I Feel Like I Need To Put Out An Apology Or Sum, I Did A Dumb Thing Last Night. I Got Drunk And Used

you guys made luigi mangione trend for days and I need to see the same energy for brianna boston. she is a 43 year old mother of three who ended a phone call with blue cross blue shield (after being denied a claim) “delay deny depose, you people are next” and is now being held under a 100,000$ bond and could face FIFTEEN years of prison if charged. she has no weapons, her record is clean, and yet she is being held behind bars. they are afraid of the public and are trying to subdue. do not let them!!!! be outraged that our freedom of speech is being threatened!!!!! deny defend depose! free brianna boston!

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Pt.6

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. SH. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. Broken Fingers. Blood. Emotional Numbness. Hearing Voices. Self Depreciation. Description of a Dead Body. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

2.2k words

pt.5

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

pt.7

okay so like….. i just started my period and im horny like a MFFFFFFFFFFFFF can you possibly do freaky ahh headcannons for zed necrodopolis…. gulp

Freaky ahh headcanons Zed addition

Zed Necrodopolis x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Smut ovi. Monster and Human Sex. Whatever the fuck you would consider Half Human half bunny and Zombie sex. (Honestly how the fuck am I supposed to explain that?) Some angst sprinkled in there cus babes got trauma. Zed being a lovable idiot. Rough Sex. Zombieing out. Public Sex. Period sex, so mention of blood. Cunnilingus, both regular and while on period. Heat Cycle. Biting.

(A/n: I randomly added in a little bit of Bunny!Hybrid!Reader cus why not? 🤷🏼‍♀ This was written at 5am off of way to much caffeine so yeah. I got freaky with this one.)

Human Reader

I fear Zed is a gentle giant. He'd be scared of hurting you especially because of how he's been treated his whole life. Sometimes he's not only scared he's gonna hurt you but that if he does he'd finally have to see himself as what everyone else sees him as, a monster.

Soft slow strokes, he likes to saver the moment. His hands gently running up and down your body, trying to memorize every part of you as he whispers in your ear, praise after praise falling from his lips between deep groans.

With that being said if he zombies out his gentle-ness fly's out the fucking window. I'm talking clothes ripped off, bending you over anything around him, whether that's a desk, table, window seal, counter, honestly anything you can imagine, you're getting bent over and he's going to town. if there's nothing around you then you're going on the ground or he's holding you up against a wall. He doesn't care who's around he just needs you.

I feel like he bites when he zombies out but I don't really know how it works. Would that turn you? Not really sure but in my little imaginary world it doesn't.

Again going into my Patricks imaginary world I feel like zombies have heat cycles. Does this exactly make sense? No. Do I care? Also no. Just fucking feral Zed having the need to breed. This is where I feel the biting comes into play too. Pure primal instincts similar to when he Zombies out but he has absolutely no control over it aka Z-Band doesn't work.

He's an eater, I say this about everyone but like HEAR ME OUT- He doesn't care when or where you want it you got it. Period and all he's on his fucking knees for you. Baby's not scared of blood.

On the same topic period sex with him would be IMMACULATE. You want it nice and slow? he'd give it to you, no questions asked. Rough and fast? Don't have to tell him twice. Diving right in.

Bunny!Hybrid!Reader

Ahem, HEAT HEAT HEAT HEAT.

This is where my imagination goes everytime I think of Zed.

His adorable little bunny, sweet and innocent. He just wants to destroy you in all the right ways.

When your heat cycle comes he has no problem helping you out. Infact he waits for it every year just so he has an excuse to breed you.

Love's holding onto your ears while he hits it from the back. They'd be so sensitive and sore after so he'd gently massage them.

(okay I'm done. Goodnight y'all, ignore my freaky-ness)

Fifty Seven

summary: prompt fill. between 1982 and 1983, Wally meets and falls completely head over heels for a girl who changes everything. his biggest fan, his greatest love. you. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. AU - pre-canon. dorks falling in love. author doesn't know American football. total disregard for canon lore. HEA.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🏈

Fifty Seven

It was gradual, how things developed between you and Wally. Slow and peripheral at first. Then, like a confetti cannon—pop💥—instant, exciting; a pocket of fresh air in a dense smog. And it was all thanks to Wally's best friend, Rodney.

See, Wally was a baseball guy. Had planned to continue being a baseball guy through high school. He was an excellent pitcher with an impressive BA, and his mama had been over-the-top supportive for Wally to join the team—believed in him so much that she'd even strongarmed Coach Burns to let Wally try out for varsity.

But Rodney? Had wanted to join the football team. And Wally had wanted to do everything with his inseparable since birth best buddy, so he'd found himself donning a helmet and nailing technical drills like it was paint-by-numbers. Obviously, he'd made the team. Had started winning games, gained popularity and praise and attention from girls. Had fast become Coach's MVP only to, in sophomore year, be transferred to the varsity team. Go Devils!

That'd meant training longer, playing harder, and receiving interested elevator-looks from the hottest chicks in school. Seniors who'd graduated out of the awkwardness of puberty and had learned how to flaunt their curves. Don't worry, Rodney had been along for the ride, built like a brick shithouse and equally as formidable on the field, and he'd kept Wally humble.

