Schoolspiritsfan14 - Wally’s Bae

Wally Clark x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Literally the whole plot is Wally gets his ass ate so do with that what you will. Readers a bit of an anxious bean. Unrealistic (because passion doesn't exist)

(Guys I've never written ass stuff 😭 I was trying to figure out what wording to use so it wouldn't sound repetitive. Sorry if it feels a little awkward.)

Wally’s never been shy when it comes to sex, always expressing his needs and deepest darkest desires but when you brought up a new topic, something he's never even thought about, it caught him off garde. You wanted to… Eat his ass? That was definitely a new one. 

It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea, it just wasn't expected. He couldn’t lie, the thought made him a little excited, your tongue working overtime, exploring places he never thought it would go. 

He watched you fiddle with the cuff of the sleeves of your (his) sweater, a nervous expression on your face as you awaited his answer. Your leg tapped in an anxious rhythm as you sat on the teachers lounge couch in front of him, his tall from standing over you. He sat down next to you, his hand sliding to your knee and rubbing slow circles into it with his thumb to calm you down. 

“I would let you do unimaginable things to me.” His voice came out smooth, not having to think about his words, saying them like a proven fact. Hopefully after tonight they will be.

"oh" You didn't know what to say, how to go about things. It was such a new topic, something you fantasized about but couldn't bring yourself to tell him about. Somehow, some way, you worked up the courage.

That's how you ended up here, Wally laid out in front of you, on his hands and knees, completely bare. Your fingers ran gently up the back of his thighs making him shiver slightly. Your inexperienced hands moved along his body clumsily, moving up to cup his ass cheeks. 

You heard Wally let out a nervous, anticipating, breath as you spread them open. With a shaky hand you let one of your fingers massage his puckered round of nerves. You heard him let out a quiet groan, letting you know that you're doing something right.

You bring your face down, gently licking his asshole, humming at the new, odd taste. Wally tensed as he took in a deep breath at the new sensation.

You took that as a sigh to keep going, tongue lapping until he turned into a pile of putty in front of you. Spit dripped all the way down and around to his balls. Your hand moved down, cupping them, making him let out a low groan.

It was filthy in the most beautiful way. Seeing Wally reduced to a groaning, moaning mess. His hands gripping the cushion under him for dear death. (I think I'm so funny)

Deep ragged breaths as you wrapped your hand around his shaft, gentle strokes to help bring him to the perfect place of ecstasy. Sweat dripped down the back of his knees, legs almost going numb.

You felt him tense up, taking a sharp breath before he let go. Thick, hot spurts of cum counting your hand and the couch. After a minute he sunk down, basking in the afterglow.

You crawled beside him, admiring his fucked out face as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side.

Tags of shame for the freaks that told me to write this: @whoopsyeahokay @strwbrry-phrog @schoolspiritsfan14 @preparedfruit

(but like not really a tag of shame because I love y'all 💞)

Milo Manheim 🤝 puppies 😍 day made

FaceTime | Milo Manheim (Slight Smut)

WARNING: Some cussing ... some sexual words....

NOTE: Y/N = Your name

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FaceTime

The silence in the apartment felt heavier than usual tonight. I am used to hearing Milo’s laughter echo through the place. He has been gone for a little over a month to film season 2 of School Spirits in Vancouver. I couldn’t go with him due to my job and school. This has been the longest time without seeing each other. We do Facetime, call, and text every day but it’s not the same. I want him here, with me. I knew what I was getting myself into when I began dating him, but I didn’t expect to miss him this much. This week was the worst too. I have been wanting “him”. I keep having flashbacks from the last time we had sex. His hands are all over my body, His m, his plus eyes. I have been doing everything to keep my mind off it by watching shows, going on a walk with Louie, and doing homework. NOTHING HELPS.

From the corner of my eye, I saw my phone screen lit up. I grabbed my phone and checked who it was. It was Milo.

“Hey Babe. Just got done filming and I am heading to the hotel now. Are you still up?” he said when I answered.

We have a 2-hour time difference. “Hiii babe! Yeah, it’s only 8 here haha. How was filming?” I texted back. I saw the little text bubble pop up again.

 ‘It was fucking amazing. We filmed a crazy scene that I will tell you more about later, but that shit was scary as hell.”

‘Scaredy cat” I joked.

