Can I Kiss You?

lunch | h.c

summary: you never questioned your sexuality until your bestfriend brittany begs you to come with her to a party where you run into a blue-eyed, shaggy haired girl. you weren’t so sure if being into men was even an option anymore. hazel only had one thing on her mind: you looked good enough to eat.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: mature content & language, friends w/ benefits trope, smut — lots of cunnilingus (r!receiving), public sex, hazel lowkey is falling in love (as are you), reader’s sexuality & body type is never really described so is open to all! :)

word count: 4.1K

a/n: thank you a MILLION to the anon who requested this. i’ve actually never written something so fast 🙌🏽 obviously it is inspired by lunch by billie eilish. thank you billie for dropping this gay ass song! <33

“Please, please, come with me.”

Brittany tugged on your oversized pajama tee as you continuously scribbled across the lined page of your notebook. You were trying to cram in for your English exam this coming up Monday and Brittany was begging for you to come with her to a big house party. You had nearly failed the last one so you were determined to make at least a high C on this next one.

She was standing behind you, letting out exasperated sighs and groans as you continued to stand your ground on staying at your dorm.

“Britt, I seriously can’t.”

“But it’s masquerade themed. Do you know how hot that would be to get with a stranger at a masquerade party?” Brittany groaned as she rested her forehead on yours. “You need this.”

You sighed when she added that last part. Ever since a jock from the football team led you on and got you trapped in a situationship for four months, Brittany has been persistent on the fact that you needed a fling: someone to help you move on and get ready for the next serious person in your life.

“Is anyone I know going to be there?” You hum as you continue to highlight a few more sections that you would be tested on.

Brittany rested her head on yours and can practically feel her grinning ear to ear.

“PJ, Josie, Stella, Isabel, and Hazel,” Brittany stated.

“Hypothetically,” you began and Brittany was squealing already, removing her body from yours to rummage through your closet. “If I go, will I be too hungover tomorrow to finish my notes for Monday?”

“Nope. I promise. I will keep an eye on you the entire time.” Brittany called over her shoulder as she pulled out a corset top that you had rarely worn since moving in. “You’ll be nearly sober.”

It was a deep green satin that made your boobs look amazing. You swore you’ve only worn it to a concert and a birthday dinner.

“Put this on with your matching skirt and get on your small heels with the straps, please. I will get ready too.”

Hesitantly setting your notebook and pens aside, you get up from your cushioned seat to get dressed. It took merely a few minutes to put on your matching outfit, putting on your mask that Brittany had purchased for you.

When you were looking at yourself in the mirror, you nodded in content. Brittany was right. It was time to just have some fun, let go.

Maybe you’ll meet someone.

You snort and shake your head to yourself.

Yeah, right. Frats were somehow worse than football players. No way were you meeting a guy there.

Within the first few seconds of walking through the door, you had greeted pretty much all of the girls except Stella and Hazel. PJ was the one to tell you that they were probably sticking their tongues down people's throats.

“You look stunning. This green on you. I can’t get enough.” Isabel was the first to gasp over you, spotting her bright eyes and beautiful hair a mile way.

You thanked her repeatedly over the loud music. Brittany stood next to you as she scanned the surrounding area for drinks. You stood next to Josie and Isabel who apologized about your situation with your ex-situationship.

Fuck, you hated that word. You were dating but the situationship made your skin crawl.

“It’s whatever guys, honestly,” you tell them, waving them off.

“Men are pieces of shit, man.” Josie patted your back weirdly before shuffling into her girlfriend's side.

You look between the two of them with a small smile, admiring how adorable they were. Isabel and Josie fit weirdly enough considering how different the two of them were. A tap to your shoulder threw you off guard in the midst of you daydreaming about when you were going to find someone like that.

You turn to face the person, stepping back a little when you don’t recognize the masked figure. They were kind of cute. They smiled at you about the open their mouths that is until you heard Josie greet them.

“Hi Hazel. Where’s that girl you were talking to? She was cute.” Isabel calls over your shoulder.

Oh shit. This was Hazel? Scientist bomb-maker Hazel? The more and more you peered into the eye cutout of the mask, you recognized those deep blue eyes of hers.

Has she always been this attractive? Her white button up shirt had the first two buttons left open, exposing the silver chains resting on her neckline. Her chest rising and falling from the drink she just downed.

She looked… good.

“She is in a very committed relationship with her two boyfriends.” Hazel told them, nodding curtly.

“Sounds like overkill but good for her, I guess,” PJ commented, eyes widening from behind her own lace mask.

The three of them gave soft ‘sorry’s’, smacking their lips before sipping on their drinks. Brittany had come back with her drink and yours, silently sliding it into your own and mouths to you: ‘Sprite and Vodka’.

Simple but a favorite.

“Wait, why are we saying ‘sorry’?” Brittany shouted, shifting her eyes from person to person in the huddle they’ve formed.

Everyone began to explain but you were just staring at Hazel. You had no idea what was going on in your brain but your eyes couldn’t pull away from her.

“I’m sorry about that girl,” you finally speak, hoping she hadn’t noticed you staring at her like a maniac.

“No, it’s fine. It was whatever.” Hazel shrugs and she seems legitimately fine.

That would’ve sent you into a spiral about how good your flirting skills were if it was a guy. You suppose someone who looks like her can easily move on to the next girl.

“You look… great. Really great. I like your, uh, mask.” You compliment her, pointing at the plain black mask on her face.

Why are you being so awkward? You’ve definitely talked to Hazel before. What’s so different about this time?

Her smile lines deepened as her eyes followed down from your feet to the lace on your mask. You suddenly felt hot around your neck under her gaze, the sound of the people blurring into the background of the music so that you could only focus on her.

“Thank you. You look beautiful. I’ve never seen this before.” Hazel eyed your corset top, taking a sip from her silver solo cup.

You take a long sip from your drink, feeling your mouth running dry.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t wear it often. I don’t go out much.”

“What?” Hazel leaned in closer so that her ear was closer to your mouth.

The songs had increased in volume to the point where you could feel it in your chest. You shake your head and lean into her to shout: “Do you want to go somewhere quieter? I don’t want to keep shouting all night.”

This Hazel did hear and she nodded, placing one hand on your lower back as she led you through the crowd. You sucked in a deep breath as you looked behind you to see Brittany staring you down with narrowed eyes but she didn’t seem upset, more… confused.

You wave your hand to show that you were fine before letting Hazel continue to lead your body down a hallway. You did have an oral speech that Monday you had to practice for so going somewhere quieter would just be more beneficial.

Once the two of you had been able to seclude yourselves in one of the fraternity brothers rooms, you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m kind of starting to regret coming here,” you admit softly as you glance around at the very plain room.

“Really? Why?” Hazel questioned as she lingered near the door, watching you snoop through the strangers' knick-knacks he had on his desk.

“I have shit to study for but Britt begged me to come with her. Parties really aren’t that fun when I’m not drinking as much to distract myself,” you sigh, picking up a trophy of a gold baseball man.

Hazel pressed off of the door to find her place standing next to you. The muffled music rumbled the walls but she couldn't focus on that as much as she was admiring how amazing you looked tonight.

“Distract you from what?” Hazel hums, leaning into your side to peer at the knick-knacks with you.

You try not to tense under the feeling of her warm body pressing up against the side of your back. Why were you suddenly so nervous?

“Uh, guy that was a dick and didn’t know how to properly express his feelings and said he had to ‘focus on himself’. Men make me genuinely sick.” You express with a soft huff, plopping down onto the deep blue bed.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Hazel slowly sat down right next to you.

You shrug your shoulders, turning your head to be face to face with her. Her blue eyes were illuminating from the singular lamp that was turned on in the corner of the room. Your stomach turned at her intense eye contact.

“It’s fine. Not your fault, Hazel.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you deserve to be treated like that. Someone as beautiful and sweet as you doesn’t deserve to be led on by some douchebag guy.” Hazel muttered, leaning in closer to you.

You could feel her warm breath that had a lingering scent of a mix of liquors. Every single fiber in your body craved the taste of her lips. You weren’t even sure if you were completely into women but you knew that right here and right now, you wanted Hazel to kiss you.

“Then what do I deserve?” You whisper, eyes flickering down to her pink lips.

“If you want me to show you, all you can do is ask, pretty girl,” Hazel glances down at your lips as well, her ego shooting through the roof at how very obviously eager you were.

You lick your lips before whispering with a hint of whining: “Show me.”

Hazel pressed her lips onto yours, cupping both sides of your face. You gasped slightly but almost immediately fell into a comfortable rhythm chasing her lips. Your hands ghosted over her neckline, not knowing where to put your hands. You were overthinking it just because Hazel was a girl.

It was so much different compared to kissing a man. Hazel’s hands were so gentle on your face, caressing you in a sensual yet comforting manner. Fuck, you couldn’t believe how wet you were just from her kissing you. You crossed your thighs together to try and relieve that feeling but it only grew.

Her tongue swiped over your bottom lip, teasing to get into your mouth. You allowed her tongue in as her thumb caressed the underside of your jaw. The whimper that left your mouth was borderline pornographic.

“Lay back for me, pretty girl, okay? Let me make you feel good,” Hazel smirked at the sound of your moans, kissing your jaw and neck a few times.

“You’re gonna…?” You pant softly, furrowing your brows.

“Whatever you’ll let me do to you. You can say stop whenever, okay?” Hazel hummed as she nosed at your jaw before jerking to the bed.

You nod enthusiastically before scooching up on the bed, kicking off your shoes. Hazel carefully watched you as she lifted her mask to rest on the top of her head. She would need her entire face for what she was planning on doing to you.

You stare at her exposed face, lifting up your own to rest on the top of your head. Hazel smiled at this, admiring how beautiful you are. You always caught her eye but she only really knew you as Brittany’s roommate.

Now, she was really getting to know you.

