Milo Manheim - Blog Posts

I thought it would be funny if traditional kisses for zombies were just biting, kinda like how dogs show affection by licking people. The humans don't get it. Thought of this in the shower

attempting to re-animate that one scene from Zombies Screambrook

I love me some dead teenage jocks

Marshmallow Miles

summary: prompt fill. Wally needs to get the hell out of Split River. thankfully, he finds the perfect excuse and takes you along for the ride. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. fluff. AU - everybody is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen. same 'verse as Cuddle Bug.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧁

Marshmallow Miles

Wally spent the last 40 years haunting the high school. Then spent the last few months within the town limits, adjusting to being a regular student while he got his second chance at life organized. Principal Hartman, Ms. Chung, and Mrs. Moretz—the guidance counselor—banded together to help the formerly-dead reacclimate, and part of that means they all need to graduate.

Except, obviously, Mr. Martin, who Sheriff Baxter's keeping a tight leash on. Or Janet, wherever the hell she is.

Point being, Wally and his friends are still tethered to the place they hate most in the world. Even if there is a light at the end of the tunnel this time, they don't get to enjoy it until they walk across the stage, diplomas in hand.

Which means Wally? Is feeling somewhat-very claustrophobic. Skin too tight, walls closing in, suffocated and nauseous at the thought of having to spend another goddamn second in the town that killed him.

It's as he's listening to you, hanging onto your every word like psalms, that the idea strikes. Light. Bulb. Wausau? Claire's stepdad's ski lodge? You don't say!

He knows your birthday's coming up (Simon made sure to stick post-it notes in every single one of Wally's text- and notebooks to remind him) and he's been fretting over what to do for weeks. But this? This is it! Not only will Wally be able to celebrate you the way you deserve, doing something you seem genuinely keen on, he'll be able to put Split River in the rearview for a whole week.

Is it a little selfish to use your birthday as an excuse to escape? Kind of, sort of, maybe. But he's desperate to find out if he can have a life beyond this. Beyond Split River High and Number 57 and tragedy and discombobulating rise-agains. And the only person he wants to find anything out with, well, is you.

It's two-birds-one-stone, honestly, and don't you always praise his efficiency? Hell yeah, you do. His biggest fan. Besides, he will dote on you, treat you right, make you feel like the center of the universe because you are. At least, you're the center of his, and that's why he has to do this. To prove there's a future with him that has more potential than cultivating small town syndrome.

You catch him grinning that dopey little grin he gets when he's thinking about surprising you, but Maddie distracts you before you can question it. Which gives Wally the rest of lunch to plot into his tater tots.

Thank you, Maddie. Best wingwoman ever.

‗•‗

The plan comes together seamlessly. Everyone pitches in to help bring Wally's vision to life. Claire gives him the keys to her stepdad's lodge. Maddie and Charley morally support Wally as he shops for warm clothes in your size that he can smuggle in his own luggage so you stay in the dark for as long as possible.

Nicole and Rhonda, the unlikeliest of best buds, drag him into The Body Shop and Victoria's Secret—"imagine a romantic bubble bath after skiing all day?" Nicole coos. "Imagine undressing her on a bearskin rug in front of a fire." Rhonda smirks around her new vape.

That's. Really. All the convincing Wally needs to make a dent in the allowance Rodney gives him.

Wally even swallows his pride, puts on his most charming smile, and asks Xavier for his truck. He knows the only reason Xavier agrees is because it's for you, but still, a win is a win. With a general, "hurt her and I'll rip your balls off," from your platonic soulmate, Wally joyfully departs. Tosses the keys in the air and catches them, his chest feeling lighter than it has in decades.

Everything is packed in the truck and ready to go the night before. He called you earlier to impart the vaguest of instructions as to what you should bring, proud of himself for not giving anything away too soon. Even when you asked in that silly-sweet voice, pouting on the screen like a princess, "Please? At least give me a hint!"

No. No hints.

Like a child on Christmas, Wally can barely sleep, he's so excited, but he manages a few hours. Dreams of the world beyond Split River as if he's setting off on some grand adventure and not just driving a 3.5 hour span of state highway.

Tomorrow, Wally will experience a first. Something that was so far out of reach there was no point entertaining it because all it led to was disappointment and regret. Instead there were years upon years of distractions. Mock Trials and obituaries and looking at his feet when he should've looked back.

Wally sometimes wonders if those missed opportunities weren't the yellow brick road that brought him to you. Everyone else walked through The Door with him, but there's no sign of Dawn who crossed over. If Mr. Martin didn't do what he did, Wally might've moved on, and you and he wouldn't exist...

His heart lurches in his chest.

No sense ruminating. You have him. He has you. That's all that matters now. And tomorrow, Wally will have his first real taste of freedom with the only person he wants to share that moment with.

It's going to be perfect.

‗•‗

Wally picks you up just after sunrise. You're grumpy and sleepwarm and, Jesus, Wally loves you. Pouting at him like he's both a menace and your savior. Arms up, lower lip jutted out, a sweet demand of carry me before you slump into his embrace and force him to take your weight. Which he does, easily, big grin on his face as he toddler-carries you to the passenger side of Xavier's truck.

He bundles you in, sets you up with the softest blanket Claire found at Target—Yuri and Ajay not doing their jobs as devil's advocate at all as the cart filled up with Claire's suggestions. Honestly, Wally doesn't care. Especially not after your eyes brighten as you run your fingers over it, wiggling happily in your seat.

"You cozy, babygirl?" He asks as soon as he's behind the wheel and the smile you give him makes him fucking melt.

"You got me a blanket." You state, tucking yourself in more securely; shoes off, feet up, elbow on the console so you can lean over it and kiss Wally's cheek. "Thank you."

Wally blushes, he can't help it, and shrugs as if it's nothing. "I got you a bunch of things, baby," he says as he starts the truck, "Just wait and see. You're gonna feel like a princess, I promise."

You slip your hand into his, fingers laced, and he rests them on your thigh as he drives. Down the street, turn left, continue to the intersection of Main and 4th. Right on 4th, all the way to the end and then left on Pine. Drive until the highway onramp. Now Leaving Split River, We'll Miss You!

Oh God... Wally's heart pounds, blood rushing in his ears. This feels bigger than his first step off school property. Bigger than feeling air in his lungs and a drum in his chest after being hollow for so long.

Somehow, and Wally doesn't know how, you manage to talk him through pulling over, crawling over the console to plant yourself in his lap. Hands cradling his jaw, you press your forehead against his and guide him away from the edge of a panic attack.

"—got you, Wally, I'm right here, you're okay, shh, you're okay..." The steady cadence of your voice sharpens as his breathing regulates. He's holding you like a lifeline, arms fastened around your waist, heaving great gulps of air as he trembles slightly.

"I'm sorry, baby," He gasps and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Nuh-uh, no apologies, Wally Clark," You say firmly. There's a lull before you chuckle, gentle and kind, "Hey, this was a lot better than the night you first stepped across the school boundary line, right?"

Fuck, that was a mess. However, Wally wasn't alone when that happened. Charley and Rhonda and Yuri, Mr. Martin and Ajay, Mina, they were all there too, equally as overwhelmed. Rhonda threw up on Quinn's shoes. Charley passed all the way out. Yuri and Ajay were fine, fuck them, but Mina just...screamed. And then laughed. Then cried. Then screamed some more, listening to the sound ricochet off the surrounding buildings in a way it wouldn't have days before The Door.

Wally snorts, "Yeah. Sure," and finally peeks up at you. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks that he realizes belatedly feel damp. Is he crying? Weak. But you aren't judging him, simply gazing at him like he hung the moon; you're perfect person, the man you love most, and Wally's chest swells. "We're out of Split River," Wally croaks.

You beam at him, "We're out of Split River."

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River.

‗•‗

After climbing out of the truck to holler into the ether. To chase each other around the Now Leaving sign. To grab you, spin you around and fall into the grass as you and he laugh and laugh and laugh, Wally finally gets the show back on the road.

Once again, he tucks you into your seat, takes your hand, checks his mirrors and then pulls back onto the highway, the town that raised him then witnessed his death becoming a speck in the background with every mile marker you and he pass.

He lifts your hand, grazes a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes on the road and his mind on you and everything he has planned for this trip. At the halfway point, he stops for gas, shadows you as you browse the aisles for exactly the right snacks. Fondly gazes after you the whole time as you make tough decisions: Nerds or Twizzlers? Cookies or chocolate? Wally, do I want a vanilla or butterscotch pudding with my Oreos? Because that's a normal combination, what?

He's absolutely no help at all, too busy mooning over you as you flutter between the fridge and the chest freezer, babbling about how integral to your mood it is to pick the right snack. To cover for the fact that he isn't paying attention, Wally grabs a bag of marshmallows off one of the shelves when you call him out for not listening.

"These." He says, holding the bag up and then glancing at the graham crackers and Hershey's displayed at eye-level. "Maybe these?"

"You wanna make s'mores in the truck?" You ask, dubious.

"No," Wally saves himself, "Just these," and he jiggles the bag of marshmallows. They're the jumbo kind; the kind he used to bet his cousin Dennis to eat five of in one bite or else he couldn't play Wally's Magnavox Odyssey.

You consider the marshmallows for a moment and then, with a decisive nod, "And hot chocolate."

"And hot chocolate," Wally agrees, following you around the shop to the coffee station.

Wally pays for everything, hip-butting you (carefully, no spills) out of the way when you try to pass the cashier your card. He takes the bag and the tray of hot chocolate and still holds the door open for you with his heel. No fucking way is his princess lifting a finger on her birthday-slash-Wally's-freedom trip.

For every mile, you dip a marshmallow in your hot chocolate—dipping Wally's as well and feeding him, giggling when he nips or sucks the gooey sugar from your fingertips. It's silly and sweet and Wally basks in every second of it. Every second of your off-key singing, your trivia answers, your arguments over which is better, Thunderbirds or Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons.

"You know, I have been catching up on TV shows, right?" Wally laughs, "You can use better examples."

"What's wrong with puppets, Wally? Are you a pupaphobist?"

Wally barks a laugh, "That's not a thing!"

"It definitely is a thing," And you wield your phone, flashing Google as Exhibit A. "So? Are you? Just say it, you hate Jim Henson and everything he stood for."

And it's amazing. It's anything and everything and so much more than Wally could've ever hoped for. Even the quiet intervals when the sugar wears off and the early wakeup call catches up to you; your body curled up in your seat awkwardly just so you can angle yourself right to rest your head on the console and place Wally's hand in your hair.

