This Is The Best Superman Fic I’ve Ever Read…

thinking about a sloppy maybe tipsy make out sesh with chad that turns into you riding his thigh….

generous

fem!reader, thigh riding, 18+, unedited blurb

© msgorillagripcoochie , do not steal, post on third party sites or translate my work

the music is loud and the room smells of cheap booze and sweat but all you can really smell and feel is chad. "god, you're so pretty." is the words he groans before pressing you up against the wall.

it's a messy kiss, the drinks you guys had obviously getting the best of you as his tongue pushing against yours, his hands are in your hair tugging lightly on it causing you to whimper against his lips. he'd been trying to keep his hands off you all night but you just looked a little too perfect in your cowgirl costume i mean how could he resist?

"chad." you laughed against his lips, you can taste the shots the two of you had just taken. his arm wrapped around you pulling you impossibly closer to his warm skin as you placed your hands on his strong chest.

he dropped his head to your neck beginning to suck mark onto your skin your back arching when a moan slipped from your lips.

"chad, we're around a bunch of people." you gasp out but make no particular move to push him away.

his teeth graze your skin his hand dropping to your hips "you wanna go upstairs." he asked finally pulling back as you leaned your head back against the wall, he moved closer when someone said 'excuse me' so he was flush against you.

you think about it running your hands over his bare chest, your nails scratching lightly "i promised mindy we won't have sex." you sigh looking at him through your lashes "you know, horror movies rules and stuff." he groaned throwing his head back his cowboy hat almost slipping off his head. "don't do this to me."

"i'm sorry." you pout pressing a kiss under his jaw. "trust me any other circumstances, i'd have you in me in a second." he laughed looking back down at you shaking his head.

"we don't have to have sex, babe." he hummed his hands gripping your hips "i could always just make you feel good." he pushes his thigh in between your legs, his head dropping back down to your neck "i know how much you love when i do all the work." you let out a gasp when he pulls you to grind against his thigh in one swift moment "chad."

his lips are all over your neck nipping and sucking at your skin as he helps you grind against his thigh. to onlookers it looks like a couple cuddling in the corner, his broad shoulders blocking you from anyone looking. it shouldn't have turned you on as much as it did, you tried to keep quiet moaning softly in his ear.

he pushed his thigh harder against you as he makes due on his promise to do all the work, his hands moving you on his thick thigh. "there you go baby, that's my girl." he praised in your ear, your nails digging into his bicep the pressure against your pussy almost sending you over the edge.

it should be embarrassing but you think it's drinks making you more sensitive to chad's rough touch. you bury your face in the crook of his neck to hide your moans.

it isn't long before you're cumming on his thigh, you holding onto to him for dear life and he still moves you a little bit letting you ride through your high. he doesn't say much when he pulls back looking down seeing that little dreamy look in your eye.

"chad?" he has a smirk on his lips like he knew what you were going to say "yes, sweetheart?"

"wanna go upstairs?" you asked tossing your arm over his shoulders biting your lip "what about horror movie rules?" he teased "fuck horror movie rule i want you inside me." you huffed pulling him down into a rough kiss.

mindy squinted from afar watching as you led chad up the stairs "what's wrong?" anika asked following her eyeline "they're literally going to die because they can't keep it in their pants." anika laughed at mindy's words shaking her head "don't be like that."

"just glad i'm the smart twin."

"i don't know mindy.... there's bathroom with our name on it." anika giggled kissing mindy's jaw and mindy groaned "fine, i'm convinced."

"i haven't even tried to convince you yet!"

"don't care, let's go."

a/n: chad owns my mind, body and soul, tell me what you think and feel free to request. i really hope you liked and enjoyed this!

Ok they’re not gone phew

𖦹⭒°｡⋆ avatar: the way of water

ONESHOTS

neteyam SULLY

     ╰┈➤ neteyam saving you as you fall off lo’ak’s ikran (sfw)  ,  neteyam has something important to tell you as you patch him up (sfw)  ,  you sing neteyam his mother’s songcord to calm him down (sfw)  ,   you are nearly killed during a hunting party, and neteyam panics (sfw/angst)  ,  neteyam sees you for the first time and falls head over heels (sfw),, pt 2 (sfw)  ,  neteyam defends you from ao’nung and his friends (sfw/comfort) , pt 2 (sfw)  ,  you take the bullet for neteyam, and are nearly killed in the process (angst/comfort)  ,  prologue (slight-nsfw)  ,  neteyam returns from the metkayina and falls in love with you again after seeing you (sfw/comfort)  ,  you want your avatar to become fully na’vi, but neteyam is firmly against it (sfw/slight-angst)  ,  you and kiri overhear lo’ak giving neteyam advice on how to ask you out (sfw/comfort)  ,  metkayina girls start falling at neteyam’s feet and you, his mate, gets jealous (sfw/comfort)

jake SULLY

     ╰┈➤ neytiri is nearly killed during a hunting party, and jake panics (sfw/angst)

𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re sure it’s nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

YOU’RE NEXT FREAK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, does he bleach his teeth with sunlight?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you can stoop so much lower. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t let go. 

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

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

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

YOU CANT HIDE FROM ME FREAK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, when is the bell going to ring? 

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

“Well,” Lana pushes, “am I wrong?”

