Control Freak

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. 

gonna try shifting to harry potter tonight so i can meet fred wish me luck

I ain't ever fucking around with you bitches again season 4 of the umbrella academy only been out for TWO FUCKING DAY and someone already spoiled it for me, ive been waiting so fucking long for this i deadass cant anymore 😭😭😭

I hate the way I look,

I hate my smile,

I hate the way I talk,

But you loved everything about me

You took all the hate and replaced it with love I never had before

Now I'm left with the essence of your love mixing with my hate not understanding how I could ever let you go

I hate myself more than ever

For the freaks

Ben Plunkett x Afab! Reader

Warnings: Smut Headcanons, Slight Somnophilia, Oral (both giving and receiving) Riding, Inexperience, Ben being a sub cus I said so. I think that's it.

Such a sweet shy boy. Def a virgin but he wouldn't mind you changing that.

Let me start this off with something that's been playing in my head on repeat all day, waking him up with head. 😫 I just know he would be all confused and blushing, a deep shade of red covering his whole face, ears, and down his neck.

"baby- what are you doing?" Said through whines and whispers. (Imma just go put myself in time out) His hands coming down to pull your hair back as he watches the silhouette of your head bob from under the blanket.

He whimper and you can NOT tell me otherwise. This man is a sub and is not ashamed of it.... Okay he's very ashamed and embarrassed but like it's your job to tell him it's okay.

Very inexperienced and I mean VERY. He seems like the type to be scared to watch porn so be patient with him.

Once he figures out what he's doing he's not shy to give you a little something something 😏 He would rather succumb to lockjaw than stop eating your pretty pussy. (Again time out)

Will whine and pout if you try to pull him away. "Just need you to give me one more baby, please, just one more." Said with your juices dripping down his chin.

He loves having you on top of him. Watching your tits bounce as you ride him, worshipping your body. Hands roaming nervously, not exactly knowing where to go.

Knocks the fuck out after. I mean deep sleep but only if you're cuddled up to him.

(okay I'm done 😊 bye bye 👋🏻)

Alphabet Soup

NSFW alphabet challenge (request) pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader premise: 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. (Janet and Wally are dating to increase their social value. Meanwhile, Wally wants to get closer to her step-sister. You.) warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'. all oneshots for this collection will be linked as they come out.

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A is for the addiction Wally develops once he sets his sights on you. He's feral with it. Can't get enough of your skin under his fingertips; your shapes fitted against his; the sounds you make when he takes you apart with his teeth and his tongue and his dirty fucken mouth. So different from the public persona he sheds the second you're behind closed doors.

B is for bad ideas. Like the one that crept in behind his eyelids the instant he noticed you, cute and soft and sweet as a kitten. God, he wanted to do something about it right there. In front of the roomful of people between you, no fucks given. Wally's impulsive on a good day and reckless on a bad day, and you inspire too many fantasies that he can't not want to live out.

C is for competency, control; the single-minded intensity Wally has for every task. How he moves with a perfect combination of aggression and grace on the field, catching the ball from the QB. Touchdown. How he folds over the hood of your car and fiddles with cables and tightens bolts and fixes the rattle in the engine. How he holds his own desire at bay to bring you to the edge, over and over and over again until you sob. How he makes you come as soon as he slides home, grinds in, measured and slow, making it last as long as he wants before taking pity on you and fucking you into the mattress.

D is for Wally's dirty mouth. The things he rasps at you as he takes you apart with his fingers, his mouth, his cock. "You feel so good, baby,"—"fuck, I love the way you taste,"—"I want you to come on my tongue,"—"that's it, fuck, yeah, don't stop, baby, just like that, so good for me, such a good girl..." His fingers dig into your hips as he guides you in his lap, up-down-grind-repeat; his lips on your throat, teeth in your skin, marking you up so everyone knows you belong to someone. Belong to him.

E is for the effort Wally finds himself making to see you smile. It's stupid, he thinks, because it's not like he loves you. He's horny and putting out isn't part of the deal he and Janet made at the end of Junior year. But then he sees some jackass try to touch you, making jokes Wally doesn't find funny, drawling that he'll treat you special and make you see God as you shove and kick at him. Then you start crying and Wally sees red. Steps in. Pummels the guy's nose into his skull so hard, Wally's knuckles are scraped and bloody when he caresses your face and kisses your forehead. Promises to drive you home from the party. "Fuck that guy, baby girl, he won't touch you again."

F is for the way Wally shamelessly flirts with you. The back-and-forth you and he have when surrounded by people. Dark and husky, leaning in close with his back to Janet who's too busy with her drones to care what Wally's up to. You're fierce and funny and you flirt right back once you're comfortable enough, but Wally's had a lot of practice and knows how you get you hot with the right inflections. Eyes dark and heavy, lips brushing your ear, breath ghosting your skin while his fingers trail over your hip, "I bet you'd look better on your knees for me, baby."

