as he nodded, groaning. "R-Right, fucking hell, please! Please, please don't stop."

You scoffed as you stood, pressing your finger to his chest. "I knew it! I knew it, you bastard, why would you keep that from me?! Did you like me gushing over your alter ego?!"

He gasped as you shoved him, a groan falling from your lips. "What? No! No, of course not!"

"For fuck's sake, Dave! What, you're such a virgin that you loved the thought of some girl talking about her fantasies with your alter ego?! Fuck you!" You groaned as you sat on your bed, covering your face to hold back your smile. This had to work.

"No! No, of course not, of course not! I'm sorry, I am so sorry," he whined as he kneeled in front of you, holding your knees. "Please, you have to understand..." He takes off his mask, whimpering as he stared up at you. "I did it to keep you safe. I didn't... I don't want you to be a target."

You inhale deeply as you pulled your hands away from your face, glaring down at him. "You promise?"

"I promise."

He inhaled deeply as you squeezed his face, raising a brow. "Well then, what are you going to do to make it up to me?"

He paused, clearing his throat as you ran your fingers through his hair. "Wh-Whatever you want me to," he whispers, swallowing loudly. "Whatever you want me to do."

Oh, you knew it would work.

Maybe that's how Dave got here, laying on his back as he sobbed underneath your touch, the vibrating cock ring settled right at his base and your tongue licking at his tip, lapping and sucking teasingly. You giggled as he squirmed underneath your touch, your hand pumping him slowly. "I don't know if you've done enough to cum, Dave. I don't think... you've made it up to me."

He whined, shaking his head as he covered his mouth. "No, no please! I'll do anything you want, just please! I need- I need to cum inside of you."

You hummed teasingly, pursing your lips. "Inside of me? You want to ask that much of me? Do you think that you've done enough to get the pleasure of cumming inside of me?"

"Yes!" He whined loudly, groaning. "Yes! Yes, I'll make you feel good, I promise!"

You hummed, pumping him even harder. "No... I don't think you can. A virgin like you? Please."

"I promise! I promise I will, I promise." He whimpered, his hips bucking into the air.

He probably could, to be honest. His cock was bigger than you could ever imagine, his girth barely able to fit into your mouth without making your jaw ache and could barely go down your throat without choking. He had the prettiest dick you'd ever seen, definitely the biggest and girthiest too, just because the last few guys you saw were fucking assholes.

"Maybe I will let you cum inside of me," you mused, humming as you sucked on his tip to make loud popping sound echo across the room. "Maybe, if I'm feeling... nice."

He whined, nodding desperately. "Fuck, please! Please, I'll do anything!"

"Where do you want to cum inside of me, baby? Dave knows I'm on birth control, but does Kick-Ass?" You giggle, rubbing his thighs as you gagged on his cock.

"C-Can I cum i-in your... in your-?"

"You can't even say it, can you?" You giggled as you switched the ring into the highest power, humming. "You want to cum... inside of me, right? That narrows things down a little bit... you want to cum inside my mouth? Or... my ass, that's going to take a minute though. Maybe my pussy? Hm? It's already stretched out for you, Dave. Inside my pussy, inside of my cunt?"

"Y-Your cunt! I want... I want to cum inside of your cunt."

You giggled. "Just don't cum as soon as I take this ring off, alright?"

He let out a loud whimper, nodding as you slowly slip it off, putting it into your mouth to suck loudly, groaning as his taste filled your mouth. He groaned as you take it from your mouth, straddling his hips and holding his cock up. You could feel your eyes roll back, humming as he whimpered. "I-I'm close, I'm so close!"

You giggled as you sunk down onto him, yelling out as he screamed out, groaning with a strong buck of his hips to bottom out inside of you and his cum filling up your stomach. You gasped loudly, whimpering as you held onto his chest, your nails digging into his skin. "H-How are you still cumming?!"

"I-I can't stop," he groaned flipping you over to hold your thighs as he pressed his face into your neck, thrusting his hips. Your eyes rolled back, groaning loudly as the loud slaps of skin against skin filled your room. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good! Better than I could ever imagine, fuck!"

You whined as your nails dug into his back, Dave pulling away for just a second with a grin. "Who's fucking who's brains out now?"

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© asterias-record-shop

MY LOVE. luke (pjo)

( master list )

IN WHICH… the half-blood campers live in a world where everybody is granted a soulmate. Everybody but the favoured child of Aphrodite, who was always destined to live a life without true love.

“My love is mine, all mine. I love mine, mine, mine. Nothing in the world belongs to me.”

( inaccurate details )

Warnings : Slight angst, not proofread (grammar mistakes)

A/N : late Valentines special… oops

—

Depending on what type of person you were, the concept of soulmates were either a blessing or a curse. To Y/N L/N, it was neither because she was never given a partner. The unseeable red string tied around her left ring finger never led to anybody else. Her skin never replicated the wounds of another person. Her world was always a scope covered in bright colours instead of depressing grey hues.

To others, her lack of a soulmate was great. She was free to love whomever she wanted without having to worry about a so-called soulmate. To her, it was hell. While it was true that she could like any person she chose, she would never be their first option. She was smart and beautiful and charming but their ideal pick would always be their soulmate.

It was sad, honestly. Especially when she knew boys would like her if soulmates didn’t exist.

Even when Y/N arrived at Camp Half-Blood, she was an exception. No soulmate meant no love life in other people’s eyes so it shocked everyone when Y/N was claimed by the very person who created the idea of fated partners. Aphrodite.

Y/N was awoken by loud giggles. She cracked an eye open, staring at her siblings across from her. “Why are you all up so early?” She almost groaned. It was seven in the morning and she knew her siblings always valued their beauty sleep. “Is Elvis Presley here or something?”

“No.” Silena grinned at Y/N, her cheeks flushing a pale pink colour, “Even better. A new boy just arrived last night and rumour has it that he’s cute. Cuter than Malcom.”

Malcom was an Ares kid. Ares and Aphrodite children always got along for some reason and because their parents had a complicated love relationship, so did they.

“Malcom isn’t that good-looking. What about Ben?” Y/N retorted, kicking her blankets off.

“I think Nigel is better.” Another sibling piped up, causing the whole cabin to burst into muffled laughter.

“That’s because you’re gay, Andrew!” They all exclaimed in unison, trying not to wake the other cabins.

Y/N leaned her head against her fluffed up pillow, gazing at Silena. “So, what’s this cutie’s name?”

“Luke.” Silena immediately answered, proud of herself for remembering the new camper’s name. “He came with Grover and a little girl.”

“Annabeth.” Andrew added. Y/N quietly hummed.

“Don’t be too loud.” She muttered, “I still want to sleep.”

As the commotion amongst her siblings died down, they too went back to bed. Y/N watched as Silena traced her soulmate tattoo before lying down, gently smiling. Y/N glanced at her own wrist, imagining her own mark inked onto her skin. What was it like knowing you were destined to love someone and they were destined to love you?

It must be reassuring.

Y/N didn’t remember when she drifted off, but she did and when she opened her eyes again, the sun was seeping through the light pink curtains.

Y/N lightly sighed as she sat up, running a hand through her perfect hair. That was a peek of having Aphrodite as her mother.

“Oh, you’re finally up. We thought you were sad. Too bad you aren’t.” Drew Tanaka was as cruel as ever. She was sitting at the vanity, applying a layer of pressed powder onto her face.

“Even if I did die, Drew, Silena would be the next cabin counsellor.” Y/N nonchalantly uttered as she stood up, stretching. Drew quietly scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“At least I have a soulmate.” She grumbled.

When Drew Tanaka hit hard, Y/N L/N always made sure to hit back harder.

“Yeah? Well, at least my ‘soulmate’ doesn’t hate me because of a rumour about me sleeping with his best friend. Which, by the way, was true.” Y/N quickly snapped back, leaving Drew speechless. Y/N was never one to act out but when someone asked for it, she delivered a killing blow.

Like any normal Aphrodite daughter, Y/N took her sweet time in doing her makeup. She could feel Drew’s glare on her as she swiped a red tint across her lips.

Y/N arrived at breakfast a little late, just in time to see the new kids stumble into the pavilion. Girls turned to whisper to each other, subtly pointing at the boy and blushing.

“That’s Luke and Annabeth, right?” Y/N questioned as she took a big gulp from her golden chalice. Silena quickly nodded, glancing at Luke.

“See, I told you he was cute.”

Y/N shrugged but Silena did have a point. Luke, with his perfect side profile, sharp jawline, and pretty curled hair, was a pleasant sight for sore eyes.

Y/N was caught off-guard when Luke sat down at the Hermes table and immediately lifted his head, his gaze settling on her without hesitation. Y/N quickly looked away, glancing at her wrist like she always did in hopes a tattoo would appear by some miracle.

Drew saw her moment of weakness and instantly commented on it. “Still no soulmate, Y/N?” Silena sent her half-sister a disapproving stare.

“Yeah. I’ll just fuck yours, I guess.”

Drew’s face sank for the second time. “Stay away from Sulan.” She hissed, glancing at the Demeter boy who wanted nothing to do with Drew.

Fate always drew people together so it was no surprise that everybody in Camp Half-Blood had their soulmates in the same place. There were multiple ways you could find your soulmate, depending on your mark.

Silena had her matching tattoo. Drew had that damned red string that only she could see. And Andrew could only sed the world in black and gray until his soulmate arrived, which they hadn’t yet.

Across the pavilion, Luke lightly nudged a teen named Chris. “Who’s that?” He asked, pointing at the H/C-hIred girl who was sitting with a group of unnaturally attractive kids.

Chris laughed for a short moment. “Y/N L/N. She will eat you alive, boy.”

“Has she found her soulmate yet?”

Demigods weren’t much better than their parents. They played around until they found their soulmate and that’s when they settled down. At least, for most. Some still had flings here and there, proving that they were just like the gods.

Luke’s question causes Chris to pause. He lightly chewed the inside of his mouth before stabbing his fork into a piece of bacon. “She doesn’t have a soulmate.” He murmured.

“How come?”

“We don’t know. She’s wondering the exact same question.” Chris shrugged before going back to his breakfast, “You can talk to her if you want but she’s a little mean so be careful of that.”

Luke quietly hummed, circling his finger around the rim of his cup.

The first time Luke talked to Y/N was when he and Annabeth were separated to go on different tours. Luke ended up with Y/N, who beamed at him and crinkled her eyes.

“Hi.” She effortlessly greeted him, waving.

“Sup.” Luke choked out, his voice accidentally going up a pitch higher. He cleared his throat. “I’m Luke.”

“So I’ve heard. Y/N.”

They walked side by side in a comfortable silence until Y/N spoke again. “Where’s your third person?” She questioned. “And I’m not talking about Grover.”

Chiron had tried to keep Thalia a secret but the gossip still managed to reach Y/N’s ears.

Slowly, Luke pointed at the tree that had mysteriously appeared this morning. It guarded the barrier between the camp and the mortal world.

“He turned her into a tree.” Luke grumbled, clearly displeased.

Y/N didn’t have to question who he was. Zeus, the king of the gods and ruler of the sky, had decided to turn his only daughter into a tree.

“Yes. The gods have always been a little… questionable. Shall we continue with the tour?” Y/N guided Luke forward. She did most of the talking while he listened, or at least tried to. It was hard when an absolutely stunning girl was standing in front of him.

“And last but not least, the strawberry field. Pretty, isn’t it?” Y/N smiled as she stared at the fresh strawberries. Luke let out a small ‘yeah’ but he was still staring at her. Y/N clapped her hands together, finally bringing Luke back to reality. “That marks the end of our tour. Any questions?”

Luke shook his head.

“Great. Oh, and if you’re worried about your soulmate, they’ll show up at some point. All the new kids freak out over it. If you’re a demigod, it’s almost guaranteed that so is your soulmate.” Y/N smiled again, making Luke’s knees weak.

Where was a matching tattoo when he needed one?

“So, uh… your soulmate… what are they like?” Luke knew he was most likely overstepping a boundary when he asked that. But Y/N, used to the shame and embarrassment of not having one, merely shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know. For some reason, my mother wants me to spend my life alone.” Y/N laughed but Luke could see the pain that flashed through her eyes. The same exact agony that Luke had been experiencing after all his peers found their soulmates expect him.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t have one either.” Luke piped up. “I guess we can be lonely together.”

Y/N carefully gazed up at him. She felt a glimmer of hope spark inside her chest but she shoved it down. She refused to get her hopes up. “Everybody has one, Luke. You do too. Maybe my mom just wanted me to play the role of Cupid.”

Y/N walked off before Luke could say anything else. Annabeth instantly replaced her. “What did you say to make her leave?” For a young kid, she sure had a sharp tongue.

“Don’t even, Annabeth.” Luke’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment. He never had a problem with getting girls to like him because of his good looks, but they never stayed. And Annabeth took every chance she could to remind him of their awkward moments.

“What did you say, though? Did you mention your pet crocodile again?”

“First of all,” Luke retorted, “It was a spider. It was not a crocodile. And someone set him free! I really liked him too. And, I only asked her about her soulmate.”

“You’re an idiot.” Annabeth deadpanned, “Why would you ask that? Can’t you see that it’s a sore topic for her?”

“Not everybody is blessed with your wits, kid.” Luke playfully ruffled Annabeth’s hair while she huffed in frustration.

She quickly swatted his hands away. “What’s if she’s your soulmate?” Annabeth blurted out. “She doesn’t have a soulmate. You don’t have one. At least, you don’t have the common signs. What if that’s your soulmate bond?”

Luke chuckled. “I don’t think it works that way.”

“Maybe not… but either way, she’s still staring at you.”

Luke had never turned his head so fast. Y/N was perched on her cabin porch, leaning against the pretty wooden railing. And just as Annabeth had said, she was looking at him.

“Soulmate bond.” Annabeth repeated in that annoying singsong voice of hers.

Even as Luke walked back to the Hermes building, he couldn’t shake Annabeth’s words. Was Y/N really his soulmate? The person he had spent his entire life searching for?

Maybe. Standing next to her just felt so… right. He knew the moment he saw Y/N step out of her cabin that she’d have his unwavering attention.

Months passed by like seconds and years passed like days. Luke found himself becoming an expert at wielding a sword and not even Clarisse could disarm him. Y/N never bothered to try, always wanting to keep her appearance pristine under the hot sun.

“Do you ever get bored just lying around?” Luke questioned as he stood in front of Y/N. She was lying down under a large tree, enjoying the cool shade.

“No.” Y/N answered, closing her eyes. “I just don’t find it fun swinging around a sword in the hot sun.” The heat from the large star was unbearable during summer. Y/N hated the feeling of her clothes sticking to her skin so she was commonly found under trees during the hottest season.

“Why not try swinging around a sword at night? It’s cooler at that time.”

“I’m good.” Y/N truely was a daughter of Aphrodite, caring about her appearance above all else.

“I heard Silena found her soulmate.” Luke uttered as he sat down, keeping his distance in case Y/N didn’t appreciate his company. But she said nothing so he assumed it was fine.

“Yeah. At least he’s nice. I’d hate for her to have an annoying soulmate.” Y/N laughed yet that familiar look of envy and sadness flashed across her eyes. Y/N did well in concealing her facial expressions but her gaze never lied.

Luke and Y/N were seventeen now, almost eighteen. They had known each other for years and Luke had managed to notice some of Y/N’s subtle habits.

He also knew her opinion on soulmates. She craved for one and found the courage to despise her mother for her lack love. She prayed for one when offering a sacrifice. She dreamed of finding her other half and every time she woke up, she was disappointed that it wasn’t a reality.

Y/N knew there was more to life than relationships but why didn’t she have a soulmate? That was a query only Aphrodite herself could answer.

“Still no soulmate for you I suppose?” Y/N asked, glancing at Luke who shook his head.

“The main reason I was looking for you was because I had some sort of… theory.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, suddenly curious. She gestured for Luke to continue.

“I don’t have a soulmate mark. You don’t have one either. What if, in a way, our lack of soulmate marks is our bond? If that makes sense.” Luke almost stumbled over his own words, suddenly feeling far too nervous.

“You think… I’m your soulmate?” Those words felt foreign as they slipped past Y/N’s lips. She was staring at Luke in slightly disbelief. “I don’t know, Luke. Maybe we just don’t have soulmates.” Y/N chuckled at the end of her sentence.

Luke’s breath nervously shuddered. “Okay… so if we don’t have soulmates then I can like anybody I want?”

“Technically, yeah.” Y/N aimlessly shrugged.

“Then I chose you.”

Y/N stared at him with her eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why me?”

“Because why not? I’m not taking pity on you, Y/N. I genuinely like you. As more than just a friend. The moment I saw you, I knew that if I had a soulmate, I would want it to be you. We can take it slow if you want. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.”

Y/N could only muster up a nod, still in shock.

She didn’t know what she was expecting to happen after her indirect acceptation to his confession but finding a small bouquet of roses on her bed was not what she had in mind.

“Oh, those are pretty. Who are those from?” Silena was at Y/N’s side in an instance, curious to see the flowers.

“Luke.” Y/N muttered as she flipped over the card, staring at the messy handwriting that was undeniably Luke’s.

