Freaky Ahh Headcanons Zed Addition

Is it weird that I want him to slit my throat while fucking me?

is it weird that i want him to kill me ???

I’m a fooool for you

Neutrality is complicity. Your silence is so loud. CEASEFIRE NOW‼️ 🍉🗣️🍉🗣️

October Moon

summary: after the anti-séance, Wally had tried to find Maddie. she'd mentioned the possibility of having had to meet Simon, a suggestion Rhonda had thought was worth following-up on. only, their search for her had been interrupted by something none of them had ever experience...but should have.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.7

Maddie had excused herself after the anti-séance. Wally couldn't blame her for needing to be alone. It'd been intense and had left everyone shaken, especially given how summery, cheerful Dawn had reacted to memories of the day she'd died.

In the aftermath, Wally couldn't have been the only person sitting in regret. He'd never bothered to ask Dawn how she'd ended up on the wrong side of the Split River High veil. No one had. Not a single one of them had extended the courtesy of curiosity to learn anything about her beyond what she radiated. A spacey, Flower Power darling with well-meaning intentions and a naive, almost childlike approach to everything.

If Wally was being honest, the anger burning in Dawn's eyes after the anti-seance had scared him. In the forty years he'd spent with her, she'd never once expressed a negative emotion. Not ONCE. Wally had had a misguided fling with her a few months after his death. He'd flirted his way into her pants like a sleaze because he'd been restless and horny and, yeah, pissed since Jenny had started her healing journey in Gary's bed arms. Back then, Wally had had an ego that'd needed to be stroked and Dawn had been willing.

She'd been a fun diversion. Really fun. The kind of fun Wally had expected less than he'd expected her anger. Dawn had been chatty, but up for anything if it felt good. She hadn't cared that Wally hadn't wanted to cuddle in the afterglow. She hadn't cared when he'd ignored between trysts. And then, when the desire to medicate his grief with sex had faded, she hadn't been upset or wounded when he'd ended things. In fact, she'd smiled and shrugged and had babbled something about having already known they hadn't been compatible because he was a Libra and she was a Pie Piece. Or something.

Point being that Dawn hadn't held any of it against him. Had instead encouraged Wally to get it out of his system so he could move forward in the afterlife. Her whole thing was peace and harmony and staring at the fluorescent light above the book return bins like a sunflower under the sun. But the memory of her death had done something to her. Had shaken loose the feelings she must've repressed because afterward, she'd been...hateful. Revenge on her tongue as she'd spat how, "It should've been them. Not me."

"That was a waste of time," Rhonda said and Wally recognized that she was trying to lighten the mood in her moody, Wednesday Addams way. "Should we try something else?"

She stood at the coffee machine in the teacher's lounge where she, Wally, and Charley had congregated to decompress. Ajay was nearby on the couch, reading a book you'd brought him about ghosts. It was mainstream, you'd warned, but as close to accurate as was allowed to be published for the 'unconnected' masses. Ajay had expressed to you and Wally that he wanted to do more research into what it actually meant to be dead. Wally sensed that Ajay had begun to lose faith in Mr. Martin's guidance what with Mina still being AWOL, and that was how he'd chosen to cope.

Vaguely, Wally wondered if Ajay was taking his own path to crossing over. He'd let slip that it was a theory he'd considered. That Mina, like Janet, had crossed over while everyone had been trapped in past.

Wally chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought about it. Something about Mina's absence was starting to bother him. How could she have moved on when the farmhouse door had unleashed hell? Weren't moments of crossing over meant to be peaceful? And, if she hadn't crossed over (which Wally suspected she hadn't), the girl never left the theater. She was a looper. That's what Mina did: Looped. Day in and day out, she secured the stage from the rafters and barked at anyone who dared visit her before they took the safety course.

"You good, Moose?" Rhonda asked as she took the seat beside him at the kitchenette table. Charley was on the counter, legs dangling, heels knocking the cupboard below. "You look out of it."

Wally kept his voice low so Ajay wouldn't hear him, "Mina. She's still missing, but she's a looper who doesn't leave the theater. And Dawn? After that anti-séance, she looked like she was ready to go to war. Dawn, hippie, flower power fucking Dawn." Wally's head dropped into his hands, "Everything's backwards and it's freaking me out."

"For real, me too." Charley seconded, sliding off the counter to join Wally and Rhonda at the table. "Has anyone else noticed that since Maddie got here, Mr. Martin's been..." He glanced at the ceiling as he searched for his words, "Pushier than normal?"

Wally nodded, "Yeah. He's acting like she's his daughter getting into drugs or something." A delinquent throwing her life away for the dopamine thrill of doing what she was told not to. Wally wondered if Mr. Martin saw her that way, a train of thought that inspired him to ask, "Did Mr. Martin have kids?"

Rhonda shook her head, "Not that I know of. If he did, he never said so."

"Does it matter?" Charley asked. "Even if he did, he's never acted that way with us, and Rhonda's way more likely to fall into the 'wrong crowd'."

"Gee, thanks skuzz bucket," Rhonda jeered, taking a loud sip of her coffee to express how she felt about Charley's assumption.

Charley rolled his eyes, "I'm just saying, why Maddie?"

"Maybe he knows more than he's letting on." Wally suggested. Rhonda and Charley shared a look of doubt. "Did you hear how he got when Maddie brought up not remembering how she died? Or...didn't die, but Mr. M doesn't know that, right? He was pressing her about influencing the living."

Rhonda stared into her coffee as Charley spoke, "It's possible. If he does, why doesn't he just say something?"

