wally-himbo-clark

Latest Posts by wally-himbo-clark

Head over heels lovesick puppy Wally is my fave oh my gosh 🤭🤭

Wally with a crush is the most adorable he can get. all goofy and giddy and totally, completely, utterly involved.

he can't think about anything else, obsessive with it, and does everything in his power to make the object of his affection feel special. like, he plans things and always shows up and is an absolute Acts of Service puppy who will offer to do anything and everything under the sun if you ask him to.

he gets all silly and cuddly and his eyes go all soft when he looks at you and it's precious, especially because he can't. hide. it. no matter how much he tries when he catches himself (which isn't often, because the boy is oblivious to anything that's not you-shaped when you're around).

and he takes all the teasing from his friends in stride, wears his love like a badge of honor, but is deeply mortified if you find out he has a crush on you before he musters the nerve to tell you himself... that's when he stammers excuses until you kiss him stupid 😭

after that...well...👀

Wally Clark Headcanons 3

RIP Wally Clark you would have loved tiktok dances

I was joking with my friends that Wally would fuck with High School Musical only to realise how well Scream from HSM 3 fits him

And now I'm experiencing emotions

Cuddle Bug

summary: 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.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. smut lite. AU - everyone is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🍃

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch. No surprise there. The guy needs cuddles like flowers need sunlight to thrive. Always has. Being a ghost for 40 years exacerbated that need, and now that he's a real boy again, he can't help himself. Wally sits too close, hugs hello and goodbye, touches arms and knees when he's telling a story.

It's just that much more amped up when it comes to you.

He was affectionate before you and he became inseparable. Lightly grazed your hand when he walked beside you, found every excuse to tackle you when he tried to teach you football techniques. Ajay and Charley stood there like extra wheels even though it'd been Wally who'd rallied everyone to the field.

What? Your giggle's so damn cute! No way was Wally going to be able to focus on anything else!

Besides Charley's just as bad when Yuri's around, and Simon can't even function when Maddie gives him the eyes. So, everyone can suck it as far as Wally's concerned.

During group activities, Wally would find a way to sit next to you. Would squish his long limbs between you and Maddie and give you a bright, boyish grin. Sometimes he'd stare Xavier down until he got the hint and scooched closer to Nicole at the lunch table, leaving a gap that Wally could settle into beside you. His arm around your shoulders and his knee touching yours. Totally innocent.

Wally brought your favorite snacks to Game Night, established himself as your personal chauffeur despite the fact that you lived closer to Simon and Rhonda, and loyally helped you filter clothes when you and the girls went shopping. Yes. He'd made himself one of the girls just to spend time with you. Don't look at him like that; it worked, didn't it? 👀

Since accepting him as your boyfriend (he grins so big, his cheeks ache), Wally's dependence on your touch, warmth, shape against his, has increased a hundredfold.

You sit on the picnic table before the first bell, chatting to Maddie and Claire about something Wally isn't listening to, his arms around your waist, upper body slumped between your legs, head resting on your thigh as you rake your fingers through his thick hair. Oh, he could die all over again and be the happiest of ghosts just for this. Not that he wants to be a ghost again. Not unless you're with him this time. Which would require you to die, too, and that's a terrible thought and he's never going to tell you about it. But the sentiment remains. Wally doesn't want to do anything without you, ever.

He managed to convince the secretary to put him in all your classes, pouting and pleading his case that he'd been dead since 1983 and, "it's so traumatic coming back, she's the only thing I have that feels real...please?" A tactic that he should stop abusing, but it worked on all the teachers when he requested to be sat next to you. Every time a teacher caved, Wally would fold into the desk beside you, beaming like a winner. And who cares? Mina and Ajay, and Charley and Yuri pulled the same doe-eyed trick and got what they wanted, why couldn't Wally do the same?

On Fridays, everyone piles into Wally's high school best friend's living room—Rodney now Wally's legal guardian for reasons—to have movie marathons. There's trivia to guess the movie. Winner gets one veto and can insert their own choice, but there's three movies in total so pick wisely! They figured out awhile ago that Wally sometimes (always) lets you win trivia when it's his turn to play his lineup. You never veto anything, equally as eager to watch what he opts for. It drives Simon and Ajay insane.

He takes over a whole couch, the three-seater, sprawls long-ways and tucks you between his legs, your body draped over him like a blanket as he wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for anything. He traces patterns on your back, cradles your head against his chest, soaks up the physical contact like a sponge after years of ghostly numbness.

In the school halls, Wally keeps his hand on your hip. He kisses your head and cheeks and jaw. Doesn't care who sees because you're his girl and he'll do what he wants, thank you. He's proud that you call him yours and wants to show off who his heart belongs to. This one! This one said yes!

You're in his lap more than your own seat when the group descends upon Max's Diner after football games (that, no, Wally doesn't participate in. That era is firmly in the past and he'll never don a jersey again; sorry mom, God bless, rest in peace). His hands are all over you as you engage Rhonda in conversation; on your thighs, waist, back, hips. Anywhere and everywhere that's still appropriate in public. His head under your chin, eyes closed as he listens to your heartbeat, strong and steady, the rhythm matching his.

Wally rolls over in his bed, crushes you beneath his weight as he plays dead—knock on wood that that won't happen again for many years—and tries to stifle his laughter when you struggle to reverse the position. Eventually, he showers your skin with kisses, nudges between your thighs and laces his fingers with yours, pressing his smile to yours before kissing you deeply.

The sex is amazing, but nothing beats the afterglow when he has you pliant and sweet, curled into him on your side, your face in his chest, his hand on your lower back, whispering how much he loves you as you doze. Call him codependent, but Wally doesn't want to spend even an hour without you. He isn't a lost puppy, knows how to behave like a man. He just spent too many years being forgotten that he still has trust issues.

And you don't mind. You welcome it, in fact, and that makes Wally feel safer than he ever has. It makes it easy to ignore the looks people give you and him when you agree to go somewhere, "only if Wally's invited, too" because you and he are a package deal. And he does the same for you. Obviously, not for the same reasons, you're perfectly fine being alone, it's just that Wally's not ready to experiment with your absence just yet. Maybe never will be.

Rodney's long since accepted that Wally's room has become your room. From married and childless to married with several formerly-dead teenagers and their SOs, Rodney and his wife have accepted their homebase status like champs. They treat you like family—you have a house key for the rare occasion Wally isn't with you after school—and acknowledge that Wally can't sleep without you without suffering.

He stays curled around you all night, kisses you awake, big hand trailing from your waist to your hip as he nips the top knot of your spine and grinds his morning wood against your ass. God, you get him hard so easily, Wally sometimes thinks he should get checked out. You hum then sigh then turn in his arms, hook a leg over his and press yourself against him in exactly the right way.

Through half-lidded eyes, Wally gazes at you. Licks his lips as he rocks his hips slowly and watches your expression go from sleepsoft to wanting. You like how that feels baby? You want it inside you? And he kisses you deep and thorough, rolls you onto your back to fit between your legs, groans when one of your hands squeezes his ass through his boxer-briefs.

He needs to be inside you yesterday, loves how you feel, tight and wet and hot around him. Soft touches turn hard, light sweeps of lips turn to teeth and tongue and fresh bruises on your neck. Wally loves to taste you first, to prolong his pleasure by giving you yours, his tongue delving into you and sucking your clit gently; deliriously slow because he can't get enough.

It's not until you're begging him so pretty for his cock that he finally lets himself fuck into you, so hard and sensitive his brain explodes upon fitting deep inside you on the first thrust. A refrain of fuck, yes and oh God baby, you feel so good fills the room—sorry Rodney—the headboard smacking against the wall in time with Wally's hips. Throughout, Wally holds you like something precious, kisses you like salvation, breathes you in like he can't live without you.

He makes sure you come first before he even thinks about letting go, the sensation of you shaking apart around him ripping his own release right from his core. Wally licks into your mouth, moans like a beast, and then, one two three more stunted thrusts and he goes still. Hazy eyes hold yours and you can see the depth of his emotion for you. At least, he hopes so. How he'll treasure you forever. He'll never love anyone as much as he loves you. That's a promise and a threat and he smiles a lazy smile at you as you begin to giggle.

"What's so funny, baby?" Wally nudges your cheek with his nose.

"Nothing, I promise, I'm just...really happy." You tell him and he moans in delight.

"You don't feel suffocated or claustrophobic like Rhonda said you would?" Wally asks, a little insecure. Okay, a lot insecure, even if he doesn't usually feel that way about how reliant he is on your proximity. You've never given him a reason to feel anything but safe and happy and loved, but still. Rhonda knows how to hit bone even when she means well.

You shift, forcing Wally to look at you, your hands cradling his jaw, "Never. I will never, ever want this, us, to be anything but exactly how it is. I love having you all over me."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." And you grin, a warm little thing, "I like sharing everything with you. It's nice. My very own witness to my life."

Wally kisses you again, another slow, deep, sentimental gesture; everything he feels poured into it, before he settles down on top of you, careful not to crush you, his head above your breasts and his eyes fluttering closed. Relaxed. Sated. Safe.

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch, and, in this second chance at life, he's profoundly grateful to have found someone fluent in it.

🍃___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

if you liked this, you may also enjoy Fifty Seven.

fluff. 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.

Wally Clark x Reader Drabble

Just a quick little drabble about Wally and reader trying out some thigh riding. Really more banter than smut, but enjoy!

*NOT MY GIF*

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting​ to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711) 

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake. 

"I really don't understand why you wore shorts on top of the grey sweatpants?" you teased as you sat in Wally's lap. "I mean you died after the movie Rocky came out and he was just rocking the grey sweatpants."

"It was the style!" Wally groaned.

"This is why the 90s were WAY better than the 80s."

"Excuse me?" Wally gasped. "The Goonies? Stand by Me? E. freaking T! Not to mention Dirty Dancing, which I know you love. So don't even try." He acused pointing a finger at you. "As well as MTV. The 80s were the shit."

"The 80s had great movies no doubt but fashion please! The 80s will forever be the spandex era, and you my wonderful Wally, are a victim of that." You said making your point, and trying to get up from Wally's lap.

"You think I'm a fashion victim?" Wally gaped, and pulled you back down to where you were stradling his thigh, the heat of his strong thighs radiating through the grey sweatpants he always wore. "Please I might have been dead but I watched everyone go through the 2010s, all that galaxy print still makes me shudder." He made an exasperated shivering motion which made you laugh as he wrapped his arms back around your torso.

"I never said that the 2010s fashion wasn't shit either. I think that galaxy print and spandex go hand in hand with the fashion victim department."

"Oh you're going to pay for that comment, baby. I ain't nobody's fashion victim." The grip on your waist tightened just a fraction.

"Oh yeah? And whatcha gonna do...Wallace?" You sassed staring those dark brown eyes down. And watched as they flicked down to your precarious position, straddling his thigh.

"Hmmm. Let's see what this will do." He said as he grabbed the hem of your jeans, and brought you forward on his thigh. You let out a small gasp, as the seam of your jeans hit just right on your clit as he brought you up his thigh.

