Unecessary but nice

I love Alexander Skarsgard, Adam Driver, Chris Evans, Bughead, Eddie Munson, movies, music and feminism. Current hyper fixation is Lewis Pullman. Write fan fiction under Malmo722 on AO3. 38

[spacejjunk]

come as you are

pairing: eddie munson x reader

w/c: 5969

summary: summer nights meant hanging out with the group in steves backyard- smoking, drinking, playing games. but when a game of never have i ever gets a little spicy- eddie munson finds himself on a mission to right what he thinks is the ultimate wrongs of the universe. based off of this request by anon

warnings/tags: smut!, unprotected sex, bratty! reader, softdom! eddie, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, the gang bringing the dramatics as always.

masterlist

The string lights swayed overhead like they were in on the joke, casting everything in a warm, slightly blurry glow. Steve’s backyard smelled like chlorine, cut grass, and the joint that kept making its slow orbit around the circle. You were sunk into one of the ancient lawn chairs, the plastic straps digging into your back in a way that somehow felt grounding against the floaty, giggly haze in your head. Everyone was loose-limbed and loud- Steve half sprawled on the grass like he’d melted there, Robin cross legged on a blanket and already talking with her whole body, Nancy tucked against Jonathan’s side with her cheeks pink from the tequila, Eddie draped dramatically across the picnic table like a rockstar who’d lost his stage.

The game had started tame enough an hour ago- “Never have I ever skipped class,” “Never have I ever lied to my parents about where I was”- but the drinks and smoke had done their job. Now it was spiraling into glorious, unhinged territory.

Steve sat up just enough to point his beer bottle at the group like a scepter.

“Alright, my turn again. Never have I ever… gotten high and tried to cook at three in the morning.”

You lifted your bottle immediately. So did Robin, Eddie, and- after a guilty pause- Nancy.

Robin cackled, nearly spilling her drink. “The toaster incident! I stand by it. Pop-Tarts are a perfectly valid midnight meal.”

“You put the Pop-Tart wrapper in the toaster,” Steve shot back, wheezing. “I had to unplug the whole damn thing before the kitchen caught fire. You’re a menace.”

Eddie threw his head back with a theatrical groan. “Amateur hour. I once tried to make grilled cheese at three a.m. while stoned out of my skull. Used a fork. On an electric stove. There were sparks. I named the scorch mark on the wall and we had a funeral for it the next day.”

Nancy was giggling into Jonathan’s shoulder, trying and failing to look dignified. “I made… I think it was supposed to be pancakes? But I used cornflakes instead of flour because the bag looked similar and the labels were blurry. It was… crunchy.”

Jonathan’s quiet laugh rumbled under her. “I remember that. You tried to serve it to me like it was intentional. ‘It’s deconstructed,’ you said.”

“Shut up,” Nancy muttered, but she was smiling.

Robin pointed at you, eyes sparkling. “You drank too! What was your crime against the culinary arts?”

You shrugged, fighting a grin. “Tried to make mashed potatoes but ended up just sticking the potato in the microwave and forgetting to cook it. Bit into a raw fuckin' potato.”

The group lost it. Steve actually rolled onto his back in the grass, clutching his stomach. Eddie sat up so fast he almost fell off the table.

“Legendary. Absolute madwoman.”

Robin wiped tears from her eyes. “Okay, okay, my turn. Never have I ever… had a secret hookup that I never told anyone in this circle about.”

A beat. Then Eddie and Steve both drank without hesitation.

Robin’s jaw dropped. “EXCUSE ME? Both of you? At the same time? Separately? Details. Now. I demand details.”

Eddie grinned, all teeth and chaos. “Relax, Buckley, it wasn’t with each other. Though that would’ve been a hell of a story. No, this was… senior year. Very short-lived. Very ill-advised. She thought I was mysterious. I thought she was hot. We both realized we were wrong by morning. End of saga.”

Steve took a long sip like it might save him from the interrogation. “Mine was… after senior year. Different person. We agreed it was a one-time thing. Haven’t thought about it since. Until right now. Thanks for that, Robin.”

Robin was vibrating. “I hate both of you. I tell you everything and you’re out here hoarding girls like dragons. Unfair. I want names. Or at least embarrassing details. Did anyone cry? Was there a walk of shame? Was it in a car? Be specific.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow, amused. “I feel like we’re one question away from a full confessional.”

Jonathan just shook his head, small smile in place. “I’m staying out of this one.”

Eddie pointed at him. “Smart man. Jonathan knows the value of silence. Unlike some people.” He shot a look at Steve, who flipped him off lazily.

Robin was still going. “I’m circling back to this later. Mark my words. This is not over.”

The laughter died down into comfortable, tipsy quiet for a second, the kind where everyone was just enjoying the buzz and the night air. Then Eddie shifted on the picnic table, rings catching the light as he leaned forward with that signature glint in his eyes- the one that always meant trouble was incoming.

“Alright, my turn again, you beautiful disasters. I’ve been saving this one.” He paused for dramatic effect, looking around the circle like he was about to drop state secrets. “Never have I ever… not come during sex.”

The air shifted just slightly. Steve made a face like he’d tasted something sour. Robin shook her head immediately. Nancy didn’t move. Jonathan stayed still.

You lifted your bottle and took a slow sip.

For three full seconds, nobody said anything.

Then the backyard exploded all over again.

Robin made a noise like a dying seagull and actually fell sideways onto the blanket. “YOU DRANK?! You actually drank?! But you’re- you! How is that even possible? Was it recent? Was it that one guy? Oh my God, tell me it wasn’t that one guy with the weird shoes-”

Steve sat upright, beer forgotten in the grass. “No. Absolutely not. Rewind the tape. You’re telling me some absolute clown had the privilege of being anywhere near you and just… tapped out? Like the job was done for him and he clocked out early? That’s not even selfish, that’s a federal offense. I’m personally offended.”

Eddie had gone very still, the usual manic energy sharpening into something focused and almost offended on your behalf. He stared at you like you’d just announced the end of the world.

“Sweetheart. No. We’re not doing this. Who the fuck was it? Give me a name, a description, a license plate number- I’m not picky.”

Nancy blinked rapidly, her analytical brain clearly fighting the tequila. “I… okay. That’s surprising. From you. Are you- I mean, obviously it wasn’t great if- wait, that came out wrong. Do you want to talk about it? We can talk about it. Or we can drop it completely. But also we’re all very invested now, so. Your move.”

Jonathan’s voice was quiet but sincere under the chaos. “That really sucks. Like… actually sucks. Sorry that happened.”

The questions started flying, voices overlapping in drunk, protective, nosy waves.

Robin, half-sitting up again- “Was it bad-bad or just ‘eh’ bad? Did you fake it or just lie there like ‘well, this is happening’? Because I have strong opinions about faking it and I need to know if I should be adding this person to my shit list-”

Steve, pointing dramatically- “On a scale of one to ‘I want to key their car and also their life,’ how bad are we talking? And do I need to go do recon tonight or can it wait till I’m sober?”

Eddie, already in full dramatic mode- “I’m in mourning. Actual mourning. The concept that you have experienced subpar anything and didn’t immediately tell us so we could form a council of war? Rude. Disrespectful. I demand emotional damages.”

Nancy, trying to sound reasonable while clearly spiraling a little- “Statistically it happens more than people admit, especially if there’s alcohol or if the other person’s… not great at listening. But still. You? Really? Do you want advice or just… collective judgment of this mystery idiot?”

Jonathan, dry as ever- “Or we can just sit here and roast them in silence. That’s also an option.”

Eddie was still staring at you, something unreadable flickering behind the theatrical bullshit. Steve looked ready to stand up and demand an address. Robin was vibrating with secondhand outrage and best-friend protectiveness. Nancy had that little crease between her brows. Jonathan just watched you, steady in the middle of the storm.

The game was forgotten.

The night, however, felt like it had just cracked open.

The group was still staring at you, the night air thick with weed smoke and the kind of drunk, high curiosity that made everything feel like the most important conversation on earth.

You shrugged, keeping it short because the buzz in your head made long explanations feel impossible.

“It was that guy I went on a couple dates with. He got his and that was it. Didn’t really care if I did or not. It just… didn’t happen for me. I didn’t make it a thing.”

Silence for half a second.

Then the backyard lost its collective mind all over again.

Robin made a noise like she’d been personally stabbed. “He what?! He got his and just- rolled over?! Like a fucking seagull that stole a fry and flew away?! I’m going to kill him. I don’t even remember his name but I’m going to find him and I’m going to-”

Steve sat up so fast he almost face-planted in the grass. “No. Nope. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. You don’t just- Jesus Christ, what a fucking loser. I’m actually angry. Like, real anger. My blood pressure is up.”

Nancy’s voice was tight, the tipsy analytical tone cracking into something sharper. “That’s not even selfish sex, that’s just… using someone. That’s unacceptable. I’m sorry that happened to you. Really.”

Jonathan just shook his head slowly, quiet but firm. “Guy sounds like an asshole. You deserved better than that.”

But Eddie-

Eddie went very, very still.

The manic energy that usually lived in his hands and his voice had narrowed into something focused and almost dangerous. He slid off the picnic table in one fluid motion, boots hitting the grass with a soft thud, and crossed the circle until he was crouched right in front of your chair. Close enough that you could see the way the string lights caught the silver in his rings, the faint scar on his bottom lip, the way his dark eyes had gone hot and serious in a way you’d never seen directed at you before.

His voice came out low, rough around the edges from the smoke and the drinks.

“No. Fuck that. That’s not okay. That’s not even in the same zip code as okay.” He shook his head once, hard, curls falling into his face. “You’re telling me some mediocre, selfish little shit got to touch you- got to have you- and didn’t even have the decency to make sure you came? That’s not a mistake. That’s a crime. And I’m taking it personally.”

He reached out, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted, and rested one warm, ring-heavy hand on your knee. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your jeans, barely there, but the touch lit up every nerve ending like a live wire.

“I’ve always liked you,” he said, voice dropping even lower, just for you even though the whole group could hear. “Like… liked you. I’ve thought about you a lot. More than I should’ve. Way more.”

Robin made a tiny, high-pitched noise somewhere behind him. Steve muttered “Oh shit, he’s really doing this,” but didn’t sound mad about it.

Eddie didn’t look away from you. His hand stayed on your knee, thumb still moving in that slow, deliberate stroke.

“And now I find out some asshole left you hanging? Nah. Not happening. Not on my watch.” His mouth curved into something that was half grin, half promise. “So here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart. I’m making it my personal fucking mission to give you an orgasm so good you forget that guy’s name, his face, and the entire concept of bad sex. If you’ll let me.”

He leaned in closer- his lips just shy of your ear-  his whispering voice turning darker, flirtier, filthy in that Eddie way.

“I’d take my time. None of that ‘get mine and dip’ bullshit. I’d learn what you like. What makes your breath catch. What makes your thighs shake. I’d use my mouth, my fingers, my cock- whatever you wanted, however long it took. I’d make you come so many times you’d be begging me to stop… or begging me not to.” His thumb pressed a little firmer against your knee. “And I’d enjoy every second of it. Because I’ve wanted to hear you fall apart for a while now. And I’m really fucking good at getting what I want when I decide something matters.”

The group had gone mostly quiet behind him, the air crackling with secondhand tension and drunk fascination.

Robin whispered, “Holy shit,” like she was watching a car crash in slow motion and couldn’t look away.

Steve cleared his throat. “Munson, you’re really out here shooting your shot in front of all of us? Bold. I respect it. But also… maybe give her a second to answer before you start planning the victory lap?”

Nancy’s voice was a little breathless. “I mean… he has a point about the mission part. The delivery could use work, but the intent is… surprisingly pure? In a very Eddie way.”

Jonathan just gave a low, amused hum. “He’s been staring at you for months. We all noticed. This isn’t news.”

Eddie didn’t even glance at them. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and hungry and suddenly very, very serious under all the theatrical bullshit.

“So?” he asked, voice soft but rough, thumb still stroking slow circles on your knee. “You gonna let me fix it? Or you gonna make me work for it first? Because I’m good with either. I like a challenge. And I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you for a long time.”

The open backyard felt smaller suddenly. Just his hand on your knee, his voice in your ear, the way the buzz in your head made every word feel heavier, hotter, more inevitable.

And Eddie Munson was looking at you like he’d already decided you were the only thing that mattered tonight.

You didn’t even hesitate. The buzz made everything feel simple, inevitable.

“Okay,” you said, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah. I’m in. Fix it.”

Steve made a noise behind Eddie as Robin excitedly poked him in the ribs.

“Oh my God. No. Nope. Absolutely not. I am begging you two. Not here. Not tonight. Not while we’re all sitting in my backyard like this. The pool does not need to see whatever the hell is about to happen. I’m serious. Take it inside later. Or tomorrow. Or never in front of me. I’m begging. On my knees. Metaphorically. Please.”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed- loud, bright, delighted, the sound cutting through the night air like it belonged there. He didn’t even look at Steve. His eyes stayed on you, dark and shining, like Steve’s panic was the funniest thing he’d heard all week.

You tilted your head at Eddie, feeling bold and bratty and loose from the weed and the tequila and the way he was still touching your knee like he owned the right.

“You better mean it, Munson,” you said, voice light but edged with challenge. “You talked a real big game just now. Don’t pussy out on me later. I hate when guys talk shit they can’t back up.”

Eddie’s laugh cut off like someone had flipped a switch.

For a second he just looked at you- really looked- and something in his expression shifted. The hunger that had already been there sharpened into something hotter, darker. His pupils blew wider. His hand on your knee tightened, fingers flexing once like he was physically holding himself back from doing something stupid in front of everyone. He liked that. The brattiness. You could see it in the way his jaw flexed, in the slow, dangerous little smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth before he schooled it back into something cocky.

He didn’t say anything about it out loud. Just let the moment hang there, thick and electric between you.

Steve was still muttering prayers under his breath. Robin had her face buried in her hands, peeking through her fingers like she was watching a horror movie she couldn’t look away from. Nancy looked equal parts scandalized and fascinated. Jonathan just raised his eyebrows and took a very long, very deliberate sip of his beer like he was pretending he wasn’t there.

Eddie finally dragged his gaze away from you long enough to glance at Steve, still grinning like the devil himself.

“Relax, Harrington. I’m a gentleman. Sometimes.” He gave your knee one last slow squeeze before finally- finally- pulling his hand back. But he didn’t go far. Instead he dropped down onto the grass right beside your chair, close enough that his shoulder pressed against your leg, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him through his jacket. He leaned back on his hands like he had no intention of moving for the rest of the night.

The group, blessedly, took the hint and started bullshitting again- Robin launching into a rant about some customer at the video store who tried to return a tape with peanut butter on it, Steve jumping in with his own horror stories, Nancy adding dry commentary that made everyone laugh. It was easy, familiar noise. The kind that usually filled nights like this.

But Eddie stayed exactly where he was.

Close.

His shoulder stayed pressed to your leg. Every so often his hand would drift back- casual, like it belonged there- resting on your calf, or brushing against your ankle when he gestured while talking to the group. When the conversation got loud he’d lean in a little, voice dropping just for you.

“You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmured at one point, low enough that only you could hear, the words curling warm against your ear. “Good. I like that.”

Later, when Robin was mid-story and everyone else was distracted, he tilted his head back against your chair and looked up at you through his lashes, voice even quieter.

“Still thinking about what you said. The way you said it.” His fingers traced one slow line along the seam of your jeans, barely there. “Bratty looks good on you. Real good.”

You knew it.

He didn’t push it further. Didn’t drag you off into the house or make good on any of the filthy promises from earlier. Not yet. But he stayed glued to your side for the rest of the night- laughing at the group’s bullshit, throwing in his own dramatic commentary, passing the joint when it came around again. Every time someone wasn’t looking his hand would find its way back to you. A thumb stroking slow circles on your knee. Fingers hooking lightly around your ankle. Once, when the laughter got loud, he turned his head and pressed his mouth to the side of your thigh through your jeans- just a quick, hot press of lips and teeth that no one else saw.

The night kept spinning around you in a haze of smoke and laughter and string lights.

But Eddie Munson didn’t move from your side.

And every time you glanced down at him, he was already looking back- dark eyes full of heat and something dangerously close to a total loss of control.

The house had gone quiet.

Everyone drifted off one by one- Steve muttering something about “no sex in my backyard” under his breath as he headed inside, Robin still giggling about the night’s chaos, Nancy and Jonathan disappearing into one of the guest rooms with quiet goodnights. You tried to sleep in the room Steve had given you, but your head was too loud, your body too wired from the weed, the tequila, and the way Eddie had stayed glued to your side all night.

So you slipped outside again.

The backyard was cooler now, the string lights still glowing faintly. You lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the house, letting the first drag burn slow in your lungs.

Eddie was already out there.

He was sitting on the picnic table, boots on the bench, a cigarette of his own between his fingers. He looked up when the door clicked shut, and the second your eyes met, the air changed.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and crossed the space between you in a few long strides.

The kiss was immediate and rough.

His mouth crashed into yours like he’d been holding back for hours. One hand slid into your hair, gripping tight at the roots, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he walked you backward until your ass hit the edge of the picnic table. You gasped into his mouth and he took full advantage, tongue sliding deep, teeth catching your bottom lip. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was exactly what the tension between you had been building toward all night.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, voice low and ragged.

“You couldn’t sleep either?”

