School Spirits Masterlist

October Moon

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

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She could be anyone."

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

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

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

Should. Do...what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, they'd been drugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You beamed, "Good. And no delays!"

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

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

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

"Do you, baby?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Wally were the last to arrive.

Oops.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can—"

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

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

💀___________________________

PART SEVEN - PART NINE

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

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: we're not about that life around here (•¯ ∀ ¯•) things got too outta hand and i'm still cleaning up the mess left behind by the demons i accidentally summoned trying to get the damn thing to work 🕳️👹......there's a dustpan over there if you feel like helping 🧹💨 or, if you just wanna stay up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS.

I just saw absolute cheeks LAWWWWWD 😩 seeing Milo Manheims bare ass was not on my 2025 bingo card but I ain't complaining.

Crush

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

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

joyeuses Easter, fam 🐰🐣🥕

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Crush

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

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

God dammit, Wally has a problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You name him Samuel.

Wally falls more in love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

He's not obsessed, you are 😒

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honestly, Wally probably needs a new hobby.

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug, "Whatever you want."

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

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

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

Does this count as a new hobby?

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wally~."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wally cocks his head, "Finally?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

This definitely counts as a new hobby.

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Me too, baby."

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

"Pick up anything interesting?"

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

Blue. Screen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌻___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

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

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

Hopes And Fears - Part Four. (Wally Clark x Reader)

Summary: Y/N’s death was traumatic. So traumatic in fact she can’t even look at Wally without reliving her death.

Word Count: 2.8k

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: Mature Language, Themes Of Rape/Sexual Assault

“That was kind of harsh Rhonda.”

Charlie’s voice breaks the uncomfortable silence that has fallen upon the group. Each face holding a different expression. Rhonda full of hatred, Charlie consumed by guilt for not stepping in, Wally a mixture of surprise and discomfort.

“Do you think maybe somebody should go after her?” Dawn questions, speaking for the first time since the group session began.

Rhonda huffs, slumping down into her chair as she realises that nobody is taking sides, and if they are, they’re not taking her’s.

“Off you go then Wally, run after your precious little angel.” The girl spits, lips set in a firm scowl, eyes shooting daggers towards him.

“Rhonda!” Mr Martin snaps, though the teens aren’t listening. After all, despite being a teacher, he holds no position of authority over them in death.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Wally asks quietly, shaking his head as he does so.

“Maybe I’ve just had enough. Sixty years I’ve been here Wally! Yet nobody seems to care about how that makes me feel, all of you are just pandering to the new girl.” She shouts, slamming her hands down on the edge of her chair as she does so. Taking everyone by surprise.

“Rhonda, of course we care but you’re being really mean.” Charlie speaks softly, gazing sympathetically at the brunette girl.

“Mean? I don’t think I’ve been mean enough. I mean seriously is nobody questioning why she’s being so secretive? What doesn’t she want us to know?” Rhonda continues to push her argument in an attempt to gain a rise out of the other students. Hoping to get them to question themselves and where they stand in regards to the situation. “If you ask me, I reckon the bitch killed herself and she’s too much of a wuss to tell us.”

“That’s bang out of order Rhonda and you know it!” Wally bellows, leaping out of his chair and stomping straight over to her, hands placed on either side of her legs, caging her between himself and the back of the chair. “Don’t you ever speak about her like that again. Don’t you dare so much as look at her. Or I will make the rest of your eternity a living hell, do you understand me?”

Rhonda has no time to respond, though the frightened look on her face tells Wally all he needs to know. Without a second glance, he’s barging out the room. Launching one of the empty chairs across the gym as he does so, resulting in a large clatter though nobody really notices. All eyes fixed on the loveable jock, dumbfounded at the rage he is exhibiting. This being entirely out of character, never once in the years they had no Wally had he exploded in such a way.

Whilst each of the ghosts sits silently, all contemplating their next move in order to avoid another argument, Charlie is the first to make a move. Giving Rhonda a nervous glance, he slowly exits the gym. Asserting that his decision as to who’s side he is on has been made.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Ducking under the police tape, I’m thankful that no officers are around. Granted, I know they can’t see me, I just find it awkward to be stumbling between the living. I’ve come to realise just how much people lack spacial and self awareness.

The room is exactly as it was left, blood stains splattered on the tiled walls and floors. A glistening red in contrast with the mucky white tiles. In fact, the only change within the room is the numbered notes, I can only assume for any evidence the officers may have gathered.

I find myself perched on the end of the splintered wooden bench, lost in thought as I fixate on the scene. I’m amazed at how much blood I truly lost, assuming it would have only been small flecks. When in reality, it is everywhere. Stains from how it pooled mark the floor as well as splashes coating the walls.

My mind flashes back to that moment. Their hands on my body. The beatings I endured as I tried my best to resist. Sharp pain as I tried my hardest to close my legs. Squeals of agony escaping my mouth only to be met with a calloused hand gripping my face tightly prevent anymore noise.

It’s only when I feel a tear drip from my chin to the back of my hand that I realise I’m crying. Nothing to be heard other than my soft sniffles. Despite the memories plaguing my mind, I can’t help but feel proud at myself for returning here. It’s such a small accomplishment and yet for me, it feels as though I’ve taken a huge step forwards into fully processing what I went through. It’s a step closer to healing.

“God, I can’t believe they haven’t cleaned this up yet. I’d have thought they would want to scrub it straight away.”

Charlie’s voice takes me aback and my head spins towards the door. Noticing him shyly stood just outside of the room, almost like he doesn’t actually want to enter. An overwhelming sense of deja vu hits me and I’m reminded of our first interaction right outside.

“I don’t think they’re legally allowed to clean up. Otherwise I’m sure they’d have torn the entire building down by now.”

Shuffling over on the bench slightly, Charlie takes this as an invitation and perches beside me. The two of us staring at the crime scene.

“So I take it you were murdered.” He questions apprehensively, knowing full well what the answer is.

“I’m sorry I haven’t spoke about it yet.” I speak softly, almost afraid of what his reaction could be. I don’t want him to lose his temper like Rhonda, though I get the feeling that he doesn’t have an angry bone in his body. “Charlie, I want to talk. I do. It’s so recent though, I haven’t even been dead a month. I get that it’s shitty but I’m not ready to go into the details of it all.”

“You would think out of all of us that Rhonda would be the most understanding. She’s always been very open about her murder though.” Charlie tells me, seemingly unfazed by my lack of wanting to talk. “I get it though Y/N, you don’t owe us anything. Don’t tell Rhonda this because she’ll think I’m a complete bitch but she was strangled to death, and no offence but judging by the state of this room, your murder was a lot more brutal.”

“Let’s not turn this into a competition of who had a worse death.” I joke, feeling more relaxed due to his words. “But seriously thank you. It means a lot that you’re being so nice.”

“Of course.” The boy smiles brightly, which seems to be contagious because I can’t hold back the beam on my face either. “On a completely separate note, you should probably go and find Wally. He completely lost his shit with Rhonda after you left. Like he went full psycho, I’ve never seen him lose it like that before.”

“Fuck.” I whisper, running a hand through my hair, a habit of mine when I’m under stress. “Thanks again Charlie, I really appreciate it.”

Charlie only nods gently, watching me scurry out the room. Clearly sensing that I’m in a rush to find the footballer. Wandering around the halls of Split River, it’s only then that I realise I have no idea where Wally could be. Worry begins to seep through my pores, knowing there is endless possibilities as to where he could be. If only the school could be ten times smaller. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so challenging.

Thinking back to our previous conversations, I try to remember any hangout spots that Wally may have mentioned. Though these rarely seem to come up in conversation. We spent most of the time sprawled out in the gardens and yet there was no sign of him when I searched back there.

Huffing out of annoyance, I’m fully prepared to give up my hunt for him. At least I was. Out of the corner of my eye I become aware of the sign directing students towards the pool. Wally’s words ring in my head from earlier this morning.

“So I was thinking we could have a pool day.”

With crossed fingers and countless prayers being whispered under my breath, I stride towards the pool. Confidence boosted as I hope that my intuition is right and that he went away with his pool day solo.