G is for the God-given talent Wally has. You know the one. That one he weaponizes when he wants you to stop being stubborn, be a good girl, behave. He spreads your legs, kisses down your body, then delivers his bribe; tongue-deep inside you, making out with your pussy it's like a gourmet dessert de la crème. He could spend hours there if you let him, moaning when you grind your pretty pink kitty against him, so close, Wally, oh God—it's all he needs to sustain himself.

H is for how Wally holds you down against the mattress; up against the wall; in his lap as he sits back on his haunches, one arm banded around your waist, the other braced behind him as he rolls his hips up, sharp thrusts and deep grinds into you, "That's it, baby, keep bouncing on daddy's cock...just like that...fuck." His big hand clasps your thigh when he flips you onto your back, pushing it up as far as your flexibility will allow, spreading you open for him, wanting to get as deep as he can, wanting to make you scream his name and forget your own.

I is for the intensity of Wally's stare as he watches you from across the room, his eyes tracking you as you laugh with your friends. He strips you in his mind, licks his lips as you expose your thigh when you cross your legs. A flash of pink lace, the panties Wally asked you to wear, that make his jeans tight and his lids heavy. He cups himself through the denim, casual, sprawled on the opposite couch, gaze smoothing up your legs to your hips to your collar, fucking you with his eyes until you notice and give your friends an excuse to follow Wally to the bathroom.

J is for the jealousy Wally has to keep tightly contained in his bones whenever he sees another guy approach you. Like Jacob from Pre Cal, who flirts with you as if he doesn't know you belong to someone else. Wally is too obvious, he's aware, glaring daggers at the retinue of possible others who dare step into your space. Careful, collected, Wally has to smile like he doesn't notice them as he struts over and positions himself at your back, hands on your hips to drag you against him, ass fitted into the cradle of his pelvis. He watches in satisfaction as the dipshits take their leave with their tails between their legs.

K is for how Wally kisses you. The variety of ways. Pushy and ruthless when he's agitated; too much energy and no outlet. Or soft and slow when he just wakes up, liquid smile and heavy eyes, hand cupping your jaw like you're something precious. He nips and tugs your lips with his teeth when a teammate makes a comment just this side of not fucking funny, Gary and Wally isn't allowed to do anything about it. Sometimes, his kisses are sharp, honed, exactly what you want to feel so he can get what he wants. Always, his kisses are stolen. Behind locked doors, in dark corners, wherever he can snatch them from you without getting caught.

L is for the feeling Wally is terrified to label. The one that blooms in his chest whenever you touch him, smile at him, say his name, move, breathe, exist. Shit. It's warm and tingly and drives him to distraction because this is just a fun way to pass the time, to make things more interesting; he can't want you like that... But he does.

M is for the mess Wally makes of you when he fucks you in an alley or an empty classroom or behind the stadium. Thick cock slamming into you until you come at least twice, your panties around your ankles, his jeans at his thighs, pounding into you as he grips your hips so hard you bruise. He pulls out just enough to paint your pussy with his come, smearing it through your wetness with the tip of his cock, letting his spend and your juices trickle down your leg. And when you're forced to wipe yourself off with your ruined panties, he pockets them before you can throw them away, smug and satisfied.

N is for the fact that there's nothing Wally won't try with you, do for you, take from you. He wants everything you have to give. Is determined to taste every inch of you, from top to bottom, back to front, he doesn't care, he wants it all. He's never been this consumed by someone, thinks it'll fade the more he fucks it out of his system. It doesn't work. There's always a next time, and a next, and a next. And every time he leaves wanting more.

O is for Wally's inability to be subtle when you're around. Overt, obvious, open stares of lust when you walk into a room regardless of who else is in it. His heartbeat quickens, his breathing shallows, and he feels like a mutt in rut. All dark eyes and desirous smirks, hands grazing your body when you get close enough. He thinks he's slick, secretive, getting away with murder. But the truth is, he couldn't hide how he feels about you if someone put a gun to his head.

P is for the pleasure Wally takes in pampering you. He's a gentleman like that. What makes you happy makes him happy and, fuck, he loves to dote on you. From opening car doors to surprising you with your favorite Starbucks order. Showering you in presents he thinks you'll fill out perfectly for him. His pretty little passenger princess; a precious paper doll that he dresses up like a gift just to unwrap immediately with greedy fingers.

Q is for the question Wally wants to ask but can't. The one that makes things official. That ties him to commitment and expectation. Ignoring that you're the only place he's getting his dick wet, he's not ready for that. Until he catches himself smiling—soft and fond and affectionate—when you send a text that has nothing to do with where you want him to fuck you next. And, ah hell, maybe he does want to ask. Too bad he doesn't have the nerve.

