Ermwhatthesigma - Rav Rav

And that’s facts

clarke griffin really is the character ever. she pulls a lot of levers. only one person she's slept with hasn't died. she adopted a six-year-old when she was still a teenager. she had her first drink out of spite. she killed a panther by herself. her daughter has the memories of the dead love of her life. she's as homicidal as she is suicidal. she was in solitary confinement for almost an entire year. she learned mandarin and motorcycle riding because she stole it out of someone else's head. she decorated her prison cell with charcoal etches. she's been caked in mud and foam. no one ever taught her how to swim. if she cares about you, she might hum when she kills you. we only see her shower once in her life. she medically experimented on herself. she's been body snatched. everything her culture was based on turned out to be very, very incorrect. she was arrested for treason against her people and then does nothing but ensure the survival of her people for the rest of her life. she's eaten bugs. and she's bisexual

ayeee ik that cookie good

Marshmallow Miles

summary: prompt fill. Wally needs to get the hell out of Split River. thankfully, he finds the perfect excuse and takes you along for the ride. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. fluff. AU - everybody is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen. same 'verse as Cuddle Bug.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧁

Marshmallow Miles

Wally spent the last 40 years haunting the high school. Then spent the last few months within the town limits, adjusting to being a regular student while he got his second chance at life organized. Principal Hartman, Ms. Chung, and Mrs. Moretz—the guidance counselor—banded together to help the formerly-dead reacclimate, and part of that means they all need to graduate.

Except, obviously, Mr. Martin, who Sheriff Baxter's keeping a tight leash on. Or Janet, wherever the hell she is.

Point being, Wally and his friends are still tethered to the place they hate most in the world. Even if there is a light at the end of the tunnel this time, they don't get to enjoy it until they walk across the stage, diplomas in hand.

Which means Wally? Is feeling somewhat-very claustrophobic. Skin too tight, walls closing in, suffocated and nauseous at the thought of having to spend another goddamn second in the town that killed him.

It's as he's listening to you, hanging onto your every word like psalms, that the idea strikes. Light. Bulb. Wausau? Claire's stepdad's ski lodge? You don't say!

He knows your birthday's coming up (Simon made sure to stick post-it notes in every single one of Wally's text- and notebooks to remind him) and he's been fretting over what to do for weeks. But this? This is it! Not only will Wally be able to celebrate you the way you deserve, doing something you seem genuinely keen on, he'll be able to put Split River in the rearview for a whole week.

Is it a little selfish to use your birthday as an excuse to escape? Kind of, sort of, maybe. But he's desperate to find out if he can have a life beyond this. Beyond Split River High and Number 57 and tragedy and discombobulating rise-agains. And the only person he wants to find anything out with, well, is you.

It's two-birds-one-stone, honestly, and don't you always praise his efficiency? Hell yeah, you do. His biggest fan. Besides, he will dote on you, treat you right, make you feel like the center of the universe because you are. At least, you're the center of his, and that's why he has to do this. To prove there's a future with him that has more potential than cultivating small town syndrome.

You catch him grinning that dopey little grin he gets when he's thinking about surprising you, but Maddie distracts you before you can question it. Which gives Wally the rest of lunch to plot into his tater tots.

Thank you, Maddie. Best wingwoman ever.

‗•‗

The plan comes together seamlessly. Everyone pitches in to help bring Wally's vision to life. Claire gives him the keys to her stepdad's lodge. Maddie and Charley morally support Wally as he shops for warm clothes in your size that he can smuggle in his own luggage so you stay in the dark for as long as possible.

Nicole and Rhonda, the unlikeliest of best buds, drag him into The Body Shop and Victoria's Secret—"imagine a romantic bubble bath after skiing all day?" Nicole coos. "Imagine undressing her on a bearskin rug in front of a fire." Rhonda smirks around her new vape.

That's. Really. All the convincing Wally needs to make a dent in the allowance Rodney gives him.

Wally even swallows his pride, puts on his most charming smile, and asks Xavier for his truck. He knows the only reason Xavier agrees is because it's for you, but still, a win is a win. With a general, "hurt her and I'll rip your balls off," from your platonic soulmate, Wally joyfully departs. Tosses the keys in the air and catches them, his chest feeling lighter than it has in decades.

Everything is packed in the truck and ready to go the night before. He called you earlier to impart the vaguest of instructions as to what you should bring, proud of himself for not giving anything away too soon. Even when you asked in that silly-sweet voice, pouting on the screen like a princess, "Please? At least give me a hint!"

No. No hints.

Like a child on Christmas, Wally can barely sleep, he's so excited, but he manages a few hours. Dreams of the world beyond Split River as if he's setting off on some grand adventure and not just driving a 3.5 hour span of state highway.

Tomorrow, Wally will experience a first. Something that was so far out of reach there was no point entertaining it because all it led to was disappointment and regret. Instead there were years upon years of distractions. Mock Trials and obituaries and looking at his feet when he should've looked back.

Wally sometimes wonders if those missed opportunities weren't the yellow brick road that brought him to you. Everyone else walked through The Door with him, but there's no sign of Dawn who crossed over. If Mr. Martin didn't do what he did, Wally might've moved on, and you and he wouldn't exist...

His heart lurches in his chest.

No sense ruminating. You have him. He has you. That's all that matters now. And tomorrow, Wally will have his first real taste of freedom with the only person he wants to share that moment with.

It's going to be perfect.

