Spencer: I've Been Struggling With Drug Use After Being Kidnapped And Nearly Dying.

don't stop (thinking about tomorrow)

wc: 2.3k

cw: live!reader who can see wally, fun little meet cute that freaks wally out, tw for two sentence mention of harry potter, set in 2023 but nothing with maddie happens, and as always i am writing with a plus size!reader in mind, but this one is gender neutral!reader as well so far

a/n at the end!

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

masterlist

He was never supposed to find out that you can see him. 

You could see all of them - the beatnik with the sour expression plastered on her face, the sweetheart in the jean jacket, even the blonde dude who’s always at the pottery wheel during your second period ceramics class.

You’d spent the last four years perfecting walking right past them, not looking up, not laughing at the jock’s jokes when you’re seated near them in the library.

Your ‘gifts’ are too confusing to explain, and even if you attempted to confide in someone about them, you know it would be too hard to believe.

It freaked your parents out when you were little - your comments about how Grandma talked to you long after her passing, how you waved to people on the street that nobody else could see. They never took you to be tested -  worried too much that you’d get taken away or put in psychiatric holding. 

So if you came home looking tired and drained, or sometimes, a little scared, your parents understood. 

When you started high school, you hadn’t expected there to be so many dead people. It was so weird, seeing people your age walking around stuck in the clothes representative of their times. 

You’d told your mom about the kids as you distinguished them from the living ones -  sadness in her eyes growing when you’d mentioned the lanky one in 80s athletic gear. She’d gotten her own Split River yearbook from the shelf, flipped to the memorial page and pointed at Wally. 

“Is that who you’re talking about?” 

You’d nodded, confirming her suspicions. She’d been in his graduating class, though not in his social circles. He’d been your stereotypical jock when he was alive, for all the pros and cons of it. King of the ragers thrown after games, not always a bully, but often a bystander. Gone too soon, but quickly forgotten in the grand scheme of things. 

For your safety, you’d agreed that you wouldn’t ever speak to any of the ghosts. Your mom had clocked the dreamy glaze in your eyes while looking at Wally’s picture, and while she couldn’t stop you from talking to him, she’d told you what you already knew. It wasn’t smart, and it wouldn’t end well. 

In your mind, letting any of them know that you could see them would be more cruel than just letting them go about their usual business. Even if you made contact, spoke to them - hung out with them - you were leaving after graduation, and they’d be alone again, without any contact with the living world. It seemed unfair; pointless. 

It’s not Wally’s fault he’s so fucking pretty. 

He moves about the school the same way you do - not looking at or paying attention to the people around him - because he has no reason to believe he can be seen. It’s worked out entirely in your favor thus far, because you can stare at Wally Clark for small periods of time without him noticing. On the occasion that he turns his head in your direction, a shift of your eyes to the right or left has him believing you’re just staring off into space. 

He’s so nice to look at. His slightly curled waves of black hair, gold chain gleaming under fluorescent lighting. There’s depth to him, too. When he’s around his friends, he’s energetic - bouncy, cracking jokes and patting people on the back too hard. When he’s alone, though, he seems calmer. More reserved. 

You get bolder with it, the staring, lulled into a sense of safety because you’re just another face in the ever-rotating crowd of high schoolers that pass through Split River. He’d seen forty generations of kids move on at this point, stuck as a fresh 18 year old with dreams and aspirations he’ll never be able to achieve. 

It must suck, having to stay behind and watch as other seniors get a chance to do what he never did. You wish you could comfort him, maybe even help him find a way to move on. It’s harder for the people who die traumatically. 

So much unfinished business and pent up emotions make it difficult to find the peace needed to pass onto the next plane. It’s easy to tell -there’s always a certain aura around the sad ones. Like the air around them is heavier, darker. 

You’re not complaining, though, as fucked as that may sound. Especially not when you’re lounging under a tree near the football field, not so subtly watching as a shirtless Wally picks up replicated footballs and throws them aimlessly in different directions. If you hadn’t been daydreaming about being able to talk to him, you would’ve noticed the ball soaring towards you. 

You look up, just in time for the phantom ball to hit the ground next to you, bouncing to land at your feet. Absent-mindedly - and almost jokingly - you kick it away from you, suddenly aware the ball was solid against your foot. In the time it takes you to realize you just interacted with a phantom football, it's faded away into the ground, and its sender is staring at you wide-eyed. 

There’s a beat of stillness, soundtracked by the cicadas and other teens on the field before you begin to move. 

You scramble to throw your shit into your bag, and speed walk back inside. 

“Holy shit? Wait! Hey, wait!” 

He follows you, because of course he does, and you try your best to ignore the panic and guilt rising in your throat. You just keep walking, hoping that he’ll give up. He doesn’t. 

“Can you slow down please? I know you can see me!” 

Wally catches up to you, jogging a few paces ahead to try to cut you off. You’ve never been this close to him - you have no idea if he’ll pass through you the way you’ve seen the other ghosts pass through living people before or if you'll make contact like you did moments ago with the ball he had thrown. 

It blows your cover even more than kicking the ball away, but when Wally goes to stand in front of you, you attempt to veer out of his path. And then he grabs you. Or, he tries to, anyway. He’s not fully solid, not enough to place a firm hold on you, but enough for you to genuinely feel it. 

His hand does go through you, but there’s resistance to it. It makes you shiver, the ice cold sensation of his palm trying to hold your shoulder but not being able to fully grip it. 

“What the fuck?” He looks down at his hands, then back towards you. 

He’s caught off guard enough for you to truly get away this time. Rest of the school day be damned, you make a break for it and throw yourself into your car. 

The stale air does nothing to help your nerves, your shaking hand turning the ignition to blast AC at yourself. You lean forward, resting your head on the steering wheel and try to breathe through it. This is bad. Like, really fucking bad. 

You don’t know much about him, but you seriously doubt that this is the kind of thing he’d just let go. 

You’re in it now, for better or for worse. 

You can’t tell your mom. It’s selfish, and misguided, and you hadn’t even said anything to him, but it was something. It was yours, and you don’t want to share. It makes the guilt worse, and your drive home is spent in dissociated silence. 

When you get home, your mom is in the kitchen, bouncing around to 80s music and chopping onions. The slam of the front door alerts her to your presence, and she pauses her music, concern etched in her features. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay? You’re home early.” 

You don’t want to lie. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just got a headache, that’s all. Thought I should come home and take a nap.” 

-

Spending a few days at home would probably be for the best - it would give you time to come up with some sort of plan on what to say to Wally. You have no idea what the best course of action is. He knows you can see him now. You can’t take that back and make him forget it, and you don’t even know if you’d want to. 

Instead, you barrel into school the next day, head down and earphones blasting music. Your eyes don’t leave the linoleum floor except to put your bag in your locker. The grumble of frustration and annoyance that leaves your body when three Tears for Fears songs play in succession draws the attention of other students in the hallway, but you pay them no mind. 

You don’t even make it to third period before you see him. 

Sitting in the corner of ceramics class, shaky hands denting an already uneven vase, the slam of the classroom door makes you jump - effectively destroying the soft clay cradled in your palms. 

