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

Crush

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

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

joyeuses Easter, fam 🐰🐣🥕

___________________________🌻

Crush

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

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

God dammit, Wally has a problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You name him Samuel.

Wally falls more in love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

He's not obsessed, you are 😒

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honestly, Wally probably needs a new hobby.

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug, "Whatever you want."

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

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

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

Does this count as a new hobby?

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wally~."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wally cocks his head, "Finally?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

This definitely counts as a new hobby.

‗•‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Me too, baby."

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

"Pick up anything interesting?"

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

Blue. Screen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌻___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

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

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

Help Ikhlas and her young daughter Eileen overcome their hardships

My name is Ikhlas Mahmoud Samara, I am 29 years old, and my 3-year-old daughter, Eileen, is my world. We were living a simple yet hopeful life until the devastating war on Gaza turned everything upside down. I lost my beloved husband, Abdullah Al-Boubou, who was just 31 years old, when he was martyred during the heavy bombing. He was our sole provider and source of strength.

We were forced to flee from northern Gaza to the Mawasi Khan Younis area in the south under relentless bombing. Now, we are living in a tent that offers no protection from the scorching heat of summer or the freezing cold of winter. Later, I learned that our home in northern Gaza was completely destroyed, leaving us homeless and struggling to survive.

Since losing my husband, we’ve been facing severe financial difficulties. I am doing my best to stay strong for Eileen, but we desperately need help.

I am launching this campaign to secure our basic needs and provide a dignified life for me and my daughter. Your support, no matter how small, can make a tremendous difference in our lives.

Please donate and share our story with others. Together, we can give Eileen a better future.

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

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

Sex, Drugs, Ect.

pt.5

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. Hearing Voices. Talk of a Dead Body. Self Deprecation. Angst. Arguing.

2k words

pt.4

-

The sight of the tall jock made guilt creep up on you. Asshole, you’d baled on him yesterday with no explanation. He hates you, he was the first person here to actually try and make you feel comfortable and you tossed him to the side, for what? A fucking book. 

“Hey” You were sapped out of your thoughts by the boy, he was walking over to you and… Smiling. Why was he smiling? He didn't owe you a smile, hell if anything you owed him an apology. “What's wrong?” Oh god he wasn't making this any better, he looks worried. You’re making him worry because you’ve decided to randomly wear your heart on your sleeve, fucking selfish. 

“Nothing, um-” Might as well tell him what happened, he’s gonna find out eventually, everyone is. “Some girls found my body.” 

“Oh shit” It was clear he didn’t know what to say to that. It was easier to comfort someone when you’d actually been given the chance to know even a little bit about them other than their obsessive drug use. 

“Yeah” You didn’t really know what to say either, leaving an awkward silence. “So um basketball?” Really, basketball. That's the best save you could come up with? Small talk definitely wasn't your specialty. 

“Uh yeah.” He let out a small chuckle. “I practice every Monday through Thursday morning. Even though I don’t change, it still helps to pretend to stay in shape. Makes things feel more normal.” Was he trying to offer you advice? 

“Cool” You gave him a tight lipped smile. Nothing felt normal, waking up, going to bed, hell even the halls felt weird. Haunted, not just by you but by all the other students that had lost their lives here. How the hell was this school still open? You didn’t know the statistics for school deaths but you’re pretty sure this isn't normal. 

“You wanna give it a go?” He gestures back to the gym or as he would probably call it ‘the court’.

“Basketball?” There was clearly a bit of a shocked look on your face. “Oh no i don't play.” Sweaty bodies bumping into each other while passing around a ball sounds like literal hell. Still not as bad as being stuck in high school forever but definitely not a pastime activity. 

“Oh come on. It’ll be fun, I swear.” Why's he being so nice? He doesn't even know you. What the fuck does he want? 

“I don't know if it's really a good idea.” You gave him a tight lipped smile. “I'm not exactly what you would call coordinated.” 