‗•‗

Wally picks you up just after sunrise. You're grumpy and sleepwarm and, Jesus, Wally loves you. Pouting at him like he's both a menace and your savior. Arms up, lower lip jutted out, a sweet demand of carry me before you slump into his embrace and force him to take your weight. Which he does, easily, big grin on his face as he toddler-carries you to the passenger side of Xavier's truck.

He bundles you in, sets you up with the softest blanket Claire found at Target—Yuri and Ajay not doing their jobs as devil's advocate at all as the cart filled up with Claire's suggestions. Honestly, Wally doesn't care. Especially not after your eyes brighten as you run your fingers over it, wiggling happily in your seat.

"You cozy, babygirl?" He asks as soon as he's behind the wheel and the smile you give him makes him fucking melt.

"You got me a blanket." You state, tucking yourself in more securely; shoes off, feet up, elbow on the console so you can lean over it and kiss Wally's cheek. "Thank you."

Wally blushes, he can't help it, and shrugs as if it's nothing. "I got you a bunch of things, baby," he says as he starts the truck, "Just wait and see. You're gonna feel like a princess, I promise."

You slip your hand into his, fingers laced, and he rests them on your thigh as he drives. Down the street, turn left, continue to the intersection of Main and 4th. Right on 4th, all the way to the end and then left on Pine. Drive until the highway onramp. Now Leaving Split River, We'll Miss You!

Oh God... Wally's heart pounds, blood rushing in his ears. This feels bigger than his first step off school property. Bigger than feeling air in his lungs and a drum in his chest after being hollow for so long.

Somehow, and Wally doesn't know how, you manage to talk him through pulling over, crawling over the console to plant yourself in his lap. Hands cradling his jaw, you press your forehead against his and guide him away from the edge of a panic attack.

"—got you, Wally, I'm right here, you're okay, shh, you're okay..." The steady cadence of your voice sharpens as his breathing regulates. He's holding you like a lifeline, arms fastened around your waist, heaving great gulps of air as he trembles slightly.

"I'm sorry, baby," He gasps and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Nuh-uh, no apologies, Wally Clark," You say firmly. There's a lull before you chuckle, gentle and kind, "Hey, this was a lot better than the night you first stepped across the school boundary line, right?"

Fuck, that was a mess. However, Wally wasn't alone when that happened. Charley and Rhonda and Yuri, Mr. Martin and Ajay, Mina, they were all there too, equally as overwhelmed. Rhonda threw up on Quinn's shoes. Charley passed all the way out. Yuri and Ajay were fine, fuck them, but Mina just...screamed. And then laughed. Then cried. Then screamed some more, listening to the sound ricochet off the surrounding buildings in a way it wouldn't have days before The Door.

Wally snorts, "Yeah. Sure," and finally peeks up at you. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks that he realizes belatedly feel damp. Is he crying? Weak. But you aren't judging him, simply gazing at him like he hung the moon; you're perfect person, the man you love most, and Wally's chest swells. "We're out of Split River," Wally croaks.

You beam at him, "We're out of Split River."

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River.

‗•‗

After climbing out of the truck to holler into the ether. To chase each other around the Now Leaving sign. To grab you, spin you around and fall into the grass as you and he laugh and laugh and laugh, Wally finally gets the show back on the road.

Once again, he tucks you into your seat, takes your hand, checks his mirrors and then pulls back onto the highway, the town that raised him then witnessed his death becoming a speck in the background with every mile marker you and he pass.

He lifts your hand, grazes a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes on the road and his mind on you and everything he has planned for this trip. At the halfway point, he stops for gas, shadows you as you browse the aisles for exactly the right snacks. Fondly gazes after you the whole time as you make tough decisions: Nerds or Twizzlers? Cookies or chocolate? Wally, do I want a vanilla or butterscotch pudding with my Oreos? Because that's a normal combination, what?

He's absolutely no help at all, too busy mooning over you as you flutter between the fridge and the chest freezer, babbling about how integral to your mood it is to pick the right snack. To cover for the fact that he isn't paying attention, Wally grabs a bag of marshmallows off one of the shelves when you call him out for not listening.

"These." He says, holding the bag up and then glancing at the graham crackers and Hershey's displayed at eye-level. "Maybe these?"

"You wanna make s'mores in the truck?" You ask, dubious.

"No," Wally saves himself, "Just these," and he jiggles the bag of marshmallows. They're the jumbo kind; the kind he used to bet his cousin Dennis to eat five of in one bite or else he couldn't play Wally's Magnavox Odyssey.

You consider the marshmallows for a moment and then, with a decisive nod, "And hot chocolate."

"And hot chocolate," Wally agrees, following you around the shop to the coffee station.

Wally pays for everything, hip-butting you (carefully, no spills) out of the way when you try to pass the cashier your card. He takes the bag and the tray of hot chocolate and still holds the door open for you with his heel. No fucking way is his princess lifting a finger on her birthday-slash-Wally's-freedom trip.

For every mile, you dip a marshmallow in your hot chocolate—dipping Wally's as well and feeding him, giggling when he nips or sucks the gooey sugar from your fingertips. It's silly and sweet and Wally basks in every second of it. Every second of your off-key singing, your trivia answers, your arguments over which is better, Thunderbirds or Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons.

"You know, I have been catching up on TV shows, right?" Wally laughs, "You can use better examples."

"What's wrong with puppets, Wally? Are you a pupaphobist?"

Wally barks a laugh, "That's not a thing!"

"It definitely is a thing," And you wield your phone, flashing Google as Exhibit A. "So? Are you? Just say it, you hate Jim Henson and everything he stood for."