My suspicions are confirmed as my eyes lay upon the handsome boy. Lost in his own thoughts as he drifts about on a pool floaty, arms tucked beneath his head and sunglasses on to block out the rest of the world. Loitering at the edge of the pool, I remain silent. Just for a moment. In order to truly appreciate this man’s beauty. He’s the most exposed I’ve ever seen him. Granted he’s only shirtless, but still I can’t help the flutter I feel in my heart (and possibly between my legs). With defined abs and toned body, he reminds me of a Greek statue, carved out of stone.

“Y/N, I’m not really in the mood to talk right now.” Wally states, as my eyes drag up his body, I’m aware that his sunglasses are now placed on his forehead and he most likely just caught me gazing at his physique.

“I know, neither am I.” I admit, sitting down at the edge of the pool, pulling my shoes off and throwing them behind me so that I can dip my feel it in the lukewarm water. “But I do owe you an apology.”

This catches his attention and I see his eyebrows raise, eyes darting over to me. Wally looks sad. There’s no other way for me to describe it. I’ve seen him sulk and upset before. However, he looks worse than I’ve ever seen.

“Rhonda’s words really hit me. I never meant to make you feel like you’d done anything wrong. I’m so sorry for making you feel that way. You don’t need to try to make me feel less threatened. I know you don’t have a cruel heart.” I admit, voice shaky as I genuinely have no idea as to how he will react. “It’s no excuse, but I was struggling a lot those first couple of days and I guess I took it out of you and you didn’t deserve that. So I really hope you’ll forgive me. I also thought I should probably mention that you don’t have to stop wearing your football stuff because of me. You love it, I don’t want you to feel as though you can’t wear it because I’m going to have a breakdown.”

Swinging my feet in the water slowly, I keep myself focused on this rather than Wally who floats a few feet away. His silence scares me slightly and I know that if I even look at him, I may burst into tears. I never meant to hurt him. I really didn’t.

“Rhonda’s full of bullshit.”

I’m shocked when he speaks, purely because I thought he was mad at me. I’m even more shocked when I understand what he’s said. Never once hearing Wally say a bad thing about someone and here he is calling out one of the ghosts he’s known the longest.

“What?” I’m completely puzzled by what he just said, not knowing what he means by it and whether he means that what Rhonda said wasn’t true. My tone reflects this and when I go to look up at him, he’s already slipping off the floaty and swimming towards me.

“I said Rhonda’s full of bullshit.” He’s pretty much beside me now, arms crossed as they rest against the edge of the pool next to me. It’s the closest we’ve ever been to one another and I can’t deny the way my heart races right now. Not even one ounce of fear resides within me despite our close proximity. Maybe I am doing better now? “I like spending time with you Y/N. I wasn’t trying to make you feel less threatened. Yeah, I wanted you to feel welcome and to know I mean no harm but that was it. All the time I’ve spent with you is because I wanted to, I enjoy it.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

He laughs faintly. “No, I’m not mad at you. Thank you for the apology but you really didn’t have to say anything.”

I cannot even begin to describe how relieved I am that the ghost isn’t mad at me. For a moment back there, I was prepared to spend eternity alone, thinking everybody had turned their backs on me. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case and I potentially let myself overthink without speaking to anybody under less tense circumstances.

Grateful to have resolved things with Charlie and Wally, the only person left is Rhonda. However, something tells me that she might need some time. I doubt seeking her out is the best course of action right now and she probably needs space to cool off. So, for now, I’m happy to sit here and bask in the peace once more.

“So, a pool day for one isn’t exactly the most exciting and fun time.” Wally mentions, splashing a small amount of water at me.

“No I can’t imagine it is.” I reply, he swims backwards, a silent request for me to join him in the water. Which I’m happy to oblige.

Stripping off my clothes, I dump them on one of the seats. Out of the way of the pool edge in the hopes that they remain dry. Left only in my underwear, a lacy red bralette with matching thong, I thank my lucky stars that the day I died was one of the days I wore a decent set.

A shaky breath leaves my mouth as I turn around to face Wally. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve felt since getting here and I am anxious. Afraid of any judgement from Wally and afraid of being so exposed. All of these thoughts vanish instantly when Wally’s eyes begin to trail my body. Flashing with desire. He doesn’t think I’ve noticed, though I don’t miss the barely there whistle that escapes under his breath.

“Are you gonna move out of the way or what?” I ask, hands on my hips as I wait for him to move to one side.

He does so with no complaint and I sprint forward, diving straight beneath the water and surfacing with a gasp for air. Pulling my hair out of my face, I find myself only a few inches away from Wally and take the opportunity to splash the water in his direction. After all, it’s only fair that I take my revenge.

“Oh this is war.” Wally yelps after being pelted in the face again by another large splash.

We’re both rocked against the waves that the battle has created. Huge splashes attacking each other alternatively, repeatedly in hopes of taking the other person down. I’m completely unaware that the force of the water is slowly bringing us closer together and before I know it we’re face to face. Noses practically touching one another.

“I think I win.” He whispers, sopping wet hair pushed back off his forehead, small curls beginning to form.

“Never.”

He’s focused on me, chestnut brown eyes piercing into my soul. I daren’t think too much, scared he can read my mind with the force of his gaze. A sudden surge of bravery must overcome him as he gently reaches out, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. His touch is soft, as light as a feather. Like he’s scared I’ll pull away. It’s the first time we’ve ever made physical contact and though the act is so sweet and innocent, my heart flutters at the intimacy of it.

His hand is delicate as it moves from my hair, gliding down my cheek to hold it lovingly. It’s then that I notice his eyes flickering down to my lips, silently asking for permission. As much as my heart desires his touch and his affection, something in my mind can’t let go. It won’t allow me to take that step further and so I reluctantly pull away. The move quick as I break out of his gentle hold.

“I’m gonna go dry off in the sun.” The words spill out of my mouth, faster than I intended. Wally tries his best to hide it but I spot the disappointment clear on his face. Obviously hoping that this could have gone further.

If only I was able to articulate to him just how much I wanted to take things further as well. For now though, we’ll stay friends.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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October Moon

summary: it had been game night. Xavier had told Simon who'd told you about Maddie's backpack. A weird and unfortunate game of telephone that your friendship had dissolved into. regardless, you'd had a surprise for Wally and you'd wanted to make sure to execute it, so whatever grievances you and Xavier had had, those had been shoved aside for the night...until you'd received a damning message that had brought to light why Mr. Anderson had called Claire.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.2

Xavier stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the Send button, rereading his message for the fifth time. He hadn't spoken to you since last Friday. Not more than a handful of blunt words, anyway. He knew you knew about him and Claire. He hadn't needed Simon's confirmation that you'd been told; he could see it in your eyes, in the way you held yourself around him, the defiance in your stance and the disenchantment around your mouth.

In his heart, he'd forgiven you for keeping him in the dark about your abilities. Your family's abilities. Now his abilities. And while it ached to have been lied to, he understood why you'd done it. That it hadn't been entirely your choice. That, if you hadn't had the pressure of generations on your shoulders, you would've told Xavier in a heartbeat. He trusted that that was the truth because, despite everything, he knew you. It didn't completely soothe the rejection he felt, but it made it less sharp.

Rather, he hadn't reached out because he was afraid. Of your anger, of your hate, of your disappointment. Of you icing him out until you and he were strangers. He couldn't face that. Kept it Schrodinger's Box so he'd never have to know if you forgave him or not. However, right now, things were getting bigger than he could manage and he needed someone on his side. Simon barely tolerated him. Maddie... Jesus, he hadn't been able to stomach looking at her, never mind confiding in her. He sort of had Nicole now, a budding friendship built on being shoved to the outside and left to fend for themselves while their closest people banded together to save the world. Nevertheless, Nicole wasn't you. Who he'd always counted on. No questions asked.

With a shaky hand and a deep, worn-out exhale, Xavier pressed Send.

"Cops found Maddie's backpack. I'm going to the house. Corner of 10th and Lasher. Meet me at 6."