“So my manifestation did work!” Silena exclaimed, happily clapping her hands together. “I’ve been shipping you guys since, like, forever! And I knew you wouldn’t make a move so I manifested Luke to.” Silena proudly beamed as she rocked back in forth on her heels, “I’m so happy for you two!”

Drew, on the other hand, was not.

“Cute pity bouquet, Y/N.” The ravenette said as she waltzed into the cabin.

“I will slap you with the thorns.” Y/N fired back.

At dinner, Y/N ended up sandwiched between Silena and Drew. For two girls who seemingly hated each other, Y/N and Drew sure spent a lot of time together.

“Here comes your lover boy.” Silena teased as she watched Luke guide a new camper towards the Hermes table. Y/N wasn’t sure if she should stare or look away but Luke was already locking eyes with her, smiling so widely that you’d think his deepest wish just came true.

“He’s not your soulmate.” Drew uttered.

“I know. We don’t all have to follow the rules of soulmates, do we? You should know that better than anyone else.”

Drew scoffed, angrily stabbing her fork into a piece of meat.

Y/N didn’t eat much. Her stomach felt too queasy whenever Luke so much as glanced at her. Was she nervous? Her leg was continuously bouncing up and down so she must be.

She left the pavilion early, expecting Luke to follow after her and feeling proud of her guess when he did. “Did you like the flowers?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Of course.” Y/N answered.

“I really like you, Y/N. Please, just give me a chance. Who cares about soulmates? You may as well be mine.” Luke engulfed Y/N into a tight hug, his hands resting at her waist and refusing to let go.

“I don’t know, Luke.” She whispered. She had spent so much time alone in the dark that she forgot what love even felt like. Was it the butterflies in her stomach? Or perhaps the loud pounding of her heart? Or maybe her cheeks that were flushed a bright pink hue under the moonlight?

All her worries seemed to effortlessly melt away as Luke suddenly kissed her. He stepped back just as quickly but Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her again.

She wasn’t sure what was happening but she could feel small beads of tears roll down her cheeks.

“Why are you crying, pretty?” Luke asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concern. Y/N swiftly wiped her tears away. As stupid and it sounded, that was her first kiss. And it was the first time someone showed a genuine interest in her, someone without a soulmate.

“If we do this, Luke… you have to promise not to leave me too quickly.” Y/N whispered so that only he could hear her voice.

“I don’t want my soulmate, if they even exist, Y/N. I want you.”

Those words echoed in Y/N’s head. I want you. Those three simple words set off fireworks in Y/N’s stomach. She felt her heart skip a beat.

She really shouldn’t have indulged in her own feelings when Luke might have a soulmate of his own but she couldn’t resist him when he was looking at her with those puppy dog eyes.

After that fated night, Luke rarely left Y/N’s side. He seemed to be attached at her hip and even when Clarisse laughed at him, he ignored her. Y/N was happy for a while.

It was the new girl that caused her fragile relationship with Luke to shatter into pieces. She really should have seen all this coming. She always noticed the bruises that lingered on Luke’s skin. Bruises that weren’t his but ones he simply brushed off as small injuries from all his hard training.

Y/N was the first to walk out of her cabin and, by default, that meant she would be showing the new camper around.

She had arrived early in the morning and while she was supposed to be resting in the infirmary, Y/N found her under the tree she usually sat at.

“You should be resting.” Y/N uttered. She could only see one side of the girl’s face but nevertheless, she was still pretty. Dyed blonde hair with heavy bangs framing her delicate and pale face and light grey eyes that nervously shifted from the ground to Y/N.

“They kept pestering me about my scar.” She mumbled, refusing to show Y/N her full face. “It’s my soulmate mark but they kept saying it wasn’t. Apparently… my soulmate has already found someone.”

She finally turned her head to reveal the scar. It was a jagged line, perfectly mimicking Luke’s. Y/N stiffened as the dread began to set in. She felt like she was going to collapse. Luke always preached about choosing Y/N over fate but would he do so now that his soulmate was here?

“Right.” Y/N choked out. “Well, let me show you around first.” It took all her energy to hide her true feelings. She didn’t want this girl to know that she was slowly but surely cracking under the pressure.

“I’m Lila, by the way.” The blonde muttered, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Y/N.”

As usual, she saved the strawberry fields for last. Lila seemed impressed by the big, red berries that the Demeter kids had grown. “One last stop.” Y/N said as she led Lila to a certain cabin. She knew she would come to regret this but the matching scars weren’t exactly subtle.

Y/N knocked on the door and just as she hoped, yet dreaded, Luke answered. “Hey.” He grinned widely at her as he leaned against the door frame.

“Someone’s here for you.” Y/N stepped aside to reveal Lila. Luke paused before he chuckled.

“This is a joke, right? Y/N?”

But she was already walking, more like jogging, away.

Y/N watched from afar as Luke conversed with the girl who had the identical scar to his. It trailed over the same eye too and it wouldn’t take a genius to realize what that meant. Luke had finally met his soulmate.

And Y/N was alone. Again.

The favourite child of Aphrodite. The golden star. The beautiful role model.

She was always destined to spend her life alone and perhaps she should have fully accepted that instead of falling in love with Luke, someone she couldn’t have no matter how hard she tried.

She ended up skipping breakfast and merely sitting in front of the vanity mirror, soullessly staring at her reflection. She wanted nothing more than for an ugly scar to taint her pretty face just so she could claim Luke as her soulmate.

She traced a faint line over her eye with light brown eyebrow and imagined that it matched with Luke’s. That, in another life, she could finally call someone hers.

The cabin door opened. Y/N didn’t have enough time to wipe the eyeshadow scar off before Drew walked in. The black-haired girl made an immediate beeline for her half-sister. Y/N thought Drew was going to taunt her as usual but she was shocked when the cruel girl hugged her instead.

“Soulmate or not,” Drew whispered, “He should choose you.”

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𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘦

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ x fem! reader

「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 I have learned that his eyes are in fact green, I apologize for my horrible ability to figure out eye colors. Also, Lana is going to be wildly mischaracterized in this, very briefly. I "hate" to do it, but it's wholly necessary.

✬ summary ✬ You've been labeled a freak after your accident during the meteor storm. Now, someone's hunting you down because of it and the only person you can trust is Clark. But he's not the all-American boy he pretends to be.

“Dude! We wrecked them,” two football players barrel their way down the hall, paying no mind to the people around them. You’re used to meatheads like this, and you’re used to having to move around them. 

But, somehow, they still always manage to find you within the crowd of forty other students. You duck out of his way but he turns, slamming his shoulder into yours and sending you flying into the lockers. Your back slams into the metal, a low groan of pain slipping through your lips. 

Arms loosening, your books drop to the ground. The asshole in front of you takes great care to kick them away from you as he walks off. “Watch it, freak,” he sneers, his friend laughing beside him.

“Pricks,” you hiss under your breath, slowly peeling yourself off the lockers. It’s not as though you’re not used to this. Keeping to yourself in a town so small was ostracizing. Being quiet meant becoming a target, no matter how hard you tried to go unnoticed. 

Kneeling, you collect the few books you can find. Glancing through the feet of the crowd, you frown, wondering if you’ll just need to buy another notebook. Again. 

“Here, this is yours, right?” A pair of legs stop in front of you, worn-out denim blocking your field of vision. Tilting your head up, you swallow hard as Clark Kent stares down at you, notebook in his outstretched hand. 

“Um,” you swallow roughly, snatching the notebook and jumping to your feet. “Yes,” you meet his eyes for a moment, but his blindingly good looks become overwhelming quickly. “Thank you,” you mutter, looking at your shoes rather than him. 

“I’m sorry about them,” he rubs the back of his neck and you risk a glance at him. Wholly earnest and truly apologetic. He’s not even the jerk that slammed you into the lockers. But he looks as guilty, as if he had done it. “They’re-”

“Assholes,” you interrupt, eyes snapping up to meet his before regretting the decision and immediately looking away again. 

He chuckles and it’s the nicest sound you’ve heard in a while. “Not quite what I was going to say, but yeah.” Clark’s better at picking up social cues than half the school. His lips tilt down when he sees the way you’re hunched into yourself, curled protectively around the books clutched to your chest. “We have English together, don’t we?” He says your name and your eyes round, not believing he even knew you shared a class. 

“Yes,” you tell him, but your voice cracks and you wish you could go die in a ditch. Four years here and you think this might be the longest conversation you’ve had with someone. At least, the longest that didn’t revolve around you selling them the answers to tests or homework. 

“Here,” he nods you forward, finally letting you out of your cornered position against the wall. “We’ll walk together.” There’s an earnest sincerity in his voice that makes you uncomfortable. You’re used to either being ignored or taunted, there’s not an in-between and you’re fine with that. 

Still, you can’t find it in yourself to turn away that bright smile of his. “Alright, thanks,” you tell him, shrugging the strap of your bag further up your shoulder. 

The walk to English from your locker isn’t a long one, but Clark seems content to slow his stride. You don’t know what his plan is here, what he thinks he’s going to get out of forcing a conversion from you. 

“You work with Chloe on the Torch, right?” Your brows furrow as you shoot him a surprised look. He lets out a sheepish chuckle, “Observant,” he excuses weakly. 

You narrow your eyes at him and nod, “Yeah, but I just edit it. I’m not interested in any of the hands-on stuff like she is.” Honestly, you’re not even sure Chloe’s aware that you work with her. You have a theory that she believes all of her writing is just that good. 

It’s not. 

Most of your nights are spent clarifying her excited rambles as she investigates the odd tragedies of Smallville. 

“How come?” From the tone of his voice, it’s clear he’s just interested in making small talk. It seems so natural to him, keeping the conversation flowing perfectly. 

You know he means well, but there’s a worry that he might see you as some charity case. He was a witness to the jackassery you deal with every day. Maybe he thinks you’re one of those pathetic kids who eats lunch alone and desperately needs someone to lead them out of the darkness. 

Good intentions, but it’s nowhere near the truth. You don’t bother to answer his question, stopping and forcing him to do the same. His expression turns into one of confusion and you give him an awkward smile. “I appreciate the help this morning, but I’m not looking for pity or a white knight.”

Clark’s face drops, clearly not expecting you to be so blunt. “That’s,” he stumbles slightly over his words, shaking his head. “That’s not what I was trying to do. It’s something else,” he leans down, voice lowered to a whisper. “It’s about-”

“Clark!” You both startle, jumping apart as Lana approaches. “I’ve been looking for you.” He smiles at Lana, though his eyes dart toward you. Taking the opening, you give him a brief wave and run down the hall so you’re not late for English. 

Something about his tone gnaws at the back of your mind. It was too serious to be something as simple as a pitiful offer of friendship. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you see him still staring, something intense burning in his green eyes. Shaking your head, you ignore it, shoving down the instinctual pull toward him and head to class. 

You’re sure it’s nothing. 

Editing The Torch was interesting. For one, it involved a lot more investigative journalism than it should for a high school newspaper. But it also meant that you were aware of the happenings in town far before anyone else was. 

Pen tucked between your teeth, you flip through Chloe’s latest article. It’s not half bad this time, mainly some grammatical errors. Sentences that could easily be split into four rather than one. Beyond that, it’s one of the more compelling pieces you’ve read through for her. And not necessarily in a good way. 

You’d, of course, heard all about Lana being attacked in her pool by that boy Jake. Everyone said he’d been after her since freshman year, that it was only a matter of time before he pounced. 

That wasn’t the interesting bit, though. What you’re reading now is something you had been completely unaware of. Apparently, Lana had no chance of fighting back. Not when Jake could breathe underwater.

The boy had been what people are deeming a “meteor freak.” One of the many civilians affected by the multitude of meteorites that plague your town. Someone clearly had a vendetta against them. The only reason Lana’s still alive is because someone had put a bullet in his head and left behind a threat for the rest of the “freaks.” 

Chloe is normally subtle about her biases in her writing, but she’s not bothering to hide anything in this piece. She makes it clear how she feels about the “freaks,” and how she thinks the shooter could be a hero, working to rid Smallville of their oddities. The longer you read her tirade, the more your stomach turns unpleasantly. Your grip around the paper tightens, fingers ripping small holes into the sheets without you realizing.  

You don’t disagree that Jake deserved the bullet, but you’re worried for the other students who were like him. The ones that aren’t going around attacking girls and are just trying to live their lives. The thought of what could happen to them if a piece like this is published sends you into a wave of anxiety. In a time of fear, the last thing everyone needs is the incentive for mob mentality. 

The sound of Lana Lang’s voice catches you off guard for the second time today. “What are you saying, Clark?” Startled, you nearly topple out of your chair. Letting out a sharp breath, your head tilts toward the door. 

Chloe, Lana, and Clark all pour into the office. You burrow deeper into the worn-down cushions of your chair and let out an unamused huff. Usually, you can linger unnoticed until they leave. 

They’re so wrapped up in their knock-off Scooby Doo mysteries that they never even realize another person’s in the room with them. And, maybe, if you stay, you can figure out just what is going on with this supposed “freak hunter.”

“I’m saying that we shouldn’t be celebrating a murderer,” Clark frowns and he sounds more stern than you’ve ever heard him before. 

“Oh, really?” Chloe snaps, storming over to her desk and dropping a thick manilla folder on top. “Because if he hadn’t been there, who knows what would have happened to Lana.”

Clark frowns, lips flattened as he glares at them both. “You know that’s not what I mean,” he huffs. His eyes drag over the room and you expect them to skip over you like they always do. Instead the wrinkle between his brows smooths and he looks surprised. “Hey,” he calls your name and your eyes widen. 

Shoulders up to your ears, you shrink further in your chair as the girls turn toward you. “Who are you?” Chloe demands, glaring at you. 

Letting out a bored sigh, you toss her half-edited paper onto your cluttered desk. Three years you’ve been doing this, she’s only just now realizing someone lives behind the cramped little desk in the corner. “I’m your editor,” you tell her, getting to your feet and stretching out the kinks in your back. 

You lean against your desk, arms crossed as you survey the two girls. Lana looks sheepish but Chloe still has that defensive glare on her face. It fades a little as her lips part, realization dawning over her. You’re sure she’s got a vague recollection of your first and last time speaking to her in freshmen year. 

“I like your new piece,” you tell her, nodding toward the stapled paper beside you. 

“Oh, yeah?” She whips around toward Clark, a smug grin on her face. He lets out an angry huff of breath, fists clenched by his sides. “I told you people would agree with me, Clark. These people are becoming dangerous, someone fighting against them isn’t-”

“Don’t mistake that for a compliment,” you snap, cutting her off, eyes narrowed into slits as you glare at her. She pauses, tilting her head toward you, seemingly taken aback. “I meant it more as, ‘I’m simply impressed with your brazen disregard for journalistic integrity’. Or even basic human decency.”

Clark’s brows draw together, something akin to surprise flitting across his face. Chloe, on the other hand, looked extremely pissed off. “Excuse me?” She snaps. 

“Oh, yeah,” you pick the papers up and read out the first few lines. “‘A heroic and valiant action saved the life of one of our own. Jake Pollen, appropriately deemed a meteor freak, was shot on the third of this month. His actions against a female student call into question whether or not we should be afraid of all of these freaks. Are they all dangerous? Are we safe from them?’”

You toss the paper on the floor between you both and tilt your head, shoulders tensing with irritation. “Not only do you have a weak opening, you degrade a young boy who has just been brutally shot and killed-”

“He died attacking me,” Lana butts in, her eyes narrowed in disbelief at you. 

“Irrelevant,” you scoff, waving her off. Her jaw drops with astonishment and you offer her a slight grimace of apology. 

“Look, sorry for what happened. But this isn’t about you and it isn’t even about Jake. It’s about the other students you’re putting at risk by labeling them all as monsters. Do you really think calling for each other’s heads is the way to handle this?” You demand, glaring at Chloe. “Is it not your job simply to inform instead of editorialize?”

“Well,” Chloe’s lips tug into a sarcastic smile. “Clark,” she calls, glaring over at the boy who hasn’t once taken his eyes off of you. “It’s a match made in heaven. You can go save the freaks together,” she says, practically spitting the word out. 

Eyes darting toward Clark you catch the grateful look he sends you. Not willing to indulge much further in the conversation you snatch your bag up from the floor. “Consider this me tendering my resignation,” you toss at Chloe as you storm out. 

“Can you believe her?” Chloe snaps as you walk out the door. 

“Who was she?” Lana asks, you don’t hear Chloe’s reply as you storm down the hallway. Like you do every other night, you stayed too late editing the paper. You’ll have already missed the last bus by now. It’s not unusual for you to walk home alone, but something feels different about tonight. 

Hands pressed against the metal bars of the school doors, you’re nearly outside when you hear someone call your name behind you. Turning, you see Clark jogging up to you. “Clark,” you greet flippantly, not eager to talk after your little show in the office. 

“Hey, um,” he pauses in front of you, a slight flush on his cheeks as he meets your eyes. You’re less overwhelmed than you were earlier today, maybe because you’ve already wasted your energy on Chloe. “Did you mean what you said back there?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,” you tell him, blunt and concise. 

He gives you a sort of lopsided grin, “Right. It’s just…” his gaze drifts past you, eyes looking unfocused as he stares at the wall beside you. You scrutinize him, eyes trailing up and down his body as he falls into some sort of trance. “I gotta go,” he suddenly blurts out, running down the hall and leaving you standing at the door. 