"Wally!" You gasped.

"Did it feel good baby?"

"That's not the point." You said softly still trying to sound stern. "People will hear us." Wally leaned in close for a kiss.

"I promise I'll keep you quiet." He smirked, then pulled you back down his leg and back up again. You let out a reluctant moan and Wally was quick to cover your mouth with his, hushing your moans.

"Wally." You tried again, but he was having fun now and there's no stopping Wally not until he's made you cream your pants.

"You're so sensitive baby. We're going to have to do this more in the future." He growled, as he brought you back down and up again. "Do you think I could make you cum like this? It's going to be fun trying." He chuckled, kissing you again and deepening it this time, his tongue invading your mouth, eating the small moans he pulled from you.

"Maybe next time, I'll do this when you've only got your panties on, see how fast this fashion victim can make you cum, huh?"

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped, you and the heat that the thought of you two doing this again brought to your core.

Cannot imagine a better scenario

okay but see my thing is imagine your school is haunted by a hot ghost and then two hot ghost hunters show up to make it all the more interesting

group shot!!! 💖📷

Seriously what is up with this phenomenon

If I had a nickel for every time, I fall in love with a fictional character from the 80s. I'd have 2 nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice right.

Me anytime a new Wally fic is posted.

Simp.

summary: prompt fill. a silly little subby Wally drabble because our clingy boo is fun to write. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x masc!reader

warnings: smut. sub!Wally Clark. flashfic. crying after climax. Wally Clark has undisclosed mommy issues. same 'verse as Boy Noise.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🖇️

Simp.

"So good, baby," You praise, "Keep going. You wanna make me come, don't you?" Fuck, yes, Wally does. It's all he wants in the whole world. "Just like that. Such a good boy for me."

And the words go straight to his cock. Flush through him like the heat of the sun, burning in his belly.

You're at his house, dragged there after school because today was a shitty day and he was vibrating with restless energy. He needed you so badly and you never made him suffer.

You lounge in his dad's armchair like a king, one leg hooked over Wally's shoulder, the foot of the other propped on the seat of the armchair, spread wide to accommodate him as he whimpers and whines and probes his tongue as deep as he can get it, kissing your pussy in a filthy wet rhythm.

He hears the clink of your glass on the side table, gives a little moan when you plant the heel of your foot on his shoulder and push, dislodging him. Wally makes an unhappy sound, pouts up at you with big, pleading puppy eyes, but you only smirk in return.

"Stand up," You command. And he does. No resistance, just obedience.

He gets to his feet and takes in the image you make, sitting there mostly naked, your button-down open to reveal your naked body, tie loose and still around your collar. You lick your teeth, grinning like a lion that's about to eat its first meal.

"Strip." You say, tone making Wally's belly squirm.

Again, he does as bidden without question. Tries to do it slow, give you a sultry performance how you sometimes want him to, but apparently not today.

"I don't want a show, baby," You tell him, husky and rich, eyes dark with fever, "Get naked. I want you to make me come on your cock."

Wally's out of his jeans and t-shirt faster than lightning. You stand in a single, sultry motion, lead him by his cock to the armchair and push him down. He spreads his legs wide, arms clasped around you as you as you crawl into his lap.

You take another long sip of his dad's whiskey, the ice tinkling when you place the glass down again, and then, quick and hard, you drop down on him. Take him as easy as a breath after the long minutes he spent pleasuring you with lips and gentle teeth and sloppy tongue.

He's fucking needy now.

You don't move. Not right away. Giving him a chance to adjust, to breathe, to center himself before, "You're gonna be a good boy for me, aren't you?"

Jesus, he will, he promises. He'll do anything for you, he just wants so badly to make you happy. Tell him how to make you happy, please, fuck, please.

Wally whines, hands loose on your hips, desperate for you to let him show you how good he can be as you take control. It's slow at first, driving him crazy, the heat inside him fogging up his brain, his body tense with desire and need.

"Please," He begs when you begin to ride him a little faster, just enough to get him to the edge before you stop. Shit. No, please, no, he needs to come so bad. Has needed to come since you got him on his knees and grabbed the back of his head, brought his face to your pussy and told him to eat up, sweet boy.

It's intense, everything he feels for you, with you, from you. His body shakes as you start again. Slow. Too slow. And then harder, sharper rolls of your hips until, yes yes yes like that, you start moving in earnest, taking him over and over, deep and tight and hot.

"Please," He gasps, whimpers, eyes clenched shut, hands squeezing your hips, "Please, I need to come."

"Not yet, baby boy." You say, somehow stern despite how you're panting. "Let me come first and then you can have your turn. I know you can wait." He can hear the feline grin on your face, can feel your heavy eyes on him, "You're my good boy, aren't you?"

"Yes!" He sobs, the pleasure and frustration making him that much more sensitive, "I'll be good for you, so good, I promise!"

You lean over, still bouncing on him, his cock throbbing inside you as he tries so hard to keep himself in check. "So perfect for me, baby," You reassure him, "Such a perfect boy for me."

Wally spent years trying to be everything his mama wanted him to be. The man, the myth, the legend. In control always. Perfect son. Perfect player. Perfect student, friend, partner, upcoming pilar of the community.

And he did it. Everything she asked, Wally did, getting him nowhere and nothing except more pressure and expectation and criticism.

Maybe that's why he's like this. He's not a psychologist, but it makes sense. How much he fucking needs you to take control and tell him what to do so he doesn't have to think. At least you give him the chance to be good, instructing him from point A to Z, no judgment, just praise. Your sweet, perfect boy; all yours, only yours—

"Please," He whimpers, every touch electric. "Please, Mommy, I need to come," He begs and the title is new, coming from deep within him, ushered from some part of his soul he's kept tightly sealed until now, but he couldn't give less of a shit. Especially with how you moan and squeeze around his cock like a vise.

"Yeah?" You purr, still so together. So in charge.

He gasps, shivers, head falling back.

"Look at me, baby," You order, and Wally listens. Mouth parted as he pants, eyes half-lidded and soft, "Are you close?"

"Yes, yes, please," He can't take much more, not even if you ask him to. And he doesn't want to disappoint you, doesn't want to come before you do. Desperate to be everything you say he is.

You move faster, harder, more frenzied, back arching, tits in his face, moaning when you come. Jesus, fuck, the feeling of you coming around him makes him dizzy, he can't hold back, begging over and over because it's too much stimulation, too good, too right, oh God.

"Please," He practically sobs, "Oh, oh, please!"

You lean in, nip his ear and then command, "Come for me, baby boy. Be good and let go."

Just like that, Wally submits to it and comes harder than he can remember doing before. His whole body tenses and then releases, shuddering as he sobs in relief, fucking up into you as he spills inside you with the force of a fucking train.

"That's it, baby, give me everything," You groan, and it just prolongs his climax.

You're so good to him. So understanding and kind and generous and Wally can't help it. He doesn't mean to, hates himself a little for it, but his eyes sting and his breath catches and he clamps his arms around you as he body shakes.

He's crying. He's never cried during or after sex before now. It's just...there's so much inside him, emotion and feeling, and he has to let it out or he'll burst. Small whimpers and needy whines, tiny little sounds of love and pleasure and thankfulness. He feels so fucking clingy, desperate to hold onto you so you won't slip away and leave him alone to fend off the world by himself.

With fingers in his hair, you draw his head into the crook of your neck, other hand stroking his back as you shush him sweetly.

"I've got you, my good, good boy. You did so well. You made me feel so good."

And he sniffles, nods, holds you as close to himself as he can until the moment passes and he's calm. Vulnerable. Embarrassed. Cheeks bright pink and lower lip between his teeth because you force him to look at you.

"How do you feel?" You ask in such a kind, affectionate tone that Wally feels—

"Better." He admits. And then, quieter, "Safe." In a way he's never felt until you came into his life like a beacon of hope.

A slow smile forms on your lips and you kiss his forehead, "Good. That's all I want, baby."

Wally sniffles again, clears his throat, asks timidly, "Did you like it?"

And you pet his hair, hold his jaw, and say with certainty, "I loved it, baby boy. I always love it."

Warmth blossoms in Wally's chest. He grins up at you, proud of himself.

🖇️___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Boyfriend Wally Clark (NSFW).

a smutty flashfic Wally Clark headcanon outlining who he is as a boyfriend.

Anxiety 2

summary: prompt fill. on the verge of an anxiety attack, Wally calls in reinforcements. you. the only person in the world who knows exactly what he needs. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. smut lite. flashfic. sub-adjacent!Wally Clark. mild anxiety attack. Wally Clark is a whiny lil' babe when he's desperate.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🍋‍🟩

Anxiety 2

"Hey, pretty boy, you okay?"

Thank fuck you answer on the first ring because, no, Wally isn't okay. His skin is too tight, his lungs won't inflate, he has pins and needles in his blood, and he can't calm down long enough to make his room stop spinning.

"No." It's wrenched out of him.

He lies on his bed, arm over his eyes, trying to breathe. Football practice was hell today, coach giving him a hard time for mistakes another player made like it's Wally's job to shoulder everyone's shortcomings.

"I can't...baby, I need to see you, please," And he knows it's a bad time, but, please, he just needs to feel you long enough to settle his brain for a minute.

Wally hates Tuesdays as much as he does most weekdays. School doesn't help, but you have Art Club and then family dinner and then a whole routine you enjoy mapped out for every Tuesday for forever. Your time. Not for anyone else. And, he swears, he wouldn't interrupt unless it's important.

He hears fabric rustle on the other end of the line before your voice filters through the speaker, "You need me to talk you through it?"

"No." He says, scratchy.

"Do you need me to distract you with a story?"

And he fucking whimpers, because that's not the answer either.

"Do you want me to just stay on the line and you can vent?"

"No, baby, I—" Don't want to tell you how desperate he is for your presence. Needs it like the oxygen he can't seem to suck into his lungs. "Never mind."

You make a noise of disapproval, "Oh, no, Wally, you're not doing that." Then, "Can you do something for me?"

Wally nods although he knows you can't see him.

"Can you get up and go to the bathroom?"

He does, following the order without resistance. He likes it when you order him around, take control so he doesn't have to think. He pads into the bathroom and stands there until you give him the next instruction.

"Good boy," You coo, and it sounds like you're outside now. He can't be sure, doesn't entirely have the capacity to pay attention, so he simply idles with the phone to his ear. "Turn on the water, Wally, nice and warm how you like it."

Again, he does as you order. He knows where this is going. A hot shower to calm his muscles. He sets his phone on the counter and strips. Doesn't hang up, needs to know you're there when he's done, but steps under the spray when steam starts to billow up.

It takes ten minutes before he's able to get out without black spots clouding his vision. His body is relaxed, but his head is still screaming at him to do something, keep busy, figure it out, don't just stand there—

He towels himself off, glances at the screen, and sighs in relief when he sees the call is still connected. In movements loose from a good shower, he lopes back to his room and pulls on a pair of clean boxers. Keeps his words to himself, not ready to talk yet, but makes sure you know he's still there and still needs you.