After a few short seconds of deliberation:

"I'm sorry."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You sat on the workbench while Nanna cut, assembled, and pinned the boutonniere you intended to present to Wally before the homecoming game. It was perhaps a silly gesture, but one you felt strongly about making. Cute and romantic and so unlike you that you barely recognized who you were when you were in lo—involved. Granted, you'd never been in a relationship (was it a relationship?) before so how were you to know you'd be the gushy, head-in-the-clouds, affectionate type?

Nanna hummed as she worked, timeworn hands expertly fitting the olive branch and white lily together around a flush of black baby's breath. Nanna had opened and run the flower shop Aurora had inherited ownership of upon returning to Split River. A charming, cozy place squished between Jerry's Wine & Spirits and an upscale pet store. The perfect resource for whatever dried ingredients went into the tea Nanna had iced and sipped occasionally as she worked.

You stared at the half-full mason jar, observing it as if it were a bomb to dismantle. Questions crowded your mind: Was it the same tea you'd been drugged with? Was it related to what you'd smelled on the three teenagers in the cavern before Amelia's ritual? Wally was of the opinion that Aurora's tea was connected to the cult, at the very least, though you found it difficult to believe. You studied Nanna, tried to find a trace of peculiarity in her behavior, but nothing stood out.

"You're thinking awfully loud, sweetpea," Nanna commented gayly, grey eyes sparkling as she put the finishing touches to the boutonniere and laid it carefully in a plastic container.

Without preamble, "Why do you drink that stuff?" you blurted, gaze flickering between Nanna and her tea.

Guzzling tea in your household wasn't uncommon. The kitchen and bathroom cabinets were crammed with a variety of bygone natural remedies that included stocks of loose tea blends. Getting a cold? Don't take Tylenol, drink milk thistle. Can't sleep? Passionflower and lavender. Stomach flu? Ginger and peppermint broth. Hell, when you'd sprained your ankle running track last year, you'd been smeared in turmeric and arnica paste. Your ankle had been stained yellow for days after.

Nanna cocked her head like you'd asked something outrageous, several speechless blinks and then, "It tastes good." Simple, easy. Strange because the tea sure smelt like a biological weapon and not what one would dip one's biscuits in. "Your sister introduced it to me when she came back from New York." She did? That didn't correlate with the image you'd always had of Aurora when she'd been in New York. The corporate baddie whose entire mood had relied on the quality of espresso in her latte. When she'd switched to tea, you'd assumed it was the other way around. That Nanna had led Aurora to the worst kind of river. "Aurora raved about it whenever she made some, and one day I was curious enough to try it."

"You sure she didn't brainwash you into liking it?" Your face twisted in disgust, "It stinks."

Nanna chuckled, "It doesn't taste like it smells, sweetpea, it's very refreshing." She lifted her mason jar and tilted it at you, "Would you like to taste?"

You reared back like you'd been threatened with a fist, "Blech, no thanks. I'd rather drink toxic sludge."

"You're as dramatic as your mother," Nanna said, taking a sip. She put the mason jar down and handed you the plastic container with the boutonniere in it. "You never told me who this was for."

"A boy." You grinned as you hopped off the workbench. In the same instant, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

"A boy we know?" Nanna pried, her expression glowing with mischief and meddling.

You scanned the text notification, unable to disguise your shock when you read who it was from. Xavier. Who'd been actively avoiding you and his newfound ghost-detecting abilities all week. Your heart jumped to your throat and your belly tightened as a wave of anxiety rippled through you.

Nanna retrieved your attention by setting a chilled hand on your forearm. "Is that him now?"

"Uh...no." You looked up and smiled at her, "No, it's just Xavier."

"Oh good," Nanna said gladly, "You've patched things up, have you?"

Not wanting to open that box when you now had approximately no minutes to leave the house, "Getting there," you offered and angled yourself toward the door. Gesturing gently with the boutonniere, "Thanks, Nanna," you said and stepped across the mudroom.

"You still haven't told me who the boy is," Nanna reminded you, tone as puckish as her grin.

"Right, yeah, it's..." You floundered internally for a second and then tossed in the air the first name that came to mind, "Simon. Elroy. You haven't met him."

Shit.

"Well, I can't wait to meet him tomorrow." Nanna said kindly as she began to tidy her workbench.

"He hasn't said yes yet," You peeped, gulping, because now you had to drag Simon into a ruse and convince him to meet you at your house before the dance.

Nanna flapped her hand, "He will. If you think he's worth giving that—" the boutonniere "—to, then he must be smart enough to know how lucky he is."

You melted at Nanna's flattering remark, warmed to your toes that your grandmother thought so highly of you. Naturally, grandmothers were inclined to dote on and adore their grandchildren no matter what, but it felt wonderful regardless. Nanna was the woman in your life who celebrated every single one of your accomplishments, no matter how small. She comforted you when you were upset, encouraged you when you were nervous, praised you when you were insecure. The wind in your sails since your mother had grown distant, comparatively detached, in the years that had followed Aiden's death.

Sometimes you wondered if your mother blamed you as you blamed yourself.

"Thanks, Nanna," You said again, pink cheeked and pleased. When you turned to leave the mudroom, you almost bumped into Ginny. Mercifully, her tiny frame was a lot more dense than it appeared, even at 80-something, so you weren't at risk of pulverizing her on impact. "Sorry, Ginny," You apologized, shamefaced.

Ginny scoffed, "It'd better take more than a knock from you to kill me, chicken. These old bones still have a lot left to do on this earth."

"Good. Because I don't want you going anywhere until I'm in my eighties." You giggled, giving her a short hug and smacking a kiss to her saggy cheek. You noticed she wasn't done up in her usual regalia—strings of costume jewelry and feathered robes. Today, she was dressed down in a plain frock, her only necklace the small silver pendant she always wore, "To ward off evil." One day it was going to be yours, Ginny had promised as she'd disregarded Aurora's accusations of favoritism. Ginny's cryptic response to that had been, "You don't need it, little lamb. Your sister will."

To this day, you had no idea why you'd need it or if it actually warded off evil like Ginny claimed, though you did enjoy rubbing it in Aurora's face that you were clearly Ginny's favorite grand-niece.

"She's got a new boyfriend," Nanna piped up from behind you, shades of glee in the lilt of her voice. "We'll get to meet him tomorrow night."

Ginny gave you wide eyes and a toothy smile, "Oh, is that so?"

"I'm leaving now," You announced, plucked your way around Ginny, and proceeded to ignore the hoots and coos that followed you out of the house.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Mr. Martin spotted Maddie as she entered the stadium, pensive, withdrawn, an impression he'd come to recognize as meaning she'd unearthed another possible clue in the mystery of how she'd ended on the wrong side of the veil. Something he didn't need right now with Amelia breathing down his neck.

His attention diverted upward to Charley, bunched in a seat and scribbling away in a notebook, his face drawn in straight lines of concentration. A new graft Mr. Martin hadn't authorized. Not that his students needed his approval to pick up new hobbies, of course. But he'd never seen Charley so intent, so determined. Writing the hours from end to end like he was composing the next hit teenage opera.

Things were getting out of hand. His students straying from the perfectly planted path he'd composed over the decades to keep them close. Keep them grounded (in more ways than one). If they drifted too far into death, too far from the thin boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead—Mr. Martin didn't want to think about what would happen, Mina's final moments blinking in and out of focus behind his eyes like fragments of a bad dream.

Ajay, Bernadette, and Katelynn were in the midst of discussing their ideas for a post-game celebration, seeking Mr. Martin's input. They wanted to show Wally some extra love on his "death date"—that the date changed every year notwithstanding—as was customary, and Mr. Martin was glad at least those three had remained on the straight and narrow and continued to defer to him for guidance.

Briefly, he panned to the field, observed for a moment how Wally had passed Maddie something while they sat against the goal post. The distance was too wide for him to see what it was, but it further made him feel like he needed to double down and shepherd Maddie into the fold. Before Amelia cottoned onto the fact that Maddie was still defiantly marching to the beat of her own cursed drum.

When he'd had to report to Amelia what had happened to Maddie's body—to Amelia's prospective vessel—he'd been delivered a monologue about how critical it was to keep Maddie's memory scrambled. If she were to remember the one thing that had kept her safe all those years, she'd be impossible to wrangle. And that meant Amelia would fulfill every dark promise she'd made to Mr. Martin before and after he became a permanent fixture in Split River High.

