Patrickispinky - Patrick

Milan.

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

my biggest red flag is that I can listen to the most brutal murder documentary's while writing smut.

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

October Moon

summary: things had begun to escalate after Quinn Wu had been pushed from the roof by none other than your brother-in-law. revelations had been made and everyone had been prepared to get down to business.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER MOON pt.6

The Ciorcal. A council that oversaw a clutch of families whose blood was infused with connectedness. There were many throughout the world, the number of families under each Ciorcal's governance limited to ensure the rules could be effectively enforced. Ciorcals weren't all powerful or meddling. Nothing like the Volturi in Twilight or the Ministry of Magic in Harry Potter. More like a rural Board of Revision who stepped in to make decisions when families couldn't agree on courses of action. Very mundane stuff that often involved pots upon pots of coffee during deliberations, and a lot of paperwork. Often, hearings took time to schedule since most councilmembers had real lives with real jobs and real social demands.

You'd never met them. You didn't know who your family had to report to if an issue arose with someone's connectedness. Only the matriarch had the privilege of reaching out to them in times of need.

The matriarch in your family was, of course, Ginny. And Ginny didn't seem pleased to have had to call one of the councilmen ('Godfrey', you'd heard her bark when he'd rambled on for too long about his grandkid's ballet recital) simply because Andrew had found a totem linked to a homicide that'd taken place in Mississippi in 2010.

The right thing to do, you thought, was to hand it over to police so they could test it for DNA or whatever. Only, there was nothing special about the totem to indicate that it'd had anything to do with anything apart from having been donated. They were normal-looking sneakers. Not even a pair that the victim had been reported as having worn. And Andrew had happened upon them at a Goodwill while browsing for costume pieces with his girlfriend. There was nothing Andrew could say that would sound plausible enough to avoid becoming the next prime suspect.

Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose, groaned, and then said harshly, "I understand that Marjorie has apples to harvest, Godfrey, but we need to———interrupt me again and I swear to every God and Goddess you can name I will choke you with your ridiculous bolo. I dare you to test me."

You tried not to laugh, pressed your lips together and grabbed Nanna's hand. You were both sat in the living room hunched over a puzzle, a relaxing pastime Nanna shared with you when you were stressed. And, oh boy, were you stressed. It was your sophomore year; you felt awkward and ugly and you had nothing to wear to Homecoming. And, although you knew it was stupid, Wallace J. Clark had started haunting you for real and you maybe-sort of wanted to impress him. Even if you couldn't have sought out, talked to, or acknowledged him in any way.

Ginny's agitated growl brought you back to the present. She tossed the cordless landline phone onto the couch and collapsed beside it, head on the backrest, fingers massaging her temples.

"All good, sister?" Nanna asked with a small smile, examining the puzzle pieces.

Ginny rolled her head to the side to scowl at her, "They're all idiots and I want a new Circle. In fact, I demand it. Who do I bring this up with!?"

Nanna's eyes glittered, "I think we'd have to move, if that's the case."

"Oh, hooey, we could petition to have them replaced, I'm sure."

"Really?" You wondered and glanced between Nanna and Ginny, "You can do that?"

Ginny returned to rubbing her temples, "Even if we can't, I will!" She exclaimed, truly frustrated. "Bloody sheep shaggi—"

"And~ that's enough puzzle time for one day," Nanna interrupted as she rose from her chair, encouraging you to follow her, "Let's get started on supper, sweetpea."

"I want steak!" Ginny called after you and Nanna, "With garlic mash! After putting up with slow-talker Godfrey, I've earned it!" And then, to herself, "It takes that man a thousand years to get to the point. I'm seventy-nine, for Chrissakes, I don't have time for that."

Nanna sing-songed back, "You'll get what you're given!"

"It's not too early to pass the baton onto you, you know." Ginny said like a threat, giving Nanna's back a pointed look. Apparently, dealing with the Ciorcal was a responsibility nobody wanted.

Nanna paused briefly and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, "Garlic mash, you said?"

Ginny grinned victoriously.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You were snuggled against Wally, back to front, between his legs on the floor at the back of the library. It was still too early on a Monday morning to worry about being caught. Charley sat in front of you and Wally, cross-legged with his back against Civil War history books. Ajay was sprawled across the windowsill. He listened as he gazed outside forlornly, still nursing Mina's ongoing absence.