“There you are! Dude, I've been looking all over for you.” He sidles up to you, plops down in the seat directly to your right, the heat of his gaze burning into the side of your face and making your cheeks hot. You sigh, squishing the clay down and shaking your head. 

“That’s fine, you don’t have to talk. I can talk for both of us. I can just talk, and talk, and talk, and-” 

Your hand shoots into the air, a frantic “Can I use the restroom please?” leaving your throat. 

It’s your worst nightmare and a dream come true, being alone with Wally. He walks next to you in the hallway, and when you pass the bathroom he pauses. 

“You’re not going in? I thought you needed to go.” He’s teasing, you know he is, but you still huff at him. 

You keep your pace, calling out behind you, “No, Wally, I don’t need to use the bathroom.” 

You don’t turn around to see it, but you can hear the slightly shocked giggle that leaves him. 

“Oh, c’mon, really?” 

He catches up to you, and when you crane your head to the side to make eye contact, he sucks in a little breath. It’s the first time you’ve actually looked into his eyes. It throws you off kilter a bit, and you feel the need to make up the difference with a quip. 

“What, you’re Moaning Myrtle now? You feel like talking and hanging around in public restrooms?” 

The laugh that leaves him surprises you, Your eyebrows raise, not expecting him to understand the reference. 

“Ms. Williams plays the movies during finals week like every year,” he shrugs, “I’m dead, not blind.” 

You’d taken your things with you - skipping the rest of your class to spend time with him, to answer the questions you know he wants to ask. You go back to the football field, under the same tree you’d been under when you kicked the football away from you. 

He’s waiting for you to speak, to help him understand what’s going on, but the words are caught in your throat, cheeks hot and skin itchy. Your hands fidget, picking dried clay from under your fingernails and flicking it onto the grass nearby. 

You look at him, trying to decide where to start. 

“I’m not really supposed to talk to you.”

“Why not?” He laughs then, shakes his head a little. “It’s because I’m dead, right? Do you have a problem with dead people?”

“No, I-” You start on the defensive, but soften when you see Wally’s smirk. He’s a little shit, you should've known. You roll your eyes, “You’re not supposed to know I can see you for your own sake. What good would it do? Hanging out with me for the next three months until I graduate and you can never see me again? It’s unfair.”

He looks away from you for a second, sly smile wiped off of his face, replaced with a sadness you hadn’t seen from him before. You reach out, trying to make contact, and your hand just meets the air. When he’d tried to grab you yesterday, he was slightly more solid than he is now. You don’t know why. 

“Yeah it is unfair,” He turns to face you again, brown eyes glassy and tear rimmed, “but you can see me, and that’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since I’ve been here.” 

Something in your chest stirs, and you know there’s no universe in which you would’ve been able to stay away from him. You’re worlds apart, or planes apart, but it doesn't seem to matter as much as you used to think it did. 

“I think it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me, too.” 

You spend the rest of the school day - without being caught, thankfully - in deep conversation. The shrill ring of the bell signaling the end of the day cuts you off in the middle of a sentence, and you stand from your place on the grass, dusting yourself off and gathering your things. 

The silence between you is comfortable now, as he walks you to your car. He can’t step off the curb - he’d explained the boundaries of the school to you, that he’d be thrown back to the field if tried to leave. You hover together, not wanting to part. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow? We can hang out more, I have study hall during 5th period.” You tuck a stray hair behind your ear, and he follows the movement with his eyes. 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” 

You blast your 80s playlist on the way home, while you’re in the shower, while you’re doing homework. 

Wally Clark is gonna be the death of you.  

a/n: hiii i feel like this part was a little lackluster but !!!! i have a whole plan for what i want to do with this fic and i'm really excited about it. it should be four parts, but that's subject to change as i keep writing.

if you liked this and want to read more of my little stories, my masterlist is linked at the top! if you have ideas or just want to chat, my inbox is always open!

pls don't forget to like and reblog! love you mwah

The After Party

Sub!Simon Elroy x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Porn with the tiniest speck of plot, Obviously smut, Edging, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia.

Your hand was wrapped around the base of Simon's cock, moving with slow strokes that made his brain melt as desperate whines fell from his lips.

He was laid back on a bed that belonged to whoever's house you were in, while you sat on his thigh, having a perfect view of his face. You had dragged him to a random party, convincing him that it was gonna be fun. Dancing, karaoke, and a few drinks. That was all it was supposed to be.

But the way you bumped and grinded on him in front of everyone drove him crazy. The tightening in his pants becoming almost unbearable. His hands digging into your hips, dragging you off into a random room.

He couldn't help it, he needed you. The buzzing in his head from the few shots you convinced him to take made him not care where you were, the only thought occupying his mind was the way you made him feel with something as simple as your hand.

His tip had grown from a light brownish pink to a deep red, precum leaking from the angry head due to the amount of time you had brought him almost to his peak and denied him the pleasure of release.

"Baby" a deep whine left his lips. "Please" He reached out to grab your hand but you pushed him away, giving him a stern look as he let out a sob.

You lightly slapped his cock making him jump, another quiet sob racking his body.

"you wanna cum?" Fake sympathy laced your voice, a mocking pout forming on your lips. He nodded vigorously, body shaking slightly with the force of his movement. "Words." A rule you had made a while back, no words, no release.

"Yes! Yes, please" His words were jumbled, strewned together through ragged breaths and quiet cries. "Need it" The pout that decorated his face and his teary brown eyes are what made you give in.

Without a word you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock for the millionth time tonight and delivered hard fast strokes. Desperate cries left his lips, throwing his head back as he screwed his eyes shut.

Your free hand reached up, grabbing his jaw and angled it towards you. "No, look at me baby." Your voice was gentle. You saw his lip quiver, it took everything in him to force his eyes open. A far away fucked out look filling them.

You leaned in, giving a soft gentle kiss before pulling away, a huge smile on your face. "You're so fucking pretty when you cry." The praise is what pushed him over the edge. Thick, hot ropes of cum covering your hand as you worked him through his orgasm. His desperate cries, hopefully being covered by the music playing downstairs, filled the room.

After his body finally relaxed, limbs turning into jello beneath you, your hand unwrapped from around his cock, whipping it off on the strangers sheets.

You leaned your forehead against his, pecking his lips softly. "You did so good for me baby." You could still hear the music playing downstairs as Simon slowly drifted off to sleep.

This is my comfort cus some bitch decided to spoil the end of the umbrella academy this came in clutch at the perfect time

October Sun

summary: you'd never told Xavier. not because he hadn't been a good friend, but because you'd kept a secret no one but you had known. only then, in the eye of the storm, you'd been forced to tell him: i can't remember.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

sorry for the delay, loves, work was overwhelming (it's busy season) and i'm sick and it was a lot 😩⚰️ ilyg 🫶

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER SUN pt.25

In 1987, during the period Wally had still been reluctant to join the Afterlife Support Group, Mr. Martin had asked Bernie to ask Wally to help Mina Volkov transition from life to death. You're from the same decade—Mr. Martin's words from Bernie's mouth—she probably remembers you. Although, looking back, Wally wondered if it hadn't been a strategic play to get Wally to see the benefits of togetherness.