Mr. Martin came back to the present when Katelynn said his name, her tone indicating it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get his attention. He apologized and asked politely for her to repeat, listening with half an ear as he nodded along, yes, Wally should have a cake; yes, we can certainly bake one in time; and no, the crown of sparklers is still vetoed.

In his mind, however, he was developing a plan to steer everyone back under the right influence. He needed to correct their course. He needed to figure out what was going on with Charley and Wally and Maddie.

He needed to talk to Rhonda.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Sloped against the side of his truck, Xavier scrolled restlessly through his phone while he waited for you to show up. If you'd show up. You hadn't texted back and it was already 6:03PM. He was steadily losing faith that things between you and him could be repaired. Fuck. He needed you. He needed his best friend. He needed time to back the hell up so he could undo every mistake he'd made so you'd be there for him like he desperately needed you to be.

He shoved his phone into his pocket and sighed, mentally preparing to break into a deserted house, play hide and seek with whoever had stolen Maddie's backpack, and persuade them to tell Xavier where Maddie's body was stashed. Alone. Jesus Christ. As he straightened, squared his shoulders and took a step forward, he caught movement in the corner of his eye.

Down the street, at the corner, in the pool of lamplight, you stood, gaze doubtful as you stared at Xavier. You were dressed in customary breaking and entering black. A jumper dress and tights, turtleneck that definitely wasn't yours, and combat boots. Totally committed to the part. God. He couldn't believe you were there. You'd come. You'd shown up for him like you always had. No questions asked. Even after a week of radio silence and cold shoulders and outrage.

Xavier felt a pressure behind his eyes as he stared back at you, positioning himself to face you fully, arms outstretched, ready to catch you when you began to sprint toward him. You and he collided, his arms closed around your waist and his face in your throat, shaking from the force of the emotions that swirled through him.

"You came," He whispered against your skin, breathing in the comforting scent of your shampoo and the DIY detergent your mother preferred.

"Always, Zav," You soothed, arms slung around his shoulders.

His body shook as he hugged you, the immense relief he felt opening the floodgates to everything he'd been holding on to all week. "I can't do this without you," He confessed, voice tight as a rubber band about to snap. And that encompassed so many truths. He couldn't laugh or breathe or live if he lost you. You and he had been through too many losses, changes, heartbreaks, wins together. There was no world in which Xavier could sustainably exist if you weren't in it with him. "I love you," He said weakly. Nothing new, you and he had shared the sentiment plenty of times, but it still carried weight.

"I love you, too," You replied, slightly turning your head inward as you pulled back.

Xavier happened to simultaneously shift his face toward yours, accidental, a reaction to your movement, and then, time slowed. The world retreated. His breath left him in a shaky gasp. One of his hands instinctually moved to your cheek, fingers barely tracing a bruise he wanted to know the origins of. And then his lips gently, so very, very gently, brushed yours. He heard you inhale, sharp and subtle, and that was all it took for impulse to drive him.

His lips crashed against yours, one arm tight around you, the hand of the other splayed on your cheek, thumb pressed close to the corner of your mouth. Sweet liquid heat curled low in his belly and he released a low sigh of pleasure. He'd never imagined this, had never entertained the idea nor held space for it, yet, in that moment, he couldn't recall quite why. It felt so good.

The kiss couldn't have lasted more than a second before he felt you break away, your fingertips replacing your lips as you shook your head. Your eyes were somehow both caring and regretful, filled with a love that Xavier had to acknowledge wasn't the kind that invoked the sort of insatiable desire he craved. It was milder, sweeter; affection in lieu of attraction, and he immediately cooled.

He didn't jump back or apologize or hate himself and the world. There was no pang of rejection. Just plain, honest understanding. Xavier lowered his hand and loosened his grip on you, a tiny smile of acceptance.

"Sorry," You lamented, but Xavier insisted it was fine. Because it was. Like, actually was and not in the way that people insisted when they were anything but.

"Thanks for coming," He said, easing a breadth of space between you and him.

You rolled your eyes, "Like I'd let you go into a freaky abandoned house where a possible body snatcher may be lurking all by yourself." And then you snickered, "As if I'd miss you screaming like a girl if the floor creaks."

"Ha-ha," Xavier sneered waggishly, "You're such a good friend."

"I know." You grinned. As Xavier took the lead, he heard you ask, "Why'd you do it?"

He didn't need you to elaborate, that telepathy bred from a lifetime of familiarity doing the heavy lifting. He admitted, "I don't know." When you didn't say anything, Xavier expounded, "I mean it, I have no idea why I even started things with Claire, never mind why I kept it going." He glanced back at you, taking his phone from his pocket and turning on the flashlight before climbing the front steps. "It felt like I was in a fugue that I only came out of when Maddie went missing." Another glance back at you, this time with the caveat, "Don't tell me it was in the weed, kiddo, I didn't smoke that much."

In response, you locked your lips with an invisible key that you subsequently tossed over your shoulder. "I wouldn't dare."

Xavier tested the handle on the front door, surprised and grateful to find it twisted to the left without resistance. Whoever was using the place must have decided it was easier to leave the door unlocked than slip back inside through a window whenever they left. Faster and less conspicuous, certainly. He entered first, held a hand up to signal for you to wait while he sussed out whether it was safe or not.

In the meantime, you inquired, "You didn't by any chance happen to drink a lot of bad smelling tea while you were cheating on Maddie with the cheer captain, did you?"

The question, to Xavier's mind, was completely random and, frankly, ridiculous. "Tea? When have you ever seen me drink tea?"

"Whenever you get a cold and Nanna insists on nursing you back to health."

"I think we both know that doesn't count." Xavier reckoned, treading slowly and carefully down the hall, which, okay, he was starting to think the whole stealth operation thing wasn't necessary if you and he were talking at a conversational volume anyway.

"When you went through your Jimi Hendrix phase and drank a bajillion cups of apple cinnamon black tea with—"

"—milk and two sugars, yeah, okay, I get it. The answer is still no. I didn't become acutely British one night and then fuck Claire."

"Ew."

"You asked."

You took to the other side of what would've been the living room to look for clues, "Still. Ew."

Someone was definitely living there. Though the house smelt overall stale and mildewy, the place was tidy. Ish. The makeshift bed against the living room wall was made. The messiest thing about the room was the scattering of old mail. When you suggested splitting up, Xavier vigorously quashed the idea, taking your hand just to keep you from wandering off out of spite.

"Is it because I'm a woman?" You griped.

Xavier raised his eyebrows at you, asserting, "No. It's because you have a bruise on your cheek and I don't know if you got it from walking into a door or into someone's fist. Which, please tell me it's the former so I don't have to beat the shit out of someone."

You chuckled, "Technically the former. I projected out of my body to make it look like I fainted. I needed to get out of math class."

About to open another door, Xavier stalled, "You did what." He said, monotone, nearly dropping his phone in disbelief because, surely, he'd misheard you.

"Astral projected. I, uh, ahem, I can do that, too." Suddenly shy, you tipped your gaze down and pressed your lips together.

"Oh. Yeah. No. That's...what."

You tugged his hand, made him look at you when you said, "No one besides Wally knows. So...please don't tell anyone. The fewer people who know, the better."

Xavier wanted to retort, something snappy and sarcastic, but he picked up on the note of earnest pleading in your voice. Instead, he nodded, squeezed your hand, and promised, "I won't." Then, "Your family doesn't know?"

"Nope. I never told them."

"Why not?"

You hesitated. Xavier could tell it was more to choose your words than because you didn't want to explain. Eventually, "I found out when Aiden died. I wasn't able to do it before that. I wanted to tell my mom, but she was a mess after, and Ginny and Nanna were busy taking care of her and me, and it just...the more time passed the less I wanted to talk about it." A pause thick with memory. "When mom was actually getting back out into the world, it felt kinda wrong to bring up anything to do with that day, you know? I didn't want to trigger her and make her backslide into depression again. So, I pretended the ability didn't exist."