Not that he'd needed to, because the thing about attention was the more Wally got, the less he was seen.

Yeah, he was the star receiver, the guy whose name everyone knew. But...that was about all they knew about him. People summed him up to the number on his jersey. Shallow. Detached. The girls he took on dates wanted the infamy of having made out with him—"he's such a fantabulous kisser,"—and the guys admired the hell out of him, clapped his back and handed him beers, but no one expressed an interest in peeling back flesh and bone to see what made Wally tick.

Wally wasn't lonely; he had Rodney and Don and Keith. BFFs since kindergarten who gave a real shit about him. It was just that, if people approached him to ask questions, he wanted it to feel less like an interview and more like a connection. Small talk was exhausting.

He'd been contemplating this when you'd first popped onto his radar. Shooting hoops in the gym at lunch to brood over his latest failed effort with a girl—Sarah Miller from History—when, oh shit, look out!, you'd walked through the door the second Wally had decided to unleash his frustration by whipping the ball at the wall. He'd overcompensated. The ball had curved to the left. Smack, you'd taken it square in the head.

Somehow, you hadn't been hurt, though the sound had convinced Wally you should've had a bruise blossoming on the area of impact. He'd run over, eyes wide in panic, visually checking you over to ensure he hadn't concussed you.

He'd rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," You'd grinned, friendly, not even a little bit upset, "Happens more than you think." Which would've raised flags if Wally hadn't been preoccupied by how your proximity smelled like summer.

After a moment of uncertainty, Wally had stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "I'm Wally Clark. I, uh... I'm better at football." He'd felt like in idiot five seconds later when you'd merrily declared:

"I know," still smiling like he hadn't just thoroughly embarrassed himself. "You always feint left." Then, in general consideration, "I'm surprised no one's figured that out yet."

Wally had stared at you in surprise, "I mean... I do what feels right in the moment."

You'd raised your hands, "I'm just saying, your recovery's weak on your left backfoot, so you might wanna switch it up soon."

Wally had crashed through a gamut of emotions in under a second, beginning with insecurity and ending in shockawe. Because you'd noticed something. And, okay, yes, it'd been jersey-number related, but it hadn't been how well he filled out his uniform.

"You come to the games?" He'd wondered as he'd valiantly ignored how his stomach had started to feel squirmy.

You'd nodded, "You're fun to watch." And you'd said it so...casually. Like it'd been part of the Split River High zeitgeist: The stadium became a sardine can because Number 57, Wally Clark, was fun to watch.

"So, I guess you're gonna be there tomorrow?" He'd asked, the seed of an unfamiliar sense of intrigue planted. He'd watched you tilt your head, watched your eyes light up when you'd smiled. Wally had felt his cheeks heat and his eyes go soppy in response.

"That's the plan, Stan," You'd gleefully confirmed.

That'd been where it'd all started.

You and he hadn't become friends or anything like that, but Wally had felt a connection. Like you and he had clicked. From then on, he'd sought you out in the crowd at every game. Where's Waldo between plays. You'd never been in the same place twice, and as soon as he'd find you, you'd hold up a poster-board boasting a glittery '57' in school blue, and cheer him on with gusto.

It'd swiftly become Wally's favorite part of playing football.

Tonight, Wally was mid-search, batting away Rodney's reminder that the team planned to hit Max's Diner after the game, win or lose, when Number 36, Matt Wilson, advised, "Dude, don't interrupt. It's like a good-luck ritual at this point."

Rodney frowned, "What're talking about?"

Even Wally broke his concentration and swiveled his head to look at Matt in confusion.

With a snort, Matt pointed out, "Clark always looks for the girl, finds her, then plays harder than ever and we win the game. He's been doing it for weeks." He shrugged, "I mean, whatever works, right?"

He did? Huh. He guessed he did...

"You got a girlfriend and didn't say anything?" Rodney accused, a little hurt. "Ouch."

"It's not like that," Wally assured him, though he felt his cheeks flush and his lips curve into a dopey smile.

Rodney studied Wally for a moment and then, "Alright, my man, what's her name?" A big, teasing grin on his face.

Wally opened his mouth to answer before he realized, shit, he actually had no idea. You hadn't given him your name the afternoon he'd accidentally pelted you with a basketball.

"You're not serious." Rodney said flatly, "you don't even know her name?" while Matt slapped his knee and crowed.

Wally was about to defend himself when, just over Rodney's shoulder, there you were, gaze already on him. His insides instantly went gooey, broad smile stretched across his face, and Rodney leveled him with an unimpressed look that Wally refused to acknowledge.

"For the love of God, ask for her name." Rodney commanded before he stuck his mouthguard between his teeth.

The whistle blew and the game continued.

The Devils won.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Taking Rodney's suggestion was somewhat harder than Wally had anticipated. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, nerves piqued whenever he caught sight of you in the hall. He wasn't a nervous guy—Wally was a big, brave boy, thank you very much—but something about you made him stutter and overthink and, aaah, what would he even say!? Hey, thanks for coming to watch me play after I hit you in the face. Also, what's your name, girl who I share a new, ongoing at-game tradition?

Lame.