Maddie leaned against Wally, her head on his shoulder, arms around her knees, clearly battling with too many thoughts. Lastly, Xavier stood at the end of the aisle, wary and alert and watching the door for anyone who wasn't on Team Parabnormal, as he'd called it. A loyal guardian.

He hadn't left your side all weekend, even when, on Saturday, you'd snuck onto school grounds to see Wally under Security Guard Barry's nose. Xavier had respectfully waited with Ajay while you and Wally had taken advantage of the makeshift bed that hadn't yet been dismantled. It'd been the distraction you'd needed after having witnessed Quinn Wu's almost lethal drop, and though Xavier hadn't been too keen for it, he'd driven Aurora's car and had diligently pretended he hadn't been chauffeuring you to a sex date with your boyfriend who'd been dead for forty years.

Xavier was a good friend. A good person. The only person you could trust with everything without having to explain in depth.

After Aurora had arrived at the school to collect you on Friday, she'd informed you that Ginny had had another episode. That Nanna had had to stay behind to wait for an ambulance because Ginny hadn't opened her eyes when they'd tried to rouse her after you'd called. She'd had episodes often throughout your life, but this seemed to be the worst of them. It reminded you that she wasn't as youthful and vivacious as she seemed. That she was a woman in her eighties with a body that no longer performed the way it used to.

Xavier had had Claire drop him off at your house before Aurora had left, wanted to be there should Dave have returned. He hadn't, but that Xavier had stepped up to protect your grandmother and great-aunt solidified for you that Xavier wasn't what Maddie and Simon believed, regardless of his prior misbehavior. He'd taken a taxi to the hospital with Nanna and had stayed until you and Aurora had arrived to relieve him.

For her part, Aurora had been a shell of herself when she'd found you after the dance. On the phone, you'd had to tell her why Sheriff Baxter had insisted she and Nanna and Ginny leave the house if Dave hadn't shown up. Shock, Nanna had whispered when you and Aurora had been sat in Ginny's hospital room, Aurora staring into space while you spoke quietly to Nanna. Currently, Aurora rotted in the bed of the Baxter's guest room, head under a pillow as if she could have blocked out the world.

They hadn't found Dave. Dave who might not have been innocent, but who hadn't been present when his body had pushed Quinn off the roof. Though his eyes had still been hazel, you'd known that it'd been Amelia looking through them. His situation wasn't like Christopher Nears whose ghost had been expelled from his body and trapped. No, Dave had been a—

"Golem?" Charley asked, head cocked like a confused puppy, "Like the clay monster things?"

"Yes and no," You offered, "It does usually mean clay monster things, but my family uses it to describe someone whose body is animated by energy that's not theirs."

Charley raised an eyebrow and, "So, a possession," he stated skeptically.

"Hard no," You said and held up your hand as you listed, "First, only a traveler can use a golem. Second, golems are temporary and the host's ghost is dormant in their body while their body is being used. Third, to be used as a golem, you have to have either full-blown connectedness, like me, or you have to have the potential to have it.

"Possession, on the other hand, can happen to anyone and the possessor has to be dead. A ghost with no body." Maddie's face pinched as she tried to understand. You elaborated, "Also, the host is aware of the ghost. Generally, the ghost is a super pissed off person who died traumatically. Hence why there's always records of lashing out and cursing and all that stuff."

"Got it. Golems, temporary. Possessions, a lot of projectile vomiting?" Charley added with a question mark.

You winced and tipped your head from side to side, "Either one can make you sick, actually. Think of it like an infection. The longer it sticks around, the harder your body tries to reject it. Either the body wins...or it doesn't."

"Jesus," Wally said under his breath, "This shit is wild."

Xavier interjected, "Can we please go back to the part where you said to be a golem you have to have magic?"

"It's not magic," You deadpanned.

"Don't really care." Xavier dismissed, and then, "You're telling me Dave has or could have magic?"

The corners of your mouth dropped severely, "Yeah. I know. Trust me."

"You had latent magic," Maddie mentioned to Xavier, "Same with Simon." She panned to you for support, "Right? That's why they can see us."

