BY YOUR HANDS ALONE

ok ok hear me out … innocently skinny dipping with best friend!Joaquín quickly turns not so innocent

oh i hear you loud and clear, anon (18+)

the heat had been unbearable all day, the kind that made your skin feel sticky even when you weren’t moving. so when you found the creek in the middle of your hike—a perfect little hideaway, tucked between trees, the water glistening under the summer sun—you had to take advantage.

“absolutely not,” joaquín had said the moment he realized what you were suggesting.

“oh, come on,” you groaned, already tugging off your shoes. “it’s hot as hell, and this is, like, prime summer adventure material. what, can’t you swim?”

“i can, i just—” he gestured vaguely at you, cheeks already a little pink. “you can’t just say we should go skinny dipping like it’s normal.”

you grinned, unbuttoning your shorts. “it is normal.”

“for people who—” he cut himself off, running a hand down his face. “you know what? fine. whatever.”

that was all the permission you needed. you were already stripping, kicking your shorts to the side before pulling your shirt over your head. joaquín went quiet. completely, deadly quiet. when you glanced up, he looked like he’d just been hit over the head with a brick.

his mouth opened, then closed. he swallowed hard.

“you don’t have to, y’know,” you teased, slipping your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear.

“i know,” he said quickly, too quickly.

then, before he could think too hard about it, he tore his shirt off, tossing it to the ground like if he hesitated for even a second, he’d lose all his nerve. his hands hovered at his belt, though, like his brain was suddenly catching up to what was happening.

you, on the other hand, had already unhooked your bra.

and you didn’t wait.

by the time joaquín had worked up the courage to get down to his boxers, you were already sinking into the water, the cool relief washing over you as you sighed happily. when you looked back, he was staring, frozen at the edge of the creek, hair ruffled from the wind, sun catching on the planes of his chest.

“you comin’?” you asked, smiling.

joaquín blinked. his hands twitched at the front of his crotch.

“…yeah,” he croaked, though he still hadn’t moved.

you smirked. “you sure?”

his jaw ticked. “shut up.”

And yet, he still hesitated. Still lingered at the edge like stepping in would be a point of no return.

That’s when you really decided to test him.

You stretched, letting your body float a little in the water. You let your arms skim the surface, your back arching slightly as you sighed in contentment, and then—just for good measure—you let your eyes drag over him in slow, deliberate appraisal.

“Shame,” you mused. “Water feels really good.”

that did it.

with a muttered curse, joaquín shoved his boxers down and waded in after you, water splashing as he hurried in—probably faster than necessary, just to make sure you didn’t get too good of a look.

not that it mattered. because now, he was right there.

close enough that you could see the droplets of water on his collarbones. close enough that the warmth of his skin bled into yours, even with the cool creek between you.

close enough that when you met his eyes, something shifted.

his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. your pulse jumped.

you should’ve been laughing. you should’ve splashed him or made some joke about him finally getting over himself. but you didn’t.

instead, you just floated there, watching him.

and he watched you back.

and neither of you moved.

the creek was deep enough that your feet couldn’t touch the bottom, so you drifted, floating on your backs, the sun warming your face while the water cooled everything else.

it was nice. Iit was easy.

every now and then, the faint stream of the creek pulled you both closer, bobbing on what little current there was until your outstretched fingertips brushed his—and every time, it startled the both of you out of whatever daze you’d slipped into. the first few times, you’d both jerk away, an awkward laugh bubbling up, pretending it didn’t mean anything.

but then it happened again. and again. and again.

eventually, you stopped caring.

that’s how you found yourself shoulder to shoulder with joaquín, legs brushing, skin slick with water and leftover sunscreen, the warmth of him bleeding into you even with the water between you.

it should’ve been fine. it should’ve been just friends—best friends—cooling off in a creek in the middle of nowhere.

but then you turned your head and really looked at him.

his hair was wet, dark curls weighed down and sticking to his forehead. droplets of water clung to his jaw, his collarbones, the ridges of his toned arms. the sun cast a glow over his skin, and when you glanced down, you could just barely see the shift of muscle beneath the water.

and suddenly, fine didn’t quite cut it anymore.

you swallowed hard, shifting slightly, but that only made things worse. because now your thigh was pressed against his. now his arm was touching yours. now you were very, very aware of the fact that there was absolutely nothing between the two of you but a thin barrier of water and willpower.

joaquín sucked in a breath. “you’re, uh… really close.”

“so are you,” you murmured.

he went quiet and shifted so his head bobbed over the water. you did the same.

and then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you let your fingers drift beneath the water, just barely brushing over his stomach.

his reaction was instant.

he tensed, breath hitching, his body jolting slightly as he tried to keep his composure. you felt it—the sharp inhale, the way his abs flexed beneath your touch, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to grab onto something.

like you.

your eyes flickered up to meet his, a slow, knowing smile tugging at your lips.

“…you okay there, torres?”

he exhaled sharply, his head tilting back toward the sky. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you hummed, fingers tracing just a little lower. “maybe.”

and then, just to prove a point, you kicked off him, spinning back into the water, pretending like nothing had happened.

but you felt it.

you felt the way his eyes stayed locked on you, felt the way his breath hitched again when your body surfaced a little too close to his, felt the way the tension crackled between you like the summer heat itself.

and when you glanced back at him, raising a brow, he was still watching you, pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted.

“…you’re a dick,” he muttered, voice lower than before.

you smiled. “you love me though.”

his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

then, with a sudden surge, he lunged forward, sending a wave of water crashing over you both, laughter and gasps lost in the heat of the moment.

his hands slid up your bare waist, mouth hovering just over yours. he looked at you, waiting, itching to lean closer. and you did the same, brushing your nose against his as the two of you slowly leaned closer, and closer.

his lips finally crash against yours, and it’s messy, desperate—like you’ve both been waiting for this, like the water between you is the only thing keeping you from completely falling into each other.

your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping onto him as he pulls you in, his arms wrapping around your waist, locking you against him. the cool water does little to combat the heat between you, the way his lips part against yours, the way his tongue brushes over your bottom lip, tasting like summer and something sweeter—something uniquely joaquín.

you let out a quiet gasp as he deepens the kiss, one of his hands trailing up your back, fingers dragging over your wet skin, sending a shiver through you despite the warmth of the sun overhead. he’s still holding you so close, chest to chest, heartbeat against heartbeat, and when he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, the both of you nearly sink under the water.

joaquín chuckles, breaking away for just a second, his forehead pressing against yours as you both catch your breath.

“guess we should be careful,” he murmurs, voice rough, eyes dark with something unreadable.

but you don’t want to be careful.

so you tug him back in, fingers slipping into his curls, giving them a teasing little tug just to hear him groan against your lips. his hands grip your waist tighter in response, like he’s trying to ground himself, but he’s losing the battle.

and so are you.

his kisses trail lower—your jaw, your neck, the wet skin of your shoulder—and your head tips back, a quiet, breathy sound escaping you. joaquín exhales shakily, lips hovering over your pulse for a second before he presses his teeth against it, not quite biting, but not exactly soft, either.

“joaquín,” you whisper, hands fisting in his hair.

he just hums against your skin, pleased with himself, before pulling back to look at you, his lips red, swollen, glistening with the faintest hint of water. his gaze flickers between your lips and your eyes, and then, just as quickly as he kissed you, that teasing little smirk of his starts creeping back in.