He needed more information. ✨A r e a s o n✨. Some unavoidable situation wherein Wally had to go up to you that didn't insist upon itself. Or he could actually be a big, brave boy and just say hi as casually as you'd told Wally he was fun to watch.

Between the last game and the next, Wally began gathering facts from a distance (while Rodney's gaze burned a hole into the side of Wally's head).

He learned that you sat with a group of sophomores in the cafeteria, laughing along yet not interjecting, comfortable giving the stage to your friends. Being a year below him explained why Wally hadn't noticed you before, but since that fateful day in the gym, he hadn't been able to stop noticing you.

You were quiet, though not in a shy way. You often spent time in the library—or, rather, you were always in the library when Wally happened to be, nose in a book on the windowsill. You stepped aside to let people go through a door first, and smiled at everyone; and on Mondays and Thursdays your fingers and jeans were smeared with charcoal from your Art class.

Your clothes changed, but your shoes didn't. Beat up Converse you clearly loved to death. You carried around a Sony walkman like the one Keith had, headphones on in the mornings and around your neck in the afternoons. Wally wanted to know what music you listened to.

Truth be told, he wanted to know a lot of things. Like your favorite movie and what you did in your spare time. If you went to parties or preferred to stay home and play boardgames (he wouldn't mind trading a sticky ping-pong ball for a Monopoly shoe). Were you strictly a cassette girl or did you listen to vinyl, too? Bike or license? Star Trek or Star Wars? Tom or Jerry?

God, Wally had it bad. He wanted to know everything. Every detail.

And, finally, after several failed attempts to muster the courage to cold approach you, ✨a r e a s o n✨ fell into Wally's lap and he decided it was now or never.

Practice had just ended. He was loose and warm and in a good mood, and after saying goodbye to the guys on the field, he turned and saw you sitting alone on the bleachers. Headphones on like a headband, the earpieces behind your ears. You scribbled in a notebook, tongue peeking out of the corner of your mouth, clearly 100% focused on whatever you were working on.

Wally's eyes softened and his heartbeat sped up. You were adorable.

Clearing his throat to announce himself, he climbed the bleachers and shuffled across the middle bench to take a seat beside you.

"Hey," He smiled, broad and hopefully not too eager.

Your head lifted and you smiled back.

Wally melted inside.

"Hi, Wally Clark," You said as you closed your notebook and shifted to give him your full attention. "Not practicing your free throws today?" You teased with a glint in your eye.

Wally ducked his head as he chuckled, "Nah, not today. I decided to leave that to the professionals."

"Mm, yeah, that might be for the best," And then, fixing him with a cheeky grin, "You know, if dodgeball ever becomes a recognized sport, you should totally join a team."

Wally pressed his lips together, doing his best to hide how big his smile would be otherwise, before he glanced at you with a raised brow, "Oh. So, you're funny?"

You giggled like sweet melody, "Let's call it observant."

He released his smile, heart fluttering in his chest, eyes flickering across your face to take in every detail. There was something in him—a magnet behind his ribs—that drew Wally toward you. He couldn't explain it. Barely knew you enough to label it as more than attraction, but it was more. His gaze dipped to your lips, traced the shape of your smile, then skirted back up to meet your eyes.

"Alright, let's call it observant." He agreed, his smile somehow widening.

After a moment of comfortable silence, "Your feints are getting better," you commented, "I can't predict which way you're gonna go anymore."

And he positively preened; spine straight, chest puffed out, proud to have earned your admiration. Maybe that's what'd always been missing. He'd never had to work for it, everyone throwing themselves at his feet just for a split second of his attention. Wally had always been approached, never had to do the approaching.

Was that the thrill of the chase?

No. Of course not. You weren't the deer to his crosshairs. But he had to admit, it was nice that he could trust you weren't talking to him to get something out of it. Which is probably why, before he could stop himself, Wally blurted:

"Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?"

You seemed surprised, brows shooting up. Still, your smile remained and, with a chuckle, you nodded, "That would be nice." And then, eyes narrowing, "Nowhere that involves you having to throw things, though, right?"

Hand to his heart, "I'll save it for the field," Wally promised, suddenly feeling giddy and overwhelmed. He had to resist the urge to bite his lip in excitement. Raked his fingers through his hair and glanced bashfully away to compose himself.

"Very appreciated." You bumped your shoulder against his arm.

The brief contact ignited a thousand butterflies to take flight in his belly. He stood, gathered his sports bag and beamed down at you. You looked back, all cute and sweet and appearing nowhere near as affected as Wally felt which made him feel a little silly for the intensity of his body's reactions to you.

"How about the arcade...around 3?" He suggested, putting as much confidence behind his words as he could.

After a moment's thought, "Can we make it in the evening? Say around 6?" You asked.

"Yeah," Wally replied, "Yeah, we can make it 6." He took a couple of backward steps, "I can pick you up at your place."

You shook your head, "I'll meet you there."

"Great, it's a date," He nearly choked when he registered what he'd said, face absolutely flaming, though he didn't take it back. He almost tripped over his own feet as you didn't correct him.

Instead, all you said was, "Can't wait."

You didn't see it—God, he hoped you didn't see it—but as soon as he was off the bleachers and a good enough distance away, Wally fist pumped, practically vibrating out of his skin. Holy crap, he was going on a date with you! He was going to spend time with you, get to know you, connect with you the way he'd always wanted to connect with someone outside of Rodney, Don, and Keith.

