Thinking About The First Time You Call Steve Daddy….

Yes. Yep. Mhm. *chefs kiss*

Your fuck buddy rafe finds out you have breeding kink

Pairing: fwb!rafe cameron x soft!reader

Warnings: breeding kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk rafe being cocky

---

The phone rang at an ungodly hour, cutting through the silence of your bedroom. You glanced at the screen. It was Rafe.

You didn’t even hesitate. The agreement was simple—no strings, no expectations, just a call when one of you needed the other. You weren’t expecting anything deep or emotional. You just knew what you were walking into.

Pulling on your hoodie and slipping into the nearest pair of jeans, you left your apartment in a rush, your heart already racing for reasons you weren’t entirely sure of.

Rafe’s house was only a few minutes away, but by the time you stepped inside, you felt like you’d been standing on the edge of something you couldn’t pull back from. The door was unlocked, as usual. You pushed it open without knocking.

“Door’s open,” his voice drifted from somewhere deeper in the house, a tone you recognized as his usual cocky, casual self. You didn’t need to look at him yet to know the posture—the one that said he owned everything around him.

You stepped into the living room, your eyes locking on him as he stood by the couch, a drink in hand. He looked like he always did—laid-back, confident, too damn handsome for your own good. The only difference tonight was the dark glint in his eyes that made your heart skip.

“You’re here,” Rafe said, a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze traveled over you, lingering for just a second too long. “Always so eager. You really can’t stay away, can you?”

The words stung, but you didn’t respond. You never did when he teased you. Instead, you swallowed, trying to calm the rush of warmth that was spreading through your body. He wasn’t even touching you yet, but you could feel the pull of him like a magnet.

“I didn’t call you here for small talk,” Rafe continued, taking a step forward, his eyes never leaving you. “You know what this is.”

You nodded, your throat tight as you looked up at him, trying to maintain your usual calm. But Rafe always had a way of making you feel small—no matter how hard you tried. His presence had a way of swallowing you whole.

With a subtle shift, Rafe reached out, pulling you close. His hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, the warmth of his fingers against your skin causing a shiver to ripple down your spine. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You look so sweet tonight. You know I can’t resist when you act all innocent like this.”

You blinked, heart pounding. Innocent? You weren’t sure if that was how he saw you. But in this moment, you felt anything but innocent. Your mind was clouded with the desire to be close to him, to be used by him, the way you always did.

But tonight, things felt different. It was almost as if he was waiting for something.

“You still like this, don’t you?” Rafe asked, his voice low and dangerous, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers moved lower, brushing the waistband of your jeans. “Tell me you do. Tell me how much you want me.”

You swallowed, your pulse racing, but when you finally spoke, it was barely a whisper, “I want you…”

“Yeah, I know you do,” he muttered, his hands sliding beneath your jeans, pushing them down just enough for him to feel the softness of your skin. “But I think there’s more you’re hiding, doll.”

Your eyes widened, a flicker of panic rushing through you. But before you could speak, his fingers dipped lower, brushing against a place you hadn’t expected him to go. The shock of his touch sent a jolt through you, your body instantly reacting, but you held back your gasp.

Rafe’s smirk widened, as if he could read you like a book. “I know exactly what this is. You like being bred, don’t you?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the heat of shame flooding your chest. You were embarrassed, humiliated even, but at the same time… the thought of him using you like that made your body ache in ways you couldn’t deny. You tried to look away, to hide the flush on your face, but his grip on your chin forced you to meet his eyes.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he demanded. “Tell me you want it. Tell me how much you need me to fuck you like that.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the truth hung on the tip of your tongue, and when he pressed against you, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I need it,” you whispered, the words escaping your lips in a breathless rush.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his hands tightening on you. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed you back onto the couch with a gentle yet commanding motion, his hands quickly stripping you of your clothes. The speed of it had you gasping, but you didn’t fight it. You never did when he took control.

Rafe loomed over you, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. “You don’t get to be shy now,” he growled, his fingers sliding into you with a practiced ease that made you gasp. “You’re mine when I want you, doll. And right now? I want you.”

You closed your eyes, your heart racing. It wasn’t just the physical connection anymore. It was the way Rafe made you feel—like you were his, even when he wasn’t here. And right now, you couldn’t help but want everything he was about to give you.

Rafe’s breath was heavy above you, his fingers working with a sure, experienced touch as he stretched you, preparing you for what he had in mind. Every movement of his made your body react, whether you wanted it to or not. It was like an invisible thread tethering you to him, and you were powerless to fight it.

“You feel that?” he asked, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s me getting you ready, doll. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? Don’t be shy. You can’t hide from me.”

You could barely form words, your body so consumed with need that all you could do was nod, desperately trying to catch your breath. His thumb brushed your clit, sending a shock of pleasure through you. Your whole body stiffened at the sensation, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

“You like that,” Rafe observed, his grin widening as he leaned down to kiss you, his lips tasting like whiskey and something darker. “You like being touched like this. But you also like being filled, don’t you? You like when I make you mine.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears. The words were more than you could handle, but they also sparked something deeper in you. Something you couldn’t suppress. Your body craved him in a way that left you trembling.

“I—” You started to speak but couldn’t finish the sentence. You were too embarrassed to say it aloud. But Rafe wasn’t going to let you off that easily. He wanted to hear you say it.

“Say it, sweetheart,” he demanded, his voice a dark, teasing whisper. “Tell me what you need.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the warmth of his breath on your skin almost too much to handle. Finally, you managed, “I need you to—please… I want you to—fuck me like that.”