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

“No,” Clark finally relents. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The light explodes above you.

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

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

You’ll always just be another freak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist: @mollymal  

CC/Mods for Create-A-Sim

CAS room section

Default background (White) Gray UI Sims stand still in cas CAS lightning

CAS mods section

Nraas MasterController Nraas MasterController Integration CAS CC Icons replacements

Skin section

Default skin (Blue Sugar Nectar) Skintone colors replacement (All + Realistic) Specular map skin replacement No glow skin replacement Face Overlay Replacement

Eyes Section

Default eyes Eye mesh replacements : Elder to Teens + Kids to Toddlers Eyelashes : Elders to Teens + Kids to Toddlers + fix

Hair Section

Hair default replacements : ChazzyBazzy Retextures Eyebrows default replacements : SimpleLife Facial hair default replacements : SimpleLife Favorite Hair Creators : ChazzyBazzy + Poisonfireleafs + Pandelabs

Make-Up Section

Make-up default replacements : SimpleLife Favorite Make-up creators : sourlemonsims + smallsimmer + pleaseputnamhere

Sliders Section - [Needed for my sim dumps or face presets]

Ahmad

Lips : Nose tip height Nose : Middle upper lip width

aWT (All the same link)

Eyes : Eyeball iris size (Requires aWT eyeball mesh) Jaw : Jawline soften, jawline rotate Lips : Upper lip outer curve, upper lip tip width Nose : Nostril rotate

centauri

Lips : arched lips

Gruesim

Eyelashes : All sliders

Heriet

Jawline : Chin to neck

Hermi

Lips : Lip shape [F] + [M]

Hiemal

Nose : greek nose v2 [M]

Jonha (All the same link)

Arm : Arm lenght, shoulder size Body : Chest size, waist size, hip size Butt : Butt size Legs : Thigh size, calf size Neck : Neck size

littlecat

Ear : Earlobe slider

NikSim

Nose : Nose Depth

OneEuroMutt - Link here (Will be properly linked later)

Body : Body height (no toddlers), body width, body depth, shoulder levels Brow : Brow thickness Butt : Butt waist height, butt mass Eyes : Eyes width, eyes stretch Glasses : All sliders Head : Chin width (female) Legs : Thigh size, leg height Lips : Upper lip curve, Nose : Lower nose height, nose tip height, nose tweak, nostrils depth, nose tip width, nostril curve

PiTheInfinite

Facial slider pack I Facial slider pack II

Potato-ballad-sims

Upper neck slider

PuChiHouse (without this slider, my sims will look very different from the pictures and the make-up colors will be off)

Head : smoothfacenormals (What does this slider do ? Answer : here)

Sage

Lips : Upper lip shape

Simtanico

Ear : Ear length Eyes : Eye shape 1 Jaw : Wideset jaw, lower jaw enhancer

semller

Eyes : lower eyelid height

TNS3

Body : Breast height

TUDART

Nose : slider for nose

Thorns

Cheeks : Chiseled cheekbones, hollow upper cheek Eyes : Droopy lower outter eyelid Lips : Mouth corner dimples Nose : Lower nose bridge depth, nostril width, pinched lower nose bridge, septum height, upper nose bridge depth, boxy nose tip, fuller nostrils

TumTum Simolino

Chin : Chin clef

Voices

Nose : Nose bridge bump Lips : Upper lip corners shape

YSStudio

Lips : Thin lower lip Nose : Bride of nose width

whiterider

Lips : Overlip curve v2

Created (24/03/17)

Last updated (24/05/20)

‘Get dicked down’

In which our reader gets dragged to a party by Maddy in hopes of finding a hook up, and ends up meeting new kid Elliot.

Pairing: fem!reader x Elliot!euphoria

Word count: 1.9k ish

Content: smut, oral f!receiving, light choking

A/N: hi, I’m pretty new to the fanfic-writing game so would love to hear any feedback!! Would anyone be interested in me making this a series at all?? Much love <3

You’re glad you’d let Maddy and Cassie drag you to this party. Loud music reverberates through the walls, a haze of smoke hangs in the air and the atmosphere’s infectiously charged with drunken happiness.

Maddy grabs your hand and leads you deeper into the house. “C’mon, let’s do a lap.”

You pause at the drinks table, scanning the crowd for potential hook ups as Maddy hands you a cup. Both of you are looking to ‘get dicked down’, as she’d put it.

“Wait, where’d Cassie go?” You look around, but your friend seems to have disappeared into thin air.

“She’s probably found Kat,” Maddy shrugs carelessly

You take a sip and wrinkle your nose. “Shit, Mads, is this, like, straight tequila?”

“Please, you’re just a lightweight.” She rolls her eyes. Some guy on the dance floor catches her eye, and she gives him a little wave. “I’m gonna go dance.” She smiles and struts off.

You sigh, watching their brief conversation, before the guy puts his hands on her hips and they begin grinding so close they practically need a condom.

There’s nobody you recognise, and you won’t be caught dead as the weird girl standing all alone at the party. From the window, you can see a group of people on the back patio smoking. Stoners are usually a pretty safe bet when you want to meet new people, so you decide to try them.

It’s colder outside, and you shiver in your thin dress. You sit in the only spare chair, next to some girl who looks out of it.

“Y/N?” She says.