It was only when he was in his car and on his way home to shower that he realized he still didn't know your name.

He could hear Rodney's eyeroll from there.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You'd noticed Wally from the start. It was difficult not to, the guy a high-rise human, towering over most of the student body. But, it wasn't just his physical presence. Nor was it how good he was at attracting attention on and off the field with his exuberance and abundance of energy.

It was the moments between the jokes he made with his friends. Between performing for the crowd when he led the Devils to victory. The somber, introspective moments he thought he had to himself. And he did, for the most part. You'd never meant to intrude. It just so happened that he often used the same spaces you did to find peace.

You weren't surprised that he hadn't noticed you before he'd lodged a basketball at your head. Few people did. Not bitterly; that was just simply how things had befallen you and you'd learned to adjust. In fact, you had approximately two people you considered close and had realized that was more than enough. Still, you enjoyed meeting people where you could. They were fascinating. And, these days, none were so fascinating as Wally Clark.

He had hands that swallowed whatever they held; a smile that brightened a room; and eyes that made your skin tingle, their gaze soulful and heavy whenever they landed on you at his games like a prize. You craved those eyes on you, a flower to sunlight, and were excited beyond measure that you'd have them all to yourself for a night.

When he'd asked you out, it'd taken everything in your power not to kick your feet and giggle in delight. Be cool, you'd told yourself, acting as though you hadn't been daydreaming about Wally Clark since you'd first heard his name in the halls. What you wouldn't have given to spend more of Saturday with him, but things were somewhat strange for you, and you'd had to shave the hours down.

As restrictive as it was, you were only able to go out when the town was sleepier. The streets less crowded, the energy laggard; the shadows darker and the moon visible. Unfortunately, you had hard rules to follow, though, after sundown, no one really paid attention to your whereabouts. You could sneak out unnoticed and do as you please so long as you were back before anyone knew you'd been gone.

It sucked, but it was what it was and there was nothing you could do about it, so you'd set the time for your date with Wally later and hoped you'd be satisfied with the hours you and he did get to be together.

When you arrived at the arcade, Wally was already there, leaning against the exterior wall, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression transforming from teen mag sultry to puppy bright when he caught sight of you. Don't squeal, don't squeal, don't squeal—you did great, kid—you waved sweetly and took measured steps toward him, matching his expression with a happy one of your own.

"Hey, you made it," Wally said as if he'd been worried you'd flake.

"Like I'd miss the chance to kick your ass at Space Invaders." You scoffed, hands on your hips as you pinned him with a challenging look.

Wally laughed and the sound when straight to your chest, settled between your ribs, and you knew your eyes were likely doing something dreamy and dazed. If he noticed, he didn't comment; held out his arm like a gentleman and escorted you inside.

You did, in fact, kick his ass at Space Invaders.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Whatever, you may have beaten him at Space Invaders, but Wally wiped the floor with you at Time Pilot. To further impress you with his skills, he won you a prize from the claw crane. Overlooking the fact that it'd taken several coins and a lot of cursing, Wally felt like the king of the world having handed over a plastic ball stuffed with enough raffle tickets that you could take home a plastic necklace.

He looked for any and every opportunity to touch you, graze the back of his hand across yours, then, bolder, squeezing you into his side as you and he moved between machines. Just as you were about to beat his score at Pac Man, he grabbed you around the waist and spun you away from the control panel, watching triumph when the monitor announced Game Over and Wally's score beat yours by more points than you could come back from.

You shrieked and giggled when he slung you over his shoulder to carry you to the new air hockey table. You sprung into his arms when he defended your honor at the foosball table against another pair of arcade goers. By the end of the night, he had your hand in his, fingers laced, as he walked you home.

It'd been the most fun he'd had in—God—forever. Yeah, he hung out with the guys, went camping and played videogames and did things. Always busy, always entertained. Or, rather, he did the entertaining. A constant performance to keep people interested. Tonight, with you, it'd been different. He was relaxed, completely at ease, feeling like himself for the first time in too many years. His chest felt lighter.

When you and he reached your house, not too far from the arcade, you stopped and positioned yourself to face him, beautiful smile on your face that softened the longer he looked at you. He didn't want tonight to end. Wished it could go on through tomorrow and the next day and the one after that.

"That was a lot of fun, Wally," You murmured as you stepped closer, bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that made his heartrate spike and his head foggy.

He nodded, "Yeah," and lifted a hand to trail his fingertips along the slope of your jaw, "I wanna do it again, like, now."

You chuckled, and when did your lips get so close to his? "You just wanna try and beat my Donkey Kong score." You accused, breath hitching when the tip of his nose grazed your cheek.

Wally couldn't refute that, but didn't want to, his mind already on other things. Better things. Things like—his lips brushed yours, soft and gentle at first, testing the waters, and when you gasped so prettily, he pressed in. Kissed you slow, his hand climbing to rest on the back of your head to angle you just right. The kiss let in and took out, over and over, until Wally was breathless and dizzy.