Xavier regarded you with sympathetic eyes, "Thanks for telling me." Ignoring the part where your dead boyfriend knew, Xavier felt like you'd let him in again, that you trusted him to carry your secrets with you, and he didn't want to take it for granted. Just then, he heard creaks from the back of the house. "Stay here, don't move," he commanded and advanced to the back room. Opened the door. Stepped inside. Caught a shadow at the window that propelled him forward.

"Hey!" He called, racing to the window. The jump was too high for his comfort, brain calculating the distance between the window and the operating table he'd definitely find himself on if he attempted to pursue the person. As he watched the person disappear behind another house, he smacked the wall, "Fuck!" feeling like a coward. He wanted to be better. To help. To get Maddie her body back.

To be forgiven.

"Hey, did you find them?" You stepped up to the window and peered outside.

Xavier nodded, "Yeah, but they took off."

You must have identified what Xavier was ruminating in his expression because the next thing he knew, he was bundled in a hug and reassured, "I'm glad you're okay. They could've been dangerous."

He returned the hug, not having considered that possibility.

"Let's look around and see if we can find anything useful." You suggested, "And then I need you to drive me to the stadium. I have a sexy football star ghost to ask to the dance."

Xavier smirked, slinging your earlier statement back at you, "Ew."

"Shut up, you're the cheating manwhore."

"Still. Ew."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally waited outside the locker rooms for you, geared up and ready to go. His blood was pumping, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Tonight was his night. He was going to make his mamma proud.

Less than five minutes later, he saw you turn the corner and scurry to him, grabbing his hand to pull him into a secluded area just inside a door to the stairwell. The connection between you and him roared to life and he followed its call, crowding you against the wall and kissing you senseless.

When you and he parted for air, he gazed down at you, heated and hungry, "Hey, baby."

You smiled back, "Hey yourself." With a hand to his chest, you pushed him back a step, your other hand hidden behind your back. "I have something for you."

He raised a brow in intrigue, broad grin on his face, "Oh yeah?" He tried to shift closer, but the look you gave him forced his legs still. "What is it?"

Slowly, you brought your hand out from behind your back and presented him with a clear plastic container. He took it, examined what was inside briefly before snapping his head up.

"Wally Clark, will you go to the homecoming dance with me?" You proposed, big, gorgeous smile all for him.

He glanced down at the boutonniere again and then up to you, his heart quickening for a reason entirely separate to the excitement of tonight's events. His soul soared. He'd never been asked. Okay, back when he'd been alive, it wasn't exactly acceptable for the girl to ask the guy, and he had asked his then-girlfriend, Jenny Johnson, to the dance. Went ahead and had died under the enormous bulk of an Outlaws linebacker. Thereafter had attended stag in the company of his fellow ghosts, most of whom hadn't been enthusiastic about dressing up and dancing to cheesy music.

But...here you were.

'Yes' wasn't going to cut it. Wally wanted you to know how much it meant to him that you'd asked. How elated he was, how thoroughly in fucking love with you he was. And, holy shit, he was, wasn't he? He loved you. A joyous laugh bubbled out of him from the depths of his being and he closed the distance between you, hovering over your frame that seemed so small in comparison to his. In measure increments, he bowed his head, free hand smoothing down your waist to your hip, and he grazed his lips against yours. A lingering tease before he pressed in firmly and gave you his answer.

He heard you whimper, the sound making his head spin, and he felt your fingers at the nape of his neck, tickling the short hairs, sending frissons of want and need down his back. When you pulled away, biting your lip, gaze caught on his mouth—fuck, he had to close his eyes just to maintain some semblance of self-control.

"Is that a yes?" You asked, voice sultry and low.

Wally grinned. Unequivocally, wholly, utterly, "Yes."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

At halftime, Xavier humbly handed out the fliers Sandra had printed off. He hated himself a little bit for it since he could see Maddie sitting at a table with your dead boyfriend, as Simon had dubbed him, having what appeared to be a deep and meaningful conversation.

Although he wasn't shackled to the same commitment to secrecy as you were, he couldn't imagine it going very well if he sat Sandra down and told her the truth. That her daughter was half-ghost and some sick individual was out there doing God knew what to Maddie's body. Oh, but don't worry, Maddie isn't alone, there's a bunch of dead kids to keep her company, can you believe that?

No. No one outside your family would believe that. Except Simon, but he was paddling the same shit canoe as Xavier so that rendered him irrelevant.

Xavier glanced at the table again, watching Maddie and Wally laugh and talk and eat. Since ghosts ate apparently. Like people. With heartbeats and working digestive systems. Did ghosts need to eat? Did ghosts use the bathroom?

"What're you doing?" Simon's voice jolted Xavier back to earth.

Xavier ticked his attention to Simon, suffering for what to say. "Nothing," was a shit answer, and he could tell Simon didn't believe it, but there it was.

"You've been staring at them for five minutes." Simon informed, unimpressed. "Did your humanity finally come back online and now you're feeling guilty?"

Xavier clenched his jaw, "You don't have to be such a dick all the time, you know. I'm here. I'm trying to help."

"Yeah," Simon scoffed, "I bet. As if your guilty conscience isn't the reason you've been at Sandra's beck and call all week. Did you tell her you betrayed her daughter?"

"Actually, yeah, I did." Xavier stared Simon dead in the eye, "We covered that in our first conversation."

Simon seemed shocked to hear that, gaping for a beat before covering it up with a stony cast. "It learned how to be honest. I'm impressed. Maybe you will become a real boy after all."

"Fuck you," Xavier snapped, giving Simon his back so he could focus on emptying his stack of fliers.

He didn't hear anything for long enough that he assumed Simon had walked away, but, to his complete surprise, "Are you guys talking again?" Xavier pitched Simon an inquisitive glance. "You know what I'm talking about," Simon said, "For some reason she actually considers you a friend. And I consider her a friend. So, I wanna know. Have you apologized to her yet?"

Sucking in a deep breath, Xavier opted to take the olive branch Simon was offering, as thorny and shriveled as it was. "Yeah, we're good." Remembering the kiss (his kiss, he rectified, taking responsibility for his actions), he slipped another peek at Wally. Too bad for him, Simon was perceptive.

"It's weird, right? Dating a dead guy."

"If she's happy, I'm happy." Xavier said sincerely.

"Great. So why do you keep looking at Wally like he's your middle school bully come back to haunt you." Simon viscerally thought about what he'd said, "Is that a pun?"

Xavier snorted, "I don't think so." And then, bravely, wanting to impart an olive branch of his own. Stupidly. He disclosed, "I kissed her."

Nothing. No comeback, no quip, no insults. Nada. Xavier turned to Simon only to find him trembling with suppressed laughter, back of his wrist over his mouth.

Finally, "Oooh~ ho ho, her dead boyfriend is so going to kill you." Simon glanced at Wally and then back at Xavier, "Please don't let it happen when I'm not around, I really wanna watch."

"You're such an asshole." Xavier grumbled, practically shoving a flier at a passerby.

"You know, I'm surprised she let you," Simon mused.

Conversationally, "She didn't. She stopped it."

"That's my girl."

"She's not your anything," Xavier let him know.

Simon shrugged, casual and delighted, "Doesn't matter. She's definitely his," He nodded to Wally, "And he's going to break you in half."

Xavier swallowed, sizing Wally up and internally agreeing with Simon that, yep, that guy could definitely beat the crap out of Xavier if he wanted to. "But he can't." Xavier said, more a prayer than a statement. "He can't touch me, right, Simon?" Simon didn't respond. "Simon? He can't, right?" Xavier spun around and saw Simon heading back to the bin of fliers, "Simon!?"

Simon threw his head back and cackled.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You said goodbye to your friends after the game, everyone, including yourself, in high spirits despite the Bandits losing. It had been a close game, fun to watch though you maintained you weren't into sports.

Wally was easy to find, propped against the wall near the exit, one foot up, hands in his pockets, already staring at you with soulful eyes and a soft smile. Your belly clenched and your skin flushed under his appraisal, butterflies swarming inside you.

The crowd was distracted and dense enough that you threw caution to the wind and tucked yourself against him when you reached him. You felt him tense, but it wasn't even a second before you felt his arms wrap around you and his nose in your hair.