You shook your head.

His hands stayed on you- one still fisted in your hair, the other sliding under your shirt to grip bare skin at your waist.

“Do you know what you like?” he asked, voice rough. His thumb stroked once over your hipbone. “Be honest with me.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. The bratty edge from earlier was still there, loosened by the night and the way he was looking at you like he wanted to ruin you.

“I think I like it rough.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened. A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.

“Yeah?” He gave your hair a deliberate tug, just enough to tip your head back. “Good. ‘Cause I like you bratty. Mouthy. Makes it hotter when I get to shut you up.”

He kissed you again before you could answer- harder this time, rougher- and then he was lifting you onto the picnic table like you weighed nothing. The wood was cool under your thighs through your jeans. He stepped between your legs, hands already working your button and zipper open with impatient fingers.

“You gonna be good for me?” he murmured against your mouth, even as he shoved your jeans and underwear down your thighs in one rough motion. “Or you gonna keep running that mouth?”

You couldn’t help it. The brattiness slipped out easy.

“Depends. You gonna actually do something, or just talk about it all night like you did earlier?”

Eddie laughed- low, dark, delighted- and the sound went straight between your legs.

“There she is.”

He pushed you back until you were lying on the picnic table, the string lights blurring above you. Then he dropped to his knees on the grass between your spread thighs like he belonged there.

The first drag of his tongue was slow, deliberate, almost teasing. Then he groaned against you like he’d been starving for it, and everything got rougher. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in as he held you open. He licked and sucked with focused intensity, tongue working your clit in tight, relentless circles before dipping lower. When you tried to squirm, he growled and pinned your hips down with one forearm across your stomach.

You couldn’t stay quiet. Couldn’t help the way your hips tried to rock against his mouth.

“Fuck- Eddieeee-”

He pulled back just enough to speak, voice wrecked and smug.

“Still mouthy. Good.” He nipped at the inside of your thigh, sharp enough to sting. “Keep talking, sweetheart. See what happens.”

Then he went back in- hungrier this time. Rougher. Two fingers pushing inside you without warning while his mouth stayed locked on your clit, sucking hard. The stretch burned in the best way. He curled his fingers just right, fucking you with them in time with the relentless drag of his tongue, and the picnic table creaked under you.

You reached down, fingers twisting into his hair, and tugged. Hard.

Eddie moaned against you like you’d given him a gift.

“Yeah,” he rasped between licks, voice muffled and filthy. “Pull it. Be as bratty as you want. I’ll just make you come harder for it.”

He didn’t let up. Didn’t slow down. He ate you like he had something to prove- tongue relentless, fingers rough and deep, the hand not inside you gripping your thigh so tight you knew you’d have marks tomorrow. Every time you got mouthy- every gasped “fuck you” or “is that all you got?”- he responded by being meaner with his mouth, rougher with his fingers, until your back was arching off the table and your thighs were shaking around his head.

The orgasm hit hard and sudden, ripping through you with a broken sound you couldn’t bite back. Eddie didn’t stop. He worked you through it, tongue gentler now but still moving, fingers slowing but not pulling out until your whole body went limp against the wood.

Only then did he lift his head.

His mouth was shiny, eyes blown black, curls messy from your hands. He looked wrecked and triumphant at the same time.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned up to kiss you- slow and deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

“See?” he murmured against your lips, voice hoarse. “Told you I’d fix it.”

His hand was still between your legs, two fingers still buried inside you, lazily stroking like he wasn’t done yet.

“And we’re just getting started.”

Eddie didn’t give you much time to come down.

He stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then his hands were on your hips, flipping you over so your stomach pressed against the cool wood of the picnic table. The position was sudden, a little rough, exactly the way you’d told him you liked it. Your jeans were still around your thighs, keeping your legs close together as he kicked your feet a little wider.

“Stay just like that,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

You heard the clink of his belt, the sound of his zipper. Then the hot, heavy drag of his cock against your ass as he leaned over you, one hand braced on the table beside your head.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he breathed against your ear. He rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, teasing, not pushing in yet. “All this from my mouth? Or you been thinking about this since I had my hand on your knee earlier?”

You pushed back against him on instinct, trying to get him inside. He laughed softly and pulled his hips back.

“Uh-uh. Not yet.”

“Fuck you.”

“Trying sweetheart. But someone's impatient even though she just got what she wanted. Didn't she?”

“Need more.”

“Ah ah- don't be greedy.” He growled and your cunt clenched down in reaction. You had a taste and you needed everything.

He kept teasing- slow drags of his cock over your clit, the tip catching at your entrance before sliding away again. Every time you tried to rock back or get mouthy, he’d grip your hip harder and hold you still.

“Eddiee-”

“Yeah?” He sounded way too pleased with himself. “Something you want?”

You twisted enough to glare at him over your shoulder, still a little breathless. “Stop fucking around and put it in already.”

His laugh was low and dark. “There’s that mouth.” He finally notched the head at your entrance and pushed in slow, stretching you open inch by inch until his hips were flush against your ass. The groan he let out vibrated through both of you.

He started fucking you in long, deep strokes- rough enough that the picnic table scraped against the grass and the edge bit into your waist with every thrust. One hand stayed on your hip, the other sliding up your back to fist in your hair, pulling just enough to arch your spine.

It felt good. Too fucking good. You were still sensitive from his mouth, and every drag of his cock hit exactly right. Your breathing got ragged fast.

Eddie noticed.

He slowed down immediately, hips rolling in these deep, grinding circles instead of the hard pace from before. “Not yet,” he said, voice tight like he was holding himself back too. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

You made a frustrated sound and tried to push back harder. He tightened his grip in your hair and gave one sharp thrust that made your vision blur, then went right back to that slow, torturous grind.

“Eddie, come on- ”

“Beg nicer,” he teased, even as his voice cracked a little. “Or keep being a brat. I like both.”

He edged you like that for what felt like forever- fucking you hard and fast until you were right on the edge, then slowing down or pulling almost all the way out until the feeling faded. Every time you got close he’d laugh under his breath and call you a brat, and every time you snapped back at him he’d reward you with a few brutal thrusts that made your legs shake.

The last time he pulled you right to the edge and held you there, you were shaking, forehead pressed to the table, cursing him under your breath.

“Please,” you finally bit out, voice wrecked. “Fuck- please, Eddie- ”

“Yeah,” he groaned, like the word broke something in him. “That’s it.”

He fucked you hard after that- fast, rough, the hand in your hair pulling tight as his other hand slid around to rub tight circles over your clit. You came with a broken sound, whole body locking up. Your vision whited out and your ears were ringing.

And then you were squirting- sudden, hot, and completely unexpected. It splashed against his thighs and the front of his jeans, your cunt pulsing hard around him as the orgasm ripped through you.

Eddie made a shocked, punched-out noise behind you, hips stuttering.

“Fuckin’- holy shit- Jesus Christ-”

You were still coming, still gushing with his fingers locked on to your overstimulated clit. The sound he made was half groan, half stunned laugh. He kept fucking you through it, short and desperate, until he pulled out at the last second and came across your lower back with a low, broken curse.

For a second neither of you moved. Just the sound of both of you breathing hard in the quiet backyard.

Then Eddie let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“Did you just-?”

You twisted enough to look back at him, equally stunned, face hot. “I- I didn’t know I could do that.”

He was staring at the mess on his jeans and your thighs like he’d witnessed a miracle. Then he started laughing harder, the sound bright and a little wild. You couldn’t help it- you started laughing too, the two of you cracked up and messy and still half-dressed against the picnic table in Steve Harrington’s backyard at god-knows-what hour.

Eddie leaned down and kissed the back of your shoulder, still grinning against your skin.

“Jesus Christ. We’re doing that again. Like… soon. A lot.”

You were both still giggling as he helped you up, using his shirt to clean you both up as best he could. Your legs were shaky. His hands were gentle now, the roughness from earlier softened into something careful as he pulled your jeans back up and tucked himself away.

“Come on,” he murmured, still smiling. “Before Harrington comes out here and actually murders us.”

You snuck back inside quietly, shoes in hand. Most of the lights were off. Eddie didn’t even pretend to go to a different room. He followed you into the guest room Steve had given you, shut the door behind him, and pulled you straight into the bed with him.

The sheets were cool. His body was warm. He kicked his jeans the rest of the way off and tugged you against his chest, one arm slung heavy around your waist. His rings were cool against your skin where his hand rested under your shirt.

Neither of you said much. Just quiet breathing, the occasional soft laugh when one of you remembered the picnic table, and Eddie pressing lazy kisses to the top of your head.

You fell asleep like that- tangled up in him, still tasting him on your tongue, the faint ache between your legs a reminder of exactly how thoroughly he’d kept his word.

The morning light was already leaking through the curtains when you woke up. Eddie was still half on top of you, one arm slung heavy across your waist, curls a complete disaster against the pillow. He made a low, sleepy noise when you tried to move, pulling you closer instead of letting you up.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

You stayed like that a little longer anyway.

Eventually the smell of coffee and something sweet pulled you both out of bed. You threw on yesterday’s clothes- Eddie stealing your hoodie since he really can't eat breakfast in a cum covered shirt-  and headed downstairs together.

Steve was in the kitchen in an apron that said “Kiss the Cook” like an asshole, flipping pancakes with the focus of a man on a mission. The rest of the group was already scattered around the table and island- Robin perched on the counter, Nancy nursing coffee, Jonathan quietly scrolling on his phone. They all looked up when you and Eddie walked in.

The staring started immediately.

Robin’s eyes narrowed. Nancy raised one eyebrow. Jonathan’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. Steve didn’t even turn around from the stove, but you could feel the judgment radiating off him.

Robin was the one who broke first.

“Okay, so… why is Eddie’s shirt literally just lying by the picnic table outside?” she asked, way too casually. “Like, full-on abandoned. We found it this morning. It was just… there.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed- short and bright and a little guilty. Eddie muttered “Hope you didn't touch it.” under his breath, low enough that only you could hear it.

Steve finally turned around, spatula in hand, and gave you both the most exhausted dad look imaginable.

“I heard you last night,” he said flatly. “Both of you. Through the window. My window. The one that faces the backyard.”

You groaned and dropped your face into your hands.

Eddie, the traitor, just grinned and stole a piece of bacon off the plate Steve had already started stacking.

Robin pointed at you with her coffee mug. “So wait. Does this mean the game from last night is officially over? Like… mission accomplished?”

Nancy actually looked a little proud. “Glad your little problem is fixed.”

Jonathan just nodded once, quiet but sincere. “Good for you.”

Steve flipped another pancake with unnecessary force. “I’m not saying I’m happy about the volume, but… yeah. Congrats on finally coming during sex. Truly. We were all rooting for you.”

Robin raised her mug like she was toasting. “To finally getting to finish during sex!”

Eddie slung an arm around your shoulders, smug as hell, and pressed a loud kiss to the side of your head.

“See?” he said, way too pleased with himself. “Told you I’d fix it.”

You elbowed him in the ribs, but you were smiling anyway.

Steve just sighed and started plating pancakes.

“Sit down and eat before I change my mind about feeding any of you.”

[gh0stgurll]

Thinking of you

You and bob have been platonic, until one day you catch him touching himself to a picture of you.

warning: Nsfw, MDI, Male masturbation, sort of voyeurism, use of y/n (just once).

Wc: 411

You thought it was a good idea to sneak to his room to scare him. What you did not expect was seeing him get out of the shower only in his boxers, with a pronounced erection. You were hiding in the closet.

You panicked not knowing if to get out or wait till he went out of the room.

He sat on his bed throwing his head slightly to the headboard. Moving himself next to the drawer beside his bed opening it looking for something. And there it was, a picture of you both on the beach where you wore that bikini that you doubt yourself multiple times if to wear it because it was too revealing.

He looked at it for a few second until his hand traveled to his boxers sliding his hand inside of them, stroking himself making sweet whines that came out of his lips.

You never thought of him in that way, you never felt that he was attracted to you, but this was different it sent shivers to your body. You stayed still covering your mouth.

He pulled his clothes off leaving himself now completely naked. You could see now his length, His perfect body. The moonlight highlighting his washboard abs. He stroked himself faster whining and moaning your name in loose words.

You could see his eyes light up a little, He was almost there, he was going to cum. If you didn´t care about how weird it was that you were hiding inside his closet you would go out to help him.

He pounded himself a few more times until he spilled all over his abs with a loud moan cursing in nonsense words. He stood there for a few seconds, head thrown back with his eyes shut.

Someone nocked on the door.

-Fuck. - He cursed to himself.

You heard a female voice, it was Yelena.

-Bob, are you awake? We can't find Y/n, remember we were supposed to give her a gift for the thing that Valentina said. -

He panicked cleaning himself with some tissues. -Oh y-yeah, I'm coming, no, what, no, I-I'll go out gimme a minute. - He stood up fast getting dressed desperately.

You panicked knowing you were in the closet, he needed clothes, fuck, he was going to open the door.

For your luck he grabbed some pants and hoodie that he had lying on a chair. He quickly got out of the room now leaving you complete alone.

[giltedbones]

Accidental Text

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader Rating: T Warnings/Tags: Fluff, accidental nudes, bob is having a breakdown. No smut in this one Word Count: ~2,791 Summery: Reader sends Bob a nude by accident and he is being TOTALLY cool about it ( NOT)

Authors Note: This was my first request! Im on a fluff train right now I love soft Bob...also i dont know how to end stories so... sorry

She texted him a lot. That was something she did now….a lot. For a while.

Bob didn't think about it too hard. Thinking about it too hard meant thinking about why she texted him, and why it was more than she texted anyone else (he'd noticed, not that he was going to do anything with that information, but he'd noticed), and why every time his phone buzzed and it was her name his whole chest went warm like a pilot light catching.

So…. He didn't think about it too hard.

Tuesday. Kitchen. Sandwich. He was building something involving turkey and an ambitious amount of mustard when her name lit up his screen. A photo of the sunset from the roof. Then a complaint about Yelena that was mostly exclamation points. Then a link to a golden retriever falling off a dock, no comment attached, because she knew he'd click it and she knew it would fix whatever needed fixing.

(It did.)

He was smiling. Standing in an empty kitchen, smiling at his phone, mustard knife in one hand. He clocked this about himself and moved on.

Does this work? I can't tell if it's too much.

Another photo incoming. She was getting dressed and she was asking him. That was... she wanted to know what he thought. About how she looked. She was standing in front of a mirror somewhere in this building right now, thinking about him while deciding what to wear, and his neck was already warm and she hadn't even sent it yet.

He typed back one-handed. For what?

Three dots.

Just out. Drinks maybe. Is it too much?

He could feel the reply building. Something easy. Something that was almost flirting if you tilted your head, but deniable, always deniable, because that was the game and he was very good at it and very tired of it and… not brave enough to stop.

Her next message came through.

He opened it the way he'd opened every message she'd ever sent. Thumb on the screen, no thought, the same muscle memory as breathing.

It wasn't the outfit. in fact it was… no outfit at all

His brain didn't catch up. There was a gap... half a second, maybe less... where he was just seeing her. Taking in information.

Oh.

Warm light, from the lamp on her desk. Her mirror was filthy which under different circumstances might have been funny or ironic. And she was...

Oh no.

The phone was face-down on the counter. Both of his hands were flat on the granite. The mustard knife was on the floor.

His heart was beating so fast, in a medical context, it would involve someone using the word event.

The phone buzzed against the counter. And again. And again and again and again, her panic arriving in pieces he could feel.

He didn't turn it over. He didn't need to. The texts lit up the edges of the screen, fragments he caught sideways without meaning to.

WAIT

BOB

WRONG PHOTO

OH MY GOD

THAT WASN'T

BOB PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN'T OPEN THAT

He looked at the ceiling. The ceiling was fine. The ceiling had never made him feel like his skeleton was trying to leave his body.

He left the kitchen. Didn't clean up the sandwich. Didn't grab the mustard knife. Walked to his room at a speed that he was going to call "brisk" because the alternative was admitting he was fleeing and that's a bit embarrassing.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

His room. Door shut. Phone in his hand because somewhere between the kitchen and here his body had made that call for him.

He put it face-down on the nightstand. Sat on the edge of the bed.

Stood up.

Sat back down.

Okay.

He had seen her. Not the way he normally saw her, the way that already made his hands stupid and his thoughts go sideways. Not the across-the-kitchen way. Not the she-just-laughed-and-now-he-couldn't-remember-what-year-it-was way, which was already more than he could handle on a given Tuesday.

He had seen her the way you see someone when there is nothing in the way.

And his brain had... it had just...

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His face was still hot. It had been hot since the kitchen. It was possible his face was going to be hot for the rest of his life, maybe he would develop some sort of cool face melting powers… Oh God

The phone buzzed on the nightstand. Her messages were still coming. He could feel the shape of them without looking... the apologies stacking on top of each other, building a tower of mortification he recognized.

I'm so sorry. I was sending you the outfit one and I grabbed the wrong photo. Please delete it. I want to die. Like actually die. Bob are you there?

He needed to reply. She was panicking and it was because of him. Because he hadn't said anything. Because he was sitting on his bed like a malfunctioning appliance instead of being a normal person who could type normal words with his normal hands. Normal…normal…normal

He could do this. He could type a response. Something easy and reassuring. Something that said hey, no big deal, accidents happen, already deleted it, we never have to speak of this again.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

The problem was that he… hadn't deleted it.