He kept you there, one hand trailing down your side to your hip, the other tangling in your hair, for what felt like hours though it must've only been several minutes. He couldn't let go. Couldn't stop. The taste of your tongue against his the most incredible thing he'd ever experienced.

But, eventually, you had to pull away, "It's late."

He kissed you one more time for the road, watched you stealthily maneuver around the side of the house and disappear around the corner, probably to sneak back into your room before anyone realized you'd been gone. Something about the fact that you'd risked getting in trouble for thrilled Wally.

Once you were out of sight, Wally turned in the direction of home, an obvious bounce in his step as he replayed the night—the kiss, how your lips had yielded under his—on a loop.

Again, it wasn't until much later that he remembered he still hadn't asked for your name.

Fuck.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

In typical 1980s fashion, this movie had a montage that Wally revisited almost obsessively. Sure, things had progressed rather quickly between you and him; one minute you were the stranger he viciously—but not on purpose!—attacked with a ball, and the next you were every thought, desire, emotion, response Wally was capable of.

After sundown, like hoodlums, he took you to the roller rink and skated on legs made of Jell-O because you insisted you needed his limbs to support your stilted efforts. Except, as soon as a single-digit child cried his frustration, there you were, a professional ballerina on wheels, teaching the child how to balance and move. You weren't even sheepish when you fessed up to the ruse.

"I like how it feels," You said simply, shrugged, and tucked yourself into Wally's side to prove the point, "You feel safe."

Yeah, Wally couldn't argue to save his life, addicted to how you felt in his arms as much as you seemed drawn to be there. You and he danced under the colored lights, spun and chased and discoed like divas, deliberately falling into each other at every chance. Wally didn't complain when you brought him to the ground with you after a miscalculated dip.

Days later, you and he jumped and screamed along to live music (the lyrics all totally wrong, but the melody right), crashing bodies pressing you together. Halfway through the concert, the surrounding mania receded as he rocked you gently, kissed you with meaning in the eye of a mosh pit; squawked when you poked his side to tickle him and then booked it through the crowd for an impromptu, wild game of hide-n-seek.

An empty movie theater for a screening of last year's horror films. Popcorn missiles thrown when he dared suggest the Halloween was better than My Bloody Valentine. Finger to his lips, his hand firm around yours, crouched as he led you into another theater after the first movie. Four altogether, most of them ignored in favor of making out in the back row until an usher kicked you and Wally out for inappropriate behavior.

Heads close, toes pointed toward opposite walls, listening to Nebraska in a patch of sun on Wally's bedroom floor after a grueling week of exams and Wally's mama nagging him to get fitted for new skates before hockey season. He turned his head, admired your profile, lashes fanned on the arches of peach-blushed cheeks. His heart fluttered and his eyes softened as he watched you doze to the music. Between Used Cars and Open All Night, Wally propped himself on an elbow and kissed you upside-down. Chuckled when you nipped his chin and retaliated by adjusting his position, pinning you beneath his body, and kissing you senseless.

Throughout it all, you never missed a game, football or hockey or lacrosse. You'd put an end to the scavenger hunt, now a pillar of motivation—front row, center—and waved that glittery poster with an enthusiasm that outshone his mama's. The new arrangement made it easier for Wally, sweaty and hot, to leap over the barrier and lift and twirl you after each victory. Or, alternatively, for you to hurdle into his arms to comfort and reassure him after each loss.

Over the summer, Wally reminisced fondly on his junior year and everything you and he had done together. He missed you, a deep ache in his heart while your family apparently traveled for the months between school years. You wrote letters and used payphones to speak to him every Wednesday and Saturday, and it helped sustain him until you returned, but, God, he couldn't wait to see you again. To have you cuddled against him on the couch or in his lap on the bleachers at lunch or under him in his bed.

He craved you like a bad habit. Your scent, your touch, your taste. The soft affection you and he traded; lips stamped to the shoulder, fingers carding through each other's hair. How Wally held you, arm banded around your chest, hand under your chin to angle your face up so he could kiss you from behind.

Soon, he reminded himself. Three more days and he'd have his girl at his side again.

His girl whose name continued to elude him.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

The night of the '83 Homecoming game, Wally felt a dread unlike he'd ever felt before. A lump of lead in his stomach. He had you in his lap, light, gentle brushes of his lips memorized the shape of your neck and jaw, his arms tight around you, as you helped distract him from his uncharacteristic pre-game nerves.

"I'll be right there, Wally Clark," You promised with a sweet smile.

And you were. In the seat beside his mama when the crack of bone echoed across the stadium like thunder.

He spent the following weeks oscillating between grief and rage, too consumed by the confusion and fear and loss of his own death find the strength to seek you out. He didn't want to know how you handled it. Him. His no-longer-thereness. If you were as deeply sad as he was or if you could move on and make it through. Wally didn't think he could handle it if he saw you smile again despite him not being the one to coax that happiness out of you.

Eventually, though, he couldn't deny it anymore. Had to see you. That magnetic pull led him to find you outside, basking in the December sun, no jacket, laying across the middle bench on the bleachers that overlooked the field behind the school.