And it's amazing. It's anything and everything and so much more than Wally could've ever hoped for. Even the quiet intervals when the sugar wears off and the early wakeup call catches up to you; your body curled up in your seat awkwardly just so you can angle yourself right to rest your head on the console and place Wally's hand in your hair.

Adorable little diva.

As you doze, Wally watches the scenery drift by, his lungs expanding more and more with every mile he puts between himself and Split River.

Eventually, he turns off the highway and onto the backroads without you noticing a thing. His fingers card through your hair, trace the shape of your jaw and cheek as he absorbs the softness of the moment and tucks it away behind his ribs. Safe and sound, to be pulled out and cherished when he's alone.

When he parks, he's reluctant to wake you. So, he doesn't. Not immediately. Rather, he spends a few minutes just resting himself, sinking down a little in the driver's seat. Then slants sideways, curls over and around you to kiss your ear, cheek, jaw.

He couldn't dim his smile if he tried, enamored when you protest at first, but then sigh, realize where you are and who you're with before groggily chuckling at Wally's antics.

"Surprise, baby girl," He whispers, letting you sit up so you can take in your surroundings.

The look on your face tells Wally he did a good job. The way you tackle him into the inside of his door and kiss him tells him he's going to have to start planning next year's surprise tomorrow, because, fuck yeah, this is exactly the reaction he's looking for.

Getting out of the truck and staring at Claire's stepdad's lodge; at the trees and the snow and the vast expanse of sky, it hits him again like a ton of bricks.

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River!

‗•‗

He doesn't wait to celebrate. As soon as he closes the door behind him, he reels you in, kisses you deep and hungry while you're only halfway out of your jacket. That's okay, he helps you get it the rest of the way off, along with everything else.

"Let me make you feel good, baby," He whispers against your skin, hands everywhere, his hips rolling into yours as he pins you to the wall beside the door. "Let me show you how much I love you..."

Wally kisses you deep, hungry, groaning into your mouth as he keeps grinding his hard cock against you, fuck, you get him going like nothing else. All you have to do is breathe in his direction and his pants tent.

Heat courses through him, curls tight in his belly and flushes outward to his limbs, God, he needs you. Now. Right fucking now, baby, come on. He carries you to the enormous kitchen island, peels your leggings and panties off and has his lips on you and tongue in you faster than you can cry out his name.

"So sweet, baby," He moans into your pussy, panting, not bothering to breathe in his greed for your taste and pleasure. "Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you."

He spears his tongue in and out of you before teasing little circles around your clit, his fingers plunging into you in place of his tongue. Wally could do this all day and never get tired; the sounds you make, the way you writhe and beg for him, Jesus, he can't imagine ever wanting anything else.

Cruel, desperate, he doesn't care what you call it, he stops right as you're about to come, shoves his sweatpants just below his balls and drags your hips off the counter to punch his cock into you. His head falls back as soon as he feels you around him, so tight and hot, "Fuck, yes, baby, so good for me."

And he sets a frenzied pace, unable to keep himself in check now that he has you like this. His fingers dig into your lovehandles, your legs hooked over his elbows. He's grunting, you're mewling your pleasure, and Wally about loses it before you do. But he doesn't. He's better than that, fucks you like a beast until you scream and shake and squirt around his cock.

It's game over after that. No way can he hold on, his body tensing, hips grinding, as he spills deep inside you. Carefully, he sits you more firmly on the counter and leans in to kiss you, soft, sated, a little blissdrunk in the afterglow. Bodies pressed together, slowly recovering, Wally strokes the arches of your cheeks with his thumbs and gives you a muzzy smile.

"You're my whole world, you know that?" He tells you and then captures your lips in a kiss that quickly turns heated, "I'll do anything for you, baby." Fuck, he's already getting worked up again, needs more of you, always needs more. "I'll die all over again if you asked me to."

"Wally..." You gasp when he rocks his hips forward, driving his cock back into you.

It's just after sundown before you and he finally check out what's beyond the open kitchen/living room space, the table and couch and ottoman and, shit, bearskin rug fully christened in sweat and come.

You and he jump on the beds with childlike glee, music blaring on speakers that cost more than Rodney's mortgage. Claire explicitly forbade Wally from using the master suite so, taking that into consideration, that's the first bedroom he fucks you in—from behind, driving his hips forward while he pulls you back against him. What? He'll do the necessary laundry.

If he remembers...

‗•‗

After a supper of haphazardly thrown together and grossly microwaved nachos, Wally snuggles you between his legs on one of the Adirondack chairs outside, under a thick blanket and dressed accordingly in the thermals and sweater and fuzzy socks he secretly bought and brought for you.

The fire pit blazes, the stars above twinkle, and the land around is a peaceful kind of dark. Not the ominous, suffocating dark Wally grew accustomed to in the confines of the school. The comfortable silence between you and him is accentuated by the crackle and pop of the fire, the scene so peaceful, Wally has to wonder if he ever experienced any such feeling before.

His arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss to your cheek from behind, watching the flames dance as you lance another marshmallow on your stick.

Tomorrow is your birthday and he intends to take you skiing. Or, when he knows you'll diplomatically decide to trade skis for slippers, he'll bring you back here at noon and spoil you rotten with presents and a homecooked meal; that bubble bath Nicole suggested (thank you, Nicole), and a long night on that bearskin rug (thank you Rhonda).

It's going to be an incredible week, he assures himself. And on Saturday, the others will arrive while he takes you into the resort town to explore so they can set up your big surprise party. Yuri will grill in a t-shirt, and Charley will force everyone to play '90s boardgames he died too soon to play, and Rhonda will make everyone take shots whenever Wally gives you heart eyes just to watch the messiness unfurl.