“we should probably head back,” he muses, voice deliberately casual, but his grip on your hips doesn’t loosen. if anything, his fingers dig in just a little bit more.

you scoff, half-laughing, half-breathless. “you wanna leave right now?”

joaquín grins, cocky and pleased, but he leans in, pressing one last lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before murmuring, “c’mon… where’s the fun in giving in all at once? i saw a motel a few miles back from where we parked the car. we can continue there if you want, but only if you’r up for it.”

and fuck, if that wasn’t a challenge, you didn’t know what was.

end of beginning

summary: you’re back at camp half-blood after spending months on the princess andromeda and all you feel is the haunting of luke’s presence

featuring: SPOILERS for BOTL and TLO!!!, brief spoilers for the outsiders (just mentions of a quote from the book), 3+1, multi-pov: reader, luke, and percy, angst and only angst (i cried a little while writing)

word count: 2.4k

author’s note:guys, the end is near. there’s one blurb, and then the post heroes of olympus fic. so crazyyyyyy

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next

connor and travis stoll

the hustle and bustle of the city was a nice contrast from the stifling loneliness at camp half-blood. most people wouldn’t describe the hidden oasis buried between the forest and long island sound that way. they’d talk about the camaraderie between cabins, or the sense of family within their own. maybe they’d emphasize the humidity, and the temperature controlled barrier which prevented major storms or severe weather. then again people like clarisse and annabeth, those with a warrior mindset, wouldn’t feel the cloak of loneliness as they’re too busy with clashing swords and grunts of pain characteristic only to the training arena. 

none of those things, however, were pertinent to you. so, when connor and travis invited you to the farmer’s market to sell the overflow of camp strawberries, you jumped at the chance to escape. 

“i can’t believe we made it here in one piece,” connor exclaims, closing the door to the van once it's in park. 

“hey! i needed to practice my driving at some point,” travis defends, meeting you and connor at the back doors. 

while the boys argue back and forth about who’s the better driver — you or travis — you start unloading the cartons of strawberries. the farmers market is already starting to get busy. between other vendors setting up their booths and the diehard organic hippies already perusing the options, it seems like today will be an eventful day. 

and you were right. 

your eyes catch on someone lurking a couple booths over from yours. the guy is tall and wearing a leather jacket, so he sticks out like a sore thumb while sifting through the oranges in front of him. you squint in his direction. he looks vaguely familiar but you can’t place it. he must feel someone staring, because he turns to face you. you gasp at the sight of him, dropping the small carton of strawberries in your hand. 

“you okay?” connor asks, approaching you. 

you shake your head, crouching down to pick up the berries before they get squished under someone’s birkenstocks. connor is right beside you, speeding up the process. you can’t help it when your eyes drift back to the direction where you saw luke, but the person is gone. 

you let out a sigh of relief, “sorry, had a moment of clumsiness there.” 

connor nods in understanding, “all good. besides, i wouldn’t expect anything less from you since i’m around. i know my good looks and charming personality make you nervous.” 

you laugh loudly at his words, shoving his shoulder before he can walk away to discard the ruined berries. 

annabeth chase

“the bookstore is just down this way,” annabeth exclaims, sipping on her drink from the cafe. 

you nod, mustering a smile as you follow her lead. when annabeth asked you to visit her over spring break, you were hesitant, but she was insistent. there was a lot of history between the two of you, most of it revolving around your traitor boyfriend, but neither of you mentioned it. and whenever the subject did get brought up, one of you quickly changed it. 

“they have so many books. and i think there’s even a record section too,” she explains, pointing toward the quaint bookshop on the corner of a street in san francisco 

the awning is a faded emerald green, and the white letters detailing the store’s name are barely legible. but you can tell that it’s well loved. there’s a large bay window where a young mother and her children are sitting, flipping through a picture book with a pig and elephant character. you stop in your tracks for a minute, letting annabeth get a couple steps ahead of you. 

that could’ve been us, you think, twirling the golden band around your finger three times. it should’ve been us. 

“you okay?” annabeth asks, stopping at the base of the three cement steps. 

you nod, taking one more fleeting glance at the little family, “fine. just lost in thought i guess. you think they’ll have a copy of the outsiders?” 

“probably. maybe in the young adult section,” she answers, opening the door. 

a bell chimes overhead, and the middle-aged woman behind the counter greets her warmly. annabeth stops to talk with her, while you hover awkwardly. it’s so clear to you that she’s built a life for herself, one outside of camp half-blood and her demigod status. she laughs at something the woman says, and you almost feel jealous of the fourteen year old. she’s lost so much, yet she has so much more. you can’t say the same. 

there’s no one else for you. he was the one. you’ve always known that, even aphrodite confirmed that a long time ago, claiming that you two were one of her favorites. that never seems to work out though does it? her favorite couples always ending in a tragedy: romeo and juliet, orpheus and eurydice, liam neeson and natasha richardson, and now you and luke. 

you won’t get a happy ending, that you’re sure of. 

“you didn’t have to wait, i would’ve found you,” annabeth appears, startling you. 

you wonder how long she’s been there — how long you've been staring off into space. looking down at her, you meet her inquisitive gray eyes. she’s trying to get a read on you, but you don’t want her to; it’s not what either of you need. 

you grip her shoulder, the one without the tote bag, and say, “let’s go find the outsiders.”

she nods, but somehow you know the conversation isn’t over as she leads you down the aisle. the store is fairly quiet, not many shoppers except for the family, a group of college students, and the two of you so it’s easy to navigate. the young adult section is even emptier, but it still makes you feel claustrophobic. the smell of books and the thick tension is suffocating you. the teen must feel the same way, because she’s the first to break it after picking up a book. 

“you don’t need to feel guilty. i don’t blame you,” she whispers.

you gulp at her words, tugging on your baby tee as you pretend to pull off a string. 

“neither does percy, or anyone else at camp,” she finishes. 

you nod, picking up a copy of the outsiders. the cover is black and white, featuring a photo of a boy in a leather jacket. his face is turned downwards, but you see him clear as day: brown eyes and a white scar. 

“you know what i like about this book?” you ask, but the question’s rhetorical.

“i like johnny’s take on the world. there’s so much good in it, but we get so caught up in the bad that we forget…we forget how beautiful it is,” you say, choking on your words as tears well up in your eyes. 

“i think he forgot that too,” you whisper, and you don’t need to specify who you’re referring to, annabeth just knows. 

she throws her arms around you, squeezing your abdomen tightly. you close your eyes, struggling to hold back the tears, but a few drip down your cheeks anyways. you sniffle, and she squeezes you even tighter. when she pulls away, you look over her shoulder. you swear you meet brown eyes and a white scar. 

may castellan

luke hated westport. everyone there was the same, entitled, stuck up, and selfish. all the houses stood in a line. each one an exact replica of the one before it: pocket white fence, pristine green lawn, and a faded blue siding. his house, or rather his mother’s house, was no different. 

everything looked exactly the same as when he returned at fourteen. her kitchen window looked over the front yard and main road. he can picture her standing there, washing dishes and mumbling unanswered prayers to a god who never cared. he hates how easily she fell victim to him and he hates how emotional it makes him. 

at same time, there’s something different about his childhood home. a place that should have been filled with love, warmth, and happiness no longer harbors the coldness and terror he always associated with his childhood. somehow, the house feels more homey. there’s a floral wreath hanging on the wooden door, hidden behind the screen. he spots a vase of sunflowers on the kitchen windowsill; their bright yellow petals starkly contrasting the darkness inside. the house almost looks lived in. if a neighbor were to walk by, they would never guess it’s inhabited by a crazy person. luke would never guess that, especially with the beat-up red pickup parked out front. 

wait, he thinks, doing a double take. 

he’s seen that red pickup before, but he can’t figure out where. he looks at the license plate, hoping that will give him a clue into the owner. it’s navy blue and yellow, a clear sign that it’s from new york and that alone makes luke think of you. 

he’s come to visit a couple times, and each time he’s almost gotten caught. at the farmers market with connor and travis it was pure luck that he startled you into dropping the berries. when he showed up to talk to annabeth, it was a coincidence that you were there too. (it’s not like he had silena beauregard keeping tabs on you or anything.) but even if he did, hypothetically have her reporting back to him about your every move, he never expected you to be at his mom’s house. 

the front door opens, and he can hear your voice ring out into the stillness of the neighborhood: “i’ll be back later this week, okay may?”