For the first time since his death, Wally had felt useful, but it'd backfired almost immediately and had sent him into a tailspin of doubt and frustration that'd lasted another five or so years. Mina had simply yelled at Wally about a safety course and how she hadn't been responsible for who got what part, barking at Wally until he'd descended from the rafters with his tail between his legs. He'd tried a few more times after their first encounter to cajole Mina out of her roost, and he'd been chased away every time.

So, color him surprised when Mina quietly accepted the bouquet Maddie handed her, tempered, receptive, and willing to offer what she knew by lifting and dropping the stage's trapdoor.

"How did she do that?" Wally asked of Maddie, who'd done in a minute what he'd tried to do over the span of years.

"Maybe it has something to do with what your girlfriend mentioned," Rhonda said in long, bored strokes, "Maddie might have ghost powers that she can use to tame even the most stubborn dead stagehands."

Wally warmed at Rhonda's use of the word 'girlfriend', cheeks flushing and heart picking up speed. He hadn't given much thought to titles, but something inside him did somersaults at the idea that you and he were that kind of official.

"Stop that." Rhonda smacked him lightly in the chest with the back of her hand.

Wide-eyed and totally confused, "Stop what?"

"Your face," Charley explained, "It's gone all soft and pining." Then, to himself, "It's actually adorable."

Wally rearranged his expression into something less smitten as he, Rhonda, and Charley stood and followed Maddie through the trapdoor and down into the cellarage.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Time stammered to a stop, the walls closed in; lights dimmed, noise ceased, and all you could see was Xavier. His ice-wild eyes filled with fear and confusion, already positioned on the defensive, more disturbed than you'd ever seen him before.

"Zav?" You croaked as your heart thundered in your chest. "Are you—?"

"No." Xavier snapped, pacing a few steps forward and then back, "Don't. Just. Stop..." He deflated instantly, rubbed his eyes, and raked his fingers through his hair, and then he demanded, "Who was that guy?"

You couldn't deflect; couldn't say no idea what you're talking about, couldn't fake it 'til you made it or wait for him to think up some plausible excuse on his own that you'd glom on to and ride into the sunset. It was Xavier and you'd promised yourself years ago that he'd be the one person in the world you'd never, ever lie to. Dance around the truth for self-preservation? Sure. But outright lie to him? Your instincts screeched and cried against it, fight-flight-frozen in place as you watched his eyes dart around, the flurry of his thoughts practically spilling out of him for you to hear.

The years you'd spent curating an occult personality, touched by the same incandescent, bewitched spirit as every other boho-goth girly with a penchant for Halloween and horror films; the admissions you'd made of having a crush on a ghost at the school; the easy way you talked about what lay beyond the spiritual veil. The many breadcrumbs you'd dropped in the form of red herrings rose like a bloated corpse from the depths of a lake as he viscerally pieced together the truth.

"I know what I saw." He grunted, falling back against the wall and sliding to the floor, head in his hands, wide eyes staring at his feet. "You were making out with some rando and then he just...vanished into thin air." Xavier made a poof-gone burst with his hands, head panning in a crescent to scan the hall for signs of what he'd witnessed.

"Xavier, I..." Didn't know what to say and your inability to explain everything away seemed to strengthen Xavier's resolve.

He sniffed, dropping his arms to hang on his knees, face creased in a pain you didn't know the source of. "I know I can be a shit friend," He began, tone thin as wet paper, but before you could voice a denial, he continued, "I know that everything with Maddie has...has been hard and it's obviously triggered something for you, but..." And his voice scratched, "I thought I was your best friend."

"You are," You insisted, trying so hard to convey how true the sentiment was.

"Yeah? Then why don't you ever talk to me about Aidan?" A blade to the heart. "Why won't you tell me what the fuck actually happened to him? I loved him, too." The blade twisted, sinking deeper. "I know it wasn't an accident, May; I know you saw something; I know you were there." The nickname hurt for more reasons than one, and it took everything in you not to call Xavier out. "Why don't you ever share anything with me? And now you're buddy-buddy with Simon and handsy with a guy you can't. tell. me. wasn't Walker Clark—fucking Number 57 right on his jacket, DEAD high school legend." Xavier paused his tirade to note, "Jesus Christ, I sound fucking crazy," knocking his head against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut.

Your surprise bubbled out of you before you could reel it back in, "How do you even know any of that?"

Xavier slumped in defeat, shook his head, and confessed, "You always talked about him. How your mom fangirled after him worse than a K-pop stan." He snorted, "In sophomore year, when Eli asked you out? You wouldn't stop joking about how you thought a stupid ghost was more your type." He looked up at you then, gaze misty, brows pinched in anguish. "I wanted to see what the hype was about...so I checked out the '84 yearbook in the library. There's a whole spread dedicated to his memory, did you know that?"

You did. You'd been shown a printout of it along with the rest of Wally's dossier. "Yeah."

"I mean, I thought you'd just looked it up, too." Xavier laughed without humor, "Thought you were just bullshitting for the sake of some manic pixie dream girl vibe you wanted to try out because being a teenager's fucking stupid like that, but..." Again, his gaze met yours, held it briefly as he stared into your soul, and then skirted away, up and down the hallway before returning to fixate on the theater door. "Where'd he go, May?"

"Please stop calling me that." You said, hoarse, strangled, breath shortening as your lungs struggled to expand.

Xavier stood and strode forward until you and he were nose to nose, "Who was that?" He pressed, "Who just had their hands all over you and then disappeared just like that." The last word emphasized with a loud snap of his fingers.

"Zav, please, just hold on—"

He abruptly whirled around, stormed toward the theater door, and violently threw it open. You scurried after him, pleading with him to listen as he charged down the center aisle toward the stage, calling out for whoever you were to show himself as if to prove Xavier wasn't losing his mind. And he wasn't, you knew that, but how were you supposed to tell him without doing more damage than had already been done when you'd revealed yourself to Rhonda and Charley?

"Xavier, wait!" You yelled, panicked, divulging the only thing you thought might redirect his manic assault around the theater. "I didn't tell you about Aiden because I can't remember!"

Xavier stopped his search, still as an eerie pond in winter, and slowly turned to face you. "What?"

"I can't..." Fuck. You scraped your fingers over your scalp then shot your arms wide, "I can't remember." You revealed, voice cracking, "It comes back in bits and pieces that don't make...they don't make sense without the context and you're right, okay? I was there, but I can't remember. Not everything." The door, the farmhouse, blood, blood everywhere, a crowbar, and Aiden screaming for you, his Sissy May because your mother always called you her May child—her little baby girl a symbol of new hope and abundance that had nothing to do with Beltane or spring blessings or the month of May itself.

"What do you mean you 'can't remember'?" Xavier questioned, face scrunched up as if that was somehow crazier than the fact that he'd seen you and a literal ghost make out.