“Oh shit, hey Rue!” You hadn’t recognised her in the low lighting. “Hey! How’s your night going?”

“Yeah, it’s going, I guess.” She slurs, slumping lower in her chair.

You drain your cup and scan the people around you. Some you recognise from school, others you assume are from St. Mary’s.

“Rue?” A guy you don’t know shakes her gently.

Your phone buzzes.

Madz: u guys r gonna have to find other rides home

Cass: wait why

Madz: I’m going home with j

You: who??

She doesn’t reply and you roll your eyes. And no ride home? Clear violation of the girl code.

“Hey, do you know how long she’s been passed out?” Rue’s friend nudges you.

“Like, two minutes maybe?” You shrug, distracted.

The guy curses under his breath. “I have to get her home.” He explains. He poked her again. “Rue!”

He’s cute - tall, curly hair, and a couple of face tats, which you’re into. You figure that he’s probably with Rue or something, though.

“Come on, asshole.” He grunts and hauls her up, pulling one of her arms over his shoulders. She groans in protest.

“Hey, wait.” You stand up and he glances back at you. “Can I get a ride?”

Between the two of you, you manage to lug Rue into the backseat of the guy’s car.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you pant.

The guy wrangles Rue into her seatbelt and slams the back door. “Elliot,” he introduces himself, one arm propped on the car roof. You don’t think you’re imagining the way his gaze flicks appreciatively over your body.

“Nice to meet you, Elliot,” you smile brightly at him before crossing to the passenger side of the car and letting yourself in.

“So how long have you and Rue been dating?” You ask, hoping Elliot will correct you.

“We’re just friends,” he says, and glances over at you. “You don’t seem too disappointed.” He grins.

You shrug. “You guys just didn’t seem like a great match,” you say innocently.

“Right.” Elliot says dryly. He pulls into Rue’s driveway and fires off a text message.

Rue’s younger sister appears in the front doorway. You’ve heard her name before - Georgia, maybe? She jogs over to the car and pulls Rue out.

“Thanks,” she tells Elliot briefly, before shutting the car door behind her and pulling Rue, who’s now semi-conscious, back to the house.

“So, you wanna go home?” He asks you after the girls are inside.

You’re reluctant to stop hanging out with him so soon, especially now it’s just the two of you. “Actually, I think I saw a domino’s on the way here, and I’m starving. Do you wanna eat?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” His noncommittal words contrast with his eager tone, and you do your best to hide a smile.

Elliot winds the windows down and turns the stereo up and you smile. It’s old RNB you don’t really recognise, but it suits him.

You extend one arm out the window, cupping your hand against the wind.

Elliot’s watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“Eyes on the road,” you tell him, laughing as he goes red.

It’s late, so you find a table pretty easily. As you eat, you make small talk and find out that Elliot just moved to town with his Mom. He’s into music and mostly just keeps to himself at school.

“What about you?” He asks.

“Regular stuff,” you say, shrugging slightly. “Uh, parties, friends, movies…”

He studies your eyes intently, his dark eyes boring into yours as if he can see right through to your soul.

“What?” You duck your head to hide the blush that’s spread across your cheeks.

“I’m just lookin’,” he tells you, nudging your foot with his.

By the time you’re finished eating, you’re the last people left, the store is ready to close, and the employees are shooting you death glares.

“I think they want us to leave,” Elliot whispers to you conspiratorially.

You grin and nod. Elliot stands and offers you his hand. You take it and your heart skips a beat. He gives it a quick squeeze and leads you out to the car.

“You still want to me to take you home?” He asks, gaze flickering to you before focusing back on the road.

“Or…” you hesitate before kicking off your sandal and extending one leg across his lap. “We could go back your place?”

His hand tightens around the wheel, the muscles in his forearm flexing.

Encouraged by his silent reaction, you reach over and graze your fingers lightly over his package. He inhales sharply. “Holy shit,” he says, pressing down on the accelerator. “Uh, yeah. Okay. My place.”

The sexual tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. To distract yourself, you take a minute to text your parents that you’re sleeping over at Maddy’s, then text Maddy that you got lucky.

“Okay.”

You look up at the sound of Elliot’s voice as he turns off the car. “So, my Moms asleep so we’ll have to be quiet. And I just want verbal consent in case this isn’t going where I think it’s going.”

You laugh incredulously at that. “You’re a dork,” you tell him, shaking your head.

“A hot one, though, right?” He grins. “Come on.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and stumble into the house hand-in-hand with Elliot. He leads you into his room, which smells strongly but pleasantly like weed and fresh laundry, shutting the door behind you.

Eagerly, you press Elliot against the door, hands resting on his shoulders, and kiss him until your head is spinning. He gently slides his tongue into your mouth and you moan. His hands settle briefly on your waist, before he reaches up to palm your tits over your dress.

“Is this okay?” He breaks the kiss to ask.

“Mmhmm,” you quickly say before leaning back in. You press kisses along his jawline, nipping gently at the soft skin.

He hums contentedly, his hands exploring your neck and shoulders and back before sliding the straps of your dress down.

Your hands slide along the hem of his jeans before finding the buckle of his belt. You pull his jeans down and palm his through his boxers.

He bucks his hips slightly “To the bed?” He suggests.