Adorable little diva.

As you doze, Wally watches the scenery drift by, his lungs expanding more and more with every mile he puts between himself and Split River.

Eventually, he turns off the highway and onto the backroads without you noticing a thing. His fingers card through your hair, trace the shape of your jaw and cheek as he absorbs the softness of the moment and tucks it away behind his ribs. Safe and sound, to be pulled out and cherished when he's alone.

When he parks, he's reluctant to wake you. So, he doesn't. Not immediately. Rather, he spends a few minutes just resting himself, sinking down a little in the driver's seat. Then slants sideways, curls over and around you to kiss your ear, cheek, jaw.

He couldn't dim his smile if he tried, enamored when you protest at first, but then sigh, realize where you are and who you're with before groggily chuckling at Wally's antics.

"Surprise, baby girl," He whispers, letting you sit up so you can take in your surroundings.

The look on your face tells Wally he did a good job. The way you tackle him into the inside of his door and kiss him tells him he's going to have to start planning next year's surprise tomorrow, because, fuck yeah, this is exactly the reaction he's looking for.

Getting out of the truck and staring at Claire's stepdad's lodge; at the trees and the snow and the vast expanse of sky, it hits him again like a ton of bricks.

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River!

‗•‗

He doesn't wait to celebrate. As soon as he closes the door behind him, he reels you in, kisses you deep and hungry while you're only halfway out of your jacket. That's okay, he helps you get it the rest of the way off, along with everything else.

"Let me make you feel good, baby," He whispers against your skin, hands everywhere, his hips rolling into yours as he pins you to the wall beside the door. "Let me show you how much I love you..."

Wally kisses you deep, hungry, groaning into your mouth as he keeps grinding his hard cock against you, fuck, you get him going like nothing else. All you have to do is breathe in his direction and his pants tent.

Heat courses through him, curls tight in his belly and flushes outward to his limbs, God, he needs you. Now. Right fucking now, baby, come on. He carries you to the enormous kitchen island, peels your leggings and panties off and has his lips on you and tongue in you faster than you can cry out his name.

"So sweet, baby," He moans into your pussy, panting, not bothering to breathe in his greed for your taste and pleasure. "Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you."

He spears his tongue in and out of you before teasing little circles around your clit, his fingers plunging into you in place of his tongue. Wally could do this all day and never get tired; the sounds you make, the way you writhe and beg for him, Jesus, he can't imagine ever wanting anything else.

Cruel, desperate, he doesn't care what you call it, he stops right as you're about to come, shoves his sweatpants just below his balls and drags your hips off the counter to punch his cock into you. His head falls back as soon as he feels you around him, so tight and hot, "Fuck, yes, baby, so good for me."

And he sets a frenzied pace, unable to keep himself in check now that he has you like this. His fingers dig into your lovehandles, your legs hooked over his elbows. He's grunting, you're mewling your pleasure, and Wally about loses it before you do. But he doesn't. He's better than that, fucks you like a beast until you scream and shake and squirt around his cock.

It's game over after that. No way can he hold on, his body tensing, hips grinding, as he spills deep inside you. Carefully, he sits you more firmly on the counter and leans in to kiss you, soft, sated, a little blissdrunk in the afterglow. Bodies pressed together, slowly recovering, Wally strokes the arches of your cheeks with his thumbs and gives you a muzzy smile.

"You're my whole world, you know that?" He tells you and then captures your lips in a kiss that quickly turns heated, "I'll do anything for you, baby." Fuck, he's already getting worked up again, needs more of you, always needs more. "I'll die all over again if you asked me to."

"Wally..." You gasp when he rocks his hips forward, driving his cock back into you.

It's just after sundown before you and he finally check out what's beyond the open kitchen/living room space, the table and couch and ottoman and, shit, bearskin rug fully christened in sweat and come.

You and he jump on the beds with childlike glee, music blaring on speakers that cost more than Rodney's mortgage. Claire explicitly forbade Wally from using the master suite so, taking that into consideration, that's the first bedroom he fucks you in—from behind, driving his hips forward while he pulls you back against him. What? He'll do the necessary laundry.

If he remembers...

‗•‗

After a supper of haphazardly thrown together and grossly microwaved nachos, Wally snuggles you between his legs on one of the Adirondack chairs outside, under a thick blanket and dressed accordingly in the thermals and sweater and fuzzy socks he secretly bought and brought for you.

The fire pit blazes, the stars above twinkle, and the land around is a peaceful kind of dark. Not the ominous, suffocating dark Wally grew accustomed to in the confines of the school. The comfortable silence between you and him is accentuated by the crackle and pop of the fire, the scene so peaceful, Wally has to wonder if he ever experienced any such feeling before.

His arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss to your cheek from behind, watching the flames dance as you lance another marshmallow on your stick.

Tomorrow is your birthday and he intends to take you skiing. Or, when he knows you'll diplomatically decide to trade skis for slippers, he'll bring you back here at noon and spoil you rotten with presents and a homecooked meal; that bubble bath Nicole suggested (thank you, Nicole), and a long night on that bearskin rug (thank you Rhonda).

It's going to be an incredible week, he assures himself. And on Saturday, the others will arrive while he takes you into the resort town to explore so they can set up your big surprise party. Yuri will grill in a t-shirt, and Charley will force everyone to play 90s boardgames he died too soon to play, and Rhonda will make everyone take shots whenever Wally gives you heart eyes just to watch the messiness unfurl.

Claire will probably reprimand him for fucking in her parents' bedroom, but Wally doesn't care. Because it means he celebrated you right. That you and he had fun. That there's evidence of the fact that, for the first time in 40 years, holy fuck, Wally made it out of Split River!

fin.

🧁___________________________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Tongue Twister.

a PWP drabble highlighting Wally Clark's addiction to eating your pussy like a man possessed.

Cuddle Bug

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

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. smut lite. AU - everyone is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🍃

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch. No surprise there. The guy needs cuddles like flowers need sunlight to thrive. Always has. Being a ghost for 40 years exacerbated that need, and now that he's a real boy again, he can't help himself. Wally sits too close, hugs hello and goodbye, touches arms and knees when he's telling a story.

It's just that much more amped up when it comes to you.

He was affectionate before you and he became inseparable. Lightly grazed your hand when he walked beside you, found every excuse to tackle you when he tried to teach you football techniques. Ajay and Charley stood there like extra wheels even though it'd been Wally who'd rallied everyone to the field.

What? Your giggle's so damn cute! No way was Wally going to be able to focus on anything else!

Besides Charley's just as bad when Yuri's around, and Simon can't even function when Maddie gives him the eyes. So, everyone can suck it as far as Wally's concerned.

During group activities, Wally would find a way to sit next to you. Would squish his long limbs between you and Maddie and give you a bright, boyish grin. Sometimes he'd stare Xavier down until he got the hint and scooched closer to Nicole at the lunch table, leaving a gap that Wally could settle into beside you. His arm around your shoulders and his knee touching yours. Totally innocent.

Wally brought your favorite snacks to Game Night, established himself as your personal chauffeur despite the fact that you lived closer to Simon and Rhonda, and loyally helped you filter clothes when you and the girls went shopping. Yes. He'd made himself one of the girls just to spend time with you. Don't look at him like that; it worked, didn't it? 👀

Since accepting him as your boyfriend (he grins so big, his cheeks ache), Wally's dependence on your touch, warmth, shape against his, has increased a hundredfold.

You sit on the picnic table before the first bell, chatting to Maddie and Claire about something Wally isn't listening to, his arms around your waist, upper body slumped between your legs, head resting on your thigh as you rake your fingers through his thick hair. Oh, he could die all over again and be the happiest of ghosts just for this. Not that he wants to be a ghost again. Not unless you're with him this time. Which would require you to die, too, and that's a terrible thought and he's never going to tell you about it. But the sentiment remains. Wally doesn't want to do anything without you, ever.

He managed to convince the secretary to put him in all your classes, pouting and pleading his case that he'd been dead since 1983 and, "it's so traumatic coming back, she's the only thing I have that feels real...please?" A tactic that he should stop abusing, but it worked on all the teachers when he requested to be sat next to you. Every time a teacher caved, Wally would fold into the desk beside you, beaming like a winner. And who cares? Mina and Ajay, and Charley and Yuri pulled the same doe-eyed trick and got what they wanted, why couldn't Wally do the same?

On Fridays, everyone piles into Wally's high school best friend's living room—Rodney now Wally's legal guardian for reasons—to have movie marathons. There's trivia to guess the movie. Winner gets one veto and can insert their own choice, but there's three movies in total so pick wisely! They figured out awhile ago that Wally sometimes (always) lets you win trivia when it's his turn to play his lineup. You never veto anything, equally as eager to watch what he opts for. It drives Simon and Ajay insane.

He takes over a whole couch, the three-seater, sprawls long-ways and tucks you between his legs, your body draped over him like a blanket as he wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for anything. He traces patterns on your back, cradles your head against his chest, soaks up the physical contact like a sponge after years of ghostly numbness.

In the school halls, Wally keeps his hand on your hip. He kisses your head and cheeks and jaw. Doesn't care who sees because you're his girl and he'll do what he wants, thank you. He's proud that you call him yours and wants to show off who his heart belongs to. This one! This one said yes!

You're in his lap more than your own seat when the group descends upon Max's Diner after football games (that, no, Wally doesn't participate in. That era is firmly in the past and he'll never don a jersey again; sorry mom, God bless, rest in peace). His hands are all over you as you engage Rhonda in conversation; on your thighs, waist, back, hips. Anywhere and everywhere that's still appropriate in public. His head under your chin, eyes closed as he listens to your heartbeat, strong and steady, the rhythm matching his.

Wally rolls over in his bed, crushes you beneath his weight as he plays dead—knock on wood that that won't happen again for many years—and tries to stifle his laughter when you struggle to reverse the position. Eventually, he showers your skin with kisses, nudges between your thighs and laces his fingers with yours, pressing his smile to yours before kissing you deeply.

The sex is amazing, but nothing beats the afterglow when he has you pliant and sweet, curled into him on your side, your face in his chest, his hand on your lower back, whispering how much he loves you as you doze. Call him codependent, but Wally doesn't want to spend even an hour without you. He isn't a lost puppy, knows how to behave like a man. He just spent too many years being forgotten that he still has trust issues.

And you don't mind. You welcome it, in fact, and that makes Wally feel safer than he ever has. It makes it easy to ignore the looks people give you and him when you agree to go somewhere, "only if Wally's invited, too" because you and he are a package deal. And he does the same for you. Obviously, not for the same reasons, you're perfectly fine being alone, it's just that Wally's not ready to experiment with your absence just yet. Maybe never will be.