Tears streamed down your face, vision blurry, voice pitched and broken as the last thread of control you had on the situation split. "I don't know." Xavier shook his head in disbelief, compelling you to blurt out whatever you could to keep him calm, "I really don't know. Ms. Chung kept saying my brain was 'repressing the trauma' but I wanted to remember. We tried everything: Art therapy, guided imagery, fucking hypnosis, Xavier, and nothing worked. I can't...I can't remember anything after I picked Aiden up from school."

Panels of that drizzly afternoon read like a heavily redacted picture document. The short walk in the rain from the elementary schoolyard to the end of the block. The friendly smile on a face you knew you'd recognized but that now had a thick, black bar over the nose and eyes. The apple juice. The farmhouse cellar. The crowbar. The door. And then everything sped up from images to a movie reel when then-Deputy-Baxter had to wrestle you to the ground at the side of the dirt road while EMTs tried to resuscitate Aiden.

"I didn't tell you because there wasn't anything in here," You aggressively jammed your fingers into the side of your head as if attempting to unblock the memories, "to tell you. And it's fucked up and I'm sorry I didn't let you in, but I didn't know how. Half the time I didn't believe anything even happened because my fucking brain kept skipping over it."

Except you could remember one crucial detail: "Trust me, it takes four minutes before a person goes from attached to their earthen vessel to haunting the science lab." However, despite the awareness you possessed of having witnessed Aiden's death, your brain refused to evoke the visual memory.

You trembled, tortured by the fact that you hadn't been able to save your little brother, and you had no idea if you'd even tried. Ajay appeared at your side, his hand on your shoulder while his narrowed eyes were pinned on Xavier. As he prepared to say something, the trapdoor at the middle of the stage banged open and Wally climbed out, looking furious and ready for war.

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-FOUR

note: Waiting for Godot is so stripped down that I disliked it immensely. also, please remember that time moves differently between the worlds of the living and the dead. so the 2 seconds it takes Xavier to lose his shit is, like, enough minutes in the metaphysical world for our ghost friends to find the forged receipt. like Narnia...it's been a thousand years O.o (iykyk)

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: i'm afraid i am no longer updating or using the taglist. moving forward, if you'd like to keep up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS. that thing took me to Hell and back, and we're no longer on speaking terms...😒

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating. cybersex. spit as lube. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

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Alphabet Soup - V

V is for Wally's very inappropriate use of company time. Bud Binns, grandson and owner of Reggie's Auto Repair, is in the garage, under the belly of another vintage car, hard at work and none the wiser.

The expo's in town, part of Split River's annual autumn fair that celebrates community spirit and agriculture. Wally couldn't give less of a shit, but car enthusiasts from orbiting towns have descended in droves and Wally likes the money. He's been up to his elbows in grease and oil since Monday; no time for himself. For homework. For football. For you.

He deserves every break he takes and Bud, so grateful for Wally volunteering his valuable time, shoos him to the break room with a gruff, "ya got fifteen minutes, kid." And, taking full advantage of the windowless room with the lock, Wally hunkers down on the couch and video calls you. He's pent up and frustrated and misses the way his name sounds when you moan it.

You answer after two rings, either having anticipated him or missing him, too, as you're wearing the wine-colored lace set that makes his mouth water. Barely-there bra, crotchless panties, stockings that bulge the flesh of your thighs above the band and make Wally's cock twitch. Your phone already set in the tripod Wally sent you from Amazon for exactly this reason.

"Hey, baby," He purrs, undoes his jeans onehanded, and cups himself. Legs spread wide. Massages his balls as he watches your body arch and curve while you ride the mount he slipped into your room when Janet wasn't looking. The dildo isn't as girthy as he is, but he doesn't want it to be—calling the shots for what toys you buy because he's got a thing about being the biggest cock to stuff your cunt. "You miss me that bad, huh, sweet girl?"

You moan, cheeks cherry red, plush lips parted around his name, a vision of hot desperation for him.

"What are you thinking about, baby?" He wants to know, cock hardening in his hand as he watches you sink and lift on the dildo. "You thinking about how good I make you feel?"

"I always think of you, Wally," And, fuck, yeah, that's it, pretty girl, show Wally how you like to be fucked. "Only you."

Wally leans into the back of the couch, holding himself, not ready to give in to his need just yet. "What're you thinking about, baby? Tell me what you're picturing. Tell me what you want me to do to you."

He swallows hard when you start describing the fantasy, your tits bouncing as you begin to ride the toy harder, faster, then slow and sensual, leaning back to show off where the dildo disappears inside you. His mouth goes dry as you move, his voice tense when he murmurs, dark and rough, "You like thinking about the way I feel inside you, baby girl? You think of it a lot, don't you?"

Grits his teeth, groans quietly, closing his eyes for a few seconds to rein his control. His cock throbs in his hand, flushed and dribbling; fuck, you're slutty little noises, the way your body moves like liquid metal, "Say my name again, baby. Just like that." And, finally, he spits in his hand and teases over the tip, uses pre to slick himself up so he can fuck his fist how he wants to fuck you. He hisses, a hot shiver running through him; that intense, euphoric flush through his entire body. The way you say his name drives him insane.

It's—fuck, God—it's so good. His eyes are glued to the screen, to you, to your hips, your tits, your face. Every sound you release makes his jaw tick as he loses himself.

"Need you so bad, Wally," You whine in pleasure, reaching for something offscreen. A buzz. A gasp. Holding the vibe against your clit as you bounce on the dildo. He can hear the juicy squelch of your pussy around the toy and he groans, eyes rolling back, skin tingling.

"Fuck, baby, your pussy's so wet for me." Wally licks his lips, eyes heavy and eclipsed with desire, "Show me how pretty you are when you come for me, baby."

You keen, "Wish it was you, Wally." His mind goes fucking blue screen when you choke, "You'd make me come so hard..."

"Yeah?" He pants, his hand moving faster, "You want me to make you come, sweet girl?"

He watches you watch him, sees how needy you are for his cock, and a smile flickers across his face. His head is swimming, chest heaving, so ready to come just from watching you, but he tries to hold it together, tries not to succumb to the urge. Not yet. Not until you do.

"Yeah...fuck, that's it. Ride it, baby..." Wally's flushed, head starting to spin. From the need, from wanting you, from how fucking good you are for him, his perfect little porn star. Oh, God, he hears a whimper, a moan, your body trembling as you cry out. A hushed moan, "Yeah? Are you coming for me, baby?"

And you shake, head tossed back, body rigid except your hips which grind the dildo inside you as you come apart. He strips his cock faster as he watches you, has to close his eyes, shit, he's so close, he just needs—

"Say it again, baby... I'm so close... Say it again. Say my name..."

You do, a sweet, breathy sob forming the syllables that send him crashing over the edge. Comes all over his fist, groan ripped from his chest, head falling back against the couch, holy fuck, baby girl, he already can't wait to do that again.

"My perfect girl," He praises between breaths and slopes you a lazy, satisfied smile.

But there's no time to bask in the afterglow, his fifteen minutes done, and he needs to get back to work before Bud comes looking. He ends the call with a promise to Snap later, it'll be worth it, baby. Stay up, okay?