The problem was that his thumb was already on the screen, already opening it, before the responsible part of his brain could file an objection.

Don't.

He looked.

She was sitting on her bed, legs folded under her, her weight settled back on her heels. The light was warm and low and it caught the curve of her waist, the soft dip where it met her hip, the way her stomach rounded just slightly below her navel. Soft. Everything about her was soft. The fullness of her thighs pressed together, the way her breasts sat heavy and natural without anything holding them, the slope of her shoulders where the light ran out and her skin disappeared into shadow. Fuck shes so beautiful

She wasn't posing. That was the part that was going to kill him. She was just looking at herself. Her chin was tilted up, her lips barely parted, her eyes on her own reflection with an expression he had never once seen on her face. Not for him. Not for anyone in any room he'd been in. Like she had caught herself in a private moment and captured it. So soft and very naked and…. Dont Look…

Bob's mouth was dry. His hands were shaking. He could feel his pulse in places that had no business having a pulse right now, and he was very aware, that he was hard. From a photo. On his phone. That she hadn't even meant to send him.

He closed it. Pressed his palms into his eyes so hard he saw colors. Maybe if he pressed hard enough he could erase the image from his brain. Dont want to erase it

She took that photo for herself. Not for him. She'd been alone and she'd felt good and she'd wanted proof. And she'd been texting him. About an outfit. Because what he thought mattered enough to ask. Both of those things lived in the same phone and neither of them had anything to do with each other except that they were both her and she was...

perfect

He wasn't sorry. He felt a lot of things right now... panicked, overwhelmed, hot in the face, something big and unnamed living behind his ribs... but sorry was not in there. He'd looked and he'd looked again and the worst part, the part that the cold voice in him would use later, was that given the chance he'd look again.

He did not know what to do with that.

He picked the phone up. Put it down. Picked it up again.

He started typing.

He typed no worries and stared at it.

No worries. Like she'd bumped into him in a hallway. Like she'd accidentally taken his coffee. No worries. Two words so aggressively casual they were practically wearing sunglasses.

He deleted it. Tried again.

Hey. Don't worry about it. Seriously. These things happen

These things happen. To who? To who did these things happen? In what universe was he drawing on a wealth of experience where beautiful women accidentally sent him photos that should be hung in museums? These things happen. He was going to throw his phone into the sun.

Delete.

Haha no big deal! Already forgot about it 👍

The exclamation point alone was a felony. The thumbs up was a war crime. And "already forgot about it" was the most transparent lie he had ever constructed, which was saying something, because he'd once told Bucky his chili was "amazing" before purposefully knocking the pot over for everyones sake.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

He went with: Hey. It's okay. Don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us

Sent it. Read it back. Wanted to die. Happens to the best of us. What did that even mean? What was he referencing? His extensive history of accidentally sending nudes? The time he didn't do that because he had never done that because he had never in his life...

She was typing.

Oh my god Bob I'm SO sorry. I was trying to send you the outfit pic and I grabbed the wrong one from my camera roll. I'm literally going to move to another country. I'm going to learn Portuguese and start a new life and never look anyone in the eye again

Something in his chest loosened. She was funny when she was panicking. It got him every single time.

You don't have to learn Portuguese

I'm already looking up flights

I hear the language isn't that hard actually

Bob…I'm serious I'm so embarrassed I could die

He typed back too fast, the way he always did when she was spiraling and he needed her to stop. Hey. Seriously. It's fine. I'm not weird about it. You're fine.

He was so weird about it. He had never been more weird about anything in his life.

You swear?

I swear

You deleted it?

His thumb stopped moving.

The cursor blinked. He watched it blink. It blinked like it had all the time in the world, like this wasn't a yes-or-no question that was going to determine the entire trajectory of his evening and possibly his life.

Yeah, he typed. And then sat there. Looking at the word. Not pressing send.

Because he still hadn't.

He switched to his photos. The image was still there, in his recently saved, sitting between a screenshot of a recipe Ava had sent him and a blurry photo of a pigeon he'd taken for no reason.

Her. The warm light on her skin. The soft curve of her stomach, the fullness of her thighs. That expression. The one that wasn't for him.

He stared at it for three seconds. Four. Five.

He deleted it.

It felt like pulling out something that had only just started growing roots, and his chest ached in a way that was completely disproportionate to what had actually happened, which was deleting a photo from his phone, which people did every day, all the time, without feeling like they'd given something back they weren't finished holding.

He sent the yeah.

Thank you, she replied. Can we just... pretend this didn't happen?

And there it was.

The thing that was worse than the photo. Worse than the panic, worse than the guilt, worse than the little commentary in the back of his skull. She wanted him to pretend. She wanted to put this back in the box where it was before, the easy, deniable, just friends who text a lot box, and he was supposed to help her close the lid.

Pretend this didn't happen.

He couldn't. He could delete the photo and he could swear he'd deleted it and he could type yeah of course and send a laughing emoji and go back to being the version of himself that functioned. But he could not un-know what she looked like when she was alone and felt good about being alive. That was in him now. Underneath the panic, in the place where the jokes ran out and there was just the want. The big, stupid, undeniable want that he had been folding into smaller and smaller shapes for months so it would fit inside the deniable box.

It didn't fit anymore.

He put the phone down. Picked it up. Put it down.

Picked it up.

Yeah, he typed. Of course. Already forgotten.

He sent it. Read it back. He hated it.

He put the phone on the nightstand. Stared at the ceiling. The ceiling looked back, unhelpful as ever.

Something was building in his chest. Steady…rising…

He sat with it for thirty seconds. A minute.

He put his shoes on.

He didn't remember the walk. Hallway, stairs, another hallway. His shoes were on and then he was standing in front of her door before he had the chance to talk himself out of it.

His hand was raised to knock.

He could still leave. He could turn around, go back to his room, text her something funny in the morning, and they could both pretend that the last hour hadn't cracked something open that was never going to close on its own. He could do that. He was good at that. He had been doing that for months.

He knocked.

Silence. Then footsteps, soft and quick.

The door opened.

She'd changed. Oversized shirt, sleep shorts, her hair pushed back like she'd been running her hands through it. Her eyes were red in a way that could've been crying or could've been the specific exhaustion of wanting to disappear and not being able to. She looked at him, and whatever crossed her face was too fast for him to catch.

"Bob?" Quiet. Confused. A little afraid, like she wasn't sure which version of this conversation he was here to have.

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

All the way here. All the way down the hallway with something building in his chest that felt like the truth, and now he was standing in front of her with his hands at his sides and absolutely nothing to offer except the fact that he'd shown up. That he'd chosen to be here instead of somewhere easier. That the phone in his pocket was empty but the image was still in him, warm and close, and he didn't want to pretend.

"I cant forget," he said. Quiet. To the doorframe, not to her. "I tried. I can't."

She stared at him. He made himself look at her.

Whatever was on his face, she saw it. All of it. The want and the guilt and the terrified, no-jokes-left thing underneath both of them. Her hand tightened on the edge of the door.

Her lips parted. She didn't say anything.

He didn't say anything else.

The hallway was very quiet.

She stepped back. Opened the door wider.

He went in.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Her room was dim. One lamp. She'd wrapped her arms around herself, standing in the middle of the floor like she didn't know what to do with her own body, and he recognized that, because he didn't know what to do with his either.

"You weren't supposed to see it," she said.

"I know."

"It wasn't for you. It wasn't for anyone. I just..."

"I know." He looked at the lamp. Made himself look at her instead. "That's the part I can't forget."

Her arms tightened.

"You looked..." He stopped. Started over. "You looked like you'd caught yourself being happy. Just you, by yourself, happy. And I deleted it. I swear I deleted it. But I couldn't delete that I saw it, and I didn't want to lie to you about that. I've been lying about a lot of... adjacent stuff. For months. I'm very tired."

Silence.

"Months?" she said.

"So many months."

Something in her face came loose. Not the mortification. Underneath it. And there it was... the expression from the photo, or the beginning of it, aimed at him this time.

She laughed then. Wet and sudden, like it got out before she could check it. Then she crossed the room and put her forehead against his chest, and his arms went around her without checking with him first.

"Maybe we just stop pretending then," she said into his shirt.

"Okay." A breath. "Okay."

They stood there. Behind his rib cage, the pilot light had ignited. It wasn't going out. TagList: @my-name-is-baby

[malmo722]

10/10. Chef’s kiss.

[blvckprey]

consuming.

[hotandfunnywomen]

Kristen Stewart

[rhettroblues]

LEWIS PULLMAN for Grumpy Magazine (2025)

[calicolewis]

Lewis Pullman stuns on the cover of the latest issue of GQ Hype magazine.

[fru1t4fr0gs]

Can’t Lose You

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: After a foolish act of bravery nearly gets you killed, you and Steve have the argument of a lifetime. Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately) your boyfriend happens to be ridiculously hot when he’s angry, and the line between fury and passion has a tendency to stretch very thin when it comes to the two of you.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI; Smut!, Unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, friends), Angry sex, My hand slipped and Steve is dominant as fuck, Dirty talk, Please let me know if I forgot anything!!

Author's Note: We all knew this day would come, and now it’s finally here. In honor of Steve Harrington’s Canonically Huge Dick, I present to you my first full-on smut drabble. Special thanks to @flowersforbucky for proofreading! And as usual, please let me know what you think! If you guys like this, there’s a pretty big chance you can expect more like it in the future!!

-

Steve Harrington, your boyfriend and the absolute love of your life, drives you fucking crazy.

He’s overprotective, bossy, always ready with a sarcastic comment, and so fucking cocky sometimes that you want to wring his gorgeous neck.

Perhaps luckily for both of you, you drive him crazy right back.

You’ve spent the last half hour or so shouting at each other. In his car. In his front yard. Through the halls of his empty house. And now in his bedroom, where he’s running a frustrated hand through his hair and pacing back and forth and still just as absolutely furious with you as he was since the fight began.

“What’s the point of a plan if you’re never going to stick to it?! What the fuck did you think was going to-“

“I didn’t think! I didn’t need to think! If I hadn’t gone in there, those fucking monsters would have-“

“They would have ripped you apart if I hadn’t gotten there in time!”

“But they didn’t.”

“But they would have!”

You swear you mean to leave. You mean to turn on your heel and storm out, to shake off the anger and stomp home and wait for the adrenaline and fury and…everything else to wear off on its own.

But Steve catches your wrist, and spins you back toward him, and his face is flushed and his jaw is clenched and his eyes are on fire and…well, he must be having a similar thought process about your current state, because suddenly his mouth is crushed to yours and his hands are moving up to tangle in your hair with a ferocity that steals the breath from your lungs. He backs you into the door of his bedroom, slamming you against it and caging you in with his body so hard that the impact might hurt if it weren’t for his hand catching the back of your head to shield you from the blow.

“You drive me insane.” He growls, low, as his furious hands tug your shirt over your head like the garment is the most offensive thing he’s ever seen. “Never fucking listen. Always talking back.”

“Take this off.” You tug at his own shirt, breathless and growing increasingly more desperate with each layer of clothing remaining between you.

“And bossy.” But he pulls his shirt over his head, ducking back down to bite at your neck hard enough to make your knees buckle.

“Oh, I’m the bossy one now-“ he cuts you off with another bite, hands sliding over your waist as he presses you tighter against the door until there doesn’t seem to be a millimeter of space left between you.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened if I hadn’t been there in time?” His words are dangerously quiet against your jaw, and you think he might be shaking. You pull back, catching his lips with your own as you begin to fumble with his belt. He responds faster than the crack of a whip, snatching your wrists with one hand and pinning them to the wall above your head without once breaking the kiss.

“Never sticking to the fucking plan.” He continues between demanding kisses, the fingers of his free hand working expertly at the button of your jeans. “Never. Fucking. Listen.”

“We didn’t have time to- oh God.” Your defense is cut off with a gasp as his hand dives beneath your waistband, and you hear his breath catch as his skilled fingers find just how desperate you are for him.

“Fuck-“ for just a moment, his composure breaks. You whimper, the sound leaving you before you can remember that you’re trying to sass him, and he crushes his lips to yours again as he begins to work you like a well-loved instrument. Despite his words, and the gravel still lacing his tone, his movements aren’t rough. He holds you still against the wall, completely in control, but his kiss is loving and his fingers are deft as they move in the exact way he knows will make you fall apart faster than you can think.

“Almost lost you, because you can’t stop throwing yourself into danger.” He murmurs, crooking his finger and adding a second in a single smooth movement that makes your toes curl.

“We didn’t have…t-time, fuck. Steve.”

“Still arguing with me.” He almost grumbles, but his voice is so raw and his fingers are speeding up inside of you and his thumb is working in small circles and you’re having trouble remembering to be pissy with him. That’s probably his fucking intention, but you definitely can’t complain right now. “You almost die, and two seconds later you’re arguing with me.” He pulls back, just far enough to let his nose bump against yours, eyes locked on your face like he’s trying to memorize every expression that crosses it.

He’s losing his grip on his anger, too. You can see the fury in his eyes replace itself with something like reverence as they look into yours, as he crooks his fingers again and swallows your gasp of helpless pleasure like it’s a drug. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. Hold onto me.”

He releases your wrists, and pulls his fingers back so quickly that you nearly sob from the sudden loss. Your arms move to lock around his broad shoulders before you can think, and his hands come down to the backs of your thighs so he can lift you against the wall and kiss you so hard and rough that you forget how to breathe right. His hips rock against yours, and when your nails dig into the warm skin of his back he groans low enough for the sound to vibrate through you.

“Want you.” You murmur, and he moans again as he pulls you back from the door and lowers you onto the bed, still so careful despite his anger.

Once again, your hands move down to tug at his belt, desperate for more of him, and once again, he bats them away.

“Not yet.” He murmurs into the hollow of your throat, trailing searing kisses over your collarbone as he crawls lower. Lower. You whine, arching your back in frustration as your fingers curl against his shoulders in a stubborn attempt to pull him back to you.

“Steve, just-“

He interrupts you with a sharp bite to your hip, hands already working to pull you out of your jeans.

“Do you really think,” his voice is even lower now, dark eyes still burning as he turns them up to you, “that after the shit you pulled tonight, you get to tell me how to fuck you?”

You do your best to glare, even as his words send molten heat through your already burning bloodstream. You can’t find it in yourself to answer, and his satisfied hum only makes you burn hotter. Cocky bastard.

“That’s what I thought.” He murmurs, thumbs hooking in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down as you squirm with a desperation that makes frustration ignite in your core all over again.

He lifts your knee over his shoulder, ducking back down to drag his blunt teeth along the inside of your thigh, and you try so, so hard not to give in. To stay mad at him. To find the words to tell him that he was being overprotective and you had everything under control and just because you’re about to lose your mind with lust and need doesn’t mean you’re done yelling at him.

And then his mouth is on you, hot and skilled and overwhelming, and anything you might have said is cut off by a near-sob of pleasure.

“That’s it.” He murmurs, the words vibrating through you as your fingers tangle helplessly in his hair. “Lemme hear you.”

The way Steve Harrington can take you apart with his mouth should be studied by science. The way you see stars as he writes sonnets into your body with his tongue, the way his fingers join the machinations of his mouth to make you cry out so loudly you’re worried you might wake half the fucking neighborhood. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, and his hand moves up to push your knee back down onto the bed, moaning into you like he’s getting off on this just as much as you are and it’s so fucking hot you might die.

Your high approaches like a fucking freight train, barreling towards you almost alarmingly fast. It’s overwhelming to the point of near-pain, but Steve doesn’t stop. Not for a second. His hand leaves your thigh, sliding up your stomach and your ribs until you’re almost mindlessly clawing at the muscled bicep before you, desperate to anchor yourself to anything solid.

His hand catches your fingers instead, threading them through his own, and when you look down, his eyes are dark and starved and possessive and locked right the fuck onto yours, and you fall over the edge with a scream of his name.

When you come to, still struggling to catch your breath, it’s to your boyfriend climbing up your body like a panther poising to attack, lips brushing over any exposed skin he can reach like he’s trying to inhale you into his very lungs.

“So good. You did so good for me…” he murmurs as he reaches the hollow of your throat, and you can only raise a hand to comb your fingers weakly through his hair. Your grip tightens, however, when you feel his own fingers return to where they were aiding his tongue moments ago, making you gasp and squirm beneath him, still oversensitive.

“S-Steve.” You start, only to be cut off by another sharp gasp as he slips two digits inside of you without so much as a warning.

“Shoulda tied you to the fuckin’ headboard.” He growls, breath warm against the shell of your ear. The words make you arch beneath him, and it takes a lot more focus than you would like to admit for you to smirk.

“Still mad, huh?”

He catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth, and speeds up the movement of his hand until you’re writhing.

And once again, his fingers move and curl inside of you, relentlessly massaging your sweet spot until you’re shaking beneath him.

He kisses you, slow and hungry and deep, and whispers soft praise against your lips until he finally builds you slowly back up to the precipice. Works you open until you’re moaning and gasping shamelessly into his mouth.

Just as you’re about to combust, clinging to him like a lifeline, he pulls back.

“No no no-“ you gasp, mindlessly, and almost reach down between you before his hand flies up to catch yours, pressing it back against the sheets by your head.

“Shhh.” He coos, nuzzling into your cheek with a cocky smirk. “Not so quick to talk back now, are ya?”