“shit,” he seethes, crouching down behind one of the neighbor’s suvs. 

he hears a commotion in the house, and watches as you wait patiently at the door. his mother must say something to you, because you smile softly and nod your head. he wishes he could hear her words, but he knows you’ll catch him with one move. 

that’s not necessarily a bad thing, says a small voice inside his head. 

he shakes his head at those words, curls bouncing from the action. he runs a hand through his hair, frustration and anger building up inside him. he ruined this, not you. and no matter what he truly wants, luke knows there’s nothing he can do to win you back. 

the creaking of the wooden porch stairs and slam of the screen door draw his attention back to what’s right in front of him. it takes a bitter laugh out of him; ironic how he’s longed for your proximity and now that he has it he’s ignoring it. 

you freeze at the gate, left hand on the hinge and right on your ring. your eyes dart around the neighborhood, looking for the cause of the noise, but you never find him. he watches as you release the breath you’re holding and twirl the golden band three times. opening the gate, you step towards the truck.

he waits patiently, not daring to move a muscle until your car pulls away from his mother’s house. even then, when the engine is nothing but a faint rumble in the distance, he doesn’t move. he remains crouched behind the suv for a few extra minutes, gathering both his courage and sanity. with a final breath, he gets up, fixes his jacket and approaches the house. 

“mom,” he calls out, knocking on the door, “i’m home.”

the door swings open and her arms wrap around him. she smells faintly of burnt cookies, but it’s overpowered by shea butter and coconut shampoo. she’s crying into his shoulder, mumbling about how she always knew it wasn’t true; that wasn’t her son’s fate. 

but she has no idea, luke thinks, that i break everything i touch.

luke castellan

percy hears your scream before he sees you.

it’s loud, shrill, and gut-wrenching. his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach and bile climbs up his throat. 

i’m gonna be sick, he thinks.

percy faced a lot today. silena died. ethan died. annabeth almost died. now he’s stuck watching as you try to console luke.

you’re sitting beside him, bow and arrows haphazardly thrown to the side. there’s a cut on your shoulder caked with dry blood, and other bruises litter your body. he imagines that the pain from them is the least of your concerns. 

“it’s okay. you’ll be okay,” you keep whispering, cupping the older boy’s cheeks. 

luke grabs your left wrist, his thumb rubbing over your engagement ring. “i’m okay sweetheart. you’re gonna be okay.”

he approaches the two of you. it feels like he’s intruding on an intimate scene. percy feels a strange sense of deja vu when luke squeezes your wrist before returning his gaze to him. he wishes that he just caught the two of you sharing a vape instead of your final goodbye. 

“never again percy…don’t let it happen again,” luke croaks out. 

percy promises that he won’t, all while watching you. you bite your bottom lip, turning away from luke as you squeeze your eyes shut. he knows you're trying to be strong, but it doesn’t work as tears leak past your lash line and create tracks on your grimy face. 

“i love you,” luke whispers, and you echo the words right back. 

when his eyes close, percy swears that you’ll go with him, falling on top of annabeth’s dagger. but all you do is sit there, cradling luke’s face in your hands. you trace over his features: the bridge of his nose, his cupid’s bow, and the white scar. 

percy placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reaffirming squeeze. you sniffle, placing luke’s head down gently onto the destroyed cobblestone. your fingers brush his curls away from his forehead, and you unclasp the necklace resting against his collarbone. it’s a silver chain with three clay beads and a golden ring to match yours. you pocket the jewelry, and force a drachma in his hands. 

wiping your nose, you get up from the ground, collect your bow and arrows, and head towards the elevator. 

percy thinks he should call out to you, beg you to face the olympian council with him, but he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

“leave her. my daughter won’t be joining you percy jackson.”

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @maraschinocherry3 @used2beeeeee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcilla @obxstiles @dracoslovergirl @vanessa-rafesgirl @l1a-pjosversion @vikimontethegirlblogger

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

generous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"just glad i'm the smart twin."

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

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

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

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

Crush

summary: prompt fill. you and Wally are buddies. friends who share mutuals; occupy the same social circles, but have never spent any time just you and him, exclusive and alone. That? is something Wally is desperate to change. and it seems you feel the same way... (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. feelgood. oneshot. AU - everyone's alive. getting together.

joyeuses Easter, fam 🐰🐣🥕

___________________________🌻

Crush

Wally's head lifts as soon as the door opens. The little bell tinkles; the breeze carries your perfume through the space. He closes his eyes, inhales deeply, not more than a fraction of a second, but he still feels exposed.

Cue vibrant, colorful background; glitter and hearts; slow-motion and strings. You step through the door and into frame, looking like a vision. Crisp against the fading world behind you.

God dammit, Wally has a problem.

Not that anyone seems to notice. Whatever crush Wally has on you is explained away by his excitable nature. His touches sweet, but not exclusive. His attention cute, but equally spread amongst those he loves.

Wally doesn't feel like it's equally spread. At all. Not even a little. He feels like you're the only thing he can see, hear, smell, touch. You occupy more brainspace than his own personality.

Does he even remember his address? His birthday? His name?

You plop down in the open seat beside him—saved just for you, and no one argued because, at this point, it's expected—and smile brightly at everyone, offering greetings and apologies for being late.

No. Wally doesn't remember anything about himself, but he sure as shit remembers everything about you, including your ridiculous coffee order which the barista kindly delivers to the table upon Wally's signal.

You turn sideways in your seat, patting a rhythm on Wally's leg, imparting your giddiness as you rev yourself up for Sunday Trivia. Wally's heart practically erupts from his body, Alien chestburster, fucking wrecked and melted and soppy the instant your hands and that gorgeous smile land on him.

"We're gonna win this week," You declare, ruffling his hair as you correct your position to take a sip of your coffee. "I can feel it."

"That's what you said last week," He chuckles, desperately hoping his cheeks aren't as pink as they feel.

As casual as can be, he swings his arm up and rests it on the back of your chair, thumb stretched to swipe the soft skin of your shoulder. Wally's eyes are glued to the blank trivia answers sheet as he pretends to be totally normal about you, not hyperventilating on the inside at all.

"Yeah, but last week Rhonda brought Quinn. This week, Rhonda and Quinn are busy. We're gonna win," You explain with a grin, eyes sparkling when you wink at him.

Fuck your kissable smile, your lickable skin, your soft shapes that Wally wants to trace with his fingers and tongue and teeth. You can't look at him like that.

Somehow, he manages to play it cool; holds up his end of the conversation like a champ, teasing you as much as flirting, and making you laugh so suddenly, you almost spit-take all over poor Charley, innocently sitting across from you.

"You guys are the worst," He grumps, "You need to be separated."

"Absolutely not," You say without hesitation, "We're too good a team."

Wally agrees around the girly squeal lodged in his throat. Thankfully still in there, and not out in the wild for everyone to hear and judge.

Trivia starts minutes later, the emcee upbeat as always, and you and Wally kill it. Through cackles and competitive rants and good-natured heckling, you and he take home the prize: A weird-looking, multicolored crocheted monstrosity with too many arms. Made lovingly by one of the baristas. Or made in spite.

You name him Samuel.

Wally falls more in love.

"We need to think up a custody agreement," You say through a chuckle as he escorts you to the bus stop, squishing Samuel to your chest.

Wally studies Samuel with an ill-concealed look of disturbance, "Nah, it's, uh...he's all yours."

You burst out laughing, "Do you hate our child, Clark? He can hear you, you know."

"I love him with my whole heart," Wally defends, eyes wide in mock-surprise that you would accuse him of such a thing. "But I think he'll be happier with you," another look of distaste at Samuel, "I'm willing to sacrifice my legal rights."

"You're a shitty liar," You shove Wally's arm playfully and he just about swoons. Your touch, no matter how innocent, is like fire.

And then that's it, all done, Sunday over. You're on the bus, blowing an exaggerated kiss at Wally as you board with Samuel and leave Wally standing on the curb like a lovestruck idiot.

He's so gone for you, it's not even funny anymore.

‗•‗

Wally hates weekdays. This isn't new. He hated them before you transferred from the fancy school to Split River High last year. Only now, he hates them more. Because you're a social butterfly—not unlike him—who bounces from group to group and spends lunch on a rotation.

See, thing is, while you and Wally are inseparable during group activities, you and he don't actually hang out. You aren't besties who make one-on-one plans unless it's to hit every antique store in the radius of town to hunt down something haunted for Maddie's birthday. Usually with Simon and Nicole in tow.

So, not one-on-one, but that's as close as Wally's come to it. And, God, does he savor those moments. When the group is smaller and he doesn't have to split his attention; can keep it squarely on you where it belongs.