“You don't have to be coordinated, just throw the ball around.” You couldn’t tell if he was trying to get you to loosen up or if he was just lonely, needing someone other than Charley to practice with. 

“I’m not the greatest with balls.” You cracked a fake smile. If he wanted you to act like everything was normal what better way to do it than with dirty humor. Now that was a specialty. The slightly stunned look on his face almost made you genuinely laugh. It was only there for a split second before he let out an awkward laugh. You couldn’t tell if you were making this better or worse, either way you were already here, talking to a dead guy. One of the most normal things that's happened in the last few days. 

“A smile looks good on you.” The past few days have been filled with nothing but self  loath and deflection. Not allowing your brain to process your situation. You know you’re dead, you know how but not why. That's the clarity you've been running on. But hey, at least he couldn’t see through the plastered on smile you’d spent years perfecting, right? 

“She only comes around every once in a while when I'm in a good mood.” Again with the lies. Tell him it's fake, tell him it's all a performance for everyone's entertainment. 

“Maybe I should try to put you in a good mood more often.” Before you could reply he threw the ball towards you, out of instinct you caught it with two hands, an unimpressed look on your face as his smile grew. “See? You’re a natural.” 

You forced out a small laugh. “A natural or traumatized?” 

“Bad dodgeball experiences?” 

“Older brother.” He let out a hum of recognition. You threw the ball back to him and watched him catch it with precision. “You haven’t lived until you've had a box of cereal fly past your head. Had to learn how to catch.” He gave you a bit of a side eye. “Sorry, was ‘lived’ a bad choice of words?” 

“Nah, but why a cereal box?” The smile on his face was real. It made you feel guilty for having to fake yours. You’d been needing so desperately to just be around someone and now you are but you still feel empty. Why isn't it enough? Fucking greedy.

“I don't know, guessing it was the first thing he saw.” The memory was oddly comforting. You still remember the confusion you felt when a box of cereal just barely missed you before smacking against the wall of your kitchen. It broke out into a shadow boxing match. 

“I never got that experience, only child.” There was a mixed look on his face. Almost sad but the smile was still there. 

“Consider yourself lucky. Me and him would beat the shit out of each other, steal each other's snacks, and I would steal all his hoodies.”

He laughs. “Sounds about rights.” Your conversation was interrupted by the sound of sirens  approaching. Both your heads turn to wear there coming from, though it was useless, you were both staring at a wall. 

“Fuck.” This is it, everyone’s gonna know. Nothings ever going to be the same. You’re officially dead. 

“You probably shouldn't go out there.” You didn’t look at him but in your peripheral you saw him turn back to you, concern and sympathy written all over his face. It doesn't make sense, he has no reason to feel bad for you. So why does he?

“I wasn't planning on it.” It’s your fault, you’re the reason you’re here and now you’re making some poor sweet boy feel bad for you. You don’t deserve his empathy. Even in death you’re fucking selfish, just get over yourself and suck it up. “Shut up.” 

“Excuse me?” It took you a second to process what just happened. You finally look back at him but he’s not mad, he’s smiling and a little confused. You know there's sheer terror all over your face. You can’t remember the last time you’d accidentally talked to them out loud in front of someone. This really isn't helping the asshole allegations. 

“Nothing.” The fake smile on your face is completely gone. How do you explain that without looking like an asshole or a lunatic? Fucking stupid. 

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” He's laughing, whys he laughing? Is your insanity funny to him? You’re suffering and he's laughing. Who cares? He’s not offended so just take it as a win. At least you didn’t slip up in front of some one like Rhonda, she would have chewed your head off. 

“Uh-” Change the subject. Something, anything. Fuck just pull together something. The familiar tightening began to form in your chest. Fuck Fuck Fuck. Without a word you ran to the door, pushing it open full with all the strength you could muster. What the fuck was that? He probably thinks you’re crazy. You just had to go and ruin a moment of peace by opening your big fucking mouth. You could hear the sound of his hurried footsteps following you into the almost empty halls. 

