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

October Moon

summary: Janet had stolen Amelia's chosen vessel. Mina had been killed a second time which had meant there'd been a space to fill. as a result, Mr. Martin had been tasked with carrying out Amelia's mission to complete her set before time had run out. unfortunately, Amelia hadn't taken into consideration that the ghosts had been their own people, with minds of their own, moving to their own rhythms.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER MOON pt.5

It was difficult to manipulate the living as a ghost. It took time, patience, a remarkable amount of foresight. Early on, Amelia had taught Mr. Martin what strings to pull, what seeds to plant, how to displace and harness the aura of a living person to influence their emotions and behaviors. Needless to say, it was a strenuous task and results often took months if not decades to come to fruition. So many moving parts, so many things out of his control.

The trick was to isolate the person. The more lonely, the more depressed, the easier it was to mold their aura into something Mr. Martin could use. Which was why, if things needed to be done quickly, he'd choose someone whose spirit was already broken.

That being said, he hadn't chosen the person Amelia had decided to replace Mina with. And there weren't enough hours in the day that he and they shared space when he could sew threads of hurt and betrayal through their aura.

This wasn't going to work and he knew it. But he couldn't argue with Amelia. Especially now, when they were so far past the deadline and time was running out. She was restless, furious, desperate. She could tell someone was too close to discovering her, no longer under her thrall, and she needed to vanish which she couldn't do without a new vessel. Without hers and Mr. Martin's.

This wasn't going to work. And he prepared to do his part anyway. Another ghost would be among them soon and it was his obligation, his duty, to get to them before they understood what had happened to them. Keep them close. Keep them in line. Keep them looped. He couldn't afford another sentient ghost to oversee when his Group had begun to lose their way. Their influence would be damning.

"If they accept, Everett, if they look back and surrender, everything ends."

This wasn't going to work. But, silencing his conscience, Mr. Martin prayed it would.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You and Wally had spent the remainder of the dance tangled together on the makeshift bed in the greenhouse. It had been surreal in substantial part due to the revelation of how you and he were connected. Bigger and more profound than a soul-tie. You were a fated pair. The rarest of couplings formed within the heart of Awen—the universe, the force that birthed and connected all things. A love story destined to be lived in life, death, and beyond.

Neither you nor he felt the need to discuss it, the truth settled into the fabric of your soul and his as if it had always been there.

When you'd finally emerged from the greenhouse, hair mussed and dressed wrinkled, you were lighter than you'd been in years. Free. Happy. Loved. It made you giddy, a skip in your step as Wally took your hand to walk to back to Xavier's truck. You had to collect Hana and Eli, and load the instruments into the truck bed to return to Hana and Lucas' garage.

Before Wally lifted you onto the tailgate, he kissed you, slow and deep and sensual, licked into your mouth and made you whimper when he dragged your bottom lip through his teeth. You crept back into your body, emerging from beneath the thick blankets with staticky hair and flushed cheeks. You could feel the chill in the air again and were thankful that you'd layered several blankets above and below you to keep your body toasty while your ghost had spent the night with Wally. In fact, you were a bit overheated, the chill welcome on your skin as you climbed out of the truck bed.

You got behind the wheel, Wally folding into the passenger's seat, and started the ignition, backing up easily since the parking lot was practically deserted at the late hour. You were going to drive to the front where Principal Hartman had instructed you and the others to load the instruments, but Wally waved that off.

"Go around to the side entrance, baby, it'll be easier."

"I think it's locked," You said, trying to recall what Mr. Hartman's reasoning had been as to why you and the others couldn't use it.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Wally give you a significant look, "Good thing you have a dead boyfriend who can open it for you."

Which, fair. Your abilities allowed you to bring together physical manifestations from both the world of the living and the dead. If Wally unlocked door for you in the world of the dead, you'd be able to open it in the world of the living.

Your heart fluttered when he used the word 'boyfriend', cheeks pinking sweetly. You liked how that sounded. So, respecting your boyfriend's suggestion, you pulled around to the side of the school and parked close to the wall just ahead of the door. Wally got out and told you he'd be back in a minute, citing that he'd needed to retrieve the key from Mr. South's office.

"Why?" You asked, frowning. "You're a ghost, you can just open the door if you want to."

Wally shook his head, "Nah, baby. If it's locked on your side, it's locked on ours."

That...didn't sound right. You'd seen Grandpa John flounce through many a locked door in the house and elsewhere. He'd even once raided Ginny's padlocked liquor cabinet (Andrew had been a rebellious teenager and she'd never trusted her nephew around her booze again despite his being a teetotaler since university). Ghosts didn't have to adhere to the same laws as living people. It didn't make sense.

Regardless, you didn't feel it was the right time to kick that hornet's nest. It was late, you were tired, and Hana and Eli were relying on you to drive them home. Thus, you diligently waited in the truck until you heard the metal clack of the door being pushed open. Wally grinned at you, stood back and let you enter, smacking your ass playfully as you walked by.

"I'm gonna go find Maddie." He'd seen her on his way to the basement, apparently, and she'd looked like she'd needed the company. "I'll be back before you leave." One last kiss and off he went, strutting down the hall to where he must've last seen Maddie.

You entered the gym, waved to Simon as he sat popping balloons. Hana and Eli stood beside the disassembled drum kit, chatting, and were relieved to finally see you when you approached them.

"I seriously thought you left already," Hana bemoaned, shouldering Lucas' bass and grabbing her keyboard. "I was going to kill you."

"Not today, Satan," You joked back as you gathered your guitar and Xavier's. "I parked at the side entrance, so we don't have far to go."

Eli looked surprised, "I thought it was gonna be locked, no? That's what Hartman said, isn't it?" He glanced at Hana for confirmation.

Hana made a face—the shits I give—and said, "If it's faster, I don't care."