He climbed up and took a quiet seat beside you. You didn't look any different. Serene, in fact, as you lay there, your notebook rested on the bench above. Wally sighed heavily, traced the air around your cheek as breath choked and his heart shattered. He had so much he wanted to say to you, but didn't know where to begin—I miss you, I wish I didn't die, I need to hold you again. Sentiments that didn't make a difference anymore. He gazed at your notebook and wondered if you'd written anything about him.

And then, to his surprise:

"I was wondering how long it would take before you'd come find me."

His eyes whipped to you and he saw you staring up at him, neck craned back slightly and a warm grin on your face.

"Y-you can see me!?" Wally gaped as you sat up and scooched closer to him.

"Of course I can." You said so easily that Wally had to think for a second if he was supposed to understand how it was possible. No one else had been able to see him, hear him, feel him.

"...how?"

You giggled, the sound a boon to his despairing soul, "Being dead isn't so bad, you know. I mean, it sucks, but you get used to it pretty quick." Taking his hand in yours, fingers laced, "And, when the memory of you starts to fade, you can even leave the school, which is something to look forward to."

Wally stared at you, bewildered, lost, hopeful, elated, "You're dead?" One, two beats, "You were dead the whole time?"

You smiled and nodded, leaned away from him to hold out your other hand for him to shake. That's when he heard it for the first time, your name, the syllables like angelic melody to his ears. You added, "Class of '57. Nice to meet you."

Without hesitation, Wally scooped you into his arms and kissed you like he'd wanted to since he'd risen from his body. He soaked up all the comfort and reassurance and love you offered with your lips. The idea of eternity no longer seemed so permanent and awful with you in it.

You pulled away just enough to bump the tip of your nose against his, that smile he adored melting every worry and fear that'd followed him off the field.

"So, how do you wanna spend your afterlife, Wally Clark? We could play dodgeball now that you know you can't actually hurt me."

He felt a grin form, wide and joyful, and answered, "Whatever you want." After a soft lull that Wally used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek, "I just wanna spend it with you." His girl, whose name he would treasure forever in his heart.

fin.

🏈___________________________

also on AO3!

Valentine's Day Headcanons

Wally Clark x Reader

Warnings: Slight ep.5 spoiler but not really, its the brief mention of a scene but not actually what happens. fluff

-

This man would go all out for valentines day… well as out as he can while trapped in the school. 

I'm talking spending hours making a bouquet of paper flowers for you. Technically he could probably get some from the greenhouse but that's not as romantic as making them himself. 

Most of your gifts will be stolen from living students on valentines day. Okay just about all of them but still he makes it seem romantic.

Movie night, huge stuffed bear, and a shit ton of chocolate. It’s a perfect night. You don’t like chocolate? Don’t worry he's got eyes everywhere watching for someone to walk in with something that you like. Technically it's just him and Charly but he makes it seem all dramatic like he’s got every ghost looking out. 

Sweet little makeout session in the greenhouse while you ask him why he didn’t just get you normal flowers. He’d shut you up with another kiss because he ain’t got time for all your questions when he's trying to get freaky.  (Ignore me i'm losing my mind after the pool scene) 

I’ve said it once and I'll say it again, cuddles cuddles CUDDLES. He doesn't care when or where he always just wants to wrap you in his arms and smother you with love. Sweet gentle kisses and whispers of praise. (SOMEBODY SEDATE ME) 

You’d force him to watch A Walk to Remember and he’d cry like a baby. “And they say romance is dead.” Said through pitiful sobs. 

He’d make you slow dance with him. I mean SLOOOOOW. Like staring into your soul with the biggest smile imaginable while you two hold onto each other and barely move. More sweet kisses and gentle words as he rocks you back and forth. 

(Okay thats all. I swear I'm working on Sex, Drugs, Etc. I just needed a break from all the sadness. Anyways imma go convince my friend to be my valentine because he has no free will in our friendship. Hope you enjoy my descent into madness. 😀)

Crush

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

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

joyeuses Easter, fam 🐰🐣🥕

___________________________🌻

Crush

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

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

God dammit, Wally has a problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You name him Samuel.

Wally falls more in love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

He's not obsessed, you are 😒

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honestly, Wally probably needs a new hobby.

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug, "Whatever you want."

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

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

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

Does this count as a new hobby?

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wally~."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wally cocks his head, "Finally?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

This definitely counts as a new hobby.

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Me too, baby."

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

"Pick up anything interesting?"

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

Blue. Screen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌻___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

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.

This is a girls Roman Empire

October Sun

summary: truths had been spilled before anyone had been ready to hear them and the consequences of actions had finally been justly served.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.26

Wally had just handed Maddie the receipt when he'd heard the commotion from the theater above. Your voice chased Xavier's as his heavy footsteps clomped around. Stopped. Then your voice again, splintered and tight. Your misery rallied Wally's rage and he was off like a shot.

"Hell no," He announced, barely giving Maddie a look of warning before he barreled up the stairs—two at a time—and pushed the trapdoor open. Its back hit the stage with a bang that ricocheted through the empty space. He propelled out, jumped from the stage to ground level, and took an offensive position between you and Xavier.

He was fucking done with this dipshit.

"What happened, baby?" Wally asked, canted his head slightly to catch you in his periphery while he maintained sight of Xavier. "What did he do?"

Maddie scrambled onto the stage, quickly followed by the others, "Is everything okay?"