A satisfied chuckle rumbled in his chest as he positioned himself between your legs, his body brushing against yours. “I knew it,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips as he slid inside of you. You gasped, your body arching instinctively to meet him. The stretch was almost overwhelming, but the heat of his skin against yours made the discomfort fade quickly, replaced by an overwhelming need for more.

Rafe’s pace was slow at first, savoring each movement as he drove deeper, but it didn’t take long before his rhythm became harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“God, you’re so tight, doll,” he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so fucking good. Do you like this? Tell me you like it.”

“Yes,” you whispered, barely able to breathe. “I like it, Rafe. Please, don’t stop.”

The grip on your hips tightened, and you gasped as Rafe picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic, harder. You could feel him everywhere, your entire focus consumed by the feel of him inside you. The way his name fell from your lips—shaky, breathless—only seemed to drive him further into madness.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his lips grazing your ear. “You’re mine now. All of you. And I’ll make you beg for more.”

His words were dark and possessive, and they sent a thrill straight to your core. You couldn’t stop the moan that left your throat, the shame of your desire quickly giving way to pure need. You didn’t care anymore. Not when he was like this. Not when he was all you could think about, all you could feel.

Rafe’s movements became more frantic, more desperate. His grip on you was almost bruising, but you didn’t care. You wanted him—needed him—just as badly as he needed you.

“Don’t hold back,” he growled, his voice rough. “I know you want it. Come on, let go.”

The tension in your body coiled tighter, your stomach tightening as you felt your climax building. You were so close, so close to unraveling. And Rafe knew it. He could feel the way your body responded to him, the way your walls tightened around him, and it drove him wild.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin as he pressed harder into you. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

And then, with a final thrust, you came undone, your body shaking as the pleasure took over. Rafe’s name slipped from your lips in a breathless cry, and as you clenched around him, he followed you, the warmth of his release flooding you, his grip on you never loosening.

He stayed there for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, his body still pressed against yours. The room was thick with the aftermath, and you both just lay there for a few moments, your heartbeats slowing as the haze of pleasure faded.

Rafe pulled away, but he didn’t let go of you. His eyes locked onto yours, dark with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Good girl,” he muttered again, his fingers brushing your cheek. “You did so well for me tonight. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you responded. You’re mine when I want you, doll. And I always want you.”

You were breathless, your body still recovering from what had just happened. But there was something inside you—something about the way Rafe looked at you that made you want to stay, made you want more, even if you knew it was dangerous. You weren't sure what this was, but in this moment, you didn't care.

Rafe had you. And you were more than willing to let him take everything he wanted.

my eyes are extra pretty when they’re filled with tears and i’m on my knees looking up at you btw

Car sexy time. 😍😍

Tension and Temptation - E.M.

GIF by vigilanteshit

Eddie Munson x Reader Warnings: 18+ MDNI Summary: A midnight ride in Eddie Munson's van can't go wrong, right ? PREVIOUS PART

Part three

The van feels like it’s shrinking, the world reduced to the frantic pulse of your bodies and the heat swallowing you whole. Eddie’s hands are relentless now, one gripping your hip with bruising force, guiding your movements as you grind against him, the other tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp thrill down your spine. Your shirt’s long gone, discarded somewhere in the dark, and his lips are on your skin, hot and greedy, trailing across your chest, finding every spot that makes you tremble. Each kiss is a spark, each scrape of his teeth a blaze, and you’re burning up, every nerve alight.

You’re both beyond finesse now—clumsy with need, desperate for more. Your fingers claw at his jeans, shoving them down just enough, and the feel of him, bare and hard against you, steals your breath. He curses under his breath, a low, broken sound that makes your core tighten, and his hands are on your waistband, tugging with the same urgency. Denim and cotton hit the back of the van as well, and there’s nothing left between you but skin and want, the air thick with the sound of your ragged breaths and the creak of the seat beneath you.

"Eddie," you gasp, and it’s a plea this time, raw and unfiltered. His eyes meet yours, wild and dark, and for a split second, it’s just you and him, the rest of the world a distant memory. Then he’s kissing you again, deep and filthy, tongue claiming you as his hands pull you closer, aligning you just right. The first real press of him against you—hot, slick, overwhelming—makes you both moan, the sound mingling in the charged air. It’s almost too much, the stretch and heat, but you chase it, rolling your hips to take him deeper, and he’s right there with you, meeting every move with a thrust that’s all instinct, no restraint.

His mouth finds your shoulder, biting down as he moves, and the sting only amps you higher, your nails raking down his back, leaving marks he’ll feel tomorrow. The rhythm’s chaotic, desperate, the van rocking with it, windows fogged to the point of blindness. You can feel the coil tightening inside you, white-hot and ready to snap, and Eddie’s not far behind—his grip’s faltering, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven pants against your neck. "Fuck, you’re—" he starts, but the words dissolve into another groan as you clench around him, pulling him under. It’s a race now, no holding back, just the slick slide of bodies and the overwhelming need to get there together. His hand slips between you, fingers finding exactly where you need them, circling with a precision that makes you see stars. You’re teetering, right on the edge, and when he growls your name—low, wrecked—it’s over. The world shatters, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave, and he’s not far behind, his hips stuttering as he follows, both of you lost in the white-hot blur of release.