His hands gripping your shoulder blades, Elliot guides you to his bed and lays you down gently. His hands are still working to tug your dress off your body. “How does this thing come off?” He whispers.

You press your forehead against his and laugh. “There’s a zipper at the back,” you answer.

He pauses and finally unzips the dress. “Oh.” He says. He pulls it off your body and sits up to take his shirt off. You admire his well muscled body.

As he leans back in to kiss you again, you pull your emergency condom out of your bra.

He shakes his head wordlessly and takes it from your hand, placing it on his bedside table.

“I’m not having sex with you without a condom,” you tell him firmly.

“Yeah, obviously,” he says, unhooking your bra and tossing it to the side. Now you’re both wearing only your underwear.

“If it’s yeah, obviously, then why are you-“ you gasp as Elliot presses kisses to your hipbones and lower belly, hooking his finger into the waistband of your underwear and pulling them off.

You lace your hands through Elliot’s curls as he gently bites your thighs, pursing your lips to stop yourself from moaning.

“You’re so sexy,” he says getting closer to where you want him the most.

“Elliot, please,” you beg, bucking your hips desperately.

He lowers his head and licks a long stripe up your pussy, and you tighten your grip on his hair.

He flicks your clit with his tongue, and your thighs squeeze around his head. You can feel the familiar ball of tension and pleasure forming in the pit of your stomach.

Elliot alternates between sucking on and flicking your bundle of nerves until your back is arched and you can’t form a single thought. One last kitten lick from his tongue tips you over the edge, as warm waves of pleasure course through your body.

Elliot keeps pleasuring you as you ride out your high, until your clit becomes too sensitive and you weakly push his head away.

He looks up at you, his eyes hooded and lips covered in your arousal.

“Can we use the condom now?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you pant, still eager to feel him inside you.

You grab the condom from the table and pass it to him.

He rolls it on and settles on top of you. Every inch of your bodies are pressed together, and Elliot presses kisses against your jaw. He slides his impressive length into you and you moan, lifting your hips to meet his.

“Fuck,” he curses, thrusting hard and deep. His hand finds your breasts, tweaking your nipples before moving to your throat.

“This okay?” He asks breathily.

You can only whimper in response - his dick grazing your g-spot, his hand around your throat; the pleasure is almost overwhelming.

“Use your words,” he whispers gently, nipping your earlobe and squeezing your neck.

“Feels so good,” you babble.

“Are you close?” He asks.

“Yes,” you manage to say.

His thrusts grow harder and deeper, bringing you closer to your second orgasm of the night. An moan crosses your lips, embarrassingly loud, and Elliot claps a hand over your mouth, which makes the whole thing somehow even hotter.

You clench around his dick as you approach your high, chanting Elliot’s name like a prayer. Your orgasm washes over you, your back arching off the bed and legs shaking weakly.

Elliot cums and you stay where you are for a second, one of your hands resting on the nape of his neck, the other on his lower back.

Elliot peels off the condom and tosses it in the trash. You get up to pee and he shoots you a hurt look.

“Are you leaving?” He asks, clearly fighting to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“No, dork, I was just gonna go take a piss so I don’t get a UTI,” you huff out a laugh before nearly crumpling back onto the bed. Your legs are still weak from two orgasms in a row.

“Um,” you look up at Elliot, a blush spread across your cheeks. “Could you maybe help me to the bathroom?”

Eyes On Me, Sweets.

NSFW!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Project -- JJ Maybank

This is a request from @purple-flamingo !! Thank you for requesting!! IF YOU WANT TO REQUEST SOMETHING AN NEED INSPO, SEARCH MASTERLIST ON MY PAGE! Requests are open :)

Summary - JJ gets paired with the quiet girl, and learns why she's so quiet.

Word Count - 2.7k

It's cute ngl.

JJ sat in class, his head resting in his elbow propped hand. Ms. Moore was introducing a new lesson plan and project for genetics.

"Now I'm already preparing for the unified groan from you guys when I say this, but I already chose your partners." Just as she predicted, there were whispers and sighs around the room. "I'm sorry, but I feel like you guys barely know each other! We are 3 months into the year and you don't break out of your close groups. So when I call your pairs, rearrange however you like." This didn't bother JJ too much, none of his friends were in this class, none of the pogues anyway. So he waited patiently to see who he was paired with.

"JJ and Y/n." He looked over to the girl, he had never spoken to her before. Matter of fact, he didn't think he had ever heard her speak *at all*. She gave a small smile and wave, already gathering her things to come to him.

"Hi there." He said as she set her bag beside her chair, sliding into the seat next to him. She just looked at him, giving him a little salute. JJ wasn't used to silence, he hung out with people he considered pretty loud and outgoing. So it was quite the change being around someone who not only had he never spoken to, but she didn't even really talk.

"This next project will be on genetic disorders, you'll have a few to choose from." She began writing a list of genetic disorders on the board. JJ turned to his partner, noticing how she lightly tapped her pen on her notebook and the way her knee was bouncing under the table. He wanted to ask if she was okay, she looked anxious, but that felt like he was crossing a line considering he didn't know her at all.

"I'm going to randomly generate your table numbers and when your number is called you can come up and choose a disorder. So have a few in mind. You have 10 minutes." He shifted in his seat to face his partner.

