Wally Clark Drabble - Blog Posts

Anxiety

summary: prompt fill. Wally isn't clingy. he isn't. honest. but something about your aura makes him nervous, and suddenly he's all hands everywhere and babbling where he's normally calm, cool, collected, and he needs you to get his head back on right. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. flashfic. nothing Anxiety Disorder related. Wally Clark is a whiny lil' babe when he's nervous.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🍋‍🟩

Anxiety

At first, you don't even acknowledge him. Which, alright, fine, you don't have to, it's not a rule. But Wally's suddenly anxious, tracking in his head all the things he said to you yesterday when he left your house. Hopped out the window, dashed across the lawn, and strutted home with a skip in his step because you showed him how much you love his cock.

Thrice.

You kissed him goodbye, sleepy and sweet, after he tucked you in. Normal. Better than normal, actually. And you didn't text him this morning to suggest anything's wrong.

Oh God. Does that mean something's wrong?

You don't always text him before school since, as you said, you know you're going to catch him before class. He left you pretty late last night, so no wonder you showed up only minutes before the bell instead of your usual twenty, and shit, is that the problem?

He wasn't considerate of your time? He should've been. Fuck, he should. have. been. Not whining and begging you for, "Just one more time, baby, please. I can't stop, I'm still so hard for you, come on."

With a whine he doesn't realize he releases, he crosses the cafeteria and takes a seat beside you. Fiddles with his hands in his lap, knee bouncing, trying to smile at Simon and Ajay who smile back, though something in their eyes is mildly concerned.

You chat away to Claire and Nicole as if Wally isn't buzzing out of his skin beside you, pretty and awake, voice tinkling like a bell. Wally chews his lip the longer you go without indicating you notice him.

You're wrapped up in the conversation, he tells himself. You're not mad at him. Right? .... Right!?

Uncertain, but desperate for acknowledgement, Wally reaches out and places a hand on your knee. You don't shoo him away. Don't move it. In fact, you inch closer, pressing your hip against his and curling your hand around his. You don't look at him, but Wally considers it a win.

Or maybe it's not.

Maybe you just don't want to cause a scene, and you're giving him crumbs of affection to placate him before you take him somewhere private and blow his world to smithereens.

By the time the bell rings, Wally's worked himself into a frenzy. Palms sweaty, face pale, bottom lip worried red. He keeps his eyes down, offering you a nervous, tight smile when you gaze up at him as you stand and grab your bag.

You notice his nervous demeanor and tilt your head, studying him like last night's Bio homework.

You and he have English next, but you don't seem to care, dragging him by the wrist into an empty classroom where you instruct him to, "Sit."

Wally does as he's told, sitting in the teacher's chair, staring up at you with enormous, soulful eyes, as if pleading for you to forgive him for whatever he did wrong.

You scan his face through narrowed eyes, and then slide your bag off your shoulder and let it drop to the floor. Quite unexpectedly (though very much appreciated), you plant your legs on either side of his and plop down in his lap with your whole weight. Hips right against his, no air between you; your hands on his shoulders and his on your waist.

He gulps, blinking at you, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, "What's going on in that silly head of yours, pretty boy?"

Wally releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relaxing as your lips curl into a warm, sedate smile. His hands tighten on your waist.

"I...thought you were mad at me?" He poses like a question, feeling stupid now that he hears himself say it out loud. And then, babbling, "I thought I might've disrespected your time last night. I know I left later than we planned, and I'm so sorry. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again, babe, I promise. But you know how I am when I get you all to myself—" Which sounds like he's blaming you, crap "Not that it's your fault, I'm not saying that, I was just trying to say that I know I need to be more aware of the time—"

You shut him up with a hard, deep kiss. Your lips taste like candy, tongue sweet-sour as you sweep it over his, moaning in delight when he begins to respond.

His hands fall to your hips, then glide back to grab your ass cheeks, hitching you as close as he can get you. Wally spreads his legs wide, cock fattening up so quick he sees spots behind his eyes when you grind forward and gasp.