You collapse against him, gasping, sweaty, tangled, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Your chest heaves against Eddie’s, skin slick with sweat, hearts pounding like they’re trying to outrace each other. The air’s heavy, thick with the raw scent of you both, and the van feels impossibly small, every sensation amplified—the lingering heat where you’re still connected, the faint tremor in his arms as he holds you close. His breath fans your neck, uneven, and you feel the ghost of a kiss there, soft but deliberate, like he’s not ready to let go of the intensity just yet. You shift slightly, still straddling him, and the movement pulls a low hiss from him, his hands tightening on your hips like a reflex. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, but there’s a spark in his eyes—half wrecked, half hungry, like he’s already thinking about round two.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear, and murmur, “Good way to go, though, right?” The tease earns you a chuckle, rough and deep, vibrating through you both, but it’s cut short when you rock your hips, just a little, testing.

His reaction’s instant—head tipping back, a groan ripping from his throat, raw and unfiltered. “You’re evil,” he says, but his hands are already moving, sliding up your sides, thumbs grazing the sensitive skin just under your ribs, reigniting that fire in your core. You’re both sensitive, still buzzing from the high, but the ache’s back, sharper now, fueled by the way he’s looking at you—like you’re a drug he’s nowhere near done with.

You kiss him, slow this time, savoring the taste of him, the faint salt of sweat and the edge of something primal. It’s less frantic now but deeper, tongues tangling like you’re mapping each other all over again. His fingers dig into your back, pulling you flush against him, and the renewed contact sends a jolt through you, a reminder of how close you still are. You move again, deliberate, and the friction’s enough to make you both gasp, the sensitivity amplifying every touch to a razor’s edge.

“More?” he asks, voice low, almost daring, but you feel the tension in him, the way he’s holding himself back, waiting for you to set the pace. You nod, biting your lip, and that’s all it takes. He flips you, somehow managing it in the cramped space, your back hitting the passenger seat as he looms over you, one hand braced against the fogged-up window, leaving a smudged print. The shift changes everything—his weight, the angle, the way he’s looking down at you, all predatory focus and unguarded want.

He moves first, slow but deep, and the stretch reignites that white-hot coil in your gut, making you arch into him. Your nails find his arms, dragging down, and he hisses, pace picking up, each thrust more deliberate, hitting exactly where you need. It’s overwhelming, the way he fills you, the way his eyes never leave yours, like he’s drinking in every reaction. You hook a leg around his waist, pulling him closer, and the new angle makes you both curse under your breath, the pleasure spiking sharp and relentless.

The van rocks with the intensity, every thrust pushing you closer to oblivion, seats creaking, the air so thick it’s hard to think. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight, grounding you as the rhythm turns brutal, chasing that edge again. Your leg’s still hooked around him, pulling him deeper, and the angle’s brutal—every movement hitting just right, sending shocks of pleasure that blur your vision. His eyes are locked on yours, dark and blazing, catching every gasp, every shudder, like he’s memorizing the way you fall apart.

You’re there, teetering, and when his free hand slips between you, fingers circling with devastating precision, it’s over. The world splinters—pleasure crashes through you, sharp and consuming, your body arching as you cry out, nails biting into his skin. Eddie follows a heartbeat later, a broken groan tearing from him as he buries himself deep, shuddering through his release, his forehead dropping to yours. For a moment, it’s just panting breaths, trembling limbs, and the thud of your hearts, synced in the haze.

He doesn’t pull away immediately, staying close, lips brushing your temple, soft and grounding. The air’s still thick, windows fogged to hell, but the urgency’s melted into something softer. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice rough but warm, his thumb stroking lazy circles on your wrist where he’s still holding your hand. You nod, catching your breath, and he shifts, careful now, easing off you but not letting go entirely. The seat’s a mess, but he doesn’t care, pulling you against him, your back to his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a shield.

“Hold on,” he says, and you hear him rummaging behind the seat, fishing out a worn flannel from the chaos of the van’s floor. He drapes it over you, tucking it around your shoulders, the fabric soft and smelling faintly of him—leather, smoke, something distinctly Eddie. His hands are gentle, smoothing your hair back, checking you over without making it obvious, but you catch the worry in his eyes, the need to make sure you’re good. “Better?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, lingering there.

You hum, leaning into him, the warmth of his body chasing off the chill creeping in. He’s still catching his breath too, but he’s focused on you—grabbing a half-empty water bottle from the dash, offering it with a crooked smile. “Hydrate, champ,” he teases, but his voice is soft, and when you take a sip, he’s watching like it’s his job to make sure you’re taken care of. His fingers trace idle patterns on your arm, grounding you, and when you shiver, he pulls you closer, chin resting on your head.

“Wasn’t too much, was it?” he asks quietly, and there’s a vulnerability there, like he’s double-checking, needing to hear it from you. You shake your head, turning just enough to kiss his jaw, feeling him relax at the gesture. “Good,” he breathes, and he’s back to holding you, tight but careful, like you’re something precious. The van’s quiet now, just your breathing and the faint hum of the world outside, but in here, it’s just you and Eddie, wrapped in each other, the afterglow and his care stitching you back together.

i think i wanna ride it until you cum inside me

I need to rewatch it because I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing I could see through my own tears.

Wally Clark being an absolutely wreck in the background the entire episode?

Yeah, that broke me

So, I started trying to write this ages ago and now suddenly there is a blurb? Idk how it happened either.

18+, MDNI 1.5k

cw: smutty smut, oral (m!receiving) dom-ish!eddie (he’s back to being a docile puddle by the end, dw), spit and tears and cum (oh my!), face fucking, but make it ~*~romantic~*~

There wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t hurt.

The hinge of your jaw aching from being stretched open, your numbed legs tingling from being folded underneath you, your knees stinging from the scratchy carpet fibers digging into them. Even your hips and shoulders were growing tight from trying to keep your back straight.

Your tired muscles screamed out for relief, for a second of respite—but they wouldn’t be getting it anytime soon. Not when the reason for their pain was so delectably and deliciously handsome.