She kneeled on the bed, placing her hands on your plush thighs. You watch her carefully push your skirt up your waist, biting your lip anxiously. Hazel leaned down to place a soft kiss onto your inner thighs. They were feather-like, sending shivers down your spine. Her ringed hands grip onto the outer parts of your thighs as she whispers praises unto your skin.

You shut your eyes and tilt your head back as she inched to the crotch area of your underwear. You could’ve worn a pair of a lot sexier ones but you landed on seamless hip-huggers. Her fingers thumbed over the waistband, looking up at you with needy eyes.

“Can I take these off?”

“Please, Hazel,” you buck your hips involuntarily.

Hazel leaned down to kiss over your pubic bone, looking up at you. You push your flyways out of your face as you watch Hazel tug your underwear down your legs and toss them on the bedside table. You open your legs slowly to expose yourself to her.

“Can you tell me what feels good, pretty girl? Yeah? Can you do that for me?” Hazel hummed as you placed a few more trailing kisses and licks across your thighs.

You merely whine at her words, growing more and more needy as she continues her way up your thighs. She didn’t give you any time to process it until her warm tongue swiped over your folds. You sucked in a deep breath, a shuddering moan leaving your lips.

“Fuck,” you whisper, admiring the head of shaggy hair in between your legs.

God, her tongue made your squirm like no man ever had. You swore they just licked your thighs and your hip and asked if you came. They could never compare to how amazing Hazel was making you feel. She backed up for a moment to kiss at your clit softly, enjoying the way you were practically dancing on her tongue.

Sweat beads formed at the base of your neck and the crevice of your hips as you rocked against her face. Hazel moaned softly against your wet folds, her tongue fucking into you.

That was only the beginning of it.

After that night, you and Hazel began to just have fun. You didn’t dare tell Brittany that you were sleeping with Hazel, one of her dear friends from high school. It wasn’t your fault that she gave you mind-blowing, legs pulsating, eyes rolling into the back of your head orgasms.

You assumed Brittany knew that you were seeing someone because well, she found your inner thigh hickies when you went home with her to visit her family's pool. When you came back to campus later that evening, you and Brittany arrived to see a small box sitting in front of your door.

“Oh my god is this from your little lover?” Brittany gasped as she kneeled down to pick up the little blue box with a white ribbon bow.

Your eyes widened at the box, furrowed brows at the little tag that read: ‘From, Claire’. You surprised a cheeky smile as you and Hazel had agreed she would be named ‘Claire’ when she got you these surprise gifts of your favorite candies, lingerie and dresses she would have you wear to fuck you in.

“Claire? Do I know a ‘Claire’?” Brittany hummed to herself as she unlocked the dorm room.

“Nope.”

When you both got into the room, you flipped open the note to see: ‘Tomorrow at 6:30. Meet me at my dorm room and I’ll take you somewhere nice, pretty girl.’

You bit your lip as you opened your box when Brittany told you she’d hop in the shower real quick from being so sun-tanned. You unraveled the ribbon and lifted the lid of the blue box to see a black lingerie set but the panties were crotchless.

That little freak.

But my god, you loved it.

Tomorrow couldn’t come faster. Brittany even tried to see who you were texting the night before you went to Hazel’s dorm.

“So am I ever going to meet your fling or are you just always going to disappear out of nowhere and coming back all smiley and giddy?” Brittany hummed as she typed furiously on her laptop, glancing up at you as she adjusted her blue light glasses.

“Hmm, I haven’t decided yet. I’ll let you know after this time,” you remarked with a cheeky grin.

“He’s not like an arms dealer or something right?” Brittany narrowed her eyes.

You snorted and shook your head. Some part of you was also just scared to say out loud that you had fooling around with a woman; let alone a friend of hers.

“No. I promise at some point, I will tell you, Britt. I’ll be back at around midnight, I hope.” You beamed, leaning over her bed to give her a kiss on the head.

Brittany chuckled at your actions, telling you how much she loved you and to be safe and not get pregnant. You knew that would never happen.

As much as you would pretend to daydream about it.

When you knocked on Hazel’s dorm room door, it swung open almost immediately to reveal Hazel in a deep green button up with a white wife pleaser underneath and a pair of baggy jeans. Her carabiner with her keys as clasped to one of the loops of her jeans.

She shut the door behind her, eyeing you up and down with a smirk. That was the thing about this little friends with benefits situation you had with Hazel; she actually made you feel sexy. She made you feel like the hottest person in the room.

Like she could eat you alive.

“Aren’t you just the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, hmm?” One of her hands snaked around the waist of your sundress.

“Haze,” you sheepishly whine, covering your face with one hand.

“You’re cute. Take the compliment and let’s go, baby.”

Hazel smoothly grabbed your hand that was covering your face into hers, interlocking her fingers with yours. You follow her to her car, getting glances from a few girls that were coming up the stairs that looked like they were studying in the library. Something you should be doing but you were going on a late afternoon date/hookup.

You almost felt guilty. That is until you felt her place a kiss on your forehead when you approached the passengers side of her car. She tugged the door open for you, placing a hand on your lower back.

“Where are you taking me?” You hum, glancing up at her once you sit down on the passenger's seat.

“It’s a surprise, pretty girl. It’s only going to take twenty minutes to get there and it’s going to be worth it.”

She bent down to capture your lips into a soft kiss, smiling when you chased her lips when she pulled away. Her thumb traced over your bottom lip for a moment before she shut the door.

You sat in the seat releasing a shaky breath. She was able to get you riled up without fail.

The drive was in fact a lot shorter than you were expecting. Hazel’s palm never left your thigh, giving it squeezes every now and then. It made you more and more aware of the fact that you were wearing crotch less panties.

Hazel pulled into a rather dark field, the only light source being the setting sun. If you squint, you could see a variety of flowers decorating the green of the field.

“Where are we?” You chuckled, turning to face Hazel.

“If I’m going to be honest before my mom decided to go through her mid-life crisis and start sleeping with barely legal men in high school,” Hazel began, which made your eyes widen for a moment, muttering a soft ‘what’ but Hazel continued on. “She used to take me here to pick flowers to put in the little bay window in our living room. I’ve never forgotten how beautiful it was here. I think you deserve something just like this.”

Your heart soared, leaning into her face. No, you were just having sex while she showered you with gifts and treated you better than any man you’ve ever fooled around with. No feelings.

None. Absolutely none.

“You might want to tone the romance a bit, Hazel. It might ruin your reputation,” you tease, scrunching up your nose.

Hazel tilted her head as her eyes drifted to your lips and back to your eyes.

“I only care about what you think, pretty girl.” Hazel admitted with a gentle kiss to your lips.

No feelings. You kept repeating to yourself internally as you felt the apples of your cheeks heating up.

“Well, I think you’re really sweet. I kind of feel bad that you don’t really get much from me.” You frown, reaching for her chain that was resting at the base of her neck. “Or sorry, you won’t let me as much as I try.”

“I already told you. I like doing this for you. Making you feel good and seeing that pretty smile.”

”Mmm, okay, so, what are you planning on doing while we’re here?” You raise your eyebrows at her, faux innocence coaxed in your voice.

Hazel seemed to be thrown off guard but when she looked at your smile, she knew you were only messing with her.

“I have a blanket in the back seat.”

“Good because I’m wearing the present you got me,” you leaned to ghost your lips over hers.

Hazel let out a soft groan as you chuckled to yourself and tugged open the door of your passenger's seat. You look out at the gorgeous sunset then look at Hazel who looks like she’s trying to calm herself down. She eventually got out, the blanket hooked underneath her arm as she, too, looked out at the sunset.

She grabbed your hand as you marched through the flower field, the petals and grass tickling your legs. Hazel stopped a few feet away from her car to lay down the towel on a flatter patch on the ground. She laid down, looking up at you as she caressed your calf and tugging your leg forward.

You knew what she was asking of you.

“Wait, really?” You kneeled down, brushing your flyaways out of your place and looking around.

There were miles of trees and fields and there was probably no chance anyone would catch you guys. Yet there was still a slight fear in your chest that someone was going to catch you sitting on Hazel’s face.

“There’s no one around for miles, pretty girl,” she sat up right on her forearms, looking at you with nothing but hunger in her eyes.

“Okay, okay, I guess I’ll let you eat me out,” you sigh dramatically before straddling over her face.

Hazel laid back down so that she could push the skirt to your sundress up your plush thighs. She held back her smirk when she saw the lace covering your cunt and the crotchless portion that you promised you were wearing. Hazel didn’t hesitate to dive into your folds, teasing your clit slowly. You gasped and felt your knees give out so that you were full sitting on her face.

Your thighs entrapped her cheeks as your hands found her messy head of hair. Your moans freely left your mouth as she hungrily moved her jaw until the muscles ached. Her movements increased in speed as you whined and begged for her to keep going.

“Please, baby. So good, you’re so good.” You babble as you grinded your wet folds over her lips to her chin, coating her skin with your slick.

Hazel’s hands harshly gripped at your outer thighs as she followed your hip movements, letting her own moans flow out. Her rings made indents into your skin but it stung wonderfully, addictively. Your orgasm came quickly, your back shuddering as your hands were tangled in Hazel’s hair roughly.

You sat up with all your might, panting harshly as you looked down at Hazel’s flushed and wet face.

“You taste so good. Come here,” Hazel pushed up so she was sitting right up on her bottom, her hand snaking up to cup the back of your neck.

You giggle as you connect your lips, softly moaning into each other's mouths. The taste of your own juices lingered in your mouth as she messily made out with you.

“I could eat you everyday and never get sick of it,” she muttered against your lips, nibbling on your bottom lip.

And you wouldn’t hate it if she did.

special thank you to @breezy-sapphic for reading this over <3

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. 

of kisses on cheeks

luke castellan x best friend reader 4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good nap?” he asks.

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

There’s tears in them.

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t look sad anymore. Just tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pfft. I was fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I had a dream about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turns the information over in his head.

Huh.

You had a dream. About him.