“Asshole.” You wish you meant it. He laughs, kissing your cheek, and finally reaches down to tug his jeans over his hips.

He’s big. Almost too big. Even with all of the preparation, all of the time he took to work you open for him, the stretch makes you whimper as he pushes in, slow and careful and shaking with restraint.

“You can take it, baby.” He half-whispers, more than a little breathless himself, and squeezes your hand a little tighter as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. “I’ve got you. My girl. So fucking tight. Made for me, yeah? You were fucking made for me…”

He kisses you again, groaning as he sinks all the way into you, and begins to move in a slow, steady rhythm. Like he’s savoring every thrust. Like he’s taking his sweet time making sure each movement hits the deepest, warmest parts of you.

“S-Steve.” His name leaves your lips in a desperate gasp, and the fingers of the hand not holding your own tighten behind your knee as he pulls it up a little higher around his hip.

“What is it, baby?” He asks, teasing and soft as you writhe beneath him. His lips glide over the line of your jaw, and his next thrust is just a little rougher. A little more intense. It sends a shot of pleasure through you, but it’s not enough. Not nearly. You whimper, the fingers of your free hand digging deep into his bicep as you try to match his movements with your own. Try to create just a little bit more friction.

He tsks at you, holding you still as he presses his lips to yours.

“Mm, always such a firecracker.” He purrs, another slow roll of his hips making you keen. “But you get so sweet like this, don’t you?”

“Steve.” You nearly sob his name now, and he still doesn’t pick up speed, but he does slide his tongue between your lips with a rock of his hips that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Shh,” he coos again , and you can see the restraint in his shoulders. See how difficult it is to keep his slow rhythm in the way sweat beads on his brow. “Be good, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Y-you…ngh.” The insult dies on your tongue.

“I what?” He whispers, breath warm against your cheek. His hand tightens in yours, still teasing, and your toes curl as your head falls back against the pillows with frustration. More more more. You need more so badly you can’t think straight. You know he does too. You’re going to kill him. “You know what I wanna hear, sweetheart.”

He wants you to beg. You’re definitely gonna kill him.

“This is…you’re…” words are not your friend, it seems.

He thrusts a little harder, just once, and you whine. “C’mon, be sweet for me.”

“Please.” You nearly sob, and he grins as his free hand comes up to smooth over your hair. “Please, please please.”

“Good girl.” He purrs, and finally starts to speed up. Finally angles himself to hit that spot inside of you that has you moaning into his shoulder. “Was that so hard?”

“Steve.”

And even with the way his fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so he can kiss you so roughly you wonder if your lips might bruise, and the way he snaps his hips so hard against yours you wonder if the headboard is going to dent the wall, his fingers are still tangled in yours by your head. His eyes are still locked on your own, and there’s so much love in his gaze that you think you might drown in it.

You’re drowning in him, and you never want to come up for air.

“I love you.” He whispers, hoarse and hungry and raw. “I love you so much. Doing so good for me. Fuck.” He kisses you again, and you can do nothing but sob out more pleas and broken forms of his name.

You feel like you’re on fire. It’s so good it hurts. You can’t think. You can’t speak. You wonder for a moment if he’s somehow broken your brain, mind almost too empty to even register the sweet words he’s whispering against your skin.

You try to tell him so. Try to express the intensity of what’s building inside of you. The words fail, and you just choke on a whimper of “S’ t-too…”

“I’ve got you.” He kisses your cheek. Your nose. Your lips. “I’ve got you. Let go for me. Wanna feel it.”

And you do. You’re too far gone to even scream anymore, biting down so hard on his shoulder that you’re positive it’s going to leave a bruise and clinging to him with everything you’ve got as your vision goes completely white for the second time tonight.

“So good... Fuck, fuck baby.” His breath is warm against your throat as you slowly fall back to earth. He follows you over the edge, pulling back to press his lips to yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss as he comes apart with a guttural moan of your name.

You’re boneless. Exhausted. Damp with sweat and still trying to remember how to form coherent thought.

Steve seems to be in the same boat, collapsing on top of you and taking a moment to catch his breath. His nose nuzzles into the skin beneath your jaw, hand releasing your leg to slide lovingly up over your waist.

“You okay?” He murmurs, and you can only nod, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders with an exhausted hum.

“Still mad?” You ask, and he finally pulls back to look down at you again, fingers tracing over your still-flushed cheek.

“You can’t do that.” He says, soft and just a little rasped. “You can’t…you have to be more careful. I almost lost you.”

“Well, if that’s how you’re gonna show me that you’re mad-“

“I’m serious.” He turns your face towards him, and his eyes are soft. Vulnerable. The fire and fury from before is gone. “I almost lost you tonight. You almost…” his breath stutters a little, “I can’t lose you. Don’t you get that?”

His thumb smooths over your cheek, like he’s savoring the feeling of your skin, and you can’t blame your exhaustion for the way your heart melts.

“Okay.” You turn your face, kiss the skin of his palm. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

He nods, and leans down to kiss you, slow and sweet and soft.

And as he gathers you into his arms, lips barely leaving your skin for more than a second as he shifts to wiggle you both beneath the covers, you completely forget that you were ever upset with him in the first place. Something about him being overprotective. Or bossy. Or both.

You’ll try to remember that you’re mad in the morning. Or not. Or you’ll just hold him, and remind him how much you love him in the dim light of his bedroom, and wait until you can feel your legs again.

Steve Harrington, the love of your life, drives you absolutely fucking crazy.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[avastarred]

family man

avastarred ficmas 2025, day 11

pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x f!reader synopsis: Bob shoots a TV special with the New Avengers and it leaves him with a spot of baby fever content: [18+ MDNI!!] established relationship, rough sex, multiple positions, couch sex, dumbification (sorta), breeding kink, pregnancy fetish (idk but i'm putting here to be safe), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, power use, he levitates, super fast fingers, unprotected pinv (u guys know the drill), multiple orgasms (f and m), multiple creampies, overstimulation, reader cries a little, fingers in reader's mouth, slight family talk, reader is on birth control, there's probably other stuff i forgot but these are the big things word count: 4.1k author's note: y'all... well... head in hands. hope you guys enjoy <3. also idk if any of u are kpoppies but fully got the TV special idea from those hello82 vids they make idols do (specifically the piwon vid. if u are a p1ece come say hi #mypeople). likes and reblogs are veryyyy appreciated hehe thank you for reading!!

taglist: @iristheplanet16 @dracoola98 @dayastarkorwtvr

ficmas masterlist ☆ main masterlist

Soft morning light filters into your room through the gaps in your blinds, and you stir, trying to escape Bob’s strong hold. 

“Bob, baby, wake up. You need to be out of here soon,” you whisper softly, patting his hip. His arms tighten around your waist and he pushes his face into the nape of your neck. 

“Don’t wanna. Wanna stay here with you,” he mumbles. 

“It’s the last thing you need to do and then we have three uninterrupted weeks together.” He lets you wriggle free from his grasp and you turn to kiss him on the nose. He smiles. 

“But it’s children. God, what if I suck? What if they hate me? What if I accidentally break their tiny little bones,” he mumbles. You put a hand on his chest and he lays his hand over yours. 

“Bob. You’ll be alright, they’re children and you’re a superhero, and unless you’re rough housing with them I highly doubt you’re going to break their bones. Your control is so much better now. ” 

You shift so you can kiss his forehead. 

“I think you’re forgetting the part where this interaction is being filmed and aired to the entire country later this week.”

“Even if you suck. They’ll either make you look good or focus on everyone else. Don’t worry about it okay?”

You actually give him a peck on the lips, and he takes the opportunity to pull you even tighter, his hand caressing your face.

You pat him on the chest again. 

“Do you want me to come with? For support?”

“No. Definitely not. What if you get the ick?”

“The ick?”

“The ick.”

“I think you’re letting Alexei show you too many TikToks,” you snort as you extricate yourself from his arms. “Why on earth would I get the ick?”

“Maybe you’ll see how terrible I am with kids and you’ll hate me after,” he’s pouting, and it takes a lot of effort not to let a laugh slip past. 

“Bob I’m telling you. Kids aren’t as complicated as you think they are. You are the Sentry. You have a cape and a deep voice and your eyes glow. They’ll love you for that alone,” you reassure as you tousle his hair. 

“Wow. You’re very confident,” he whispers, lips ghosting over yours. 

“I have nieces and nephews, remember? They ask me if I’ve seen the Sentry every time I go visit.”

“And what do you say?” he kisses your shoulder, turns so that he’s pressing you into the mattress. 

“I tell them that the Sentry doesn’t shop in cheap corner stores,” you laugh weakly as he attaches his lips to your neck. “I also tell them that I bet the Sentry has great discipline and gets to his job on time,”you say, pushing feebly at his shoulders. 

He just sighs. 

“Are you sure we don’t have time? Just for a little bit?”

“It’s never a little bit with you. Go get ready,” you whisper, kissing him on the cheek. 

Bob is evasive when you ask how filming was, but over the next few days, it is impossible to pry him off of you. Not that you want to, but he’s never been this clingy before. He clings to you in the mornings, refusing to let you get out of bed until you absolutely have to. He comes up behind you while you brush your teeth, snakes his hand under your t-shirt and just lets his hand rest on your stomach while he presses small kisses behind your ear.

“What is wrong with you?” you ask him when he buries his face between your thighs one day and absolutely refuses to get up until you’re a sweaty panting mess. 

“Nothing, just love you,” he says as he kisses his way up your torso until his lips are over yours and you can taste yourself on him. 

He’s extra touchy after you’ve video called your sister one day, cooing at her new baby. He even waves shyly from the other side of the bed when you turn the phone so the baby can see Uncle Bob, the gold in his eyes dancing as she gives him a toothless smile and gurgles at him. You’ve never seen him like this, he preferred to leave the room when you FaceTimed your siblings and any of their kids, citing privacy as his reason. When you hang up he’s all over you, barely giving you time to process what’s going on before he has you pressed into the mattress and he’s sliding your underwear off. 

“Okay, seriously,” you laugh, even as he kisses your face. 

“You’re just so pretty when you’re in aunty mode. So sweet, turns me on,” he whispers. 

“Freak,” you sigh, when he drags his teeth over the part where your neck and shoulder meet. 

“And yet,” he presses his fingers to your clit, drags them through your folds as he collects the arousal gathering there, “you seem to like it.”

You don’t deny it, can’t deny it when he has you gasping under him, desperate for release. 

He’s muttering under his breath, too low for you to hear but every now and then the words “knock you up,” and “beautiful mom” break through the haze. 

I’ll ask him later, you think as you feel your stomach tighten, feel yourself coming apart underneath him, but by the time he’s done with you, you’re too worn out to remember what you’re supposed to be asking him. 

You’re sitting on the couch, Bob’s head in your lap while you play with his hair waiting for the segment they filmed earlier in the week to come on. Your whole place seems to hum with a restless energy, but when you look at him he’s still, eyes closed; the only evidence that he’s amped up the tiny flickers of gold that flash under his skin. 

“So, what am I in for?” you ask, carding your fingers through his hair. He opens his eyes, gold irises meeting yours. 

“Birthday party, we were the special guests,” he says. He slips his hand under your t-shirt, letting it rest on your stomach, nice and warm. He presses a soft kiss just underneath your bellybutton, then turns so his cheek is pressed flat against your stomach.

Sure enough, when the episode starts playing it opens with a shot of children in someone’s backyard. The birthday girl is in a combination Thor costume and princess dress, hanging upside down off of a playset when the host for the show asks them whether they’re excited for the guests. The children take turns guessing who might be coming, and only about two of the kids manage to guess right. It doesn’t matter, the children let out high pitched peals of laughter when the Avengers walk in through the rickety gate, larger than life. 

Something twists in your stomach when you see just how much bigger Bob is than the kids. They all are, but Sentry has … presence. There’s an awkward round of introductions, but mostly the kids just want to play. They’re weaving in and out of legs, threatening to knock Alexei over, roping John into a game of tag and asking questions about his taco shield.  

Bob immediately finds refuge in the kitchen, helping the mother arrange finger foods on a plate, then moves to the living room to help package goody bags. He looks peaceful, bent over the table and fumbling with the mini juice boxes and kinder eggs — that is until a gaggle of children come inside and practically drag him by the cape back outside. 

You’re surprised at how quickly he eases into their attention, the children practically hanging off him. He throws them up in the air and catches them, spinning them around before putting them on the ground again. One little girl in particular is smitten with him, tugging at his cape and begging to be held in his arms the entire time. She’s got a captain America costume on, paired with a bright pink tutu and her shoes are just a tiny bit too big for her feet but she doesn’t let that deter her as she follows Bob around like a shadow. When the children get treats she lets him split a cookie with her, giving him the bigger half because he has ‘so many muscles’. 

“What’s your name?” she asks him at one point, when he crouches down to help her tie her shoelaces. She takes the opportunity to slip her tiara on his head. 

“Sentry,” Bob smiles and she just giggles, flashes him a wide gap-toothed grin. 

“No silly! Your real name, not just your superhero name,”she laughs. She runs off to go get a slice of pizza before Bob can react and by the time she comes back her attention has shifted to playing with his hair. She weaves loose braids into it, then asks the birthday girl for clips. Bob ends up with a bunch of multicolour clips in various shapes all over his head, with no purpose other than to look pretty.  

“This is how my mommy does my hair,” she smiles at the cameraman before showing a very loose braid to the camera. “Now the Sentry is pretty like me,” she beams. The producers and parents all laugh. 

She falls asleep on him when he starts reading The Lorax, seemingly tired out from crawling all over him. Her head rests on his shoulder, and Bob balances her in his lap, taking all the care in the world not to jostle her every time he turns a page. The other kids are rapt, sitting at his feet, slices of cake forgotten as he does silly voices. Even the other Avengers seems surprised at the way he takes to temporary princesshood. 

The episode ends with everyone waving bye to the Avengers (all sent on their way with personalised goody bags) and you and Bob sit in silence while holiday ads drone in the background. 

“Did you like it?” he asks. He’s looking up at you, wisps of his hair falling into his face. You push them out of his face as you nod. 

“You did so good, and made a new friend,” you laugh softly. 

“Yeah. Her name’s Addie and she’s six years old,” he holds up five fingers and the two of you break out into giggles. 

“See? Nothing bad happened,” you say as you drag him up to kiss you. “God, women all over America are probably fantasising about you right now,” you whisper. 

“You think so?” He presses a kiss into your neck, and you can feel him already half hard in his shorts, as his hips rock gently against yours. You take a deep breath in an attempt to focus on the conversation at hand, your stomach already turning in anticipation as his hand slides into your pyjama pants. 

“Yeah. Something about men who are good with kids is– it’s so good,” you sigh as his fingers press into your clit in tight circles. 

“You feel that way too? You like that I was good with the kids?” 

He’s slipping a finger inside you and you’re trying not to lose all composure as he curls it, your hips bucking up. 

“You gotta answer me sweetheart. You like that?” 

You manage a weak “yes” as he slips another finger in, moans into your neck when he feels you tighten around them. 

“Good. Oh god, that’s good,” he sighs into your neck. He doesn’t stop rocking into you, but he pulls his fingers out of you and pushes them into your mouth. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, as he watches you clean them up, eyes locked on his. “Gonna make such a beautiful mom for me,” he sighs as he uses his other hand to push your t-shirt up. 

“Didn’t know that was something you wanted,” you mumble when he’s dragged his fingers out of your mouth. 

“Didn’t know until this thing either,” he undoes the drawstrings on his shorts, and he laughs when you prop yourself up on your forearms to watch as he shucks his shorts off. He’s so hard it looks like it aches, but he’s not in any rush as he spits into his hand and wraps it around his shaft. “Fuck, didn’t know it until that kid fell asleep on me and I thought about how cute you’d find it. Then I started thinking about the way you talk about your nieces and nephews and,” he leans down so he can press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, “you get this look in your eyes. I didn’t see it before but I couldn’t stop seeing it, thinking about it. When you showed me the baby all I could think about was you holding one of our own,” he finishes as he pulls your shorts and underwear off, discarding them on the floor. 

You don’t have time to think about his admission before the sound of him spitting on your exposed  cunt echoes through the room. 

“Drove me insane. Kept picturing you pregnant, didn’t know what to do,” he says as he finally pushes into you, barely controlled as he kisses you again, nice and slow. 

“Bob, baby,” you gasp as he fills you up. 

“I know, I know, not yet but shit I want it so bad,” he whispers into your ear. “Wanna get you full of me,” he pulls your t-shirt over your head, hands squeezing your tits together when you’re free. He looks like he’s glowing as he looks down at you, soft waves of blond framing his face in an almost halo. You lean up, pushing your fingers under his shirt. 

“Please?” you ask, and he just smiles at you as he pulls it off. 

You’re in awe. You’re always in awe when he’s like this, the soft glow of his skin, the tight muscle of his body, the way he has a light dusting of freckles  across his chest. He kisses your jaw, then he’s shifting, laying down on the couch and pulling you on top of him. 

“Want you on top, before you get too tired,” he says, repositioning himself and pushing into you so fast you have to lean forward, your hands flying out into the couch on either side of his head for support. His hands are on your hips, his thumbs digging into the crease where your hips and your thighs meet. 

“So, so beautiful for me,” he grunts as he bounces you on his cock his eyes half-lidded. There’s an electrical humming that fills the room as he speeds up, his grip getting tighter. 