“How’s that, sweetheart? You like that?”

Eddie’s voice was low and rumbly, emanating from deep in his chest. Just the sound of it made your center spasm and flutter, thighs clenching together in spite of them having fallen asleep.

The only noise you could make was wet gurgles and glucks that barely resembled actual words. You kept your head tipped back so he could watch your eyes fill with tears you could hardly see through. You didn’t need to see to know how gorgeous he looked, though.

Standing over your kneeling form as you gazed up at the soft planes of his torso and tattooed pecs; the barely-there pudge of his belly dusted with his happy trail that grew thicker and darker the further down it traveled; his chest that heaved in time with the persistent rock of his hips.

“Poor baby,” he tutted from overhead. “Can’t say anything with your mouth so full of my cock, huh? Can’t even tell me how much you like it?”

Sympathetic as his words were, his voice was anything but. There was a mocking edge to his tone and a glint in his dark eyes that was almost mean as he stared down at you. He gripped the side of your head, his strong fingers curling around the back of your neck to hold you in place as you received the brunt force of his thrusts. Every stroke was steady and even, his pace never wavering. You sucked in a big breath through your nose and swallowed in response to his question, drawing him deeper into the embrace of your throat and whining softly around him.

“You don’t have to tell me, sweetheart—I know you love this cock. That’s why you let me do this, right? ‘Cos you love it so much?”

You swallowed again, his tip inching down your throat with the motion. It made his brow pinch—just for a second—and his lips part in a breathy gasp he scrambled to hide. But he was too slow, and he felt the hum of pleasure you let out that threatened to unravel him completely.

Those fleeting seconds were the ones you lived for—the briefest flashes of your sweet, soft boy showing through the cracks in his facade when his domineering mask slipped ever so slightly.

As much as you liked this guy, that one was the one you loved. The only one you’d let do this.

“You know my favorite thing about this?” he asked, his grip tightening as his pace started to pick up, his domineering tone getting even lower and more leading, thick and dripping lewdly.

Trying to regain his upper hand.

As if he could ever lose it with you.

Your head shook as best it could with him buried in the back of your throat, and Eddie’s mouth split wide in a crooked smile, almost laughing as he continued in a deep burr.

“It’s that you can’t even argue with me when I tell you how well you’re doing.”

His words washed over you like an unrelenting wave of arousal. Your eyes bulged wide in your skull and you felt your spine go slack with the shivers that rippled down your back. Your head practically hung limp, only making it easier for Eddie to thrust freely until you were gagging.

The pool of spit that had collected in your mouth spilled past your lips and dribbled down your chin, your tongue sliding out of your mouth to lay flat as Eddie’s cock glided over it unforgivingly.

He was at full speed now, barely pulling his cock back before it was ramming back into your soft palate. The wiry hairs at his base tickled your nose and cheeks with each pass and you literally felt yourself sinking beneath his influence, turning liquid and pliant, almost soupy with lust.

“That’s right, baby,” he went on, “you can’t do anything but sit there and take it…”

The tears that had begun to well in your eyes flowed freely now. You blinked rapidly, squishing your lids together trying to clear your blurred vision, the mascara clinging to your lashes likely leaving behind those mottled black trails Eddie loved to see running down your cheeks.

Your chest burned, seizing in anticipation.

Eddie knew this about you, knew how your need for praise and approval was constantly at odds with your inability to accept it. You and he had talked at length about how you loved the rush of having someone compliment you, but it was consistently followed by an equal and opposite   rush of shame. Feeling like you must have tricked or fooled them somehow into saying it.

His grin was triumphant when enough tears had trickled down your cheeks for you to see his face clearly, his plush lips spread wide in a wicked grin.

Eddie was so quick to compliment you, to ply you with talk that was as exalting as it was filthy. 

He was your biggest cheerleader—determined not to let you think for a second you were anything less than the talented, intelligent, kind, complex, hilarious, fucking ravishing creature he saw when he looked at you. But it was difficult, particularly in this area, for you to take his words to heart. To not immediately think he was just getting swept up in the moment, that he didn’t mean any of it. That he was just playing the part, saying his lines as scripted.

“Jesus, you’re so good at this,” he groaned. “I’d fuckin’ live in this throat if I could. You take it so… fucking…well…”

The last few words he punctuated with a punch of his hips. Your throat spasmed with it and your gag reflex made you sputter around his length, drool now running in rivulets down your chin.

“Goddamnit, I love you so much,” he gritted out, his voice cracking slightly as his mask started to slip again the closer he got. “Can’t believe I get to do this, can’t believe you let me—”

It’s the reverence in his tone that gets to you every time. You’d had men tell you before how they couldn’t believe you ‘let them do this’ and it always sounded so incredulous. Like it was dirty and disgusting, and like they were getting away with something. Not at all how Eddie says it.

He says it like it’s a gift. Like it’s the only thing he has ever wanted, and you’re the one offering him his dream come true. Like he isn’t convinced it’s real, or that it’s not something he’s dreaming.

“Oh, you’re fucking everything, you know that?” he asked, looking down at you with his own wet, glossy eyes, “you deserve everything, m’gonna give you everything…”

Your thighs clench again and you can feel your own arousal as it squishes in between your legs, your clit and cunt pulsating in time with the rapid beating of your heart. The tingling in your limbs has spread all over your body, distinctly more pleasurable than the pins and needles.

If you were ever going to cum untouched, it would be from this. No doubt about it.

Blinking through the last of your tears, you stare at Eddie raptly. He’s fucking gorgeous like this, all his muscles pulled taught, tensed and flexing and so close to snapping. His eyes are pinched shut, not quite closed like he doesn’t want to stop looking at you for even a second.