Rodney's long since accepted that Wally's room has become your room. From married and childless to married with several formerly-dead teenagers and their SOs, Rodney and his wife have accepted their homebase status like champs. They treat you like family—you have a house key for the rare occasion Wally isn't with you after school—and acknowledge that Wally can't sleep without you without suffering.

He stays curled around you all night, kisses you awake, big hand trailing from your waist to your hip as he nips the top knot of your spine and grinds his morning wood against your ass. God, you get him hard so easily, Wally sometimes thinks he should get checked out. You hum then sigh then turn in his arms, hook a leg over his and press yourself against him in exactly the right way.

Through half-lidded eyes, Wally gazes at you. Licks his lips as he rocks his hips slowly and watches your expression go from sleepsoft to wanting. You like how that feels baby? You want it inside you? And he kisses you deep and thorough, rolls you onto your back to fit between your legs, groans when one of your hands squeezes his ass through his boxer-briefs.

He needs to be inside you yesterday, loves how you feel, tight and wet and hot around him. Soft touches turn hard, light sweeps of lips turn to teeth and tongue and fresh bruises on your neck. Wally loves to taste you first, to prolong his pleasure by giving you yours, his tongue delving into you and sucking your clit gently; deliriously slow because he can't get enough.

It's not until you're begging him so pretty for his cock that he finally lets himself fuck into you, so hard and sensitive his brain explodes upon fitting deep inside you on the first thrust. A refrain of fuck, yes and oh God baby, you feel so good fills the room—sorry Rodney—the headboard smacking against the wall in time with Wally's hips. Throughout, Wally holds you like something precious, kisses you like salvation, breathes you in like he can't live without you.

He makes sure you come first before he even thinks about letting go, the sensation of you shaking apart around him ripping his own release right from his core. Wally licks into your mouth, moans like a beast, and then, one two three more stunted thrusts and he goes still. Hazy eyes hold yours and you can see the depth of his emotion for you. At least, he hopes so. How he'll treasure you forever. He'll never love anyone as much as he loves you. That's a promise and a threat and he smiles a lazy smile at you as you begin to giggle.

"What's so funny, baby?" Wally nudges your cheek with his nose.

"Nothing, I promise, I'm just...really happy." You tell him and he moans in delight.

"You don't feel suffocated or claustrophobic like Rhonda said you would?" Wally asks, a little insecure. Okay, a lot insecure, even if he doesn't usually feel that way about how reliant he is on your proximity. You've never given him a reason to feel anything but safe and happy and loved, but still. Rhonda knows how to hit bone even when she means well.

You shift, forcing Wally to look at you, your hands cradling his jaw, "Never. I will never, ever want this, us, to be anything but exactly how it is. I love having you all over me."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." And you grin, a warm little thing, "I like sharing everything with you. It's nice. My very own witness to my life."

Wally kisses you again, another slow, deep, sentimental gesture; everything he feels poured into it, before he settles down on top of you, careful not to crush you, his head above your breasts and his eyes fluttering closed. Relaxed. Sated. Safe.

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch, and, in this second chance at life, he's profoundly grateful to have found someone fluent in it.

fin.

🍃___________________________

also on AO3!

if you liked this, you may also enjoy Fifty Seven.

fluff. 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.

Ride

Ryan Baker x Fem!Reader

Summary: A year after the chaos at Rightmart, you find yourself locked in a supply closet with the one person you hate the most.

Warnings: 18+, dry humping, enemies, slight edging, pure smut w/little to no plot.

a/n: you guys asked, and I delivered ;).

────────────

The sound of your feet slapping on the linoleum floors echoes off the walls of the dimly lit hallways. Your lungs burn, your feet hurt and your throat is raw from screaming. Every time you breathe in, it sends bursts of pain through your chest, leaving you whimpering. But you know you can’t stop. 

For the past 10 minutes, you’ve been swerving through the halls of your high school, trying to escape from the wrath of a killer. Plymouth, Massachusetts very own, John Carver. 

Well, not actually John Carver. Exactly a year after the ‘incident’ at Rightmart during Black Friday, a psychopath decided to dress up in a plastic John Carver mask and go on a spree. He’s already claimed 2 victims in the past week alone. And, unfortunately, you’re next on his list. 

His victims (so far) were each featured in the video your dumbass friend, Evan, posted online during the incident. He stood on a cashier counter and recorded the chaos of the shoppers around him, killing each other over 20% off waffle makers. Of course, you had your very own cameo. That video alone might earn you an axe in the head.

You turn a corner, skidding to a stop as the sound of the killer's footsteps completely ceases. The school is eerily quiet, the only sound you hear is your own blood pumping loudly in your ears.

Just as you begin to relax, assuming he left, a hand wraps around your hoodie, pulling you into a dark closet.  A sharp gasp slips from your lips, filled with surprise and fear, but it's abruptly stifled as a strong hand clamps down over your mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut, worried if you open them the first thing you’ll see is the cool metal of an axe pummeling towards your face.

Instead, as you muster the courage to peel your eyelids apart, the world slowly comes into focus, revealing Ryan Baker mere inches away from your face. Seeing how close he is, you’d honestly rather take the axe.

It has been a year since Ryan abandoned you in Right Mart, a day that still haunts you. You still remember the cold tile beneath you as you sat, paralyzed, while screams echoed around you and chaos unfolded. Ryan, your ‘best friend’, vanished when you needed him most, leaving you shaking on the cold floors, blood pooling around you. So, you vowed to never speak to him again, let alone look at him.

You try to fight against his hand, but he pushes it further against your mouth, his leg trapping you against the wall. He looks through the slit in the door, and you squint, following his line of sight. Footsteps echo past the door, the sound of metal scraping against the wall vibrating through the thick wood. 

The realization hits you like a semitruck. Ryan just saved your life. The killer must’ve turned the other way and looped around. Had Ryan not pulled you into the closet, you would’ve run headfirst into the man. 

The footsteps disappear, and the only sound you can hear is the front door to the school swinging open and slamming shut. The fear and anxiety bleeds out of you once you know you’re safe, those feelings being quickly replaced with anger. Your hand finds his and you pry it off your mouth, taking a deep breath. 

“Why are you sitting in a closet like a creep?” 

He scowls, genuinely appalled at your lack of thankfulness. “I just saved your life and that’s all you can say to me?” 

With an exaggerated sigh, you roll your eyes in a mix of annoyance and reluctant acceptance, knowing he’s right.

“Would've been nice if you did that last year.” You reach for the doorknob, fingers wrapping around the cool metal. The knob doesn’t turn, instead, it makes a horrible grinding sound that reverberates through your bones. Ryan doesn't seem to notice, instead opting to run his mouth like usual. 

“Are you seriously still fuckin’ mad about that? I already told you why I left-“

“Ryan-“

“No- I’m talking! You’d be fucking dead-“

“Ryan! The door is stuck!” You yell, stopping his rant.

He finally pauses, and glances over at the knob. He turns it, the grinding sound filling your ears, making you wince. His eyebrows furrow in frustration as each turn of the knob brings the same conclusion. 

He throws his shoulder against the sturdy door repeatedly, each hit resonating with a mournful groan. Despite his efforts, the door remains in place, holding its ground.

Fuck.

────────────

He’s way too close to you. The closet is small and stuffy, leaving both of you barely any room to move. Ryan is sitting across from you, his knees pushed against yours. After sitting on the hard concrete floor for what feels like hours, you begin counting the different things that line the shelves. 27 toilet paper rolls, 18 paper towel rolls, and 3 dirty rags...  A mop, 2 brooms… Okay, you’ve officially gone off the deep end. 

Your train of thought is interrupted by Ryan. He hasn’t even moved, nor made any sounds in the past 10 minutes. It's his cologne. It fills the small space, and it makes you dizzy. The fragrance is expensive, musky. Fucking intoxicating. 

Right now, when you’re supposed to hate him, it just makes you fucking furious. He has no right to smell like that... And look at you like that. And look like that. God, why does he look so good? 

He clears his throat, his eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Scoffing, you pull your knees closer against your chest. “Because I’m mad at you!”

Ryan runs his hand through his thick brown hair, a few strands falling in front of his eyes. Shaking his head in frustration, he lets out a laugh. “I can’t believe you’re still mad about that! You’re so dramatic.”

Your face drops, and you stare at him blankly. His audacity is genuinely astounding. “Are you serious?”

Ryan opens his mouth for a second, his voice dying in his throat as you interrupt him. “You abandoned me in the middle of that fucking store. You- You left me to die, Ryan!”

The boy shakes his head, laughing bitterly again. God, he’s infuriating. “You know what? You seemed pretty protected already,” He scoffs, resting his arm on his knee. You raise an eyebrow, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Countless times, you’ve argued with him over this. It was always the same excuse: “I couldn’t find you in the crowd, so I left.” But, this? This was new.

“The fuck does that mean?”

He pauses, seemingly recounting that night. “Bobby. He was all up on you. You seemed fine, so I left,” he mutters, his voice laced with bitterness and… Jealousy? Something you can’t place.

Utterly dumbfounded, you laugh in surprise, fingernails digging into your palms. “Are you fucking kidding me? Bobby?!” It was the lamest excuse you have ever heard. Last year, he abandoned you in the middle of the purge for god's sake, because he saw Bobby ‘Golden Arm’ Di Stasi breathe within 2 feet of you.

Ryan scoffs again, his 20th within the hour. “I don’t get why you care so much! You’re fine! He seemed to have it all covered.”

“Because I wanted you there! Not fucking Bobby!” You yell out, voice reverberating off the walls.

Startled, Ryan recoils, eyes widening in shock. A brief flash of guilt crosses his face before he quickly hardens his resolve, transforming that guilt into a simmering anger. “You seemed pretty fuckin’ comfortable, princess,” he volleys back, voice laced with venom.

“I’m sorry he was actually there for me, unlike you! Seems to me that someone got jealous because they saw an attractive guy on top of me,” you blurt out.

Ryan’s face twists into purse disgust. “Attractive?? Stop dick riding for one fuckin’ second!”

“What’s with you and dicks? You wish it was you?” In all your years of being friends, you never were at the point of making sex jokes with him. Now, they seem to keep spilling out.

“I don’t know, you seem to know a lot about them!” He leans against the cool surface of the wall, tension radiating from his posture. His eyes, sharp and narrow, pierce through the dim light, filled with accusation.