You're fun and flirty and dynamic, always up for an adventure. Creative. Silly. A positive influence who drives Wally to be a better person. You make him ambitious. Force him to see things from new perspectives, even in the small bursts he gets of your sunshine soul.

He's not obsessed, you are 😒

Doesn't matter how much more time Wally wants to spend with you; you've never indicated that you want the same. You seem content bouncing into his arms when circumstance brings you and he together, and you merrily leave it at that.

Wally's going fucking crazy thinking about you from dusk 'til dawn, while you flutter between friend groups, none the wiser, animatedly waving to him when you catch his eye across the cafeteria. And, Jesus, you're gorgeous, eyes squinted up like that to accommodate your megawatt smile.

Sometimes (often), Wally wonders what your face looks like when you're not smiling at him. When you're feeling something that isn't bright and buoyant. Say, for example, desire. Do your features slacken? Do your eyes go heavy? Do your lips part on a sigh as Wally's hand glides lightly up your spine, fingertips skipping between the vertebrae, his mouth centimeters from yours, humid breath mingling—

Shit. Fuck. He's hard. Shifts his hips under the table and prays no one notices.

They don't, thank Christ, Rodney and Ajay arguing about who should've won the Mock Trial last week while Charley complains that none of it matters, it's fake, and they'd be terrible lawyers anyway.

When Wally looks up again, you've vanished, likely breezed off to Art Club or Robotics or to get ready for gym. He doesn't know your schedule, can only guess, but he knows it involves people who aren't him and, yeah, so what, he's jealous.

He wants your attention all for himself. Wants you to want him as much as he wants you because it's killing him being the only one to exist in this state of desperation and delusion. He needs you to notice him. Needs you to trip over yourself because you caught a glimpse of him. Needs you to blush and stammer and giggle nervously when he pins you with his gaze.

Honestly, Wally probably needs a new hobby.

‗•‗

"Samuel misses his daddy," You tell him, right in his ear, above the music blaring from Xavier's shitty truck stereo.

Wally's brain bluescreens so hard—...daddy...—he thinks he passes out for a moment. You're pressed up against his side, a hot line of flesh his hand itches to touch, squeezed like a sardine between Wally and Simon.

It's another outing. A day trip to Bradford Beach. Carpools and highway games and, now, godawful karaoke that Claire's DJing from the passenger seat, a wicked grin on her face as Simon belts out that part from Bohemian Rhapsody for the third time in an hour.

Wally still can't breathe when he chances to look you in the eye, sees you grinning manically in your seat as you blink those sweet, faux-innocent eyes up at him. You know what you did, naughty little girl. And you're clearly not sorry at all. You clearly want to get Wally flustered and tight-collared and hot.

Or he's misreading you completely, and that's your regular teasing look, Wally's just so fucking horny for you he sees what he wants. Confirmation bias or whatever.

"He does?" Wally manages to put some volume behind his voice. "And what do you think I should do about it?"

You shrug, "Whatever you want."

I want to fuck you against a wall about it, Wally thinks, but outwardly smiles, toothy and cheerful. "Maybe I should take him next weekend. You know, make sure he knows his daddy loves him." And he stares intensely into your eyes when he says the last part.

He isn't sure, but he thinks it works. A beautiful pink blossoms on the apples of your cheeks, and Wally has to hold himself back from punching the air.

This is new. This sort of intense, almost intentional flirting. Winding you up for the sake of getting you flustered. Ohhh, Wally's going to have fun with this. Is determined to coax that blush out of you again and again until you snap.

Does this count as a new hobby?

‗•‗

Okay. So. Apparently, you lock in, challenge accepted, because things aren't going exactly how Wally planned. He's at his wits' end, vibrating out of his fucking skin, ready to explode while he watches you gyrate to the music. Nothing too nasty-filthy-dirty, but your body moves like liquid, and your hips give Wally too many ideas to keep track of.

You're dancing with Claire, bodies tightly fitted, both wearing big smiles, and smeared in glitter and rhinestones. The second weekend of Summerfest. A handful of the group pitched in to stay from Friday to Monday morning at a cheap Airbnb not too far from the park.

It's sundown, the air finally cool, the bass shaking the earth beneath Wally's feet, and he's totally enraptured. The past month has been heaven and hell combined as you and he played flirty chicken. Who will take it there.

Maybe you think it's a game, maybe you're serious about seeing him fall apart for you; he doesn't know and, frankly, doesn't care at this point. Gone too far, in too deep. And, fuck, you fill out those tiny denim shorts so well, that beaded top barely clinging to your tits as you rub your ass against Claire's thigh.

He tries to focus on the music, on the crowd and the atmosphere, but it's so hard—he's so hard, thank God his shirt is long and boxy—and you're throwing your head back, smooth neck on display, singing along like a wet dream.

Wally isn't going to make it to the end of the night.

Next stage, next band, lake air doing a shit job cooling Wally's skin when you shimmy into his space after shooing Claire toward the cute guy who's been falling over himself for her since noon. You and he mimic each other's goofy dance moves, safe, silly, to the first three songs.

And then, the air punched out of his chest, you fit yourself so neatly against him, back to chest, head on his shoulder, twisting and writhing to the sexiest song of the summer. His hands clench your hips, keep you pinned, and he doesn't have the mental power to care if he's being too obvious anymore. He has to feel you against him, right on his hard-on.

You must feel it, there's no way you don't, but you aren't pushing him away, your fingers instead kneading his thigh so nicely his eyes close and lips part and he's panting like a dog into your neck. His lips graze the shell of your ear, breath tickling your skin.

"Fuck," He chokes when your ass hitches against his cock, stars exploding behind his lids, his fingers so tight in your flesh he's sure he's going to leave marks.

He feels you shiver, feels your gasp on his cheek as he gazes down at you, and he knows his eyes are dark, blown greedy in a need he can't ignore like he used to. Your eyes are equally as heated and, yep, that's fucking it, he has to touch you, taste you, make you beg for him to take you apart and piece you together again.

The night is cut short. An Irish exit. The journey back to the Airbnb is quiet, stifling, thick with desire that neither you nor he acknowledges until he pushes you through the door and presses you against it once it closes with a resounding click. His hands on your ass as he lifts you so he can grind his cock against the imprint of your pussy through those sweet little shorts.

Your legs wrap around his waist, your fingers tug his hair, and Wally's vision whites out.

"Jesus, babygirl, I've never needed someone so bad in my life," He rasps, teeth sinking into the join of your neck and shoulder, "I want you so bad, baby, please."

And you keen, head thrown back, hips matching his movements, perfect body tensing and releasing in his arms as you hump into him.

"Wally~."

It's a plea and a command that he's only too happy to oblige. Carries you into the one room with a lock and throws you on the bed you and Claire were going to share while Wally and Diego took the pullout couch in the main space.

So much for that. Claire probably isn't coming back tonight, anyway, and who knows what Diego got up to, most likely with Nicole and Charley and Yuri, deep in the crowd at the final performance of the night.

You were looking forward to it. Guess you changed your mind, Wally smirks into your throat, even more turned on at the thought that you needed to put him first. So hot for him. Desperate for his hands on you. His lips. His tongue. Don't worry, baby, he won't disappoint.

It's a struggle to get that beaded top off you, laced and knotted so intricately, Wally's tempted to just rip it off you. So he does. Beads fly everywhere, showering the bed, oops. But, you laugh, roll him onto his back to straddle his hips, and then surge into him to kiss him for the first time.

God yes, this is exactly how he imagined it. Your soft lips yielding to his, wet and deep and slow, in stark contrast to his frantic hands trying to touch every inch of your body at once.

You bear down as he grinds up, his cock straining, dribbling, and there's a damp stain at the front of your shorts that tells him what he needs to know.

"Gonna be such a good girl for me, aren't you?" He says, voice wrecked, hand fisting your hair to hold you still so he can have your attention. "Aren't you, baby?"

Fuck, so that's what you look like when you're foggy with desire. That's how you sound. Wally's convinced he's not going to last much longer under those eyes, hearing those noises; weak and wanting and just for him.

He flips the position, loves how you feel under him, body so soft it fits into his lines and angles perfectly. Shorts and panties and boxers go flying, and then he's on you, in you, deep as he can get, moaning wantonly with your nipple between his teeth.