Behind him, Wally heard you steadily beginning to panic, repeating expletives like a prayer while Xavier stared through Wally at you with a belligerent expression. Fuck every last thing, Wally had had enough. He'd wanted to grab that asshole by the collar and shake him until he passed out since Maddie had revealed what Xavier had done behind her back. And as much as Wally had wanted to protect you from the hurt of learning your BFF wasn't all that, he couldn't do it anymore.

He took a step toward Xavier, fists balled, teeth bared, but just as he raised his arm to take a swing (who the hell cared if nothing happened, Wally would feel better for it), Maddie threw herself off the stage and used her whole body to halt the motion, her slender arms clamping around his to pin it down.

Simultaneously, he felt you band around his waist, soft yet solid, forehead pressed to his spine. "Wally, it's okay," You tried to assure him, but your voice was so little, so broken, that it only served to fan the flames of his rage higher. Of course, that rage hiccupped momentarily when Xavier swiftly jerked backward, stumbled over his own feet, and fell on his ass. His eyes round and petrified, a choked "holy shit" coughed out of him when he landed.

You and Maddie released Wally the second Xavier hit the floor, Maddie pressing herself against the stage while you cautiously padded around Wally to look at Xavier, head cocked in confusion.

Alarmed, "Where'd he go!?" Xavier heaved.

It seemed to dawn on you in increments what had transpired and you glanced up at Wally, mouth agape. "Fuck me," You breathed, tone stressed, and all he could do was stare back at you in question. Slowly, you took Wally's hand, laced your fingers through his, and watched Xavier carefully. Again, Xavier made a punched-out sound of fear, pressed his palms into his eyes, and then dragged his gaze up the length of Wally's body from feet to face. Although Wally's anger still blazed red-hot in him, he was fairly taken aback by the fact that:

"You can see me?" He asked Xavier, who nodded weakly in response.

You untangled your fingers from Wally's, letting go entirely. "How 'bout now?"

Xavier returned with a stuttered shake of his head. "The fuck is going on, May?"

You bristled, brows furrowing, jaw locking. Wally hadn't seen you angry. Frustrated, perhaps; perturbed, maybe; but not angry, and it both shocked and aroused him. Straight back, dark eyes, a menacing expression on your face as you glared at Xavier as if he'd done you as dirty as he'd done Maddie.

"I asked you to stop calling me that, B." You said, words pressed through your teeth, and, yeah, yep, Wally flushed crimson, the slightest bit turned on at how commanding your tone was. Something he would explore later when he didn't have a dozen eyes on him.

Xavier finally managed to get back to his feet, rounding on you, annoyed and over it, "Are you serious right now? A fucking dead guy keeps teleporting in and out of existence and you're getting pissed at me over that?"

Without hesitation, Wally strung his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side. "Don't talk to her like that, asshole," He warned, a satisfied smirk on his mouth when Xavier clapped a hand to his chest in fright. Wally softened like butter when he felt your hand smooth over his heart, sweet marbled eyes gazing up at him in apprehension. He took your hand and lifted it to his lips, kissed your knuckles to comfort you before he whipped a hard, threatening stare at Xavier. "You don't get to make her the bad guy here."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Xavier said in mock apology, "I'll just forget the fact that she's been lying to me forever about being a necrophiliac!"

You choked on a breath, wheezed, "I am not a necrophiliac," to which Wally had to grin down at you playfully, tilting his head with a casual shrug.

"I mean..."

"No 'I mean'!" You shot back, flustered.

Sat on the edge of the stage to observe the proceedings, Rhonda wearily explained, "No, superstar, in order for that to be true, you would've had to..." She swirled her lollipop in the air, "You know." Beside her, Charley made a circle with his fingers and stuck his opposite index finger through it repeatedly, a visual representation of the point Rhonda insinuated. She rolled her gaze to Xavier, "He's thinking necromancer."

"Which I'm also not!" You sustained through a grimace and then repeated for Xavier's benefit, "I'm not a necromancer."

Xavier did a double-take, spinning in an uncoordinated circle to survey the theater, "Are there others!?"

But you ignored him, your mind clearly elsewhere because, when you next spoke, you whispered to Wally in distress, "Oh my God, the maintenance guy."

Wally took a moment to recall that unwelcome interruption, how the maintenance man had appeared to be looking between you and something else. The man's awkward demeanor had caught Wally off-guard, though, at the time, he'd chalked it up to the odd position you'd been in. But...if he really thought about it...the man wouldn't have been able to see you from where he'd been standing.

He bit his lip bashfully, trying and failing not to reveal how positively gleeful he was that someone in the living world had witnessed you two together and knew who you belonged to. In the least possessive way possible, of course.

"Face," Rhonda, Charley, and, damn him, Ajay chorused about Wally's shift in expression. He cleared his throat and once more adjusted his features into something appropriate for the circumstances; menacing, off-put, downright hateful. Complete with heart-eyes, who was he kidding?

Meanwhile, Xavier crept toward you, a man against an untamed horse, hand out and shoulders drawn, "May, I need you to be honest with me, are there other dead people in here?"

Again, you scowled, "Stop. Calling me that."

