Wally Clark Smut - Blog Posts

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. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

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Alphabet Soup - U

U is for uh-oh, oops, and oh no. Even if it isn't Wally's fault, having become more and more unhinged as things between you and him unfold into something so perfect and permanent, Wally thinks he's died and gone to heaven.

He's caught with his head buried between your thighs, his chin and mouth shiny with your juices. He licks his lips, unbothered, raises a brow at Janet as she stands there wearing the ugliest scowl Wally has ever seen on her face, her body vibrating with unfettered rage. He sits back, naked and on display, lazily stroking his cock with pride in his eyes.

"Get out," He tells her calmly, and she closes door behind her because what the fuck else is she going to do? Watch? Wally slants his head toward you, smirking, crawling up your body to kiss you with unbridled passion, grinding his cock between your wet folds to coax you back into the right headspace. "Don't worry, baby," He coos, "She's gone." Since you can't see from under the blindfold, your wrists bound to his headboard.

You whimper, clearly unnerved by Janet's intrusion despite not having seen or heard her, the bitch wielding feline grace when it suits her. She isn't supposed to be at Wally's house, in his apartment above his family's garage. Janet was in the throes of organizing prom with the rest of the committee and wasn't due to meet him until tomorrow morning for another rundown of their court dance. Smile, wave, make a dumb speech thanking everyone for their votes. Blah blah blah, Wally doesn't care.

He's been on her shitlist since last week, anyway, so what's another nail in the coffin? He actually feels relieved that Janet discovered you and him. It gets him hotter, harder, more desperate for you, because now he isn't shackled to late nights and impromptu weekends alone. Wally can have you whenever he fucking wants. Which has steadily turned into always over the course of the year.

And, wow, has it really been that long?

He knows Janet hasn't left, doesn't hear her car pull out of the drive, so he greedily, selfishly, shamelessly eats your cunt like a Michelin Star meal. Tongue probing your pussy as he moans at how good you taste, his eyes rolling back in his head from it, and the whole time you're keening and crying out and begging him not to stop, oh fuck Wally, I'm so close, please please. Don't worry, baby, he loves this probably more than you do.

When you come, shouting his name for Janet to hear what she never had a chance in hell to get from him, Wally fucks you like reckoning. Paints your chest and belly like a Jackson Pollock before he releases your wrists and soothes you with affection. As you doze, he tucks you in, kisses your hair, vows to be back in five minutes, dons a pair of low-slung sweats and a smug grin as he lopes out of the room, down the stairs, and meets Janet outside the door.

"Something I can do for you?" He asks, obviously unruffled which just drives Janet fucking nuts.

She wants an apology.

Wally laughs in her face, "For what? It's not like I'm really cheating on you."

She wants an explanation.

Wally snorts, "I don't owe you shit." He doesn't. Janet was never his girlfriend. She was never anything. A pest at most, an inconvenience at least.

"You don't get to have her." Janet seethes as if she has some kind of say in it.

Again, Wally laughs, shakes his head, tells her where to go as impolitely as he can. "She's already mine," He states, breezy, sucking the fingers he fucked you with to stress the point. Janet has a prima donna meltdown right there on his parents' lawn, stomps her foot and positions herself to slap him. He catches her wrist easily, stares her dead in the eyes, "You jealous, Janet?"

He fondles himself, pushes her arm away and grins, "Is this what you wanted?" Then he glances to his window, slides his gaze back to her, chuckling darkly, "Or is it her?" She doesn't answer, her face flaming, brows knitted, jaw clenched, "Is that why you wanted me to stay away from her? Because you wanted her all to yourself?"

"Shut the fuck up, Clark," Janet growls.

Wally knows it's not true; he's merely enjoying himself. He knows that Janet is actually just jealous of you, not because she wants to be with you but because she wants to be you. It's been obvious since Day One of their stupid arrangement. Everything Janet did was an underhanded plot to shrink you down as small as Janet feels.

"I'll show her the video." Janet threatens, voice low and menacing, full of umbrage. "She'll never look at you again."

In an instant, Wally's in her space, fire in his eyes, "I fucking dare you."

He hasn't exactly planned for this, but he's tired of worrying about it. If you walk away, you walk away—Wally's heart stutters—at least he has enough spank bank material to last decades. A blessing since he doesn't think he could get it up for anyone else ever. Thank Christ he saved every picture and video and voice note you've ever sent him.

"I'll make sure you lose Prom King," Janet sneers and, again, he snorts.

"I don't think I could care less," and, taking stock of himself, Wally finds that to be true. "It's just high school, Janet. Get a fucking hobby."

He hears the stairs creak, your honeyed voice from behind him wondering, "What's going on?" and he turns and saunters toward you without a second thought, bundles you into his arms, reveling at how you drown in his football jersey.

"You should go back inside, baby," He says even as he kisses you, soft, warm; hands groping your ass through the polyester. "Don't want my neighbors getting a peek at what's mine," he pecks the tip of your nose and gives you a humble smile that still feels a bit unnatural on his face.

It's then that Janet does the dumbest thing she could think of. She lunges at you while you're still in Wally's arms. A rapid badger fueled by envy. Wally pivots you to safety, blocks Janet's feeble attempts to get at you with his body. She loses steam pretty quickly when Wally doesn't budge.

Janet drives into the sunset with a promise to rat you out. To your mom first and then your dad. You look confused, "Why should I care?" You ask her retreating back, inviting her to go ahead because you've wanted everything out in the open since you and Wally started fucking that fateful afternoon after Janet's pool party.

Later, between dinner with his parents and Avengers: Infinity War on the projector in his apartment, Wally feels a weight lift off his shoulders. No more Janet. No more sneaking around. No more yearning and missed opportunities and bullshit. Just you. Just him. Together for real.

He combs his fingers through your hair as you lounge, draped along his front between his legs, head on his chest, breathing deep in sleep, and Wally realizes for the first time that, despite being free to do whatever he wants now, he still chooses you.

What the hell have you done to me, baby?

Still, his arms tighten around you and he doesn't let you go until it's time to get ready for school.

🧿___________________________

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

Mr.Martin: let’s talk about your emotions

Rhonda: stabby

Mr.Martin: that’s not an emotion, an emotion is more of a feeling.

Rhonda: well, maybe, i’m feeling stabby.

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. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

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Alphabet Soup - R

R is for Wally's ravenous appetite where you're concerned. The way you move like an art form on his cock as if it was made just for you. Maybe it was, Wally experiencing fucking rapture every time you ride him to the hardest release he's sure he's ever experienced. Your pussy unlocked the Pandora's Box of Wally's sexual exigency and he'd raze empires to covet it for himself.

His brain has surrendered all rationale when it comes to you. It doesn't matter if it's noon or midnight, Monday or Friday, he needs to be on you and in you like breathing. At first, it was his own little rebellion against Janet's exclusivity rule. The rule right above don't fuck my step-sister that Wally raffishly ignored after a two-week, Janet-imposed dry spell. He was pent up and ready to fuck anything on two legs, and then there you were, a remedy from above, sweet and supple and willing.

And now he can't go back. He tried somewhere near the start. Selfishly, perhaps a lot cowardly; a failed attempt to resist the hold you had on him. But it sucked on every level, and he couldn't get into it, couldn't come. Couldn't muster more than a halfhearted, "it's not doing anything for me, bye," before he left with enough frustration to reduce a forest to ash.

He wants to drown in your taste, your smell, your touch. How you sound—punched-out whimpers and choked moans when he bucks into you, fucking you within an inch of his sanity. You take his cock so good, pussy slick and squelching with every thrust, and he. did. that. Him. He reduced you to hedonist flesh and bone; a whining, writhing thing bouncing in his lap like religion. Chanting a refrain of his name like psalms at church.

"Wally, god, fuck, Wally!"

"Yeah, that's it baby, fuck yourself on daddy's cock..."

Fuck everything Wally used to believe in, you're all he needs to live. La petit mort over and over again until Wally's crosseyed and reborn, reeking of sex and sweat and whatever that perfume is that you wear. He blesses you with tongue and lips and teeth; christens you with his come in your hair, on your tits, down your thighs, fuck, yes, faster baby, I'm gonna come—

He doesn't understand how anything felt good before you. In retrospect, it was all so one-dimensional and bland. Monotonous greyscale punctuated by ritual orgasms. Now everything is a vibrant spectrum of color, a rainbow of sensation, and Wally seriously debates stealing you away to some remote location where nobody else could even entertain the idea of having you the way he has.

"You're all mine, baby," He whispers into your hair, hand stroking your back, relaxed in repose as you and he recover from another 200/10 fuckfest.

You hum, smile obvious in your voice, "You wanna keep me all to yourself?" And then, raising your head to give him a devious look, "Be careful, Wally, that sounds almost romantic. People might think you've gone soft."

"It's not soft, it's strategic," He denies, avoiding your gaze as he tries not to let your words sit too long in his head. "I wanna be able to have this—" He grips a handful of your ass "—wherever I want, whenever I want. Can't do that if some loser's tying you down."

Which, true, but that's not the real reason. Not that Wally will ever, ever confess it. Will take it to his grave because he doesn't do romance and relationships (unless they benefit him somehow).

You fall asleep and he climbs out your window, drives home in a daze with the lingering scent of your pussy and perfume for company. He's in over his head. He should end things here and now. Or tomorrow. Maybe after the game next week since he knows he'll have energy he needs to expend before he gets on the field.

Fine. A month. That's as long as he's willing to give. After that, he pulls the plug and everything goes back to normal.

Right?

🧿___________________________

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

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. possessive behavior. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

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Alphabet Soup - I

I is for the intense, irresistible stare Wally immobilizes you with as soon as you arrive at the tailgate. It's a bunch of rich kid jocks trying to be country around a bonfire. Mediocre beer and shitty music, but it's a good time. Most of the senior class show up after 10PM, swarm to the Peddie's field like vermin to let loose and celebrate the end of midterms.

Couches have been pulled from the old barn, rugs laid down, truck beds converted into napping stations if anyone's brave enough to let their guard down around their idiot friends. Wally keeps his arm around Janet; laughs with his buddies, claps Damian on the back when he makes a lewd joke about Kristen's itty bitty titties. But his eyes? Are exclusively on you.

Instinct or infection, Wally doesn't know and doesn't care. His gaze is instantly drawn to you when you hop out of Xavier's truck, tight jeans and cowboy boots, a smile on your face that Wally wants to eat. Except it's directed at Xavier fucking Baxter. Wally doesn't give a fuck that the guy's dating Claire, he's staring at you like dinner and Wally wants to cut out Xavier's eyes with an icepick.

You can feel Wally's gaze on you like fingers on your skin. Crawling up your legs, lingering on your ass, your neck, your lips. Fuck, you're the only thing Wally wants to indulge in, but he's stuck under the weight of social obligation and can't sneak away just yet.

Wally spends the next forty minutes stalking you with his gaze, follows you to the cooler where you grab a beer before taking a seat on one of the couches, cozy between Xavier and Nicole. His fist clenches, but he manages to keep his ire under control, arm still around Janet, still joking with his friends about shit he has to inspire himself to care about.

His eyes track up your legs when you stand to dance with Charley and the only thing that prevents Wally from turning feral is that he knows you're not Charley's type. You discard your jacket and, fuck baby girl, the corset top you're wearing gives Wally ideas. He feels his cock twitch, his mouth water; spreads his legs a little wider, and cups himself through his jeans while you give him a show. Pretty as a peach in the firelight glow.

Suddenly Wally's ravenous.

His friends are drunk, Janet at that just-right stage of tipsy, that no one gives Wally a second glance when he stops inserting himself in the conversation, his eyes fixed on you, hand massaging his fattening cock in the shadow of Braden's truck. Yeah, baby, let me see you move. He licks his lips, lids heavy, cheeks hot from something that isn't the fire a few feet away. You send his imagination into overdrive, your body sin incarnate as you dance and sing along to the music.

At this point, he's blatantly fucking you with his eyes, having a tough time regulating his breathing, in out, in out, in out, God, he wants to touch you. Get his hands all over you, his cock inside you, make that body melt for him. In the final few seconds of the song, his eyes lock with yours and you send him a sweet, cherry-gloss smile. He excuses himself immediately, saunters around the formation of couches, gaze indicating to you exactly where his mind's at. Follow me, baby.

He disappears into the woods, waits, is pleased as punch when you slip away from your friends with some excuse Wally doesn't give a fuck to know so you can join him in the trees. Wordless, hand still teasing himself through his jeans, he invites you against him with a wolfish grin and a deep, heated kiss. Bodies flush, breaths heavy, his hands sliding into your back pockets to pin you to him.

"Jesus Christ," He pants, spins, presses you against the tree with intention. "You look so good, baby," He whispers into your neck, teeth grazing the skin, "Driving me crazy..."

The little sounds you make as he grinds himself against you send his brain into a tailspin, cock throbbing, and Wally's impatience wins. He fucks you on your hands and knees, hips hitting your ass with filthy smacks of skin against skin, loud in the quiet of the woods. Oh fuck, fuck, baby, you feel so good. Needed this all night. My good, sweet girl. You love how my cock feels inside you, don't you baby? And so on until he drives you over the edge, fucks you through your orgasm into his, in awe by the end from how fucking perfect you make him feel.

Nobody questions him when he takes Braden's truck and parks it further away. Not even Janet who he's pretty sure is on her knees at Travis' feet between two cars. Wally finds you again when everyone remaining is either too drunk or too high to be a concern in the morning. He curls around you in the truck bed, sleeps better than he has since the last time you and he slept together, and shows his appreciation when the sun's coming up with his lips on your clit and his fingers in your pussy.

His sweet, illicit Kryptonite, inching him closer and closer to insanity with every instant he spends with you.

🧿___________________________

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

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. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - H

H is for hot, hypnotizing touches and hard kisses at a party Wally should be focused on hosting. But how can he think when you swan in wearing that fucking dress, hair styled just right for him fist into when he has you on your knees. Janet commanded that he not invite you, gave him a look and a threat, and he didn't listen because fuck her, it's his house, his party, and he'll invite whoever he wants to.

Your friends surround you like the Secret Service, Xavier and Maddie and Simon watchful and out of place amongst the hypersexual pop squad and their clingers-on. It's a smaller party, harder to get away with what Wally wants to do (that being tying you to his bed and wrecking you over and over again until sunup), but he steals moments here and there to make you aware of how fucking horny he is for you.

Halfway through the night, Janet's hammered to the degree she doesn't give a shit that you're there anymore, her arm around your shoulders, convinced she's the best thing to ever happen to you because she rescued you from social squalor. Now everyone who matters knows who you are, she beams, hugging you like a sister, thanks to me. Wally helps you help her up the stairs to his old room—the struggle real—Janet handsy in a way she never gets without her audience to perform for.

She grabs and gropes and pouts for Wally to cuddle, to kiss her, to touch her how she knows he fantasizes about touching you. And it's the closest you and he have come to being caught on Candid Camera, holy hell, but she passes out before he's forced to fess up.

Once he closes the door behind him, he hunts you down, finds you in the bathroom down the hall trying to dab out the Sour Puss and Blue Curaçao Janet spilled (accidentally-on-purpose) on your dress.

"Just take it off," Wally smirks, arms folded, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, "We both know it's gonna end up on my floor anyway."