“God, fuck you!” You let out a derisive laugh, a sharp sound that hangs in the air, as you avert your eyes from him.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He leans forward, his voice getting deeper. You still refuse to look at him. “Me taking you, right here in this closet?” His tone is teasing, dark. It’s meant to be a joke, played off as something just to get under your skin. But his eyes gleam with challenge.

You turn your head back to Ryan, your lips almost brushing against his, the tension heavy. He slid closer during the chaos of the fight, his body trapping you in. Cologne envelopes you like a blanket, your heart hammering in your chest.

“And what if I did?” For just a split second, Ryan’s eyes widen, his pupils blowing.

Just as you’re about to fight your own words, you suddenly feel the warmth of his lips pressing against yours. A firm hand grips your waist, drawing you closer until you find yourself nestled between his legs. Instinctively, your hands push against his chest, seeking balance as your heart races. The kiss breaks, and his eyes meet yours—glossy and unfocused.

You’re nestled between his legs, the warmth radiating from him grounding you as your fingers rest gently on his broad chest. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing softly against your skin. “Shit—I'm sorry—” he stammers, just as shocked as you are, even though he’s the one who started it.

Confusion swirls within you as you try to grasp the reality of what just happened. Your eyes search for answers, but all you find is a wide-eyed stare that mirrors your own bewilderment. His lips part slightly, as if he might speak, yet silence continued to hang heavily between you.

Within a few heartbeats, you pull his lips back towards you, teeth hitting his. The kiss is all teeth, desperate and intense. He gasps against you, hands wrapping around your waist to steady your body against his own. Underneath you, he crosses his legs, pulling you into his lap, causing you to yelp.

Hands finding the back of his neck, you tangle your fingers into the thick hair at his nape. He groans softly, tongue flicking across your bottom lip, seeking entrance. Obliging, you part your lips, inviting him in. With another groan, his tongue finds yours, tasting toothpaste and something sweet.

You whimper softly, eyebrows pulling together. He pulls at your hair, giving himself access to the side of your neck. Tongue sliding against your jaw, he peppers kisses along the sharp bone. Shaky breaths escape your lips with each press of his lips. For years, a part of you wondered what the curve of his mouth would feel like against your neck.

But, now, in the present? It was better than anything you could ever conjure up in your head. A nip of his teeth at your pulse point pulls you out of your thoughts. “Fuck…” Soft whines and whimpers leave your throat, matching the rhythm of Ryan’s lips against you.

All of your movements cease as he wraps your legs around his waist, pressing his hips against yours. You pull back, blinking down at him. Through all the fabric, you feel something pressing against your core. Your gaze is drawn to where your bodies meet, as you gape at the noticeable bulge in his jeans. 

“See what you do to me?” Ryan groans out, grinding his hips up slowly, the friction making you bite your lip. In real time, you can feel him harden beneath you. Despite your many fantasies, you’d never imagined this. Ryan was just your best friend. The kid who used to bathe in pink bubbles. Never once did the thought that he even had a dick crossed your mind.

Now, sitting right on top of him, knowing you did that to him, your brain goes fuzzy. All thoughts are thrown out the window, your head filling with pure lust. Testing the waters, you grind against his jeans, watching each twitch of his face. 

Large hands slide down your body, grabbing a handful of your ass. Ryan pulls you harder against him, guiding your hips with his hands. Each movement causes fabric to rub against your clit, your fingers digging further into his bicep. He readjusts, spreading his legs apart for you, his hand bracing on the floor behind him. 

The feeling in your stomach tightens with each calculated roll of his hips. As much as you want all of him, the feeling is intoxicating. Neither of you can bring yourself to stop—even to strip. Ryan’s groans fill the closet, mixing with your escalating whimpers. The coil within you twists into knots, your hips jerking with each movement.

Ryan keeps you steady, making sure he’s hitting all the right spots. You feel your panties sticking to you, soaking straight through your too-tight shorts. Looking down, you see the denim on Ryan’s jeans darken. He doesn’t seem to mind, instead nipping at your collarbone.

“Ryan- Please,” you whimper, legs beginning to tremble softly. He leans back to look at you, grunting as he rolls his hips harder.

“Please what? You wanna come, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice mocking. All his movements stop, his fingers digging into your ass. You sneer at him, your eyebrows knitting tightly together in frustration. Heat throbs uncomfortably at your core. “Use your words.”

“Fuck you!” You spit venom at his face, your forehead pressed against his as your chest heaves. A low chuckle rumbles in Ryan’s throat, his fingers squeezing your hips. His bruising grip foils any attempt to move. 

“Come on, I know you have it in you,” he urges, rolling his hips slightly, bringing you teetering over the edge. Whimpers leave your lips, frustration bubbling deep within you. He wants you to beg? Fine, you’ll fucking beg.

“Please,” you breathe out softly, biting your lip, eyelashes batting. Ryan shakes his head, seeing right through your little act. He holds you still for what feels like hours, not satisfied with any of your answers. You can tell he needs a release too, but it’s obvious how much the ‘sick fuck’ is enjoying it.

“Please, Ryan,” you whimper, desperation leaking into your voice. Your resolve crumbles as you lose yourself in a blind desperation.

“Please, please…” you repeat, over and over, pure lust crowding your vision. Never in your fucking life–especially not in the last year–did you expect to be pleading with Ryan Baker to make you come. But here you are, panties soaked, face painted with crimson, planted right on top of his dick.

Finally, he deems your pleading good enough and he continues his movements, this time moving deeper. Slower. Within a few moments, your legs tighten around his waist almost painfully. You throw your head back, your mouth open in a silent scream. He watches you tremble with a smirk on his face, your body jerking on top of him violently. 

Obviously, his teasing was too much for you. Each time he brought you close to the edge, it just increased your sensitivity. Still, he rides you through your orgasm, his hips chasing yours, seeking his own release. Face twisting, he bites down on your neck, marking you as his. As he bites down, he groans through his teeth, hips jolting up. Wetness spreads beneath your ass, the evidence of his orgasm clear, even through his jeans.

You pull back to look into his eyes, still catching your breath. In the dim light of the closet, he looks fucking gorgeous. Strands of thick black hair fell over his forehead, his lips plump and smeared in lip gloss. Inside the walls of the closet, it’s only him. No Rightmart, no Bobby, no John Carver. Just him.

Basking in the moment for just a second, you press your lips softly against his. Maybe you’ll never forgive him, but as your legs continue to tremble, your feelings inevitably begin to change. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, sneakers slap on the floor just outside the closet.

Both your heads snap over to the door, pure fear cascading down on you, pulling you out of your fantasy. The doorknob twists, the harsh sound reverberating deep in your soul. Neither of you makes an effort to move, frozen in fear. What can you do? Beat him with a wet mop?

Suddenly something snaps and the door swings open, causing the person on the other side to stumble slightly. As the fluorescent light pours into the stuffy dimly lit room, your eyes widen. On the other side, your entire friend group gapes, way past dumbfounded.

Jess stares down at you both, her jaw hanging open. There was no getting out of this.

Eyes flicker over Ryan’s tousled hair. His lips, glistening with Cherry gloss, draw attention like a magnet before the group's gaze settles on the large damp patch spreading across the fabric of his jeans. As if your being caught sitting on his fucking lap wasn’t damning enough, they continue to stare blankly at you both, inspecting you like Sherlock fucking Holmes.

In a few heartbeats, chaos erupts. 

“Ew! What the fuck!” Gabby yells, her voice rising by almost 4 octaves.

“I thought you hated him!” Jess says, tearing her eyes away, obviously too uncomfortable to even process what’s going on. “Does getting chased by a fucking serial killer turn you guys on?!” Evan runs a hand through his hair, genuinely shocked, a state you’ve never seen him in before. “Y’all are fuckin’ freaks!” Scuba laughs wildly, clapping his hands as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

Yulia just stays silent. You knew always liked her the best for a reason.

As your friends continue to hound you both, you slowly stand up, Ryan following suit. He follows behind you like a puppy, earning a clap on the back by Scuba. Jess shakes her head at you, too lost to even be disappointed. 

You both do the walk of shame through the hallway, pants uncomfortably soaked through. As you shuffle your feet, your friends laugh and elbow you in the ribs. Ryan steals a few glances, sporting a smug smirk.

Dick.

Still, you can't help but smile back.

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

___________________________🫧

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 the 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.

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!

Death Star - Ben Plunkett

all dividers cred: @cafekitsune

Pair: Ben Plunkett x fem!reader

Description: When Y/N and Ben entered senior year, they were optimistic. For Y/N, it was one last year to survive and then she was free. But for Ben, this was his last opportunity to make a name for himself. His goals were clear; get accepted into any college, ask his dream girl to prom, and become prom king. Y/N's goals weren't so simple, considering the only person she could see herself going to prom with is head over heels for LaToya Reynolds. Y/N is seemingly forgotten once Ben prom-poses to LaToya and can't seem to get a moment of his time anymore. When prom rolls around, Ben and Y/N are forced to confront the new space between them.

Warnings: fairly angsty, mostly fluffy, swearing, arguing and making up, overbearing mom <3

WC: 1.9k

A/N: Don't you love it when it takes you months to get the motivation to start writing again and then it doesn't live up to your standards? 😃😮‍💨

ben plunkett masterlist × main masterlist

"Breathe in...breathe out..." Y/N held her breath in sync with the audio. She was currently going for the record for the longest headache held in 24 hours. She had tried everything. Hydrating, taking a nap, taking a shower, and now, meditation. It was her mother who had sparked the throbbing pain pounding against her cranium. Of course, Y/N had brought this upon herself in a way. Telling her mother, who was prom queen back in her day, that she no longer wanted to attend the prom was her first mistake. Her second mistake was not sprinting out of the house the minute those words fell from her lips. Even if she had somehow escaped the conversation, she had no where to go. Her best friend, whom she had been avoiding most desperately, wasn't someone she could talk to anymore. Not since the prom-posal. Since Ben Plunkett, the man she had been pining after since they were 13, had asked LaToya Reynolds, the woman he'd been pining after since they were 14, to prom, she had become a ghost to him. Not a single text was returned until at least 3 days after it was sent, no more midnight phone calls, no more snack runs, no more bookstore, movies, waffles, and no more death star.