"You're such a good girl," He praises, "Taking all of me."

You arch, bearing down harder, taking him impossibly deeper, and your pussy is so perfect he thinks he meets God. He can't keep himself still anymore, as much as he wants to savor the sensation of having you so completely around him. He begins to move, sharp, hard strokes that force those sounds he's getting addicted to from your chest.

"Oh, fuck, Wally," You whimper, meeting his rhythm, over and over and over, stoking the fire, making his brain smoke and his belly tight and his body so hot he'll combust, he knows he will, how can he not.

"That's it, baby," He pants, moving faster, harder, testing angles until you scream in ecstasy, pussy gripping him tighter because he found what he was looking for. "You like how I feel inside you?"

You're a mess beneath him, and he can't get enough. Is fucking starving for more. He rears back, takes you with him as he settles on his haunches, you held in his lap, your arms around his shoulders as he bounces you on his cock.

He can't stop, can't slow down, can't fathom anything outside of this moment as he beats his cock into you from below. Sweat on his brow, licking into your mouth when you begin to tremble and warn him, you're gonna make me come, and, fuck yeah, he is.

Holy shit, you're a goddess when you let go, screaming his name like rapture. That's all it takes, pussy convulsing around him, and he's gone. Plummeting over the edge headfirst into pure, absolute euphoria.

Wally collapses on top of you, head between your tits, sucking in gulps of air as his hands smooth down your sides, thighs, up again and along your arms so he can lace his fingers with yours above your head.

When he lifts his head to look at you, he goes soft as pudding. The smile you're wearing is completely lax, blissful and sweet, and he has to kiss it.

Minutes later, the afterglow thinning, "So," you say quietly, gazing up at him with a sparkle in your eye, "That finally happened."

Wally cocks his head, "Finally?"

"Yeah, Clark. Finally." You snicker, "I've only wanted you to do that to me forever." You fix him with a look, one that tells him he's an idiot, "You're not very good at picking up hints, are you?"

He chuckles, shakes his head in disbelief, "Seriously? No. I'm more of a direct-communication guy."

"You suck at that, too, then," You decide, smile growing, "Because you never directly communicated that you liked me like that."

"Nor did you," He points out, one eyebrow lifting. "So, you suck just as bad."

You lean up and lip his earlobe, "Trust me, Wally, when I suck, it's not bad."

Ah, so this is how he's going to spend his night, huh?

This definitely counts as a new hobby.

‗•‗

The next morning, cuddled close and feeling affectionate, you murmur, "Samuel's gonna be happy that his daddy's back in the picture."

You have got to stop using that term if you want to walk normally again, baby, please.

"Just Samuel?" Wally grins as he licks and nips your pulse point, his big hand gliding down your side to your hip. He rocks his hips forward so you can feel exactly where calling him daddy gets you. "No one else?"

"Can't think of anyone," You say, but your voice is breathy and high.

"That's too bad. I was really hoping you wanted me around." He plays at detaching from you.

Immediately, you cling to him, expression grouchy and words fierce, "You're not going anywhere, Wally, I waited way too long for this."

He melts, eyes going all soft and tender, his hand finding your jaw, thumb on your cheek, dipping in for a short, fond kiss.

"Me too, baby."

"No. Really," You implore, "I had to get new hobbies, Wally, it was driving me insane. I couldn't think of anything else," and you say it so easily. So direct and honest, his heart swells.

"Pick up anything interesting?"

You snort, "No. Just long drives to the sex shop in Cedarburg."

Blue. Screen.

"That counts as a hobby?" He wheezes, mind already churning out images of you indulging in your new pastime. Yep, yes, yeah, Wally could see himself partaking in that one, no resistance.

"It occupies a lot of leisure time, and I do it for pleasure. Pretty sure that's the definition of a hobby."

Wally squeezes your ass, drives your hips into his to show you how interested he is in hearing more about how you spend your free time.

"You know," He starts, lowering to graze his nose up your neck, dry lips following, hips beginning to grind at a slow, lazy tempo, "I heard that couples who share hobbies stay together longer."

"Yeah?" Said in a breath, your back arching and your chest pressing into his. "I definitely wanna make this last." Then, sultry and playful, "When should we start?"

Wally smirks. He doesn't bother to respond, simply spends the first hours you and he are supposed to be at the festival memorizing your body: where to touch, bite, kiss, lick.

Mastering the craft, as it were, because Wally Clark takes his hobbies very fucking seriously.

🌻___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Cuddle Bug.

fluff. smut lite. a flashfic exploration of Wally's inability to be anything but a plural image when you're within reach. aka: he's codependent as fuck and neither you nor he care.

because you’re mine (it seems like we’re meant to be)

reader x elliot // bonfire fluff

warnings: drugs , alcohol use

a/n : i know this is very random, considering i’m a bts account, but recently euphoria has been giving me motivation to write, so feel free to request more!💫

the white shafts of daylight have passed, gone are the shadows of evening. flames from the fire rise boldly against the black sky. before that great fire their skin is glowing red, orange and gold. every eye is reflecting the flickering light, each iris containing a small picture of the bonfire before them. yet, it isn’t simply just the sight that has you mesmerized, so too has the crackling and the woody fragrance of smoke. you end up being put in front of elliot’s legs, feelings his knees against your back. you feel something press against your lips. as you look down to see a cup and elliot’s face, peering up at you imploringly as he offers the drink to you.of course, you take it, pulling it away to peer into the contents.

 “what is this?” you ask; it’s bright blue and looks like there’s glitter in it.

“i made it,” says elliot, and that’s enough of a reason to believe that you won’t die drinking it. so you knock back half of it in one go, swallowing and then frowning as you hand the cup back. 

“it’s supposed to taste like blueberry slushie, but i’m not sure if i got it right”.

you smack your lips. “tastes more like synthetic syrup” you admit, moving your hand to run your fingers over the nape of elliot’s neck.

his lips curl back into a hazy grin, reaching up to plant a kiss on your lips “i guess you’re right” elliot says moving back, but you kiss him back, a little harder than necessary; you’re not nearly drunk enough, but you kiss elliot like that anyway.“alright, alright,” rue calls. “don’t start fucking with all of us here”

elliot pulls back, turning to look at her, then pecks your cheek smiling, “there’s a first time for everything.”

beside rue, lexi makes a pained noise and immediately gets up. 

you pull back from elliot just enough, although you’re still tangled together as the rest of you dissolve into another conversation.

you let yourself listen to the lazy conversation as elliot wraps himself around you, clingier than usual thanks to the alcohol. elliot can still remember the new year’s eve, when you’ve crushed through the door trying to find rue, as cliche as it sounds, he knew you’ll mean a lot to him in the near future. 

and you did, still do.

maybe it was inevitable, then, for you to fall together the way you did—under the stars, and the entire world at your feet. when you kissed him for the first time out there, elliot told you it was probably a bad idea. but as soon as your lips met, both knew, there was no going back.you bring the joint to your lips and inhaling before you let out a long stream of smoke as you stare up at the stars.

there’s a light touch of elliot’s fingers caressing your sides.

you look up at him with that same lazy grin; there’s only the light of the moon and the fire, but it’s enough to see the way elliot looks at you. 

you want to blame it on the alcohol and the drugs, but elliot always kind of looks at you like he can’t believe you are real, like no high or euphoria could ever compare. you understand. it’s the way you look at him, too.

you take another drag of your joint and then lift your chin up, and elliot gets it immediately, leaning down and over you until your lips are nearly touching. you hold it for a second, at least until elliot gets impatient and bites your bottom lip, and then you open your mouth and breathe the smoke into his mouth. you can feel elliot grinning as your lips brush together, and then you lift your head up an inch to press your lips together into a kiss.by the time you resurface—or elliot pulls away, letting you back into the rest of the world, because it’s always hard to focus on anything else—the others have started their own conversation.

“you two are making me sick,” says nate.

“you’re fucking sick,” says fez.

you’re too lost in your own thoughts, brought back to the present only by elliot tickling your chin, leaning in and whispering, “are you sleeping?”

you grin, keeping your eyes closed as you murmurs “just thinking.”

