#milo manheim x y/n

[houseofaegon]

SKINNY DIPPING pt. 1 ✩ Wally Clark

Pairings: Wally Clark x Fem!reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. very slow burn. semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, heavy sexual tension, explicit dirty talk, praising, degradation, skinny dipping in a public pool, possesiveness/jealousy, light choking, rough gripping & mandhandling, overstimulation, wally being a cocky little shit, risk of getting caught, begging, breeding kink. wally whimpering???? (god have mercy)

Summary: For what feels like an eternity, Y/n and Wally have been nothing more than just friends. but that changes one reckless night when they decide to cross skinny dipping off their "100 things to do before crossing over" bucket list. Teasing and meaningless flirting turn heated, and the tension that has been simmering between them finally snaps. Under the moonlit water, boundaries blur, and their friendship is completely wrecked, in the best possible way.

Author's note: God bless Milo Manheim!!!!!!!!!! I love this idea of having a bucket list of things they want to do before crossing over. It might be cool to make it into a series. idk. We'll see. :) For now, enjoy!! I hope you guys like it. <3 xoxo, nai.

Word count: 1714

Song choices: lose control - teddy swims, tear you apart - she wants revenge, closer - nine inch nails, flawless - the neighbourhood, do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys, TiO - zayn.

masterlist. part 1. part 2.

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Wally had been wandering the halls of the school, bored out of his mind, his thoughts drifting aimlessly as he just tried to make it through another day—not that he ever expected much on a normal one, at least. But then, there were those days. The ones that turned into trouble. The kind of trouble that you made happen.

It didn't really take much to turn an average boring day into something unforgettable when you were involved. You were the life of the party. You and Wally? Every single time you two were together, trouble seemed to follow.

And today? Today was no different.

You had both made a promise long ago: make eternity fun. It was a pact, a way to deal with the fact that you two were dead, with no going back to your old lives. So, you'd sworn to make the most of every single day, even if it meant causing chaos along the way.

You'd even written down an entire bucket list with him. Wally named it "100 things to do before crossing over." You two hadn't really crossed off many of the things you'd written down; some of them were not very possible, given the fact that you two couldn't really leave the school grounds. But that didn't stop you from trying to make every day feel like it mattered.

After walking aimlessly around the school, Wally finally spotted you, sprawled out on the bleachers of the football field. The sun was making your skin glow, and despite the fact that you couldn't tan anymore, you still seemed to soak up every single ray as if you were trying to relieve the feeling of it. One arm draped over your eyes, one leg over the other. Wally smiled; you always found a way to look effortlessly cool and beautiful, even in moments like this.

Wally climbed up the steps, settling on the one just below you, his eyes studying you. "We're gonna have field day in an hour," he said, his voice light. "Mr. Martin wants to do something...different. A bonfire or whatever. I don't know. Rhonda told me."

But you didn't respond. Your silence made him arch an eyebrow.

"You good?" he asked, his tone shifting to a more serious now. He wasn't too used to you being so quiet.

You opened your eyes, lazily glancing at him. “Just thinking,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Dangerous,” he teased, though he could tell something was off. You smiled at him, rolling your eyes, but he noticed they didn't have that usual sparkle.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked again, a little more worried now.

You propped yourself up, your gaze flickering to the school building for a moment before focusing back on him. “Yeah,” you said, your voice steadier this time. “I’ve just been thinking about that list we made.”

“The one with a hundred things we’re supposed to do before crossing over?” Wally asked, smirking. “We’re halfway through, but there’s still plenty of time left.”

He watched your expression closely, trying to figure out what was going through your head, but you were unreadable as ever.

You shook your head. “We haven’t really crossed off much…” You trailed off for a second, your gaze flicking to the sky before you let out a sigh. “I just feel like... days are getting boring, Wally.”

He tilted his head. “Well, let’s do something not boring, then. Something stupid.”

“Define stupid.” You raised an eyebrow.

Wally’s lips curled into that signature cocky grin. The one that always meant he was about to take things to another level.

“Number 16,” he said, his eyes gleaming.

“Do you expect me to remember?” You shot back, trying to act nonchalant, but there was a flutter of excitement in your chest.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Skinny dipping, dumbass.”

You froze for a moment, processing his words. Your mind raced, the idea catching you off guard. It was reckless, a little insane—but totally on brand for the two of you.

"You're serious?" you asked, staring at him with a mix of disbelief.

Wally leaned forward slightly, his voice low, his gaze burning with that familiar mischievous fire. “Dead serious.”

You couldn’t help it. A wicked smile spread across your face as you locked eyes with him. It was just a stupid thing to do. Just another one of your meaningless games. No harm in it, right?

"You're insane," you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself off the bleacher to stand right in front of him. You looked down at him, your gaze meeting his with a challenge in your eyes.

Wally just shrugged. “Yeah, well, eternity wouldn’t be fun if we weren’t at least a little bit insane.” His eyes traced the curve of your body, the unspoken tension between you both suddenly feeling palpable, thick in the air.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the heat that seemed to spark between you both. “I swear you’ll get us caught.” You half joked, but the wild idea was starting to feel too good to back away from.

“Let’s make it quick then,” he replied. “We’ll make sure no one sees us.”

"I swear, Wally, if we get caught... I'll kill you," you warned, your voice a mix of a playful threat.

Wally chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "You wouldn't," he teased, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes that made your stomach flip. "Besides, it's not like anyone's out there anyway. Everyone's off by the bonfire, telling ghost stories or whatever it is they do. We're fine. I'm sure they won't miss us."

You shot him a skeptical look, doubting if you should agree to it but you craved the adrenaline more.

"Come on," he grinned, grabbing your hand. "Let's go have some fun."

The thrill and the adrenaline coursed through you as you followed him, letting him guide you through the school. Wally was always the one to get you into trouble, but you couldn't deny how much you loved it.

As you both snuck through the hallways, being very careful to avoid Rhonda, Charley, Mr. Martin, or anyone who might spot you. You both could hear the muffled sounds of chatter echoing from the field.

When you finally reached the indoor pool, Wally paused at the entrance, opening the door slowly, and scanning the room. It was empty. The sun was almost gone, and the full moon shone brightly through the roof, illuminating the pool in a way that made the entire space feel almost otherworldly.

Wally turned back to you, a grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we have the place all to ourselves."

"Good," you smiled. "Kinda wanted some alone time, y'know?"

Wally's smile grew bigger, his gaze deepening. He took a step closer to you, his eyes locked onto yours. "I was actually thinking the same thing," he said, his voice low, more intimate. There was a flicker of something between you, a feeling that had been there for a while but neither of you had ever acknowledged it. "Just you and me."

"Just you and me," you repeated slowly, the words lingering in the air between you two.

For a second, everything faded away. The pool, the school, the world—it all felt distant, like a memory. It was just you and him, standing there in the moonlit pool, the adrenaline cursing through your veins.

Wally's hand was still intertwined with yours; his touch was warm, and even though you were technically dead, you still felt alive in moments like this. His gaze never left yours as he stepped closer, his breath becoming quicker.

"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice a mix of excitement and something else, something deeper, though it was hard for you to place.

You met his gaze and smirked. "Dead serious."

Wally's lips curled into a grin, there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes and it made your pulse quicken. The weight of his gaze on you caused your head to spin, his presence was overwhelming. He leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Just us?"

"Mhm," you nodded, your gaze never leaving his.

There was a subtle shift in Wally's demeanor, a possessiveness in the way he looked at you, but it wasn't the kind that felt controlling, it was the kind that made you feel like he was claiming this moment, claiming you, without saying a word. The air grew heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts, you couldn't really tell if it was the adrenaline or something else, but you felt your heart pound louder in your chest.

"Yeah?" Wally repeated, a challenging tone lacing his voice, his smile never wavered. He stepped a little bit closer, closing the distance between you, his body just a fraction of an inch from yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension between you so strong, so thick you could almost touch it.

You tilted your head slightly, feeling the weight of his gaze, how it seemed to pierce right through you, taking in every single inch of you. His pupils were wide, dark, hungry, and the intensity of his stare made your heart race faster than before.

There was no going back now.

And honestly? You did not want to.

"Yeah," you whispered, a little breathless, words barely escaping your lips.

Just you and him, no distractions, no one to come between you two, no rules, no secrets, no limits.

Just you and him.

"So...Skinny dipping?" his lips brushed against your ear, his voice now a low whisper.

This might actually be the worst idea you've ever had. You'd suggested skinny dipping as a joke, both drunk and laughing while writing the list, not actually expecting him to go forward with it.

But here you were, bodies so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the air thick, almost suffocating. His eyes so dark, filled with something you couldn't quite describe, but you knew this wasn't just about a dare anymore.

This wasn't just a game.

It was about to become something entirely different, something that could change everything, ruin everything, but... maybe, just maybe, you wanted it to. 

[yourmomsawh0r3]

No broke boys

pairing: milo mannheim x f! reader

It was supposed to be a casual night out. The workweek had been long, and someone suggested heading to a club to blow off steam. The team didn’t need much convincing. Now, the bass of the music thrummed through the air as Milo leaned against the bar, sipping his drink and surveying the vibrant scene before him.

His eyes naturally found Y/N across the room. She was laughing with a couple of the girls from work, her head thrown back, carefree and radiant. Milo had always thought she was beautiful impossibly so but tonight, there was something different about her. She looked electric under the neon lights, her confidence and charm drawing people in without her even trying.

The opening notes of Freek-A-Leek by Petey Pablo hit the speakers, and the atmosphere in the club shifted. A chorus of excited cheers rippled through the crowd, and Y/N’s group of friends squealed, pulling her toward the dance floor.

Milo’s gaze followed her automatically. He couldn’t look away.

Y/N swayed her hips to the beat, her movements fluid and magnetic as she let the music take over. Her long hair cascaded down her back, swinging in time with her hips. The way she moved was mesmerizing confident, sensual, and completely unbothered by the crowd of people around her. She dipped low, her body gliding toward the floor effortlessly, before rising again with a sultry roll of her hips. Her hands ran up her thighs, trailing over the curve of her waist, and settled just below her ribs as she twisted to the beat.

Milo swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Damn,” his friend muttered next to him, nudging his shoulder. “You’re staring hard, bro. Didn’t know Y/N could move like that, huh?”