Just as he reaches for his sweatpants, he hears a knock at the front door. Blinking, he picks up his phone from his dresser to check the time.

Your voice through the phone, "You gonna let me in, cutie?"

Instantly, the remaining tension in his body releases. He hurries down the stairs two at a time, unsafe and unconcerned because you're there. Coming to the rescue. Showing up for him despite the meal he knows you're supposed to have with your parents in half an hour.

He swings the door open and yanks you into his body, holds you tight against his chest with his face in your neck.

"Thank you," He murmurs, tight, a little froggy.

Taking charge, you push him back inside and close the door behind you, grabbing his hand in yours to lead him back upstairs to his bedroom. Without so much as a hello, you get to work, shoving him into his desk chair while you set about changing his sheets.

No words are exchanged the whole time. He waits for you to finish, watches through desperate, puppysoft eyes, knee bouncing, as you strip to your underwear and t-shirt, and fold back the newly made cover.

You turn, smiling sweetly, give him a wink that signals he can get himself all over you now. He doesn't hesitate, crowds against your back when you turn around to face the bed, about to crawl in. He grabs you by the hips, pulls your ass back into the cradle of his pelvis, and has his lips on your neck so fast, it's like your skin is magnetized and his mouth is made of nickel.

"Silly boy," You breathe, melting into him, tilting your head to give him more access. "You couldn't wait until I got you into bed?"

Wally shakes his head against your neck, "Mm-mm," and continues to dot kisses along the tendon, all the way up to just below your ear. "Missed you too much," Even though he saw you right before football practice.

"Come on," You say, "Get in."

And he does as he's told. Pauses to let you climb in first, shuffle over to what he's designated as your side, under the covers and holding them up to invite him in beside you. He shuffles right into your space, arm fastened around your waist, head pillowed on your chest, breathing easier than he has in hours now that he can smell you, feel you, hear your heartbeat under his ear.

Your hand finds his hair, still damp from the shower. Fingers comb his scalp while you press little kisses along his hairline, forehead, temple. The last bit of anxiety dissipates under your attention, and finally, Wally can relax.

"You okay?" You whisper, hand stroking his back now.

He nods against you, nudges your jaw with his nose, silently requesting a kiss which you give him with a tender smile.

"You wanna have a nap?"

Wally thinks about it, realizes that, no, he isn't ready to sleep. Even for a short span, his brain isn't quiet enough. There's still a thread of restlessness under his skin he can't quite shake loose. He pouts at you, shakes his head, looking for all the world like a lost little boy who needs taking care of.

A knowing smile spreads on your face. You lean down and kiss him. Gentle. Soft. Innocent if Wally didn't know you better.

"Get on your back, baby," You tell him, already shifting.

He goes, breath hitching, cheeks heating, anticipating where you're going to go with this. You push his legs apart and settle between them, a gleam in your eye that ushers an almost soundless gasp from his throat. Hooking your fingers into his boxers, you peel them off his long legs and get back into position.

"You need me to take care of you?" You ask, serene, as if asking whether or not he wants a foot rub and not his cock sucked. "You want me to make your brain quiet, pretty boy?"

Wally nods, one, two curt movements, lips parting around a whimper as his eyes fall to half-mast. He watches you lick your lips, bow forward so beautifully that he wishes he could bottle an image, and then he feels you.

A long, wet stripe of your tongue along his flaccid cock before you take it in hand and lazily begin to stroke, your eyes intense and holding his.

Conversationally, "You want me to choke on you, baby?"

And, fuck. God. His mind short-circuits, goes totally offline for a moment that he doesn't even realize he answers with a punched-out, "Please."

"Lie down, baby, let me take care of you."

Then it's all hot, wet, tight. Sloppy at first, how he likes it. You use a firm grip to stroke in countermotion of your mouth, your tongue teasing the slit and the underside of his cockhead.

"Oh, fuck," He pants, legs spreading wider, the meat of his palms digging into his sockets as he tries not to come in under a minute. He wants to enjoy this, honest, but, fuck, you do that thing with your fist at the tip while sucking his balls and he can't fucking see.

You chuckle, sultry and smooth, then descend again, taking him in your throat and swallowing around him, moaning, kneading his inner thighs and massaging his balls gently with your thumbs until he starts choking out weak little sounds of pleasure.

"Oh God," He gasps wetly, "I'm gonna come, baby, oh fuck!"

But you don't let him, sliding off and rising to your knees. He whines, partially in frustration, partially desperation; both soon quelled when he feels the humid heat of your pussy hovering above him. You line him up, tease him through your folds.

"Want you to finish inside me, baby," You command, and then drop. Taking him in one swift movement that knocks a grunt right from his belly.

He clamps his hands on your hips and groans as you start to ride him, fast, not for your pleasure but his, giving him everything because you're amazing, oh God, you're perfect, so perfect, he can't—Jesus, he can't—oh fuck!

Wally comes with a strained sob of ecstasy, fingers digging into your flesh, eyes clenched shut, and head tipped back; cock pulsing inside you as he releases.

In the soft afterglow, he goes completely pliant, arms falling to his sides. He blinks up at you in awe, sleepy suddenly, brain emitting nothing but static. He gives you a lopsided smile that you return with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Pet his hair and roll to the side onto your back, encouraging him to cuddle into you like he was earlier.

Head on your chest again, he sighs in satisfaction, his leg hooked over your thighs as he clings to you like a limpet so you can't get away.

"Thank you, baby," He murmurs. "You're the best."

He hears you hum in acknowledgement. "You gonna nap for a bit now?"

He nods, trying to burrow deeper into your arms. The safest place in the world, he thinks, after how many times your embrace has saved him from himself.

"You want me to wake you up before I go?"

A noise of protest, his arm tightening around your waist.

You giggle, "You want me to sleep here tonight?"

He doesn't have to say anything for you to know his answer.

Not even a minute later, he's snoring softly, totally content and at peace with you in his bed.

🍋‍🟩___________fin.____________

Anxiety

also on AO3!

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if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Simp..

a silly little subby Wally drabble because our clingy boo is fun to write.

Wreck It Like A Rumor

summary: prompt fill. Wally saves you from a joke gone terribly wrong the night of the Homecoming dance. what unfolds after is a friendship you desperately cling to as you try to survive the rest of term... what you don't know is that Wally Clark is deader than a doornail until you learn it the hard way. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. AU - canon divergence. CWC (canon what canon). single mention of a mental health slur. attempted assault. protective behavior. angsty themes. hurt/comfort. bullying. HEA.

note: author hasn't watched S2. all knowledge of new content comes exclusively from GIFs on this platform. (i got tired of filtering Wally content. he's my babe. i am weak.)

bon reading, frens

___________________________🐦‍🔥

Wreck It Like A Rumor

They disguised themselves as friends.

You should've known when the one person out of the group you considered a sister—the girl you'd glommed onto in elementary, who'd been by your side through every shitty thing that'd unraveled your life at the time. You know, your real friend—started acting shifty.

Eyes down, nervous laugh, not giving you a straight answer when you asked her if she was okay.

"Help! Anyone, please! Let me out of here!"

You pound your fist against the door, tears streaming down your face. Mascara smudged, nail polish chipped, kicking and banging and screaming until your skin is red and blotchy.

It's Homecoming. You never went to the dances, tend to avoid a lot of high school social events like the plague since everyone in your grade (and others) treats you as if you're contagious.

But it's junior year, and your best friend begged you to join her as her ride or die since she wasn't super comfortable with her new group of friends yet.

You threw caution to the wind and said yes.

For Oli. Olivia Hazelwood. The awkward daughter of Split River's old-money elite couple, Henry and Marion Hazelwood. You and Oli were awkward together. Outsiders who found a home in each other. You shared everything with her and thought she did the same, but now you question how true that was.

Because, along with her new friends—who she insisted were your new friends, too—she'd locked you in the secret fallout shelter in the school basement.

Cruelty packaged as a practical joke.

You heard Travis cackle to the others before calling through the door, "Get comfortable, it'll be a while 'til the janitor comes to get you!"

It's fucking Friday. You don't know Mr. South's schedule—hell, you don't know if he even knows about the fallout shelter—but you assume he won't be back until Monday like the rest of the staff.

Someone will do a walk-through, you tell yourself, gasping for air as you pace around the space. It's dark, the only light coming from the weird dashboard on the clunky equipment lining one wall.

How Travis and the others found out about the fallout shelter isn't a mystery. You told them, stupidly, when you were trying to bond with Elitzia and Marybelle. Split River trivia you'd collected through hyperfixation research. Hours spent diving down rabbit holes after binging Fallout with Oli over a weekend.

Nuclear winter. Chernobyl. Bunkers. The Cold War.

God, why'd you say anything? Should've kept your mouth shut. Should've known that Travis and his friends weren't actually trying to buddy up, because you're still the school pariah.

After all, you gave Jake Tremblay crabs after you rejected him in 9th. You were a homewrecker and forced yourself on Matt Wilson when his girlfriend caught him shoving his unwanted hand up your skirt. You told Claire Zomer last year that you liked to wear diapers and be bottle-fed like a baby as a result of neglectful parents after you refused to do her English homework.

The mill churned out rumor after rumor, and though you tried to fight it at first, it became too much. Like squashing an ant hill. You stopped, people lost interest when you didn't react, but those rumors still circulate.

Sometimes, new ones join the rotation depending on who you piss off just trying to make it to the last bell.

Oli was the only person who stood by you until Elitzia extended her friendship.

Now you're alone. Stuck in the creepy fallout shelter in the dark. Suffocating on shadows as you double back to the door and start banging your palms against it again. Oli knows you're claustrophobic. She was there when you trusted Sarah Thompson in 5th Grade and climbed into her toy chest.

What is so other about you that makes people hate you so much?

You gulp in harsh breaths, sobbing out exhales, losing energy quickly as you smack and bang the door. You can't hear the music, but you know it's still loud, the dance in full swing two floors above.

"Please," You cough, shaking, "Please, let me out..."

‗•‗

Wally sighs. Tonight's been one giant letdown. He doesn't know why he got his hopes up, especially since it's been obvious from the get-go that Maddie isn't ready for the things Wally wants to try with her. Romance. Dates. Hand-holding and affection and inside jokes.

He understands. Of course he does. Maddie's new-dead. She was murdered. She and her best (and very alive) friend are trying to solve the case, to help her remember so she can find closure or whatever.

Why would she want to take a break from that and hang out at a dumb dance with Wally? Who's been trapped in limbo for the last forty years; same four walls, same seven faces to interact with. Same. Same. Same. Same. Fuck.

It's fine. It's totally fine.

As he lies on the grass, staring up at the stars, the quiet outside giving him space to sulk, he hears it. Bang. Help! Bang bang bang. Please!

It's faint, no louder than a breeze, but consistent. Wally gets to his feet and tries to follow the sound. Back into the school, down the steps, along the first-floor hallway to the basement door. It muffles for a moment when he goes the wrong way, toward the janitor's office, so he backtracks and hurries deeper into the bowels of the school.