Claire will probably reprimand him for fucking in her parents' bedroom, but Wally doesn't care. Because it means he celebrated you right. That you and he had fun. That there's evidence of the fact that, for the first time in 40 years, holy fuck, Wally made it out of Split River!

🧁___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Anxiety.

a smutty flashfic explaining how not. clingy. Wally is even when he thinks you're mad at him but won't tell him why.

I love wally so much it hurts my heart.

This is canon

what just blessed my eyes rn?

cop!rafe gives dumb!reader a warning (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

summary: officer cameron has had quite the uneventful night. he’s told to park on a quiet backroad to speed trap, but ends up making a stupid girl give him head instead of making her pay her ticket!

cw : smut, 18+, flirting, teasing, breast play, blowjob, reader is stupid and flirty, she’s a bad driver, lots of ‘like’

a/n : cop!rafe has a 70’s porn stache and that’s final! also i didn’t proof this very well sooooo sorry. also send me hc’s for cop!rafe and dumb!reader if you like them paired together!

officer cameron’s mouth opened wide as he yawned, rubbing his face with his hand. earlier that night he was called to bust a group of teenage delinquents that were t-p’ing their teachers’ home. ‘just go home, guys’ he told them, hands positioned at the top of his vest—and anticlimactically enough, they did, without much fuss.

his second dispatch of the night was at a run-down gas station just outside of town. the cashier, an older, frail-looking man had called 911 in hopes for the cops to detain the homeless man that was loitering out front. rafe explained to the clerk that he wasn’t able to arrest the homeless man because he wasn’t technically doing anything illegal.

“sir, in the state of north carolina its not illegal for him to sit outside a public building. unless you have a no loitering sign posted out front, which,” he glanced toward the two double, glass doors for a moment, “…it looks like you don’t have.” the older man gave him a glare and muttered, “ain’t no wonder why crime rates is goin’ up—they got pretty boys who don’ know nothin’ ‘bout anythin’…”

that was 2 hours ago.

rafe had been told to ‘speed trap’ on a dark, secluded backroad just north of town. he’s been sitting in his black suv for two hours doing absolutely nothing because no one comes down this road anymore. he was most-likely going to bust a couple of horny high-schoolers who parked on the side of the road to have sex—that’s probably about as entertaining as his night will get.

‘there’s jack shit goin’ on…’ he thought to himself before his tired eyes fluttered shut and the back of his head hit the seat. the soft singing voice on the radio was like a lullaby to his exhausted mind, as his breathing slowed and head began to droop to the side.

CLUNK!

the car jolted foward.

“what the fuck!—“ he shouted, his hand already gripping the handle of his door as he twisted around to look behind him. the red glow of his taillights illuminated the sleek, white bmw that had just plowed into the back of his suv. shoving the door open, he stepped out into the warm september air, his boots crunching against the gravel shoulder as he stomped toward the offending vehicle. he barely had time to process his frustration before he was knocking on the driver’s side window, his patience already worn thin.

“roll down your window.” his tone was sharp, authoritative—ready to chew out whatever dumbass had just rear-ended a cop car in the middle of an empty road. the window lowered with an soft-sounding hum, and rafe’s planned berate died on his tongue as he saw the woman behind the wheel.

big, glossy eyes blinked up at him, framed by your thick lashes. plush, overlined lips wobbled into a pout. long, perfectly curled hair cascaded over your bare shoulders, the strands catching the faint glow of his headlights like spun gold.

you were stunning.

you also looked like you were about to cry.

and the first words out of your mouth?

“omg, i think my car is broken?!” you squealed in a high, valley-girl like voice. rafe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. it was clear to him that it was going to be a long night.

rafe stared at you, blinking slow like he needed a second to process what the hell he just heard. her car was broken? he resisted the urge to laugh. not because it was funny—because it was so damn stupid that it almost knocked the anger right out of him. almost.

his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he tipped his head toward the crumpled front of your clearly expensive bmw. the left headlight was completely busted, shards of glass littering the pavement, and the front bumper had a nice little dent where it had kissed his suv.

“yeah,” rafe deadpanned, arms crossing over his broad chest. “that tends to happen when you slam into a parked car.” your plump lips parted in an exaggerated gasp, manicured fingers flying to your chest like he’d just accused you of murder.

“i did not slam into you mister,” you insisted, shaking your head, curls bouncing with the motion. “like—ugh! i barely tapped you. my car is literally so sensitive.” you flailed her hands toward the bmw, like it was some fragile piece of art instead of a luxury car you clearly couldn’t drive. “i barely even touched the gas, i swear.”

rafe’s patience was hanging on by a thread.

“you were going fast enough to knock my car forward,” he muttered, glancing back at his own vehicle, which had very much been affected by your little “tap.”

you didn’t acknowledge that. instead, you let out a dramatic sigh, you gaze flickering to him like you’d just now noticed he was wearing a police uniform.

“wait—are you, like, a cop-cop?” you voice was drenched in the kind of obliviousness that only came from never having to deal with consequences. you batted your thick lashes, glossy pink lips curving into something dangerously close to a smile. “oh my god, that’s so funny, i thought you were just, like… a guy in a police car.”

rafe shut his eyes for a second. breathed. counted to three.

it didn’t help.

“license and registration,” he gritted out, reaching for the notepad in his belt.

your face fell.