"He doesn't know," Rhonda stated, still not looking directly at either Charley or Wally. "Charley's right, he'd say something if he did."

"You know that for sure, Deadly?" Wally pressed with distrust. "Or is that what he told you to say?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Rhonda put her coffee down and pushed her chair back, hands planted on the table, leaned toward Wally, a hawkish scowl on her face.

Wally didn't bat an eye, "It means that you've been following his orders like a German shepherd since that shit went down in the theater."

"How about I'm done being stuck in a place where you can get trapped in someone's fucked up past. I don't care what it looks like, I want to get out of here." Rhonda snarled, pushing off the table and crossing her arms defensively, "Janet might've been a bitch to Mr. Martin most of the time, but she still listened to him. So what if I'm doing the same? That doesn't mean I'm keeping his secrets." Lip curled and hip cocked, "Any other theories, Dick Tracy?"

Sighing, Wally held up his hands and, "I'm sorry," he said, ashamed, "all this stuff is getting me. I didn't mean to take it out on you, Rhonda."

Rhonda scoffed, but it lacked claws, "Whatever."

Wally stood and moved around the table to wrap her in a hug. She didn't return it, stiffened and complained, though didn't knee him in the balls which made him grin. "Forgive me?"

"Get off me and I'll think about it." Rhonda grumbled.

From behind them, Charley proposed, "We should make pizzas and watch anything but Rudy—" Wally perked up, "—or Ghost—" Ah, dang, "in the faculty lounge. Maybe what we really need after that failure of a séance experiment is to forget it ever happened."

That sounded like the best idea, in Wally's opinion. A night to press pause on all the crazy. To relax and unwind like they used to.

"We should find Maddie. She probably needs it more than we do." He said, releasing Rhonda to grab his jacket and pull it on. "She didn't look too good after the anti-séance."

"Your girlfriend won't get jealous that you wanna spend so much time with her friend?" Rhonda teased, that wicked twinkle back in her eye.

Wally threw her a weary look, "No, because she has nothing to worry about. I'm a one-woman man, Deadly. I've only got eyes for her." The smile he sported was dreamy as he thought about you. Pretty and perfect and making everything he'd ever wanted seem possible.

From the couch in the main area, "face!" Ajay called, not once looking away from the page he was on.

Though tired of being told off whenever he made what everyone referred to as 'heart eyes' while having thoughts of you, Wally straightened his expression into something neutral without comment.

Okay, he took that back, he had one comment, "You suck and you're not invited to pizza night."

Ajay cackled.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Using your key to unlock the door, you ran into the house, Xavier close behind you. Up the stairs, down the hall, to the door with the dinosaur stickers on it as waist height. Suddenly nervous, you hesitated and glanced at Xavier. He looked back, hand on your shoulder, a tentative smile on his face like he wanted to support you but was equally as afraid of what you and he would find.

A deep breath. You turned the handle and opened the door. Xavier flicked on the light after you stepped into Aiden's bedroom. The toys were untouched on their shelves, tiny shoes lined up by the closet, the wicker laundry hamper still half full. You'd made the bed after spending the night in there weeks ago. Military corners, smooth surface, pillows stacked.

Limon was gone.

"Dave?" Xavier asked, voice barely above a whisper, his breath caught in his lungs.

You were too unnerved to answer as you slowly approached the bed. Sinking to your knees, you checked under it, checked around it, checked the nightstand and the shelves and there was no sign of Aiden's stuffed lion.

Xavier asked again, "He must've taken it. Or Amelia as Dave must've taken it. Right?"

Your breathing was steadily getting too quick, your blood pumping harder, head feeling dizzy. "That's impossible," you wheezed, "Even if Amelia was in Dave, her ghost would be repelled at the door by the wards."

"The what?" Xavier's brow was furrowed. He joined you as you sunk down on the bed. "What're you talking about?"

"Ginny put wards around the house to keep bad spirits out. It's a traveler thing. A failsafe. To protect everyone but especially herself. She-she started astral projecting in her sleep after Aiden died. Mom got depressed, I apparently buried the memories so deep, I rewrote them, Andrew moved out...and Ginny started sleep-traveling." You looked at Xavier, voice a terrified rasp, "Amelia shouldn't be able to get past the wards, Zav."

Xavier contemplated what you said and then, after a lull fraught with unease, "What about in her own body?"

The idea that Amelia had been in your house, knew the layout, took something that didn't belong to her and delivered it to your brother's ghost that she'd trapped for her own sick purposes—Jesus Christ. You began to shake, tears streaming down your face. The house wasn't safe anymore. Your family wasn't safe.

Had they ever been?

Amelia had somehow discovered Alistair had reincarnated in Aiden and had...had fucking disposed of him like a lamb for slaughter just to ensure she wouldn't be discovered. That suggested she'd been around your family enough to recognize her long-lost lover in Aiden's eyes. She could have known them. Been the mailman or the cable guy, a neighbor, a friend.

You gasped, inhaling after too many seconds of forgetting to breathe, and then doubled over and released a noise of anguish. Instantly, Xavier hauled you into his arms and held you, both you and him tilting too far off the bed at that angle that he settled on the floor with you. He murmured words of comfort, lost beneath the white noise flooding your brain.

"If she knows where you live, we need to get you out of here," Xavier urged once you'd calmed enough to hear him. "She might come back, especially if she saw you after she pushed Quinn."

Trembling, you wiped your eyes and nodded, allowed Xavier you get you to your feet and help you downstairs.