Wally washes his hands, fixes his jeans, and saunters into the garage in the best mood he's been in all week.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

October Moon

summary: So, Claire had been working with Mr. Anderson, you and Xavier hadn't been speaking, the Homecoming dance had been on the horizon, and no one had been any closer to getting answers. But, hell, you and Wally had made progress in...other ways.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER MOON pt.1

Aurora chatted merrily at you as she drove you to school, the radio playing Top 40 hits between the DJs' try-hard youthful banter and super exciting, don't miss out contests to win tickets to things you couldn't summon an interest in. Which was apparently suspect, because Aurora kept shooting you looks of sisterly concern.

As she turned into the school parking lot, she lowered the volume and said, "You know the answer to that question," as if she'd peeled back your layers and uncovered your growing treasury of secrets. She pulled into the drop-off zone, put the car in park, and turned to you, "Are you and Baxy still fighting?"

Yes.

And no.

Band practice on Saturday had been tense and awkward, but you and Xavier had made it through without Hana or Lucas or Eli commenting on it. Of course, they'd probably been pretending with everything in them that nothing was wrong for the sake of the upcoming performance. Whatever. You hadn't had to spin another tale of deceit and Xavier hadn't had to confess to cheating on Maddie to your face, so win-win.

Neither of you had even attempted to speak since, barely making eye contact when you happened to be in the same space. Mathilda had informed you that Xavier had been spending his free time with Sandra Nears, which had caught you off guard, because what? Why?

"Sort of," You finally said, tilting your head back against your seat and closing your eyes. "We're not fighting but we're not talking," you summed up as you rolled your head to the side to look at Aurora. From the corner of your eye, you saw Ajay step tentatively up to the driver's side. Hands in his pockets, gaze soft, peering at Aurora like a long-lost friend who needed to remember what it felt like to be known by someone.

And, as it had been every day since Aurora had started driving you to school, she simply sniffed the air, frowned in thought, and then shooed you out of the car with a final statement. Today's was, "You guys will be fine. Things feel a lot bigger at your age than they are. Trust me."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Rory, you nailed it." You muttered, climbing out and giving Ajay an apologetic look. Part of you understood why Aurora couldn't acknowledge that she sensed Ajay. The "Golden Rule" and a lifetime of family gospel. But. But...there was a twist in your gut as you watched her drive away, the stink of her tea clung to your hair and clothes after you'd had to sit in it for the fifteen-minute drive. Something wasn't right.

What else is new? You thought. The sheer amount of holy fuck that had cascaded into your life over the last two weeks had numbed you to anything that should be a shock or surprise. A literal alien could pop up and declare that it'd burgled Maddie's body to blend into the human ecosystem. It could return it and then rocket back to outer space to report its findings to the Mother Ship, and you? Wouldn't be fazed. Thanks so much for stopping by, dust your hands off, onto the next thing.

Or maybe you were strung out on that awful tea stench and needed to diffuse it with real coffee and one of Wally's deep, handsy, distracting kisses that you'd been indulging in all week. The connection between you and him had remained rampant and alive in the wake of last week's mass hysteria. You could feel it even now, tugging you toward the back of the school, eager and impatient to find Wally.

"She didn't say anything, did she?" Ajay's voice interrupted your pining, solemn as he stared after the car.

You didn't reply for a moment, pondering the lips-sealed angle Aurora could be taking with Ajay's presence. "She probably doesn't want to say anything. Our family takes keeping secrets very seriously," you offered, yet that didn't sit right with you.

Ajay glimpsed down at you, "Even from each other?"

No. Not usually. Although no one discussed the ghosts at Split River High (or anywhere else around town), it was more out of mutual understanding than considered outright taboo. In the past, you'd shared a few crush-riddled anecdotes with Aurora about tricks you'd seen Wally do on the field that would've landed a living person in the ER. Those days felt like forever ago. She'd still been based in New York, pursuing a career in public relations. You'd called her every week to fill her in on the shenanigans you'd seen the ghosts commit and she'd giggled along and teased you for the obvious heart-eyes you'd had (have) for the Devils' Number 57.

A year later, she'd moved home, Dave in tow, and things had shifted. Your mother's business had expanded, Uncle Andrew had relocated to an apartment in Milwaukee—only home every other weekend—and no one talked about connectedness or magic or ghosts unless it absolutely had to be discussed. Usually to the tune of, "don't let them know you can see."

You sighed and rocked sideways, knocking your shoulder into Ajay's arm. "She remembers you," you assured him, grinning, "She brought home Bollywood Grill on Tuesday."

"That's not offensive," Ajay rolled his eyes though he snickered, clearly amused by the thought that Aurora's cravings were dictated by the smell she associated with him.

"I'm just saying, she obviously sensed you."

Ajay hummed, stood for a moment longer, and then, "It doesn't feel like it did," he conveyed. "The air is thicker around her." When you gave him a confused look, he shrugged, "I don't know how to explain it better than that."

"Fair enough," You supposed.

As you and Ajay turned toward the school, Simon jogged up to meet you, nodding his head cordially at Ajay before telling you, "I followed Claire home yesterday—"

"Terrifying."

"—and she stopped at Mr. Anderson's again. She waited outside his place for twenty minutes before she gave up. He never came out."

Ajay chewed his lip before asking, "Do we still think they're part of a newly reestablished Something-Something of Dagda?"

"You mean The Emerald Order," You supplied, snorting.

In the subsequent days after the nightmare in the theater, you'd managed to gather scraps of information about the cult. Archived forums online and newspaper clippings at the town library. There wasn't much apart from one headline, "Scandal at Maheive Manor". Several wealthy and influential men and women had disappeared during a party they'd all supposedly attended in 1925. It wasn't until 1926 that the bodies had been discovered, one at a time, over the span of a month. The blame had been laid at the feet of three former Maheive estate staff who'd pled their innocence right until the firing squad had pulled their triggers.

You glanced between Ajay and Simon, "I think it's too soon to say for sure. Amelia and Anabelle had a lot of help to get them to the final ritual. If Amelia's still around, she'll need more than a high school cheerleader and her English teacher to get things moving."

Simon see-sawed his head as he contemplated your statement. "Don't forget Claire has her little army of Chanels. And her step-dad definitely has the money to bankroll a shadowy organization like the Something-Something."

"Emerald Order," You corrected, and then, "You think Claire is smart enough or convincing enough to singlehandedly assemble that many people?" You asked.

"If they're gullible, sure." Simon said.

Ajay, pointed out, "And wasn't Alastair able to singlehandedly do that? That's what Amelia and Anabelle used him for. Claire herself might not have the right connections, but her parents probably do. Claire could just be the next tool in Amelia's culty kit of malice."

Simon smirked at Ajay, "Poetic."

Grateful, "I try."

You and Simon parted ways at your lockers with a promise to catch up at lunch. Ajay lingered for a moment longer, mind as distant as his gaze.

"Still no sign of Mina?" You asked quietly. Despite everyone assuring you that last Friday's events weren't your fault, you carried the guilt of it all the same. Those had been your memories, Aiden had been your brother. And if Mina, like the others, had been subject to a piece of your past so terrible it'd spooked her, you couldn't see how it wasn't your fault she'd gone into hiding.