Milo’s eyes didn’t leave her. “Me either,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “She’s…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to snap himself out of a spell. But it was no use. His gaze was locked on Y/N, every move of her body sending a jolt of heat through him.

Y/N, ever perceptive, noticed him watching. She shot him a sly smile over her shoulder before returning her attention to the music. If she hadn’t been sure of Milo’s interest before, she was now. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, and she decided to have a little fun with it.

She ran her hands down her sides, teasingly slow, and let them linger over her hips. Her fingers traced over the curves of her body, as if she were savoring her own touch. She swayed closer to the center of the dance floor, tossing her hair over her shoulder, the strands catching the light. Her movements grew even bolder, her hips rolling in time with the beat, dipping low again just for good measure.

Milo groaned softly, barely audible over the music. His drink was forgotten on the bar, his hands gripping the edge as he tried to steady himself. She was driving him crazy, and she knew it.

“Man, you’re toast,” his friend teased. “Just go talk to her already.”

Milo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The only thought in his head was how badly he wanted to get closer to Y/N.

When the song ended, she sauntered off the dance floor, her confidence radiating as she made her way back toward the bar. She stopped just in front of Milo, her lips curling into a playful smile.

“Enjoy the show?” she teased, tilting her head slightly.

Milo raised an eyebrow, leaning closer so she could hear him over the music. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost a growl, and the intensity in his dark eyes made her pulse race.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said innocently, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her.

Milo smirked, stepping closer until there was barely an inch between them. “Oh, you know,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower. “You’re trouble, Y/N.”

“And you love it,” she shot back, her voice laced with flirtation.

His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up to her eyes. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “But don’t think I’m letting you get away with driving me crazy like that.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile growing. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Milo chuckled, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe her audacity. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he promised, his voice a delicious mix of challenge and desire.

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “I’ll be waiting.”

With that, she pulled back and walked away, leaving him standing there, captivated and craving more.

The club was alive with pounding music and flashing lights, the air thick with energy. Milo had been enjoying himself, leaning into the carefree vibe of the night. Somewhere between his second drink and laughing with their coworkers, a girl a petite brunette with big, flirty eyes grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the dance floor.

Milo hesitated for a moment but relented. It wasn’t a big deal. Just dancing, he told himself. Besides, Y/N had been busy talking to their coworkers at the bar, not sparing him much attention.

The girl moved closer, her hips swaying to the rhythm as she faced him, pressing herself into him without hesitation. She slid her hands up his chest, her movements bold and fluid. Milo matched her energy, his hands hovering politely at her waist as she turned around and began grinding against him.

From the bar, Y/N caught sight of him. Her gaze locked on Milo, her lips parting slightly in surprise as she took in the scene. The flashing lights of the club illuminated his face, and though he wasn’t outright smiling, his easygoing confidence radiated through his body language.

Milo met Y/N’s eyes across the distance, his expression unreadable but his gaze unwavering. The corner of his mouth twitched, and it almost looked like he was daring her to react.

Y/N arched an eyebrow, her annoyance bubbling just beneath the surface. She raised her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip, never breaking eye contact with him. Then, in a dramatic display of indifference, she rolled her eyes and turned back to the bar, tossing her hair over her shoulder with purpose.

Milo couldn’t help but smirk. He knew that move too well she was pissed, no doubt about it.

But then, Y/N did something he hadn’t expected. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her leave the bar, her hips swaying in that hypnotic way they always did when she wanted to make a statement. She made her way across the club toward the entrance, where the bouncer stood a massive, intimidating man who seemed to command the room without even trying.

Milo’s attention snapped to her fully. He didn’t even notice the girl grinding against him anymore. His focus was solely on Y/N as she sauntered up to the bouncer, a sly smile on her lips. She said something to him, leaning in close, her hand lightly brushing his arm.

Milo’s jaw tightened.

The bouncer chuckled, clearly enjoying her attention. He leaned down to hear her better, and Y/N laughed at whatever he said, her hand playfully tapping his chest.

Milo’s chest burned with something hot and unrelenting. Jealousy clawed at his throat as he watched the bouncer slide his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer. Then, as if to twist the knife, Y/N tilted her face up to him, her lips curling into a flirtatious smile before leaning in for a kiss.

It wasn’t a shy kiss. It was bold, teasing, and unapologetic.

The girl dancing on Milo turned to face him, clearly expecting his attention, but Milo was done. He stepped back abruptly, leaving her confused on the dance floor as he made a beeline for Y/N and the bouncer. His strides were purposeful, his dark eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him.

When he reached them, he didn’t hesitate. “Alright, enough,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the noise.

Y/N pulled back from the kiss, her eyes glinting with mischief as she turned to face him. “Problem?” she asked, her tone as sweet as sugar but dripping with defiance.

Milo ignored her question, his gaze flickering to the bouncer. “Move,” he ordered, his voice low and full of authority.

The bouncer smirked, clearly entertained, but he let his hands fall from Y/N’s body and stepped back. “She’s all yours, man.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing at Milo. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” Milo shot back, his frustration spilling over. “You’re over here making out with the bouncer just to piss me off.”

“And you were getting grinded on by another girl,” Y/N countered, stepping closer to him. “What, only you get to have fun?”

Milo groaned, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t like that. You know it wasn’t like that.”

“Do I?” she challenged, her voice rising slightly.

“Yes,” he snapped, his eyes blazing as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer. “You do, Y/N. You know damn well you’re the only one I want.”

Her breath hitched, but she quickly masked it with a smirk. “Then maybe you should start acting like it.”

Milo stared at her for a moment, his chest heaving as he tried to collect his thoughts. Then, without another word, he pulled her flush against him and crashed his lips onto hers, pouring every ounce of frustration, desire, and unspoken emotion into the kiss.

Y/N melted into him almost instantly, her hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as the tension between them finally broke. When they pulled apart, both of them breathless, Milo leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.

“Never again,” he murmured, his voice rough but commanding. “You’re mine, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

Her lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Only if you’re mine too.”

Milo grinned, his hand slipping to the small of her back as he pulled her in for another kiss. “Always.”

The walk back to Y/N’s apartment was supposed to be uneventful, but the moment she stumbled slightly in her heels, Milo was quick to notice.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, stopping in his tracks.

“I’m fine,” Y/N argued, but her wince as she shifted her weight betrayed her.

Milo gave her a pointed look, then crouched slightly in front of her. “Get on,” he ordered, gesturing for her to hop onto his back.

“Milo—”

“No arguing, baby,” he interrupted, smirking as he glanced over his shoulder. “Your feet are killing you, and I’m not about to let you suffer. Now, come on.”

Rolling her eyes but secretly touched by his gesture, Y/N finally relented, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he effortlessly hoisted her up. She laughed softly, resting her chin on his shoulder as he carried her down the street toward her apartment.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she teased, her voice warm.

Milo chuckled, his hands gripping her thighs securely. “Yeah, but you love it.”

She didn’t respond, but the way she tightened her hold on him said enough.

When they finally reached her door, Milo set her down gently, his hands lingering on her hips as she unlocked the door. The moment they stepped inside, the tension between them was palpable.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Y/N said softly, turning to face him.

Milo shrugged, his gaze darkening as it swept over her. “I wanted to. You deserve to be taken care of.”

The air between them shifted, heat simmering just beneath the surface. Y/N stepped closer, her fingers brushing against the front of his shirt as she looked up at him through her lashes.

“And what else do I deserve?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Milo’s jaw clenched, his hands sliding to her waist as he pulled her flush against him. “You really wanna know?”

“Tell me,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his.

“I think I’d rather show you,” he murmured, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

The kiss was hungry, desperate, both of them pouring everything they’d been holding back into it. Milo backed her against the nearest wall, his hands exploring her body as her fingers tangled in his hair.

“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered against her lips, his voice rough with desire.

Y/N smirked, nipping at his bottom lip. “Good. Now you know how I feel.”

Milo groaned, his lips trailing down her neck as he pressed her harder against the wall. “You’re gonna pay for teasing me tonight,” he growled, his hands sliding up her thighs and under her dress.

“Promises, promises,” she teased, but her breath hitched

Milo stepped closer.

“You gonna let me take care of you tonight?” he asked, his voice low and laced with intent.

Y/N met his gaze, her heart pounding as she nodded. “What do you have in mind?”

Milo didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance between them, his hands cradling her face as he kissed her deeply. The kiss was slow at first, deliberate, but quickly grew more passionate, his hands moving to her waist and pulling her against him.

“Milo,” she whispered breathlessly when they broke apart.

“Shh,” he murmured, brushing his lips along her jawline. “Let me show you how much I’ve wanted this how much I’ve wanted you.”

He scooped her up effortlessly, carrying her to the bedroom. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair as she kissed him again, her body already heating under his touch.

Gently, he laid her on the bed, hovering over her as his dark eyes roamed her face. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he said softly, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw.

Her heart swelled at his words, and she pulled him down to her, their lips meeting in another fiery kiss. His hands explored her body, sliding up her thighs and beneath her dress, his touch igniting a trail of fire along her skin.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he admitted, his voice husky as his lips trailed down her neck. “The way you moved on that dance floor…you had no idea what you were doing to me.”

“Oh, I knew,” she teased, her breath hitching as his hands worked their way up her sides, pushing her dress higher.

Milo smirked, his lips brushing against her ear. “You like teasing me, huh?”

“Maybe,” she replied, her voice light but filled with desire.

He chuckled darkly, his hands sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders. “Careful, baby. I’m not the type to let you get away with it.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she challenged, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Milo’s gaze darkened, and his response was a low growl as he captured her lips again, his movements more demanding. He took his time undressing her, savoring every inch of her as if committing her to memory.

The night unfolded in a blur of passion and tenderness. Milo worshipped her body with his hands and lips, whispering soft praises between heated kisses.

“You feel so perfect,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N arched beneath him, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he moved with her, their bodies perfectly in sync. “Milo,”she gasped, her voice trembling with pleasure.

He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers as their breaths mingled. “Say my name again,” he commanded softly, his lips brushing hers.

“Milo,” she repeated, her voice filled with need.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her closer. “You’re mine tonight. All mine.”

Their movements grew more frantic, the room filled with whispered words and soft moans. And when they finally reached their peak, Milo held her tightly, his lips pressed to her temple as he murmured sweet nothings into her ear.