"There's my good boy," You murmur, breathless, beautiful; cheeks pink and eyes glossy, and, oh fuck, Wally whimpers. You fist your hand into his hair and drag him into another heavy kiss, not letting him breathe until you've had your fill.

He pants, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass as you grind in slow, delirious rolls of your hips against his.

"I'm not mad at you, Wally," You assure him, "What did I tell you last time you thought I was?"

It takes everything in Wally to remember anything outside of this moment, but eventually he says, "That you'd tell me immediately."

"And I meant that." You pause, going still, and he whines in frustration. "Don't you trust me?"

He nods vigorously, "I trust you, I'm sorry," pinning you to him which in turn shifts you against his cock. He moans weakly, grinding his hips up, begging you to take pity on him.

Fuck, it's insane how easily he gets worked up for you, but he wouldn't change a thing. You and he are already skipping English, might as well use the time doing something...productive.

"Shh, you don't need to apologize," And you say it as you wedge a hand between your body and his, fingers deftly undoing his fly, hand sneaking under the denim to palm him through his boxer-briefs. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Wally's breathing too quick to respond, to thank you for being so understanding. His eyes roll back, head tipping backwards, hips bucking into your hand.

"Baby, please," God, he needs you, is already leaking a wet spot into the cotton.

Cruelly. Sultry. "Use your words, pretty boy," You purr, biting a trail down his neck. "Tell me what you want to do."

He swallows thickly, groans weakly, a pathetic little mewl. He hates having to ask, especially when he knows you know exactly what he's angling for.

But then your hand stops, your hips stop, you stop, and he forces out, "I wanna be inside you so bad..." Choked and desperate.

He opens his eyes and sees you smirking at him, cool as a cucumber. Or that's what he thinks until you grab his hand and bring it under your skirt, encourage his fingers to slip under the crotch of your panties. Fuck, you're so wet. Juicy and slick and hot just for him. Again, he swallows, throat dry, eyes heavy-lidded and blown, panting like a dog as you begin to ride his fingers.

"Is that good?" He asks, cock throbbing when you throw your head back, arch your chest forward, moan like a porn star because of something he's doing to you.

He can't take it anymore, needs to have you, needs to be inside you. He pulls his fingers out too soon. You pout, but don't complain, shifting to peel your panties off before resettling in his lap. Wally has enough brain power left to check that the door is locked, the little window still covered by that Drug Prevention poster plastered all over the school for the next month.

You bring him right the fuck back into the moment by dropping down on his cock, one slick-slide move that punches a grunt from Wally's chest. You start slow, always taking your time to build a rhythm, drive him batshit fucking crazy with lust before giving him what he needs to get to the edge.

"You're such a good boy, Wally," You praise, lifting and sinking down on him again and again and again, squeezing tight around him every time, "You're so sweet, so perfect."

And, shit, he needs to hear that, his blood pumping harder, weak sounds of pleasure and gratitude released from his core, his hands clutching you like worship. Then, you start to move faster. Sharper grinds, harder drops, wet squelches telling him how close you are.

How close he got you.

"Oh, God, baby, I'm gonna come," He sobs, feet planted, hips bucking in tempo with your movements, fingernails digging into your ass cheeks, "Don't stop, fuck, baby, I'm gonna—"

It hits him like a Mack truck to the hypothalamus. He explodes inside you, crying out like a fucking princess, pumping his hips as he spends everything he has in him.

It rips your climax from you, Wally can feel it, shit, fuck, it's so good, the way you go so tight around him, a vise holding him deep inside you. The way your thighs spasm and your mouth falls open and you look at Wally like he's the most important person in the world.

Moments later, cooled down and cuddling in the afterglow, you pet his hair sweetly and kiss him with fondness; soft, loving.

"What do we do the next time you think I'm mad at you?" You say like a kindergarten teacher talking about sharing crayons.

