Summer Road Trip With Luke Castellan (16+, Implied Sex)

summer road trip with luke castellan (16+, implied sex)

it starts with a promise.

made late at night, in the kind of hazy space between sleep and dreaming, when the world feels quiet and nothing’s quite real yet. you’re lying side by side on a roof somewhere—one of those abandoned places luke likes to sneak into. the stars are barely visible, city lights bleeding up into the sky, but you’re not really looking at the stars anyway.

“we should do it,” he says, breathless from laughter after a dumb joke he barely managed to get out. “just take off one day. no plans. no schedules. just you, me, and the open road.”

you laugh into the sleeve of your hoodie. “okay, cowboy.”

“i’m serious.” he props himself up on his elbows. “we’ll make playlists. stay in janky motels. get gas station snacks that’ll probably kill us. it’ll be perfect.”

you hum, eyes fluttering shut. “we’re always saying ‘one day.’ you ever think about making it this day?”

he doesn’t say anything for a long second.

then, “i’ll steal a car.”

you snort. “please don’t steal a car.”

“fine. borrow one.” he nudges your arm. “c’mon. you know you want this.”

you do. gods, you really do.

and maybe that’s why two weeks later you’re throwing a duffel bag in the backseat of an old car luke somehow managed to “legally” obtain (you don’t ask too many questions), a worn paper map stuffed into the glove compartment, and three half-charged burner phones just in case.

you don’t even pick a destination. that’s the point.

it’s about the drive.

the first few days are the best kind of disorganized. you get hopelessly turned around trying to get out of the city, miss your turn like, four times, and end up on some weird detour through a town that seems stuck in the 1950s. you eat breakfast-for-dinner at a diner with cracked red booths and a waitress who calls you both “sweethearts.” luke leaves a doodle on a napkin and tucks it into the jukebox.

the road stretches ahead like a ribbon of possibility, glittering under the sun. the heat blurs the horizon, making everything shimmer like a mirage, and the sky is that kind of obnoxiously perfect blue that feels more like a postcard than real life.

the a.c. in the car gave up somewhere around three days ago, so the windows are rolled down, warm air rushing in and tangling your hair, sticking your shirt to your back. it doesn’t help much, but it’s better than nothing.

you've got one foot propped on the dash and a half-melted slushie wedged into the cupholder, condensation dripping down the sides. the map—the one you swore you didn’t need, and luke insisted you bring anyway—flutters against your knee every time the wind hits just right. it’s already creased and stained, with corners starting to curl. neither of you are really using it.

a cd clicks softly in the stereo, and a hazy guitar riff spills out—something easy, something old. the kind of music that makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

you hum to the songs you know, watching the scenery blur past in golden smears of light and heat.

luke’s driving one-handed, the other resting lazily out the window, fingers tapping against the door in time with the beat. sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose, and there’s a sunburn blooming along the edge of his jaw that he keeps forgetting to take care of. he looks over at you, grinning.

“you’re gonna fly out the window if you lean any further.”

“worth it,” you say, hair whipping across your face. “this breeze is all that’s keeping me alive right now.”

he chuckles, reaching over to tug the map from your lap. “you’re the one who said we didn’t need to stop for sunscreen. or, y’know, ice.”

“and you’re the one who didn’t want to stop for directions,” you shoot back, watching him squint at the map like it personally offended him. “so now we’re two thirsty idiots lost somewhere between nowhere and hell.”

“romantic,” he says, tossing the map into the backseat. “just the way i like it.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s affectionate. always is with him.

the wind smells like dust and wildflowers, and every few miles, you pass a road sign faded by time and sun. one of them promises a lake in twenty minutes which probably is not true. the next, a diner with the “best pie in the state.” you don’t stop for either. maybe the next one.

you were supposed to take turns driving. that was the deal—fifty-fifty, no arguments. but luke, being luke, never sticks to the plan. he always insists he’s fine, even when you catch his eyes fluttering shut at a red light, head tilting slightly like he’s about to nod off right then and there.

“i literally saw you close your eyes for five seconds,” you say when he pulls into a gas station, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as he parks.

“it was just five seconds,” he groans.

“five seconds away from crashing,” you mutter, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “move over.”

he sighs, dragging himself out from behind the wheel with all the theatrics of someone who’s definitely not fine, even if he still insists otherwise. he grumbles under his breath as he slides into the passenger seat—and is completely passed out the second his head hits the window. no “i’m not even tired,” no “just resting my eyes.” just out cold. mouth open, snoring, even drooling a little.

you drive comfortably after that. there’s less tension on your shoulders now that you’re the one in control, and luke’s quiet snoring is oddly comforting.

he stirs sometime later, sleep-warm and rumpled, his voice still thick with it when he reaches across the console. his hand finds yours with ease, like it’s muscle memory. his fingers slot between yours and, without a word, he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. soft. slow. like a thank-you.

somewhere between a cracked-out diner with the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had and a pit stop at a quiet national park, you start feeling it—that warm, slow burn that only summer with luke castellan can bring.

it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not looking, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. it’s in the casual brush of his thumb over the back of your hand. it’s in the way he steals bites of your food, complains about the heat, and still tucks a cold bottle of water into your hands without being asked.

he’s quiet during the hikes, but he always slows down so you don’t fall behind, even when you insist you’re fine. he keeps snacks in his pockets for you, things he knows you like, things you didn’t even notice him buying. and when you sit beside him on the edge of a cliff, watching the sun drip like honey into the horizon, he kisses your shoulder so gently it sends goosebumps across your skin.

he takes so many pictures of you. most of the time you don’t even notice until he shows you later—sun-drenched, wind-tousled, blurry with motion but sharp with love. he says he wants to remember you like this. you laugh and roll your eyes, but still smile a little too hard when you see them.

you two stop at a few motels every now and then. they were nothing special. peeling paint, flickering neon sign half-buzzed out, and a questionable stain or two on the carpet—but it’s cheap, and it’s got just enough charm to feel like part of the story. luke leans against the counter while you check in, tapping the bell repeatedly until you swat at him.

the old woman behind the desk gives you a room key and a knowing smirk like she’s seen a thousand versions of you two before: sunburnt, road-weary, eyes too bright to be anything but in love.

sometimes, impulses get the best of the two of you. like when one day luke spots a faded little hand-painted sign pointing down an overgrown path off the side of the highway. beach access. there’s no one around. no cars. just the sound of cicadas and wind through tall grass.

you both follow it on instinct, barefoot and laughing, racing toward the sound of crashing waves.

and then there it is: a hidden stretch of shoreline tucked between two cliffs, like a secret carved out just for you. no footprints, no noise except for the ocean. the sand’s hot and soft under your feet, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting everything in amber.

you run straight into the water, still half-dressed, splashing and shrieking when luke dunks you under and then pulls you back up, breathless and dripping. he kisses you then, water-slicked and grinning, hands on your waist like he’s never going to let go.

and later, after you’ve both sprinted back to the car, giddy and dripping wet, after the sand’s stuck to every inch of your skin and the sun’s painted you gold, you end up tangled in the back seat. skin sticky with sweat, your bodies pressed close in the heat of the car, breathing in tandem.

the windows fog up, the air thick with salt and sun and something heavier. the radio hums low, some lazy summer song playing beneath the sounds of your bodies shifting, touching, needing. his hands roam like he’s mapping you out all over again, rough in the way he holds you but gentle in the way he touches, like he knows exactly where to press to make you shiver.

he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the taste of salt on your lips, like he wants to bottle this exact moment and keep it somewhere safe. and you, half-laughing between gasps, fingers twisted in his curls, mumble against his mouth, “i told you the backseat would get too hot.”

“guess we’ll have to open the door,” he says, voice low and teasing. “get a breeze in here.”

you roll your eyes, breathless and flushed. “fuck off, if we get caught by some poor park ranger—”

“worth it,” he grins, before kissing you again. deeper, slower this time.

and when you’re breathless and half-dressed, your back pressed to the warm seat and your body aching in all the best ways, you lie there with your head on his chest. his heartbeat is loud in your ear, steady and real.

you tilt your face up toward him, the fading light painting him in gold. “same time next summer?”

his arm tightens around you, his voice soft and full of something you don’t have a name for yet. “you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

come into my bedroom

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

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

wc. 12.3k+

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

You’re drunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joaquín calls your name and you hum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that look?” he asks.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What look?”

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

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

You have a crush on Joaquín.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like a baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fair enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you were trying to impress Joaquín or anything.

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

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

Absolutely no stressors.

Until Joaquín speaks.

“Do me a favor and get my back?”

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing is not the same as feeling.

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

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

Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make room.

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

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

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

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

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

He continues in silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently, Joaquín felt different.

“What’s up with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tell him as such.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should cruise for our next vacation.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, “You been having fun?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want Joaquín Torres in his entirety.

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

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

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

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

Yeah, ignoring your feelings isn’t working anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my godddd.

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

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

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

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

You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

You do, however, decide to split two desserts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hand stays in his the entire time.

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

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

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

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

“Nah. I’d rather stay in tonight.”

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

“Together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then finally, your lips press against his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I keep going?”

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

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

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

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

“M’kay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need more. Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joaquín picks up where you left off.

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

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

“Look at me. I wanna see you.”

You do as told, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” you swear without any conscious intention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” he laughs.

All you can do is agree through labored breaths.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Water sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One second.”

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

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

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

“Freak.” You don’t mean it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so perfect,” he says.

The warmth instantly floods your body.

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

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

“Wait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?”

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

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

“Ready?”

You nod, letting your legs fall open for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod assuredly. “It’s what I want.” Just as you’re about to add a quiet plea to seal the deal, Joaquín adjusts his position and then he pulls nearly all the way out of you, only to forcefully drive back into you.

The switch is immediate. He still fucks you in complete motions, but they’re shorter, no longer the tip to the shaft each time. These are faster, much faster. It feels like he’s reaching up into your guts each time, just to pull back and do it again and again and again.

You’re forced to find purchase again, hands digging into whatever you can find. One hand attaches to his hair and the other holds onto his chain, your legs have linked around Joaquín’s hips, your head has craned backwards, leaving the area between the base of your neck and your chest open for Joaquín to rest his forehead on.

You can’t hear his sounds over yours, but you feel them—quick breaths let out onto the sweat coated area of your chest. You would try and silence yourself to better hear him, but you couldn’t even if you tried.

Luckily, though, Joaquín lifts his head and notches his nose against the side of your neck instead. He kisses you right beneath your earlobe, but when he can no longer complete that action, his jaw goes slack and every single noise he makes travels directly to your ear.

You swear and it comes out as a whimper, not even a second later Joaquín swears and it’s a deep groan all the way from the back of his throat. You call his name and he calls yours. He’s affecting you, and you’re affecting him, even just by laying back and urging him to get himself off by using your body.

“Are you close?” you eventually gather the strength, and will, to ask.

You feel Joaquín nod against your neck. “Yeah,” he confirms, “yeah, baby, ‘m almost there.”

Your reaction is instant. You groan, a sound that could be interpreted as frustration if you weren’t having your guts completely rearranged right now.

He chuckles deeply against your skin. “What? What’s up?”

“C…Call me that again.”

“What? ‘Baby’? You like when I call you baby?”

You hum affirmatively.

Joaquín lifts his head and slots one hand against your cheek. His pace slows as he stares at you. “You’re my baby? Hm? Are you?”

You nod, whining out an “uh-huh”.

“Yeah?” he grins as he says it, as if he’s shocked that you agreed. You don’t know if he’s serious, if he knows that his words are holding weight even if you’re a little dumb right now, but you do mean it.

He licks his lips and you see an idea coming to his head. “You gonna be good for me, too?” When you nod, he continues. “Be good for me, baby, and touch yourself, alright?”

He gives you the space needed and watches your hand slide down your stomach. When you use two fingers to tweak your already overstimulated clit, Joaquín nods.

“That’s right. Just like that.”

He resumes his original pace, this time with his eyes fully locked on your cunt. He pulls one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward to get even deeper into you.

You’re close, you’re almost there, and the erratic way Joaquín practically jackhammers into you as he chases his own release is what pushes you over. You finish just after Joaquín buries himself into you and curls his body over yours. This orgasm truly feels like a release. Everything in you melts into the world around you, just as Joaquín’s body melts on top of yours.

He kisses the skin closest to him, first in small almost discrete pecks, and then they gradually get bigger and more audible until he’s clearly making them ridiculous on purpose.

His cock is still nestled in you and his head is still resting on your chest when he speaks. “You think you’ll be up for a shower?”

You hum, letting the question run through your head for a minute before responding. “In about ten minutes, yeah.”

“Take your time.”

In the meantime, Joaquín slowly slides out of you. The emptiness is immediate, but after all you’ve been through since getting back to your room, you don’t exactly hate it. Your eyes start to feel heavy but you let them close for a little while. You rely on your other senses throughout.

The feeling of Joaquín kissing over where you think your bikini tan lines are, the rim of the glass that he brings to your lips, the sound of his voice as he gently urges you to drink, the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat. He holds you steady as you drink with a hand behind your head. Your lips turn up tiredly, and you feel his thumb at the corner of your lip catching a stray drop of water. You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s wearing that same soft look on his features.

You’re so pampered there that you don’t force yourself to get up until you hear the shower running.