"It's still not magic, but I'd say yes." After a moment of reflection, you urged Maddie, "Trust me, though, if you knew Dave, you'd understand why it's so..."

"Fucking. Dave." Xavier finished on your behalf. You gestured to him, that.

Charley brought everyone's attention back on task when he asked, "Guys, if Amelia's already possessing people—"

"Borrowing," You inserted the correct terminology.

"Borrowing?" Charley blinked several times, "Okaaay. So, if Amelia is borrowing people...that means she has to have a body around here, right?" You nodded. "One she obviously wants to get rid of or she wouldn't be creeping around. And her whole thing is stealing bodies." Again, you nodded. "So, why doesn't she just...keep one of the bodies she borrowed?"

To be honest, "I don't think she can," you said, then chewed your lip in thought. "You could technically push someone's soul out of their body. Amelia did it to Christopher, right?" Maddie bowed her head, "But if it's for long-term use, you risk the body rejecting you since it isn't yours. Like an organ. Unless the chemistry matches, there's no guarantee a ghost can just keep the body. Which means, if they're in there too long and they're not a match, the body starts going through the stages of decomp. A lot slower than an actual dead body. But still...same-same."

The ghosts looked between themselves, Charley's features conveying to you that that usurping someone's body was something he'd never thought of trying.

"We're not assholes," Ajay reminded him, having read Charley's expression for what it was. "Although it would be nice to leave the school. Even for a day."

"We're. not. assholes," Wally doubled-down as he stroked your hip with his thumb, almost as if he was reassuring you that no one in his haunt was going to do something like shove a living person out of their body for a field trip.

You smiled up at him before informing everyone, "Besides, if you're inexperienced, you'd need a big source of energy to ensure you could successfully hold onto a body. Which brings me back to why Amelia can't just keep one of her golems. In that memory I got trapped in, Alastair said something about how the death of those cult members was what glued his and Anabelle's and Amelia's souls into their new bodies. I think Amelia would need to get a bunch of........." You trailed off, the realization dawning in fazed degrees. "Oh my god..."

There was an extended silence until, from the windowsill, "That's why we're trapped here," Ajay uttered, looking at the group. "Amelia's using us the same way she used the dead cult members, isn't she?"

Wally tensed, his body rigid behind you, thumb stilled on your hip, "What does that mean?"

"It means the symbols that I found were probably made by the Something-Something to trap their energy resource." Ajay's gaze was heavy as he clarified, "Us."

Charley glanced between you and Ajay before fixing on you, "But you said there were, like, fifty or sixty of them. Including us, we're only twenty here. Nineteen now that Janet crossed over."

"I don't think Janet was supposed to cross over," You said quietly, the gears in your head turning, "Maybe that's why Amelia tried to kill Quinn. To...to replace her."

Maddie pointed out, "Even if she succeeded, that still doesn't bring the total anywhere near fifty or sixty, though. If Amelia needs more than us..."

"If," Ajay said as he hopped down from the windowsill. "She could've perfected the ritual. It's just her now, right?"

"That we can confirm, yeah." Then you speculated, "Anabelle could be out there, too. Which, being Amelia's mom, I bet she is." Everyone sat in troubled silence for a moment before you suggested in a timid voice, "Maybe this isn't the only place she's hording ghosts." You glanced at Xavier, "I think it's..." A deep, shaky breath before you restarted, "I think I need to go back to the farmhouse."

Wally's arms tightened around you protectively, "Not on your own, baby," and pressed a kiss to your head, letting his lips rest there for a few seconds as he breathed you in.

Xavier said, "I agree with Grease Lightning, kiddo, you're not going alone," a short pause as he schemed, and then, "We can go tonight. My dad's working a double so he won't notice if we're not home."

"You're still staying at his house?" Wally asked, shifting to look at you and you could sense the jealousy he was trying so hard to conceal.

"Until tomorrow," You confirmed, "The locksmith's been booked solid since the break-ins started and couldn't get to us until tomorrow morning."

He pressed his brow to your head, "I wish I could go with you."

"You~ have an important job to do here," You reminded him, smiling softly and reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, "You guys are going to help Maddie get her memory back and then we'll be able to figure out what happened and if her disappearance has anything to do with Amelia."