As they lay tangled together afterward, Milo brushed a strand of hair from her face, his eyes soft as he gazed at her.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he said quietly.

Y/N smiled, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. “I could say the same about you.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re trouble, Y/N. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She laughed softly, her head resting on his shoulder. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” he replied, pulling her closer as the night stretched on.

[the-offside-rule]

Milo Manheim - Cozy

Christmas: From The Vault

25 Days of Christmas

Warnings: none

Y/n adjusted the angle of her phone’s camera, making sure the countertop and her Christmas-themed pajamas were in frame. She hit record, smiling as she started her morning vlog. "Good morning, everyone! Merry Christmas!" She said cheerily, setting her phone against a jar of sugar. "It’s officially the most wonderful day of the year, and I thought I’d take you along for a little ‘Day in the Life.’ First stop: breakfast in the kitchen. Let’s see how festive we can get with some pancakes."

She turned to grab a mixing bowl, narrating her process as she sifted flour and cracked eggs. Her mind was fully focused on making her batter look aesthetic for the video until she felt a familiar pair of arms snake around her waist. "Guess who." Milo murmured, his voice low and raspy from sleep. Y/n glanced at the camera lens, raising an eyebrow. "Milo?" She teased, even though she already knew.

"Oh wow. Got it in one." He chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder and swaying slightly with her. "Are you okay?" She asked, glancing at him in the reflection of her phone’s screen. He groaned dramatically, tightening his grip. "I don’t want to be okay. I want to cuddle. On the couch. Under like, three blankets." Y/n grinned. A mischievous spark lit up her eyes as she turned to him. "You know you just said that on livestream, right?"

Milo stiffened immediately, his eyes wide as he stood up straight. "Wait, what?" His face flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I mean... No, I didn’t say that. You heard wrong. Totally heard wrong." Y/n burst out laughing, shaking her head as she waved him off. "I’m kidding, it’s not live. Just recording." Milo relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You’re evil, you know that?"

"Yup." She replied with a grin, turning back to her pancake mix. "Fine. Since you’ve decided to torment me, I’ll make coffee." Milo offered, wandering toward the coffee machine. Y/n peeked over her shoulder. "Actually, could you make me hot cocoa instead?" Milo shot her a mock glare but nodded. "Anything else, Your Majesty?"

"Nope, just the cocoa."

Once breakfast was ready and the pancakes were plated, Y/n carried them into the living room where the couch awaited. Milo was already there, setting down two steaming mugs—her hot cocoa and his coffee.

She placed the camera on the coffee table, framing the scene. "Alright, time for cozy vibes." She said, grabbing the oversized blanket draped over the back of the couch. Milo helped her settle underneath it, pulling her close as The Grinch played on the TV in front of them.

"Matching hoodies and Christmas movies—this is peak festive." Y/n commented, gesturing to their coordinating outfits. Milo smirked. "And you thought I wouldn’t wear it."

Halfway through the movie, Milo reached over and gently took Y/n’s plate from her lap. "What’re you doing?" She asked, confused. "I just need you to be a luttle quiet for a sec." He said softly, setting the plate on the table before curling back into her side. He rested his head on her chest, his arms curling around her, letting out a content sigh. Y/n looked down at him, her confusion melting into a fond smile. She adjusted the blanket over him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You’re like a baby." She whispered. "I'm older than you, the fuck you mean I'm like a baby?"

[deltarogers]

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

PAIRING: Milo Manheim x Reader

SUMMARY: Small towns. Everyone knows everyone and everything about each other. How will you and Milo triumph the odds of your relationship?

WARNINGS: Rich Guy, not-so-rich new girl Small Town Forbidden Romance!!

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow across the picturesque town as you found yourself standing outside of your boyfriends house. The air was thick with anticipation and a tinge of nervousness, as you contemplated the forbidden romance that had taken hold of your heart.

Milo Manheim, the son of a prominent family in the town, and you, a newcomer to the area, were worlds apart. Your paths should never have crossed, but fate had different plans.

From the moment you laid eyes on each other, there was an undeniable connection, a magnetic pull that drew you closer despite the consequences.

You had heard the whispers, the murmurs of disapproval from the townspeople. They spoke of the divide between your backgrounds, the expectations placed upon Milo to conform to the expectations of his family and social status.

But none of that mattered in the secret moments shared between the two of you.

Behind closed doors, away from prying eyes, you reveled in the stolen moments of passion and intimacy. Each touch, each stolen kiss was electric, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire within you that couldn't be extinguished.

The world faded away when you were in each other's arms, the outside judgments and barriers forgotten for a brief, blissful moment.

But the weight of the forbidden nature of your relationship weighed heavily upon you both. You couldn't help but feel a mixture of guilt and longing, knowing that societal expectations threatened to tear you apart.

The fear of being discovered loomed over you, casting a shadow over the love you shared.

Yet, despite the challenges, you were both determined to fight for your love. The heart wants what it wants, and neither of you could deny the depth of emotion that bound you together.

You found solace in the secrecy, cherishing every stolen moment as if they were stolen pieces of eternity.

Late-night rendezvous became your refuge, the cover of darkness providing a veil of protection for your forbidden love.

Whispers of "I love you" mingled with the soft rustling of sheets, the intensity of your connection overpowering any doubts that lingered in the back of your minds.

But the world has a way of unraveling secrets, and eventually, the truth began to seep out. Gossips whispered, disapproving glances were cast your way, and the weight of societal expectations threatened to crush your love beneath its weight.

As the pressure mounted, Milo and you found yourselves faced with a difficult choice. The path ahead was unclear, fraught with heartache and sacrifice.

Would you defy the odds, stand strong against the judgments, and fight for your love? Or would you succumb to the pressure, allowing your love to become a bittersweet memory of what could have been?

No matter the outcome, the romance between you and Milo would forever be etched into your hearts. For in the depths of forbidden love, you had found a connection so profound, so unyielding, that it transcended the boundaries imposed by society.

And as you stood at the crossroads of your love, you knew that no matter the path you chose, the memories of your forbidden romance would forever burn brightly within you, reminding you of a love that dared to defy all odds.

A/N: Short but sweet! I don’t usually write this metaphorically but I was in the mood!! (I was also LOVING the word forbidden-).

[louilies]

Lights, Camera, Love

fluff, milo manheim x reader. 4000+ words

The sun hung low over the massive film set, casting a golden glow across the lot. Crew members bustled around, adjusting cameras, testing lights, and shouting last-minute instructions. The air buzzed with excitement as everything fell into place for the first official day of filming. You stood near the entrance, clutching your script tightly, eyes darting around as you tried to soak it all in. This was it—your first major role, the moment you had worked so hard to reach. It was a mix of excitement and nerves, your heart pounding in anticipation of everything that was about to unfold. You had spent years auditioning, taking small roles wherever you could, but this? This was a dream come true.

"Y/N!" a cheerful voice called, breaking through your thoughts. You turned to see Lisa Carmichael, the film’s director, striding toward you with a bright smile. She radiated warmth, instantly easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "Welcome to set! We’re thrilled to have you here," she said, giving you a reassuring pat on the arm. "Go ahead and grab something to eat before rehearsals. Oh, and you’ll be meeting Milo soon!" At the mention of his name, your stomach did an involuntary flip. Milo Manheim. Your co-star. The Milo Manheim. It was almost surreal—working alongside someone so well-known, someone who had effortlessly charmed his way into Hollywood and the hearts of fans everywhere. You had admired his work for years, but now? Now you were about to meet him in person, share scenes with him, and spend weeks on set together. No pressure.

You took a deep breath and made your way toward the craft services table, grabbing a bottle of water to calm yourself down. Just as you unscrewed the cap, a voice behind you caught you off guard. "You must be Y/N." You turned around, and for a second, it felt like the world slowed down. There he was, standing right in front of you, casual yet effortlessly charismatic. Dressed in a hoodie and joggers, his brown curls slightly tousled, he looked every bit the heartthrob you’d seen on screen. But it wasn’t just his looks—it was the way he smiled, easy and inviting, like you were already friends.

"Hi," you stammered, silently cursing yourself for sounding so flustered. He grinned, extending a hand. "Milo Manheim. But I guess you already knew that." You laughed, shaking his hand as you tried to ignore the way your heart was hammering against your ribs. "Yeah, I might’ve heard of you once or twice." His eyes twinkled with amusement. "And I’ve definitely heard about you. Lisa’s been hyping you up for weeks." Your brows lifted. "Oh no. What did she say?" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing some great secret. "Just that you’re insanely talented, and I need to bring my A-game if I don’t want to be upstaged." You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed at the compliment. "Did she really say that?" He smirked. "Okay, maybe not those exact words. But she did say you were incredible."

Your nerves eased, and soon, the two of you were exchanging playful banter like you had known each other for years. The effortless way he carried a conversation, the way he made you feel like you belonged—it was impossible not to be drawn in. And when it was time to step in front of the cameras for your first scene together, everything just clicked. Your characters were meeting for the first time, much like you and Milo in real life, and the chemistry was undeniable. Every line flowed naturally, every interaction felt effortless.

"Cut!" Lisa called, her voice filled with excitement. "That was perfect! You two already have such great energy together." Milo turned to you with that signature grin still plastered across his face. "I mean, it helps that my co-star is making my job way too easy." You rolled your eyes playfully. "Are you always this full of yourself?" He placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "Wow. We haven’t even filmed a full scene yet, and you’re already coming for me?" You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. Somehow, he made everything feel lighter, easier, and before you knew it, the nerves that had threatened to overwhelm you earlier were completely gone.

As the days turned into weeks, the connection between you and Milo only grew stronger. You spent long hours running lines together, hanging out between takes, and laughing over inside jokes that made the rest of the cast roll their eyes. He had this way of making you feel like the most important person in the room, always checking in, always making sure you were comfortable. It didn’t go unnoticed by the crew either—whispers about how close the two of you had become spread through set like wildfire. And honestly? You couldn’t deny it. There was something about him that pulled you in, something beyond just the on-screen chemistry.

One evening, after a particularly long shoot, you found yourselves sitting on the rooftop of the studio, watching the sun set over the city. The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything. "You ever think about how crazy this all is?" Milo mused, leaning back on his elbows. You glanced at him. "What do you mean?" He gestured toward the sprawling set below. "This. Acting. Filming. Getting to be part of something that people will watch and connect with. It’s kind of surreal, right?"

