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Crush

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

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

joyeuses Easter, fam 🐰🐣🥕

___________________________🌻

Crush

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

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

God dammit, Wally has a problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You name him Samuel.

Wally falls more in love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

He's not obsessed, you are 😒

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honestly, Wally probably needs a new hobby.

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug, "Whatever you want."

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

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

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

Does this count as a new hobby?

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wally~."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wally cocks his head, "Finally?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

This definitely counts as a new hobby.

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Me too, baby."

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

"Pick up anything interesting?"

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

Blue. Screen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌻___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

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

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

I fear I've been hit with a mild version of the writers curse. Its not to bad but um my dad got arrested 😅 This shouldn't put to much of a strain on my writing and I already have part 6 of Sex, Drugs, Ect. almost finished. I'm just very confused rn. Anyways yeah, life's weird.

No Safety or Surprise

Wally Clark x Reader

Following a double death at Split River High, two souls acclimate with their new reality and the fellow ghosts that inhabit the school's grounds.

Word Count: 3k

Tags: Aftermath of sexual assault, no flashbacks to SA, mention of SA, reader's death is overlooked but Wally 's isn't, angst, comfort

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC, mentioned), Mr. Martin, Rhonda (brief), Janet (brief), Jasmine (OC, brief), William (OC, brief), David (OC, brief)

Read it on AO3!

Taglist: @xocellyy, @maggiecc, @pancake-flipper, @littlestxli, @trinitybaby6666, @somethingsomethingcranberries, @sst4r-ddu5t, @ghostlyaccurate

Want to join (or leave) the taglist? Click here!

A/N: The Doors title. Sequel to 'The End', which has gotten so much love that I don't even know what to say! Super thank you to everyone who wanted to be tagged, ya'll might make me cry. Thank you for clicking/reading my story, and I hope that you enjoy this one! This is my first time writing a sequel to a story, as I'm more partial to one-shots writing-wise. Unbeta'd, please heed the tags, and enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

You left Wally without saying a word, climbing to the top of the bleachers and curling in on yourself. You wanted to spit in his face and tell him that Dalton wasn’t the perfect teammate, average-grade goofball he played himself to be, that he had taken your life, soul, and body in one fell swoop. Instead, you left him more confused than before, still clutching at the stolen jacket draped on your shoulders.

Your non-beating heart ached for the first time since you found yourself on the locker room floor. For every second you spent with your legs up to your chest, heaving, a deeper hole was burying its way through your chest.

Your death went twenty-three minutes unnoticed, and when you were finally found, it was only because the football team was told to change after the game stopped.

You didn’t know how long you were up on the bleachers, finally praying for the first time in your life before someone approached you. You assumed it was Wally, hoping that he had finally realized what had happened to you, but you turned your head to see an older man dressed in a tweed jacket and glasses walking up to you.

“Y/N?” the stranger asked, sitting a level below you to meet you at eye level, “is that your name?”

He was skinnier than most teachers you knew, and his suit outdid anything they would be wearing.

He’s dead too.

Nodding your head, you brought yourself to sit on the bleacher level above him, scooting down to make distance between him and you. He didn’t move, instead placing his hands in his lap and sighing gently.

“My name is Mr. Martin. As I assume you’re already aware, you’ve passed away.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.

“I’ve been a local of Split River since the 50’s, and-”

“Are you some kind of grim reaper or something? You finally get off your ass to bring me to whatever’s supposed to happen after I die?” You interrupted harshly, glaring at your reflection in his square glasses. His slight trans-atlantic accent in his voice ticked you off on top of how you already felt.

“-Unfortunately, I’m not here to take you to the great hereafter,” he said, his voice a touch softer, “I am, however, here to offer you support if you are willing to take it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You asked.

“I know what happened to you, Y/N.” He said matter-of-factly, adjusting the way he was sitting as if he was uncomfortable with the statement he’d made.

Chills crept up your spine. “What?”

“I was there when the paramedics brought your body out from the locker room,” he rubbed above his lip tensely, “I’m here to let you know that there are others here that can help you get through this, a support group for the ghosts of Split River High.”

Scoffing, you move to get up and away from him and his proposal of an afterlife anonymous meeting. He didn’t follow you, instead raising his voice so you were able to hear him.

“If you change your mind, we meet in the gym every afternoon. Nothing formal, but it seems to have helped others in similar situations to yours.”