Peering your head around the corner, you watch him disappear into one of the classrooms. Shaking your head with a huff, you finally make your way out of the school. Fortunately, you don’t live too far away. 

It’s just a crappy little house that an older woman has been renting to you since you got emancipated freshman year. Your parents have long since moved on and the silent walk home is familiar to you. 

Although, tonight, the shadows seem to creep closer than they ever have. You keep a tight grip on your bag, taking care to stick close to the dim light the street lamps provide. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you stop short. 

There are eyes on you. An unfamiliar pair that makes you call upon the long-buried instinct of prey running from danger. Muscles twitching to life with adrenaline, you tilt your head over your shoulder, observing the shadows for movement. There’s no one there for you to see, but you feel them nonetheless. 

Their eyes are cruel and cold, but mostly they’re angry. Angry at you simply for living, for breathing the same air as them. Sucking in a sharp breath, you turn on your heel picking up speed as you rush toward your home. You swear the lights of the lamp nearly go out as you practically run along the sidewalk. 

Footsteps, quick and light, echo down the pavement behind you. Your legs pump furiously, pushing you forward as fast as they can. Chest heaving in and out as your breath fogs up in the chilly air of the night. The eyes burn hotter on the back of your head, closer somehow. You’re nearly home, you can already see the crooked roof of the tiny house. 

Every part of you wants to turn around and face whatever monster has decided to claim you as their own. But you force yourself not to give in. Keeping your head stubbornly forward, the only thing you think about is making it inside before whoever’s behind you catches up. 

Running up the stairs, your feet pound loudly against the weak wood of your front porch. You nearly break the door down when you stumble into it. Fingers fumbling along your keychain, you scramble to slot your keys in the lock. Something just in the corner of your eye catches your attention.  

YOU’RE NEXT FREAK

Gasping, you rip the paper off your door, momentarily forgetting the pursuer behind you. But when you turn back around, no one’s there. The feeling of the eyes is gone. That instinctual, gnawing urge to run and never stop slowly ebbs away. 

You slump against your door frame, swallowing thickly as you catch your breath. Eyes drifting back to the note, you feel your stomach sink. This wasn’t a threat, it was a promise of what was to come. 

Surveying the street once more, you reluctantly accept that there will be no identifying your stalker tonight. You slip inside your home and slide your couch in front of the door. You hope if the person decides tonight’s the night they’ll act on their promise, the couch will slow them down somehow. 

Biting at the cuticle around your thumb, your foot taps with anxiety as you take a seat in your dining room chair. All night, your eyes never leave your front door, note crumpled in your sweat-slick palm. 

Threat of death isn’t something many want to deal with alone. And despite your constant and unflinching status of being a loner, neither do you. For some odd reason, you’ve noticed that everyone in this town seems to flock to Clark when they have a problem. 

Not the police, they’re useless anyway. Not their parents. Just Clark. 

Somehow, you’ve become one of those people. You never thought you would be, when things got bad you always just imagined yourself running away. Instead, you find yourself standing on the front porch of the Kent’s house. As you have been for the past ten minutes, you debate knocking. 

You can’t put a finger on what drew you here. Something instinctually pulled you toward the bus stop, with no destination in mind.

Then, got off at a stop you never had before. It was a blur how you found yourself walking along the lonely stretch of road that led to the Kent’s farm, but here you are. 

Someone calls your name and your shoulders fly up to your ears, immediately recognizing the kind voice. Eyes squeezed shut, you debate just lying and saying you needed directions somewhere. It would be a shitty lie, but you might be able to get away with it. 

Still, the way he had approached you yesterday, the tone of his voice. It all gnawed at the back of your mind. You already knew that he wasn’t calling for the freak's heads. A voice buried deep in your subconscious kept telling you that he might even be able to save you. 

Finally turning, you offer Clark a weak grin. He takes it in stride, walking toward you slowly, like how he might approach a wounded animal, he gives you another bright smile. 

God, does he bleach his teeth with sunlight?

“Hey, Clark,” you wave slightly and he chuckles at the awkward way you say his name. It rolls off your tongue unnaturally, not used to trying to be polite with someone. 

“Hey.” His brows furrow and his smile turns down at the corners. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but, what are you doing here?”

The note crumpled in your hand itches at your palm. You feel like it’s burning a hole into your skin as you descend the steps of his porch. You start toward where he’s standing by the barn and he moves to meet you halfway. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, hoping he hears the sincerity in your voice. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

The smile drops off his face completely, replaced by the same concern you’re sure he would show his closest friends. No wonder everyone comes to him for help. You think he might be saintly. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hand coming up to cup your shoulder. The warmth of his palm seeps through your sweater, it eases some of the tension running rampant through you. You should shy away from the touch, get irritated, not melt into his touch like you are right now.

You don’t know how to verbalize your situation to him. There’s a lot of history that’s conducive to explaining your current predicament. A lot of painful history. Rather than delving into that, you simply hold the note out to him. 

His jaw clenches as he takes it from you, eyes narrowing as he reads it. He folds the note up and places it in his back pocket. The action makes your brows furrow but you don’t question him. His gaze flits up to meet yours, something sympathetic and angry in his eyes. 

“Freak?” He questions and you don’t need to guess at what he means.

Eyes closing, you let out a low sigh. “I’d been hoping to get through high school without anyone knowing.” Rubbing the back of your neck, you let out a laugh dripping with sarcasm. Holding your palm out to him, you open your eyes once more. 

He hesitates for a moment, giving you a questioning look before sliding his hand against yours. You ignore how nice it feels to have the touch of another person and flex your fingers, giving him a little shock. 

Clark’s brows furrow, his hand jumping atop your palm. “I’m like a walking burst of static shock,” you tell him. “An electrical line fell in the pool with me during the meteor storm.” You tell him briefly, not delving into the shit show your life turned into after that. 

Slowly, you take your hand back, already missing the warmth he’d provided. “I’ve had an odd relationship with anything electronic since then.”

Clark’s eyes narrow before his face lights up with realization. “The computer lab in sophomore year.” You let out an annoyed sigh, rolling your eyes as he gives you a goofy grin. “You told everyone that water had fallen on the computer. But it was you, wasn’t it.”

“Yes,” you tell him, giving him an unamused glare. “I can’t believe you really thought a computer exploded because of some water.”

“Hey,” he scolds, though you can practically hear the laughter he’s holding back. “You’re a very believable liar.” 

“Thanks,” you snark, but you can’t hold back the smile that tugs at the edges of your lips. “Clearly, I didn’t do a good enough job of hiding it, though.” You offer him a weak chuckle, but his smile slips at the reminder of why you’re here. You almost regret mentioning it, if only because of the way the atmosphere thickens with tension. 

“Right,” he huffs and glances toward his barn, something pensive coming over his face. You rock back on your heels while you wait for him to miraculously solve all of your problems. 

Doubts begin to creep in, stomach tightening with guilt as you look him over. Forehead furrowed, jaw clenching, he paints a pretty picture. Angry, but still one of the most handsome boys you’ve ever seen. And one of the kindest. 

How selfish is it to drag him into your mess? This isn’t petty high school bullshit where you want him to beat up a meathead football player for you. This is a murderer running rampant that has painted a target on your back. Now, you’ve dragged Clark into this, as well. You don’t think you can stoop any lower. 

“Alright,” he turns back to you, green eyes boring into yours. “You’ll stay up in the loft for now.”

Oh, you can stoop so much lower. 

“Clark,” you object, but he waves you off before you get to say anything else.

“Don’t argue,” he tells you, sounding more commanding than you’ve ever heard from him. Hand on your shoulder, he turns you toward the barn and steers you inside.

Glancing over his shoulder, he double checks no one’s around before he closes the doors behind you. “Come on,” he nudges you forward, leading you toward the stairs. 

When you picture a barn loft, the first thing that comes to mind is not; studio apartment. But this might as well be close enough. Bed, dresser, mirror, you think there might even be a small TV tucked in the corner under a tarp. Besides a shower and toilet, someone could legitimately live here. 

“Wow,” you breathe out, stunned as you ascend the stairs. “I thought it would be more…” You trail off, eyes rounding with interest as they land on the telescope by the window. 

“Rustic?” He finishes for you, laughing slightly. 

You flush, giving him a sheepish smile. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Clark gives you a good-natured smile and nods toward the couch. You follow along beside him, taking a hesitant seat at the end, trying to keep as much space between the two of you as you can. His brows quirk up at the movement but he doesn’t say anything. 

“I spend most of my time up here. The chickens might not have liked me kicking them out, but they learned to live with it.” Despite how awful the joke might have been, it still eases a small huff of amusement out of you. It’s enough to help you sink further into the couch, nails relinquishing the sting they were pressing into your palms. 

“I shouldn’t be here, Clark,” you stare down at your lap, shame lining the inside of your gut, causing it to churn nauseatingly. “I’m already asking you for too much-”

Clark reaches over, hands covering-enveloping, really-your own. He gives you an affectionate squeeze, waiting until you look up and meet his eye to speak. “I want to help, really.” 

Normally, there’s still a little bit of doubt niggling at you. But there’s such stark sincerity in Clark’s eyes. You can see how much he wants to help in the way he keeps your hands in his, even though you know you’re probably shocking him. It happens sometimes when you get really upset. 

He doesn’t let go. 

It’s the only reason you nod, giving in and letting someone else into your life for the first time in a long time. 

Something flits out of your locker as you open it. You shove your books inside, eyes narrowed as you turn toward the square of paper lying on the ground. You bend, narrowly avoid getting your fingers stepped on, and pick it up. 

You don’t know what you were expecting when you opened it. A note from a secret admirer (in your dreams.) Maybe a mean note from another jock. 

YOU CANT HIDE FROM ME FREAK

You definitely were not expecting another threat, and you almost feel stupid that you didn’t see this coming. 

“Hey,” Clark’s voice has become familiar to you now. A soothing balm over your constantly frayed nerves. He’s developed a tendency to walk you to class, always looking over your shoulder for you. He seems to have self-appointed himself as your bodyguard. 

Fingers trembling around the note, you feel a warmth building in the back of your throat. You drop your head as something unfamiliar burns in your eyes. The note flutters back to the ground as you slam your locker closed and shove past Clark. 

You haven’t cried in years, you’re not about to let yourself have a breakdown in the middle of the hallway. Clark calls your name behind you, but you force yourself to ignore it, barrelling through the congestion of students and running into the first empty classroom you find. 

The classroom lights are turned off and the blackboard is cleared of the notes from the last period. You don’t make it very far inside before you’re sinking against a desk and crumpling into yourself. Shoulders shaking as you’re wrecked by cries that make your ribs ache. 

Two weeks you’ve been staying with Clark. One more student has been killed since then, a girl you’d shared geometry with. This whole time you’ve known about the threat hanging heavy above you. Still, you’ve gone to school, you’ve kept up normal appearances like nothing was wrong. The only difference has been Clark. Not the bright red target on your back. 

You’ve gotten so wrapped up in the comfort of a friend that you haven’t even thought about the murderer lying in wait for you. Complacent and stupid, you’ve let yourself believe you’re truly safe. Now, curled up in one of the few places that’s meant to be a haven, you’re being starkly reminded of your mortality. 

The classroom door opens and closes near silently, and you don’t have to look up to know who’s followed you inside. Wiping desperately at your eyes, you try and swallow down the hiccuping cries bubbling up in your chest. 

Clark whispers your name gently and you hate how pitying he sounds. “Stop,” you snap, clenching your eyes shut as he pauses his slow progression toward you. 

“I saw the note,” he tells you. His voice sounds gentle, but you can hear the anger lying in wait underneath. Anger for you, instead of at you, for once. 

You hum in response, too tired for words as you wipe away the remnants of your tears. You suck in a few deep breaths, finally calming yourself down enough to not feel a cry burning in the back of your throat.  

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” you admit, aiming for a laugh but it sounds more like an apology.

“Because someone’s trying to kill you,” he offers teasingly, the lilt in his voice helping you lift the mood. You huff out a short laugh and he takes a step closer. “I promise, I’m not going to let them hurt you.” It’s hard to doubt the conviction in his voice, even if you want to. Even if you don’t want to believe someone genuinely has your best interests at heart. 

Looking up, you’re startled to find Clark already so close to you. He tilts his head down, green eyes locked on yours as he surveys your face for any further signs of hurt. Without thinking, your fingers drift toward his, searching for warmth, for reassurance.

You worry he might pull away as his eyes widen. Maybe you’ve pushed too far. Instead, he flips his palm over, lacing your fingers together and squeezing. Your heart stutters. You shove the feeling aside and offer him a small, shaky smile that he returns without hesitation.

“I don’t think you know how lonely living like this has been,” you whisper, staring at the buttons of his flannel instead of facing him. It’s easier to talk to a shirt than it is to look at Clark. You don’t want to run the risk of seeing judgment on his face. 

His fingers flex around yours, thumb rubbing idle circles on the back of your hand. “I have a slight idea.” 

Your breath catches at the tone of his voice. He doesn’t sound like someone riffing on the angst of being a teenager, but rather someone whose experienced the alienation that comes from meteorite mutation. 

You glance up at him with wide eyes and he offers you a grin, “Wanna get out of here?”

“Clark Kent,” you arch a brow, “are you becoming a bad influence?”

He rolls his eyes and tugs you off the desk. You stumble slightly, but he’s quick to keep you upright, arm wrapping around your waist as he steadies you. 

His grin softens at the edges, melting into something softer. “It’s your own fault. Come on,” he murmurs, “I want to show you something.”

With your jaw dropped to your chest, you’re sure you paint an incredibly unattractive picture right now. Still, if Clark holding a tractor above his head like it’s nothing isn’t jaw-dropping, you don’t know what is. 

“So,” the sentence gets away from you before you even begin Clark flushes slightly, and somehow, it’s not from strain. He places the tractor back by the barn and sends you a sheepish smile. 

“So,” he echoes, shrugging and looking at you expectantly. His gaze darts to his house and he walks forward, cupping your elbow and leading you back into the barn. 

You look over your shoulder, back at the tractor, and scoff in disbelief. “The meteor clearly had favorites. It really made you that strong?”

Clark glances down at you but his eyes dart away too quickly for you to read them. “Sort of,” he answers, his voice so carefully neutral that your eyes narrow in suspicion. Still, you can tell from the way that he won’t meet your eye that he’s already shared more with you than he ever wanted to. It’s better not to push him. 

“Right,” you take the stairs up to the loft and he follows behind you. “I guess you do know how it feels then.” You take a seat on the couch and his brows quirk in confusion. “To be so lonely,” you clarify, offering him a strained smile. 

Clark exhales softly and lowers himself beside you, “More than you know.” He closes the gap between you both, taking your hand in his once more. “You don’t have to feel so alone anymore,” he promises, eyes filled with a sincerity that sends warmth flooding through you. 

“Neither do you,” you squeeze his hand in yours, heart fluttering with hope. 

History is an interesting subject, but the class is a nightmare. Before, you didn’t know anyone. You’ve never had someone to talk to or share secret looks with in class when the teacher messed up. Now, you’re greeted by Clark’s eager smile every day as you walk to your seat. You still don’t talk much, but just having him around makes you feel lighter. 

His presence is even more of a comfort now that you know his secret. Or, at least, half his secret. You know there’s something more to Clark Kent than what he’ll ever let you see. But just the little bit he’s shared is enough to sate you. 

“Clark,” Lana whispers beside him as you take your seat. 

You busy yourself by pulling out your notebook and pencils, but you can’t help the way you tune into their conversation. You’re trying to break the habit of being a horrible eavesdropper, but it's easier said than done. 

Clark turns toward her and you spot the way her face falls out of the corner of your eye. “I hate fighting with you,” she tells him, sounding soft and regretful. 

“I do too,” he swears and you don’t have to look to know he’s giving her that puppy-dog look. It makes your stomach twist, and you hate yourself for it. Clark’s just doing you a favor. He’d treat anyone with the same kindness he’s shown you. He certainly doesn’t owe you anything. You have no right to feel possessive over a boy who’s been in love with Lana Lang since freshman year. 

“But, Clark,” Lana continues, voice tight with frustration, “how can you tell me the boy who did that to me didn’t deserve what happened?”

Clark lets out a low exhale and for a brief second, you catch his gaze flitting toward you. Quickly, you flip open your notebook, pretending to be reviewing whatever gibberish you wrote last period. 

“Of course he did,” he admits, and you feel your grip on your pencil tighten. 

There’s nothing wrong with him agreeing. That boy had attacked Lana, he’d tried to assault her. You don’t disagree that he deserved it. But it’s a dangerous line between one man deserving that and the rest of you “meteor freaks” being hunted down. 

“And Tina?” Lana presses on. “She was a psychopath. And Mr. Arnold? Eric? Every one of those meteor freaks we’ve dealt with has wanted to do nothing but hurt us. They all want to punish us for their issues.”

God, when is the bell going to ring? 

You glare over at the history teacher, the man barely lets you talk long enough to ask to go to the bathroom. He doesn’t seem to mind this little hate rally happening beside you. 

“Well,” Lana pushes, “am I wrong?”

There’s a long pause and you keep your stare wholly focused on the blackboard in front of you. 

“No,” Clark finally relents. 