"I can't stay with you forever, Zav." You reminded him when you and he reached the bottom of the stairs. Your mother would see through any excuse you gave her if you attempted to prolong your stay at the Baxter house, and you could tell Xavier knew that, too.

"Not forever, but at least for tonight. Andrew's coming back tomorrow, right?"

Softly, "Yeah," and the thought of your uncle's presence made you feel less like you needed to escape Split River altogether. You wouldn't run, you'd never leave Maddie and Simon and Xavier to handle Amelia alone, but the pit in your stomach was growing and you couldn't ignore the itch in your feet.

"And he's in the know. You can tell him about Amelia. He'll keep you safe. And when Ginny's better, she'll keep you safe, too." Xavier embraced you all over again, squeezing you so tight you could feel the anxiety he was trying to hide thrum through his body. He pulled back, hands on your shoulders, holding your gaze, "Dad will likely have someone watching your house if they don't find Dave by then."

"That makes me feel a lot better," You admitted. While Andrew was physically capable and Ginny's connectedness was strong, you worried that Amelia was stronger. A cop car stationed in front of the house was more likely to deter her from coming after you while you were home. That was...until they caught Dave.

Never in your life did you imagine you'd pray for someone never to be found, but right then, you prayed harder than you'd ever done before.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally rounded the corner and called out, "Maddie?" And then, "I wanna make sure she's okay," Wally insisted when he heard Rhonda groan. Locating Maddie had started as an effort to include her in their pizza night plans, but after awhile Wally's mindset had shifted it to a search party.

They hadn't had any luck finding Maddie in her usual spots. Of course, the spots they'd come to know as her 'usual' had been the only places where Simon could see her before he'd gained fully realized ghost powers. Unfortunately, Wally didn't have much else to go on, so he led Rhonda and Charley back to the faculty lounge. Neither Rhonda nor Charley thought Maddie was in danger or distress, believed Wally was being paranoid, but Wally didn't care.

He was worried.

"Let's check the faculty lounge," Rhonda said with boredom.

Charley added sarcastically, "She didn't say she needed a nap," as if he'd seen her at some point between the anti-séance and now.

"Maybe she went to speak with Simon," Rhonda suggested, and, truthfully, that made the most sense.

However, wasn't Simon supposed to be on the alert for word from you and Xavier; ready to go at a moment's notice should you and Xavier need help at the old farmhouse? That'd been the deal you'd assured Wally of. Simon was backup. Backup that Wally trusted a fuck ton more than Xavier.

He must've made a face, because Rhonda said, "Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"You winced when I brought up Simon." She explained. "Jealous that Maddie's living person is here when yours is on an adventure with her best guy friend?"

Wally had to bite his tongue as he deflected, "This is not me wincing, this is my happy face." He forced a smile and felt how unnatural it probably looked.

Confirming it, "Could've fooled me," Rhonda said, eyebrows raised.

After peeking into the faculty lounge and seeing only Ajay sprawled on the couch, Wally turned and sighed, "Look, I know going to that place has to be hard. And possibly dangerous. I'm actually glad Xavier when with her, okay?"

Rhonda smirked and glimpsed at Charley before teasing, "I believe you, but if that is your happy face, remind me to hide when you're really happy."

Wally opened his mouth to retort only to be cut off by Charley who questioned, "Hey, has anyone seen Dawn since the séance?"

It took a second for the relevance of Charley's question to sink in. Wally looked at the empty space above the book return bins where Dawn normally roosted when there was nothing else to do. Once more, Wally felt a pang of guilt. He'd been so busy tracking down Maddie, he hadn't even considered asking Dawn to join them for pizza night.

"She's not there." Charley sounded concerned.

"Weird," Wally said, looking up and down the hall, "She's usually there."

A strange noise came from the light above their heads, the click of the ballast, before the light flickered as if the bulb was about to die. The buzz of electricity through the circuit grew louder and was joined by a high-pitched tinnitus ring. Instantaneously, Wally felt his skin prickle and a warmth fill his belly and flush outward. A sense of anticipation built within him, the happy kind, the kind children on birthdays and Christmas. Then, slowly, though he knew his feet were still firmly planted on the ground, if he closed his eyes, he'd have sworn he was floating.

"What the hell is that?" He wanted to know as it didn't feel like anything he'd felt before, alive or dead.

The light above flickered—on off, on off—stopped, and the light swelled brighter and bigger until it completely enveloped them. A cloud of every happiness Wally had ever experienced cradling him as it expanded to overtake the hallway. For a brief and beautiful moment, Wally felt light. No jealousy, no worry, no breath, no pulse. Just serenity and a sense of loss. It was blissful rather than painful, however, like a sweet and cherished goodbye.

And then it was over. Air rushed back into Wally's lungs and the light blinked back to normal.

A lull of silence punctured by, "Did anybody else just feel that?" Charley asked as he checked himself over.

"Goosebumps," Wally affirmed, "Yeah." His body felt heavy, cumbersome, foreign after the light had made him weightless. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, his mind spinning record laps in his skull, and, in gentle increments, he couldn't deny it, his heart insisting he was right. "Do we think that Dawn just—?"

"Dawn just crossed over." Charley confirmed Wally's hunch. "Yeah. Yeah I do."

Wally swallowed thickly, "Holy crap," his brain jumbled, dots connecting faster than he could follow the pattern. He didn't even realize he was speaking when he asked, "Does anybody remember this happening when Janet left?"

Rhonda stared at him, her expression hard, "Nope."

