I Just Finished Reading All 3 Books From The A Good Girls Guide To Murder Series Plus The Prequel And

Sucks that "sleeping together" refers to sex. Sometimes a fella just wants to snooze with a pal.

My head aches as I look around at all the surprised faces staring down at me. I laugh a little until I see tears fill my teammates eyes, confused I look around seeing the surprise turn into horror and a gut wrenching scream. I didn't think it was that bad of a fall, what the fuck is happening? That's when I notice, they're not looking at me they're looking through me. I turn around and that's when I see it, my cold lifeless body laying on the ground with blood gushing from my skull.

Might write a wally x reader fic with this prompt idk yet

October Sun

summary: it had been settled. everything had gone to shit and then everyone had had front row seats to watch how that'd happened. back in the theater, no one had known what to say, how to describe what they'd seen, how to reconcile that whoever had been behind the circumstances haunting Split River High could've been anyone.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.27

"Love this for me."

Charley scanned the area, confused, disoriented, nervous. We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto, he shuddered, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself as he began to trek in the direction he hoped would take him back to civilization.

This wasn't how he imagined finally being free from the school. Lost in the middle of nowhere, dense trees as far as the eye could see. There weren't many wooded areas around Split River. A couple of parcels here and there, wilderness parks, but not like this, and he had to wonder if the forest was actually native to the land.

Finally, he found a trodden path in the dirt and decided to follow it. What did he have to lose? There was no danger. He couldn't die twice. Food, sleep, shelter weren't required despite he and the others keeping up those habits in the afterlife at Mr. Martin's guidance. Still, what you'd mentioned on the rooftop the night before—about how your great aunt or your mother could blast his soul into oblivion—made Charley paranoid.

What if he'd landed here just for an evil witch to use his ghost for some nefarious plan to make her young and beautiful again? He'd seen Hocus Pocus. And it didn't matter that he was technically too old for that spell to work. He was stuck at 17 until he moved on and he wasn't keen on having a wicked witch absorb him for the sake of vanity.

Which, okay, Charley reasoned, sounded ridiculous, but one couldn't blame him. After a tornado had manifested in the theater and he'd been transported to some creepy, dark forest alone; he wasn't going to criticize himself for the insane theories his brain churned out.

He followed the path until it brought him to a winding, unpaved road. Turning left, he trailed down the edge of it for what felt like hours. It'd started raining halfway through his journey to wherever the hell, and night had fallen before the road widened into a bare plot of land stretched in front of a dilapidated farmhouse, its shadow a fanged monster raking toward Charley's ankles.

"Oh, that's not freaky at all." Charley muttered, quickly glancing over his shoulder and debating whether or not to go back the way he'd come. The darkness blurring the unpaved road seemed to push toward him as if discouraging him from turning around. He groaned in despair, "I hate everything about this," wanting the universe to take pity on him and return him to—God help him—the safe and familiar halls of Split River High.

It was Movie Night, he winged internally, and Wally had agreed (with conditions) to watch Ghost—shut up—and Katelynn and Bernadette were in charge of snacks which meant there'd be a smorgasbord of good options because Mr. Martin always filled the table with carrot sticks and his homemade tuna salad ("Just like my mother's! Doesn't it taste like home?"—"Why is it encased in jell-o?"—the 50s were a heinous decade, Charley thought, green around the gills at the memory).

Today was supposed to be a good day. A day of progress. A day of togetherness. He and Rhonda and Wally, and now Maddie, a united front against the mystery of Maddie's.....well, not "death", Charley supposed, because you'd debunked that. But against the mystery of Maddie's situation, nonetheless. Except he was here, wet and cold and lost; an Addams Family-esque farmhouse towering in front of him like a bad omen and no one to turn to for answers.

"It can't get worse," Charley sighed, about to ascend the first of the front steps.

As his foot set down on the wood, the screen door creaked and someone emerged, using their back to push the door open so they could exit. When they turned around, Charley nearly jumped for joy. He knew that face! That was your face! Your face... Charley reeled back. Your face was coated in blood. You were coated in blood. Hair, hands, jeans.

"What happened!?" He questioned, pitching toward you to scan you for injuries. You didn't seem to be in any pain, not favoring a leg or curling over a gut wound. Beneath the thin red film on your face, Charley couldn't spot a gash, a cut, a scrape, nothing. He panned to the front door, speculating in startled flashes what lay beyond it. The color drained from his face as he thought about it and he decided, no thanks, he didn't want—didn't need—to know.

The most unnerving part, however, wasn't the Evil Dead amount of blood on you. It was how your eyes stared ahead, completely blank; the same dissociative gaze Charley had witnessed on Emilio's face in the wake of Charley's death. Like Emilio's mind had evaporated while his brain repressed every bad thing that'd ever happened just to keep him upright.

Charley wanted to ask if you were okay but the words lodged in his throat when he finally noticed that you had something—someone—bundled in your arms. Small, child-sized (probably because it was a child, Charley, he chided himself), wearing Spiderman rainboots and a Looney Tunes sweater. A queasy sensation flushed through him as he watched you fumble down the stairs, gaze fixed ahead, arms fastened around the little body.

When Charley shifted to follow you, the screen door creaked again then slammed closed. Another person hurried out, clomping down the steps to chase after you. Small. Child-sized. Spiderman rainboots and a Looney Tunes sweater. Charley's expression twisted with sorrow. He bit the inside of his lip as he turned and walked beside the little boy who contemplated his boots as he squelched through the mud.

"Where are we going?" The little boy asked you, stomping into and out of a puddle.

You answered, "I'm taking you home," your voice light as a feather and far, far away.

"Will mommy be mad at me?" The little boy paused, big green eyes on your back, worried that he'd be in trouble for...for what? Charley couldn't discern. For dying?