Something shifted the last time they spoke. It was a quick phone call, curt and nothing special. It was a Friday night, he was apologizing for ditching their plans. It was a tradition they had, the bookstore-movies-waffles thing they did every Friday night. Even before either of them could drive or knew anything about quality cinema. It was theirs and only theirs until it wasn't. His apology was absentminded and rushed, she could hear LaToya in the background telling him to hurry up. The call ended after about 2 minutes, cutting her protests short and gripping her in the stomach with a sharp pain she didn't recognize. After that night, Ben made no effort to return her calls or even talk to her in school. He sat with the Everests and waited on LaToya hand and foot. She wasn't sure what hurt more, the fact that she lost her best friend or that he didn't even seem upset about it. She was torn apart, throat becoming bone-dry every time she saw them together, her heart racing in her ears from both frustration and embarrassment.

Her mother had insisted that she reconsider her decision but Y/N stood firm. Even Mandy begged her to go with her and Graham but there was no swaying her. She was sick at the idea of attending prom or being anywhere near Ben or anyone else for that matter. So here she was, the night before prom, with no dress, no date, and no appetite. She chewed her lips and willed the headache away (or prayed to be put out of her misery). When she and Ben were younger, they would talk about how they were on the same wavelength. That somehow their thoughts were linked, telepathically or spiritually. They knew when one needed the other. Now, Y/N was sure that idea was nothing but a childish notion. She turned her head to the side to examine her bedroom, littered with memories and moments she wanted so badly to go back to. She stood up and felt lightheaded from a combination of crying and basically not moving all day. It was the last Friday she had before graduation next week and she was spending it reminiscing.

She walked over to her nightstand where there stood a gigantic Lego Death Star, unfinished. She and Ben had planned on finishing it before the school year ended. She picked it up carefully and took in every detail, it had taken them the last year to get as close as they were now. They had decided not to glue the pieces down in case they ever wanted to start over, she smiled down at their efforts and, just for a second, allowed herself to miss Ben. That's when she heard her doorbell ring, her mother was always very quick to invite her friends over and allow them to grace her daughter with their sage advice which often consisted of them telling Y/N how much she was breaking her mother's heart over a seemingly meaningless argument or difference in opinion. She heard the creak of the stairs, placing the death star back on her nightstand and moving to open the door. Ben beat her to it and slowly popped his head into the room. The silence was deafening.

Ben walked fully into the room and shut the door behind him. The lump in her throat was impossible to swallow, anything she had to say to him was gone now. So he cleared his throat and decided he would start. "I'm sorry." He chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "I probably should've called. I just..." Y/N maintained eye contact, begging him to make this right. "This is weird right?" She nodded and patted the bed, urging him to sit next to her. He trudged over and sat down, sighing. "I know...I fucked up." There's a pause, a comfortable silence. "I don't why but...I broke it off with LaToya." She finally met his eyes. "You did what? Why? What happened?" He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. "Is she okay?" He nodded, avoiding eye contact. "She took it surprisingly well. In her words she 'saw it coming' and that I 'needed to see you.' She's actually pretty great." Her face became red, she didn't know what to say or how to react. "But the whole time I was with her, something was so off." I held a bubble in my mouth. "She had hot breath? Bad kisser? Glass eye?" He finally laughed. "Not exactly. Everything about her was great." She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"So what was it?" He finally turned to her, fully facing her and smiling like a dork. "Guess." He said softly. It was then that Y/N realized just how close they were. "Did she...have bad taste in music?" The air was buzzing, something was pulling them towards each other. "No." His hands were clammy. He had known immediately what LaToya meant when she said that he needed to Y/N. Every date, every kiss, he was somewhere else. His heart wasn't in it, not because of LaToya, but because of Y/N. But how could he be so stupid? He finally had exactly what he wanted, the girl he'd been infatuated with for years, and he couldn't have been more unhappy. "Did she...chew with her mouth open?" Ben shook his head and smiled knowingly. "Not really." He replied, coming to the conclusion that she wasn't gonna get it. Little did he know, she had butterflies from the anticipation. She wanted desperately for him to tell her why he was here with her rather than with LaToya. LaToya knew why, she had known about a week into dating Ben. The reason they weren't together was because of her. LaToya wasn't mad, she wasn't upset, she was understanding, which only made Ben feel like a bigger dick for not giving her what she deserved.

"I give up. Tell me. What was it?" He wiped his hands on his pants and looked nervous. "She wasn't you." He said, voice shaky. Y/N stayed quiet, but a smile played on her lips. "What?" Her face was on fire, she wasn't sure how to speak anymore. Ben wasn't sure what to say next. They sat there in silence, a weight in the room, a pressure for someone to do something, say something. Ben wanted so badly for her to respond or react in some way, even if it was negative. Y/N felt nervousness fill her chest. "She didn't make me laugh, or make me nervous. There was no... spark. Do you ever-" He cut himself off by rubbing his eyes in frustration. He was struggling to express what he had felt, what words could he use? "I thought I knew what I wanted." Y/N was seeing stars. Ben was wringing his hands in concern. Never, in any conversation they'd ever had, had she been so quiet. "Do you?" She finally spoke, "Know what you want?" All they could do was look at each other. All it took was one look to his lips from Y/N and Ben crumbled.

His hand held her cheek, leaning in to place a sweet, short kiss on her lips. When their lips connected, Y/N remembered the first time she had held his hand. They had decided to go see a horror movie with a murderous clown and cheap jump scares. One jump scare in specific got her and, out of fear (and maybe something else), she had grabbed Ben's wrist to ground herself. She recalled how he laughed at her and grabbed her hand, locking fingers with hers. For him, it was probably nothing. But for her, it was the start of something so much more. Although the the interaction was short, Ben had always wondered about that night in the theater. Did she mean to grab him? His thoughts always raced when he thought about their little touches like that. When she laughed, she'd lean against him and grab his arm (he made sure to make her laugh every chance he got). When she was bored, she'd lean her head against his shoulder or wrap her arms around his neck. Until this moment, he always figured her touches were strictly platonic. He never thought about the possibility that there was more behind each look. Her lips tasted like cotton candy against his. When he felt her return the kiss, his lips curled into a smile.

Though the kiss was short, their palms were sweaty and heads were spinning. As Ben parted from the kiss, he was stuck in place and grinning like an idiot. Y/N couldn't look at him, he looked so goofy. She burst into laughter and laid her head on his chest, trying her best to suppress her fits of snorts. Ben fell back on the bed in bliss, there was no overthinking this part. He quickly got up and grabbed his backpack. Y/N looked at him, red from the laughs and head pounding from a mix of blush and shock. He unzipped his bag and pulled out a piece of paper and a red marker. He placed the paper on her desk and began to write. "What are you doing?" Ben always had random moments of genius, but he considered this to be his best idea yet. When he was done scribbling away on his paper, he held up on display for Y/N to read. There, in red ink, read the word 'Prom?' in bold letters with little red hearts all around it. She examined the paper and beamed, "Yes..." Ben fisted pumped the air and tackled her in a hug, slamming them both onto her bed. "Wait!" Y/N quickly sat up in the bed. "What?" The boy shot up next to her. "What am I gonna wear?" Just then, her mother barged in with a puffy pink and purple dress, perfect for the 80's theme, and a cheesy smile on her face. "Already covered!!"

love story - ben plunkett

summary: the love story of you and your dorky best friend, ben plunkett || warnings: none || genre: fluff || word count: approximately 450

first thing i thought of is his little blue ford fiesta lol

you were always in that thing with him

cause he was always driving you places

but he didn't mind

he liked doing that

besides, whenever you were in the car with him

it almost always ended with karaoke sessions

the two of you singing your heart out embarrassingly loudly to the most random songs

people in the other cars on the street would give you guys looks

but neither of you cared

you were too busy having fun

enjoying each others company

then, he'd take you on "friend dates"

you called it "friend dates" but he never did

he actually got obviously flustered whenever you called it that

and after you realized you'd developed feelings for him

you could never look at the name or the thing itself the same

okay, back to the “friend dates”

he and you would watch a movie every friday and then eat at a diner in town

it was your little tradition

whenever you’d go to the diner, you guys would attempt to try everything on the menu

and eventually you guys would

but it'd definitely take some time

neither of you were very popular

and when people did see you guys, you were always together

so... everyone thought you guys were dating

neither of you even realized that before some popular kid came up to you guys and was all like "no nuts plunkett has a girlfriend?"

it was so awkward between you twofor the rest of the day tbh

but when he picked you up to bring you to school the next morning.. it was just like normal

when prom came around, you weren't exactly planning on going

but when you could tell that ben lowkey wanted to go

you asked him to go with you

as friends, of course

he smiled and said "yes"

and when prom finally came, you were both embarrassingly dressed very '80s for the prom theme that literally no one even followed

he started dancing with you since he could see you looking at all of the couples, wishing you could dance with someone

and when he was dancing with you, he leaned down and kissed you

and you kissed back

after a few seconds, you both pulled away

you were in shock about what just happened

he was blushing

"i- i'm- i shouldn't have-" he started

"ben!" you said, making him stop

"ben, i like you" you told him

he dorkily smiled at you

"i like you too" he said back before softly kissing you again

and that is the love story of you and your dorky best friend, ben plunkett

ᥫ᭡ link to my masterlist

Tongue Twister

summary: a PWP drabble highlighting Wally Clark's addiction to eating your pussy like a man possessed.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. oral sex (cunnilingus).

bon reading, frens

___________________________🔷

Fuck. God. Wally's starving for it. Can practically taste it through your panties as he nuzzles his face against you, his eyes rolling back, lips parting as he pants like a fucking dog for it.

He forgot his History homework, football practice ran late, Simon needed a ride. It was all in all a stressful day, and then Wally was on his way home like a good boy when the craving struck. T-boned his limbic system and made him rabid for it. For you.

He didn't give you a chance. No politesse; no greeting; no indication whatsoever that this was where today's drop-in was going. At least Wally called (when he was already at your front door, licking his chops as he fantasized about tasting you). It felt like it was years and not the handful of hours it was since he last had you, the itch steadily barreling toward fucking rampage.

As soon as you answered the door, he crowded you back inside to the couch; shoved you seated and stripped you from the waist down without a word. Dropped to his knees at the altar, large hands spread your legs, and now there he is, making out with your pussy through thin cotton, moaning like the position is reversed.

"Baby," He whines, fingers hooked in the elastic of your panties, "Please, let me—" He gently sucks your clit through the fabric, tongues through the imprint of your folds, "Please, let me taste you, baby. I can't—" He cuts himself off with a hungry groan as he peels your panties down and off your legs.

Oh fuck, the weak little moan you release makes his head spin and his cock throb, and in an instant, he pulls you to the floor with him. You straddle his waist as he kisses you senseless, his hands on your thighs directing you upward.