People speculated if you and Wally’s deaths were connected in some way- a jealous ex that found out the two of you had been together, a suicide pact; someone even started to say you poisoned him and then yourself because you were hopelessly in love with him.

No matter what people said, somehow, the blame always landed on you and never Wally.

It took three days for you to work up the courage to go back inside the school. Every time you approached a door, your feet wouldn’t move. When you finally got the courage to go inside, it was because the rain pouring outside pelted against the metal of the bleachers, and the sound was going to deafen you if you heard it any longer. It didn’t register that you were in the building until you saw the back of a familiar football player, no longer wearing the gear he died in.

“Wally?” You called out to him, making him spin around to face you.

The air of confusion he’d carried the night you two died was gone, instead replaced by a brightened smile and somewhat brighter eyes.

“Y/N, hey,” he walked towards you, mirroring posters plastered to the wall mourning him, “I was worried you weren’t going to come in any time soon.”

You knit your eyebrows, shifting at his open display of friendliness after not talking to you for the twelve years you were in school together. You knew of him— it was impossible not to, and the two of you had been in a few classes as you’d grown up.

He stood before you, hands tucked in his pocket, as you turned to look at the posters on the wall.

Rest in Peace - Wally Clark.

Son, student, friend to all.

Memorial - September 31st, 4:30 PM, Gym

Poster after poster, taped to every few lockers and pinned twice or three times to every corkboard. His graduation picture lined the halls and mocked you every step of the way. Wally’s death rocked the school like a thunderclap, and any whispers of your tragedy were drowned out by an outpouring of grief for the star athlete.

No memorial. No justice. Not for you.

Hundreds of posters, his locker transformed into a shrine, and there were even some candles lit despite the fire code of the school. All the while, your locker remained untouched—just another metal door collecting dust.

A hand gently touched your shoulder, causing you to spin on your heel and jerk your attention to Wally once more.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, taking a step back, his hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

The phantom beating of your heart thudded dully in response. You hadn’t been touched in days, not since your body was hauled out of the locker room like a broken piece of equipment.

“What do you want, Wally?” you asked, sharper than you intended. His brow furrowed, but his smile didn’t waver.

“I wanted to check on you,” he said simply. “Mr. Martin said he talked to you, but you didn’t come to the gym. Thought I’d see if you were okay.”

You let out a harsh laugh, glancing back at the posters. “Do I look okay? I’m dead, Wally. Just like you.”

And yet, it seems no one gives a shit that I died.

He tilted his head, studying you like you were an unsolved puzzle. “Yeah, but… you don’t have to do this alone.”

“And you’re suddenly the expert on post-death coping mechanisms?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Why do you care anyway? You didn’t even know me.”

Wally flinched, his smile faltering for the first time. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly. “We were in different worlds, yeah, but I knew who you were— who you are. And I know what the living are saying about us. None of it’s true.”

“Which part? The suicide pact? Or the one where I poisoned you because I was obsessed with you?” You spat the words like venom, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“The part where they act like you’re the villain,” he said, his voice steady. “Like you’re not worth mourning.”

That stopped you cold. You stared at him, waiting for the sarcasm, for the punchline. But his eyes held nothing but sincerity, and it made your stomach twist.

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “But I’ve been to that group a few times. It’s weird, and Mr. Martin talks like he’s out of some old self-help movie, but it’s… not awful. And it’s better than being alone.”

You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you swallowed hard and looked away, your eyes falling to the scuffed floor.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unyielding. Wally shifted, the rubber soles of his sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. His patience grated on you, not because it annoyed you, but because it chipped away at the courage you’d been building up for the past two weeks.

“What’s the point, Wally?” you muttered, your voice cracking. “What’s the point of sitting in a room with other dead people, pretending like it makes any of this better?”

He exhaled sharply, almost like he’d been holding his breath. “It doesn’t fix anything,” he admitted. “But it’s not about fixing it. It’s about… not letting it bury you. We don’t have to be forgotten, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened at his words. The posters, the memorial, the tears shed for Wally Clark—they felt like they came from a different world. A world where your name didn’t matter, where your death was just a footnote. But his voice, steady and sure, pierced through the bitterness threatening to consume you.

“Fine,” you whispered, the word barely audible. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, the bright sincerity in his eyes almost painful. “I’ll go. Once. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Wally’s grin returned, slow and genuine. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The gym was plain, almost too small for the group of souls that had gathered. Mr. Martin, with his stiff posture and small accent, sat in the corner, his hands folded neatly in his lap. The group was sparse, and each person’s presence piled more and more nerves as you swept your gaze over them.