Despite having the run of the place, no holds barred, he hasn't been this way before. Never saw a reason to go to the boiler room, not even after Maddie took a seat at the Afterlife Support Group.

The sound loudens, banging and muted pleading, someone clearly in distress. Wally slows his steps as he nears a door he's never seen before. It's old, white paint peeling, made of metal. It shakes when whoever's behind it starts slamming their fists again. Renewed vigor, higher-pitched agony, "Please!! Anyone!!?"

Wally scans the outside of the door for a latch or handle and notices the deadbolts attached to the top and bottom of the doorframe. Quickly, he undoes them and yanks the door open, stumbling back when a figure slumps out.

Small. Trembling. A girl whose makeup is stained with tearstreaks and whose eyes are bloodshot, her skin pale from fright. She's breathing heavy, sniffling, rubbing the back of her wrist under her nose as she gradually calms.

"Uh..."

And that's as much as Wally gets out before she's on her feet, arms around her middle, shoulders up. She takes one look at Wally, mumbles a wet thanks, and then charges through the boiler room, down the corridor, and out of the basement.

Wally's stunned. Because he knows for a fact that that girl is alive.

Not only did she look right at Wally, she spoke to him. Like, to his face. Eyeballs met eyeballs. For the first time in a long time, Wally was part of the living world again.

"No freaken way..."

‗•‗

You keep your head down as you walk toward your locker. Headphones on, blaring angry music to quell the crash and surge of emotion inside you. You're embarrassed, humiliated, hateful. Rightfully so, you think, because the last person in the world you trusted betrayed you in the worst way you can imagine.

Oli tried to apologize over the weekend. A novel of a text that repeated several times how sorry she is about what happened. How she didn't know that was the plan. I swear, I thought they were just going to close the door for a minute.

So why didn't you come back?

She never answered. Either ashamed of her non-actions or annoyed that you won't forgive her as easily as you used to, you don't care.

The guy who saved you—tall, handsome, dressed like a silverscreen leading man—looked just like someone that group kept in the middle of their circle-jerk. Which was why you didn't stick around to thank him properly. He was probably just a little less bad; has what amounts to a conscience for those assholes, and decided to cut the joke short out of guilt.

Definitely a senior, you figured, since you didn't recognize him from your class.

Makes things easier. You intend to steer clear of him just like you will the others. You've got enough on your plate, the newest rumor sticky-tacked to your locker when you finally arrive.

Crybaby got herself locked in a room and couldn't get out! Accentuated with photoshopped baby bottles and crying emojis.

It's stupid. Juvenile. But it burns. You tear the paper off your locker, crumple it up, and march to the trash to shove it through the lid. Even through your music, you can hear the chorus of laughter. Some of it nervous, as if going along with it to avoid the same attention Travis and his cronies give you. Some of it hearty and genuine.

You swallow your discomfort and go back to your locker, wrench the lock open, and almost violently swing the door right into someone's face. Thankfully, that someone catches it before it does any damage.

"Whoa there, Helen Sharp, I'm not here to steal your man." The guy chuckles, giving you what you assume is his most charming smile.

It rubs you the wrong way. You glare back, ignoring the comment as you begin to rifle through your things, exchanging last night's homework for the textbook and notes you need for first period. He clears his throat, keeps standing there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and watching you.

"So, you can't hear me," He mutters, and, weirdly, it doesn't sound like a snide question. Rather, his voice is heavily laced with disappointment.

You stop and straighten, staring right at him when you cock your head and say, "I can hear you just fine." Then, "You come to make me thank you again?" Just like Mike Bower earlier this semester, who pinned you to the vending machine after the cafeteria emptied, demanding you show him your gratitude for lending you a pencil during the History test.

The guy swallows and shakes his head, eyes wide and mouth agape. As if you speaking to him is the most astonishing thing that's ever happened to him.

Your glare intensifies.

‗•‗

Wally can't believe it. You can see him. You're talking to him.

Kind of.

You're mostly scowling at him, but that doesn't matter. He'll take what he can get. He knows you're likely still upset about Friday, how you got locked in the fallout shelter somehow. Which, the fallout shelter was a whole discovery on its own that helped unlock some of Maddie's memories over the weekend, so if anyone should be grateful, really, it's Wally.

"N-no," He stutters.

His shock swiftly melts into excitement, big grin sweeping his face, and he giddily follows you toward your first class after you slam your locker closed and start walking.

"So...are you okay? You didn't look so good, last time I saw you."

You heave a sigh, "I'm fine." And it sounds an awful lot like something you've been repeating to yourself until you believe it. Clearly, it isn't working.

"Right. Yeah. Of course you are." Wally nods sagely. "...What's your name?"

You come to an abrupt halt in the hallway and turn to face him, brows furrowed, giving him a slow once-over that makes his heart skip a beat. Now that he can see your face better, he swallows thickly. Jesus, you're beautiful. Even scowly and off-put. Pretty as a peace lily.

"Why?" You ask, and, wow, okay, has no one ever asked you for your name before?

Wally hesitates, not quite understanding why you're being so hostile until he hears it. A couple of students behind him, snickering to each other, commenting on how, the fucking weirdo's lost her mind. She's so fucked up.

Spinning on his heel, Wally faces the students, ready to put them in their place before he remembers that they can't see him...can they? No. They can't. They look right through him at you, snorting and shaking their heads in pity like you're some kind of headcase.

When he turns around again, you're gone.

‗•‗

It takes Wally a few days before he finds you again. Outside, sitting in a patch of sun, eating your bagged lunch alone as you lean against the side of the school. Without preamble, he plops down beside you.

He spent his time doing a little research. Between helping Maddie and Simon investigate, obviously, he's a good person who has his priorities straight. Still, you were always on his mind. The gorgeous living girl who can see him.

You ignore him, bite into your PB&J, and stare into the middle distance as if Wally doesn't exist. That's fine. He understands now. And, holy shit, the things he'd do if he had a body to do them in. He'd fuck every last one of your tormentors up. Break egos before breaking bones. Guy, girl, he doesn't discriminate; he hates what he's heard.

Can't be sure none of it is real, but from the way you shrink when he keeps his attention on you, he doesn't think any of it is.

"You okay?" He ventures again, voice low and kind.

You shrug. No snarky comment, no anger. Just...resignation.

"I, uh, heard what they say about you..."

You snort, "Great. You come to give me words of wisdom, oh wise one? It's just high school, it won't matter when you get out of here," You mock, clearly some bullshit you've been spoon fed before.

Wally shakes his head, "Nah. Nothing like that." He gives you a smile. Cheeky, "High school's all there is. It really does shape your whole life."

You choke on your next bite and then give him a look of horror. When you catch his impish smirk, your eyes narrow.

"You're an asshole."

"You're kind of a grump." Wally shoots back good-naturedly.

"I think I've earned it."

Wally's smile falters slightly, but he makes an effort to remain upbeat. Softly, sincerely, he says, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that."

"It is what it is." You respond, equally as soft, gaze on the ground.

You and Wally sit in silence for a moment. It doesn't feel awkward or tense the way Wally expected it to. Instead, it's peaceful. A welcome change from the mounting drama he's experiencing on Split River High's metaphysical side.

Eventually, you seem to relax. You and he exchange names. He doesn't give you his last name, not quite ready for that conversation, though he's sure you'll figure it out sooner rather than later. His letterman is a dead give away (no pun intended).

"Do you...have any friends?" He asks bluntly after talking around the point for a few minutes.

Tensing, you stop chewing the last bite of your sandwich, gaze distant as your face slackens in what Wally can only describe as hurt.

"I did. But then she helped her new friends lock me in a fallout shelter even though she knows I'm claustrophobic."

"Fuck..." Wally exhales sharply, "I'm sorry."

"You say that a lot," You accuse, slanting him another suspicious look. "Why are you sorry? Did you know that was the plan? Are you friends with Travis and Marybell and Elitzia?"

Wally tries to keep up with your questions. You must've been thinking those things based on how rapidly you asked them, and it takes Wally aback.

"No," He replies, "I don't know any of those people."

You relax again once you've stared into Wally's fucking skull to see if he's lying. Apparently, you can do that since you give a small nod and settle back against the wall.

"Thank you," You say after another minute of silence. "Really. For...getting me out of there."

"Yeah, of course," Wally says. "I might look like an asshole, but I'm not actually one."

You peek at him, a tiny smile forming on your lips that makes Wally's heart soar, "I'm starting to get that."

‗•‗

Your unconventional friendship with Wally grows from there.

When Wally isn't busy saving the day with Maddie and Charley and Rhonda, he spends his time haunting you. His own little joke, because it appears you haven't figured out how dead he is, and as more days pass, he's more reluctant to reveal that spooky truth.

In the span of weeks, you blossom like a flower for him. He learns how giggly you are when you aren't shielding yourself from the disgusting things your classmates sling at you. It's not often, but it's often enough that Wally never sees you as anything but reserved and quiet when you're between classes.

At this point, he's heard the slew of rumors about you. Gross and inflated, a game of broken telephone that chips away at you a little more every day.

Except when you're with Wally. It's as if his presence is helping you heal, and he can't keep the warm, fuzzy feelings from growing in his chest. Bigger and bigger with every encounter.

You've taken to studying in the library until the very last second you're allowed to stay. Tucked in the back, muffling laughter when Wally tells you about things that happened to him when he was alive. He omits details that might give away the era, but shares everything he can.

God, he loves the sound of your laughter. How your eyes sparkle when you're happy. How your cheeks flush when he sneaks in something flirtatious. How you bite your lip after you say something suggestive in return.

You're not exactly tactile, probably scarred from things that've happened in your past, things that've been said to you, or things that've been done to you. (Wally wants to punch everyone, teachers included.) It makes it easier to hide his deadness. However, it's getting to a point where Wally has a hard time remembering not to reach out and fail at tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear when you stare up at him with those sweet, joyful eyes.

There's always, at the very least, an inch of space between you and Wally. An inch he so desperately wishes he could eradicate. Either way, he can't break that barrier, the energy emitted from a living body preventing him from touching you, even if you did finally welcome it.

You bring him homemade cookies the day you reveal that your parents are rarely around. Break his heart, then heal it with chocolate chip, his favorite. He has to wait for you to turn away before he picks one up, so you don't see how the cookie never actually leaves the container.

When he bites into it, he moans, filthy, sexual, not even exaggerated because, "God damn girl, these are delicious."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Wally takes another bite, moans again, eyes closed as he savors the taste, "Best I've ever had."

You blush, duck your head shyly, "Thanks, Wally." And, fuck, he wants to kiss you. All over your face. Cheeks, nose, forehead. Lips. Deep and slow as he cups your jaw, angles your head just right, pulls you into his lap and—

"Earth to Wally," Your voice breaks through the mist, "You still in there?" Then, to yourself, "What the hell did I put in these?"

Wally blinks himself back to the present, "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I asked you if you wanted to try the oatmeal-peanut butter ones."

Very seriously, "Yes. And everything else you've made ever, if you don't mind."