"So, Y/n right?" He asked, already knowing the answer. He knew her name before this, having had previous classes with her. Though he still couldn't pinpoint a time they spoke to each other. She gave a simple 'mhmm', turning to him just like he did.

"JJ." She held her hand out for him to shake. He took it gladly, shaking it lightly.

"I didn't know you could talk." He joked, letting her hand go.

"I just don't talk unless it's necessary, you wouldn't know anything about that Maybank." She said playfully, smiling down at her notebook. She was writing down the disorders. His eyebrows raised at the comment.

"Quiet but feisty, got it." He gave an airy laugh, looking at the board filled with disorders. "Do you care which one we do?" He asked, eyes still glued to the front of the room. Her notebook slid in front of him and she had 3 disorders circled. He looked over to her again, she was tilted in her chair on the back two legs. Her laptop was balanced on her knees and she was scrolling through God knows what.

Fortunately, JJ's table was called 2nd, so they got their first choice, Albinism. They began doing basic research on the disorder, class ending not too long after they started. Before class ended, Y/n slid a piece of paper in front of the boy.

"For the project, since we will probably have to do work outside of class." She said. He unfolded it to see a number, and before he could thank her, she was already out the door.

---------------

"Do you guys know Y/n Y/L/N?" JJ asked the group as they sat around a fire they had made behind the Chateau. Pope shook his head.

"I have her in English I think, she's pretty reserved." John B commented.

"Well, I'm partnered with her in genetics, she's pretty cool. She'd kinda funny too." JJ said, getting a weird look from Kie. He only brushed it off.

"She seriously never talks, even when I see her talking when she is forced to be part of a group. Seems like she doesn't get along with anyone." John B said in disbelief. "I just don't know how people can go whole days without talking."

"They just shut up." Kiara deadpanned, earning a chorus of laughter from the group. But JJ couldn't stop thinking about what John B said, how could anyone think she didn't get along with people. She talked to him immediately.

-----------------

"Hi, Y/n!" JJ said, sliding into the seat next to her obnoxiously. She turned her head to him.

"Hello JJ." She replied, opening her notebook and setting it in front of him. He skimmed over the words on the page. Soon enough he looked very confused.

"Holy shit, did you do this last night?" He asked, looking into her tired eyes. The page was filled with research.

"Yeah, I got really into it last night, it's kind of interesting really." She laughed, flipping to the next page which *also* had research on it. JJ just shook his head in disbelief.

"I feel bad, you did all this and I've barely done anything." He chuckled, reading what she wrote. "Seems like we are gonna get this project done pretty fast with Miss Research machine over here." He nudged her side lightly. She just shook her head with a smile.

"Just happens sometimes." She shrugged, letting him read through the notebook as Ms. Moore began to talk about what parts of research we needed to do today. (Though JJ was sure they could do whatever they wanted today judging by the copious amount he was reading right now.)

He flipped another page, expecting more information but only seeing a pretty nice drawing of someone he recognized was from this class. He looked over at her with a smirk, knowing she couldn't say anything while Ms. Moore spoke. She just widened her eyes and shook her head at him with disapproval. He tilted his head at her challengingly. Slowly picking at the corner of the paper, as if he would flip the page.

He gave her a look that read 'just kidding' before shutting the notebook and sliding back to her side of the table. She pulled it onto her lap and out of reach. He notice her face was a deep shade of red, staring forward with a clenched jaw. Once the teacher stopped talking, JJ could comment on the drawing.

"So, got any drawings of me in there?" That was the first thing he said as everyone broke off into their conversations. She shot him a death glare.

"I draw people who are in interesting positions, it's a good way to practice body anatomy." It looked like JJ was holding back a laugh, so she glared harder at him. He put his hands up in surrender.

"Sorry, interesting positions, that's what she said." He giggled a little to himself. She rolled her eyes.

"That or people who use their hands a lot." She nodded, realizing that he was definitely going to take that the wrong way. He smiled evilly at her.

"That's was she said! I'm sorry, you're making it too easy." He said in defense, making her smile a little.

"I mean people who talk with their hands JJ. People who are animated." He nodded.

"You never answered my question though." She quirked an eyebrow at this. "Do you have any drawings of me in there?" He asked again, making her look down at the notebook, looking as if she's contemplating. She pulled it onto the table and JJ smiled.

She flipped through a few pages, seeing the dozens of drawings she had in there. But she seemed to be looking for a certain one. She stopped on a page and left it open there for him to see.

It was definitely him. He was sitting in a chair, both of his arms completely outstretched with hands spread wide. He was making a wild face.

"You were telling some story to your friends, you seem to be quite the storyteller." He stared at it for a bit more.

"This is incredible, like seriously." He said, looking at the small smile that placed itself on her lips as he complimented her. "Do you think I could have this? It's just so cool." She scrunched her eyebrows at him.

"You want it? Why?"

"So I can show my friends." He said plainly, as if it were obvious. "You can draw me anytime." He said, immediately getting his head in the gutter. "Draw me like one of your French girls." He said in a horrible French accent. She giggled at him, covering her face that was heating up at the thought. His heart fluttered at this.

He made the quiet girl laugh.

He made Y/n laugh.

In the continuing week, the two got closer, working on this project together in class. JJ actually started looking forward to Genetics, just because he knew he could talk to her.