Between the three of you, you were able to carry enough that you'd only need to make one more trip in and out. You didn't even see Principal Hartman in the gym, so you felt confident that he'd never discover you'd broken a rule. As you trudged under the weight of the instruments, you saw Maddie and Wally strolling toward the gym, Maddie appearing lost in thought and Wally silently dependable at her side, there if she wanted to talk.

He shot you a charming smile and a wink as you walked across the hallway intersection and you blew him a kiss behind Hana and Eli's backs. Wally caught it with his and held it to his heart, cheesy and adorable. Beside him Maddie rolled her eyes, but her smile was sweet.

Eli held the door open for you with his foot, Hana ahead of you both, gently setting down her load and unlatching the tailgate. You shuffled into the space beside her and shifted the guitar cases off your shoulder, leaning them against the side of the truck. Behind you, Eli had deposited what he'd carried on the ground and had already disappeared to go fetch his second and final haul.

And that's when—BANG!

At first, you didn't know what'd happened; it'd been so fast. A falling shadow, the truck bed dropped—the sound of a short, sharp explosion, the ground shook—then bounced back, and dust clouded the air above the truck bed.

When it registered, Hana was already screaming.

There was a body in the truck bed, limbs akimbo, face obscured. Heart in your throat, trembling, you slowly panned up to see where the person had fallen from. Your breath caught and you froze, eyes widening in horror. Someone leaned over the edge of the roof, their gaze locking with yours. You recognized the face those eyes peered through immediately, though his features didn't sit as they should beneath the expression on his face.

Oh God.

You felt hands on your upper arms trying to tug you away from the scene, Simon's voice repeating, "Don't look, come on, come here," but he sounded distant as the ringing in your ears got louder. You released a frightened, dry whimper, almost resisting Simon's attempt to help you. Your muscles were stiff, your lower lip trembled. You couldn't breathe.

No. No.

Dave's face peeked over the edge of the roof, but it was Amelia's eyes that watched you.

💀___________________________

PART FOUR - PART SIX

note: much love, besties! this was short 'n' sweet, but we're quickly coming to the end 😭

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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.

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

If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 6/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: Wally's reunion brings past regrets and unwelcome visitors. Word Count: 2.7k Author's Note: So, I got sick and I got depressed and it took me a little while to get here, but thank you to everyone for being so patient with me waiting on the next update!

Read On AO3 // Fic Masterlist

The aftermath of visiting your scar still weighed heavily on your mind days later. Wally had done everything in his power to help you, but you knew there was only so much he could do for you. The only person who could help you come to terms with what you suffered was you.  

And you just weren’t ready yet. 

It didn't help that Mr. Martin had found a way to jump into a body and escape the school. Now, there was no way to know if he would ever be back or if he was going after Janet. Maddie was worried about her friends and if she would ever manage to get her body back. All of you were worried about Janet and Maddie, since Mr. Martin posed the greatest threat to both. Everyone had been trying to theorize what Mr. Martin wanted with the keys and the scars, but no one knew enough to try to fit all the puzzle pieces together yet.  

Now, you were sitting at a table that had been set out for Wally's reunion. He was so psyched about it that you hated you were having a hard time pulling yourself out of your misery. Even though Wally had assured you over and over and showed you just how much he cared about you, you still couldn't shake the insecurity you felt every time you saw Wally and Maddie interact. It also didn't help that your mind was consumed with what happened in your scar.  

The others had been careful around you. It wouldn't have been so weird if Rhonda hadn't been practically gentle with you. Rhonda was usually the type to not sugarcoat anything. The fact that she was trying to comfort you felt odd, but you didn't know how to tell Rhonda that she was freaking you out. She was a good friend, and you knew she would always have your back, but you didn't know how to handle a different side of her.  

You had also managed to catch the end of an argument between Wally and Rhonda not long after you sought out the others once you were ready to leave the tech booth. Charley had pulled you aside, asking if everything was alright. Quinn had surprised you with a hug and Maddie had wondered why you went into your scar. You couldn't tell her it was because of how jealous you got seeing her with Wally, so you only shrugged your shoulders and returned the nod of solidarity Yuri aimed at you. 

As you walked back towards Wally and Rhonda, you overheard what Rhonda was telling him.  

"--you have any idea how that feels? She went into her scar because you ran after Maddie." 

"I know, I know," Wally assured Rhonda. "Don't you think I feel terrible enough about that without you here busting my ass over it?" 

Rhonda pulled the ever-present lollipop out of her mouth and pointed it at Wally. "Just think about what you're doing next time. Maybe instead of running off and playing around in the pool with another girl, you bring your girlfriend with you." 

"Maddie and I were just blowing off steam," Wally defended himself. "I would never do anything to hurt Y/N." 

"And yet you did," Rhonda pointed out with an arched brow. She brushed past Wally, leaving you to finally finish approaching him.  

Wally's eyes lit up once he noticed you. "Hey, how about we get out of here, huh? I think we've earned some time just the two of us. They've had enough of us for now. I want you all to myself," he told you before he tugged you forward into a kiss.  

It didn't take you long to realize that Rhonda's words must have struck a chord, because he was practically glued to your side after she spoke to him.  

You thought maybe Rhonda was being a little too harsh on Wally. But once the adrenaline had faded, you found it hard to stay positive. Quinn said you were in a funk, but you just felt downright depressed. Reliving your death had been hard on you and you were having a difficult time shaking all the negative thoughts and feelings that had risen since confronting it.  

Now, you were sitting in the library where the reunion was being held and trying to find the energy to be excited for Wally.  

Rhonda and Quinn were off to the side, talking about something you couldn't overhear. Charley was sitting on the stairs leading up to where the DJ booth had been set up while Wally flipped through records that had been left in a crate. You didn't know where Yuri or Maddie were, but you figured they would show up eventually.  

You listened to the others talking, not really paying enough attention to discern what they were speaking about and even managed to bring up a reluctant smile hearing Wally sass Rhonda after mentioning something about a girdle.  