"No." You said, dragged your feet with effort, your Converse not made for soft, sinking ground. "She'll know what to do. She'll make it all better, Aiden, I swear." On the last word, your voice cracked, but your face didn't change, your gaze still distant.

Charley kept pace with the little boy, Aiden, until you came to the end of the unpaved road. You were shaking, probably freezing, soaked to the bone and in shock. The unpaved road intersected a tarred section of old, narrow highway, a rusted mailbox keeping vigil in the tall grass that lined the shoulder. Part of the name was scraped away by time and weather. Still, Charley could make it out: Meheive. A name Charley had had hammered into his skull in Grade 7 History. The name of one of the four industry men who'd founded Split River in 1850.

"Oh," He commented mildly, "It gets freakier. Fantastic." Then, as he lifted his foot to continue after you, he simply couldn't. He tried again, again, again, walked in place as if on a treadmill while an invisible force kept him at bay. "Never mind," He gulped, "Now it's freakier." At least he wasn't being shot back to the cafeteria at speed, he mused glumly when he took the time to feel the identical vibrations he felt when he got too close to the one around the school.

Slanting his attention to the side, he saw Aiden standing alone, face pinched, lower lip trembling and eyes filled with tears. "Sissy May, wait... I can't follow you..." He stuttered several breaths, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Sissy May!"

You didn't turn around. "It'll be okay, Aiden. Mom will fix it. She'll know what to do." Charley heard you murmur, dreamlike, detached, as you began to walk along the shoulder of the highway, adjusting Aiden's weight in your arms. "She'll fix it..."

Charley came up beside Aiden, watching you blend into the dark the further away you got. Aiden sniffled, squeaked before he coughed out a sob. He craned his neck to look up at Charley in devastation. Briefly, Charley was surprised though that settled into sympathy the longer Aiden blinked those green eyes up at him.

"I don't want to be alone," Aiden whimpered and took Charley's hand, his grip limp, his fingers tiny.

There was nothing to say to that. Charley didn't want Aiden to be alone either, and if he had to stay with Aiden for eternity, he would. He knelt down and pulled Aiden into a hug, his voice wet as he said, "You aren't alone, buddy," the way he would've comforted his younger cousin, Luca.

Unfortunately, the moment the words slipped out of him, Charley was snatched away and dragged through the farmhouse door.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Where Charley couldn't follow, Ajay did. Down the shoulder of the unlit highway, stomach rolling as he observed how you swayed and stumbled as you pressed onward, Aiden's dead weight becoming more and more difficult to manage. A car had stopped, a woman had called out to you, and Ajay had heard her on the phone with the police, asking for help.

It was as if you hadn't heard her. Ajay doubted you had, the state you were in, mumbling gentle promises to your brother as you carried him home. "Mom will know what to do, Aiden..."

Twenty minutes came and went before an ambulance and two squad cars screeched to a halt meters in front of you, lights flashing, red blue, red blue, red blue. When the EMTs tried to take Aiden from you, you put up a fight; kicked, gnashed, snarled, screamed. Not words, just noise, like a provoked animal. Deputy Baxter managed to get you in a submissive hold so an EMT could sedate you before he helped settle you into a stretcher. Strapped you in, just in case, the corners of his mouth severely turned down and his eyes shuttered to conceal the heartbreak Ajay had caught a glimmer of.

"Take them to St. Vincent's." Deputy Baxter instructed the ambulance driver. "I'll call their mother." He moved on to order the second unit that'd arrived with him to follow the ambulance, that he would check the road, "For anything that'll tell us what the hell happened here."

"Noah, are you sure you want to do it alone? If someone's responsible, they could still be out there. They could be armed." Deputy Hayes voiced her concern through the passenger-side window. She was new, too new to understand a protocol had been established between Deputy Baxter and Sheriff Stallow when it came to your family. A grandfathered in whatever it takes that often involved doing things off-book.

Deputy Baxter shook his head and reassured, "I'm just going to see what I can find along the road. If anything comes up, I'll call it in." He straightened and peered down the highway in the direction you'd obviously come from, a deep-seated foreboding frosting beneath his skin.

He was at a crossroads, his gut told him. Something terrible waited for him in the dark and whatever choice he made to deal with it would change his life forever. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. He just prayed to God that he'd still be able to be there for his own little boy in the after. That he'd have the chance to hug Xavier and tell him the world might not be safe, but his dad will always be there to protect him.

In the side mirror of his vehicle, Deputy Baxter stared at the retreating image of the ambulance and squad car as they blared down the highway toward the town. Once the sound of the sirens faded, he shifted the gear into drive, gravel crunching under the tires, and he drove to the only building in the area for miles.

Once Deputy Baxter was gone, Ajay vanished through the farmhouse door.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question Five.

Does the Monster die?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon's eyes flew open and he jolted upright, waking abruptly in a cold sweat. The sky was dark outside his window, his room pitched black, and his mom was tugging at his shirt. He barely registered her words, you told the police you'd return the phone tonight, get up, as she fussed over him, fuming, lecturing him in Tagalog as she switched on the overhead light and pinned him with a strict expression.

He scrubbed his face to wake himself up. Dragged his hands through his hair, eyes drifting to his closet. He could've sworn... Hadn't there been...? The door was open and, apart from the two rails of clothes and the shoe rack, it was empty.

"Hurry up, iho! Before your father gets home." His mom commanded before she turned on her heel and left the room.

In English, Simon responded, "I'm going, I'm going..." and rose from his bed. He felt weak, exhausted despite having apparently slept through the day. Again, his gaze settled on his closet as if the person who'd been crying in there had just tucked themselves in the corner and would pop out any second now that the coast was clear.

But nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, Simon stood and treaded to his closet. Just to make sure; just to see if it had really all been a dream. There was nothing inside to indicate anyone had been hiding there. No displaced clothes to suggest Simon had shoved them aside to get a better look at the little boy who'd quivered beside the shoe rack. No puddle from the rain that had dripped from the little boy's hair and Spiderman rainboots. No scuff marks in the carpet. No mud. No little boy.

"She's gonna hurt him," The little boy wailed into Simon's hip. "She's gonna take him and she's gonna hurt Sissy!"

Simon tripped backward, away from the closet, breath suddenly ragged as the memory flooded his mind. Because it had to be that. A memory. He'd had vivid dreams before, but never like that. He could still feel the little boy's tight grip around his waist, could still feel the wet and cold of the little boy's body through his Looney Tunes sweater when Simon had instinctually returned the embrace.

"She wants t'take them!" The little boy sniffed thickly, "You gotta help! You can't let her!" And then he added as if he'd been reprimanded enough times by his mommy, imploring "Pleeease!"

"Who are you talking about?" Simon asked. Leaned back and crouched so he was eye-level with the little boy, his hands holding the little boy's boney shoulders, "Who's going to get hurt?"

Simon grabbed his sweater and his car keys, calling out, "I'll be back soon," to his mother who'd installed herself in front of Wheel of Fortune. He had to get to the school. He had to see Maddie. To tell her what he'd dreamt or prophesized or hallucinated because, guess what, he'd apparently graduated from unwitting medium to Nostradamus.

As he trotted down the front walkway, he checked his phone. 7 missed calls from Nicole. 2 missed calls from Mathilda. 3 texts from Nicole asking the same question—are you okay?—and a novel from Mathilda that detailed the lessons he'd missed and what he'd have to make up over the weekend, but don't worry, I'll help you. And 1 text from you. Short and sweet, sent that morning just after Simon had returned home from the police station.

"We found something to get Mr. A. I'll meet you at the bus stop when you get here."

Simon hoped it wasn't too late. That you'd stayed behind to wait for him even though he hadn't answered you. Unlikely, but he tried to remain optimistic, even as he took a moment to collect himself once behind the wheel of his car. That dream...it lingered like a bruise.

The little boy's voice stuttered through rough breaths, "Sh-she said because M-Maddie's gone, she needs s-someone else now and that she still wants Sissy. But she can't do it w-without trapping more people."

Simon started the car and pulled into the road.

"What do you mean, 'gone'? You mean because Maddie died?" Simon pushed, but the little boy wasn't listening, sobbing about 'him' and 'Sissy' and how they were in danger. Simon grabbed the little boy's face between his palms, soft but firm, and god, his cheeks were so cold. He looked the boy straight in the eye, "What can't 'she' do without trapping more people?"

He rolled down the window to let the fresh air soothe his anxiety.

Eventually, the little boy quieted though tears continued to stream down his face, "She can't have a new body." He said in a little voice. "Now she needs more people because Maddie got away."

And what the gentlest fuck did that mean?

Simon still didn't know who the 'Sissy' and 'him' were that the little boy had referred to. The little boy had been too distressed to divulge their names, talking as if Simon should already know everything. Just 'Sissy' and 'him'. 'Sissy' and 'him' and Maddie and someone named Janet. Did Simon know a Janet? He wracked his brain, trying to summon the names of everyone in his class who could have a connection to Maddie's death. There was a Jessica and a Jennifer and a Jayden. No Janet.

Then there was the matter of 'she' wanting a new body. Because that was sane. And impossible. Right...? Fuck, what if Maddie's death had been some nutcase's idea of a ritual sacrifice. What if another teenage girl was about to be murdered because, lo and behold, magic isn't real and Maddie just died instead of ceding her body.

The devil on Simon's shoulder quipped, "But ghosts are real," which, fair. If ghosts were real, surely they weren't the only eldritch phenomenon to exist in the world. Maybe there were cursed mummies or body snatching aliens out there scheming to take over America via its youth. No child left behind. Jesus Christ. Simon was spiraling, brain spitting random images of every creature feature he'd ever seen at him. Had the little boy been trying to warn Simon about mummies? Aliens? Was. it. aliens!?

As he stopped at a pedestrian crosswalk, he stared—definitely too intensely—at the young woman who passed in front of his car. Like he could see straight to her bones and determine whether or not she was really human. The woman picked up her pace, shoulders up, head down, and folded her leather jacket tighter around her.

Don't be suspicious, Simon, he admonished himself, ashamed of his behavior, eyes darting to his lap until the woman was safely on the other side of the road. "What even is my life anymore?" He wallowed. Ghosts and Mystery Inc. side-quests and pinning crimes on teachers. He felt he'd lived a hundred lifetimes in the last week and was seriously considering becoming a hermit the minute Maddie moved on.

There wouldn't be much reason to stick around after that anyway...

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Mina Volkov hadn't left the theater since 1987. She was a looper. She performed the same tasks every day, from morning to night to morning. She didn't sleep. She didn't eat—except for the paper bag lunch she'd brought with her the day she'd died. She didn't stray. Mina had to make sure that what had happened to her wouldn't happen to someone else.

There was safety in her loop. Not just for the living students she protected through her hard work, but for herself. Her loop allowed her mind to remain clear, focused entirely on the task at hand. She didn't have to think or reflect or question why her soul had lingered after being squashed by a stage light. Rhonda had called it denial when she'd visited Mina a week after Mina's death. Rhonda had been sizing Mina up, prodding and poking to see how Mina would react.

Mina had simply gone about her safety checks and Rhonda had eventually gotten bored. And had never come back.

Sometimes, her loop veered off-course. Sometimes Mr. Martin came to check on her. Just to say hi. Never to invite her to those stupid meetings he hosted in the gym. The ones Ajay attended and would tell Mina about later when they picnicked on the stage or between kisses in the green room.