Ajay opened the door to the faculty lounge, stunned and wobbly, "What the hell just happened?"

Wally didn't give Ajay a chance to catch up and recover, "What does the book say about crossing over?"

Ajay gaped, stammered, "I-I knew it. I felt it like she was saying goodbye... Oh my God." Wally repeated the question as he turned to face Ajay fully, brain finally back in the game. Ajay hurried to the couch where he'd left the book and grabbed it. He scanned the glossary, the index, the table of contents. "There's nothing here about it."

In that case, "If Maddie's with Simon, we need to find them. Now." Wally asserted.

"Why?" Charley wondered, though he seemed ready to follow Wally's lead wherever it took them.

"Because Simon needs to make a call."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Aurora walked into the back room and turned on the lights. She hadn't been sleeping, everything too fucked up for her to rest. Dave, her Dave, the man she'd fallen in love with and married, had tried to kill a teenager. She didn't understand and the confusion had kept her awake for too many hours in a row.

She hadn't thought to grab the tea on her way out of the house on Friday. Nor had Nanna. Everything too chaotic and messy as they shoved clothes into bags and called an ambulance for Ginny. Thankfully, she had a stock of dried ingredients at the flower shop. Although Noah had insisted she not leave his house after dark, she couldn't bear another sleepless night. Her mind couldn't take it. Aurora was manic and paranoid and needed sleep. One night. A handful of hours. She didn't care. Anything would be better than nothing.

She almost screamed when the bell above the door jingled, her heart in her throat as she spun around wielding the food shovel like a hammer.

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of me," She panted when she saw who it was.

Noah Baxter moved into the light and gave her a pointed look, "I told you not to leave the house after sundown."

Aurora grimaced, "I know, I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep..."

"So you came to arrange flowers?" He asked with a smirk as he approached. He looked over the jars she'd pulled off the shelf behind the cashier's desk and raised an eyebrow.

"It's for tea," Aurora said, placing the food shovel on the counter and reaching for the next jar. "It helps you sleep."

Noah patted her back and nodded, his voice sympathetic, "Whatever you need, sweetie. Just be quick."

He waited and watched as she shoveled small scoops of each ingredient into an empty ziploc she'd brought from his house. Lavender. Ashwagandha. Verbena. Valerian. She replaced the jars carefully and tidied up, heart still beating wildly in her chest from the scare Noah had given her.

"I'm ready," She said once she was done, offering him a placid smile.

He smiled back, "You forgot passionflower."

Aurora blinked. Had she? She opened the bag and sniffed, noted that the smell wasn't quite what it should be. Without addressing it, she simply turned and plucked the jar of dried passionflower and uncapped it; sprinkled the right amount into the baggie.

"Thanks." She said, truly grateful, and returned the jar to the shelf.

They left together, Noah at her side as she locked up, his eyes scanning the area for anything suspicious. Like her husband, she thought, hand shaking as put her keys in her purse.

It wouldn't be until much later that she'd question how Noah could've known what ingredient she'd missed.

💀___________________________

PART SIX - PART EIGHT

note: dun dun duuuunnn!! 👀 next one should be out tomorrow 🫶

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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.

I feel like we're gonna get flashbacks to wallys death, him on the field looking scared might be when he realizes he's dead and him getting sprawled out on the field might be him getting sent back to where he died after trying to leave school grounds. I'm so excited.

the very MINUSCULE shots of Milo Manheim as Wally Clark in School Spirits Season 2 Teaser

No Safety or Surprise

Wally Clark x Reader

Following a double death at Split River High, two souls acclimate with their new reality and the fellow ghosts that inhabit the school's grounds.

Word Count: 3k

Tags: Aftermath of sexual assault, no flashbacks to SA, mention of SA, reader's death is overlooked but Wally 's isn't, angst, comfort

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC, mentioned), Mr. Martin, Rhonda (brief), Janet (brief), Jasmine (OC, brief), William (OC, brief), David (OC, brief)

Read it on AO3!

Taglist: @xocellyy, @maggiecc, @pancake-flipper, @littlestxli, @trinitybaby6666, @somethingsomethingcranberries, @sst4r-ddu5t, @ghostlyaccurate

Want to join (or leave) the taglist? Click here!

A/N: The Doors title. Sequel to 'The End', which has gotten so much love that I don't even know what to say! Super thank you to everyone who wanted to be tagged, ya'll might make me cry. Thank you for clicking/reading my story, and I hope that you enjoy this one! This is my first time writing a sequel to a story, as I'm more partial to one-shots writing-wise. Unbeta'd, please heed the tags, and enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

You left Wally without saying a word, climbing to the top of the bleachers and curling in on yourself. You wanted to spit in his face and tell him that Dalton wasn’t the perfect teammate, average-grade goofball he played himself to be, that he had taken your life, soul, and body in one fell swoop. Instead, you left him more confused than before, still clutching at the stolen jacket draped on your shoulders.

Your non-beating heart ached for the first time since you found yourself on the locker room floor. For every second you spent with your legs up to your chest, heaving, a deeper hole was burying its way through your chest.

Your death went twenty-three minutes unnoticed, and when you were finally found, it was only because the football team was told to change after the game stopped.

You didn’t know how long you were up on the bleachers, finally praying for the first time in your life before someone approached you. You assumed it was Wally, hoping that he had finally realized what had happened to you, but you turned your head to see an older man dressed in a tweed jacket and glasses walking up to you.

“Y/N?” the stranger asked, sitting a level below you to meet you at eye level, “is that your name?”