Your pencil snaps in half, part of it flying into the back of a classmate’s head. 

Eyes widening, you’re quick to toss the remnants of the pencil to the side and turn back to your notes. You force yourself to focus, even as you feel Clark’s eyes on you. Stubbornly, you refuse to meet his gaze.

“I don’t like fighting with you, Clark,” Lana says, softer now. “But I can’t stay friends with you if you don’t believe in what this vigilante is trying to do. He’s ridding Smallville of a plague that’s clung to us for too long.”

Heart pounding against your ribs, you dig your nails into your palms, ignoring the little static shocks sparking off of them. You’ve remained so healthily detached from the student body, that you’d forgotten just how bad your abilities get when you’re angry. 

Clark remains silent, keeping both you and Lana teetering on the edge of your seats. You lean closer to them, unable to help yourself. 

After a painfully long breath, Clark dips his head down. “You’re right, Lana.”

The light explodes above you.

The students scatter, trying to avoid the shards. Heart hammering, you jump out of your seat. The screams provide enough of a distraction for you to run to the front of the class. 

You’ll never be Lana. You’ll never be someone special to him.

You’ll always just be another freak.

Through the chaos, Clark’s eyes manage to find yours, and the look on his face, the mixture of shock and regret - and something else you don’t want to name - causes another light to explode above you. Wincing, you duck your head and bolt, needing to get out before you cause another fire. 

Clark’s voice calls after you, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

Because no matter how much he smiles at you in history class, no matter how warm his hand feels wrapped around yours, you’ll never be more than this.

You’re a secret, a mistake. Nothing more than a problem he’ll have to deal with one day.

You’d brought most of your important belongings to Clark’s, something you’re now realizing was a mistake. You would have loved to just storm home and never have to see him again. But everything you put value on is stuffed under the bed in his loft. 

Quickly, you grab all of your clothes and stuff them into the bag you brought, not bothering to fold them up nicely. You shove everything in, one after the other, with all the aggression you know you can’t let out on someone else. 

“What are you doing?”

Your eyes flutter shut, head dipping slightly as your hands tighten around your clothes. “What’s it look like?” You mutter, zipping your duffel with a sharp tug, ignoring the sleeve that sticks out. 

Clark exhales softly, “It looks like you’re leaving.” 

You hear the sadness in his voice, you can perfectly picture the hurt look that will be on his face. But you know that if you turn around and look at him, you’ll fold. You’ll give into him like nothing was ever wrong. But you can’t do that to yourself. You deserve better than that. 

Keeping your back to him, you turn toward the stairs. “Then that’s what I’m doing,” you tell him bluntly. And all of the warmth, all of the happiness he’s helped blossom within you has just vanished from your voice, as if it was never there to begin with. 

It couldn’t have been real, not if it was that easy to lose. 

Clark isn’t one to be so easily deterred. He lets out a stubborn huff and strides toward you, grabbing your elbow and stopping you from leaving. “Look, I can explain-”

“I’m not looking for an excuse, Clark!” You snap, whipping around to face him. You’re so close, just a little press forward and your lips would be touching his. “There shouldn’t be anything to explain in the first place.”

Clark’s expression falters, shoulders slumping with the weight of your words. He opens his mouth, searching for something - anything - to say. But before he can, something slams into him, sending him flying over the loft’s railing. 

Warm blood splatters across your cheek before you’ve even realized what’s happened. 

“Clark!” You scream, rushing to the edge just in time to see him hit the ground hard. 

You don’t hear the shot, but you see another bullet embed itself into the wood beside you. The post splinters and cracks under the impact and you duck. Bolting down the stairs, you keep low before any other bullets find their home in you. 

Your knees hit the ground painfully as you skid to Clark’s side, hands trembling as you flip him onto his back. 

His lips are already turning blue, cheeks a sallow pale you haven’t seen before. “Oh, god,” you gasp, watching his veins pulse green where the bullet has lodged itself in his shoulder. 

“Have to,” he sucks in a sharp breath, voice so faint you have to lean in to hear him. “Have to take it out,” his voice cracks and sharpens erratically, but you just barely manage to make out what he’s trying to say. 

Your eyes dart from his to the bullet wound. The skin has puckered up and turned an unhealthy green color. “Clark,” you mutter his name, sounding completely unsure. But he doesn’t respond, and when you look back at him you see that his eyes have fallen completely shut. 

Panic courses through you, it lodges itself painfully in your throat and you worry you might throw up. Your fingers creep up his arm, pressing against the wound. He jolts up, a low groan of pain hissing through his lips, but he gives no other sign of life. 

Letting out a low breath, your face creases with disgust as you press your fingers into the wound. There’s a squelch and blood spurts up your arm as you probe for the bullet. He writhes under you, body seizing erratically. His movements nearly throw you off him, but you lay yourself across the chest, holding him down. 

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the bullet, its metal has been warmed by the blood oozing under your fingernails. You stretch your fingers, pressing against the torn muscles until you have a solid grip on the bullet. Clark lets out a loud groan that you try and quiet, attempting to calm him. But you’re close to tears as you rip the bullet out. 

Your hand quakes, the weight of the offending piece of metal in your hand far too heavy to be natural. Your own veins pulse green, electrical shocks radiating from where the bullet sits in your palm.  

Clark stirs, sitting up with a sharp inhale. Startled, you scramble back. His eyes flick toward the bullet in your hand, face twisting into something unreadable. You don’t have a chance to say anything before he snatches it from you and tosses it clear out of the barn. 

“Clark?” You question, eyes widening as you watch the gaping wound in his shoulder stitch itself together. He follows your gaze and winces.

“I’ll explain, I promise.” He gets to his feet and takes your bloodied hands in his, helping you up. “I’ve got to-”

“Go,” you say, still dazed. He hesitates, watching you like he thinks you might make a run for it. “I’m not going anywhere.” He frowns and doubt flickers in his eyes. “Scout’s honor.” He hesitates only a moment before all you see is a blur where he’d once been standing. You’ve barely blinked before he’s completely disappeared from view. 

With an out-of-body shock, you stare down at the blood soaking through the sleeves of your shirt. That was certainly not just meteorite benefits. 

You’d used the hose behind the barn to wash the blood off your hands before you made your way into the Kent’s house for a proper shower. The last thing you needed to explain was how their son nearly bled out in your arms. 

Afterward, you found yourself on the loft bed, shell-shocked. Hands in your lap, eyes unfocused, staring blankly ahead. You hadn’t moved by the time Clark returned. 

“Hey.”

You jump, startled by the unexpected warmth of his palm on your arm. Blinking up at him, you find a tentative smile on his lips, one you don’t have the energy to return. Sighing, he lowers himself onto the bed beside you. 

“Did you find him?” You ask, slipping your arm out from under his touch. It’s easy to pretend you don’t see the hurt that flashes across his face. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, shifting slightly away from you on the bed. “Van McNulty,” he tells you. “He won’t bother you again.”

“Well, I guess I can leave, then,” you tell him flippantly, but you make no move to get up.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I guess you can.”

Nails digging into your palms, you feel electricity rush through your veins. It sparks at the tips of your fingers and tingles through your legs. Swallowing it down, you glare holes into the wooden floorboards. “What are you, Clark?” The question slips out before you can stop it, sharp and demanding. He starts to stutter something out, but you cut him off before he can play dumb. “I’m not an idiot, I know that we’re not the same.” 

His face twists with hesitation, “I’ve never told anyone before,” he admits, voice quiet. “I was always so afraid that they’d look at me the…” 

He trails off and you scoff. “What? The same way they look at me?” A bitter smile curls on your lips, “If there’s one thing that’s not special about you, Clark, it’s feeling like a freak.”

He glances over at you and you see the tension in his shoulders ease slightly at the knowing look on your face. He exhales, rubbing his palms across his jeans. “I guess not.” He struggles for the words and you keep quiet, letting him work it out. “I’m not from here.”

You don’t need to be a genius to know he’s not talking about Smallville. 

“Alien,” you breathe out, head dropping as your mind races to catch up. 

“That’s all I know,” he tells you, and you hear the truth in his words. But you also hear the sadness, the desperation to know the truth of where he comes from. “I’ve never been able to tell anyone before.”

“Well?” You prompt, glancing over at him. “How’s it feel to finally tell someone?”

He frowns, studying you as he tries to gauge your reaction. “I don’t know.” A small smile lifts his lips, “Are you going to call the government on me?” He teases and you can’t help but let out a small laugh. 

“No, Clark. You won’t be going to Area 51 anytime soon. Although,” you add with a smirk, “after what you told Lana, I’m tempted.”

He frowns, the smile fading. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” you say softly, giving him a resigned look. “You were keeping the peace, I don’t expect you to ruin a lifelong friendship for someone who’s practically a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Clark objects, tone firm in its conviction. He reaches out, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “Do you think I would have just told a stranger something like this?” He shifts closer, lifting his other hand to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. You let out a low huff, tired of running from what you find in them.

“No,” you whisper, barely trusting your voice to stay steady. 

Clark shakes his head, leaning in until your lips just barely ghost over each other. “Clark?” You murmur, breath mingling with his.

He exhales softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah?” He murmurs, hand cupping your, arm winding around your waist. 

You let yourself melt into him, into his warmth. A small smile plays on your lips. “How about we be freaks together?” You tease, pressing your lips to his. And when he kisses you back, just as eager, you know, whatever comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

end. — I do not own the characters or the TV Show Smallville, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Taglist: @mollymal  

Can you write smthn where Elliot plays truth or dare with the reader and finds out she’s a virgin and fucks her and he’s very gentle and praises her? With aftercare too if u can😭 thank youu <33

Hell yes! I'm so sorry this took so long to be written, darling. But I hope you enjoy it <3.

Somewhere in the Haze

Pairing: Elliot x Reader

Word Count: 2,063

Warnings: Smut (Fingering, Oral: Fem! Receiving, Shower Sex), First time for the reader, Praise, Smoking, Toxic Friends

A/N: This was such a cute request! I really hope you guys enjoy it! Feel free to send in more requests!

Love you darlings, xx Lilac.

“Was it your turn or mine, y/n?” Elliot asked, passing me the joint.

“Your turn,” I smiled, taking a puff and coughing senselessly. He just laughed and handed me his water bottle.

“You’re so bad at that, y/n,” he laughed as I pushed him away and smacked his arm.

Our hangouts have always been something else. We’d smoke and laugh together for hours, but it was a very different story at school. I had my own social circle of shitty guys I hung out with and pretty girls who were vain and trite. But I enjoyed the debauchery that they brought. I enjoyed hanging out with people who drank, went to wild parties, and were all fucking like rabbits…even if I wasn’t. It made me feel alive, less alone, and away from my own personal hell of insecurity and the perpetual sadness of teenage girls.

I must have been quiet for a few seconds because before I knew it, I could feel Elliot nudge me to listen to him. 

“Truth or dare?” he asked, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth and licking his lips. 

“Truth.”

“Don’t get mad at me, I’m just really curious. Which one of those guys has the best dick?”

I had to do a double-take at his question. He was asking about those same shitty guys I hung out with. They were all on various sports teams and were a little touchy with the way they interacted with me. I’m not surprised he thought I was fucking them.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Wait, you don’t hook up with them?”

“No, why would I be hooking up with them?”

“I just figured that’s the reason you don’t really talk to me at school.”

I moved closer to him, brushing my fingertips against his arm.

“You know I would never purposely do that to you. I’ve known them my whole life and it’s just hard to step away from them. Plus, Lukas hates you for some reason and I just didn’t want to push it. I realize that makes me sound like an asshole.”

“You know he likes you, right?”

“How would you know that, Elliot?” I questioned, taking the joint from him again and watching the red embers of the tip.

“Don’t shoot the messenger; he just talks about wanting to “rail you” all the time in the locker room.”

“Well, I don’t want him to “rail me”. Not how I imagined my first time.”

“Wait, you’re a virgin?”

I laughed, pulling at my ear lobe with my nervousness. Elliot knew that was a habit of mine, and gently pulled my hand away. He placed it in his own hands, the sides of our knees touching as we sat together on the floor of his room.

“Yeah, I am,” I said after a couple of minutes of awkward silence and a sudden rise in tension. 

“Your turn,” he said, getting up from the floor to get the pack of mint gum on his dresser. That stupid mint gum that he was always chewing. To be entirely honest, it turned me on watching the way his jaw flexed with each motion but I wouldn’t dare to tell him that. We’re just friends who occasionally do whatever this is together.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth, I’m feeling honest today,” he laughed, plopping on his bed. 

“Um, how many girls have you fucked?”

“2 and a half.”

“What makes up a half?” I laughed, looking up at him from the floor.

“Well, the first girl, I came in 3 seconds. You can laugh if you want,” he said, smiling as he saw me trying to hide my giggles.

“How about the two other girls?”

“Well, it was never anything special. I don’t think I felt super invested in our relationships.”

I just nodded. 

“Where’d your mind go?” he laughed, noticing myself going quiet.

“Nowhere,” I lied, smiling. 

“Sure, y/n,” he said, dragging out the sound of the e.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me how you think about your first time then?” he questioned, shifting in his bed and patting on the covers for me to come.

Fuck.

I got up and lay down next to him. I was close enough to smell his cologne but far enough to not fall too deep in the lavender haze that has been trying to pull me in for quite some time now.

“I just want it to be nice. Not really into “railing”. I don’t know,” I smiled, my nervousness and embarrassment being so obvious I wanted to melt into a puddle. 

“Hey, you don’t have to feel embarrassed or anything. It’s just us.”

Good God. I really didn’t know what was coming over me, because before I knew it, I felt a rush of heat run over my body. 

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he replied, looking up at the ceiling, not noticing my eyes panning over his entire presence.

“I dare you to fuck me,” I whispered, hoping he wouldn’t really hear me. But he did.

“You really want that,” he said lightly, turning to face me on the bed.

I shook my head, yes, smiling at his grin.

“Words, y/n.”

“Yes, I want you to fuck me. Please.”

“I’ll do something a little better than that,” he remarked as he pulled me into a kiss. It was light, gentle, and sugary sweet. His hands mapped over my body in a light hover, and the shudders I released at the feelings of his cold hands and my nervousness were always soothed. 

He pulled me up, attaching my fingers to the hem of his shirt. I was eager to take it off, admiring the way his skin looked golden with the warm color of the lamp.

“You sure this is okay?” he asked, finger grazing against my abdomen and the skin poking out of my raised-up shirt.

“Yes,” I smiled, watching him take off my shirt and bra.

“What feels good?” he asked, fingers tracing figure eight around my bare waist. 

“Can you just keep kissing me and touching me?” I asked.

It wasn’t like I didn’t know what people were supposed to do during sex. I heard enough stories from my friends. But all of that was washed out and I just wanted to follow his lead.

“Anything you want,” he replied, pulling off my jeans and doing the same to himself. We were just two people, only covered by the cloth of our underwear, making out in such lightness.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mutters into my mouth as his hands cup my breasts and moves down to the ache between my legs. 

“Do you ever finger yourself?” he asked, feeling the wet spot on my underwear. 

“Yes,” I reply, a breathy and low moan escaping my mouth with the feeling of him brushing against my aching clit.

“I want you to,” I say, moving my underwear off and smiling at the grin on his face. 

“Good girl,” he praised, moving his hands lower and sliding his fingers down my fold, collecting my slick before teasing my entrance with two fingers. I had to give myself a second to adjust to it because his hands are much bigger than mine. But the light pain felt good with each of his slow movements. My eyes were closed, but when I felt his finger move out of me, my eyes were met with the sight f his fingers in his mouth tasting me.

“God, y/n. You taste so good,” he praised, his mouth moving lower between my thighs.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his hands on my inner thighs as his eyes met me from below.

“Yes, how are you so good at all of this?” I laughed, noticing how his moves were all so meticulously drawn out. And the tension between him and me felt like it was fading into both of us. 

“I’ve thought about this for some time now,” he confessed, but before I could respond, I felt his mouth latch onto my clit and suck at the aching bud.

“Oh, my god,” I sighed, reaching down to rake my fingers through his hair. He hummed into me in a response, never looking away from my eyes with each lick.

 “Good girl,” he chuckled, as he got up, noticing my blissed-out face getting so ready to cum. But he wasn’t going to let it all go so easily. I watched him take his underwear off, skillfully placing the condom. 

My smile was so obvious, but I was scared shitless. It’s easy to adjust to fingers, but I was nervous about how it would feel for someone to actually be inside of me.

“I’ll go slow,” he said, moving closer to me and placing reassuring kisses all along my neck, “tell me if you want me to stop.”

He held his weight above me, my fingers assisting him as he slowly slid inside me. He waited for a second, letting me adjust to his length as he placed his hand behind my head, picking it up so our eyes could meet. 

He moved at such a slow pace, but it still felt deep and pleasurable, hitting spots I didn’t even know could feel so good. My mouth just stayed agape as breathy moans spilled out.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he whispered into my ear, picking up the pace slightly, as my legs wrapped around his waist.

“Elliot,” I moaned, squeezing each time as I felt his hips hit against mine. 

“I love hearing your pretty moans,” kissing me and smiling into my mouth

My stomach feels like the knots inside it are unraveling slowly, ready to unravel completely with desire for him. All I  can do is keep moaning his name, begging for something I’m not even sure I knew what I wanted. 