Joaquín’s already there waiting for you at the door. He smiles when he sees you as if he’s shocked that you came, even though this is your room and your bathroom. Still, he reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom and in front of him. His hands push at your back, guiding you towards the shower. He pulls the door open for you and lets you step inside before he follows after you.

You reach for the towel and soap, but stop when he tuts behind you.

“I got it,” is all he says. So you let yourself completely relax with the feeling of Joaquín dragging the cloth up and down your limbs. He talks to you throughout, mostly asking you to lift an arm or turn around, sometimes bringing up small bits of conversation, every now and then singing bits of songs—some that you recognize, some that you don’t. There’s a familiarity now that you’ve gained since his hands had massaged sunscreen into your shoulders.

Eventually, though, he finishes with you, leaving you to lean against the wall and watch him shower.

“You know what I realized like a few minutes ago?” he says when he’s rinsing the soap off of his body.

“What?”

“Remember the couple from the club that first night? The one who kept buying us drinks?”

“Yeah, how could I forget?”

“Yeah well I’m pretty sure they thought we were like … swingers or some shit.”

You’re startled awake. “Huh? Why do you think that?”

“Oh I don’t think, I know. The guy gave me his number and everything. Plus you saw the way they were looking at us, and the woman kept cozying up to you.”

You frown. “I thought she was just drunk or friendly.”

“She definitely was drunk and friendly. And she also wanted you.”

You blink. “I thought she wanted you.”

Joaquín shrugs and rinses the last of the soap from his back before he shuts the water off. “She probably did. That’s sort of part of the whole swingers gig, isn’t it?”

You laugh through a quick exhale of air. “Come on, Joaquín, let’s go to bed.”

You step out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body. Joaquín follows after you.

“Oh, I get to sleep with you tonight?” He sounds giddy when he says it, as if he wasn’t just fucking you so good that your legs are still getting used to walking again. When you tell him that, you see the unintended compliment go straight to his head.

You end up getting exactly what you wanted. Joaquín leans into the bathroom counter with the towel hung low around his waist and his eyes watching you do your skincare routine. As soon as you’re finished, he’s trekking off to his room for a change of clothes and to do whatever he needs to do, and he comes back in nothing but boxers with a big shirt in his hand. He lays it on the counter for you casually, but you see the tips of his ears tinted just a tiny bit red when he retreats back to your room.

You come out in his shirt to see him lying on your side of the bed, the remote in his hand and pointed at the TV. As if the entire trip had been going like this the entire time, he instantly scoots over when you come to the side of the bed and lifts the sheets for you to climb under. You lay curled into his side, telling him to click a channel playing a movie that you know he likes.

The remote is placed on the nightstand, the lights are clicked off and you’re snuggled up next to Joaquín, wearing his shirt and talking about how the two of you are going to spend your last day of vacation.

Not everything goes how you thought it would, though. Joaquín ends up being pretty mindful with his blanket usage.

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ijustwannareblogstuff

1 month ago

falling for you

or 3 times you fell for joaquín + the 1 time he fell for you

joaquín torres x female!reader cw: female!reader, mentions of a dress, no description of reader's feature (tried to keep it as open as possible), faintings, stupid ideas, fluff

The first time it happened, it was a coincidence.

You were watching a debrief standing on your feet — the room was packed, which was a little bit unusual — when your vision started to go black. You tried to hold on into anything, but it was too late to save yourself from a nasty fall.

One minute you’re watching the debrief, the next you have three concerned faces around you from above. You’re definitely on the floor. The lady murmurs a quiet “Thank god.”

“Hey,” Joaquín called your name softly, entering your line of sight, “you alright, chica?”

“Yeah, I just,” you felt a pair of hands supporting your back while you sat up, “low blood pressure.”

“You sure?”

“Afirmative.”

Your answer was enough for the two people to turn their attention back to the presentation. Joaquín watched you closely, helping you to get back on your feet. The debrief was going full force in the background, and while you knew you could pick up the reports and images later, you made the decision to stay until the end. A Lieutenant offered his chair for you, and you’re able to watch everything.

When you were walking back to the Captain America headquarters on the compound, Dana, one of the Senior Intelligence Officers you worked closely with, intercepted you. “Hey, don’t go around skipping lunch anymore.”

“I didn’t, I had a snack between tasks,” you explained yourself.

“I see.” She pointed towards your files and the tablet screen on your hands. “You should’ve seen how Captain Joaquín Torres catched you like, wow, so fast. Like he was paying attention to you, not to the Admiral.”

“You’re crazy,” you scanned your badge on the door. “I promise to have lunch with you tomorrow.”

“I know where you work, girl,” she joked and made her way back to her side of the compound.

You laughed it off. Yeah, no, Dana was definitely crazy. You worked closely with Captain America and the Falcon, but you were just there, in the background, helping with security systems, maps, basically being their eyes and ears when they were on the field.

However, maybe Dana was right: once you reached your table, you found a bottle of Gatorade and a package of salted nuts, with a small note, “Hope this helps” followed by a smiley face and an attempt of drawing a little falcon.

Dana made sure you didn’t skip any meals or anything, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of her words and Joaquín’s action. So you decided it was worth it to test if her observation was right.

On Wednesdays, if they weren’t out of town or the country for a mission, Sam would bring Isaiah to the compound for a challenging training session. Most of the attendees would barely survive it, and it was your perfect excuse to test the theory.

You were just on the outside of the ring, watching Isaiah point out the flaws and, well, mostly the flaws, on each persons’ fighting technique. You stopped just a few feet from Joaquín, checking the corners of your vision to make sure he was still there.

One moment you were fine, the next your body was falling backwards, slowly. And then two arms were locked around your shoulders and you missed hitting the floor — again.

“Shit, are you ok?” Joaquín quickly got you up and led you to a bench.

“Yeah, sorry. I got lightheaded after my round,” you delivered your line like you planned, no more than an hour ago. “Thanks for catching me. Again.”

“Oh, no worries. Do you want to see a doctor or anything? Maybe you should.” He looked quite concerned.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll just get more water and probably tap out my next round.”

“That’s wiser,” he got up and looked over his shoulder, to where Sam looked a little bit suspicious, and added, “you did good today. So pat yourself on the back.”

“Thanks, Joaquín.”

You never got out of the training room so fast in your life. Dana totally skipped the training — her middle forty joints were her excuse —, but was happy to hear all the details over dinner at her place — with her husband spying to understand why you would be so secretive with girls’ talk. Until he caught up and gave his insights: you were either lucky that the lightning struck twice at the same place, or Dana was really right.

“You know I’m right, I was right when I met you,” she pointed out.

“Even if you’re right,” you let your head fall into your hand, “I can’t do this.”

“Why not? You clearly have feelings for him,” her husband added.

“Because I am me. C’mon, guys, the Falcon dating a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, yeah, of course, very likely to happen.” You rolled your eyes. “He just probably has, like, some enhanced senses, I don’t know, anything they are doing to the future Avengers these days is definitely working.”

“You’re so silly, sometimes,” Dana poured more wine into your glasses. “Hear me out, you could try during the upcoming gala. You were invited, right?”

“Oh, I know this look,” he pointed to his wife. “Buckle up, kid.”

The Annual S.H.I.E.L.D. Gala was hosted for the workers, but also for the Senators and politicians to do business with VIP people. A S.H.I.E.L.D. officer would just be another face amongst the crowd, which granted you the free pass to pick something that would steal all the attention from a certain hero. Something breathtaking, but also subtle.

You got your hair and make up done the way you like, all in to complement your green dress, in a shade it would both compliment your skin and send a message. And the dress itself was highlighting your best features, while also showing some skin on the neckline and the back. Thinking backwards, you find this decision kinda stupid, but Dana was convincing enough.

“So, the other day we were at the grocery store and—”, Dana’s husband was talking about their funny encounter when she shushed him.

“Don’t look now, but a birdie is moving towards us,” she whispered, her eyes locked on Joaquín.

“I’ll make a fool of myself!”

“You won’t! And Josh will hold you if anything goes wrong.” She pressed her champagne flute to her lips. “Ok, now.”

You took a step back, just enough to look like you were out of balance, before letting your body fall again. You were prepared for the worst, but magically a pair of hands found their way to your exposed back. You opened your eyes and had an upside down look on Joaquín.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” His smile was playful. He helped you get back on your feet. “Are you alright?”

“Better now,” you batted your eyelashes and smiled. Joaquín looked amazing on the all dark blue suit he picked for the night. His hair was stylised, and he looked like a supermodel.

“Oh, Captain Torres, she is so stubborn. I told her to go see a doctor, but she refused to,” Dana was giving her all for a Best Supporting Actress that night. And her husband was holding his expression as best as he could.

“Funny, I told her myself a few weeks ago,” his eyes narrowed, and you prayed that your cheeks didn’t start burning red.

“You know what? I’m gonna go check if my blood pressure isn’t acting up again,” you went for a not so subtle French exit. “I’ll see you guys later.”

You slipped out of the small circle before your face caught on fire. You found the bathroom, taking slow deep breaths in front of the mirror. No, Dana couldn’t be right. You were in a room full of people, and still Joaquín was the one acting faster enough to prevent a disaster. No, it was just luck, right?

There was no way he was paying that close of an attention to you, to your moves, to how you were standing in the middle of a crowd.

Oh, damn.

Dana was right.

And you weren’t making your life easier when you walked out of the bathroom, going after a drink for you to drown the feelings you tried to keep on the bay.

It was almost two weeks later when you let yourself fall into the couch in a small room you’ve made a base of on the coast of Mexico. You were out there for a mission, and the last fifteen minutes pumped more adrenaline into your bloodstream than your whole life all together. You watched Sam and Joaquín take off and fly back to the base.

And your feelings? Unfortunately you’ve been carrying them around every single day, trying to not show how you’ve fallen for Joaquín faster than you could’ve imagined. And now you were splashed all around the floor, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Hey! Did you see me kick that guy? It was awesome!” You’re not surprised when Joaquín entered the room, helmet in hand. Still high on his own adrenaline, as per usual.

“Yeah, I saw that, Torres.” You agitated your hand, and he noticed you on the couch.

“¿Estás bien, chica?”

“Yup, just tired.”

“I know you’re not really fainting,” he blurted out, not really looking at you anymore. He was more concerned with removing his wings after a long day. “I mean, the first time you did look like a ghost, but after that? You were faking it, right?”

Your heart froze. You would look better if you’d come clean, right?

“First time was real, but the other two were my friend’s idea. She had this stupid theory,” and you shut yourself up before the explanation started to sound cheesy. “Nevermind.”

“No, por favor, enlighten me. What was her theory?”

“No, it’s so stupid.”

You tried to shake it off, but Joaquín and his amazing agility got him closer to you in no time. His attentive hazel eyes were on you, and your cheeks heated up.

“She said you probably catched me the first time because you were paying attention to me, not to the debrief,” your voice died on your throat at every word, until the silence filled the space between you too. “So the other two times, it was a test.”

Joaquín watched you, expressionless face.

“So you were, let me get this right,” he took two steps back, then moved his body back and forth, and looked at you, “Oh my, Joaquín, please, I’m gonna…”

While you knew you fell like a potato bag every single time it happened in the last few weeks, Joaquín gracefully fell over your body on the couch, his arms catching him and avoiding a nasty collision between you. His face was a few inches from yours, the biggest grin on his lips, and if he got one inch closer, you bet he could’ve heard your heart beat.

“I think I reenacted it perfectly.”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” you tried to avoid his eyes. “I was just…”

“You were…” He was still pushing you to say what has been boiling over for weeks now.

“I told you I was faking it! What else do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. You tell me, cariño.”

You rolled your eyes. Such a tease. And you had to fight back.

“So you were really paying attention to me, hm?”

“What if I was?”

“It means Dana is right,” you rested your hands on his shoulders.

“Yeah, she is,” he looked from your eyes to your lips. “Please don’t do that again.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you wanted me to hold you,” his right hand held your waist, “or kiss you, you just needed to ask.”

You smiled.

Maybe you had fallen for Joaquín more than two times, but he definitely fell harder for you.

a/n: hope you guys liked it! i'm writing a few oneshots and drabbles with joaquín, and i hope to get them posted sometime next week. also huge shout out to @live-love-be-unique for the feedback and encouragement! you're all welcome to send some ideas or requests my way via asks or dm!

374 notes View Post

ijustwannareblogstuff

2 years ago

I'm Good At Letting You Go (You Were Never the Enemy)

part one

A/N: I didn't expect anyone to read the first part, but a few people did, so here we are. I thought publishing a one-shot might help my hyperfixation, and prevent me from seeing the movie a third time, but...again...here we are.

warnings: explicit language, blood and gore, allusions to violence involving guns

summary: the end and the beginning of your relationship with lo'ak

***

Loose cuffs trapped your wrists. You’d wriggle out of them once the guards turned their backs. And the ship would be easy enough to crawl through undetected. The head injury resulted in nothing but a mild throbbing in your skull. It was the inconvenience of having to escape that irked you, that made your fingers itch to get a hold of the gun pressed to your head so you could inconvenience your captors right back.

Revenge was not something you thirsted over often, but you became a lot less forgiving after you left the Metkayina clan a year ago.

(after you left Lo’ak)

The wreckage of your simple plan was not entirely your fault, though. There was another presence on the ship, something more violent than you, that caused an unaccounted-for influx of guards and updated security system that resulted in your capture.