He was skinnier than most teachers you knew, and his suit outdid anything they would be wearing.

He’s dead too.

Nodding your head, you brought yourself to sit on the bleacher level above him, scooting down to make distance between him and you. He didn’t move, instead placing his hands in his lap and sighing gently.

“My name is Mr. Martin. As I assume you’re already aware, you’ve passed away.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.

“I’ve been a local of Split River since the 50’s, and-”

“Are you some kind of grim reaper or something? You finally get off your ass to bring me to whatever’s supposed to happen after I die?” You interrupted harshly, glaring at your reflection in his square glasses. His slight trans-atlantic accent in his voice ticked you off on top of how you already felt.

“-Unfortunately, I’m not here to take you to the great hereafter,” he said, his voice a touch softer, “I am, however, here to offer you support if you are willing to take it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You asked.

“I know what happened to you, Y/N.” He said matter-of-factly, adjusting the way he was sitting as if he was uncomfortable with the statement he’d made.

Chills crept up your spine. “What?”

“I was there when the paramedics brought your body out from the locker room,” he rubbed above his lip tensely, “I’m here to let you know that there are others here that can help you get through this, a support group for the ghosts of Split River High.”

Scoffing, you move to get up and away from him and his proposal of an afterlife anonymous meeting. He didn’t follow you, instead raising his voice so you were able to hear him.

“If you change your mind, we meet in the gym every afternoon. Nothing formal, but it seems to have helped others in similar situations to yours.”

People speculated if you and Wally’s deaths were connected in some way- a jealous ex that found out the two of you had been together, a suicide pact; someone even started to say you poisoned him and then yourself because you were hopelessly in love with him.

No matter what people said, somehow, the blame always landed on you and never Wally.

It took three days for you to work up the courage to go back inside the school. Every time you approached a door, your feet wouldn’t move. When you finally got the courage to go inside, it was because the rain pouring outside pelted against the metal of the bleachers, and the sound was going to deafen you if you heard it any longer. It didn’t register that you were in the building until you saw the back of a familiar football player, no longer wearing the gear he died in.

“Wally?” You called out to him, making him spin around to face you.

The air of confusion he’d carried the night you two died was gone, instead replaced by a brightened smile and somewhat brighter eyes.

“Y/N, hey,” he walked towards you, mirroring posters plastered to the wall mourning him, “I was worried you weren’t going to come in any time soon.”

You knit your eyebrows, shifting at his open display of friendliness after not talking to you for the twelve years you were in school together. You knew of him— it was impossible not to, and the two of you had been in a few classes as you’d grown up.

He stood before you, hands tucked in his pocket, as you turned to look at the posters on the wall.

Rest in Peace - Wally Clark.

Son, student, friend to all.

Memorial - September 31st, 4:30 PM, Gym

Poster after poster, taped to every few lockers and pinned twice or three times to every corkboard. His graduation picture lined the halls and mocked you every step of the way. Wally’s death rocked the school like a thunderclap, and any whispers of your tragedy were drowned out by an outpouring of grief for the star athlete.

No memorial. No justice. Not for you.

Hundreds of posters, his locker transformed into a shrine, and there were even some candles lit despite the fire code of the school. All the while, your locker remained untouched—just another metal door collecting dust.

A hand gently touched your shoulder, causing you to spin on your heel and jerk your attention to Wally once more.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, taking a step back, his hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

The phantom beating of your heart thudded dully in response. You hadn’t been touched in days, not since your body was hauled out of the locker room like a broken piece of equipment.

“What do you want, Wally?” you asked, sharper than you intended. His brow furrowed, but his smile didn’t waver.

“I wanted to check on you,” he said simply. “Mr. Martin said he talked to you, but you didn’t come to the gym. Thought I’d see if you were okay.”

You let out a harsh laugh, glancing back at the posters. “Do I look okay? I’m dead, Wally. Just like you.”

And yet, it seems no one gives a shit that I died.

He tilted his head, studying you like you were an unsolved puzzle. “Yeah, but… you don’t have to do this alone.”

“And you’re suddenly the expert on post-death coping mechanisms?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Why do you care anyway? You didn’t even know me.”

Wally flinched, his smile faltering for the first time. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly. “We were in different worlds, yeah, but I knew who you were— who you are. And I know what the living are saying about us. None of it’s true.”

“Which part? The suicide pact? Or the one where I poisoned you because I was obsessed with you?” You spat the words like venom, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“The part where they act like you’re the villain,” he said, his voice steady. “Like you’re not worth mourning.”

That stopped you cold. You stared at him, waiting for the sarcasm, for the punchline. But his eyes held nothing but sincerity, and it made your stomach twist.

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “But I’ve been to that group a few times. It’s weird, and Mr. Martin talks like he’s out of some old self-help movie, but it’s… not awful. And it’s better than being alone.”

You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you swallowed hard and looked away, your eyes falling to the scuffed floor.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unyielding. Wally shifted, the rubber soles of his sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. His patience grated on you, not because it annoyed you, but because it chipped away at the courage you’d been building up for the past two weeks.

“What’s the point, Wally?” you muttered, your voice cracking. “What’s the point of sitting in a room with other dead people, pretending like it makes any of this better?”

He exhaled sharply, almost like he’d been holding his breath. “It doesn’t fix anything,” he admitted. “But it’s not about fixing it. It’s about… not letting it bury you. We don’t have to be forgotten, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened at his words. The posters, the memorial, the tears shed for Wally Clark—they felt like they came from a different world. A world where your name didn’t matter, where your death was just a footnote. But his voice, steady and sure, pierced through the bitterness threatening to consume you.