"Yeah? You're right." Your reflection flashes him a coy look. Slowly, you turn, prop against the sink, eyes heated, "No harm in giving everyone a show, right?" Your dress pools at your feet when you slip it off, leaving you in dark green satin that Wally's cock highly appreciates.

He kicks the door closed with his heel, on you in two long strides, grabbing your hair and forcing your head back so you have to look at him. "Naughty girl," He grips your ass with his other hand, "You know that's not what I meant." A bite to your neck, a lap of his tongue to soothe the sting, "No one else gets this, baby. You're all. mine."

Wally hoists you onto the sink, insinuates himself between your thighs as soon as his shoves his jeans to his knees. He humps himself against the imprint of your pussy through the satin, his brain fogging from the friction. Your eyes are hazy, lips parted on sweet sighs of need that he hastily swallows. The music downstairs might be loud, but eventually, someone's going to come looking and he can't have them hear you. Those sounds are as much his as the rest of you.

In less time than it took to put Janet to bed, Wally has you on his cock, bouncing like a beauty queen in his lap as he sits on his haunches, one arm behind him to hold himself up, the other tight around your waist. Fuck, he's never felt this hopeless for someone. This hungry and desperate and obsessed. His hips buck in tandem with yours, driving himself as deep as he can get, wanting every inch of you to be his, his, his, "That's it baby, ride daddy's cock just like that, fuck—"

When you and he rejoin the party, he's dressed you in one of his button-downs, belted around the waist with the tie he wore to his cousin's wedding. His scent all over you, his come inside you, and nobody notices a thing thanks to too many shots of Hennessey.

🧿___________________________

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

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 👋)

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. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - G

G is for all the good, great, god-praising methods Wally weaponizes to distract you from the details outside the arrangement between you and him. Like Janet, for example, and the arrangement Wally has with her. The one he insists isn't more than a mutual (non-physical, non-emotional) ploy to secure their positions as Split River High royalty. It's true, after all, that Wally couldn't give two fucks about her. But their gamble paid off and Wally's riding the gravy train through senior year, so it isn't something he can just end because it makes you grumpy to be a secret.

"C'mon, baby," He says, caging you in, big hands on either side of you on the kitchen counter. You reached for a glass and Wally took advantage while you didn't notice his proximity after demanding he never come near you again. His lips graze your neck, his breath ghosting your skin—a tingle up your spine—and he guides you to face him. "Don't push me away," He implores, featherlight fingers sneaking under the hem of your shirt, "You're the only good thing I have, baby. I need you."

Part of him hates how true that's starting to become. How he can't think of anything else except your laugh, your touch, your scent, your eyes, your lips, your perfect, sweet pussy. Wally's breath catches then stammers out, face so close to yours, a narrow thread between your body and his. His fingers breeze from your hips to the underside of your tits, his gaze holding yours like something precious.

"I'm never letting you go, baby," Brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, flicks his tongue against your bottom lip, "You're mine." And he's greedy as fuck with his things. Selfish. Possessive. Doesn't let anyone within a mile radius of what's his unless he's supervising. He takes your wrist and guides it to the front of his sweatpants, sets your palm firmly on the outline of his hardening cock, "You're the only thing that gets me like this..." His other hand trails down down down, fingertips brushing under the waistband of your sleep shorts as he releases and insists pressure against the back of your hand to grind himself in to.

You're as intoxicated by him as he is you, and Wally knows it. Sees it in how your pupils blow; hears it in how your breath catches; feels it in how fucking wet you are for him from a few delicate strokes of his fingers.

"That's my good girl," He praises, voice chocolatey and low, when you set the glass down and place your hands on his body. "Let daddy show you how good I treat what's mine..." Your whimper is like music to his ears.

Janet's at the nail salon, your mom and stepdad are out for the day, only due back for supper, and Wally was explicitly told to make himself at home while he waited for Janet to return. Something he intends to do with the added bonus of proving how important you've become to him.

Gluttonous, savage, he grabs you under the thighs and carries you to the kitchen table, sets you down only to spin you around and bend you over it. Dropping to his knees, Wally takes your shorts and panties with him before he eats you out from behind, hands groping your ass, tongue-fucking you until your juices dribble down his chin. And, God, there is nothing better than this.

After he fucks you until you're dizzy and spent; after Janet gets home and finds him innocently on the couch (alone) on his phone; after he spends the evening charming your mom and stepdad; after all that, he parks around the corner and texts you:

I miss your taste already, baby. You gonna spread those sexy legs of yours and give me more? xx

Break up with Janet and I'll think about it,,,

He doesn't text you back, doesn't bother since he's at your window in record time, face between your thighs, reminding you exactly what being a brat and getting fussy will get you.

And, shit, Wally smirks against your pussy, was that the game all along?

🧿___________________________

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: information had finally started to come to light. things had been falling into place, for better or worse. you and Wally had had to keep keep going, no matter the cost, but at least you and he had had each other to lean on when you'd realized that not everything had been as it'd seemed.

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.9

"She was such a quiet girl, you know..." Nanna said softly, holding Ginny's hand as she spoke. Her eyes were distant as she fell into the past, reliving memories of their childhood. Ginny was much older than Nanna. Nanna had been a surprise after their mother, your great-grandmother, had been told she wouldn't have been able to create—never mind carry—another baby. Nanna was the youngest of five; Albert, Violet-Anne, Arvin, Virginia-Amrose, and then surprise baby Abigail.

Your family didn't see much of Nanna and Ginny's siblings. There wasn't a specific reason for it that you knew of, just a lot of distance in between that had deterred your less familiar great-aunt and her brothers from reaching out. After the death of their parents to a house fire, the elder siblings had moved on from Split River and that had been that. They were probably dead—definitely Albert who'd had to have been well into triple digits if he was still alive.

"What changed?" You finally asked, gazing at Ginny as she slept, oxygen tube down her throat. That was the worst you'd ever seen her. Your eyes pricked and your stomach clenched, and you so badly yearned for her to wake up. To hug you, pet your hair, tell you that you were being ridiculous worrying over her.

Nanna chuckled, her thumb stroking the back of Ginny's hand, "The reason her lungs are so weak." She said, quiet, tired, "The fire."

"The fire made her more—" Blunt, dramatic, stubborn, batshit insane with a warm heart and a warmer smile. You settled for, "Loud?"

"It scared her. You come face to face with death like that, sweetpea, and it changes you. Either for good or for bad." Nanna cast you an amused smile, "I like to believe that's why you and Aiden were so mischievous. Obnoxious little munchkins, the both of you."

"What do you mean?" You asked around the lump in your throat, pictured Aiden at that farmhouse as he clutched Limon and ate stew made by the specter of a stranger.

Nanna gave you a surprised look, one that indicated you should've known what she meant. She told you anyway, "Aurora was an easy birth. Out in minutes. Pink and squalling like a banshee." She chuckled, shaking her head with a fond smile. "But you...you were impatient. Wanted to be in the world as soon as possible." She paused, patted your knee, "You came early. Such a small thing." Nanna's smile fell, "You weren't breathing. But," Her smile returned, "They saved you. You recovered quickly and I have a feeling my wily sister had something to do with it..." Nanna gave Ginny a playful look of bemusement, "You didn't have to suffer years of treatments like most unlucky infants."

Amelia's words rung in your head like the knell of a church bell: Death ushered them into the world and left a piece of himself within them. So...you'd been delivered with Death at your heels. Amelia had mentioned that that was how you could interact with the metaphysical world and those who inhabited it. Holy shit.

"And Aiden?"

Nanna sighed, "Poor little bug." She made the sign of the cross, something she only ever did when Aiden was mentioned. "I always wondered if he knew..." She shook her head as if to dispel the very thought and diverted, "He was blue as a violet. The cord had...had wrapped itself around his neck. He was dead for almost a minute before they revived him..." Nanna's eyes glistened. She gazed over her sister again, lips pinched in despair.

Death had had its arms open for Aiden since the day he was born, you mourned. You weren't surprised that Nanna thought it possible that Aiden knew, somehow, someway, that he wasn't destined for a long life. If anyone in the house would've known, it would've been her. She'd examined his palms the same as she'd done everyone else's...

"Did you know?" You had to ask, uncomfortable that you hadn't remembered until now exactly what your grandmother's connectedness was capable of. "That he wouldn't live long?"

Her face was grim as the reaper, eyes haunted, "I hoped against it. Reading the Awen isn't precise, sweetpea. And I prayed, in that instance, I was wrong."

But she hadn't been. You almost wanted to confess to her about Aiden and the farmhouse and the other ghosts. You didn't, of course, but you suddenly realized how ill-equipped you were to face everything alone. The responsibility of stopping Amelia, and retrieving Maddie's body, and freeing the ghosts. Freeing Wally. It was a vise that strangled your heart without remorse.

Nanna brought the conversation back to Ginny, faraway eyes and compassionate smile, "That fire might've weakened her body, but it strengthened her spirit." She ended wistfully, "Few realize that Death is also capable of giving gifts. It can be kind as it can be cruel."

It moved you, how much Nanna cared for Ginny. As much as they bickered, Nanna and Ginny were close. Two peas in a pod. Ginny had taken care of Nanna after their parents had died; she'd assumed the role of mother and father and sister in one fell swoop since none of their older siblings would do it.

They sounded like a selfish bunch and—as you stared at Ginny's ashen face—you thought fuck them for not being there. Fuck them for allowing the distance to matter. Fuck them for ignoring or avoiding or pretending your family didn't exist because they'd rather have let everything fall apart at a time they should've come together.

Minutes later, Nanna excused herself to fetch a cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving with a kiss on your head and a squeeze of your shoulder. You took her place in the chair beside Ginny, held her hand in yours, and tried to tamp down the slurry of emotions that rose within you.

After a long moment of silence, you choked, "Everything's fucked up." A plea to someone who couldn't hear you. She couldn't travel, you imagined because her body and mind were too weak, but you desperately needed her right now. Or you needed to finally unload the burden of truth on someone you could trust because it had become too much. "There weren't stupid storms or squalls or whatever you and mom said there would be. But it feels worse. Like everything is out of control—"

A thick sniffle, a hiccup, "Maddie's a ghost and her body is missing. I think there's someone out there who wants to use the ghosts...use...shit, use Wally...to glue them in it," A thought you hadn't shared out loud until now because it scared you more than you wanted it to. Your voice broke when you continued, "I--I don't know what to do... I-I don't even know where to look. Or how to look. I need help, Ginny. Xavier and Simon are great and they want to help, they do, but they don't know this stuff and now I'm expected to be a walking encyclopedia and—" A self-deprecating snort, "Fuck. I barely know anything..."

The heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm. The ventilator whirred. Ginny remained a gaunt statue in repose.

You leaned over and pressed your forehead to the back of her hand, hot tears falling onto her cold skin, "Please wake up..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon ran his thumb over the pendant, his other hand in Maddie's as she urged him to lure her mother to the school. Get her here, he heard Maddie plead, I always know when she's lying. But Simon's mind was elsewhere, his eyes flicking over the pendant's design, teeth clenched as he berated himself. He should've asked more questions when he'd—God dammit, the answers might've been right fucking there and he'd been too busy monitoring his pleases and thank yous.

He couldn't believe he hadn't recognized the pendant the night of the dance, strung around someone else's neck. One of a pair, your great-aunt had told him. Maddie had worn the necklace every day since he'd known her. A gift from her father she rarely, if ever, removed.

Without acknowledging Maddie's insistence to get Sandra in a room with her, Simon asked, "You said your dad gave this to you?"

Maddie's teeth clicked when she abruptly closed her mouth, visibly stunned that Simon would ask that now. A brief moment of contemplation and then, "Yeah. Right before he died."

"And you're sure about that?" Simon's eyes never left the pendant, but his grip on Maddie's hand tightened marginally, a gesture expressing that it was important, that he needed her to be precise.

"Yeah." One beat. Two. "I mean, not really. I got it in the mail. Mom said he sent it when he was still in Texas and that it had taken longer to get there than he did. He was back for a couple of weeks before..." Maddie trailed off. Simon could fill in the blanks. Christopher had been home for a couple of weeks before he'd killed himself while wearing your body like a meat puppet.

"In the mail?" Simon prompted as he released her hand to cup her jaw, gaze boring into hers. "And you're sure your dad was the one who sent it?"

Maddie swallowed. "Yeah. It was definitely him."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Simon, I'm sure." Prickly, fierce. "My dad sent it. I know he sent it."

Simon pulled her closer to press their brows together, soothing her, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, Mads, I just want to make sure that we have all the facts."

"Why?" Maddie asked and leaned back to examine him because he wasn't making sense.

Simon hesitated for a moment, unsure how to put into words the weird coincidence he was beginning to think wasn't a coincidence at all. "When I went to pick her up for the Homecoming dance... Maddie, her great-aunt had exactly the same pendant. Ginny said that it was one of a pair, earrings or something, but she lost the other one a while ago."

Maddie frowned and then her face went slack in shock, "You think her great-aunt might've been the one to give it to me?"

Simon shook his head, frustrated, confused, steadily more defeated as he realized he was so far out of his depth that he couldn't hold his head above water anymore, "I don't know." He slumped, rubbed his eyes, and gave Maddie a look of apology. "But we have to find out. Someone has to know."

"Si, I know my dad gave me that necklace. I can't explain it, it's just a—"

"Feeling?" Simon finished for her, weak smile curving his lips. "Yeah. I believe you, Maddie," He assured her, grasping both her hands in his as he bowed toward her to give her a soft, sweet kiss. "I'm not saying he didn't. But if it's the missing earring, maybe she gave it to him or maybe he took it. For a reason."

"What...what reason?" Maddie asked hesitantly, bits and pieces of information scattered in her mind like shattered glass.

"Ginny's in the hospital. And your dad's..." Dead, he refused to say, already guilty that he'd had to bring this up in the first place. "Your mom might know something. Like you said, you can tell when she's lying."

"Get her here." Maddie reiterated. "And we can figure out if—if my mom..."

Cutting her off, "Okay," Simon put the necklace back in the manila envelope, folded it, and shoved it in his back pocket before promising, "Okay, I'll figure something out."

Maddie sat silently for a long moment, gazing into the middle distance, so worn and small that Simon nearly choked on his heart looking at her. Sandra might not have been the best mom, but she was Maddie's and Maddie loved her. Simon couldn't imagine Sandra hurting Maddie, and yet... People turned into strangers when their souls were broken and they had enough booze in their veins to breathe fire.

He had no clue how the pieces fit together. If Sandra had the answers to all the questions Simon and Maddie had. Why Maddie was a ghost. Why Maddie's dad had gifted her a necklace with a pendant on it that belonged to your family. The two things were connected, Simon was sure, but he didn't know how.

As he stood, Maddie stopped him with a light touch to his hip, "Simon?" She rose to her feet and shuffled into his space, looped her arms around his neck and held him, "Yesterday, what you said about whether or not us figuring it out means me moving on—"

"Don't worry about that right now," Simon murmured into her hair. It was jarring, how she didn't smell like anything. Just clean air. He stammered, "I was being selfish."

Maddie tilted back a fraction and said firmly, "You're never selfish," which made Simon's heart skip a beat and break in a single moment.

"Maddie...if it was her," He started, nervous to voice his concern, his fear, though he had to understand, "Are you sure you wanna know?"

