Milo Manheim For Teen Vogue!

SEASON 3 JUST GOT CONFIRMED!!!!!!

I'M SO EXCITED I LITERALLY CAN'T BREATHE RN 😭

Please, won't somebody say I'll get outta here? Someone gimme my shot or I'll rot here!

Milo Manheim as Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors

Bringing back the cuteness that was this interview 😍😭

└ Milo Manheim: The Puppy Interview

girl why is it giving scooby doo and the mystery gang ??

If you want to cry over how adorable Wally is, read this ASAP

Punctuation.

summary: prompt fill. it's that dreaded time of the month and you're miserable. thankfully, you have the most thoughtful, adorable boyfriend in Wally Clark, and he isn't going to let you suffer alone. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. drabble. period fic. feelgood. cuddles and romance.

bon reading, frens

___________________________❣️

Punctuation.

You groan, rolling out of bed with a pained expression. Hand on your belly and lower back aching, and everything sucks so why is someone at the door bothering you now!? Ugh.

It's gruesome Day 2, the worst of the seven. You haven't had the energy to bathe or eat or, Jesus, sleep because, apparently, God hates you and when your body is in agony, sleep isn't required. Stay awake, stare at the ceiling, cry at videos of adorable old men loving their wives, and live with it.

All part of being a woman, your grandmother says without sympathy. As if your body going to war with itself should be dismissed and you should just control and manage and ignore. Yeah, fuck that to hell and back, thanks.

With a frustrated whimper, you pull the front door open and scowl at the figure on your doorstep.

"Hey, baby."

And that scowl melts into a pout—lower lip jutted all the way out, brow knitted, eyes glittering with affected emotion. You slump forward, arms lax at your sides, and whine pitifully into Wally's chest.

One of his big hands cups the back of your head, and at the same time, you feel his lips press into your hair. You hear the rustle of plastic; smell the aroma of your favorite fast food place, and peek out of the corner of your eye to see the two bags Wally's holding. Stuffed full to bursting. Just for you.

Again, you press out a weak whimper and burrow deeper into him, body against his, face hidden in his collar.

"I'm smelly and gross and everything hurts." You complain.

He chuckles, kisses your head again before encouraging you to lean back so he can look at you.

"You're a goddess, baby, shut up." He tells you like you should know that by now. "Come on, let me make it a little better."

You shuffle back inside, stop suddenly, and stand there with your arms around your middle when another sharp cut of period cramps hits like electrocution. As the wave descends, Wally—who must've deposited the bags somewhere—gathers you in his arms and carries you, bridal-style, upstairs.

"I'm not a damsel in distress," You grouch because you can.

"You're right," Wally says, tone deceptively neutral, "You're a little dragon in distress."

You scowl up at him, but he simply grins back, boyish and bright and sparkly-eyed. He deposits you on your unmade bed, tucks you back in, and kisses your forehead. Nuzzles his nose against yours before leaning back to gaze at you. Soft. Sweet. Stupid, you grouse, since you're matted in last night's sweat and greasy and he shouldn't be looking at you like that when you're a mess, it makes every time he calls you cute or pretty feel like a lie, is he a liar—

"You're spiraling, baby, I can hear it from out here." Wally chuckles quietly, booping the tip of your nose and then cradling your jaw. He strokes your cheek softly with his thumb, back and forth, soothing, "Stay here, I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

Defiant. "No." But he rolls his eyes playfully and tucks you more tightly into your bed. Pecks kisses all over you face until you giggle and relent, relaxing into the warm cocoon to settle while he wanders off and does whatever it is he came over to do.

Your parents are out of town for the weekend, so you've been left to suffer alone. Something you told Wally last night when the headache came out of nowhere, and suddenly there was a crime scene in your underwear.

Right in the bin. Along with the new leggings you just bought last week with Claire, since you cannot be bothered to do a whole cold-wash cycle for a stain that ghastly.

Ten minutes later, and you're dozing. Wally comes in, gently rouses you with more kisses and soft pets to your hair, words whispered against your skin as he rolls you onto your back.

"You wanna walk, or you want me to carry you?" He asks, to which you raise your arms and blink big cow-eyes at him.

Hey, if he's going to be accommodating, let it happen, right? You're in no position to argue, anyway, face pinching in pain when another roll of cramps rises in your belly and lower back simultaneously.

"I hate my body," You whimper, face tucked into his neck, "I hate everything." Except, "Not you, you're okay."

Wally laughs, "Thanks, baby."

He sets you down on the vanity, slowly peels off your layers, not at all disgusted or shy or embarrassed when he helps you out of your underwear. As if it's totally normal. Just, whoop, bundles up the pad and drops it in the bin beside the sink, helping you into the warm bubble bath he ran for you before he collects your dirty clothes and disappears to put them in your hamper.