The cells were on the bottom of the ship, and you sighed to yourself as you saw how much extra work it would take to climb back up undetected.

“Pretty hair,” one of the guards sneered, wrapping their fists in your strands and yanking. “I wonder how much it’d sell for.” Your steps faltered, neck jerked back, and you gave one last struggle to get away from them, but their grip on your arms was too tight, and you knew it was futile, so you let them drag you along, scalp aching.

Keeping a mental note of how many left and right turns you took, you were led down a winding hallway, stopped in front of a heavy door.

Shoved inside, you had a strong sense of déjà vu when you met eyes with the other prisoner in the cell.

Your steps faltered, something the soldiers behind you mistook for resistance. They shoved you forward, fastening your wrists to the bar next to Lo’ak.

“Hey, wait,” Lo’ak called after them when they turned to leave. “I’ll take a bullet to the brain, please.”

Heaving in a stuttering breath, you looked at the floor as the guards urged Lo’ak to be careful what he wished for. Then, the door opened and sealed shut, and the two of you were alone for the first time in months.

Silence spread between you, stifling you. Lo’ak was never one to keep his thoughts to himself, and you waited for his tongue-lashing, but it never came.

“It wasn’t easy.” You still weren’t looking at him, instead choosing to burn a hole in the wall. You had risked a few glances, though, comforted by the fact that he wasn’t looking at you, either. You did not want to be the victim of the hatred in his eyes. “Leaving, I mean. It wasn’t—” you cut yourself off with a sigh, frustrated at your lack of words.

How many times had you dreamed about being reunited with him? Granted, under more favorable circumstances, but you’d spent so long without him, thinking of him, wishing things were different. Wishing you could talk to him just one more time and explain yourself.

And now he was here, next to you, chained down so he literally had to listen to you, and you couldn’t figure out what to say.

“Seemed easy enough.”

The two of you exchanged a long glance.

You should’ve known that when you saw him again, it would not be full of warm embraces. It would be harsh words and cold shoulders.

“Leaving, I mean.” He mocked you with a shake of his head. Talking down to you, like he used to when you first met.

You were being honest.

When you joined the Sully’s on their journey, you told yourself not to get attached. This is only temporary, you repeated in your head, even as you taught Kirri what you knew about healing and let Tuk fall asleep on you at night. This is only temporary, you reminded yourself as Neteyam taught you hunting tricks and Neytiri put beads in your hair and Jake sharpened your knives for you and laughed when you showed him the records you’d collected.

I remember this one, he had said, eyes bright, turning the Britney Spears vinyl over in his hands. You should see the music video.

But somewhere along the way you’d forgotten just how fragile your situation was. Distracted by the feeling of finally having a family, of finally having people who would notice if you fell off the face of the earth, you forgot to repeat your mantra.

This is only temporary, you neglected to remind yourself as you showed Lo’ak around the little tree house you’d built near his birthplace, explaining your past through little polaroid’s hung on the wall.

This is only temporary, you forgot to whisper when the two of you laid on the back of Payakan, tracing constellations, spending the night drifting on the calm ocean waves.

Lulled into a false sense of security, you chipped away at the stone exterior you’d spent so long constructing, and just as you lowered your defenses, you were struck.

When you left, you told yourself it was only temporary.

At least, you wanted it to be.

But in the long year without him, without any of them, you were reminded why you left. You put a target on their back and returning would be cruel.

Lo’ak didn’t understand that, though, a fact made clear by his tense shoulders and clenched jaw.

You missed him.

Suddenly, you started tugging at your cuffs. You thought seeing him again would be easy. Maybe all that time apart made you delusional.

You slipped out of your restraints, reached into your boot, and gripped the small blade hidden there. Stepping towards him, he leaned back, as if he couldn’t stand you being close to him.

“Don’t,” he warned. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Staring at him, standing there like an idiot with the knife limp in your hand, you said, “you’re being ridiculous.”

He raised his eyebrows, scoffing. “I’m being ridiculous?” Clenching his fists, you were suddenly glad he was restrained. “You’re so fucking—” he cut himself off, and you were thankful, because you don’t think you could handle whatever he was about to call you. “Just get the fuck out. I never want to see you again.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“Funny. You seem to be really good at that.”

“Can we just focus on getting off of this ship and then we can—"

“You don’t get to pick and choose when you give a shit about me--”

“Would you just stop and listen--” You paced, directly in front of him, his face tilted back to look up at you, enraged.

“You left.”

His words cut through yours, and whatever you were about to say died on your tongue. The raggedness of his voice, the weariness in his eyes as he looked at you, this was not the same Lo’ak you walked away from.

There was no response from you. You did leave, you couldn’t negate that fact. It had been for his benefit, but you still left.

At the time, you convinced yourself that it wouldn’t matter. He was fine before you, then you were just a way to pass time and get comfort, and he’d be fine after you. Same with all the others.

It was a different kind of heartbreak. You’d convinced yourself that you were the only one mourning your loss. Looking at him now, you thought maybe that wasn’t the case.

The cell door swung open. You turned, half expecting a bullet, but instead you were greeted with a familiar face.

“Kiri,” you said in surprise as she said your name in the same tone, both of your eyes wide. She looked between her brother, the knife in your hand, and your face. She looked pale, as if she’d seen a ghost.

If Kiri was here, so was Tuk, and Neteyam, which meant their parents were probably also close by.

You retreated.

It made you a coward, turning tail and running at the first sign of conflict, but you’d fought against every single impulse to return to them, and facing Lo’ak’s disappointment alone was too much to bear. You couldn’t face all of them.

“1657 is the security code,” you told her, gesturing to the side of the cell. “Punch it in and the door will open.”

Kiri was still staring at you, motionless. Your impatience snapped. “Now, Kiri. Please.”

The doors slid open; a suction of air released. There was no barrier between you now. In your head, your reunion with her was full of smiles and laughter.

You brushed past her in silence and dropped the knife on the ground in front of her. “In case you need it,” you jerked your head towards Lo’ak. “For him.”

You didn’t look back, knowing it’d be much harder if you did. You regretted seeing him at all, and wished you never had.

Before, your last memory of him was on that tiny island.

Now, the last thing you’ll remember of him will be his harsh words and resentful eyes.

A long time ago, your first meeting had been under similar circumstances.

Laying in the darkest corner of the cave, you woke groggily, as if you’d been drugged. You blinked, head aching, your cheek pressed to something wet. Your own blood, you assumed, judging by the metallic smell and taste in your mouth.

A loose knot restrained your hands in front of you, and although you felt like you’d been put through the ringer, it was easy enough to pick. With weak arms, you pushed yourself up, swaying. You pressed a hand to the cave wall to steady yourself. Whatever happened to you, you must’ve lost a lot of blood as a result.

You took a few staggering steps, trying your best to keep yourself quiet.

The sound of arguing around a bend in the cave covered your clumsiness.

“We have to call this in.”

“Are you kidding? We’ll be slaughtered.”

“It’ll be worse if we don’t tell him, and then he finds out later.”

“I’ll be murdered. Violently.”

“You exaggerate.”

“And what do you think they’ll do to her? What if they kill her.”

“They won’t.”

“We don’t know that.”

Back pressed to the cold stone, you listened. You only heard two different voices. Two captors were manageable. Two captors you could sneak past and avoid a fight. In your weakened state, you would be no match for even the kindest of creatures.

Just as you’d lifted your foot to slink through the shadows, a third voice interrupted. You grit your teeth, mood soured, and retreated again.

“I say we talk to her first.”

“Who knows if we even speak the same language.”

“She looked pretty bad when you brought her here. I should go check on her, make sure she’s still alive.” The female voice sounded kind, but at the mention of her coming to look for you, you panicked.

In a perfect world, you’d have a weapon to defend yourself. But this was Pandora, and whoever dragged you to this cave was smart enough to confiscate anything you could’ve used to hurt them.

There was more bickering between them as you wrestled with yourself, deciding whether you should make a run for the opening of the cave (which would be more like a very brisk walk, in your state).

Except you had no idea where you were. It could be more dangerous outside of the cave than inside.

Before your mind caught up with your actions, you stepped around the bend in the cave, making yourself known to the others.

The girl saw you first. She paused mid-step, falling back on her heel as her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise.

She was Omaticayan, evident by her tail and color. There was another boy with her, too, also belonging to the same clan. The sky person threw you off guard, his shock clear through the mask he wore on his face.

Even though they had a few inches on you in height, and more muscle, the fact that they seemed to be similar in age leveled the playing field a bit.

A long stretch of silence followed your appearance as they sized you up, just as you’d been doing to them. You imagined how horrifying you looked. Hair matted to your face with dried blood, cuts and deep bruises along your body and face, voice rasped. “Do I need to worry about you killing me?”

Your question shocked them out of their stupor.

“How did you get free from the rope?”

The avoidance of your question set you on edge, and your shoulders tensed. “The knot was loose.”

The Na’avi boy punched the human boy in the arm. “I told you to tie that shit tighter.”

“I didn’t want to cut off her circulation!”

“Do I have to worry about you trying to kill me?” you reiterated your question, louder this time, though your voice still cracked.

“No,” the girl spoke, placing a hand over her chest. “We were just—”

“I saved your life.”

The girl closed her eyes and sighed when the Omaticayan boy spoke, and you looked over her shoulder at him.

Wracking your brain, you tried to remember needing to be saved. But you were drawing up blank, and that disadvantage frustrated you. He could be lying, and you’d have no way of knowing.

“How long have I been here?”

He scoffed, inching a few steps forward. “You know, usually people say, ‘thank you’ when someone goes out of their way to keep them from dying.”

“Lo’ak—” the girl hissed, turning her face to give him a warning glance.

He raised his hands limply in self-defense, giving her a boyish grin and a halfhearted shrug. “I’m just saying.” He looked at you again. “Maybe they do things differently where you’re from.”

Based on the way you looked, it was evident you were not native to the forest. Your hair a stark white, even underneath the blood stains. Skin a lighter shade of blue, smaller than them.

The girl turned back to you with an exasperated look. “Ignore him. We’re not going to kill you.”

Still on edge, you took a step back to put some distance between yourself and the rest of them. She placed a hand on her chest, sensing your discomfort. “My name’s Kiri.” She jerked her head towards the human boy. “That’s Spider.”

Despite yourself, your lips quirked. “Spider?”

Cheeks tinted red, he explained the lore behind his name, but you were only half-listening, still trying to hatch an escape plan.

You didn’t realize he’d stopped speaking until they were all staring at you expectantly. “Oh,” you said, swallowing thickly. You told them your name since it was only fair.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Kiri smiled, and you could tell she wanted to ask questions. They all did, you could see it in their curious glances. An interrogation was exactly the situation you wanted to avoid.

Your eyes flicked down to the girl’s arm, where she pressed a white cloth to her forearm. It was dripping, splattering on the cave floor.

Finally, a way out.

“I can treat that.” You nodded towards her injury.

“We’re headed back to our home soon. They can patch me up there.”

“You should come with us,” Lo’ak interjected, stepping forward again. You eyed him.

Supposedly, he saved your life. You’ve never even met him before, and doubted it was true. Kiri and Spider seemed a bit more hesitant than he was, aware of the fact that none of you knew each other. Lo’ak seemed at ease, though. Shoulders relaxed, eyes bright and trusting, like he was searching for something within in you.

Too close, an alarm rang in your head. You made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

“You’ll lose a lot more blood if you wait. I can stitch it up in just a few minutes. Where are we?”

Their curiosity got the better of them. You followed them outside, blinking in the bright sunlight, eyes sore from sleep and having adjusted to the darkness of the cave.

You were near some sort of wreckage. A small ship crashed in a clearing a few hundred feet from the opening of the cave. “We found this place after we got caught in a storm one day.” Spider moved just as quickly as his Na’avi friends; you noted as he spoke to you. “Pretty cool, right?”

Scouring through the rubble, you popped a drawer and found a medic kit inside. Cracking it open, you told Kiri to sit. Her brothers did as well, watching intently. Lo’ak had a hand near his sheath, the handle of a blade glinting in the light. Your eyes flicked from his weapon to his face, and you turned away when you saw him watching you just as intently.

It was a standard cut. Deeper than most, hence the extreme bleeding, but not fatal. You’d collected plants outside, familiar leaves that would sedate the pain. You talked to her about what you were doing, figuring it would put her more at ease. She talked back, seemingly knowing a few things about healing herself.

“I’ve never seen anyone use this stitching pattern before.” When you finished, she held her arm up, eyes glistening with unshed tears, observing your technique.

“Since the wound was so deep, I used a tighter stitch. The thread won’t dissolve on its own, so in a few weeks you’ll have to get them removed.” You shut the kit, returning it to the drawer. “Don’t mess with it and you’ll be fine.”

You were feeling better, stronger, than you were when you woke up. You turned towards the window, suddenly. “I think someone’s coming,” you told them, and they all turned away from you to peer out the window.

When they turned back, you were gone.

Lo’ak couldn’t believe they fell for something so stupid. On the trek back home, he kept shaking his head at himself. “I mean, it’s so fucking dumb.”

“How about we leave that part out when we tell mom and dad. It’s too embarrassing.” Kiri ran her fingers over her new stitches.

“We’ll just say we let her go. It’s technically not a lie,” Spider added.

But his parents didn’t buy it for one second.