“You feel so good,” I say, gripping his shoulders as each thrust intensifies my pleasure.

I’m mumbling senseless babble on how good he’s making me feel, how much I needed this, and how much I didn't know I needed him. He groans in my ear, sending another rush down.

“You’re close?” he asks breathlessly. 

I just nod frantically, my whimpers flowing out of my mouth.

“I want you to come for me, doll,” he says sweetly, still not stopping his movements. 

And that’s exactly what I do, crying out as my nails dig into his shoulders. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he mumbles. “Yes, just like. Yeah, so good for me.”

He never stops talking me through it, telling me how good I feel around him, how beautiful I look coming on his dick. 

“Cum with me,” I whisper, feeling him unravel with me, mixing up our souls.

We’re both breathing so fast as we fall down from our orgasms. Elliot is still inside of me, my fingers holding his hips against me, not wanting this to end just yet. But when he does slip out, we’re both blissed out and sweaty, smiling at each other. 

We lay down there together before he holds my hand and guides me into the bathroom.

“You should pee after sex,” he says, cleaning himself up as he waits for me.

When he’s down, he wipes me down with a wet washcloth, kissing my stomach and smiling. 

“Thank you for all of this,” I gesture, as he rings out the cloth.

“I’m serious when I said that I’ve thought about this before.”

I just smile and move closer to him. Our bodies are still naked against each other but it feels familiar.

“You want to shower after that or some water?”

“Can we shower together?” I ask, smiling slyly.

“I would be an idiot to say no to that.”

 He goes to the closet, grabbing a couple of towels before turning on the water as we both step into the shower. 

“How you feeling? I know that first times sometimes feel confusing,” he asks, the warm water hitting the both of us as we stand underneath the showerhead.

“I’m okay. Thank you for being so patient with me,” I say, wiping the water away from my eye. 

“Always,” he replies, pulling me in closer into a kiss.

That night I let him wash me clean and we lay together as two blissed-out idiots who were just realizing the feelings we had for each other.

Eyes On Me, Sweets.

NSFW!!

Disclaimer--- I did not proof read this. Sorry... If you like it let me know and I will consider posting more! If you have prompts I would love to hear them! Much love! x -L

Summary: Maddie Nears shows up in the after life taking Wally's attention, the attention that is yours to have.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·̩̩̥͙

The second Maddie Nears showed up in the afterlife you were annoyed. It had nothing to do with her. You actually felt like the two of you could be really good friends. It was the fact that Wally’s attention was no longer attached to you. You saw how he looked at her when she entered the circle for Mr. Martin’s session of the day.

You were used to his chocolate eyes being stuck to your frame constantly. He might as well have been a shadow to you. You had liked Wally the moment he found you crying next to your dead body. He had became your ghost guide never leaving your side. Always throwing flirty comments your way. He was ecstatic when the adorable blush graced your freckled cheeks. The sarcastic roll of your eyes as you looked away from him trying to hide the smirk on your face.

You sat in the circle listening to Maddie talking about how she died and Rhonda’s snippy comments towards her. You were seething by the time group was finished. Not even letting Mr. Martin dismiss you before you were running out of the gym. You heard Wally calling after you telling you to wait up but you kept moving. You had never felt anything like this before. The gnawing feeling in your chest, the anger practically radiating off of you.

You needed air. You couldn’t be within these dingy walls another second. The only noise coming from you was the squeak of your boots against the tile and the faint hum of the song blasting through your headphones. You dug your nails into the palm of your hand as you willed your legs to carry you faster. You burst through the door out onto the lawn of the school finally feeling as though you could take a full breath. Your feet carried you to the side of the bleachers at Wally’s stadium tucking yourself into a small corner that hide you from view.

You sat there pick at the grass under you. Tearing the blades into tiny strands. Your mind whirling, a constant loop of self doubt and something you were pretty sure was jealousy. But why were you jealous? You didn’t think for a second the hunky jock could have ever actually liked you. You were total opposites. When you were alive you constantly had your headphones on so no one would talk to you. You had your septum pierced and only went to school sanctioned events to get pictures for yearbook. He could talk to anyone. He hadn’t met a person he couldn’t spark a conversation with. He didn’t miss a single event alive or dead.

Wally had tried to chase after you when you ran off but Charlie had grabbed him needing help putting all the chairs away. He as quickly as he could collapsed all the chairs hanging them back on the stand and excused himself. He went to all your typical hiding spots. Not that they were really hidden from him. He knew about all of them. He checked the theater where you would sit in the back corner tucked away between the chair and wall, the roof of the school where you’d sit when you needed silence, and the pool where he’d find you swimming around to clear your head. You weren’t in any of the usual spots but he had to know that you were okay. He searched every room in the school and once he finished that he started on the school grounds. He checked the bus bench and the football field. He was about to call in reinforcements when he heard the faint humming that soothed the anxiety in his chest.

You were always humming along to whatever song was playing. Wally was pretty sure it was something you did unknowingly. He found your crumpled frame tucked underneath the bleachers. You were making a pile of the grass blades that were resetting every few minutes. He crouched down gently nudging your boot with his sneaker. You didn’t look up at him keeping your eyes on your shoes. He wraps his large hand around your calf tugging you gently towards him until your bent legs are pushed against his abdomen. The warmth of him soaking through your ripped leggings comforting you, caging you in between his long legs.

He gently takes your headphones off your head and uses the tip of his pointer finger to lift your chin making you look at him. “What’s going on? Why’d you run off without me, Sweets?” He asks looking into your eyes.

“Don’t call me that.” You huff out at him trying to pull your chin from his grip. He tightens his hold looking at you with an eyebrow raised. “What’s got your brain running a hundred miles an hour, Baby?” His lips quirk up at the nickname turning his smirk into a full smile as the pink tinge covers your cheeks.

You anxiously pick at the skin on your lips with your teeth, his eyes tracing the soft curve of your lips. He gently pulls your lip from your teeth. “I asked a question. I want an answer, now.” His eyes darken.

“I just figured you’d be busy hanging out with the new girl. Didn’t wanna be a bother.” You shrug as you avert your gaze looking anywhere but at him. He leans in close enough to feel his breath on your lips. “Are you jealous, Baby?” His fingers twitching on the hand around your calf itching to somehow pull you closer. You scoff your cheeks bright red rolling your eyes at him.

“You just want all my attention don’t you?” You being to argue but he shushes you. “It’s yours, Sweets. I am yours.” He licks his lips rushing to kiss you with so much passion it make your head spin. “What do I need to do to make you realize that you are what I want in this life and the next?” He rasps against your mouth. He grabs your wrist pulling it to his hardened cock. “This is what you do to me. I have been touching myself to the thought of you since before you even crossed over. Cumming with your name on my lips."

You don't even know what to say as you look up at him through your lashes. The growl that crawls up his throat dampens your panties immediately. "Don't fucking look at me like that. I am barely holding on as it is." he pants out. His hand leaving yours to wrap back around your calf. You gently palm him, a pout gracing your lips. A raspy whisper leaves your lips as you look up at him. "What if I want you to show me just how much of your attention I have?" You grip his cock through his sweats giving it a squeeze.

He immediately pulls back standing to his feet and grabbing your hand pulling you into him. He tugs you with him toward the football field. He walks to the fifty yard line and shrugs off his letterman laying it out for you. He pushes you to lay down, your head resting on the smooth leather of his jacket. His smell engulfs you as he sinks to his knees between your open legs. He gently unties your boots tugging them off your feet and tossing them behind you. He places a delicate kiss to your ankles his hands slowly sliding up your calf to your thighs avoiding the area you need him. His hands rest on your covered hips as he leans over you kissing your lips roughly nipping at your bottom lip and soothing the pain with his tongue.

He trails his lips slowly down your neck bite and sucking at your skin as he goes. He looks up at you as his fingers go to pull your t-shirt over your head. You give him a nod. His fingers trailing up your soft stomach as he lifts it over your head. He sits back on his haunches to take in the exposed skin. His hands wandering, mouth watering at the lacy bra cupping your perfect tits.

He reaches around unclipping it with one hand and tugging the straps down your shoulders. His lips following the straps leaving goosebumps on your skin. Your nipples hardening as the cool air brushes against them. One hand settles back on to your hip while the other thumbs across your nipple pulling a whimper from your lips. His mouth latching on to other one sucking until he approves of the purple patch on the side of your breast. He swirls his tongue around your nipple sucking and nipping at it drawing whines from you. He drags his lips down your stomach kissing the skin above the waistband of your pants leaving you gasping for air.

He dips his long fingers into the waistband of your pants tugging them off your legs. He lowers himself to be even with your soaked pussy. He draws in a big breath a grown vibrating through him. He leans forward dragging his tongue over the wet patch. He leans back tugging your cute panties down and tucks them into the pocket of the letterman you are laying on. He puts your legs over his broad shoulders using his hands to spread you open. He stares at your soaked cunt mesmerized until your wiggle your hips with a whine. He smirks up at you. "Patience, Sweets. I have waited so long to taste this pretty pussy. I am gonna savor it." He leans in dragging his tongue over your clit swirling and flicking it until you tangle your hands in his hair. He holds your hips down as he trails his tongue from your pretty clit down to circle around where you need him the most.

"Pleeease." You whimper out not even knowing what you are begging for. You feel him smirk against you as he plunges his tongue inside you moaning at the sweet taste of you sending shockwaves through you. He continues fucking you with his tongue until he feels you tighten around him. He withdraws his tongue from your center causing you to tug at his hair trying to bring him back to you. You wiggle your hips pushing them up trying your all to get his mouth back on you until he delivers a sharp smack to your center causing a mix of a whine and a moan to fall from your lips, eyes shooting open.

You whine out "Why did you stop?" between breaths. He tugs his shirt over his head and starts shrugging off the rest of his clothes. He leans forward the tip of his cock resting against your cunt as he hovers over you. He wraps his hand around your throat squeezing, his pupils blown as he growls out "The only place you are allowed to cum is on my cock pretty girl."

You clench around nothing at his possessiveness. He uses the hand not holding your throat to smack the tip of his aching cock against your clit loving the pretty sounds leaving your mouth. He drags it down to your center "Eyes on me, Sweets." you look up at him. He smacks the inside of your thigh "I expect a response."

You stutter out a "Yes, Sir." He sinks into you inch by inch barely giving you time to adjust as he draws all the way out slamming back into you. A scream leaves your lips at the mix of pain and pleasure. Already so close to the edge you are writhing under him crying out.

"That's it sweets. You are gripping me so tight. Fuckkkk." his hips stutter, his grip around your throat tightening as he grabs your hand pushing you to play with your clit. "Show me how you make yourself cum, pretty girl." He continues his brutal place abusing the spongey spot inside you as you rub circles into your clit crying out at every thrust.

"Wallyyy i'm gonna cum." You whimper out as you spasm around his cock. "Go ahead baby show me how much you want me to fill this sweet cunt. Just let go." He grunts out. You scream his name as you tighten around him cumming. His hand leaves your throat as he pushes your limp hand away from your clit rubbing hard circles overstimulating you. He thrusts into you again moaning out "Y/N. Fuck taking me so well. Gonna fill you up." You feel his cum pumping into you as you desperately try and push his hand away from your clit. He grabs your face out of breath to kiss your swollen lips and gently pulls out of you loving the whimper that leaves you.

He leans back watching some cum dripping out of you. He gently pushes it back inside of you grabbing his shirt to clean you both off. He finds your panties and gently slides them back on and helps you put your arms through his letterman. And fuck when he leans back and takes in the view in nothing but his letterman jacket and his cum soaking through your panties he almost cums again right there.

He lets you rest while he gets redressed and then helps you get dressed putting his letterman back on you loving you in it. He picks you up not trusting your shaking legs to carry you. "Let's go get you some food and water, Sweets. I am not done with you quite yet." He smirks pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You smile lazily up at him bleary eyes running over his face and your hand playing with his necklace.

OBX3 SPOILERS

I’ll never get over the JJ rehab episode it was surprisingly well written for a Netflix original it reminded me so much of Euphoria and Jule’s therapy episode

fuck valentine's day - elliot x gn!reader

posted feb 10th, 2024 10:10 pm

here's another belated valentine's blurb but this one's superduper short and also one for a character i wouldn't typically write for! but i felt like this one was meant to be ooc elliot from euphoria so here you are :)

masterlist

not proofread!

wordcount: 0.4k

“I hate Valentine’s Day.” You murmured, the sound of Elliot’s chuckle filled your ears, smoke escaping his mouth and swirling throughout his bedroom. “Fuck Valentine’s Day,” Elliot agreed through his quiet laughter. 

A few minutes had passed since your agreement, The feeling of Elliot’s head landing on your thigh caught your attention as you looked down at him. “Why do we hate Valentine’s Day?” Elliot’s question was quiet and almost teasing as he sideways smirked up at you. He hummed when your hand found his bleached curls, lightly tugging. “Cause, it sucks,” you mumbled back.

He hummed again, closing his eyes. Elliot knew it wouldn’t take long for you to continue so-

“It’s just dumb, flowers and chocolate and done up couples with their tongues down each other’s throats-” “You like it when my tongue is down your throat” Elliot cut you off with a mumble before groaning at the way you pulled his hair in response. “It’s just more effort for one day when really these should be normal things, you know?” You continued your rant, sighing as you played with your boyfriend’s hair. 

“I’ll buy you flowers and chocolates,” Elliot muttered, eyes still closed causing him to miss the way you smiled at his words. You know he probably didn’t mean it, too stoned to remember later on. All of this was probably going in one ear and out the other. It still felt nice to hear though.

The next afternoon had rolled around, leaving you excited to go home, and honestly? Go back to sleep. But now, you were met with a flat tire, causing you to get home a few minutes late.

Of course, you dread over this the entire way home, only forgetting about it when you make eye contact with a vase holding a mismatched bouquet, and the little heart-shaped box of plastic sitting in front of your door. You smiled softly, trying not to get too excited yet, you ditched your bike in the driveway and moved towards the nice gifts. Picking up the little note, you noticed that in scribbled handwriting wrote, 

“fuck Valentine’s Day - E”  

come into my bedroom

description. you and JOAQUÍN TORRES take a week long vacation to the beach together. just a week on the coast, spending time in each other's bubble, without falling for each other ... probably. visuals

includes. coworkers to friends to lovers, SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader has been kept as ambiguous as possible (hair type, skin color, body type, place of birth, etc), reader is able to tan, the location is ambiguous, slight spoilers for brave new world, takes place after bnw, protected p n v sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom! joaquín, reader is called "baby" a couple of times

wc. 12.3k+

a/n: title from champagne coast by blood orange. i tried to keep where they vacationed as ambiguous as possible, but it's definitely at least a little bit obvious. for my bsf who recently got back from miami. thanks to @luckypunklemonade for beta reading :D

You’re drunk. 

No, you’re not drunk. You’re too drunk, inching towards shitfaced. You’re still here, at least here enough to walk beside Joaquín down the street towards your hotel, but you’re not really here. You know you’re not exactly walking in a straight line, and you know where you’re heading, but you don’t know how long you’ve been walking. You could’ve left the club five minutes or 50 minutes ago. 

You weren’t going to get this drunk. Honest. You and Joaquín were just going to go out, have a few drinks, and go back to your separate rooms. 

But the music was good, and the drinks were good, and the people were good, and suddenly you and Joaquín are drunk and navigating your way down the street. Well, he’s navigating your way. You’re just trying to keep up with his long strides. 

He walks a little in front of you the entire time, slightly more rigid, and a little less drunk than you are. You’ll probably be at his level in another half hour, that is if you get something in your stomach by then. Every so often, he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there. You thought about hooking a hand around his elbow to keep him close, but the thought entered your mind and left before you could act on it. 

There’s not much small talk happening, but you don’t mind it that way. You’re focused on making your feet pick up and land one (mostly) in front of the other. Actually, you’re focused on walking and finding an open food spot on the way. 

One part is going fine, the walking part, but you’re still blearily searching for something to eat. You pass bars and closed businesses, restaurants that require reservations weeks in advance, one of them you think you and Joaquín actually have a table at later this week, but nothing quick and greasy. Which is exactly what you need before calling it a night. 

Joaquín calls your name and you hum. 

“You up for stopping in right here?” He points to the side and you look around his wide shoulders to find your saving grace. It’s like he read your mind, or maybe you’d been audible harping on about wanting something to eat the entire time. Right now, either seems plausible. 

Either way, you nod and let Joaquín hold the door open for you. 

You and Joaquín end up sitting across from each other at a tiny outdoor metal table. With the wind blowing against your skin as you’re sipping freezing cold water from a to-go cup, you finally realize how hot you’ve been this entire time. You lift your skirt up a bit to press your thigh against the cool metal and a sigh pushes out front your lips. Your eyes fall shut as you just sit in the moment. 

“You still drunk?” Joaquín speaks from across the table. 

You open your eyes and destroy your brief peace to glare at him as you wrap your lips around your straw. “What do you think?” you ask him only when the cool liquid has slid down your throat. 

He laughs. “First night here and you’ve already gotten shitfaced.” He shakes his head as if he’s ashamed of you, but the playful glint in his eyes keeps you at ease. 