Unfortunately, Luke is a teenage boy.

He laughs.

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

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

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

He’s still shaking with laughter. You scowl.

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

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

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

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

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

“Please never speak. Ever again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Already owe me plenty of those.”

“Then you can cash one in right now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re embarrassed.

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

The words ring in his head.

I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s why you were upset?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Killer.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you say.

“Hey. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

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

(It’s like his trump card.)

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

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

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

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

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

“You done worrying now?” he asks.

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

“Yep. I’m done worrying.”

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

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

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

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

BY YOUR HANDS ALONE

neteyam sully x gn!reader

notes: silly and overtly fluffy. flustered neteyam. reupload.

"there you are."

"here i am," you mirror back instantly, hardly sparing a glance up at the far too familiar voice as your fingers continue to work at chopping up some vegetables. it's a busy day—a momentous day. there is no time to waste.

"let me help," neteyam offers, already making moves to steal your knife from you as he steps to your side.

but you weave it away from his grasp, nudge him back with your shoulder and point the knife at him as you address him. "aht, don't think so," you differ, then continue your slicing. "besides, don't you have your own tasks to get to, mr. mighty warrior?"

days like this require a lot of preparation; everyone chipping in and doing their part so that it all gets done and runs smoothly. if even one person slacks off, it could cause a rift in sanctified plans. and that simply wouldn’t do. no, it would not.

"i have completed all of them, actually," he retorts, but he shrivels when you narrow your eyes up at him. "okay, almost all of them."

you scoff, let your pupils meet your sockets with a roll as you pry the truth out of him. of course, one of the most important days of the year and it is now that neteyam chooses to have an irresponsible whim. you aren’t sure what you’re gonna do with him.

"your mother will have your tail if she finds one thing out of place for tonight, you know this." it isn't necessarily a warning, but there is some tip-off in your tone. "you must get everything done."

neteyam hums, leans his hip against the raised wood that you are using as a makeshift counter. he says nothing, simply watches you. takes into account how you dice up the vegetables in front of you diligently before sliding them to the side with your knife and moving onto the next ones. his stare is driving you crazy—no one works well under pressure, after all.

it causes you to have a slight blunder; a misstep. you cut a pattern a tad too fast and send a slice of root tumbling towards the ground. neteyam's instincts are superb, quick, and he catches it before it hits the dirt. mumbling a thank you under your breath as he places it back on the tray, you find the heir before you still not making a move to speak.

you aren't sure why it unnerves you so.

"what do you have left to complete?" it's not the question you want to ask, but 'what the hell do you keep staring at?' doesn't sound quite as nice. so you settle on it.

you take a pause, a breath, to turn to him. throughout the years you have seen the eldest sully child wear many expressions. ones tainted by smiles, irritation, pride, devotion—but this one has you tipping your head in the most peculiar way.

because timidness is not something you think you've ever seen don the strong features of neteyam sully.

he carries himself with such an air of confidence; shoulders pressed back and chin held high—not arrogant, but undaunted. he does not shift gaze unless he is avoiding scoldings and he does not suck in his cheek unless he is fighting frustration. so, you wonder, what could possibly have his face contorted in such a reticent manner. if you did not know any better, you’d almost call his demeanor a rendition of shy. but that seems rather uncharacteristic of him, doesn’t it?

"ah—are you sure you don't need help with that?" he's deflecting, brushing off your inquiry like he hasn't heard it. and you can't decide whether you find that amusing or concerning.

he's making way for your knife again and you twist your arm to hold it out of his reach behind you. you eye him carefully, flit your gaze all around him to pick up on anything that you can that would explain his behavior.

"tell me." it's not an order, you aren't demanding, but neteyam nods his head like he's respondent of such.

"my father told me i needed a, uhm," he stutters, licks his lips, like he's tripping over his own tongue. and it's undeniable the way you see his ears twitch. "for the celebration tonight. i need a.."

"a what, neteyam?" you press, cock your brow up at him. you don't think you've ever seen him like this. never witnessed him so.. "you need a what?"

"a.. date."

so fidgety.

"a date?" you repeat with widening eyes.

"no, no not a—not a date really but i need someone for the—“

"the staining ceremony.” you finish for him, continue his sentence because with all his blubbering you aren’t sure he’ll ever spit it out.

he nods curtly.

the celebration tonight is for all the young warriors who have proved themselves throughout the calendar year as being strong willed and great protectors of the clan. neteyam, of course, is one of them. has been since he earned the right to be titled as such. so perhaps it should have clicked in your head that he’d be searching for a partner for the staining ceremony portion of the night.

but a part of you—if you’re being completely honest with yourself—just figured he had one already. events like this take weeks of planning; most warriors find their artisan a fortnight in advance. because it cannot just be anyone.

the partner one chooses for the staining ceremony must be someone with whom they feel a connection. some of the older warriors choose their mates. some of the youngest choose their mother or father. some settle for siblings. others, in brazen acts of outstretched hands, choose a mate unbonded; one who they harbor feelings for but have yet to seal such in the eyes of Eywa.

you cannot lie and say you had not pondered over who neteyam’s choice would be. a part of you thought he would pick kiri—they have always been so close and she has been his partner for such ceremony before. but, you are not deaf to the murmurs of your village, you are not ignorant of what has been passed from mouth to ear of all that will listen. there have been other… prospects who have been suggested to neteyam for this special commemoration.

your name has not been among them.

“well,” you continue, tear your eyes away from him and get back to the task at hand. there is no need to dwell on such things and fall behind. you have just one more batch of greens after this to prepare then you will be done and can walk away from all this. “if you’re here to ask my opinion on who your choice should be, i’m not sure i will prove to be much help.”

a shut down; a cut off. you’d like this conversation to be over as soon as possible because it’s making your fingers itch. you’re offering him a gateway to close the topic off.

but he doesn’t seem to get the memo.

“no,” he chuckles, now, and you can tell he’s shaking his head out of the corner of your eye. it’s breathy; like he’s punched it out of his chest and finally broken past the barrier of whatever flusteredness had him trapped before. “that’s not why i came to find you.”

“if it’s to convince kiri to sacrifice herself to do it for you again this year, i’m not game for that either.” you don’t understand why his laughter leaves you agitated, why this whole situation has caused an odd twisting in your gut.

“that won’t be necessary,” he disputes, “i do not need kiri to be my partner this year.”

your fingers fumble, your slicing stutters. “oh?” and you want to kick yourself for how your voice hitches. you clear your throat, bite the corner of your lip that neteyam can’t see. “convince some other poor soul to do it for you? is it zuy’nik? i know she presented you a kill from her hunt recently.”

neteyam hums. “no. i have not chosen zuy’nik.”

you grip your knife harder, focus carefully on the blade as you chop down on a bundle of leaves. your throat is dry, your heart is thundering. you feel silly.

“sënuul, then?” you question, do your best to sound as disinterested as possible even though your chest is burning to know who could be lucky enough to have been picked by the heir himself. “i hear many young warriors wish for her. they say she has delicate hands.”

your hands—in contrast—have grown tense; your chops near erratic. being this worked up over a man who is not your mate seems so futile, so nonsensical. if your mother were here to see you now she’d call you childish.

but is it so childish to want things your heart yearns for?

“while that may be true,” neteyam agrees with the sentiment, and that makes your stomach lurch, “it is not sënuul either.”

“then who is it? who could you possibly—“

a hand covering yours has you cutting yourself off. neteyam’s palm melds over your knuckles; stops your unsafe cutting and stills your wrist’s movements. before you can even bring yourself to look at him, calloused fingers are hooking around your chin. swiveling your head around, you have no choice but to meet his gaze. and it is not averting, not twinkling with tepidness like it was before. you think, for a moment, that’s because he’s passed the feeling onto you.

“i do not wish for any other partner in this clan.” and his voice does not waver, does not stumble, now. you swallow as you listen. “i came here to ask if you would do me the honors, for tonight.”

your tongue feels like cotton; the fuzz of it floating to your brain to make everything go static. this is.. not what you had expected.

you had expected to follow neytiri’s orders for preparing the food for the meals that would be shared. you had expected to dress yourself in the ceremonial clothing and jewelry you keep for these special occasions. you had expected to stand around the edges of the circle during the opening dance, serve food to the elders, and sit with a content tight smile as you watched kiri declare neteyam’s war paint for the third year in a row before the true celebration began.

you had not expected yourself to be standing face to face with neteyam, ears twitching embarrassingly sporadic, as he asks you to join him in one of the most intimate and important events of a warrior’s life.

and you suppose you can use that element of surprise as the reason why you find yourself a tad bit speechless while you nod dumbly. a wide grin cracks across his face, curves up his cheeks as he lets out another breathy laugh.

“thank you,” he murmurs, and he still hasn’t let go of your chin. “i was worried i would not get the chance to ask you in time. i was pushing it, but i tried to get all my other duties done as fast as i could.”

now that, the mention of time, finally knocks you out of your little lovesick trance.

“hey, wait,” you huff, shove at his chest lightly with your free hand. “you should have asked me sooner! i should have already had your stain pattern planned out, and—and now i have to go get all of your paints and i didn’t factor in the time for that. you’re terrible!”

“ah, i’m not terrible. i am sure you can just wing it,” he waves off, simpers like this is funny.

“wing it?” you gape at him. because he genuinely cannot be serious. “this will be your war paint pattern for the rest of the year. if it’s bad then you will be stuck with it. you want me just to wing that?!”

“why not? i have faith in you, i’ve put myself into your hands.” and it’s meant to playful, you know this, but the way he’s looking at you proves his words hold their full weight regardless. “don’t be mad at me.”

“oh, i’m mad,” you retort, brush him away as you get back to slicing because now you really do not have the time for distractions. “i cannot believe you have waited until last minute.”

“would you like me to ask someone else?” he queries, and you whip your head over to level him with a glare. “i mean, i am sure sënuul would be honored to be the partner of the future olo’eyktan.”