“Fine,” you whispered, the word barely audible. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, the bright sincerity in his eyes almost painful. “I’ll go. Once. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Wally’s grin returned, slow and genuine. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The gym was plain, almost too small for the group of souls that had gathered. Mr. Martin, with his stiff posture and small accent, sat in the corner, his hands folded neatly in his lap. The group was sparse, and each person’s presence piled more and more nerves as you swept your gaze over them.

You felt the tug of skepticism as you sat in an empty chair. The group didn’t move to acknowledge you, a few eyes lifting from their spots, but no one spoke. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the lack of judgment felt almost alien.

Wally had sat next to you without a word, his presence oddly comforting as he simply offered a silent companionship. His clothes matched yours, save for his jacket, which you still had yet to remove. Some of the ghosts looked your way, but one’s gaze lingered between the two of you. She sat next to Mr. Martin, dressed in a short, colorful, and rectangular dress similar to things your older cousins would wear to events.

Mr. Martin cleared his throat gently, breaking the silence.

“Hello, everyone. I want to again thank you if you’re a returning member and welcome you,” he shot his eyes at you, “if you’re a new member. Since there are newer faces here, why don’t we go around the circle and just say our names.” He smiled, something uncanny lingering on his mouth as he turned to the girl staring between you and Wally.

“I’m Janet.” She said simply. Her voice was soft and concise, crossing her legs as the rest of the ghosts in the group introduced themselves.

“Hi, David,” said a man dressed in construction clothes, who was noticeably older than others in the group.

A boy not much younger than you piped up, a tie peaking past a Letterman jacket he was wearing, “I’m William.”

“Rhonda,” said one girl dressed like your estranged beatnik aunt, who had a seemingly never-ending supply of blow pops.

“And I’m Jasmine.”

The group wraparound had landed on you. You looked between everyone, searching out the chance they’d just let you past the introductions. Rhonda shot you a look of Come on, we’re waiting, and your lips were moving.

“I’m Y/N.” You hated how much your voice shook after you died, but the calm washing over you as Wally prepared his introduction was enough to make you forget it.

“I’m Wally.” He said, the sound of his golden smile ever-present in his words.

“Well, since we have a newbie,” Mr. Martin began, his voice soft but carrying pressure that you found hard to ignore, “Y/N, why don’t you start by telling us what brought you here today?”

All eyes turned to you, and the overwhelming need to jump from a top-story window returned a shock to your senses. The group waited once more for you to speak, some members exchanging glances that you’d catch in social settings when you were alive. Before you knew it, your lips were parting again and spurting words you were regretting the second you said them.

“I didn’t want to be here,” you started, your voice unsteady but not cracking. “I didn’t want to be dead, either. But what does it matter? It’s not like anyone cares about why I’m gone. They’re all too busy mourning him.”

You slung a hand towards Wally, not looking up, unable to see the faces in the room as you continued. “Wally gets all the posters, all the memorials. He was the star. The one everyone is giving a damn about. And I— I don’t even get a proper goodbye.”

Wally shifted beside you, but you didn’t want to hear him. You leaned your elbows on your knees and played with your fingers as you let the silence around you linger. You didn’t want to hear the words he or any of the other ghosts were going to say, and yet you prayed for the silence to end with something.

Mr. Martin, for once, didn’t jump in. Everyone around you was dead silent— pun not intended— and before you knew it, you were moving out of the gym and to a bench in the hall outside, tucking your knees under your chin.

You had no idea how long you sat there, your legs curled up underneath you, eyes fixed on the dirty hallway doors. Your chest felt hollow, and the anger had boiled down into exhaustion so deep you didn’t know if you could ever feel whole again.

The silence in the gym had crushed you. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you feel at peace; it was the kind that forced you to confront all the things you hated about yourself, about how little people turned their heads at your murder. You’d never felt more alone, even when you were alive with your family as your only friends. Here, stuck behind glass to witness the aftermath of your death, you couldn’t do anything but watch as you were forgotten to time.

But you weren’t truly alone for long.

Wally’s presence, soft but steady, came through the gym doors, and you didn’t need to look up to know it was him. You felt his gaze on you before you saw it. His footsteps came slowly, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach you this time.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice unsure, though his usual easygoing nature had managed to bleed through.

You didn’t answer at first. The weight of everything was still crushing you.

You didn’t know what to say to him. All of it—every question, every unspoken feeling—was stuck in your throat.

“I just…” you began, the words coming out in a rush, “I don’t get it, Wally. How come it’s all about you? We both died, and yet there aren’t any memorials held in my honor or any remembrance of me being alive in the first place.”

Wally sat beside you, quiet for a moment. He didn’t touch you, didn’t speak right away. But you could tell he was thinking, his mind racing for something to say that wouldn’t make everything worse.

“Dalton surely isn’t going to forget you, I’m sure he’s already planning something in your honor— something, something better.”

Your resolve cracked suddenly, shattering in one fell move as you bowed your head and cried for the umpteenth time. Wally was silent but tried to offer a comforting hand on your back that you scooted away from instantly.

His presence was steady, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. You didn’t look up to see if he needed confirmation as to what your body was telling him.