Wally nodded into your hair, but his arms tightened further.

"I promise to cooperate," Maddie said with humor, having noticed Wally's reluctance to accept that you were going on a road trip with Xavier who she suspected had done something besides cheat on her to upset Wally. "I'll go along with whatever weird, kooky thing you guys wanna try." She lifted her hand, scout's honor, "No complaining."

"That's an offer we can't refuse," Charley chuckled and tapped Wally's foot with his toe, "Whaddya think, buddy?"

Reluctant, "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds awesome." He stamped another kiss to your head. Tentatively, eyes soft, he asked, "Do you think Aiden'll still be there?"

The question made Maddie flinch, because if Aiden's ghost had remained in the farmhouse, it was likely that Christopher's had also. Measuring your words, "I'm not sure. Honestly, I don't even know how I'm going to find the place. My memory is all fucked. I still remember it being in town."

Charley volunteered, "I saw Meheive on the mailbox, if that helps," his voice just as hushed and cautious.

"We'll start there." At least you knew what you'd be busy with at lunch. You mapped out the rest of your day, already itching to run to the computer lab and write your name on Mr. Balkin's log because those spaces filled up fast. "I'll see what I can find and then text you," you told Xavier, getting to your feet.

Everyone stood, ready to leave, except Ajay who returned to roost on the windowsill. When Wally inquired about Group, Ajay brushed it off, stating he wasn't in the mood; believed Mr. Martin wouldn't have any advice beyond what he'd already given Ajay on the Mina front.

Wally patted Ajay's shoulder and then returned to you. Leaned down and kissed you slowly, sweetly, pulling back to whisper, "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too." You replied, closing your eyes when you felt him kiss your forehead. "I'll see you at lunch."

At Wally's agreement, everyone but Ajay exited the library; you and Xavier went left, the ghosts went right toward the gym. You had a Mock Trial to prepare for as liaison for the school newspaper, and Xavier had Bio homework to catch up on so, at the end of the hall, you and he parted ways.

However, not before Xavier reassured with a joking grin, "I'll be there, kiddo. If things go sideways, at least we'll go down together."

You rolled your eyes, "Such a glass-half-full thing to say, Zav."

"You know me, always looking for the silver lining!"

"Idiot," You smacked his arm lightly and he feigned agony, wincing and rubbing his arm like you'd nearly amputated it.

"So cruel when all I wanna do is help," He moaned with an exaggerated pout.

Refusing to indulge him, you turned to head to your locker and grab what you needed for the Mock Trial, "You're a menace~!"

"You love me anyway~!"

Begrudgingly, you had to admit that, yeah, you did...

He was still a dickhead, though.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally had never seen that side of Mr. Martin. Jaw tense, features screwed up in vexation; his feathers ruffled in a way that they had never gotten before. Normally, Mr. Martin was a pillar of even tones and encouragement. The man who'd gracefully assumed the role of leader for their patchwork haunt. He was the glue, the calk, the cement that kept everyone together.

Until Maddie threatened to leave Group to find clues to clear Mr. South's name. The session had already been going off the rails at thunderous speed since Charley had kept probing Maddie for answers. Wally knew it was Charley's manner of trying to unlock her memories, but it only served to get under Mr. Martin's skin and put the man on edge. And, weirdly, spouting Mr. Martin's passive mumbo jumbo, Rhonda seemed to be on his side. She'd never bought into Mr. Martin's advice, as well-meaning as it was, yet, recently, she'd been following him around like a lost duckling and regurgitating his words like they were revelation.

What the hell was going on?

Wally was startled from his thoughts when Mr. Martin said, "Whether your memory returns or not, you're not in a position to help the accused, Maddie." At which Wally and Charley shared a nervous look. "We have no influence over what happens in that world."

Wally flicked his gaze to the back of your head, visible above the back of the first spectators' bench.

"Do we?" Mr. Martin prodded Maddie in a pointed tone. When she didn't answer, he repeated, "Do we have any sway over a living person?" And the expression on Mr. Martin's face might've been docile, but there was something beneath it. Something that made Wally uneasy. "Is there something we're not sharing with the group?"