She didn't answer. Simply tucked her head into the crook of his neck and held him close.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

The inevitable was already underway. There was nothing Mr. Martin could do about it, no way to postpone it or change the outcome. He couldn't sabotage Amelia's plan, it was impossible given her influence; a worm in his brain slithering between the ridges and festering his conscience. It was a failsafe, she'd explained. She'd been betrayed in the past and Mr. Martin had understood, had allowed her to cast her spell and shape him into whatever she needed him to be.

Still, the fact that the night was finally upon them, after decades of waiting, made him wonder if he'd been mistaken to have trusted her word.

If Janet had been right... No. Janet was wrong. Wrong. She was clever, sure—the ideal candidate to complete their circle—yet callow in more ways than was suited to what Amelia had required of her character. Rhonda was a decent if rough substitute. Too new. Too neglected. Mr. Martin wasn't allowed to divulge more than necessary to her, and that seemed to be the wrong approach since now Rhonda was just as riled up as the rest of them when he needed her to focus.

Dawn's ascension had happened while he'd been in the fallout shelter, thus he hadn't succumbed to it to the same degree his students had. Nevertheless, he'd felt it. Felt that peace. That warmth. That omniscient truth that he'd never felt before because crossing over was supposed to be impossible inside the barrier. In that one moment, everything he'd done to help Amelia seemed cursed. Which included his poor luck in inspiring Rhonda's full submission.

It didn't matter now, did it? That slimy part of his mind tried to justify in a voice that wasn't his. The gears had begun to turn, the machine already in motion. No one would be hurt. Not more than they'd already been, at least, and it was far too late to regret what he and Janet had done to bring everyone together. Moving forward was the only option and after all was said and done, he'd pay his penance.

Wally and Charley and Rhonda spoke over each other, a cacophony of questions with no answers. None that he was at liberty to give. He plucked a thread from his blazer, hands shaking because of what it signified that his clothes were deteriorating instead of resetting as they'd done since 1958.

"—the light at the same time as the goosebumps. Simultaneous goosebumps." Wally ranted between Charley's retelling of what they'd experienced. Mr. Martin's collar suddenly felt too tight.

Bernie and Katelynn agreed and confirmed and Mr. Martin wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole. He had to keep them in line. Just a few more hours. A few more hours and it would be over and he'd be free... The noise of their curiosity caused his mouth to dry, heartbeat too quicken, palms to get clammy. He had to have faith, but it was dwindling with every second he listened to his sentient students describe Dawn's ascension from their points of view.

Their eyes were on him, pinning him in place as he fidgeted. He strung together the right words in the wrong context, anything to supplicate them, but they continued to press like walls closing in. And then Mina's face, sad and scared, seared behind his eyes and he couldn't manage the pressure.

"After all these years, how can you still be so clueless?" Charley demanded and Mr. Martin absorbed it like he'd absorbed Amelia's outrage when Janet had vandalized a plan that had been decades in the making.

It had been such a struggle to attain the right pieces and set them on the board. Amelia had been righteous in her anger. A glorious, beautiful blaze of fury that had left Mr. Martin wounded and weak. All because of Janet who'd argued his ear off for weeks. Who'd rearranged the board under his nose in order to steal what didn't belong to her.

"What if looking back isn't a bad thing?" Charley hounded, "What if it's actually the key to get out of here!? Why shouldn't we at least try that?"

They weren't allowed. They weren't allowed to look back. Unlike treacherous Janet, Mr. Martin had obeyed the rule. He'd crafted so many lies, so many perfect explanations that Amelia had praised, yet, now, she didn't trust him fully despite his fealty. What would it take for her to forgive him!? WHAT WOULD IT TAKE!?

"Because it's painful to constantly be thinking about it!" Hearing his own words, Mr. Martin knew he would forever remain her devoted servant. In sickness and health, not even death could do them part. "Right!?"

There were still two pawns on the board. Two vessels. One for him. One for her. Let Janet die a second time in Maddie's body. By morning, Maddie's ghost wouldn't exist anymore to need it.

Just a few more hours, he told himself, and it would be over.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally kissed you like it was the last time. Slow, deep, explorative; memorizing every shape and taste of your mouth as he held you by the hips in his lap.

The school was empty aside from the teachers involved in the awards ceremony. Ajay had snuck you in before accompanying Maddie to the teacher's lounge for a coffee and a heart-to-heart. Wally had found her in the hallway after Group and she'd been in bad shape. He was grateful that Ajay had stepped in to be there for her while she waited for Simon to arrive with her mom so that Wally could soak in your presence privately.

You'd informed Maddie that Simon had had Nicole reach out to Sandra and ask if she wanted to accept the Fall English Award on Maddie's behalf. Sandra had apparently been reluctant, yet she'd agreed in the end. Initially, they'd wanted to uncover if Sandra knew about the origins of Maddie's necklace. The same necklace your great-aunt wore to repel ghosts that might try to snatch her body.

After you'd explained, "It was me," Maddie decided they'd change direction and would question whether or not Sandra had been involved in disappearing Maddie's body sans her ghost.

Wally couldn't believe he hadn't remembered immediately when Maddie had mentioned her necklace. He'd seen it. Not the necklace itself, but the moment Christopher had asked you to take it from his body's pocket and deliver it to Maddie on his behalf.

"Amelia must've stolen it like she stole Limon," You murmured, head tilted back against the wall, staring beyond the ceiling at your mental conspiracy board. The red yarn that connected one thing to another. "She used it so Christopher couldn't steal his body back...which is why—"

"He had to use yours to stop Amelia..." Maddie finished, glum and bereaved. "So, why give it to me?"

You rolled your head to the side and stared at her a moment before, "To protect you." When Maddie gave the impression she didn't understand how it would've done any such thing, you elaborated, "He probably didn't want the same thing to happen to you that happened to him." A long, pregnant beat. "He didn't want you to be used."

"I knew it was from him," Maddie stated as she curled over her knees. "There was a note. I remember now."

You held your hands up and wiggled your fingers to connote your ability to transfer things from the metaphysical world to the living world. "I don't remember getting it to you, though. I don't remember much after seeing Aiden..." A shaky breath and then nothing.

"Wally?" You asked, likely having noticed his mind had wandered. "You okay?"

Wally's grip tightened on your hips, then smoothed down to your thighs, back up under your skirt to drag you closer by the ass. He gave you a weary smile, about as much as he could muster. Between Mr. Martin's behavior in Group and Maddie's comment—"What would you do if the one person who was supposed to protect you was the one who hurt you?"—unleashing a repressed sense of betrayal toward his mama, Wally's strength of will had rapidly declined. He didn't think he could do this anymore.

Call him selfish, but he missed the simpler times. The times before Maddie and the mystery and the cloak and dagger he and the others were forced to come to grips with. There was peace in ignorance and he wanted to find it again, just for a second, just to regroup and start fresh and—

"Hey," Your hands on his jaw, angling his face toward yours, "You still with me, big guy?"

"Sorry baby," Wally said, low and solemn, "Too many thoughts."

You nodded, "Yeah. Me too. I can't believe I never noticed Maddie's necklace. I see it every day, you'd think I would've put two and two together as soon as I met her, yanno?"

Not exactly where Wally's mind was, but that was odd.

"You said you and Maddie weren't that close before now," Wally tried to reason so you wouldn't drive yourself crazy thinking about it. "Who really pays attention to that kind of thing?"

You raised a brow, "I noticed Nicole had the same spider ring as Maddie as soon as she started wearing it."

"Okay. Fair. But that spider ring didn't ward off evil spirits, right? Maybe it's a magic necklace thing." And then he put on an all-powerful, godly voice, "All who look upon this necklace shall forget its importance lest they be cursed!"

You giggled, a sound as beautiful as a summer breeze, and beamed at him. Jesus, he could live without food and water and anything else so long as he saw that smile every day for the rest of his existence. He lifted one hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, dipped in to brush his lips against yours, a smile of his own forming.

"Very impressive use of the word 'lest'," You teased, "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Hey, I was practically a straight A student, thanks."

"What I'm hearing is that you bullied nerds into giving you test answers."

Wally scoffed, "I didn't bully anyone! I used my popularity to charm certain academically gifted individuals into helping me along. It was give-give, baby, I swear." He grinned, both hands back on your ass, massaging your flesh.

"You may be onto something though, Wally." You said after a moment, "I wouldn't be surprised if Amelia glamoured the necklace so that no one would recognize it." A cheeky grin, "Lest her whole plan go up in smoke before she could finish it." You raised your hands and made a poof gesture.

Wally drew you closer by the back of your head, his gaze flickering over your face as his eyes went heavy and heated, "Have I ever told you how sexy your brain is, baby?"

"Once or twice," You smirked and brushed your lips against his, "But you're welcome to remind me."

A slow, thorough kiss before Wally said, "You have a very," kiss "very," kiss as his large hand pushed your closer so you were planted flush against him, "sexy brain."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier was insubordinate on a good day, but the little nuisance had been more so in recent weeks. The Sheriff didn't like it. By then, Xavier didn't need to be cagey or deflective for the Sheriff to recognize when Xavier was hiding something. In fact, Xavier had been combative, had shown up of his own volition to once again challenge Mr. South's innocence. And hadn't that been the cherry on top of a taxing day...

It was hard enough keeping the deputies busy, their instincts firing on all cylinders, much to the Sheriff's chagrin. Which, fine, was why those people were hired—except Lou. Lou was impossible. A donut-munching waste of space with muttonchops to stand in for his backbone—but the Sheriff was at a pivotal point in tracking down and locating Madison Nears' runaway body and getting the plan back on the rails. He couldn't afford any more disruptions or screw-ups.

To think, they'd had weeks of wiggle room before that daft creature Amelia had coddled had run off in what was to be Anabelle's vessel. Weeks. The ritual wasn't to be performed until the winter solstice. Empty school. Parents of teenagers not entirely sure where they were at any given time because it was the holiday break and kids would be kids. Alas, Amelia had fucked up so royally in who she'd trusted that they didn't have a choice. It had to be tonight or they'd lose everything.

The Sheriff exited the evidence room, Xavier's energy lingering in the air after their confrontation. That had been a disaster just as everything else leading up to then had been. The Sheriff—Anabelle—had long since perfected how to handle that bucking bronco of a boy. had been raised by emotional distance and respect and he'd turned out beautifully. As had Amelia. Furthermore, it'd worked. He'd pried Xavier away from his values easily, had him right where he'd needed to be. Cutoff. Conflicted. Corrupted.

Only now, he seemed to have recovered. Quickly. Quicker than the Sheriff had ever seen anyone shed a hex. If there was time to hunt Xavier down and prise the truth from him, the Sheriff would, however, time was of the essence and Amelia had made fucking sure they didn't have enough of it to spare. To be so stupid as to let Janet Hamilton frame Amelia's most precious golem!?

May Dagda protect, because the Sheriff wasn't going to lose another precious rebirth due to things that could have, should have, been avoided.

He wanted very much to release Mr. South. His purpose was better served on the board. Unfortunately, the Sheriff couldn't afford anyone discovering the second set of prints on the crowbar. Pausing at reception, the Sheriff noted the address he'd scribbled down. Another possible lead. At his hip, out of sight of those milling about the station, he typed a text to Dave's phone. The address and a blunt reminder that Amelia had better not let her former shining star slip through her fingers again or Anabelle would snatch her precious vessel right from her spirit's embrace without remorse.

After all, daughters came and went, but youth was something worth holding on to.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

"Are you finding anything?"

"Dude, this thing was old when I went here," Wally told Charley from his place at the microfilm reader.

The file room was dark, claustrophobic, filled with a lot of information yet very few answers. So far, anyway. You sat at the single tiny table, flipping through transcripts from 1960 while, at your feet, back against your leg, Ajay perused the stack of yearbook printouts from around the same era.

"Dawn found something yesterday when she looked into her past." Charley said, determined, "I mean, Janet must've done the same. So...maybe if we look into their pasts, too, we could find something that could explain all of this."

Ajay sighed, "Don't we already know?" When Charley snapped a pointed side-eye at him, Ajay flapped a hand, "I get why we're doing this. What, against all odds, made Janet and then Dawn special enough to clock out of this hellscape. But do we really think it's going to be written on paper?"

"Or microfilm." Wally inserted, peeking out from behind the machine.

"I think Charley's onto something, actually." You said as you scanned another transcript from 1960: Maria Volkov. "Maybe there was something special about their pasts that allowed them to move on easier." You glanced up, eyes finding Wally's, "I mean, you've all looked back before, right?"

"More or less," Ajay said, flipping through another yearbook. "Yet, here we still are."

"What year are you on?" Charley asked Wally as he carded through the accordion folder containing Dawn's student files.

Wally responded, "1959. I'm trying to move backwards, but I am not seeing Janet's name anywhere." He glanced between you and Charley. "She died in 1960, right?"

"Yeah," Charley confirmed though he was distracted.

"That's what we have in our files, too." You added and then sat up straight to stretch out the kinks that had settled between your vertebrae. "Apparently she fell down the stairs and broke her neck?"

Wally cringed, "Sounds shitty." He looked at Charley again, "Did you know that? Because I didn't know that."

"I'm beginning to think we've been discouraged from asking each other personal questions about our deaths for a reason," Ajay muttered so only you could hear.

You didn't know what to say apart from, "Me too, buddy."

From his perch on the picture files cabinet, Charley rummaged through more of Dawn's files, engrossed though managing to reply to Wally, "No, I didn't..." He exhaled sharply through his nose and finally looked up, "Nothing of much interest in Dawn's student file, either..." Awkwardly, tinged with a thread of guilt, he admitted, "I know we weren't super close, but I feel kinda awful that we didn't get to say goodbye to her."

You listened as Wally answered, both you and Ajay forgoing your research to hear Wally say, "I don't want it to happen that way for me." He caught your eye, let his gaze hold yours softly, "I didn't get a goodbye last time..." You stood, shuffled around Ajay and went to Wally, settling in his lap when he shifted to welcome you. "I do not wanna just disappear..."

You nestled into his body, kissed his temple before pressing your brow against it.

"Me either." Charley said quietly.

Though it was obvious he felt the same, Ajay didn't say anything. Simply allowed Wally and Charley's grief to be heard and sat with it.

Wally turned his head, his lips pressed to your neck, his hand squeezing your hip before he tucked his face into your shoulder for a minute. You felt him breathe in and out deeply, absorbing your presence, your scent a balm for his soul, and then he returned to the slide he'd just inserted under the lens of the microfilm machine. Beneath you, he tensed.

"Whoa. Whoa, wait. This is weird." You peeked up at the screen, adjusted as Wally leaned in to read the small print. At Charley's prompting, Wally read, "Split River High School has been chosen for a national pilot program to protect students and teachers from the threat of a nuclear strike."

Oh. Shit. Had you not told Wally about the fallout shelter below the school?

"A fallout shelter will be built below the east wing of the school," No. No you had not. All you'd mentioned was that Dave had been skulking around the basement and you'd followed him. "The same location where a fire destroyed the former chemistry lab on January 14th, 1958." You were a terrible girlfr—wait.

"Wait...1958?" Charley voiced so you didn't have to. "That must be Mr. Martin's fire. Does it mention him?" Charley moved closer, half-sat on the side of the desk and watching Wally scan the rest of the old article.