She liked Ajay. He was kind and thoughtful, and he respected her loop. He didn't complain when she prioritized double-checking the lighting cables and tightening ropes and cordage for the dropdown scenery. He'd simply sit and talk to her. Recite poetry or passages from books she never intended to read. Ajay was smart. Ajay was handsome. Ajay was...

Ajay was comatose. Slumped on the floor along with the others, his face, like theirs, twisted in anguish. Whatever measures Mina used to wake him up didn't work and she had no idea how to help. But she knew she needed to. Not because New Girl had brought Mina flowers. Or because Hawaiian Shirt Man had caused her so many headaches since the start of the school year and they'd found something to make him stop banging around under the stage. But because Ajay needed Mina to be brave.

He needed help and she was going to help him. Which meant Mina had to leave the theater. She had to find Mr. Martin.

Though Ajay often thought Mina didn't listen when he spoke, he was wrong. She held onto every word like a treasure that she'd tuck away in her heart and savor in the moments she was alone. Mr. Martin took his privacy in the fallout shelter in the basement. Mina had been there before she'd died. Several times, in fact. It'd been an opening night ritual conducted an hour before curtain. The cast and crew piled downstairs and hid in the fallout shelter to pass around a spliff.

No, Mina hadn't partaken, much too responsible, but she'd wanted to participate in some way even if that was just being there. She'd wanted to feel like part of the group when she'd so often felt like an outsider the actors and other crew members made fun of, "for being so snooty and uptight, God, Mina, chill out."

Standing slowly, Mina regarded the theater door. Her heart slammed against her ribs, palms clammy as she tightened and loosened her fists. A comforting motion to calm her nerves as she stepped carefully to the door and placed her hand on the exit bar.

Mina hadn't left the theater since 1987. But today, she would.

For Ajay.

She spilled into the hall, the world spinning in her panic, and took off at speed to the other side of the school. Down two flights of stairs, through the door that led to the basement.

Most of the basement had been bricked off which had narrowed the hallway, making it feel like a catacomb. Poorly lit and spooky. The fallout shelter was at the far end, directly below the gym. Its vault door was open as Mr. Martin usually kept it. A practical solution given how regularly he had to come and go during office hours.

It hadn't been his idea originally. No. It'd been hers. The woman currently speaking through the janitor's mouth as she stared Mr. Martin down.

"I've had someone canvas the area and several others every night since that traitorous little bitch escaped." Mr. South stated, "There's no sign of her."

Helplessly, Mr. Martin explained for the second time, "I don't know what you want me to do, Amelia. I've done everything you asked me. I'm doing what I can to keep the kids present, like you said, and I need to concentrate on that. I've already noticed a shift in sentient ones since Maddie joined us."

Mr. South—Amelia—snarled, "I'm not asking you to participate in a search and seize, Everett. I simply want you to tell me where that conniving piece of shit would have gone! She confided in you, you told me that. So, tell. me. where she's most likely to go!"

Mr. Martin shook his head, a cowardly expression miring his face, "I've told you everything I know, Amelia, please. I've given you her notes, her journal. Every piece of information I had is already in your hands."

Quite unexpectedly, a frightened voice interrupted from the vault door, "Mr. Martin?"

Mr. Martin whipped his head to the side, his eyes going wide in panic when he saw Mina stood just over the threshold, inside the fallout shelter. She looked ashen. Scared. Shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her brown eyes slid away from Mr. Martin's face to rest on Mr. South for a second before returning to Mr. Martin.

Mr. Martin swallowed, opened his mouth to say something, anything to explain why he was mid-conversation with the live and well school janitor, when suddenly it didn't matter anymore. Mr. Martin choked as he watched Mina glance down her body. Her chest seared like paper in a candle flame. She looked back up, fear contorting into betrayal, before she quietly burned away into oblivion.

Unable to reconcile what he'd witnessed, Mr. Martin merely stared at the spot Mina had just been standing, expression slack in horror. His chest rose and fell heavily, "Why?" he rasped, and it took every ounce of self-preservation not to lash out.

Behind him, Amelia lowered Mr. South's hand, scoffing, "Oh, don't look so sad, Everett. She didn't feel a thing," but Mr. Martin didn't believe it. Still, he was too intimidated to argue. He knew what Amelia was capable of and he didn't want to be on the wrong end of her wrath.

Virtuously, Amelia commented, "You'll have to find me another to replace that one. So, two more, I suppose,. And we need someone to step in for Janet," breezy, as if she'd killed nothing more than a house fly. "And soon. We can't have any more delays." In Mr. South's lumbering body, she picked across the floor like a debutante, "Time is running out." She finished, already out the vault door and returning Mr. South's body to the storage room Mr. South used as his office.

Alone in the fallout shelter, Mr. Martin buckled to his knees.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Operating with half his mind still on aliens and mummies, Simon waited in the bus shelter. He was grateful you hadn't left, had responded to the text he'd sent when he'd arrived at the school: "See you in 5," you'd told him. At the metal crack of the side entrance opening, Simon stood up from the bench and faced the school. He frowned when he saw who emerged.

Steps uneven, Xavier exited the school. He stopped when he noticed Simon, stood still like a deer in headlights. Damn, Xavier looked like his whole world had been turned upside down. More so than it already had been, that was. Pale and bug eyed and jittery. They watched each other for a moment. Simon nodded his head in greeting. Xavier didn't return the gesture.

Instead, he lifted the hood of his sweater and turned toward the parking lot, skulking off with his head down. A minute or so later, the door opened again and this time it was you. And Maddie. Together. Followed by a tall guy in a varsity jacket, a girl in a newsboy cap, and a boy with frosted tips wearing a Canadian tuxedo. The trio of strangers stayed by the door to watch as you and Maddie—together—approached Simon.