“Bob. Sentry–” you start, tears pricking at your eyes as he pushes up into you. 

“Love when you call me that. Love when I’m both,” he says, leaning up so he can kiss your chest. The glowing of the overhead light is brighter, but steady. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, it’s like you want me to fill you up,” he groans, pushing his face into your breasts, mouth opening so he can take one in his mouth. He’s sitting up again, arm wrapping around you so that his other one can squeeze. “Oh my god, you’re so soft. Soft now, softer when you’re pregnant,” he sighs into you. He lets go of your boob to press his hand into your stomach. 

“Right here, gonna put a baby right here,” he says around your nipple, pace still relentless. 

You can’t answer, you just dig your nails into his shoulders as you whine out for him, thighs growing slicker as he fucks into you. 

“You want that? I know you want that, can feel you, honey. Fucking… swallowing me, fuck,” he mutters, tilting his face into yours as his lips come over yours in a messy kiss. He slides his fingers down to your clit again, and you let out a surprised gasp when you feel his fingers vibrate against your clit. It’s instant, you’re tightening around him before you can even grasp what’s happening, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. 

“Aww don’t cry honey,” his voice slips into condescension on the ‘honey’, and against your better judgement you feel a tug of want. He’s kissing the tears, tongue coming out to lick at them gently before he kisses your cheeks. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t let you catch your breath as he cradles your head.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you open your eyes, stare right down into gold pools of his. “Gonna fuck you stupid,” he says, “right here on this couch. Then on your bed, ’til all you know is me. Fuck you stupid and full ’til we have a baby,” he grunts. His hand is on your stomach again, warm and you watch as little trails of gold seem to shimmer under his skin. “That good with you?”

You nod, but he isn’t satisfied. 

“Asked you a question,” he kisses your throat, then sucks at the skin until he’s sure he’s left a mark. 

“Yes, yeah. ’Til I’m full,” you reply. 

You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle as he lays you back down, putting a pillow under your hips so he can prop them up. You’re sensitive, still recovering from your orgasm and everything feels heightened; the way he kisses you, the way his hands drag over your body, feeling at you like you’ll disappear. He throws your leg over his shoulder, letting out a low, drawn out moan as he manages to push even deeper into you. 

“Fuck you feel so good like this,” he mutters. He keeps his hand on your stomach, watching as your breasts bounce with every thrust, hand slipping down to your lower abdomen so he can feel himself as he pushes into you. “Made for me,” mumbles, “made for me. We go so good together, gonna have perfect babies aren’t we?”

You nod when he looks at you, incapable of speech. 

“Awww… can’t speak?” he sneers, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You press your tongue against the underside and he twitches, momentarily surprised. He presses his hand a little harder into your stomach, and you whine, head fuzzy as you feel yourself climbing again, skin humming with pleasure as you pulse around him. 

“That’s it, honey c’mon,” he grunts, thrusts growing erratic. 

Your bodies are slick as they move against each other, and you’re grabbing at his forearms, begging him to come down and kiss you. He does, but only when he’s right on the edge, only pressing his lips to yours as he starts spilling into you, chest heaving against yours. He doesn’t move, even when you push your hands against his chest. 

“Gotta keep it in, keep you full,” he whispers into your ear. Then you realise he’s still hard, throbbing inside of you like nothing happened. 

“Holy fuck this serum is the second best thing to happen to me,” he says as he presses his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna be so easy to fuck a baby into you like this, can keep you here for so long just like this,” he starts moving again, hips moving slowly against you even as you let out low, pathetic whines, arms tightening around his neck in a hug. Your bodies are flush against each other and your thighs ache with the effort of staying spread. The weight of his body on yours makes your brain cloud with pleasure. He presses a kiss into the side of your head. 

“It’s so easy like this,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, “can feel all of you,” he mumbles. He leans down so he can kiss at your collarbone, then he’s wrapping his arms around as he picks you up and stands in one smooth motion. His hands under your ass keep you in place as he keeps himself inside you. It’s only when you open your eyes you realise that he’s not touching the ground, floating as he moves through your apartment. He shoulders the door to your bedroom open (gently) before his feet touch the ground again. 

“There we go, more comfortable?” he asks, as he lays you down again, pulling out briefly so he can turn you onto your stomach. You sigh in relief, but it’s short lived because the moment he gets behind you he’s spreading you open again, his hand pressing in between your shoulders until your chest is flush with the mattress. When he pushes in again, it’s so easy you’re almost embarrassed and he lets out a low groan. 

“So fucking easy,” he says as he uses his other hand to move your hips against his, “you like this? You like taking it like this?” He speeds up, only letting go of your hips so he can pin your wrists behind your back. His hand presses your head into the mattress a little as he pushes deeper, faster. “Won’t be able to fuck you like this when you’re knocked up,” he says, like it’s a given. “Gotta keep you nice and safe, be gentle. Gotta fuck you rough now,” he mutters into the room. Your moans are muffled by the sheets but the way you tighten around him is enough for him. 

“Again? Already? Spoiled tonight aren’t you?”

He lets go of your wrists so he can squeeze at the flesh of your ass, sliding it up and down his length. “You should see yourself honey, see the way she’s creaming on it. It’s so good, wanna keep you like this forever,” he mutters as he keeps thrusting into you. He leans down to press a kiss between your shoulder blades, a small act of tenderness in contrast to the brutal way he fucks you, his hand still tight around your wrists. “Gonna fill you up again, you want that honey?”

There’s a small sound of agreement as you nod, his name tumbling out of your lips in hoarse cries. It seems to spur him on, push him even deeper into you as your thighs twitch. You feel his chest press against your back as he takes deep breaths. “You’re so good for me. Just a little longer okay I’m not… I’m not finished,” he says as he kisses behind your ear. 

“Sentry,” you whine, and you feel him twitch inside you. 

“Call me that again and we’ll be here well into tomorrow. Fuck I can’t help myself,” he says as he turns you over onto your back, pushes your knees into your chest, “you just look so good under me. And I keep imagining you all round, tits full of milk. You’ll be so soft,” he says as he presses more kisses into your chest. “Oh my god, honey.” His hand is over your stomach again, rubbing as if his baby is already there. “Wanna see you so full, so full you do that little waddle,” he kisses you just above your belly button. Then his mouth moves to your breasts again, taking turns with each, teeth grazing the nipples slightly. “I’ll take such good care of you baby, won’t have to worry about a thing. Back massages, massage these when they’re sore,” he promises as he puts a nipple in his mouth again. 

You just babble in agreement, cunt still aching at the feel of him, how he splits you open when you’re like this. You want to tell him you’re not sure you bend this way, but he’s already making you, his hands pressed firm into the back of your thighs. He starts thrusting into you again when he slots his mouth over yours, tongue pushing into your mouth, messy and hot. 

“We’re gonna have such perfect babies,” he pants, “gonna be so beautiful, just like their momma,” he continues. 

“Honey–”

“I know, I know, almost there,” he grunts. “Need you to give me one more too,” he says. 

You think you might be numb, unable to focus on anything but the press of his hands into your thighs and his voice in your ear begging you to cum. His fingers are on your clit again, slow and gentle, the push you need to finally let go. He follows soon after, his lips on yours again and his hips stilling as he empties into you. 

He pulls out of you gently, rolls over and lays next to you as he stares at the ceiling. Your hand finds his as you wait for your skin to stop humming and the buzzing in your head to die down. You’re about to speak when you hear a nervous “honey?” from beside you.

“Yes, Bob?”

“You’re on birth control right?”

You snort, then laugh. 

“Yes. Not sure it’s Sentry proof, but yes.”

You hear him sigh in relief. 

“Thank god. I might have gotten ahead of myself,” he replies. 

“Oh feel free to get ahead of yourself more often. It’s nice when you tell me what you want. Then take it.”

You hear him sigh and then: “Please don’t talk to me like that. We’ll be here all night.” 

[vakariaan]

ultimate ships challenge - [3/5] we could have had it all

Warren/Layla »  Sky High

To let true love remain unspoken is the quickest route to a heavy heart.

[twinkhole-destroyer]

someone is putting up pictures of me around town and they all say I’m ‘wanted’. which is nice

[corrodedbisexual]

[tshyn]

every night is fanfic night if you're a whore like me

[followyourfleart]

ᯓ★ Clark finally has you, but it's his first time too in a lot of ways...

Nervous doesn't even cover how Clark feels.

He feels like his heart is beating a million times faster than normal—which is a lot, considering it does beat way faster than people—but that even isn't the biggest issue.

How the heck was he supposed to deal with you crying?

Now, he prided himself on being a sweetheart—especially in your friendship.

He never once left you out at the football games, never made you feel unwanted when he stayed late for the school paper, and he was always your ride home.

Not. Once.

But now he was on your front porch, flowers in one hand and your favorite snacks in the other, wearing his cleanest shirt, watching you break down in front of him.

Shoot.

"H-hey, I'm sorry!" he squeaked, dropping the snacks and bouquet on the rocking chair like they might combust, and stepping toward you. "D-do you not like this snack anymore? I swear I didn't know—"

"Clark..."

"A-and the flowers weren't— I mean, nothing crazy expensive! I can return them, get you different kinds... I don't know—"

"Clark."

"—or was it my confession. Crud, confession sounds a lot. My secret? No, no it wasn't a secret. I mean, everyone knew. Actually, I'm surprised you didn't pick up on it, since you're super smart and—"

"Clark!"

"What?!"

You both were breathing so hard it drowned out the cicadas. His eyes were huge, his mouth in that perpetual puppy pout.

Were you mad at him? He hoped not. Every tiny spat made him go whine to his Ma, who always told him to be kind and give people space. Usually, you both bounced back. Always.

So what if this time was different? What if he'd messed up so badly you'd slam the door in his face and tell your daddy to shoot him if he ever came near?

He'd just spilled his heart out—was that really such a crime? He knew his powers would scare people; how could they not? But did they scare you? Did you think he was going to hurt you?

No, no! He'd never hurt you. He wouldn't lay a finger on you except to be kind, to be careful, to be good—

He blinked.

Your hands were warm, like always, cupping his face. When you stepped closer his breath hitched; his eyes ballooned as if they'd tried to escape his skull. Your body pressed against his and something small unraveled in him—a whine, soft and involuntary, slipped out.

He held you there, half-afraid to move and half-afraid not to. He leaned into the press of you, clinging to the maddening comfort of proximity as if every inch that separated you before had been stolen.

And then your lips brushed his.

Muah!

It wasn’t smooth or practiced—far from it. Your noses bumped, teeth clicked, and his glasses nearly slipped right off his face. But when your lips finally fit against his, his whole world short-circuited.

Oh gosh. Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh.

He’d never kissed anyone before. Never touched a girl like this. And now it was you—his best friend—in his arms, tasting like your favorite soda and salt from your tears. His heart hammered like it might break his ribs, his hands gripping you like he wasn’t sure if he should pull you closer or let go.

You both fumbled through it but he swore it was perfect. Every mistake just made you giggle against his mouth, and each laugh made him fall harder.

When you finally broke apart, both of you panting, he just stared at you, wide-eyed, lips tingling, chest heaving.

“Wow,” you whispered, breathless, teasing. “For a farm boy, you sure don’t kiss like one.”

His ears burned crimson. He fumbled with his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose with a trembling hand. “I, uh—” He swallowed hard, staring at your lips like they held every answer he’d ever needed. “Guess I need more practice.”

And before you could fire back with another joke, he leaned in, glasses slightly askew, and kissed you again.

His first kiss.

For you.

Which meant, his first date was for you too.

And Clark's nerves were back like never before.

Fighting off a runaway tractor with his Pa? Easy. Balancing a double life between farm chores and, well, everything else? Manageable.

But ironing a button-down while Ma teased him about “finally askin' her out”? That was enough to nearly send him straight through the roof.

He’d asked his folks for help because if anyone knew how to treat a girl right, it was Ma and Pa. They’d kept it simple—set up a quilt out by the big oak tree, packed a basket full of your favorite sandwiches, Ma’s sweet tea, and even a little pie. A lantern hung in the branches above, glowing soft as the sun dipped low.

When you walked up the dirt path, he forgot how to breathe. That dress—you’d worn it before, to school recitals and fancy dinners, always looking so polished. But this time, it was different.

This time, it was for him.

“Goly…” slipped out before he could stop it, his cheeks blazing.

You laughed, spinning once like you’d been waiting for his reaction. “Well? Do I look okay?”

“‘Okay’?” His voice cracked halfway, and he pushed at his glasses again. “You look… you look like… I don’t even got words for it.”

Dinner was clumsy but sweet. You teased him for overstuffing the sandwiches, he teased you for sneaking extra pie before he’d even poured the tea. Fireflies drifted around, glowing like the whole world had decided to play along.

And just like that, the awkwardness melted away. It wasn’t about being perfect—it was about being you two.

By the end of the night, his shoulder ached from how long you’d leaned against it, his heart so full he thought it might burst. When he finally walked you home under the starlight, he was grinning like a fool.

His first date.

All for you.

Which also meant… his body was for you.

Clark hadn’t expected it to move this fast. Not with you. Not with the way he still got nervous just holding your hand. But now—now you were in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, your lips swollen from kissing, your hair mussed from his clumsy hands, and his pulse was hammering so loud he swore you could hear it.

The topic had slipped out between kisses, all breathless and shaky. Should we…? Do you want to…?

And then you whispered it—something about wanting him, needing him—and it hit him like a thunderclap.

You wanted him.

Him. The boy who’d never so much as touched anyone this way. The boy who, for all his strength, suddenly felt clumsy and breakable in your arms.

“Wait—wait.” His voice cracked, his hands hovering at your waist, not pulling away but not pushing forward either. His cheeks burned hotter than the sun that healed him. “I… gosh, I’ve never—” He swallowed hard, eyes darting everywhere but your lips. “You’re my first. And if this—if we—”

You cupped his face, steadying him with that look that always unraveled him.

“Me too, Clark.”

That admission nearly floored him. His chest tightened, something between relief and disbelief. He wanted you—wanted you so badly it scared him—but he wanted to do it right.

He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing hard. “I just… I wanna give you more than just tonight. Let me… let me take you out again, treat you the way you deserve, before we—” He faltered, ears blazing. “—before we jump the boat.”

You smiled, that soft, teasing smile that always made him feel both ten feet tall and small as a pebble. And you agreed, because it was him.

His first time.

For you, forever and more.

The date wasn’t extravagant—it was the little diner downtown, the one with the neon sign that always flickered and the jukebox that only played half the songs right. But to Clark, it was perfect. You sat across from him, sipping a milkshake you’d insisted on sharing, laughing when he fumbled the straws.

And the whole time, his mind was back in his room.

The room he’d set up too carefully. Candles lined on his desk, the bed made twice over so not a wrinkle showed. His Ma and Pa had gone over to your house with your parents for dinner, leaving the place just for him. Just for you.

It should’ve excited him. Instead, it made his palms sweat.

Because he knew what he wanted. He knew what you wanted. And shamefully—embarrassingly—he’d checked himself in the mirror more than once before heading out. Just to be sure. Because what if, when it mattered most, he couldn’t? What if he froze? What if you were there, perfect and pretty, ready for him, and he couldn’t even…?

He bit into his burger and barely tasted it.

“You’re quiet,” you said, tilting your head, eyes soft on him.

Clark blinked, panic rising. He couldn’t tell you that—couldn’t confess he’d been pacing around his room worrying if his body would betray him. But he couldn’t lie, either.

“I’m just—” he cleared his throat, shifting in the booth, pushing at his glasses. “I’m nervous.”

“About what?”

His voice went small, boyish. “About… messing up.”

You reached across the table, curling your hand over his. “Clark, you couldn’t mess this up if you tried. I’m here with you. That’s all that matters.”

Something loosened in his chest, like a knot untangling. He squeezed your hand back, whispering, “Yeah. You’re right.”

The rest of the meal went smoothly. It was easy—you were easy. And by the time he walked you home, hand tucked securely in his, he wasn’t thinking about failures anymore.

He was only thinking about you.

His house. His room.

Clark closed the door with a soft click, leaning back against it for a heartbeat just to breathe. His room had never felt so small, so charged. The candles flickered on his desk, throwing warm light over everything—over you.

You slipped off your jacket, laying it neatly on the chair. Then your heels, one, then the other. Every movement had his throat tightening, his palms sweating.

He stepped closer, heart galloping. “We can always… back out,” he whispered, voice rough. “Move this to another night—”

You cut him off.

Muah!

Your lips found his, and just like that, he was doomed. His knees went weak, his brain emptied, and all that mattered was you.

The kiss wasn’t clumsy this time. All those moments, all the practice you’d given him—it showed. He matched your rhythm, deepened it, let himself get lost in the way you clutched at his shirt.

You both shuffled back toward the bed, lips still locked. His heel caught the rug, and suddenly you tumbled, the mattress squeaking beneath you as he landed with an ungraceful oof!

His arms caged around you, braced just enough that his weight didn’t crush you, but oh gosh—he was on top. You were beneath him, hair fanned out, looking up at him with those eyes that had always, always undone him.

And then you giggled. The sound made his whole body melt.

He laughed too, a shaky, breathless thing, and dipped down to kiss you again. And again. And again, because how could he not? Each brush of your lips pulled him deeper, tugged him closer until he felt like he was drowning in sweetness.