He wants to offer to make you banana pancakes or a burrito or anything to show off his skills in the kitchen, but he isn't sure how the food he makes would translate in the living world. His stomach clenches, eyes sad, as he begins to think about all the things he can't do with you. All the things you don't know he can't do with you because he doesn't want to lose you when you learn the truth.

Maddie didn't lose Simon, a part of him thinks, but while that's true, Maddie and Simon are best friends. Have been best friends since fuck knows when. Simon was willing to throw himself behind Maddie being a ghost because of how close they are.

Wally isn't certain you'd react the same way.

‗•‗

Things between you and Wally are...amazing? No, that's too simple a word to describe how his friendship has basically turned your whole high school experience on its head.

He's quickly become the best part of your day. He makes you laugh, helps you with homework when he isn't distracting you from it. He's sweet and compassionate and thoughtful. He remembers everything you tell him, even the mundane, silly shit.

You've never experienced that before. Not even with Oli, who had a knack of steering every conversation back to herself. It wasn't in a rude or self-righteous way, honestly, it stemmed more from insecurity and external processing.

But, yeah, it got old sometimes, especially when you just needed someone to hear you. See you. Know you.

Things with Wally are so incredible that you're even able to ignore the newest rumor about you making the rounds. How you're crazy, talking to yourself like schizo, you need meds, why do they let her near us? Dude, she could be dangerous.

None of it matters anymore. Oli's been fully indoctrinated by her new friends, ignores or avoids you, unable to look you in the eye anymore since dying her hair to look like Chloe's and dressing herself like Kirsten.

Wally has your back. Comforts you with humor or listens when you need to vent. Mostly, it's just bliss. And it's alarming because you've never felt so close to someone like this. You've exposed yourself to him in ways you never let yourself before. Not with Oli, not with your parents, not with anyone.

But he draws it out of you, bit by bit, your personality slowly reestablishing itself after years of being smothered behind the walls you had to build to protect yourself.

He's safe.

And he's hot like burning. Like putting your hand over a lit element.

Another new feeling unlocked; you want to feel his hands on you, even for a moment. Want to feel his lips on yours. Want all of him so wholly and greedily it makes your head spin.

Yes. Everything with Wally is perfect.

Until, one day, he simply...disappears.

‗•‗

It's not Wally's fault. He doesn't mean to do it. He wouldn't have, he promises. Especially not to you. But, Wally has his turn getting stuck in the fallout shelter; Mr. Martin unmasks himself as a bad guy; and Maddie's body is alive out there being used by Janet.

Things go from moderately unhinged to fucking hectic overnight.

He stays away only to help Maddie. Finds out, shit, Yuri Vyarheychyk isn't actually a looper. Discovers a lot of things he never wanted to discover. Wally's lost and despondent, and can't seem to get his head above water long enough to seek you out and apologize for abandoning you for two weeks.

He's relieved when he finally catches sight of you again, a smile on his face as he watches you help put the gym together for his high school reunion.

Just as he's about to approach, he notices you go eerily still, staring at something he can't see from this angle. He steps a little closer, cautious, heart in his throat when he finally gets a glimpse.

"Oh, no."

‗•‗

You were roped into helping set up the space for the class of '84 reunion. You'd reacted vehemently when Travis made a joke at your expense during Math and Mr. Davis immediately issued you detention.

This is how you earn back his respect. Carrying stacks of chairs and fussing over an easel that's to support a picture of that guy the stadium is named after. You're feeling bitter, neglected, alone all over again since Wally hasn't surfaced, and the rumors are starting to pick at vulnerable flesh.

Then, Ms. Monroe clucks at you, hands you the blown-up photo to fit onto the easel. You don't notice at first, and then the shock swoops in and leaves you breathless. Gaping wide-eyed at the face staring back at you.

Wally's smile is exactly how it looks when you say something he calls 'cute'. Charming. Cheerful.

The world fades away, time stands still, and you almost buckle under the realization that you made up a whole person to keep you company. You really are fucking crazy, just like everyone said.

"Hey..." You hear Wally's voice, but it can't be real, pulled from some broken part of your brain that shattered after the fallout shelter.

Slowly, you pan to your right, Wally towering over you, as solid as he was the last time you saw him. You glance back at the photo, then to Wally, rinse, repeat until you have whiplash. A tiny, wrecked sound escapes you and your body shivers, the weight of what this means bubbling inside you like acid.

"Hey, no, it's okay," The figment of Wally Clark, class of '84, dead dead dead, tries to reassure you. "You're not crazy, babe, I'm right here. You can see me."

His words do nothing to calm you down. You need help. Professional help, hard meds, a straitjacket, and a padded room.

Another trembling whimper and you wheeze, "They were right... I'm... I'm insane."

"No!" Wally insists, stumbling after you as you force your feet to move and head for the door.

Ms. Monroe calls out, but you ignore her, not bothering to think up an excuse as you leave.

"Leave me alone," You beg the figment of Wally, covering your ears with your hands to block out his voice as he urges you to believe him, that he's real, he's a ghost, he's been here for forty years, babe, please, stop!

You don't stop. You start running. Out the door, into the parking lot, off school grounds. You run until you get home, where you lock yourself in—parents still in Dubai for one of your dad's conferences, the house empty and cold.

Sliding to the ground, back against the door, you tuck your knees to your chest and cry.

Alone. Again. Always.

‗•‗

Wally's heartbroken after you leave. Never had he ever thought you'd become that important to him until you made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with him. Because you think he's a figment of your imagination. Some trauma response.

He tries twice to convince you he's real, but it doesn't work. You shrink further into yourself, pale and placid, not even challenging the remarks made behind your back like you'd started doing again.

Unfortunately, shit hits the fan and Wally can't make time, plowing through scars, saving Maddie from herself, encouraging her to run back into her body.

All throughout, he longs for you. Wishes he'd been upfront from the beginning. He'd just wanted to be selfish for a while. To keep you. His own little secret, beautiful and bold, his to indulge in and cherish and...love.

Fuck.

Now, he stands in front of a door, a thick, bright light burning on the other side of it as he holds his key. He stares at the door, feels the warmth beckoning him. There's nothing left for him here. He's done his time, languished within the school for too many years.

Wally takes a step forward.

‗•‗

Without Wally's presence to ground you, you start to unravel. Piece by piece, whittled away to nothing but anger and fear. Right now it's predominantly fear, in large extent due to the empty halls and lack of teachers. There's a commotion outside that drew everyone with any authority out there.

It's well past the last bell, and Travis was leaving the locker rooms when you were headed to the theater to grab a notebook you forgot on one of the seats during Drama. Apparently, despite being fucked in the head, you've been a lot more appealing lately.

"You got a great smile when you aren't being a bitch," Travis leers, crowding you against a wall.

He's big. Huge. Built like a brick shithouse even at seventeen. He's got more muscle on him than you could ever hope for, and the strength of the linebacker he is behind him.

"Get away from me," You demand through clenched teeth, hands shoving uselessly at his chest. He doesn't budge an inch.

"Nah, don't think so, freak." He smirks, massive hand around your throat. Not too tight, just enough to hold you there with the promise of pain if you try to struggle.

That's when you start screaming.

‗•‗

Wally's head shoots up, and he drops the football, takes several long strides toward the exit door. The sound gets louder, clearer, as he nears. It's coming from behind the door. And it's familiar. He knows that scream, heard it weeks ago. The night he rescued you from the fallout shelter.

Without a second thought, Wally kicks the exit door open and barrels through, tripping when gravity hits him for the first time in decades. He gulps in a gasp of air, the taste sharp and bleachy, filling his lungs. Chest expanding, bones and blood and flesh heavy in a way he doesn't remember his living body being.

"Help!" You scream again, the tail-end of the word muffled by the hand of who Wally recognizes as one of your antagonizers.

Travis has you on the floor, his knees on either side of your waist as he grapples to control your arms. Wally fights against gravity, skids forward and then, Stop! Stop it! he charges. Tackles Travis' weight off of you and to the ground.

His knuckles burn as he punches Travis' face in, his lungs burn as he sucks in more air than is probably necessary, his body no longer familiar with the function but quickly getting with the program.

Wally falls back when he's sure Travis isn't getting up. Alive. The guy's alive. Just wrecked and bloodied, groaning as he rolls onto his side and clutches his jaw.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," Wally pants, wiping the sweat from his upper lip.

"W-Wally?"

Your voice is so small, so uncertain, and it gets Wally's attention immediately. He's with you in a flash, hands on your face, holy fuck, he can touch you, and you're so warm, so solid, skin so soft, he doesn't know what sensation to focus on first.

"Y-you're real." You murmur, as shocked as Wally is. "You're..." You lift your hand and place it over his, the touch smarting the cuts he opened on Travis' nose.

"I was always real, baby." He says, chest still rising and falling rapidly, God, he can't take his hands off you.

It happens in the blink of an eye. He can't tell who moves first, who initiates, only that it's pure fucking bliss when he feels your lips against his for the first time. Soft and pillowy and yielding. You taste like Sprite and those chewy watermelons you like to snack on during study sessions.

Wally moans into the kiss, can't help himself, pulls you into him as much as he can just to revel in the feeling of your body against his. Your real, living body against his.

A groan behind you and him reminds Wally that Travis is still there, will likely be found soon, and whoever does the finding will have questions Wally can't answer right now. Possibly not ever.

"Come on, baby, we've gotta go," He says, intending to hide you somewhere else in the school so you and he can talk.

You apparently have other ideas, because you drag him behind you all the way to the bus stop. He tries to tell you, tries to get you to stop before—

"I can't leave school property!" He shouts.

You slow, letting go of his hand to walk a few steps backwards, eyebrow lifting as you stare at his feet.

"But...you are off school property."

When Wally looks down, his jaw drops. He scrambles in a half-circle to measure the distance between himself and the curb. Thoughts flood his brain: He has to tell Rhonda, to tell Charley and Yuri and Quinn. He has to find his friends and tell them about his...what? His aliveness? Is he alive?

"Come on," You urge, grabbing him by the hand again and hauling him away from the school. "We can't be here right now."

You're right, he knows that, but, holy shit! He's off school property. He's breathing oxygen. His heart is pumping, his muscles ache from the exertion of beating Travis to a pulp, his tongue feels too big for his mouth, and his eyes sting from lack of blinking.

Whatever Wally is, he's not a ghost anymore.

‗•‗

You take him back to your place. You don't exactly know where else to stash a forty-year-old ghost, which Wally insists he is and is basically proof of that himself. You looked him up after the reunion. When you weren't so overwhelmed, that is.

Number 57, Walter Clark, beloved son and friend. If he is a fake, the likeness is uncanny.

As soon as you and he are through the door, he surges, lifts you into his arms, laughing, unable to believe the changes he's already taken stock of. He twirls you around, holds you like something precious, and gazes at you with sweet, soulful eyes.

"I can touch you," He murmurs, as if that's the most important development. "I can actually feel you. God, baby, I can't stop smiling. And it hurts!" The last part makes you giggle because he says it with so much joy, it tickles the giddiness right out of you.

