#bunitober

Halloween in Hawkins always carried a little chill in the air, the soft buzz from strings of orange lights and the scrape of rakes over wet leaves and the far-off shriek of teenagers pretending to be afraid of each other in backyards.

The kids had already been hauled home, sugar-drunk and sticky. A few porches still glowed with jack-o’-lantern teeth. Somewhere, Metallica bled from a radio. The night had cooled into that October bite that felt cold when you breathed in and woke the skin.

Eddie slammed the door like a thunderclap and came in spinning, cape flaring around him like a curtain. It was thrift-store “velvet,” the kind that shed black fuzz over everything it touched.

The rest of him was a crime scene: chalky white foundation smeared to reveal skin along his jaw where sweat had licked it clean, raccoon-eyed black liner melted, and a mouth painted too red with fake blood. Plastic fangs visible as he smiled.

“COUNT MUNSON,” he announced in an obviously drunk Transylvanian accent, throwing his arms wide as the cape snagged immediately on the doorknob. “At your eternal...dammit...at your eternal...hold on—” He wrestled himself free, half tripping over his own combat boot and catching the wall with a ringed hand. “—service.”

Curled into the corner of the couch, you’d let the glow of the horror flick paint your skin in cold blue light, blanket tugged across your legs, while condensation slid lazy trails down the untouched glass on the coffee table. Two hours ago Eddie had disappeared out the door, off to Gareth’s party, you’d waved him toward with a smile, insisting you didn’t mind staying behind because you were tired.

You had expected him to tumble back through the door sooner rather than later, what you hadn’t expected was the dramatic assault of his cape trying to strangle him as he came stumbling inside. The sight made your teeth sink into your cheek as you fought a laugh, shoulders twitching with the effort.

He saw the smile anyway and leaned into it, hair shaken out like he’d been struck by lightning. “Fear me,” he said, narrowing his eyes in a way that was not scary or intimidating at all. “I am terrifying.”

“You’re terrifying,” you said solemnly, nodding, and then ruined the effect by letting your gaze wander deliberately down his body and back up. “Terrifyingly hot.”

The paint on his cheeks creased with his grin, as he stomped closer with the menacing dignity of a very drunk, very handsome Count Dracula. Eddie was still every inch a dramatic little shit, possibly more while intoxicated, he dropped to one knee by your feet, cape pooling around him and seized your hand.

“Ahhh, the pulse of a blood calls to me,” he purred, eyes glittering. He pressed damp, red-smeared lips to your knuckles. Then when he tried to bite you a plastic fang caught your skin with the gentlest possible pressure and then popped right out onto the carpet. You lost the battle against laughter.

“Oh no, Count,” you managed through your laughter, wiping away the tears collecting in the corner. “Your tooth.”

He dove for it, nearly planting his face into the coffee table leg. “Stop laughing,” he said also holding back laughter, before he came up victorious and shoved the fang back in. “I am a creature of the night.”

“Uh-huh.” you mumbled as you smiled gently at him, throughly amused by him per usual.

He leaned in so close his hair tickled your chin. “Tonight,” he whispered, and the whole performance had picked up a notch, “you are mine, my bride.”

Your palm comes up, cupping his jaw, thumb smearing a streak of chalky white from his cheekbone as you pull him the last inch to your lips. His lashes flutter once, twice, and then his mouth finds yours. The kiss is clumsy at first, he’s still grinning, still tasting of cherry fake blood and cheap beer, but his hands slide instinctively to your waist, pulling you in.

Eddie’s breath leaves him in a shaky, low laugh as he pulls back just enough for you to see his grin, lips smeared with a streak of red that looks a little too much like blood under the flickering TV light. One of his hands is firm on your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric of your shirt like he’s grounding himself, the other sliding up to push a curtain of your hair back from your neck.

He lowers his head slowly, theatrically, until the heat of his breath ghosts over your skin. It smells like beer and sugar and the taste of the stage blood he’s been wearing all night. His rings are cold where they brush your collarbone, the pads of his fingers warm.

He sank his teeth against the soft of your throat. The fangs were plastic, harmless little toys, but the subtle scrape still set your pulse racing. His tongue dragged a hot path; his lips sealed; his bite real enough to prickle heat out of your skin. You felt his grin against your pulse when you shivered.

“So good,” he mumbled, words smearing against your neck, breath warm, the fang clicking faintly. “Fuck, you smell like…like sugar and vanilla and—” He kissed down your neck, and then up, painted you with red fake blood and sweat and laughter.

He straightened with a wobble, cleared his throat. “Mortal maiden. The night is my dominion and you—” His other hand, a traitor to his agenda, unconsciously slid up your warm thigh. “—are...shit...so fucking soft and warm.” The line he must have been practicing on the walk over derailed; he leaned in, involuntary, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that took out all the comedy of the moment, and heat smashed through you.

The plastic fang bumped your lip and you snorted into his mouth; he huffed a laugh and then groaned. He kissed you sloppy and sweet, When he pulled back, his eyes were damp and big and open. “God, I love you,” he said.

You thumbed a streak of paint from his cheekbone. “I love you too,” you answered. He pulled the blanket over your legs away like he was preferring a magic trick and put his ringed hands on your knees and squeezed, a low groan falling out of him as you parted your thighs for him with a small smile.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you.” and then he’s bending, pressing a kiss to your knee, his lips lingering there, eyes flicking up at you through the mess of his hair. “Sweetheart,” his voice is low now, no accent, just him, “can I please have a taste?”

Your breath catches, your thighs already parting a little under his gaze, and you manage, soft and shaky, “Mhm. Take care of me, my Count.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself, his hands slide up to your hips, big and warm and trembling just slightly, then he reaches for the hem of his own shirt. The fabric rides up, baring a strip of pale stomach and happy trail as he drags it up to his face, using it to scrub at his mouth and jaw until the worst of the paint and fake blood is gone.

He moves to you, still gripping the shirt. “C’mere,” he murmurs, voice rougher, wiping away a smudge of foundation he’s left on your inner thigh with his thumb before switching to the shirt to clean away more of the mess, his movements are clumsy but careful.

His eyes never leave you, they trace the lacy edge of your panties, the silly little ghosts printed on the fabric, before zeroing in on the undeniable evidence of your arousal. The damp patch is a dark, saturated bloom against the light grey material, and his gaze seems to drink in the sight. His breathing getting heavier, shoulders rising and falling as he kneels between your knees.

The press of his lips is a brand against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, a slow open-mouthed kiss that leaves a shimmering trail of cooling spit. He follows the line of muscle, his breath a warm gust that raises goosebumps in its wake and has your hips rolling restlessly against the sheets.

When he finally reaches your core, he buries his face there, his nose nudging the damp fabric of your panties. He inhales, and lets out a a sound, a mix between a groan and purr, and you feel the vibration all the way up your spine. He sighs a long, shuddering exhale into the soaked cotton, as if the scent of your arousal could get him drunker than he already is.

Then, his teeth close around the elastic waistband, pulling it taut against your hip. A low ridiculous growl rumbles in his chest, and with a sharp playful shake of his head, the material snaps back against your skin with a faint thwack.

The sheer absurdity of it makes you choke out a laugh that quickly dissolves into a moan as his fingers replace his teeth. Two calloused digits hook into the gusset, pulling the slick fabric aside to expose you to the cool air of the room, your breath catches.

You laughed and then forgot how to laugh as he licked a slow stripe from bottom to top, tongue broad and hot. You framed his head, fingers tangling into his damp curls; he moaned and dove back in, hungry, and your hips chase his mouth seeking more. He flicks his tongue over your clit and pauses to suck until your thighs tightened around his ears, then eases back with a kiss.

You hear a faint, odd click as the plastic of his ridiculous fang shift with the movement of his jaw. With a muttered curse of frustration, he rears back just enough. There’s a soft pop as he works them loose with his tongue, and then he flings them carelessly over his shoulder. They hit the wall with a plastic clatter. “Sorry, babe,” he grunts, the apology a gruff, distracted afterthought.

And then his mouth is on you again, and this time there is nothing getting in the way. His lips part, and he seals his mouth over your clit, sucking hard, making your back arch off the couch. His tongue delves inside, fucking you with shallow strokes, tasting every inch of you before circling back to the sensitive bundle of nerves.

One of his hands slides up your body, palm flat against your stomach, holding you down as his other hand grips your thigh, pushing it wider, opening you completely to his ravenous, unforgiving mouth.

“Eddie,” you whisper, and he answers with a moan of your name into you. You let your head thump back on the couch, as you direct him by his hair in a breathless gasp. He pulls back slightly, his jaw and lips wet with your arousal and slides two fingers through your fold before pressing them into your fluttering cunt. His rings are cool against your heated and swollen lips; as his finger curl and press and curl again, making sparks run up your spine. He never abandoned your clit, mouth maintaining a gentle suction.

You started to shake, trembling that climbs your spine like a ladder. He feels it and groans; rutting softly against the carpet, grinding himself down for relief. The sight of it, him licking into you, and denying his own pleasure, bloomed heat behind your eyes.

“Eddie,” you gasped, thighs clamping. “Don’t stop. Don’t...oh, god..don’t stop.”

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled, as the pressure building low in your belly broke, your hips jerking and hands shaking in his curls, the sound you made would have made the neighbors blush if any of them weren’t already distracted by their own sins. He moans as if he were the one coming, fingers still working, mouth easing you down. He kissed your soaked folds until the trembling subsided.

“Christ,” he said finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand looking up at you a proud smile on his face. “My Bride,... My Mistress, ....whatever the term of address is for the hottest person alive.” He made a grand, sweeping gesture with one hand that nearly upset his balance, a clumsy flourish aimed at all of you. A real, genuine giggle bubbled up from your chest, because sometimes he was a sex god and also sometimes a twelve-year-old. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You taste amazing.”

“Eddie,” you said fondly, rolling your eyes with a soft smile on your face. You reached down, your fingers tangling in the wild mess of his curls, and gave a gentle tug. He came willingly, letting you pull him up the length of your body until his face was level with yours.

You dragged him into a deep kiss, your tongue sweeping into his mouth to taste yourself on his tongue. He made a small sound against your lips, a whimper that went straight to your core. You pulled back just enough to speak against his mouth. “Take your stupid cape off.”

He blinked, his dark eyes going wide with theatrical shock. He recoiled as if you’d struck him, his arms flying up to wrap around his own torso in a gesture of self-protection. A look of wounded, scandalized disbelief crossed his features. “Never.”