"I don't see..."

You pointed to the screen where you saw Mr. Martin's name, "There."

"Oh, yes," His hand snuck under your shirt, thumb stroked your skin in thanks as he began to read again, "Authorities determined the fire was accidental. Four people were killed in the fire that overtook the lab during a routine chemistry lesson. Beloved Chemistry teacher Mr. Everett Martin was one of the deceased—"

"Wait." Charley interrupted, confused, "Four people? He said he was the only casualty."

Ajay was on his feet now, positioned himself behind Wally, a hand on Wally's shoulder as he curved forward and reread what Wally had already dictated. "Four people?"

Wally's attention returned to the screen to pick up where he left off, "Uh, two other staff, secretary Melinda Fontaine and school nurse Karla-Anne Mayfair, who had tried to help contain the fire while students evacuated were killed in the blaze as well as one student, sophomore..." He stopped, causing you, Ajay, and Charley to squint at the screen.

"What? What's wrong?" Charley asked.

Wally picked his gaze from the screen and skirted it to Charley, "Janet Hamilton." A moment of tense silence, and then Wally, pinning you closer to his body to quell his anger, wanted to know, "Why did they both lie to us?"

You stared at the name Wally had pointed to. It didn't make sense. Even in your family's files, Janet was cited as dying in 1960... Only... She hadn't had a death date until Ginny had remembered something and had Nanna write it down. You slipped out of Wally's lap and went to the stack of yearbooks Ajay had been scouring through to find the right one. Bingo. 1958.

You opened it, flipped through the pages until, "My great-aunt was in that class." That was the fire that'd weakened her. You'd assumed it'd been the same fire that had killed your great-grandparents, but no. There was Ginny's young face, smiling shyly from the page beside someone named Gladys Jones.

"What does that have to do with Janet and Mr. Martin?" Ajay wondered as he, Wally, and Charley crowded around you.

You scrutinized every other student's face for clues, because stealing bodies was the work of expert connectedness. And though they became new people in new bodies, their connectedness had always and would always remain. If you were right...

"There were only two ghosts." You uttered, and you felt Wally's hand on your hip, a steadying force, as he pressed himself against your back. "If the symbols were already around the school to trap Mr. Martin and Janet—"

Somber, Wally asked the question on everyone's mind, "Then where did the other two go?"

💀___________________________

PART EIGHT - PART TEN

note: dun dun duuuun. next part should be out more quickly. this one just kept testing me. thank you so much for your patience, my loves 💖 we're down to the wire now and just two (or three, maybe, idk yet) parts away from the finale 🙌

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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

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

pt.8

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. Relapse. Huffing Bleach (Please don't do this). The 10,000 Mental Break Down. Hearing Voices. Giving up on Recovery. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

1.2k words

pt.7

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Deep, slow, squared breaths. A remedy you’d been taught to do over and over again. Forcing the air into your lungs so they wouldn’t have time to close up, bringing your mind back to the pool where you felt them explode. Inhaling the chemical scent that left an upset feeling in your stomach. It was suffocating but better than allowing the tightening to form, not allowing yourself to fall into that state of confusion, where nothing made sense and the world blurred. 1,2,3 more breaths. 

Head spinning….. Your head was spinning. This was different, it wasn’t from lack of air or the anguish in your body. It was from that deep sickening smell of cleaning supplies. Without thinking you grabbed the bleach, unscrewed the top, and brought the bottle to your nose. You took a deep inhale and let the smell fill your senses. It was brief but that feeling you’d been craving took over. A single moment of silence where it was just you and that bottle. 

Once the feeling passed you took another deep inhale. The few seconds where your mind went just slightly fuzzy made you feel like you were on top of the world. It wasn’t much but it was enough, then shame hit. “What the fuck am I doing?” It was quiet, whispered but held so much pain and guilt. 

This is probably the most pathetic site anyone could ever possibly see. You curled up with your knees to your chest, tear stained face and shaky hands as you put the bottle down. The image of Mags hearing the news of your death played on repeat in your brain. Face distorting in a way that made vial build in the back of your throat begging to escape. 

It’s all fucked, everything. She deserves to know what’s happening, that you didn’t mean to leave her behind. When's the last time you told her you love her? She has to know, she has to know that you love her no matter what. That even though you’re gone the memory of her in your mind isn’t. 

Perfectly cut images of her played in your mind like flipping through pages of a photo album. Her sweet smile and kick ass attitude that always gave you whiplash because she could go from 0-100 in less than a minute. Having her as your best friend was the best gift you’d ever been given and now it’s all over. Soon that friendship will die along with every memory of you.

You tried to wash the thought away. It bears too much pain but they don’t let you. Screams of how you’ll be nothing but what you became made your chest feel like it was being crushed. A ghost in life and death, that’s all you’ll ever be. 

You forced the tears to stop, face hurting and eyes swollen from how long you hid away in the closet, drawing in your own mess. With one last inhale of the strong chemical you stood up, not bothering to wipe away the water that stuck to your cheeks, knowing that by the time you open the door they’ll be gone like everything else behind the veil. You were right, one big loop. 

The strong fluorescent lights blinded you for a split second before your vision adjusted. Kids were leaving the school. Apparently it was already the end of the day. How long had you been in there? 

You started walking, now knowing where to, just needing to get away from the closet that holds the key to fulfilling your deepest darkest desires. You hated to admit it but you knew you’d be back, that’s a problem for future you. For now getting out of immediate danger was top priority. 

You absentmindedly let your legs guide you, taking you outside where you could finally breathe fresh air. No ambulances or police cars in sight, that's a good sign. You couldn’t handle the thought of having to watch your own body get carded away, covered by a white sheet. 

Maybe absentmindedly was a bad idea because they led you right to the football field. There he was, this is really starting to feel like an overplayed meet cute. Except nothing about this situation is cute. 

You try to back track before he could see you, legs turning to walk away but of course it’s too late. 

“Hey” You heard him yell from across the field. You stopped, closing your eyes tight as you cursed your stupid fucking legs for leading you straight to him. Reluctantly you turn back around, facing him as he speed walks towards you. “You okay?” He was slightly out of breath from walking fastly across the field. 

“Yeah, I'm great. Why wouldn’t I be?” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm that dripped from your voice. You knew it wasn’t his fault, just a simple little question people ask when things are out of place but no one ever answered truthfully. How could you be okay? You just watched the one person who’s been by your side through it all, who’s never once asked if you’re fucking okay because she knows your not, break down because of you and you couldn’t do anything about it. No you’re not fucking okay. 

“Really? Because you seem kinda mad.” Thanks captain obvious. You could tell he was trying to be playful with the way he spoke, it felt out of place but understandable. You just couldn’t help the anger it boiled in you. 

“Oh, I seem mad?” You knew it was wrong. He didn’t deserve this, none of your anger should be pointed towards him but you couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, laced with venom. 

“Yeah, I'm not doing this.” And with that he gave you a tight lipped smile and walked away, leaving you there confused and upset. Granted it was deserved. 

You threw your arms in the air before you let them fall back down, hitting your thighs with a clap. “Thanks a fucking lot!” You couldn’t stop the frustrated tears that built up in your eyes. It all hurt, everything, just excruciating pain like being burned alive by your own swirl of emotions. “FUUUUCK!” You kicked the cone beside you, it didn’t do much but it felt right. Then you just felt weak and guilty. 

You sat on the grass, pulled your knees to your chest and cried. It was the only thing you could do. You felt powerless, like you had no control over anything. Have you ever? Shit you can’t even contain your own emotions. 

Choosing how to numb the pain of your swollen broken fingers was the first time you had power over yourself. Even then that turned into a downwards spiral that you got lost in. Powers motivation, something you don’t have. What's the point? You’re dead, all of the ‘healing’ and ‘fighting for those around you’ means nothing. You have nothing to get better for, so why try? 

Were you supposed to pull yourself off the ground and ask for help? There's no point, its over. Life, death, its all the same fucked up loop that left you lost. Self pity and breakdowns aren't going to fix anything, it just can’t be fixed. It’s over

It’s over

                                                                                      It’s over

                                                                       It’s over

                                                         t’s over 

                                                                       I

                                                                        t

                                                                         s

                                                                           o

                                                                             v

                                                                            e

r

Pt.9

Unofficial tag list: @gabbyygoo

Dawn: Always check yourself for unnecessary negativity and bitterness

Rhonda: Unnecessary negativity ✓ bitterness ✓

Maddie: I’ve accidentally indulged in to much ‘me time’

Maddie: Turns out, I’ve been reported missing for six months and presumed dead by most local and national authorities.

Maddie: .......

Maddie: I hope they make a Buzz Feed about me.

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. miscommunication. public sex. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - M

M is for misunderstandings, and miscommunication, and misleading rumors that bring Wally to his knees while he's still in his game day kit. Baby, I swear and I know it's fucked up, but you have to believe me because you DO. Whoever told you that he sexed Janet up at Brandon's Homecoming Game Eve party fucking lied. The notion makes Wally queasy and you're not listening, Jesus, baby, stop, just listen! But you're too busy hurting, putting distance between you and Wally like he's fucking contagious, and he doesn't know what else to do.

He grabs you by the shoulders, spins you around, and pins you against the wall with his body, arms fastened around you like boa constriction. You push and shove and loose a muffled scream against his chest. He doesn't budge. Kisses your head, temple, the curve of your jaw, "Stop, baby, please. Please, listen to me." A kiss to the corner of your mouth when you finally submit, pliant in his arms, huffing and hateful and oh so magnificent in your anger.

One hand glides down your spine, the other cradles your face, his eyes begging you to hear him out, "It's not true, sweet girl." He promises, "I wouldn't do that to you. I'd never do. that. to you." And he really fucking wouldn't. To Janet? Yeah, they aren't a thing; not how matters. But you? It would have to mean life or death, and even then...

You and he are behind the stadium, the back area used by concessions, recycle on one side, trash on the other, hidden from view. Wally lets go. You slump against the wall, expression closed and ears open. He can't play until you smile. Until he knows you're his again. And bench-rider Matt pops his head out of the security door to tell Wally t-minus too few minutes before he has to hit the field.

"Get lost."

"But—"

"Get fucking lost, Wilson!"

Matt gets fucking lost, off to assure Coach that his MVP will be ready for kickoff. Wally turns his attention right back to you, hands on your neck, thumbs stroking your cheeks, trying to make you look at him. When he kisses you, you fight back with teeth, but at least you respond. Fire and passion so strong that all of Wally's blood jets south and his vision is more inkspots than reality. He shackles one of your wrists in his big hand, then the other. Over your head on the wall as he fucks your mouth with his tongue.

"You gotta believe me, baby," He urges, voice rough and low, taking your wrists in one hand so he can grope under your Devils' blue dress with the other. God, you'd look good in his letterman. A package so pretty he'd have to unwrap you on sight. A smirk against your lips when his fingers rub your pussy through your panties from behind. Soaked. "You like it when I'm rough with you, don't you, baby girl?" He kisses you again. Hard. Nips your lip sharp enough to break the delicate skin.

The moan he swallows makes him throb.

"You wanted to pick a fight, didn't you?" He coos, rich and dark and so hard he thinks he might pass out. "You wanted to get me like this..." He grinds his hips against you, that just-right pressure making his eyes roll back. "Fuck, baby, all you had to do was ask." His fingers keep playing with your pussy, rubbing and teasing, sneaking under thin fabric to feel that sweet velvety heat he can't wait any longer to get around his cock.

In one coarse move, Wally turns you, bends you, ass in the air and a curve in your back, fingers digging into your lovehandles. He tugs your panties down to your knees, his pants shoved down to his thighs, hissing when the cool air hits his cock.

"Gonna make a mess of you baby." He promises and he does, fucks you hard and unforgiving against the stadium wall. Slams into you over and over, angling himself in a way he knows will hit your g-spot every time. On every beat of his hips, you choke, moan, whimper, beg for mercy, and he growls in response, moves faster, harder until, fuck, baby, I'm gonna—

Just as it starts, he pulls out, rubs his cockhead through your folds, paints your pussy lips with his come as he strokes himself stupid. But he's not done yet. Before you can breathe, he plunges the fingers of one hand inside you, the fingers of the other on your clit, furious and savage, "That's it, baby girl." He feels you clench, spasm, and then you shout his name as you squirt all over his hand.

Your panties are ruined, used to mop up the mess Wally made as it trickled down the inside of your legs. He smirks at you, hungry, the look in his eyes a guarantee that you're not sleeping at home tonight. You're not sleeping at all.

He takes your bunched up panties from you when you try to throw them in the dumpster, "Nuh-uh, sweet girl, these'll be my lucky charm," and he flagrantly shoves them inside his jockstrap, discreet under the cup, and leaves you with a smack on the ass to join his team.

It's the best damn game Wally has ever played.

27-0.

Coach slaps his back and demands that Wally ensure he does whatever pre-game ritual he did today and Wally's only too happy to oblige. His eyes find you easily in the stands, dress pulled down as far as you could get it, and a feral grin curls his lips. After all, if there's one thing you don't fuck with, it's athletic superstition.

🧿___________________________

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

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

___________________________🧿

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

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

pt.7

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. Emotional Numbness. SH. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

1.3k words

pt.6

-

The sound of the bell ringing as you left the gym began to give you a headache. You’ve heard it repeatedly in life and the idea of it playing over and over again every hour for eternity adds to the list of things you hate about this place. Death is just one big loop, it's repetitive no matter how much Mr.Martin tries to make it feel more natural. 

“So I was thinking Rudy for tonight.” Again with Wally. He hasn't even questioned you on your weird behavior from earlier. You expected at least a little judgment but it never came. Golden fucking retriever. 

“If you want a football movie I'd pick Remember the Titans.” The memory of watching it for the first time in 8th grade history made a slight smile creep onto your face. You cried like a baby. 

Wally’s face lit up. “That is a great choice.” He seemed way too hyped to watch a movie he's probably seen a million times but then again this place makes the tiniest things feel like pure ecstasy and that's coming from personal experience with the stimulant. 

You didn’t know where you were going. Ducking and weaving through kids despite the others insisting there was no point because the living can't touch you. You feel somehow light as a feather but also like there are two fifty pound weights holding you down, giving you flashbacks to the pool where Wally still wants to teach you how to swim. You knew you couldn’t go back there, not after what happened so when he asked you changed the subject, dodging it like laced weed. That's what led you up to this conversation. 

“Do we set up in the gym?” It sounds like the worst possible place to watch a movie. The smell of sweat and body odor constantly sticking in the air from the boys who got way too hyped during dodgeball. 

“Yeah, we pull out couches and chairs and set up the projector.” Perfect, another few hours spent in that huge room that always felt somehow cramped. It was more of the idea of being surrounded by dead kids that made your skin crawl. It reminds you that you’re not the only one who has suffered in this hell hole. Kids, you’re all kids trapped in this place. Never finding out what you could have done for the world. 

Wally continued to ramble about movie night but you zoned out as soon as your eyes landed on her. Mags, she looks scared. The sight of Mr.Hartman talking to her with a serious sorrowful look on his face makes your heart sink. Kids are walking into class around her like nothing happened. This is it, she knows. She knows you’re not coming back. She knows this isn’t like last time when you ran away for a few days. She knows you're dead. 