One more there-and-gone glance at you, and Wally interjected, "Uh, speaking of repressed memories..." He leaned down to grab the psychology textbook he'd boosted from the library.

"We're not," Mr. Martin insisted.

Wally ignored him, desperate to take the heat off him, Maddie, and Charley, "Well, we can, so I will." Wally presented the textbook and assured Maddie that, "We're gonna help you get through this, Maddie, okay?" A hand on her back, his eyes sincere. "We're all going to figure it out." And he believed it was true. Between you and Simon and Xavier; and he, Charley, Ajay, and, hopefully, Rhonda, the odds were in their favor. They'd help Maddie remember and she'd be able to tell you what'd happened to her so you, Simon, and Xavier could go and valiantly retrieve her body like the knights in shining armor you and they were. Wally had faith in that.

"Thank you, Wally," Maddie answered.

What remained of the Group session was rocky and, either defeated or unsettled, Mr. Martin dismissed everyone earlier than he usually did. Before vacating the circle, Wally leaned in to ask Maddie, "Quick question," his voice low to avoid being overheard. She sat back down and waited for him to speak, "The day you ended up here...you didn't by any chance drink tea that probably tastes like soap, did you?"

A hundred questions passed over Maddie's expression as she thought about how to respond. Wally knew it was totally random, but figured it couldn't have hurt to ask. If that tea had drugged you and possibly made fifty to sixty wealthy socialites attend to the whims of a crazy woman, it very well could've been what'd caused Maddie to forget why she'd been in the boiler room in the first place.

Eventually, "No," she answered, and she sounded worried about Wally's mental health. "You think her sister snuck into the school to drug me with her favorite herbal sedative?"

"I just wanted to make sure," Wally defended, "And I'm not saying it was my girl's sister. Amelia could've golem'd—"

"Borrowed," Charley chirped as he came to stand in front of them.

Wally backtracked, "Amelia could've borrowed someone's body and slipped it into your drink at lunch or something."

"She could've spiked my odorless, colorless water with something that smells like a thousand grandmothers' perfumes without me noticing?" Now Maddie was grinning, cheeky, a glint in her eye.

Wally groaned, "If you're going to make fun of me for trying to help, I'm gonna find something else to do with my time." His gaze unintentionally slipped to you.

Maddie raised an eyebrow, followed his line of sight and then smirked, "You mean someone."

"Shut up." To get out of the hot seat, Wally stood and collected his backpack. Together with Rhonda, Wally was pleased to note, they left the gym. As they moved down the hall, "I have an idea," Wally announced, "but I need you to bear with me, okay?"

"Alright," Maddie said, followed by a semi-curious, semi-concerned, "Why?"

"Hey, you agreed to do whatever weird, kooky thing we wanted to try, right?" Wally grinned, "And I wanna start with those triggers I told you about. First up," he turned toward the cafeteria and, without comment, everyone trailed after him, "Do you remember what your last meal was?"

Maddie's nose scrunched as she tried to recall. "Whatever they served in the caf," she said, albeit unsure.

"Great, we just have to check their menu rotation and we'll go from there." Wally was excited for his experiment. His blood pumped and his brain buzzed similar to how he felt on game days. Jittery, but good jittery. Like he was on his way to do something with purpose.

Charley made a face of disgust, saucily recommending, "If it's whatever they try to pass off as fish, we're skipping it."

"We don't have to eat it." Rhonda said, linking her arm with his. Charley beamed at her as if she'd told him Mr. Figueroa could see Charley and wanted a word.

Beside Wally, Maddie snapped, "Thanks. Guys. Love the solidarity."

"Oh-ho-ho no," Wally shook his head as he draped his arm across her shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze, "This isn't about solidarity. We're here to support you and to try to trigger your memories."

"And torture you with the school's trash fish." Charley added gleefully.

Maddie shot him a glare, shoulders drawing inward and mouth twisting in displeasure, "I think I'm good, actually. I don't need to remember anything."

Wally chuckled, "Too late for take-backs, Maddie."

"It's never too late," Maddie disagreed, "I take it back. I'm taking it back now."

Wally waltzed ahead and opened the cafeteria door, merrily saying, "You'll be fine. It's not like you can kill a ghost, right?"