"Not even a glimpse," Ajay reported, mouth weighed down at the corners, "I've looked everywhere...it's like she vanished."

A hand on his shoulder, "We'll find her," you promised.

Ajay pressed a tight smile to his lips and nodded in thanks, but you could tell that, as much as he wanted to, he didn't believe it. Eventually, he cleared his throat and changed the subject altogether, informing you, "Wally's outside. He's doing drills."

You chuckled, "Ah, yes, the big game's tonight."

"You'd better be there," Ajay warned with a slight glimmer in his eye, "He wants his girl to see him bring the Bandits to victory." For the last part, Ajay impersonated a hyped sports commentator and then a roaring crowd, shaking his fists in the air like he'd just won the Super Bowl.

You guaranteed, "I wouldn't miss it for the world," because you wouldn't. A kid at Christmas, Wally had been amped since Monday, pulling you onto the field after school to show you how to toss the ball well enough for him to practice catching. It was fun, although you refused to admit it. Every time you stubbornly announced, "Sports are sooo dumb," he could read through you and would tackle you (gently, playfully) and tickle you until you submitted. Laying under him, giggling, before he'd stop, breathless, grinning, and gaze into your eyes, lean down, brush his lips to yours—

The fact was you were looking forward to it. To the game, to the celebration, to the dance; it would be a welcome reprieve from the stress and uncertainty you'd found yourself up against recently.

"Tell him to be in the gym in half an hour," Ajay said as he gave you a quick side hug, dutifully checking to make sure the coast was clear. He then sauntered off to join his fellow Group members to prepare for Wally's big night.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally was halfway through a set of burpees when the connection between you and him exploded in his chest, causing him to almost fall flat on his face. Thankfully, he caught himself and snapped to his feet, wiped his forehead with a towel that he draped over his shoulder, and turned to watch you walk onto the field.

Fuck. You looked good. You always looked good, but today you looked particularly edible. Short skirt, curve-hugging top, hair tied up to show off the soft curve of your neck. He licked his lips and openly stared as your hips swayed with every step. Wally was keyed up, he knew, because of the big game, but so much of it was also the time he'd finally been able to spend with you without constant interruptions and impending doom.

"Hey pretty girl," He said as you got close enough for him to hook his arm around your waist and yank you into him. His eyes went heavy and dark, his hand sliding down your back to the curve just above your ass, "You come to see me workout?"

You blushed so pretty, pink cheeked and Bambi eyed. "I came to tell you that you have thirty minutes before you gotta be in the gym," You replied, a sweet little smile on your lips that Wally wanted to bite. "You're getting your sweat all over me," You complained, scrunching your nose up at him.

Wally leaned in close, nipped your earlobe, his voice low and husky, "Don't pretend you don't like it, baby." His hand slipped lower to sneak under your skirt while his lips grazed the soft skin on your neck. He heard you gasp, your body arching into his, and he grinned victoriously.

"Don't start something you can't finish, Clark," You advised in a light, breezy tone, leaning back to look him in the eye. "I have class in ten minutes."

Wally pouted, "I don't even get a kiss?"

You laughed, head thrown back, beautiful, "Fine, one kiss, but then you'd better freshen up and make an appearance. I hear there's a banner you're responsible for."

"There is a banner," Wally agreed with pride. "And balloons." He narrowed his eyes in thought, "And I'm thinking of a crown of sparklers."

"Because that's safe," You scoffed playfully.

Wally shrugged, "Can't get more dead." And then he dipped his head and captured your lips with his, the connection between you like fireworks behind his ribs. He kissed you until you and he were breathless, rested his forehead against yours, willing his body to cooperate and calm the fuck down otherwise he didn't know what he'd do. Well, that was a lie. He totally did. He'd pin you to the grass and remind you of the effect you had on him. Twice. "Fuck, baby," He murmured before he licked into your mouth and kissed you hungrily, hands gliding over your waist and hips and lower.

You broke the kiss with a whimper that went straight to his cock, petitioning, "Class. Test. Seven minutes." The connection flared as if it refused to believe that that was a good reason to stop things from progressing.

Unfortunately for the connection, Wally was raised a gentleman and offered, "I'll walk you to class, pretty girl," letting you go with a pinch to your ass cheek and a boyish grin.

"You wanna carry my books, too?"

"And see your teacher freak out when they appear out of thin air?" Wally chuckled, "Absolutely."

He didn't do that. He knew better than to mess with the status quo. But he still enjoyed the banter between you and him as he walked you to the third floor.

"You're coming tonight, right?" He asked just as you and he neared your math class.

You stopped and turned to him, "Of course I am. And, I have a surprise for you. So you have to meet me before you get on the field, big guy."

Wally perked up, "A surprise?" And then he recalled the surprise you'd brought him and Charley yesterday. "Is it Max's?" He asked, excited. Max's Diner had been his favorite spot when he'd been alive. An old-school greasy spoon even in the '80s. Wally's parents had worked there when they'd been teenagers; it had been how they'd met. The diner held a special place in Wally's heart and he'd almost cried when you'd presented him with his go-to order: Double cheese burger, extra pickles, extra fries, and a large coke.

"Not quite," You said with a wince, "but I think you'll like it just as much..."

"Then I can't wait, baby," Wally said, glancing up and down the hall before leaning in to press his lips to yours once more. It was turning into an addiction. And since he was going to get caught up in game prep and might not see you for the remainder of the day, he took his time, impressing everything he felt into that kiss and smiling when he heard you release a pleasured sigh.

"You suck," You pouted when he finally released you, "I'm going to fail and it'll be your fault."

Wally smirked, admittedly proud of himself, yet he maintained, "You'll be fine, you've got this. We went over everything three times yesterday and you got everything right."

God, there was that blush he was starting to love so much, "You are a good tutor. Even if you can be distracting."

"Get in there and kill it, baby," He encouraged, winked, watched as you disappeared into the classroom, and then he turned to head to the gym as instructed, fantasizing about what your surprise later could be. However, as the connection between you and him dimmed, his senses rushing back in beyond how you felt and tasted and...smelled—he caught a whiff of something off-putting and familiar.

Pinching his shirt, he brought the fabric to his nose and sniffed.

Heady.

Floral.

Like licking soap.

Without a second thought, Wally spun around and rushed into the classroom. The teacher was already behind his desk correcting another class's papers, the room study hall hushed as everyone read over their test sheets. Wally hurried to the back of the class where you were sat, hunched over your sheet with the eraser end of your pencil between your teeth.

The connection between you and Wally sparked to life again and caused you to glance up before he even reached your seat. Your eyes widened when you saw him approach in a panic, but you otherwise remained still, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He crouched beside your desk, careful not to touch you, gaze supplicating.

"Why do you smell like that?" Wally asked in a whisper though no one else could hear him.

He watched you surreptitiously sniff your hair, make a face of revulsion, and then write in the corner of your test sheet, Aurora's tea which you erased as soon as you knew Wally had read it.