You sober, soften like butter in his arms as he holds you. "You can...touch me some more, if you want..."

There it is, the bravest thing you've ever done. Hanging in the air between you and Wally as he viscerally registers your offer.

When he finally gets it, his smile turns into a smirk. A cocky thing that makes your belly warm.

"Yeah?" He glances around, sees the couch, then looks back at you.

Wally carries you to the couch like you weigh nothing, easy, muscles bunching and releasing as he sits down and settles you in his lap. His hands roam under your shirt, his hot touch like a brand wherever he holds you, and, slowly, giving you time to reconsider, he leans in and captures your lips in a gentle, sweet kiss.

‗•‗

Wally doesn't have the capacity to process anything outside of this moment, outside of you, right now. He should probably take a minute to figure out what happened to him when he fell through the exit door, should strategize a game plan for his friends to follow, should do a lot of things, but he can't find it in him to stop.

Your weight in his lap is so much more intense now that he can feel it in a real, human body. Your little whimpers and soft mewls as his hands wander under your shirt—fuck, the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers, it's like a dream he never thought would come true.

He undresses you slowly, worshipping every piece of skin revealed with his mouth and hands. Little nips and flicks of tongue, tasting your skin, hearing your sounds, absorbing your warmth as you squirm against him.

"You like how I touch you, baby?" He asks, gazing up at you through his lashes as he gently, so gently, trails his fingertips down your side and to your ass where he grabs. "I wanna make you feel good." He grinds his hips up, cock harder than he's ever felt it, groaning when the friction sends shockwaves of pleasure through him. "You feel that, baby? You feel what you do to me?"

"Wally," You gasp, your head tipping back and eyes closing, savoring the sensation.

You help him out of his jacket, his shirt; grip his chain to draw him into another hot, hungry kiss that leaves him reeling and desperate for more. His fingers dig into your flesh as he bucks against you, can feel the heat of your pussy through his sweatpants and shorts.

Gone in seconds because he can't wait anymore. Has waited enough time to feel anything again, but this, with you, no. God help him, he doesn't have that kind of patience or resolve. He's not strong enough. Not with how you tremble in his arms when he smears two fingers through your folds, dips them in to tease you as he watches the expression of euphoria that twists your features into the most beautiful image he's ever seen.

"You're so wet for me, baby," He purrs, nipping that sensitive spot right below your ear. Fuck, you start to ride his fingers, greedy little thing, the slick squelch of your pussy fucking his index and middle finger echoing in his ears and fogging his brain.

"Wally, please," You beg so pretty, and that's it. Control gone.

He lines himself up and guides you down, Jesus, you take him so perfectly. Stuffed full, tight as a vise, gripping him inside you as he leads you up and down, up and down, getting him as deep as he can be inside you.

"That's it, baby, just like that. So good for me," He pants, feet planted, hips meeting yours, his hands tight on your ass as you move on him. A fucking goddess crafted by heaven just for him. "Fuck," He chokes, "Fuck, yeah," and bites your lower lip, soothes the sting with his tongue before delving it into your mouth.

It feels too quick, but he can't avoid it. It's been so long since anything felt like this. You're not any better, quivering under his hands, thighs spasming when he starts to fuck into you faster, harder, making you bounce on his cock to take what you need.

When you come, he cries out, eyes clenched shut, mouth open, stars exploding. His climax ripped from deep within his core. His cock pulses as he spills inside you, arms fastened around your body to pin you to his chest, kissing you with everything he has.

"God, baby, I love you," Maybe it's too soon to say it (definitely), but who the fuck cares? Give a no-longer-dead-guy a break. He doesn't know how long his earthliness will last. He can't afford to take chances.

And he hiccups an awed breath when you say, "I love you, too, Wally Clark."

You gaze at him in the afterglow, so soft and pliant and perfect he could burst. You and he stay on the couch for a while, basking in each other's presence, in the realness of it. Eventually, taking his hand, you lead him to your room, where he writes poems with his tongue in your pussy, where you spread yourself open and invite him in again and again and again until sunrise.

You give him the weekend.

He knows he has a responsibility to visit Maddie in the hospital and make sure she's where she should be. Must inform Rhonda and Charley and Yuri and Quinn and Janet (can he still see them?!) that he's somehow regained a pulse.

But that can wait until tomorrow.

It's Sunday night, and Wally has every intention of proving to you that you're not alone anymore. That you have him as long as you want to keep him. And that he'll stay, even if you don't.

"Not gonna happen, Wally, you're stuck with me," You tell him in no uncertain terms, snuggled into his chest.

Wally smiles so wide, his cheeks ache for days after.

🐦‍🔥___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you liked this, you may also enjoy Best Friends Club.

smut. you've been Wally's best friend since elementary school. and he's had a thing for you the entire time. it would've stayed a secret if, after a shitty date with someone who wasn't him, things changed.

I would do ANYTHING for this man omg

Wally Clark Headcanons - 3

(request)

Wally is obsessed with you. Probably to the extent he should seek help, but he doesn't care. He's happy. More than happy, in fact. He's in love.

He could spend every second of every minute of every day in your company and never get tired of it. Never need space or moments alone or time apart. Wally doesn't want that. Call him codependent, he doesn't give a fuck, he's so into you it borders on insane.

Which is why, when you and he do have to separate—aka: surgically fucking removing him from your presence—he's like a puppy left alone at home. Watching the door, pacing the house, counting down along with the clock until you come back. Chin on paws, soulful eyes begging the universe to bring you back now, please.

He watches TV, throws some hoops, showers, eats; manic and anxious and needy. And, yeah, Wally's totally capable of doing his own thing. He has the other ghosts to chill with; has pastimes Mr. Martin had encouraged over the decades Wally's been dead. He did stuff without you before you came along, and could do that stuff again.

But going back to anything after experiencing how vibrant his world is with you in it...nothing holds a candle. It's all boring and cheap and unappealing. So, he pouts, bounces his knee, annoys the crap out of Rhonda who's trying to read a book while Wally stares at the same word in his for the next forty-five minutes.

You and Maddie spent the day searching for clues in Maddie's murder case, a girls' day spent stalking Claire without Wally because Maddie was opening up to you more without anyone else around, and you wanted to help.

Wally's sweet, beautiful saint.

He makes a grumpy little noise that Rhonda rolls her eyes at.

Finally, finally, the library door opens. No time to say hello, already hoisted into Wally's arms after he torpedoes straight for you the instant you step inside. He cradles you close, kisses your face, hair, neck, giddy that you're back.

"How was it? Did you find anything? Did you miss me? I missed you."

Babbling and eager and wanting to hear your voice. You giggle (which he likes more), and he smiles back at you, big and excited, though his eyes are soft.

"It's been, like, an hour, Wally." You remind him, and he huffs.

"Longest hour of my life." He complains, to which Rhonda seconds under her breath.

He sneers at her, but his expression melts into complete adoration when you pull his attention back to you.

"How about we go relax for a bit, huh? The faculty lounge is empty..." You suggest and he's already moving, not letting you down, just carrying you like a toddler down the hall and through the door to the faculty lounge.

Wally loves cuddling with you. Doesn't even need things to go further to feel satisfied. You sit with your back against the armrest. Wally fits himself between your legs and rests his head on your chest, nuzzling into you and humming contentedly.

This is what he was made for, he believes wholeheartedly. To be yours. Built by the universe just for you because he can't imagine being anything else. He's been his own person for enough years; he's fine. Been there. Done that.

Now and well into beyond—for the rest of fucking time—all Wally wants is to be a piece of you.

And you absolutely let him soak you in whenever he wants because he's been through hell and needs unconditional love like fish need water.

Look at that face. I dare you to say no.

Tongue Twister

summary: a PWP drabble highlighting Wally Clark's addiction to eating your pussy like a man possessed.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. oral sex (cunnilingus).

bon reading, frens

___________________________🔷

Fuck. God. Wally's starving for it. Can practically taste it through your panties as he nuzzles his face against you, his eyes rolling back, lips parting as he pants like a fucking dog for it.

He forgot his History homework, football practice ran late, Simon needed a ride. It was all in all a stressful day, and then Wally was on his way home like a good boy when the craving struck. T-boned his limbic system and made him rabid for it. For you.

He didn't give you a chance. No politesse; no greeting; no indication whatsoever that this was where today's drop-in was going. At least Wally called (when he was already at your front door, licking his chops as he fantasized about tasting you). It felt like it was years and not the handful of hours it was since he last had you, the itch steadily barreling toward fucking rampage.

As soon as you answered the door, he crowded you back inside to the couch; shoved you seated and stripped you from the waist down without a word. Dropped to his knees at the altar, large hands spread your legs, and now there he is, making out with your pussy through thin cotton, moaning like the position is reversed.

"Baby," He whines, fingers hooked in the elastic of your panties, "Please, let me—" He gently sucks your clit through the fabric, tongues through the imprint of your folds, "Please, let me taste you, baby. I can't—" He cuts himself off with a hungry groan as he peels your panties down and off your legs.

Oh fuck, the weak little moan you release makes his head spin and his cock throb, and in an instant, he pulls you to the floor with him. You straddle his waist as he kisses you senseless, his hands on your thighs directing you upward.

"Want you to sit on my face, baby, come on," His tone begging, his eyes heavy-lidded and hot, so soulfully sweet that you can't say no. Wally rambles as you adjust, pussy hovering over his mouth, and oh God yes, he's so close to getting what he wants. "I need it so bad, I can't get enough, I need to taste you, baby..."

His big hands slide up your thighs to grip your ass, squeezing to encourage you to settle your weight on his face. He can take it, just let him, fuck, please, just let him. Once he has you where he needs you, he inhales deeply, groans in pleasure when your scent fills his nostrils. His cock throbs again, aching for you, for this. He wants you more than food, water, oxygen. More than anything.

Wally closes his eyes, fingers digging into your flesh, and he finally leans in. Presses his tongue flat against your slit and inhales again. He tastes your soft lips, kisses you gently, and chokes out a needy whimper. Fuck, you're so wet for him. And you taste so fucking good; heavenly nectar, sweet ambrosia, it's all he ever wants to taste again.

His brain melts completely when you start to grind against his mouth, and, yeah, that's it baby, just like that, take what you want. Those pretty sighs and tight whines that spill out of you make his cock twitch in his jeans and he humps the air, so fucking desperate to alleviate the ache, but unwilling to do anything about it until he's satisfied you. He grips your ass more firmly, holding you down as his tongue darts in and out, probes as deep as he can get it.

Wally wants to say your name, but all he can manage like this is a long, feverish groan; blissed-out gibberish that he spells on your clit with the pointed tip of his tongue before returning to kiss your pussy deeply, lovingly, with restless obsession.

You taste so damn good that he can't think. He groans into you again, his tongue moving in and out, teasing and exploring as he tries to get deeper. His hands knead your ass in a possessive, wanting grasp, like he's eager to keep you there above him, like he never wants this to end. He needs you so fucking badly now and always.