The look of dread that consumes her, tears filling in her eyes, makes you want to scream. Just like that it’s back. Emotions turning back on like she accidentally flipped a switch without knowing it. They were just begging to burst out of you. To flood the school with your presents. To let everyone know you’re still here, that you can’t leave. Trapped, looking at her pitiful face because now she knows and it’s your fault. She’s hurt because of you. 

The sound of Wally’s voice pulled you back to reality, the ringing in your ears clearing as you realized there are silent tears flowing down your face. You don’t look at him but you know where his gaze lands, right on the girl with beautiful caramel skin and perfect tight curls. He doesn't say anything, just wraps one arm around your shoulder and pulls you in close to him. You don’t resist it, his comfort feels like needles because you don’t deserve it but the thought of pushing him away made you feel like you were gonna fall off the face of the planet. 

You couldn’t hear what they were saying and didn’t want to. You kept your distance, watching him walk her to the front office, probably so her mom, the woman you call your mother, can pick her up. This one felt like a stab through the heart, the blade twisting slowly as your blood sprayed, covering everyone in your pain. 

You didn’t speak as you turned to Wally, fully wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. Your silent tears turned into ugly sobs as you held onto this poor boy like a lifeline. You were shaking, body feeling like it was going to go limp when he wrapped both his arms fully around you, holding you up so you wouldn’t sink to the floor. 

It didn’t feel real. Nothing did, all a fucked up fever dream that you were gonna wake up from any minute now, but you knew better than that. That would be mercy, something you don’t deserve. Hell you don’t deserve the boy gripping you tightly but yet here you are, taking more than you deserve. 

You didn’t want to leave his warm embrace but it felt wrong to stay put. The scent of his cologne daring you to pull away as you soak his shirt in your tears. Weak, you felt weak for putting yourself on full display like this. Your emotions raw and untainted by the voices in your head screaming at you to bottle it up. It felt nice, freeing, but the guilt was all consuming. 

Reluctantly you pulled away, keeping your head down to save yourself the torture of seeing what you knew would be pity written all over his face. You stood there with shaky legs, staring at your hand as you forced your tears to a minimum, not allowing them to flow into a river that would sink everyone around you. 

“Thank you.” Was all you said, voice shriveled and broken before you turned and ran. You could hear him start to say something then he cut himself off, knowing it would be no use. You were already gone, legs moving as fast as they could to escape whatever fucked up reality you found yourself in. 

You hid in the first empty place you could find, a supply closet. It was dark, cramped, and smelled like chemicals but it’s better than balling your eyes out in the middle of the hallway. Isolation was the safest option. The best way to protect your own sanity. 

-

“Are you ok-” The words died in Wallys throat as he watched you run away. It was a stupid question, of course you weren’t okay, your worlds distorted. It’s nothing new, death is a dark confusing thing that leaves everyone lost. He understands, he just wishes you’d lean on him more often like that.

The feeling of your warmth still clung to him. Nothing new, he’s felt the sad sorrowful touch before but something about yours bloomed a new feeling within him. He knew you weren't ready, the look on your face when you ran away said it all but he can’t help but be curious. He wants to hold you like that more, to tell you that it’s all gonna be okay, that you have nothing to be scared of. 

What an odd feeling. It left him wanting more, wishing for more. It sounds selfish but he wants to be the one to comfort you through your pain. He knows hiding won’t heal anything yet he let you go, watched you run away to drown in your own self pity. The memory of him locking himself in the locker rooms when he saw his mom for the first time since his last moments clung to the air. Self pity was all he felt, he understood but you wouldn’t allow yourself to open up enough to know that he knows your pain. 

Hell, maybe he doesn’t know exactly what you’re going through but he can grasp it enough to hold you one more time, that’s all he wants. The touch of another.

pt.8

Unofficial tag list: @gabbyygoo

Maddie: I think we‘re missing something.

Wally: Teamwork?

Rhonda: Cohesion?

Charley: A never give up attitude?

Ajay: A general sense of what we‘re doing?

(Ajay from October Sun / October Moon mentioned 👀)

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. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - F

F is for how Wally shamelessly flirts with you. A fun way to make a boring Friday afternoon more interesting. He has to be here, some Booster Club bullshit to raise money for new cheer uniforms since Janet and her drones strongarmed the principal into bringing the squad into 2024. As the diligent, doting boyfriend, Wally finagled his teammates into helping. A car wash, guys and girls in bathing suits, flexing and feeding into fantasies that shouldn't be given a platform. You know, the kind of shit that shouldn't fly but does because Janet has Claire, and Claire always gets her way if she flashes enough of her family's money around.

And chaste little cherub that you are, you and your friends are there to help, manning the cash box and filling buckets of soapy water when Janet snaps her fingers. Whatever, it gives Wally something to look at between scrubbing down cougars' mom-vans and pretending to give a shit when Janet sprays herself with the hose. A drowned rat with a fake tan, fake teeth, fake tits, bought and paid for by Corporate Mogul Daddy.

God, Wally wants to go back in time and punch himself for agreeing to her dumb social-climb agenda. He was willing at the time. Why not? He has an ego, likes attention, and being king of Split River High comes with fantastic perks.

One, for example, being that he can get some dipshit bench-rider to take over for him for a few minutes while he follows you into the building.

You stand at the vending machine, perusing the options, hands in the back pockets of jean shorts Wally would kill a man to see you bend over in. A Cheshire smile and devious eyes, he stalks up to you and leans against the vending machine, dripping sweat and soapy water from the last car.

"Let me guess," He starts, smooth, grinning at you like you're something he wants to catch with his teeth, "your heart says Doritos, but your brain is telling you to get a granola bar."

You give him a once-over, slow, appraising, from feet to face, "My heart never says Doritos. But nice try." Your smile is easy and innocent, "You wanna try again?"

Wally smirks, leans in real close, fingers brushing your thigh along the hem of your shorts. Heat spears through him when your cheeks pink, perfect lips parting on a shivery gasp. Such a fucking sweet little thing. "What happens if I guess right?" He murmurs, the tip of his nose grazing your temple as he whispers in your ear.

Recovering admirably, you offer, "Maybe I'll be nice enough to share with you."

"And if I don't like your choice?" He smooths his hand around your thigh, settles below the curve of your ass, thumb stroking under the hem of your shorts. "What then, baby?" He feels himself twitch in his swim trunks, God, you smell good. Like coconut-vanilla and that kid shampoo he saw in the bathroom you share with Janet.

You pan your head in tiny fractions, slow-motion sensual, lips so close to his that he's breathing your air. "I guess you'll have to settle for good sportsmanship," a honeyed smirk, twinkling eyes on Wally's lips for a moment before they meet his gaze.

Wally groans, grin widening, grabbing a fistful of your ass and dragging you flush against him to make you feel the effect you have on him. "That's just mean, baby" and he murmurs, dark and heated, grinding his hips forward, "you saying you'd leave me like this?"

Without missing a beat, you rest your hands on his bare chest, rising on your toes to hover your lips over his, "Didn't your mother ever teach you that you're responsible for the messes you make?"

"Nah," Wally's grin sharpens, flicking his tongue against your bottom lip, "My mama taught me to ask for help when I need it." He grabs your ass with both hands, maneuvers to pin you against the side of the vending machine so he can lift you and grind his hard cock between your thighs. "And I really," thrust "really" thrust "need it."

Wally relieves the bench-rider twenty minutes later, a skip in his step and a ring of cherry lip gloss around the base of his cock. It isn't until he winks at you over his sunglasses that you remember why you went to the vending machine in the first place.

🧿___________________________

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

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. slice-of-life. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - S

S is for the soft in-betweens. The silly, sweet, soppy moments Wally didn't expect to yearn for. Yet, here he is, coveting them like silver from the stars, stockpiling them in his heart beside childhood memories and first loves. Or, who he assumes are first loves, but the more time he spends with you, the less he's sure he ever experienced that.

Shit.

What he does know is that Janet is at Claire's lake house with the rest of the squad, a weekend away—no boys allowed, except Gabe because he makes the best blended margaritas—and Wally has the house to himself. His parents are in Michigan visiting Aunt Tal and your dad is busy with some lame staff retreat leaving you and Wally with nothing else to do but each other.

It's sybaritic, sexy, sensual, fucking supreme. First, he lures you into the house with the promise of snacks and a movie. Lowkey, innocent. He knows you know it's a scheme. Can see it in the way you stretch to expose a strip of belly and hipbone, the way you take your sweater off because it's, "too hot in here, Wally." Sure it is. And the seducer becomes the seducee because the next thing he knows you're on him, a strip-tease, a lap dance that leaves him panting, kissing him with intention. And, hell yeah, he likes this side of you. Bold. Bratty. Taking what you want when he doesn't give it to you at your pace.

He fingers you on the couch, eats you out on the coffee table, fucks your mouth at the island while the pizza burns in the oven and the smoke alarm shrieks. He can't get enough. Will never get enough. Shower. Bed. The jacuzzi tub in his parents' master suite after splitting a bottle of something worth more than his life. "God, baby, you need my cock so bad, don't you?"

It's after you and he break his fucking bed during Round Double Digits that Wally feels the shift.

You're lightheaded, wobbly-limbed and sticky from lube and come and salted-caramel drizzle, reaching for whatever article of clothing is nearest—Wally's shirt that falls to your thighs—and you say with uncertainty, "I need something to eat, if that's okay?" Like Wally wouldn't take care of you unless it's to make your body sing for him.

He's on his feet in seconds, boxers on, scooping you into his arms as you giggle and squeal in delight. He carries you toddler-style down the stairs to the kitchen, places you on the counter, and searches the fridge for something to throw together. You joke as he cooks, talking about this and that, and Wally laughs, responds, engages. You stimulate his brain, challenge him, tease him, and then he feels it. A tiny thing at first, warm, subtle, but it swells into holy shit, she's perfect so fast it makes his head spin.

You're witty and smart and confident. Wally never let himself notice that before, and now he can't un-notice it. He wants to learn more, know more, gobble up every piece of you he can until he's satisfied.

You eat his food, compliment him, snuggle into his side for the movie he puts on to fall asleep to, his hand stroking your hair, back, side as his eyes droop. He doesn't mean to do it, is hardly aware of himself, but he nuzzles into your hair and kisses your forehead. Softhearted and tender. Like a boyfriend.

Half-asleep, you sigh contentedly and burrow closer, but now Wally's wide awake. Staring at the ceiling, freaking the fuck out because this wasn't supposed to turn into something more than an easygoing, no-strings way to blow off steam.

Double shit.

🧿___________________________

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

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. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

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Alphabet Soup - K

K is for the kisses Wally drew a hard line in the sand against. Told himself he wouldn't hand them out like conversation hearts because this wasn't that. Kisses were too intimate. Too loving. Too sentimental. Too, too, too. And he managed to avoid them the first few times he had you alone.

He kissed your neck, shoulders, tits, thighs. Anywhere and everywhere else. He wasn't an unaffectionate monster, he deigned to give you a peck on the cheek after he ate you out on Janet's birthday. But he wanted to save his kisses for that special connection. That right person.

Hell, he doesn't kiss Janet. Not really. Not unless it's for their audience. Sweet dry stamps on the lips with smiles. Fast as the flash of a camera. Romance wasn't part of the deal and Wally respects that to his soul because the thought of kissing Janet for real makes him hate his reflection.

But, in the bed of his friend's truck at the lookout with you beneath him, he gets ideas. Lips candy pink and pouty, eyes glazed as honeycomb, a delectable feast in the afterglow. And what the fuck, why's his heart running a fucking marathon in his chest?

You stare up at him, gaze flickering between his eyes then skating down to his lips where it lingers. He feels himself lowering his head, hovering closer, breathing shallow and deep by turns. Licks his lips, tongue grazing yours, and, shit, you taste like the cherry pie he bought you at Daisy's on the way up.

Just once, he told himself. Then twice. Then one more time for the road, except he couldn't stop thinking about it until he crowded you under the bleachers at lunch the next day when he was supposed to be running drills. He stole four, five, six more before the bell. Frosted cherry and something else. Something distinctly you.

Now he's hooked and doesn't know what to do as you enter Janet's bedroom to announce dinner. It's Wednesday, the evening Wally dedicated to run lines and rehearse blocking for their next performance after the game tomorrow. Head cheerleader leaps into the arms of the Devils' star running back. The crowd oohs and aahs as envy bleeds from the stands. Their social net worth skyrockets.

Wally can't peel his eyes away from your lips.

Janet says something sharp and you say something snarky, and Wally watches your mouth shape the vowels like ambrosia. How your teeth press an indent into your bottom lip that Wally wants to trace with his tongue to stop yourself from lodging something catty at Janet's next hostile remark.

Wally suffers through the meal, your mom and stepdad making idle conversation and dumb jokes as he hides his semi under a cloth napkin, staring at you as you suck whipped cream off your thumb at dessert. Fucking. Tease. He knows you're not doing it on purpose—he doesn't think so, anyway. You're not calculated like Janet is—but it fucks him all the way up and he can't stand without embarrassing himself for another ten minutes after you're excused.

It's 10PM when he says goodbye to Janet. Your mom and stepdad are already asleep, door to the third floor shut, and your room is right there. He plays it cool, raps once, doesn't even let you answer before he opens the door and slides in, closing it behind him quietly. You sit up, and—damn you—put the lollipop down on the plastic, eyes asking a question Wally answers by closing the distance and tackling you to your bed.

"Do you have any. fucking. idea..." He licks into your mouth, groaning when he tastes spun sugar and vanilla cola, kisses you like he needs it to live, and gropes your ass as he leans up and settles you in his lap. It should worry him that he doesn't even want to fuck. He just wants to kiss you over and over again, drink you up until there's nothing left and he's free of whatever spell you put on him.

He pulls back, chest heaving, eyes blown, frowning when you chuckle.

"You said you were never gonna kiss me," You remind him, such a cruel little minx. "But that's all you've done for three days."

And he wants to pin you down and fuck that smug tone out of your voice. Later. Right now, just one more taste. One more kiss. One more and another and another—shit.

Lids heavy, eyes dark, panting, "I lied," he admits although it wasn't a lie when he took kisses off the table. "Fuck, baby, what've you done to me?" He murmurs, more to himself than to you, but you grin victoriously all the same.

He finally pins you down. Finally fucks that smug tone out of your voice. At least, he thinks so. He doesn't actually give you a chance to speak, his lips on yours until you get too sleepy to tease him again.

🧿___________________________

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

Rhonda: The great thing about apologies is that you don’t have to mean them

Rhonda: You know, I lie and tell Charley I’m sorry all the time

Charley: *glares at her*

Rhonda: I’m sorry

Rhonda: See?

Freaky Ahhhh Headcanons

Wally Clark x AFAB!Reader

Warings: This is just pure smut. Oral (both giving and receiving) Overstimulation. Face sitting. Public Exhibition. Slight Dacryphilia. Kinda Rough. I think that's it.

-

This man is a Freak with a capital F. Jaw dropping, eyes rolling back, sheet grabbing, pantie dropping, pussy dripping freak. 

Munch Munch Munch, idc if it's an outdated term it’s the only way i can describe him. He’d have you on your back or stomach for hours while he lays between your legs. He won't stop until you’re begging and crying for mercy. (I need a lobotomy)

With that being said he would beg you to sit on his face. He doesn't care how light or heavy you are, he needs your full weight pressed against him while he eats you out from below. He’d make a complete mess of you. Have you doubled over, body limp as you try to pull your hips away only for him to pull you back down begging to make you cum just one more time. 