The following Monday JJ walked into class a little late, hoping Y/n wouldn't be *too* mad that he was. He swung open the door, apologizing to Ms. Moore and looking to his regular seat.

"Oh, I'm surprised to see you here today Mr. Maybank. I figured you and Mrs. Y/L/N had run off somewhere." She wasn't here today. He just shook his head, sitting in his seat and pulling his phone out to text under the table. He opened Y/n's contact (which he had gotten not too long ago).

*Hey, where are you?* He sent, getting a quick reply.

*Hey! Sorry, I forgot to text you. My little sister is sick and my parents couldn't be home until 2 so I just stayed home with her. You're free to come to my house after school if you want. We can work on the project?* He smiled, replying with a yes and getting her address. JJ had never been so happy at school, waiting in anticipation for the day to end.

JJ had already told his friends he was working on a project after school. (This was weird to them, considering he barely cared about school before this.) And here he was, knocking on Y/n's door in a *very* nice neighborhood. He heard a yell from the other side and the door swung open.

The open doorway revealed a small girl that had the same eyes as Y/n. She waved kindly at him, sniffling a little.

"Are you JJ?" She asked quietly. He nodded with a smile. Quiet, just like her sister. She moved out of the way, letting him in. Y/n see to the door, greeting him.

"Hey! Sorry, I would have answered but I'm helping my parents with dinner, you wanna come to the kitchen? We are making enough for all of us." JJ stepped into the large house, looking around in amazement. The floors were marbled tile and the ceilings were high, she grabbed his arm to drag him to the kitchen.

She stood in the archway to the kitchen with him, waiting for her parents to look at her. They turned around and she grinned politely.

"Guys, this is JJ." She said, moving her hands while doing so. And that's when JJ realized why Y/n was *so* quiet.

Her parents were deaf.

Her dad looked at the two of them, signing something quickly. While her mom signed something and gave her a sinister smirk. JJ had never been in a situation where someone was having a conversation and he couldn't understand a word. He looked down at her to see her blushing.

"My dad says it's nice to meet you." She said with a tight-lipped smile.

"It's nice to meet you too. I would sign it if I could." He said with a smile.

"It's okay they can read lips, it's just easier to sign." She entered the kitchen, grabbing two bowls. "Are you okay with Zuppa? If not it's okay, I'm not going to be offended." JJ raised an eyebrow at her.

"What the hell is Zuppa?" He asked, covering his mouth as he thought about the little girl in the room.

"It's fine, we all cuss." She shrugged. "However I am going to get you a bowl of Zuppa since you have never had it." She said, getting him a bowl of soup. "We are going to my room to work." She said, walking out of the kitchen.

They walked up a long set of stairs, lined with family pictures. JJ looked at them as they walked up, it wasn't often that he saw a real *healthy* family. Once they hit the top of the stairs they went straight to Y/n's room. Y/n put her bag down on the ground next to her bed as they entered.

"So, you're a Coda huh? Isn't there like, only a 10% chance of that?" JJ said, sitting on her bed. She smiled at him from her sitting position on the bed.

"Uh, yeah. I guess you can say I'm *rare*." She joked, digging in her bag.

"Yeah, you are." JJ smiled confidently, having no problem shamelessly flirting with her. The problem was when you don't get flirted with very often, you don't even realize it's happening. So Y/n shrugged it off, handing him his bowl of soup.

"It's true though, my little sister is three-quarters deaf, that's why she has a cochlear implant. But I've got perfect hearing." She took a bite of her soup, sighing. JJ took a sip of his, his eyes widening.

"Holy shit, what's in this?" She smiled at his excitement.

"Potatoes, kale, sausage. Easy stuff." She shrugged again, it was something she made often. To JJ it tasted like *heaven*, way better than anything he'd ever had.

"Well it's amazing, did you make it yourself?" She nodded, taking another bite. "I should have dinner with you more often." He said, and she agreed.

"I love cooking, I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind if you came over for dinner sometime. Like a real dinner, and we will sit at a table." She laughed, opening her laptop.

"I would love that." He said, trying to gain the courage to say the next thing. Since when did JJ Maybank get nervous about saying something to a girl? "Kinda like a date?" He asked, trying to hide his face behind the bowl as he drank down the rest of it. He didn't want to see her face if she was about to reject him.

But there was only silence.

He lowered the bowl from his mouth, seeing her just staring at him. Her empty bowl sat on the floor next to her, the laptop still open to the sign-in screen.

"You're kidding right?" She smiled at him, but to him, it looked sad. Disappointed even.

He was getting rejected, wasn't he?

"I mean, if you want me to be, then yeah I'm totally kidding." He tried to laugh it off, swallowing the lump in his throat. He really wished he had grabbed something to drink while they were downstairs.

"So you aren't kidding?" She asked with a tilt of her head. This was truly confusing JJ, and he thought he didn't understand girls before this.

"Not, really?" He couldn't even say more. She got up on the bed with him, sitting next to him.

"I would *love* to go on a date with you." JJ let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He only shook his head in disbelief.

"I genuinely thought you were rejecting me." He laughed nervously, staring at his hands.

"It's funny how oblivious you are Maybank." He looked at her with scrunched eyebrows. "I don't talk to anyone but you, I invite you to my house, I visibly enjoy your company. And you don't know the sign language, but when we were downstairs my mom said something about you." He turned his head fully at this.

