You Make Me Feel Like I’m Living A Teenage Dream ✨

“Young and he fine and he tall and he handsome” (BMF by SZA)

Please, please, please spit in my mouth.

Boyfriend Wally Clark (NSFW)

Wally Clark x fem!reader

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Wally is exactly the type of romantic who sweeps you off your feet. He's goofy, charming, affectionate. Always finding ways to touch you when you and he are with your friends. Holds you close and keeps you in his arms, on his lap, against his body on the couch that you and he usurp for yourselves at Movie Night. He's all about forehead kisses and laced fingers and cradling your cheek as he tells you how much he loves you. Brushes your hair out of your eyes and smiles at you like you're the only person in the world he can see.

Wally is exactly the type who soaks up compliments like a sponge, has both an ego and an insecurity that needs attention. He revels in your praise and devotion. He's attentive and loyal, there when you need him at the drop of a hat. Pulling up in his Mustang, ready to dote on his passenger princess, hand on your thigh as he drives one-handed, fingers digging into your flesh while he watches the road. He's into sweet gestures and reassurances. Respect. Thoughtful gifts just because and more thoughtful actions when you're not feeling well.

But Wally is also the type to whisper dark promises in your ear when you and he are surrounded by people in the hall, pressing against your back as you rummage through your locker, his hand roaming under your shirt to smooth up your stomach, fingertips teasing the edge of your bra. He wields his self-control like a weapon off the field as much as on it, grinding his hard cock into your palm through his jeans, his hand tight around your wrist—"Do you like what you do to me, baby?"—after he drags you into an empty classroom because he spent lunch watching Jackass Jake Tremblay flirt with you for your vote. "You like how hard I get just for you?"

Wally is also the type to get possessive, hard bites on your neck, sucking a necklace of bruises into your collar that you can't hide under your shirt. He wants everyone to know you're his. He makes you remember with his fingers in your pussy, dragging them in and out as he nips your ear, "No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else can see you like this." And you whimper and beg, writhing beneath him, legs spread wide to accommodate him. He eats you out, lips and tongue and light grazes of teeth, staring at you through his lashes, memorizing every sound you make as he edges you for longer than you can handle, fucks you with his tongue, tastes you like a feast made just for him.

Wally is exactly the type to fuck you until you scream. He starts slow when you're already on the brink, cock thick and heavy, teasing himself against you as he kisses your breasts, sucks your nipples, one hand on your throat—a reminder, a promise—while he strokes himself with the other, flushed tip against your entrance. "You need me right here, don't you baby?" And then he rocks into you in one deep, grinding motion, stuffing you so full you might burst. "I'm gonna fuck you 'til you scream my name, baby girl." It's rough, hard, he grips your thigh tight enough to bruise as he bites your bottom lip, licks into your mouth, makes you squeeze around him. "So tight, baby, so good for me. You want me to make you come? You think you earned it?"

Wally is definitely the type who fucks like an animal after he sees another guy talk to you, but he's also the type who gets off on making you wait for that sweet release when it suits him. But even he has his limits, begins to pant and groan, hips moving faster, hands around your wrists where they're pinned above your head, his other hand between his body and yours, spit-wet thumb rubbing your clit as he watches your face, wants to see the moment you fall apart for him and when you do, "Good girl, baby, fuck, that's it, let me feel it, baby, make me come" and you convulse around him, your pussy gripping him so tight as you come that it milks his climax from him. He moans, lips crashing against yours.

Wally is exactly the type to cuddle after sex. Gentle touches and soft kisses and loving words, fingertips grazing your cheek as he stares into your eyes in the afterglow. "I love you, baby," in a low, husky voice, forehead pressed to yours, his hand gliding down your body to your side, waist, hip, ass. He pulls you tight against him, already half-hard again, because, Jesus Christ, he's insatiable when it comes to you.

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also on AO3!

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Alphabet Soup.

smut. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several non-linear 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.)

Two Women Kissing in Nature (b. 1859)

— by Georges Rochegrosse

Boy Noise

summary: prompt fill. Wally's waited a whole week for you to notice he still exists and he's going crazy. finally, he manages to get your attention and you dote on your sweet boy the way he's been so desperate for you to. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x masc!reader

warnings: smut. flashfic. sub!Wally Clark. brat. flirting for attention. blow jobs. Wally Clark has undisclosed mommy issues. dead dove.

bon reading, frens

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Boy Noise

He doesn't know why he does it.

Lie.

He does it because he's fucking desperate and you're over there watching with a simmering grin and sharp eyes, acting like Wally isn't going out of his fucking. mind. because you haven't touched him in a week.

And yeah, okay, it's no one's fault. You were stuck in practice after practice for soccer and Wally has that Art project he needs to finish, and schedules got too full too fast, but, come on, please. He hasn't been able to touch himself, his hand not good enough when he knows what the real thing feels like, and you're just smiling. Giving him that sedate up-and-down stare, licking your lips like he's a piece of meat you want to devour and, still, you just sit there, sprawled on Simon's couch, taking up more room than your frame should allow and not doing anything.

So, he flirts with Chloe, watching you watch him, hoping to instigate some kind of response. It wouldn't matter if you didn't look so good. Sleeves rolled up to accentuate your forearms, shirt tucked in, slim waist to round hips on display. A deity in painted-on black jeans and Wally's gold chain.

He hates you.

No he doesn't.

He wants you.

Now. Yesterday. Tomorrow. A week ago. Jesus, please. Do something!

Fuck, he's aching for it. Can feel his cock harden for every feline look you pin him with.

It's Maddie's birthday, he knows that's why you haven't made a move yet. You want to be present—told Wally to be present, to enjoy the celebration and it'll be worth it, sweet boy, I promise. But he's about a hair's breadth away from total atomic failure and can't get the memory of your hands on his body out of his mind for more than a second.