"Did you have fun, pretty girl?" He asked. His tone was oddly serene for someone who'd been vibrating out of his skin earlier. He didn't sound exhausted or depressed or anything else you'd expect from someone who'd, a) seen their parent who couldn't see him back, and, b) had watched the same game that'd killed him. Rather, he sounded...at peace, if a little apprehensive around the edges.

You peeked up at him as you soaked up the heat of his body like a needy sponge, "Are you okay?"

Again, that soft smile, tinged very faintly by nerves. Maybe because you were being too forward with your abilities in a public setting? You studied him and found that, no, that wasn't it.

He licked his lips nervously, said, "I need to tell you something. But I'm scared it'll change the way you look at me."

"Nothing could do that," You reassured him, encouraging him to say what he wanted to say.

Wally appeared to think about it, deliberating, but eventually revealed, "I don't like football."

It was your astonishment that kept you from responding right away. Not astonishment for what he said, but how he said it. Like it was a weight off his shoulders. A burden he'd been carrying for too long at last lifted. You tilted your head, eyes on his, and smiled, overjoyed that he'd shared something that was clearly so personal, so vulnerable, with you.

"Me neither." You said and the smile that spread on his face made your knees weak.

You and Wally stayed like that for as long as you were able before he couldn't put off joining the others anymore. You and he parted with a kiss, as was becoming customary, and you walked back into the school. As you wandered down the hall toward the front of the building, you noticed something out of the ordinary. To be more precise, someone.

"What's he doing here?" You muttered to yourself, following Ken Doll Dave around the corner, away from the front of the building and toward the basement door. You maintained a decent distance, made sure your footsteps were silent on the linoleum, and crept along behind him, catching the door before it could close with a shatter.

Down the stairs, along the narrow corridor....you heard voices coming from behind a door you hadn't known existed. The door was open and when you took a gander, you placed who the voices belonged to. You checked both ways down the corridor, but Dave was long gone. Whatever reason he had to skulk around a high school basement would have to wait.

"What're you guys doing?" You asked Simon and Maddie when you entered the subbasement area and stepped further into the room. Casting about, you realized it wasn't just another storage space. It was a full-on, military-grade, nuclear bunker like one would see in the movies, complete with decades-old tinned food, a pristinely made cot, and a system of outdated machinery. "Whaaat the hell is this?"

"Mr. South said it's been here since the Cold War." Simon told you, "That it hasn't been used in decades."

"And he just let you in here?" You wondered, running your fingers across the dusty machinery.

Simon gave you a toothy smile, "He likes me."

Before you could snark back, "Where do you think that goes?" Maddie brought your attention to a panel in the wall.

You and Simon approached with caution, Simon saying, "No idea, but," he pushed the panel open along the small pair of rails set into the wall, "I'm guessing this is how Claire dragged your body out of here."

The dust on the floor below the space had been disturbed, supporting Simon's theory about Claire, and while you'd been reluctant to jump on the Claire is the new cult train, you couldn't refute the physical evidence. You bent down, inspected the floor beside Simon's shoe, and came back up with something between your thumb and forefinger.

Shuddering, you showed Simon and Maddie, "I think you might be right, Si."

Yet, Simon didn't gloat, too disturbed by the sight of the bloody fingernail you'd just found in the scuff marks on the floor.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Deep inside the tunnel, Janet crawled back toward the exit, sleeves of her hoodie pulled down over her hands to avoid potentially losing another nail. That'd been close. Too close. She'd barely sealed the door before those two interlopers had entered the fallout shelter.

After her hideout had been discovered, she'd meant to sneak into the school undetected and stay the night in one of the many secret spaces she'd used for privacy as a ghost. But she'd seen that man again. The one who she knew Amelia had enlisted to find her. As she pushed open the gate at the other end of the tunnel, the muscles in her arm protested, pained and stiff. She groaned, rolling onto the ground below, tripping and scraping her palm on the gravel.

"Fuck!"

Time was running out, she needed to get that book and she needed it now. But the walls were closing in around her. She had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go to finish what she'd started. Gathering what little strength she had, she made the decision.

It was time to cut and run.

💀___________________________

PART ONE - PART THREE

fun fact: Eli is the guy who, in episode 5, tries to sit with Maddie and Simon at the lunch table and pops tater tots in his mouth until Simon wordlessly banishes him. On his way to another table, he stops Reader as she goes to sit with Simon and Maddie, telling her, "Don't even bother, Simon's being fucking weird."

note: smut in the next one, stay tuned! also, i couldn't take away from Maddie and Wally's sweet moment at halftime. like, it's too meaningful and i refuse to mess with it. so they still have it. but, you know, as homies instead of love interests. i'd toyed with the idea of Reader conveying a message from Wally to his mom at the game, but felt that didn't serve anything beyond insinuating Reader into everything and that's just not a road i wanna go down...

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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.

Best Friends Club

summary: prompt fill. Wally's been your best friend since the Grade 4 puppet show. a disaster that brought you together for life. only now, years later and months away from graduation, Wally needs to get something off his chest. he just...didn't exactly plan to do it this way... (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. friends to lovers. protective behavior. AU. silliness & fluff. Simon and Wally are bros (fight me).

bon reading, frens

___________________________☄️

Best Friends Club

Wally's chatting with Maddie and Charley before school, has his arm around your shoulders as you focus on your phone, laughing and joking and smiling wide until:

"Holy crap, Jake Tremblay just asked me to go out Friday," You announce, pretty eyes wide, blinking in shock at everyone.

Wally goes still, smile sliding off his face as his stomach drops and his heart ups and lodges itself in his throat. God, this hurts.

See, the thing is, you're Wally's best friend. And while he has his arm around you—is always reaching for you, hand on your back, arm, shoulder, whatever—it's never been anything but friendly. Best friendly. Because you and he are f r i e n d s. And it sucks. Royally.

Why? Yeah, no one needs three guesses to figure out that Wally's been in love with you since Grade 4. That massacre of a puppet show the kids put on for their parents during Spirit Week. You and Wally spent the entire performance using sock puppets to have a dialogue about who'd win in a fight: Goku or Sailor Moon. Didn't even notice the blood vessel about to pop in Mr. Toast's temple when things really started to spiral.

Wally only comes down to earth when you say his name for what must not be the first time, everyone's eyes on him. Yours, especially, beautiful and concerned as you stare at him expectantly.

"What was that?" He asks, feeling simultaneously dumb and unable to function.

You repeat, "I asked you what I should say..." and turn to face him fully. Still close enough that your body heat soaks through his hoodie. Fuck, how can he say anything negative when you're giving him that sweet, earnest expression? Seeking advice from someone you trust implicitly.

Against his better judgment—or maybe for it—Wally slaps on a smile and says, "Yeah. You should go for it."

This isn't the first time you've been asked out. Of course, those last few times you didn't look so keen on accepting the offer. When you turn back to your phone, Wally's face immediately falls. He doesn't look at Maddie or Charley, can't handle the pity he knows he'll see in their eyes.

Everyone in the circle knows about Wally's crush on you (fuck, it's so much more than that), but apart from insisting he talk to you, no one points it out. You're the only one who hasn't caught on, Nicole having informed Wally that you giggled over popcorn, what are you talking about? Wally's always like that, when everyone was at the APEX for a midnight screening of some scary movie Wally couldn't have cared less about.

And, sure, Wally is 'always like that': Goofy, charming, flirtatious; standing in line at concessions for you and holding your bag when you go to the bathroom... What you don't seem to grasp is that Wally isn't like that with anyone else. And now you're saying 'yes' to Jake Tremblay and Wally has to muster the strength not to punch a wall.

‗•‗

Simon closes his locker only to jolt backwards. Wally appeared out of the fucking ether, what the hell? He has his forehead pressed against the locker beside Simon's, shoulders slumped, looking all-in-all miserable to exist.

"Yoouu okay?" Simon ventures, raising a brow.

Slowly, Wally turns his head and nothing else, eyes puppy-dog sad and lower lip pursed in a pout, "No." And then, after turning to face the locker again, "She said yes to Jake Tremblay."

"Dude, I've told you a thousand times, talk. to. her." Simon says like a mother insisting Wally clean his room.