“you know, i liked you better when you were sputtering and nervous,” you spit back, retract your attention once again. “terrible. truly terrible.”

“ah, do not be mad at me,” he levels again, “what can i do to have you forgive me?”

“nothing. you will never be forgiven.” with no hesitation, but also no malice. your bite holds no venom, and your cheeks are still warm. such hypocrisy you spew.

“nothing?” he questions, and you don’t even have to see his face to know he is smiling. there he is again; the neteyam who holds his chin up high and taunts his brother into mindless games to prove his worth. you admire this neteyam; love this neteyam.

this neteyam grabs your face and tugs you forward before you can think of another mindless rebuttal to spout.

the kiss is light but fervent, and if you were a poetic person you might just say that his lips taste like future promises you already intend to keep. the fight drains from your body and you find no urge to bring it back. this neteyam seems to know how to quell you, how to dispel your frustration and wipe away your grievances like fogged up glass. so easy, so effortlessly.

he pulls away languidly, breath puffing against your lips. "forgive me?" he asks again, and you find yourself nodding before he even finishes the question.

he turns your head to peck your cheek then drops his hands to finally successfully steal the knife still held in yours. you tip your head, blinking through the daze to inquire what he's doing.

"i can finish that, you know."

"i know," he answers, then flashes you a crooked grin that has your stomach twisting in a way far different than before. "but don't you think you should start planning how you want to trail your hands over me?"

and, oh. part of you wants to hit him for that. but part of you wants to tug him in by the neckpiece he dons and get him to shut up by an alternative method.

as you reach forward to run your hand ever so heedlessly up his chest, a faux illusion of planning your mapping, you think you might just settle on the latter.

PRETTY WHEN I CRY ⸺ neteyam !

synopsis :: to him, you look ethereal. sculpted by the sky itself, skin gilded with ivory specks, he is suddenly overcome with the urge to uproot his eyes; just so that your face would be the last he commits to memory.

pairing :: neteyam sully / f!omatikaya!reader

author’s note .ᐟ me when i. me when i cannot shortly elaborate on an idea in under 1k words. physically incapable of it actually. this is littered w references btw so lmk if u catch any! angsty as hell yall im sorry.. based on this post😋 ps. listen to pretty when u cry/tunnel under ocean blvd, thats what i did <3

content warning :: mature

word count :: 4.1k

general tags :: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, no happy ending (mayhaps ?? open to interpretation), suggestive themes, aged up characters, goodbyes🫂

“No… what? No, you— you cannot just leave.”

There is a certain knot deep inside your chest, slowly but steadily clawing its way upwards your throat. It’s dizzying, it’s suffocating, and entirely disarming; frantic eyes sweep back and forth between the boy in front of you and the forest wall behind him. In disbelief, maybe. Denial, perhaps, of the all-consuming dread of knowing the inevitable.

Keep reading

Pink

dominic fike x reader

warning(s): smutty smut smutt yo, try at some plot yet again, lil long and all that…this filthy yall

a/n: there's for sure a ton of grammar edits that need to be made, so bear with me while i work on them! i can never seem to catch them all first day

enjoy, thanks to this yummy ass freaky ass request lmao 💗 sorry it took so long, i'm a slow writer...

¥

You sit between Dominic, your thighs spread and thrown over his legs. 

He lays back against the headboard, pink blankets, and furry throw pillows around the two of you as he trails his hands up your quivering legs. 

Your canopy, a sheer pink fabric floating above your bed, does little to hide the two of you. 

His warm palm contradicts the chill of the rings littering his fingers–and it makes you jolt when they caress your inner thigh.

He’s fully dressed. 

A well-worn leather jacket, its surface scuffed and softened with time, hangs open over a plain fitted t-shirt, showing his solid build underneath. And jeans, their denim rough against the smooth skin of your legs. 

The build-up to this wasn’t the most ideal. A lot of pent-up frustration. 

He’d asked you to come with him to his YSL after-party. Usually, you'd be ready to transform yourself into his arm candy for the night, the touch of his hand lingering on your lower back as you walked into the club with him. 

But this time, a different kind of excitement bubbled within you – your best friend's birthday. 

You'd promised weeks ago to go clubbing with her and some friends, and the thought of letting her down felt worse than seeing the frown that started creasing your boyfriend's forehead. 

A tense silence stretched over the two of you. 

"You're going out with them again?" his voice was flat, a stark contrast to his usual playful tone. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. 

"It's Aria's birthday, Dom," you said, jutting your hip and leaning your weight to your right leg. "I promised weeks ago."

"This is the third time this month you’ve blown me off," he countered, sucking his teeth. "It's a big night for me. You fuckin’ know that man!” 

A part of you understood, a nagging guilt prickling at your conscience. Maybe if you’d mentioned her birthday earlier, things could have been different.

But you also had a life, commitments you couldn't break at the last minute. Silence stretched between you again before you stated you were going for a shower, not having the energy for an argument. 

You came out of the bathroom to an empty apartment, and anger started to simmer at your throat.

No goodbye. No I love you. 

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself. Tonight was about Aria. Not you, and not your pissy boyfriend. You wouldn't let his actions ruin your night. 

Glancing at your phone, you switched it off. Letting silence and your disconnect speak for you. You hope he got the message. 

He did. 

Swaying slightly, you walked back into your apartment, the gems stitched into your tight two-piece glimmering in the warped light of the city skyline that was bleeding in through your windows.  

It was your skimpiest set, one that usually earned a cheeky ass grab from Dominic.  

You’d worn it once and promised to only wear it when going out with him. 

Which is why he clenched his jaw and exhaled through his nose when he saw you saunter in through the door at two am in that same set—reaching for the wall to peel off your boots. 

Completely oblivious to his presence. 

He watched as a naive giggle escaped your lips when you turned to look at yourself in the hallway mirror. 

Your mascara and eyeliner smudged and the glitter eyeshadow you'd swiped from Aria’s makeup bag, migrated into tiny, shimmering stars under your eyes. 

Your eyes are red and lidded, a remnant from the blunt you and her hotboxed the car with before she dropped you off. 

Combined with the tequila swirling in your system, you were in a heady euphoria. Ready for sleep, the comfort of your pajamas, and your bed.

Breathing a content sigh, you turned towards the living room, and your playful smile vanished the moment your eyes met your boyfriend's sprawled form on the couch.

The tequila shots sloshed comfortably in your stomach, but the weed buzzed through you. Your limbs felt light, almost detached, and the edges of the room seemed hazy.

Dominic was the only thing your mind was processing. 

Your argument replayed in your mind, a sour note against the fuzzy high. He sat with his hands clasped loosely in his lap, legs sprawled, and his posture slouched. 

His gaze roamed your body, lingering a second too long on your nipples poking through the thin fabric of your top, before flicking back up to meet your eyes. 

He looked pissed, and a chill of satisfaction wisped over you. 

With an off balanced sway in your hips, you stumbled over to him, ready to piss him off more than he already looked. 

The closer you got, the air hung heavy with the acrid scent of a strain you’re familiar with. He was high, pupils dilated and glassy, mirroring yours. 

There was an edge to him, a dangerous undercurrent, that fueled your ego. A twisted knot of pleasure growing in your chest knowing you were the reason for it. 

You grinned, throwing one leg on either side of his thighs, straddling him on the couch. Dominic lifts his eyes to yours, staring you down despite being under you. 

You feel his body flex.  

“Awh, you look upset baby.” you pouted, voice dripping with mock sympathy. You tilted your head to the side raking your acrylics through his hair, sweeping it back from his face. His eyebrow piercing glinted when his head knocked to the side under the aggression of your hand. 

The saccharine dripping from your voice was enough to curdle milk. "What’s wrong? You can tell Mama." you cooed, nodding with fake concern. Words a little slurred.

Dominic's jaw clenched, a flicker of something like a warning sparking in his eyes before he let out a humorless breath, licking his bottom lip and looking away from your face. 

His leg started to bounce, a telltale sign of his patience wearing thin.

You weren't sure where this new attitude came from, but thrill snaked through you as you realized you were effectively getting under his skin. 

The earlier fight still hung heavy for you, and you found yourself reveling in this power trip. 

Before he could pull away, your hand tightened around the fist full you had of his hair and yanked him back to face you. 

"Oh, I think I know," you purred. "Is Dommy mad that I turned my phone off?" You pouted again, the childish facade at odds with the grin on your lips. 

You had turned your phone back on while hotboxing Aria's Jeep. The string of missed calls, texts, and slurred voicemails all pinged in the moment your screen lit up.

The smirk on your face was evil, smug even as you and Aria mocked through them all.

"Yeah, that's what it is, isn't it? Or is it because I wore your favorite little two-piece without you?” 

You pulled his head back so his adams apple was barred, “Maybe next time don’t leave without acknowledging me first, yeah?” 

You leaned in, lips hovering over Dominic’s. You could smell the mint and alcohol in his breath, before moving to his ear. 

“Fuck you.” You whispered, patting his cheek. 

Pleased, you moved to get off him but halted when his hand grabbed at your hips and squeezed tight, forcing you back. You gasped at the sudden pressure, wincing slightly when he pressed harder over the bone. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” Before you could sass him back, Dominic’s hand flew to your neck and pressed at the pleasure points on the side of your throat.

“Oh come on, you didn’t expect me to let you talk to me like that?” Your clit pulsed, this is a side of your boyfriend you aren’t familiar with. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t getting worked up by it. You pressed down on his lap and felt his dick hard and poking in his jeans–a grin spread across your lips. 

“But you like it,” You wrapped your fingers around his hand on your neck, and slightly squeezed, not breaking eye contact. “Don’t you?” 

And now you’re in your current position.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Dominic mutters. The hand that’s not working your thigh, sliding down your top to fondle your tits. Your nails dig into his leg, a whimper leaving your lips.