You hooked your fingers into his collar and gave it a hard tug. He made an undignified squeak that turned into a laugh, shoulders hunching as he let you peel the cape away. It slithered off and hit the carpet with a soft whuff, leaving him suddenly just Eddie again. Messy hair, smeared makeup, big doe eyes watching you. He climbed onto the couch in a scramble of elbows and knees, and then he was under you as you straddled him, kissing you so hard the world tilted.

He broke away to help you out of your shirt, his hands clumsy and shaking, and then bent his head to your chest. He kissed your breasts, open-mouthed murmurs falling from him as his tongue circled each nipple.

When you tugged at his belt his whole body jerked, a helpless moan building out of him in a rising series of sounds until it was nothing but a rough, breathless fuck, yeah, please. The buckle snapped open, you pushed his jeans down over his hips and he wriggled, kicked, and grunted, until the denim finally surrendered.

When you wrapped your hand around him through the boxers he made a strangled, broken sound and thrust into your grip without even thinking, head dropping forward to your shoulder, hair sticking to his damp forehead. You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, and whispered with a crooked smile, “I’m going to feast on your blood and flesh.”

A groan ripped out of him, raw and shaky, his throat working and hips rolling into your hand. “Jesus, babe,” he rasped, “I’m gonna… I’m… please don’t tease me too bad. I’m begging you.”

You bit back a laugh, nails grazing the waistband of his boxers as you tugged it a little lower. “ but you’re so cute when you beg,” you murmured, and felt him shudder against you, eyes half-lidded, mouth open on another soft curse.

When you pulled his boxers down her was already hard and desperate, his skin flushed. His cock stood thick and rigid against his stomach, the tip already beaded with a pearly drop of precum. You hummed your appreciation, a low sound of pure satisfaction that made his abdominal muscles clench. Finally, you wrapped your hand around him, skin on slick overheated skin. You stroked him with long, slow pulls of your hand, twisting a little at the head the way he liked; he shuddered and went crosseyed, as his mouth fell open.

A strangled, guttural sound was torn from his throat. His head dropped back, exposing his neck, and his hips bucked forward, fucking himself into your grip with a single, helpless thrust. “Oh, god,” he choked out, his hands fisting in the couch beside him. “Please… please…”

You began to stroke him a slow twisting glide from base to tip. Your thumb swiped over the head, smearing the wetness there, and he cried out. You leaned down, pressing a wet open-mouthed kiss to his sternum, tasting the salt and sweat on his skin. You kissed your way down his stomach, your hair trailing a path over his sensitized flesh. He was trembling uncontrollably now, a mess of whimpers and broken pleas.

You settled between his legs, looking up the length of his body at his lost desperate face.You stuck out your tongue and licked a broad, flat stripe from the heavy weight of his balls all the way to the weeping tip of his cock. His whole body bowed off the couch, a silent scream caught in his throat. Then, you opened your mouth and took him inside, sealing your lips around him and sinking down until he hit the back of your throat.

“Ffffuck,” he hissed, both hands flying to your hair. He was careful even in his desperation, fingers wide, giving you room to move, the best boy with the dirtiest mouth. “Ohh, god, sweetheart...uh...shit—” You took him deeper, swallowing around him, and he laughed which quickly dissolved into a helpless moan. “Oh my god, I’m...no, I wanna be inside you so bad, please—”

You released him with a wet, obscene shhlk, threads of pre and spit still connecting your lips to his cock. Sitting up, you casually wiped the glisten from your lips with your thumb. You took him in hand, his cock searing hot and impossibly hard, and guided him to your entrance.

Your own breath caught in your throat as the broad, flushed head of him nudged against your tight entrance, it made your inner muscles clench in anticipation. You held him there for a single heartbeat, then bore down his cock letting him push inside you slowly, opening to him inch by torturous inch.

His mouth went slack, his eyes rolled back in his head, the whites showing for a second before his eyelids fluttered shut. As you sank down, taking him to the hilt in one slow glide, he swore, a helpless groan against your skin. “Ohhh, holy fuck… holyshit—” He surged up, crashing his mouth against yours, kissing you like he was a drowning man and your lungs held the only air in the world. It was a bruising kiss, all teeth clicking and tongues wrestling.

When you were finally seated, when he was buried as deep as your body would allow, you both just stilled. His hands, which had been fisted in your hair, now trembled where they rested against your hips. “Okay,” he whispered, the word a puff of air against your lips. He said it again, like he was trying to soothe a wild animal, and that animal was him. “Okay. Okay.”

“Look at me, baby,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm. Your fingers came up to gently caress his cheeks, tracing the line of his jaw.

His eyes, dark and dazed, slowly focused, locking onto yours. Something deep inside him seemed to unclench, to break open. His hips pressed up in a deep, slow thrust, a deliberate roll that dragged his cock against every soft, spongy ridge inside you. Your breath hitched in your chest an audible gasp, and he felt the way your body clenched around him in response. He groaned his eyes burning with an intensity that threatened to consume you whole.

“Ride me,” he asked, and the words were stripped of all bravado, all performance. There was no accent, no theatricality. It was just Eddie, raw and open, his heart held out in his trembling hands. “Please.”

You began to move, a slow roll of your hips that made him suck in a sharp breath. His eyes were glued to your face, wide and dark, watching you like you were the most captivating thing he had ever seen, his favorite show playing out on a private screen.

You tested the rhythm, a shallow grind, and then a deeper circle, searching. Until finally you found the spot that made your own pulse throb in your fingertips. You found the angle that made him slam a fist into the couch cushion beside him with a muffled thump, his head falling back as he bit down hard on his own lip to stave off an orgasm that was already threatening to tear him apart. The sight of him, so utterly wrecked and trying so hard to hold on, made a breathless laugh bubble up from your chest.

“Count,” you panted, the word a smug, breathless tease as you moaned around it. “You holding up over there?”

“My Mistress,” he croaked, the title cracking in his throat. His fingers tightened on your waist, a delicious bruising ache. “I am clinging to my un-life by a thread.”

“Poor thing.” The words were a mocking coo, and you backed them up by rocking harder, faster. His head knocked against the couch cushions with a dull thud, but he didn’t even seem to notice, lost in the friction, the heat. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and braced the back of his head with your hands to cushion him. You rolled your hips in greedy, sloppy circles, grinding down on him, taking everything he had.

“I love you,” he started chanting, the words a desperate, broken litany against your skin. “I love you, I love you… god.”

Suddenly, his arms were looping around your back and over your shoulders, yanking you down flush against his chest. He held you there, a crushing embrace, and then he was fucking up into you from beneath. It was a deep and hard rhythm, that made the old couch frame creak in protest and sent tremors through your thighs. His mouth found the column of your throat, and he marked you. His teeth scraped, then sank in just enough to sting, sucking a dark hickey into your skin, then another, licking a path up to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

You slid a hand between your sweat-slick bodies, your fingers finding your clit. The shock of your own touch, amplified by the pounding of his cock, turned the entire world a blinding white. Eddie felt you claw at his shoulder, heard your voice climb from a moan to a high mewling cry, and he started to fall apart in earnest right along with you.

“There. Fuck. Beautiful… so fucking beautiful,” he babbled, his hips losing their neat punishing rhythm and becoming frantic and wild, chasing both of your releases. “Come for me, sweetheart. Please, I wanna feel you… wanna feel you milking my cock, ohhh—”

“Eddie,” you cried, your nails dug deep into the muscle of his shoulder as you crested, the wave pulling you under. “Eddie, I—”

A sound was ripped from your lungs, and your body seized, clenching around him in a series of powerful spasms. He held you steady through it, his own body a rigid trembling bow, swearing under his breath, his jaw shaking with the valiant effort not to go over the edge with you.

The attempt lasted perhaps four seconds. Then you felt it, the stutter of his hips, the way his whole face crumpled, his control shattering into a million pieces. A moan was torn from him, a sound that seemed to start in his toes and climb all the way up his spine before erupting from his chest.

“Fuck! fuck...ohhh, fuck yes—” He cried out, burying himself as deep as he could, clutching you to him so hard it was difficult to breathe. Then he was spilling into you, a warm flood, and a broken helpless noise escaped his lips, a sound you knew, with absolute certainty, he would never, ever make for anyone but you.

The neighbor’s dog barked twice from the yard next door. Inside, the only sound was your blended breath a harmony that seemed to fill the small space. You sagged against him boneless, your cheek pressed to the damp skin of his shoulder. Sweat and other things stuck you together, a messy intimate glue.

“Best,” he said eventually, his voice a low, contented rumble that vibrated through your ear and into your skull. “Halloween. Ever.”

You snorted, a soft puff of air against his throat, feeling the frantic rhythm of your heart finally begin to slow.

“I concur, my ridiculous Count,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the spot under his jaw where the white face paint had been completely worn away, leaving nothing but warm, slightly stubbled skin.

He hummed, a happy, cat-like purr that resonated deep in his chest. You shifted, a slight wriggle to ease a cramping muscle, and he groaned, a laugh tangled in the sound of pure overstimulation. He helped you ease off him, your bodies separating with a series of soft, undignified noises.

You winced at the sticky mess between your thighs, and he had the absolute audacity to look proud, a smug little smirk playing on his lips. “I'll be right back,” he said, levering himself up with a grunt. His hair was a complete disaster, a wild tangled halo of curls. He disappeared moving around the house for exactly one minute and returned like the hottest waiter alive, semi clean faced, bearing a warm damp washcloth and a tall glass of water.

He knelt on the floor before you, his expression one of intense concentration. He pressed the warm cloth gently between your thighs, his touch impossibly tender. He made soft, shushing noises as he worked, cupping your knee with his free hand, his thumb stroking slow circles on your skin.

He handed you the water, and you drank, the cool liquid a balm. He watched you the entire time, when you were done he took it from you and chugged the rest throwing it back like it was a shot, and he was dying of thirst. He then took the cloth and wiped his own chest and belly, then yours his eyes following the white and red trails smeared across your skin, mixing and turning a dingy gray. “Jesus, I got you filthy,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and genuine apology.

Once he was satisfied with your clean skin you tugged on his arm, and he flopped down on the couch next to you willingly. His damp curls were already drying into little tendrils against your shoulder. You traced the delicate shell of his ear, feeling his breath soft and heavy, fan across your ear.

“Did I scare you?” he asked into your skin after a minute, his voice deadpan.

“Terrified,” you deadpanned right back. “Horrified. Petrified.”