You nodded, taking in the moment. "Yeah. But I love it." He smiled, his gaze flickering to you instead of the skyline. "Me too. But, uh… I think I love working with you the most." Your breath caught, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you had heard him correctly. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish look crossing his face. "I know, I know. Super cheesy. But it’s true. You’re kind of the best part of my day."

Your heart pounded, and you were about to respond when Lisa’s voice echoed from below. "Guys! We need you for one last scene!" Milo sighed, standing up and offering you his hand. "Guess we’ll have to put a pin in this conversation." You took his hand, ignoring the way it sent shivers up your spine. "Yeah… I guess we will."

Filming wrapped a month later, and by then, you and Milo were practically inseparable. The entire cast and crew had noticed it—the way he always saved you a seat at lunch, how he’d glance at you between takes, the way he was always finding excuses to be near you. On the last night, during the wrap party, you found yourself standing outside, staring up at the stars, trying to process the fact that this incredible experience was coming to an end.

"You okay?" Milo’s voice was soft as he approached, standing beside you. You nodded, though there was a tinge of sadness in your voice. "Just taking it all in. I can’t believe it’s over." He didn’t hesitate. "It’s not over."

You turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, shifting to face you fully, "just because filming’s done doesn’t mean this—" he motioned between you two, "—is done." Your breath caught. His voice was steady, sure, like he had been thinking about this for a while. "I like you, Y/N. I have since the first day we met. And I know we’ve spent weeks dancing around it, but… I don’t want to anymore."

Your heart raced. "So what are you saying?"

"I’m saying," he said, stepping closer, "that if you’ll let me, I’d really like to take you out on a real date. No cameras. No scripts. Just us."

A slow smile spread across your lips, warmth blooming in your chest. "I think I’d like that."

His grin was instant, his eyes lighting up in that way that made your knees weak. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you whispered.

And as he reached for your hand, fingers lacing with yours under the night sky, you knew this was only the beginning.

Taglist: @ishasturnz @mattsfavoritemunch

A/N: okay this is a little too long and honestly I luv it, it's the first time I've written this much in ONE NIGHT. I'm amazed with myself

[take-it-on-the-run]

No Safety or Surprise

Wally Clark x Reader

Following a double death at Split River High, two souls acclimate with their new reality and the fellow ghosts that inhabit the school's grounds.

Word Count: 3k

Tags: Aftermath of sexual assault, no flashbacks to SA, mention of SA, reader's death is overlooked but Wally 's isn't, angst, comfort

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC, mentioned), Mr. Martin, Rhonda (brief), Janet (brief), Jasmine (OC, brief), William (OC, brief), David (OC, brief)

Read it on AO3!

Taglist: @xocellyy, @maggiecc, @pancake-flipper, @littlestxli, @trinitybaby6666, @somethingsomethingcranberries, @sst4r-ddu5t, @ghostlyaccurate, @urbimom

Want to join (or leave) the taglist? Click here!

A/N: The Doors title. Sequel to 'The End', which has gotten so much love that I don't even know what to say! Super thank you to everyone who wanted to be tagged, ya'll might make me cry. Thank you for clicking/reading my story, and I hope that you enjoy this one! This is my first time writing a sequel to a story, as I'm more partial to one-shots writing-wise. Unbeta'd, please heed the tags, and enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

You left Wally without saying a word, climbing to the top of the bleachers and curling in on yourself. You wanted to spit in his face and tell him that Dalton wasn’t the perfect teammate, average-grade goofball he played himself to be, that he had taken your life, soul, and body in one fell swoop. Instead, you left him more confused than before, still clutching at the stolen jacket draped on your shoulders.

Your non-beating heart ached for the first time since you found yourself on the locker room floor. For every second you spent with your legs up to your chest, heaving, a deeper hole was burying its way through your chest.

Your death went twenty-three minutes unnoticed, and when you were finally found, it was only because the football team was told to change after the game stopped.

You didn’t know how long you were up on the bleachers, finally praying for the first time in your life before someone approached you. You assumed it was Wally, hoping that he had finally realized what had happened to you, but you turned your head to see an older man dressed in a tweed jacket and glasses walking up to you.

“Y/N?” the stranger asked, sitting a level below you to meet you at eye level, “is that your name?”

He was skinnier than most teachers you knew, and his suit outdid anything they would be wearing.

He’s dead too.

Nodding your head, you brought yourself to sit on the bleacher level above him, scooting down to make distance between him and you. He didn’t move, instead placing his hands in his lap and sighing gently.

“My name is Mr. Martin. As I assume you’re already aware, you’ve passed away.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.

“I’ve been a local of Split River since the 50’s, and-”

“Are you some kind of grim reaper or something? You finally get off your ass to bring me to whatever’s supposed to happen after I die?” You interrupted harshly, glaring at your reflection in his square glasses. His slight trans-atlantic accent in his voice ticked you off on top of how you already felt.

“-Unfortunately, I’m not here to take you to the great hereafter,” he said, his voice a touch softer, “I am, however, here to offer you support if you are willing to take it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You asked.

“I know what happened to you, Y/N.” He said matter-of-factly, adjusting the way he was sitting as if he was uncomfortable with the statement he’d made.

Chills crept up your spine. “What?”

“I was there when the paramedics brought your body out from the locker room,” he rubbed above his lip tensely, “I’m here to let you know that there are others here that can help you get through this, a support group for the ghosts of Split River High.”

Scoffing, you move to get up and away from him and his proposal of an afterlife anonymous meeting. He didn’t follow you, instead raising his voice so you were able to hear him.

“If you change your mind, we meet in the gym every afternoon. Nothing formal, but it seems to have helped others in similar situations to yours.”

People speculated if you and Wally’s deaths were connected in some way- a jealous ex that found out the two of you had been together, a suicide pact; someone even started to say you poisoned him and then yourself because you were hopelessly in love with him.

No matter what people said, somehow, the blame always landed on you and never Wally.

It took three days for you to work up the courage to go back inside the school. Every time you approached a door, your feet wouldn’t move. When you finally got the courage to go inside, it was because the rain pouring outside pelted against the metal of the bleachers, and the sound was going to deafen you if you heard it any longer. It didn’t register that you were in the building until you saw the back of a familiar football player, no longer wearing the gear he died in.

“Wally?” You called out to him, making him spin around to face you.

The air of confusion he’d carried the night you two died was gone, instead replaced by a brightened smile and somewhat brighter eyes.

“Y/N, hey,” he walked towards you, mirroring posters plastered to the wall mourning him, “I was worried you weren’t going to come in any time soon.”

You knit your eyebrows, shifting at his open display of friendliness after not talking to you for the twelve years you were in school together. You knew of him— it was impossible not to, and the two of you had been in a few classes as you’d grown up.

He stood before you, hands tucked in his pocket, as you turned to look at the posters on the wall.

Rest in Peace - Wally Clark.

Son, student, friend to all.

Memorial - September 31st, 4:30 PM, Gym

Poster after poster, taped to every few lockers and pinned twice or three times to every corkboard. His graduation picture lined the halls and mocked you every step of the way. Wally’s death rocked the school like a thunderclap, and any whispers of your tragedy were drowned out by an outpouring of grief for the star athlete.

No memorial. No justice. Not for you.

Hundreds of posters, his locker transformed into a shrine, and there were even some candles lit despite the fire code of the school. All the while, your locker remained untouched—just another metal door collecting dust.

A hand gently touched your shoulder, causing you to spin on your heel and jerk your attention to Wally once more.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, taking a step back, his hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

The phantom beating of your heart thudded dully in response. You hadn’t been touched in days, not since your body was hauled out of the locker room like a broken piece of equipment.

“What do you want, Wally?” you asked, sharper than you intended. His brow furrowed, but his smile didn’t waver.

“I wanted to check on you,” he said simply. “Mr. Martin said he talked to you, but you didn’t come to the gym. Thought I’d see if you were okay.”

You let out a harsh laugh, glancing back at the posters. “Do I look okay? I’m dead, Wally. Just like you.”

And yet, it seems no one gives a shit that I died.

He tilted his head, studying you like you were an unsolved puzzle. “Yeah, but… you don’t have to do this alone.”

“And you’re suddenly the expert on post-death coping mechanisms?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Why do you care anyway? You didn’t even know me.”

Wally flinched, his smile faltering for the first time. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly. “We were in different worlds, yeah, but I knew who you were— who you are. And I know what the living are saying about us. None of it’s true.”

“Which part? The suicide pact? Or the one where I poisoned you because I was obsessed with you?” You spat the words like venom, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“The part where they act like you’re the villain,” he said, his voice steady. “Like you’re not worth mourning.”

That stopped you cold. You stared at him, waiting for the sarcasm, for the punchline. But his eyes held nothing but sincerity, and it made your stomach twist.

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “But I’ve been to that group a few times. It’s weird, and Mr. Martin talks like he’s out of some old self-help movie, but it’s… not awful. And it’s better than being alone.”

You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you swallowed hard and looked away, your eyes falling to the scuffed floor.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unyielding. Wally shifted, the rubber soles of his sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. His patience grated on you, not because it annoyed you, but because it chipped away at the courage you’d been building up for the past two weeks.

“What’s the point, Wally?” you muttered, your voice cracking. “What’s the point of sitting in a room with other dead people, pretending like it makes any of this better?”

He exhaled sharply, almost like he’d been holding his breath. “It doesn’t fix anything,” he admitted. “But it’s not about fixing it. It’s about… not letting it bury you. We don’t have to be forgotten, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened at his words. The posters, the memorial, the tears shed for Wally Clark—they felt like they came from a different world. A world where your name didn’t matter, where your death was just a footnote. But his voice, steady and sure, pierced through the bitterness threatening to consume you.

“Fine,” you whispered, the word barely audible. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, the bright sincerity in his eyes almost painful. “I’ll go. Once. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Wally’s grin returned, slow and genuine. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The gym was plain, almost too small for the group of souls that had gathered. Mr. Martin, with his stiff posture and small accent, sat in the corner, his hands folded neatly in his lap. The group was sparse, and each person’s presence piled more and more nerves as you swept your gaze over them.