"Oh, shit!" You heard Wally exclaim, abruptly forcing you out of your thoughts as he pulled a record out of the crate. "No way," he breathed as he brought up the record to show it off. "David Bowie. Y'all! We are so back," he said before he bounded up the stairs towards the turntable.  

You met Rhonda's gaze and caught her rolling her eyes, but you noticed the hint of a smile on her lips. Even when she was annoyed with Wally, she couldn't quite resist his infectious enthusiasm.  

Wally put the record on, letting Bowie's 'Let's Dance' fill the room. Wally's routine was something you had grown accustomed to over the years. Usually, you joined in, finding joy in Wally's excitement and letting yourself get easily roped in to the dance. But this time, you just weren't feeling it and that only made you feel worse.  

Still, Wally tried, pointing at you and pretending to try to reel you in, but you stayed in your seat, refusing to move. You felt a pang of guilt when you noticed his obvious disappointment, but he turned towards Charley, silently respecting your wish to be left alone. It didn't take long before Charley was going through the moves Wally had coached you all through years before, a delighted grin on his face as he danced.  

While Wally worked through his routine, you noticed the way his attention kept straying back to you. It was like he was checking in on you and the thought brought a slight smile to your lips. Even when he was having the time of his life, he was still worried about you.  

You were content to sit at the table, your chin propped up on your hand while you watched him dance. You weren’t surprised that it was lifting your spirits to see Wally so in his element. You couldn't help but think that if he hadn't been thrown into football, then maybe he would have enjoyed being a theater kid.  

You watched Rhonda and then Quinn join the dance. Rhonda never missed a step, but while Quinn was new to the routine, her eagerness to be part of the group more than made up for it.  

Any sense of lingering despair was swept away when you watched the way Wally spun away from the group. He was still moving to the music, but he had deviated from his usual routine. He threw in a slide where he usually had a hip thrust and a shoulder shimmy where he would have moonwalked. He threw a smirk and a wink in your direction, and it was then you realized that this year Wally wasn't dancing for himself.  

He was dancing for you.  

That more than anything had you finally getting out of your seat. You caught the delighted grin on Wally's face before he reached a hand out towards you. You let yourself put your hand in his, letting out a surprised laugh when he immediately reeled you in only to spin you out again. He kept his grip on your hand tight, like he was worried you would try to leave, before he pulled you back towards him.  

His lips met yours, the kiss turning desperate and intense within a moment. All you could do was hold on, your fingers digging into his shoulders, as Wally poured everything he had into the kiss.  

It was fear and despair and joy and want. It swept you along with everything Wally had been trying to show you for days now.  

It was love.  

"Fuck," you gasped when you turned your head to the side to break the kiss.  

You felt his smirk against the side of your face. "Later," he promised, hiding a kiss against the skin beneath your ear.  

"That was awesome!" Quinn exclaimed, drawing your attention. "You do that every year?" She directed at Rhonda, a grin on her face.  

"Every year," Rhonda drawled, shooting a look at Wally that was equal parts annoyed and fond.  

"We should go again," Quinn decided, already bounding towards the DJ setup to restart the song.  

“Quinn,” Rhonda groaned, following her like she was thinking about stopping her.  

Later, you dressed up for Wally's big night and met him at the doors of the library.  

"Damn," Wally sighed, looking you up and down. "How'd I get so lucky?" 

You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to tell him that if anyone was lucky, it was you. "Sap," you accused, because you didn't know how else to respond.  

Wally grinned at you and held his arm out, letting you hook your hand around his elbow. "Before I forget," he said, reaching out to open the door. "We're playing wingman for Charley." 

"Charley?" You asked, surprised that he was finally making his move. "Yuri?" You guessed, thinking of all the times Charley blushed around Yuri and how he couldn't keep his eyes off him.  

"Yup," Wally answered, leading you into the library. "Promised not to let him embarrass himself. So, I might need your help running interference later."  

"Got it," you agreed, offering him a tentative smile. Wally's dance and the promise of a date night had gone a long way towards lifting your mood, but you were still trying to shake the last vestiges of sadness that still clung to you.  

Wally leaned over to press a kiss to your temple before he led you into the library.  

You let Wally get you a glass of punch and watched him reunite with some of his former classmates. He looked so happy to be remembered by the class of '84 that you almost didn't realize anything was wrong at first. You had been in the middle of talking Charley up to Yuri, even though you were sure from the way Yuri looked at Charley that it was completely unnecessary.  

It took you entirely too long to realize what the two guys were saying about Wally. Wally's crestfallen expression was enough to get you at his side. You also didn't miss the way Charley was carefully not looking at Wally.  

"Look, it's alright," Charley told Wally when he tried to apologize. "It was forty years ago. You don't have to be sorry." 

"But--" Wally started, before Yuri placed a hand on Charley's shoulder.  

"How about a dance?" He asked, nodding towards the couples who had taken over the space in front of the stage. A slow song was playing and the couples were all swaying along to the melody.  

"Okay, yeah, I'd love that," Charley answered, handing you his drink before letting Yuri lead him towards the dance floor.  

Wally kept glancing at Charley and Yuri, as if he was worried something bad would happen. You knew that Wally had been a different person when he was alive. But the Wally you knew now wasn't anything like him. He had grown and started to accept that he didn't have to only see himself as the guy he was before he died. The fact he was obviously so torn up over his past actions was testament to that.  

You were briefly distracted by Mr. Anderson showing up to wreak havoc on a reunion full of people who couldn't even see him. When you glanced back at Charley and Yuri, it was to see Charley putting distance between them.  

You weren't sure why Charley looked so distressed, but when he pulled away from Yuri and walked away, you tried to find out what was wrong.  

"Hey," you called, turning to look at Charley as he passed you. "What's wrong?" 

"It's just...," he sighed before he shook his head and walked away. His jaw was clenched, and you noticed how tensed his shoulders were. Yuri looked just as lost as you felt when you glanced back at him.  

Wally watched Charley leave the library. He looked worried, but he stayed rooted to the spot, even though it was obvious he wanted to go after him.  

"Wally," you whispered, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.  