When you and Maddie were within earshot, Simon said, "Okay. What the hell is this?"

You at least had the decency to look apologetic.

"So you can see ghosts." Simon stated, irritated.

"So can you." You shot back, but it didn't sound like your heart was in it. In fact, you looked just as rattled as Xavier had when he'd come out of the school.

Although he wanted to chew you out for having lied to him, Simon wanted to make sure, "Are you alright?" His demeanor softened as he took you in. Puffy eyes, flushed cheeks, red nose. You'd been crying. And Simon would never be angry enough to let that trump being there for a friend who needed him. He bundled you into a hug, one hand rubbing your back, and asked Maddie with his eyes what was wrong.

In his periphery, he saw Varsity straighten and move to take a step forward. His friends each grabbed an arm and appeared to shut whatever idea he'd had down because he shifted back before shaking them off.

Urgently, Maddie told Simon they'd discuss everything, "Later," and ushered him back into the bus shelter. He kept an arm slung around your shoulders, a shoulder to lean on, though had to release you when you decided to lean against the interior glass. Simon took what was becoming his usual seat on the concrete base and Maddie folded herself onto the bench.

When neither you nor Maddie spoke, Simon took the lead, "Mr. Anderson totally played us," he began, glancing between you and Maddie. "I mean, the cops are convinced I helped Maddie run away."

Maddie immediately defended, "Seriously? That's—"

"I know. They only let me come back here because I promised I'd get Anderson's phone and turn it in."

You cleared your throat, "Okay, well, before you do that..."

Maddie continued where you trailed off, "I think we might've found something that can help maybe keep the cops off your back." She fished something out of her back pocket and handed it to you which you, in turn, handed to Simon.

Stunned, Simon gawked at the piece of paper, eyes darting between it, you, and Maddie several times before finally resting on the paper. "We're just...not going to acknowledge how insane this is?" He sputtered, flapping the paper to indicate what he meant.

"Just go with it for now, Si." Maddie implored, "Let's take down Mr. Anderson first."

"Yeah," Simon agreed and examined the paper. It was a receipt for new band uniforms. He pulled out his phone when Maddie informed him he'd have to call the company the receipt was from and punched in the number. As the line connected, Simon cast to the three people at the school entrance. "Quick question, and not to alarm anyone, but who are they?" He asked as he waited for someone to answer the phone.

You and Maddie looked to the three people then at each other, Simon, the three people, each other, and ended with open-mouthed stares at Simon.

"They're dead, aren't they?" Simon deadpanned. You and Maddie nodded. Simon kissed his teeth. "Of course they are."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

After all was said and done, you, Maddie, and Simon had watched Wally—the tallest of the three ghosts Simon had seen outside—drape his varsity jacket over your shoulders and stamp a kiss to your head. Simon had watched Wally hold you protectively in the wake of Simon's impassioned announcement to the table of Split River High staff.

He'd heard Wally whisper comforting words and stroke your cheek with his thumb and, wow, you hadn't been joking about saving yourself for the hot ghost on campus.

It was a mindfuck, to be sure, but Simon adjusted. Or he was in shock. Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe. Wally had mentioned to the group at large as they huddled in the hallway that he and Charley—Canadian tuxedo—had needed to go lest Mr. Martin—whoever that was—get suspicious of their absence at Movie Night. Which could've been dead dove, do not eat, or could've been ghost code for watching the living go to the bathroom.

"Dude, we don't do that." Wally had cringed, offended.

Charley had raised his brows in consideration, "Well, not all of us."

Simon was beginning to double-down on putting together a personal bestiary à la Teen Wolf just to aid him in navigating this shitshow.

Afterward, you, Simon, and Maddie had holed away in a classroom to watch Mr. Anderson be escorted into the back of a squad car. In a line at the window. Discussing in solemn tones what you and Maddie had seen in the theater. How it related to Mr. Anderson. How whoever was behind Maddie's death—no, not death, Simon emended, since you'd brought him up to speed. How whoever was behind Maddie's missing body could be literally anyone. That was if her Maddie's circumstances were related to the terrors you and she had experienced in the theater earlier.

"What do you think's gonna happen?" Maddie asked faintly as she watched the deputy closed the back door of the squad car.

"He'll be questioned." Simon said. "Probably arrested."

Angry, Maddie replied, "But not for abduction. Not for bodily injury." A weighted pause. "I swear to God, if he did this to me over some stupid band uniforms..."

His voice tinged with hope, "Maybe he'll confess."

"Or," Maddie offered the alternative, "You'll hand that phone over to the cops and we'll never know who he was working with. Or why he said he gave me money... I'll never know what really happened to me."

Maddie turned. As soon as she settled, you shuffled closer to her on the windowsill and put a supportive arm around her shoulders. Fuck if that didn't make Simon's heart ache. He wanted so badly to be the one to do that for her. To be there for her. To comfort her.

"We'll figure it out, Mads." You reassured, though your eyes still looked haunted.

"At least for now," Maddie said, gazing up at Simon, "some of the heat will be off you."

Her words struck Simon's soul. After everything she'd been through, she cared about what happened to him, and it made him yearn to show her how much that meant to him. Seeing you in Wally's varsity jacket gave him an idea. Slowly, he peeled off his sweater and hung it over the back of a chair. It wasn't enough, but at least he could do this.

"What are you doing?" Maddie asked.

Voice rough with emotion, Simon said, "I was thinking... I can't hug you, but my sweater can."

You hopped down from the windowsill and positioned yourself between Maddie and Simon, voice pitched just as low as Simon's as if not wanting to disturb the somber atmosphere that had befallen the classroom.

"I can do you one better." You said with a small smile and placed one hand on Maddie's shoulder. Your held out your other hand to Simon which he took, curious as to what you were going to do. It seemed Maddie knew because she came closer and then—god—she wrapped her arms around Simon and held him tight.