“wait, no.” you reached out, lightly slapping his forearm with both hands like you were scolding him. “you don’t have to do all that. i mean, look at me!” you gestured to yourself, blinking up at him with glassy, bambi-like eyes. “do i look like a criminal?”

rafe arched a brow. “you look like someone who just crashed into a cop car.” you huffed, crossing your arms in a pout, your cleavage very much on display in the low-cut, hot pink crop top you were barely wearing.

“this is actually, like, so sexist of you,” you announced, twisting a loose strand of your hair around your finger. “you’re totally, like… abusing your power or whatever. just because i’m, like, a girl, and i might’ve, like, barely hit you, you wanna give me a ticket?”

rafe had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“license. and. registration,” he repeated, his voice low, firm.

you groaned, throwing your head back dramatically before shifting in your seat, digging through the mess of designer handbags, receipts, and random makeup products littering your passenger seat.

“ughhh, fiiiine. but, like, can i just say—this is actually so embarrassing for me right now?” you tossed a loose curl over your shoulder, sending him a look. “you’re, like, totally ruining my night.”

rafe exhaled a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “same to you, honey.”

officer cameron waited, watching as you dug through the mess in your passenger seat, tossing aside random receipts, lip gloss tubes, and what looked like a small, sparkly dog sweater.

he was this close to losing it.

finally, with a triumphant little gasp, you pulled out a thick booklet and shoved it toward him, flashing a proud, dead serious look.

“is this it?” you asked, nearly pouting.

rafe stared at the object in your hands.

the car manual.

he dragged a slow hand down his face. fuckin’ hell.

“no.” his voice was flat. so, so flat.

your perfect brows furrowed, lips pushing into a pout as you flipped the manual open, like you were actually about to prove him wrong.

“are you sure?” you flipped another page, scanning it with intense focus. “because, like, it totally has stuff about the car in it. like, see?” you turned the booklet toward him, pointing at a diagram of an engine. “that’s my engine.”

rafe let out a slow, controlled exhale through his nose.

“that’s the manual. i need the registration.”

you blinked up at him. “okay, well, what does that look like?”

his patience snapped. “you don’t know what a registration looks like, but you had this ready to go?” he tapped the thick booklet still clutched in your manicured hands.

you huffed, rolling her eyes. “well, yeah. it was, like, in the glove thingy. and it’s literally about my car, so—why wouldn’t that be it?”

rafe tipped his head back, staring at the sky like it might grant him the strength to deal with this girl.

you were still flipping through the damn manual, nodding like you’d just cracked a code. “oh! maybe it’s this part. it says ‘registration’ right here—”

he glanced down.

you were pointing at a section about registering the fucking bluetooth.

rafe actually laughed this time—a sharp, disbelieving sound as he braced both hands on the edge of your window, leaning in a little too close, his eyes burning into yours.

“you’re kidding,” he muttered. “you have to be kidding.”

you looked up at him, wide-eyed, genuinely confused. “why would I be kidding? i literally don’t joke about stuff like this.”

of course you didn’t.

rafe’s jaw ticked as he straightened up, rolling his shoulders back. this was a waste of time. he should’ve just written you up and sent you on your way—but something about you? it was entertaining. infuriating. and maybe, just maybe… kind of fun.

“move over,” he ordered.

you blinked. “huh?”

rafe gestured toward the passenger seat. “move. i’ll find it myself.”

your lips parted in outrage. “you can’t just, like, get in my car!”

he smirked, slow and lazy, hands braced on his belt. “i can when the driver is too incompetent to find her own registration.”

you gasped, offended. “did you just call me incompetent?”

“yeah, sweetheart.” he opened the door. “now, move.”

rafe barely had the door open before you huffed dramatically and shimmied over to the passenger seat, arms crossed tight over your chest. the movement made your light gray sweatpants ride low on your hips, the little rhinestone “JUICY” across the back catching the glow of his headlights. your hot pink crop top clung to you like a second skin, dipping low enough to keep rafe’s eyes very distracted—not that he’d ever admit it.

you popped your gum, blowing a big, obnoxious bubble before snapping it back between your teeth with a loud crack.

rafe clenched his jaw.

this girl was going to kill him.

sliding into the driver’s seat, he scanned the absolute disaster zone that was your car. the smell of vanilla body spray and expensive leather filled his nose as he shifted through the chaotic mess of designer bags, old coffee cups, and random beauty products littering the center console.

“fuck,” he muttered, pushing aside a half-empty bottle of baccarat rouge 540 like it was a crime scene. “you live in here?”

you gasped like he’d just insulted your entire bloodline.

“excuse me?” you whipped around in your seat, long hair spilling over your shoulder. “this is, like, so rude. my car is literally clean.”

rafe held up a crumpled chick-fil-a bag he’d just unearthed from under a louis vuitton tote.

you waved a dismissive hand, chewing your gum even louder. “okay, well, i got that, like, yesterday.”

he arched a brow. “so?”

“so, that means it doesn’t count.”

rafe exhaled through his nose, deciding not to engage in that particular brand of insanity.

instead, he yanked open the glovebox and—finally—there it was. the damn registration. crinkled, barely legible, but it was there.

he snatched it up, flashing it in your face like a trophy. “this. this is your registration.”

you blinked, blowing another big, dramatic bubble before snapping it again.