“F-fuck me, m’so close, baby. M’so fucking close, I’m gonna—ahh!”

His voice cracks along with his mask, his domineering tone crumbling into a needy and plaintive moan. With one final thrust, he pulls out of you and wraps his fist around his cock that’s soaked in your spit. You gasp, taking the first full breath you’ve had in ages and stick your tongue out, flattening it against your chin and tipping your head back as far as it will go.

It doesn’t take but a few quick strokes for his warm, salty spend to splatter across your tongue. His expression is almost pained until he sees the look of relief that washes over your face.

Only then does he permit himself to feel the full sensation, to revel in your mutual pleasure.

He drops to his knees, practically collapsing, and throws his arms around your shoulders to pull you into him. His chest heaving against yours while he comes down, he buries his face in your neck and clutches at the back of your head to hold you to him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispers, words tumbling out of him, “I love you so much.”

You swallow thickly, his cum still warm on your throat as it slides down it. Your head turns to kiss the side of his face and whisper in his ear, voice coming out hoarse but no less adoring.

“I love you too,” you mewl, more tears welling behind your eyes. “Thank you.”

All my love for indulging me — love you, mean it! 📸

This is so precious and accurate?

Simon being all big and tough and mean and noncommittal…

But if you ride him good enough?

You’ll catch this motherfucker moaning louder than a siren, saying all kinds of whack shit like, “I love you,” “you’re perfect,” “fuck, you’re all I need”

Make him blow his load good enough, and you might even get this wild card.

“Marry me,” he says, still panting on the mattress. Meanwhile, you’ve got semen dripping down your leg, your panties halfway up your thighs. Your hair is a rats’ nest in the back, and you trip over the leg hole of your underwear when you hear what he says.

“What?” You stutter out.

“I want you to marry me,” he states in the calmest, most bored voice you’ve ever heard. Hell, he’s still wiping cum off of his stomach, staring down at his wet hands like it’s just a normal Tuesday.

Simon’s weird. He’s abrasive, inconsistent, and generally not romantic at all.

But when a car’s headlights shine through the blinds…you can see it.

His face, bright pink. Fingers twitching against his naked chest. And it’s then that you realize it.

Holy shit.

Simon is being romantic. Like, actually, genuinely, beautifully romantic.

When you start crying, he complains about having to comfort you. Yet, the water gathering around his lash line says otherwise.

Long story short, you’ve got a nice little ring on your finger by the end of the week…

That, and Simon manages to ask you out to dinner. For the first time ever. Since, y’know, you’re his fianceé now.

(He’s already thinking about what your baby’s name will be.)

Adorableeeee

my request is for a Wally drabble where there is a lot of angst and tension cause they aren’t together yet and the prompts is request are 21 and 36

and maybe possibly if there’s nsfw it could be J

appreciate you !!!

Omg! Thank you so much!! You're my first request!! 💓 I kinda got excited and might've gotten a lil carried away, but here ya go!

Movies & Polaroids 🎬📸

Wally Clark x fem!reader

NSFW!!

Word count: 2,214 (oops 👀)

21. "Wait a minute, are you jealous?"

36. "God, you're cute" "You think I'm cute?"

J. Masturbation

~ ☆ ♡ ° ~ ☆ ♡ ° ~ ☆ ♡ ° ~ ☆ ♡ ° ~

"Come on, Wally, you're taking forever!" Becky complained, poking her head into the garage. "We're gonna miss the first half of the movie if you don't hurry up!"

"Just one more screw," Wally grunted, his voice muffled by the engine of the '67 Chevelle he was tinkering with. His hands were smeared with grease and sweat, and his heart raced with excitement. It wasn't just the anticipation of the new sci-fi flick at the drive-in—though that was a big part of it—it was the fact that he'd be seeing y/n there, the girl he'd had a crush on since the dawn of time. Or at least since middle school.

The garage was a mess, but to Wally, it was a sanctuary. Posters of cars and rock bands lined the walls, and tools hung neatly from pegboards. The smell of gasoline and oil mixed with the faint scent of Becky's perfume wafting in from the doorway. She was y/n's best friend, a constant in his life, but tonight, she was just a hurdle to clear before he could see the girl of his dreams.

"What's the big deal?" Wally called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "It's just y/n. You guys see each other every day at school anyway."

Becky rolled her eyes and stepped into the garage, her platform heels clacking against the concrete floor. She knew better than to argue with Wally when he had his heart set on something. "You're the one who's acting like a lovesick puppy," she teased, waving her hand in front of her nose to ward off the fumes.

Wally stood up, wiping his hands on an even greasier rag. "I'm not lovesick," he protested, his cheeks flushing. "I just... I don't know. She's different, you know?"

"Different from what?" Becky challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. "Different from the posters of half-naked girls plastered all over your bedroom wall?"

Wally shot her a glare. "Those are art, Becky. This is...real." He paused, searching for the right words. "Y/n's got this...this light, you know? And she's not just pretty, she's...interesting."

Becky laughed. "Interesting, huh? That's a new one." She tossed him a clean shirt. "You're just saying that because she doesn't throw herself at you like the others do."

Wally caught the shirt, his eyes lingering on Becky's smug expression. "You don't get it," he muttered, pulling the shirt over his head.

"I get it," she said with a knowing smile. "You're jealous."

Wally froze, his hand still on the shirt. "What? Jealous of what?"

"Of anyone who gets to spend time with her, obviously," Becky said with a smirk. "You want her all to yourself."