Wally swallowed, nervous, and looked back at you, "I smelled that in the cellar the night Aiden died." He explained, "It was on your breath. And in one of the glass things I picked up."

You stared at him, dumbfounded, for a split second before taking a deep breath and raising your hand. Wally had no clue what you were thinking as you slid out of your desk, leaning most of your weight on your other hand that held that back of your chair.

"Mr. Davis?" You said, and Wally was shocked at how weak you sounded, like you were—oh. "Mr. Davis, I don't feel well, may I please be excused?"

Mr. Davis stood and scrutinized you, brow deeply furrowed, "Are you sure this can't wait?"

You shook your head, took one, two small steps and then, whoops, fell forward. Or, your body did. Your ghost remained upright, freaking out at Wally, "You're sure that was the same smell?"

Wally nodded, his eyes on your unconscious form on the floor. "Did that hurt?" He had to wonder.

"Probably. I won't feel it until—"

And there you went, back into your body as soon as Mr. Davis' hands were on you to check you over. The class was in chaos, students shifting and hovering over your limp form. Mr. Davis instructed someone to fetch the school nurse and three students took it upon themselves to do the honors. By gentle degrees, your eyes fluttered open and you came to, looking for all the world like you'd genuinely fainted due to some unknown affliction. A sad Victorian child, pale and weak.

Oh, you were good, Wally mused, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing.

You sat up, blinked at Mr. Davis, and again asked to be excused. The school nurse dashed in and fussed over you for a moment until she discerned you could stand on your own two feet, "No need to call an ambulance," she said when you'd answered a series of questions she'd posed. "Probably dehydration or stress."

To be on the safe side, Mr. Davis dismissed you. Wally accompanied you to the nurse's office where you were given a glass of water and orders to lay down on the sofa for ten minutes. Wally sat on the ground, back against the bottom of the sofa, shaking his head at your sad panda-like reflexes.

"You just dropped like a sack of potatoes, baby, what were you thinking?"

Peeking out from beneath the cold compress the nurse had handed you, you noticed the nurse had left the room to speak to someone in the hall. Free to answer, you justified, "I was thinking that someone told me they smelled my sister's gross tea the night my little brother was killed by a woman wearing my friend's dad's body." You sat up to give Wally a significant look, "What else was I supposed to do without possibly failing that test?"

Wally conceded that that had been the best way to leave and avoid a bad grade or accusations of cheating. "Next time, maybe don't do something that'll leave a bruise," Wally said softly, reaching up and brushing the backs of his fingers down your cheek where a red mark was blossoming into a bruise from the angle at which you'd hit the floor.

"No promises," You grinned.

Ten minutes later, the nurse cleared you and gave you a note to give to the secretary to dismiss you for the rest of the day should you feel you needed it. Wally wished you could use it just to spend that freedom with him instead, but you reminded him that Mr. Martin would be heavily involved in the rest of Wally's day and that might not go down so well.

Hey, Mr. M, this is one of now three living people who can see us that we lied to you about. Also there's a cult and, oh, hey, did you know Janet was evil or did she move on by complete coincidence right when things got crazy?

Wally agreed, "Yeah, let's not do that." He led you into an empty classroom where you and he could discuss what the hell that smell meant, if it meant anything, which...it had to, right? He was quickly learning everything was connected in some random way, no matter how absurd.

"You're sure it's the same smell?" You wanted to know, leaning against the wall, thumb nail between your teeth.

Wally leaned in close and breathed in your hair, "Yeah, exactly the same. It smelled a lot stronger in the science glass than it does on you now, but it's identical." He confirmed.

A few beats as the gears turned in your head, "My Nana drinks that tea, too. So does Dave. And, honestly, I haven't noticed anything different about anyone. They're all still them." You said, appearing to have trouble connecting the right dots.

"It could mean nothing," Wally rationalized, "Maybe there's an ingredient missing that was in the stuff I smelled versus what's in your sister's tea, who knows."

He saw you process that and then something seemed to come to you, "When I was in that...memory or whatever, the kids Amelia and the others transferred into...they smelled kind of like it." Your gaze caught Wally's, brows knitted in worry, "It wasn't exactly the same but it was close enough. Really flowery. Like—"

"Licking soap?" Wally finished. "It might be related."

"Or it might not." You groaned, pressing your fingertips into your eyes. "Why do I feel like we have all the pieces, but we're putting together two puzzles that might not have anything to do with each other?"

Stepping into your space, Wally took your hands in his and lowered them, kissing your forehead before resting his against it. "We're getting there, baby. We'll figure it all out."

"I hope so," You murmured and Wally could tell you were overwhelmed. "Do you remember any of the ingredients you saw on the shelf?"

"Yeah, a lot of them." He leaned back and searched your expression. "Want me to write them down for you?"

You nodded, "Yes please."

With a gentle smile and soft eyes, "I got you, baby girl," Wally assured. "I'll give it Maddie to give to you." At your adorably lost face, Wally said, "Like you said, Mr. Martin is gonna be heading my hype committee and will probably want me around for my input all day. Maddie, on the other hand, has a habit of disappearing at random."

You chuckled, "Gotchya," and drew Wally into a short, but very hot kiss. One that got Wally's everything running. He moaned against your lips, hands trailing down your hips to your thighs then under your skirt, pressing you more firmly against him.

"You gotta stop doing that," He said with a heavy exhale.

"Doing what?"

Wally nipped your lower lip, flicked his tongue to soothe the sting and kissed you dirty and deep before telling you, "Making my god damn brain melt."

You giggled and told him in no uncertain terms, "Definitely no promises..."

💀___________________________

PROLOGUE - PART TWO

note: no note, just desperate and feverish writing! love you guys!

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: we're not about that life around here (•¯ ∀ ¯•) things got too outta hand and i'm still cleaning up the mess left behind by the demons i accidentally summoned trying to get the damn thing to work 🕳️👹......there's a dustpan over there if you feel like helping 🧹💨 or, if you just wanna stay up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS.

Therapist: Mr.Winchester, your life isnt a movie.

Sam: i hope its a short film

Therapist: ....

INTERVIEW 020. WALLY CLARK murdrtober oct 5th. ghost sex

You've never really believed the ghost stories about Split River, but this encounter definitely gave you a new outlook 800+ words MDNI 18+

You’ve been downplaying it the entire day. There were rumors that Split River was haunted, usually nothing but ghost stories told between kids during lock-ins, followed by dares to venture down dark hallways alone. 

You were instructed to make sure none of that happened at tonight’s lockin. It was supposed to be nothing but fun, with as few freshmen sent home crying as possible. You didn’t know how much authority you would have as just a TA, but you wanted to keep as much credibility as possible. Spewing out accusations of phantom touches to your back wouldn’t have helped your credibility at all. So you kept it to yourself. 

You tried your best to keep your composure, ignoring the feeling of a body behind you, keeping your heels glued to the ground even when you wanted to jump at the feeling of a hand pressed into your lower back. By the end of the night, you felt like you were losing your mind. 