"Want you to sit on my face, baby, come on," His tone begging, his eyes heavy-lidded and hot, so soulfully sweet that you can't say no. Wally rambles as you adjust, pussy hovering over his mouth, and oh God yes, he's so close to getting what he wants. "I need it so bad, I can't get enough, I need to taste you, baby..."

His big hands slide up your thighs to grip your ass, squeezing to encourage you to settle your weight on his face. He can take it, just let him, fuck, please, just let him. Once he has you where he needs you, he inhales deeply, groans in pleasure when your scent fills his nostrils. His cock throbs again, aching for you, for this. He wants you more than food, water, oxygen. More than anything.

Wally closes his eyes, fingers digging into your flesh, and he finally leans in. Presses his tongue flat against your slit and inhales again. He tastes your soft lips, kisses you gently, and chokes out a needy whimper. Fuck, you're so wet for him. And you taste so fucking good; heavenly nectar, sweet ambrosia, it's all he ever wants to taste again.

His brain melts completely when you start to grind against his mouth, and, yeah, that's it baby, just like that, take what you want. Those pretty sighs and tight whines that spill out of you make his cock twitch in his jeans and he humps the air, so fucking desperate to alleviate the ache, but unwilling to do anything about it until he's satisfied you. He grips your ass more firmly, holding you down as his tongue darts in and out, probes as deep as he can get it.

Wally wants to say your name, but all he can manage like this is a long, feverish groan; blissed-out gibberish that he spells on your clit with the pointed tip of his tongue before returning to kiss your pussy deeply, lovingly, with restless obsession.

You taste so damn good that he can't think. He groans into you again, his tongue moving in and out, teasing and exploring as he tries to get deeper. His hands knead your ass in a possessive, wanting grasp, like he's eager to keep you there above him, like he never wants this to end. He needs you so fucking badly now and always.

"Wally, oh fuck, you're gonna make me come..." And he can feel how close you are, your thighs trembling as you rub your pussy against his mouth. Every shiver and shake accentuated by a sweet moan or whimper that goes straight to his cock. He wants more of those sounds. Every single one of them.

He quiets, low moans replaced by heavy breathing as he works you toward the edge. He's so hard just from this; craving your touch, yearning for it, his lust consuming any hope of rational thought. He presses a little harder, tongue moving faster and more desperately, wanting to please you as much as he can. Wanting you to fucking use him as much as he needs you to.

"Please, Wally, I'm so close!"

F u u u c k, that plea, that tone, triggers him; makes him plunge his tongue deeper as he presses you down and holds you still. The sounds you make and the way you react to his ministrations—God, he promises to be so fucking good for the rest of his life so long as he always has this. It's almost enough to make him come in his jeans. He needs to hear you fall apart. Needs to be the reason it happens. And he knows just how to do it.

Wally pulls his tongue out of you long enough to say, "Come for me, baby, let me have it, please." Doesn't give you a chance to respond before he leans in again, tongue flicking your clit, lips and teeth grazing over it. A deep moan of pure longing escapes him as he sucks and swirls his tongue over your clit, his breathing ragged, cheeks flushed, oh God, he needs you to fucking soak his mouth and chin.

Finally, yes, baby, he laps up your sweet juices when you come, sobbing in pleasure as he drinks it all down. Slurps and groans greedily, tongue working you until you plead for him to stop, too much, I can't—Jesus, he loves having the evidence of how he makes you feel on his face.

"Mmm, thank you," He sighs as he pats your hip, signaling for you to rise so he's able to shift positions. Wally sits up, gathers you in his arms, and licks his lips, the inside of his jeans wet where his come stained the denim. He looks down at you with a lopsided, sated grin, his eyes still at half-mast.

"Feel better?" You ask through a hazy smile.

"Much better." He murmurs. Rubs his hands up and down your legs as he gazes at you like a 5-star buffet.

🔷___________________________

also on AO3!

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Alphabet Soup.

smut. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several non-linear stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.(Janet and Wally are dating to increase their social value. meanwhile, Wally wants to get closer to her step-sister. you.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MILO MANHEIM 💗💗🥳🥳🎂🍰

teehee

Milo Manheim 🤍

Teen Vogue Magazine (2025)

happy birthday Milo Manheim 💔

OMG IT'S OFFICIAL I MIGHT BE LATE FOR THIS BUT I DON'T FUCKING CAREEEEE

(gotta wait until 2026 though and that makes me sad)

BUT STILL HAPPY😆😍😘

"They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly." - "Guilty As Sin?", Taylor Swift

Oh young love so beautiful

Lets appreciate Wally, here.

He's hot, he's nice, he's sweet, what more can she ask for? So I ended the last season today,

warning: very likely to cry.

I cried obviously bc I'm a crybaby and always have been but I'm actually extremely sentitive to TV shows. Here's some shows and movies I've cried over:

Descendants. Might be weird, might not.

Zombies. Like, MILO AND MEG SLAYED

School Spirits. My babies.

HSMTMTS. Yep, a HSM fan right here.

Coco. Who doesn't cry on that one?

Gilmore Girls. My fav together with School Spirits obv.

Harry Potter nr 7. Uh, yeah.

Probably have mlr but anyways, I just realized that Peyton List (Maddie) is Emma in Jessie? Didn't know that...

Anyways. Can we just take a moment to appreciate what this man has done for Maddie? Love them both.

Wally Clark

Just me or is Wally also my husband???

Can't stop thinking abt school sprits tb

I think about it when I'm sleeping, when I'm awake. When I get home and when I'm at stake😭

met milo manheim today after his little shop show and good lord im having some sort of post concert depression but for meeting him and i fear ill never recover

I have never made a post before but I feel like this is something I have to do because it is really annoying me!

I recently discovered Milo Manheim after watching Disney's Z-O-M-B-I-E-S and found him so charming as Zed. I looked into him a bit more and watched interviews and videos of him on YouTube and he is like the sweetest most wholesome celebrity out there! Then I came across the Zionism accusations and the first thing I did (as any normal person should do rather than just believing everything they read) I did my research and was glad to find that these were all lies and rumours being spread. I want to make it super clear that Milo is Jewish but not all Jewish people follow or support Zionism. Let me take this opportunity to show that Milo Manheim is NOT an horrible, heartless genocide supporting Zionist as some people think.

First of all, the "proof" that people use as evidence has no merit at all!

"Proof" number 1: "My heart goes out to all the people affected by the attacks in Israel". Milo posted this the day after the infamous events of October 7th showing sympathy to the hostages and the people killed by Hamas. The war between Israel and Hamas had not stared yet. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that! How does that show he is a Zionist and a supporter of genocide? It doesn't!!!

"Proof" number 2: He works with organisations that aim to tackle antisemitism which apparently are also Zionist organizations. He is working with these to stop antisemitism not to spread Zionism. Of course he is going to be working with organisations to stop antisemitism he is Jewish for crying out loud! Someone also said that the fact he is working with director Eli Roth who is a Zionist means that Milo is also a Zionist. This is just stupid.

Someone made a post on Twitter/X saying Milo has been posting Israeli propaganda which is so false!

People are also mad at him because he hasn't said anything about Palestine. That doesn't mean he doesn't care. Perhaps he doesn't want to talk about the war. We don't know him and we don't know his thoughts as he never said what he truly thinks. We cannot make assumptions. He supports lots of charities aiming to improve people's lives and is an advocate for teen suicide prevention so obviously he cares about humans suffering. He is not heartless.

It is so sad and upsetting to see so much hate and lies being spread as if people think by hating on him they are better than him. Are the celebrities supporting Palestine but are also antisemitic better than him? No! Milo has never hated on anyone so newsflash haters you are not better than him. Milo is very vocal about spreading kindness. It is also very disappointing to see his own fans giving up on him without bothering to find out if what is said about him is true or not. I am pretty sure a lot of this has stemmed from antisemitism as nobody had a problem with him until the war started. Now everyone seems to hate Jews and I find that absolutely disgusting! I will also support and defend Milo because he is not what people think he is (unless he does or says something that suggest otherwise). I have now made it my mission to clear up this situation because Milo does not deserve this. Sorry for the rant but this upsets me. People don't realise the impact it could have on his mental health.

Also someone on tumblr said Milo supported a post baby ariel made mocking free Palestine but when I searched it up I couldn't find that post anywhere it. The person shared a photo (which was just Milo commenting a heart and Ariel replying back with hearts which doesn't mean anything Ariel and Milo are friends) but it did not show the actual post. I don't know what that is about maybe someone can enlighten me.

He also voted for Kamala Harris in the presidential elections and one of her promises was to secure a hostage and ceasefire deal between I srael and Hamas.

Sidenote since we are talking about the Israel Hamas War: I truly feel sympathy for the Palestinians and the hostages and people killed by Hamas. I pray for everyone affected by the war. However, hating/blocking celebrities who support Israel or haven't spoken in support of Palestine will do nothing to help stop the war. The celebrities supporting Israel want the hostages home and Hamas gone. They don't want genocide unless the openly dehumanise or hate on the Palestinians. People shouldn't be harassing celebrities for this as they can not do anything. It is the politicians who have the power to end the war.

CURRENTLY WORKING ON THE SECOND PART OF THE WALLY CLARK X MALE! READER STORY!! IM LOCKING INNN.

OK. I REEAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLYYYYYYY WANNA WRITE SMTHIN AB STEVE HARRINGTON OR WALLY CLARK. SOMEONE SEND ME REQUESTS I BEG OF THEE😔

guys... GUYS.... THEY'RE LITERALLY THE SAME PERSON????- WHY HAS NO ONE TALKED ABOUT THIS WHAT. HELLOOOO??

hi. my thoughts on the season finale for school spirits (!obvious spoilers btw, don't read if you haven't seen episode 8!)

HEY SO. WHAT THE FUCK GUYS. IS SIMON DEAD OR DID HE SOMEHOW LEAVE HIS BODY??? WHAT THE HELL. ALSO XAVIER CAN SEE GHOSTS NOW??? HOLY SHIT. ANOTHER THING. WALLY CAN'T CROSSOVER YET. NO WAY HE WOULDN'T. IM GONNA CRY IF HE CROSSES OVER. YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME PARAMOUNT. HOW DARE YOU PARAMOUNT. I NEED A SEASON 3 ASAP. NEOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!! 😡😡ANOTHER THING. PLEASSEEEE PUT QUINN AND RHONDA TOGETHER THAT'D ACTUALLY BE SO FREAKING CUTE OMFG. also happy b-day milo yippee <33 (yes ikr, two posts in one day this is crazyy for me. especially since i dont even post that much.)