You felt the tug of skepticism as you sat in an empty chair. The group didn’t move to acknowledge you, a few eyes lifting from their spots, but no one spoke. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the lack of judgment felt almost alien.

Wally had sat next to you without a word, his presence oddly comforting as he simply offered a silent companionship. His clothes matched yours, save for his jacket, which you still had yet to remove. Some of the ghosts looked your way, but one’s gaze lingered between the two of you. She sat next to Mr. Martin, dressed in a short, colorful, and rectangular dress similar to things your older cousins would wear to events.

Mr. Martin cleared his throat gently, breaking the silence.

“Hello, everyone. I want to again thank you if you’re a returning member and welcome you,” he shot his eyes at you, “if you’re a new member. Since there are newer faces here, why don’t we go around the circle and just say our names.” He smiled, something uncanny lingering on his mouth as he turned to the girl staring between you and Wally.

“I’m Janet.” She said simply. Her voice was soft and concise, crossing her legs as the rest of the ghosts in the group introduced themselves.

“Hi, David,” said a man dressed in construction clothes, who was noticeably older than others in the group.

A boy not much younger than you piped up, a tie peaking past a Letterman jacket he was wearing, “I’m William.”

“Rhonda,” said one girl dressed like your estranged beatnik aunt, who had a seemingly never-ending supply of blow pops.

“And I’m Jasmine.”

The group wraparound had landed on you. You looked between everyone, searching out the chance they’d just let you past the introductions. Rhonda shot you a look of Come on, we’re waiting, and your lips were moving.

“I’m Y/N.” You hated how much your voice shook after you died, but the calm washing over you as Wally prepared his introduction was enough to make you forget it.

“I’m Wally.” He said, the sound of his golden smile ever-present in his words.

“Well, since we have a newbie,” Mr. Martin began, his voice soft but carrying pressure that you found hard to ignore, “Y/N, why don’t you start by telling us what brought you here today?”

All eyes turned to you, and the overwhelming need to jump from a top-story window returned a shock to your senses. The group waited once more for you to speak, some members exchanging glances that you’d catch in social settings when you were alive. Before you knew it, your lips were parting again and spurting words you were regretting the second you said them.

“I didn’t want to be here,” you started, your voice unsteady but not cracking. “I didn’t want to be dead, either. But what does it matter? It’s not like anyone cares about why I’m gone. They’re all too busy mourning him.”

You slung a hand towards Wally, not looking up, unable to see the faces in the room as you continued. “Wally gets all the posters, all the memorials. He was the star. The one everyone is giving a damn about. And I— I don’t even get a proper goodbye.”

Wally shifted beside you, but you didn’t want to hear him. You leaned your elbows on your knees and played with your fingers as you let the silence around you linger. You didn’t want to hear the words he or any of the other ghosts were going to say, and yet you prayed for the silence to end with something.

Mr. Martin, for once, didn’t jump in. Everyone around you was dead silent— pun not intended— and before you knew it, you were moving out of the gym and to a bench in the hall outside, tucking your knees under your chin.

You had no idea how long you sat there, your legs curled up underneath you, eyes fixed on the dirty hallway doors. Your chest felt hollow, and the anger had boiled down into exhaustion so deep you didn’t know if you could ever feel whole again.

The silence in the gym had crushed you. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you feel at peace; it was the kind that forced you to confront all the things you hated about yourself, about how little people turned their heads at your murder. You’d never felt more alone, even when you were alive with your family as your only friends. Here, stuck behind glass to witness the aftermath of your death, you couldn’t do anything but watch as you were forgotten to time.

But you weren’t truly alone for long.

Wally’s presence, soft but steady, came through the gym doors, and you didn’t need to look up to know it was him. You felt his gaze on you before you saw it. His footsteps came slowly, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach you this time.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice unsure, though his usual easygoing nature had managed to bleed through.

You didn’t answer at first. The weight of everything was still crushing you.

You didn’t know what to say to him. All of it—every question, every unspoken feeling—was stuck in your throat.

“I just…” you began, the words coming out in a rush, “I don’t get it, Wally. How come it’s all about you? We both died, and yet there aren’t any memorials held in my honor or any remembrance of me being alive in the first place.”

Wally sat beside you, quiet for a moment. He didn’t touch you, didn’t speak right away. But you could tell he was thinking, his mind racing for something to say that wouldn’t make everything worse.