R is for how riveted, rapturous, fucking obsessed Wally is when you ride him. No matter what he claims—"your turn to do all the work, baby"—he can't hold back, always fucks up into you, flushed, panting, hands clenching your hips and stroking your thighs and squeezing your ass. He watches your body, sweet liquid movements as you ride his cock like a goddess, and comes faster than he otherwise would. But that's fine because Wally has the refractory period of a fucking nympho.

S is for those soft, sweet, silly moments that you share. The ones he coaxes out of you during the domestic lulls between fucks. He invited you over for the weekend, Janet at some friend's lake house and Wally's parents visiting his aunt one state over. Perfect timing. And it is all hard thrusts and pinned wrists and love bites on your thighs, but then it's jokes over pancakes. Forehead kisses as he holds you in the shower. Hand-holding while you walk to the gas station for snacks, his thumb sweeping the back of your hand like he loves you. Sentimental.

T is for the toys Wally loves to tease you with. He's not afraid to introduce other means of stimulation into the mix. He'll do anything if it makes you shake apart for him; if it'll make you whimper and beg for more before you plead for him to stop, too much, Wally, it's too much, I can't as he presses the vibrator against your clit. He never listens, too enraptured by the expression of pleasure on your face, the way your body responds for him, fuck, yes, "that's it, baby, come for me again, show daddy how good you feel."

U is for how uncharacteristic, unpredictable, underutilized Wally's control has become since he started this with you. He was the image of dark and dominant behind closed doors, but, three months in, he can't keep himself in check. If he has you—against a wall, in the backseat of his car, in bed, in the shower, in. on. against—his control snaps as soon as you make a single sound of wanting pleasure. He goes feral for those noises. They're his complete undoing. And he'd surrender everything you asked for just to hear them one more time.

V is for the voice notes you and Wally swap when you and he aren't together. When he hasn't had a chance to sneak away from Janet or football practice or homework in too long and he's desperate for release. He strokes himself to the tempo of your whimpers and sighs, fucks his fist when he gets to the edge before slowing down and switching voice to video. He loves to show you what you do to him, how heavy and flushed and thirsty he is for you. "Your pussy sounds so nice and wet...now show me how you want me to fuck you, baby."

W is for every whim and want Wally indulges. Of yours. Of his. Mostly of his. Gluttonous and gourmand. You want to taste caramel on his cock? Go for it, baby. He wants to get messy with whipped cream? Okay, daddy. He wants to tease you with vibrating panties while you're trying to eat at that new place on Lasher? Okay, daddy. He wants to tie you up and spank you because you came before he said you could? Fuck, yes, daddy! ... Good girl.

X marks the spot Wally hammers into at exactly the right angle when he's feeling generous. And he always feels generous with you. He's addicted to the way you look when you come. Because he did that. He made that happen. It's empowering and euphoric and he can't get enough even though he should've by now.

Y is a word followed by 'not'. A question you ask when Wally hoists you into his arms and pins you to the wall with his hips after one of the leads in the school play asks you out. He grinds against you, cock throbbing, head angry, and reminds you who you belong to; why you can't say yes to Alex Greenberg even though it's all pot kettle black. Still, as he tears your panties at the seam and fucks you with abandon, desperate and aggressive, he makes a convincing argument.

Z is for how it ends. With her, not with you, because Wally's too far into the addiction and wouldn't last a day without getting his fix. He needs you. Wants you. Fucking shit, he loves you. So it's goodbye Queen Bee Janet and hello to her silly, sexy bombshell of a step-sister. Wally has no regrets, his hand on your ass as he walks you into Homecoming, fist-bumping his friends and saluting the principal. He loses his crown and doesn't care at all, too wrapped up in you to notice. Hands on your hips, brow against his, fitted perfectly against him like a puzzle piece.

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above and below are the links to the complete collection of Alphabet Soup. you can also find all related content HERE as well as reformatted chapters 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

Reblog if you think asexuality is a legitimate sexuality.

I'm trying to prove something.

Every single one of the 13,000+ children murdered by Israel was robbed of their futures

Masterlist

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. SH. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022 - early 2023. Sleep Paralysis. Panic attack. Blood. Hearing voices. Disassociation. Suicide. Drowning. Rehab. Overdose. Vomit. Dead Body. Death. Self Depreciation. Angst. Relapse. Self Hate. Huffing Chemicals. Reader is Bipolar Coded Though Its Not Explicitly Stated. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

(The trigger warnings will grow as the story goes on. This story is dark and has a lot of mature topics. There will be specific warnings before every chapter. Please read responsibly. If you have any questions feel free to ask. :)

Title: Sex, Drugs, Ect.

Status: Ongoing

Parts: 9

Words: 18,192

Paring: Wally Clark x Fem!Reader (No use of Y/N)

You can also find this fic on Wattpad or AO3

{ Part one } { Part two } { Part three } { Part four } { Part five } { Part six } { Part seven } { Part eight } { Part nine }

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School Spirits Masterlist

General Masterlist

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!