Wally's heart skipped a beat. Jealous? He'd never thought of it that way before, but as the word hung in the air, he realized it was true. The thought of y/n with anyone else made his stomach twist in knots. But was it really jealousy, or was it something more?

"Come on," Becky said, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door. "We're gonna be late."

He allowed himself to be dragged out of the garage, his thoughts racing. Jealousy was a powerful emotion, and one he wasn't used to feeling. It was going to be a long night.

--- (1/4 of the way)

The drive to the drive-in was a blur of neon lights and honking horns. The 80s were in full swing, and the streets of their small town were alive with the sounds of music and laughter. Wally's mind was a million miles away, replaying every moment he'd shared with y/n. The way she'd looked at him in math class when he'd solved that impossible problem. The shy smile she'd given him when he'd held the door open. The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her favorite book.

When they finally pulled into the packed parking lot, Wally's nerves were strung tighter than the guitar strings at a Van Halen concert. He spotted y/n's car almost immediately—a candy apple red Corvette that was the envy of every guy at school. His stomach flipped as he realized she'd come alone. Maybe, just maybe, tonight was the night.

"There she is," Becky said, nodding towards the Corvette. "Looks like she's saving a spot for you."

Wally swallowed hard. "I'm not so sure," he said, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

They parked next to y/n, and Wally took a deep breath before climbing out of the car. He could see her silhouette in the driver's seat, the glow of a cigarette casting a warm light on her features. She looked up as they approached, and their eyes met. Wally felt his heart stutter in his chest.

"Hey," she said, her voice low and husky. "You guys made it."

"Hi," Wally managed to croak out, his throat suddenly dry. "How's it going?"

Y/n shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Just waiting for the movie to start."

They talked awkwardly for a few minutes, the air thick with tension. Wally's mind was racing with what-ifs and maybes. What if he just told her how he felt? What if she laughed in his face? What if she said she felt the same way?

But before he could say anything, Becky chimed in. "You know, Wally's been working on his car all day just so he could impress you," she said with a wink.

Wally's cheeks burned. "Shut up, Becky," he muttered.

Y/n looked over at him, her eyes widening. "Is that true?"

"It's no big deal," he said, trying to play it cool.

"No, it is," she said, her voice sincere. "That's really sweet."

Sweet? He'd never thought of himself as sweet before. He felt a strange warmth spread through his chest. Maybe, just maybe, she did like him.

As they walked towards the snack bar, Becky shot him a look. "See?" she whispered. "You're totally jealous."

Wally didn't reply. He was too busy trying to keep his cool around y/n. But deep down, he knew Becky was right. He was jealous of anyone who had the chance to be close to her. And he'd do anything to be the one she looked at like that.

As the night grew darker and the movie played on the massive outdoor screen, Wally couldn't shake the feeling that y/n was watching him. Every time he glanced over, she'd be looking away, as if she'd been caught in the act. His mind filled with fantasies of what could happen if he just had the courage to make a move.

After Becky fell asleep in the back seat, Wally couldn't take it anymore. He excused himself, saying he had to grab something from his car. His heart pounding, he grabbed the Polaroid of y/n that he'd taken of her that week. It was a candid shot of her in a bikini at the beach, her hair blowing in the wind and her eyes closed in laughter. He'd been carrying it around with him like a secret treasure, touching it when he was alone and letting his imagination run wild.

In the privacy of his car, parked a few rows away, he took the picture out and studied it, his breath hitching. He could almost feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair. He leaned back, his hand sliding down his pants, his arousal growing as he thought of her. He closed his eyes and began to stroke himself, the image of her smiling face etched in his mind

--- (2/4, we can do this y'all! ♡)

But he wasn't as alone as he thought.

The sound of the door opening startled him, and he nearly jumped out of his seat. Y/n slid into the passenger side, her eyes on the picture in his hand. "What's this?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Wally's face burned with embarrassment. He'd been caught red-handed—literally. "It's nothing," he said, trying to tuck it away. "Just...just a picture."

"A picture of me," she said, taking it from his hand. "Why do you have this, Wally?"

He couldn't look at her. "I...I don't know," he mumbled. "I just...I think you're beautiful."

The silence in the car was deafening, the sound of his own racing heart the only noise he could hear. He braced himself for her to slap him, to scream, to get out and run away. But she didn't. Instead, she leaned closer, her breath hot against his neck. "God, you're cute," she murmured.

Wally's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest. "You think I'm cute?"

Y/n smirked, taking a drag of her cigarette. "You think I'm not aware of what you've been doing over here?" She exhaled a cloud of smoke, her eyes never leaving his. "I've seen the way you look at me, Wally."

He didn't know what to say, his thoughts tangled in a web of confusion and desire.

"But why are you hiding?" she continued. "Why don't you just tell me how you feel?"

Wally's hand stilled, his eyes meeting hers. "Because...because I'm afraid," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm afraid of losing you. Of messing things up."

Y/n reached over and placed her hand on his, stopping his frantic movements. "You're not going to mess things up," she said softly. "Not if we do it together."

With those words, the dam broke. Wally couldn't believe what was happening. He leaned in, his heart racing, and kissed her. It was a clumsy, desperate kiss, fueled by years of longing. But y/n didn't pull away. Instead, she kissed him back, her hand sliding up to cradle his face.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent. Wally fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, his hands trembling with excitement. The fabric fell away, revealing the lacy bra she wore underneath. He traced the outline of her breast with his thumb, feeling her nipple harden against his touch. Y/n moaned, pressing herself against him, her own hands busy unbuckling his belt.