“Dalton surely isn’t going to forget you, I’m sure he’s already planning something in your honor— something, something better.”

Your resolve cracked suddenly, shattering in one fell move as you bowed your head and cried for the umpteenth time. Wally was silent but tried to offer a comforting hand on your back that you scooted away from instantly.

His presence was steady, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. You didn’t look up to see if he needed confirmation as to what your body was telling him.

“He… he was a monster. They’re letting him get away with it, I know they are, and it’s like no one cared that I was left for dead. People didn’t call me an ambulance or even see my body when it was still warm. Heleft me to rot in that locker room, and now he’s just strutting around like he’s lost something great, and I’m-” you hiccupped as you smeared tears away from your eyes, “I’m starting to feel like I’m going crazy because no one’s going to ever believe it happened. Even when the cops check out me, I just don’t think they’ll believe he’d do that kind of thing.”

Wally remained silent as you turned to look at him, his face pale and mouth slightly agape. Part of you wanted to know what he was thinking, what he wanted to say, and the other part wanted to burst up from your seat, run through the side doors, and condemn yourself to an eternity of sitting on the bleachers.

“I believe you.”

Out of everything you thought he was going to say, that didn’t even reach your mind. You turned to him, face beating to the rhythm of your heart, probably soaked from your tears and red from your crying.

“What?” You asked.

“You’re not crazy, Y/N. If anything, I think you’re braver than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“What?” You asked again, a small smile turning the slightest curve in your lips.

Wally laughed softly, slowly raising his hand to your face and thumbing the tears off your cheeks.

“You heard me,” he brought his hand to rest against your face, and you could feel the suffocating heat starting to leave you.

“What’s bravery have to do with any of this?” You questioned heat flooding in from where his palm remained against your cheek.

“It’s got to do with you sitting here, telling me,” he brought his other hand to lightly skim over the top of yours, “it’s got to do with you coming in and standing in these halls and bearing witness to the aftermath. I know you think the rest of the world is going to forget you, but, Y/N, I’m going to give my damnedest so you’ll never feel like that, ever again.”

I’m a fooool for you

October Moon

summary: everybody had had secrets. some more than others. and it'd been time for those secrets to be unearthed. too bad for Xavier he hadn't been privy to any of them.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.10

Aurora didn't know what she was doing. Read: She knew what she was doing, but hated herself a little for it and kept repeating in her head that she was going crazy. Nothing was wrong. It was a reaction to discovering Dave wasn't who she'd thought he was and now her brain had a hard time deciphering who was friend and who was foe.

Totally rational.

Despite how often she told herself this was confirmation bias or a side-effect of her paranoia, she couldn't shake the feeling that Austin Baxter was hiding something. How the hell had he known the missing ingredient in her tea?

She'd foregone drinking it after she'd remembered how nonchalantly he'd reminded her of the passionflower. Poured it down the drain and tossed the bag of ingredients in the trash. Aurora hadn't forgotten how you'd asked her not to drink it. How weird you'd been about the tea and Dave and, huh, Aurora wondered if you knew something she didn't. Say, about what was actually wrong with the tea or about Austin and his new gift of knowing things he reasonably shouldn't...

As she followed Austin's cruiser around the corner from a safe distance, she made a mental note to interrogate you about it later. For now, she passed the cruiser as it turned into an abandoned factory parking lot, pulling up down the street to stay out of sight. This was the stupidest thing she'd ever done. Seriously. Apart from marrying Dave, that was. She'd never been a Nancy Drew fan, wasn't about mysteries and sleuthing and stalking people for clues that probably didn't exist because there was nothing wrong.

"Whaaat~ the hell am I doing?"

Except her gut insisted there was something wrong.

Her intuition had crashed back in like a tidal wave after getting twenty-four hours out from under the tea's tranquilizing influence. She had brain fog for days, but was alert enough to crouch and dash across the barren stretch of unkempt tar after Austin, wearing Andrew's Black Sabbath sweater and a pair of black leggings. Seriously, what was she doing? She questioned herself again as she ducked and peeked around the corner of the building.

The building was dark inside and out, illuminated only by haphazardly installed emergency lighting, yet Austin didn't seem deterred. He disappeared through a side door that Aurora opened a crack and slipped through after counting to ten. Hoped that was enough time for Austin to put distance between himself and the door so Aurora would remain undetected.