The three of them stood in front of thir family, telling their story with sweeping hand movements and talking over each other, only to be met with silence and narrowed eyes. Neteyam biting his lip to keep from grinning, Tuk complaining that she hadn’t been invited along on the adventure.

“So, what I’m hearing,” his father turned away from where he’d been kindling his fire. “Is that you got caught in the middle of someone else’s fight, endangered your life by entering that fight, got Kiri injured, saved someone’s life, and then, after giving Kiri stitches, they just vanished.”

“Yes,” Lo’ak said. “That’s exactly what happened.”

Neteyam couldn’t muffle his laugh, though he went through a dramatic effort to disguise it as a cough. Lo’ak didn’t appreciate it, narrowing his eyes at his older brother.

“Spider and Kiri were there. They can corroborate my story.”

“It’s true,” Spider interjected.

Kiri nodded. He knew his father would be hesitant to believe him or Spider, justifiable on most occasions but a nuisance in this case, so Kiri was their chance at convincing him. “She was running from these people—they had guns, I think they kidnapped her—and she went right over the edge of this cliff. If Lo’ak hadn’t caught her, she would’ve fallen to her death.”

Lo’ak straightened his shoulders.

That’s right. He did that.

Good for him.

“And she knew a lot about healing! We talked for a bit about herbal remedies and different stitching methods. She taught me a different way to close a wound, which will be useful.” Kiri displayed her cut for her parents to see, though it seemed to have a negative reaction. Neytiri’s ears flattened, and his father’s jaw clenched. Kiri kept talking, too caught up in her story to notice. “She had this beautiful white hair—”

Neytiri’s hands slipped from where she was skinning some fruit, the knife clattering to the dirt. Eyes wide, she looked up at her daughter. “White, like atokirina?”

Kiri nodded enthusiastically.

Confused, Lo’ak shared a glance with his father. “Do you recognize her?” he asked, turning away from his precious fire.

“They’re from the arctic regions in the North,” Neytiri explained. “Natural born healers. The entire tribe is peaceful, a safe haven for the injured. Their hair is white because they’re thought to be like atokirina, seeds from the Tree of Souls.”

The three kids went silent, considering the new information.

“So, is she like, a spirit?” Lo’ak asked lamely.

“A descendent of one.”

He and Spider leaned across Kiri to punch each other in the shoulders, laughing. “Bro, you saved the life of a spirit.”

“She should’ve stuck around longer. Maybe she would’ve granted me a wish or something.”

Kiri rolled her eyes, pressing her hands to their chests and pushing them away from her. “You’re both so stupid.”

“Hey, Kiri, maybe she healed you with magic.” Lo’ak grabbed her forearm to observe the stitches more closely, but she ripped her arm out of his grip.

“Don’t touch me, asshole.”

“Language,” Jake piped.

“You’re very lucky,” Neytiri went back to skinning her fruit, occasionally cutting off a slice when Tuk tugged at her arm.

“I’m the one who saved her life, she’s the lucky one.”

Spider snickered, and Kiri shook her head. “You can be such a dick, Lo’ak.”

“Language!”

The conversation shifted over dinner, but Lo’ak’s mind strayed to the healer. He had seen you fight, before you went over the edge of the cliff. It was vicious. The snap of a neck, a bullet between the eyes. You didn’t seem like a healer, or a spirit. More like a desperate animal gnawing off their own leg to escape a snare.

Who were those people, and why were they after you?

And the fear in your eyes when you saw them in the cave. He equated spirits with power and calmness. Gentle. You seemed to be anything but as you stood in front of him, dripping in blood.

His curiosity got the best of him. After the rest of his family dozed off, he slipped away, the silver moonlight filtering through the trees and lighting his path as he returned to the cave.

It’s not like he was expecting you to still be there, but he let out a long sigh and his shoulders slumped when he saw that the area was empty and untouched. Exactly how they left it.

“So dumb,” he muttered to himself as he kicked a rock, cursing himself for falling for your stupid trick earlier.

The cave was a lot scarier at night, a deep void that light from the stars couldn’t penetrate. He slid into the shadows, remembering how fast his heart was pounding as he brought you to where Spider was helping Kiri apply pressure to your wound.

“Look what I found.”

You hung limp over his shoulder. You’d already lost consciousness when he caught you on his Ikra, though you’d woken a few times, struggling in his grip. It was easy for him to keep you restrained, and your weak hands pressing against him did little to loosen his grip on you. You fell back under again and didn’t wake up.

Kiri looked at him like he’d been the one to put you in that state. “What did you do.”

He hoisted you back over his shoulder, gently putting you back on the ground. “Hey, a little appreciation would be nice. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be breathing.”

They debated on what to do with you. Hide you under some leaves, wait for you to come-to on your own. Take you back to his family. After a solid fifteen minutes of arguing, they settled for tying your hands and waiting for you to regain consciousness before making any other decisions regarding you.

And then you used the easiest trick in the book to get them to look away for one moment, just one millisecond, and you were gone.

“Where the fuck did she go?” he’d asked, standing up so quickly he nearly knocked himself off his feet.

“She was just here.” Spider spun in a circle, as if you were hiding in a cabinet.

Kiri stifled her laugh. “I can’t believe we fell for that.”

And, yeah. Maybe Lo’ak wanted to talk to you more. It’d been so long since he’d met someone new. Not to mention, your situation seemed exciting. Running from men with guns, able to hold your own in a fight, a healer. Who were you? He wanted to know.

Pulled out of the memory by something sharp underneath his foot, Lo’ak jumped back. He bent down, scooping the object up in his hands. It was a necklace.

He’d never seen it before, and he turned it over in his hands as he hoisted himself into a tree and rested on a branch. Holding it up to the light, he squinted at it, trying to discern where it came from.

Maybe it was yours.

The thought ignited a flicker of hope. If it was yours, it was probably meaningful to you, and you might come back for it.

He found a hollowed-out log close enough to the cave and set the jewelry inside. Somewhere easy enough for you to find, but difficult for an animal to get to.

Days passed. Neteyam didn’t believe him.

“I’m not calling you a liar,” his older brother said as he pulled his bow string taught, aiming at the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. He let the arrow fly. “But I am saying you’re delusional.”

“Scared I’m going to take your place as the mighty warrior of the family?” Lo’ak laid back on the rock, tilting his face towards the warm sun. “I mean, how many spirits have you rescued?”

“She’s not a spirit; she’s the descendant of one.” Neteyam grabbed the fish he hunted, adding it to his collection. “Are you going to help me at all or just scare off all the prey?”

Lo’ak ignored him. “If she lives all the way up North, how’d she get here?” he shook his head, musing. “I bet it’s a good story.”

Neteyam sighed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes up towards the sky. “Too bad you’ll never get to hear it.” He threw a dead fish at Lo’ak, laughing when his brother rolled away from it, jumping after him.

But deep down, it bothered Lo’ak that no one believed him, Kiri, and Spider. He was telling the truth. And he had to prove it.

“She’s not here,” Spider complained.

“I just want to see.”

Always willing to participate in Lo’ak’s antics, he knew Spider was curious about you, too. And when the two of them peered into the hollowed log, they found your necklace was not there.

His heart kicked in excitement. “See! See!” he did a victory lap, jogging around the small clearing and whooping in victory. He stopped and pointed at the empty place where the necklace used to be. “I’m telling you! You saw the state she was in. She couldn’t have gone far.”

“An animal could’ve taken it.”

Lo’ak shook his head. “No. She was here.”

They both looked up at the trees, as if you’d reveal yourself. They observed every inch of their surroundings, checking for tracks or other lost belongings, but you left no trace behind besides the missing necklace.

Lo’ak rode that high for several more days. He checked back every afternoon, sometimes alone, other times bringing Kiri or Spider, and Tuk on one occasion. He knew you were still hiding in his forest. Between the leaves, hiding just outside his peripheral. If he could figure out a way to coax you out, get you to show yourself just one more time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

And then he could rub it in his family’s face.

See? he’d tell them, brandishing you like a sword. I’m not crazy!

But his best efforts were futile. No matter how much plotting he did, trying to lure you out with food or other bait, you never bit down on his hook. He grew frustrated.

And then Tuk got sick.

Like, really sick.

Even Mo’at looked worried as she cared for his little sister, Neytiri and Jake doing little other than staying at her bedside.

Lo’ak’s outings to the cave became reprieve from the sick den and the suffocating grief of his family. When he went out alone, he would talk to you. Tell you what was going on in his life. Before, it was mundane things. Like how Spider tried to make an ambitious jump and ate absolute shit in the process. Or how his father taught him how to use a gun and throw a punch.

But now Tuk knocked at death’s door, and he had no idea if she would be turned away or let inside, and he started talking about that instead. He didn’t know if you were listening. He swore up and down that he could feel you, a second heartbeat assisting his own, but he had nothing to show for it besides that one incident.

He escaped one afternoon after he saw Kiri crying, unable to take the emotional weight placed on his family. Lo’ak paced around the clearing, breathing heavy, looking up at the trees. “If you’re there,” he started, angry, “just give me a goddamn sign.”

No response, but a soft breeze through the leaves.

“Some fucking healer you are,” he taunted before he left.

That night, he laid awake next to Tuk, and regretted yelling at you. As if you were even there to hear him.

Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow is the last day I’ll go back. After that, I’ll let it go.

It was a bad morning for Tuk. She wouldn’t stop coughing, her blood staining the handkerchief.

He stomped the whole way back to the site. He was mad again. He ripped back the leaves he used to cover the hollow log, bracing himself for another wave of disappointment.

His fury dissipated in the air.

A scratch piece of paper read “For your little sister. Take one each day. Mix with honey to help with the taste.” Next to the note laid a collection of small vials, all filled with a deep green liquid.

“It could be poison.” Mo’at shook her head, shoving the vial away. “Too risky.”

“It’s not,” Lo’ak promised, unable to look at where Tuk lay.

“How can you be sure?”

He would’ve launched into the whole story, but his grandmother was a tough nut to crack, and telling her it was a mystery vial left in a log might not be the best approach.

“She’s going to die if we don’t do something.” He set the supposed medicine on the table. “This is our only option.”

His parents mulled it over. Neytiri eyed the vial, holding it up to the light. Jake rested a comforting hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Are you absolutely sure she’s the one that left this?”

She, meaning you. Lo’ak nodded. He could feel it, as sure as Eywa’s presence.

Jake and Neytiri shared a look. His grandmother pursed her lips.

The first day brought no noticeable improvements.

By the third day, Tuk could open her eyes again.

On the tenth day, she spoke for the first time in a month.

By the last vial, she was herself again.

“Gross,” she wrinkled her nose at the smell. Even mixed with honey, it tasted bitter, and she’d grown tired of it.

“Last one,” Neytiri promised, arm wrapped around her youngest.

The weight over his family lifted.

Throughout Tuk’s healing process, he didn’t have the time to return to the cave. But once all the vials were empty, he collected them and raced with Kiri back to the site.

He kept one, hoping its absence would be enough to make you reveal yourself. After setting them in the log, he hesitated before leaving.

“I don’t think we’re ever going to actually see her again,” Kiri told him as they shared lunch in the clearing.

“We don’t know that.”

“If she hasn’t shown herself yet, I doubt she wants to.” She peeled an orange, handing him a slice.

He shrugged. “Who knows.” Spoken with a smile, there was no doubt in his mind that he could find a way to get you to reveal yourself again. He just had to be smart about it, trick you into making a mistake.

Lo’ak left a note with the vials. “You still owe me for saving your life.”

The debt was more than repaid, considering you’d brought Tuk back from the brink of death. But you didn’t need to know that. Kiri gave him a flat look when he placed the note inside the log, shaking her head at him. “I think she’s smarter than that.”

Lo’ak shushed her with a finger to his lips. “She could be listening.” He pointed up towards the trees with a grin.

Kiri narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t shush me.”

They bickered the entire way home.

A weird sort of trading system began. Lo’ak still liked to talk to you when he visited alone, and he found the objects you left for him in the log corresponded with his stories sometimes.

A tiny knife, useful for skinning fish and picking out their tiny bones when he mentioned he was having trouble with that.

A thread and needle when he mentioned Kiri wanted practice replicating your stitching patterns.

A bunch of bright orange leaves when he told you about how one of his friends pierced his own ears and it got infected, accompanied with more instructions. “Chew and place on the piercing. Make sure to disinfect the needle next time.”

He left things for you, too. It was harder, since you weren’t talking to him, and he knew nothing about you. But he tried.

Tuk liked making jewelry when she wasn’t busy annoying the shit out of Lo’ak. He left bracelets, earrings, anklets, and necklaces in the place of whatever you left for him.

Hair combs cast aside by others. He picked things off of the sky people’s ship. Stuff that wasn’t interesting to him, but maybe you would like it, and no one would miss it, so there was no harm done.

But, in typical Lo’ak fashion, he grew impatient.

He’d more than proved that he wasn’t a threat, he thought. The trading was fun, and it was exciting to have something to constantly think about. He was always on the lookout for things you might like. But it would be a lot more fun if you would just show yourself and return with him to his home. Then you could find things together, and he wouldn’t feel like an idiot, talking to himself all the time.

With each new trade, his curiosity only intensified.

“I have to know who she is,” Lo’ak explained one day when he dragged Neteyam and Spider out to the site.

“I don’t think she feels the same about you, little brother.”

“You don’t get it.”