Your arms looped around his neck, holding him there like you’d never let go. Then your legs shifted—sliding up, hitching around his waist.

Clark gasped into your mouth, his whole body jerking at the sudden, dizzying intimacy.

“Press down,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel you.”

His throat worked in a hard swallow. His body moved before his brain caught up, hips pressing down, sliding against yours. And then—oh gosh.

Perfect.

You fit perfectly. His clothed crotch aligned with your heat, every shift sparking through him until he thought he might burst. He groaned, forehead dropping to yours, breath ragged.

You. Him. Here. Now.

His hips kept moving like they had a mind of their own, rutting down into the damp heat of your panties until his head spun. He could feel you through the thin cotton, every press making him harder, needier.

And then—you tugged your strap down. Your bra slipped, and suddenly—

Holy. Crud.

His breath choked out of him as his eyes locked on the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples peaked and perfect. He had to squeeze his eyes shut, jaw clenched tight, because if he looked too long, if he thought too hard about what he was seeing, he was gonna bust his load right there in his slacks.

“C-can I—?” he stammered, peeking out with one eye.

Your nod—your yes—was all it took.

He bent down, mouth tentative at first, then hungrier when your breath hitched, when your fingers threaded through his hair. He latched onto one nipple, sucking, tongue flicking against it like he’d dreamed of a hundred times. Every reaction you gave him—every moan, every arch of your back—burned into his chest like a brand.

His rhythm faltered, then caught again, grinding harder into you, caught between your thighs. He couldn’t stop the needy groan that ripped out of him.

And then—you grabbed his hand. Pulled it lower. Guided him right to the slick heat waiting for him.

Clark froze.

Oh gosh.

It was wet. Really, really wet. He’d heard about this, sure—locker room talk, stuff he’d tried to ignore—but feeling it? Your heat soaking into his fingertips, your body ready for him like that?

It made his head spin.

“Y-you’re—” His voice cracked as his thumb brushed over your soaked panties, breath coming in sharp gasps. “Oh gosh, you’re so wet.”

You smiled at him, that patient, knowing kind of smile. You slid your hand down your panties to hold his and whispered, “It’s okay, Clark. Just… let me show you.”

He nodded quickly, eyes glued to your face, trying to commit every flicker of your expression to memory.

“O-okay. Show me.”

You guided his fingers, slow enough that he could pull back if he panicked. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. His breath caught the instant you pulled them to the side, and he was able to cup you, and he felt everything.

Bare. Hot. Slick.

“Holy—” He cut himself off with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut again because the reality of it was almost too much.

“Shh,” you soothed, stroking his wrist. “Just… move a little.”

He did, clumsy at first, his fingertip sliding along folds he didn’t understand, searching for the right spot. He hated how shaky he felt, like he was bound to mess this up, but then you gasped—soft, sharp—and he froze.

“There,” you whispered, hips shifting against him. “That’s good.”

Clark swallowed hard. His brain scrambled to hold onto that little piece of information. He rubbed there again, tentative, and when you moaned, he nearly melted.

“You like that?” His voice cracked, boyish and breathless.

“Yes,” you murmured, guiding him in circles, slower, steadier. “Just keep doing that.”

So he did. Over and over, finding a rhythm. His body moved awkwardly at first, but then his instincts—his stubborn determination to get things right—kicked in. He watched you, memorized every flutter of your lashes, every arch of your back, every sound that spilled out of you, adjusting until your thighs trembled around him.

Clark couldn’t believe it—he was doing this. He was making you feel good.

His own hips jerked down into yours as he fumbled, his slacks painfully tight, but he didn’t care. He wanted to watch, wanted to learn.

And when you gasped and guided one of his fingers inside you, he almost blacked out.

The heat swallowed him whole, the slick squeeze around his knuckle making his head snap back with a groan. “You’re—oh gosh, you’re so tight.”

He pumped shallowly, his jaw slack as he tried to get used to the feel. He had no rhythm, not yet, but you whispered encouragements, little nods and soft sighs that kept him steady.

“Curl it,” you breathed.

Clark obeyed, curling his finger upward, and when you cried out, his whole chest swelled with something wild and proud.

He was smart—he could do this. He was doing this.

And when he added his thumb back to that little bundle of nerves he’d found earlier, working in tandem with the finger inside you, it clicked. The rhythm. The reaction. You.

Your moans grew sharper, your body writhing under him, and Clark felt like he was on fire, like every nerve in his body was wired to yours

Clark didn’t know how he was still breathing. His whole body felt like it was caught in a lightning storm, each twitch of your muscles around his finger shocking through him. His thumb worked over you, clumsy but determined, and every sound you made went straight to his chest—and lower.

You were close. He could feel it, see it.

“Y-you’re—oh gosh—you’re coming, aren’t you?” His voice was frantic, scrambling, like he might lose it if he wasn’t sure. His wide eyes searched your face, desperate to read you right.

And then you broke, arching against him, crying his name as you came around his fingers.

Clark’s jaw dropped, lips parted in awe. He kept moving, gentle now, slowing down the rhythm like you were delicate glass in his hands. Your body shuddered under his touch, slick coating his fingers, and his brain struggled to hold onto a single thought.

He did that.

His hand was wet, trembling, and he brought his mouth down to yours like he couldn’t help himself. Kissing you everywhere—your lips, your cheeks, your jaw—silly, frantic, grateful kisses.

“Thank you,” he breathed between them, forehead pressing against yours. “Thank you, sweetheart. You don’t know—I just—I can’t believe—” He cut himself off with another kiss, overwhelmed, drunk on you.

When you tugged at his shirt, he froze.

“You… you still wanna—?”

You nodded, smiling softly, and something inside him melted. He helped you peel off layers, each article of clothing discarded with shaky hands, until he was down to nothing. Naked as the day he was born.

And suddenly, Clark Kent—the boy who could lift tractors without breaking a sweat, the one who stood taller than anyone in town—felt shy. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, ears red, eyes darting away.

He grabbed for the nightstand drawer, fumbling, pulling out the box Ma had made him buy at the pharmacy weeks ago. His face burned as he tore the foil, rolling the condom down with clumsy fingers. He couldn’t even look at you, terrified he was doing it wrong.

When your gaze dropped, your breath hitched.

“Clark…” You swallowed, staring at him like you’d never seen him before. “You’re so big.”

He froze, mortified. His hands shot to cover himself, like that could undo the words. “I—I’m sorry,” he blurted, chest tight. He’d never apologized for his body before, but now it felt like too much, like he might hurt you.

But then you touched his wrist, steady and certain, eyes locking on his.

“It’s perfect,” you whispered, soft and sure.

The shame, the nerves, the fear. All of it melted under your touch.

Clark sucked in a sharp breath, nodding, swallowing hard like he was trying to keep it together.

He lined himself up, careful, slow, whispering against your lips, “Tell me if it’s too much. Promise me, honey.”

You nodded, eyes soft, hand brushing his cheek like you were giving him strength. “I promise. Just… be with me.”

So he pushed, inch by inch.

The heat, the squeeze—it knocked the air right out of his lungs. His whole body trembled, jaw tight, sweat beading at his brow as he forced himself to move slowly, carefully. He was already groaning, already overwhelmed—

You winced.

Clark froze. His breath hitched, eyes snapping wide in panic. “Oh gosh—did I hurt you? I knew I—I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Clark,” you whispered, shaky but firm, cupping his face to stop the spiral before it could tear him away from you. “I knew it might've hurt. I’m okay.”

He shook his head, guilt twisting his stomach. “I don’t want it to hurt. Not you. Never you.” His lips brushed your temple, your cheek, desperate little kisses as if they could heal what his body caused. “We can stop. Say the word and I’ll stop.”

But your legs tightened around his waist, holding him in place. “Don’t stop. Please. Just… go slow.”

Clark swallowed hard, nodding against your skin. “Slow. Okay. I can do slow.”

He eased forward again, inch by inch, hugging you closer every time you tensed. His arms wrapped you tight, his chest nearly crushing yours, his mouth murmuring reassurances—you’re okay, I’ve got you, it’s just me, it’s just us.

And finally, he was fully inside.

He stopped, chest heaving, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His whole body shook with restraint, with awe. “Honey…” His voice broke on the word, barely holding together. “I’m in. Oh gosh—I’m really—” He didn’t even know how to finish the thought. It was too big, too much.

He waited, just like you needed. He didn’t move, just held you, kissed the damp skin of your neck, rubbed his thumbs soothingly over your hips. The world could’ve ended outside his window and he wouldn’t have noticed.

And then—you shifted beneath him, gave a little nod, whispered, “Okay.”

So he moved.

Not a thrust, not at first. Just a gentle roll of his hips, like his body was learning what it meant to be one with you. His arms tightened, hugging you as he rocked, his face buried against your neck. He couldn’t stop whispering—your name, soft apologies, broken praises.

It wasn’t rough, it wasn’t fast. It was Clark clinging to you, moving inside you like he was terrified of breaking the moment. Hugging you so tight that every slide of his body felt like a vow.

You whimpered, then gasped, and when the pain eased and your body softened under him, Clark nearly wept with relief. His rhythm steadied, his hips rocking deeper now, each roll pulling another soft sound from you.

But then you gasped again, nails digging into his shoulders. “More,” you begged, voice breaking against his ear. “Clark… please. Do more.”

His heart stuttered. He pulled back just enough to see your face, to be sure. But when you nodded—eyes shining, lips parted—he swallowed hard and whispered, “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

He braced his arms, steadied his hips, and moved again—this time firmer. The sound that left your throat nearly undid him.

You mewled, hips rising to meet his, and Clark’s jaw dropped, a broken moan tearing out of his chest. “Oh gosh—” He couldn’t even finish. He just kept going, finding that new rhythm, each thrust a little harder, a little deeper, chasing the sound of your voice.

Your body clung to him, pulling him in like you’d been made for this. And Clark—he couldn’t hide. Every noise, every shudder, every needy whimper spilled out of him, unguarded. He pressed sloppy kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, even your lips when he could find them, groaning into your mouth like he couldn’t contain it.

Then his gaze dropped between you. The place where your bodies met, slick and swollen and perfect—and there, at the very top, he saw it. That little bundle. He remembered the way you’d responded before, remembered how you’d fallen apart on his fingers.

His thumb hovered, uncertain, until instinct won. He pressed, circling carefully.

Your reaction was immediate.

Your eyes flew open, body arching hard into his. A strangled cry tore out of you. “Clark—! Oh God, Clark, that’s—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

He choked on a moan, hips stuttering as he rubbed you again, watching in awe as you writhed beneath him. Your praise spilled out in broken babbles, sweet and desperate, and Clark swallowed it whole, feeding on every word like oxygen.

“Yes—” he gasped, voice breaking as he rocked harder, thumb working faster. “Yes, sweetheart—anything you want. Anything. I’ll give it to you—”

Your nails dragged down his back and he cried out, thrusts growing frantic. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Just you. Your voice, your body, your heat, your praise.

“Clark—I’m—” Your breath hitched, your body clenching tight around him. “I’m coming—”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, lips parted. “Me too—oh gosh, me too—”

It hit him all at once.

The squeeze of your body, the desperate sounds spilling from you, the way you broke apart beneath him—it sent Clark spiraling. His hips jerked, stuttering deep, and a strangled groan ripped from his chest as he came.

It was overwhelming, shattering. His whole body shook, forehead buried against yours as he held you tight, whispering your name over and over like it was the only word he knew.

When it ebbed, when he could finally breathe again, Clark blinked dazedly down at you. Your hair was wild against his pillow, your skin flushed, your chest heaving. And you were smiling—soft, exhausted, perfect.

Clark let out a breathless laugh, pressing a shaky kiss to your lips. “Honey,” he whispered, still trembling, “I think I just died and went to heaven.”

You giggled softly, though the sound was husky, tired, but then you winced—barely, a tiny flinch—and he froze.

Panic surged through him, raw and immediate.

“Did I—oh gosh, did I hurt you?” His eyes searched yours, wide, frantic. He was still buried inside you, and suddenly he felt like an intruder.

Your hand smoothed over his cheek, thumb brushing his flushed skin. “Clark,” you murmured, voice thick but steady. “I’m okay. Just sore.”

That word—sore—made his stomach twist, but you were smiling, so gentle, so sure. And Clark knew what he had to do.

“Okay,” he breathed, nodding quickly. Carefully, he eased out of you, every motion slow like he was afraid to break porcelain. He rolled off to the side, quickly disposed of the condom, and went back to you.

He pulled you in, cradling you against his chest. But that wasn’t enough. Not for him.

Clark shifted, reaching toward the nightstand where he’d stashed a water bottle earlier. He pressed it into your hand, eyes soft, urging, “Drink a little, please? You need it.”

You did, lips wrapping around the rim, and Clark watched every swallow like it was the most important thing in the world. When you handed it back, he set it aside and tugged the blanket up higher, making sure you were warm.

And then he was moving again—his nerves a mess—because suddenly he remembered what else you might need. He found the box of tissues, fumbling to help you clean up, murmuring apologies the whole time. “I should’ve… I don’t even know what I’m doing, I just—”

“Clark,” you said softly. “You’re doing amazing”

His breath hitched.

He ducked his head, pressing his forehead against yours, swallowing hard against the knot in his throat. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Better than okay. You… you gave me something tonight, and I need to take care of you right.”

So he did. He kissed every line of your face, every mark of tenderness he could find. Your eyelids, your nose, the curve of your jaw. His hands rubbed soothing circles down your back, tracing the curve of your spine. He hummed some little tune his Ma used to hum when he was sick, hoping it calmed you the way it always calmed him.

When your breathing softened, when you melted fully into his arms, Clark tucked you even closer.

He didn’t sleep right away. Couldn’t. He lay there with you curled against him, watching the way your chest rose and fell, brushing kisses to your hairline every few minutes just to remind himself you were really there.

Him.

You.

And the love he wanted for so long.

Peakprovider!Clark Kent is the type of man to move to Metropolis to make a good amount of money for you and him, so when you do eventually move, you're already living a good life.

Taglist (open):

@cicikent

Part 1 | Masterlist

[jedijesi]

Bun in the Oven

Kinktober Day 30: Breeding

Rhett Abbott x f!pregnant!reader

Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: Pregnancy, Immense Fluff, SMUT (breeding kink, oral f receiving, piv, multiple orgasms, pregnant)

Word Count: 2,500+

Request: “i cant stop thinking about rhett abbott being so addicted to fucking his pregnant wife” -Anon

Summary: Rhett can’t seem to get enough of his pregnant wife.

A/N: Thank you all again for 1000 followers! I’m still freaking out!

You pad across the creaky wooden floors of the kitchen, in the late-afternoon, grabbing the ingredients from the pantry. The Abbotts’ family dinner was always at 7pm sharp and you always tried to contribute something.

Several yards away, through the cracked open window, you could hear the men arguing again. Rhett, his father, and his brother, bickering about fences this time.

“Horizontal’s stupid,” Perry grumbled. “Just build a picket one.”

“Picket? What am I eighty?” Rhett scoffed. “I might be starting a family, but that’s too far.”

You tossed a piece of your dinner roll into your mouth, smiling to yourself. After you and Rhett got engaged, Royal and Cecilia offered a patch of land on the Abbott ranch to build your own home. They would’ve welcomed you both into the main house like Perry and his family, but everyone was well aware how you two are. So, you built your place from the ground up with the family’s help, and by the time you were married, you had a home of your own.

Now, months into your pregnancy, Rhett was nesting harder than you. It surprised you, how restless he’d become. Originally, he was scared shitless to be a dad, still kind of is, but since you started showing, everything changed. One moment he’s building a crib from scratch with his dad, and now, planning a fence in case the baby should learn to walk early, unlock the door, and run into the pasture.

“I don’t know, Dad,” Rhett exasperated. “What did you use when we were kids?”

Royal scoffed. “Nothin’. Unless you count the barbed wire at the edge of the ranch.”

Rhett rubbed his forehead beneath his hat and sighed. Then his gaze drifted toward the kitchen window. There you were, taking the rolls off the tray and putting them in a basket. The tension in his shoulders instantly eased. After all these years, you still had that effect on him.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” he called, already heading toward the porch.

The screen door creaked behind you. “Hey, hon, I think your mom is going to love these-”

He turned you by the waist, cupped your face, and kissed you. It startled you for a moment, then you softened into him. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, the brim of his hat bumping your head every so slightly.

His tongue brushes against the seem of your lips, begging to be let in. The moment you part your lips, your tongue collides. His hands move to grope your ass as he pins you against the counter.

This man was in love.

“Come on! We’re still here!” Royal’s muffled voice carried from outside.

“She’s already pregnant!” Perry added.

Rhett pulled back just long enough to roll his eyes. “Fuck off! We’ll see y’all at dinner!” he shouted, before kissing you again, deeper this time, and guiding you toward the bedroom.

You laughed against his mouth. “Rhett, what’s gotten into you?”

“Look at ya.” He mumbles. “You’re a goddamn angel.”

The kiss breaks as you lay on the bed. “I swear, you’re even worse than before I got pregnant!”

“Can you blame me?” He crawls on top of you, lifting your shirt to pepper kisses all over your bump. “I’m the luckiest man.”

Rhett’s hand trailed down your side, his calloused fingers tracing your curves, taking his sweet time. He was just mesmerized by you.

“Every time I see you, it hits me all over again.” He sighs into your skin between kisses.