I JUST SAW MILO MANHEIMS BARE BUTT. UM HELLO????

Cannot be bothered to complete my assignments but will write thousands of words for a fic in one night

Pushing it down and praying

Summary: I’m obsessed with Wally Clark and Lizzy McAlpine and this idea came to me a few weeks ago

Ship: Wally Clark x Reader???

Warning: Major angst, sexual content, drinking and you are lowkey morally grey.

Words: 4.6k

**not edited

It had been 4 months since the wretched night in September.

Unusual coldness filled the night air, irony to the heat felt deep within your soul, burning with heartbreak. Wally said he loved you, he really did, but he didn't think this was working anymore. But there was no doubt in your mind he was lying. You truly loved him with everything in you, and if he felt the same, he would never be able to stand here and so causally break your heart.

Every thought relied on his opinion. Every outfit you wore and every way you fixed your hair, consumed by his likeness to it. Every decision you made, wondering if Wally thought it was the smartest one. Every part of you was intertwined with him.

Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest way of thinking, but Wally was nothing but all consuming. And he felt the same.

Until he didn't.

He said this relationship just wasn't good for either of you anymore. That maybe you wanted two different things. Though, all you ever wanted was to be loved by him.

He held you as you cried. Close. Maybe because he knew it would be the last time. Tears stained your face when you begged him to tell you what you had done wrong. Pathetic sobs choked from your throat through promises that, "I'll change" and "Whatever you want, Wally, I'll do it". What had become so different between the two of you that it was relationship ending? You said you would change whatever he wanted about yourself to satisfy him, and you meant it.

Pathetic wasn't the word to describe the scene. But you were 18, and so in love. The world was ending, and you were sure of it. Death by a broken heart would be etched across your tombstone—your murderer? Wally Clark.

He sighed, painfully, an ache settling deep within his chest. He didn't want to do this, but he knew he had too. Gentle hands rubbed your back whispering that you did nothing wrong, and that you were a great girlfriend.

Were.

The past tense of it all eradicated you, not finding it possible that he was already so detached; seemingly so moved on from your relationship already. Bile burned the back of your throat, sickness swirling in your stomach.

Eyes low and dark, he looked down at you. Guilt manifested there, the gloss over his pupils serving as proof. They looked different now. Not the ones you used to know, for he was not the Wally you used to know anymore.

He felt just as lost, even if you could never believe it. It had been the hardest thing he had ever done. Breaking your heart on purpose hurt him deeply, but feeling you slowly drift away killed him. The end was inevitable, high school relationships didn't last forever. He wanted to end it before you both hated each other and would think back on this relationship with a sour taste in your mouths.

Truth be told, you and Wally had been fighting a lot. It seemed like no matter the issue—big or small, you guys were now constantly butting heads. Everything ended in a disagreement, with you storming off and him running a few laps around his neighborhood to blow off steam.

When football practice ran late and he had arrived to your house at 6:12 instead of 6 on the dot, it was a problem. Or when you were going to make the two of you late to your plans, knee deep in a bottle of hairspray because your hair wouldn't sit right, it was "totally inconsiderate" of other peoples time.

Point was, things that you two would before laugh about, turned into instant bickering and short term grudges. But every relationship had problems. Not one seemed to large to work through for you, but apparently to Wally, they were.

The car ride home was one that you wished to forget. Bumps in the road made your already unsettled stomach twist with nausea. Time seemed to drag, the short ride from his house to yours feeling no less than a century long. Black stretched across the night sky, and you wished to fall into a black hole on your own.

His car, his scent, the insignificant items of yours scattered through his car, like the scrunchie you kept in the passenger side door—they all felt haunted now. The ghost of your first love a fear much greater than you anticipated.

Micheal Jackson played softly through the speakers of his '81 mustang. Memories of you two dancing to the same song burned through your brain, knowing that when you exited this car, it would all be in the past. Now, the only dancing the two of you did was around the fact things would never be the same.

When he pulled up to the front of your house, your heart tightened in your chest. You wanted to scream. To tell him to put the car in reverse and take you back to his house, so you could have a sleepover, like you always did on Friday nights after a game. But you didn't. You let the hot, wet tears stream down your face as you looked at him one last time. He was right there—only a foot away, yet the farthest he had ever been.

He let himself out of the drivers side, walking around to the passenger side to open your door for you like he had so many times. Regret coursed through his veins as he watched you walk up to your front door, quickly disappearing into the house he too knew like the back of his hand. He thought maybe he jumped the gun too quickly. His mind hadn't been in the right place for weeks. With it being his senior year, football was all-consuming. The pressure of getting a scholarship almost as debilitating as the pressure from his own mother. But it was too late now; your front door was closed and you were gone.

Heart heavy in his chest, he closed his eyes, wondering if he had made the right decision. He only drove off when he saw the light of your bedroom flick on, knowing you were safe in your room. He was always good like that.

—————————————————————————

You met Chris Sumner a month after your heart had been ripped from your chest. Well, you had always known him. He had attended Split River with you all these years, but your conversations had always been minimal.

Throat still tingling from shot you and your friend had taken just a few moments ago, he had offered to get you another drink. It was obviously a ploy to talk to you, as your newly gathered drink sat basically untouched in your left hand. You eyed the mystery liquid in your cup, offering him a small smile before setting it down beside you.

"Sure." You nodded, watching as his smile grew. He too eyed the cup beside you, content that his poorly thought out plan to talk to you had worked.

Him taking your hand in his surprised you, but you didn't pull it back. Instead you walked hand in hand with this boy across Jenny Parker's crowded basement, practically the whole class of '84 accompanying the room. You cursed yourself when the immediate thought that ran through your brain was how different his hand felt than Wally's. It had been a whole month since you felt his touch, but the feeling of him was tattooed throughout every inch of your skin, like a disease you couldn't get rid of.

Guilt hit you like a ton of bricks when you locked eyes with Wally across the party. He was talking to his best friend, Micheal, a half drank beer clutched in his hand that most certainly wasn't the one intertwined with yours. You watched as his smile faltered for only a second before he repositioned his body more toward his friend, effectively blocking himself from the scene before him.

You would never, ever cheat on Wally, but this felt like the closest thing to it. It felt like you had wronged him, committing the ultimate betrayal. It wasn't like you were talking to Chris against your own will, you wanted to, just didn't want Wally to see it. Even though he had quite literally shattered your heart, you had no interest in breaking his.

You lead Chris outside, away from the wandering eyes and the whispers of your classmates. Out of Wally's sight. He watched as the two of you disappeared out of the back door.

The rest of his beer was gone with one long swig.

Talking to Chris felt okay. You didn't know how else to explain it. He was sweet, thoughtful, it seemed. He made you laugh, and not just a pity laugh. Wasn't as douche-y as you once thought. He hadn't tried anything weird; he really seemed like he just wanted to get to know you. It felt nice.

So when he offered to drive you home that night, you let him. The two of you walking out to his car together didn't go unnoticed. Katie Murphy ran up, bangles clattering and hair bouncing.

"Leaving so soon?" She asked, obviously wearily looking between the two of you, analyzing the pairing in front of her. She always had a knack for being in everyone’s business.

"Yeah, Im not feeling so well, so Chris offered to give me a ride home." Was all you gave her, a small smile occupied your lie. You didn't know why it felt wrong to tell her the truth. You wanted to leave with him, you felt fine, so you weren't sure why the truth tasted so nasty in your mouth.

"Well have fun, you two." She winked at the two of you, Chris inhaling sharply at the gesture. She tightened the scrunchie that held up half of her hair—of course matching the shimmery blue that accompanied her eyelid—and turned away, practically skipping back into the party.

You would've bet all your money she was be-lining to Wally, telling him all about what she just witnessed. Most likely adding in things that definitely did not happen. If you could count on Katie for anything, it was to stretch the truth so much it became a lie, or just to simply make up a rumor in the name of gossip.

But you shouldn't care. Wally broke up with you after all, and you weren't doing nothing he wasn't aloud to do.

Chris suggested you guys leave, and it was only then you realized you were there, stuck, in the place Katie had left you. Staring at the door she disappeared in, fantasizing about what you were sure she was telling Wally. You nodded in response to Chris, climbing into a car that wasn't the one you had gotten so used to.

Giving him directions to your house felt strange, considering the first place Wally drove to when he got his license was your house. He had been talking it up for weeks, so excited to take you on a 'proper' date where neither of your parents had to drop you off and pick you up. 25 minutes early knocking on your bedroom door, too antsy to wait for you at the front door.

But that was all in the past now, and Chris was asking if your house was the one with the brick, or the blue shutters.

"I had fun tonight." He said softly, just as your hand made contact with the door handle. Moonlight shined on his face, his expression kind. You offered him a small smile.

"So did I." It wasn't a lie. Even after after all the memories that came flooding back of Wally and a side of guilt, you did have a good night with Chris. If you didn't want to talk to him, you wouldn't.

Since your breakup with Wally went public, which only took until about second period of that following Monday, several boys had tried to talk to you.  Standing your ground had never been an issue, and you had no problem telling those boys no. Chris wasn't pushy, or had an obvious agenda to just get you in the bedroom, and you liked that. It was the bare minimum, but at the same time, you hadn't met many boys your age that surpassed it.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" One foot already on the pavement, he blurted quickly. You quickly pulled yourself back in the car, shutting the door with a laugh.

"Me and Jenny are going to the mall at 11:30, but after that, nothing." He nodded, looking to either side of him.

"Would you want to go out to dinner, I could pick you up at 6? Or if you don't want to, that's fine; I know things are kinda," he coughed, "fresh between you and Wally—" His awkwardness was adorable, but you didn't need him to ramble on and explain himself to give him an answer.

"Yes, Chris, that would be really nice." Relief washed over him, scared he came off too strong too soon. Over you too, as you didn't expect the words to come out so easily.

He smiled, and soon enough the two of you had been talking for another 30 minutes. About what restaurants you liked to go to, your favorite spots around Split River, and what stores you and Jenny were planning to stop in come tomorrow afternoon.

When you yawned for the third time, Chris figured it was time to call it a night. Walking through your front door, you tuned to give him a wave. Through the darkness, you could still see that he was looking at you. Chris waved back, white teeth glowing in the midnight air. Quietly shutting your front door behind you, you smiled.

Proud of yourself, as you never saw yourself being so okay committing to a date with a boy that wasn't Wally. It felt quick, but was there ever really a good time?