The look Maddie leveled him with would've withered a lesser man.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier drove in the direction of the old Meheive estate, the truck quiet except for the low drone of the radio. He'd dropped Claire off at her house after the confrontation with his father in the 7-Eleven, and picked you up outside his house. Nanna had returned to the hospital to sit at Ginny's side. Your mother, Alice, was conducting a reiki session at her friend's studio downtown. Aurora had relocated from the guest room to the den where she'd curled up to distract herself with reruns of shit reality television. No one knew you and Xavier were gone.

He'd filled you in on the lunchbreak escapade to the station; how he and Simon had found a clue that pointed to Nicole. As skeptical as Xavier was, you'd altogether refuted the idea that she could be responsible for Maddie's abduction. However...it made a twisted sort of sense to Xavier.

Simon had described the root of the resentment Nicole could've possibly harbored toward Maddie. Toward Simon. And Xavier saw how that could've led to a tragic outburst that had resulted in Maddie's current predicament. Plus, if it had been Nicole, that could've explained why Maddie's body was still alive somewhere. Maybe Nicole hadn't meant for things to escalate how they had and, heart heavy with guilt, Nicole had undertaken being Maddie's warped Florence Nightingale.

"Maybe..." You allowed, but, "It still doesn't feel right."

"Does any of this?" Xavier returned with a rueful smile.

You snorted, "True."

Twenty minutes later and Xavier turned onto a gated dirt road. The gate itself was dilapidated, yawned open, its iron panels slanted away from the frame as if trying to free themselves from their hinges. Xavier drove carefully down the dirt road, no lights to guide him apart from his high beams. The setting felt spooky, Xavier's blood curdling as he maneuvered around fallen branches and deep pits in the dirt. No lights. Just dark and trees and whatever hid within them.

One would think the town would've maintained the property. A heritage sight owned by the family of one of Split River's founders. Apparently, no one had had the incentive since, when Xavier drove to the crest of the horseshoe driveway, the house itself was completely run down. It had the essence of grandeur in its woodwork and architecture, but he could tell it had long since been abandoned to the elements.

He saw the ghosts at school, therefore knew that building was haunted, but it didn't feel it. The Maheive estate, however...it emanated profound melancholy, enough that it urged Xavier to turn around and put as much distance as he could between it and him.

Fighting his instincts, Xavier glanced at you when he parked, reached over and took your hand to give it a squeeze.

"You ready?" He asked softly.

You didn't respond. Simply inhaled a rattled breath and returned the squeeze before opening the truck door to climb out. You waited at the nose of the truck for him and, just as he reached you, his vision shifted. Or perhaps it was the world around him, because the house had suddenly changed. He rubbed the meat of his palms into his sockets and looked again, but the house remained pristine. Turrets proud and mended, shingles restored, paintwork smooth and intact.

"What the hell?" Xavier muttered, astonished.

Without looking at him, "Even homes have ghosts if they had enough life made in them," you said, then smiled sadly, "This is how the house is perceived in the world of the dead."

"So, why don't I see the school any differently?"

"It's still alive." You shrugged like that made an iota of sense. Xavier went with it, though, not sure if he wanted another magic lesson. Your voice in his head chided him that it's not magic, but Xavier was having a harder and harder time believing that. A ghost house sounded like something a wizard would say. And wizards? Notorious for wielding magic.

"So, is this how I'm going to see every abandoned building from now on?"

You seemed to consider that for a moment and then, "I think it depends on the building." You turned your head to gaze at Xavier and instructed, "Just look closer."

Xavier peered at the house, but he didn't know what he was supposed to have been looking for—wait. There. Beneath the reminiscence was the decayed reality. Two images overlayed to create a new composite. A house trapped between life and death.

"This is both very cool and very terrifying," Xavier commented.

He trailed behind you as you made your way up the front stairs, minding your steps. Carelessly trod over the fallen screen door that was also in perfect condition on its hinges. Watching you pull it open while not pulling it open was a trip that made Xavier a little queasy. The unnaturalness of it disagreed with his brain.