Wally pouts, mumbles, "Talk to you about it."

You grin. "And when do we talk about it?"

"Before I get anxiety..." Wally pinches his lips together and averts his gaze.

You don't let him avoid your eyes for long, drawing his face back so he has to look at you.

"If it makes you feel any better, Wally, I honestly don't think I could ever get mad at you." You kiss the tip of his nose. "But if I do, I promise, I'd tell you straight away, okay?"

Wally nods, as solemn as he is grateful and relieved, "Okay."

You lean in, nip his earlobe and whisper, "Good boy." And suddenly he's fucking hard all over again, flipping you onto your back on the teacher's desk and showing you with his body exactly how good he can be.

🍋‍🟩___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

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

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

Simp.

summary: prompt fill. a silly little subby Wally drabble because our clingy boo is fun to write. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x masc!reader

warnings: smut. sub!Wally Clark. flashfic. crying after climax. Wally Clark has undisclosed mommy issues. same 'verse as Boy Noise.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🖇️

Simp.

"So good, baby," You praise, "Keep going. You wanna make me come, don't you?" Fuck, yes, Wally does. It's all he wants in the whole word. "Just like that. Such a good boy for me."

And the words go straight to his cock. Flush through him like the heat of the sun, burning in his belly.

You're at his house, dragged there after school because today was a shitty day and he was vibrating with restless energy. He needed you so badly and you never made him suffer.

You lounge in his dad's armchair like a king, one leg hooked over Wally's shoulder, the foot of the other propped on the seat of the armchair, spread wide to accommodate him as he whimpers and whines and probes his tongue as deep as he can get it, kissing your pussy in a filthy wet rhythm.

He hears the clink of your glass on the side table, gives a little moan when you plant the heel of your foot on his shoulder and push, dislodging him. Wally makes an unhappy sound, pouts up at you with big, pleading puppy eyes, but you only smirk in return.

"Stand up," You command. And he does. No resistance, just obedience.

He gets to his feet and takes in the image you make, sitting there mostly naked, your button-down open to reveal your naked body, tie loose and still around your collar. You lick your teeth, grinning like a lion that's about to eat its first meal.

"Strip." You say, tone making Wally's belly squirm.

Again, he does as bidden without question. Tries to do it slow, give you a sultry performance how you sometimes want him to, but apparently not today.

"I don't want a show, baby," You tell him, husky and rich, eyes dark with fever, "Get naked. I want you to make me come on your cock."

Wally's out of his jeans and t-shirt faster than lightning. You stand in a single, sultry motion, lead him by his cock to the armchair and push him down. He spreads his legs wide, arms clasped around you as you as you crawl into his lap.

You take another long sip of his dad's whiskey, the ice tinkling when you place the glass down again, and then, quick and hard, you drop down on him. Take him as easy as a breath after the long minutes he spent pleasuring you with lips and gentle teeth and sloppy tongue.

He's fucking needy now.

You don't move. Not right away. Giving him a chance to adjust, to breathe, to center himself before, "You're gonna be a good boy for me, aren't you?"

Jesus, he will, he promises. He'll do anything for you, he just wants so badly to make you happy. Tell him how to make you happy, please, fuck, please.

Wally whines, hands loose on your hips, desperate for you to let him show you how good he can be as you take control. It's slow at first, driving him crazy, the heat inside him fogging up his brain, his body tense with desire and need.

"Please," He begs when you begin to ride him a little faster, just enough to get him to the edge before you stop. Shit. No, please, no, he needs to come so bad. Has needed to come since you got him on his knees and grabbed the back of his head, brought his face to your pussy and told him to eat up, sweet boy.

It's intense, everything he feels for you, with you, from you. His body shakes as you start again. Slow. Too slow. And then harder, sharper rolls of your hips until, yes yes yes like that, you start moving in earnest, taking him over and over, deep and tight and hot.

"Please," He gasps, whimpers, eyes clenched shut, hands squeezing your hips, "Please, I need to come."