That same smile fell quickly when as if like clock work, the second you took a step into your house, the landline echoed, the ringtone especially piercing in the middle of the night. You cursed as you tip toed over to it in record time, not wanting it to wake your parents. Whatever lunatic calling at this hour better have had a good reason.

"Hello?!" You answered, most likely sounding more frantic that you intended to be.

The voice that came through the speaker was undoubtedly Wally. Slurring the nickname only he called you, the one that would take anyone else a second to even register that it stemmed from your name. It was silly, but he had called you it since you were kids. Heart clenching, you shut your eyes in defeat.

Defeat in the way that the alcohol laced word could've made you cancel your date with Chris in a heartbeat.

Maybe you weren't as okay as you thought.

"Wally, what you doing? And where are you? You sound wasted." You couldn't help but be worried. Wally loved to party just as much as the next person, and had the tendency to take it a bit too far sometimes. You couldn't even count the amount of times you two had sat on the bathroom floor, him hunched over the toilet as you rubbed his back. Gross, but true.

"At home. But I'm about to come get you." Hiccups interrupted his slurred speech and you wondered when he had gotten so drunk. Sharply inhaling, you knew this had to do with him seeing you with Chris.

"The hell you are not. You can't drive like this, do not even think about it." You whisper yelled into the phone, overly cautious of your volume, knowing your parents were light sleepers. You didn't want to deal with the questions your parents would have if they heard this conversation.

"Swear I will." He mumbled into the phone, probably not even knowing what he was swearing to. The worst part? If he was sober, calling for the first time in a month, you might've just let him come get you. But he broke your heart, didn't even try to work on your relationship before calling a year in a half quits over a few meaningless fights. As much love you had for him, there was just as much anger where that came from.

"No you won't. Go to bed." You took the phone away from your ear, getting ready to set it down. Just before it hit the little button that would cause it to hang up, you pulled it back to your ear. "And drink some water." You finished, setting the phone down with more force than you intended. He was mumbling something when brought the phone back to your ear, but you didn't stay to hear it.

Because he didn't stay when things got rocky.

You stayed up by the phone for a week straight after he broke up with you, hoping he would call and take it all back. Fantasizing each day in school that he would come up to you, telling you he was the biggest idiot to live, that he was sorry and a coward. That never came.

You knew he was hurting too in all of this, each game running less yards than the last. Or when he showed up to with school puffy eyes and told everyone he had just stayed up too late the night before. But he was the one that made the mess, and you wouldn't be the one to fix it, even if it killed you to walk past him like a stranger.

So, no, a drunk call at 1:30 in the morning wasn't cutting it for you. You knew him inside and out, and if he wanted something, he would get it. Therefore, if he wanted you back, he would've tried. And he didn't.

With all that being said, you found yourself waiting up on your porch until the sun was rising. You had to make sure he didn't drive to your house in the manor he was in. Wally was nothing if not a man of his word. The only time he ever lied was, thankfully, that night, and when he said you guys would be forever.

Although you hated to admit it, a small part of you hoped he would show up. Maybe Micheal would drive him, or hell if you cared, he could've walked. You wanted to him show up, just like the movies, confessing his love. Replaying the hypothetical conversation in your head over and over, you kept a steady eye on the road. Every car that passed was him only for a second, before your eyes focused and you realized it wasn't him.

Disappointment wasn't a feeling you ever associated with Wally Clark until recently.

————————————————————————

The following days at school had been just like the past month. Neither of you looked at each other, continuing to carry on as strangers.

You and Wally never spoke about the drunk call that night, or the fact you left with Chris. And so, you and Chris talked. A lot.

As the weeks would pass, your feelings for Chris grew stronger, but so did your longing for Wally. It made you feel evil, looking for parts of him in Chris.

Chris was kind. Gentle. Caring. He got you flowers every week. Held the door for you. Really listened when you talked. He never raised his voice at you. He was good, but he wasn't him.

Like on January 1st at 12:00, when you kissed Chris and Wally kissed Eliza Benson, your first thought—or twelve, didn't pertain to Chris or the new year. You wondered if Wally remembered that this day two years ago was when you shared your first kiss.

Or when Chris asked you if you knew that song; of course you did, everyone did. But you didn't mention that was your and Wally's song.

And Especially now, as you lay flat against the sheets of Chris's bed. It was January 8th, which would've been your and Wally's two year anniversary. Chris didn't know that, and he never would.

No one had ever seen you in this way, no one expect Wally.

It didn't feel wrong that you were about to have sex with someone that wasn't Wally, as your sure that he and Eliza had done it multiple times. What did feel wrong, was the way you closed your eyes, tight, erasing Chris entirely.

He asks if you're okay, your face all scrunched up in a look that could only be described as unpleasant. You assure him you're fine.

You're fine.

You smile when you look into his eyes. For a second you allow your self to be there, in the moment with him. You like him a lot, you truly do.  But like in every thing else, the ghost of your first love is haunting you.

His chain hits your chin as he pumps himself in and out, but it's silver, not gold. You take it in your fist anyway, pulling him closer by it. Kissing his mouth, you fake a moan. It felt good, but you felt evil.

Chris had done nothing wrong; in fact, he had done everything right. His only crime was not being him.

"I love you." He whispers into your neck, and you thank whatever god is above that he can't see your face. Your hand finds his back, pressing down for him to go deeper.

You can feel the weight of his body against yours, but his words held the weight of the world. It felt dirty coming from him, like it some forbidden spell that shouldn't be repeated out loud in fear of conjuring some urban legend ghost.

And it did just that. Once again, Chris and his presence was gone, replaced by Wally. Those words were sacred, for only you and him to share.

"I love you too." But you're talking to Wally, not to Chris. It's a lie, it's all a lie. But you would rather lie than ever admit what was circling through your brain right now. He didn't deserve it.

You can feel him smile against your skin, and your eyes close, imagining Wally's sweet smile. Like the one he smiled at you just over two years ago, after you kissed for the first time. People screamed and shouted around you, celebrating the new year, but the two of you were silently celebrating the start of something entirely different.

Even with all those people around, you only saw him. Much like now, how the only thing you could think of—or see, was him. You both were only 16 then, and had the world in front of you. You wondered what the world had in store for Wally Clark, and especially, what place you had in it.

It's all wrong. His scent, his sheets, the way he feels inside of you, but especially you. You are so wrong for feeling this way, and you know it. You feel a pit deep in your stomach; it's not from pleasure.

When he flips you around, your cheek lays flat against the mattress and your eyes close again. Wally is inside you, just like he has been a million times before. His hands are tight against your hips, gripping onto the skin there.

It's over then, hot, filthy streams of Chris across your back. You sigh of relief, feeling more empty than before you started. He collapses on the bed beside you, grin serving as proof that you got away with your crime of identity theft.

"That was really good" He looks between your eyes than your lips. You swallow, praying your face won't give you away. Guilt tears through you, stomach turning with disgust.

"It was." The two of you smile at each other. One criminally fake, and one real.

—————————————————————————

"I need to tell you something." You start, your voice just a whisper as you look behind Jenny, watching as your other friends were finishing up in the lunch line. You didn't want the others to know.

Curiosity fills her face, giving you a side eye. "What's up?" She asks, slight weary after studying your face. It was unreadable. Not surprising, as you didn't even know how to feel.

"Me and Chris... ya know. Last night." Your voice isn't above a whisper, leaning in close to ensure your best friend heard you. She backs up, a slow grin growing across her face.

"No way?" She raises her eyebrows. "You scandalous little thing!" She squeals, always one to love hearing all the latest gossip.

"So tell me, how was it? Totally amazing?" Head in her palms now, she looks at you with wide eyes, ready to hear all the details. "Was his thing bigger than Wally's?" She adds, voice low, but in all seriousness. You laugh, you can't help it, she's ridiculous. Jenny had no filter, and along with that, practically no sense of TMI.

All your friends were super surprised at how well you handled your breakup with Wally. Or, in reality, how good you were at hiding it. But that was something you chose to keep close to you and not share. As far as your friends were concerned, you were over him and thriving. You wanted to keep it that way.

"You're ridiculous, Jen." Swatting away her question with your hand, you laughed.

"Oh, no, but I'm serious." She nodded her head, confirming her own thought.

"Trust me, I know you are." Your heart rate quickened when you saw the rest of your friends start to walk over, not wanting to share this just yet. You didn't want it to be the hot talk of lunch. You needed another day to process it before talking about it with all the girls. More or so rehearse what you would say and how you would say it, to feed into the idea that you were over Wally, and happy with Chris.

"So.... Let's hear it! I want all the details. Top to bottom. Literally. Actually, I hope you weren't on top. I hate doing it, like ugh, It's so bor—"

"Jenny stop! Yes, it was good," you lied, "and no, he wasn't bigger than Wally." You cursed yourself at the way your voice faltered when you spoke his name. The clearing of the throat that followed only gave you away further.

Jenny frowned at you, head titling to the side in analyzation. "You're not still hung up on him, are you?"

The way she worded it hurt, like it was ridiculous if you weren't over him by now. It had only been four months, and you two were together for a year and 8 months. In her defense, you did quite literally have a whole other boyfriend, which is also probably why you felt like such a horrible person constantly. Guilt weighed heavy on you each day, and being proposed with the question made you feel rotten inside.

"No, no, not at all. I'm happy with Chris, he's great." You were quick to defend yourself. Maybe too quick. But Jenny didn't have time to give your reaction any further thought, as the other girls had walked over to the table. While she looked up to greet them, loud and welcoming, you stole a quick glance at Wally.

He sat at his undesignated designated football table, where all the other players sat, even if the season had ended. You watched as he laughed, mouth open, and head thrown back at something his friend said.

He was the only person in this world that could see right through you. You prayed that the disconnect between you two paired with the act you put up was enough for even him to not notice you pushing it all down.

And even worse, you prayed he felt the same.

how did you feel about the Milo manheim leaks? 🎤🎤🎤🎤

I was so shocked when I heard about it! I didn’t see the leaks, but I heard he was like 16 in them and that’s just crazy! I literally heard about it on tiktok like the second day and they already took them down.

can u do a milo bellingham smut where he is fucking you while ur asleep then u wake up but he tells you “go back to sleep baby” and you fall asleep to the rocking motion?! like first he gets home late and sees u asleep but hes hella horny so he massages ur clothed clit for a while until ur extremely wet and then he pulls out his cock and fucks u

Yall how we feeling about this causeeee……

I think imma have to do this 😩

don’t know if you take requests love, but i think a NSFW alphabet is due for Milo Manheim i beg you with lots of details 😩 *chefs kiss*

Oh my gosh yes, I’m so writing this— 😩