“He… he was a monster. They’re letting him get away with it, I know they are, and it’s like no one cared that I was left for dead. People didn’t call me an ambulance or even see my body when it was still warm. Heleft me to rot in that locker room, and now he’s just strutting around like he’s lost something great, and I’m-” you hiccupped as you smeared tears away from your eyes, “I’m starting to feel like I’m going crazy because no one’s going to ever believe it happened. Even when the cops check out me, I just don’t think they’ll believe he’d do that kind of thing.”

Wally remained silent as you turned to look at him, his face pale and mouth slightly agape. Part of you wanted to know what he was thinking, what he wanted to say, and the other part wanted to burst up from your seat, run through the side doors, and condemn yourself to an eternity of sitting on the bleachers.

“I believe you.”

Out of everything you thought he was going to say, that didn’t even reach your mind. You turned to him, face beating to the rhythm of your heart, probably soaked from your tears and red from your crying.

“What?” You asked.

“You’re not crazy, Y/N. If anything, I think you’re braver than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“What?” You asked again, a small smile turning the slightest curve in your lips.

Wally laughed softly, slowly raising his hand to your face and thumbing the tears off your cheeks.

“You heard me,” he brought his hand to rest against your face, and you could feel the suffocating heat starting to leave you.

“What’s bravery have to do with any of this?” You questioned heat flooding in from where his palm remained against your cheek.

“It’s got to do with you sitting here, telling me,” he brought his other hand to lightly skim over the top of yours, “it’s got to do with you coming in and standing in these halls and bearing witness to the aftermath. I know you think the rest of the world is going to forget you, but, Y/N, I’m going to give my damnedest so you’ll never feel like that, ever again.”

My head aches as I look around at all the surprised faces staring down at me. I laugh a little until I see tears fill my teammates eyes, confused I look around seeing the surprise turn into horror and a gut wrenching scream. I didn't think it was that bad of a fall, what the fuck is happening? That's when I notice, they're not looking at me they're looking through me. I turn around and that's when I see it, my cold lifeless body laying on the ground with blood gushing from my skull.

Might write a wally x reader fic with this prompt idk yet

Sucks that "sleeping together" refers to sex. Sometimes a fella just wants to snooze with a pal.

Anxiety 2

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

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

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Anxiety 2

"Hey, pretty boy, you okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No." He says, scratchy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You wanna have a nap?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍋‍🟩___________fin.____________

Anxiety

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

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

Bubblegum

summary: Zed has a bad day and needs an outlet before he goes on a rampage. guess who has to save the town from a possible Zombie attack? yep. it's you or no one.

pairing: Zed Necrodopolis x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - canon doesn't exist here. zombies being zombies. biting. this is not your Disney's Zombie.

💌this is a little bday surprise for @therosietoesy 🩷 i'm still working on your request, my dove, fret not. i just wanted to actually gift you something 🥰

bonne fête, ma belle

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Bubblegum

The thing about Zombies, you learned, is that they need to bite. The Z-Bands keep a lot of things in check, basically slow-release sedation to tamp down those violent urges, but if their heartrates rise above a certain level, the technology is about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

And Zed's heartrate? Well, in the wake of the Prawn's devastating loss—that he shoulders the blame for—and another infestation of creepy creature that wants to whisk Addison away forever, Zed is on the brink of a total meltdown. To put it mildly.

His sockets are already black as the abyss when he finds you behind the school, snarling and spitting as he tries to ask for help, for an outlet; need you, now. He grabs your wrist as soon as you get to your feet and tugs you against him. Red lips curled back, yellowing teeth bared, the monster inside him clawing its way out faster than you'd ever seen.

You give him a pretty smile, "You wanna take this somewhere private, big guy?"

And, no, he fucking doesn't. Can't. Too consumed by thoughts of beating his fat cock into you until you scream. At this point, he can barely string together a sentence, words reduced to throaty animal noise. You giggle, sweet as sugar, and raise one hand to cradle his jaw and boldly sweep your thumb across his bottom lip.

"You're in bad shape, huh?" You comment, not surprised when he snaps his teeth at your thumb.

Breathing labored, eyes boring into you as you gaze so fondly up at him, "Want," he manages to growl. You don't consider it an attack when he grabs you roughly and pushes you against the wall, brittle nails digging into your flesh as he lifts you by the backs of your thighs. A long pause wherein he just pants against your neck and then, "Please."

Such a courteous beast.

His Z-band is practically wailing, the sound reminding you to cast that neat little spell you've been using since you and Zed started this thing.

You mutter the incantation between stinging kisses before he savagely shoves his tongue in your mouth, fucking it in and out as he tries to taste every tooth and ridge and soft piece of tissue. God, you live for these moments. When he's completely at the mercy of his darker side. The side he tries so hard to smother outside of Zombietown. The side you love.

Not to say you don't love the whole package. It's just that you're more exclusive with the monster than the man. Person Zed isn't as...upfront about what he wants with you. Less demanding, more cautious. Meanwhile, Zombie Zed is a lot more decisive and has sunk his teeth into your neck to claim you more times than you can count. Hence the rubber-skin spell. Keeps your skin intact and the Zombie cooties from spreading.

He finally releases your mouth, biting and kissing a trail from your jaw to your pulse point. He pins you to the wall with his hips as his hands claw under your shirt, fisting into the fabric before, without warning, he tears it open. Needy. Desperate. Fucking hungry for you in his ragelust.

You can feel him through his jeans, huge and growing as the Zombie takes over completely, and your mouth waters. This is going to hurt in the best way. He grinds himself against your pussy; sharp, vicious strokes a threat of what's to come, all the while panting and snarling into your skin as he chews chunks of flesh that don't tear away from your throat.