As soon as she was inside, she felt it. Felt them. The cold air that displaced and resettled as bodies she couldn't see moved about. That icy chill and sense of desolation that clung to earthbound ghosts no matter their temperament. Only the emotion that lingered was more potent. Denser, somehow. The way she remembered it being whenever she felt Janet Hamilton or Rhonda Rosen back in high school. Established.

And, fuck, there were so much of it.

She heard footsteps echo further down the corridor and, as silently as she could, she followed the sound into a large, open space filled with machines that had been used to produce ammunition during the Second World War. There'd been another factory where Split River High now stood, thank you 8th Grade History, but it'd been reduced to brick and ash in 1952 after an explosion.

The factory she currently stood in had been shut down around the same time despite America's fascination with guns. It'd been cheaper to move production away from Split River, leaving the town's economy to steadily deteriorate over time. The one functioning factory that remained was owned by Molson Coors Beverage Company and even then, there'd been talk about relocating to another town closer to Milwaukee.

None of that explained why she felt about to two dozen ghosts haunting the space. Had they died homeless, escaping the winter? Frozen to death one night or one at a time? Perhaps that's why Austin was there, to do a walk-through and ensure there weren't any unwanted squatters. Or perhaps there'd been a sighting of Dave in the area.

No, her gut told her, that wasn't right. It astonished her how vibrant her empathy was after it'd been diluted for years. Weakened by that fucking tea she couldn't remember the reason behind. She hadn't been that stressed in New York. Certainly not to the level she'd needed sedatives to function. So, why the hell had she depended on it like oxygen for years!?

She peered around a machine and watched Austin trail down an aisle between conveyors, his head swiveling from side to side as if he was looking for something. Or at something, Aurora's mind quipped since, in the silence of the large space, his whispers were loud enough for her to hear. He was counting.

"...Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen..."

What the hell?

She wanted to slink further down the same aisle, however, in that moment, she heard Austin's footsteps double back.

Aurora made herself scarce, raced back to her car as quickly and quietly as she could. Slid behind the wheel and dropped her seat back until the cruiser had driven by. Readjusting her seat, Aurora decided, fuck it, she was already playing P.I., why not keeping going.

"What could possibly go wrong?" She murmured incredulously to herself, giving the factory one last glance before she started her car and drove after Austin.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

After long seconds staring at the photograph of the class of '60, you breathed deeply and said, "There's a ledger. Only Ginny has access to it, but if I can find it, I can compare the names from the yearbook to the names under our Circle."

"What for?" Ajay asked as he folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the wall, peered at you through an expression that conveyed how nervous he was to let you out of his sight now that things were coming to light.

You pulled your gaze from the photograph to look at him, "Anyone with connectedness is registered with a Circle. Even if you actively try to avoid it, your name will show up in the relevant ledger, complete with the bloodline and I swear to God, if you call it magic, Ajay—" You warned when his face did that thing that suggested he was about to call you out on it again.

He pressed his lips together and locked them with an invisible key.

Wally tightened his embrace around you, stating, "So, you think it was Anabelle and Amelia."

"Wouldn't more students have had to die if they did the ritual?" Charley asked, "There was only Janet and Mr. Martin. Plus the two students they stole the bodies from. That's four. And they didn't even use Janet and Mr. Martin." He glanced between everyone, trying to gauge whether anyone else was as lost as he was.

"Wouldn't have mattered if they'd had other ghosts." You murmured, deep in thought, before you took a grounding breath. "We also know that the symbols siphon in the energy from elsewhere. The farmhouse, for sure, but there must be other places."

God, you needed Ginny to wake up. Of everyone, Ginny would know if there'd been a cluster of ghosts in any particular place around town, including the school. While you weren't familiar with her and Nanna's upbringing, you could assume that they'd had to follow the same rules you did. That included vigilance and awareness of what ghosts residually haunted where.

In a low, wary voice, "Does anybody else feel like this town should be a lot less populated than it is?" Charley uttered, taking a step back to rest against the desk that held the microfilm reader.

Rather than answer his question with a resounding yes, "When we get you guys unstuck, we should all move. Just. Leave and never look back," you suggested, closing the yearbook and placing it back on top of the stack. "Everyone's leaving the state for college anyway."

"Ooo, we should go to the beach first." Charley smiled at Wally.

Wally shook his head, "Nah, first thing I'm doing is taking this beautiful thing—" Hand under your chin, he tilted your head back a fraction to kiss you quick and hard, "—somewhere with a massive bed. And room service."