"Wally, oh fuck, you're gonna make me come..." And he can feel how close you are, your thighs trembling as you rub your pussy against his mouth. Every shiver and shake accentuated by a sweet moan or whimper that goes straight to his cock. He wants more of those sounds. Every single one of them.

He quiets, low moans replaced by heavy breathing as he works you toward the edge. He's so hard just from this; craving your touch, yearning for it, his lust consuming any hope of rational thought. He presses a little harder, tongue moving faster and more desperately, wanting to please you as much as he can. Wanting you to fucking use him as much as he needs you to.

"Please, Wally, I'm so close!"

F u u u c k, that plea, that tone, triggers him; makes him plunge his tongue deeper as he presses you down and holds you still. The sounds you make and the way you react to his ministrations—God, he promises to be so fucking good for the rest of his life so long as he always has this. It's almost enough to make him come in his jeans. He needs to hear you fall apart. Needs to be the reason it happens. And he knows just how to do it.

Wally pulls his tongue out of you long enough to say, "Come for me, baby, let me have it, please." Doesn't give you a chance to respond before he leans in again, tongue flicking your clit, lips and teeth grazing over it. A deep moan of pure longing escapes him as he sucks and swirls his tongue over your clit, his breathing ragged, cheeks flushed, oh God, he needs you to fucking soak his mouth and chin.

Finally, yes, baby, he laps up your sweet juices when you come, sobbing in pleasure as he drinks it all down. Slurps and groans greedily, tongue working you until you plead for him to stop, too much, I can't—Jesus, he loves having the evidence of how he makes you feel on his face.

"Mmm, thank you," He sighs as he pats your hip, signaling for you to rise so he's able to shift positions. Wally sits up, gathers you in his arms, and licks his lips, the inside of his jeans wet where his come stained the denim. He looks down at you with a lopsided, sated grin, his eyes still at half-mast.

"Feel better?" You ask through a hazy smile.

"Much better." He murmurs. Rubs his hands up and down your legs as he gazes at you like a 5-star buffet.

🔷___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Alphabet Soup.

smut. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several non-linear stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it. (Janet and Wally are dating to increase their social value. meanwhile, Wally wants to get closer to her step-sister. you.)

Anxiety

summary: prompt fill. Wally isn't clingy. he isn't. honest. but something about your aura makes him nervous, and suddenly he's all hands everywhere and babbling where he's normally calm, cool, collected, and he needs you to get his head back on right. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. flashfic. sub-adjacent!Wally Clark. nothing Anxiety Disorder related. Wally Clark is a whiny lil' babe when he's nervous.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🍋‍🟩

Anxiety

At first, you don't even acknowledge him. Which, alright, fine, you don't have to, it's not a rule. But Wally's suddenly anxious, tracking in his head all the things he said to you yesterday when he left your house. Hopped out the window, dashed across the lawn, and strutted home with a skip in his step because you showed him how much you love his cock.

Thrice.

You kissed him goodbye, sleepy and sweet, after he tucked you in. Normal. Better than normal, actually. And you didn't text him this morning to suggest anything's wrong.

Oh God. Does that mean something's wrong?

You don't always text him before school since, as you said, you know you're going to catch him before class. He left you pretty late last night, so no wonder you showed up only minutes before the bell instead of your usual twenty, and shit, is that the problem?

He wasn't considerate of your time? He should've been. Fuck, he should. have. been. Not whining and begging you for, "Just one more time, baby, please. I can't stop, I'm still so hard for you, come on."

With a whine he doesn't realize he releases, he crosses the cafeteria and takes a seat beside you. Fiddles with his hands in his lap, knee bouncing, trying to smile at Simon and Ajay who smile back, though something in their eyes is mildly concerned.

You chat away to Claire and Nicole as if Wally isn't buzzing out of his skin beside you, pretty and awake, voice tinkling like a bell. Wally chews his lip the longer you go without indicating you notice him.

You're wrapped up in the conversation, he tells himself. You're not mad at him. Right? .... Right!?

Uncertain, but desperate for acknowledgement, Wally reaches out and places a hand on your knee. You don't shoo him away. Don't move it. In fact, you inch closer, pressing your hip against his and curling your hand around his. You don't look at him, but Wally considers it a win.

Or maybe it's not.

Maybe you just don't want to cause a scene, and you're giving him crumbs of affection to placate him before you take him somewhere private and blow his world to smithereens.

By the time the bell rings, Wally's worked himself into a frenzy. Palms sweaty, face pale, bottom lip worried red. He keeps his eyes down, offering you a nervous, tight smile when you gaze up at him as you stand and grab your bag.

You notice his nervous demeanor and tilt your head, studying him like last night's Bio homework.

You and he have English next, but you don't seem to care, dragging him by the wrist into an empty classroom where you instruct him to, "Sit."

Wally does as he's told, sitting in the teacher's chair, staring up at you with enormous, soulful eyes, as if pleading for you to forgive him for whatever he did wrong.

You scan his face through narrowed eyes, and then slide your bag off your shoulder and let it drop to the floor. Quite unexpectedly (though very much appreciated), you plant your legs on either side of his and plop down in his lap with your whole weight. Hips right against his, no air between you; your hands on his shoulders and his on your waist.

He gulps, blinking at you, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, "What's going on in that silly head of yours, pretty boy?"

Wally releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relaxing as your lips curl into a warm, sedate smile. His hands tighten on your waist.

"I...thought you were mad at me?" He poses like a question, feeling stupid now that he hears himself say it out loud. And then, babbling, "I thought I might've disrespected your time last night. I know I left later than we planned, and I'm so sorry. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again, babe, I promise. But you know how I am when I get you all to myself—" Which sounds like he's blaming you, crap "Not that it's your fault, I'm not saying that, I was just trying to say that I know I need to be more aware of the time—"

You shut him up with a hard, deep kiss. Your lips taste like candy, tongue sweet-sour as you sweep it over his, moaning in delight when he begins to respond.

His hands fall to your hips, then glide back to grab your ass cheeks, hitching you as close as he can get you. Wally spreads his legs wide, cock fattening up so quick he sees spots behind his eyes when you grind forward and gasp.

"There's my good boy," You murmur, breathless, beautiful; cheeks pink and eyes glossy, and, oh fuck, Wally whimpers. You fist your hand into his hair and drag him into another heavy kiss, not letting him breathe until you've had your fill.

He pants, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass as you grind in slow, delirious rolls of your hips against his.

"I'm not mad at you, Wally," You assure him, "What did I tell you last time you thought I was?"

It takes everything in Wally to remember anything outside of this moment, but eventually he says, "That you'd tell me immediately."

"And I meant that." You pause, going still, and he whines in frustration. "Don't you trust me?"

He nods vigorously, "I trust you, I'm sorry," pinning you to him which in turn shifts you against his cock. He moans weakly, grinding his hips up, begging you to take pity on him.

Fuck, it's insane how easily he gets worked up for you, but he wouldn't change a thing. You and he are already skipping English, might as well use the time doing something...productive.

"Shh, you don't need to apologize," And you say it as you wedge a hand between your body and his, fingers deftly undoing his fly, hand sneaking under the denim to palm him through his boxer-briefs. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Wally's breathing too quick to respond, to thank you for being so understanding. His eyes roll back, head tipping backwards, hips bucking into your hand.

"Baby, please," God, he needs you, is already leaking a wet spot into the cotton.

Cruelly. Sultry. "Use your words, pretty boy," You purr, biting a trail down his neck. "Tell me what you want to do."

He swallows thickly, groans weakly, a pathetic little mewl. He hates having to ask, especially when he knows you know exactly what he's angling for.

But then your hand stops, your hips stop, you stop, and he forces out, "I wanna be inside you so bad..." Choked and desperate.

He opens his eyes and sees you smirking at him, cool as a cucumber. Or that's what he thinks until you grab his hand and bring it under your skirt, encourage his fingers to slip under the crotch of your panties. Fuck, you're so wet. Juicy and slick and hot just for him. Again, he swallows, throat dry, eyes heavy-lidded and blown, panting like a dog as you begin to ride his fingers.

"Is that good?" He asks, cock throbbing when you throw your head back, arch your chest forward, moan like a porn star because of something he's doing to you.

He can't take it anymore, needs to have you, needs to be inside you. He pulls his fingers out too soon. You pout, but don't complain, shifting to peel your panties off before resettling in his lap. Wally has enough brain power left to check that the door is locked, the little window still covered by that Drug Prevention poster plastered all over the school for the next month.

You bring him right the fuck back into the moment by dropping down on his cock, one slick-slide move that punches a grunt from Wally's chest. You start slow, always taking your time to build a rhythm, drive him batshit fucking crazy with lust before giving him what he needs to get to the edge.

"You're such a good boy, Wally," You praise, lifting and sinking down on him again and again and again, squeezing tight around him every time, "You're so sweet, so perfect."

And, shit, he needs to hear that, his blood pumping harder, weak sounds of pleasure and gratitude released from his core, his hands clutching you like worship. Then, you start to move faster. Sharper grinds, harder drops, wet squelches telling him how close you are.

How close he got you.

"Oh, God, baby, I'm gonna come," He sobs, feet planted, hips bucking in tempo with your movements, fingernails digging into your ass cheeks, "Don't stop, fuck, baby, I'm gonna—"

It hits him like a Mack truck to the hypothalamus. He explodes inside you, crying out like a fucking princess, pumping his hips as he spends everything he has in him.

It rips your climax from you, Wally can feel it, shit, fuck, it's so good, the way you go so tight around him, a vise holding him deep inside you. The way your thighs spasm and your mouth falls open and you look at Wally like he's the most important person in the world.

Moments later, cooled down and cuddling in the afterglow, you pet his hair sweetly and kiss him with fondness; soft, loving.

"What do we do the next time you think I'm mad at you?" You say like a kindergarten teacher talking about sharing crayons.

Wally pouts, mumbles, "Talk to you about it."

You grin. "And when do we talk about it?"

"Before I get anxiety..." Wally pinches his lips together and averts his gaze.

You don't let him avoid your eyes for long, drawing his face back so he has to look at you.

"If it makes you feel any better, Wally, I honestly don't think I could ever get mad at you." You kiss the tip of his nose. "But if I do, I promise, I'd tell you straight away, okay?"

Wally nods, as solemn as he is grateful and relieved, "Okay."

You lean in, nip his earlobe and whisper, "Good boy." And suddenly he's fucking hard all over again, flipping you onto your back on the teacher's desk and showing you with his body exactly how good he can be.

🍋‍🟩___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Tongue Twister.

a PWP drabble highlighting Wally Clark's addiction to eating your pussy like a man possessed.

Peggy

18+ MDNI

CW: pegging, sub Wally, safe word (mentioned but not used), mommy kink, cum eating/tasting

Summary: You try something new with Wally.

Wally trusted you immensely and knew that you would never judge him, but he was scared shitless to ask you this one thing. It sent him in a spiral and was eating him alive, keeping this inside. He tried his best to keep his presence around you normal like he usually is that nothing was bothering him at all. Although that was easier said than done. He knew you probably noticed that something was up with him. You were so perspective of him.