“You know better than that.” He flicks your clit through your shorts, and a pathetic squeal comes out of your throat at the pain. This was a Dominic you didn’t know. You’re unsure how to act.

“Dom please,” You breathe, “I didn’t—.”Dominic tuts, and muffles you with the palm of his hand. 

“Yeah, you did, baby.” he slips his hand into your shorts and presses two fingers against your swollen clit, rubbing soft circles that causes your breath to catch. He’s barely applying pressure, just toying with you. 

“No panties huh?” he tilted his head back, nostrils flaring as he expelled a long breath. The movement sent a shiver down your spine, and your stomach lurched. 

You suck in a shaky breath, lips parting to defend yourself when his fingers tap on your lips with surprising force. He pushes them through and lets his middle and index fingers press down your tongue.

“Mm mm, don’t wanna hear it.” he runs his tongue along the shell of your ear and is quick to move his hand up from your shorts–pressing on your abdomen to bring you down when your hips buck up.

“Fuck!” you whine around his fingers, head lolling to the side, hand squeezing at his leather jacket. 

He chuckles and tugs your shorts off, and lands a smack against your sticky cunt before you can sigh in relief at finally having your lower half free.

Your vision blurs for a second, the sharp sting lacing through you. Your eyes fly shut, a surprised gasp leaving you. Fingers twitching. You’ve never felt that before, and your pussy tingles in want at the pleasured pain. 

“You really wanted to piss me off tonight, huh?” his voice comes out scratchy and low. Like a threat, and you can’t help the way your cunt throbs. “Just needed everyone’s fuckin’ attention.”

You try to jerk your thighs close, but Dom’s quicker than you. Free hand firmly gripping the meat of your thigh, and forcefully pressing down your right from the left. 

His fingers still loosely hang out the side of your mouth, your spit slick across the side of your face. Your pussy leaks, both from pain and arousal, and you’re desperate for more. 

Moving you around so that your legs are spread wider Dom pins you firmly against his chest.

“You don’t even deserve this.” he mutters, finally applying pressure to your clit, and your chest stutters. Sweat coats your body in a thin sheen making you appear dewy under the lit skyline pouring through your room window.

Dominic hooks his chin over your shoulder and peers his eyes down to your soaked cunt. He spreads your lips with his pointer and ring finger, the sound lewd. Your juices glimmer in the low light and Dom’s cock twitches in his jeans. You feel him hard and heavy against your lower back.

“Fuck, look at that,” he whispers, using the pad of his middle finger to just barely brush over your clit, then dipping into your pussy to collect your juices. Your body quivers, fingers spazzing when you throw your head back against Dom’s shoulder. 

“I—” You slur, around his fingers. 

“Hm?” He taunts, pulling his fingers away from your pussy and to his lips. You whimper at the loss of contact, eyes blown wide when Dominic makes a show of sucking off fingers. He opens his eyes just barely, and peers over at you. “Where’d all that mouth go?” 

You try to speak again, but your mind blanks when the sound of Dominic’s belt unclasping filters through your ears. In a swift movement, he’s sliding out from behind you and removing his hand from your mouth. 

Immediately you find yourself missing his heat and the heavy pressure of his fingers on your tongue. 

Cool air rushes to your back where he once was and you shiver. 

“God, you really don’t deserve this.” he reiterates, as he removes his jeans. His shirt and jacket follow suit. You watch him in a daze, thrumming in anticipation. 

Just moments ago you were asserting dominance, and now your brain can’t process anything but the man undressing at the foot of your bed. He’s a stark contrast to the pink of your room. He looks out of place, despite being right where you need him. 

He crawls back to you, and for the first time today, Dominic catches your lips in a searing kiss. Your mouths clash in a hungry mesh of spit and tongue. Your highs make everything sloppy and disoriented, and so so good. Blindly grabbing, and taking each other apart. 

Your hand tangles in his curls, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck and earning a grunt that you eagerly swallow. 

Take take take. You need all of him. 

You wander your fingers over the expanse of his body, nails dipping into the ridges of his stomach before slipping into his boxers, and wrapping your hand around his dick. 

Dom shutters, and he pulls away from your lips to grab your wrist–his grip tight in warning. 

“You don’t listen.”  His breath fans hot over your lips, glossy with your shared spit. 

“Please Dom, just, please.” You’re downright whimpering at this point, pleading for him. Gone is your attitude from earlier, and Dominic laughs right in your face. It’s pitiful and he grins. 

“Awh, what's wrong princess?” His forehead creases, mock concern seeping out of his words. He dips his head down to nose at the sensitive spot of your neck, just under your ear. 

“You can tell Daddy.” He nods, curls tickling your cheek. 

Dominic mimics your words from earlier, pinning one of your wrists above your head. Your free hand twitches under his chest, not quite touching, just hanging in the air. Unsure if he wants you touching him.

You’re scared, and so turned on. Pussy fluttering around nothing. 

“Oh, I think I know.” Dom releases your wrist and yanks you back by your hair, baring your throat out to him. Just like you did. 

“You want me to fuck you. That it?” 

You do. So bad. You’re not sure how much more you can take, which is why you’re surprised when you feel your eyes get hot. You’ve never been brought to this point before, and you weren’t sure if you ever wanted to leave this headspace. 

You nod your head rapidly, tears glossing your eyes over. “Yes, please, Dom. I’m sorry.” You whisper, peering up at him with how he has your head positioned, and swallowing when you watch the side of his lip twitch up. 

“Maybe next time don’t bitch at me, yeah?” He pats your cheek twice. Just like you did. It stings a little, and your thighs twitch.

Dominic tilts his head to the side, hair sliding to the right with him. He simpers and says nothing. You feel your face start to burn, feeling so small under him like this, a hot tear streams down the side of your face. 

You watch Dom’s eyes follow it with rapt attention, and you part your lips ready to say something, anything, when his eyes snap back to yours and you feel the tip of his cock pushing its way into your throbbing pussy. 

Your eyes roll, and your mouth hangs open. A silent gasp stuck in your throat. 

You’ve fucked your boyfriend many times before. But this, this, is surreal. Feeling him like this was new, the bated breath, the heat, the intensity of it all. 

You feel him everywhere all at once, your body pulsating, ears feeling as if they're stuffed with cotton. 

You feel hot, molten almost, but you’re shivering. 

Dom bends your neck back further and nods his head while pushing himself in. Inch by inch you feel him filling you up.

His face is hovering over yours, as he watches you. His lips parted and brushing over your own as he loses himself in your heat. 

“Mhm, that’s it, baby. You feel me?” Dominic mutters against your mouth, and you wither, mindlessly lifting a hand to grab hold of his in your hair. 

You can’t speak, your brain is mush. Not a single thought processing. You feel full, the stretch one that you’ll never get enough of. He’s thick and heavy, and it’s almost too much. 

Then he snaps his hips, and you slur out a curse. A long drawn-out whine leaves you and you squeeze your eyes. If you were in your right mind, you’d almost be embarrassed that such a sound left you. But you aren’t. 

Dominic snaps his hips one more time, and then he’s fucking you as if he’s on borrowed time. His hips grind quick and hard. He untangles his hand from your hair and interlaces it with one of yours, before tucking himself securely in your neck. 

He presses closer to you, and you wrap your legs around his waist. Ankles locked tight, and his heavy grunts fall into your neck. 

He’s a mess of praise and curses, your bodies sticking together and the smell of sex hot in the air. 

Your body jolts up with each thrust and you use your free arm to wrap around Dom’s back. Your acrylics scratch into his skin as you try to ground yourself. 

But you need more. 

“More, Dom,” You gasp out. “Please.”

He’s manhandling you around before your mind could process it. Head lifted from your neck as he turned you over on your stomach in a heated frenzy. 

Your face is mushed into your pillows at the foot of your bed, ass perked up.

“Never satisfied are you?” Dom grunts, slipping back inside you and giving you just what you asked for. He leans down so he’s molded to the shape of your back, and grabs hold of your throat from the front. 

You’re being fucked dumb, have no idea what you’re saying. If you’re even saying anything at all. Body tingling everywhere. 

“You feel so good, baby. So good for me.” Dominic praises, reveling in how good your pussy sucks him in. How warm and gummy you feel around him. Squeezing him just right. 

You’re both intertwined with pleasure, in a conjoined headspace that you hope never ends. You don’t even know how you both got to this point anymore. What you were arguing about in the first place.  Just that you want to keep fucking like this, want to always feel him like this. 

You start to feel yourself getting lifted off the mattress and then you’re on your knees, Dominic’s front still molded to your back. He reaches around and squeezes your right tit, fingers rolling your nipple. 

You reach back and grip his hair when he starts leaving messy kisses down the side of your throat. 

“Look. Look at yourself while I fuck you.” Dom orders, his voice vibrates through you and it takes all you have to peel your eyes open to see yourself through the mirror. 

It’s in the corner of your room, and you can only see the side of you and Dom as he snaps his hips into you. Your eyes lock with his through the mirror. He’s already staring at you through his lashes, hair wet and sticking to his forehead. His gaze is primal, something wicked and you feel your stomach start to tighten, pussy spazzing around him. 

“Oh fuck m’ gonna cum. Gonna cum.” you slur. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me?” He moves down to start rubbing tight circles on your clit, and you arch your back, throwing your head against his shoulder. A chorus of yes’s. 

“Look.” He grunts again, hand moving off your neck to firmly grip your jaw and force your face back to the mirror. You look a fucking mess.

That coil in your stomach tying a knot so tight, you’re not sure you’re ready for it to snap. But you need it too. Need it so fucking bad. 

You bring a hand to grip Dom's arm that's resting on your abdomen, toes curled tight. 

“Right there, right there!” You squeal, feeling yourself weaken in his hold when his tip hits that spongy spot within in your walls. Dom feels it too, and pushes you back down into your sheets, his pace harder in the new position. His arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding your middle half in a slight arch. 