 “Mean,” he said with a giggle.

“ Anyways do you have plans tonight with the cast again?” I asked curiously. I want to try something new.

“Nope. Why? Want to Facetime?”

“Yes!” I said too quickly, making him laugh.

“Give me like an hour. I am like 25 minutes away from the hotel and I want to shower. “

“Same here. See you soon babe.” I said before we hung up.

I passed some time by going on TikTok and scrolling through videos. After half an hour, I got up from the couch and began getting my things ready so I could shower.

~~~After shower. ~~~

I quickly changed into a crop top and shorts since I took a little longer in the shower than I thought I would. I walked into my room and grabbed my laptop. As my Macbook turned on, I texted Milo.

Hey babe. Are you good to go?

Yes ma’am! Start the call!

I started the Facetime call on my laptop. Milo answered instantly

“Hey, cutie!” He said as he answered. His hair looked messy and slightly wet from his shower. He could see his bare skin. Oh God. He’s shirtless.

“Miloooo!” I said excitedly. “How was your day love?”

“Besides having fun filming, it was pretty chill. We had to reshoot some scenes because we kept getting out of character.”

We talked a bit more about his time on set, telling me that ‘scary’ scene he had to film. I was doing my best to pay attention, but he looked so fine. All I could think about was what I could do to him if he were here.

“You seem a bit off. Everything okay?” Milo said, bringing me back to reality.

“Yeah..” I said shyly, slightly blushing.

“What’s wrong, “Y/N”?” He asked sternly.

“I– I just miss ‘you’” I said.

“I miss you too, babe. No need to be upset right now. We will see each other soon” He said with a reassuring smile.

“No, Milo.” I sighed looking down slightly embarrassed. “I miss “you”’”

Milo looked confused at first. “What? What do you me-” He got quiet and his eyes widened. “Oh…”

“I-i’m sorry. I s-should go. I made this awkward.”

“Babe, no. Just caught me off guard. I never imagined you having these thoughts. You’re so innocent.” He said with a smirk.

“I’m not sure why I need you this way. I just do. This whole week has been crazy.”

“Well… “ He said “If it makes you feel any better… I miss “you” too.” He said using his hands to air a quote on ‘you”

I felt my cheeks get hot. “Really?”

“You have no idea. You left your mark on me before I left. Remember? I couldn’t stop thinking how wild you were” He said.

We did go crazy before he left—the best one for sure. 

I giggled. “Sorry about that. But no regrets” 

“Why don’t you show me how much you missed me?” He asked. 

I looked at him in shock. “H-how?”

“ Rub yourself.” He demanded.

Me being a good girl and started to do so. I took off my shorts and underwear and began to back my laptop. The angle of the camera can see my whole body now. I laid my back against the bedboard and spread my legs open. I grabbed a little bit of lotion and began rubbing myself. 

Slight moans came out of my mouth.

“Fuck babe” Milo groaned. “I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

“Do the same, Milo,” I demanded him.

He set his phone down against something and started pulling down his joggers. He sat up on his bed. His dick is so hard. His tip throbbing. 

“You’re happy to see me,” I said and winked at him.

“I-I always am” as he began to stroke himself. “I want to f-feel you, babe. Me pinning you d-down bed. Pounding you from behind.” 

I rubbed myself a bit faster and started to let out some moans. “M-Milo. I-I need you in me. I want to r-ride you so b-bad.” 

He bit his lip trying not to moan loudly. “Take your shirt off.” He demanded again.

I raised my shirt. I wasn’t wearing my bra, so my breasts were exposed to him. 

“O-oh G-god, Y/N” he moaned. “I remember how much they bounced when I was pounding you.”

“I w-wish y-o-o-u were sucking on them r-right now.”

I saw him roll his head back.“F-fuck, Y/N” He moaned. “Finger yourself and Moan my name for me. Think of me fucking you right now.” He kept stroking himself.

I inserted two fingers like he would and moaned his name louder each time I pumped them in and out. I kept thinking of how he would fuck me so hard right now. He moaned slightly louder this time.

“I-I-I’m close, baby” He whimpered out and picked up his pace. 

“Me too” I groaned. I rubbed myself in the right spot and finished in my hand. I was panting.

I noticed Milo finished and was out of breath too. 

“That was something: he said slightly laughing. I giggled at his comment.

“Yeah. It really was.” 

“Hold on… I … ummm… gotta clean my mess” He said. 

I nodded. “Me too” We left the call open but went to clean ourselves up quickly. Once we were done we returned to our call.

“I miss you even more now…” He said.

“Almost time babe. Just three more weeks.” I said.

“We might have to do that again sometime soon. You look so beautiful moaning my name like that.”

“Milo!” I said, slightly blushing.

“Oh I’m sorry,” He said in a playful voice “Is the girl who mentioned she missed me fucking her acting innocent now?”

I rolled my eyes at him “Haha, very funny”

“Well…. Just know your dreams will become true very soon” He said and winked at the camera.