You felt the tug of skepticism as you sat in an empty chair. The group didn’t move to acknowledge you, a few eyes lifting from their spots, but no one spoke. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the lack of judgment felt almost alien.

Wally had sat next to you without a word, his presence oddly comforting as he simply offered a silent companionship. His clothes matched yours, save for his jacket, which you still had yet to remove. Some of the ghosts looked your way, but one’s gaze lingered between the two of you. She sat next to Mr. Martin, dressed in a short, colorful, and rectangular dress similar to things your older cousins would wear to events.

Mr. Martin cleared his throat gently, breaking the silence.

“Hello, everyone. I want to again thank you if you’re a returning member and welcome you,” he shot his eyes at you, “if you’re a new member. Since there are newer faces here, why don’t we go around the circle and just say our names.” He smiled, something uncanny lingering on his mouth as he turned to the girl staring between you and Wally.

“I’m Janet.” She said simply. Her voice was soft and concise, crossing her legs as the rest of the ghosts in the group introduced themselves.

“Hi, David,” said a man dressed in construction clothes, who was noticeably older than others in the group.

A boy not much younger than you piped up, a tie peaking past a Letterman jacket he was wearing, “I’m William.”

“Rhonda,” said one girl dressed like your estranged beatnik aunt, who had a seemingly never-ending supply of blow pops.

“And I’m Jasmine.”

The group wraparound had landed on you. You looked between everyone, searching out the chance they’d just let you past the introductions. Rhonda shot you a look of Come on, we’re waiting, and your lips were moving.

“I’m Y/N.” You hated how much your voice shook after you died, but the calm washing over you as Wally prepared his introduction was enough to make you forget it.

“I’m Wally.” He said, the sound of his golden smile ever-present in his words.

“Well, since we have a newbie,” Mr. Martin began, his voice soft but carrying pressure that you found hard to ignore, “Y/N, why don’t you start by telling us what brought you here today?”

All eyes turned to you, and the overwhelming need to jump from a top-story window returned a shock to your senses. The group waited once more for you to speak, some members exchanging glances that you’d catch in social settings when you were alive. Before you knew it, your lips were parting again and spurting words you were regretting the second you said them.

“I didn’t want to be here,” you started, your voice unsteady but not cracking. “I didn’t want to be dead, either. But what does it matter? It’s not like anyone cares about why I’m gone. They’re all too busy mourning him.”

You slung a hand towards Wally, not looking up, unable to see the faces in the room as you continued. “Wally gets all the posters, all the memorials. He was the star. The one everyone is giving a damn about. And I— I don’t even get a proper goodbye.”

Wally shifted beside you, but you didn’t want to hear him. You leaned your elbows on your knees and played with your fingers as you let the silence around you linger. You didn’t want to hear the words he or any of the other ghosts were going to say, and yet you prayed for the silence to end with something.

Mr. Martin, for once, didn’t jump in. Everyone around you was dead silent— pun not intended— and before you knew it, you were moving out of the gym and to a bench in the hall outside, tucking your knees under your chin.

You had no idea how long you sat there, your legs curled up underneath you, eyes fixed on the dirty hallway doors. Your chest felt hollow, and the anger had boiled down into exhaustion so deep you didn’t know if you could ever feel whole again.

The silence in the gym had crushed you. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you feel at peace; it was the kind that forced you to confront all the things you hated about yourself, about how little people turned their heads at your murder. You’d never felt more alone, even when you were alive with your family as your only friends. Here, stuck behind glass to witness the aftermath of your death, you couldn’t do anything but watch as you were forgotten to time.

But you weren’t truly alone for long.

Wally’s presence, soft but steady, came through the gym doors, and you didn’t need to look up to know it was him. You felt his gaze on you before you saw it. His footsteps came slowly, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach you this time.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice unsure, though his usual easygoing nature had managed to bleed through.

You didn’t answer at first. The weight of everything was still crushing you.

You didn’t know what to say to him. All of it—every question, every unspoken feeling—was stuck in your throat.

“I just…” you began, the words coming out in a rush, “I don’t get it, Wally. How come it’s all about you? We both died, and yet there aren’t any memorials held in my honor or any remembrance of me being alive in the first place.”

Wally sat beside you, quiet for a moment. He didn’t touch you, didn’t speak right away. But you could tell he was thinking, his mind racing for something to say that wouldn’t make everything worse.

“Dalton surely isn’t going to forget you, I’m sure he’s already planning something in your honor— something, something better.”

Your resolve cracked suddenly, shattering in one fell move as you bowed your head and cried for the umpteenth time. Wally was silent but tried to offer a comforting hand on your back that you scooted away from instantly.

His presence was steady, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. You didn’t look up to see if he needed confirmation as to what your body was telling him.

“He… he was a monster. They’re letting him get away with it, I know they are, and it’s like no one cared that I was left for dead. People didn’t call me an ambulance or even see my body when it was still warm. Heleft me to rot in that locker room, and now he’s just strutting around like he’s lost something great, and I’m-” you hiccupped as you smeared tears away from your eyes, “I’m starting to feel like I’m going crazy because no one’s going to ever believe it happened. Even when the cops check out me, I just don’t think they’ll believe he’d do that kind of thing.”

Wally remained silent as you turned to look at him, his face pale and mouth slightly agape. Part of you wanted to know what he was thinking, what he wanted to say, and the other part wanted to burst up from your seat, run through the side doors, and condemn yourself to an eternity of sitting on the bleachers.

“I believe you.”

Out of everything you thought he was going to say, that didn’t even reach your mind. You turned to him, face beating to the rhythm of your heart, probably soaked from your tears and red from your crying.

“What?” You asked.

“You’re not crazy, Y/N. If anything, I think you’re braver than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“What?” You asked again, a small smile turning the slightest curve in your lips.

Wally laughed softly, slowly raising his hand to your face and thumbing the tears off your cheeks.

“You heard me,” he brought his hand to rest against your face, and you could feel the suffocating heat starting to leave you.

“What’s bravery have to do with any of this?” You questioned, heat flooding in from where his palm remained against your cheek.

“It’s got to do with you sitting here, telling me,” he brought his other hand to lightly skim over the top of yours, “it’s got to do with you coming in and standing in these halls and bearing witness to the aftermath. I know you think the rest of the world is going to forget you, but, Y/N, I’m going to give my damnedest so you’ll never feel like that, ever again.”

[drewsephrry]

everybody moved on, help im still at the restaurant

[starboye]

Fuckboy Milo Manheim gets innocent Femboy Reader to come over under the pretense of watching Netflix. But you slowly start realizing his true motives when he begins putting an arm around you while his other hand eases up your skirt.

how did you believe him in the first place, milo called you asking you to come over saying he just wanted to watch some movies with you and nothing more

"are you being for real milo"

"yes i just wanna watch some movies"

you coming over in some comfy clothes, that somehow included a skirt, milos eyes immediately darting towards it and licking his lips with a chuckles before inviting you in

and 30 minutes into the movie he throws his arms around you, acting like he was stretching and accidentally put his arm there, but it was no mistake when later his hand started creeping up your skirt, pulling at you panties

"what're you doing"

"nothing unless you want it to be something"

and next was you both making out on his couch, heavy breaths that bounced off each others skin, milo picking you up to take you to his room where he fucked you into the night

finding out the next day he snapped a photo of you knocked out and sweaty in his bed when one of his friends show it to you and joke about how milo made you his slut

that bitch

[love-belle]

the greatest films of all time !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which their love was made for the movies but it's like they all say, the greatest films of all time were never made.

or

for when you know enough to know that you want to move through time with them and them only. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // various celebrities x fem!driver!reader

warnings - language

author's note - a short series bc i literally cannot stick with my original ideas 😭😭 requests are CLOSED my inbox is 100+ i am not kidding im so sorry :((

i. milo manheim ༉‧₊˚.

( every dead end street led you straight to me )

ii. ben barnes ༉‧₊˚.

( you'll be my best friend until we grow old )

iii. drew starkey ༉‧₊˚.

( 'cause summers go so fast )

iv. dylan o'brien ༉‧₊˚.

( your past and mine are parallel lines )

v. matt sturniolo ༉‧₊˚.

( you'd be the love of my life when i was young )

...more !!!

[backtotheshitshow]

Ghost Clothes Part 1: Girls Locker Room

(Wally Clark x reader)

Part2 Part3 Part4

Summary: Y/n has been stuck in the girls looker room ever since she died. If only someone could bring her some damn clothes.

Warning: short, nudity, mention of death…

Masterlist

Y/n sat on the floor of the showers crying, almost ten years she’s been stuck in this locker room and not a single other ghost has found her.

She had died when some idiot left their body wash open on the floor of the showers and she slipped on it, hitting her head on the hot water knob of the shower. Ever since she’s been stuck in the locker room, because while she’s never met any of them, Y/n was well aware of the other ghosts in the high school, so the living might not be able to see her naked, but the other ghosts definitely would.

…

Wally was exercising in the gym, he’d usually prefer the field, but the marching band said they needed a bigger practice space. Wally was doing his usual push-ups when he hearda strange noise. He stood up, listening carefully. It sounded like crying coming from the girls locker room. Curious he followed the noise into the locker room. He entered slowly, wanting be prepared for anything as the crying got louder.

“Hello? Is there anyon.. OH MY GOD!!” As soon as wally saw y/n, he turned to face the other direction, obverting his eyes away from the naked girl. “I am so sorry. I heard crying and just wanted to.. I don’t usually come I here..I swear I didn’t see anything…”

“No no it’s okay.. fuck finally. I need you’re help” y/n pleads with the boy.

Still facing the wall, Wally asks curiously “with what?”

“Please just get me some clothes, I’ve been stuck in here, like this for almost a decade.” Y/n explains.

“Okay” Wally agrees “I’ll be right back” he rushes of to grab the nearest article of clothing he could find.

Moments later wally comes back in, his hand over his eyes, while the other holds his varsity jacket out in front of him. “Here put this on, until we can get to lost property.”

Y/n took the jacket and slipped (poor choice of words) it on, doing up all the buttons to cover herself up. The jacket fell just under her butt cheek and was so very soft and warm. Y/n had almost forgot what clothes felt like.

“You can look now” y/n tells the boy.

Wally turns around to look at his new aquantence “Woah.”He breathes

“What? Is there something wrong?” Y/n panics, checking to make sure nothing was showing.