He tried so hard to be good. He really, really did. Sat on his hands and pretended everything was hunky dory until you showed up dressed like that, sauntered in like you owned the room, and gave him such a hot stare, Wally's blood is still on fire. And now most of it is in his cock as he sees you dancing to that song you blast in Wally's car, body moving like water; hips swaying, ass perfect.

Wally doesn't hate you, but you must hate him. He abandons Chloe without so much as a nice to see you, slinks into your space—where he belongs—and glides his hands down from your waist to your hips. You're not the only one dancing; everyone else (especially from Claire's adopted squad goals) is making a dancefloor out of the living room, the lights dim and the atmosphere high.

No one else is making this song their bitch, though. No one else is torturing Wally with their ass against his crotch and their nails grazing his neck. No one else is making him fucking wait for something he needs more than air, water, life itself. Please, please, do something!

Finally, you take pity on him, his hand in yours as you lead him to a bedroom upstairs and farthest away from the party. A guest room, Wally hopes, but a quick scan tells him it's Simon's room. You place your drink on Simon's desk and shove Wally down so he's sitting on the bed. Kick his legs apart and step between them, a sultry grin on your face.

Wally whimpers, his heart beating triple-time, head spinning already, yes. He leans back and props himself on his elbows, just watching you, licking his lips in anticipation. His eyes fall to half-mast as you bend over him, hands on either side of his hips, lips so close he can taste the Vanilla Coke on your breath. Your eyes bore into his, heavy and dark and full of promise, and you trail your fingers so lightly from his chest to the front of his tented jeans.

"Is this where you need me to touch you, baby?" You purr, holding his gaze. He nods, a little choked sound escaping as he rocks his hips up in a bid for friction you refuse to give him. "Think you can be quiet?"

Uhm, "Yeah," sure, Wally can try. But you can't blame him if he can't. It's been a week since he's been inside you. A week since he's felt your body on his, skin to skin, slick with sweat and spit and come.

"You want to taste me, baby? Or do you want me to take care of you first?"

Oh, such a tempting offer, and Wally suddenly doesn't know what he wants more. Needs more. He loves it when you fuck his face. Loves how you force him to give you what you need, using him until you scream in ecstasy. On the other hand, his dick's so hard he's sure one more soft touch will undo him, and he'd rather come in your mouth than in his jeans.

He swallows, pleading, "Can you suck me off?" Your grin turns sharp, and he adds, "I'll do whatever you want after, I promise, just please, I need it so bad. I need you to help me, please." He's babbling, begging, hand on your jaw and then sliding over your chest to your back then your ass. "I'm so hard, I can't think, p l e a s e." Wally hitches his hips up to emphasize the point.

"Whatever my boy wants," You soothe, making quick work of his fly and pulling his jeans and boxers down to his ankles as you sink to your knees.

He barely has a chance to react, mewling like a fucking slut when you get your mouth on him. He falls back, arm over his eyes, opposite hand on the back of your head, forcing his hips to stay still as you work him into your throat.

"Oh god, oh fuck, yes, ungh, thank you, thank you—" And you tap his hip, a signal that he can move as much as he needs to which he takes for the permission it is. He humps your face, fucks into your mouth in little motions, panting and whining and showering you with gratitude. You're so good to him, taking care of him like this, he has to tell you, "thank you!"

He comes with a spasm and a high, needy whine, back arching off the bed and his eyes rolling back. Fuck. Stars collide and angels sing and it feels like the first time he's ever experienced true pleasure although you and he have done this and so much more. He's just blissed the fuck out, melting into the mattress, blind eyes on the ceiling as he comes down.

Not that he can revel in the afterglow. He hears you peel out of your sin-tight jeans, feels and sees your underwear land on his face. Wally chuckles, delighted, and reaches for you, eager to show you exactly how grateful he is for you. He uses lips and tongue and careful brushstrokes of teeth to make you see God, and then asks in a breathy voice if he can do it again, "Just one more?" as if he's asking for another piece of Maddie's birthday cake.

And, Jesus, thank you, you oblige with a wicked smirk, eyes heavy, smoldering, yet razor-edged. This time he rolls you over and fits his shoulders between your thighs, uses his fingers in time with his mouth, moaning wantonly as he tastes you again. He loves this more than you'll ever know. But you stop him when he wraps a hand around himself, tries to use spit for lube, and insist, "Not so fast, baby," your chest rising and falling rapidly.

Wally whimpers, pouts, and then brightens when you flip him onto his back, sweetness hovering over his lips as you fold over him and take his cock in your mouth again.

An hour later, he's curled around you, his head on your chest, dozing and unaware. He thinks he hears Simon shriek and both feels and hears your cackle, but he could be dreaming. Shit, he hopes he's dreaming.

Whatever. Wally's too sated and happy to care. He knows you'll make everything better before Simon can banish Wally from all future gatherings or activities or the friend group altogether.

Because that's what you do. You make Wally's whole world better.

🖇️___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Alphabet Soup.

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.)

Guys I’m really gay for my girlfriend

Like extremely gay

Soooooooo gay for them

I'm kissing you gently on the forehead

MWAH

he’s sooooo

If Sherlock Holmes was Isekai'd to a fantasy world he would just deduce the rules of this world and get back to solving crimes. He'll find an elf girl sidekick,name her Watson, and pretend like nothing happened.

um so where the fuck are all the simon x xavier edits at….like y’all ain’t seeing the gay chemistry between them…they’re bfs 🫶

and nicole and claire are gfs. and so are rhonda & quinn…like??? they’re all gay 2 me.