“Good.” The word was a low, smug rumble of satisfaction that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

He reached up behind him, fumbling blindly for a moment before his fingers found the edge of the throw blanket that lived permanently on the back of the couch. He yanked it down over both of you, cocooning you in worn fleece that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and him. Then, he pulled you into his arms as you found yourself sprawled atop him, your cheek pressed to the solid, warm wall of his chest. The steady, heavy beat of his heart was a drum against your ear.

You settled against him with a contented sigh, your cheek finding the perfect hollow between his pec and his shoulder.

You slid your palm down the plane of his stomach, feeling the last of the involuntary post-coital twitches rippling under his skin, the pleasing give of softness layered over hard muscle. Your fingers traced idle patterns through the light dusting of hair there, a lazy exploration. “So how many beers did Count Munson have?”

He held up three fingers, then wobbled a fourth, a comically uncertain gesture. “This many. And a half a shot of something that was honestly probably lighter fluid. Gareth dared me. I will not be doing that again…”

“Three and a half, huh?” you teased, your palm still circling low on his stomach. “I should’ve known Count Munson would never make it through the night unscathed.”

“Hey, hey.” His voice was rough but amused, he tilted his face just enough to look at you, curls sticking damply to his forehead. “It might have been like trekking to mount doom but I made it back here, didn’t I?”

“Mhm, Sure.” You dragged your nails lightly over the sensitive trail of hair that led downward, and watched, fascinated, as his entire abdomen contracted with a sharp, involuntary twitch. He made a weak, strangled noise of protest, his free hand coming down to catch your wrist, not to stop you, just to hold on. 

He shifted and you felt him again, a slow lazy stirring of interest against your hip. You smiled into the darkness of the room.

"Count," you said, your tone mild and conversational, "is your un-life in peril again?"

"I am afflicted," he said mournfully, playing along. "A terrible curse. There's only one cure."

"What, prayer?"

"More sex," he said, with the solemnity of a man delivering a terminal diagnosis.

"Oh really?" you hummed, grinning against his skin.

And then suddenly, In one surprisingly coordinated burst of energy he rolled, looming over you with a wolfish grin. His mouth crashed into yours, all heat and laughter, before he dragged his lips down to your neck. He bit, playful worrying the sensitive skin there while you squirmed beneath him.

You couldn't help it, laughter bubbled up from your chest as you both rolled around in the limited real estate the couch offered, a tangle of limbs and breathless giggles. His hands were everywhere, tickling your ribs, gripping your hips, steadying you when you nearly tumbled off the edge.

Then, with zero warning and the grace of a labor doodle who'd just spotted his favorite person, he flopped. His full weight dropped onto you, pinning you to the cushions and buried his face directly between your breasts.

You let out a soft oof as the air left your lungs, and he was already kissing and licking, his mouth warm and lazy against your skin. There was no real heat behind it this time, just affection. He nuzzled deeper, sighing like he'd found the perfect pillow.

He settled there on your chest, his breathing evening out, and his voice dropped softer, almost sheepish. "You really didn't mind me going, right? To the party?"

Your hand settled back in his hair, smoothing over the damp, unruly curls. “I kinda mind you drinking lighter fluid, dumbass. But no. I didn’t mind. I’m just glad you made it back safe to the shire.” You brought your other hand to his cheek, turning his face toward yours, and shared a slow, sweet kiss that tasted of sugar, vodka, and him. He made that soft, helpless sound again and pulled you closer, his arm tightening around you.

“Happy Halloween, My Bride.”

“Happy Halloween, My Count.”

His grin softened as your words faded into the quiet, his lips lingering over yours like he couldn’t quite bear to let the kiss end. He grinned, a crooked and boyish smile, before he dropped his head back to your chest with a sigh that spread warmth through your sternum.

The TV across the room was still running whatever horror movie you had put on, light and color pulsing in time with the streetlight outside, but the world inside your little cocoon had grown hushed and heavy.

He traced lazy shapes into your side, little spirals that slowed with every pass. His breathing evened, no longer laughing or groaning, just the deep heavy pulls of breath before falling asleep. You brushed a curl from his forehead and he murmured something against your skin, nonsense probably, before settling closer still, like he wanted to crawl right under your skin and stay there.

The last thing you saw before your own eyes slid shut was the heap of his abandoned cape on the carpet, the cheap thrift-store velvet glinting faintly in the flicker of the tv. Count Munson, scourge of Hawkins, slayer of beer, lighter-fluid shots, and his mistress, had been felled at last.

✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

Whew!! and that's a wrap on Kinktober, everybody!!! 🎃 one final sweet romp with Eddie for Halloween (a little late but that’s okay lol). I can’t believe it’s already over!!

That was fun and stressful all at once, I really feel like that gif of Frodo... I’ve learned a lot this month, mainly that I seriously need more time to write. I definitely felt the crunch near the end and caught myself sneaking back to fix mistakes I couldn’t let slide lmao. Next year I’m absolutely going to prep even more.

After this, I’m taking a tiny break, like a week or so, to reorient myself and recharge, but then I’ll be back!!!🖤

…𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖞 ✦✧✦  𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖉

✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦

 This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

  ₍ᐢ .  ̫ . ᐢ₎

Eddie held the slim black remote like a prize, shaking it with a shit-eating grin that made your stomach twist and your thighs clench. It had been his idea to bring it along, his taunting promise that it would be “just a little fun, sweetheart,” but by the time the two of you were pressed in the vinyl diner booth, you realized how cruelly this fun would be.

The toy inside you thrummed with a steady insistence, each vibration coaxing a quiet gasp that kept slipping out between your clenched teeth. You tried to disguise the noise with a sip of milkshake, but Eddie wasn’t having it, as he pressed the button higher his fist against his lips, muffling his laughter, curls spilling over his cheeks as his eyes locked on your twitching body.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed through his giggles, playing with the little plastic rectangle in his hand, “your poker face is so goddamn bad.” and the tone in his voice made your belly knot.

Then a another click as he tapped it higher, just as the waitress leaned over with plates clattering down, the vibration buzzing inside faster as your whole body flinched. You nearly dropped your fork, chewing your lip raw as Eddie turned toward his burger, humming a tune like nothing in the world was amiss.

The faint hum inside you vibrated against the slick walls of your body, subtle enough that no one else could hear, but strong enough to make you shift in your seat. You clenched your thighs together so tight your knees pressed against the edge of the table. The move only made it worse.

Every subtle shift in your chair made the toy grind against your insides at the perfect angle, your whole body tightening under the fluorescent diner light while he licked ketchup from his thumb, smug as can be.

Eddie noticed and his grin widened, wicked and boyish all at once, tongue flicking over his lower lip before he pretended to be very interested in his milkshake. A loud buzz of the neon “OPEN 24 HOURS” sign outside filled the gaps between your racing heartbeats.

“How’s that shake, sweetheart?” His voice was calm and lazy, dipping into a mock innocent drawl just to taunt you.

You glared, dug your fingernails into your palm under the table, your voice barely a whisper. “Eddie. Turn it down.”

“Oh? what was that higher?” He slouched lower, eyes half-lidded with mischief. Then his thumb rolled the dial just a little higher.

The pulse deepened, a subtle bzzzzzt that only you could probably hear and feel, and your breath hitched. The waitress looked your way as you coughed, trying to cover the sound, and grabbed your water glass. The ice clinked loud in your trembling hand. The vibration matched your fast pulse now, rolling through your core, dripping heat through your belly, your breath hollowing out your chest.

Eddie’s hand covered his mouth, feigning a light cough, but behind that palm, his shoulders shook with silent laughter. You felt it, the heat of his amusement, the tension of him trying to look normal.

“Stop—stop it,” you hissed, shooting him a little death-glare and a sharp smile that would’ve fooled anyone else at the diner.

He tilted his head. “sweetheart,” he whispered across the table, words low and dangerous, “if you could see your face right now…” His thumb rolled up another notch.

The hum broke into a faster rhythm; your stomach spasmed, thighs trembling uncontrollably under the table. “Eddie,” you gasped through clenched teeth, trying to look like you were laughing at something he said. “I swear to God—”

“What's a matter, sweetheart? feeling a little hot under the collar,” he said, voice dipping deeper, almost tender.

Your body jolted, he was unbearable. His pupils were dark and locked on your cheeks flushing hotter by the second. A droplet of condensation slid down your untouched soda glass. The waitress passed with a coffeepot and Eddie smiled politely, flicked the switch down just before she reached the booth. You nearly melted with relief.

“Y’all okay?” she asked, smiling obliviously.

Eddie’s hand slid across the table, fingers finding yours, squeezing like it was the most wholesome thing in the world. “Perfect,” he said, and winked at you when she turned her back.

The second she was gone, the buzz came back, a cruel and constant reminder. You tried to kick him under the table. He just laughed quietly, pushed his tongue behind his teeth, enjoying every second of your unraveling composure.

The moment you stood up, the movement must’ve shifted the toy inside because you bit down on a moan, catching it behind your teeth. Eddie rose too, standing close enough that the smell of his leather jacket cut through the grease and syrup in the air.

“C’mon,” he murmured, sliding an arm around your waist, paying the tab with a few crumpled bills like he hadn’t just wrecked you the middle of the diner. “Let’s get you outta here, hm? Need some fresh air.” he said, his hand rubbing agonizingly against your hip, so close to where you wish he would touch you, and leading you outside.

By the time you stumbled out into the night, your knees were shaky, the sweat between your shoulder blades sticking your shirt to your spine. Outside, the night air cooled the sheen of sweat on your neck. The diner’s neon sign painted your skin pink, neon blue, pink again. Eddie walked beside you with the gait of a cat who caught the canary, tossing his hair back dramatically.

“That was fun!” he declared, slapping the side of his van, before he opened the van door, eyes glowing with the kind of pride only Eddie Munson could wear while committing filth. You muttered a promise to strangle him with the seatbelt, but your voice was trembling, already betraying how close to breaking you were.

The second the door shut and darkness fell around you, Eddie turned the dial.

“Eddie!” you whine curling into yourself on the seat.

“You’re so goddamn cute when you say my name like that,” he mumbled affectionately. The toy buzzed faster, and the helpless cry that tore from you filled the cramped space. You scrambled into his lap, as he let out a startled bark of laughter that melted quickly into a groan.

Your skirt rode up, fabric bunching against his hips as you straddled him, chest pressed tight to his torso. The little toy inside you was still working overtime, buzzing mercilessly as you ground down on the hard line in his jeans, pressing its vibrations into him through your soaked underwear.