“No no. You’re just… really pretty.” Wally smiles.

“Oh… thank you. “ the two stare at each other for awhile. Wally soaking in ever aspect of the sight in front of him. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in nothing but his jacket.

“Um” Y/n breaks the silence “I think I should head to lost property,”

Wally is ripped out of his daydreams. “Oh yeah sorry, I’ll take you.”

[houseofaegon]

SKINNY DIPPING pt. 2 ✩ Wally Clark

Pairings: Wally Clark x Fem!reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. very slow burn. semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, heavy sexual tension, explicit dirty talk, praising, degradation, skinny dipping in a public pool, possesiveness/jealousy, light choking, rough gripping & mandhandling, overstimulation, wally being a cocky little shit and very possessive, kinda dom!wally, risk of getting caught, begging, breeding kink. wally whimpering???? (god have mercy)

Summary: For what feels like an eternity, Y/n and Wally have been nothing more than just friends. but that changes one reckless night when they decide to cross skinny dipping off their "100 things to do before crossing over" bucket list. Teasing and meaningless flirting turn heated, and the tension that has been simmering between them finally snaps. Under the moonlit water, boundaries blur, and their friendship is completely wrecked, in the best possible way.

Author's note: this is part 2!! Part 1 is linked below <3 And part 3 soon! I had to take a moment to breath and relax while writing this cause hello????? god jesus have mercy I'm literally gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Also, thank you so much for the love on part 1!! it made me soooo happy to see you guys liked it <3333 it means the world to me!

Word count: 4043

Song choices: lose control - teddy swims, tear you apart - she wants revenge, closer - nine inch nails, flawless - the neighbourhood, do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys, TiO - zayn, again - noah cyrus.

masterlist. part 1. part 2. part 3

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"So...Skinny dipping?" his lips brushed against your ear, his voice now a low whisper.

"Skinny dipping," you repeated, lips curving into a playful grin. "Just don't get all excited to see me naked, Clark," you teased, pushing him lightly. "And hands to yourself," you added.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes darkening a little. He couldn't help but smirk as well. He was excited at the thought of seeing you like that.

"I make no promises," he replied with a teasing grin, his raspy voice sending shivers down your spine.

"I mean it, Clark," you huffed, rolling your eyes, though the warmth you felt bubbling up inside you betrayed the annoyance you were trying to fake.

He leaned in again, his face mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Can you blame me, though?" his voice dipped lower, rougher, almost a whisper. "You look so damn pretty, I can't help but flirt a little."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him notice it. You pushed him back again, keeping the smirk on your lips. "Yeah, yeah," you drawled, tilting your head. "Am I the first girl you've ever said this to? Or the fourth? Or ninetieth?"

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. The truth was, Wally had a certain reputation, and everyone knew it. His charming smiles, teasing grins, and how he made girls feel like they were the center of his world… He never meant any of it. None of the girls he flirted with ever came close to you, to how you made him feel.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze held yours, unwavering.

"None of those girls were you," he said quietly. "And none of them meant anything to me."

With a dramatic sigh, you place your hand over your forehead, pretending to swoon. "Oh, Wally! How you make my heart race!"

His laugh was loud, unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made your stomach flip every single time you heard it. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he nudged you in the stomach. "Oh, shut up," he said, grinning. "You're such a dork, you know that?"

"And you love it," you shot back, tilting your chin up in defiance.

Wally didn't answer immediately. Instead, his smirk faded slightly, and it made your chest feel too tight. He took a step closer again.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice just above a whisper. "I do."

The teasing had completely vanished now. Your throat suddenly felt dry, your pulse hammering in your ears. Something in his eyes told you that he wasn't playing anymore.

Your mouth opened, but before you could say anything, he lifted a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just a second too long, his touch light, but it managed to burn right through you.

He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he spoke, the way his gaze bore into you, the slight grin on his lips—it was all too deliberate, too calculated, and it made your pulse quicken. His eyes didn't lie, it was pure desire that clouded them and his judgment too. Wally had always been a flirt with everyone, and you were no exception. There had always been playful and flirty banter between you, but it was nothing more than a game. Nothing more than playful teasing. This? This felt different, it felt real. Lines were getting blurry, and your body was reacting in a way you never thought possible.

"You're trouble, you know that?" he murmured, his thumb grazing your jaw.

Your breath hitched. "Takes one to know one," you whispered back.

His eyes darkened, and for a second, you thought he was going to close the distance between you completely. Your heart slammed against your ribs, anticipation running through every nerve in your body.

With a smooth, effortless motion, Wally pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside like it was nothing. He knew you were watching him, and you did. You watched him, you couldn't tear your eyes away, hypnotized by his every movement, by the way the moonlight caressed his skin, his body gleaming under the soft light. You had seen him shirtless plenty of times before–he loved to work out and flaunt what he'd earned. But tonight? Tonight felt so much different. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you let your gaze travel down his chest, the way his abs tightened as he took off his shorts, kicking them aside, leaving only his boxers on. "You coming?" his voice was casual. But the way his eyes roamed over you, the way his smirk depended as he noticed the way you couldn’t keep your eyes off him, it was anything but innocent. "Go ahead," he added, nodding toward the water. "Get in first. I'll be right behind you."

You folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head as you arched a brow. "Oh, I see what you're doing," you mused, propping yourself on your hip. "You want me to strip first so you can get a show, huh?"

Wally's grin became bigger, shameless, and cocky. "And if I do?" he murmured.

"Then that makes you predictable," you shot back, tilting your head trying to feign disinterest.

His smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew bolder. "Or just a man with very good taste," he countered smoothly, stepping closer. "But, hey, if you're too shy—"

Before he could finish, you grabbed the hem of your white shirt and pulled it over your head, letting it drop carelessly onto the ground. His smirk vanished. It was only for a second, but you saw it, the way his throat bobbed, the way his gaze dropped, drinking every inch of you. Satisfaction curled in your stomach.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. That cocky smirk? Gone. Replaced by something you couldn't quite place, something darker, deeper. Something raw.

You stepped toward the pool, your back to him, deliberately ignoring his presence, pretending you didn't feel the heat of his gaze burning into you. "You were saying?" you teased, sliding your skirt down inch by inch, slowly, letting it slip past your thighs and pool at your feet before stepping out of it. "What was that about me being too shy?"

A smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder. Victory. He wasn't smirking anymore—his mouth slightly parted, eyes darker, stance tense like he was barely holding himself together. You had him right where you wanted him.

But you weren't done. If he wanted a show, he was gonna get one.

Keeping your gaze locked on his, you let your hands drift behind your back, fingers working the clasp of your lace bra with infuriating slowness. You could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling faster.

The straps slid down your shoulders, the cool night air hitting your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. And still, you watched him, letting his gaze devour you. Letting the bra drop, you let yourself bask in the way his pupils dilated, the way his hands clenched, every single vein and muscle in his arms tensing like he was fighting every instinct to move towards you and touch you.

And he was. God, he was fighting it, hard. Every demon inside him was telling him to grab you, to pull you close to him, to feel your skin against his, to claim you.

With a wicked grin, you toyed with the waistband of your lace black underwear, sliding it down, teasing him slowly. "Cat got your tongue, Clark?" you chuckled. Before he could answer, you turned your head and slipped into the pool.

When you submerged in the water, disappearing from his view, he let out a sharp exhale, the sound more like a whimper. As you resurfaced, he could've sworn he stopped breathing. You were everything he had ever wanted, and to see you there, bare, wet, and exposed? It was almost too much for him to handle.

His hands clenched into fists, his entire body trembling with the effort to restrain himself. His gaze didn't waver—it never left your body, exploring every inch of you.

You looked mesmerizing, the way the moonlight made your wet skin glow underneath it. He was desperate to touch you, to run his hands over your perfectly soft skin.

You ran your hands over your wet, slicked-back hair, your gaze on him. Wally stood there, frozen, eyes dark and fixed on you.

It was intoxicating, the power you had over him.

"What happened to all that smooth talk, Clark?" you teased, tilting your head, a playful smirk on your lips. "You suddenly forgot how to speak?"

That did it.

Wally's jaw locked, his hands clenched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. For a second, you thought he might actually fight it—might crack a joke, roll his eyes, brush it off like he always did, return to his usual cocky self.

But then, without hesitation, he shoved his boxers down and kicked them aside. His eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He stood before you, the hard lines of his body tense with restraint, every muscle in his stomach flexing as he fought for control. And then there was the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, thick and hard, a blatant display of everything he wanted—everything he wanted from you.

A shiver went down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach as your eyes slowly flickered up to his.

He didn't say a word. He just stepped forward, smoothly, deliberately, like a predator hunting its prey, before dipping into the pool. The water rippled as he disappeared beneath the surface. And then, he surged back up, breaking through the water right in front of you, so close that droplets splashed on your face, so close that his lips nearly brushed yours as he exhaled a deep, slow breath.

You inhaled sharply, instinctively swimming back, but his hands were already on your waist, locking you in place. Holding you right there, right where he wanted.

“What happened to all that smooth talk, sweetheart?" he repeated your exact words, the term of endearment making your stomach flip. His voice low, almost teasing. "You suddenly forgot how to speak?"

Your pulse hammered against your ribs. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to smirk even as every nerve in your body buzzed with anticipation. This was dangerous, you knew it, and he did too.

But neither of you seemed to care.

"You think you're real cute, don't you?" his voice was low and rough, every word seemed to vibrate through your chest as his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. His voice made your knees weak.

You grinned, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "I don't think," you whispered. "I know."

A low growl rumbled in his throat. And suddenly, you weren't smirking anymore. There wasn't a single hint of playfulness in his eyes. They were filled with pure and raw heat. Dangerous, Hungry. His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him. Beneath the water, skin met skin, heat against heat. It was undeniable now, impossible to ignore, impossible to run away from. Everything you tried to ignore, every line you'd both tried so hard not to cross.

Everything was collapsing in on itself.

This was happening.

This was real.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." His voice was thick with frustration, like he was holding back every ounce of self-control. Every inch of him trembled beneath your hands, his chest rising and falling too fast, his fingers digging into your waist. The struggle was written all over his face. He wanted you. You could see it. Feel it. He was trying so hard to hold back.

And God, he wanted to. You could feel it in the way his body tensed against yours, in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his lips hovered right there, barely an inch away, like he was dying to close the distance. Dying to taste you.