Without a second thought, Simon returned her embrace with his free arm, putting everything he had into it. All the grief, all the solace, all the love. He hiccupped a weak sound of overwhelm and pulled Maddie as close to himself as he could. She felt warm. Alive. Like she was right there in her body.

With wet eyes, Simon peeked up at you, "Thank you."

"You're my friend, Simon." You said easily, "I'd do anything for you in a heartbeat."

He dragged you into the hug; you and he and Maddie holding each other, leaning on each other, needing each other. And for that small segment of time, the weight of the world didn't feel so heavy.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Mr. Martin was surprised when Rhonda marched into the gym and pulled up a seat. It wasn't the first unusual thing Mr. Martin had noticed of his Support Group that night, though.

Something felt off. Ajay had been morose when he'd entered, but Bernadette and Katelynn had puppy piled him on the stack of gym mats and were comforting him with cuddles. Always upbeat and charismatic Wally had been reserved until halfway through the film. Perhaps he was truly taken by Demi Moore's performance, though Mr. Martin suspected there was more to it.

Charley hadn't made any sarcastic comebacks to Mr. Martin's purposefully cheesy jokes about the film before Mr. Martin had started it, either. Keeping an eye on Charley and Wally, Mr. Martin had entertained the idea that the two had had a falling out. Teenagers were fickle beings. Even those in their forties and fifties.

Of course, Mr. Martin could be seeing things that weren't there. Reading too much into every small shift in behavior because he'd been on edge since Amelia's impromptu visit. A shiver ran through him, cold as ice, as he recalled what he'd witnessed and what he'd been ordered to do.

Banishing the memory, he forced a smile to his face, "Rhonda. You usually boycott movie night."

Rhonda stiffened in her seat, gaze fixed determinedly on the screen even if it seemed to go against everything she believed in to do it.

"Is everything alright?" Mr. Martin probed when she didn't say anything. His first priority was always his students' wellbeing, no matter what Amelia felt about it.

Rhonda took her time to answer, but eventually, "I've been here for sixty years. Sixty graduations," She explained, jaw tense, as if her words were being forced out of her. Rhonda rarely shared and, when she did, she'd smother the sentiment beneath myriad barbed wire remarks and threatening stares so no one would examine what she'd revealed too closely.

As Rhonda disclosed what had motivated her to join Movie Night, Mr. Martin heard Amelia's voice in his head, "we need someone to step in for Janet."

"—I've made my peace with it because nothing changes...but now..." Mr. Martin listened, giving Rhonda his full, undivided attention. Rhonda didn't elaborate on how her views had shifted, rather redirecting to claim, "I know I'm not always a joiner but," her voice was raw, "I gotta get outta here."

She was outright doing her damnedest to hold back tears and it shook Mr. Martin to his core. The sight made Mina's image flash in his mind, the pain and fear in her eyes as she'd silently begged Mr. Martin to help her before being disintegrated into nothingness.

When Rhonda admitted, "I'm willing to try anything," Mr. Martin was brought back to the present, Mina fading from his mind. What Rhonda said next made his smile falter, a pang of regret in his heart. There was nothing else for it, his hand forced, because everything was easier when the participants were willing. But Rhonda needed to say it right. She needed to mean it without Mr. Martin's direct interference.

And, just like that, she did.

He ignored how his gut wrenched as he heard Rhonda speak into the air, "So, whatever you did to help Janet, I want in."

Mr. Martin felt Rhonda's words vibrate through the veil, the gears shifting as the pieces on Amelia's board were recast.

Mr. Martin forced another smile. However, turning back to the screen, his smile faded completely as Mina's final moments crowded his mind again. The fear. The helplessness. One of his students...gone. His conscience kicked and screamed and berated him. Challenged him. Brought his face right up to the hundreds of mistakes he'd made leading up to Mina's permanent erasure from this earth.

He'd had no choice, a milder, more detached part of him reminded, and it's too late to undo what'd already been done. There was no going back.

All Mr. Martin could do now was offer Rhonda his bowl of popcorn and tell her, "I'm glad to hear it."

💀___________fin.____________

PART TWENTY-SIX - OCTOBER MOON

note: i will definitely be tinkering away here tomorrow 💀

Act 1 was written to The Night We Met (Slowed & Thunder Storm) by Lord Huron. Act 5 was written to You're Somebody Else by Flora Cash. finally, Act 6 was written to Willow Tree March by The Paper Kites.

i can't believe it, guys. we made it. (ignoring that i now have less that 3 weeks to accomplish Series 2 before the second season airs...) thank you everyone who's still clinging for their lives on the sides of this chaos canoe. you're all legends and i love each and every one of you to the moon and beyond 😭

.

.

.

ABOUT THE TAGLIST: y'all know, it ain't a thing around here anymore due to the overuse of ritual magic, some demon-summoning, and an unfortunate sacrifice that resulted in more technical issues than tumblr could handle 🔮🗡️ if you'd like to be kept up-to-date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS. we have fun here (•¯ ∀ ¯•)

(Once again another mini one-shot that fell victim to being in my drafts for over a year because I used to not have the balls to post my writing. I fixed it up a bit because I was in highschool when I wrote this. I've been wanting to write for Ben Plunkett a lot more and I found this and thought it was fitting. Enjoy)

Ben Plunkett x reader

Warnings: Fluff. Like I said I wrote this during my last year of highschool and it was basically to help me cope with the fact that I was lost in French so yeah... Shitty French

You and Ben sat on his bedroom floor, textbooks and assignments all laid out in front of you. This was what every Monday afternoon for the past 6 months has looked like. It was his way of trying to help you plan better, knowing what assignments were due and helping you study for them.