You hesitated with your hand on the main door's polished-tarnished handle. Understanding, Xavier took over—it was unlocked—and put a hand on your back to guide you inside when he pushed the door inward. He felt a chill zip through his skeleton, the hairs on the back of his neck standing as he stepped over the threshold. The air felt thin and cold. Inside, the house was stately, something one would see in a British period drama. Beautifully woven rugs and old-fashioned wallpaper; portraits and paintings in goldleaf frames; candlelight in the hall and carbon arc in the rooms.

Xavier's mouth hung open as he took it all in. "This is insane," he said as the urge to snoop rose within him.

What? It wasn't every day he'd have the chance to explore a ghost house from eighteen-dickity-six. While he could see the weathered and decrepit interior beneath the ghostly mirage, the mirage itself was still marvelous to behold.

As he'd done at the place on 10th and Lasher, Xavier clasped your hand. For support. For safety. For comfort. For all of the above. And right then, a bell rang. The clangy, old-fashioned kind with a clapper and string. The sound came from the back and, cautiously, Xavier led you further into the house, down the hall, into what had been yet still was a small kitchen. You and he froze when a woman trotted away from the dinner bell screwed into the wall, to the oven where she stirred something in a stock pot.

Xavier's heart slammed behind his ribs and his grip on your hand tightened. Spooked, he shot you a look, except you weren't paying attention. Not to him. Not to the woman. No. Rather, your eyes were cemented to a door at the back of the room. Jesus, was that the cellar door? Xavier's question was almost immediately answered when it opened and two people emerged. A man in military garb. And a young boy clutching a stuffed lion.

"Oh my God." Xavier croaked, breath caught in his throat. His stomach lurched as Aiden skipped to the oven and grinned up at the woman. Behind Aiden, the man—Christopher, Xavier speculated—called Aiden's name and gestured for Aiden to, "go sit at the table, champ."

Your hand shook in Xavier's and he could hear you taking gasping, little inhales that hiccupped when Aiden stopped in his journey to the next room. He turned his head and looked right at you, a toothy smile then sweeping his mouth.

"Sissy May!" He squealed and ran to you.

Xavier choked, swallowed, released your hand as you knelt to Aiden's level. Your eyes were glistening with unshed tears, smile forced as you greeted your brother for the first time in six years. Dear Aiden, who'd been in that house since his death, unbeknownst to his family that had grieved him.

Aiden appeared exactly as Xavier remembered him. Small and excitable, a kid with more energy than he knew what to do with. His crooked grin and brilliant green eyes that gazed at you with unconditional love. Xavier wasn't as strong as you; collapsed to his knees as he heard Aiden ask innocently if you and Zavvy had come for supper.

"We're having Martha's stew again and it's very good." He informed you, so matter-of-fact and polite, like Alice was around to observe his behavior.

Xavier recalled how similar he and Aiden had been, Aiden's restlessness mirroring what Xavier had been like as a boy. Alice had often been at wit's end just as Xavier's mother had. Which is likely why Xavier had felt a connection with Aiden unlike anyone else. A protectiveness and loyalty that had led him to including Aiden in everything Xavier did with you.

"We-we can't, Aiden," You apologized, voice rough as you spoke, "Maybe next time."

Aiden pouted at his rainboots. "You never wanna hang out with me."

Xavier felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. He placed his hand between your shoulder blades, a gentle reminder that he was there if you needed him.

You laughed, thick and wet, blinking up at the ceiling to control your own tears. A sniff and then, "You know, that's honestly the only thing I've wanted do for a long time...is hang out with you."

"Then why can't you stay?" Aiden grumbled, petulant, pulling the same guilt-trippy stunt he'd pulled countless times when you'd decreed that he hadn't been allowed to join the slumber parties you and Xavier had had as kids. Aiden's face remained downturned, but his eyes watched you through his lashes.

Frankly, Xavier wanted to know as well. He was happy to sit at a table and eat ghost food if it meant spending time with a child he'd considered his brother. Even for one night. Just one night.

"It's late," You explained, and to Xavier's ears it sounded as if you were struggling to get the words out, "And we have to be home before we get in trouble, but," you paused, whimpered, "I promise to come back, okay?" With that resilience and acceptance only children have, Aiden agreed and smiled again. "Can I..." you sniffled, "Can I have a hug before I go, Addy?"

"What's the magic word~." Aiden sang and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

You laughed through your tears, "Pleeeease can I have a hug?"