He’s a romantic but the poor guys been dead for 40 years and there aren't a lot of options in the school so forgive him if he's a little selfish at first. He’d absolutely destroy you, a rough brutal pace while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. 

On that note he's very vocal. Loves telling you how beautiful you are especially when you’re on your knees for him. “Fuck baby, you look so beautiful taking me down your throat like that.” Said as he wipes away the tears gently running down your face. (Again SOMEBODY SEDATE ME)  

After your first time together he wouldn't know how to keep his hands off you. The memory of you beneath him constantly playing on repeat in his mind. 

He loves the idea of showing you off and since the living cant see either of you he uses it to his advantage. He will fuck you anywhere and everywhere. Over a desk in the middle of an active class? Why the hell not? In the pool while the swim teams practicing? He's diving right in. Teachers lounge while the sad sacks sit around drinking coffee? Absolutely. 

Lets not forget about the resets. The body never changes aka infinite energy. Round after round after round. 

(Okay I’m done. I wrote this at work so sorry if it's shitty. Honestly I think I'm losing my mind. Like actually clinically insane. I think it’s time I call my therapist. Happy valentines day 😚 💞)

October Moon

summary: three hours prior, Simon had told Maddie he'd loved her. That she hadn't needed to say it back. And he'd been sure that'd been fine...until that strange, hedonist ghost connection you'd told him you'd shared with Wally had returned with a vengeance, effecting not just you and Wally, but everyone within its radius.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

🎀🌶️💌 a sprinkle of smut and love for Valentine's Day. unplanned, but perfect timing 😘

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER MOON pt.8

Grandpa John had always been around. A permanent fixture in your household since his death in 1974. The year your Uncle Andrew was born. He'd died in New York but had made his way back. His choice to remain an earthly ghost meant he'd had to travel as those in the living world did. Trains, planes, and automobiles. That was how it was when a soul kept a foothold in the world, so close to the veil that they never fully transitioned from life to death.

He was waiting for Nanna, you'd assumed. You didn't actually know, forbidden from talking to Grandpa John despite the fact that everyone in your family had connectedness and were aware of his presence. Although he'd been Nanna's husband, he'd spent a lot of time haunting Ginny, following her when she'd traveled even when she'd failed to acknowledge him. Or maybe she'd been breaking the rule she'd been sworn to uphold behind everyone's backs.

You'd certainly done it. And when nothing had happened—no swarms or squalls in sight—you'd kept doing it to the point you'd found your fated in his afterlife and had done a lot more than talk to him.

The rule was stupid. Possibly implemented after another family under your Ciorcal had misused their connectedness. You could imagine it: Some family of bank robbers manipulating ghosts to open bank vaults in the metaphysical world so the robbers could fill duffel bags with stacks of cash in the living world. If you were able to bring the two worlds together, surely someone else could, too.

Regardless, this wasn't the same scenario and you needed to talk to Grandpa John, so when Simon mentioned a ghost who resembled Magnum P.I., you knew you had to track him down.

"Where?" You demanded, already shifting toward the low grounds of the school where the fence met the woods.

"No, no way," Simon urged, planting himself between you and the path you wanted to take. "We have bigger things to worry about."

"Like my mom." Maddie murmured, huddled close to Charley, her face crumpled in an expression of pure anguish.

"Or why we didn't feel warm and tingly when Janet crossed over," Charley added.

A sharp exhale, "Dead Grandpa John might know something," you implored, gazing up at Wally as he stepped into your space and strung his arm around you. He shook his head, had already protested the idea because he couldn't follow you past the fence, and beseeched that you'd done enough sleuthing for one night. "But if he saw who took Limon, we'd have Amelia's real face!" You were frustrated, scared, a n g r y. She'd been in your house for fuck's sake! Didn't they care!?

Wally pulled you closer, banded his other arm around you, and held you. You wanted to shove him, kick him, snarl, scratch, lash out. But the longer he held you, the more his embrace soothed the impulse. Releasing a taxed sigh, your body went limp in his arms.

"He said he couldn't say anything, anyway," Simon said softly, his tone bordering on regretful. "He was talking in metaphors."

You felt Wally make some kind of motion before he asked, "Just...give us a second?" of Simon and the others. They must've agreed since, the next thing you knew, Wally had maneuvered you around the corner of the school building for privacy. Alone, he lifted you into his arms, turned and slid down the wall so he was sat on the ground with you in his lap. He tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your head, temple, cheek, lips. "Do you always call him 'Dead Grandpa John'?" He grinned when he pulled back to look at you.

Your snort bled into a chuckle, "We actually do, yeah."

"So you guys know you're not talking about Alive Grandpa John who exists, right?"

You shook your head, gazing at Wally with a weak but there smile. "Not even."

Wally laughed, light and fond, and nodded, "I bet he loves that."

"Hey, we're not allowed to talk to him, but he's more than welcome to talk to us. He could've said something." You challenged. And then it struck you, what Wally was doing. His carefree smile, his humor, his kisses and touch...oh. He was trying to make you feel better. You blushed, somewhat ashamed of your earlier aggressiveness, eyes downcast and lips pursed.

"What's that look for, pretty girl?" Wally asked as he hooked a finger under your chin and guided your face up, thumb smudging across your bottom lip and then lingering at the corner of your mouth.

"I'm sorry," You murmured, "I just... Seeing Aiden tonight. Knowing he's...he's still there, stuck in a loop and so far away from home. God, it would kill my mom if she found out. And Amelia being in my house?" You choked, swallowed, tucked your face into his neck, and curled your fingers in his shirt, "Wally, I'm scared."

"Me too, baby," Wally cradled the back of your head, "And you wonder why I don't want you running into the dark, creepy woods at night with just Simon and a shovel?" He huffed, "Amelia could be anywhere right now."

"She could be anyone."

"Exactly," Wally's voice dropped, low and serious as he said, "If anything happened to you and I couldn't get to you... Baby, I'd lose it, I'd—"

You could tell he was spiraling, too many bad thoughts crowding his mind. So you did what you hoped would relieve his anxiety. You took his face in your hands and kissed him. Slow. Deep. Meaningful as he held you, his big hands on your thighs, a little whimper from his throat, his bent legs falling open so you were forced to push forward and press your hips against his. Your weight rested fully in his lap and you felt a twitch in his sweatpants, right where you suddenly ached for him.

"Wally..." You said like a secret under your breath. "We should..."

Should. Do...what?

It descended by gradual degrees. That thick, viscous haze you remembered had distorted your mind the first time Wally had kissed you. The world around you and him dimmed, faded, pushed back into the margins as you pressed into the cradle of his pelvis. A gratified sigh, lips connecting and letting out, over and over, soft kisses that turned blazing as it continued.

"Just a little longer, baby," Wally grabbed your ass and guided you against him, kissed you with rising hunger, "I missed you." He rocked his hips into yours from below, the evidence of his arousal stiff and hardening further in his sweatpants. "I've got all this...this energy in me since Dawn crossed over," he whined before he devoured your lips in another deep kiss. "I can't—please baby, I need to get it out of me."

You knew why. An energy shed. When ghosts crossed over—or ascended, rather—they sheared everything that held them to the earth. Bodies and the space those occupied; consciousness as human beings understood it; all barriers surrendered for their spirit to return to the cosmic nebula they'd dawned from.

Dawn's ascension had occurred in what essentially amounted to a box where her earthly energy couldn't spread farther than the boundaries of the school. Being in such close proximity must have made that euphoric and peaceful release that much more potent. Wally needed an outlet. And, like a contact high, you were rapidly succumbing to the same need. You were hardly aware of your body moving on his, rubbing yourself against him through your layers and his.

"Please, baby," He repeated, "I want you so bad." One hand clenched your thigh while the other curled into your hair and angled your head, held it still so he could kiss you with mounting passion, "Please, just let me feel you. I need to feel you."

You whimpered, moaned, humped forward, and watched his face contort in pleasure as you ground against him. He matched your movements in that slow, sedate tempo, the anticipation and need swelling between you, around you, inside you.

"Wally," You whimpered as you felt his hand move from your thigh to the front of your jeans, expert fingers deftly undoing the button and dragging the zipper down.

"Don't stop, baby," Wally groaned, both hands sneaking into the back of your jeans, beneath your panties, to grab your ass skin-to-skin, "Fuck, it feels good." He licked into your mouth, ravenous, hot, all teeth and tongue as he consumed every sweet, eager noise you made. His cock was thick and completely hard, the friction maddening even through the thin denim of your jeans. Desire lit up and ignited inside you with every touch, kiss, sound he delivered.

When he pulled back, his eyes were lustblown and heavy, "I wanna taste you, baby." His nails lightly dragged up your ass cheeks to your hips. You nodded. Maybe. You weren't sure, everything deliciously muzzy, but you could think enough that you knew you wanted this. Wally smiled a lopsided, cocky thing that sent hot shivers through your nervous system. "Get on your hands and knees for me, pretty girl." A command more than a request in a voice like gravel.

Without hesitation, you did as he asked. Slithered out of his lap to position yourself with your ass in the air, legs spread, hips swaying as you wordlessly beckoned him to you. A fucking cat in heat, you'd never felt this kind of languid, cottoncandy desire before. Vaguely, you wondered if this was what it felt like to get high. Acutely sensitive and remarkably unaware of anything beyond your little pocket of flesh and bone.

Your wayward thoughts were steered to Wally when his fingers slipped under the waist of your jeans to drag them down below the swell of your ass. You heard him moan, felt him press his clothed cock between your cheeks, and hump once, twice, before he shifted.

"Oh fuck!" You cried out, probably definitely too loud, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered, because Wally's tongue was sweeping through your folds from behind before it fucked into you. His big hands squeezed your ass, face pressed between your ass cheeks, and he groaned in blissful satisfaction as if you were the best thing he'd ever tasted.

"So fucking sweet, baby," He said, and, glancing at him over your shoulder, you saw him lick his lips, his chin already glistening. He winked at you, smug grin on his face, and then sunk down to repeat the action. One finger dipped inside your pussy just to slick it up before it found your clit and rubbed in a firm circle. Your breath stuttered, brain turned to pudding, and, holy fuck, if he stopped you'd kill him.

Wally ate you out like he was going for gold, silver, bronze; every place, every medal, with gusto. And just when you were about to see God, "Gonna fuck you so hard, baby," Wally came up for air, shoved his sweatpants down, and drove into you in one fluid motion. Hard. The slap of skin on skin bouncing off the wall and ricocheting into the night. "F u u u c k."

You fell forward onto your elbows, cheek in the grass, body rocking from every beastial thrust. The noises his cock punched out of you were unlike any you'd heard yourself make, and what the hell was that? You didn't know you were capable of that pitch, that high note; so desperate and needy and completely fucking shameless in your lust for Wally as he pounded into you over and over, blunt cockhead beating your g-spot like a drum.

"Oh God, W-Wally!" You choked, gasped, whimpered in that order, forcing yourself onto your hands and slamming back just as good as you he gave you. So close, so fucking close, just a little more, God, please— "Oh fuck, Wally, don't stop!"

Grabbing you by your throat, Wally drew you upright, his cock still buried deep, and pressed your back to his front. His teeth found your neck; nipped, sucked, licked, his thumb pushed between your lips for you to suck. He moaned like rapture, pace faster, more feverish, as his other hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise.

He was swiftly losing control, you could feel it, his hips stuttering, but he didn't stop, "Gonna come for me, baby girl?" And, shit, oh, oh—two, three, four more hard, brutal thrusts, his fat cock beating the ecstasy into your bloodstream—you came with a force that left you reeling. Waves crashed, galaxies lived and died, and you nearly blacked out.

The instant you clenched around him, Wally roared, primal, from the depths of his chest, nails biting your hip painfully as he fucked his climax into you. His fingers twitched around your throat, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he panted a mantra of your name punctuated by long groans. When he stilled, you and he collapsed forward into the grass. He caught himself before squishing you under his weight, his hand quickly adjusting from your throat to your stomach as he kept you against him and rolled to the side.

"Holy shit," He breathed, sweatpants still around his thighs, softening, wet cock cooling in the open air.

The feeling rose from your belly to your chest and then outward. It started with a giggle that grew into a laugh which Wally doubled with his own. You flopped onto your back, turned your head to stare at him as you and he came down from whatever high had picked up and carried you and him away.

"Energy sheds are fucking. awesome." You decided with a wide grin, taking a moment to tug your panties and jeans back into place.

"Is that what that was?" Wally asked as he, too, put himself to rights. He sat up first, gathered you into his arms, between his legs, and sat back against the wall. "An energy shed?"

You nodded, snuggled into him, and stamped a kiss to his collar, "It's a side-effect of ascending. Or crossing over, as you call it." You explained, "You don't take everything with you when you ascend and what stays behind is dispersed. Usually, it has a lot more room, but I guess, with the Something-Something's barrier in place, Dawn's energy couldn't thin out." You grinned up at him as he blinked down at you in amazement.

"Jesus, it felt like I took a dozen hits of Molly..." Wally's head fell back against the wall, mouth slightly parted, brow glistening with a sheen of sweat. "Is it always like that?"

"It's not supposed to be that intense. Like I said, the shed's usually spread a lot thinner. People within a certain radius would feel a sense of peace and pure happiness. Concentrated like it is here? I guess it's a helluva drug." You speculated.

Wally swooped down to kiss you, affectionate and slow, and when he pulled back, "I'm still horny," he chuckled, "How long does it last?"

"I have no idea," You said honestly, a big smile on your face as you planned to spend the night with your devilishly sexy ghost boyfriend. That was until you remembered why you were there in the first place. Reality crashed over you like a bucket of ice water, "Oh my God, they probably heard everything!"

Wally shifted to peek around the corner, "Uh... I don't think they did." He said, "No one's there..."

"Yeah, probably because they heard. everything." You bemoaned into your hands, cheeks flushed for the worst reason.

"Babe, I'm sure it's fine," Wally kissed your temple, then your cheek, then your cheek again and again, an onslaught of playful kisses that tickled a giggle from you. "C'mon, sweet girl," Wally hoisted you easily to your feet as he rose from the ground, hugged you close before he led you toward the side entrance, "Let's go find the others."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon stared ahead, mortified. Or, really, he should've felt mortified, but he couldn't bring himself to. Maddie was breathing heavily, her cheeks a gorgeous cherry red, eyes glazed, lips kiss-swollen. Her jeans and underwear still dangled off a leg hung over the teacher's desk. Simon's jeans, however, were securely on though open, his come splashed in streaks and dribbles on the yellowed linoleum he'd knelt on while he'd eaten Maddie out. Whatever the fuck that unprecedented interlude of lustfucknow had been, it'd passed, and in the aftermath Simon wasn't sure what to do or say or think.

Eventually, "Wow," Maddie exhaled, tipping back to lay across the desk. "Simon..."

Simon grit his teeth, winced, eyes squeezed shut as he mentally prepared for Maddie to freak out and tell him never to talk to her again. "Yeah...?"

Instead, "When did you learn how to do that?" she surprised him.