Sweet as always. You two had started seeing each other at the beginning of the year after his best friend Mandy introduced you to him. A tall, awkward, kind eyed boy who didn't realize he was hot. And after 3 long grueling months of trying to throw hints at him you finally realized you were gonna have to be the one to ask him out.

It was adorable, seeing the way his entire body basically blushed, stuttering over his words. Somehow he managed to spit out a confused, nervous 'yes' that made you giggle.

It was simple, you went out for coffee, talked and giggled, then he dropped you off at home with a goodbye. Somehow you ended up here with your favorite boy in the world.

"I haven't paid attention to Madame McBaily since French 1" You grond as you realized you were completely lost.

"How the hell are you already in French 3?" He gave you a confused but kinda impressed look.

"That's the thing, I have no clue. Somehow I just slipped under her radar." The magic of somehow guessing everything right.

"You have to know something." He was really trying to help you study but sadly hes taking Spanish so he doesn't know much more than you do.

"Ja'mappelle" your name rolled off your tongue. "Comment sa va, Ja dix-sept anz" he looked at you expectingly, like he was waiting for you to finish. "Yeah that's all I got"

He laughed, rolling his eyes. "3 French classes and thats all you've learned."

"Chat" You smiled at him, hoping that it would somehow help.

"Not much better" He giggled at your poor attempt at french as you grond. Crawling over to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest.

"I'm gonna fail this class." You whined as he wrapped his arms around you.

"No you're not. You've made it this far..... Somehow" The last part was whispered under his breath. You playfully slapped him on the shoulder, still not pulling away from him.

"I heard that" He laughed once again, light and airy. You'd get back to studying later, for now it was just the two of you, cuddled up, forgetting about that fact that you're probably gonna fail your french quiz.

I just learned how to use HTML codes and imma make it everyones problem. Like I use dark mode on here so all the text is already white but I could use an HTML code that will make it to where users on light mode cant even see the words. I could do some evil with this.

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

-

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

If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 4/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: You confront your scar. Word Count: 2k Author's Note: This chapter contains bullying and how reader died as a result of that bullying. Read On AO3 // Part One // Part Two // Part Three

You hesitated once you stepped into the bathroom, keeping your back pressed to the closed door behind you. Everything was washed in a red glow that lent an eeriness to the scene before you.  

You gripped your jacket tight in your hands before slipping it on. You figured you didn't want to risk dropping it even if it would make things harder on you later. You took a deep breath and forced yourself forward.  

The smell of cigarette smoke stopped you in your tracks.  

"What are you doing in here, freak?"  

You closed your eyes, taking a moment to try to center yourself. You hadn't heard that voice since you were alive.  

"Well? You going to stand there all day with that stupid look on your face?" 

You shook your head, taking another step into the bathroom. It gave you a better view of her. The one who had killed you. The one who had ripped everything away from you, leaving you to haunt the school forever. 

You knew how this was all going to play out. The girl who had bullied you mercilessly for years would end up being your downfall. You should have never stepped foot in this bathroom.  

She was leaning against the wall by the window. She had managed to crack it open and was letting smoke drift outside. It did nothing to cover the smell.  

"God, look at you. What a fucking idiot," she sneered before tapping her cigarette against the windowsill.  

You could feel panic building inside you. Your hands were shaking and you felt like you were frozen to the spot.  

After you died, she had been expelled. You never had to see her again. But now here she was, ready to kill you all over again.  

"You're such a waste of space, you know that? It'd be better if you never existed."  

You didn't know how to react to the words. Those weren't the same ones she spat at you the day you died. She was going off-script, which terrified you even more. Anything could happen now. 

"You can't even speak, huh?" She asked, finally dropping her cigarette to the floor and crushing it beneath her boot heel. "Got nothing to say to me?" 

You didn't know how to speak. All you could think about was where this confrontation was heading and you didn't want to experience it all over again. You had been stupid to let your jealousy and insecurity drive you into this.  

She started approaching you and you felt like you were going to throw up.  

"Y/N!" You heard a faint voice call your name. "Can you hear me?" 

You briefly turned towards the bathroom door, shocked to hear the muffled voice of Wally. He sounded far away and not like he was right on the other side of the door. But you could still hear him.  

Turning your attention away from her had been a mistake. Before you knew it, there was a harsh grip on your arm and you were being backed up into the wall beside the sinks.  

"I think," she started before popping a piece of gum into her mouth. "That this place would be a lot better without you here." She reached out and gripped your face tight, leaving the sting of her nails biting into your skin. She smacked her gum and grinned at you. "You got anything to say to that, freak? Or are you just going to stare at me?" 

You wanted to say or do anything, but you felt like you were frozen with fear.  

"Y/N, get out of there! Just come on. Please," you heard Wally beg.  

"You paying attention to me?" She wondered, pulling her hand back and slapping you.  

It jarred you out of your daze, leaving you to bring a hand up to cover your cheek.  

"I don't know why you wanted to do this, but please just come out. I'm right here for you. I'm not going anywhere." 

"You're so pathetic. No one's ever going to want such a freak, you know that, right? You're gonna be alone forever." 

"Please, babe," Wally pleaded, his voice wavering. "You don't need to do this. You don't need to relive it." 

You couldn't help but think about how Wally only pulled out the 'babe' pet name when he was really stressed about something.  

Another slap before she gripped your chin again, forcing you to look at her.  

"I should have made you eat that cigarette. Got a light? Maybe I can put this one out on that stupid jacket you love so much." 

You could hear someone pounding on the door now. It sounded as if someone was throwing themselves against it, attempting to break it down. 

"Whatever's going on in there, it's not real. You are real. You don't deserve whatever's happening," Wally continued to try to get through to you. He was out there doing his damnedest to break into your scar just to save you. You didn't know how you could have ever thought that Wally didn't want you anymore.   