“It’s your fault!” you accuse. “You’re the one who made friends with that couple. They kept buying us drinks.” 

Joaquín throws his hands out to the side in a surrender. “I’m not going to say no to free drinks. Don’t blame me!”

He’s right. Even if he wasn’t, you aren’t in the arguing mood anymore. You would rather finish the greasy taco sitting limp in your hands. And you do.  

You’re not being very attractive about it, though, you can tell from the way the juice slides down your fingers and around your mouth, but that’s not really the point to all of this. 

Besides, you and Joaquín are just coworkers and friends. Just two coworkers/friends on vacation together. Sitting across from each other in front of a taco spot, fighting for sobriety as you occasionally lock eyes between large bites. There’s no reason for you to be attractively drunk eating when you’re only with your coworker/friend. 

You finish the last bite, wipe around your mouth with a crumpled napkin and throw it onto your empty tray, looking up to find Joaquín already looking at you. He has this look on his face, nothing different from the one he usually wears—soft eyes and a softer smile—but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the city lighting and your drunkenness that’s skewing the meaning. You’re going to blame both factors for the flutter in your heart, too.

Neither of you say anything for a moment and in that moment, a thought flashes across your mind. It’s quick and fleeting, but still strong enough to evoke a reaction. Just a thought of you leaning over this small table and pressing your lips to Joaquín’s. And the thought was truly fleeting, but you bring it back and sit in it to imagine how he would reciprocate with his hands on your lower back, big palms resting on the strip of skin between your top and skirt, and he would taste like lime and alcohol and when you pulled away he would have a look almost identical to this one on his face. 

Joaquín’s eyebrows push together, skewing the soft look he wore before and knocking you out of your drunken trance. 

“What’s that look?” he asks. 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What look?”

His gaze lingers for a moment, but then he licks his lips and cleans up his area. “You think you’re sober enough to walk back now?” 

You scoff and attempt to make a point by quickly standing to your feet. When you wobble, it’s because your shoe didn’t land right on the concrete. Honest!

You have a crush on Joaquín. 

You don’t know why you’re realizing it here and now—laying in a hotel bed on vacation first thing in the morning. You don’t even know how long this crush has been here, but you know for sure you have a crush on Joaquín Torres, your partner/coworker/friend. 

You thought your little image from last night was fleeting, nothing but a drunken thought that you let yourself imagine for less than a minute, but it proved to be way more than that because when you got back to your room, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

As you took your makeup off, you thought about Joaquín waiting in your room for you to finish, snuggled under the blankets and scrolling through the channels on the TV until you came out of the bathroom in his shirt. As you climbed in the shower you imagined him standing at the sink brushing his teeth and humming that song he’s always singing but you never ask the name of. As you finally climbed into bed and clicked the lights off, you imagined fighting for covers with him and sleepily talking about your plans for the next day. 

It was so domestic and loving and absolutely sickening and unexpected. 

Well, maybe you should have expected it. At least a little. 

Joaquín is kind of the perfect guy. Everyone in your life made sure you were aware of it. He was funny, attractive, hard working, and easy to get along with. Even his flaws—his incessant nature and occasional annoyance for one—was quickly reworked as lovable in your head. 

You struggled with falling asleep for at least a half hour last night, and as soon as you knocked out, you were out. You might not have remembered your dreams but you knew deep in your mind and body that he was there. 

Just as he is here now, standing in front of you early  in the morning, wearing a bright smile and an athletic set. 

“No,” you sternly shut him down before he can even say anything. 

Joaquín’s jaw drops and he wears a mixture of shock and humor. “C’mon, you didn’t even let me say anything.”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Torres. I’m not going to some ‘sick workout class’ when we’re supposed to be on vacation.” 

“Oh, so we’re on last name basis again?” He crosses his arms over his chests and widens his stance. “I thought we moved past that.” 

“If you ask me to come with you then we’re back to last name basis, yeah.” 

He pouts and it’s so stupidly cute that you want to slam the door in his face. “Don’t let the hangover speak for you. I know you secretly wanna come workout with me.” 

You squint at him accusingly, leaning into the doorframe. “‘m not hungover.” 

“Uh-huh. How’s the headache?” He’s obviously not buying your shit.

“I don’t have a headache.” Bullshit and you both know it. 

“How’d you sleep?” He asks you instead, this time lacking any suspense. For a moment, he seems like he’s actually wondering how you slept. 

“Like a baby.”

“Then that means you should be energized enough to go for a workout. It won’t be bad. It’s only an hour.” 

You shake your head. “That’s an hour that I could be sleeping.” 

“And basically waste the whole day away? That doesn’t sound like the partner I know and love.”

You don’t let your mind linger on that word, especially when you know he doesn’t mean it like that. But still, knowing that Joaquín has some sort of love for you makes your chest feel all airy and glittery. 

“Yeah because that partner isn’t here right now. We’re on vacation.” 

Joaquín doesn’t respond. Not verbally at least. Instead, he tilts his head and fully pouts, lips pushed out and eyes big. He’s not backing down and truthfully, it might be better for you just to say yes and halfass the entire session. 

Finally, he reasons with you. “I’ll buy you a smoothie afterwards. Whatever overpriced shit you want. Fair?” 

Fair enough. 

Compared to what you’re used to, the workout is quick, but it’s certainly not painless. The instructor, some woman with much more energy than you’re willing to exert on vacation, seemed to find pleasure in kicking your asses. For a brief moment there when you were catching your breath and wiping your forehead on a towel, you wondered if she could be some big and bad super villain hiding in plain sight. That would explain the inhuman stamina, and the almost eerie cheery personality, but other than that your theory didn’t make much sense. And even if it did, you were on vacation. Now wasn’t the time to seek out trouble that wasn’t presenting itself. 

The only thing that pushed you through the entire thing was looking over at Joaquín, one because of how attractive he looked with sweat glistening along his tanned skin, and two because you refused to let him show you up, even if the workout was his idea. 

You will admit, though, that every time he lifted his shirt to wipe his forehead, your knees did feel just a little weaker and your last rep in a set was not nearly as strong as it could’ve been when you heard him grunting beside you. 

You couldn’t understand it. You and Joaquín workout together all the time. You train together, sometimes with Isaiah and Sam, sometimes with friends of friends, sometimes with just each other. You’re used to seeing him sweat, you’re used to hearing his grunts and breaths, you’re used to all of it. But something about all of this happening now is making you lose your mind. 

As soon as the class ended, relief entered your entire body. 

The relief certainly didn’t last for long, though. 

Since you did what Joaquín wanted to do that morning, he did what you wanted to do right after. Before you could even really think about it, you happily suggested sunbathing on the beach until you were too hot or hungry to continue, whichever came first. 

It wasn’t until Joaquín slyly grinned and sang your name that you realized what you signed up for. 

“You tryna see me shirtless?” he teased at the time. And you rolled your eyes and called him a freak and continued walking down the hall towards your rooms, but as soon as you were behind the closed door you were digging into your suitcase to find the cutest swimsuit you brought. 

Not that you were trying to impress Joaquín or anything. 

As soon as your bare toes are sinking into warm sand, you slowly feel yourself relax. Slowly. 

Laying on your back in a swimsuit that was a nice mix between cute and attractive, your eyes closed, your ears full of a playlist you made just for this occasion, the sun radiating down on your skin. It’s easy to forget everything laying just like that. The breeze cools your skin as soon as you get too warm, the sun heats you back up as soon as you get too cold. Absolutely nothing to worry about except how long you’ve been laying on one side and when you should flip over. 

Absolutely no stressors. 

Until Joaquín speaks. 

“Do me a favor and get my back?” 

You peek an eye open and lift your sunglasses up to see Joaquín standing next to you, holding out a bottle of sunscreen. 

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you still do. It takes a moment to process his question, and it takes another moment to find an answer, even though the clear one is yes. If he wasn’t standing there without a shirt, wearing forest green trunks that hung low on his hips, and his skin wasn’t glistening in the daylight, it wouldn’t have taken nearly half the time to help him out. 

“What would you do without me?” You try not to let your voice falter while you watch him massage sunscreen onto his chest, but you’re sure the little dip at the end of your sentence was noticeable. 

Joaquín just tilts his head and tosses the bottle into your lap.  

It’s not awkward. At least you don’t think it’s awkward. You rub the sunscreen on Joaquín’s skin as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sturdiness of his muscles beneath your hand. You know how fit he is, it’s impossible for you not to know since you’ve been working with him for a while now. But knowing and knowing are two different things. 

Seeing is not the same as feeling. 

Feeling his muscles as you work them beneath your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, grazing your hand lightly over the scars littering his skin, only lingering for a second on the life altering scar that trails down from the side of his neck to his shoulder. You try not to touch it too much. He hasn’t talked to you much about the accident, not since you visited the hospital with high quality food instead of flowers for him. Even then, he joked around it, even if you saw sorrow in his eyes like you’d never seen Joaquín wear before. 

You rubbed the sunscreen down his back and finished above the waistband of his trunks. Not even a second later did he look over his shoulder and down at you through a squint. “Now let me do you,” he urged without leaving much room for argument. 

Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make room. 

You shook your head. “‘m okay, I already got it.” 

Joaquín turns around to face you completely. He laughs through a quick puff of air, his lips pulled up at the corners. “Barely. I saw you struggling over there. C’mon, let me top it off for you.” 

His hands take the sunscreen bottle from you, but he doesn’t put any in his palm. Not yet. For now, he stares at you, eyebrows lifted, waiting for you to give him the final answer. 

You turn around, moving whatever needs to be moved to give him basically full reign over your back. 

The first touch makes you jump, even if you were expecting it. You hear him quietly apologize under his breath, and you quietly brush it off, but you aren’t sure if your response was heard or if it was carried off with the wind. 

He continues in silence. 

You’ve had Joaquín’s hands on you before. A hand clasped in yours to pull you up, a touch fixing your posture when he was showing you a new trick Isaiah taught him before, a finger jabbed into your side when he walked past you. But again, this is much different. 

Having Joaquín’s bare hands on your bare back makes you tense up, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He rubs with a lot more attention to detail than you did; he reaches beneath the straps of your top with curt permission, and even asks if he can get the backs of your arms too. 

By the time he finishes, you’ve started to relax just a bit, to the point where the expected disappearance of his hand on your back feels unwanted. Joaquín’s hands are big and soothing, you could do with them on your skin for the rest of your life. 

Of course, you don’t tell him that. Not just because it would be completely inappropriate, but because he would never let you live it down. He would go the lengths to change his phone contact to Joaquín “best hands there ever were” Torres. 

Which is just a step below Joaquín “best co-worker there ever was” Torres. 

Somehow, you manage to make it through the rest of the beach day without much trouble. You tan until you don’t think you could tan anymore. Joaquín lays next to you most of the time, besides when he began to feel fidgety and he ran to grab both of you drinks, and pre-cut fruit for you, as an excuse to stretch his legs. You used the few minutes of solitude to text your group chat about the agony you accidentally put yourself into. Agony that was only made worse by Joaquín coming back with two drinks in one hand, fruit still in its rind in the other, and his newly tanned skin glistening from sweat in the sunlight. 

Shortly after, you had to leave and take a cold shower to get your head on straight. 

You think you’re doing pretty good at ignoring your feelings. You know you have a crush on him, but acting on it would change nearly too much, and a lot in your lives—his especially—has already changed. It’s not a leap you think you’re ready to make yet, so you’ve been ignoring your feelings. 

Over the course of the past couple of days, you and Joaquín have been spending your time doing every relaxing thing you could think of. Decompressing at that same club from the first night, but leaving as soon as the crowd proved to be very different from before—more rowdy for the hell of it and less generous in general. Eating at trendy, overrated lunch spots, or underrated hole-in-the-wall dinner spots. Spending a little too much money on new clothes but enabling each other anyway, because the shirt might look similar to another one that you already have but that shirt back home wasn’t that shirt there in your hands, so you needed it. 

There were just two nights left and then you would have to pack all your stuff, somehow fit in more new clothes than you anticipated, and return to the real world. One that entailed mission debriefs and learning how to work new tech. The only thing you were looking forward to about the real world was Sam, since he happened to be a natural barrier between you and Joaquín. It’ll be hard to focus on how badly you wanted to be underneath the Falcon whenever Captain America was in the vicinity providing tasks that required your full attention. 

But that is days away. For now, you’re going to try and enjoy the remainder of your all too quick vacation as much as possible. Even though you’re becoming more and more tense as you go on, a tension that your fingers beneath your panties hasn’t been able to fix yet. 

You didn’t think your behavior was noticeable, but Joaquín notices more than you thought. 

The two of you are walking side by side down the boardwalk. You’ve been fairly silent throughout, but not for any particular reason. Silence made sense to you, there wasn’t much to talk about right now. 

Apparently, Joaquín felt different. 

“What’s up with you?”

You furrow your eyebrows, quickly trying to figure out if you did something wrong between the walk from your hotel to the walk at the start of the boardwalk. Coming up short, you ask for clarification. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean why’re you so tense? Isn’t this relaxing for you?”

Yeah, this is relaxing for you. Walking side by side, letting the beach breeze blow your dress in the wind. Showered, fed, at the end of your vacation, this moment you exist in is like heaven. It’s a little too much like heaven, a perfect plane where the guy you’ve been crushing on is wearing a button up with the first two buttons undone so you can see the fresh tan he has and the gold glint of the chain he wears instead of his dog tags. 

It’s hard to relax when right beside you is someone you’ve wanted so badly, and he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“I’m not tense,” you finally respond. Although it’s a lie. 

“You so are,” Joaquín counters, “let me show you what you look like walking around here.” He takes a few quick strides ahead of you, and then pulls his shoulders up to his ears, straightens his spine, and walks with a little too much purpose. He looks odd and menacing. And definitely not like you. 

You tell him as such. 

He turns around to face you, grinning and walking backwards. “Okay I did take some creative liberties there, but you do look tense.” He turns back around and slows until he returns to a stride right beside you again. “What’s wrong? Do you wanna do something else?”

You shake your head. “No. This is fine. I like doing this.” 

Joaquín takes a moment and you see him look down at you from the corner of your eye. “Then what’s up? Anything you wanna get off your chest?” 

God, you should just tell him the truth. Well, not the full truth. 

Joaquín is chill personified. If you told him that you’re wound up sexually, he would likely make a joke about it, then brush it off and avoid asking you about it again. Friend to friend, you could just let off some steam—verbally!, although the other option is much more preferable—and then hopefully feel better. 

But just imagining yourself saying those words makes you tense even more and you have nothing to do but shake the thought out of your mind completely. 

“No. ‘m okay. I was just … thinking. But not anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second and you don’t know if he believes your lie. But he moves past it. He points to an ice cream shop to your right, and you swerve for the window. 

You and Joaquín end up sitting side by side on the beach, willingly letting sand press into your nice clothes but neither of you care much. You have a dinner reservation soon, and you’ve just been killing time—and also your appetite, but you and Joaquín both swore to eat dinner. Even if you’re devouring ice cream cones. Truthfully, this is a perfect way to end your night, sitting by your partner's side, letting the world exist around you both. 

The breeze blows against your skin. You and Joaquín sit with your bare toes digging into the sand, shoes having been discarded to the side, your shoulders close enough to brush against the other if either of you move. You’re looking off at the ocean, watching people enjoy the evening air around you both as you sit in a moment of stillness. There’s paragliders, a few jet skis, some boats, and a large cruise ship sailing into the port. 

Joaquín points off at the ship with the hand not holding his waffle cone.

“We should cruise for our next vacation.”

You turn to face him, tilting your head to the side. “Our next vacation?”

Joaquín nods. “Yeah. We should make this a regular thing. You know we work well together.” 

That you do. You grin and knock your shoulder into his.  “Let’s hope Sam doesn’t start feeling left out.”

Joaquín laughs with a quick exhale through his nose. “He’s definitely having the time of his life back home.” 

You’re unable to stop yourself from grinning as you imagine it—Sam working back home, likely enjoying the rare lull in the terror that the three of you have been fighting and will continue fighting. “He’s probably blasting Marvin Gaye over the speakers in the office.” 

This gets a real laugh from Joaquín, likely because he, too, can see it perfectly. 

Your laughter dies down and for a few moments, you and Joaquín sit in comfortable silence. 

Then, “You been having fun?” 

You hum. “Yeah. It’s nice not having to deal with—” you gesture vaguely in the air and Joaquín nods beside you. “Especially after everything.” You don’t say it exactly, but you know Joaquín still understands you. He knows you’re talking about his accident. 

You weren’t even the one in danger, having stayed grounded on the ship, but the horrors still settle deep in your heart some nights. Things are repaired, or currently being repaired in the case of D.C, but everything still feels so fragile to you sometimes. 

Which is why you’re so glad to be here with him at your side, reminding you that he’s okay. Everything’s okay. 

Joaquín takes a breath as if he’s about to speak. You turn to look at him. He’s staring off at the sunset, his face mostly stoic except for a slight twitch in his eyes, a flare of his nostrils, and his jaw clenching. “For a moment there when I was falling out of the sky, and when I could barely move my body on my own in the hospital I was worried that I wouldn’t get the chance to see places like this again. To … you know…” he hesitates and you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep going if he doesn’t want to. You and Joaquín have avoided talking about the day his heart stopped, and you don’t have to start now. But then he inhales through his teeth and continues. “To see home.” 