Pointed, "Oh, you mean like you talked to Maddie?"

Simon takes a moment to reevaluate his life before, in a placid, neutral tone, declares, "I regret this friendship."

"No you don't." Wally says, but he's still glooming into the locker. "What do I do?"

"Aside from talk to her?" Simon shrugs helplessly. How's he supposed to know? He and Wally have been paddling the same sinking boat for approximately the same number of years. "Do you...wanna threaten Jake?" Simon asks in a pitch similar to that used when asking children if they want to go for ice cream after a tantrum.

Wally seems to seriously consider it but glumly decides, "No. I want her to be happy." A heavy sigh. "Even if it's not with me."

"This isn't going to make you some kind of martyr, you know."

"I know."

Simon doesn't think Wally does know, but fine, he'll play along. "Maybe it'll go so bad that she swears off dating forever."

"A guy can dream," Wally mumbles as he straightens, and, Jesus, he looks like every puppy in the world just got kicked and he was forced to watch.

Simon can see beneath Wally's utter despair to the gears turning in his brain. Can sense what ill-advised plan Wally is cooking up (because this isn't the first time he's done something stupid to ensure you're safe). In an effort to, a) avoid criminal charges and, b) make Wally feel better:

"What if I happen to be in the same place at the same time? I could keep an eye on things for you." Simon suggests and he already wishes he didn't say anything.

Wally brightens, "You'd do that for me?"

"Apparently..." Simon says, questioning himself. "Look, better me than you, right? Otherwise, it'll be exactly what it is and she'll never talk to you again."

"Why? What would it be if I do it?"

"Stalking, Wally," Simon states as he heads into History, Wally at his heels.

"Hey!" Wally protests, "It's not like that!"

Taking his seat, Simon just gives Wally a pointed stare, "Buddy, I know you read those BookTok romances, but following your BFF on her date with another dude isn't a romantic gesture. It's creepy a-f."

"But...you'll do it for me?" Wally wants to confirm, his eyes all wide and pleading.

Simon sighs, thinking this is a terrible idea, but seeing Wally so sad breaks Simon's heart and he can't bring himself to take back the offer. "...Apparently."

‗•‗

Friday comes. It's all you've been talking about since Monday and Wally has had it up to here with Jake This and Jake That, and if he hears one. more. thing. about Jake, Wally's going to burst into a million pieces of ragehate and take the whole school with him.

But he smiles and nods and teases you like he would in any other situation, bumping your ass with his hip when he finds you at your locker at lunch. You don't even need to look to know it's him, simply continue to shove your backpack in your locker and grab your jean jacket.

"Diner?" You give him a sunshine smile that Wally returns, almost forgetting about your date and Jake and how you're not actually Wally's girlfriend.

Not in this lifetime, his brain reminds him bluntly.

His blood stings.

Over lunch at the diner down the street, you outline exactly what Jake has planned. Dinner at the Italian place beside the Arcade (it's fucking Olive Garden, Jake, do better) and then—Jesus, really?!—stargazing on the roof of the old cigarette factory. An organized thing. The planets will be in some kind of super rare alignment or something, and local enthusiasts have banded together to share their telescopes.

"No offense, but since when do you care about the planets?" Wally wonders as he dips his fries into your ketchup.

You shrug, "I mean, it's something to do, right? And you're always telling me to 'branch out and try new things, dorkface'," You exaggerate the last part in a parody of Wally's voice before continuing as yourself, "so, why not astronomy?"

"Because it's outside and you hate outside things before May." Wally chuckles and shakes his head, "You're gonna get cold and complain and steal Jake's hoodie like you've stolen five of mine."

Wally loathed the idea of you stealing another guy's anything, but he smiled through the jealousy. Perhaps a little too intent on smearing more fries through your ketchup as his knee bumps the underside of the table in quick, nervous intervals.

Oh, he is not doing well.

He instantly notices how you've gone still, how you're studying his expression, words, behavior like a zoologist at the gorilla enclosure because Wally can't fucking keep his cool when he's forced to think about you being cozy and cute for someone who isn't him-shaped.

Wally keeps his eyes on his plate for a few moments; long enough that you gracefully change the subject and ask Wally what his plans are for tonight. As if they don't involve hanging out with his phone while he obsessively waits for Simon's updates throughout the course of your date.

"Nothing special," He says, patting himself on the back for keeping his voice even, "just hanging out at home."

‗•‗

It's 8:43PM when Wally's phone lights up with a call. As promised, Simon kept Wally abreast of every. single. thing. you and Jake did on your date. From flirty conversation over unlimited breadsticks to shifting to one side of the booth to split dessert.

It's only been an hour and a half since you and Jake were seated. What on earth could Simon have to tell him that couldn't be texted?

"Don't freak out—" Wally promptly freaks out "—but something happened."

Wally shoots up in bed, where he's been whiling away since he got home from school, and is immediately on alert. Heart pounding, blood pumping, ready for war.

"What's going on? Is she okay?"

"Oh. She's fine." Simon reports. He sounds like he's hiding, voice a harsh whisper just loud enough for Wally to hear. "Jake might be in a permanent body cast for the rest of his life, but she's totally fine."

Wally breathes a sigh of relief, although he's still confused, "What happened?"

Simon clears his throat, "She's probably going to call you in, like, a minute, so you have to act...just...be cool, okay?" And then, finally, he reveals, "Jake tried to stick his hand under her skirt. And I mean, he went for it. Full grope from behind."

At that moment, Wally sees fucking r e d. He's off the phone and in his car faster than a bullet, tearing out of his parents' driveway with a screech. Burns rubber around every corner; breaks several traffic laws; and pulls up just as you're about to get into an Uber. There's no sign of Jake. Unfortunate, since Wally has a surplus of adrenaline thrumming through his veins, and the only cure is beating the guy's face to a fucking pulp.

You look confused for all of a second before your face crumples. Wally shoots out of the driver's seat and hurries toward you. Gathers you in his arms as soon as you're within reach, and holds you as you shake. He rubs your back, soothes you with soft words; managing to simultaneously shoo the Uber driver away with a polite nod and a gesture.

"Are you okay?" He asks after a minute. "Do I need to kill him?"

"...No," You mumble into Wally's chest. "I already did that."

Wally grins, though it's sad at its edges. You shouldn't have had to.

"That's my girl," He murmurs into your hair after he places a comforting kiss on your head. "Come on. I'll drive you home."

You go without resistance, even allowing Wally to fuss over you and buckle you in. As he settles behind the wheel, he glances at you again and realizes, "Whose jacket is that?"

You press your lips together and stare at your lap, "I got cold... Besides, after what he did, I think I earned it." You end firmly, folding your arms.

"Did you take it before or after you kicked his ass?"

"After, duh." You say like it's so obvious, "We were inside before. But I didn't want to wait for my Uber in front of everyone who saw what happened. So...I made him give it to me."

Wally barks a laugh as he takes your hand, holding it in that platonic way, fingers not laced how he wants them to be, but he'll take what he can get. Your knuckles are scraped where they made impact with whatever part of Jake you punched. Wally smooths the pad of his thumb over them. Gentle. Loving.

"Where to, sweetcheeks?" He asks, "Home or ice cream?"

"Home." You decide with finality which makes it hard to swallow around the lump of disappointment in Wally's throat.

Call him selfish, but he hoped you'd want to let him comfort you. Regardless, he does as he's told and pulls away from the curb, pulling a uey to head toward your house.

‗•‗

On Monday, Wally finds Jake in the boys' locker room after swim practice, his black eye looking like it needs a twin. Wally punches Jake hard enough that even he sees circling birdies.

He shakes his hand as he leaves without a word, hardly feeling the pain through the smug satisfaction warming his belly.

‗•‗

It's the next weekend when you invite Wally over for a casual afternoon kick back. Games and snacks and Domino's on the menu for dinner. You're feeling better; spent the week oscillating between tense and weary, but that sweet sunshine glow you normally have is back when you answer the door for Wally.

You lead him to the basement, everything already set up: coffee table pushed aside for the nest of blankets and pillows on the floor, bags of gummy worms and twizzlers (Wally's favorite) and those Canadian chips you like piled on the floor beside cans of Dr. Pepper and Coke Zero.