“about?”

you hum. “you.”

elliot kisses your nose. you finally open your eyes, looking up at elliot looking down at you.

“i love you, you know,” says elliot, not taking his eyes off you.

you thumb at the corners of elliot’s mouth,“ i love you too,” you answer, breathless.

Hihi, ik this is corny lol but could you do a fake dating scenario with 1610!miles where he uses the relationship to cover up his identity as spiderman and why he’s always gone ?

I LOVE THE FAKE DATING TROPE SO MUCH!

Thank you for the prompt! I added some childhood friends to lovers to this :) Hope you like it!

---

Miles and you had been inseparable friends since childhood. Growing up, your families had lived in adjacent apartments, but circumstances forced your family to move to a more affordable neighborhood when you turned eight. Despite attending different schools, you remained friends throughout the years.

As fate would have it, you had come to suspect that Miles was none other than Spider-Man through your occasional encounters with the web-slinging hero. His unmistakable voice, his quirky sense of humor, and that distinctive laugh had given his true identity away.

Miles’ double life as a superhero kept him perpetually occupied. It had been a while since you had last hung out, but you were understanding of the situation. Keeping New York safe was not an easy task.

Each time you witnessed him soaring through the towering skyscrapers of the city, a smile appeared on your face. He was happy, and that was all that mattered to you.

On this particular day, as you were heading home from school, an unexpected event unfolded before your eyes. It was quite a comical sight – a shopping bag laden with groceries in Spider-Man’s hands, as if he were an ordinary citizen carrying out mundane tasks. But just as he exited the store, a car raced down the street at a dangerous speed, closely followed by a convoy of police cars.  

Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped the shopping bag and leaped into action, joining the chase. Amused by the relentless chaos that seemed to follow Spider-Man wherever he went, you decided to do what any loyal friend would have done: You picked up his abandoned groceries and embarked on a mission of your own – to deliver them to his parents’ apartment.

It took you quite some time until you finally arrived at your destination. The sound of a heated argument echoed from the inside of Miles’ apartment. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“¡No puedo creer que te hayas olvidado de comprar los comestibles otra vez!” His mother’s voice rang out, filled with frustration.  

“Lo siento,” you heard Miles’ voice reply. “I just – I got distracted, and then forgot about the food entirely!”

“Distracted by what?” His dad sounded equally irritated. “You had one job!”

Technically, the poor kid has multiple responsibilities, you thought. That’s when you decided to step in and save the day. You knocked on the door, determined to help.  

The conversation abruptly fell silent. Miles opened the door, his expression a mix of surprise and bewilderment when he saw you.

"You left your groceries at my house," you said, attempting to convey with your gaze: Hey, I know you're Spider-Man, and I saw you drop your shit just to chase after a criminal. Step up your game.  

His father appeared in the doorway. When he recognized you, he smiled. "Oh, it's you. Miles, why didn't you tell me you were visiting a friend?"

You could see the gears turning in Miles' head. Then, to your own astonishment, he responded, "Girlfriend. Not friend."

A sudden crash of dishes on the floor interrupted the scene. Miles' mother stormed towards the door. "What did I just hear?"

You raised an eyebrow, silently questioning him. What the hell, Morales?

Thankfully, you and Miles had always possessed the unique ability to communicate without words.

His look pleaded: Play along. Please.

Who were you to let down a friend in need? If he needed the excuse of a girlfriend, then of course you would provide your assistance.

His father's jaw had dropped. He stared at you as if he were seeing you for the first time in his life.

"Yep!” you said cheerfully. “Girlfriend. We've been dating for..." You looked at him, seeking his support on the matter.

"For a while!" he rushed to say.

Not helpful, you thought.

"What do you mean 'a while'?" his mother inquired suspiciously.

"Nine months,” he said.

"NINE MONTHS?" Her shrill voice pierced through the room, making you cringe. "You've been dating a girl for nine months, and you're only telling us now? Come on in, dear, don't just stand there in the doorway!" She grabbed you by the shoulder and, before you could protest, you were dragged into the living room.

Oh, boy. This was going to be a disaster.

"That explains a lot," his father muttered, but it sounded more like he was talking to himself and thinking out loud. He patted Miles on the back. "You could have talked to me about it, kid. Although... I guess you're not a kid anymore, huh?" His tone turned sentimental and fatherly, and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by the entire situation. You had to suppress the urge to grimace.

"Miles, don't just stand there like that, take your girlfriend's bag! She came all the way here because you're forgetful." His mother gave you a tense, yet warm smile. She probably would have reacted worse if Miles had introduced them to a complete stranger.

Miles, who suddenly seemed to remember that he had a role to play, hurriedly took the bag from you, putting it on the kitchen counter. When he returned, you could see him hesitate for a moment before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

Tame.

Well. You were in front of his parents, so displaying restraint seemed appropriate.

But if you were already doing him a favor, you wanted to have your fun with it.

With a mischievous grin, you took his hand in yours, and he looked at you with wide, somewhat panicked eyes.

"I don't understand why you didn’t tell us sooner,” his father said.

"Because you guys embarrass me," Miles murmured shyly.

"Embarrassing? Us?" His mother gave him a disapproving glare. Then, turning to you, she said, "Don't break his heart, yeah?”  

"Mom!" He whined, blushing.

His genuine reactions were delightfully innocent, and you couldn’t resist taking it a step further.

You threw both your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a quick kiss. He was taller than you, and his hands instinctively wrapped around your waist. Caught off guard, his eyes widened as your lips met his.

His father cleared his throat, and his mother made a choked sound.

Grinning, you released him from the embrace.  

"I'm afraid I still have a lot of homework to do. I'll see you tomorrow, Miles. You guys have a great night, Mr. and Mrs. Morales!"

You left the apartment.

Miles ran after you and caught up with you on the street.

"You – what was that just now?" he exclaimed.

"I should be the one asking questions. Since when did I become your girlfriend?"

"I had to use that excuse!" He sounded contrite. "Sorry, it's just... They've been on my case for ages because I'm always busy and away from home."

"Don't worry about it." You gave him an encouraging smile. "I don't mind playing your girlfriend. Was that your first kiss just now?"

He flinched, embarrassment written all over his face. "No, I've kissed hundreds of girls. What are you talking about?"

"You're a pretty bad liar, Miles."

He puffed out his cheeks. "Fine. Yeah, it was my first kiss. Satisfied?"

"No, not yet. But it seems we'll have plenty of opportunities to practice kissing in the future."

Before he could say anything in response, you had already walked on, leaving an extremely perplexed and embarrassed Miles behind.

Well, you thought, this whole ordeal might actually be a nice distraction from my boring life.

You just had to be careful not to fall for him.

you’re here, that’s the thing

and i know you said that we’re not a thing but you’re here, that’s the thing - you're here that's the thing, beabadoobee

pairing: teen!patrick zweig x childhood bestfriend!reader

in which: you and patrick have spent summers tangled up with each other. you're in love, he's in denial. and yet— he's here, that's the thing.

warnings: patrick being an idiot

note: patrick and reader are 18-ish. this based off my favorite beabadoobee song, which is very patrick coded (in my opinion). this is my first fic, i hope you like it!!

“so we’re both here, aren’t we?”

you turn around, a stupid grin instantly blossoming on your face at the sight of patrick zweig standing a few steps above you on the staircase.

"you avoiding me or something? you haven't talked to me since you got here." patrick laughs gently.

"no, of course not." you tilt your head slightly, biting back everything you want to say and opting for a smile. you pat the space next to you and he sits down, all in comfortable silence.

whether you’re 10 or 18, you always end up here. with him. an escape from his parents’ suffocating parties and small talk.

patrick sniffs as he lights a cigarette. you scrunch up your nose, “we’re literally indoors, pat.”

patrick scoffs as pillows of smoke escape his mouth. “it’s my house. the window’s open, they won’t care.”

“summer house,” you correct and his eyes fly skyward.

“yeah, yeah. summer house. on the fuckin’, fuckin’— i forget- which island are we on?” patrick snaps his fingers in thought

“santa catalina,” you respond simply, picking at your nails because you don’t think you can look him in the eyes. your insides are already bubbling and he hasn’t even been here two minutes.