Your breath hitches and your eyes sting. Without thinking too much about it, you scoot closer into Joaquín’s side, tilting your head and resting it on his shoulder. Immediately upon contact, Joaquín wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you fully into his side. 

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Joaquín.” 

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says your name at the end, echoing you but somehow sounding more earnest. More meaningful. 

He places a kiss on the top of your head and in that moment you decide you could stay here just like this for the rest of your life. It all settles in your body at one time, the realization that you want Joaquín, you’ve known that for a while, but you want more than his body. 

You want Joaquín Torres in his entirety. 

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” he continues, “Is that why you’ve been tense? Because I promise I’m okay. It was scary for a bit but my heart’s fine and I feel fine physically—”

“No. It’s not that, Joaquín. I promise I was just a little tense but I’m good now, too.”

He nods once. “Okay.” He pulls his phone out and checks the time. He doesn’t say anything for a while as if he doesn’t want to disrupt the energy, but he speaks eventually. “If we wanna make our reservation we gotta leave now.” 

He stands to his feet and puts a hand out for you to grab. You take a moment to look at the sun setting and to finish the rest of your ice cream in one bite, then you take another moment to look at him. With resolution, you place your hand in Joaquín’s and let him pull you to your feet. 

Yeah, ignoring your feelings isn’t working anymore. 

It’s not like you’re exactly able to ignore how bad you want Joaquín when you’re at dinner with him, sitting in such an intimate setting—sat at a small table tucked in the corner of the restaurant next to a window looking out on the street, his tan skin lit by candlelight and ambient low lighting around the both of you. 

Having just come from the beach, the two of you are still wearing the same outfits (now without as many grains of sand as possible), meaning you have an even better view of Joaquín’s chest and the chain sitting right below his collarbones. He looks so nice and put together—his curls out more than you’ve ever seen them before, his face a little unshaven and adding an older look to him. 

God, he’s so pretty, it’s impossible for you not to think so. Not when you’re faced with him like this. 

Joaquín’s looking at the menu, acting like he didn’t look at it on his phone two hours ago. You’re holding the menu open, acting like you’re still deciding between two options, when really you’re just trying to decide if you should make a move or not. 

When Joaquín looks up, you quickly look down, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting as you stare at words that aren’t processing.  

Joaquín calls your name and you hum without lifting your eyes. When he doesn’t say anything immediately, you glance up. Not only is he already looking at you, but he’s looking at you with a certain look in his eyes. Infatuation, admiration, something else that you don’t wanna name, for it feels like too much of a jump.

“What?” you ask, a shy grin splitting your face open as your skin starts to warm. 

Joaquín shrugs like he’s going to say the most casual thing ever. Instead, he tells you, “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you how pretty you look.”

Oh my godddd. 

What are you supposed to say to that? Everything thus far on this vacation has been widely platonic, and anything crossing that barrier has been nothing but a hopeful figment of your imagination. But his words, paired with the way they were delivered, feels like a step towards a future you want to live in. 

But maybe you’re overthinking it. Joaquín is honest and earnest when he wants to be and maybe now is one of those moments. 

You wrap your hand around your glass of ice water and bring it to your lips, pausing just long enough to respond. “What is it? The tan?”

Joaquín nods but that look in his eyes is still there. Chocolate brown dances across your figure before settling back on your own eyes. “Yeah … among other things. The tan and the color of your dress,” a bright colored fabric that hung loosely over your body and dipped around your back, you chose it especially because you knew it would look good on your skin, “and just you.” 

You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself. 

“Thanks, Joaquín,” you finally respond, trying to remain as casual as possible. “You look good, too.” 

Joaquín grins and you can see the man you’re used to coming back to himself. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and dusts off invisible particles. “I clean up well don’t I?”

You halfheartedly roll your eyes and return back to the menu. That interaction has already been catalogued for you to hyper analyze in the shower later. 

You thought that interaction was mind boggling, but the one you find yourself in later is ten times worse. 

You’ve both steadily worked through your plates, giggling and laughing about any and everything you could think of. The waiter mentioned the option of drinks at one point, and you looked to Joaquín for his reaction, wanting to see if that’s how the night was going to go. Not exactly as drunk as you were the first night, but at least a little buzz. When Joaquín politely shook his head, you did the same, and continued to sip your water instead. 

You do, however, decide to split two desserts. 

“Can I say something?” Joaquín speaks whenever he scrapes his fork across the decadent chocolate dessert sitting in the center of the table. 

You hum, grabbing a forkful of the fresher, citrus dessert instead. “Depends. How stupid is it gonna be?”

“Um … let me say it and then we can decide.”

You sit back in your seat, thereby giving him the floor. 

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he goes to respond. “I’m shocked that we’ve been together every day and night of this trip.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What d’you mean?”

“Like we haven’t … been with other people.”

His words shock you. “Is that what you think of me, Joaquín?” 

You don’t feel upset, or particularly offended. You’re just a little confused on why Joaquín has been thinking about your sex life while the two of you have been on vacation together. Sure, you’ve been thinking of the same thing, but his sex life hasn’t exactly crossed your mind. Besides whenever you pictured the two of your sex lives merging into one. 

But now that he’s presented the idea, you, too, are shocked that things have been contained to just the two of you this entire week. It’s not that you expected Joaquín to sleep around, you actually didn’t know what to expect when it came to his dating life. You did know that Joaquín was attractive and people other than yourself thought so, and he obviously knew it as well, but it’s unexpected that you didn’t see him intentionally ogling at least one other person on your nights out. 

You don’t know why he would think the same of you, though. 

“No!” he’s quick to defend himself, “But I wouldn’t judge you if that’s how you wanted to spend your vacation. I mean I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You’re digging yourself further and further into a hole, Torres.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell.”

A moment goes by and you sip your water. The air here feels open, but certainly not casual. You feel like you can tell the truth in this intimate atmosphere, and your words would hold intentional weight. 

You take the jump. “I didn’t wanna be with anyone else. I liked being with you.”

Joaquín looks surprised. “Really? So you preferred beach trips and coffee shops and working out over a hot hookup?”

You shrug. “I haven’t been interested in hooking up with anyone else.” 

His eyebrows lift in the center. “Anyone else?”

Fuck. 

It seems you have joined Joaquín in that hole, but you don’t mind being here. It’s about time you did something, right? You don’t bother responding, at least not verbally. Instead, you just look at Joaquín over the rim of your glass, sincerely hoping that he’s starting to understand. 

Before any more progress can be made the waiter comes back with the check and you’re already reaching into your bag for your wallet, verbally chastising Joaquín before he can even reach for the bill. 

Quiet returns to you both during the walk back to your hotel. It feels natural this time, likely because you’re not speaking, but it isn’t silent. Cars against asphalt as they drive down the street beside you, music spilling out of establishments that line the way, the automated voice of the pedestrian crossing pole when Joaquín presses the button for the both of you. There’s not anything being said, but there doesn’t need to be; much is being communicated through the energy radiating off of your body. 

Walking closer to each other than you had ever before, elbows grazing, a lightness to your bodies even if you both indulged a little too much over dinner. Everything just feels so right, even if there’s still an emptiness inside of you. Even if you leave this trip without getting laid, you’ll still feel fulfilled because you and your partner are closer than you’ve ever been before. Though, after existing in this bubble with only him, it’s going to be hard to return to your normal life and let other people in. 

A car honks and skirts to a stop. Before you can even realize what just happened, Joaquín’s already throwing an arm over the front of your torso, his face turned to the car that almost (wrongfully) hit the two of you. He yells something at them and blindly grabs your hand, pulling you in front of him and pushing you to the sidewalk and out of the street. 

He mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. “You good?” he asks at full volume. He stands next to you but still holds onto your hand. 

“Yeah. We’ve been through worse than almost getting floored by a Benz, right?”

He laughs and continues leading the way back to the hotel. 

Your hand stays in his the entire time.

You and Joaquín make it all the way inside of the hotel with your hands still clasped together. They don’t part until an unattended child runs between your bodies, forcing you to separate. 

You end up standing in front of the elevator with the up button pushed. It dings every few seconds, an indicator of its steady descent, but it makes a few stops along the way. While you wait, you lean your shoulder into the wall next to it, crossing your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankle as you look at Joaquín standing across from you. 

He speaks first. “You wanna go out again tonight?  End the week with a bang?”

You shake your head. Your eyes are big, your lips are pulled into a soft smile, your entire expression is soft. Fuck hiding it, you’re done pretending. 

“Nah. I’d rather stay in tonight.”

Joaquín nods and tucks his hands in his front pockets. “Alright. Together or separate?”

“Together.”

His eyebrows lift as if he’s shocked, but there’s a little glint in his eyes. You think he’s starting to catch on. 

“Okay,” he drags the last syllable out and shifts his stance. He clears his throat before he speaks again. “What d’you wanna do?”

The elevator door opens and you and Joaquín stand out of the way to let people come out. As soon as everyone has cleared out, the two of you enter the elevator alone and you push the button to shut the door before anyone else can come around the corner. With the doors closing you turn to face Joaquín to see him already looking at you. 

You smile up at him and he smiles down at you. 

You take a step closer to him and he takes a step closer to you. 

You reach a hand out to his face, hesitating, and then he nods just before he reaches a hand out and places it on your waist. 

And then finally, your lips press against his. 

The first kiss is tentative. It’s testing. Your lips press together, you stay like that for a moment, and then you pull away. The two of you stare at each other, Joaquín’s expression as soft and docile as it always is. You think you’re mirroring him in this moment. 

Then, without any words exchanged, you both move towards each other again. Your heads are tilted and without much trouble at all, your faces slot together nearly perfectly. This kiss is more exploratory. It’s open mouthed, teetering towards a messiness that you’re sure you’ll both fully succumb to by the end of the night. At least, you hope so. 

You don’t have much time, you’ve realized that as soon as the elevator dings the first time to indicate its ascent, therefore you’re trying to get what you can while you can. You throw your arms over Joaquín’s shoulders and hook them around his neck, pulling him down towards you as you tilt yourself up into him. His body curves to engulf yours in his warmth, but he kisses you like he has all the time in the world. 

He kisses you like he means it, like there’s more than one mutually shared goal at the end of this motivating him. 

It’s hard not to give in to the slow and longing way Joaquín kisses you. You don’t even try resisting it at a certain point. Instead, you press your chest up into his and lean up on your toes to get more of him, yet not initiating a change in the pace at all. You like the slow way Joaquín’s lips move against yours. You feel much more this way. 

Your fingers lay across the back of his neck and just as they start to inch up into the faded part of his haircut, the elevator dings and announces your floor. 

You and Joaquín separate with clear hesitance in the movement. The two of you stare at each other, unmoving, just looking in each other’s eyes. His eyes look darker than you’ve ever seen them before. If you got closer, you think you would see his pupils blown out. From here, though, you see his desire in other ways—the flush on his cheeks, the prominence of his chest rising and falling, the hint of your lip products that have rubbed off on his lips. 

The elevator door starts to shut and Joaquín is forced into making the first move. He slots his arm between the doors just before they close and he stays there when they open. He turns to look at you, tilts his head in a beckon, and holds his hand out for you to grab.

The walk to your rooms feels much longer than it usually does. You try to make it go as fast as possible, skittering ahead of Joaquín as fast as your impractical sandals would allow, but you’re trying not to look too eager all the while. Still, when you reach the number you’ve memorized for the week and turn around to look at him, he has a slight smile of amusement on his face. 

You’re already searching into your bag for your key when you ask, “Yours or mine?”

Joaquín reaches around you for the handle to the door without speaking. You watch him press the key card to the sensor and push the door handle down just as you feel your fingers find the piece of plastic. 

“We gave each other one of each when we checked in, remember? Just in case.” comes his unprompted explanation. And now that you’ve been reminded, you do remember. Your key to Joaquín’s room has been sitting on the dresser forgotten the entire week. You know he wouldn’t have done it, not without your explicit consent, but you wish Joaquín had used the key to his advantage once this week. You wish he would have acted on the tension between you both, the tension that you’re finally realizing has been reciprocated this entire time. 

But now it’s happening. There’s no reason to complain when you’re getting what you wanted. 

His hands are on your hips as he leads you into the room, your bag is thrown to the floor and your shoes are kicked off of your feet. Your body is turned at his will, your eyes meet his as he lazily grins  down at you. His tongue flicks out over his lips in a quick and smooth movement, and at a much slower pace, you lean back in to press your lips back to his. 

Joaquín’s hands automatically latch onto your lower back, one warm palm pressed into the thin fabric of your dress and the other settling right on your bare skin in the opening. Meanwhile, you start working on his shirt, popping button after button through the holes. You stop when you’re halfway down, not on your own accord. 

You’re forced to stop when Joaquín slots his hands behind your thighs and he easily lifts you up. You squeal into the kiss on instinct. 

There’s a moment where both of you are grinning against each other’s lips and it just feels so right. It feels incredibly natural to be doing this, to be smiling when you’re kissing Joaquín, even though nearly everything else about this situation isn’t natural for the two of you (your erect nipples rubbing against his chest, your panties stuck to your cunt, the very faint brush of his cock stiff in his pants that you get on the journey up). 

“You’re just showing off,” you half-heartedly chide. 

Joaquín shrugs and walks you back to the bed. “Maybe just a little.” He places you down, kneeling between your legs and finishing off the remaining buttons on his shirt. “You love it, though.”

You don’t admit it verbally, but the way you shamelessly ogle his chest when he pulls the shirt off says everything. 

As soon as his shirt is gone, he places a hand on your ankle, slowly inching your dress up a few inches before he stops and looks at you. His expression is open, you can tell what he’s asking without words. But for good measure, he includes them. 

“Can I keep going?”

You nod, eager and unashamed. “Yeah. Keep going.”

He starts to push the bright fabric further and further up your legs, speaking to you as he continues. “You gotta let me know if …” his words taper off when he sees the first hint of your panties, and you don’t know exactly what he’s seeing, but it makes him speechless for a moment and your ego inflates. 

“I’ll let you know if …?” Cockiness is audible in your words but he doesn’t comment on it. 

Joaquín blinks and comes back to himself. “If you wanna stop, or if you want something changed. We gotta communicate.” 

“M’kay.” 

And with that, Joaquín pushes the fabric completely over your hips and he’s met with your panties. They’re a bright color that compliments the color of your dress, and, consequently, your tanned skin. He swears under his breath and although you don’t hear him clearly at all, you’re pretty sure it wasn’t in English. 

You sit up fully and slip your dress over your torso with Joaquín’s help. He lets the fabric drop to the floor without looking, his eyes are focused solely on your chest. 

You’re laying back on your elbows, elevated just enough to look at him. You stare at his eyes, even if you aren’t making eye contact, while he leans up to hover over you. His head dips and he presses a single kiss in the center of your chest and repeats the action right over each side of your ribcage. The tip of his nose grazes your breast and instinctively you arch up towards him. When he pulls away just enough to look up at you, you see him smiling.

You could beg, but the night has only begun. You decide to save that for later. For now, you huff and stick your spine back to the mattress. 

Joaquín places a hand around your side and dips his head back down, this time higher than before. When he latches his lips around your nipple, a little gasp breaks from between your lips. He lets his teeth scrape against the bud, alternating between giving you pressure and giving you wet heat from his tongue. By the time he switches to your other nipple, you’re already desperate for a true relief focused on your cunt. His lips travel upwards, brushing against your skin throughout the journey, until he’s pressing them into the side of your neck and under your jaw. You let him continue upwards, you let him kiss you a bit more, but you can only go so long without real, fruitful stimulation. And maybe another time after this (circumstances willing) you would love to prolong everything. 

But right now you need to get fucked, whatever that could entail. 

You buck your hips up and end up catching the bulge in Joaquín’s pants where his zipper lies. You think he’ll catch on that way, and maybe he does, but he just chooses to ignore it. Either way, you send him a hint and Joaquín doesn’t do anything about it. He continues kissing you, he tweaks your nipples and slots a knee between your legs, all of which you’re grateful for since it is a stepping stone in the right direction. But you need stimulation, you need to get off, and the slow crawl is slowly driving you crazy. 

You pull away from Joaquín to call his name. He responds with a gruff yeah that immediately settles deep in your gut. 

“I need more. Please.” 

He grins right in your face. The expression almost looks wicked on him for the first time ever. He has the power here right now and he’s obviously letting it go to his head. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks while his hand slides down between your bodies until his thick fingers can slip between your clothed folds. 

His question was rhetorical (and smug but that’s besides the point), yet you still find yourself going to respond. Your lips part, you can feel the corners turning down as you prepare to say something just as smug back to him, but then he presses down and quickly finds your clit after a moment of fumbling. As far as words go, you’re silent. Nothing but sounds slip from your mouth from that point onwards. 

Joaquín toys with your clit. He starts with one finger, just the pad of what you think might be his middle finger, and when that has you forcing your hips up into his touch, he adds a second finger. With two fingers, he has more space to work with, resulting in larger circles right over the most sensitive part of you. He speeds up, too. 