Today was the day, he decided that morning. He’d been cooking up a plan. It was his turn to put something in the log, which meant you’d have to come out and get it. Your trades grew more frequent, there was something new every day now.

It was exciting. And frustrating. You were right there, so close to him, and still so far out of reach. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he saw you again, he decided. Then maybe he could let this weird hyper fixation on you and your life go. But he had to have at least one more conversation with you, first.

This trade was valuable. At least, he thought so. Medical supplies his father brought back after visiting his military friends. State-of-the-art gauze and disinfectants and tourniquets.

There’s no way you’d be able to resist coming out to grab it. And when you did, they’d be there, hidden in the foliage.

“And what are you going to do when she comes out?” Neteyam asked. “Catch her in a net? Spring out at her like a predator?”

“No,” Lo’ak countered.

“You haven’t thought that far ahead, have you?”

Spider laughed at that and Lo’ak gave him a look of betrayal. Spider was supposed to be on his side, not Neteyam’s.

“Of course, I have,” he lied. “But we’re getting close, and she could be listening, so no more talking about the plan.”

Neteyam and Spider snickered, though they heeded his request and made a covering of leaves and plants while he grabbed what you’d left for him in the log. A collection of arrows, the nice ones, crafted with care.

A gift for his mother.

He wondered if you’d made them yourself, or found them, or did someone give them to you. Shaking his head when his imagination drifted again, he focused on the task a hand.

Joining his coconspirators under their cover, they shed their knives in a pile behind them. “If we’re covered in weapons when she sees us again, she’ll run.”

“I think she’s going to run anyways.”

They whispered back and forth, arguing for a few moments, before falling silent.

Hours passed.

They each grew restless, dramatically overestimating their ability to be quiet and still for such a long period of time. They gossiped about their family, other members of the Omaticayan tribe, whether a mountain banshee or a hammerhead titanothere would win in a fight.

The original plot was to stay awake through the night.

The three of them fell asleep within a few hours of darkness.

Startled awake by a branch breaking close by, they jerked back into consciousness. Pushing himself up, Lo’ak cursed, abandoning the cover of the leaves, and rushed for the log.

“Wait,” Neteyam hissed after him. “It could be dangerous.”

But Lo’ak didn’t care, peering inside. Blowing out a long sigh, he turned back to his friends, who stood on either side of him, also looking in. “It’s still there.”

Neteyam shook his head and trudged back to the makeshift blind. “This is pointless. We’re not going to catch her.”

Lo’ak lifted his head, looking through the trees ahead. It was dark, the forest alive with bugs chirping and birds fluttering about overhead. Spider placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can try again some other time.”

“Yeah,” Lo’ak replied, but he didn’t bother to hide the disappointment in his voice.

Neteyam’s voice cut through the noise of the woods around them. “Spider, did you grab our knives?”

“No, I just left them where they were, right behind us.”

Another beat of silence, and then Neteyam was laughing. “Well, I think your friend decided to pay us a visit after all.”

Lo’ak and Spider joined him by their camp, staring at the place where their knives used to be.

They were stolen.

Lo'ak froze. Spider joined in the laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Lo’ak snapped, which only caused them to laugh harder. “Shut up! It’s not funny!”

Neteyam nudged him, smiling wide. “She’s smarter than you, bro.”

“Smarter than you, too,” he countered, shoving Neteyam back with a hiss.

Lo’ak couldn’t believe it.

At first, your little game was cute.

Exciting, even.

But now Lo’ak clenched his fists at his side, muscles tense, filled with the urge to break something.

He couldn’t believe this. They turned their backs for one second, again, and you’d struck. He was certain you were watching now, laughing down at him.

Turning over his shoulder, he stomped back over to the log. “Whatever,” he called back to Neteyam and Spider. “I’m taking this back.”

Except, when he reached in to grab the medicine kit, that was gone, too.

“No way,” he drawled, staggering back as if he’d been shocked. When Neteyam and Spider asked him what happened, he was so angry, he didn’t even answer.

Spider reached inside, eyes light with curiosity. “Well, shit." He pulled out two knives.

“She’s fast,” Neteyam remarked, sliding his knife back into his holder. “Don’t worry, skxawng, I’m sure she’ll return yours soon enough.” He and Spider snickered, and Lo’ak decided he had to fight them both.

Even his dad got a kick out of the story. “Seems like you’ve met your match,” he said with a wink, Neytiri hiding a smile behind a sip of her tea.

How could you have gotten the best of them two times in one night, in the span of ten minutes?

His anger fueled him for several days. His sleep was fitful, full of tossing and turning. He ranted about you to everyone who would listen, until even Spider grew tired of him.

“Just let it go, man,” he told Lo’ak one day. “It’s never going to happen.”

And to rub salt in the wound, you stopped trading with him entirely.

For all he knew, the incident with the knives was the last interaction you two would ever have.

The thought devastated him more than it should’ve. How could he be this dejected over someone he’d only had one conversation with? Who had bruised his ego and gotten the best of him several times now?

Time passed. Instead of the gaping wound you used to be, you became a scab he picked at. He occasionally still visited the site but didn’t have much time for it after the sky people returned with a vengeance.

Which is how he ended up with his knees shoved into the wet dirt, a gun pressed to the back of his skull.

“Leave the others here.” Lo’ak guessed this fool was the leader, judging by the way he listed off commands and his spineless cronies followed suit like puppets on a string. He gestured towards Lo’ak with a flippant wave of his hand. “Take that one to the cells.”

“No, Lo’ak,” Kiri gasped, his siblings struggling against their restraints. He fought the panic of being separated from them but could do little to stop it from happening. His parents and Neteyam were on their way, and knowing his mother, he’d be free in an hour.

Lo’ak kept a steady stream of insults flowing as they guided him through the ship, calling the soldiers every name in the book. It didn’t help him, though it did make him feel better, and the guards only grew more violent as they opened the cell and shoved him inside.

He whirled on them, as if he could run out before the door sealed shut, but it was too late. He kicked at the clear door, his hands still restrained in front of him, cursing.

“That’s not going to help.”

The interruption shocked him. He hadn’t noticed anyone else in the cell, distracted by the soldiers that imprisoned him.

But he’d recognize your voice anywhere.

324 notes View Post

ijustwannareblogstuff

3 months ago

solus | elliot

pairings — elliot/reader | stranded!au | “__” = Y/N

word count : 10k

summary : you and elliot wake up in a world where everyone else magically vanishes.

warnings : fingering, dirty talk, alcohol, weed, angst, oral sex (f) receiving, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms, hickies, dirty talk, elliot calls you a brat, degrading, spanking

authors note : the ending creeped me out lolz

elliot masterlist latest fic

Making your way a bit faster towards the gymnasium, biting your lip in anticipation of getting there on time—you felt your phone vibrate leading you to release a frustrated groan.

Pausing in your steps, you snatched your phone from your back pocket, eyes scanning over the dimly lit screen. You squinted as you read the text.

mads 💌

i left something in peterson’s class. can u plsssss get it for me

Your brows rose, letting out a scoff at the audacity your best friend had.

sent

get it yourself. i don’t wanna be late

Your phone dinged almost instantly after, as if she knew you were going to tell her to go fuck herself. Rolling your eyes at her reply, you caved in.

mads 💌

im in the bathroom blowing my ass out bitch

sent

fine. what is it?

mads 💌

pads. pls and thanks hoe 🙏

sent

cunt.

Shutting your phone back off, you sighed before changing your path and heading towards the English class. How did she even leave them in there? They must’ve fallen out or something—you don’t know. Constantly checking the time on your phone, you began to panic when you only had five minutes left, and began to quicken your pace.

When the maroon colored door came into sight, you let out a huff before pushing open the heavy surface. Your hand fell from the knob as you released a shout, covering your face with your hands, a squeal falling from the girl that was making out with none other than Elliot.

Elliot.

God, you hated him.

The picture burned in your mind of his hand around her neck, sitting on the teacher’s desk while he pressed his lips to hers making you want to projectile vomit. You felt her push past you, making your shoulder hit the door, letting out a curse before sending her an icy glare. But she had her back turned towards you as she scrambled out the halls.

Looking at him with a raised brow, he only sent you an irritated scowl; crossing his chiseled biceps over his broad chest, “Nice going, cockblock.”

You placed your hands on your hips, before cocking one of them, “Cassie Howard? Didn’t know you fucked blondes too.”

His scowl stretched into a smirk, rubbing his chin with a smug look, “I fuck anything that has a pussy, babe,” he teased, approaching you slowly. Your figure stiffened as his eyes flickered up and down your face, before setting back onto your eyes, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Your nostrils flared, fists balling at your sides.

“Don’t call me babe ever again.”

His brow roses, eyes flashing.

“I thought you liked that?”

Clenching your jaw, he let out a dry chuckle before brushing past you; making his way over to the door. Shutting your eyes in relief, glad that he was about to leave, the knob turned. But you didn’t hear the door shut, causing your brows to furrow, and spin around to face him.

His hand kept trying to turn the knob, but it wasn’t working. He had to be faking it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his veins protruding from his flesh on his neck as he tried again; but failed, “I think it’s jammed or some shit.”

You snorted, knowing he was only fucking with you, causing a new wave of annoyance to wash over his features, “What the fuck are you giggling at? I’m serious,” he snapped, delivering a harsh kick to the door afterwards to seal the show he was putting on, “It won’t—fuck—open.”

When he didn’t let up his act, you began to grow a bit worried, blinking quickly, “Stop it, Elliot,” you mumbled, shifting back and forth on your feet, “I don’t have time for this. I can’t be late—“

“Try for yourself,” he spat, stepping aside with gritted teeth. Elliot gestured to the door,

“Go on. See if I’m fucking with you or not.”

Gulping, you puffed your chest out and walked over to the door, and confidently tried to open it. But when it didn’t work, like something was blocking the other end, your eyes rounded as you looked at him. He rolled his eyes, plopping down onto the chair for the teacher, legs far apart as he slumped.

He twirled a marker in the air, before pointing it at you with a fake smile, “See. Told you.”

There was no fucking way you were stuck in a classroom with Elliot.

Ignoring the cocky expression he was sending you, you began to pace back and forth across the class after trying to open the door for another ten minutes. Elliot just sat there, watching you with that stupid fucking grin on his face, while you tugged at your strands while trying not to panic.

This was your luck. You were going to miss the assembly because your friend needed fucking pads.

“How is this even possible?” You muttered to yourself, hand landing on your chest, “By the time someone finds us, the assembly will be over and it’ll look like we did something together,” but then you paused, eyes widening in horror over at the wall, “—or even worse, I’ll get detention. Fuck!”

Elliot’s chuckle rang through the class, earning a glare from you, “Surprised that you think getting detention is worse than being seen with me.”

“It’s not like we actually did something,” you muttered with a huff, causing him to raise a knowing brow at you.

“We haven’t?”

“I mean now. In here,” you picked up a notebook from a random desk, and tossed it at him. He dodged it before narrowing his dark eyes at you, whilst you pointed a finger at him,

“—and we agreed you’d never bring up what we did. It was a mistake.”

His upper lip curled, features tightening.

“Well the feeling’s mutual.”

Pressing your lips together, you decided to save your own breath and simply ignore him. You did a pretty good job of acting like he didn’t exist for the past year, and now wasn’t going to be any different.

When it was close to an hour to go by, you walked over to the glass window, which was a tiny slit that probably was five inches in size. The air wafted inside the small room, giving you oxygen, as you watched the door with intent eyes.

Wasn’t the assembly finished by now? They usually took about 45 minutes.

“It’s almost two,” you muttered, furrowing your brows, “Sixth period should be happening by now.”

But where was the teacher?

Walking over to the window, Elliot spun in the chair he was still in, letting out a quiet fuck before shoving his phone into his pocket, “I have no service. Fucking shitty ass wifi,” he grumbled, “Can’t wait to get the fuck outta here.”

Bringing your thumbnail to your lip, you chewed with your teeth while nervously tapping in front of the door. Your fist collided with the cool surface as you let out a call, “Hello! Can someone get us out?” Hearing your phone echo in the halls, you perked up, before trying again, “Hello! Hell—“

“Your giving me a headache,” Elliot snapped, sniffling before wiping his nose. He shrugged with hooded eyes, “If anyone was going to come, they would. It hasn’t even been an hour yet. Just chill the fuck out and sit down somewhere.”

“We didn’t have a half day, so we should be in class right now,” you mumbled, chewing on your thumb even harder.

Elliot’s jaw clenched, “So you think we’re stuck in here?”

“Maybe.”

He kicked the desk, “Dammit,” he grunted, letting out a heavy breath before standing up. His long, thin legs strode over to the door, his sneakers padding against the tiled floor, before bringing his fist up to slam against the wood,

“Yo! Let us out—before I fucking—“

“Yeah, threaten them,” you laughed dryly, shaking your head before looking to the side, “Like they’re doing this on purpose. Everyone probably just went home.”

He tightened his lips at you, “Don’t teachers stay after school?”

“Not all the time.”

“Great,” he slammed his hand on the door, letting it slide back down to his side before leaning his forehead against it. His thick lashes fluttered as his eyes fell shut, voice coming out quiet yet bitter, “This is all just—fucking great. Can’t even smoke a fucking joint.”