Instantly, Aiden crashed forward into your arms, tucked his head into your throat and let you embrace him. Xavier placed a hand on Aiden's back, a sob punching out of his chest when he made contact. He wrapped an arm around you, the other around Aiden, and held you both close. His body trembled. His teeth clenched. And he cried as soundlessly as he could so as not to disturb the moment. It wasn't long enough, the hug, but it healed something in Xavier's heart.

Christopher called Aiden's name from the other room and Aiden squirmed out of your and Xavier's embrace.

"I have to go," He said like a little gentleman, so articulate, and, "Love you, Sissy," he planted a sloppy kiss on your cheek. He did the same to Xavier, "Bye, Zavvy," before he cheerfully turned and speed walked through the entry to the adjoining room, stuffed lion crushed to his chest.

You and Xavier helped each other stand and, without having to direct him, Xavier crossed the kitchen and peeked through the entry way into what he discovered was a well dressed formal dining room. You pressed into his side to see for yourself that there were more ghosts around the enormous table apart from Aiden, Christopher, and the mystery woman Xavier assumed was Martha.

Men and women, young and old; a few teenagers no younger than fifteen. The ghosts' clothes spanned the decades from what Xavier guessed was the 1940s onward. As he stood in the entry, clearly visible, overtly analyzing them, he was surprised to realize that none of them seemed to notice. It was like you and Xavier didn't exist to them, Aiden included.

"It's a loop," You murmured, voice cracking, "Right now, we're not even here."

"But he just spoke to us," Xavier said.

You snorted, the sound weak and lacking humor, "They can come out of it from time to time, but as soon as they reenter the loop, they forget." After a pregnant pause, "How many do you count?" you whispered as your eyes flicked from one figure to the next.

Xavier tallied, "Twelve."

"Me too."

As soon as you spoke, Xavier felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Reluctantly, he backed away from the entry, away from Aiden who was slurping his stew, his spoon absurdly large in his tiny hand. The text was from Simon, an update informing Xavier and, by extension, you, that Nicole hadn't hurt Maddie. That she'd taken a misconceived route to buy herself a ticket to Chicago.

Xavier had to peel you away from the entry, had to hold you close as you seemed to turn hollow in the wake of witnessing your little brother forget you were there, his consciousness overwritten by the loop that'd seized he and Christopher for six years.

"Come on, kiddo," Xavier said calmly, "We got what we needed. We should go."

"There might be others," You advised, but you didn't argue when Xavier opened the passenger side door of his truck for you.

"There might be," He agreed, staring at the house, "but it's almost 9PM and we don't want to get caught, right?" He offered you a weak smile, accepting the hug you drew him into and rubbing your back soothingly. He kissed your head and helped get you settled in your seat before moving to the driver's side.

Revisiting that place had taken a toll on you—and, if he was being honest with himself, him—and Xavier wanted to get you away from there. He could tell you were sinking deeper and deeper into the memory of when you'd last been there, your gaze distant and glossy. Your curled up in your seat, slanted against the inside of the door. Xavier reached over the console and lifted your hand. An anchor. To remind you of what was real, where you were, who you were with.

Just as he was about to pull onto the freeway from the dirt road, you mumbled, "We need to stop at my house," your tone as fragile as it was firm

Xavier asked anyway, "What for?"

"Zav," and, slowly, you turned your head. Xavier was struck by how sick and shaken you looked. However, with what you said next, Xavier understood why, "Aiden didn't have Limon when he died..."

💀___________________________

PART FIVE - PART SEVEN

note: we begin our mad dash to the finish line anew 💣 i took @patrickispinky's advice and got some very much needed rest over the weekend, but i'm greased up and ready to smash this out ⌛

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

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 word. "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!

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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.

This is for anyone scared about college. Fuck what anyone said about shit 'not flying in collage' I promise you half of your professors aren't gonna give a fuck about anything. Today my professor canceled a 90 min lecture because she 'just wasn't feeling it today' probably the funniest email I've ever received.

I ain't ever fucking around with you bitches again season 4 of the umbrella academy only been out for TWO FUCKING DAY and someone already spoiled it for me, ive been waiting so fucking long for this i deadass cant anymore 😭😭😭