"Not yet, baby boy." You say, somehow stern despite how you're panting. "Let me come first and then you can have your turn. I know you can wait." He can hear the feline grin on your face, can feel your heavy eyes on him, "You're my good boy, aren't you?"

"Yes!" He sobs, the pleasure and frustration making him that much more sensitive, "I'll be good for you, so good, I promise!"

You lean over, still bouncing on him, his cock throbbing inside you as he tries so hard to keep himself in check. "So perfect for me, baby," You reassure him, "Such a perfect boy for me."

Wally spent years trying to be everything his mama wanted him to be. The man, the myth, the legend. In control always. Perfect son. Perfect player. Perfect student, friend, partner, upcoming pilar of the community.

And he did it. Everything she asked, Wally did, getting him nowhere and nothing except more pressure and expectation and criticism.

Maybe that's why he's like this. He's not a psychologist, but it makes sense. How much he fucking needs you to take control and tell him what to do so he doesn't have to think. At least you give him the chance to be good, instructing him from point A to Z, no judgment, just praise. Your sweet, perfect boy; all yours, only yours—

"Please," He whimpers, every touch electric. "Please, Mommy, I need to come," He begs and the title is new, coming from deep within him, ushered from some part of his soul he's kept tightly sealed until now, but he couldn't give less of a shit. Especially with how you moan and squeeze around his cock like a vise.

"Yeah?" You purr, still so together. So in charge.

He gasps, shivers, head falling back.

"Look at me, baby," You order, and Wally listens. Mouth parted as he pants, eyes half-lidded and soft, "Are you close?"

"Yes, yes, please," He can't take much more, not even if you ask him to. And he doesn't want to disappoint you, doesn't want to come before you do. Desperate to be everything you say he is.

You move faster, harder, more frenzied, back arching, tits in his face, moaning when you come. Jesus, fuck, the feeling of you coming around him makes him dizzy, he can't hold back, begging over and over because it's too much stimulation, too good, too right, oh God.

"Please," He practically sobs, "Oh, oh, please!"

You lean in, nip his ear and then command, "Come for me, baby boy. Be good and let go."

Just like that, Wally submits to it and comes harder than he can remember doing before. His whole body tenses and then releases, shuddering as he sobs in relief, fucking up into you as he spills inside you with the force of a fucking train.

"That's it, baby, give me everything," You groan, and it just prolongs his climax.

You're so good to him. So understanding and kind and generous and Wally can't help it. He doesn't mean to, hates himself a little for it, but his eyes sting and his breath catches and he clamps his arms around you as he body shakes.

He's crying. He's never cried during or after sex before now. It's just...there's so much inside him, emotion and feeling, and he has to let it out or he'll burst. Small whimpers and needy whines, tiny little sounds of love and pleasure and thankfulness. He feels so fucking clingy, desperate to hold onto you so you won't slip away and leave him alone to fend off the world by himself.

With fingers in his hair, you draw his head into the crook of your neck, other hand stroking his back as you shush him sweetly.

"I've got you, my good, good boy. You did so well. You made me feel so good."

And he sniffles, nods, holds you as close to himself as he can until the moment passes and he's calm. Vulnerable. Embarrassed. Cheeks bright pink and lower lip between his teeth because you force him to look at you.

"How do you feel?" You ask in such a kind, affectionate tone that Wally feels—

"Better." He admits. And then, quieter, "Safe." In a way he's never felt until you came into his life like a beacon of hope.

A slow smile forms on your lips and you kiss his forehead, "Good. That's all I want, baby."

Wally sniffles again, clears his throat, asks timidly, "Did you like it?"

And you pet his hair, hold his jaw, and say with certainty, "I loved it, baby boy. I always love it."

Warmth blossoms in Wally's chest. He grins up at you, proud of himself.

🖇️___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Boyfriend Wally Clark (NSFW).

a smutty flashfic Wally Clark headcanon outlining who he is as a boyfriend.