Wally turned to look at you. "Babe, I'm not like that anymore," he promised, gesturing towards the guys who were now commenting on the woman who was announcing something onstage. "I would never hurt Charley. I would never let anyone hurt him. I'd beat the shit out of them for laying a finger on him." 

"I know," you assured him, letting your hand find his to hold onto. "Charley knows that too." 

"But, I guess," Wally continued, glancing again at the guys who had brought up Wally's past. "I guess I was that guy. And that's how they remember me. I was no better than the people who hurt Charley." 

"You've changed," you reminded him. "You're one of the best people I've ever met and that's for a reason, Wally." 

Wally nodded his head, but he still looked like he was struggling with himself.  

"Go find Charley," you urged him. "I think you two need to talk this out." You knew that Charley would need a friend now more than anything and Wally needed to prove to himself that he could be that friend.  

Wally looked unsure and still didn't budge.  

"It'll be fine," you promised him. "Trust me," you added, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  

Wally nodded his head, offering you an unsure smile, before he left in search of Charley.  

"You're good for him," Yuri observed.  

You startled, glancing at him over your shoulder. "You're good for Charley," you shot back. "He just gets a little nervous. Give him time." 

Yuri nodded his head, looking thoughtful. "I've got time," he assured you before taking Charley's drink back from you.  

You watched Yuri take a sip of the drink. "You know if you ever hurt him, though, I'll kill you. Forget that, Wally will kill you." 

It wasn't much of a threat when you were all already dead. But Charley was your friend and you would do anything for him. He deserved happiness and if Yuri was the one who could provide it for him, then you wanted to make sure it stuck. 

"I know," Yuri claimed, "but he won't have to. I only want what's best for Charley."  

"Good," you told him. "Keep it that way."  

You were going to ask Yuri if he wanted to see how Wally and Charley were doing when your attention was caught by someone across the room. She was leaving the library, slipping out of the room with a quick look over her shoulder.  

 It took you a moment to recognize her, but when you did, you felt like the whole world had stopped. Suddenly, your hands were shaking and you felt like everything was collapsing around you. It had been years since you saw her, but you knew you would never forget that face. 

You felt your mind race in several different directions as you found yourself rushing to follow her. Yuri called your name, but you ignored him. You didn’t know why she was here, but all you could think about was figuring out the reason. You wanted her out, gone, but there wasn’t much you could do about that now that you were dead. 

As you left the library in pursuit of her, there were really only three questions you desperately needed answered on your mind. 

Why the hell would she come back?  

How could she show her face here after what she did?  

And lastly, did she feel any remorse for killing you?  

Taglist: @preparedfruit @morstuavitamea-a @jaes-last-words @thatonegayloser616 @kmarie06

@girlthatislost @peterpangirl21 @uk1y0 @i-mmunity @siriusxmunofficial

@lov3bug @morallygrayboys @loudtalehologram @hey-its-roseaurum @doves1120

@benjiiisstuff @schoolspiritsfan14 @friedfrogs @superlegend216

Punctuation.

summary: prompt fill. it's that dreaded time of the month and you're miserable. thankfully, you have the most thoughtful, adorable boyfriend in Wally Clark, and he isn't going to let you suffer alone. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. drabble. period fic. feelgood. cuddles and romance.

bon reading, frens

___________________________❣️

Punctuation.

You groan, rolling out of bed with a pained expression. Hand on your belly and lower back aching, and everything sucks so why is someone at the door bothering you now!? Ugh.

It's gruesome Day 2, the worst of the seven. You haven't had the energy to bathe or eat or, Jesus, sleep because, apparently, God hates you and when your body is in agony, sleep isn't required. Stay awake, stare at the ceiling, cry at videos of adorable old men loving their wives, and live with it.

All part of being a woman, your grandmother says without sympathy. As if your body going to war with itself should be dismissed and you should just control and manage and ignore. Yeah, fuck that to hell and back, thanks.

With a frustrated whimper, you pull the front door open and scowl at the figure on your doorstep.

"Hey, baby."

And that scowl melts into a pout—lower lip jutted all the way out, brow knitted, eyes glittering with affected emotion. You slump forward, arms lax at your sides, and whine pitifully into Wally's chest.

One of his big hands cups the back of your head, and at the same time, you feel his lips press into your hair. You hear the rustle of plastic; smell the aroma of your favorite fast food place, and peek out of the corner of your eye to see the two bags Wally's holding. Stuffed full to bursting. Just for you.

Again, you press out a weak whimper and burrow deeper into him, body against his, face hidden in his collar.

"I'm smelly and gross and everything hurts." You complain.

He chuckles, kisses your head again before encouraging you to lean back so he can look at you.

"You're a goddess, baby, shut up." He tells you like you should know that by now. "Come on, let me make it a little better."

You shuffle back inside, stop suddenly, and stand there with your arms around your middle when another sharp cut of period cramps hits like electrocution. As the wave descends, Wally—who must've deposited the bags somewhere—gathers you in his arms and carries you, bridal-style, upstairs.

"I'm not a damsel in distress," You grouch because you can.

"You're right," Wally says, tone deceptively neutral, "You're a little dragon in distress."

You scowl up at him, but he simply grins back, boyish and bright and sparkly-eyed. He deposits you on your unmade bed, tucks you back in, and kisses your forehead. Nuzzles his nose against yours before leaning back to gaze at you. Soft. Sweet. Stupid, you grouse, since you're matted in last night's sweat and greasy and he shouldn't be looking at you like that when you're a mess, it makes every time he calls you cute or pretty feel like a lie, is he a liar—

"You're spiraling, baby, I can hear it from out here." Wally chuckles quietly, booping the tip of your nose and then cradling your jaw. He strokes your cheek softly with his thumb, back and forth, soothing, "Stay here, I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

Defiant. "No." But he rolls his eyes playfully and tucks you more tightly into your bed. Pecks kisses all over you face until you giggle and relent, relaxing into the warm cocoon to settle while he wanders off and does whatever it is he came over to do.