“Hey, wait up.” He was approaching fast and you couldn’t bring yourself to run away from him. Your legs felt numb, you didn’t understand why. What the fucks happening? It’s not the first time you’d slipped up in front of someone but this felt different. This is a stranger you’re being forced to spend the rest of your existence with. There's no escape, no wear to run. That little group is all you have now and you already fucked up. 

You felt his hand touch your solder but didn’t stop speed walking. He kept up a steady pace as he began to walk beside you. “What happened?” You stayed silent, knowing if you spoke it would come out wrong. “Come on, it's okay.” Okay? Nothing about anything is okay. It’s all fucked, your entire existence is fucked. “It’s not a big deal.” Your movements came to a halt. “It is a big deal Wally!” It came out angry, not angry at him but at yourself. When the hell did you get so soft? You let it slip out so easily without a second thought. Such an amateur move. 

He looked taken aback by your tone. “Okay, I don’t know why you’re mad but I'm sorry.” He thinks he did something wrong because of you, because you couldn't control your anger. You could feel the guilt grow on your face, features distorting with your fucked up emotions. 

“No, no, don't apologize. You did nothing wrong.” Stupid, so fucking stupid. You just couldn't stop yourself, could you? It’s not that hard to keep your mouth shut and be normal. 

“I don’t know exactly what's going on in that head of yours but you can talk to me. You can talk to any of us, we’ve all been there.” He tried to give you a comforting smile but it just made you want to break down in tears. What did you do to deserve this kindness? 

“That's really sweet Wally, but I have to go.” You pointed behind you down the hall. Truth be told all you want to do is curl into a ball and forget the world around you. There's probably a gurney dragging your dead body out of the locker rooms right now. Soon you will just be a memory to those you care about. An example for your future nieces and nephews about the dangers of drugs. A whisper in the halls. A ghost. 

“Okay, but um, movie night?” He had a hopeful look on his face. You didn’t understand why everyone was so adamant about you being involved in group activities. 

“Yeah, I'll be there. You can pick out the movie, I know I'm supposed to but I'd prefer if you just did it.” Great, now you have to drag yourself to group later too. 

“Perfect, see you later I guess.” He clearly wanted to say something. 

“Yeah.” You gave him an awkward tight lipped smile. As you turn to walk away you can still feel his eyes burning into the back of your head until you hit the corner, finally away from his watchful eyes. 

There’s a bathroom on this hall that you run to, needing somewhere to be alone with your thoughts. It’s funny, you were praying to be around someone earlier so you wouldn’t be able to think so much yet here you are. Hiding away, alone again. 

You paced around, still trying to wrap your head around everything. Your brain never even gave you a chance to process. You’re dead, what the fuck does that even mean? You were basically a zombie before that fateful day in the locker room, so why does it matter? Invisible or not you still have no purpose. Nothings changed, you’re still you. Still you, those words would normally comfort someone in your position but they made you want to vomit, to scream, cry, break everything in sight. Being you isn't a good thing. You’re broken, a mess, lost…. So what the fuck does being dead even mean? 

You let out a frustrated cry as you tuned, delivering an angry punch to the wall beside you. For a split second you couldn’t move your fingers, presumably breaking them before they reset. It didn't even hurt, you were shaking with anger and fear, to the point where you couldn’t feel anything else. 

Nothing made sense, it was all just distorted in your mind as you let your back hit the wall, sliding down on it so you could sit on the floor. Two broken fingers got you into this mess in the first place. Funny how history repeats itself.

Pt.6

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

pt.7

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. Emotional Numbness. SH. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

1.3k words

pt.6

-

The sound of the bell ringing as you left the gym began to give you a headache. You’ve heard it repeatedly in life and the idea of it playing over and over again every hour for eternity adds to the list of things you hate about this place. Death is just one big loop, it's repetitive no matter how much Mr.Martin tries to make it feel more natural. 