Simon blushed crimson and whipped his head toward her. He was on the ground, back against the wall, tucked beneath the blackboard with his knees up, hand over opposite wrist. He studied her expression as she finally maneuvered off the desk on wobbly legs and began to dress herself.

"It's not like I had practice," He confessed, unsure if sharing was caring in this situation. He did anyway, "I just...listened." To her sounds; the whimpers and sighs and perfect, songbird moans of ecstasy he'd seduced from her with his fingers and mouth. Fuck, that'd been everything Simon had ever wanted. He'd yearned for the chance to give Maddie that kind of pleasure for longer than he would admit. Only, now that he'd had it, he wasn't sure how to process it.

Once dressed, Maddie plopped down beside him, rested her head on his shoulder, and looped her arms through his as she spoke, "You are a very good listener."

He couldn't help it, Simon snorted and hung his head, smiled in relief, "Thanks, that means a lot." After a few moments of oddly comfortable silence, he asked, "Do we know what that was?" Too afraid to question whether or not there was a chance it would happen again.

"I bet she knows." Maddie said as she glanced up at Simon, "We should probably go find her and Wally."

Her head was still on his shoulder, the way she'd rested it angled her face exactly right for Simon to gently lean down and press his lips to hers. Soft. Hesitant. And then firmer, harder, his body turning, one arm snaking around Maddie's shoulders while the hand of the other cupped her jaw.

"We should really go..." She whispered, but she didn't move.

Simon agreed, "Yeah," and didn't release her, both coming together again in a slow, deep kiss.

A sharp knock on the door pulled them apart, Wally's voice calling through, "You guys have pants on or should we come back later?"

They heard you yelp and demand, "What do you mean do they have pants on!?" And then, clearly not having seen who Wally saw, "WHO doesn't have pants on!?"

Before Wally answered for them, Simon called back, "We're coming!" to which he heard Wally snicker and gloat, I bet you are. Simon glowered at the door. Maddie laughed, fuller and freer than he'd heard since she'd been kicked into the metaphysical world. He hadn't even come to terms with the fact that, because soul-ties were a thing and now he and Maddie were part of your weird, cosmic family, Simon could hug, touch, kiss Maddie's ghost. It was surreal. Incredible. A little terrifying.

Maddie stood first and held a hand out to him, yanking him to his feet when he took it. He did up his fly and smoothed his hair back before taking her hand. They stood, staring at each other, Maddie's eyes openly admiring Simon in a way that made his heart race and his skin prickle. Wow. He felt complete, whole, at the peak of happiness, and he never wanted it to end.

Hand in hand, he walked her to the classroom door. Simon was both giddy and grateful that she didn't tug away or demand he let go of her even after he opened the door and stepped into the hall to meet you and Wally—equally as disheveled, he noted. Grass stains on the knees of your jeans and his sweatpants; your hair sex-mussed and his smile far too satisfied to be from anything else. Simon glanced back at Maddie who adjusted their position, led his hand to her waist, and curled into his side. Like a lover. She looked beautiful and pleasured and a little sugarglazed after three orgasms and Simon couldn't help himself. He preened. And then got down to business.

"Talk." Simon said, giving you a significant look.

Your response, "We're high on ascension," explained nothing, yet Simon understood. Because Maddie had told him about Dawn and had managed to explain enough about what she'd been experiencing right before Simon had picked her up and pinned her to the desk.

Everyone was floating on some sort of post-Dawn's-crossing-over buzz as if they'd collectively inhaled an aphrodisiac. When he took stock of himself, he realized he still felt it. That liquid hot desire coursing through him, less intense but there. He could read the signs of that intoxication all over you and Wally. He'd seen it on Charley's face before Charley had muttered something about the Art room. And Ajay, who'd loped off to the theater. And Rhonda, who'd grouchily stomped in the direction of the library before she'd called back to inform, I'm going to find Bernie, whoever that was.

Jesus, they'd been drugged.

"Are we gonna regret this later?" Simon had to ask, worrying his bottom lip, unable to peel his eyes from the floor.

You must've picked up on what he couldn't say since, addressing Maddie, you said, "It's not like drinking too much. I'd say it's more like an anti-depressant. The good feelings already inside you have space to grow and you can't ignore them." You continued to explain what ascension actually was and then added, "I mean, you don't feel like fucking me, do you?" Also directed to Maddie.

The silence that followed made Simon's head whip up and his jaw drop. Thankfully, Maddie seemed to simply be considering the question and doing an internal scan, because she eventually shook her head.

"As cute as I think you are, I'm not coded like that."

"Same, babes," followed by, "Whether or not you guys regret it will have to be a conversation you have," you shrugged as Wally crowded closer to you, clearly not having appreciated the idea of sharing you if Maddie had said yes. If you'd even go for it, of course. Which planted quite the image in Simon's mind and, oh God, when would this stuff work itself out of his system, please and thank you?

"Where are the others?" You wondered, dragging Simon back down to earth.

He cleared his throat, blinking and shaking his head to drive away the cotton slog that kept creeping in. "Charley went to the Art room, Rhonda...went in the direction of the library—" Wally choked "—and Ajay said something about the theater."

Everyone sobered when Simon mentioned Ajay; downcast eyes and tight expressions of regret. Mina's absence meant Ajay didn't have someone to share that pure, radiant delirium with. Or maybe he'd found her, Mina drawn out of hiding by lust.

"We should split up and find the others. We need to figure out what our next moves are."

"No offense," Simon began, casting Maddie a bashful look, "But I don't think I have it in me to come up with next moves right now. I'm still...kind of..."

"Horny?" Wally supplied, grinning like a goof.

Simon didn't say anything, but he didn't have to.

Your determination was admirable. "Alright, what if we split up, and Maddie and I go together?"

Together, "No!" Simon and Wally rejected the idea immediately.

You rolled your eyes, "Guys, my brother is trapped in an abandoned house, Maddie's mom might be responsible for why she's a ghost, Amelia knows where I live, fuck knows where Dave is and what he knows, and if I'm not back at Xavier's before midnight, Sheriff Baxter is going to raid every building in Split River. We need to focus."

"She says like she isn't fondling her dead boyfriend," Simon commented, brow raised and eyes fixed on where your hand was on Wally's ass.

"Oh, shut up, I can still prioritize." You defended, glowering at Simon even as your cheeks pinked adorably.

"She's right," Maddie said and gave Simon a pleading look that he couldn't argue with if he wanted to. "I need to find out what happened to me. And if..." She swallowed, "and if my mom is the one who hurt me. She was here that day. I don't remember everything, but she was drunk and we argued. It was really bad..." Trailing off, Maddie stared at her boots, body trembling slightly under Simon's hand.

He brought her closer, kissed her hair and wrapped his arms around her to encase her in a comforting embrace. "Alright, let's go get the others and come up with what we wanna do next." He deferred to you for first steps.

"You said Charley's in the Art room? You guys go get him. Wally and I will grab Rhonda from the library, and then Ajay from the theater. We'll meet back at the fence. Good?"

"Good." Wally, Maddie, and Simon echoed.

You beamed, "Good. And no delays!"

Simon studied you for a moment, mouth twisting into an amused smirk, "You're still fondling your dead boyfriend."

You repeated his words in a mocking cadence and simply dragged Wally down the hall, leaving Maddie and Simon to laugh at your and Wally's backs.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally was riding high on ascension, whistling a tune he hadn't heard in years (Everybody Wants to Rule the World, and he didn't care what Charley said, it was a hit), literally skipping and jiving down the hallway toward the library. He serenaded you with the lyrics as he pulled you into a loose and silly Two Step; twirled you, lifted you, kissed you breathless because he couldn't imagine doing anything else ever again.

When you and he reached the book return bins, Dawn's piece of the metaphysical school, the flicker of a flashlight caught Wally's attention. Instantly, he scooped you up and placed you on top of the bins, made sure you were safe and hidden before he approached the mouth of the hallway. On that same wave of whimsy, Wally finger snapped like a Greaser in a musical toward Security Guard Al, belting the chorus right into the man's face as Al halted his trek around the corner.

Al stood for a moment, staring directly through Wally to the other end of the hall, and then, repelled by Wally's ghostly energy, went right on his way. Back toward the office where he'd fish another donut out of the box the secretary had left him and watch the second half of the movie he'd been playing before his start-of-shift rounds.

Wally grinned, pleased as punch, and returned to you, arms outstretched to pluck you from the top of the bins. He didn't put you down, though. Rather, he had you wrap your legs around his waist so he could spin you around and then press you against the wall. You laughed, partly at his antics, but mostly from the tingly remnants of Dawn's undiluted ascension. You slipped out of Wally's hold, feet on the ground, back against the wall, and gazed up at him.

In return, Wally towered over you, one arm propped on the wall above your head, opposite hand lifting to trail his fingers down the slope of your jaw, thumbprint grazing your lips. God, he loved you so much he was crazed from it. He had to tell you. A million times would never express it enough, but he wanted you to hear it, feel it, feel him.

"I love you, baby." Wally murmured as he leaned in and brushed his lips across yours. A barely-there tease that he let linger for a moment before he pressed in, hard and wanting. He hoisted you into his arms again, one hand on the curve of your ass, his hardening cock humping against your pussy through your jeans and his sweatpants. "Fuck, baby, I can't—this stuff is insane," He groaned after he nipped your earlobe. "I need you again, baby, please. I can't think."

"Yeah," You breathed, grinding back against him, "Yeah, okay. We can be quick, right?"

Wrong.

But Wally didn't want to say anything that would deter you from being carried to the boy's locker room—just down the nearby stairs and to the right—and fucked against the tiles under a warm shower. It was a fantasy Wally suddenly had to play out. He'd die all over again if he didn't. And you didn't want him to die again, did you?

"Do you, baby?"

You laughed, "No, Wally, I don't want you to die again."

He grinned into the skin of your neck, sucking a bruise over your pulse point, "Good girl."

Wally didn't care that the library—and Rhonda and Bernie—were right there. He needed you naked and soapy and on his cock five minutes ago. The journey to the locker room was interrupted by various breaks to pin you to walls and ravish you with kisses and desperate touches, Wally's hands groping everywhere he could reach. When he finally got you into the locker room, his cock was throbbing, a stain of precum blossoming through the fabric of his sweatpants.

You and he stripped in a frenzy, playful and carefree. You threw your jeans at his head, he grabbed you around the waist when you tried to dodge him, both you and he laughing like there wasn't a resurrectionist cult out to manipulate ghosts and perform deadly rituals. Wally manhandled you into the showers, your knees hooked over his arms, his cock driving into you from below as he held you easily against the tiles. He could see it in you, that his strength turned you on.

"You like it when I have you like this, baby?" He whispered darkly in your ear, one, two, three powerful thrusts before you answered with a beautiful keen and your pussy gripped his cock tighter. "Fuck, that's it baby. You take me so good, don't you?"

"Y-yes," You mewled, a sound that went straight to Wally's cock. "God, Wally, harder, please, I need it harder..."

And, Jesus Christ, that made whatever remained of his control snap. He granted your wish, hips snapping in sharper strokes as he brought you down on his cock harder. He could do this all night. All day. Forever. He wanted this forever. He wanted you forever.

Forever, fuck, please, let me have her forever, Wally begged whatever higher power would listen, fucking into you with abandon, a slave to his lust. You began to tremble into his arms, crying out on every hard upstroke until he felt you squeeze around him. And then, God, yes, and then his own release hit him like a fucking train.

After, he sunk to his knees, adjusted his arms so he could hold you properly. Wally panted into your throat as warm water streamed over you and him, steam clouding the air, the perfect cocoon to escape in and pretend the world didn't exist. Just for another minute. Just one...

However, it was several minutes (an hour) later when anyone showed up to the fence. Maddie and Simon were more disheveled. Rhonda was brazenly wearing Bernie's top and nothing else. Charley's neck was a Jackson Pollock of love bites. And Ajay was doing his best not to look anyone in the eye.

You and Wally were the last to arrive.

Oops.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

In the woods just outside of town, Dave paced a trench in the loam, hands waving frantically as he ranted, "That manifesting little bitch!"

Leaned casually against the side of Dave's car, arms folded, unimpressed, Sheriff Baxter scoffed, "You think it's her fault your plan isn't coming together?" He pushed off the car and straightened, cracked his neck, eyes narrowing dangerously, "Have I taught you nothing? I told you it was better done in one shot, yet you insisted to do it this way and now look where we are!"

Dave whirled around and marched toward Sheriff Baxter, "We tried doing it the old way, remember? It failed! One more disaster in this shit town and we'd be found out."

"Such a childish thing to say. Who would ever believe it?" Sheriff Baxter leveled Dave with a hard look. "Magic doesn't exist outside of movies and fairytales these days. We could've done it and moved on by now."

"You weren't arguing when I suggested it, mother." Dave growled, "In fact, you supported it fully, if I recall. All because you refused to seek out new land."

"Don't put this on me, Amelia." Sheriff Baxter stood taller, his expression menacing. Dave shrunk, cowed, and obediently stepped back. "We're running out of time. That little shit you foolishly trusted has taken my vessel and now the ghost I warned you to demolish is speaking the others into ascension. We either do this now or we fade into nothing. Do you understand?"

Dave didn't take his eyes off the ground, "Yes mother."

"I suppose I have to step in and clean up your mess. Again."

"I can—"

With fire in his eyes, Sheriff Baxter snapped, "You have made it abundantly clear that you absolutely CAN. NOT." A tense pause. "You have until tomorrow night to find the girl. If you don't, I am leaving you to this world, Amelia. Your vessel is mine and your soul will be no more than a hole in the Awen."

Dave gasped, visibly terrified. There was no doubt in his mind that his future depended entirely on finding Janet Hamilton in Maddie Nears' withering body. If he didn't, his fate would be worse than ceasing to exist. Amelia's soul would be so thoroughly obliterated, it would be as if she had never existed at all.

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PART SEVEN - PART NINE

note: happy Valentine's Day, my beauties 💐 i hope you enjoyed this installment. i'm starting to crave the second season, but i'm still on best behavior. haven't even had a peek *wails in starvation* i really wanna get the next couple of installments out so i can change that, so let's pray that i can bring everything together sooner rather than later... seriously. pray for me 🥹

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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.

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. 😀)

Period Comfort Headcanons

Alive!Wally Clark x Alive!Reader (Modern AU)

Warings: Not much just basic period stuff and a lot of fluff.

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This sweet sweet boy would probably be confused on what to do. He's not completely lost, he knows the basics like pads, tampons, mood swings, cramps, and cravings but that's where his knowledge ends. 

I feel like he's the type to freak out. Like genuine visible terrier when you tell him. Would cry if you told him how a period actually works. “Your fucking uterine lining sheds?!” Said as tears build in his eyes. 

For the love of everything do NOT send this man to the store to get you menstrual products. He will call you 50 million times to make sure he gets the right thing and will still come home with the complete opposite of what you asked for. It’s not his fault he's not used to this stuff. 

He’d also call his mom for help. She’d be the one to tell him about pain killers and heating pads. She’d make you boiling hot soup or hot cocoa to help with the pain. 

Snack galore. Will 100% go out at 3 in the morning to buy you a McFlurry. He hates seeing you in pain so if he can do anything to help he will and if that means sacrificing his sleep he doesn't care. 