Your back arches and you dig your nails into the sheets. You know what you want to ask for, it's simple and you’d already said the word in this space, but it gets trapped in your throat this time. You’re close already. Yeah, you’d been getting yourself off throughout the week, but finally having Joaquín do it for you has made you so much more responsive. 

You get the first syllable out, the ‘M’ vibrating in your throat before you open your mouth to round it out in an ‘O’. 

Joaquín picks up where you left off. 

“More?” he asks, eyebrows lifting as he holds your heavy gaze. Before you even respond with a nod, he’s already sitting back far enough to slip his hand in your panties and repeat his emotions. 

The first real touch dizzies you for a moment. You pinch your eyes shut with the pure intention of orienting yourself, but then Joaquín chastises you in a soft, but firm voice. 

“Look at me. I wanna see you.” 

You do as told, of course. 

He nods. “There we go.” His fingers get just a little faster, the circles tighter. You’re so wet that there isn’t any uncomfortable friction at all, his skin easily glides against yours. 

“You close?” he asks after a moment. When you nod, he continues, “If I give you this one, you’ll be able to give me another, right? You can give me more?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You’re breathless when you speak, and it certainly doesn’t help that it’s then when Joaquín decides to pull his fingers away completely, pull your panties to the side, and sink down completely until his face is level with your cunt. 

Just the image below you is enough to twist that section deep into your stomach into a knot. He’s barely able to give you anything before your back is arching off of the bed and everything in you mounts to a peak. 

When you come, it’s from the controlled and effective licks Joaquín delivers to your cunt. You don’t know when your hand moves on its own, but you feel silk-like strands between your fingers. It helps anchor you, gripping his hair helps keep you sane, especially when Joaquín keeps going. 

He broadens his reach this time. His mouth opens wide enough to slide his tongue down from your entrance and back up towards your clit. And he doesn’t just lick this time, you hear the audible suck from him. He’s slurping that shit, and you can already feel the introduction of another orgasm. 

If you were with anyone else, you’d be shocked at how soon another is on the precipice. But it’s Joaquín, and aside from the fact that you’ve wanted him for a while, you’re not exactly shocked that he knows what he’s doing. 

He slowly sinks one finger into you, pumping the digit in and out of you with meticulous ease. It’s a stark contrast from the almost sloppy way he’s eating you out. But it works. 

One finger is nice, it’s thicker than your own, rougher, too. You could get off just like that. And then, he adds a second. 

“Fuck,” you swear without any conscious intention. 

Joaquín comes up for air, releasing you with an audible smack. “Yeah?” he asks, the word coming from right in his throat. 

You nod as you take in the way he looks—cheeks flushed, hair tousled and hanging over his forehead, pink lips shining, his eyes wide and nearly doe-like. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. You see a look flash in Joaquín’s eyes then. It’s a look similar to the one he has whenever Sam affirms his work with a clap on the back—self-satisfied, delighted, proud. It occurs to you then that he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. He can read your body language, sure. It’s obvious from your cunt, along how good he’s making you feel, but you know verbal affirmation is different. It’s better, especially for Joaquín. 

As he goes back in to finish you off, you speak to him.

“Just like that,” you tell him. Just this little bit encourages him, you can feel it in his movements.  “Keep going. ‘M close, so close, Joaquín. Please, don’t stop. You’re so … you’re so—” Before you can even get it out, all noise dies completely from you. Your mouth uselessly hangs open, not even air comes out as your entire body stiffens. Nothing happens for a moment, Joaquín continues, you’re stuck, and then a nanosecond later everything knocks into you. 

Sound emits from you, moans and groans and breaths. You’re digging into whatever you can find—the heel of your foot into Joaquín’s back, your hands in his hair, the rest of your body into the twisted sheets beneath you. You’re simultaneously trying to escape and trying to keep Joaquín from parting with you for even a moment. It’s hard to decide which you prefer, you don’t even think your mind has any say in the dilemma, your body is in control at this point. 

Ultimately, your body decides to let go, releasing both of you at the same time. Still, Joaquín takes a moment to pull from you. He continues licking and sucking, but his fingers slowing down indicates his intent to free you. It comes after a few drawn out moments where you’re stuck twitching beneath him until finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses one final kiss right onto your clit. 

His head lifts and the evidence is more obvious than you expected. It’s gathered all over his chin, stuck along the beginnings of facial hair that will likely be gone first thing Monday morning. It’s gathered on his lips and along his tongue when he uses the muscle to pull the remnants of your arousal into his mouth. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and only then does he realize how much of a mess you’ve made of him. He pulls his hand back, brown eyes big as he stares at the evidence. 

“Shit,” he laughs. 

All you can do is agree through labored breaths. 

He tries to clean you off of his mouth, but not much is done. He leans in tentatively after that, as if you’re going to shy away from him. You don’t. 

You kiss him back eagerly, although a bit lethargically. You’re trying to hide it from fear that Joaquín could think that you’re done. But your body needs a moment to recover from that. 

When Joaquín pulls away from you with a small smile on his face, you know he’s onto you. 

“You need a minute?” The way he says it isn’t much different from the way he asks you those same words when he’s kicking your ass in the gym. 

And just like when you’re in the gym, you shamefully nod. 

Joaquín chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead. “That’s okay. You want anything? Water maybe?” 

“Water sounds good.” 

You watch him leave and then your eyes are focused solely on the ceiling. You can’t even let what’s happening sink in when you’re still a little spacey. But you can handle more. You want more from him. 

Joaquín comes back with a glass of water. He stands next to the bed and passes the full glass to you. You don’t question the source, you just drink until there’s half left. You offer it to him and he gladly takes it from you. 

“Are you … do you wanna stop?” He speaks when the glass has been emptied and placed on the nightstand. For the most part he looks like he would be unaffected by whatever answer you gave, but you think you can detect some premature dejection in his features. Quickly, he adds, “Because it’s fine if you do. I’m okay with that.” And he’s being honest. You don’t feel any pressure coming from Joaquín at all. 

It’s what you truly mean and want when you immediately shake your head. “No. Let’s keep going.” 

He nods once to himself. “Alright. Cool. Yeah.” 

Excitement leaks from his pores but you don’t comment on it. You felt just as he did not long ago. You still feel like that, but you’re under a haze right now and that’s what your emotions are being led with. 

Joaquín hooks his thumbs into his already-loosened jeans and goes to pull them down. First, though, he pats at his pockets. When he doesn’t feel what he’s looking for, he swears. 

“One second.”

You watch his form retreat until the door of your room is pulled open. Not even a minute later he comes back in with a foil pocket brandished between his fingers, the same fingers that were in you not long ago. 

“You came prepared?” The question comes out more judgemental than you meant it to. 

Joaquín shrugs. “I keep an emergency bag full of … stuff. You know, in case of an emergency.” 

“Freak.” You don’t mean it. 

“You’re about to get fucked by a freak so, wouldn’t that make you a freak by association?” He seems to mean it. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

He holds the packet between his teeth while he slides his jeans off of his legs, stepping out of them and leaving them at the foot of the bed. He comes back around to the side, pulling the packet out from his teeth and staring down at you. Like this he looks more imposing than he ever has before. 

When he’s been out in the field, when he’s training, when he yelled at the car earlier tonight, he didn’t look as imposing as he does now—staring down at you over the bridge of his nose, hair tousled, cock tenting in his black briefs. 

“That’s definitely how that works,” he claims as he leans down. He presses his hands into the bed beneath you to leverage himself as he kisses you, slow and passionate. You wonder if he’ll fuck you like that too. 

You reach a hand up and pull the elastic away from his waist. When he doesn’t react, you tug the fabric down. You feel it get stuck around his cock just before you feel his cock spring free. It brushes against your wrist and you make a little noise into the kiss. 

As soon as Joaquín’s briefs are laying at his feet he assumes his previous position, this time sitting right on his haunches. You avoid looking at his cock for a moment, but when you watch him tear the condom packet open, you get the first glimpse at him. 

Even this part of him is attractive. He’s thick, that’s the first thing you notice. Thick and heavy, if the way he hangs to the side is any indicator. There’s a vein leading from his taut stomach down towards the dark and trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You hadn’t noticed the vein ever before, not when you had been too busy ogling the v-line chiseled into his torso instead. 

Now that you’ve seen all of Joaquín, you can easily conclude that he’s perfect. Just as you have that thought, Joaquín takes an inhale as he prepares to speak. 

“You’re so perfect,” he says. 

The warmth instantly floods your body. 

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” you tell him. 

He dips his head almost shyly and doesn’t say anything. Instead, Joaquín pulls the condom out of the packet. 

“Wait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?” 

He looks momentarily surprised at your request, but he passes you the condom and politely places his hands on top of his thighs. 

It’s truly an excuse to feel him beneath your palm as you glide the latex barrier down his length. You revel in the warmth beneath your hand, because as soon as you’ve secured the barrier around the base of his shaft, Joaquín's leading you back without even having to touch you. He leans forward and in response, you lean all the way back until you’re nestled amongst the pillows at the head of the bed. 

“Ready?” 

You nod, letting your legs fall open for him. 

One warm hand falls to the inside of your thigh while the other disappears between your legs to line up his dick. Then, slowly, Joaquín pushes forward. The stretch is instant, you can feel yourself opening up wider and wider to fully fit him in. If you weren’t as soaked and prepped as you were, you’re sure the burn would’ve been way worse. 

For a few moments it’s like the length of him keeps going and going, but then you feel his thighs press up against the back of yours and there’s the faint feeling of his balls resting against your ass and you know he’s bottomed out. He looks at you, gauging your reaction, and your response comes in the form of linking a leg around his back.

Joaquín smiles through nothing but the twitch of the corner of his mouth upwards, and then he wastes no more time. He rests his weight on his hands at either side of your head, and pulls his hips back just to roll them forward and slide his cock back into you. 

And for a bit, Joaquín does fuck you slow and passionate. He fucks you in full strokes, a nice tempo that doesn’t overwhelm you too quickly. There’s punctuation at the end of each thrust, followed by a nearly agonizing pull back out. Whether intentional or not, Joaquín’s introducing you to the feeling of his cock filling you up, just as he’s introducing the concept of another release to you. 

But you’ve had your fill, it’s his turn now. 

You press your hands into his shoulders. They glide back, one hand grazing over the raised skin of the scar that leads down his back, the other following a smooth path, but they meet in the same place—back around the front to where his chain hangs. You hook one finger into the gold link, the other going behind his head. You pull him closer until you can nudge your noses together. 

His eyes flutter shut and his eyebrows pinch together in the center. You kiss him once and pull back to tell him, “You can use me, Joaquín. Take what you want.”

His eyes open to stare at you with confusion written on his face, bordering on hope, as if he already has an idea formed in his head of what he really wants to do to you. 

You nod assuredly. “It’s what I want.” Just as you’re about to add a quiet plea to seal the deal, Joaquín adjusts his position and then he pulls nearly all the way out of you, only to forcefully drive back into you. 

The switch is immediate. He still fucks you in complete motions, but they’re shorter, no longer the tip to the shaft each time. These are faster, much faster. It feels like he’s reaching up into your guts each time, just to pull back and do it again and again and again. 

You’re forced to find purchase again, hands digging into whatever you can find. One hand attaches to his hair and the other holds onto his chain, your legs have linked around Joaquín’s hips, your head has craned backwards, leaving the area between the base of your neck and your chest open for Joaquín to rest his forehead on. 

You can’t hear his sounds over yours, but you feel them—quick breaths let out onto the sweat coated area of your chest. You would try and silence yourself to better hear him, but you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Luckily, though, Joaquín lifts his head and notches his nose against the side of your neck instead. He kisses you right beneath your earlobe, but when he can no longer complete that action, his jaw goes slack and every single noise he makes travels directly to your ear. 

You swear and it comes out as a whimper, not even a second later Joaquín swears and it’s a deep groan all the way from the back of his throat. You call his name and he calls yours. He’s affecting you, and you’re affecting him, even just by laying back and urging him to get himself off by using your body.

“Are you close?” you eventually gather the strength, and will, to ask. 

You feel Joaquín nod against your neck. “Yeah,” he confirms, “yeah, baby, ‘m almost there.” 

Your reaction is instant. You groan, a sound that could be interpreted as frustration if you weren’t having your guts completely rearranged right now. 

He chuckles deeply against your skin. “What? What’s up?”

“C…Call me that again.”

“What? ‘Baby’? You like when I call you baby?” 

You hum affirmatively. 

Joaquín lifts his head and slots one hand against your cheek. His pace slows as he stares at you. “You’re my baby? Hm? Are you?” 

You nod, whining out an “uh-huh”. 

“Yeah?” he grins as he says it, as if he’s shocked that you agreed. You don’t know if he’s serious, if he knows that his words are holding weight even if you’re a little dumb right now, but you do mean it. 

He licks his lips and you see an idea coming to his head. “You gonna be good for me, too?” When you nod, he continues. “Be good for me, baby, and touch yourself, alright?”

He gives you the space needed and watches your hand slide down your stomach. When you use two fingers to tweak your already overstimulated clit, Joaquín nods. 

“That’s right. Just like that.” 

He resumes his original pace, this time with his eyes fully locked on your cunt. He pulls one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward to get even deeper into you. 

You’re close, you’re almost there, and the erratic way Joaquín practically jackhammers into you as he chases his own release is what pushes you over. You finish just after Joaquín buries himself into you and curls his body over yours. This orgasm truly feels like a release. Everything in you melts into the world around you, just as Joaquín’s body melts on top of yours. 

He kisses the skin closest to him, first in small almost discrete pecks, and then they gradually get bigger and more audible until he’s clearly making them ridiculous on purpose. 

His cock is still nestled in you and his head is still resting on your chest when he speaks. “You think you’ll be up for a shower?”

You hum, letting the question run through your head for a minute before responding. “In about ten minutes, yeah.” 

“Take your time.”

In the meantime, Joaquín slowly slides out of you. The emptiness is immediate, but after all you’ve been through since getting back to your room, you don’t exactly hate it. Your eyes start to feel heavy but you let them close for a little while. You rely on your other senses throughout. 

The feeling of Joaquín kissing over where you think your bikini tan lines are, the rim of the glass that he brings to your lips, the sound of his voice as he gently urges you to drink, the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat. He holds you steady as you drink with a hand behind your head. Your lips turn up tiredly, and you feel his thumb at the corner of your lip catching a stray drop of water. You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s wearing that same soft look on his features.

You’re so pampered there that you don’t force yourself to get up until you hear the shower running. 

Joaquín’s already there waiting for you at the door. He smiles when he sees you as if he’s shocked that you came, even though this is your room and your bathroom. Still, he reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom and in front of him. His hands push at your back, guiding you towards the shower. He pulls the door open for you and lets you step inside before he follows after you. 

You reach for the towel and soap, but stop when he tuts behind you. 

“I got it,” is all he says. So you let yourself completely relax with the feeling of Joaquín dragging the cloth up and down your limbs. He talks to you throughout, mostly asking you to lift an arm or turn around, sometimes bringing up small bits of conversation, every now and then singing bits of songs—some that you recognize, some that you don’t. There’s a familiarity now that you’ve gained since his hands had massaged sunscreen into your shoulders. 

Eventually, though, he finishes with you, leaving you to lean against the wall and watch him shower.

“You know what I realized like a few minutes ago?” he says when he’s rinsing the soap off of his body. 

“What?”

“Remember the couple from the club that first night? The one who kept buying us drinks?”

“Yeah, how could I forget?”

“Yeah well I’m pretty sure they thought we were like … swingers or some shit.”

You’re startled awake. “Huh? Why do you think that?”

“Oh I don’t think, I know. The guy gave me his number and everything. Plus you saw the way they were looking at us, and the woman kept cozying up to you.”

You frown. “I thought she was just drunk or friendly.”

“She definitely was drunk and friendly. And she also wanted you.” 

You blink. “I thought she wanted you.”

Joaquín shrugs and rinses the last of the soap from his back before he shuts the water off. “She probably did. That’s sort of part of the whole swingers gig, isn’t it?”

You laugh through a quick exhale of air. “Come on, Joaquín, let’s go to bed.” 

You step out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body. Joaquín follows after you. 

“Oh, I get to sleep with you tonight?” He sounds giddy when he says it, as if he wasn’t just fucking you so good that your legs are still getting used to walking again. When you tell him that, you see the unintended compliment go straight to his head. 

You end up getting exactly what you wanted. Joaquín leans into the bathroom counter with the towel hung low around his waist and his eyes watching you do your skincare routine. As soon as you’re finished, he’s trekking off to his room for a change of clothes and to do whatever he needs to do, and he comes back in nothing but boxers with a big shirt in his hand. He lays it on the counter for you casually, but you see the tips of his ears tinted just a tiny bit red when he retreats back to your room. 

You come out in his shirt to see him lying on your side of the bed, the remote in his hand and pointed at the TV. As if the entire trip had been going like this the entire time, he instantly scoots over when you come to the side of the bed and lifts the sheets for you to climb under. You lay curled into his side, telling him to click a channel playing a movie that you know he likes. 

The remote is placed on the nightstand, the lights are clicked off and you’re snuggled up next to Joaquín, wearing his shirt and talking about how the two of you are going to spend your last day of vacation. 

Not everything goes how you thought it would, though. Joaquín ends up being pretty mindful with his blanket usage. 

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.

—

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