“So I was thinking Rudy for tonight.” Again with Wally. He hasn't even questioned you on your weird behavior from earlier. You expected at least a little judgment but it never came. Golden fucking retriever. 

“If you want a football movie I'd pick Remember the Titans.” The memory of watching it for the first time in 8th grade history made a slight smile creep onto your face. You cried like a baby. 

Wally’s face lit up. “That is a great choice.” He seemed way too hyped to watch a movie he's probably seen a million times but then again this place makes the tiniest things feel like pure ecstasy and that's coming from personal experience with the stimulant. 

You didn’t know where you were going. Ducking and weaving through kids despite the others insisting there was no point because the living can't touch you. You feel somehow light as a feather but also like there are two fifty pound weights holding you down, giving you flashbacks to the pool where Wally still wants to teach you how to swim. You knew you couldn’t go back there, not after what happened so when he asked you changed the subject, dodging it like laced weed. That's what led you up to this conversation. 

“Do we set up in the gym?” It sounds like the worst possible place to watch a movie. The smell of sweat and body odor constantly sticking in the air from the boys who got way too hyped during dodgeball. 

“Yeah, we pull out couches and chairs and set up the projector.” Perfect, another few hours spent in that huge room that always felt somehow cramped. It was more of the idea of being surrounded by dead kids that made your skin crawl. It reminds you that you’re not the only one who has suffered in this hell hole. Kids, you’re all kids trapped in this place. Never finding out what you could have done for the world. 

Wally continued to ramble about movie night but you zoned out as soon as your eyes landed on her. Mags, she looks scared. The sight of Mr.Hartman talking to her with a serious sorrowful look on his face makes your heart sink. Kids are walking into class around her like nothing happened. This is it, she knows. She knows you’re not coming back. She knows this isn’t like last time when you ran away for a few days. She knows you're dead. 

The look of dread that consumes her, tears filling in her eyes, makes you want to scream. Just like that it’s back. Emotions turning back on like she accidentally flipped a switch without knowing it. They were just begging to burst out of you. To flood the school with your presents. To let everyone know you’re still here, that you can’t leave. Trapped, looking at her pitiful face because now she knows and it’s your fault. She’s hurt because of you. 

The sound of Wally’s voice pulled you back to reality, the ringing in your ears clearing as you realized there are silent tears flowing down your face. You don’t look at him but you know where his gaze lands, right on the girl with beautiful caramel skin and perfect tight curls. He doesn't say anything, just wraps one arm around your shoulder and pulls you in close to him. You don’t resist it, his comfort feels like needles because you don’t deserve it but the thought of pushing him away made you feel like you were gonna fall off the face of the planet. 

You couldn’t hear what they were saying and didn’t want to. You kept your distance, watching him walk her to the front office, probably so her mom, the woman you call your mother, can pick her up. This one felt like a stab through the heart, the blade twisting slowly as your blood sprayed, covering everyone in your pain. 

You didn’t speak as you turned to Wally, fully wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. Your silent tears turned into ugly sobs as you held onto this poor boy like a lifeline. You were shaking, body feeling like it was going to go limp when he wrapped both his arms fully around you, holding you up so you wouldn’t sink to the floor. 

It didn’t feel real. Nothing did, all a fucked up fever dream that you were gonna wake up from any minute now, but you knew better than that. That would be mercy, something you don’t deserve. Hell you don’t deserve the boy gripping you tightly but yet here you are, taking more than you deserve. 

You didn’t want to leave his warm embrace but it felt wrong to stay put. The scent of his cologne daring you to pull away as you soak his shirt in your tears. Weak, you felt weak for putting yourself on full display like this. Your emotions raw and untainted by the voices in your head screaming at you to bottle it up. It felt nice, freeing, but the guilt was all consuming. 

Reluctantly you pulled away, keeping your head down to save yourself the torture of seeing what you knew would be pity written all over his face. You stood there with shaky legs, staring at your hand as you forced your tears to a minimum, not allowing them to flow into a river that would sink everyone around you. 