Cuddles cuddles CUDDLES. This man is a living (just pretend) breathing furnace. Forget a heating pad, just have him lay on top of you. He’d keep his hand on your abdomen at all times.

He’d make you a little basket filled with snacks and products. (Once he finally learns what you use) He’d even write you a little card that says ‘I’m sorry your body’s torturing you.’ 

Would wear matching pjs and do skin care with you while you two watch a movie. He’d do this regardless of if you're on your period or not but especially when you're on your period. 

I know for a fact this man doesn't know how to cook but he’d try for you. When he inevitably burns the food he just buys take out. It’s the thought that counts. 

All in all he's trying and once he figures it out he's amazing. Just be patient with him because he’d feel so bad for you. 

(Okay thats all, sorry if it's shit. I was gonna do valentine day headcanons but according to my app i start my period tomorrow and need to cope 🥲)

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: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. grey!Wally Clark. cheating. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

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Alphabet Soup - D

D is for Wally's dirty, depraved, debaucherous mouth. The things that spill out of him when you and he are alone together; when he's two knuckles deep and has you mewling in pleasure, begging him to fuck you like an animal as he deliberately ignores you.

"Not yet, baby," He takes your nipple between his teeth, flicking the tip of his tongue against it, "I wanna play with you first."

He should make this quick, but it's been three days since he's tasted you and he's jonesing for a fix. Janet's downstairs with Claire and Chloe, talking cheer routines and new uniforms. They don't know Wally climbed the trellis into Janet's room, fell through the window, and snuck across the hall. As far as anyone knows, you're alone, a virgin saint surrounded by homework while you watch Gilmore Girls for the fortieth time.

"God, baby, you're so wet for me. Did you miss me? Did you miss the way my cock fills you up?" Wally whispers dark and husky in your ear, a second finger joining the first, tips nudging your sweet spot. He moans when you bear down, back arching, pretty lips parted on a blissed sigh. "Fuuuuck~, that's it, baby girl, show me how good I make you feel. Show me how much you like it when I play with you."

The way your body responds to his touch drives him wild. Your legs spread wider, your hips rolling as you fuck his fingers, your nails digging into his skin, and Jesus, he's never seen anything as beautiful as you. Flushed, wanton, made just for him.

"You're a needy little thing, aren't you baby..." Wally growls low in your ear, words hot and breathless, his other hand cupping and caressing your tit, "So soft and perfect for me, fuck." He removes his fingers and the frustrated keen you release makes him throb in his too-tight jeans. In a move that impresses even himself, he strips out of his remaining layers and positions himself between your legs, grinds his hard cock against your pussy as he grabs your hand, laces his fingers through yours, and pins it above your head.

His other hand trails down your side to your thigh, hikes it up so your leg is wrapped around him. Wally's words are a promise and a threat, "I'm gonna have you baby... I'm going to make you mine..." And you whimper so sweetly, a heavenly chord that drives Wally insane as the heat between you and him builds to an inferno. "My beautiful girl," He pants, thrusting into you before you're ready, his eyes rolling back as your hot, velvety pussy surrounds him.

There's nothing in the world he needs more than this. More than you. The thought should scare him—he's getting too attached—but he's too consumed by lust and sensation to care. How you chant and mew his name, how you cling to him as he fucks you. Slow at first, taking his time, and then faster, harder, sharper, more desperate. He bites and licks and sucks your throat, wants so badly to leave his mark, but he can't. Won't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. (Maybe in round two or three or tomorrow morning.)

"You like that, baby?" He pants, heat coiling in his belly. "You like how my cock feels inside you?" A kiss, a bite, his tongue licking into your mouth as you keen and meet his thrusts. You're so tight around him, he's going to lose his mind.

When he comes, it's with your name on his tongue, in his head, in his fucking soul, though he refuses to acknowledge it. He doesn't comment when you burrow into his side, warm and soft in the afterglow, your breath on his skin like serenity. He strokes your hair, closes his eyes; inhales, and smiles proudly at the musk of you and him and sex all over you.

"My pretty baby doll," He murmurs against your lips when he claims them in a deep, hungry kiss moments later. "My perfect girl," which makes you blush, sex drunk and pliant in his arms, "I wanna feel you ride my face, baby, do you want that?" He coaxes, rolling over you, hands everywhere, lips everywhere, gaze heavy-lidded and dark.

"Janet's gonna come up any minute," You warn him and he chuckles.

"Like I give a fuck," A teasing stroke of his fingers through your folds, soaked, slick, messy from his come and yours. He doesn't tell you he locked the door. Doesn't tell you Janet thinks Wally's at Braden's house anyway and won't suspect a thing. Doesn't point out how he turned up the volume on your TV to muffle the sounds he pulls out of you.

Five minutes after he convinces you, you're humping against his mouth as he tongue-fucks you to a blackout release.

🧿___________________________

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

Reader: I'm seeing someone.

Simon: As in dating or as in dead people?

Reader: Yes

(October Moon by @whoopsyeahokay incorrect quote because I thought it fit too well)

Wally: Back in my day there was so much toilet paper and so many eggs that we gathered at night and threw them at the houses of our enemies

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

Rhonda: I would slap Wally for free.

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

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

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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Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Pt.6

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. Broken Fingers. Blood. Emotional Numbness. Hearing Voices. Self Depreciation. Description of a Dead Body. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

2.2k words

pt.5

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You were shaking, not from the cold but from the sheer amount of anger that consumed you. Another bottle, another job lost, another eviction threat. Hell you’ve barely eaten in the past few days because there's not much to eat. He promised, he promised he was gonna do better.

It was late and cold. You didn’t grab a jacket before leaving the house because all you wanted to do was get away. The sound of cars speeding by you as you walked on the sidewalk weren't enough to drown out your own thoughts. It doesn't make sense, how can he say he loves you but hurt you over and over again? That's not love, you couldn’t bring yourself to call it out for what it was. 

Hot streams of angry tears pooled down your face as you walked, almost ran. To where? No one knows, just however far your feet will take you. Hopefully away from that fucked up place you call come. The tremors got worse, almost like your emotions were trying to burst out of and cause chaos for miles. Buildings burning, taking innocent screaming strangers with them so they can feel the same thing you have all your life. Pure boiling hot rage that never goes away. 

For as long as you can remember you’ve always been like this. Random outbursts and fights at school. One time you got in trouble for randomly punching a kid because he wouldn’t shut the fuck up at 8 in the morning. It’s overwhelming, all consuming, back and forth from anger to complete numbness on repeat. 

He didn’t do anything to make it any better. All of the cuts, fist shaped holes in the walls around your house, a god damn suicide attempt, and you’re still not even close to a top priority to him. A fathers supposed to protect, not leave you with more emotional scars than you can count. He doesn’t even see that he’s hurting you. Why aren't you good enough to change for? All you ask is that he at least tries but he can’t even do that. 

Why aren't you enough to try for? Are you just that fucking worthless that your own father wont even fight for you? He’s not worth your tears or your time but you still give it to him every time. It’s your fault, you don’t do enough to help him. He’s suffering and it's your fault. 

You let out a frustrated noise as you stopped walking, turning to the street lamp beside you, you pulled your arm back and balled your fist, pushing your arm forward and allowed your fist to make contact with the rusted metal. It sent a vibrating force through your entire right arm but you didn’t stop, over, and over, and over again you took your anger out on the innocent non suspecting source of light. 

You didn’t stop until your hand was numb, knuckles busted and dripping with blood. Broken sobs escaped you as you allowed your body to sink onto the pavement, back resting against the cold concrete. You probably look crazy to any passerbyers but they can fuck off, this is your story not theirs. 

Your everything felt numb, emotional and physical, it was all numb. It was like reality no longer existed, time warping into nothingness. For that moment it was just you in the world, everything else becoming nothing but shapes and blobs of color. You were alone and it bordered on the edge between being peaceful and being lonely. 

You don’t know how long you laid there for. Somehow it felt like hours but also only a few minutes. When you got up you felt lighter, like all the emotions that were once weighing you down dissolved with every punch. Your hand was shaking and you realized you couldn’t move your fingers. They began to hurt as you tried to bend them. 

“Fuck” Good going, you broke your fucking fingers. How the hell were you going to explain this one? You begin your journey back home, praying that your dad would be asleep by now, not wanting to explain the blood dripping from your knuckles and listen to him complain through slurred words. You’d figure out how to hide the fact that your ring and middle fingers are unusable when you get there. 

(“1 fish, 2 fish, this flashbacks been too long bitch” - My Brother, 2024) 

Emotional numbness is such a weird thing. Going from explosive to nothingness in such a short span of time seems inhuman. If you really think about it, what does human mean? Were all souls walking around in a vessel of flesh. No different from animals, so why split us by species? We all live and die in the end, so what's the point? 

Hell life and death are barely different. You thought it would be different. Movie ghosts really tricked you into believing the afterlife had something to offer, but it’s all the fucking same. You can’t escape yourself in life or death. You’re scared, a word you didn’t use often but it's the only thing that can describe this. You’re no different than the band kids that go in the same damn circles over and over again trying to perfect their performance. A loop, a truly fucking terrifying loop. 

If someone were to ask you in life if you were afraid of death you would have said no, you’re afraid of the effect it will have on the people around you but now you’d just scream and beg for a way out. But on a deeper level you’d say that the familiarity in death was somehow comforting. It sounds weird but it reminds you that you’re still you. Both good and bad, letting that go would slice away the last little bit of sanity you have left. 

The bell had already rang 3 times as kids came in and out of the bathroom but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Instead you allowed yourself time to think, your brain finally getting a chance to speak over all the intruders that tried to silence it. You know it’s only temporary but for now you’re enjoying it. It had been a while since it was just you and your unhazy mind. It’s like talking to an old friend, catching up on all the new life updates… well death updates. 

The kids whispered about you, well what they found of you. Officially dead, officially becoming a whisper in the halls. You thought it would hurt more, but it was kinda funny. No one paid attention to you in life but now that you’re gone all of a sudden you’re the talk of the school, such bullshit. 

It wasn’t until Rhonda walked in, a sucker in her mouth as always that you finally pulled yourself out of the back of your own mind. Where the hell does she get those things? 

“Hey pill popper.” She spouted that nickname with the same unimpressed look as always. You hated to admit it but you found it kinda funny. Pill popper, creative. 

“Hey Wednesday.” Not your best work but it was fitting for her. 

“Why are you on the floor?” You could tell she doesn't really care. Just wanting to get this conversation over with. 

“It’s comfy.” It’s not, the coldness of the hard floor was already making you sore but you know it won’t last. Your body will reset itself as soon as you stand up.

“Gross.” You let out a small chuckle. One thing you like about Rhonda is her bluntness. She doesn't sugar coat shit. She told you a lot about death when you first got here, though you were still in denial about it all she made it make more sense. “Charley told me to come get you.” Her face never changed, dead inside and out. 

“Group?” You knew you’d have to go eventually. The idea of sitting in a circle reinforces the fact that life and death are the same. You would have ended up in the same situation regardless. 

“Yup.” She put the lolly pop back in her mouth before walking away without another word. 

Great, group time. That also means seeing Wally again. He probably thinks you’re a complete weirdo. Oh well, you can't avoid him forever so might as well get it over with. It’s odd, you had a complete melt down earlier about what he thought of you and now you couldn’t care less. Emotions, what an odd thing. 

You pushed yourself off the ground, the soreness that was there seconds ago fading away in an instant. The walk to the gym was short, the halls being crowded but manageable. The familiar sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor filled your eras, only this time it was several pairs. The same group of boys, playing the same game, in the same gym, where the same ghost class is held. This was starting to feel like the real loop. 

Wally was already sitting in his usual spot when he noticed you, waiving with a smile. What's with this guy? His friendly demeanor seems nice but something about it makes you feel unnerved. You don’t deserve his kindness. 

As you sit down in your chair, right beside Wally, Mr.Martin offers you a kind greeting.

“Ah, hey.” Your name rolled off his tongue in a gentle bright manner, happy to see you. “So glad to see you.” You didn’t respond, just gave him an awkward tight lipped smile. You didn’t pay attention to what was going on around you, just stared at your hands, picking at the skin that covers them. The old scars we faded, some bigger than the others. You used to pick at them until they’d bleed. The beautiful crimson reminding you that as much as you think you’ve changed you haven't. At the end of the day you still hurt yourself unconsciously. 

You felt a hand creep over to yours, pulling them apart so your nails couldn’t cause anymore damage. You didn’t have to look up to know who they belong to. Instead you kept your gaze down and slipped your hands into your pocket and watched the boy's hand slip away from you. 

You felt stupid for enjoying the warmth he provided, even though it was only for a second it felt nice. It’s something you don’t know if you’re ever going to get again, the warmth of someone else. Like cuddling during movie nights with the one girl who had stuck beside you through it all, had held you when you’d cry, had pulled your hair back when you got to drunk and needed to hug a strangers toilet bowl, had been there with your dad to pick you up from rehab, had mapped out tattoos to cover your scars. You’ll never get that warmth again.

You heard Mr.Martin say your name, and judging by his voice it wasn't the first time he said it before you finally noticed. You looked up at him, you didn’t bother hiding the look on your face. Probably confused, upset, scared, every emotion you could name. “Huh?”

“I asked how you’re feeling” His face was warm as ever, somehow making you feel out of place in the conversion. 

“Fine, perfectly fine.” You’re far from it and you know he can tell. Everyone can and you can’t be bothered to hide it. You couldn’t feel emotions but they were still there, unconnected, just floating around, confused, not knowing where to go. 

The look on his face didn’t change but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. “You can talk to us, we’ve all been in your position before.” That stupid line, Wally had said something similar but it's not true. They’ve died but they don’t understand. Being dead isn’t the issue, being you is.

“I’ve never been in that position.” Rhonda spoke up, examining her lollipop like it's the most interesting thing in the world. “We all saw her body, disgusting.” Okay maybe Rhonda was a little too honest sometimes. 

“Rhonda” Mr.Martin shot her a warning look.

“Definitely not my best look.” Somehow even after they found your body school went on. Is that normal? Have so many kids died here that they don’t even bother to shut it down for even a day? Everyone’s acting normal, but the whispers of the kids in the bathroom you spent hours in stuck with you. 

Rhonda put her sucker back in her mouth, arms crossed over her chest as always. Mr.Martin decided to continue group without any more questions about you, understanding that you’re not ready for the whole death talk. He was saying something about group activities but you tuned it out, had your body really looked that bad? The last time you saw it, it was fresh, but the smell that it conducted in the locker room lingered. You couldn't bring yourself to look at it earlier but now you’re beginning to regret that decision. That was your last chance to see that part of you that you walked through life in. Now it's gone forever, never coming back so you can say goodbye. 

It stung, not ever being able to actually say goodbye. All you could do was hope and pray that Mags would be at school eventually. She had missed the last few days, probably making some bullshit excuse to her mom about why she couldn’t come to school. Part of you hopes she never shows up, the thought of seeing her but not being able to touch her makes you want to scream. Her warmth, something you’ll never be able to feel again. 

A silent tear rolled down your face that you quickly wiped away. Emotions are such a weird thing, they switch on and off without warning, leaving you stranded with a shit ton of baggage you don’t want.

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I don't have a tag list but @gabbyygoo asked to be tagged in the next post so here you go love. Hope you enjoy it :)

pt.7