Witches and Zombies really do make the best match, you think greedily, equally as frenzied as you yank his shirt over his head. Then it's skin on skin, your bra in pieces at his feet; his big, calloused hand groping your tit just this side of painful. He grunts, hips moving harder, faster, blunt teeth grazing the soft underside of your chin.

"Want," He rasps again, long fingers teasing under your skirt and pressing insistently between your pussy lips through your panties. In a brief moment of clarity, Zed leans back, expression pleading, "Baby, let me—fuck, I can't—" And then it's gone, the green mist rushing back in, making his eyes wild and his movements stiff as rigor mortis.

You don't even have the chance to give him permission before his fingers dig under the edge of your panties and plunge into you, corkscrewing deep as he growls in delight at how wet you already are for him.

"Mine," Zed bites into your throat, and you don't disagree, moaning as his fingers snap in and out, drilling your sweet spot. "Only mine."

There's no point echoing his sentiment, Zed so far under that he doesn't actually care to hear your thoughts, just wants to make sure you're aware that you're owned. He removes his fingers long enough to rip a hole in your panties, then to get his fly undone—the button flying, zipper torn—and his jeans pulled down enough to free his dribbling cock.

His free hand clenches a chunk of your hair and he angles your head, presses his brow against yours, demanding, "Tell me." He teases the fat head between your lips, pushes in the barest fraction, and smirks when you keen.

For a second, you have no fucking idea what he's asking until you remember, "I want it, Zee."

"Again."

Louder, "I want it, please, Zee."

Zed leans in, nips your earlobe and breathes, "Good girl...perfect little prey for me..." and then, fuck, he spears inside you, the feeling like being split in two. He has one hand on your ass, the other tangled in your hair, his teeth deep in the join of your shoulder and neck.

Every thrust is brutal, punching sighs and whimpers from your chest. He doesn't care if it hurts. He needs this. Needs you like this. And you lose yourself in it as much as he does, your nails mauling welts across his back. The sensation coaxes him to move faster, harder, both hands on your hips now to guide you on his cock exactly how he wants. Your tits bounce as he fucks you with everything he has, your brain scrambled from the sheer fucking strength he has at his disposal.

"Close," He grunts. He sinks to his knees, keeps your back against the wall, and fucks up into you with abandon. His head thrown back, lips parted, eyes clamped shut in ecstasy. "Fuck, baby, gonna come."

He slams into you a few more times and then roars his release, biting into your neck with the intention of ripping flesh from bone. Zed stays like that, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills an ungodly amount of Zombie seed, so much that some oozes around his cock. He hitches his hips three, four, five more times before going still.

The wailing soundtrack of his Z-band finally stops. You don't actually need that to tell you he's slowly returning to normal. His muscles loosen marginally, his skin warms; popped veins shrink and his skin adopts a less sickly hue. Still grey, just less dead. It takes a minute for him to calm all the way down, and when he does, he removes his teeth from your neck and lifts his head.

You smile at him, gentle, fond, "Hey, big guy. You with me again?"

Zed swallows. Nods. His gaze falls between your joined bodies, and he licks his lips at the sight before glancing back up at you.

"Did I hurt you?" He has to know, his concern palpable.

"No." You promise, "You never actually do."

He doesn't look like he believes you, but he doesn't argue. Not today, anyway. You watch him take in your torn shirt and basically disintegrated panties and bra. With a cringe, he hands you his shirt.

"You know, one day I'm going to bill you for everything you've shredded," You say playfully in an effort to prove you're okay.

It works, "You'd think by now you'd start bringing an extra set of clothes with you." He teases back, smirking. It's the first time that he's acknowledged how he gets when the Zombie takes the wheel, and you almost miss it because you can't get your brain to get your mouth to work fast enough.

"You keep saying 'this is the last time, cutie, I swear'," You parody his voice as you roll your eyes. "So, why would I prep for something that isn't suppose to happen?"

And Zed looks utterly confused—still cockdeep inside you, mind you, hardly softened at all.

"I mean that last time I'll be rough. You know that I've claimed you, like, eight times," He says, again acknowledging for the first time what happens when his inner Zombie comes out. "I think that's a pretty convincing argument to be prepared, babe."

You're almost stunned at how casual he's suddenly being about everything after months of ashamed side-eye and stilted aftercare.

"I think that's a pretty convincing argument to be prepared, babe." He tacks on, his expression telling you that you should've known.

Gaping at him, "Wait, I thought all of that was heat of the moment stuff?" You blink wide eyes at him, almost falling back on your ass when he dislodges you and helps you to your feet.

"Heat of the mo—You know I'm still me when I'm Zombied Out, right?"

Actually. No. You didn't know that. You assumed up to this point that Person Zed and Zombie Zed were completely separate entities with conflicting views on what they want from you.

Oops.

"So, when you say I'm yours...?" You ask slowly, not quite able to believe that this whole time you've possibly been Zombie married.

Zed scoffs, hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you into his body, his gaze turning dark and heated. "It means your mine, baby girl." And then, "Why the fuck do you think I come to you when I'm having a meltdown?"

"...because I don't scream in terror and run away?"

"You're an idiot." Zed snorts as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

You shrug, "Apparently, I'm your idiot."

In playful retaliation, Zed nibbles your neck, bites and pulls the skin, chuckles, "Definitely mine." Then, dangerously, "but it looks like I gotta make sure you really understand what that means," he murmurs right as his Z-band beeps its first alert.

fin.

🫧___________________________

also on AO3!