Maybe one of the seniors slipped something in your drink during dinner. Maybe your lack of sufficient sleep was finally catching up to you. Maybe you’ve been secretly predisposed to some sort of mental illness and these are the warning symptoms. 

Or maybe it’s real. 

The possibility is there. Maybe Split River is haunted. Maybe you should’ve chosen another school in another district to be a teacher’s assistant. 

You’re busy trying to hold the remains of your mind together when the feeling intensifies. Your eyes stare straight in the bathroom mirror, the remnants of cold water from a damp paper towel sliding down your face, dripping into the porcelain sink that you’re leaning over. You take deep breaths, trying to clear the thoughts speeding around in your head. And just when you think you’ve gotten it all under control, you feel it. 

The feel of a human hand touches right between your legs, brushing against the skin revealed by your shorts. You swear under your breath, staring down with an expectation to see a hand in that very spot. There’s nothing there, just empty space between your legs. 

“What the fuck?” You’re about to turn around and get out of there, join the others with the belief that there’s safety in numbers. But a strong grip keeps you still by your hips, pushing you right against the counter. 

Your heart thumps in your chest with such ferocity that it hurts. You’re scared you might go into cardiac arrest at this rate, left to become another spirit to wander these halls. You close your eyes, waiting for the moment to come, but the only thing that happens is a hand pressed against your mound from behind. The feeling of fingers reaching into your shorts and pulling your lips apart through the cotton fabric of your panties. Those same fingers press right into your clit, experimentally tweaking the bud a few times. You try to remain shocked, refusing to give voice to a moan bubbling within your belly. But then your panties are pulled to the side and there’s a finger slowly penetrating you, in and out in and out. An arm wrapped around your waist, a chest against your back, one finger that soon becomes two opening you up. 

You feel ashamed as you wantonly gasp into the stale bathroom air. You should be recoiling away from the apparition, running out of this place and leaving completely. Maybe skipping town if you’re really scared enough. You shouldn’t be pushing yourself back into the touch and searching for more. 

It’s a purely human instinct, that’s what you tell yourself. It’s natural to search for the touch that makes you feel good, to want to amplify it, receive more and more until you reach a climax. And after you’ve orgasmed, gasping into the sink as you’re slumped over, trying to catch your breath—it’s natural to want it again. 

You don’t know how long you’re in that bathroom, but you’re there for a while. On your knees with your mouth open, letting the cavern be used by someone you cannot see. You would help if it weren’t anything other than air on your end, but you like it like this. All of the control is out of your hands, leaving you pliant as you sit on your knees, your mouth hung open, your eyes closed as you enjoy the feeling. 

By the time you’re done—or, by the time whoever is done with you—you’re spent, limbs and joints aching in ways they never have before. You want more, but the phantom doesn’t touch you after he’s done, leaving you to stand to your feet and splash water on your face, trying to get rid of the flush that’s taken over your features. 

When you come up for air, you swear you see someone standing behind you, their frame present in the mirror. Taller than you by a longshot, dark hair, a mole under the lips spread into a small smirk. You make eye contact and he grins, but then you blink and he’s gone like he was never there. 

Maybe he wasn’t. But you choose to believe he was. 

Split River was a peculiar school, after all. 

Random freaky thoughts 🤔

Wally Clark x Afab! Reader (it's kinda not an x reader but also is at the same time. I don't know how to explain it)

Warnings: Oral (both giving and receiving) thigh riding. Me rambling for no reason. I think that's it. This is just smut so yeah. You've been warned.

Enjoy my descent into madness :)

All I can't think about is this man's tongue 😩 like he'd be so naturally skilled with it. His hands pushing your thighs down to keep them open for him while his tongue laps at your clit. Not stopping until you're quite literally dripping down his chin.

Maybe I just have issues but thigh riding anyone???👀 His thighs just look so ridable. Please tell me I'm not alone in this 😭 He'd flex them to apply just the right amount of pressure to tease you. Not giving you enough to get you to that perfect place of ecstasy. Constantly keeping you on the edge until he's ready to take you. (I'm calling my therapist)

What MarV Allen say??? IMMA TAKE HER TO POUND TOWN, GOING ROUND AFTER ROUND!!! Yeah he lives by that even though he's probably never heard the song. I've said it once and I'll say it again RESETS!!! Aka infinite stamina. He can go forever if you let him.

This is just a random thought but he would laugh his ass off if you printed out 'tickets to pound town' Don't get me wrong he wouldn't pass up the opportunity but he would find it funny.

Give this man head I promise you won't be disappointed. He'd worship you, holding your hair back while he admires your face. Gently pushing your head down while he tells you how beautiful you are.

(okay I'm done. This is probably shitty cus I wrote it during a lecture. I'm running on 2 hours of sleep and an ice coffee that I only drank half of cus I put way to much almond milk in it. Sorry I'm rambling bye 👋)

you guys made luigi mangione trend for days and I need to see the same energy for brianna boston. she is a 43 year old mother of three who ended a phone call with blue cross blue shield (after being denied a claim) “delay deny depose, you people are next” and is now being held under a 100,000$ bond and could face FIFTEEN years of prison if charged. she has no weapons, her record is clean, and yet she is being held behind bars. they are afraid of the public and are trying to subdue. do not let them!!!! be outraged that our freedom of speech is being threatened!!!!! deny defend depose! free brianna boston!

Valentine's Day Headcanons

Wally Clark x Reader

Warnings: Slight ep.5 spoiler but not really, its the brief mention of a scene but not actually what happens. fluff

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This man would go all out for valentines day… well as out as he can while trapped in the school. 

I'm talking spending hours making a bouquet of paper flowers for you. Technically he could probably get some from the greenhouse but that's not as romantic as making them himself. 

Most of your gifts will be stolen from living students on valentines day. Okay just about all of them but still he makes it seem romantic.

Movie night, huge stuffed bear, and a shit ton of chocolate. It’s a perfect night. You don’t like chocolate? Don’t worry he's got eyes everywhere watching for someone to walk in with something that you like. Technically it's just him and Charly but he makes it seem all dramatic like he’s got every ghost looking out. 

Sweet little makeout session in the greenhouse while you ask him why he didn’t just get you normal flowers. He’d shut you up with another kiss because he ain’t got time for all your questions when he's trying to get freaky.  (Ignore me i'm losing my mind after the pool scene) 

I’ve said it once and I'll say it again, cuddles cuddles CUDDLES. He doesn't care when or where he always just wants to wrap you in his arms and smother you with love. Sweet gentle kisses and whispers of praise. (SOMEBODY SEDATE ME) 

You’d force him to watch A Walk to Remember and he’d cry like a baby. “And they say romance is dead.” Said through pitiful sobs. 

He’d make you slow dance with him. I mean SLOOOOOW. Like staring into your soul with the biggest smile imaginable while you two hold onto each other and barely move. More sweet kisses and gentle words as he rocks you back and forth. 

(Okay thats all. I swear I'm working on Sex, Drugs, Etc. I just needed a break from all the sadness. Anyways imma go convince my friend to be my valentine because he has no free will in our friendship. Hope you enjoy my descent into madness. 😀)