"Is that why you were blushing? What did she say?" He teased, his confidence shining back through.

"Yeah, uh. I talk about you a lot. She said 'oh this is the boy? He's very handsome, just as you said'." Y/n covered her face to hide her blushing, *again*.

"Oh, so I'm handsome huh?" He taunted again, poking her side and making her laugh loudly.

*He made her laugh, all he ever wanted.*

strawberry mentos

lucas sinclair x gn!reader

type: literally tooth-rotting fluff

word count: 0.2k

warnings: poorly written smooches, reader’s fav candy is strawberry mentos

summary: kisses with lucas are already sweet enough. even sweeter when you can taste the sugar on his tongue.

inspo: “strawberry kisses” by leanna firestone

a/n: wrote this bc i couldn’t sleep and we need more lucas fics !!!

i pulled away from him, my eyes scanning his face.

“what- what is it?” lucas asks, eyes a little terrified.

i dive back in for another kiss. it’s a press of lips and a swipe of the tongue before i pull away again.

“you taste sweet, sinclair,” i state plainly.

the boy chuckles nervously. “umm… thank you?”

Keep reading

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.

Awaken Me | Tobias Eaton

pairings — four/reader | divergent au! |

summary : four seems to pick on you especially—and you figure out why. it’s because you both share the same secret.

warnings : none i think?

authors note : i forgot about this and decided to upload it even tho it’s unfinished…

© elliotsblunt 2022. do not repost, modify, or translate.

Your eyes burned slightly as you blinked away tears, confused as to why you couldn't find that certain...

Anger.

Wren, a curly haired blonde that belonged in Amity—somehow landed in Dauntless. But during combat, her frail arms would summon the strength of twice the muscle capacity she contains. If you hadn't seen her flip a man twice her size over her figure—

You wouldn't have believed it.

Anyways, Wren had told you that she had reached that certain level of fighting simply by thinking of what angered her most. The the thing was, nothing horrible had happened to you.

You were born and raised in Amity, where the crime rate remained a negative 0–if that were possible, it would be rated just that.

Your ma and pa sheltered you, as you were their only child. You were also extremely close with them, but after getting your screen test back—it was time to begin a new chapter in your life. One that would drag and smash you to the ground like a bug.

Which is what happened now—basically.

Gritting your teeth, you rolled over to dodge one of your opponents lashes. Fortunately, the girl wasn't a merciless bitch, and let you stand up whilst getting back into position. With shaky fists, you gulped, muttering a quick curse before her own swung towards your chin.

But—

The beating never came. The throbbing rush of warm blood thrashing in your veins never crashed. Your jaw was in tact, and you weren't flopped on the ground like a beaten animal.

Your eyes snapped open, flashing over to the strong hand wrapped around Turner's wrist. Turner, the girl you were fighting, gulped as she stood back from Four. His chest radiated of a warm essence that burnt your cheeks—especially with the smirk dripping off his face.

"Turner," he released her grip, not glancing at you, "It appears the Mary Poppins hasn't improved. Isn't fair to you, is it?"

Your throat went dry, remembering how much of a total prick he was. At first, you thought he was hot, so you deemed him to maybe be a good person. But after you figured one of his life goals was to torment and embarrass you—you checked your values and common sense.

His eyes were dark, but still weren't ever fluttered onto your figure—almost as if he didn't even want to look at you. It damaged your confidence more, knowing you were probably going to be factionless if you didn't shape up soon.

Turner only shrugged, dropping her arm back to her side before placing both hands on her hips. She raised a brow at you as you let out a sharp breath, wiping the imaginary dust off your palms before looking down at the ground and stepping off the fighting podium.

Your ears ring as her blows caused you some damage. Chewing on your bottom lip, you held back your defeated thoughts as Wren threw an arm around your shoulder,

"It's okay. I got a few beat downs my first year here. It gets better," she attempted to cheer you up. You merely hummed as she continued, "Anger, _ _. That's what powers you. You need—“

“I know,” you snapped, stopping your feet before rolling your eyes at her, “I know. But I’m not an angry person, and I’m shit at fighting.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Pity isn’t what makes you a Dauntless, _ _,” she stepped towards you, poking a nimble finger into your heart, “So instead of whining, kid, maybe you should just stop thinking and fight.”

Slowly nodding, you stood there as she headed over to the cafeteria for lunch. You noticed that the boxing bag area was empty—and it clicked in your head what Wren said.

Fight.

Bringing your fists up, you got into a fighting stance and threw your first punch. With gritted teeth, you felt the material bruise up your knuckles—but you wanted to feel it. Feel the pain. If you couldn’t feel the pain, then pity would just Pool around in your chest instead.

And you hated pity.

Hissing as you retracted your first, you did it again. Then repeated on the other fist. Every time the cool leather collided with your knuckles, it sent a sharp pain up your hand. But you stood through it, until the next time you swung, you didn’t realize the bag had made its own hit towards you—swinging and hitting your body with a harsh force.

Letting out a grunt, your body slammed into the cold cement of the training sector. Your ribs ached as you didn’t twitch to get up, instead accepting that you were going to be factionless if you didn’t get back up.

Get back up, _ _. You have to.