You inhaled sharply, your heart slamming against your ribs. What the hell were you doing?

Stripping in front of him? Letting him see you like this, bare and exposed? Teasing him? Knowing exactly what it would do to him?

It wasn't like you at all.

It wasn't like either of you.

This wasn't the playful banter you'd always shared. It never got further than simple jokes and meaningless teasing. This? This was territory neither of you had ever ventured into. There was a thin, fragile line. You wanted to cross it. You needed to. But the fear... the fear of losing everything you had—the fear of losing him—kept you hanging on, just barely.

Wally swallowed hard, his fingers tracing slow, agonizing patterns against your skin. "You're dangerous," he whispered again, lower this time, rougher, as if the words were ripped straight from his chest. His hands tightened against your hips beneath the water, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for hesitation—begging for it, for a reason to stop.

But there was none.

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even think. "Am I?"

His breath caught a subtle tremor in his jaw. "Don't tease me," he growled. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

But you did.

And so did he.

His forehead dipped to yours, his breathing uneven. Your hands slid up, curling around the back of his neck, fingers threading through his wet hair. His eyes squeezed shut like he was trying—really trying—to fight it.

But there was nothing left to fight.

You’d both lost this battle a long time ago.

"You know this changes everything," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking over the words. His thumb brushed your skin, so painfully slow, like he was memorizing you, like he was savoring this moment.

Your chest tightened. You knew he was right. You knew this was it—the point of no return.

But it was too late for second thoughts.

Your lips parted, breath shaking. His eyes darkened at the sight of your open mouth, the sounds of your shaky breath making his pulse quicken. He was undone. Completely undone. All his hesitation, his willpower, his good intentions. Gone. He was drowning in you.

"Maybe it should," you whispered.

A sharp inhale. His hands gripped you tighter, and his forehead dropped fully against yours. "You have no idea what you're saying."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. "Oh, I think I do."

His head lifted just enough for your eyes to lock, his pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted. His mouth was right there. Just a little more...

"You don't fucking get it," he rasped, his hands sliding up, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs. "If we do this—if I kiss you—I won’t be able to stop. I won’t be able to just pretend it didn’t happen. You know that, don’t you?”

Your pulse slammed in your throat, and you nodded, barely breathing.

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your skin, like he was trying to soothe himself, trying to keep his composure. But you could feel it—the tension radiating off him, the heat rolling off his body even beneath the water.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you whispered.

His eyes darkened, the grip on your waist tightening, pressing into your skin, making you groan. You were sure he was going to leave bruises, but you didn’t care. 

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. "You think this is a fucking game?"

“A little," you replied, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

Wally let out a strained, bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in his eyes. No playfulness was left in the smile that painted his face. “You wanna keep playing?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, but there was an edge to it now, something deeper, dangerous. “Because I can play, sweetheart. But you better be ready for what happens when I stop holding back. When I stop pretending, we can go back to how things were. When I stop fucking pretending we're just friends.”

With a growl, he pushed you through the water until your back hit the edge of the pool. The impact and the feeling of the cold tiles sent a sharp shiver down your spine, making you gasp. The way he mandhandled you with such ease, his grip so possessive, the way his body caged you in completely, it made your head spin. 

His lips brushed yours—just barely. But it was enough to make your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, like he was the only thing keeping you standing.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your lips, pleading. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You should say it. You should push him away, laugh it off, pretend like this was just another game, another moment of playful teasing between best friends who had spent years toeing the line.

But you didn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

Instead, your fingers crept up his neck, nails tracing the hard line of his jaw, tightening in his wet hair, pulling him closer, your body pressing against his beneath the water. You felt the way his breath stuttered, the way his fingers dug into your ribs, his thumb caressing your breasts, like he was barely hanging on.

Your lips brushed against his as you whispered, “I dare you.”

A sharp inhale. His hands tightened. "Don't," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "I swear, if you keep looking at me like that—"

"Like what?" you interrupted, faking innocence as your fingers trailed down his chest, nails scraping over his hard muscles.

His breath left him in a shaky exhale. "Like you want this."

Your lips curled. "Who says I don't?"

A low groan rumbled from his chest, his restraint hanging by a thread. His hands slid down slowly, gripping, teasing, like he was testing himself—testing you. “You don’t get it.”

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I do," you whispered, your mouth just barely on his, so close he could feel your words on his skin. "You're the one who doesn't."

His jaw ticked. "Don't push me," he warned, his voice a painful growl. 

You tilted your head, dragging your nose against his. "Why? Afraid you'll give in?"

"Afraid I won't be able to stop."

A wicked smile danced on your lips as you leaned in, your mouth grazing the corner of his. Not a kiss—just a taste. "You know what I think?” you murmured, your teeth just barely scraping against his lips, leaving the most devastating kiss there. “I think you’ve thought about this. A lot.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you taunted him, your voice nothing but a breath, a challenge, a plea. "Just tell me I'm wrong, and we'll stop, we'll forget any of this happened, we'll just—"

His patience snapped.

His hands slid down your waist, gripping your thighs before he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around him. A choked gasp escaped your lips as you felt all of him, thick and hard, pressing right against your soaked core. A groan tore from his throat, guttural and desperate, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, bruising you. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered. “You keep grinding on me like that and I fucking swear–” His words cut off into a sharp inhale as you grinded against him again. 

You rolled your hips against him, dragging your slick heat over the hard ridge of his cock, and his entire body tensed.  

A sharp, wrecked groan tore from his throat, his grip turning bruising as he slammed your body harder against the cool tile. His mouth was on you in an instant—biting, licking, claiming—his teeth scraping your jaw, his tongue lapping at the spot he just marked, soothing it just to do it all over again. 

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. 

You swallowed hard. The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say them.

Stop.

No, you wouldn’t. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to keep going, to touch you right where you needed him the most, to make you his, to claim you, to possess you. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, on your entire body. You needed this, the release–you needed him. 

“Say. It.” His groan was raw, wrecked. His hands ghosted up your thighs, slow, teasing, so agonizingly close to where you needed them. “Tell me to fucking stop.”

You stayed silent. 

His lips curled into a dark smirk. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

His hands flexed, gripping your thighs tighter, dragging your hips flush against him, grinding against your core so hard and deep it made your breath catch.

“Fuck, you feel that?" he groaned, his voice rough dripping with need. "Feel how hard you make me? You did that, sweetheart. You."

His lips brushed your jaw, teasing, before his teeth sank into your skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you whimper. His tongue soothed the spot, only to bite again, harder this time.

"You don't think I've noticed? The way your eyes are on me when you think I'm not watching? The way your whole body reacts to me?"

His fingers dug into your hips, hard, making you gasp, dragging your body against him once more, letting you feel every single inch of how much he wanted you.

Fuck.

"You've been playing a dangerous game, baby," he growled. "Playing dumb, acting like all those little teases, all those flirty smiles, all those times you touched me without meaning to—like they didn't mean anything."

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"But we both know that's not true, don't we?" His grip became stronger by the minute, his fingers slithering lower, teasing the edge of your stomach, dancing along your skin with agonizing precision. He knew what he was fucking doing, he wanted to drive you insane, the same way you drove him to the brink of insanty.

"You know it's not true. Deep down, you always knew exactly what you've been doing to me."

And he was right.

Every glance, every touch, every smile, every almost—you’d been testing him, taunting him. Watching, waiting, wondering how far you could push before he snapped.

And now? He was breaking apart.

His fingers inched lower, making your entire body arch against him, desperate, aching, starving for more.

Please, please, please.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers finally found your aching clit, pressing down in slow, agonizing cirles.

Oh, fuck.

Your head fell back against the cool tile, your breath coming out in ragged pants. This was different. He was different. This wasn't the Wally you were used to—your best friend, the sweet, flirty, cocky, Wally who loved teasing you just as much as you teased him.

This was someone else, a completely different version of him you'd never seen before. Dangerous.

"I think you know how much I fucking want you," he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes dark, desperate, completely feral with need. "And you've been pretending you don't feel it, too."

You swallowed hard, but no words would come out. What could you say? That he was wrong? That this was just another game?

It wasn't. Not anymore.

You'd crossed every line, and there was no going back.

Your entire body trembled as his fingers moved harder, faster, making your entire world narrow to the feeling of his fingers against your aching core.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your breath coming in gasps, but you didn’t answer.

You couldn’t. Not when you were falling apart in his hands.

Not when you felt so good pressed against him.

So fucking good.

"And now, baby?" His tongue brushed over your lips, slowly. "Now you're gonna find out exactly what happens when you push me too fucking far."

[naok-iyuu]

Masterlist

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- You will find here my work, if I am not LAZY, which is going to be really difficult.

English is not my native language, and even if I understand A LOT, I may not be abble to write as much as I know. You will maybe find some French work too here and there if I feel that it will be easier for me, stay allert my french people ! Some Spotify playlist here<3!

!REQUEST ARE ALWAYS OPEN!

Zed Necrodopolis relationship Headcanons - ~850 words

When the sun falls - 2.6k words (fluff)

Love is about details - 8.2k words (fluff)

It's beginning to look a lot like... - 2.7k words (fluff/Christmas special)❄️🎄

Coming soon...

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- Future writing list : (if you are interested, request for those characters) Peter Parker MCU Bucky Barnes Nico Alexander (Doogie Kamealoha) Cole Walter Alex Walter ...

Future writing fandom ? : (You can request for a character) Harry Potter My babysitter's a vampire ...

[the-offside-rule]

While youre voting, maybe you guys would like to see my first From The Vault fic

Sam & Dean Winchester (Supernatural) - Merry Chridtmas Kid

[ryrywrites]

Death Star - Ben Plunkett

all dividers cred: @cafekitsune

Pair: Ben Plunkett x fem!reader

Description: When Y/N and Ben entered senior year, they were optimistic. For Y/N, it was one last year to survive and then she was free. But for Ben, this was his last opportunity to make a name for himself. His goals were clear; get accepted into any college, ask his dream girl to prom, and become prom king. Y/N's goals weren't so simple, considering the only person she could see herself going to prom with is head over heels for LaToya Reynolds. Y/N is seemingly forgotten once Ben prom-poses to LaToya and can't seem to get a moment of his time anymore. When prom rolls around, Ben and Y/N are forced to confront the new space between them.