Your parents are out of town for the weekend, so you've been left to suffer alone. Something you told Wally last night when the headache came out of nowhere, and suddenly there was a crime scene in your underwear.

Right in the bin. Along with the new leggings you just bought last week with Claire, since you cannot be bothered to do a whole cold-wash cycle for a stain that ghastly.

Ten minutes later, and you're dozing. Wally comes in, gently rouses you with more kisses and soft pets to your hair, words whispered against your skin as he rolls you onto your back.

"You wanna walk, or you want me to carry you?" He asks, to which you raise your arms and blink big cow-eyes at him.

Hey, if he's going to be accommodating, let it happen, right? You're in no position to argue, anyway, face pinching in pain when another roll of cramps rises in your belly and lower back simultaneously.

"I hate my body," You whimper, face tucked into his neck, "I hate everything." Except, "Not you, you're okay."

Wally laughs, "Thanks, baby."

He sets you down on the vanity, slowly peels off your layers, not at all disgusted or shy or embarrassed when he helps you out of your underwear. As if it's totally normal. Just, whoop, bundles up the pad and drops it in the bin beside the sink, helping you into the warm bubble bath he ran for you before he collects your dirty clothes and disappears to put them in your hamper.

It takes awhile, but eventually he comes back, and Wally's carrying a bottle of painkillers and what looks like a fancy bottle of the bodywash you finished last week. You perk up, lifting your upper body out of the water. He manifests a water bottle—pulled from his deep back pocket—and hands you a couple of pills along with it.

"Here, take these. The lady said they're way better than what you've been taking."

You want to cry. So you do. Tears fat and wet, lashes starred, blubbering through a mouthful of water as you swallow the painkillers. By now, you're not even surprised when he strips down to nothing and adjusts you so he can slip into the bath behind you. Long legs on either side of you, hands gentle on your hips, lips planting little kisses across the slope of your shoulder, up your neck to your ear.

"You wanna wash your hair now or later?"

"Now." You murmur, sinking into him.

It's a process that involves the detachable faucet, draining the bath a little, and then letting it fill again after the conditioner is rinsed, and Wally does it all while chatting to you about what he got up to last night with Rodney and Ajay. Breezy and cheerful and not even an iota of annoyance when you paw at him to let you slosh into his lap so he can wash your back while you cling to him like a koala.

He's not even hard which makes you feel insecure way too fast, the feeling sharp and burning and you start to tear up again, because what do you mean your boyfriend isn't attracted to you when you're wet and soapy and naked!?

But he reassures, "Baby, you're the hottest thing on earth, and I was hard five minutes ago, but I've been repeating fucking football stats in my head because you're in pain and I love you."

"Fine." You grumble, and, yeah, you believe it. Wally doesn't lie to make you feel better ever, so you kind of have to.

Bath done, he dries you off—quick and efficient as time is of the essence. He brought in clean underwear and gets you a fresh pad from the drawer by the toilet, turns around when you ask him not to look while you assemble yourself.

Then he's back, hands rubbing body butter into your muscles before he so much as pulls on his boxer-briefs. You're my priority, pretty girl, he murmurs, following you back to your bedroom to get dressed.

Your bedroom that is tidy, bed outfitted in clean sheets—you can hear the washer going downstairs—and he even brought over that massive band shirt he's had since he was a chubby freshman. You know, the one you often steal because it smells like him.

When you ram into him for a hug, Wally laughs, delighted to have made your day a little better.

"Alright, baby, do you wanna do bed or living room?"

"Living room," You decide, feeling more human, and wanting to let your room air out a bit.

He takes you by the hand, letting you walk under your own power now that the painkillers have kicked in and your muscles don't feel so stiff. Down the stairs to the fucking nest he made on the living room floor. The couch is pulled apart, cushions joined under a fitted sheet, pillows and blankets from the guest room piled on top. Beside it, the coffee table is laden with a combination of your favorite snacks and his, as well as the takeout you smelled earlier.

There's even tea. In a pot. Under a cozy. A new mug sitting beside it with a bright pink rose leaning against it.

Your lower lip wobbles. He doesn't give you a second to break down, merely swoops you into his arms again, steps onto the makeshift bed, crosses his legs, and drops onto his bum with you securely in his lap.

"Nope," He commands, "You're supposed to be worshipped, baby, it's the law. You can make life. And that means you need to be pampered."

"But you—"

"Love and cherish you?" Wally interrupts with a goofy grin, "Yeah, you're right. I do. So, suck it up and let me love you."

Releasing a heavy, almost grouchy sigh, you resign. He releases you so you can find a comfortable position; between his legs, his back against the bottom of the couch. You pick at your takeout order in your lap while he lists the names of your favorite comfort movies.

"Ever After," You announce once he's rattled it off. "And then Bridget Jones."

"You got it, baby girl," He smacks a silly, sloppy kiss to your cheek, pushing your whole body to the side.

Giggling, "Watch my food!" You scold, but Wally keeps smiling at you, eyes tender and filled with affection.

"I promise to get you more if I spill anything, okay?"

That pleases you enough to share a fry with him, feeding it to him when he opens his mouth for it.

"But that's it, the rest is mine."

He holds one hand up in surrender, "I'm not gonna argue," while he uses his other hand to massage your hip.

Wally spends the rest of the day coddling and doting on you, at your beck and call before you even ask for anything. Up to get you more painkillers when the first round wears off. Offering a back rub, fetching the hot water bottle, holding your hand when you feel suffocated in the house and sniffle that you want to go for a walk around the block.

No complaints. No judgment. Just unconditional thereness and support. And ice cream. Lots of ice cream...

❣️___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Wally Clark Headcanons - 3.

an affectionate, fluffy little glimpse into our favorite ghost's mind when he's completely obsessing over you.