I have been counting down the days for that anyway. “I hope so. If not, I will just have to do it myself” I smirked at him.

He acted offended.”Don’t you dare.” 

“I’m just saying.” I giggled.

He yawned. “I’m tired now babe. Ima head to bed. I have to wake up early to film some more. I’ll text ya in the morning.”

“That’s fine love. Get some rest.”

“Goodnight babe. I love you so much, beautiful.” He said as he blew a kiss at me and waved at the camera.

I blew a kiss at him “Good night! I love you too, handsome.”

We ended the call.

I went to bed that night feeling relaxed and happy after that exciting call. Now, I have to wait for the real thing soon.

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NOTE: I am posting this at midnight. I started working this Friday afternoon but was too busy to finish it. It's not my best as I have not written anything smut. But I'll see how it goes.

Time for bed for me.... Goodnight yall! :)

there’s only two dead 80s boys I have faith in, and their names are Eddie Munson and Wally Clark

You Belong with Me 💙🏈📖

Wally Clark x fem reader Y/N slow burn story

Part 24:

A/N this part will feature plot points from the season 2 finale, so obvious spoiler warning Summary: Quinn reveals she went into her scar and found something that Janet kept hidden. And the living kids convince Janet back to the school where she fills you in on her theory and how Mr Martin became obsessed trying to prove it right.

You, Wally, and Maddie enter the library to find Charley and Yuri chatting. “Where are the others?” Maddie asks as she takes a seat opposite of Charley. “Quinn wanted to go into her scar, so Rhonda and Tommy went with her.” Charley responded closing a book and placing it on the table in front of him.  “Did you get into his scar Mads?” Yuri questioned. “Yeah. I saw fire around the chemistry lab and awards all for Janet. We think he started the fire and is haunted by Janet because he stole away her future.” Maddie answers. Just then Tommy, Quinn, and Rhonda burst through the library. “Well, they were defiantly using us as experiments for their own benefit. Quinn found a page in her scar and in Janet’s handwriting it says, ‘trauma is energy’.” Rhonda snaps throwing the page on the table and sits down in a huff. “We think they wanted to trap us in our scars for God knows how long so they can cross over or break the barrier for them to be free while we get trapped in our own personal hells for ever.” Tommy adds also furious with the discovery. “What the fuck?” Wally yells. “Wait but why would Janet take over Maddie’s body, if that was the plan this whole time?” You ask. All of a sudden you hear over the P.A system “Maddie and other ghosts, please come to the cafeteria.” Simon says. 

Without wasting any time, you all head to the cafeteria where you see Simon, Lily, and Maddie’s body-Janet-. “Holy shit, this is weird.” Rhonda says looking over at Maddie and Janet who is in Maddie’s body. You all sit down facing her while Simon and Lily stand off to the side. Maddie gets the paper out from her pocket and slides it over the table towards her. “I think you have some explaining to do.” 

She takes a deep sigh and says “It was never meant to turn out this way and for that I’m truly sorry. For five years it was just Mr Martin and I trying to figure out why we were trapped here. Years and years of trying to come up with an answer, we had nothing. Then you died Rhonda” looking over to Rhonda “When you died, you were so frightened. We wanted to welcome you, help you but we had no idea how. Mr Martin told you that we died separately to protect me-“ “Protect you from what?” you interrupted. “Because I caused the fire that killed us. While trying to help you, Rhonda we were also trying to figure out why there was this force that kept us on school property. We came up with nothing. And then more students kept dying so we got distracted trying to help. We didn’t actually work on a theory until...” she trails off not wanting to finish. “Spit it out liar.” Rhonda snarled at her. 

“Until Wally and Y/N died. We knew they had this bond with each other, and we wanted to find a way for us to all finally cross over, but we still had nothing. It wasn’t until many years later we discovered the red light coming from the fallout shelter, where the school built it after the science lab was destroyed. I came up with a theory if we were to stay in our scars for long periods of time it would be enough to break the barrier so we would all be free. When I told Mr Martin that trauma equals energy, he was very eager to start trying it. I told him it was only a theory, but he wanted to test it right away. He wanted you all to go into your scars even though I wasn’t sure my theory was right. So, I volunteered to go in myself, and he would take notes if anything changed. Knowing it was only me facing that trauma saved you guys from reliving your own trauma over and over again, I couldn’t do that So I told Mr Martin to tell you that I crossed over so we could work on it in secret” She lets out a sigh and continues “Mr Martin eventually notice when I was in my scar, that the janitor could see him, and he became more determined than ever. he kept forcing me into the scar over and over for months on end. I had to get out of there it was torture. That was until Maddie heard me crying for help and she opened the door, and that’s when I ran, not knowing I was going into her body, I didn’t know that could happen it just did.”