You laughed softly, taking his hat off and placing it on the nightstand before running your fingers through the waves. “I think I've been wearing the same shirt for the last three days, Rhett. I don’t think I’m exactly angelic.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The rumble of his hum tickles against you. “You could be covered in flour or dirt and I’d still think you’re the prettiest thing that ever walked this earth.”

Your heart fluttered against your ribs. Your husband had the power to make you melt with every whisper of love.

“She kickin’?” His hands roam, trying to feel for movement.

“Not right now. Think you bored her with all your fascinating fence talk.”

He playfully rolled his eyes, looking up at you now. “Just wanna make everything perfect before she gets here.”

“You already have,” you whispered. “We have a big beautiful home, her family is an eight minute walk away, and you know she’ll be spoiled rotten.”

“Still,” he shrugged. “I gotta take care of my girl. Both of my girls.” A smirk curls onto his lips as he sinks down and finds your shorts, tugging them off.

“Rhett,” you chided him. “Dinner’s in less than an hour, we can’t be late again. It’s embarrassing.”

“I’ll make it quick.” His voice deepened before licking a long strip up your pussy. Immediately, he was rewarded with a long moan.

“You’re never quick.” You tug his hair as his tongue slides up and down your folds. “Rhett, you’ve spent nearly- mmm, every night this week eating me out.” Your voice trembles while he sucks on your clit.

“My pretty girl has been doin’ so good, making our baby.” He mumbles against your, now sopping wet cunt. “Just let me take care of ya.”

You could never say no to him. Especially when he was eating your pussy like a starving man.

He slurps up every drop, as he alternates between messy, needy and slow, lazy licks that have your toes curling. His hands run up your thighs and rub your bump. He was obsessed with his view. Then his tongue plunges inside you, his face nuzzling into your pussy, trying to get more.

The sensation rips a cry from your throat. Your back arches clean off the mattress, body shuddering. “RhettRhettRhett!” You squirm and clutch the sheets.

He watches you with filthy satisfaction curling his lips even as his mouth stays locked between your legs. Watching you tremble under his tongue had to be the eighth wonder of the world.

He pulls back just enough to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking hard, while two fingers slide inside you with a squelch. Your walls instantly clamp around his thick fingers. Needing to hear more of those perfect moans, he curled them.

“Oh, god!” You gasp. “F-fuck! Rhett! I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum for me, baby.” He growls against your clit, fingers pounding into your g-spot.

Your thighs squeeze around his head, hands tugging on true roots of his hair, and hips buck. “Rhett! I’m cumming!” You cry out as your orgasm hits you, rippling through your body.

Your husband slurps up every incredible drop of your arousal with a deep groan. “You were so fucking perfect for me.” He slides his drenched fingers out of your cunt and licks the excess.

Your mind was still spinning as he pressed kisses to your neck and jaw. What brought you back to reality was the metallic click of his belt. You look at the nightstand and sigh. “We’re gonna be late.” You warned.

“The clock is wrong, just focus on me, baby.” He turns your face back to look into his half lidded eyes.

“You’re a bad influence.” But then his shirt came off and all was forgotten.

“You’ll be fine.” He gave you a smug grin then kicked his jeans and boxers off.

There was no time or need for teasing, so Rhett sank into you with one thrust. Your back immediately arched off the bed and head fell back, spilling lewd moans. His thick, long cock nestled perfectly inside you, his tip already kissing your g-spot.

“Fuuuuck,” he sighs, taking a second after having the air knocked out of his lungs. An arm slides under your arched back while his head dips down to suck on your hard nipple. “Shit, you’re so tight.” He hisses as he slowly humps you.

Those shallow thrusts had his head rubbing against that sweet spot so perfectly, already making your eyes roll back. With a cock this good, it’s a miracle you didn’t get pregnant sooner.

“I need more.” You whine bucking against him.

His lips released your nipple with a pop and sat back up. Your pussy gripped his dick, drenching it with every slow thrust. As he leaned back like this, you got the perfect view of his abs contracting with every subtle move. That sharp V-line of his pulling your eyes down to where he disappears inside you.

“I can’t wait to get you pregnant again.” He moans as he grabs your legs, holding them in the air. Spreading you open like this, he starts fucking you. It’s fast and deep, hands tightening around your ankles.

“Ah! Right there!” You squeal.

Rhett’s head falls back and lets out a long groan. “Imma keep this pretty pussy full of my cum.” His breath becomes more and more ragged as you clamp down on him. “You like that huh? Wanna be full with my cum everyday?”

You nod and moan pathetically, unable to think about anything else but how much you needed him.

His thick cock pistons in and out of you, the room filling with the obscene wet sounds of your bodies clashing together. He looked drunk off your pussy, eyes barely open, chest heaving, a thin sheen of sweat on his body, and jaw dropped, letting out grunts.

“Ohh fuck, I can’t wait to make you a mother.” One of his hands moves down to rub your clit, your leg now hooked onto the crook of his elbow. “I’m gonna fill this pretty pussy up over and over. I don’t care if you’re already pregnant. I don’t want you to go a day without me breeding this perfect fucking cunt.”

Picking up speed, he moves down to grip your hips, his rough fingers digging into your soft skin. With every ram of his cock into your weeping cunt, the headboard bangs against the wall, further scratching the paint and threatening to dent it.

“Shiiit! Keep squeezing my cock! Yeah, yeah, just like that! Agh!” You looked absolutely perfect writhing under him, your pregnant belly arching up with every squirm. “I’m gonna give you so many babies.” He groaned through gritted teeth. That deep voice of his helping you get even closer to cumming. “I’ll build a hundred cribs, ugh! I- I’ll renovate the house as much as you want. All you-ngh- gotta do- oh, shit that’s good- i-is sit all pretty with this swollen bump of yours.”

“Oh, Rhett! I want it!” You moan, nails threatening to tear into the sheets with how hard you grip them. “I wanna have your baby!” You continue to babble.

“I’ll give you my baby- ungh- I’ll give you all my cum.”

Screams of his name burst from your lips as he hammered into you as fast as he could, in a way that makes you see stars.

“Oh! Oh, Rhett! I’m gonna cum!” Your pussy squeezes him so tight it’s practically pushing him out. He has to use more power just to stay in you, fucking you open for him.

“Yeahhh, that’s it. That’s it! Fuck! That’s my perfect girl! Cum for me.”

The rhythm was wild, brutal, fucking reckless until your orgasm overwhelms you. Pleasure explodes through every nerve, making you cry out over and over until your hoarse voice cracks. Your walls throb around him making it impossible for Rhett to hold back, spilling every drop of his cum inside you with an agonizing moan.

As your body falls back to reality and you become aware of your labored breaths, you feel him twitching inside you. It didn’t matter if you were pregnant or using protection, he stayed in you until every drop was milked from his cock.

After a few more thrusts to make sure everything was buried as deep as possible, he very carefully pulls out. Your pussy squelches, fluttering and oozing with your mixed cums.

“Look at that” he coos, leaning back so he can look down, gazing at your abused pussy in awe.

His index finger gently swiped through your folds, scooping up the fluids and plunging them back into your cunt. Instinctively, you pulse around his finger, your overstimulated cunt taking everything he gives you. When he makes sure that not a single drop of his cum is wasted outside of you, he finally leans over kisses your lips tenderly and lays back against the pillows.

“Want a pillow?” He grabs a spare urging you to lift your hips.

You weakly chuckle. “I’m already pregnant, we don't need to keep doing that.”

“But you look so hot propped up, come on.” He whines, that gruff voice of his, making it difficult to say no.

You lift your hips and he slides the pillow beneath you.

“There we go,” he murmurs, pressing a few soft kisses across your bump.

You tug him back up, needing to see his eyes again. The ones that looked at you like you’re the only person in the world. That you were a goddess made just to be worshipped by him.

“I fuckin’ love you.” His hand cups your cheek, thumb running across your warm face.

“I love you.” You smile lazily from bliss.

He leans in, molding your lips with his. The kiss wasn’t rushed, it was deep and meaningful. The kind that gave you both butterflies as if it were your first kiss again.

That moment of peace was quickly ruined by the sharp ringing of the house phone in the other room.

Then it hits you.

“Shit.” You glance toward the clock on the nightstand. “Rhett, it’s 7:05!” You sit up quickly and carefully. “We were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.”

He groans, dragging a hand over his face before climbing out of bed. “Sometimes I still wish we’d taken that place in the city,” he mutters, pulling on his jeans and tossing you clean clothes from the drawer. “We’ll just say you were sick.”

“We said that on Wednesday,” you remind him as you slip pants on. “Let’s just say I got tired halfway there and needed a break.”

“Oh, great,” he deadpans. “So my mom can smack me and lecture me again for not drivin’ you? No thanks.”

You huff, tugging your shirt down while he buttons his flannel. “Then what are we gonna tell them?”

“Nothin’.” He steps closer, sliding your shoes on for you before pressing a kiss to your belly. “They know damn well how they’re gettin’ a granddaughter.”

You roll your eyes as he stands and kisses you again.

By the time you reach the front door, Rhett’s grabbing the basket of bread and his keys from the tray, grinning to himself.

“What?” you ask, suspicious, stepping onto the porch while he locks the door.

He glances at you over his shoulder, that crooked smirk spreading. “You gotta admit, it was worth it.”

“Oh my god,” you narrow your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Come on!” He cups your bump with one hand and your cheek with the other. “You know I’m right.”

Your smile finally breaks through with a roll of your eyes. “Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in for one last peck. “It was worth it.”

When you walked into the main house, your prediction was dead on.

The dining table went silent. All eyes turned toward you and Rhett. Royal just shook his head and stabbed another bite of steak. Cecilia looked equal parts embarrassed and unamused. Perry wore that wide, knowing grin, and little Amy, sweet, oblivious Amy, just waved and kept chewing her potatoes.

“Hey…” Rhett forced a smile, trying to break the silence. “We made bread rolls.” He held up the basket like a peace offering.

Perry snorted. “Bun in the oven.”

Before he was even done laughing, a roll nailed him in the face.

A/N: Hi Anon! I hope I did your request justice! I really hope you like it!!

Kinktober Tag List: @plu0725 @iristheplanet16

Permanent Tag List: @what-iwish-you-knew @infuriatinglyoptimistic @harriedandharassed

[nervoushottee]

unpunisable | eddie munson x fem!reader

Summary: One thing you knew for certain is that you hated Eddie Munson.

Warnings: MeanDom!Eddie, Sub!Reader, toxic relationship, masochism, choking/breath play, praise kink, sir kink, downright filth(reader is called slut, sweetheart and brat and the word “fucking or fucked” is in this fic way too many times) skin color in middle picture is irrelevant to reader, it is just for vibes

Note: HAPPY KINKTOBER HOTTEES!! I hope you’re horny and hard because this fic is hot hot hot! It took me way too long to upload this but the mere fact that I am still posting on schedule with only sleep for four hours last night AND having an opening shift this morning for work, I commend myself for that. I haven’t written smut in a long time and I’ve never written something this filthy on my blog and I’m so excited! Hope you guys enjoy

Also I have no clue which “cum” and “come” is the right word to put while writing so it’s a mix a both in this fic. I’m pretty sure it’s based on preference but ya know the jit *shrugs*

kinktober 2025

One thing you knew for certain is that you hated Eddie Munson. 

You hated his hair, his clothes, the fucking tattoos on his skin. And most of all, you hated the way he was staring at you from across the room. 

You were at some shitty party your friends convinced you to come to. Finally complying after the tenth whiney request of your presence from your friends. Some good that did, because not even 30 minutes into the party, the whole lot of you dispersed away from each other with different plans in mind. Your friends wanted to get laid  and you needed a fucking drink. 

So here you were, standing in the kitchen with a red solo cup filled with the sickly sweet piked punch some guy had called ‘The Good Stuff’. It was red and warm and had a lot of booze in it that you were already feeling a little loose and buzzed. 

After downing at least one cup full, you decided to do a walk around the party. The place smelled like weed, sweat and the faintest hint of whatever the hell was in your solo cup. All the lights were off besides the colorful string lights and lava lamps that littered the place. You tried to see if you noticed anybody that was worth hanging out with or talking to and made sure to do a once over on your friends, making sure they were alright. 

The living room that was turned into a makeshift dance floor was filled with people dancing, taking and making out. You grimaced when you had been bumped into a couple swapping spit, who weren’t even fazed by your accidental shove as they fell onto the couch next to you. 

You had finally made your way into a corner of the living room, free from horny couples grinding against each other and guys trying to get you to dance with them. You were content with just gulping down your booze and people watching—that was until your eyes landed on the dark haired boy you had spent weeks avoiding. 

Eddie Munson.

And he had been evidently already staring right at you. 

You felt your heart skip a beat and your stomach flutter all at the same time when you locked eyes with him. He was doing the same thing you were, standing in a corner of the room all by his lonesome, probably waiting for someone eager for a quick high. You knew Eddie too well, knowing that parties like these were his best way for easy cash, you hated that you remembered that. 

You can feel his eyes rake down your body as you do the same to him. He’s wearing a dark color tee that looks black with the red and blue lights over the room. His arms covered in his usual leather jacket as well as his standard black ripped jeans with a chain attached to his side. You fucking love that chain, you remember him fucking you with that chain wrapped around your neck and your wrists on multiple occasions.

 Despite your hatred, Eddie Munson is fucking hot and it doesn’t help with how confident he is about it. 

Eddie Munson is so sure of himself in who he is and what he wants—albeit, he’s a piece of shit but he knows that he’s be a piece of shit. He knows that he’s an asshole, and that unfortunately is what makes him hotter.

When you finally get down to his black lace up boots you quickly bring your eyes back to a smirking Eddie. He knows you were checking him out and you know he fucking enjoyed it. Your assumption is answered when he raises his eyebrows up at you and his smirk grows into a sly smile. You know that look, you’ve given into that look, you’ve even given him a look similar to that look. You feel a rush of heat down your body and you try your best to put it on the red juice that you can still taste on your lips but you knew better.

“Fuck.” You mutter to yourself as you start to take a step towards him. But, as if some angel up in heaven was trying to stop you, a group of guys come up to Eddie with money in their hands and excitement in their eyes in need of drugs. 

Thank God. You thought to yourself as you took a sip of your solo cup, but when your lips get nothing but a single drop, you turn and head back into the kitchen for another fill of The Good Stuff.

The kitchen was empty thankfully, you weren’t in the mood for being in the middle of awkward small talk with people you really never spoke to in between classes. Using the ladle, you pour a decent amount of  punch in your cup to forget how Eddie’s stare alone made you want to go back to him. With a scoff and a shake of your head, you down a gulp. You couldn’t believe you almost gave into him. 

From just a look, a fucking look.

Fuck, your feet hurt from these boots. You don’t know how  Heather  convinced you into wearing them. And okay sure, they made your legs look hot, but after a while your feet felt like it was on fire. You could go back into the living room and try to find a couch to sit on, hoping the stupid couple you pushed had found a room for their drunken rendezvous, but you didn’t trust yourself enough to sit there and watch Eddie without doing something you’ll great later. The more space between you two, the better. With that decision made, you jump up onto the kitchen counter and start taking off a boot. 

A deep sigh of relief leaves your lips when your foot is free, head leaning back against the wooden kitchen cabinet, the cool metal of the door handle hits the nape of your neck–-a bright contrast from the heat radiating off you from how warm the place is. Some many people all crushed together at the bottom floor of two story home doesn’t help the AC get any colder. 

You enjoy the small slice of silence,  eyes closed as you wiggle your sock covered foot. Ready to take off the other one, you put the shoeless foot to hang off the kitchen counter and bring your boot covered foot on top of the counter. When you open your eyes though, your hand freezes at the start of pulling down the zipper, because Eddie Munson just walked into the kitchen and there’s nowhere else for you to run to without getting into his personal space. 

He has his hands in his pockets as he walks slowly toward you. Like the evil serpant, the devil on your shoulder, the Grim fucking Reaper—he smirks, stopping a few feet away from you. Standing not too close but not too far away from so you can hear his voice over the loud music outside the kitchen.

“Didn’t know you were gonna come.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Took a lot of persuading.”

He hums in understanding, a sly smile growing on his lips as he looks down at you. “I’m surprised–it’s not really your scene.” Not anymore. 

You don’t respond back and he knows why. You can see it in his eyes that he’s debating about something before he looks back to the entrance of the kitchen. The doorway is the only option to come in or out and it looks like a portal to another world–the darkness of the hallway, the thump thump thump of the speakers,  the strobe lights flickering  into the fluorescent kitchen. 

“I saw you walking towards me earlier, before I had to do some business. What was that about?” He questions slyly with his eyebrows raised, as if he doesn’t already know what it was about. 

“Heather needed some weed,” you lie, “She’s too busy sucking face somewhere so I thought I’d do her a favor and get it just in case she forgot.”

Eddie’s quiet for a bit, searching your eyes for the truth, because he knows that what you said was a lie. He was always so good at reading you, knew you like the back of his ring covered hand. Eddie takes a step closer to you, his black jeans brushing the side of your legs, you can smell him with how close he is. He smells just like you remember— irish spring and weed with a hint of motor grease. 

“We both know Heather wouldn't want me talking to you right now.” 

You go silent as he watches you. He’s right, you know he’s right, but you have yet to make a move of hopping off the counter and leaving his presence. Eddie Munson is intoxicating, he’s like the drugs he sells and your the addict that just can’t stop taking them, but you won’t admit that to him—not yet at least. 