“That’s what your worried about?” You tilted your head, “A joint? What about using the bathroom? Or water? Jesus,” your hands flew to your temples. Trying to soothe the overthinking thoughts that made your brain pound, “Not only am I stuck in here with an idiot, but an idiot that’s also an asshole.”

Elliot chuckled, pausing in front of you, a smile quirking onto his pink, plump lips, “Hold still,” he held a hand up in front of your face, raising his brows, “I’m just trying to imagine you without the bitchy prude personality.”

“And I’m just trying to imagine you with a bigger dick,” you hissed, smirking as his smile slipped off his face, being replaced with a scowl, “You know, one that could actually make girls come.”

“Fuck you.”

“Never again,” you snapped, pushing past him before going to sit in one of the corners, snatching a book off the shelf before making yourself busy. You heard Elliot laugh in disbelief before mumbling to himself; keeping his distance from you.

After a few hours passed, it dawned on you that you would have to spend the night there. Using your jacket as a pillow, you kept tossing the boy glances that was drawing on the board with a marker. He probably wasn’t going to sleep. You didn’t trust him enough to sleep around him, but you were really tired, and didn’t have much of a choice.

A yawn tore through you, before feeling your eyes flutter close, and falling asleep. By the time you had woken up, it was because the door had screeched open, leading you to shoot up from your laying position with round eyes. Your sights flew to Elliot, who had passed out in the teachers’ chair, letting out quiet snores as he drooled onto the desk.

Grabbing your backpack, you didn’t even bother waking him up, throwing an asshole towards his limp figure before storming out the class.

But then you paused, realizing that no one was to be seen. Who had opened the door?

Perhaps the janitor? But how did he know you two were in there?

You had never seen the halls so empty before, not a student in your gaze, which was a great relief. You had looked like utter shit, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, makeup dried out and ruined. Eyes still puffy from just waking up, you began walking down the hall.

After taking a shower, you felt extremely refreshed, peering your head out your bedroom doorframe before calling out for your father, “Dad!”

He should’ve been home by now. It was like—almost eleven o’clock at night. Furrowing your brows, you slipped on a hoodie and some sweats before walking into the kitchen; then the living room. They were both empty. Gulping, you figured he must’ve been working late, and plopped onto the couch to turn on Netflix.

Before you knew it, it was the next morning; and your father was still nowhere to be seen. You had fallen asleep on the couch, slobber dribbling down your chin, realizing that you didn’t have school today since it was the weekend.

You checked your texts, and noticed that you had no new notifications. You had texted Maddy last night about being locked in a class with your worst enemy; and figured she was busy when she didn’t reply right away.

But now—it’s been almost an entire day. Something was up.

Sending a quick text to your dad asking where he was, you called the brunette girl, but it went straight to voicemail. Rolling your eyes, you tossed your phone onto the cushion, before getting up to go piss.

After coming back, your phone dinged, expecting it to be your best friend—but your face instantly fell when you read the text.

unknown

meet me at the school.

You knew it was Elliot, since you had deleted him as a contact—and he was the only person that would boss you around through messages. Letting out a sigh, you typed back a quick response with pursed lips.

sent

no 😍 fuck off

About to shut your phone off, he sent you another message, making irritation begin to boil in your blood.

unknown

i’m not fucking kidding

unknown

hurry up and come

Your finger flew to the block button, before pressing the red circle, and deleting the conversation.

You did not want to give him the time of day.

Moving over to instagram, your feed wouldn’t refresh, saying there was an error. Same for your twitter. Frowning at your screen, you checked to see if Maddy or your father had messaged you back—but your messages had turned green.

That was weird. Your messages with Elliot were blue.

Beginning to get creeped out, you poured yourself some cheerios before scooping some into your mouth; glancing at some random episode of shameless that played on the wide screen.

Chewing with your mouth open, you swirled your spoon in your milk, before taking another bite. But as you ate another spoonful, a harsh knock banged at your door, causing you to bite down onto the medal.

“Fuck,” you cried out, rubbing your jaw before dropping the spoon. A dull ache pounded in your gums as you whimpered, approaching the front before swinging open the front door, and feeling your insides churn with pure annoyance, “What the hell do you want from me, Elliot?”

He had his arm leaned up against the doorframe, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“You blocked me?”

You shrugged, “You were annoying me.”

“You petty little—“

Letting out a fake yawn, you were about to slam the door in his face—but his palm slapped against the wood before tightening his jaw, “Wait a sec,” he mumbled, leaving you to roll your eyes, but comply. He gulped, eyes flickering, “Look—I didn’t come here to fight. But you were the only number I could message.”

Your brows knitted.

“Were you able to contact anyone else since you got home?”

You blinked, “Well…no, but—“

“Check this out,” he cut you off, pulling out his phone from his back pocket. You chewed on the inside of your cheek whilst he dialed 911, making a gasp tear from you, about to pull the phone from his hands. He stretched them from your gasp,

“Wait—just look,” he grunted dryly, and for a moment, it rung once before a long drawn out beep played for about ten seconds before hanging up the call automatically. Your chest rose in confusion as he looked at you, “See? Not even the police is answering.”

“Maybe it’s just your phone,” you replied, holding up your phone before doing the same. You both watched intently as it did the same thing that it did to Elliot, making your heart drop into your stomach, knowing something definitely was wrong, “What the hell is happening?”

Elliot rubbed the back of his neck, “I dunno, but it’s hot as fuck. Can I come in?”

You were about to reject his request, but were a bit freaked out about what was happening, and didn’t have the never to argue with him. Nodding, you walked over to the couch, taking a seat as you heard him shut your door, “Nice place.”

You didn’t reply, sending a bunch of texts to your friends, hoping at least one of them would answer. But none delivered, becoming a green bubble, making you let out a curse before your head fell in your hands.

This isn’t happening.

Snatching your keys from the table, you jumped to your feet before walking past Elliot, “Where—“

Stomping onto your driveway, your thumb dug into the button in your keys before unlocking your car. Hearing it beep, you climbed inside, shoving the key into the engine before it rumbled.

Hearing the passenger door shut, your eyes snapped over to Elliot, who looked at you with an amused look, “Who gave you permission to come in here?”

He flashed you a sarcastic grin.

“You gonna throw me out? I’d like to see you try.”

Flaring your nostrils, you growled before changing your gear to reverse before exiting the driveway. Elliot turned on the air conditioner, making you scoff at how comfortable he was with being in your car. Twisting the dial to turn up the radio, he lightly hummed to a Blink-182 song that rose through the static; leaning back in his seat as your shoulder remained frigid.

His voice was musical, “You know, I’m sure one joint would do wonders for how tense you are most of the time.”

Sending him a look, he snickered before plucking the stick between his lips; but you snatched it before tossing it out the window. His eyes squinted, tone furious, “What the fuck? That was my property.”

“And this is my car. No smoking allowed.”

“Of fucking course. Almost forgot,” he sneered, “You literally have a big ass warning label on your face that says I’m a fucking prude. Silly me, always forgetting.”

You made a sharp turn, making his shoulder bang against the side, earning a groan from him. You smirked coyly, “Rather be a prude than a douchebag that has at least three sexually transmitted diseases…from different people.”

“I’d say one of them would be from you, but you were a virg—“

Your tires screeched as you pulled into the parking lot, hopping out your car before he could finish that sentence. The seatbelt dug into his chest, resulting in him letting out a shouted curse. Refraining from slapping the fuck outta him, you sped walk towards the grocery store, hoping that there would be workers. If there weren’t, then your suspicions would be true.

Feeling the air conditioning fan you as the electric doors slid open, you paused.

It was like a movie. Nothing you’d ever seen before. Blood curdling in your veins, your stomach depleted as a gust of wind sent chills down your spine.

Mouth falling open, your eyes scanned the empty mart, all registers vacant and not a single person being seen in the aisles. Your eyes turned glossy, from shock, as you began to pant heavily due to panic.

It was fucking impossible.

Where did everyone go?

“You know you’re supposed to lift your foot off the brake rig—no fucking way,” Elliot walked in from behind you, stopping beside you, looking around with his own jaw dropped. He emphasized the curse word, scratching the top of his head, features twisting as he rose to his tip-toes as if to make sure there wasn’t anyone hiding, “That’s…horrifying.”

He turned to face you, raising his brows, “What do we do?”

You thinned your eyes at him, “We?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, attitude in his voice, “It seems like we’re the only fucking people here right now—so yeah. We.”

“I don’t know, Elliot, how the fuck would I know what to do?” You shrugged, “It’s not like I’ve been in this situation before.”

“Oh, so the person that always claims they know everything—doesn’t all of a sudden? I thought you always had a plan,” he barked, waving his hand in the air, “Whoopty fucking doo!”

Pressing your lips together, you looked down at the ground, beginning to ponder what the hell was happening.

You and Elliot were the only people in town. The only reasonable explanation was that a mysterious virus hit town, and everyone evacuated, all in the span of the twelve hours you both were locked in the classroom. But your father wouldn’t have left without you; not unless he was forced against his will.

There was still shopping carts filled with items, meaning that the shoppers had left their things in a rapid rush. Your theory began to make much more sense, since the clues were adding up.

Hearing bottles clinking, your head snapped to the direction of the sound, raising your brows at Elliot—who was trying to pop open a bottle of whiskey.

“What are you doing?” You scolded in a harsh whisper, “You’re eighteen—“

“Who’s gonna come arrest me?” He shrugged, before finally twisting the top open. You let out a groan, rubbing your forehead, as he tossed his head back and took a sip—letting out a cough before his face scrunched up, “Here,” he muttered, handing it to you, “It’ll make you stop thinking so much.”

You pushed it away, “I don’t want to get drunk, Elliot. Especially not with someone like you,” you spat, folding your arms, “Unlike some people, I enjoy having coherent thoughts. And respect for myself. I would never get intoxicated in the same room as you.”

He shot you a brow, “You sure?”

You scoffed.

“As I’ve ever been.”

“Do you listen to asmr?”

Elliot furrowed his brows, leaning his head against one of the aisles as you babbled drunkenly, keeping your back against the case of water bottles. His leg was kicked up, resting his elbow on the other one, as his eyes hooded from intoxication while taking a sip of the whiskey, “At first, I thought it was like, really really weird— but then it felt like, so euphoric inside my ears—“

“__,” Elliot took the bottle from you, pulling a giggle from you, before placing it on his side.

“I think you’ve had enough of this.”

You pouted, stretching your arms to steal it from him, but he only shook his head before you gave up, sitting back onto your bottom, “You always told me to loosen up.”

He chuckled, “Yeah, by pot. You talk too much when you’re drunk.”

“Well that’s just poo.”

His face twisted, “Poo? What are you? Nine?”

“I suppose so,” you replied in a posh british accent, earning a weirded out look from the boy before he chuckled again, shaking his head as you laughed too.

His chuckles died down, his smile faltering as he tipped his head toward you, “Why do you always want to control everything, __?”

Your smile faded away, “I dunno,” you shrugged, brushing a few strands away from your face whilst letting out a thick breath, “I’ve just always been like that I guess. Easier to like it if it’s your way.”

“That why you regret having feelings for me before?” He told you, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips. You gulped while your fingernails dug into the fabric of your sweats,

“—because you couldn’t control me? I was too much?”

Eyes flickering, your shoulders fell, hues dropping whilst hugging yourself. You cleared your throat,

“I don’t have feelings for you anymore.”

That was a lie. You knew that you still cared for him, as much as you hated yourself for it, and wouldn’t think twice smashing his lips against yours. But then again; you were drunk out of your mind at the moment— so that could affect your judgment.

His chest sunk, nodding his head quickly, “Yeah I know,” his voice came out quiet, mustering up a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I guess I deserve that though.”

You didn’t say anything, watching as he rubbed his thighs with his large palms, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

You swallowed thickly at his words. You had waited two years for him to apologize for what he did. For never speaking to you again after you told him he had been your first. Sure, it was a night one stand, but you at least wanted to stay friends with Elliot afterwards.

But no. He didn’t follow you back on instagram, nor added you on snap. He had acted like you didn’t exist. Like you were nothing.

So yeah, you hated him; or so you thought. Because right now, you didn’t feel like you hated him.

Your eyes threatened to gloss over with tears, remembering how low your confidence had been after, shrugging before looking off into the distance,

“Thanks.”

He nodded, a silence crossing over you two. Your eyes flew back to his, which were on you, his attention completely focused on the person before him.

“Elliot.”

He hummed, his gaze flashing down to your lips, making you do the same to his, “Yeah?”

Your throat went dry, “I think I’m really drunk right now.”

“You are?”

“Uh huh,” you licked your lips, feeling a heat bloom in your chest before meeting his eyes once again. This time they were glazed over with something cloudy, a small sparkle in them, “—I wanna kiss you.”

As soon as he heard those words, he pounced onto you, letting his lips mold into yours. Your hands flew to his shoulders, sneakers creasing against the floor, as he slid his body in between your legs while your back fell against the floor.

It felt like fireworks, as odd as it sounded. Like ears ringing, limbs shaking, adrenaline washing over you as his warmth radiate onto your flesh.

“__,” he groaned against you. His hips grinded into you, his clothes cock rubbing against your core, boosting the level of lust that pumped through you. His hands roaming under your soft skin beneath your hoodie, making your back arch, as you moaned into the kiss, “So fucking hot.”

He swallowed them with greed, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, before swiping his soothing tongue over the wound. The pleasure was accentuated by the pain, making you wiggle your hips, trying to rub yourself onto him.