You all sit in silence trying to wrap your head around what Janet had just admitted, this whole time it was really Mr Martin who was the bad guy, wanting to use us, make us relieve our traumas for a theory that may or may not work. Did he even care about us? You wondered. “So, was anything real for you Janet? I thought you and I were friends. I told you personal shit, did you just go ahead and tell him and write about it in your little journals.” You yell pacing around the room as Wally gets up to comfort you. “Of course, we are friend’s Y/N that was real. I never told him or anyone what you told me. I’m glad you two are finally together.” She says noticing Wally’s hand firm on your waist. “Thanks, and I’m sorry you went through all of that to protect us, that can’t have been an easy choice.” You reply. 

“That piece of shit Mr Martin didn’t even care for us, he wanted us to be in our hells for a theory?” Tommy snaps and leaves the room, Charley and Yuri follow to try to calm him down. “So, what happens now?” Wally says. “Mr Martin needs to come back to school, give your teacher his body back and I can give Maddie hers back.” Janet says. Maddie turns to Lily and Simon who have been standing there the whole time, Simon translating what he can to Lily who can only see Janet. “Where is Mr Martin now?” Maddie asks. “Uh…” Simon stutters not knowing how to tell her. “Simon tell me what she said.” Lily says as she nudges his arm. “She wants to know where Mr Martin is. I don’t know how to tell her “He replies in a whisper. “Fine, I’ll do it. Mr Marin eventually found out where we were and was going to take Janet with him and we couldn’t let that happen. And it all happened so fast but in short, he told Nicole’s brothers car-who found out where we were- and Mr Martin stole his car. We don’t know where he went.” Lily says. “He what?” you all say in unison even though she can’t hear you. “He will come for me; he will know that I’m here.” Janet says. Maddie repeats back to Simon who tells Lily. You all leave the cafeteria still reeling from everything you heard. 

Part 23 Part 25

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It gives fuck boy, but like not at the same time

Save a horse ride a cowboy 🤭

Fifty Seven

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

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________🏈

Fifty Seven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That'd been where it'd all started.

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

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

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

Rodney frowned, "What're talking about?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The whistle blew and the game continued.

The Devils won.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

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

Lame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your head lifted and you smiled back.

Wally melted inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was that the thrill of the chase?

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

"Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could hear Rodney's eyeroll from there.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His girl whose name continued to elude him.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, to his surprise:

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

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

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

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

"...how?"

You giggled, the sound a boon to his despairing soul, "Being dead isn't so bad, you know. I mean, it sucks, but you get used to it pretty quick." Taking his hand in yours, fingers laced, "And, when the memory of you starts to fade, you can even leave the school at night. I'd consider that something to look forward to, no?"

"I guess," Wally wheezed as his brain tried desperately to catch up to what was happening.

"Or," You went on, "and hear me out. Eventually you can talk to people again. Just the ones who didn't know you, but still. Variety."

The gears turned in Wally's head. He stared at you, bewildered, lost, hopeful, elated, "You're dead?" One, two beats, "You were dead the whole time?"

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

"But...I walked you home. I saw your house."

"You saw a house." You corrected.

He couldn't believe it. You were dead. You were like Wally. You were with Wally.

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

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

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

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

fin.

🏈___________________________

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