They moved to the back of the car, the vinyl seats sticking to their skin as they kissed and explored each other. Wally felt like he was in a dream—or maybe a scene from one of the steamy romance novels he'd snuck a peek at in the bookstore. The scent of her perfume filled his nose, a sweet, intoxicating aroma that only heightened his arousal.

Y/n straddled him, her legs on either side of his hips, her bare skin against his. Wally could feel the heat of her, the softness of her thighs as they gripped him tightly. He reached up, cupping her breasts in his hands, feeling the weight of them, the nipples peaked and sensitive. She threw her head back, her hair cascading around them like a curtain, blocking out the rest of the world.

Her hips began to move, rocking gently against him. He could feel himself straining against the fabric of his jeans, desperate for release. He slid his hand down, slipping it under her skirt, finding the dampness waiting for him. Y/n's breath hitched as he touched her, her eyes fluttering closed.

Their kisses grew more frantic as they undressed each other, the air thick with need. The sound of their breathing and the rustling of clothes was the only sound in the quiet night. Wally could feel her heat, her wetness, and it was all he could do to hold back

--- (3/4, drink some water, thanks for making it this far! ♡)

When they were both naked, y/n leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest. She took him in her hand, stroking him gently before guiding him to her entrance. Wally's breath caught in his throat as he pushed into her, feeling her tightness wrap around him like a warm, wet glove.

Their rhythm grew faster, their breaths mingling as they moved together. Y/n's nails dug into his shoulders, leaving half-moons of pleasure-pain on his skin. Wally could feel the tension coiling in his gut, ready to explode.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the world. The neon lights of the drive-in flickered outside the windows, casting a rainbow of colors across their sweat-slicked bodies. The movie played on in the background, forgotten in the face of their passion.

Wally felt himself reaching the edge, the pressure building until it was unbearable. He didn't want it to end, but he couldn't hold back. He bucked his hips up into her, driving deep, feeling her tighten around him as she climaxed. It was all he needed to let go, the world spinning out of control as he came, his vision white-hot with pleasure.

They collapsed against each other, panting and spent. The silence was broken only by the distant sound of a car engine and the rustle of the wind through the trees.

For a moment, they just held each other, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. Then y/n spoke, her voice soft and shaky. "Wally, that was..."

He kissed her again, cutting off her words. "I know," he murmured. "It was perfect."

And as they lay there, tangled in each other's arms, Wally realized that this was the start of something beautiful.

~ ☆ ♡ ° ~ ☆ ♡ ° ~ ☆ ♡ ° ~ ☆ ♡ ° ~

(4/4, we're done!! Thank you for reading! My requests are always open! Please send me your requests, no matter how weird or cringe! I got y'all!! Lots of love!! ♡ Request list)

This just does something to me 🤤🤤🤤

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating. miscommunication. public sex. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - M

M is for misunderstandings, and miscommunication, and misleading rumors that bring Wally to his knees while he's in his football kit, 20 minutes before the game. Baby, I swear and I know it's fucked up, but you have to believe me because you DO. Whoever told you that he sexed Janet up at Brandon's Homecoming Game Eve party fucking lied. The notion makes Wally queasy and you're not listening, Jesus, baby, stop, just listen! But you're too busy hurting, putting distance between you and Wally like he's fucking contagious, and he doesn't know what else to do.

He grabs you by the shoulders, spins you around, and pins you against the wall with his body, arms fastened around you like boa constriction. You push and shove and loose a muffled scream against his chest. He doesn't budge. Kisses your head, temple, the curve of your jaw, "Stop, baby, please. Please, listen to me." A kiss to the corner of your mouth when you finally submit, pliant in his arms, huffing and hateful and oh so magnificent in your anger.

One hand glides down your spine, the other cradles your face, his eyes begging you to hear him out, "It's not true, sweet girl." He promises, "I wouldn't do that to you. I'd never do. that. to you." And he really fucking wouldn't. To Janet? Yeah, they aren't a thing; not how it matters. But you? It would have to mean life or death, and even then...

You and he are behind the stadium, the back area used by concessions, recycle on one side, trash on the other, hidden from view. Wally lets go. You slump against the wall, expression closed and ears open. He can't play until you smile. Until he knows you're his again. Then bench-rider Matt pops his head out of the security door to tell Wally t-minus too few minutes before he has to hit the field.

"Get lost."

"But—"

"Get fucking lost, Wilson!"

Matt gets fucking lost, off to assure Coach that his MVP will be ready for kickoff. Wally turns his attention right back to you, hands on your neck, thumbs stroking your cheeks, trying to make you look at him. When he kisses you, you fight back with teeth, but at least you respond. Fire and passion so strong that all of Wally's blood jets south and his vision is more inkspots than reality. He shackles one of your wrists in his big hand, then the other. Over your head on the wall as he fucks your mouth with his tongue.

"You gotta believe me, baby," He urges, voice rough and low, taking your wrists in one hand so he can grope under your Devils' blue dress with the other. God, you'd look good in his letterman. A package so pretty he'd have to unwrap you on sight. A smirk against your lips when his fingers rub your pussy through your panties from behind. Soaked. "You like it when I'm rough with you, don't you, baby girl?" He kisses you again. Hard. Nips your lip sharp enough to break the delicate skin.

The moan he swallows makes him throb.

"You didn't really believe it did you? You just wanted to pick a fight...naughty girl." He coos, rich and dark and so hard he thinks he might pass out. "You wanted to get me like this..." He grinds his hips against you, that just-right pressure making his eyes roll back. "Fuck, baby, all you had to do was ask." His fingers keep playing with your pussy, rubbing and teasing, sneaking under thin fabric to feel that sweet velvety heat he can't wait any longer to get around his cock.