“Cum for me, you can do it. Make me cum.” He’s whispering in your ear, “So fuckin’ close, cum with me baby. Please.”

And the pleasure that’s been brewing, thrumming throughout your body, pours. 

You cum hard, Dominic’s name high-pitched and breathless when you reach down to tightly grip the corner of your mattress. Back arched high like a cat. 

Your pussy clamps down on him, walls spasming around his dick, and it sets him off. He struggles to keep his eyes open, they’re lidded as he drunkenly loses himself in your pussy, chasing his orgasm. 

You watch him through your mirror. Watch as his mouth drops open. Watch as he drops onto you, squeezing you tight when he finally cums. Painting your walls white, and filling you up. 

You're both panting, trying to catch your breath. Dom starts to pepper kisses on the side of your face, and you turn your head to catch his lips. It’s slower than the one you shared earlier.

Heavy with I’m sorry, and I love you. 

You pull away first, watching as a smile takes over his face. The position you’re in is awkward, but you both don’t care right now. You reach around as best you can and brush his hair back from his eyebrow, softly rubbing your thumb over the piercing. 

“So, how was clubbing without me? Boring huh?” You grin a shit-eating grin, and Dom rolls his eyes when you start laughing. 

“Fuck off.”

30+ Mods & CC for Realistic Gameplay-

-Nova's Vlog-

Longer Parties and More Guests

Thick Walls (No Noisy Neighbors Outdated)

Somik & Severinka S&S Cookbook

Somik & Severinka Functional Alcohol (S&S Cookbook required!)

Somik & Severinka Functional Stands for Bottles

Basemental Alcohol

More Choices

Elgato

Functional PS5

PS5 Controller

PS5 Game Override

Side FX

-CAS-

Mirrored Up

CAS Organizers

CC Wrench

Nail Pose

Female Underwear Replacement

Male Underwear Replacement

No More CAS UI

-Gameplay-

Dark Mode UI

Ceiling No longer needed (Thanks Amobae ♡)

Selfie Override

Counter Prep Disable

Utensil

Stop Eating when Fed Up

Sponge Override

Nap Override

Laundry Override

Spray Bottle Override

Quip Oral Set

Razor Override

Self Pedicure

Foot Replacement Alternative (Didn't realize that it's STILL behind paywall)

One day I'll learn how to make an aesthetic post. Not today tho

♡Thank you to all the wonderful CC Creators and Animators ♡

INTENTIONS, pope heyward

summary: y/n makes pope relax after seeing how stressed he is while he has other intentions

notes: idk how i feel about this but it’s short & sweet so here it is

warnings: sexual intentions, kissing and a light description of nudity.

“POPE baby you’re going to pass” y/n sighed as she watched him peace holes on his rooms floor.

“what if I don’t? then i fail and that goes on my-“

“pope”

Keep reading

xavier thorpe x reader - getting high and having sex

“Lighter?” You whisper, voice so meek and sweet it completely transcends Xavier to a different dimension.

He gawks at you with big, doe eyes. The bedroom is dark but rays of moonlight cascade on his angelic features. His pupils are blown, cloudy whites unblinking as he studies your face from where you’re sitting on top of him. That’s how you end up smoking most of the time - sitting in Xavier’s lap and sharing lazy kisses. Or simply admiring each other, like he does right now.

Your beauty outshines every work of art, he thinks to himself but is too high to form any coherent sentences. All he can do is express his love through the way he stares at you, so entranced that he’s incapable of remembering what you even asked for.

“Huh?” It feels like an eternity until he inquires.

“Lighter. Need the uh… lighter.”

You’re both high and didn’t even need that much this time - that’s how good Ajax’s current stash is.

“Right. Lighter,” he repeats, fumbling with the pockets of his pants.

His fingers seem disoriented, addled brain trying to zap back and remember where that goddamn lighter is. Despite feeling likes he’s moving at the speed of light, he’s actually sluggish, barely finding the strength to lift you up. He finds it under your butt eventually, right between his thighs, and the laughter that follows is genuine.

When you light a second joint, he is taken aback by your features gleaming before the blazing flame. The fire puts a spotlight on your face and he beams at the reddish blur adorning the whites of your eyes. You’re just as high as he is, he concludes.

“Come here,” he demands in his dazed state, right after you take the first puff.

It’s not the first time he’s asking for this so you know what to do, inching closer and parting your lips at the same time he gapes his. This way, the cloud of smoke travels from your mouth to his. He inhales it all, lungs filling up with nothing but heaviness. When he exhales, you place a gentle hand on his throat. He smiles in return.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. You’re just so pretty,” you murmur, the pad of your thumb traveling from his Adam’s apple to his mouth.

“Yeah?” He retorts, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

At least until he parts them to suck on your digit. You shudder at the gesture and roll your hips over his, butt pressing onto his crotch. The staccato breath he lets out makes you chuckle.

“Yeah. Too pretty,” you continue to taunt.

Normally, he would blush at your compliments. Maybe even refute them, auburn strands never failing to tumble over his face to mask the heat radiating off his cheeks.

This time, however, his hair is in a half-bun, and his face is as pale as ever. Your words have no intimidating effect.

If anything, they spur him on - lanky fingers stealing the joint from your hand. He draws a puff, narrowed eyes fixed on you until the exhale reduces your face to a blur. For his sanity, it’s only for a split of a second. And, then, his gaze resumes devouring you.

“Pretty enough to put my dick in you?”

The nonchalance he exudes takes you by surprise and the laugh that erupts from your throat is accompanied by a cheeky simper of his own.

“You wanna fuck me right now?”

“Especially right now,” he explains and you’ve never agreed more.

Shifting in his lap, you pull your panties to the side and expose your puffy cunt. He palms it just as idly as he strokes his cock after freeing it from his boxers. The hand he’s working on his shaft with doesn’t even feel like his own - the numbness prickles at his skin while he alternates between ogling your puffy lips and his erect dick.

“Help me,” he whispers, furrowed eyebrows looking down on sweeping lashes.

Snapping out of the trance he’s got you in, you oblige. Damp pussy hovers over his throbbing shaft before it sinks and he watches the fat tip of his cock disappearing between your folds. When the heat embraces him, his head falls back with a groan.

“Shit… so good.”

“Feels good to fill me up?” Riling him up is always so gratifying.

“Mhm, the best,” he agrees, dumb smile directed at the ceiling.

Constellations form before his eyes when you start moving, riding him at a slow and tantalizing pace. He wishes for more but knows he’s incapable of voicing his desire out. Or taking over, for the matter. All he can do is take whatever he’s being given, desensitized hands holding your middle and aiding your slow movements.

The way your pussy sucks him in with every drop of your hips is out of this world, walls molding over his cock in ways that make him swear you were made for him. Your cunt was made to swallow him - he’s sure of it.

“I love you,” he blurts out, voice barely audible.

You catch the words but only because he caught your attention first - gripping the flesh of your breasts until you glanced down at the fucked out look on his face.

“Love you too.”

He’s convinced you do. There’s no way you don’t. Not when you fuck him like that, gyrating your hips until you have his heart in a chokehold. Until you synchronize entirely, body and soul becoming one. Until there’s one fused being floating through the universe, devoid of space and time.

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: with a new problem in smallville ridding people of their inhibitions and exacerbating urges, clark finds himself confronted with a dilemma as his neighbour arrives in his loft, afflicted by the same epidemic

WARNINGS: where to start?, slight dubcon (purely because reader's emotions are being exaggerated by an outside force (not a person though, it's unspecified)) but consent is verbalised later between both parties, clark is kind of pathetic (what did you expect from me?), kissing, palming(?), he's a sensitive guy, clark reacts to seeing reader's bare skin like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankle, kind of dirty talk, clark in that white t-shirt (i KNOW you know what i mean), blowjob, handjob, clark compares every sexual experience to ascending to a new plane of existence and finding paradise, he's a loud boy, couch sex, semi-public sex? (in the loft in the barn, but literally no one is around and they're alone for hours), fingering, clark using his super speed for illicit activities, cowgirl, missionary, it's not said whether or not clark is a virgin, but he's definitely inexperienced, clark being scared of his strength being a danger to reader, praise kink (neither of them react to the praise in any particular way, it's just that there's a lot of praise so if anything i'm just showing off my praise kink), mention of sex against a wall, creampie

this is inspired by the episode of smallville in season one where there's that flower that makes people make poor decisions and behave rashly, and also by this scene that i saw on tiktok with clark and lana (if anyone finds this i need them to send me the link... for research purposes) (EDIT: someone found it so here's the link) where he just folds the moment she kisses his neck. i also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from my clark jacking off headcanons.

also for someone who rarely spells the word rhythm right first try, i use it a lot in this. fair warning there may be accidental tense changes and pronoun changes but i've tried to go through and eliminate that.

this will probably be the last instalment of the neighbour clark series, although i'll probably return to this idea eventually to add thoughts, but they won't be tied directly to this series, just to neighbour clark as an au. thank you to everyone who has enjoyed and supported this series and been so patient with me (i had no idea it had been over a month since part four).

part one! part two! part three! part four! part five!

Clark can’t seem to escape you over the next week, not that he really minds much. But it’s become almost impossible to make it through an encounter with you where he doesn’t feel like he’s at risk of coming undone. 

You’re always hanging out with Lana and Chloe in school and out of it, you’re at the Torch whenever he is, same with the Talon. He’s even come home to find you baking with his mother! What divine power hates him so much that you have to be everywhere he turns? 