“santa fucking whatever-“ patrick snorts, bringing his beer bottle up to his lips and passing it over to you. he doesn’t even ask if you want it or not— he knows you well enough to know that you’ll take a sip.

you wrap your lips around the bottle, and you can taste him. or you think you can. or maybe you just connect everything that reminds you of him to him.

the taste of beer, cigarettes, the subtle hint of his cologne— earthy, citrusy, and unmistakably him

you shut your eyes and swallow down the cold liquid, you try not to gag because you know patrick will make fun of you for it.

“i’ve missed you, y’know?”

you almost spit out your drink, your cheeks burn up and all of a sudden you’re 13 again. “really?”

patrick rolls his eyes again. “yeah, idiot. ‘course i missed you, you’re the only friend i have.”

“you have art?”

“that’s—“ patrick sniffs, “that’s different, you’re like a- a girl.”

“wow, i feel so special,” you can’t help but laugh. “where’s art anyways?”

“he’s staying with his grandmother for the summer this year,” patrick shrugs, taking another long drag of his cigarette. he turns to smirk at you- “why, do you miss him? did you want to see him?”

but you know him enough to know that under all that bravado is stupid, boyish jealousy.

“i’ve missed you too.” you let yourself admit.

he immediately smiles at that. “yeah, you did. you probably dreamed of me every night and fuckin’ cried to thought of me.” he cackles like a maniac, shoving you gently. now it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

you reach for the beer bottle and you brush his hands—warm and calloused— and the touch lingers a bit too long. you pull your hand away as you take another sip, your fingers twitch. it’d be so easy to grab his hand right now. you swallow the drink down with your thoughts as you clear your throat.

“so how’s—“ you begin to say

“fuck, this is so stupid,” he groans. he reaches for your chin and tilts your head.

your eyes meet.

his are a shade of blue and green, like when the sun shines on the ocean. that sort of pretty. comforting. you’d like to swim in them. those eyes flicker to your lips. his thumb brushes over your chin, your insides flutter. and he almost— almost leans in.

“you’re being weird, is this because i kissed you last year?”

yes. yes. it is patrick. you want to scream.

“no, why would— i’m not being weird-“

“you are- you are being so fuckin’ weird-“

“patrick- i’m fine,” you scoff.

“it’s wasn’t supposed to be serious if that’s what you’re so concerned about— we’re not a thing. it was like a drunk thing.”

oh.

a drunk thing. not a thing that happened after years of tension. just a drunk thing. that's all it was to him. you swallow that thought like you could wash it down with the lingering taste of beer in your mouth as your heart throbs in your chest.

but yeah, you and patrick were never a thing. it’s something patrick had made clear several times. but each time was a new stab in the chest.

the kiss was a drunken mistake. it was the last day of summer break, you, art, and patrick around six and a half beers in with some weed in the mix, sitting on the sands of the beach. all drunk out of their minds.

you were talking about something stupid while art laughed. patrick stared at the waves crashing into the rocks before he cupped your cheeks and kissed you.

it was soft. warm. right.

and even though you were both blackout drunk, you remember it so clearly. and so does he— he wouldn't have brought it up otherwise.

art had laughed at the action. "what, is this, like, a thing? you guys a thing now?"

patrick had pulled away at that point, his hand still on your waist, grip tightening with his jaw. "fuck, no. it's not like that."

your family left the zweig’s summer home the next morning.

and you couldn’t bear asking him about it over the phone in fear of ruining seven years of friendship.

so for the next 350 something days, you convinced yourself it was just some summer fling that couldn’t even be considered “a fling.”

you managed to convince yourself that you don’t care. but that doesn’t stop the burning, tingly sensation at your waterline and a tear or two from rolling down your cheek.

his entire face drops, almost comically. “why are you crying? no- don’t cry- what the fuck-“ he panics. he doesn’t know where to put his hands. they cup your cheeks then fall from your cheeks. hold your shoulders, then your hands. it’s almost like patrick’s brain crashed and he was malfunctioning. it would almost be funny if it didn't hurt so much, just because of that stupid look on his face. you almost smile. "hey, no- stop that." he starts to laugh, that stupid laugh you fell in love with, and when notices your glare, he stops.

he chooses to stare at you in silence, reaching over to wipe some of your tears. you push his hands away, it's petty. he sighs. "i dunno what i did wrong, i- i thought you wanted it to be a drunk thing. you didn't— you talk about it after we did it. I mean— girls usually talk about this kind of shit, right? to-"

you look at him through your tears, in a 'are you fucking stupid?' kind of way and he shuts up. through your tears you manage to finally say, "imfuckinginlovewithyou, youstupidfuckingidiot"

patrick's eyebrows furrow in confusion, but not in— 'wow this girl loves me' confusion. no— more in a 'what the fuck did you just say, because i don't understand the words that come out of your mouth when you cry' kind of way. you breathe deeply, calming your shaky vocal chords, and wipe your tears. "i love you, you idiot."

patrick's dumbfounded. he opens his mouth to say something. closes it. opens it again— then closes it for good. he's like a fish. a stupidly handsome fish. then he finally manages an "oh." "oh?" you repeat, then the frustration spills out. "the fuck you mean 'oh'? i just said something that could change the trajectory of our friendship—" without warning, he kisses you. grabbing onto the back of your neck and shutting you up.

your hand drops and you grab onto his shirt. your mouth moves with his, and it's so... right. he tastes like the smoke of his cigarette, he tastes like the beer— he tastes like patrick.

when you pull apart and just stare at him, he laughs. fucking laughs. like an idiot. you roll your eyes. "i like you too." he smirks slightly, pushing a hand through his curls and sighing.

"i just told you i love you, and you're saying you like me?" you tease with a smile. "wow, patrick. i'm hurt." he cups your cheeks again, inching closer. "please don't start crying again."

he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip.

"i love you too." — tags: @hyuneskkami for the divider

Longing - JJ Maybank x reader

Summary : JJ Maybank discovers your secret, which makes him confess his feelings. (wc:2.1K)

Contents : fluff, angst, mentions of sex, alcohol

(this is kinda shitty but i feel like i need to write to get some new ideas so here we go)

GIF by jjmayday

"Silent treatment? Seriously ?" JJ asked you, wincing as you were cleaning his wounds.

You didn't answer, he didn't deserve it. Instead, you just pressed the cleansing pad on his bare skin a bit harder than before.

"Jesus, if you wanted to kill me you could've just let him finish !" he complained as he leaned on the sink, his hands gripped on it.

"Shut up," you finally told him as you couldn't prevent your eyes from rolling. "If you had listened to me, you would still be at the Boneyard."

JJ has never hidden his protective side over you. He's always been protective, even when you were in primary school. As time went by, the blonde boy realized he liked you but it took time for him to accept and deal with it, because he was obviously aware of the no Pogue on Pogue macking rule and he intended on respecting it. As for you, you've always had a crush on JJ Maybank but, as time flew, you came to terms with the fact that nothing would happen between the two of you and that you were meant to remain two close friends, as you have always been.

"Course, but if not me who's gonna make Rafe Cameron shutting the hell up ?" he huffed, anger coming back as he thought of the boy.

You sighed, throwing the cleansing pad in the trash can of John B's bathroom as you got up from the toilet. "He's a dick, J. We all know everything that comes out from his mouth is bullshit, you shouldn't let him ruin your party."

"You didn't hear what he said."

You folded your arms. "Tell me," you told him, not really interested but you asked him anyway so he could exteriorize his anger.

"Just some shit about you and Kie," he lied, scratching the temple of his face and avoiding your eyes.

You sighed, kind of flattered by the way he couldn't let anyone talk shit about you. You wouldn't admit it not even to yourself, but the heat you felt on your cheeks was only the reflection of the feeling brought into your stomach. You took his chin in your hand, making him look at you.

"Stop ruining your parties for Rafe Cameron," you told him, more as a command than as a request.

JJ nodded silently, nervously biting his lip. Rafe did not mention Kie, at least not tonight. However, he did mention something about you, something that only a few people knew about. The boy tried to wipe the thought out of his mind as you proposed him to finish the party you've previously left on the porch of the Chateau, with two cold beers that just came out of the fridge.