Sweat dribbled down your forehead as you landed another punch to the bag. You made it a mission to skip lunch so you could train, because you'd rather starve than be factionless. Breathing harshly through your teeth, you felt the muscles slightly tense in your arms.

"Mary poppins hasn't improved, has she?"

You felt your lip curl as you delivered another brutal hit, finally taking victory in the bag. You released a grunt as your fists kept colliding with it.

You were going to show that stuck up son of a—

"You're supposed to eat in order to gain muscle. Didn't teach you that back in Amity, huh?" You heard a voice quip, a deep and gravelly voice.

Jumping from surprise, your head snapped over to see Four leaning against one of the bags. His eyes were focused on you, smoky and stormy. You looked away from him instantly, but kept your focus on him, "Skipping lunch won't make you a Dauntles—"

"If someone tells me one more time what does or doesn't make me a Dauntless, I might just fucking shoot myself," you raised your voice, feeling the patience that usually you held snapped like a tree branch. Four's eyes stayed narrowed as he now crossed his arms, the muscles protruding from that caramel, ink covered skin of his.

You gulped, "I meant—"

He stood up straight, a smirk creeping into his plump, pink lips as he stepped towards you, "You're nothing but a farmer. You cannot train remotely enough to become one of us," he hissed, venom laced in his words. Something swirled in his eyes, making your jaw lock,

"You don't have anger. You have self pity, and Dauntless don't pity themselves. They fight, and are willing to give up their life for people. How can you fight others when you're fighting yourself already?"

You blinked, feeling anger begin to rise within you. It was a foreign feeling—but you didn't hate it. If anything, your veins welcomed the poisonous rage, but you bit your tongue.

Four laughed darkly, "You can't even speak up for yourself. Surely, you should go back to those farmers," he continued, making your fists balled up at your sides. As he continued to degrade you and your home, well— people who used to be your home, it rose.

The anger rose. It felt as the ground begun to shake, sudden flashes of all the combat you had witnessed before your eyes playing like a rapid slideshow in your mind. The cracks of the bones whenever someone would slip their foot beneath someone—breaking their balance.

Your eyes flickered up to his. He paused right before you, the scent of cologne filling your nose as your chest heaved deeply. Every sense of angst within you was on fire as he tilted his head.

"You don't belong here. But I doubt you'll be able to go home, since your parents disow—"

Your foot slipped under him, trapping him to the ground with a grunt from him. Your teeth clenched as you aimed to punch him, but he immediately snapped his eyes into yours. With furrowed brows, he grabbed your wrist and striked your leg with a harsh kick.

Your knee buckled, a bullet of pain shooting through your muscles. The cold concrete pavement of the training sector burned the flesh on your cheek, ears ringing as a dull ache formed in your back from the landing.

“C’mon, _ _,” Four chuckled, more so in a tiresome way than a tormenting tone. His chest heaved as I blinked, “Get up. Don’t give up now.”

It clicked. Was he…training you?

A boost if adrenaline shot through you. He believed in you. That was the push you needed to balance your wobbling arms off the ground, barely being able to push your body—but you did. Your fists balked at your sides as you gulped, accidentally melting into his cold eyes.

They weren’t as cold, though. As if the ice had slightly melted—but there was still another thick layer.

“Fighting is a dance,” he murmured firmly, grabbing your arm and spinning you around. You let out a harsh breathe as he held your back against his chest, before roughly pushing you away. You hit one of the punching backs, grunting as he smirked, “Until it’s not.”

“Can’t imagine dancing with you,” your eyes narrowed—only making his smirk grow.

But you didn’t hear a response, instead your eyes noticed he was about to take a step forward. Then, you watched his arm twitch—ducking before delivering a jab to his side. He flinched, which broke the barrier, and you didn’t wait to kick him down to the ground.

With a loud thud, you watched as his braid figure slammed against the ground. Picking up your feet, you darted towards him. Every single insult he’d ever thrown at you replayed in your head. He was trying to anger you.

Did he perhaps…care?

Sliding your knee across the ground, you grabbed both of his hands and held him down. Your hair fell over your face, panting deeply, as you used the rest of your strength to fight off his. His hues twitched to yours, something flashing in his eyes as they met yours.

Your throat became dry. Butterflies erupted in your tummy, a warm feeling hugging your heart.

Feeling the cheeks in your face burn—you felt the world slowly silence around you as your eyes melted onto his. You didn’t know if it was your imagination, or the adrenaline pumping in your veins—but you swore you felt his long fingers slowly graze your thigh.

Wait—

How did they get fre—

And in an instant, you were flipped into the ground. His strong hands held you down, gripping your wrist, as his muscular chest held down yours. Bodies pressed against one another, his grunts filling your ears…it was truly a sight.

A musky scent flooded your senses as you felt like you were high, wanting to reach out and touch that sculpted jaw of his. The stubble poking from his skin is probably scratchy against your palm, but his flesh still looked smooth and supple.

Despite his appearance coming off ragged and rough.

“That’s how you fight like a Dauntless,” He taunted darkly, making your brows raise in shock, “You’ll do just fine in ranks if you uh—“

His eyes fluttered to your lips, before he gulped and squeezed his eyes shut. He pushed himself off the floor, away from you, before dusting off his pants, “You should do just fine, _ _.”

Before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and made his exit.