“okay, well, like, how was i supposed to know that? it literally looks like all the other papers.”

rafe let out a slow, painfully controlled breath, gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles went white.

with a sharp exhale, he exited your vehicle and stalked back toward his suv, pulling the driver’s side door open with more force than necessary. sliding into his seat, he braced his elbows on the center console, rubbing a hand down his face before flipping open his ticket book. the dim glow from his dashboard illuminated the small slip of paper in his hand as he scribbled down your information. his pen scratched against the ticket book, each stroke slow and deliberate—not because he needed extra time, but because he knew you were waiting.

and you were impatient.

he could see you through the rearview mirror, still sitting pretty in your tiny pink crop top, tapping your long, manicured nails against the steering wheel. every few seconds, you’d huff, shifting in your seat, chewing your gum obnoxiously loud.

rafe smirked.

you were so fucking bratty.

finally, he tore the ticket from the book with a slow rip, taking his time as he slid out of his car and made his way back to your open car door.

you immediately perked up, your big doe eyes locking onto him as he leaned down, leaving his right hand on the top of your car.

“ugh, finally,” you groaned, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “i thought i was gonna like, die of boredom.”

rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “tragic,” he murmured, then held out the ticket. “here. make sure your daddy’s card doesn’t decline.”

you snatched it from his hand, rolling your eyes—but when you looked down at the amount, your jaw dropped.

“wait—WHAT?!” you screeched, shaking the paper in his face. “you’re, like, literally joking. there is no way you’re charging me this much!”

rafe just smirked, leaning in closer.

“speeding, reckless driving, and hitting a cop car?” his voice was low, smug. “sounds about right.”

you huffed, your nails scraping against the paper as you dramatically threw your head back. “ugh! this is sooo unfair!”

then, suddenly, you paused. your lips pursed, eyebrows furrowing—and rafe could see it happening. that little spark of mischief, the way you scanned his face, glossy pink lips slowly curling into a smug little smirk. you had an idea.

“you wouldn’t want my daddy to be mad at me, right?” you said sweetly, biting your lip, lashes fluttering up at him. “‘cause like, that’d be really bad of you.”

your fingers toyed with the hem of your crop top, pulling it down ever so slightly—just enough to make his gaze flicker, just enough to remind him how tight it was stretched across your perfect, perky tits.

rafe exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening. “you really think that’s gonna work?” he muttered, though his voice was noticeably rougher now. your smirk only widened. you leaned in, so close he could smell your sweet perfume and the bubblegum on your breath.

“can’t i, like…pay for this in a different way?” you murmured, your voice dripping with fake innocence, fingers trailing up the front of his uniform, playing with one of the buttons.

rafe’s gaze dropped to your lips—your glossy, plump, parted lips—and for a split second, he let himself imagine it. you, on your knees. looking up at him all needy and desperate, your bratty little attitude gone as you sucked his hard cock, choking as he forced you to deepthroat him.

“you’re out of your damn mind,” he muttered, eyes still maintained on your lips.

despite every reason to shut this down—your spoiled attitude, your blatant bribery, the fact that you’d just crashed into his damn car—he found himself rooted in place, his pulse thudding a little too hard, a little too fast.

your fingers were still playing with his uniform buttons, long nails scraping just lightly enough to send a chill down his spine. you knew exactly what you were doing.

your lips parted as if you were going to say something else—maybe another whiny complaint, maybe another suggestion for how you could make this ticket disappear—but before you could get the words out, he reached up, gripping your chin between his fingers.

the playful smirk vanished from your face. your lashes fluttered, lips parting slightly as you stared up at him, your usual bratty confidence flickering under the weight of his stare.

“sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, just barely grazing your bottom lip. “you crash into a cop car, you pay the fine,” rafe continued, voice low, gravelly, his blue eyes darkening as he tipped your chin up further. “that’s how it works.”

you swallowed, your throat bobbing under his grip. then, suddenly, you let out a soft giggle. you tilted your head, nipping at the tip of his thumb before flashing him a sly, knowing smile

“or,” you whispered, your voice breathy, tempting, “you could just let it slide…” your giggle was soft, sweet—too sweet.

rafe went still. for a split second, he just stared at you, his grip tightening around your chin as the words sank in. you were bratty. you were spoiled. just so damn obvious.

and yet, he could feel the heat creeping up his neck, the urge to call your bluff pressing down on him like a weight.

his jaw ticked, his eyes flickering to the empty road, the pitch-black stretch of kildare that nobody ever drove down this late. the only sound was the soft whistle of the crickets in the distance, the occasional whisper of wind through the trees.

nobody was around.

nobody would see.

his eyes snapped back to you.

before you could react, rafe’s hand dropped from your chin, and instead, he began undoing belt. “better get to fuckin’ work then, hun.” he muttered, voice heavy with lust.

you gasped, eyes widening at the sight. his thick, hard cock sprung out of his trousers, now eye-level with you.

rafe just stared down at you, his chest rising and falling. he gripped your jaw and brought it towards his red-tipped dick, pressing it onto your glossy lips.

rafe swore he’d seen the smallest smirk on your lips before your mouth parted, inviting him in. his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as your hand came up to hold him steady at his base, cock going deeper into your throat with every lick.

gaining confidence, your movements became more fluid, bobbing your head onto his length with ease—like you were a pro at this, giving cops head to avoid paying tickets.

“fuck.” rafe groaned, throwing his head back in bliss, guiding the back of your head with his left hand. his right hand came down to your tube top, forcing it down to reveal your tits. you giggled on his cock, using your free hand to make a show of squeezing and playing with your boobs for him to watch.

“you’re such a fuckin’ slut…. givin’ a cop head so you don’t have to pay for ticket…” he humorlessly chuckled, gripping your hair tighter as he thrusted into your mouth faster.

spit bubbles were falling from the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the white leather of the drivers seat. he leaned down, grabbing a handful of your tit, massaging it as he groaned.

you stared up at him with doe-like eyes, silently begging for his cum. he recieved the message, grabbing your face with both of his hands, fucking your mouth at a fast pace.

gulg gulg gulg

your mouth made the explicit noise as you impulsively moaned around his member, scratching at his wrists, almost at your limit.