All he had to do was ask, but the thought of doing just that created anxiety in him. He thought of every scenario where it would go wrong from breaking up with him to downright flat out laughing at him. So he just swallowed his pride and kept it in the dark recess of his brain. Until it resurfaced to the front of his mind when he was dropping you off at your place. You noticed that he was tense and seemed off. “Walls, my love, are you okay?” You gently asked. In his head, he was spiraling and couldn't find the words to say what he wanted. “ You know you can tell me anything, right?” You told him, and his heart shattered. He heard the hurt in your tone. God, he needed to do this to get this out there so you don't think of the worse. He turned to you and grabbed your hand to steal his nerves. “You promise that you won't judge me?” He asked, which caused you to raise your brow at him. “I'm serious hun.” He said in all seriousness. “You know I would never, dear.” You said while squeezing his hand. He took a deep breath and finally said what he needed to say “Willyoupegme?” expect it came out in a rush, and you had no clue what he said. “Come again?” You said. Heat flooded his cheeks, and he was dying on repeating himself, but he had because you have no idea what he asked. “I said," Will you peg me? “ He replied and immediately closed his eyes, not wanting to see your reaction.

Laughter filled the truck, and he snapped his head over to you, wondering what was so funny. He just bared his soul to you, and you had the nerve to laugh at him. “Wanna share with the class what's so funny.” He sassed. Rolling your eyes at him and reaching out to hold his hand again. “ Of course I will.” You said, and his eyes widened a bit. He wasn't expecting that answer from you. “Is that what you were losing your mind about?” you asked. He just nodded in response. “You never have to feel nervous to ask me anything, dear.” You told him, and again, he nodded.

It's been a week since he asked you to peg him, and he was a little bit worried that he scared you off with his ask. It was Friday, and he was coming over to your place for movie night since it was your turn to host. It was 7pm by the time he arrived at your house and he knocked on the door. He was doing everything to regulate his breathing and clear his head. You finally opened the door, and Wally’s brain short circuited. You were in the skimpiest pair of PJ’s that you own. He swallowed hard and followed you inside. God, you look so perfect, he thought, and he felt like a live wire. You had everything set up for movie night in your living room with the giant flat scene TV. He made his way to the couch to settle in for the night. You asked him what he wanted to watch, and he didn't care. You browsed through different streaming services until you found something interesting to watch. You pressed play and let the movie begin.

Wally pulled you into his lap and wrapped his arms around you while you both watched the movie. You were adjusting yourself on his lap, not knowing your ass was brushing against his dick. It kept happening, and he thought you had to know what you were doing to him. He gripped your hips to stop you, “Knock it off.” He rasped. You paused your actions. Once the movie finished and the credits started rolling, you stood up and yanked him off the couch, pulling him along to your bedroom.

As soon as you passed the threshold of your room, he knew that the atmosphere had changed. He sat on your bed awaiting your next move. Each and every movement was calculated. You went into your closet to collect a box that would show who's actually in charge for the evening. With the box in hand and heading towards the bathroom to change. You called over your shoulder to him, “ Get undress & look pretty for me.” With that you shut the door and Wally moved as quickly as humanly possible to rid himself of his clothes. After he finished, he sat back on the bed awaiting your arrival from the bathroom.

After what seems like eons to him, you eventually emerge from the bathroom. Wally scanned your body from head to toe, analyzing you. It wasn't until his eyes landed on the harness that you were wearing and his eyes continued traveling down your body until he noticed the pale flesh-color cock attached to the harness. He swallowed hard and was gawking at it. “Like what you see?” You cockily replied. Wally nodded his head and couldn't tear his gaze away. You walked up to him and your hand slid in his hair, yanking his head to look at you. “I need words, Walter.” You spoke harshly. His eyes grew in size at the way you spoke to him and he stuttered over his words, “Y-y-yes, ma'am.” He replied. “Good boy.” You said and released your grip from his hair.

“Here's how tonight is going to go.” You spoke, “Anytime I ask you a question you will reply with words? If you can't, one tap to my thigh signifies yes and double means no. If at any point you feel uncomfortable with what is going on, you say your safe word and we will stop no matter what.” “Got that?” you asked and he replied yes. “Before we get started what's your safe word?” “Football.” He replied. “Good boy.” You praised him and he whined at that. You chuckled and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

You both maneuvered into a comfortable position. His legs were spread open so that you could lay easily between them. You leaned down to grab the lube bottle, flicking the cap open and squirting lube onto your fingers and his asshole tossing the bottle on the bed. “Ready?” You asked him, and he whispered a yes. As carefully and gently as you could, started to insert one finger in his hole to stretch him out. You wanted to prep him before giving him the strap. When one finger was inside him, you stopped and checked in with him, “How are you feeling, dear?” You asked. Wally exhaled and said “I'm doing good.” You smiled at him and placed a kiss on his hip. Slowly, you began to move your finger and kept your eyes on Wally, watching for any signs.

Wally was loving this. It was so much better than he was expecting. “More, please.” He whined out. You chuckled at him, “Okay hun.” You said and inserted a second finger. He threw back his head and let out a long moan. God he was loving this. You were beginning to pick up your pace and stretching him out even more. “Don't stop.” He begged. You gave him a wicked smile and wouldn't dream of stopping. As you continued your pace, you wrapped your other hand around his cock and began stroking it. His body flinched from the unexpected. Your hand around him started to match the pace of your fingers in his ass. Both moving in tandem and Wally was losing his fucking mind. His body was on fire and it felt so god damn good. Pants and moans started to fill the room and the smell of sweat was as well. He couldn't take it anymore the absolute pleasure you were giving him. “I'm going to cum.” He told you and you started to speed up your actions. Wally couldn't hold in his moans anymore and without any shame in the world he let himself enjoy this. His hips started to roll matching your rhythm. “I'm cumm-” He stopped mid speaking, head thrown back and a loud moan ripped from his throat. His cum coated your fingers. You carefully pulled out your fingers and crawled up to him. He was breathing hard and arms covering his eyes. He removed his arms from his eyes and glanced up at you. “I'm so proud of you, my best boy.” You said. Another whine escaped his lips and a blush rushed his face. While locking eyes with each other, you lifted your cum covered fingers in your mouth enjoying the taste. Wally moaned seeing how fucking hot that was.

“Are you good to continue?” You asked him, and he said “Yeah, I'm good.” You reached over to grab the lube and squeezed a good amount in your hand to lube up the strap. Wally watched in a daze and couldn't wait. Once satisfied with how lubed up the cock was you were ready for your next move. You placed the tip at Wally's hole. You checked in one last time and he was ready. Exhaling you started pushing into him. He groaned and your eyes snapped up at him looking at him with worry in your eyes and you seized your movements. He quickly spoke out “Whatever you do, please don't stop.” His hand was fumbling around looking for yours and once he found yours he interlocked your fingers. And with that you kept going until you were fully at the hilt of the cock. You stayed there for a moment to let Wally recuperate. Both of you were breathing hard. After stilling for a moment, you asked “Are you ready?” Wally couldn't speak, so he let a single tap to your thigh and you instantly adjusted yourself. Slowly you rolled your hips, thrusting in and out of him. His breathing started to pick up immensely. Quickly you found a good rhythm and pace. You kept at it for a while and Wally felt like he was on top of the world. He was getting close to cumming again and was getting ready to say so, but he stopped short when you suddenly pulled out of him.

He groaned at the suddenness and his eyes snapped out filled with so much confusion. He was about to voice himself but you interrupted him. “Turn over and get on all fours.” He hesitated for a bit until you captured his face in your hands. “Baby.” You cooed. He just pouted. “You trust me, right.” He nodded and moved himself to the new position. You thrusted back into him and lurched forward. You got back into the groove of things to get him back to that release. Moans and groans from the both of you filled the air and Wally was approaching his release again. “I'm getting close.” He said. You nodded and started to pick up your pace. It was a lot harsher than before and Wally was enjoying it so much. “Mommy, I'm so fucking close.” He cried. You paused for a millisecond and were surprised with the name that fell from his lips. Not that you minded and Wally didn't seem to notice what he said.

You kept on track with what you were doing and Wally moaned out loud “Fuck, Mommy.” and he came so fucking hard. It coated his abs and your sheets. You kept going at it to chase your own release from the strap which you purchased with the clit stimulation piece. You were so close yourself, picking up your pace to fall over the edge. Wally was whining from overstimulating. “I know baby, I know. Be mommy's good boy.” You said. Your hand flew to his hair and you tugged on it harshly with a hard thrust. Thus triggering your own release which had a scream and moan ripped from your lips. Wally let out a cry and collapsed from holding himself up.

Loud heavy breathing from the both of you echoed around the room. You collapsed on Wally's back, trying your best to collect yourself. Once you felt your breathing even out a bit, you carefully pulled out of Wally and unhooked the strap throwing it across the room not giving a fuck where it landed. You moved back towards Wally who was still recovering. You laid down next to him and carefully pulled him in your arms. You maneuvered him to lay down with you and rested his head on your chest. He wrapped his arms around you and he shut his eyes. You just held him, running your nails over his body letting him recover and catch his breath. Humming filled the atmosphere and he recognized it to be his favorite song. Warmth filled his entire body, he has never felt love and care like this before.

He opened his eyes and gazed up at you. You looked back at him with a smile on your lips. “Hi baby.” You whispered and Wally blushed hard, sure you've called him that before but right now in this very moment it felt different. “Hi.” he said his voice was hoarse. “How are you feeling?” You asked. “Good, so good.” He replied. You placed a kiss on his forehead. “I'm glad to hear that my good boy.” You said. Wally blushed so hard and hid his face in your chest letting out a whine. You just laughed and held him closer to you, placing dozens of kisses to his head.

The two of you just stayed like that for the rest of the night.

If you enjoyed this, then check out

Just wanna hear you scream

Summary: Wally brings your fantasy to life.

Brother that can’t be comfortable, but whatever my baby wants he gets

Charley: I just want to say I’m part of the LGBTQ community and this is my best friend Wally. He’s an ally. Talk Wally!

Wally: Ally! ✊🥂

ALL DAY AND NIGHT

I’d ride the pony 🐎

“You still mad at me?”

I’ve watched this gif of Wally an embarrassing number of times

what that tongue do

(gifs by @cal-kestis & @joshuaballsett)

i would give anything to have wally make me pancakes forever

Blurb

I’m feeling not great today and I can’t help but think about Wally crawling between my body and the couch. Pulling my hips against his front and kissing my temple before cuddling into me.

And maybe even snaking his hand down to toy with my clit purely to distract me from feeling so rough.

I’m not obsessed, you are

Okay maybe I’m obsessed hehe 🤭

Chew on the side of his jaw and shake my head like a dog

I want to bite his jugular

Need this man BIBLICALLY

Also look how adorable Peyton is in the back. Love her too

work is getting in the way of my wally time 🙄

Nah fr tho

Tell me why I can’t think about anything else. Bro needs to start paying RENT for taking so much space in MY MIND