“Ffffuck...ohhh, baby,” Eddie’s head tipped back, rings digging into your thighs as he grabbed handfuls of you, “you’re fuckin’—mmm, ahhh.” His words broke apart as you rocked harder, hips circling, the toy pushing deeper with each grind and making your clit buzz like fire under your skin.

Your moans were deep in your throat. “ahhh, hhhhnnnghh, Ed—dieee”, shaking through the van. His laugh was breathless now, a rasp, “you’re—hhnnng... holy shit!...you’re tryin’ to kill me.”

You grabbed the remote from his hand, pressing it as high as possible and then slammed it against the seat, your nails scratching at his chest through the fabric of his shirt. His grin didn’t falter, if anything it widened as you rutted against him, cunt throbbing around the buzzing toy, juices soaking through your panties and leaving a dark patch against his jeans. “Goddamn, sweetheart, look at you,” he groaned, pupils blown wide, “you’re so fuckin’ desperate you wanna ride me with that thing still in you, huh?”

The coil in your gut snapped tighter with every roll of your hips, every grind that made the vibrations crash against your walls and his cock, straining harder beneath you with every vibration. You clawed at his shoulders, panting into his neck, your whole body electric, nothing in your head but the buzzing, his scent, the rough denim, and the heat of him against you. His voice rumbled low, teasing and admiring all at once, “mmm, you’re drippin’, babe.”

You whined his name, as he bucked up into you, groaning long and loud, the van rocking under the force of it. Your nails left crescents in his skin, your mouth clamped against his jaw, the toy singing inside you, his body hard and desperate beneath yours.

“Fuck! Eddie...please,” you cried, the sound of your own desperate rhythm filling the tight, dark air.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, smiled against your shaking lips. “That’s it, baby. C’mon. Let go for me.”

You did every nerve firing at once, body arching against him, pulse throbbing to the toy’s relentless hum until it burned white behind your eyes. You clung to him, trembling and spent, your name was low and hoarse in his throat as he rocked you through it.

When it ebbed, silence filled the van except for the faint bzzz still purring between your thighs. Eddie chuckled softly, nuzzling his nose beneath your ear. “That was as fun as I thought it would be,” he said, voice syrup-sweet and proud.

You groaned, words catching in your rough laughter. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he murmured, as he plucked the remote off the seat, his grin pure trouble. “but maybe after round two.”

✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ Okay thats day 26, hope you enjoyed!

This one is a little shorter because of yesterday's prompt but at least I got it out lol

I had to research and see if they even had small bullet vibrators in the 80's, and they did! It was actually developed in the 1980's-90's, but I don't think it would have been like today, it probably would have had a cord...so let's all shut off our brains and pretend lol

Also I was sucked into the history of "vibrators"...some of these looked terrifying...like I wouldn't want that anywhere near me..

…𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖞 ✦✧✦  𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖞...

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

 This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

  ₍ᐢ .  ̫ . ᐢ₎

Eddie’s bedroom smelled of cigarette ash and the sharp tinge of sweat, the thin curtains doing nothing to keep out the yellow glow of the trailer park light. His shirt clung damp to his back, collar wet from practice, his chest still rising in rough bursts like he’d run a mile instead of just played guitar for hours. He had barely thrown his instrument aside before he was on you, pressing you back against his creaking mattress, springs groaning in protest as his whole weight settled between your thighs.

The first couple of orgasms had already left your body trembling, nerves alight like a live wire, but Eddie didn’t stop. His hand were unsteady as they scrabbled over your hips, his rings accidentally dragging hot scratches down your sides, leaving pink streaks that made you jolt. His mouth was everywhere at once, tongue in your mouth, teeth on your throat, lips sucking bruises like he wanted to brand every inch of you his.

He made those little noises he never let anyone else hear, the frantic whimper when you clenched around him, the wet groan swallowed into your shoulder, the low chuckle that eased out when you begged him to slow down.

“Just one more, sweetheart, I swear,” he rasped against your ear, voice hoarse with desperation. His hips snapped forward again, knocking the headboard into the wall so hard the bed rattled and clanged.

His whole body trembled against yours, sweat slicking your stomachs together, his curls sticking damp to his flushed cheeks. He sounded like he was pleading for his life, every thrust another step closer to the edge.

You sobbed out a “please,” fingers clawing at his back, nails slipping over the slick skin and catching on the edge of his belt. It only made him move harder. He laughed and kissed the corner of your mouth like he could soothe the cry away even as he shoved himself deeper.

“I can’t. baby, I can’t stop, you feel too good,” he moaned, nose dragging against your jaw as his mouth found the hollow of your neck. His tongue was hot and desperate, laving at the salt of your skin before his teeth sank in hard enough to make you gasp. Your body twitched helplessly, every nerve end white-hot, but he kept you pinned , thighs trembling as he fucked into you with a frantic rhythm.

“Eddie—” your voice broke, the words drowned in a long, wet cry when his thumb found your clit, rubbing circles with a ruthless insistence. The sharp edge of his ring pressed into the swollen flesh, metal burning against the raw sensitivity, and you jerked like you’d been shocked. He groaned at the way you writhed, his forehead bumping against your shoulder, curls brushing your cheek as he panted against your skin.

“That’s it…just one more time, baby. one more.” he begged, though you both knew he was lying. Every time he said it, his hips only grew rougher, his voice more frantic, as though your sobs only drove him deeper into madness. His need clung to you as much as his sweat did, sticky and suffocating, your own whimpers tangled with his ragged cries until it was impossible to tell where you ended and he began.

Your thighs shook, twitching against his waist, your back arching off the mattress with every relentless thrust. The wet slap of skin echoed in the small, dingy room, underscored by the squealing mattress and the wet suck of his mouth as he licked at your neck. You sobbed into his shoulder, body convulsing, but Eddie only held you tighter, arms banded iron-strong around your waist as you tried to squirm away from the pleasure.

“Shhh ‘s okay, I’ve got you.” he whispered, even as his hips pistoned with a punishing speed.

You felt yourself break again for the third time that night, body quaking in his his hold, stars exploding behind your eyelids, your voice shredding on his name. Eddie’s answering cry was raw and guttural, ripped straight from his chest, his whole frame spasming as he pushed as deep as he could go and held you there.

Even when you thought he was finally satisfied, your thighs quaking around him, he was moving, small jerks of his hips that made you cry out in overstimulation.

“One more,” he gasped, kissing the tears from your cheeks, tongue catching the salt, eyes wild and still hungry for more. “Just one more, I promise, baby.”

You knew that it was never just one more.

✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

Kicking off my Kinktober with some filthy Eddie smut, obviously! what else would I start with? (≖⩊≖)

Just a little midnight treat tonight (I know better than to feed you guys after midnight). Im always going to leave the prompt a surprise, but next will be Bucky!

Hope you enjoy, mortals!

𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖞...

✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦

This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

  ₍ᐢ .  ̫ . ᐢ₎

The soft blue glow of the space mobile cast long shadows across the nursery walls. Little silver spaceships and glowing planets drifted in a lazy orbit above the crib where Franklin slept, his tiny chest rising and falling in peace. Franklin’s tiny fist was wrapped around your pinky finger, his breathing a soft puff against your wrist. For a place that was routinely targeted by villains and cosmic entities, the Baxter Building could be peaceful on occasion.

You gently eased your finger from his little grasp, tucking the dark blue star-embroidered blanket, up to his chin. He didn't stir chest rising and falling in a deep peaceful sleep.

A floorboard creaked in the doorway. You turned, a grateful smile ready for Reed or Sue, back early from their date night. Instead, Johnny leaned against the frame, his arms crossed over a plain red t-shirt that did very little to hide the lean muscle beneath. The usual cocksure grin was gone, replaced by a quiet, watchful intensity that was so foreign on his features it was almost alarming.

“He’s down,” you whispered, your voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Sue was right. That book on quantum entanglement did wonders.” A disbelieving laugh, little more than a puff of air, shook your shoulders as you glanced at the cover. It was a dense tome you’d never dream of reading, let alone as a bedtime story to a baby. But this was no ordinary child. You were reminded of that every time he looked at you with that unnervingly knowing glint in his little blue eyes.

As you gazed down at him now, you couldn’t help but think he was a tiny, perfect replica of his uncle. You brushed a hand over Franklin’s wispy golden hair, the thought unbidden but potent. Johnny must have looked just like this as a baby, and his children would probably look like this, too. The thought sent a strange, warm flutter through your belly, a deep and unexpected ache.

Johnny didn’t answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the sleeping infant, a strange unreadable emotion flickering in the depths of his blue eyes. He pushed off the doorframe and moved silently into the room, stopping beside you to look down into the crib. The ambient light caught the blond tips of his hair, making them shine like spun gold.

“You’re good at that,”  he murmured, his voice low and stripped of its usual playful cadence.

You offered a small, self-deprecating smile. “Someone has to be the responsible one around here,” you teased, but your heart had already begun a nervous rhythm, the longer he stared with that quiet intensity.

You could feel the subtle warmth radiating from his skin, a constant undercurrent of power that hummed just beneath the surface. His eyes finally drifted from Franklin, landing on you. He wasn't teasing or cocky, he was serious, his eyes searching yours for something you couldn't name.

“I want that,” he said, the words barely a whisper, but they hit you with the force of a physical blow.

“Want what? A quiet night?” you asked laughing awkwardly, trying to keep it light, though your heart had started a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

He shook his head, his gaze unwavering dropped to your stomach for a fraction of a second, before snapping back to your eyes. “This.” He gestured vaguely between you and the crib, a motion that encompassed the sleeping baby, the domesticy, you.

The confession hung in the air, between you, a raw and vulnerable confession slipping out. This wasn’t the Human Torch, the hot-headed thrill-seeker. This was Johnny, seeing a future he’d never considered, and suddenly wanting it with a sincerity that stole the air from your lungs. You saw the flicker of his own surprise, as if he’d only just realized it himself as the words left his mouth.

“Johnny…” you started, but your throat was dry. What could you possibly say?

He closed the small space between you, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. His palm was so warm, a stark contrast to the cool, conditioned air of the nursery. His thumb stroked over your skin, his eyes dropping to your lips. The paternal longing in his gaze melting into a different kind of heat, something more primal.

“I look at you,” he rasped, his voice thick with a new, burgeoning need. “And I see him… and I just… I need to…” He didn’t finish the sentence, he didn’t have to. His eyes said it all. He desired a connection.