Wally wore his cleanest sweatpants for the occasion, matching your chill vibe. And damn those low-slung yoga pants and that fucking tight-as-sin tank top, no bra because you love to drive Wally crazy.

"Ready to have your ass handed to you again?" You joke as you get comfortable on your side of the nest.

Wally claps back, "Hah! You haven't won in three months, sugarlips, what makes you think today's the day?"

You just smirk and hand Wally a controller, "I have a plan." And that's all there is to it. You don't elaborate, don't hint, don't give Wally any indication whatsoever what this plan might be.

Fishy...but effective. You're already in Wally's head. Hmm, maybe that's the plan? Wally shakes himself to attention and starts the game, grinning like a shark as he gets the lead right off the bat.

Just as he's about to cross the finish line, "So much for your pla—" when the world suddenly tilts sideways. He can't finish his thought, barreled over by your weight crashing into him as you grab the controller right out of his hand.

You squeal victoriously, the sound rebooting his brain, and he realizes what just happened.

"Hey!" He tries to grab the controller, but you hold it up and away from him, big smile on your face as the screen announces Wally came in dead last after his car smashed a wall he could've easily avoided. "Not fair!" He wraps his arms around you and flips you onto your back; presses his weight into you as he uses the advantage of his longer limbs to snatch the controller back.

Apparently not taking this lying down, you band your legs around his waist then surge up, somehow summoning the strength of five Wallys and rolling him onto his back again. Stunned, he stares up at you as you wave the controller victoriously.

"You were saying?" You chuckle, smug as ever, slightly out of breath.

Oh, but Wally isn't done yet, miss ma'am. He snaps his hands up, clamping his fingers for the controller which you arch your back to hold away from him, crying out when he takes advantage of your off-balance position to knock you backward. Once more, he has you squirming beneath him.

He grabs one wrist and then the other, transferring both into the grip of one of his large hands while he plucks the controller from you with the other. That's about the moment he realizes, uh-oh, he can feel your breath on his lips. Your face is such a beautiful shade of pink, and your thighs are on either side of his hips. Wally's body is completely flush against yours. All of him. Every. Last little bit. of him.

Wally should move. Definitely. He should move right now; just get off you and pretend everything's normal and you're not gazing up at him like that and his lips aren't so fucking close to yours, and the air hasn't been sucked out of the room that no longer exists around you and him because there's only you and only him and fuck. Shit.

"Wally~?" You say, voice a whisper tinged with something that makes Wally's cock twitch. Heat, maybe. Or need. You swallow, the sound audible, and, oh fuck, Wally watches your eyes flicker to his mouth then back, like you're finally on the same page, like you want it, too.

His hand flexes around your wrists, body settling more firmly on yours, and he stares at your face as he rocks his hips, just once, experimental, just to see what you'll do. He knows you can feel him, stiff and hardening further, all his inches against the heat of your pussy through your thin as fuck yoga pants.

Your reaction almost explodes Wally's brain. That sweet little whimper, how your eyes glaze over and your lips part; how you mimic the action with one of your own, sending sparks of electricity through Wally's nervous system.

"Fuck," He chokes out, grip loosening around your wrists, but not letting go. He drops the controller. Instead uses that hand to brush his fingers across your cheek and down the slope of your jaw. His breath mingles with yours, the heat in him rises, his heart beating a frenzied tattoo in his chest. Is he really going to do this?

"Please," You say, so soft, so perfect, that, yes, Wally is absolutely going to do this.

He gently bumps the tip of his nose against yours, smiles in wonder that this is really about to happen, and then slowly, to give you a chance to turn away if you don't want this, he leans in, stopping only to tease, "One more time, princess." His voice low and husky.

He feels you tense and then release before whispering, "Please, Wally..."

That's all he needs to lean in and kiss you for the first time, his lips capturing yours with years of hunger and desire and fucking love. So much love it threatens to go nuclear if Wally doesn't share the burden right this minute.

He moans, grinds his hips against yours, his cock throbbing against you, God, he needs you so badly. Has needed you so badly since he first discovered how his dick works and probably even before then. He lets his hand roam down down down, then up under your tank top, fingers caressing the soft shape of your breast.

You keen and arch into the touch, and, holy shit, he can't do this slow. Next time—please Jesus, let there be a next time—he'll do this right. He'll do candles and rose petals and Barry Manilow, but right now, he has to know what it feels like when you come around his cock.

His kisses turn urgent, his movements more hungry, and you match his crazy like a mirror. His shirt first, thrown behind the TV, then yours, tossed somewhere near the coffee table. Wally takes a second to admire your bare chest, licks his lips, and then descends, starving for a taste. He sucks your nipple, twirls his tongue around it, moaning as if it's the best thing he's ever had in his mouth.

Which, as soon as he peels your yoga pants off and resituates himself between your spread-wide thighs, he knows isn't true. This is the best thing he's ever had on his tongue. He spears it in and out of you, moaning and panting as he kisses your pussy deeply, brings one, two fingers into the mix; pumping into you over and over until you shake and beg and arch so fucking pretty for him.

"Fuck, baby, I need to feel you come," He groans, shoving his sweatpants and boxers off and throwing them somewhere to find later.

You agree enthusiastically, reaching for him as you hook one leg over his hip, the other over his shoulder—fuck, were you always this bendy!?—and cry out like a heavenly chorus when he drives his cock into you. Fuck, God, his eyes roll back in his skull, it's the most incredible feeling, an indescribable euphoria flushing through him from scalp to soles.

"You feel so...big, Wally, oh my god," You gasp when he begins to move, and doesn't that just rub his ego the right way?

He genuinely can't even find the brain cells to reply, too busy losing himself to the sensation of being inside you, finally, so much more intense than any and every fantasy he's had of you and him entwined like this.

"Baby," He moans, hips pumping faster, fat tip hitting your sweet spot over and over and over until he feels you tighten around him, hears you gasp, and then moan in ecstasy.

He wishes he could last, that he could keep going until you come again, again, again, but he's waited so long for this and it's overwhelming, he can't do it. With one, two, three more quick thrusts, Wally tenses and then groans, grinding his release into you; leaning down to take your lips in a feverish kiss.

As you and he recover, he rests his forehead against yours, releases your wrists—oops—and cradles your face in one hand, his most precious girl a vision in the afterglow. You shift, your hands on his jaw, and you're looking at him like the sun, moon, and stars.

"How long?" You eventually ask.

Wally doesn't need you to clarify. He knows exactly what you mean.

"Grade 4." The confession is terrifying and freeing at the same time.

He watches you absorb the information, nod, and then your eyes meet his when you make your own confession, "Grade 3. Ms. Houette's class. You made a joke about seagulls that was so lame it was funny."

Wally about short-circuits. He begs your finest pardon, but what was that? "Grade...3?"

"Grade 3."

"...are you saying that I could've been loving on you—" He emphasizes with a roll of his hips, winces from oversensitivity, "—since before I even understood what that meant?"

"I'm saying I've had a big, stupid crush on you since Grade 3." You say, innocent and solemn, "You take that however you want."

Wally chooses to forego the existential crisis and simply enjoy that he has you under him. There's a lot of time to make up for and a lot of fantasies Wally wants to bring to life, which you and he do with gusto until your parents get home and call down a hello.

It's only later, after stammering greetings and life updates over pizza, when you're snug as a bug in Wally's arms on the couch in the basement, dozing to the third Harry Potter movie, does Wally begin to mentally prepare for the speech of a lifetime that he knows Simon is going to deliver.

He already hears Simon's voice in his head: "I told you to talk to her—"

And Wally huffs a quiet chuckle, strokes your hair back, and kisses your forehead. Because, yeah, he should've. There would've been no pining, no pseudo-martyrdom, no Jake Tremblay.

It really is invaluable advice.

If only Simon would take it himself...

fin.

☄️___________________________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Marshmallow Miles.

a cutie-smut-lite oneshot wherein Wally wants to celebrate your birthday away from Split River. Because he can.

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

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Alphabet Soup - R

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

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

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

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

"Wally, god, fuck, Wally!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

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Milan.