Sometimes you’re not even doing anything particularly scandalous. The only remotely salacious thing you did while baking was licking the batter off your fingers, and that definitely did send Clark through the loop. Your pure existence anywhere nearby just threw him off. 

~~~ 

You have one thought and one thought only as you walk towards the barn that contains Clark’s little hideaway. The farm is empty besides him - Mr and Mrs Kent are in town at the market, so they’ll be gone for a while. You’ll have plenty of alone time with Clark. 

“Clark?” You call as you enter the barn. 

“Hey!” He greets, voice a little breathy. 

“Can I come up?” 

“Yeah, no problem.” You make your way upstairs, finding Clark reading through some book when you reach the top. “Hey, what’s-” 

He turns, and the sight he’s met with has him pausing. You’re in a pair of teeny denim shorts, a black cropped tank top with thin straps, and an open button-up. It’s a warm summer’s day and your skin is practically glowing in the light that filters through into the barn. The cute little brown cowboy boots on your feet really tie it together. There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about your outfit, but something about it feels different. It feels… he can’t place it. Although maybe it’s just to do with the air you have about you as you stand there. 

“What are- what are you doing here?” He asks. 

You shrug. “Well, it’s just been such a long, hard day, and I missed you. Kept thinking about you. Thought we could hang out. We haven’t hung out together in ages, you know? Just the two of us.” You’re moving towards him as you speak. Well, it looks like you’re just moving further into the space - pacing, perhaps - but he’s sort of backing away the entire time, keeping equal distance, and you’re turning to match his direction the entire time. “It’s been so long, Clark.” 

Your hand grazes over the telescope, but you don’t move it, don’t look in it (which he’s more than thankful for, because it’s currently aimed towards your house). 

“Y-yeah, we can hang out.” 

“What have you been doing?” You ask, looking around, then at him.

You take off the shirt, and it feels like he’s watching it in slow motion. The way your head turns, the way the material just gently, slowly glides down your smooth skin, and then it’s draped over the back of a chair. You stretch, arms reaching into the air above your head and showing off more bare skin. And as you reach the peak of your stretch, fighting the tension in your muscles and bones, you let out a purposeful moan. 

Clark is going to die. 

“Uh, just homework,” he says, swallowing to combat the dryness in his mouth as you turn towards him and begin to approach him. 

You smile a little. “So smart. You’re so good, Clark.” Well, you and he both know exactly where that comment’s going. 

“Uh- hm. Not- I’m not…” He’s backing away from you to keep some distance as you keep walking towards him. His foot hits a metal bucket, a loud clang! ringing around the barn as he stumbles a little. 

“Not what, Clark? Not smart? Not good?” Clark glances behind him to make sure that he’s not going to trip over something else or fall down the stairs, and when he turns his head back to face you, he’s shocked to find you directly in front of him. 

Your fingers hook onto his belt loops, tugging him closer to you by his hips. His eyes go wide as he looks down, then at you, multiple times in very quick succession, his face the epitome of bewilderment. 

“We both know that’s not true, Clark. You’re good. And smart. And strong. You’re amazing.” 

“Wh-what are you doing?” He manages. 

“Come on, Clark, I know.” 

“What?” 

“I know how you feel. I get it now. I’ve been totally blind to it because you’re too polite to look. But I want you to. I want you to look. I want you to touch-” His eyes turn wider still, and he’s still looking confused beyond anything. “I want you to taste. I want you to do whatever you want.” 

He sees then how dilated your pupils are, how heat radiates off you. You’re not yourself. Whatever’s been going around and getting to people the past few days has reached you. This isn’t you. 

But everything he knows points to this thing, whatever it is, exacerbating existing feelings, not creating new ones. So maybe you do really want him. It doesn’t make it any better, though. It’s still taking advantage. 

“Y-you’re sick,” he tells you as you lean in and begin to mouth at his neck. 

His eyelids flutter and a smile begins to pull at the corners of his lips. No. No, he needs to be responsible. He can’t do this now. Even though you’re handing yourself to him on a silver platter, telling him you want him to. Even though his heightened senses are letting him know the way your heart begins to beat a little faster, the way your breath turns shallow and gaspy, the way you smell as arousal begins to form a little patch in your underwear. 

“This isn’t really you. You’re sick.” 

“Oh, trust me, Clark, I’ve wanted this for a while.” 

“N-no, you’re not yourself. You can’t - ah!” He’s cut off by his own high whine when one hand releases his belt loop and instead directly palms him. His hips buck into your touch involuntarily. “Oh my God.” You apply the slightest bit of pressure, and watch proudly as his eyes roll back momentarily. Oh, he’s pent up. “N-no, no you- you’re sick. This is wrong.” 

“Don’t you want me?” You ask. 

“Baby, I’ve never wanted anything more than this, but-” 

“Then take me!” You whine. “Fuck me!” 

“Please,” he tries, although with your hand still on his clothed cock and his neck still tingling with the lasting effect of your kisses, it comes out more like a whine. 

You lean up, kissing at his jaw. “What if it makes me feel better? What if it cures me?” 

“I-I don’t think-” 

“Don’t think, Clark. Please. Just- just let go. Just be with me.” 

His eyes shut for a moment. “Fuck,” he breathes out as he reaches his verdict. He turns his head, meeting your lips. It’s a messy clash of tongues, desperate for one another. 

You back him towards a desk that’s been set up against a wall, and push at his shoulders to make him sit down. He looks up at you with those angel eyes, pupils blown and eyebrows raised a little, lips pouting and all coming together to create a look that just begs you to ravish him. 

You meet his lips with yours again, hands reaching blindly to find the hem of his sweater. You find it, pulling it up and over his head with as much speed as possible, finding that tight white t-shirt underneath. 

“Fuckin’ love this shirt,” you mumble, kissing him again. “But I need it gone.” 

Clark nods, eagerly reaching to pull the t-shirt over his head. His desperation means it gets stuck a little on the way up, and you have to help him get it off, but you don’t mind. You’re quick to get your hands on him, as he begins to kiss down your neck, you trail your hands over every muscled inch of him. 

He sucks a mark into the skin of your neck, kissing over it when he’s done, like a finishing touch. “Oh, Clark,” you breathe out, nails lightly scratching over his stomach. He shivers a little, breath shaking. 

Your fingers find his chin, tilting his face up to give him another kiss, before you’re getting to your knees in front of him. He watches with wide, adoring eyes as you begin to undo his jeans, kissing down his stomach as you do. 

You make quick work of his jeans, bringing them halfway down his thighs, then pulling his boxers down far enough to free his cock. He looks painfully hard. Clark knows that this is his body’s standard reaction to you. You don’t. You’re also not aware of the way Clark’s thoughts run wild when he fists his cock to the image of you at night. Granted none of his fantasies have ever played out quite like today has, but he’s going to be thinking of this for a very long time. 

Your hand wraps around his thick base, and he lets out a precious little gasp. You smile up at him, and from this angle, you look like a fucking enchantress. He swears you’ve got him under some kind of spell. 

You move your hand. Clark is ascending to a new plane. 

And then, with your hand still pumping him, and as Clark watches, you lean your head closer to his tip. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. 

You lick over his slit, and his head tilts back against his wishes. He doesn’t want to look away. Doesn’t want to miss a single moment. He wants to bask in the glory of this image forever. 

And then your lips wrap around his tip, a sensation like no other, and you press forward, taking him as far as you can. “Oh, baby, please-” he moans, wrangling the urge to flex his hips forward. “Y-yeah, that’s it, honey.” 

His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as your hand pumps what you can’t fit in your mouth. You watch him through your lashes, waiting for him to look back at you. But he doesn’t. 

So you pull off. 

Clark just about suppresses the whine that threatens to escape at the loss of the wet heat of your mouth, and instead a rather disappointed sigh leaves him. The world outside your mouth feels cold and lonely. 

But you fix it by leaning forwards and beginning to kiss around his pelvis, smirking a little against his skin as he shudders. Your hand is still moving to a steady rhythm, and even though Clark misses the feeling of your mouth, the combined sensation of your slick hand and your kisses on his hips is too good. “Clark, honey,” you mumble, nipping at the skin over his hip bone. He gasps. “Would you look at me?” 

“C-can’t,” he denies, shaking his head. 

“Why not?” 

“Because - oh, God-” You suck his skin just a couple of inches away from his base, disappointed to find no mark when you pull away. “Because if I look at you, I think I might cum.” 

You give him a sympathetic look. “What would be so bad about that?” 

“I can’t. Not yet. Have to - have to last.” 

“Oh, Clark,” you hum with a pout. “It’s okay if you cum. I want you to. We’ll go as long as you can. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” You reach a hand up, smoothing it over the planes of his chest. “Look at me? Please?” Clark nods, looking down and meeting your eyes. “There’re those pretty eyes.” 

You plant a final kiss on his hip before taking him in your mouth again. “Oh, please,” he whimpers, his hips twitching. 

His hands rest against the desk beneath him, but not gripping it, instead clenching his fists until his knuckles turn white. You reach for one of his hands, guiding it towards you, but Clark shakes his head and pulls it back, placing it firmly on the desk again. 

“Keep going, baby, please. I’m almost there.” 

You pull away to breathe, jerking him off with newfound speed, and Clark’s breaths turn into panting moans. This time, when he feels the urge to throw his head back, he fights it. He holds the eye contact you’re giving him, just like you’d asked. 

“Let go for me, Clark. Wanna see it. Wanna taste it.” Your tongue meets his tip as you wrap your mouth around the blushing tip of his cock, and you drag along his slit. 

“Yeah. Right there. Yes, yes, fuck!” 

Clark crumbles as he cums, shooting spurts onto your tongue and moaning through it, your hand and mouth working him through the pleasure and milking him for all he’s worth. 

You grin up at him, kissing the head of his cock, and standing. He lifts a hand, cupping your face and shifting some fallen hair, smiling at you, blissed-out and awe-struck. 

He leans forwards, catching your lips in a sweet kiss. “Couch?” You mumble, and he nods, taking your hands in his as he walks towards the couch. He sits down on it, an old and worn piece of furniture - but it’ll do. It looks sturdy enough. 