You giggled and blushed at the same time Ajay snorted, "You're dead, bro, you can't get room service."

"Yeah, but she can," Wally grinned as he swept your hair back and stamped kisses across your brow. "You guys could use the spa or use another suite or something. Then we'll take a trip to the beach."

"I want somewhere walkable." Ajay outlined, clearly fantasizing about it. "I want to walk for hours in one direction without being knocked back to Autoshop. Then Mina and I can find our own accommodations." He smirked at Wally. "But, honestly, I just want to touch a fucking tree. Be somewhere that doesn't smell like mildew and bleach."

"Yesss." Wally and Charley agreed in unison.

As fun as it was to imagine, "Alright, boys, focus," you said, though you were smiling, "We need to find Amelia first and get her to remove the barrier before we start planning roadtrips."

"You saying there isn't something you've imagined yourself doing with your very own hottie ghost once you spring him from school property?" Ajay smirked.

You scoffed, "Oh, absolutely. I'm with Wally. I want a bed and room service and we're only leaving when he's made sure I can't walk straight."

Both Charley and Ajay cringed, unhappy at how easily you'd painted that picture for them. Wally, on the other hand, radiated joy as he turned you by your hips and lifted you under the thighs. Kissed the tip of your nose as he held you, his dark eyes sparkling.

"That's my girl," He beamed, but before he could add anything else, Ajay intervened, complaining in run-on sentences:

"Alright, yep, we get it, you guys love each other, it's gross and we hate it. Can we please investigate the fallout shelter before Charley and I throw up?"

"Or gouge our eyes out," Charley muttered as he grabbed his jacket and followed Ajay into the hall to wait for you and Wally. "Or our eardrums. Or both."

"Gory," You snickered.

Ajay deadpanned, "Necessary."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but acquiesced, taking Wally's hand in yours as had become the habit. You glanced between the boys and wondered aloud, "Should we get Rhonda? She's part of Team Parabnormal. She might wanna help."

It was Charley who answered with glum disposition, "She wasn't interested when I asked her earlier," his shoulders raised and eyes on the ground. He didn't say anything more, but you could tell he wanted to.

"She's been kissing Mr. Martin's ass lately," Wally explained what Charley must've been thinking, because Charley's head shot up and he nodded at you enthusiastically.

It seemed everyone was in agreement, Ajay in particular.

"I've been watching them. It's like a cult leader and his first student." He shuddered, "I'm getting real Marshall Applewhite vibes. Minus the potential for a suicide pact."

"Unless Mr. M is planning to obliterate us like Amelia wants to. In which case, total potential for a suicide pact." Wally's hand tightened around yours, his jaw set and eyes hard. "Maybe he's working with her. Amelia's inside man."

"Shit, bro," Ajay's eyebrows shot up, "Say you don't trust him without saying you don't trust him."

Wally didn't skip a beat, "I don't fucking trust him. Not anymore. Not after how he grilled Maddie about talking to the living." He looked at you, his eyes softening, "He looked right at you when you were doing that Mock Trial thing. I didn't like it," He returned his gaze to Ajay, "Something about it sets my teeth on edge, man."

"Someone's coming," Charley announced, and before you could react, Wally pulled you into his arms and hid you and himself behind end of a row of lockers, winking at Ajay and Charley as they continued down the hall to steer the person in another direction.

As you waited for the all-clear, you peeked up at Wally, felt it was time to admit, "So... I actually found the fallout shelter the night Dave was sneaking around."

Wally gaped, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Honestly? I forgot. I was a lot more freaked out about telling you that Zav kissed me." And then, at the expression on Wally's face, "Don't look at me like that, Maddie was there, too. And Simon."

"Does Zav know?" Wally asked, lip curled in displeasure.

You pulled back slightly, brows knitted, "No. Why?"

"No reason."

But Wally appeared marginally less upset than he'd been seconds ago. Because of course he did. It was no secret how he felt about Xavier. That Wally despised someone you considered your platonic soulmate. A sentiment made worse after Xavier's rash decision to kiss you.

Wally flinched whenever Xavier's name was so much as hinted at, never mind mentioned and it fucking s u c k e d. These were two people you loved to your marrow; you wanted them to get along, had hoped that they'd eventually see eye-to-eye, but it didn't look like that was ever going to happen.

Xavier wasn't terrible; at least tried—with gritted teeth—to remain neutral where Wally was concerned. Wally, on the other hand, stubbornly refused to give Xavier the same respect.