"Or maybe," she continued, voice low, "I can stick it in your eye. Maybe that way you won't have to see how much we all hate you." 

You felt stuck between her disdain and Wally's desperation. It wasn't until you noticed her reaching for her pocket and slipping out a cigarette that you knew things were about to get worse.  

Suddenly, all you wanted was Wally and the promise of safety he offered. You used her distraction of lighting up again to rush past her, making for the bathroom door.  

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" She growled before you felt a hand tuck into the back collar of your jacket and pull.  

You knew what happened next, but you still weren't prepared for the fall. It felt endless as you struggled to stay upright, helpless against the pull of gravity. And then your head connected with the edge of the sink and you were on the floor.  

You stared up at the ceiling in a daze, because you didn't make it this far the first time. It was over before you could even hit the tiles. This was new territory and you didn’t know how to continue from here.  

You managed to push yourself to your feet and glanced down.  

Your body was on the floor. You were staring up at the ceiling, but you weren't blinking. You weren't even moving. There was a pool of blood forming beneath your head and your neck was bent at an unnatural angle and you couldn't take it anymore.  

You felt like there was something sharp twisting in your gut. You had never thought about what you might have looked like on that bathroom floor. Dead. Unresponsive. Gone forever.  

"What are you doing in here, freak?" She asked again and when you looked up, she was back over by the window, smoking.  

You glanced down at the floor, but your body was still there. The scene had reset, but the reminder of how all of this played out was staring sightlessly up at you.  

"Babe? Babe!" Wally was calling, still trying to break down the door.  

You felt a sob catch in your throat before you were throwing yourself at the bathroom door. You were so sure she was chasing you, intent on dragging you back down into the depths of your personal hell, but you didn't dare look back. You managed to open the door and slam it closed behind you.  

Wally was standing just in front of you. You weren't sure what he saw on your face, but the way his expression twisted from concern to horror had you feeling like someone had reached right inside your chest and was trying to tear out your heart. You ripped your denim jacket off and flung it down the hallway, never wanting to see it again.  

You threw yourself at Wally, taking both of you down to the floor. Wally had managed to sit up and you clung to him like he was your own personal savior. Your face was pressed to the crook of his neck and your arms were wrapped tight around his waist.  

He brought a hand up and smoothed it down your back.  

"I'm here," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere. You're safe. You're out." 

You weren't sure how long you sat there on the floor with Wally. At some point, he had begun to gently rock the both of you from side to side, his touch attempting to calm you as he whispered soothing words in your ear. His lips were brushing the shell of your ear and his hands were running along your back and sides and any part of you he could reach like he was trying to convince himself you were really there.  

"It was horrible," you finally muttered into his skin. "I was so stupid." 

"You're not stupid," Wally argued. "But why did you do that? You know how terrified I was seeing you walk in there?" 

"So stupid," you repeated before finally pulling away enough to meet Wally's eyes. "I saw you and Maddie in the pool." 

Wally's brow furrowed in confusion. "And that made you want to visit your scar?" 

"I thought you and Maddie...," you trailed off, not knowing how to continue. "I was jealous," you finally confessed. "And hurt. And stupid," you reiterated.  

"Oh," Wally said before he seemed to realize what you weren't saying. "Oh," he breathed. "Maddie and I were just goofing off. She needed a friend and I was being a friend. I didn’t mean it any other way." 

"I think I get that now," you sheepishly admitted. Wally had been trying to break into your scar just to drag you out. He was holding on to you now like you were the most important person to him and he was afraid you were going to slip away again. He looked at you like you were his everything.  

"No, look," he insisted, bringing his hands up to frame your face in them. You nearly flinched, thinking about the last person who had held your face. She had only touched you with malice, but Wally’s touch only made you feel loved. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I would never in a million years ever want that and what we have is nothing like what I've got going on with Maddie or any of the others. You're the only one I've been kissing," he promised, his lips ticking up in a grin.  

"Okay," you agreed with a small nod of your head. 

"And I never want you to ever have to go back in there," he continued, glancing briefly at the bathroom door just over your shoulder.  

“Even if it helps Maddie?” You couldn’t help but check.  

“Never again,” Wally insisted, shaking his head. “You don’t know what that did to me. Seeing you walk in there. God, babe, I was so scared.” 

Wally was looking at you like he thought you had died all over again. In some ways, you supposed that was true.  

"I'm never going back in there," you promised him, hoping it was true. "It was--," you stopped before starting again. "And she--," you cut yourself off again. "It hurt," you finally settled on. It had also put things into perspective for you.  

"It'll get better," Wally promised. "I'm here for you and our friends are here for you too. I'm not saying you won't ever think about it again, but I'll do my best to distract you." 

You let your forehead rest against Wally's, taking a moment to simply look at him. The whole night had been a real rollercoaster of emotion and now you felt exhausted. There was really only one thing you wanted at the moment and that was Wally.  

So, you moved to stand up, reaching down to help him to his feet.  

"Want to pay another visit to the tech booth?" You asked, hoping he knew what you were really asking.  

The tech booth offered privacy and a comfortable couch and a place to revisit better memories. All it needed now was you and Wally.  

Wally grinned before placing a brief kiss to your lips.  

"Hell yeah," he agreed, reaching down and taking your hand in his. "I go where you go. Let's get the hell out of here."  Taglist: @morallygrayboys @loudtalehologram @hey-its-roseaurum @doves1120 @benjiiiisstuff

Author's Note: So, the next chapter is already written! It's this chapter but from Wally's POV, because I wanted to show what he was going through during this. It'll be posted next Wednesday or Thursday! If you want to be tagged, just let me know!

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

___________________________🧿

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

Happy birthday to Milo Manheim and happy last episode of school spirits (i haven't got to watch it yet 😭)