“shit—gonna cum all over that pretty face—“ rafe moaned, pulling out of your throat, jerking himself off, other hand forcing your mouth open wide.

his hot cum spurted out in white ropes, landing on various places of your flushed face. his movements on his cock slowed, as he gained his sense of reality back.

he looked down at your cum-cover face—laughing when he saw the bimbo-like look in your eyes.

“well,” he started, putting himself back into his trousers, grabbing a couple of napkins from the inside of your door. he wiped his white semen off of your face, making you giggle. “i guess i could let you off with a warning, instead.” he smirked, giving your red face a light slap.

<3

Thanks mate

Charley: Would you slap your best friend for a thousand bucks?

Rhonda: I would slap Wally for free.

Wally, tearing up: I’m your best friend??

SKINNY DIPPING pt. 3 ✩ 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 3!! part 1 and 2 are linked below! thank you so much for the love!! I'm so glad you guys liked this small series. I'm so sorry I took so much to finish this oh my god. university has been killing me lately lol but here is part 3! i might make more one shots like this with wally cause I love him so much.

Word count: 2209

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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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."

The water swayed around you, rippling from the way Wally had you pinned against the smooth tile of the pool’s edge, his body pressed so tight against yours that there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you.

His breath was hot against your lips, his fingers working you in slow, devastating circles. Your body trembled against him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"You're shaking, baby." His voice was dark, thick with satisfaction, his free hand gripping your hip so tight. "And I've barely even started."

You dropped your head back against the wall, a desperate whimper falling off your lips. He was teasing you, holding you right on the edge, his fingers slipping lower, pressing, dragging, barely dipping inside of you before pulling back—just enough to make you lose your mind.

More. Please, God. More.

“Wally,” you gasped, hips bucking against his hand, a desperate pleading sound.

But he only chuckled, dark and rough, his lips ghosting over your jaw. “No, no. You don’t get to rush me. Not after everything you’ve put me through. You’re gonna take everything I give you, exactly how I fucking want.”

His fingers pushed in deep, stretching you, making you arch against him, a broken moan slipping from your lips. He swallowed it with his mouth, his kiss rough, messy, nothing but teeth and tongue and desperation.

And then—he slammed his fingers inside you.

You cried out, back arching, water splashing against the pool’s edge as his fingers curled, dragging slow, torturous strokes along your inner walls, his thumb pressing deliberate circles against your clit.

Oh my god.

“Wally,” you gasped again, this time more desperate, your entire body tightening as heat coiled low in your stomach. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

But he didn’t stop.

“Gonna what?” His voice was pure sin, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “Come all over my fucking fingers? Soak my hand while you scream my name? Say it.”

A sob tore from your throat as pleasure ripped through your entire body, making you convulse, your legs trembling. Your moan was so loud he clamped a wet hand over your mouth, groaning as he felt you tighten around his fingers.

“Fuck,” he growled, his forehead pressing against yours. “That’s it. That’s my good fucking girl.”

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Before you could even catch your breath, he dragged his fingers out of you—slick, messy—lifting them to your lips.

“Open,” he ordered.

And when you obeyed, sucking his fingers deep into your mouth, his eyes darkened, his cock throbbing against your stomach. He pinned you tighter against the tile; he panted against your skin. His fingers still in your mouth, your tongue lapping at them hungrily, and fuck—he felt it. The heat, the desperation, the way you sucked his fingers deeper like you were trying to drive him insane.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmured, voice wrecked with lust, his free hand dragging up your thigh, squeezing, gripping, spreading you open beneath the water. “You look so good like this. So desperate. So fucking mine.”

His fingers slipped from your mouth with a wet pop, trailing down your chin, smearing your juices and saliva across your skin. He gripped your jaw, forcing your head back against the tile, his eyes devouring you.

"You wanted to tease me?" he rasped, his voice low. "Wanted to push me until I fucking broke? Well, baby—”

His fingers trailed down your throat, over your collarbone, until he was cupping your breast, rolling your hard nipple between his fingers, making you gasp. He pinched, just enough to make you whimper, to make you need more.

"You like pushing me, don't you?" He gripped your breast tighter, his thumb flicking over the hardened bud, making you arch against him. "You like watching me lose my fucing mind over you."

"Yes," your voice a breathless mess, but you still smirked, your eyes filled with lust. Oh, you were loving this. You loved seeing him like this. Feral.

His growl was dark, dangerous, with pure need. His other hand moved lower, spreading you again under the water, his fingers teasing, pressing, torturing.

"You love this, don't you?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, making you shiver. "Love making me want you. Love knowing you drive me fucking insane."

His fingers ghosted over your soaked folds, barely touching, just enough to make your hips jerk. Your body was on fire, every nerve screaming, every part begging for more. He knew it. He could feel your body trembling in his arms. And still, he didn't give in.

He wanted to teach you a lesson.

"I could do whatever I want to you right now," he whispered, his lips dragging along your jaw. "And you'd let me. Wouldn't you, baby?"

You swallowed hard, nodding, breathless. "Yes. Fuck—yes.”

His smirk was sinful, dripping with possession. “Then say it.”

Your mind was a mess, wrecked, clouded with nothing but him. “I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest. “There you go, baby, such a good girl.”

His fingers pressed harder against your entrance, teasing, circling—but not pushing inside. You whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate, needy.

“Poor baby,” he cooed mockingly, his tone dark, so damn cruel. “So fucking desperate. You need me, don’t you?”