Though he didn't understand why the nickname seemed to bother you, Wally bristled on your behalf, telling Xavier, "You should listen to her, man, or, believe me, I'll make you."

Out of frame, the others, including Mina, gawked at Wally's uncharacteristic behavior, Charley putting a hand to his collar in the manner of pearl-clutching. Rhonda regained her composure quickly, smirked around the stem of her lollipop like a proud mama lion that's cub was about to strike its first kill. Ajay tiptoed over to Mina and put his hands over her eyes so she wouldn't have to witness possible manslaughter being committed.

"And what are you gonna do, huh?" Xavier challenged, trudging into Wally's space with aggressive intent. "You're a ghost. You can't hurt me." He paused, glancing at you to ask, "Can he?"

Wally poked a vicious finger into Xavier's shoulder, shoving him back, "You bet I can."

"Jesus, that's enough!" Maddie swooped in, totally aggrieved, "We have bigger things to worry about than whose dick is bigger." She pushed Wally out of the way, inadvertently forcing him to release his hold on you which made Xavier pitch backwards. Whether because Wally had turned into the Invisible Man again or for another reason, Wally wasn't entirely sure, but he made a point of watching Xavier closely.

Maddie handed you the receipt Wally had found in the cellarage, "I think that money we found in Mr. Anderson's classroom is from this." As you inspected it ("Where'd that come from!?" Xavier squeaked) Maddie explained, "He has a whole operation under the stage. If we're right, he's been stealing money from the Booster Club."

"Which means we have something that'll help Simon." ("What will help Simon!?") A broad smile swept across your pretty pink lips, your whole face brightening for the first time since the debacle between you and Xavier had started. Wally felt himself melt, that time ignoring the refrain of face from everyone onstage. "It's Friday, right? So, there's a staff meeting after school."

Maddie built on your idea, "We'll get Simon to take the evidence to everyone. They'll have to believe him."

"I'll text Simon and let him know."

However, on the cusp of ballistic, Xavier demanded, "What. Is. Happening!?"

You cleared your throat and handed the receipt to Xavier, relayed what Maddie had just told you. "It could get Simon off the hook," You said quietly, somewhat wilted, unable to look him in the eye.

Xavier examined the receipt and nodded, but he seemed distracted, his breathing labored, eyes again sweeping the theater for evidence of—"That's awesome," He struggled to say, turning desperate and afraid, "But could you tell me why the fuck I just saw Maddie?"

Your head shot up, "You did?" while Maddie sagged under the weight of what appeared to be every emotion she'd ever felt toward Xavier all at once. You panned to her, unsure, gaze flicking between her and Xavier in silent question to which she nodded sadly and held out her hand for you to take.

Wally knew the moment Xavier could see her, bewildered, guilty, his pallor paling to a sickly grey. It looked like he didn't know what to do with himself, caught between moving toward her and giving her more space. You watched them both with puzzlement; waited for someone to explain why Xavier was acting cagey instead of how most people would respond when they had the chance to behold a dead loved one (Maddie's not-death notwithstanding).

Ragged, Xavier stammered, "Do...Did you know...?"

And Maddie answered with a hum and a curt nod, "Yeah. I heard what you said to your dad on Monday before the vigil."

"Oh fuck, Maddie, I'm so sorry." Xavier sunk into one of the seats, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, body trembling. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Out of the loop, you asked Maddie, "What's he talking about?" and Wally's heart almost broke for you despite his earlier vehemence that you be told what Xavier had done. This was the moment. This was how you discovered the truth.

"It's fine." Maddie lied, avoiding your gaze, "I'm over it." She wasn't, and Wally wondered who she was hoping to convince.

"Over what?" You pressed as you looked at Xavier, "What are you talking about, Zav? What are you sorry for?" Wally heard the thread of fear in your voice as your mind flooded with too many grim possibilities.

Wally decided to take the onus off Xavier to reveal himself for who he really was, returning to your side and winding his arm around you to hold your hip. He wanted Xavier to see him when he said, "He was cheating on Maddie with the head cheerleader. Claire or whatever."

"Wait...what? No. No, Xavier wouldn't..." But Xavier would and you understood that the second you laid eyes on him, "You wouldn't," And then, devastated, "Oh my God...all those texts about band practice you made me send you..."

Xavier rose and attempted to approach you, hands up, "I didn't mean for—"

You snarled at him, "You made me help you!" and dropped Wally's hand. That time, no one leaped from the stage. No one called out or pulled you back or intervened in any way. You stomped up to Xavier, reeled your arm back, and decked him squarely in the mouth.

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-FIVE

note: fun fact: i'd toyed with the "ppl can see Wally when Reader touches him" reveal for some time, initially thinking i'd do it at the Homecoming Dance. but. plot happened so...yeah no, it didn't work anymore 🤷‍♀️ also, i would've had to account for Nicole, Claire, Mathilda, Hana, Eli...everyone. possibly teachers. all the ghosts. i love writing ensemble scenes, but that is too many moving pieces.

.

.

.

ABOUT THE TAGLIST: i'm afraid i am no longer updating or using the taglist. moving forward, if you'd like to keep up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS. that thing took me to Hell and back, and we're no longer on speaking terms...😒

good to know Im not the only one