"Volvo or Mercedes?" you asked JJ, playing some dumb games while you were waiting for Pope, Kiara and John B to come back from the party.

His brows furrowed. "Ford."

"Pick one out of the two for God Sake," you rolled your eyes.

"Volvo then."

"Volvo is good," you agreed.

"Best spider-man?" JJ asked.

"Tom Holland," you answered, laughing as you saw your blonde friend tilting his head back, stunned. "What?"

"You should be ashamed, YN. I mean it," he joked.

"Shut up," you told him, smacking his arm and making him drop his can of beer on his t-shirt. "Shit," you muttered, getting up from the sofa. "Hold on a sec."

JJ, half drunk and not giving a single fuck of his t-shirt, just took it off, finishing the rest of his beer. As you were looking for another item of cloth for your friend in the spare room, your phone buzzed on the sofa, which made JJ startling as he felt the slight vibrations of your phone upon his body.

"Y/N, your phone!" JJ called out, not wanting to invade your personal space by looking at the notification (despite longing to do it).

As the boy did not hear any response coming from you, his eyes slid to your screen's phone. It was a text from an unknown number:

I kinda miss you

JJ's brows furrowed instantly, doubts filling the entireness of his body. He remembered Rafe's words, trying to piece everything together. Your phone buzzed a second time, this time it was a text from Kiara.

Where the hell have you and JJ been, cant find you

Before he could even finish reading Kie's text, you were back with a clean t-shirt and a new can of beer. "I'm sorry J," you mumbled as you handed him the t-shirt and the can.

"Thanks."

You took your phone and read Kiara's text. "Oh," you laughed lightly, "they just realized we were gone. It's about time, it's been like what, half an hour?"

You texted Kiara back letting her know that you were waiting for them at the Chateau. You then clicked on the second notification and JJ immediately saw your features changing.

"Is something wrong?" JJ asked, trying to remain as casual as ever.

You quickly shoved your phone in your back pocket, not taking care of answering the second text.

"Nope," you sighed, collapsing on the sofa next to JJ. "Everything's fine."

He nodded, knowing for a fact that something was wrong. Maybe not with you, but with him.

---

As you felt the water of the marsh meeting your body, you thought that there was no better way to spend your day than like you were exactly doing: a full day on the HMS pogue, followed by a night at the chateau where your friends and you could enjoy the heat of the Northern Carolina's summer.

Yet, JJ wasn't in such a good mood as you were. He couldn't get what happened last Saturday out of his head. Everyone noticed his change of attitude, but as soon someone wanted to start discussing the topic, he would tell you to piss off and that he was fine. The truth was that he realized he had no idea of what would be his reaction the day you would bring a boy to your friends so they could meet him. You already flirted with some guys during parties while he was there, but you never went far with any of those guys. All the pogues knew that you had kissed 2 boys in your whole lifetime, and every time it was just a stupid fling that JJ could bear with but the text you've received messed his head up. I kinda miss you. This would mean that you've already seen this person, and that something serious happened for you to delete the number. It also meant that the thing you've had with this person was serious enough for him to text you that he missed you.

"What are you thinking about?" Kie asked JJ, putting him out of his thoughts.

"Just thinking about the next surfboard im gonna buy," he lied.

"Liar," she answered, sitting on the edge of the boat as you were trying to drown John B with the help of Pope. "You don't wanna talk, fine. But don't talk bullshit at least," she went on, not on an aggressive tone as JJ would have expected it.

He sighed. Fuck, he just told himself. "I'm worried about Y/N," he admitted. "I've seen a text from someone on her phone that said he missed her. She never talked to us about anyone, so I'm just wondering what's going on."

That wasn't a lie: you've never said anything about anyone. They were your best friends and you didn't say a single word about someone who could potentially miss you.

"Maybe we should let her some time to do so," she simply said as you got onto the boat followed by John B and Pope.

"I'm starving," Pope admitted, taking the beer you were handing him.

"Same," you said as you were checking your phone, rolling your eyes as you were reading something.

"What is it?" John B asked you as he had noticed your eyes roll that went almost to the back of your head.

"Nothing important," you assured him, placing your phone back in your backpack. "Why don't we go back at the chateau and order some pizzas? I can practically hear Pope's stomach from here," you joked, smacking slightly at Pope's belly.

---

You cursed yourself as you remembered that the terrible headache that prevented you from falling asleep was probably due to the fact that you didn't put on any sunscreen today. You checked the time on your phone: 4:11 AM. For God Sake, you mumbled as you got up from the couch to go out and smoke. As you opened the door, you found JJ sitting on one of the steps.

"Can't sleep?"

"I think i'm the only person on this planet who can't sleep when she smokes a blunt," you snorted slightly, sitting down next to your friend.

The weather was nice. Not too cold, not too hot, it was perfect. The peaceful silence of the marsh would have allowed anyone to fall asleep, but not you and JJ. Ironically, the reasons why both of you couldn't sleep were closely related.

"So, what's wrong with you?" you asked him bluntly as you attempted to light up your cigarette.

"What?" JJ exclaimed, taken aback.

His reaction drew a slight smile out of you. "You're acting weird, JJ Maybank."

"I'm not," he asserted, taking the cigarette out of your hands to take a drag of it.

"You are," you told him as you took back your cigarette.

He sighed and then got up. "Good night, Y/N."

"You're not going anywhere. Sit," you said as you grabbed his wrist to prevent him from getting inside.

"How did Rafe know that you have a birthmark behind your left ear?"

You froze, this time you were the one taken aback by his question. You sighed, letting go of JJ's wrist, your eyes glued to the ground.

"Tell me-"

"Because Rafe has a lot of bitches and I've been seeing one of them for a while. But we're done, I told him to piss off," you simply told him.

If JJ were to be very honest, he would have bet everything he had on you banging Rafe Cameron behind your friends' backs. He was slightly relieved that you had no close ties to the elder Cameron, but hearing you say in person that you had a relationship with someone still had the effect of a sharp knife through his whole body.

"Is it why you're acting so weird? Because Rafe told you about my birthmark?" you asked him.

"I also read the text," he confessed, sitting down next to you.

You frown at him.

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have done it. But I did, and it messed my head up even more."

You huffed, getting up and stubbing out your cigarette on the grass. "Why didn't you talk to me about it?" you asked, as you were getting angrier as every second went by. "You're supposed to be my friend-"

"I'm done being your damn friend while you're banging on kooks," he hissed, getting up and attempting to get to the twinkie. Yet, you prevented him from it by standing in front of him.

"Watch your fucking mouth dude," you warned him.

"Just let me the fuck alone-"

"Why are you-"

"Jesus Y/N I like you! Apparently you're fucking blind but please tell me you're not deaf," JJ yelled, regretting it instantly as he realized what he had just told you and considering that it was 4 in the morning.

You were caught off guard. You were so shocked that your thoughts took over your entire body, and it took you a moment to respond to what JJ had just told you.

"What the hell?" was all you found to say.

JJ knew very well that there was a risk that he would break your friendship by telling you, but there was no turning back. "Look, I just need to have a walk to clear my head and then you can lecture me on the no pogue on pogue macking rule," he assured as he walked by you, giving up on the twinkie idea.

You stayed still, unable to move. When you saw JJ come back as the sun was starting to rise, you knew you had remained there for a long time.

"I don't intend to lecture you," you said as he was about to speak.

"What?"

His innocence drew a smile out of you. "I'm actually planning to break the rule if you're willing to break it with me, so I don't think I'm in a position to lecture you," you told him.

You noticed his features change, then a smile.

He didn't answer anything but rushed towards you, took your face in his hands and firmly pulled your body against his as he brought his lips to yours, kissing you softly. You closed your eyes and inhale deeply as if you were trying to immortalize the moment.

"You could've said that you didn't care about the damn rule sooner," he joked before kissing you again.

Ok they’re not gone phew

𖦹⭒°｡⋆ avatar: the way of water

ONESHOTS

neteyam SULLY

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

jake SULLY

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

Avatar / Avatar: The Way of Water Lo'ak I'm Good At Letting You Go (You Were Never the Enemy) part one - part two

Neteyam Don't Let Yourself Be Hurt This Time