“Thank you.” Was all you said, voice shriveled and broken before you turned and ran. You could hear him start to say something then he cut himself off, knowing it would be no use. You were already gone, legs moving as fast as they could to escape whatever fucked up reality you found yourself in. 

You hid in the first empty place you could find, a supply closet. It was dark, cramped, and smelled like chemicals but it’s better than balling your eyes out in the middle of the hallway. Isolation was the safest option. The best way to protect your own sanity. 

-

“Are you ok-” The words died in Wallys throat as he watched you run away. It was a stupid question, of course you weren’t okay, your worlds distorted. It’s nothing new, death is a dark confusing thing that leaves everyone lost. He understands, he just wishes you’d lean on him more often like that.

The feeling of your warmth still clung to him. Nothing new, he’s felt the sad sorrowful touch before but something about yours bloomed a new feeling within him. He knew you weren't ready, the look on your face when you ran away said it all but he can’t help but be curious. He wants to hold you like that more, to tell you that it’s all gonna be okay, that you have nothing to be scared of. 

What an odd feeling. It left him wanting more, wishing for more. It sounds selfish but he wants to be the one to comfort you through your pain. He knows hiding won’t heal anything yet he let you go, watched you run away to drown in your own self pity. The memory of him locking himself in the locker rooms when he saw his mom for the first time since his last moments clung to the air. Self pity was all he felt, he understood but you wouldn’t allow yourself to open up enough to know that he knows your pain. 

Hell, maybe he doesn’t know exactly what you’re going through but he can grasp it enough to hold you one more time, that’s all he wants. The touch of another.

pt.8

Unofficial tag list: @gabbyygoo

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Pt.9

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. Looping. Use of the Word 'Narcissistic' Hearing Voices. Giving up on Recovery. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

1.2k words

Pt.8

-

Winter break had hit. The school was quiet, empty, the only ones roaming the halls being the deceased and an occasional teacher or janitor. The void of students always got to Wally but the sight in front of him bothered him more.

You were laid out on the grass staring at the midnight sky in the same spot he had left you in 3 days ago. He, Charley, Rhonda, and Mr.Martin had all tried to talk to you but it was like you weren't really there. Equivalent to talking to the living.

Wally sighed as he laid down on the grass beside you. There were few stars in the sky, barely anything for you to be looking up at. The silence was deafening, nothing but the sound of the wind flowing through the trees and the occasional car passing in the distance.

None of them had ever witnessed a loop like this. Being coherent for days and then falling into a pit of nothingness. The band kids began their never ending routine only 10 minutes after they died and according to Rhonda no one knew when Yuri got trapped in his endless cycle of sitting at the pottery wheel, making the same pot day after day.

The guilt sat heavy on his chest. Mr.Martin told him over and over again that it wasn't his fault but the way you looked at him that day kept playing on repeat in his mind. The anger, the level of anger was sickening but there was something else there. Desperation, hurt, pleading, and he just walked away. You needed help and he just walked away.

He peeled his eyes away from the night sky to look at you, though he knew you wouldn't look back. "The school just got a shipment of new Frankenstein books. I saw you in the library a few times when you were alive. Thought you might want to know." His voice was gentle, almost like he was scared that if he spoke too loud it would pull him into your loop. Rhonda had told him to be careful, 'you wouldn't wake a sleepwalker, they might mistake you as part of their nightmare.' She was adamant about just leaving you alone but it didn't feel right. The thought of leaving you out in the cold again made him feel like an asshole even though he didn't really have a choice. 

"Remember the Titans was a good choice. Even though Charley's tired of it, I love it." He knew he was basically talking to himself but the slight hope that you could hear him, that his voice was aiding you through whatever nightmare you could be trapped in made it feel less awkward. "We had winter formals on Friday. I don't know if you like dances but it was really fun." Silence, absolute silence. He didn't know why he kept expecting you to just wake up, to say something or just move, even a little bit. It felt pointless. 