It takes awhile, but eventually he comes back, and Wally's carrying a bottle of painkillers and what looks like a fancy bottle of the bodywash you finished last week. You perk up, lifting your upper body out of the water. He manifests a water bottle—pulled from his deep back pocket—and hands you a couple of pills along with it.

"Here, take these. The lady said they're way better than what you've been taking."

You want to cry. So you do. Tears fat and wet, lashes starred, blubbering through a mouthful of water as you swallow the painkillers. By now, you're not even surprised when he strips down to nothing and adjusts you so he can slip into the bath behind you. Long legs on either side of you, hands gentle on your hips, lips planting little kisses across the slope of your shoulder, up your neck to your ear.

"You wanna wash your hair now or later?"

"Now." You murmur, sinking into him.

It's a process that involves the detachable faucet, draining the bath a little, and then letting it fill again after the conditioner is rinsed, and Wally does it all while chatting to you about what he got up to last night with Rodney and Ajay. Breezy and cheerful and not even an iota of annoyance when you paw at him to let you slosh into his lap so he can wash your back while you cling to him like a koala.

He's not even hard which makes you feel insecure way too fast, the feeling sharp and burning and you start to tear up again, because what do you mean your boyfriend isn't attracted to you when you're wet and soapy and naked!?

But he reassures, "Baby, you're the hottest thing on earth, and I was hard five minutes ago, but I've been repeating fucking football stats in my head because you're in pain and I love you."

"Fine." You grumble, and, yeah, you believe it. Wally doesn't lie to make you feel better ever, so you kind of have to.

Bath done, he dries you off—quick and efficient as time is of the essence. He brought in clean underwear and gets you a fresh pad from the drawer by the toilet, turns around when you ask him not to look while you assemble yourself.

Then he's back, hands rubbing body butter into your muscles before he so much as pulls on his boxer-briefs. You're my priority, pretty girl, he murmurs, following you back to your bedroom to get dressed.

Your bedroom that is tidy, bed outfitted in clean sheets—you can hear the washer going downstairs—and he even brought over that massive band shirt he's had since he was a chubby freshman. You know, the one you often steal because it smells like him.

When you ram into him for a hug, Wally laughs, delighted to have made your day a little better.

"Alright, baby, do you wanna do bed or living room?"

"Living room," You decide, feeling more human, and wanting to let your room air out a bit.

He takes you by the hand, letting you walk under your own power now that the painkillers have kicked in and your muscles don't feel so stiff. Down the stairs to the fucking nest he made on the living room floor. The couch is pulled apart, cushions joined under a fitted sheet, pillows and blankets from the guest room piled on top. Beside it, the coffee table is laden with a combination of your favorite snacks and his, as well as the takeout you smelled earlier.

There's even tea. In a pot. Under a cozy. A new mug sitting beside it with a bright pink rose leaning against it.

Your lower lip wobbles. He doesn't give you a second to break down, merely swoops you into his arms again, steps onto the makeshift bed, crosses his legs, and drops onto his bum with you securely in his lap.

"Nope," He commands, "You're supposed to be worshipped, baby, it's the law. You can make life. And that means you need to be pampered."

"But you—"

"Love and cherish you?" Wally interrupts with a goofy grin, "Yeah, you're right. I do. So, suck it up and let me love you."

Releasing a heavy, almost grouchy sigh, you resign. He releases you so you can find a comfortable position; between his legs, his back against the bottom of the couch. You pick at your takeout order in your lap while he lists the names of your favorite comfort movies.

"Ever After," You announce once he's rattled it off. "And then Bridget Jones."

"You got it, baby girl," He smacks a silly, sloppy kiss to your cheek, pushing your whole body to the side.

Giggling, "Watch my food!" You scold, but Wally keeps smiling at you, eyes tender and filled with affection.

"I promise to get you more if I spill anything, okay?"

That pleases you enough to share a fry with him, feeding it to him when he opens his mouth for it.

"But that's it, the rest is mine."

He holds one hand up in surrender, "I'm not gonna argue," while he uses his other hand to massage your hip.

Wally spends the rest of the day coddling and doting on you, at your beck and call before you even ask for anything. Up to get you more painkillers when the first round wears off. Offering a back rub, fetching the hot water bottle, holding your hand when you feel suffocated in the house and sniffle that you want to go for a walk around the block.

No complaints. No judgment. Just unconditional thereness and support. And ice cream. Lots of ice cream...

❣️___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Wally Clark Headcanons - 3.

an affectionate, fluffy little glimpse into our favorite ghost's mind when he's completely obsessing over you.

To be that chair 😍 who said that?

Milo Manheim

I LOVE A MAN IN GLASSES - AS A GLASSES WEAR

Anxiety 2

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

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________🍋‍🟩

Anxiety 2

"Hey, pretty boy, you okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No." He says, scratchy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You wanna have a nap?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍋‍🟩___________fin.____________

Anxiety

also on AO3!

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

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

If he looked at me like that I would absolutely FOLD