He led you from the room, his hand sliding from your cheek down to your wrist, his grip firm. He pulled you from the nursery, snatching the baby monitor on his way out, and dragged you into his own room, kicking the door shut behind you. The second it clicked shut, he had you pressed against it, his mouth crashing down on yours.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. His mouth was hungry and demanding, fueled by his sudden shocking revelation. His tongue plunged into your mouth, a hot wet invasion tasting of mint and something uniquely him. His body heat was soaring, the air around you shimmering faintly, a desert heat haze in the dim room. His hands were everywhere, sliding under your shirt to scorch the skin of your back, tangling in your hair to tilt your head to a better angle.

“I need to be inside you,” he groaned against your lips, the words a desperate plea. “Right now.”

He tore at your clothes with an impatient urgency, his own shirt and jeans hitting the floor in a heap. In the dim light, his body seemed to glow, athletic form humming with the contained energy of the sun. He lifted you with an easy strength, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you the few steps to his bed and laid you down on the cool sheets.

He loomed over you, his cock already at hard and slick with precum beading at the tip. The head was a deep, angry red, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He didn’t waste time with any pretense, just positioned himself between your thighs, his blue eyed gaze locked on yours.

“Tell me you want it,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with a deep, aching longing.

“Johnny, please,” you begged, arching your hips, your cunt weeping for him, needing to feel his heat inside you, to be filled by him.

He drove into you with a single, powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt. A strangled cry tore from your throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. He was so thick and so hot, a brand of living fire stretching your cunt, filling you completely. You could feel every inch of him, his forehead resting against yours as his breath came in burning pants against your cheek.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “You feel so good.” Then he began to move. His thrusts were deep and punishing, driven by the raw need to paint your insides with his cum. He wasn’t just fucking you, he was pouring all of that newfound longing, a desperate desire for a future, into you.  The friction built a searing heat deep inside you, a molten core that mirrored his own power. Your nails dug into the hard muscle of his back, your moans mixing with his guttural grunts as the bed frame slammed against the wall in a violent rhythm.

“Ahhh, fuck, Johnny!” you screamed as your orgasm hit, a blinding shock wave that made your muscles clench down violently around his cock.

Your climax was the spark that ignited his own. With a a rough and deep groan, he drove into you one last time, his hips bucking uncontrollably. You felt the tell-tale twitch of his cock deep inside you, the searing gush of his release, but he couldnt stop. He kept pumping, flooding you with his thick, hot seed. Wave after wave of it spilled from him, coating your insides, so much that it began to drip from you, staining the dark sheets beneath your hips. He pumped every last drop into you, groaning your name until he was completely, utterly spent, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He collapsed on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breathing harsh and labored. His body was still scorching hot, blanketing you in his warm afterglow. He shifted just enough to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse before wrapping his arms tighter around you, holding you as if he’d never let go.

His weight against yours was comforting, the scent of his skin, the faint scent of his cologne and sweat filling your senses. You lay tangled in the sheets, boneless and satiated, feeling his cum, warm and thick, pooling deep within you. His heart hammered against your side, a frantic rhythm, as you ran your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, content to just lie there.

Then you felt it. A slow warm trickle threatening to escape, a slick slide down the curve of your ass, dampening the sheets.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, he felt it too but he wasn’t letting a single drop go to waste. He pushed himself up on his elbows, his blue eyes blazing with a fierce new intensity. He looked down at the slick trail on your skin, his jaw tight.

Before you could react, he withdrew from you, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. Then he pressed the thick, tip of his still-semi-hard cock against your entrance, using the tip of his cock, he scooped up the spillage, slick with his own seed, and pushed it back inside you, smearing the evidence of his pleasure over that spongy upper wall, right back where he wanted it. The act sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to your core.

“We’re not done,” he rasped, his voice thick with intent.

With a grunt of effort, he lifted himself up pulling you with him as if you were a weightless extension of his own body. Your legs, still locked around his waist, tightened instinctively. He shifted onto his knees, his powerful hands gripping your hips and lifting you clear off the bed. Your shoulders and head were still pressed into the mattress, but your hips were cradled in-between his legs, held aloft under your knees by his strength and angled towards him. The new position tipped your pelvis forward, using gravity to keep his seed pooled deep inside you.

He looked down, his gaze fixed on the point of your connection as he slid back inside you. His cock, already swollen and heavy, felt impossibly thicker as he completely sheathed himself within you again, stretching your slick fucked cunt in a new delicious way. He held you suspended there, his biceps flexing with the strain, his eyes burning with a singular purpose.

His pupils were blown wide with a mixture of lust and longing. Then, he began to rock his hips, a slow grind. It wasn’t the frantic pace of before. This was a different, he moved in lazy, deep circles, churning his seed inside you, pushing it deeper with every rotation.

A slick sloshing sound filled the quiet room as he worked himself against your walls, coating you, filling you, ensuring every inch of you was saturated with him. His head fell forward, his brow resting against yours as he continued the hypnotic motion, his breath ghosting over your lips with each rotation of his hips.

You felt his cock already thick, begin to swell again inside you, the head pressing insistently against your cervix. The heat intensified, his skin becoming scorching hot against your hips where he held you pinned. His slow circles became shorter and faster, until they were no longer circles at all, but hard pistoning thrusts.

“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice strained. The angle was perfect, giving him the deepest possible access. He was hitting a place inside you that sent shockwaves of pleasure straight up your spine. You cried out, your body convulsing around him as another orgasm ripped through you, sharp and blinding.

Your climax was like gasoline on his fire. He groaned and picked up the pace, slamming into you with a relentless rhythm. He was fucking you with his entire body, his abs tight as corded steel, his shoulders bunched. You could feel the pressure building in his balls, the familiar, violent tension coiling in his groin. He didn’t warn you, just threw his head back, his teeth bared, and came again.

A second, hotter climax erupted inside you, a fresh torrent flooding the already full space. It was too much. The dam broke. A thick, milky flood of his cum escaped you, overflowing from your cunt and running down between your legs. It coated his thighs and dripped onto the bed below in thick, pearlescent drops. The sound a wet, sloshing squelch with every brutal thrust.

But he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. He was still hard, buried inside you, and he just kept fucking. He was churning his own seed inside you, turning the hot liquid into a frothy, slick lather that lubricated his every desperate rut against you.

“Look at you,” he panted, his eyes wild and unfocused, staring at the creamy mess you were making together. “So fucking full…”

Your mind dissolved, there was no thoughts, only the feeling of being stretched and filled. You were writhing and slick beneath him, your legs trembling uncontrollably around his waist. Your own copious fluids mixed with his, creating an even bigger mess that covered you both. He fucked you through another one of your orgasms, a long, shuddering sob of a climax, his hips never faltering as your body bucked and spasmed helplessly.

He came a third time, a guttural shout torn from his throat as he emptied himself again. This time, it felt like your womb was being bruised from the inside out, so incredibly full you thought you might actually burst. His cum was everywhere, leaking from you in a constant warm stream, smeared across your stomach as he moved, drenching the sheets in a sticky patch.

He finally slowed, his thrusts becoming erratic, his strength failing. He was slick with sweat, his body glowing with a faint residual heat, and dripping in your shared fluids.

With a deep agonized groan, he thrust into you in one final shuddering push, using the very last of his strength. Then he collapsed, his arms giving out, pulling you down with him onto the ruined bed.

You landed in a heap of tangled limbs, your head lolling on his chest, your body a quivering mess. He was buried deep inside you still, his softening cock giving a final, spent twitch against your bruised cervix. His weight was an anchor, pinning you to the mattress.

You drifted in a daze, every nerve ending humming, your mind a blissful, empty void. You could feel the faint heat of his power radiating from his skin, a comforting, human furnace.

He stirred, a low groan rumbling in his chest, the vibration traveling from his ribs into yours. You felt him shift, settling his weight more fully on you, trapping you beneath him. He nuzzled his face into your neck, his lips finding the sensitive skin behind your ear, just breathing you in.

“Don’t move,” he mumbled into your skin, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.

✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ Day 21 is done, mortals, hope you enjoyed!! I wasn't totally happy with this one idk why, just felt like something was missing and almost scrapped it but decided to just upload it!

personally, i’m not super into pregnancy fics… but i do love a good ole creampie and so does Johnny...

you cannot convince me that man doesn’t have a breeding kink.

…𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖞 ✦✧✦  𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖞...

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

 This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

  ₍ᐢ .  ̫ . ᐢ₎

The night had fallen heavy thick with September air that hadn’t quite cooled yet. Your room was dim, lit only by the warm flicker of your bedside lava lamp, casting long shadows up the walls. Your bedroom smelled like him. Even a week later, the faint scent still clung to your sheets, woven into the fabric like memory. 

His Hellfire Club shirt that you’d buried yourself in it since the second he left was soft, thinned out in places, a bit stretched around the neck from how often he yanked it off with little ceremony. The shirt hangs off your shoulders, it’s a little too big, the sleeves loose, the hem brushing just barely over the top of your thighs, but it’s his, and that means everything. 

The shirt smells like cedarwood, Marlboros, a hint of weed that clings to his denim jacket, and that stupid, cheap drugstore cologne, that he always forgets the name of, but you secretly bought a bottle of because you couldn’t stand not having it around while he was gone.

A week. Seven long days since he left for Memphis with Wayne to handle family stuff. Whatever that means. You tried not to be clingy, and told him you understood, that he could take all the time he needed. But it gnaws at you, like a toothache just under your gums. 

The days without him had been endless. Every day stretched thin, like a rubber band about to snap, each hour dragging more than the last without Eddie’s loud laugh echoing through your room, without his boots thudding down the hall, without his hands, always restless, finding some excuse to grab at you.

You hadn’t realized until he left just how much space he filled. Even his clutter, his clothes that he would let you "borrow", random dice and guitar picks abandoned, empty ashtray by the window, crumpled doodles on notebook margins, had felt like him still lingering, but now even those little scraps seemed faded, ghosts of his presence instead of the man himself. 

You miss the sound of him bitching about his amp thats always broken. You miss the feel of his scratchy voice in your ear when he slides in behind you in bed. You miss the weight of his arm slung across your hip, fingers always dipping low, always warm. You miss his mouth. His laugh. His stupid, adorable messy hair.

Nights were the worst. You’d roll onto your side, half-asleep, and stretch your hand across the sheets reaching for him only to find cold emptiness. You’d blink at the ceiling, waiting for his body to shift beside you, for his snore to rattle through the mattress, for the sharp scent of him to hang in the dark. Nothing. Just the whine of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a lone car outside. Every reminder of his absence a knife twist deep in your chest.