Wally turned to his side and propped his head up on his arm so he could get a better look at you. "What's going on in that head of yours pretty girl?" Pretty girl, even before you found yourself in absolute hell he used it for you. The nickname rolled off his tongue from all the times he called you it when you couldn't hear him. Kinda like now except this time he knew you might get to hear it. Soft and gentle against your ears. 

He laid there, admiring your features. There was a blank look on your face, but there was something behind the far away look in your eyes. The same pain he saw that day. "I don't know what's going on but we miss you. Even Rhonda, she won't admit it but no one else argues with her like you do." And there it was, the sign he had been looking for. Your eyes glossed over, water filling them but not spilling. You could hear him. 

He laid there, admiring your features. There was a blank look on your face, but there was something behind the far away look in your eyes. The same pain he saw that day. "I don't know what's going on but we miss you. Even Rhonda, she won't admit it but no one else argues with her like you do." And there it was, the sign he had been looking for. Your eyes glossed over, water filling them but not spilling. You could hear him.

Wally shot up, now sitting but never took his eyes off you. He didn't know what to do or say, just looked at you dumbfounded. "Um- uh" His attempt at words came out choked. "Hey?" He didn't know why it came out as a question, though he didn't know much of anything when it came down to this situation. 

You laid there, debating your next move. You knew what you were doing was wrong but you didn't have the strength to move, to say, or do anything. You had watched, listened, to everyone try to communicate with you, thinking you were trapped but in reality you just gave up. The thought of continuing on in that stupid loop of activities, pretending that every thing was fucking normal, made you want to die again.

You heard him say your name, softly, filled with worry and a little bit of hope. There was nothing you could do, if they knew that you actively chose to sit on the field for 4 days in the freezing cold just because you didn't want to be around them they'd hate you. So you stayed silent, but you knew this wasn't over, Wally knows you can hear him, he's not gonna give up until you crack underneath the weight of the guilt. 

You'd already accepted your fate, eternity in this spot, never moving, never speaking, just thinking. It's all you ever did anyways, so why not just cut out the middle man? You knew eventually something would happen and you'd have to get up, go back to that supply closet, but for now you're enjoying being alone most of the time. More importantly you're enjoying your time with Wally. It sound's fucked up, letting him think you're trapped just so you don't have to do the talking but sometimes being cared for out weighs the feeling of knowing how narcissistic what you're doing is.

In your peripheral you could see him sliding off his letterman jacket, exposing his arms to the freezing cold before you felt, and watched, him lay it on top of you. You tensed for a second, not long enough for him to notice. There's that beautiful fucking feeling, this whole situations fucked, you're fucked. He gave you his jacket and you're sitting here lying to him. Sometimes you try to trick your mind into believing you're a good person but nothing could fix this. 

Without a word he laid back down beside you, looking up at the sky. You couldn’t stop the pit from forming in your stomach. You felt sick, your own actions disgusting you. This is what you chose. At the time it sounded like solitude, a way to punish yourself because your mind told you thats what you deserved but now it just feels wrong. You’re not just hurting yourself, you’re hurting Wally. For some odd reason he cares about you and you’re hurting him. You forced yourself to lay still, to not burst into tears and apologize, it was too late, the only option was to keep pretending. 

Unofficial tag list: @gabbyygoo @badbishsblog @dolliestgrl

Alphabet Soup

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

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

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Alphabet Soup - I

I is for the intense, irresistible stare Wally immobilizes you with as soon as you arrive at the tailgate. It's a bunch of rich kid jocks trying to be country around a bonfire. Mediocre beer and shitty music, but it's a good time. Most of the senior class show up after 10PM, swarm to the Peddie's field like vermin to let loose and celebrate the end of midterms.

Couches have been pulled from the old barn, rugs laid down, truck beds converted into napping stations if anyone's brave enough to let their guard down around their idiot friends. Wally keeps his arm around Janet; laughs with his buddies, claps Damian on the back when he makes a lewd joke about Kristen's itty bitty titties. But his eyes? Are exclusively on you.