Warnings: fairly angsty, mostly fluffy, swearing, arguing and making up, overbearing mom <3

WC: 1.9k

A/N: Don't you love it when it takes you months to get the motivation to start writing again and then it doesn't live up to your standards? 😃😮‍💨

ben plunkett masterlist × main masterlist

"Breathe in...breathe out..." Y/N held her breath in sync with the audio. She was currently going for the record for the longest headache held in 24 hours. She had tried everything. Hydrating, taking a nap, taking a shower, and now, meditation. It was her mother who had sparked the throbbing pain pounding against her cranium. Of course, Y/N had brought this upon herself in a way. Telling her mother, who was prom queen back in her day, that she no longer wanted to attend the prom was her first mistake. Her second mistake was not sprinting out of the house the minute those words fell from her lips. Even if she had somehow escaped the conversation, she had no where to go. Her best friend, whom she had been avoiding most desperately, wasn't someone she could talk to anymore. Not since the prom-posal. Since Ben Plunkett, the man she had been pining after since they were 13, had asked LaToya Reynolds, the woman he'd been pining after since they were 14, to prom, she had become a ghost to him. Not a single text was returned until at least 3 days after it was sent, no more midnight phone calls, no more snack runs, no more bookstore, movies, waffles, and no more death star.

Something shifted the last time they spoke. It was a quick phone call, curt and nothing special. It was a Friday night, he was apologizing for ditching their plans. It was a tradition they had, the bookstore-movies-waffles thing they did every Friday night. Even before either of them could drive or knew anything about quality cinema. It was theirs and only theirs until it wasn't. His apology was absentminded and rushed, she could hear LaToya in the background telling him to hurry up. The call ended after about 2 minutes, cutting her protests short and gripping her in the stomach with a sharp pain she didn't recognize. After that night, Ben made no effort to return her calls or even talk to her in school. He sat with the Everests and waited on LaToya hand and foot. She wasn't sure what hurt more, the fact that she lost her best friend or that he didn't even seem upset about it. She was torn apart, throat becoming bone-dry every time she saw them together, her heart racing in her ears from both frustration and embarrassment.

Her mother had insisted that she reconsider her decision but Y/N stood firm. Even Mandy begged her to go with her and Graham but there was no swaying her. She was sick at the idea of attending prom or being anywhere near Ben or anyone else for that matter. So here she was, the night before prom, with no dress, no date, and no appetite. She chewed her lips and willed the headache away (or prayed to be put out of her misery). When she and Ben were younger, they would talk about how they were on the same wavelength. That somehow their thoughts were linked, telepathically or spiritually. They knew when one needed the other. Now, Y/N was sure that idea was nothing but a childish notion. She turned her head to the side to examine her bedroom, littered with memories and moments she wanted so badly to go back to. She stood up and felt lightheaded from a combination of crying and basically not moving all day. It was the last Friday she had before graduation next week and she was spending it reminiscing.

She walked over to her nightstand where there stood a gigantic Lego Death Star, unfinished. She and Ben had planned on finishing it before the school year ended. She picked it up carefully and took in every detail, it had taken them the last year to get as close as they were now. They had decided not to glue the pieces down in case they ever wanted to start over, she smiled down at their efforts and, just for a second, allowed herself to miss Ben. That's when she heard her doorbell ring, her mother was always very quick to invite her friends over and allow them to grace her daughter with their sage advice which often consisted of them telling Y/N how much she was breaking her mother's heart over a seemingly meaningless argument or difference in opinion. She heard the creak of the stairs, placing the death star back on her nightstand and moving to open the door. Ben beat her to it and slowly popped his head into the room. The silence was deafening.

Ben walked fully into the room and shut the door behind him. The lump in her throat was impossible to swallow, anything she had to say to him was gone now. So he cleared his throat and decided he would start. "I'm sorry." He chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "I probably should've called. I just..." Y/N maintained eye contact, begging him to make this right. "This is weird right?" She nodded and patted the bed, urging him to sit next to her. He trudged over and sat down, sighing. "I know...I fucked up." There's a pause, a comfortable silence. "I don't why but...I broke it off with LaToya." She finally met his eyes. "You did what? Why? What happened?" He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. "Is she okay?" He nodded, avoiding eye contact. "She took it surprisingly well. In her words she 'saw it coming' and that I 'needed to see you.' She's actually pretty great." Her face became red, she didn't know what to say or how to react. "But the whole time I was with her, something was so off." I held a bubble in my mouth. "She had hot breath? Bad kisser? Glass eye?" He finally laughed. "Not exactly. Everything about her was great." She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"So what was it?" He finally turned to her, fully facing her and smiling like a dork. "Guess." He said softly. It was then that Y/N realized just how close they were. "Did she...have bad taste in music?" The air was buzzing, something was pulling them towards each other. "No." His hands were clammy. He had known immediately what LaToya meant when she said that he needed to Y/N. Every date, every kiss, he was somewhere else. His heart wasn't in it, not because of LaToya, but because of Y/N. But how could he be so stupid? He finally had exactly what he wanted, the girl he'd been infatuated with for years, and he couldn't have been more unhappy. "Did she...chew with her mouth open?" Ben shook his head and smiled knowingly. "Not really." He replied, coming to the conclusion that she wasn't gonna get it. Little did he know, she had butterflies from the anticipation. She wanted desperately for him to tell her why he was here with her rather than with LaToya. LaToya knew why, she had known about a week into dating Ben. The reason they weren't together was because of her. LaToya wasn't mad, she wasn't upset, she was understanding, which only made Ben feel like a bigger dick for not giving her what she deserved.

"I give up. Tell me. What was it?" He wiped his hands on his pants and looked nervous. "She wasn't you." He said, voice shaky. Y/N stayed quiet, but a smile played on her lips. "What?" Her face was on fire, she wasn't sure how to speak anymore. Ben wasn't sure what to say next. They sat there in silence, a weight in the room, a pressure for someone to do something, say something. Ben wanted so badly for her to respond or react in some way, even if it was negative. Y/N felt nervousness fill her chest. "She didn't make me laugh, or make me nervous. There was no... spark. Do you ever-" He cut himself off by rubbing his eyes in frustration. He was struggling to express what he had felt, what words could he use? "I thought I knew what I wanted." Y/N was seeing stars. Ben was wringing his hands in concern. Never, in any conversation they'd ever had, had she been so quiet. "Do you?" She finally spoke, "Know what you want?" All they could do was look at each other. All it took was one look to his lips from Y/N and Ben crumbled.

His hand held her cheek, leaning in to place a sweet, short kiss on her lips. When their lips connected, Y/N remembered the first time she had held his hand. They had decided to go see a horror movie with a murderous clown and cheap jump scares. One jump scare in specific got her and, out of fear (and maybe something else), she had grabbed Ben's wrist to ground herself. She recalled how he laughed at her and grabbed her hand, locking fingers with hers. For him, it was probably nothing. But for her, it was the start of something so much more. Although the the interaction was short, Ben had always wondered about that night in the theater. Did she mean to grab him? His thoughts always raced when he thought about their little touches like that. When she laughed, she'd lean against him and grab his arm (he made sure to make her laugh every chance he got). When she was bored, she'd lean her head against his shoulder or wrap her arms around his neck. Until this moment, he always figured her touches were strictly platonic. He never thought about the possibility that there was more behind each look. Her lips tasted like cotton candy against his. When he felt her return the kiss, his lips curled into a smile.

Though the kiss was short, their palms were sweaty and heads were spinning. As Ben parted from the kiss, he was stuck in place and grinning like an idiot. Y/N couldn't look at him, he looked so goofy. She burst into laughter and laid her head on his chest, trying her best to suppress her fits of snorts. Ben fell back on the bed in bliss, there was no overthinking this part. He quickly got up and grabbed his backpack. Y/N looked at him, red from the laughs and head pounding from a mix of blush and shock. He unzipped his bag and pulled out a piece of paper and a red marker. He placed the paper on her desk and began to write. "What are you doing?" Ben always had random moments of genius, but he considered this to be his best idea yet. When he was done scribbling away on his paper, he held up on display for Y/N to read. There, in red ink, read the word 'Prom?' in bold letters with little red hearts all around it. She examined the paper and beamed, "Yes..." Ben fisted pumped the air and tackled her in a hug, slamming them both onto her bed. "Wait!" Y/N quickly sat up in the bed. "What?" The boy shot up next to her. "What am I gonna wear?" Just then, her mother barged in with a puffy pink and purple dress, perfect for the 80's theme, and a cheesy smile on her face. "Already covered!!"

[louilies]

Second Place.

angst, milo manheim x reader

The cold glow of the city lights seeped through the blinds, casting jagged shadows across the apartment walls. You sat on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in your lap, staring at the unopened suitcase by the door.

Milo stood across from you, phone in hand, scrolling through an email like you weren’t even there. Like you hadn’t been waiting for this conversation all night. Like this wasn’t breaking you.

"I just don’t get why you’re upset," he sighed, locking his phone and tossing it onto the dresser.

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You don’t get it? Seriously, Milo?"

His brows furrowed, like you were speaking in a language he didn’t understand. And maybe you were. Maybe love—real, consuming, all-or-nothing love—wasn’t something he could understand when his mind was always elsewhere.

"You promised me." Your voice wavered, but you refused to let the tears fall. "You promised that for once, I’d come first."

He ran a hand through his curls, exhaling like this was exhausting for him. Like you were exhausting. "This role is huge for me, Y/N. I can’t just turn it down because you want me to stay home and—what? Watch movies? Go on some date night?"

You flinched. "It’s not about date nights. It’s about always being your second choice."

His jaw tightened. "That’s not fair."

You stood, crossing the room until you were right in front of him, forcing him to really look at you. "No? Because that’s what it feels like, Milo. I cancel plans, I rearrange my life, I wait up for you even when I know you’re not coming home before 3 AM. But when it’s my turn to need you, you’re—"

"My career is important." His voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.

"And I’m not?" you whispered.

Silence. That was your answer.

You nodded, swallowing back the lump in your throat. "I love you, Milo. But I can't keep competing with your dreams when I was never even in the running."

His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he wanted to, but for once, he had no script to follow.

You grabbed your suitcase and walked out the door before he could stop you. If he even would.

A/N: the way that i would let this man [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] me omg

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