So, you clung harder to the things he left behind. His Hellfire Club shirt and your body pillow, God, that stupid pillow, the one Eddie always called his competition. He’d fake-wrestle it when you weren’t looking, throw dramatic punches, mutter, “Back off, you long bastard,” but then wrap himself around it like an octopus once he’d tired himself out.

Some mornings, when his leg stayed slung over it instead of you, when he was nuzzling into the fabric like it belonged to him, curls spilling everywhere, grin half-asleep and obnoxiously pleased with himself, you’d glare, irrationally jealous, until he finally dragged you into his arms too. “Don’t be jealous,” he’d murmur against your neck, sleep-warm and teasing. “You’re the only one for me, sweetheart.”

But now that same pillow was your salvation. It smelled faintly like him, not as strong as the shirt but enough to trick your brain. You curled around it in the evenings, burying your nose in the fabric, pretending it was Eddie’s chest under your cheek, Eddie’s arm slung heavy over your back. Pretending he was there whispering something dumb and sweet against your ear, his laugh in your hair.

Tonight, the longing had tipped into desperation. You hadn’t meant to start grinding down on it. At first it was just hugging tighter, pressing your legs together for warmth. Then you rolled your hips, seeking pressure where your body had been screaming for it all week.

One slow drag became two, then three. you straddled it slowly, wrapping your thighs around the wide plush length like it was his waist, hips rocking in slow, needy little pulses. You buried your face into the side, mouthing at the faded flannel pillowcase, breathing in so deep it made your head spin. “Mmnh—f-fuck…Eddie.” you whimpered, lips dragging over the flannel as your slick soaked through your panties, pressure hitting just right as you rolled your hips again and again.

The shirt rode up your thighs, exposing the damp heat between your thighs, clinging and rutting against the thing like you could squeeze Eddie’s essence out of it, like the thought and the smell of him could get you off alone. 

The wet heat between your legs spread, and you couldn’t hold back the needy noises that bubbled up, muffled against the pillow you were biting into. Every thrust of your hips made the ache worse and better at once, dragging you toward that sharp release you’d been missing for days. Your whole body trembled with need, thighs slick, drool smearing across the pillow’s fabric where your mouth hung open.

“Nnhh ahh—Eddie…” Your breath warm, your hips canting faster, chasing the friction like your life depended on it. Every drag made your body jolt and twist, until you were humping like a girl gone mad, missing him.

The faint clink of the window latch didn’t even register at first. You don’t feel the chill of night air rushing in from the window behind you. You're too gone, the way the pillow bends under you, soft and firm all at once.

Eddie’s standing in the middle of your room, halfway through the window, hair wild from the wind, his boots still muddy from wherever the hell he came from. His face is flushed, wide-eyed, lips parted as he watches your hips grind down, your shirt bunched around your waist, the pillow trapped tight between your thighs.

That was when his low, stunned voice cut through your haze. “Holy fuck...” he breathed, voice low, rough from the road, his lips quirking into that wicked grin. “My girl couldn’t even wait for me, huh?”

“Eddie?!” you squeak, half twisting around, mortified, breath catching in your throat. Your heart hammered in panic, embarrassment burning hot, but before you could scramble up, he was moving, toeing his shoes off as he crosses the room in three big strides, tossing his jacket aside, his duffel to the floor without a second glance, licking his lips like he’s starving.

Kneeling on the mattress behind you. His palms caught your hips, fingers spreading firm as he pressed you back down against the pillow.

“Don’t stop now,” he whispers, mouth hot at your ear, reaching down in-between your legs and dragging his thumb along the damp stretch of fabric clinging between your thighs.  “Let me help you, yeah? Wanna make you feel good, sweetheart.”

A strangled whimper tore out of you as your body obeyed, hips rocking again under the heavy guidance of his hands. His fingers flex and guide, rolling your hips in time with the rhythm you’ve been chasing. His breath is ragged, groaning softly with every grind, watching your cunt smear slick across the pillowcase as you whimper and shake.

“Ohh, there’s my good girl,” he croons, teeth grazing your jaw. “So needy, huh? Couldn’t wait for me to come back, could you?”

You’re drooling as you bite into the pillow to muffle the high moan that rips out of you as your body starts to seize.

“Go on,” Eddie growls, eyes blazing, fingers digging in. “Come for me, my pretty little pillow fucker. Come all over it.”

The wet spot spread beneath your hips as your whole body shuddered, the heat slithering up your spine, until the orgasm broke sharp through you like a thunderbolt, wrenching sobbing cries from your throat as you spasmed against the pillow, your cunt clenching helplessly around nothing. Eddie hums in your ear, slow and sinful, pulling you up against his chest, your body limp and boneless. He holds you like you’re made of glass, whispering praise into your neck, dragging his lips over your skin.

“Goddamn, I missed you,” he murmurs. “Missed this. Missed your voice, your smell, your messy little moans…”

Eddie turns you, pulling you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest as you shook through your aftershocks. “My messy girl.” He kissed your damp cheeks, your temple, every word dripping a tender warmth. But his cock, hard and throbbing under his jeans, was pressed hot against you, demanding attention.

He rolled onto his back, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, your cheek, your lips. laying you astride him, hands gripping your thighs as he freed himself. His cock stood slick-tipped, veins bulging, and he angled it up against your soaked panties, groaning. Then he peels the soaked panties to the side, his eyes locked on your soaked folds, glistening with your release.

“You gonna ride me now, pretty girl?” he asks, voice thick, eyes soft but hungry. “Gonna ride me just like that pillow?”

You nod, lip trembling. Your whole-body buzzing.

“Come on, then,” he coaxes, pulling his shirt off, baring his pale chest to the moonlight. “Come sit on your throne, sweetheart.”

You sank down, molten heat swallowing him to the base where dark hair curled around the base of his cock, both of you crying out. He threw his head back, eyes rolling, while his hands clamped your waist and held you there, pulsing and throbbing inside you.

“Go ahead, Baby,” he gasped when he met your eyes, pupils blown, grin sloppy. “ Bounce on me, pretty girl.”

Your hips slammed down, slick splattering his stomach, your walls clenching as you rutted on him frantic, bouncing and grinding until the sounds of wet skin slapping filled the room. Eddie’s head lolled back, curls sticking to his damp forehead, but his eyes never left you, glazed with pure adoration. You move faster, sweat slick between your thighs, tits bouncing in his face as you ride him with wild abandon. He’s groaning under you, babbling now, praising you between choked gasps.

 “Look at you,” he pants, gripping your ass, meeting every bounce with a snap of his hips. “You’re so good for me. My needy, sweet little thing…”

You clench around him, and he knows you’re close again.

“Come on, baby. Show me how much you missed me. fuck, yes, just like that—”

The pressure that had been building, wound too tight, broke loose in a flood. You cried his name, moan breaking and voice trembling, as your cunt spasmed hard around him, milking him until he shuddered and spilled thick and hot inside your fluttering walls, filling you deep as his groans rumbled against the skin of your collarbone. 

Afterward, you collapsed onto his chest, panting, his arms wrapping around you like he could fuse you there, like if he just held tight enough, neither of you would ever have to let go again. He was still buried inside you, both of you sticky and shaking and full of each other, his heartbeat wild beneath your ear.

He kissed your temple again, lips soft against your sweat-slick skin, and whispered, “My sweet girl…” He nuzzled into your hair, stroking your back slowly. “My pretty little pillow fucker. Never leavin’ you a whole week again. Fuck that.”

You giggled against his neck, still trembling, hips twitching when he shifted under you. He laughed breathlessly, that sweet, wrecked sound you loved, holding you like you were the only thing worth coming home to.

“…Hi,” he murmured at last, voice soft and teasing as he brushed his nose against your cheek. “Miss me?”

You burst out laughing, dizzy and totally wrecked and happier than you’d been all week, hugging him tighter like you didn’t believe he was real yet.

“Welcome back, Eddie,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips.

✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

hope you enjoyed day 7!! I really just wanted a story with pillow humping with Eddie, I feel like he would be so into it!! his SO getting so desperate they furiously hump an inanimate object, delirious with just his scent and the thought of him. Not sure if that’s technically a kink but honestly? i do what i want lol

…𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖞 ✦✧✦  𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖞...

✦✧✦𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

The light is low, amber spilling across the room. You’ve been perched on the bed for minutes that feel like hours, stockings pulled high on your thighs, garter straps snug against your skin, lace bralette framing your chest. It feels daring, scandalous even, and your nerves buzz with the thought of Johnny seeing you like this.

The door opens and he stops dead in the doorway, his mouth slack eyes wide, his bomber jacket slipping off his shoulder. His eyes drag from your legs to your chest, lingering so long it makes you shiver.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, breath catching. A grin curls slow across his mouth, disbelief flashing in his expression. “You...” he laughs once, short and stunned “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Your lips twitch, a slow smile curling at the corner of your lips. You look down and smooth the lace of your stockings. “Is it...too much?”

He shakes his head quickly, trying to reassure you. “Too much? Baby, you look like every fantasy I've ever had.”

He drops his jacket without caring where it lands, crosses the room, and sinks to his knees at the side of the bed. His hand hovers over your thigh, hesitating like he might spook you. When you nod, he touches, fingertips tracing the lace, the strap of the garter, the soft line where stocking meets skin. His groan is muffled against your thigh when he kisses there.

“I can't believe you wore this just for me,” he murmurs against your skin, then looks up with eyes so bright and blue it almost hurts. “You’re trying to kill me.” You laugh, nervous, but it turns into a breathless inhale when his teeth nip your thigh lightly through the lace.

He kisses your crossed thighs, his breath shivering against your skin as his hands slide upward, palms exploring the smooth curve of your legs, covered in nylon and lace. Each touch, every fingertips brushing across your heated skin is like a whisper. The lace catches lightly on his knuckles as he slides along the hem of the lace trim stockings, tracing the delicate flowers stitched in the fabric.

His breath fans hot over you, fading into a soft groan as he takes in the stockings, the hint of skin revealed beneath, the small quiver that betrays how hard it is for you to stay still. He noses the inside of one knee, leaving behind a trail of tingling heat.

His fingers tighten as he coaxes your thighs apart, his gaze flickering up towards your clothed heat, the lace clinging to you. The soft light from the bedside lamp turns the sheer fabric into a veil of false privacy over your heat. His thumb drifts along the edge of flowers, between lace and bare skin, before tracing the damp warmth just beneath your warm center. His exhale catches, a low sound deep in his chest.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, the word barely makes it past his lips before he leans in, pressing a slow kiss on the lace just above your slit. His tongue flicking out to taste you through it, teasing you.