Instinct or infection, Wally doesn't know and doesn't care. His gaze is instantly drawn to you when you hop out of Xavier's truck, tight jeans and cowboy boots, a smile on your face that Wally wants to eat. Except it's directed at Xavier fucking Baxter. Wally doesn't give a fuck that the guy's dating Claire, he's staring at you like dinner and Wally wants to cut out Xavier's eyes with an icepick.

You can feel Wally's gaze on you like fingers on your skin. Crawling up your legs, lingering on your ass, your neck, your lips. Fuck, you're the only thing Wally wants to indulge in, but he's stuck under the weight of social obligation and can't sneak away just yet.

Wally spends the next forty minutes stalking you with his gaze, follows you to the cooler where you grab a beer before taking a seat on one of the couches, cozy between Xavier and Nicole. His fist clenches, but he manages to keep his ire under control, arm still around Janet, still joking with his friends about shit he has to inspire himself to care about.

His eyes track up your legs when you stand to dance with Charley and the only thing that prevents Wally from turning feral is that he knows you're not Charley's type. You discard your jacket and, fuck baby girl, the corset top you're wearing gives Wally ideas. He feels his cock twitch, his mouth water; spreads his legs a little wider, and cups himself through his jeans while you give him a show. Pretty as a peach in the firelight glow.

Suddenly Wally's ravenous.

His friends are drunk, Janet at that just-right stage of tipsy, that no one gives Wally a second glance when he stops inserting himself in the conversation, his eyes fixed on you, hand massaging his fattening cock in the shadow of Braden's truck. Yeah, baby, let me see you move. He licks his lips, lids heavy, cheeks hot from something that isn't the fire a few feet away. You send his imagination into overdrive, your body sin incarnate as you dance and sing along to the music.

At this point, he's blatantly fucking you with his eyes, having a tough time regulating his breathing, in out, in out, in out, God, he wants to touch you. Get his hands all over you, his cock inside you, make that body melt for him. In the final few seconds of the song, his eyes lock with yours and you send him a sweet, cherry-gloss smile. He excuses himself immediately, saunters around the formation of couches, gaze indicating to you exactly where his mind's at. Follow me, baby.

He disappears into the woods, waits, is pleased as punch when you slip away from your friends with some excuse Wally doesn't give a fuck to know so you can join him in the trees. Wordless, hand still teasing himself through his jeans, he invites you against him with a wolfish grin and a deep, heated kiss. Bodies flush, breaths heavy, his hands sliding into your back pockets to pin you to him.

"Jesus Christ," He pants, spins, presses you against the tree with intention. "You look so good, baby," He whispers into your neck, teeth grazing the skin, "Driving me crazy..."

The little sounds you make as he grinds himself against you send his brain into a tailspin, cock throbbing, and Wally's impatience wins. He fucks you on your hands and knees, hips hitting your ass with filthy smacks of skin against skin, loud in the quiet of the woods. Oh fuck, fuck, baby, you feel so good. Needed this all night. My good, sweet girl. You love how my cock feels inside you, don't you baby? And so on until he drives you over the edge, fucks you through your orgasm into his, in awe by the end from how fucking perfect you make him feel.

Nobody questions him when he takes Braden's truck and parks it further away. Not even Janet who he's pretty sure is on her knees at Travis' feet between two cars. Wally finds you again when everyone remaining is either too drunk or too high to be a concern in the morning. He curls around you in the truck bed, sleeps better than he has since the last time you and he slept together, and shows his appreciation when the sun's coming up with his lips on your clit and his fingers in your pussy.

His sweet, illicit Kryptonite, inching him closer and closer to insanity with every instant he spends with you.

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MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Where are all the lesbian Rhonda fics 😫 I feel like I'm losing my mind. My baby needs some love, if this is how its gonna be then I'd like to give the universe back my bisexualityness. double it and give it to the next person or sum

:/

Gordon Ramsey fursona reveal!