Annoyed, "It's not a competition, you know," you muttered. You didn't pull away, couldn't, not from Wally, but this weird dick measuring contest had to stop.

"I know," Wally said as he gave you a funny look, as if his grip on you hadn't secured like Xavier had appeared to snatch you away.

"You sure about that? Because it feels like you're lying to me."

"Or," Wally countered, "Maybe I just forgot to mention it. Like you forgot to mention the fallout shelter."

And that time, you did pull away, wrenched right out of his arms. As you opened your mouth with a comeback, Ajay returned, cautious. He'd obviously heard what Wally had insinuated since he clarified that he, too, had known about the fallout shelter and hadn't disclosed it to anyone. For years.

"Buddy, calm down." He put a hand on Wally's shoulder, "It wasn't some big secret. If I'd known it was important, I would've brought it up sooner. How was anyone supposed to know?"

"Does it matter?" Wally soured. "You said that's where Mr. Martin hides out. Therefore it became important the second we suspected something was off with the guy." He took a breath, two, turned his head for a moment to get himself together before sighing and catching your gaze with his own again. Taking a step forward, he held out his hand, a somewhat pleading expression on his face, "Let's just go see what's there. We can talk about everything else after."

You wanted to protest. To ignore his hand, give him the cold shoulder and stomp by him just to make him regret pissing you off.

You couldn't bring yourself to do it. After a moment of letting him believe you'd refuse, you took his proffered hand. Allowed him to reel you in and tuck you into his side. He kissed your head, whispered an apology that sounded like a band-aid, and guided you down the hall to the stairwell with a hand on your hip.

"Trouble in paradise?" You heard Charley whisper to Ajay who responded with an equally as quiet, "The tea is hot..."

"What does that even mean?" Wally grumbled and squished you closer to him.

You couldn't contain it, you snorted, "I'm still mad at you, but...you're cute when you're clueless."

Wally scoffed, kissed his teeth, panned around so you wouldn't see the glimpse of affection in his eyes, but you caught it anyway. After a beat, he repeated:

"No, seriously, what does that mean? Are you talking about Aurora's tea or what?"

And you laughed along with Charley and Ajay, the latter of who patted Wally's shoulder and said, "You were getting so good at Gen Z slang, what happened?"

"A magical murder mystery!" Wally defended himself as he pouted adorably. "Why won't anyone tell me what it means?" And then, "Is it dirty?"

Traipsing ahead, "Nobody tell him," Charley commanded with a cheeky smirk, opened and held the door for you, Wally, and Ajay. "I want to see what he comes up with."

"You guys are the worst." Wally grumbled bitterly, "I'm totally not saving your asses when Amelia vanquishes your souls for her stupid ritual." Except he once again sealed you to his side, stamped a kiss to your temple and stage-whispered, "Not you, baby. I have a different punishment in mind for you."

He pinched your ass cheek so hard you squealed.

Together, "TMI!" and "Face!" Charley and Ajay scolded.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier hadn't intended to enter 4916 Quebec Street. It was meant to be a simple, relatively safe stakeout, just as he'd promised you. But Nicole and Claire's bickering had driven Xavier to the edge. From the moment they'd crammed into his truck, it'd been nonstop. Catty jabs that hadn't quit until Xavier lost his shit, made an impassioned speech that he was, yeah, a little proud of, and abandoned the girls for the peaceful refuge of a so very creepy house.

He was going to regret his decision, he just knew it.

Claire remained in the truck while Nicole boldly trailed behind him into the darkened house, muttering under her breath about fair-weather friends who shouldn't help if all they wanted was a redemption arc.

"So what if she does?" Xavier asked, turning on his flashlight as Nicole did hers.

"She can't make up for everything she didn't do for years." Nicole insisted, paused halfway through the front door. "Claire abandoned Maddie. And now she thinks she can swoop in and save the day? I don't trust her."

Xavier see-sawed his head, "But...you trust me?"

He couldn't quite make out Nicole's face in the dark, yet Xavier could tell she was embarrassed. Maybe because he'd pointed out the hypocrisy, or maybe because she felt just as outside of the whole SimonandMaddie dynamic as Xavier always had and was desperate for someone to relate.

Either way, she surprised him by admitting, "Yeah. I do."

That. Felt really good to hear, actually. Xavier's chest swelled as he looked bashfully away. "Thanks."