He looks up his eyes glassy, wide with hunger, and for a moment he just stays there, between your thighs, his hands resting on your outer thighs, thumbs stroking circles. The space between you hums with electricity and a molten fire, his breaths against you are hot with anticipation. Another kiss lands on your sensitive skin, then another until the heat of his mouth finds the center of your warmth again, and you're trembling under his breath.

He doesn’t strip you, and you think maybe he never planned to as he eyes the lingerie you picked, his thumb brushes over your quivering folds and his excited grin falters into something hungrier. “Baby you're soaked through. You’ve been sitting here like this, waiting for me?”

Your answering whimper is enough for him, and He strokes you until you’re writhing under his attention. Once it seems like he cant handle the space between you anymore, he pulls away and finally frees himself from his jeans. His cock is flushed at the tip and heavy, slick already dripping down his length. He drags it against the damp lace, darkening and smearing himself across the fabric with a low groan.

“Look at that,” he mutters, eyes fixed where you’re dripping into the lace. “I'm gonna ruin these.” He braces one hand against the mattress, thumb brushing the lace aside. The damp fabric clings to you for a second, the thin strand of slick stretching between lace and skin glinting in the lamplight. His breath catches in his throat.

For a moment he doesn’t move, just watches the light tremble across where you’re open for him, then his thumb drifts in, collecting what’s spilled, spreading it in slow circles that make your hips twitch against him.

When he presses the head of his cock down, the warmth of it slides through and the wet drag makes him groan, the sound rough and low in his chest. He rocks against you smearing himself until your pre-cum is mixed together and you are covered in the both of your slick. The friction is almost too much already, his breath falls hot and heavy against your skin. He slides forward, the tip nudging along folds that part instinctively for him, the heat of you kissing his skin.

He draws back just enough to hook another finger under the lace and push it farther from your center, the fabric curling between his knuckles, his focus never leaving where they are joined.

And suddenly his hips snap forward, cock slamming deep, and the sound of the wet slap makes both of you groan. Inside of you he pauses for a moment, so the both of you can adjust before he pulls one of your legs up by the garter strap, driving into you harder, fucking you like he can’t stop himself.

“Y/n,” he pants, kissing along your shoulder, a path of warm fire down your chest. “you look like a dream.”

The rhythm he has set is desperate, his short damp locks are sticking to his forehead, sweat beading at his temple. You clench hard around him and his hips stutter, he huffs a laugh before it dissolves into another groan. “You’re gonna make me cum, is that what you want? Want me to make a mess of these pretty panties?”

Your answering moan has him losing the last of his control as he slams deep, spilling his warm seed inside you, grinding through it until your walls squeeze around him ripping another groan from him.

He stays buried in you a second longer, feeling each shiver ripple between the two of you. Then he drags in a breath and eases back, pulling out of you completely. His cock is glinting in your combined spend, slick connecting the two of before snapping as it arches down. He lets the damp lace gusset fall back into place, the delicate fabric covering your still twitching heat. The wet stain blooms and darkens the fabric, shining through the knit of flora and fauna.

He is transfixed, as a few lazy drops slide through before soaking in, the sight makes his jaw flex. With a quiet curse, he draws his thumb down, tugging the lace aside again just enough for him to press himself back in, pushing your combined release deeper.

“Damn,” Johnny gasps between breaths, collapsing forward slightly, catching himself on his elbows above you, kissing your jaw in a hurried and almost dizzy fashion. His hand strokes your thigh where the garter is clipped to the stockings. “You’re never taking this off.”

✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

That’s day 12, hope you enjoyed!

johnny loves women. johnny also loves women in lingerie. considering fantastic four: first steps was set in some futuristic 60s version of earth, I feel like fun and sexy lingerie worn just for him would be something exciting maybe something new idk

In the 50s, lingerie was more conservative and meant for shaping, slightly more rigid pieces meant to hold everything in place, not really for fun. but by the mid to late 60s, everything started changing. Fashion loosened up, and so did underwear. Softer fabrics and more playful designs started taking over. Bright colors, lace, babydoll nighties, lingerie became less about shaping and function, and more about freedom and expression.

So yeah, johnny definitely would’ve lost his mind seeing his so in a Lacey number. He’d probably combust.

Also fun fact about me in case you haven't noticed from this, I am a big lingerie nerd lol

…𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖞 ✦✧✦  𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖞...

✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦

 This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

  ₍ᐢ .  ̫ . ᐢ₎

The city was a river of light beneath the glass, a glittering sea of people living their lives, the kind of glitter that made even the ugliest concrete look like a dreamscape. Billboards flared advertisement, windows lights winked, and the sky glowed the pale, polluted blue that only happened when a thousand lives were all happening at once.

The gala still clung to the both of you like expensive perfume, the city stretched wide beneath the penthouse glass when Johnny Storm pulled you inside, excitedly laughing under his breath, he’d been aching for this moment all night. His tuxedo jacket was already off, swinging back and forth in his one hand, his bowtie dangling undone around his collar, blue eyes lit like twin suns when they looked at you, hungry and molten. He kicked the door shut behind him, one hand already on your waist, the other dragging the hem of your gown up in a reckless fashion, as the silk slip hissed softly against your stockings.

“God, I thought that dinner would never end,” he said, voice low, leaning in close enough that his breath tickled your ear. “Do you have any idea how hard it was not to drag you out halfway through dessert? You in that dress? Torture.”

He tugged you closer to the window, he still had that post gala hum about him, hair mussed by the wind, eyes bright with the part of him that loved the loved the “look at me” of it all. The tabloids called it arrogance, and the headlines shouted that he was golden boy of the fantastic four. But the grin he gave you as he pressed you gently back against the glass, his gaze flicked to your mouth and then to your eyes and then back again, felt like something else entirely.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about taking you out of this damn dress,” he murmured, his voice gravel but threaded with that boyish grin, the one he gave fans and cameras, though never this soft, a look he only ever shared with you. You laughed under your breath ready to quip back when he grabbed your hips and spun you toward the vast pane of glass overlooking the skyline, pressing you against it so the cool kiss of windowpane shocked your skin through silk. The city’s glow turned you into a canvas of colors, his masterpiece.

You gasped his name but he was already pressing his body into yours, pinning you, murmuring into your ear, “So perfect.” His fingers were quick, tugging at the zipper of your gown, peeling the fabric from your shoulders. The gown collapsed like water down your legs until you stood trembling with arousal in nothing but lingerie. Every inch bared in the glow of neon, every patch of skin exposed for him to kiss or bite .

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” Johnny groaned, his voice thick and rough with want as he buried his face in your neck. His teeth scraped lightly down the column of your throat, leaving heat in their wake. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

His fingers drifted lower, tracing the curve of your stomach before sliding beneath the flimsy lace, palms greedy for skin. His breath hitched, a low sound spilling from his chest as his thumbs brushed over you. “I’ve been burning up all night,” he murmured against your skin, voice gone hoarse and reverent all at once. “Couldn’t stop thinking about getting my hands on you.”

He could boast with the best of them, hold a room on the strength of his ego alone and make it look easy, able to sway even the hardest journalist. Here, his pride folded over you like a blanket, he never performed for you, every word a devotion just for you. Praise poured out of him, a warm hearth that you could have warmed your hands at forever.

He sank to his knees, and you felt his palms slide down the backs of your thighs, thumbs skimming slow circles, that your skin had been aching for all day, even before the Gala. The world below kept racing, sirens somewhere blocks away, a taxi horn bleating, a thousand strangers crossing a thousand streets, but the room narrowed to the window’s cool kiss on your spine and the heat of his breath rising as he looked up at you.

“You’re so—” He shook his head as if language wasn’t helping him tonight and pressed his mouth to your belly instead, a line of slow kisses that tracked warmth up your body.

You thread your fingers through his cropped blonde hair, feeling the fine strands slip between them. The texture lifts under your touch, mussed and disheveled in a way that makes you grin. A few locks stick up rebelliously, and you laugh, a low, breathy sound that makes him glance up at you.

You smooth his hair back down with your palm, your fingertips grazing his scalp, and he hums in answer, a pleased vibration that runs straight through you. It’s a sound that curls low in your stomach, makes your pulse stumble.

Your balance falters, knees softening without permission, and before you can tumble, Johnny’s already there. One hand slips behind your knee, coaxing it up and draping your leg over his shoulder, his gaze never leaving yours, every breath you take belongs to him.

“You don’t have to—” you started.

“Shh,” he said, smiling. “Let me. I want to.” His hands steadied you, the warmth in them more human than flame. “You had a long day,” he added.

The first touch was cautious, and your breath hitched, your fingers tightened; your head tipped back till the world tilted and the window pressed a chill into your shoulder blades. Johnny’s praise came with the second touch and didn’t stop after that.

The glass behind you was cool enough to raise goosebumps across your spine, but Johnny’s grip held you steady, strong hands bracketing your hips anchoring you in a city that never stopped moving. He shifted his weight and lifted your other leg with an effortless strength that made your stomach twist, one arm hooking over your thigh while the other pressed against your waist, keeping you flush to the window. The city spilled out beneath you like a map of light, but his eyes didn’t waver once from you.

“baby, look at you,” he breathed, voice almost reverent, his grin curling as he nestled your leg higher over his shoulder. His breath fanned across your skin, hotter than the neon bleeding in through the glass. “look at you.” His voice was molten with adoration. “You’re perfect. D’you know that? My perfect girl.”

The first drag of his tongue made your head thump softly against the windowpane, a startled gasp breaking out of you before you could stop it. He hummed in approval, lips slick and greedy against your cunt, the vibration traveling up your core until your whole body trembled.

“Mmm, yeah,” Johnny murmured against you, every word smearing heat. He licked in slow strokes, then sucked at your clit with a steady rhythm, never once breaking eye contact. His praise spilled out between each press of his mouth. “Tastes so fucking sweet… god, I could do this all night….”

Your fingers clenched in his hair, tugging without meaning to, and he groaned against your pussy, the sound shameless, hungry, desperate. The glass chilled your shoulders while he burned into you, his tongue curling inside you, then flattening to lap up your wetness until you were a trembling mess above him.

When his tongue found your clit just right, the sensation tore a sharp, startled gasp from your throat before you could stop it. He paused only long enough to glance up, that wicked grin already spreading across his face.

“Babe,” he drawled, voice rough and low, the edge of a laugh threading through it. “You overheated already?”