“I’m a big girl.” It comes out sounding a little stupid and a bit cringey but it’s all you can say to him because you are. You’re an adult who can make her own decisions. But is Eddie a good decision?

 Absolutely not. 

“You know,” Eddie dips his head and leans into your personal space. You can feel the heat radiating off of him and it makes you feel like your on  fire the second you feel his hands on top of your thighs. “If you wanted more–wanted me, you could’ve just asked.” 

—

The trip upstairs is a blur. You feel dizzy with the scent of Eddie and the heat of his hands. He kisses you like you’ll push him away at any given second and you both know that you probably fucking should. 

Fumbling for the door handle, his mouth never breaks from yours as you slam the door shut. Your bodies slam against the bedroom door, the pain that erupts from the back of your head burns sickly sweet. A moan leaves your lips as Eddie’s hand tighten on your hip and cheek. 

“That fucking hurt.” You gasp out between kisses. 

“You fucking like it.” 

And you do, oh god you do. You like the harsh sting that floods your body then fizzles out all warm and sweet. Eddie moves his lips from yours and trails the sloppily down your cheek to the spot on your neck he found the first night he fucked you. The grip in your hair is tight as he bites and tongues at your jugular, wincing at the pain his teeth brings you grip his leather jacket hard, fingernails tugging down on the fabric as a physical plea for Eddie to take it off. 

You feel his teeth latch off of you as he pulls away, yanking the leather like it burns him as he watches you with hooded eyes. His lips grow into that stupid cheshire grin you hate as you hands fumble for the spiked belt he wore, eager and needy for him. “Knew you were gonna come crawling back to me. Can’t get enough, you never could.”

“Fuck you.” you whisper out against his lips, his words anger you, but not enough for you to stop pulling at the metal in front of his jeans. “Asshole.”

Eddie hums at the word, his hand gliding back to your neck, squeezing just enough for your eyes to roll back and your hands to falter. You blink back to see him still smiling at you, his eyebrows raised as if he’s asking you to say something else. 

“Of course you still got a mouth on you. I bet all the other guys you fucked couldn’t handle it, hm? You’re too much of a fucking brat for anyone else to satisfy.”The minute the grip of his fingers loosen against the side of your throat, the anger that burns through you makes you push Eddie away and slap him right across the face.

There’s a thick pause, a quietness that grows scary and hot as you watch his adam’s apple shift as he swallows. Eddie slowly turns his head back to look at you– the weight of your palm had it turned the other way– breath heavy in anticipation, your lips grow into your own sly smirk as you lean back against the door. 

“Oops,” you shrug, eyes glistening with want.

Eddie scoffs out a humourless laugh, tonguing the inside of his cheek. He nods his head once, twice–looking up to the ceiling briefly before flicking them back at you. 

The look in his eyes is all sinful and mean and the giggle that leaves your throat doesn’t surprise you as he manhandles you to the bed. Your body bounces against the mattress, back laying on the cool sheets of whoever’s fucking room this was. It does nothing to cool your hot skin, your hands spread out about your head, boot covered feet dangling off the bed as you watch Eddie walk over to you. Soon enough you feel the dip of the bed as he crawls over to you,  hovering over your frame. The heat of his skin, his breath, his hands do nothing but fuel the fire that grows deep in your belly. 

You squirm in anticipation, lifting your head up to try and kiss him, but his hand caress the side of your neck for the second time that night, pushing you back down into the mattress. This time, he squeezes harder than before, and the tightness against your throat fills you with pleasure as your vision blurs, slowly blinking to capture his face. 

“Did I tell you move?” Eddie questions, his voice darker than before more hearty and thick filled with desire and anger. You tried to shake your head but his grip tightens. The pressure that engulfs you makes you smile.

“Use your fucking words.” He demands.

“No.” The word comes out tightly, like a whisper under the full moon as you feel the blood rush to your head. 

A sharp and sweet pain erupts on your cheek, your head to turned to the side at the weight of it. Blood rushes to your the skin where Eddie’s slapped you. The pain tingling like pins and needles but sends a rush of excitement and pleasure through your entire body. 

“Try again.” You love how deeper his voice gets when he’s like this. It’s  something about the tone in his voice, the way he carries himself and that stern demanding look in his eye that makes you want to do anything Eddie says. 

The second he releases his grip off you throat, the words leave you like a prayer, “Yes sir.”

With Eddie’s eyes never leaving yours, he pushes himself off the bed. His black ripped jeans are barely touching the sheets, and you could touch him with the toe of your boot if you wanted but you stay still on the bed as Eddie looks at you with hooded eyes. He doesn’t say anything to you at first, and it’s as if he’s frozen in time just for you to admire, to gawk at, to squeeze your thighs together in eager anticipation, waiting for his next move. The moon cascades on him through the cracked blinds, he looks sinfully ethereal. His tattoos darkend and his hair low, giving his face almost a shadow look, decked in silver that glistens under the moon light.

“Turn around and get on your knees.”

You both know that’s not a request and yet you still hesitate. There’s a gnawing need to be a little mischievous, a little stubborn, a little bratty. You can’t help it. So you don’t move, instead, you hands start to slowly glide up your body, your shirt lifting in the process. The red lacy bra that you put on just for the hell of it looks maroon in the darkness of the moonlight, yet you can still see Eddie’s eyes darken as he watches you cup your tits all nice and pretty for him. 

You almost make him change his mind about what he’s about to do to you–almost. 

Eddie turns you around without much effort, a gasp turned moaned leaves your lips as he molds your body into the position he wants. Your knees and elbows against the mattress, your head  pressed down, cheek smushed into the bedding. You can still feel his warm hand against the dip of your back. “Fuckin’ look at you sweetheart, a sight for sore eyes.” He groans out, you hum at the praise. You feel both of his hands now, sliding down your back past the slither of skin exposed from your position to the black skirt you were wearing for the party. You back arches as he grips your ass, Eddie moans at the sight of it. “Thats it baby, arch that back. Wanna see how pretty you look before I fuck you.” 

You whine at his words, hips wiggling to press against him. Your ass erupts into a stinging pain when Eddie releases a harsh palm to it. You shriek at the smack and let out a pleasure filled cry. 

“Please,” you beg, you feel a dip into the mattress and you’re greeted with the sight of Eddies face in front of you. “I didn’t tell you to fucking move sweetheart.” His words so condescendingly sweet, your lips pout as your eyes begin to water. Eddie mimics the movement of your mouth, humming mockingly at the sound of your coos. “Does my little brat wanna get fucked? Is that it?” 

“Yes sir,” you whimper out, Eddie’s palm slides from your back to your cheek, wiping the tear that managed to fall. You can taste the saltiness of it, as Eddie’s thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. Eager and pent up, you stick your tongue out in a physical request, eyes never leave his as you plead silently. “Oh, you’re so eager for it, huh?” His thumb barely brushes against your bottom lip, no where near your tongue where you want. Your eyes well up with more tears as you mewl. 

“You disobeyed me, I told you not to move and you did.” He tells you softly, brushing your cheek with the upmost tender you ever received from someone who has you pinned down to the mattress. “Then, I told you to turn around for me and you didn’t sweetheart. How can you learn your lesson if I don’t punish you?”

You press your face into the mattress, you’re so fucking horny and ready for him that it’s painful. You don’t even need to look down at yourself or for Eddie to tell you if you’re soaking the matching red panties you wore  because you can feel it dripping down your thighs. 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper out.

“What?” Eddie pulls at your hair tightly, turning your face back toward his so you can look at him properly. “My girl can’t be shy now, what did you say?” 

“I’m sorry sir.”

Eddie hums, releasing the grip he had on your hair, brushing it away from your face as he caresses  your cheek. He looks at you with such adoration and something else you do not want to think about in this fucking moment. All you want to think about right now, is how hard he’s about to fuck you. 

“You remember our word sweetheart?” Eddie asks you, eyebrows raised as he waits for you to say it back to him. The safeword leaves your lips and he hums with  praise, his thumb slipping past them just enough for you to almost wrap your mouth around and suck before pulling away. 

You stay still in the position he put you in, you can hear the sound of his belt clinking open, and the metal sound of his zipper. You feel his hands on your ass again, pushing up your skirt to rip your underwear to the side, you gasp at the tightness of the fabric as Eddie shushes you. He plays with you for a moment, his thumb grazing from your hole to your aching clit which makes you jolt. The movement earns a slap on your right cheek from Eddie. 

You jolt again at the feeling of his spit against you as it drips down to your entrance. Eddie smears it with his hand and lets out a groan at the sight of you. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking soaked. I don’t even need the spit.” He plays with your clit only for a few seconds humming out a laugh at your moans and the feeling of you pressing into his hand–desperately wanting more. 

And finally when you writhing with need and about to burst, dripping between the gaps of Eddie’s fingers onto the sheets, you feel the length of hims against your entrance sliding in with one easy push from how wet you are. You both moan at the feeling, your body sagging with relief, cheek pressing itself farther into the mattress and head limp. He presses a hand to you back grasping at the back of your shirt, tightening his hand into a fist around the fabric. He kisses the dip in your back right before he starts to pound into you. 

Its harsh and it’s fast and it’s everything you fucking needed.You don’t care about how loud you are and neither does Eddie. In fact, he slows down his pace and slaps your ass hard if you try to muffle them. Tears are sliding down your face from how good he fucks you, you’re pretty sure your makeup’s smudged and ruined but that does give you enough reason fro him to stop. 

You can never get over how hot this is, how hot Eddie is when you have sex. How filthy and overall fucking insatiable you both are. The way neither of you have taken any item of clothing off, aside from Eddie’s jacket. Just pulling and prodding away fabric to get to the end goal of fucking eachother silly. How Eddie can get words and actions out of you with his merely his voice and a stern hand. How in this moment,your brain turns to mush and everything outside of this room means nothing to you. 

Eddie’s grip on your shirt is so tight that it slightly chokes you at the collar, you clench around him at the added pleasure. “Yeah? You like that baby?” you can hear the smugness in his voice but there is nothing left in you to be the little stubborn brat you can’t help to be. Your mind is numb with nothing but the thought of Eddie and how could he feels. You mumble out incoherent words, eyes rolling back to your skull and lips foaming with spit, clenching down again at the sound of his voice. 

“Oh fuck- yeah you do, my baby loves getting fucked like the dirty slut she is. No one else can fuck her like I can, isn’t that right?” You mewl at his words, pushing your hips deeper into his thrusts, the orgasm thats been growing faster with each push of Eddie’s hips slowly dies out like a candle when he stops moving. You turn your head to look at him, eyes pleading for Eddie to keep going.

“I asked you a question.”

When he doesn’t hear anything back, Eddie slaps your ass twice on both sides, causing you to cry louder in pain and pleasure, this hit stinging more than the rest, heightened by how close you just were to cumming. “I still don’t hear an answer. C’mon sweetheart, use that pretty mouth, I know she’s good for more than just gettin me off. I’m not gonna keep going unless I hear you.”

“Yes sir!” you wail out, eyes flooded with so many tears from your ruined orgasm that Eddie’s blurry in your vision. 

“Yes what?” You let out another whine, you both know that you don’t remember what Eddie asked you. “Please.”you plead.

“What are you begging me for sweetheart? It’s not that hard. You couldn’t have forgotten so quickly, I just said it to you. Are you too fucked out to pay attention? Too cock drunk to listen to what I have to say?”

This time, Eddie groans out at how hard you tighten against him, you feel his warm hands splay out against your lower back and slowly rubbing down against your ass soothingly. “I know, I know baby. I’ll keep going if you just tell me, I promise.”

Grabbing onto the pillow for support–because you know you’ll need it—smushing your face down and looking away from Eddies heavy gaze you gather enough courage and whisper out, “I forgot.”

Silence aside from the sound of your heavy pants engulfs the room. You can hear the faint sound of music still playing from the party downstairs, can almost feel the thump thump thump of the speakers against your cheek. You take a peek at Eddie from your hooded eyes, tears dried from how you shyly shoved your face into the pillow. His lips are straight, eyes calm yet scary. His hair is wilder than usual, bangs slightly sticking to his forehead from sweat and exertion. He still looks fucking delectible. 

You wait with bated breath on what Eddie’s about to do. Theres a plethora of things that he can decide and you have no clue which one it could be. He could either stop fucking you all together, shoving himself back into his pants and turn away until your begging on your knees for him. He could flip you back to the end of the bed, your head dangling on the edge as he fucks your throat as punishment. He could even just finger fuck you until you cum, as you continuously apologize and beg for him to fuck you proper. The possibilities are endless and each and every one makes you wetter than before. 

You want to cum so bad. 

You jump in surprise when Eddie makes his decision, jolting you out of your curious daydream of punishment. He’s lifting you up from the back of your shoulders until your back is pressed against his chest. The grip on your arm is tight and burns with a harsh vigor that you let out a breath as Eddie releases. His hands find their resting place wrapped around your tummy and the other sliding up to make a firm resting place on against your neck. 

He’s presses down on the sides of your neck and a moan leaves your lips at the sudden change of air in your lungs. Eyes heavy and blood rushing to your ears, you lean you the back of your head to fit into the crook of Eddies neck.  Eddie rubs his lips against the side of your face, kissing your cheeks before running his lip against your ear. “Maybe I need to be a little closer to you for you to hear me, huh sweetheart?”

And this time you nod your head rapidly, feeling his breath against your face, his teeth biting on your earlobe, pulling at it until you shriek and respond with words. “Yes sir!”

He moves his hand from your stomach, finding himself back at your entrance and you do everything in your power to not move a muscle. Waiting for him to decide when it’s time to fuck you again, no matter how much your drowning with desire to the point you’ll pass out if you don’t come soon. 

He finally pushes his cock inside you, setting the pace back into the fast and deep thrusts from before. You moan out a uh uh uh with each time his hips meet your ass, his hand on your throat still firm but not tight enough that you can’t speak.

“Say, ‘thank you sir’.” Eddie demands of you, his lips still hot on your ear his hand back around your lower tummy and pressing down, adding more emphasis to the budding pleasure thats growing back rapidly with each thrust. 

“Th-thank you s-sir.” you reply back, the words hitched out of your throat as you clench against him, moan floods you ear as you feel him fucking into you with a harder vigor. You’re not gonna last long and if Eddie keeps talking, you’re not gonna last period.

“There’s my good girl, took her a while but now she’s listening,huh?”

“Yes, sir!” 

“Thaat’s it- I’m so proud of you,” His praise go right down to your core and you cry out as you feel his hand on your lower abdomen slide down until they rest right against your aching clit. 

“Eddie ple-” Whatever other words you were going to say become mumbles as you feel the hand that was on your clit just seconds ago, shoved into your mouth. Three fingers prodding at your tongue and your try your best to suck around them as Eddie’s thrusts slowly start to turn sloppy.

He pulls them out and presses his newly wet fingers against your clit, rubbing expertly in the small circular motions that always send you there. “I think I punished my girl enough, maybe she deserves to cum.”

“Yes! Yes! Please Edd-sir please!” you beg.

“Please what?” His rubs at your clit faster, his thrusts stuttering but the pressure never changing.

“Please I deserve to cum.” You clunch on his cock at your own words that leave your mouth. Your orgasm is  so close you can literally taste it. You feel so hot and sweaty and sticky but so fucking good at the same time that you never want this to end. 

“If you deserve to cum then you gotta ask me baby.” Eddie pants out, you can tell from his hitched voice that he’s close, that this is making him just as hot and bothered as you, if not more. 

“C’mon baby, keep using that pretty mouth, I wanna hear you.”

Your orgasm is right there, a few more thrusts and a couple more flicks against your clit and you’ll be reeling in pleasure, but you do your best to hold on because Eddie hasn’t allowed it yet.

 “Oh fuck! I’m so close- Pl-Please Eddie, can I cum?” You whine out. 

“Please can I come sir.’”

“Ple-Please please can I cum sir? Pleasepleasepleaseplease-” you babble out the word as you get closer and closer to bursting. And when Eddie finally tells you that you can, you can hardly hear how loud you are with how much your ears are ringing. It feels like a weight is lifted off  your 

shoulders, and a million of nerves are exploding in your body and spasming as you hunch over. 

Eddie hasn’t stopped fucking you as you come, fingers still rubbing at their pace as he coos out praises, “Thaat’s it, there we go sweetheart, keep cummin. Uh huh, that’s it. Don’t stop baby I got you.”

It doesn’t take long until Eddie comes, his hips stuttering into a full stop as he pulses inside you, you moan at the feeling of his cum shooting in your walls. Both of you are panting heavy, the air knocked out of both of your lungs after that. Eddie slowly pulls out, you wince at the overstimulation of it all as he carefully places you back on the mattress. Cheeks smushed back into the pillow, Eddie turns and flops next to you, groaning at the feeling of the bed and the exertion of sex. 

The two of you lay for a bit in the silence, the party still going on beneath you. You can hear someone laughing with the sound of your ears still ringing. You close your eyes and take a deep breath as realization kicks in that you just let Eddie Munson fuck you when you swore on your life and to Heather that you wouldn’t ever again. 

Well, some rules are meant to be broken and what Heather doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

[rylandsgrace]

The Mummy (1999) dir. Stephen Sommers

[plottwistpotato]

When a fanfic matches my freak