But then an alarm shot through your head, realizing this isn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to have drunk sex with some dude that broke your heart.

Shoving him off you, he let out a grunt, rubbing his lower back before shooting you a confused look, “What—“

“Was this your plan? To get me drunk and hook up with me?” You spat at him, standing up onto your feet. His eyes narrowed as you scoffed, “I wouldn’t put it past you. All you think with is your dick.”

His jaw clenched, eyes turning hard as his tone came out plucked.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything. You said you wanted to kiss me,” he pointed out before standing up as well, straightening out his black and white flannel, “I had no intention of ever fucking you again. It was like fucking a dead person!”

You gasped, gritting your teeth.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckled, nodding, “Yeah. You were too afraid to moan and were boring. Why would I ever want to sleep with you again?”

“I was a virgin you asshole!”

“I can see why,” he spat out with venom, tearing into your chest, “I almost fell asleep while ins—“

“I can’t believe you broke my fucking nose,” Elliot grumbled, trailing behind you while holding a sack of peas to his nose. You grabbed a hair of bread and butter pickles before plopping it into the basket, heading him sigh, “You get to accuse me of wanting to take advantage of you but when I call you a corps—“

You snapped your head over to him, voice sharp, “Do you want a black eye to match your broken nose?”

Rolling his eyes, you hummed in content, before turning back around and scanning the items. Cereal, grains, oatmeal, white bread, english muffins…

Your eyes followed Elliot snatching a box of granola bars, the ones meant for kids, with chocolate coated all over the treats.

“You’re such a child,” you snorted.

He flipped you off, “Fuck off. These are good as fuck.”

You sent him a look, before spinning around, and heading towards the exit. He caught up with you, tearing open one of the wrappers, before munching on a bar.

By the time he was on his second one, you were both at your house, sitting on your porch while you sucked the juice from the pickles. Elliot looked at you with a grossed out look, smoking a joint now, finished eating at the moment whilst a cloud of smoke swirled around you both.

The sour taste of the juice contrasted with the sweetness of the pickle, making you happily tap your feet on the ground, hearing Elliot snicker, “You have an eating dance?”

“There’s people that aren’t miserable like you, Elliot, y’now,” you snapped, giving him the side eye before looking off into the sunset. It was about to make your two days in this weird, isolate version of the world.

“Yeah? Ever think I might just be a little miserable because you punched me?”

“It was well deserved.”

“I’m sure it was, __.”

The wind blew away the hairs from your face, “Why don’t you just go home? I mean, why are you still here?”

“I don’t feel like being alone right now,” he muttered,

“I’m desperate for company— even if it’s you.”

And although you despised him, you did feel a bit better not having to go through this crisis alone. And so for the rest of the time; he stayed at your place.

Nothing much happened the next day. You two didn’t interact with one another, Elliot sitting on your couch while watching tv; stuffing his face with popcorn due to him having the munchies.

Across from the living room, you were seated at the counter, trying to figure out what the hell was happening and how. But every theory you came up with—didn’t really make sense.

If it was a virus, you would’ve at least seen one person or a helicopter by now. But no; there hasn’t been any other source of human life.

Aliens.

Explains itself.

Purgatory.

Somehow, you and Elliot could’ve both been dead; and were waiting together in a sort of dimension for the dead. But it wouldn’t explain why you two were alone together, instead of being with other ghosts. Or saw anything by now.

On the fifth day of being at this place, Elliot broke the vow of silence, by knocking on your bedroom door. Putting the book you were reading down, his eyes rounded as they landed on your laying position.

Your tank top had ridden up, breasts spilling from the top, glancing up at him confused, “Uh,” he stuttered, gulping before looking back into your eyes, “I’m gonna hit the mall. Sick of staying in this house.”

Your tone was dry, “Are you asking me to join you?”

“Obviously.”

“Why would I go with you?”

“Fine, stay here in this house all by yourself; if that’s not creepy to you,” he barked before walking away, making you sit up. Shit; he was right. Throwing the covers away from you, your feet sped down the stairs, heading him snicker. You slapped the back of his head, “Knew you would bre—ah!”

Slipping on your sneakers, you snatched your keys from the table, “I just didn’t want you driving my car. Now hurry up before I change my mind, asshole.”

After arriving to the mall, Elliot suggested raiding the pretzel store; resulting in him stuffing one of the plastic bags filled with cheese sauces. You had no idea why he needed so many of them.

Growing bored, you went over to this one vintage store next door to the hot dog joint, finding a small stereo behind the employee desk. Flicking it on, a random pop tune began to play, bobbing your head up and down whilst dancing around the store.

Mumbling to the lyrics, you let out a squeal, Elliot popping out from behind one of the stores’ aisles with an old woman scarf around his head. You couldn’t help but feel a laugh leave you, pushing his forehead away as he snickered.

“ooooooh i’m in love with judas—judas”

The song began to ring throughout the store, lady gaga’s voice echoing in the room. Your brows raised in surprised when Elliot grabbed a random hanger and used it as a microphone before jumping onto the counter with little to no effort, lip syncing to the lyrics.

Slapping a hand over your mouth, he jumped back down, throwing a pair of glasses at you before sending you a suggestive look. Biting your lip, you looked down at the object, then sighed.

Fuck it. It’s not like anyone else was going to see this.

Sliding them onto your eyes, your vision darkened, beginning to bounce onto your toes like Elliot while singing out the words, both of you letting out giggles like kids while dancing in the store.

You knocked over a stand of hangers, Elliot doing the same after you, trashing the store. He let out a cheer before grabbing your hand, and spinning you.

Then you moved over to the dressing room, a thin sheet of sweat covering your forehead while continuing to dance to the music. It felt great; finally letting go for the first time without any worries. You didn’t have to worry about the consequences, or what kind of grade this would give you.

Beginning to grow tired, you walked back out, Elliot laying on the ground while breathing heavily. Usually, you would send him a sassy remark about how many germs must be on the floor, but instead sank down beside him while you both stared up at the ceiling.

“Didn’t know you were fun, __.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you quipped back, smiling gently even though he couldn’t see it, “I don’t think I’ve ever danced like that.”

His tone came out higher, “Like…not even alone in your room?”

You shook your head, popping the p, “Nope.”

“Interesting,” he muttered, “Very interesting.”

After a few more minutes, you both went exploring a bit more, before heading back home.

You were both now stationed on the couch, Elliot smoking yet neither joint, which hung loosely from his lips.

“I’m gonna sleep,” you announced, curling onto your side on the floor. Elliot nodded, not even glancing at you to keep his eyes glued to the tv, as your eyes fluttered shut.

The tv kept playing in the background, and after a few moments, you felt someone crawl into the blanket beside you. Your body stiffened when Elliot’s cold fingers landed in the bare flesh of your hip, due to your tank top riding up once again, his hot breath fanning your ear.

Body growing rigid, his fingers tapped on the waistband of your boxer shorts, hearing him hum gently. His voice was a whisper, “Say yes, __.”

Your core began to pound, giving you against him, wiggling your hips against his hard on before whimpering, “Please.”

Inhaling sharply, he mumbled fuck before dipping his nimble, talented fingers beneath the elastic and cupping your mound, making your toes curl. He left open mouthed kisses on the open side of your neck as you breathed heavily.

His two fingers rubbed your sensitive pearl, before collecting some of your slick and using it to slide inside your folds. One of your hands flew to his wrist, holding onto him as he gently fingered you in your house under the blanket, “You’re so tight; holy shit, __.”

Letting out a pleading mewl, he chuckled, using his thumb to press harsh circles into your puffy clit. Your hips jolted as he pressed you against him.

“Does that feel good, __?”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as his musky scent swarmed your mind, “So good. D-Don’t stop.”

Growling at your words, his chest rubbed against your back as you began to rock onto his fingers. He increased the pace, teeth sucking and nipping at the flesh of your throat, but you didn’t dare face each other.

It you had looked at one another—it would make it too real.

“Wanna see you fall apart on my fingers,” he breathed in your ear, biting at the shell of it, “Feel your tight pussy clamp down on ‘em. Missed that feeling.”

“E-Elliot, gonna come.”

His fingers left your slit, rubbing over your beet red clit, “Yeah? Show me, __.”

A high pitched moan rose from your chest, puffing out your breasts as you began to fall over the edge. Shoving his fingers back into your pussy, he added another finger; three of them pulling inside of you.

The knot twisted in your tummy, letting out tiny pants while he added another finger; the stretch setting you off.

Trembling on the floor, your lips fell open and cried out while you came undone by the boys’ hand. He groaned as your warm, wet walls choked his digits— just as he had asked you to do.

Once you came down, he pulled them back out, but kept his hand on your hip; leaning you confused. He didn’t make a move on doing anything else, just wanting to be beside you.

Your chest still tingly from your orgasm, your voice came out small, “What—“

“Just for tonight,” he muttered, digging his nose into your hair before draping his arm over your waist posessively, “Wanna sleep like this just for tonight.”

You gulped, but melted into his presence, snuggling into his arm as you sighed.

“Just for tonight.”

When you had woken up the next morning, your cheek against his chest, you jolted from the position before standing up from the floor. Elliot let out a small groan, rubbing his eyes, as panic began to set in your eyes.

You let him use you again.

Gulping, you brushed your hair away from your face, slapping a hand over your neck where he had kissed you prior.

“Does that feel good, __?”

Elliot rolled over onto the other side, prolonging his slumber with muffled grumbles. Letting out a huff, you raced to the bathroom, in attempt to shower his touch off your limbs completely.

You kept feeling his fingers down in your core, making lust bloom in your tummy—as you scrubbed your flesh with the orange loofa. Until it felt raw, you shut off the water, and threw on a pair of sweats and a baggy, baggy sweater.

Walking back to your room, you approached the window, looking outside with narrowed eyes. You missed your father. You missed Maddy.

It was so fucking exhausting, living with the only person that you ever had real feelings for. And pretending like he didn’t exist; when he was the only person here.

What if you stayed here forever? Would it really be that bad?

Feeling a pair of hands slither around your waist, his warm lips pressed a lingering kiss to the crook of your neck. You melted for a second, but then jumped from his touch, looking at him with wide eyes.

Elliot chuckled, reaching for you with puffy eyes. He must’ve just woken up. His voice rasped lowly, “What’s up with—“

“Last night was a mistake,” you told him, the drowsy smile on his face slowly fading at your words, “I was just lonely—and you were there. But there’s no time to fuck around anymore. I need to figure out a way to get the hell out of this place.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering.

“I’m not going to leave like last time, __. You don’t have to worry about that,” he spoke softly, a tone you weren’t really used to. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, “And we can both figure it out together. We can still be friends.”

You scoffed, “No—we can’t. I wouldn’t be friends with you even if you were the last person on earth.”

His eyes squinted, “That wasn’t the best metaphor.”

“I’m not doing this,” you muttered, snatching your notebook filled with your theories before tossing it onto your bed, “I need to focus. So please; just go back to your fucking house and leave me alone.”

“Fine,” he spat, sending you a fake smile, “Fuck you.”

He stormed out the room, leading you to bitterly chuckle.

“How grown of you!”

Yeah, you didn’t get much anything done.

You just couldn’t figure it out, and eventually gave up when your skull began to pound. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for treating Elliot the same way he had treated you after you initially slept together.

But then again, that was two years ago. You were both kids then.

Going downstairs, you cooked spaghetti, before packing the delicious noodles into a container and walking over to Elliot’s house. It felt eery, there being no cars and no people walking on the sidewalk.

He was right. It was really fucking creepy.

Knocking on the front door, he didn’t answer, so you tried again. No answer. You debated on leaving, but had made this stupid pasta for him, and he was going to eat it even if you had to shove it down his throat.

Turning the knob, you walked inside, gulping while walking down the only hall. Hearing the light strumming of a guitar, you peeked your head around the bedroom door, and rose your brows at the boy seated at the foot of his head.

He must’ve not heard you knocking earlier.

You recognized the instrumental, being I’m A Mess by Ed Sheeran. It was kinda humorous, actually, that he decided to play this song.

He really did have a talent, though. You knew he sang, but wasn’t aware that he played guitar as well. And he was really good, talented fingers sliding up and down the tail of the guitar while humming to himself.

His eyes were fluttered shut, sunlight shining down onto his golden curls; making him appear like a fallen angel. Feeling your heart turn warm in your chest, you didn’t notice yourself smiling faintly as you watched him— not until his eyes opened and aligned with yours.

He stopped, furrowing his brows while a nasty sound played from the instrument when he smacked his palm against the strings, “You don’t hate me for the time being?”

“You can’t cook for shit,” you bit the inside of your cheek, placing the container onto his desk.

“Figured you were hungry.”

He snorted, looking back down at his guitar, “Yeah, thanks.”

You took that as your cue to leave, pressing your lips together before spinning around.

“Stay—if you want.”

Gulping, you turned to face him, but he kept his eyes drawn to the object in his hands; beginning to play once again. You took a seat on the floor though, hugging your knees as you watched him with a new outlook.

Listening to him for a while, your eyes began to grow drowsy, his voice soothing you so much to the point where you almost fell asleep.

But your eyes bulged when he tossed a pillow at you, wearing a smile that hung from his lips, “Wake up, bitch.”