In one coarse move, Wally turns you, bends you, ass up, hands on the wall, and a deep curve in your back. He takes a moment to admire you, his fingers digging into your lovehandles. Too bad he doesn't have time to tease you, tugs your panties down to your knees, his pants shoved down to his thighs, hissing when the cool air hits sensitive flesh.

"Gonna make a mess of you baby." He vows and he does, fucks you hard and unforgiving against the stadium wall. Slams into you over and over, angling himself in a way he knows will hit your g-spot every time. On every beat of his hips, you choke, moan, whimper, beg for mercy or more, and he growls in response, moves faster, harder until, fuck, baby, I'm gonna—

Just as it starts, he pulls out, rubs his cockhead through your folds, paints your pussy lips with his come as he strokes himself stupid. But he's not done yet. Before you can breathe, he plunges the fingers of one hand inside you, the fingers of the other on your clit, furious and savage, "That's it, baby girl." He feels you clench, spasm, and then you shout his name as you squirt all over his hand.

Your panties are ruined, used to mop up the mess Wally made as it trickled down the inside of your legs. He smirks at you, hungry, the look in his eyes a guarantee that you're not sleeping at home tonight. You're not sleeping at all.

He takes your bunched up panties from you when you try to throw them in the dumpster, "Nuh-uh, sweet girl, these'll be my lucky charm," and he flagrantly shoves them inside his jockstrap, discreet under the cup, and leaves you to join his team with a deep, hungry kiss and a slap on the ass.

It's the best damn game Wally has ever played.

27-0.

Coach claps his back and demands that Wally do whatever pre-game ritual he did today for the rest of time and Wally's only too happy to oblige. His eyes find you easily in the stands, dress pulled down as far as you could get it, and a feral grin curls his lips. After all, if there's one thing you don't fuck with, it's athletic superstition.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Yes Daddy 🥰

rafe having a breeding kink? Use of mama and praises?

you had spent the afternoon at your aunt’s house, watching her baby gurgle and coo in rafe’s arms. it was almost surreal, the way he softened, the way his rough hands cradled the tiny bundle so carefully. he had looked at you then, something unreadable in his blue eyes, something dark and hungry lurking beneath the tenderness.

"you’d look so fucking good carrying my baby, y/n" he had murmured, just low enough for only you to hear, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. the words had sent a shiver down your spine, pooling heat low in your stomach. rafe had spent the rest of the visit teasing you with lingering touches, whispered promises, his fingers grazing the curve of your belly as if he was already imagining it round and full.

by the time you got home, the tension was unbearable.

rafe leans in, his breath hot against your ear, a wicked smirk playing at his lips. "you know what i want, don’t you?" his voice is thick with lust, dripping with that deep, possessive hunger that sets your skin on fire. his hands, rough and commanding, slide down your waist, gripping, kneading, holding you in place as if daring you to run. not that you would.

"mmm, fuck—look at you," he groans, his fingers spreading over your stomach, possessively pressing, as if he’s already claiming you from the inside out. "gonna put a baby in you. gonna watch you swell with me—fuckin’ mine."

the heat pooling between your thighs turns molten, a slow, sinful ache as he grinds against you, his cock hard and thick, straining against the fabric separating you. his mouth finds your throat, lips dragging, sucking, teeth grazing just enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine. "gonna make you take it. gonna fuck you so deep, there won’t be a doubt who you belong to."

your whimper is met with a low chuckle, rafe’s hands gripping your hips tight, pulling you flush against him. "say it, baby. tell me who’s gonna fill you up."

your voice barely comes out, breathless, needy. "you, rafe."

"that’s right, mama. only me."

he lifts you with ease, pinning you beneath him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his body heat searing into yours. his fingers trail between your thighs, teasing, playing, spreading you open like his own personal feast. "already so wet for me. fuckin’ perfect."

he doesn’t rush. no, rafe likes to make you desperate. likes to watch you writhe, to hear you beg. his fingers slip inside, slow and deliberate, his thumb brushing over your clit just enough to make you shudder. "gotta make sure you’re ready, mama. need you to take every inch. need you dripping."

your back arches, hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back, anywhere you can hold onto as he builds you up with those wicked hands, his lips ghosting filthy praises against your skin. "such a good girl. so fuckin’ perfect for me. gonna take me so well, aren’t you?"

all you can do is nod, desperate, mind hazy with pleasure as he works you open, stretching you, preparing you. when he finally lines himself up, you’re already trembling, already teetering on the edge of something devastating. he watches you, eyes dark, lips parted as he presses in, inch by inch, filling you, stretching you, claiming you exactly the way he promised.

a strangled moan leaves your lips, and rafe groans in response, his hands gripping your thighs, pushing them open wider. "fuck—yes, mhm. that’s it. take it. take every fucking inch."

he moves slow at first, letting you feel every thick drag, every pulse of him inside you. his lips brush against your temple, voice thick with something dangerous. "gonna fuck my baby into you. gonna keep you so full, so perfect."

and then he snaps his hips, thrusting deep, raw, possessive. the pleasure is overwhelming, dizzying, white-hot and consuming as he pounds into you, as he takes you like he owns you. his praises mix with filthy promises, his hands gripping, his body relentless. "you want a baby, mama? gonna keep you like this forever. filled up. used up. marked."

you’re already falling apart beneath him, but rafe isn’t finished. not until he’s buried so deep you feel him for days. not until he’s sure you’re ruined for anyone else. and as he presses a hand against your stomach, feeling himself inside you, he grins, wicked and proud.

"gonna put a baby in you. and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it."

notes: crossing my fingers that this wasn't cringy, i hope you liked it! 🤍

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