My attempt at hands 😅

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. SH. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022

I got a lot of inspiration and motivation from @whoopsyeahokay series called October Sun if you haven't read it yet I recommend you do its amazing, you can find it on tumblr and Ao3. October Sun

(This is very self indulgent and based on things ive been through and how I could have very easily ended up as a ghost. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness. This is a judgment free zone so I want no bullying or hate on anyone. I'm not the best writer so be nice)

1.9k Words

Enjoy :)

-

Two days, two fucking days you’ve been rotting and no ones come to find you. Well no one alive at least. 

It started off normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Just another boring school day with the same washed out boring people. Tired eyes and even more tired souls. So what changed? A little slip up on the same thing that had almost claimed your life many times over the years except this time no one was there to save you. 

You were 14 when you first learned the only way for your brain to stop spinning, trying to find a new way to obtain peace was with a very simple little thing. Weed, this wasn't what was deadly, no it was what started the cycle. First it was weed, then it was alcohol, then it was late night parties, until one day it fell into the palm of your hand. A simple little pill, how could it cause so much damage? Things were fine until one pill turned into two then two turned into three and then you ended up on the patio of a stranger's porch foaming out the mouth. 4 days in the hospital and 2 weeks in rehab was enough to scare you for a while, but not enough to make you forget about the relief that came with it. 

That's how you ended up here, sitting in a circle sharing stories about life and death, a group of highschool boys who had no idea you were even there, playing basketball behind you. Should have just gone to group like you were told to, at least then you would have been with people who understood addiction. Now judgmental eyes fall upon you because you caused your own death. As much as you wanted to find someone, something to blame you knew you couldn't, this was your fault. The spinning hasn't stopped. At least ghosts couldn't go through withdrawal, doesn’t change the fact that the empty feeling you tried so desperately to fill is more presint than ever.  

The sweet voice of Mr.Martin fills the room. Like white nose until you heard him call your name. Head shooting up to look up at him. “Have you started working on your obituary?” Ah yes, ghost homework. you would have never thought that you would have been asked to write your own obituary yet here we are. Not as easy as it sounds.

“I’ve got some ideas” Like when you got so drunk you threw up on your friends cat, or when you were so high that your brother convinced you the plane flying over your house was a UFO, fun memories. Apparently you were supposed to write about the good parts of your life but that's kinda hard when the only good memories you had were caused by what put you in this situation to begin with. 

“Take your time, if you need to im sure some of the others wouldn't mind telling you about what they wrote, for motivation.” You give a simple nod, wanting all the prying eyes around you to look away. And they do, except a certain pair that had been watching you since you got here. 

Wally Clark, a sweet boy, bright future, died to soon like everyone else in this fucked up version of your own personal hell. He asked too many questions, it wasn't a secret how you died, just something you didn't want to talk about.  He respected that, like most of the others, most. Doesn't stop him from prying, staring with curious eyes. 

“I think that's all for today,  don't forget tomorrow's movie night as always our newest member will be picking the movie.” You give an awkward smile before standing up and turning to leave along with the rest of the group. Heavy footsteps creeping up behind you and the sound of your name being called stops you as the tall boy catches up.

“So um do you need help with your obituary? not to brag but I think I did a pretty good job on mine.” Wally was quite attractive, tall, with big brown eyes, and slick back brown fluffy hair. No doubt having made girls fawn over him during his lifetime. You and him weren't exactly friends but the idea of having a little help writing… well, a self obituary wasn't bad. 

“Sure, we could go to the library.” An excited grin grew on Wallys face, not expecting you to say yes. 

“Yeah, yeah the library sounds great” It was kinda cute how he acted sometimes. Not like a typical jock, a pure golden retriever. 

“Cool” You stand there kinda awkwardly, hands in the pockets of your red zip up hoodie as you gave him an expecting look. 

“Oh like now?” He was somehow the most confident yet most awkward person in the world. “Um okay yeah that works” 

You tilt your head sideways towards the door leading out the gym, indicating for him to follow you out. Taking the lead and making your way out, opening the door for him. “Ladies first” He let out a small chuckle at your attempt at a joke, considering it was the first time you really talked to anyone since everything happened. It wasn't that you didn't like people, you just didn’t understand the point of friends. It might sound depressing but having a small group of people that you know will stick around is better than hanging around people that barely know you. Yet here you are, stuck with strangers for eternity or until you finally move on, however long that’ll take. 

The hallway was filled with loud teens, some rushing to their next class others going out the back door, more than likely skipping. “So how does this work?” You look over at him.

“What? The afterlife?” He looks at you, a little nervous. “I don’t think im the best person to explain it to you, that's more of Charley's thing.” Charley was sweet, the first person you met when you woke up. Some sort of after life guide. 

“No, a self obituary.” The words felt weird coming out your mouth. “I know I'm supposed to write about all the great things in life but I don't think huffing nitrous in my uncles bathroom on thanksgiving really counts as a good memory.” 

“Nitrous? like the shit in whipped cream?” He gave you a sideways look, a concerned but humored smile on his face. 

“Yes, the shit in whipped cream, I don't recommend. I passed out and almost had a seizure.” As we reach the library he opens the door, allowing you to go in first. 

“Okay, maybe don’t include that in your obituary, how about” He thought for a second. “Write about your friends and family, I'm sure you have some good memories with them.” 

You let out a frustrated sigh as you sat down at a table, Wally sitting down across from you as you take off your backpack, pulling a pencil and the folder Mr.Martin had given you. “That's too much work, do you think Mr.Martin would notice if I just copied yours?” Wally laughs a little, his straight white teeth showing.

“No, he’ll totally believe that you played football and lost your virginity in your moms car.” Now you’re the one laughing, his sentence coming out way too casually. 

“You lost your virginity in your moms car?” You take a few seconds to process before you look at him judgmentally. “You included how you lost your virginity?” Though the smiles’ still apparent on your face. 

“Happy memories, remember?” And there's the jock attitude you were waiting for, somehow a bit surprising but not unexpected. “You could just write your feelings.” You have a whole journal for that from when you got sober… soberish. 