You sink into his lap, knees either side of his hips, kissing him. You blindly find his hands, pulling them to the button of your shorts. The way his fingers move to get you out of those shorts is nothing short of eager, quick and fumbling in his desperation to become impossibly closer to you. 

He finally gets the button undone and the zipper down, and you clamber off him, pushing the shorts down till they hit the floor, and you step out of them. Clark sits forward, pretty green eyes gazing up at you, flickering down to the hem of your tank top. 

His nose nudges at the skin revealed beneath the bottom, and he takes a long breath in, eyes closed, as though he’s savouring a sweet smell. Through all this, though, his hands remain balled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t grip the couch cushions like you’d expect, doesn’t dare touch you, for whatever reason. 

You toy with the hem of your tank top for a moment, Clark watching with hopeful eyes, and then you pull it up and over your head. You hook a finger into the band of your underwear - another light blue set Clark remembers fantasising about, silk and lace and matching the bra - and pause. “You wanna help me take these off, Clark?” He nods, lifting his hands and hooking his fingers into the material on your hips, tugging them down gently. 

“Oh-” he breathes out. You push him back softly with a hand on his chest, straddling him again. His eyes trail down from yours, landing on your clothed chest. 

You laugh a little. “Touch me, Clark. Then I’ll take it off and you can get a look.” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Okay.” 

You smile, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your core, fingers gently stroking over your folds. One finger slips through, and Clark almost gasps. 

He’s slow with it at first, tentative, until you kiss him and whisper, “Clark, please.” 

He adds a finger, finds a rhythm, faster, but still so gentle, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. He curls his fingers just right, prompting a moan from you. 

“Oh, God,” he whispers to himself at the feel of how wet you are. Because of him. 

You reach a hand between you, middle and index finger on your clit, and you begin to rub tight circles, gasping at the spike in pleasure. 

Clark is watching every response to every bit of stimulation, and he looks down at your moving fingers. “Does it- does it feel good when you do that?” He asks. You nod. He meets your eyes, innocent as can be for someone who’s got two fingers buried inside you. “I want- can I?” He asks. 

“Uh-huh.” Clark replaces your fingers with the thumb of his free hand. His hands are huge. You’ve thought about it before, plenty, about Clark’s large hands on you, on your chest or cupping your ass, but now that you’re actually with him in this setting, the thought turns you on even more. If only he didn’t seem scared to touch you. 

“Am I-” Clark begins, looking up at you with hopeful eyes. 

“You’re doing so good Clark,” you praise. “So good. Please.” 

He leans forwards, kissing your neck, collarbone, down until he finds the tops of your breasts. He kisses you there too, while his fingers below speed up in their rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Clark- Clark, oh, please.” 

“Good?” He questions. 

“Yes. Yes. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, breathless. 

Your hips begin to move with the rhythm of his fingers, and Clark watches in awe as you do, adding pressure to your clit and practically doubling his speed. Your eyes go wide at the feeling, intense but so, so good. He’s so fast, you think it’s inhuman. In fact you’re pretty sure it has to be. 

“Hhhmmmm, Clark, how are - fuck, oh, God - how are you doing that?” 

Clark doesn’t respond, and you don’t get the chance to ask again because all of a sudden, your orgasm crashes over you in a heavy wave that feels like it’ll never end. 

You collapse onto him, legs trembling and chest heaving. You bite into his shoulder, hard enough to break skin possibly, which you feel bad for, but he doesn’t seem hurt by it. 

“Oh my God, Clark. That was incredible.” You lean back, cupping Clark’s jaw and tilting his head so he meets your eyes. 

“Can I- can you, uh…?” His gaze lowers to your chest momentarily, and you smile. Your hands reach for his wrists, lifting them up, pushing his fingers towards his mouth. He knows what you want, and he complies wordlessly, sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean of your slick. 

“That’s it,” you hum, guiding his hands to your back, to the clasp of the bra. 

He unhooks it, dragging the straps down your arms, and discards it to the side. He stares at your bare chest in complete awe, green eyes shining. 

You reach down, pumping his cock to get him good and ready, and Clark still struggles to shift his gaze. “You ready?” You ask, and he nods. 

You push yourself up on your knees, and Clark’s eyes widen a little suddenly. “Wait, wait, what about protection?” 

“I’m on the pill,” you say. “And I’m clean. Are you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And do you still want to do this?” 

“More than anything.” 

“Good.” You line him up with your entrance, and sink down onto him. 

If Clark thought anything before was good, this was a whole new level of ecstasy. “Fuck, oh my God,” he gasps. 

His hands clench into fists at his sides again. You ignore it for now, even though you want nothing more than to feel his hands on you. 

You begin to move, starting with a slow rhythm to ease Clark into it, and hooking your arms around his neck, kissing him. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “You’re tight, and wet, and warm.” He kisses you softly. “Baby, please.” 

“I know.” You pick up your pace, bouncing on his lap, smiling at the way he moans. Your ass meets his thighs with a rhythmic plap! plap! plap! sound, your hands clinging to his shoulders for some stability, because he’s still not touching you, and more than confused, you’re starting to feel even a little insulted. 

You kiss his pulse point, just beneath his jaw, and bite at his earlobe. Your hands slide up to his hair, giving a tug, and he moans. You notice his hands twitch, but he doesn’t touch you. 

“Why won’t you touch me, Clark?” You ask, leaning back and slowing your hips. 

He meets your eyes, guilt flashing through. “I-I just… I’m really strong.” 

“I know,” you say, one hand squeezing at his bicep. 

“N-no. I mean… like, really strong. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I’m not fragile, Clark.” 

“I know, but - I’m inhumanly strong. And if something goes wrong…” 

“I don’t care. It’s a minor risk. You know what I do care about? The fact that I have an insanely hot guy under me who refuses to touch me. And my legs feel like they’re gonna give out. So unless you want this to stop right now, you’re gonna have to take the risk.” 

He nods. “Are you sure? I don’t want-” 

“You won’t hurt me, Clark. I trust you.” 

He nods again, hands finally finding your hips, and with the aforementioned inhuman strength lifts you up and lays you down on the couch, crawling on top of you. 

“There we go,” you say, grinning and looping your arms behind his neck. 

Clark slips back into you, beginning to thrust slowly. “You look so pretty under me,” he muses. 

“Clark, you can’t just say that to a girl,” you giggle. He laughs a little, kissing you softly. He’s still keeping a slow pace, which you presume comes from the fear of hurting you accidentally by using too much force, but you’re impatient. “Clark, can you go faster?” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah.” He speeds up, and props himself up with one arm above your head, while the other heads south, fingers finding your clit and beginning to rub circles onto it, just like before. 

“That’s good. That’s good.” 

He nods, and more sounds begin to flood from his mouth, matching your moans. “Oh, God, baby. You feel so good. You’re so good. So pretty.” 

“You’re doing so well Clark,” you tell him. You wonder about his strength, about what he means by inhuman. Certainly, there was something inhuman about his speed earlier as he worked your clit. “Do I get to see this inhuman strength later?” 

“Uh- I probably-” 

“Please?” You clench around him for a moment. 

He falters, hips stuttering a little as a whimper escapes him. “If you do that, I think I’d give you anything you wanted.” 

“So I can see?” 

“Yeah, you can see. I’ll show you. Promise, baby.” 

Clark lets out a breathy moan, head falling into the crook of your neck as his hips gain speed, and he adjusts his thrusts to match it. “Are you close, Clark?” 

He nods. He hardly trusts his voice. “Just need a moment.” 

“It’s okay. You can cum.” 

He shakes his head. “Not before you.” God, you’d think his invulnerability would give him some advantage in holding out, but poor Clark’s so sensitive that every stroke feels like absolute heaven and it feels like he’s barrelling full-force to what will no doubt be the most incredible finish of his life. 

And then his fingers are moving against your clit just as fast as before, if not faster, desperate to get you to finish before he does. “Oh my God, Clark, what the fuck? How are you doing that?” A loud moan escapes you. “Fuck-” 

“You like that?” He asks. 

“Fuck, yes. What other inhuman abilities are you hiding from me?” 

“I’ll tell you later?” 

“You better.” 

He leans down, kisses everywhere he can reach, your jaw, your neck, your chest, your lips, even drags your earlobe between his teeth and gives it a gentle bite. You really don’t care about Clark hurting you, because it doesn’t exist as a thought in your mind that he could. He wouldn’t ever lay a hand on you, and you know that. In fact, at this point you’d willingly let him throw you against a wall and take you there. 

“Clark, I - I’m close. Please.” 

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, baby.” He adjusts himself to grab your hand, holding it by your head and intertwining his fingers with yours. 

You lift your head, searching for his lips, and he’s more than happy to gift you a kiss, soft in comparison to the speed and desperation of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as you reach your climax, body twitching as Clark carries you through it, your walls clenching around him like a vice, drawing a particularly loud moan from him. 

“That’s it,” he hums as you come down from your high. “You okay?” 

You nod, a blissed smile on your face. “So okay.” 

You card your fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, and Clark moans. “I’m close, baby. Please, I need it. Need it so bad. Can I - where do you want me to-” 

“Inside,” you say. “Want to feel it.” 

“Okay.” 

His eyes meet yours properly, finding your dilated pupils, hazy eyes, and the utter joy in them, and that’s all it takes for him to be thrown headfirst into his own climax. He presses his forehead to yours, gasping your name as he spills his load inside of you. “God, you feel so good. Oh, fuck.” 

“There you go. That’s so good, Clark,” you praise, kissing him and swallowing his whimper. “You’re so good, honey.” 

Clark pants as he slows to a stop, giving you a soft kiss before he pulls out. He watches in awe at the way his cum drips out of you and onto the couch beneath you. 

“You were amazing, Clark.” 

“You were incredible,” he says, smiling at you. 

You pull him onto you and wrap your arms around him, smiling when he does the same to you. 

Needless to say, when Clark later demonstrates his inhuman strength by lifting a literal tractor above his head (not forgetting the joke you made when you met him about him benching a tractor), you’re quick to drag him up to his room before he can show you all the other superpowers he possesses. Although he does a damn good job of showing you that super strength.

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