They stepped further into the house, the wind whistling eerily through the cracks in the windows. This house was even creepier than the old farmhouse or the house on Lasher and 10th. There was an impression in the air that chilled Xavier to the bone. That same supernatural prickle he felt around the ghosts at school, only more persistent. He couldn't be sure, but it meant something.

Before he could announce that he had a really, really bad feeling about this, Nicole spoke.

"I just wanna state for the record, this is basically my worst nightmare come true."

Xavier briefly wondered if Nicole felt the same close, icy aura he did, but immediately brushed it aside to comfort her. Placed a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye.

"But I'm here," He said, "I got your back. Just look around and see if you can find anything." He continued at her lost expression, "Clothes, food. Stuff someone might have left if they were squatting here."

His leadership seemed to rouse her determination. They split up, Nicole doing a tour of the main floor while Xavier found the door to the basement. The chill thickened as he descended the stairs. God, he wished you were with him, but you'd told him in no uncertain terms that you intended to do research with Wally at the school.

Ugh. That guy.

Look, Xavier didn't hate Wally the way Wally seemed to hate him. He was honestly—really, truly—happy that you'd found your perfect person. Dead, sure, but Xavier could tell that you two had some kind of cosmic bond. A golden thread that tied you and Wally together. In fact, he could literally see it, not that he'd told you.

It was so new, in and out like bad reception; something he'd only noticed over the last couple of days. Different colors for different connections. He didn't know what they meant, or why, all of a sudden, he'd gone from simply seeing ghosts to being able to track who meant something to whom, but, hey, guess he was officially part of the family now, huh?

Yeah, he needed to talk to you about it. For sure.

And he would.

Just...not while a fucking semi-transparent hippie was standing in the middle of the empty basement, smiling at him like a long-lost friend. What freaked Xavier way the hell out wasn't so much the mysterious ghost staring at him. It was the thin, loose green thread that stretched from Xavier's heart to the ghost's, evaporating and coming together again and again like a tendril of smoke.

It clicked like common sense as soon as the ghost shifted forward.

"Holy shit, you're Dead Grandpa John." He wheezed, eyes the size of dinner plates.

"And you're my granddaughter's best friend." Dead Grandpa John—no, Xavier was not doing that—Grandpa John said. "The troublemaker. Always into mischief." He smiled wider, laughed as if he'd been there for every caper you and Xavier had pulled as kids. Jesus, he probably had been there, Xavier realized with a gulp.

"I didn't flood the bathroom, I swear, it was all her!" And he didn't know why he felt compelled to confess, but he did anyway, a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Grandpa John raised a bushy brow.

Xavier instantly caved, "Okay, so it was my idea, but she helped..." and he stared shamefully at the floor.

And Maddie and Simon had really thought he was a good liar? Wow.

"I'm not here to judge you," Grandpa John assured and shifted closer. Unlike the ghosts at school, Grandpa John glided like water over rocks in a stream, despite how his feet did, in fact, move. One and then the other. Heel-toe, heel-toe. A person walking normally. Just...not quite touching the ground.

While Wally and Ajay appeared solid, as real as you or Claire or Nicole, Grandpa John was exactly the kind of image Xavier would've pictured if someone had told him to close his eyes and imagine a ghost. Silvery. See-through. Other. Unconsciously, Xavier took a step back, although part of him—a big part—already trusted Grandpa John as if he'd been aware of Grandpa John's existence the whole duration of his friendship with you.

"She was looking for you the other day," Xavier found himself saying, dropping the glare of his flashlight to the ground. "Have you been here the whole time?"

Grandpa John shook his head, "No." Then a strange look came over his face, "I'm here to apologize to you for what has to be done."

Xavier blinked in confusion, "What's that mean?"

"It means, this is going to hurt."

The next thing Xavier was conscious of, he was flat on his back. The ground was cold and everything hurt, his head especially throbbed. He heard the screech of tires against pavement, Nicole and Claire shouting, the noise distant as the world slowly faded to black.

💀___________________________

PART NINE - PART ELEVEN

note: not exactly where i'd planned to end this chapter, but it felt right 🤷‍♀️ who am i to argue with the characters? anyway, because of this, the next part is basically halfway written 🙌 hopefully i'll be able to deliver it a lot sooner, but no promises beautiful frens 😭

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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

My attempt at hands 😅

Y’all repost this post with your favorite Spencer pic in his fbi vest

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

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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?

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MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

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