“This may come as a shock to you but I'm not exactly a feelings person.” Not totally true, it was just easier to not feel anything at all, especially with the situation you're in right now. 

“Really? I couldn't tell” The sarcastic tone in his voice very apparent. “Alright fine, if you were happiest when you were high then it's worth writing.” 

“Great, so high stories, got it” Though it wasn't the best idea, you had to write something so Mr.Martin would get off your ass about it. Reminiscing was a slippery slope, you were holding up decently so far but contrary to what all the others think it hurt deep down. “How about the first time I tried molly?” Probably one of the best ‘happy pills’ you tried in your lifetime. 

“What was it like?” He clearly had no intentions of finding out first hand, just curious of the experience. 

“It made me really aware but like in a good way.” There was no real way to describe it without going into depth. “And kinda trippy I guess, does that make sense?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” He knew he could never truly understand, no one could unless they experienced it themselves. As you begin to jot down the memory Wally peaks over, looking at the page though it's not very useful due to the fact that he doesn't possess the skill to read upside down. 

“Nosey” You laugh a little at his attempt to get to know you better. “You know if you want to get to know me, maybe there are better ways to do it then helping me write my own obituary” Yep, still didn't sound right.  

“Oh um yeah, this is probably a really weird first hang out.” He laughs awkwardly at the realization that this is still new to you. It wasn't like he had never been around a new ghost before, he knew he was supposed to be slow, supportive, ease them into it but with the way you acted sometimes made him think you were more used to this than he was. In a way you were, death was something that you had imagined so many times so when it actually came the idea of being trapped wasn't one you hadn't thought of before. “How about after we're done with this I could take you down to the pool?” 

You smile, the sentiment was sweet. “Thanks, but I don't know how to swim.” You were never taught and it didn't seem important in life so you just never learned. The surprised look on Wallys face was priceless.

“How the hell are you 18 and don’t know how to swim?” It wasn't judgmental, just a little surprised, but the grin on his face indicated that he had an idea. 

“Oh god, what are you thinking about?” You knew what was coming, he wouldn't be him if he didn’t jump at the opportunity to help a new friend. Wally was very readable and you didn’t know if that was a good thing yet. 

“I could teach you.” And there it was, of course he wanted to teach you. “It could be fun, plus you don't have much else to do.” 

“You know what fuck it, you’re right there isnt shit else to do.” Especially with your body still laying cold in the old abandoned locker rooms aka ‘the brain cave’. 

“Great, you should keep writing, the faster you get it over with the less weird it feels.” And that's how it started, you were never the friend type but as much as you hated to say it you needed someone. Sure that someone is very attractive and the idea of seeing him in nothing but swim trunks was a nice image but who could blame you? The afterlife is lonely.

Pt.2

Am I allowed to request a Oneshots? Cause I have an idea for Wally but not the talent to write it😭

I haven't ever had a request but sure. I don't know how long it's gonna take to write it and fair warning I'm not the best with dialogue but I can try. Just tell me what you want the plot to be and I'll do my best to follow it (sometimes I get side tracked and the story goes way out of bounds so my apologies if that happens)

The End

Wally Clark x Reader

Two people died on September 23rd, 1983. One laid out on a football field before hundreds of people, and the other left behind on the cold floor of the boy's locker room.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: Sexual assault, semi-graphic depictions of SA, including: almost direct aftermath, reader is naked in the beginning, mentions of blood, and implied loss of virginity via SA, flashback to SA; death, reader's death is overlooked, ANGST

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC)

Read it on AO3!

A/N: The Doors title. Hey ya'll. I cannot believe the love I've been getting on this page, and it's driving me past my writer's block more than anything. With school starting, I can feel the academic anxiety kicking in, but I use my writing as a coping method when I can. This story has very intense topics (as stated in the tags) and is not meant to idealize any topics in any way. This was inspired by @general-fanfiction's Hopes and Fears series (GO READ IT RN), and @whoopsyeahokay's October Sun series (ALSO GO READ IT RN). If this story is well received, or I just feel the urge to, I'll probably turn it into a series (bc this sucks as a one-shot). As always, please heed the warnings, and read only if you're comfortable.

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Blood was everywhere.

It slid down your legs and dribbled onto the cold floor of the locker room. Every inch of your skin felt like it was too tight for your bones, and all you wanted to do was reach down your throat and rip out your heart.

Copper flooded your mouth. The tang brushed against the back of your chattering teeth, and all you could think about was how you wanted to crawl to the nearby shower and let it run until one of the coaches found you and dragged you out.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Move. You told yourself. All of your limbs ached. Nothing felt real.

You didn’t want this to be real.

It was supposed to be kind. Gentle. An act out of pure love.

Standing up proved to be hard, and it was like no one was able to hear you screaming out for help. Filtered out by the people flooding the halls, hustling to the big homecoming game going on that night.

The tiled walls provided little help as you brought yourself to a standing position, walking slowly as you felt your feet brush against the pile of your shoes, pants, and underwear on the floor. The touch stopped your heart, breaking a new tier of hate and regret across your body.

He said he loved me.

You turned on the shower, cranking the knob to the hottest setting, knowing that the water wouldn’t get anywhere near warm. Water slid harshly over your body, and you felt it pelt against spots of dried blood on your thighs.

You wished you never come to this stupid football game.

You wished you weren’t as ignorant, or as gullible, or as love-blind as you had been in the past three months.

You wished you never met him.

His face felt bitter and sharp in your head, poking and prodding, as if trying to stick the memory of his hands on you for eternity.

Time passed irregularly, no one came in or out of the locker room, and you were sure that the football game had to have reached its end by all of the cheering and yelling you heard outside.

After using all of the hot water in the gym wing, you slowly walked to the lines of lockers, trying even glimpsing in the direction of your clothes. tried to open every locker until one popped open, revealing a pair of grey sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a muscle tank, blue gym shorts, and a matching varsity jacket with #57 stitched on the arm.