“Please,” you whimpered, your body trembling, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Wally—please.”

"Please what, baby? Use your words."

"Need you inside me." Your voice was wrecked, raw with desperation.

He tsked, shaking his head. “Not good enough.” His fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, dragging slick, lazy strokes against your soaked folds. “You need me where?”

You groaned in frustration, your head falling back against the tile. “Inside me. Deep inside me. Please.”

"That's better," he murmured approvingly. "See how easy that was?" He slid his fingers inside you, stretching you open, slow, teasing, his thumb circling your clit in lazy, torturous strokes. “You’re fucking dripping for me. Been waiting for this, huh? For my cock to fuck you until you're begging for me to stop?”

Your entire body trembled, heat coiling low in your stomach, overwhelming, unbearable. “Yes—fuck—please.”

He pulled his fingers out, making you whimper at the loss, before gripping your hips and flipping you, pressing your chest against the wet tile. His breath was hot against your shoulder, his cock grinding between your thighs, teasing you, taunting you.

“You wanted to play?” His voice was pure sin, dripping with dark amusement. “Now, sweetheart, you’re gonna shut the fuck up and fucking take it like the good girl that you are.” He lined himself up, his fingers digging into your hips. “And you’re gonna fucking thank me for it.”

Then, with one devastating thrust—he slammed into you.

Your entire body jerked forward, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as he filled you, stretched you, made you take every thick inch of him in one deep stroke. The water rippled violently around you, waves crashing against the pool’s edge, your bodies colliding with pure, reckless need.

“Fuck,” Wally groaned, his fingers bruising against your hips. “You feel so goddamn good. So tight, so fucking perfect.”

Your nails clawed at the tile, trying to hold yourself up as he set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips sending a shockwave through your body. He wasn’t holding back—wasn’t teasing anymore. This was raw. Desperate. Dominant.

His lips ghosted over your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin before he bit down, hard enough to make you whimper. “This what you wanted?”

You could barely breathe, barely think. “Yes—fuck—yes.” Every nerve was on fire, every muscle clenched tight, and all you could think was: more, more, more. You needed more.

His chuckle was low, sinful. “Such a dirty girl. Wanted my cock so bad, didn't you? All you needed to do was ask, baby.” He slammed into you again, harder this time, deeper, the force making you gasp. "But you didn't ask, did you, baby? You fucking teased me until I couldn't hold back any longer. You wanted this the entire time, you little minx. Wanted me to fuck you senselessly."

He drove into you again, deeper this time, his cock slamming against your cervix, making you cry out. The force of it made your head spin, your vision blurring at the edges. You felt him, every inch of him, inside you, stretching you, filling you, claiming you, a possessive, almost desperate grip.

“So fucking good,” he panted, his voice rough with need, his breath hot against your neck. He began to move faster, harder, his hips bucking against yours, the rhythm relentless, unforgiving.

Your head lolled forward, your hair falling over your face, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He was pushing you to the edge, driving you insane, and you were letting him, wanting him to.

“Wally,” you moaned, his name a desperate plea, a raw, untamed sound.

"You like it like this, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with lust. He pulled out, making you whimper at the sudden loss, his hands manhandling you with such ease, turning you around so that you're looking right at him, his eyes dark and possessive. "Fuck, baby. You take me so fucking well." He grabbed your thighs, lifting them a little bit more, and slammed inside you again, deeper this time, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his fingers gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, dilated, filled with a raw, feral hunger that made your heart pound against your ribs. "Look at me while I fuck you, while I make you mine."

He began moving harder, each thrust deliberate and powerful, his eyes locked on yours.

"Tell me you're mine," he commanded, his voice rough, his grip tightening on your jaw. "Tell me you belong to me, baby. Please."

"Yours," you gasped, your body arching against his. "Only yours."

“Come for me, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with desire, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. “Give it to me.”

And you did. Your body clenched around him, your muscles spasming, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washing over you, making you see stars, a raw, sensual ache. You cried out his name, your voice echoing in the night, your body convulsing around him.

He groaned, his own release building, his thrusts becoming frantic, desperate. He slammed into you one last time, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, the feeling of him spilling inside you, hot and thick, made you whimper.

He collapsed against you, his weight heavy, his breath ragged and uneven. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just held each other, breathing heavily, the silence broken only by the sound of the water lapping against the pool’s edge.

Then, slowly, he pulled back, his eyes searching yours. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his gaze intense. “What did we just do?”

He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, a gentle, almost hesitant touch. "Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice softer now, laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, your breath still catching in your throat. "I… I don't know," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Are you?"

He let out a shaky breath, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'm not... But I think I'm okay with that." He paused, his gaze searching yours, looking for any signs of guilt, regret, or even fear. "God, you feel incredible," he murmured. "I think I might be addicted to you."

"We shouldn't have done this," you whispered.

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and intense. "Maybe not," he admitted softly, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip. "But fuck, I can't regret it. I don't, baby, I promise. Not even for a fucking second."

"Wally," you whispered, your voice trembling. "What if we just ruined everything?"

He leaned closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. "Then we'll figure it out. And we'll do it together." His voice softened, yet the intensity remained, a promise buried deep in every word. "You're not losing me. No matter what happens, I won't let this break us."

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart ache and flutter all at once. Your fingers traced along his jawline, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath your fingertips. "Promise?"

His gaze darkened, serious and unwavering. "I promise. I promise. I promise. God, I swear," he murmured fiercely, sealing the promise with a lingering kiss. "It's you and me, baby. Always."