“The food is getting cold,” you mumbled, grabbing it and handing it to him. He thanked you before going to grab a fork, and ended up bringing two, giving you one before sitting on the floor beside you.

You blushed as you both ate quietly, until his voice broke the silence, “Surprised you didn’t burn it.”

“Shut up,” you laughed softly, putting down your fork as he took another bite, “Fun fact—the only think I can cook is spaghetti.”

“I believe it.”

He wasn’t eating anymore, his gaze falling back onto your lips. The sun had set a while ago, leaving you both under the dimly lit lamp in his room. The tension could’ve been sliced with a knife; his teeth sinking into his plump bottom lip as his eyes bored into yours.

You wanted to bite that lip for him.

But you also needed to be logical, and the only logical—

Eh, fuck it.

You pounced onto him, his hands instantly landing on your hips as you smashed your lips against his. His throat slid up to your throat, “Say you want this,” he breathed into your mouth, flipping you onto your back before grinding his hips into yours. His pupils were blown as he looked down at you, “Say you want me to fuck you; and I will.”

“Fuck me,” you whispered, his eyes flashing, “Fuck me, Elliot. Make me fucking scream.”

He growled before tugging off your hoodie, doing the same to him, bare chests pressing against each other as the rest of your clothes became a pile on his bedroom floor.

The hair on his chin scraped against the inside of your thighs, as he nipped at the flesh, making your slick drip down to the area, “Look at me when I eat this pussy, __. And don’t you fucking dare look away,” he ordered, slapping your clothes pussy when your hazy mind didn’t respond.

His eyes narrowed, “Okay?”

“Okay,” you mewled, arching your hips, “Please—just…”

“Fucking brat,” he spat before pulling your panties down your legs, throwing them behind him. He spread your thighs with his big hands before sucking in sharply when he saw your glistening, pink clit poking out from its hood, “Only like me when you wanna fuck me.”

Your hand flew to his curls, “I barely like you right now, Elliot.”

He chuckled, your eyes squinting into a glare, as he wrapped his lips around your puffy pearl and sucked harshly. Scowl shifting into your mouth falling open, a long moan ringing in his bedroom, his wet tongue flicked at the sensitive nub repeatedly while shaking his head to apply more pressure.

Your nerves were on fire. The strands on his hair tickled your skin as he lapped at your folds, before pulling away and intently looking at them. His lips were glossy from your slick. Spreading open your slit with his two fingers, he didn’t break eye contact before licking and sucking at the sensitive warm walls.

Breathing in deeply, your legs shook around his head, “Oh my god. I fucking hate you, but your mouth is l—like g—god.”

He hummed against you, making a spark of pleasure add a new wave of arousal from your cunt. He lifted his lips, before spitting onto your pussy, and roughly tonging your clit while your eyes begin to shut. His teeth nipped at the pearl, making you gasp, “Don’t fucking close ‘em. I won’t tell you again.”

“But I’m gonna—“

“I don’t care,” he grumbled, “Look at the person who’s making you cum, fucking brat. Show some respect.”

Gasping for breath, you lost composure as the coil snapped inside of you, “Fuck—I’m coming!”

Your eyes squinted as he looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes of his, catching every single drop of cum into his greedy mouth. Slurping loudly, you blushed as he kept going, letting out a squeak before pushing him off.

He wiped his chin, chuckling, “That was some pretty fucking good dessert.”

You didn’t know where your newfound confidence came from, but your hands pushed him down onto the floor; taking his cock from within his boxers and rubbing it against your folds.

Elliot widened his eyes at you, leaning on his elbows to really look at you, “Fuuuuck,” he let out a drawn out moan as you sunk down onto his thick, bulbous head—stretching you out. You winced before stopping once he was fully inside you, his size burning your walls, but you didn’t care, beginning to bounce into his length.

“Holy fuck, just like that,” he encouraged, one of his hands slapping your ass. The stinging sensation made you mewl, before he rubbed it after, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, “So sexy. So fucking hot.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, tipping your head back as you whines out and moaned his name, “Don’t stop.”

“Roger that,” he huffed, moving his lips to your neck, sinking his teeth into the flesh making sure to leave a bruise. The pain went straight to your core, making it clench around him, “You’re so tight. Like a—fuck—fucking glove, __.”

He pinched your nipples, “Does it feel good? Fucking the boy you hate the most?” He hissed, spanking your ass again, your thighs growing strained from how hard you were bouncing on his cock. His eyes turned dark, “Jumping on my cock when you couldn’t even stand me two hours ago.”

His filthy words made your orgasm come closer, but you stopped, panting heavily as your body became worn out. He snickered, flipping you onto your back, before throwing your leg over his shoulder, “It’s all good. Now it’s time for me to fuck the brattiness outta you.”

His thumb rubbed at your clit, both of you watched his cock vanish in and out of your folds. You spotted his stomach clenching as he kept toying with your abused pearl, “Love watching this pussy try to take me in. So fucking cute.”

“God, I’m close,” you announced, making his thrusts become more erratic. Your hand flew to his wrist to hold onto something as he began to reach your cervix, “Holy fuck, Elliot, I—“

“There we go,” he breathed, your cunt so asking around his cock as you convulsed repeatedly. Your high hit you out of nowhere, eyes turning glossy as he smirked down at you, “There we fucking go. All over me.”

He pulled out his cock, rubbing it on your clit quickly, making a few drops of your cum splatter across both of you. You let out a scream as he shoved himself back in, ignoring the fact that you just came, making you began to scramble away from his length.

“Take it like a good girl,” he grabbed both your arms, forcing you to keep still as he began to now completely give it to you; chasing his release. His teeth gritted, “Don’t run away from me. Need you to come again for me.”

You didn’t know how you came so fast again, but as soon as his fingers began to messily rub your clit, you gritted your own teeth before the knot snapped. This time, Elliot came with you, his lips falling onto yours as he moaned against you. You both shook against each other as you came down, and after he caught his breath, he pulled out of you.

“Ow,” you whispered, and his eyes flickered.

“My bad.”

You waved your hand, “It’s fine.”

Putting your clothes back on, Elliot watched you with careful eyes, clearing his throat as you buckled your bra, “__.”

You hummed, looking at him with shy eyes. He bit his bottom lip, “I don’t want this to be just another—one night stand.”

You pondered for a moment, and then spoke.

“Let’s just see how things will go from here.”

“But what if we go back—and you don’t want anything to do with me?”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just swallowed before mumbling goodnight, and turned on your side. Elliot let out a sigh before sitting in the chair by his desk, and you tried your best to sleep.

You were woken up by someone slapping your cheek, eyes bulging as you met Maddy’s. She was bent on her knees, looking over at Elliot, who was holding you in his arms. You recognized the classroom you both were in, and realized it had all been a dream.

I mean—it had to be..right?

“Did you two fuck?”

Elliot jolted awake, wearing the same thing he was wearing the day you both got locked in the class; leaving you to believe perhaps it really was all just a figment of your imagination. You gulped as he looked at you, confused as well, brows pulled together as Maddy cackled, “Oh my god, you did! In the class too? Shit!”

“What’s going on?” You muttered, scratching your head.

Her eyes squinted at your neck, “Yeah, that hickey on your neck is what’s going on.”

She stood back up onto her feet, “Whatever. The assembly was boring as fuck without you, come on,” she sighed before walking out the class, swaying her hips in her pink joggers, “I’m fucking starving!”

Elliot leaned upwards, “We’re back.”

Oh. So it wasn’t a dream.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “Guess so.”

He was about to stand up, but you pulled him in by his collar, pressing your lips to his. It was a sweet kiss; reassuring that you did want more than just sex. He kissed back, before biting back a smile when you pulled away, “See you later?”

He nodded, “If that’s what you want.”

Smiling while blushing, he sent you a salute, “Later, __.”

You chuckled as he skipped out the room, making you giggle more, bedore Maddy peeked her head around the room, “Did I just see Elliot skip out the room? Is your pussy that enchanting, bitch?”

“Thanks to you. Would’ve never been locked in here if you hadn’t texted me.”

A puzzled look crossed her features, “Texted you what?”

“For the pads,” you reminded, brushing off your jeans, “Remember?”

Her tone was confused.

“__…I never sent a text.”

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ijustwannareblogstuff

4 months ago

𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷

the barn creaked around you, the night still and heavy with unspoken tension. clark’s chest heaved as he stood before you, his eyes aflame—not with his power, not yet, but with the kind of yearning that bordered on painful. his hands were warm on your hips, fingers flexing as if testing his own strength, afraid he might break you, though the idea seemed to excite him just as much.

“i can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath brushing your cheek as he leaned in closer. his lips hovered over yours, hesitant, trembling, until you finally bridged the gap. the kiss was electric, his softness giving way to something raw as he surrendered to it, the barn’s dim light wrapping around you both like a cocoon.

your hands moved instinctively, sliding up his broad chest, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. he shivered under your touch, a deep groan escaping him as your fingers brushed his collarbone. but it was when you trailed your hand down, over his taut stomach, and cupped him through his jeans, that he stilled entirely, his breath catching in a strangled gasp.

“is this okay?” you whispered, your voice soft but teasing. his pupils dilated, swallowing the oceanic blue of his eyes, and his answer came not in words but in the way his hips pressed forward into your hand, seeking more.

“y-you’re perfect,” he stuttered, his voice rough, needy. you smiled and leaned in, kissing him again as you unbuttoned his jeans, your fingers slipping inside to find the hard, pulsing length of him. he groaned loudly, his hands gripping your waist harder, his body trembling like a live wire under your touch.

“clark,” you murmured against his lips, your voice dripping with amusement. “you’re shaking.”

“i—” he tried to speak, but his words were lost to another sharp intake of breath as your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him slowly, testing his reaction. his head tipped back, the muscles in his neck straining as a guttural moan escaped his throat. “oh god… oh god…”

and then it happened.

a flicker of crimson danced across the room, the hay bale nearest you smoking as a stray beam of heat shot from his eyes, searing through the wood. clark froze, his entire body rigid, his breathing erratic as his glowing eyes snapped to yours, terror and shame painting his expression.

“i—” he began, but you cut him off with a soft laugh, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth.

“it’s okay,” you soothed, your hand not faltering, your strokes deliberate, coaxing. “i trust you. besides, it’s kind of hot.” you grinned up at him, and his face softened, the fear giving way to something darker, more primal.

“kind of hot?” he repeated, his voice gravelly as his gaze darkened, the ember in his eyes simmering as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a ferocious kiss. his hands moved with more confidence now, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him, his cock twitching under your touch as you stroked him faster, firmer.

the barn filled with his groans, low and guttural, mingling with the sound of your breathing and the creak of the old wood under your shifting weight. he was coming undone beneath your hands, his composure unraveling with every stroke, every kiss, every whispered tease.

“god, you feel… i can’t—” his words dissolved into a strangled cry as your hand twisted at the tip, your thumb brushing over the slick bead of precum. another beam of heat flashed from his eyes, charring a beam above, but neither of you cared now. you were lost in each other, in the heat, the danger, the overwhelming pull of him.

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ijustwannareblogstuff

11 months ago

Rawrkki's sims cc dump

Hello eveyonee!

the time has finally come to showcase my sims cc collection that i promised you all. this is all the cc i have collected from july - september. it has taken me ages to put this all together so thank you for your patience :D

Hair ::

dahlia hair , jenn hair , silas hair , helia hair , helena hair , farah buns , suki hair , cassandra hair , page braids , aventia hair , bordeaux hair , byrdie bun , haven hair set , queenie hair , julie and cassie hairs , katniss braid , flowers bun , lucia bun , rachel hair , rin hair , futaba hair , laura ponytail , henrietta hair , gladys hair , libby hair , cassie hair , bonnie hair , funke hair , the curls collection , hye hair , nia hair , camille hair , iris hair , meiko hair , alexa hair , eylen hair set , bellatrix hair , gia hair

Sets ::

(g)i-dle - tomboy set , the downtown collection , romantic pajama set , y2k style set , the solstice collection , the scream collection , winter essentials , year of the rabbit , affection set , girlieZ collection , juicy tracksuit , fairy grunge lookbook , sweetie set , the mimosa collection , meadow winds set , vellichor set , nostalgia set , the thrift set , the gossip collection , bohemian child set , karaoke set , secret society collection , lovebirds set , sunday nights collection , senior year collcetion , kumikya sweater collection , agos dress , neve set , cyber cargos , brand new set , random top collection , silky dress , luna leggings , ankle biter set , bizochito set , recolor dump (you'll have to find the meshes yourself sorryyy) , sunny skies , star collection , baby doll top , skirt collection , fold down pants , band tees , silly shirts , stripes bikinis

Makeup ::

nya eyeliner , gyaru gals , spiderlike eyeliner , graphic liner set , countess set , sour fruits set , sophia lipstick , bad bixch eyeliners , pastel y2k collection , eyeshadow n212 , sukeban eyeshadow , starliner , magbay eyeliners , nose graphic liner

Presets ::

elven ear presets , nose presets , mouth presets ,

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

Thank you all for being so patient, and im sososo sorry this took sooo long to make, ive been having some personal problems so that has taken away a huge chunk of my time. There is more i couldve included but honestly this wouldnt have ever made it out of the drafts if i tried to add all of that. If you want to see some more mods ive collected, my pinterest where everything is here: :D Thank you again for all the support, and hopefully some new content should be out soon for you guys!

Love you alll

-Atlas

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