You grabbed the matching sweatsuit, balling it in your arms and silently apologizing to the boy you’d never return the clothing to.

He probably won’t even notice, you told yourself.

You turned the corner around a line of lockers and you could swear you were going crazy. A bare foot poked out from behind the last line of lockers, limply tilted against your pile of clothes, painted a chipped wine red.

You blinked hard, looking down at your own chipped wine-red toes, and you clutched the clothing you stole to your naked body. The cotton was soft compared to the cold tile bracing against your feet, and you brought your eyes to look back to the pile of clothing on the floor.

Bile pooled at the back of your mouth as you hesitantly stepped closer to the foot that hadn’t disappeared. You’re going crazy, you told yourself, but the more and more you stared at the limp, pale body - your limp, pale body - whose features were more of a brutal mass than a face, the less it was going away.

You barely made it past the urinals and into an open stall before you dry-heaved into a toilet.

You were dead.

You couldn’t be.

As you zipped up the stolen hoodie and sweatpants, you tried to remember it all. Kissing under the bleachers before the game, him asking you to come with him while he grabbed something from his gym locker.

Every agonizing second you asked him to stop, to stop pressing you into the lockers because one of the locks was digging into your back; his decrepit hands sliding at your waistline, pushing and prodding past the fabric of your clothes.

Nothing would come up from your stomach.

Could ghosts vomit? You asked yourself, slowly standing to your feet and walking back over to your dead body.

Conversations started to flood the hallway, every muscle in your body coming briefly to attention before you flew out the door and screamed into the rushing crowd of students.

“Hello?” You called out, reaching your arm into the crowd, only to watch it get run through like something out of Star Wars.

Your body became hot, and even though you knew deep down that no one could see you, you pushed your tears back down your choking throat and felt your cheeks heat up with shame.

You walked into the crowd, who was thinning out the further you got from the hallway. Your body tensed for a moment, seeing the lights of police cars and ambulances pulling up to the school. Expecting to see the paramedics rushing toward your body, you waited for them to split the crowd, to start heading toward the school, but they were bolting the other way.

Straight toward the football field.

This school has to be fucking cursed.

One of the players was splayed out on the field, his head gently being lifted as paramedics were tugging his helmet off his head. The football team from whatever school yours was playing against was sitting on the bench, whispering and pointing to another one of their players who was talking to a police officer further down the field.

57.

The number sewn on the jacket hanging among the clothes you stole stood out against the dark blue of the player’s helmet. People gasped and a woman cried out as the paramedic set the helmet aside, revealing the face of the school’s resident golden boy; a dark bruise crawled up his neck, and his mouth guard slid between his lips as his limp head hung unnaturally over his shoulder.

You walked closer, straight through the forming line of police officers, and looked into the field. At the edge of the bleachers, waving his arms around and yelling into a silent group of people, stood Wally Clark.

Wally Clark is dead.

Just like I am.

You took off running, the activity coming easier to you when you were alive.

Alive.

“Wally!” You called out, and the football player snapped his body to your voice, his eyes wide and seeming relieved that someone was talking to him.

You stopped, resting your hands on your hips as he hopped down from the bleachers.

“What’s happening? Why- why is no one talking to me? What did I do?” He asked, skipping the formalities. He came to stand on the field before you, the football gear he was wearing sending a rush of debilitating shame through your body.

You faltered for a moment, his face flashing in your eyes before you rubbed your face back to reality.

“You didn’t do anything, Wally.” You managed to push out, pushing your eyes anywhere but on him.

“Then what is happening? I feel like I’m going crazy, one minute I’m running with the ball, and boom- I’m at the bleachers, trying to get my mother to talk to me and she won’t even look up at me. I know she’s pissed at me about going on the bench, but I mean I got back in the game, and now I’m guessing coach is pissed at me on insisting to get back in and-”

“You’re dead.” You cut off his rambling, forcing yourself to meet his face without looking away after a second, “I mean, I think we’re both dead.”

First, he smiled. Like what you said was some kind of joke. After you said nothing, he started toward the sidewalk, where his mother was now alongside a stretcher being lifted into an ambulance. You could see the tears on her face from where you were, each step you followed Wally, the easier it was to see her sorrow.

Then, as he was following his mother, he suddenly was gone, like he was plucked off the Earth by God himself.

That was until you turned to see him standing on the football field, right where his body was previously lying, tugging at the roots of his hair.

You hovered your foot, leveraging that if you stood on the sidewalk, you would be slingshotted back to the men’s locker room.

You decided to trust your gut and instead talked to Wally.

“I can’t be dead, I mean, that would mean you’re dead, and I literally saw you in the hallway this morning,” Wally said as he paced in a small area before you, “and I know for sure that I saw you because you were hanging around Dalton’s locker, which was weird because everyone on the team thought he had some college girl or something he was hanging out with-”

You didn’t register some of the words he was saying, instead you tried to control your thoughts from ripping you back to your last moments on earth at his name.

“-I mean, do you even know how crazy this sounds?”

You took in a shaky breath, wiping your hands over your face to poorly conceal any emotions that unwillingly spread onto your features, “Yeah, but that’s the thing, Wally. I am dead.”

Saying you were dead for the first time out loud was a lot heavier than you thought it would be.

You’re pretty sure that if the insanity of Wally being killed hadn’t overridden your brain, you would be somewhere huddled up and screaming for some greater power to give you eternal rest.

“What? That’s not possible, I mean, the people you were here with would’ve noticed you were gone. Dalton would’ve noticed you were gone.”

You didn’t want to give his name as much power as you did, but your body tightened up hearing it. You didn’t correct him, instead opting to stare at the dark woods on the far end of the field, your eyes burning once more.

“Y/N,” you were a little surprised that he knew your name, and even more when he stood in front of you with the most gentle expression you’d ever seen, “what happened after school? How did you die?”

Is it weird that I want him to slit my throat while fucking me?

is it weird that i want him to kill me ???

i guess I really am the spice for you babes

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 👋)