You tried to laugh back, but it caught halfway, breaking into a trembling sound between breath and moan. 

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, his tone softening even as his grin lingered. Then he dipped his head again, licking you open with slow, messy precision. “Tug my hair, gasp, scream. I wanna hear all of it, baby.”

The pressure of his hand at your hip pulled you closer, tilting your pelvis just right for him to bury his mouth deeper, his tongue working you with a lover’s devotion. Every gasp, every shaky moan, he treated like applause, his grin flashing wet against your cunt as he praised you through it.

“My girl, my gorgeous girl…” Your thighs shook against his shoulders, your body arching against the window, the city a blur of lights as his voice wrapped around you.

The city shifted, a plane dragging its lights across the sky, and for a second the whole room looked underwater. Johnny’s lashes threw shadows on his cheeks; he looked up at you through them. “You’re doing so good,” he told you.

You felt the wave start deep and low, felt it build under the constant of his hands and his mouth and his words, felt it climb up your spine. Your breath going ragged and then soft, the way your fingers tightened and loosened in his hair, the way you said his name differently, all needy.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you." he murmured. "So perfect. Come on, baby, give it to me.” His voice was rough around the edges and then smooth again. “Let go.”

And you did, your body arching, clenching, that dizzying breathless rush, as the sound caught in your throat. The world narrowed to him holding you steady through it, his hands anchoring your shaking hips, his breath syncing with yours.

The window fogged with your breath as you rest your cheek against the cold glass; the city blurred into a smear of neon water, as tears collected on your water line. He held you through it, until your knees stopped shaking and trembling, and remembered how to work again.

When he rose, it was unhurried, careful. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then rested his forehead to yours and kissed you slowly, one to your brow, one to the bridge of your nose, one to your mouth.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet, roughened at the edges, but the smirk behind it was unmistakable. “Gotta say, that view’s something else,” he murmured, eyes flicking past you to the sprawl of city lights blazing below. Then he looked back at you, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “But I think I just found something better to look at.”

You laughed, the sound caught between breathless and fond, and kissed him back, your hand sliding up the back of his neck.

He chuckled quietly, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “You okay?” he asked, voice gone tender again. The reflection of the skyline danced in his eyes, making them look like blue fire. “Too much?”

“Not enough,” you breathed, and his grin bloomed slow and bright, like you’d just handed him the sun itself.

“Yeah?” His voice cracked on the single word, almost giddy, like he couldn’t believe his luck. His thumb brushed your cheekbone as if he needed proof you were real.

“Come here,” he murmured, as his hands found your hips, guiding you with that touch as gentle as gravity, that always left you shivering. He led you toward the bed, his body close, every step punctuated with little murmurs that were meant for you alone. As he undressed you the rest of the way, he narrated every motion his words falling between each kiss like embers. “Look at you… unreal.” When he unfastened your bra, his palms lingered against your ribs, warm and steady, before his mouth traced over the soft skin like he was mapping constellations.

Every inch of you was worshipped, fingers smoothing over your thighs as if memorizing them, lips following the line of your collarbone, words spilling out between kisses. “You’re so good,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “My perfect girl.”

✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

Hello mortals!! I hope you all enjoyed Day 5 of BUNItober! Sorry it's a little short, I didn't have much time for writing today! I would love to go more into depth with his character in the future! Also Writing for Johnny was an interesting challenge...Honestly, I went down a little research rabbit hole trying to get a better sense of his comic character while trying to keep him true to Fantastic Four: First Steps. honestly, I still feel like there wasn’t enough of him! I can’t wait to see more of him in future movies!

From everything I gathered, Johnny gives off that golden retriever/golden boy energy, and pure 60s charisma, like Steve McQueen. he’s got some dramatic flare, hot-headed, and a little bratty too, but in a way that’s endearing.

Obviously, there’s a touch of Joseph charms, some bravado and showmanship, but he’s sharp! I mean, you don’t just accidentally become an astronaut or translate an alien language with like three words... He’s a space nerd at heart, passionate and curious, and equal parts thrill-seeker.

Of course he's also a ladies man. I mean Johnny loves space, Johnny loves women lol However, I feel like beyond that playboy persona, I can see him being softer, warmth that shows through with the people he actually cares for, like how he is with ben. He’s the kind of guy who’ll praise you to the ends of the earth and poke fun at you.

I would love to write more of him, I just love this version of Johnny storm!

…𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖞 ✦✧✦ 𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖞...

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

 This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

  ₍ᐢ .  ̫ . ᐢ₎

The apartment still smells faintly like sesame and garlic from the takeout; a pair of empty cartons slumped on the counter beside a grease-blotted menu. Leon’s jacket is hooked over the back of the dining chair, he shed it on the way in, His boots sit by the door. A ring of cold condensation marking the coffee table, the amber bulb of the floor lamp painting the living room in a soft glow. The quiet clink of ice in his water glass as he brings it with him to the couch.

He lifts your legs without asking, sits back down with a low grunt of satisfaction, and drapes them back across his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His palm is warm on your bare skin, fingers idly tracing the curve of your calf as the television flickers, some crime drama neither of you are really watching. The dialogue blurs into background noise, the plot secondary to the weight of his hand, the way his thumb presses into the arch of your foot with just enough pressure to make you sigh and melt.

Another peaceful night in. The slow, hypnotic stroke of his fingers along your shin, your knee, the sensitive skin just above it. You’re draped against the cushions, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded and sleepy, and you don’t notice when his touch shifts from absent-minded to something with more intention until he lifts your leg higher, his grip firm around your ankle.

Leon kisses your ankle first, lips brushing the bone, the hollow just below it. His stubble rasps against your skin, a delicious scratch that makes your toes curl. His mouth travels up, kissing the inside of your knee with a soft press of his lips, then higher still, his breath hot against your thigh. The scruff of his jaw drags along the tender skin there, and you twitch involuntarily, a breathy gasp slipping out before you can stop it.

He hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your leg. “Sensitive tonight,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, the tone that makes your stomach flip. His hand slides up to grip your thigh, fingers digging in to hold you still as his mouth continues its slow, torturous ascent.

Every kiss, every scrape of his teeth, every exhale against your skin feels like it’s searing straight through your skin, branding you from the inside out. 

When his mouth reaches the crease where your thigh meets your hip, you can’t help the way your hips lift, the way your breath hitches. He laughs softly, a dark knowing sound, and presses a kiss, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt on your skin

“Leon...” you breathe, and your hand tangles in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan.

He doesn’t stop. If anything, it spurs him on. His hands are everywhere now, gripping and kneading down your legs. Nothing compares to the heat of his mouth, biting down gently then soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he admits, his voice muffled against your skin. “Sitting in that briefing, pretending to pay attention, and all I could think about was getting home.”

You catch his wrist before he can go in for another kiss to your thigh, your fingers trembling slightly as they wrap around the corded muscle of his forearm. Leon pauses, his eyes searching yours, that smug satisfaction melting into something more attentive and soft.

“Wait,” you breathe, your voice shaky but determined. “I've been thinking about this all day too...Can we… can we try the thing?”

For a beat, he just stares at you blankly, and then his expression shifts, surprise flickering across his features, followed immediately by something darker. His pupils dilate, his jaw tightening as he processes what you’re asking for. A slow, dangerous smile curves his lips.

“Yeah?” The word comes out rough and eager. “You sure?”

You nod, heat flooding your cheeks, but you don’t look away. “Yeah. I want to.”

“Fuck.” The word is barely more than a breath, and then he’s moving, scooping you up from the couch with an ease that makes you melt into his arms. Your arms loop around his neck as he carries you down the hallway, his grip firm under your thighs, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and barely restrained desire.

He kicks the bedroom door open, sets you down on the edge of the bed with a gentleness that contrasts the fire in his eyes. You watch, pulse racing, as he straightens and strips off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the scars that map his skin like a history written in violence and survival.

His hands move to his belt, but he pauses, glancing at you with a raised brow. “Are you gonna get naked for me, baby.”

You startle when you realize that you've just been watching him undress. Your fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, by the time you’re wriggling out of your underwear, Leon’s already at the bedside drawer, rummaging through it with purpose. He pulls out a dildo, sleek and silicone, not quite as thick as him but close, and a bottle of lube, setting both on the bed beside you.

He shucks his boxer briefs, his cock already hard and flushed, thick and heavy as it bobs against his stomach. The sight of him like this, naked and aroused, focused entirely on you, makes your mouth go dry.

Leon climbs onto the bed, his weight dipping the mattress, and his hands are on you immediately, spreading your thighs wide as he settles between them. “Gotta get you ready first,” he murmurs, his voice low, and then his fingers are sliding through your folds, testing your slickness, circling your entrance with maddening slowness.

“Leon,” you whimper, your hips rocking into his hand, chasing more friction.

“I know, baby. I know.” His free hand wraps around his cock, stroking himself in long, slow strokes as he watches his fingers circle your clenching hole, his jaw tight with restraint. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

The first press of his finger inside makes your toes curl. “Uh—ah—” The sound slips out of you, and Leon’s eyes flick up, that ocean blue so focused on you it sends warmth throughout your body.

“That’s it,” he says, “Open for me.” He pushes to the first knuckle and holds there until your body melts around him, then deeper. When his second finger joins, your hips twitch up, a little whine clawing out of your chest. He pumps them in and out, curling them just right, his thumb brushing over your clit in lazy circles that have you squirming against the sheets. 

“Nnnh—Le—on” and his mouth finds your knee again, kissing your trembling legs. “I’ve got you.” He curls his fingers just so, and your vision blurs and warmth spreads slow inside you, a warm glow that builds and builds. “You’re already fluttering,” he murmurs, voice turned to sandpaper. “So greedy.”

“Please,” you whisper, pulse a drumline in your throat. “Please, Leon.”

When he finally pulls his fingers free, you whine at the loss, but he’s already moving, positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. He rubs himself through your folds, coating himself in your slickness, teasing your clit with the blunt tip until you’re panting.

As he nudges the tip at your entrance slightly, your body clenches instinctively around nothing. He hushes you, thumb stroking your hip in a soothing rhythm, the low cadence of his voice rolling over you. Then he eases in slowly, and your hands fist in the duvet, breath trembling. “Oh—ohhh—”

His mouth is on your chest now, kissing and biting lightly, his breath hot on your skin. You cry out, your back arching off the bed, your hands scrabbling for purchase against his shoulders. He presses flush to you and your back arches hard. “Fuck. So tight already.” his forehead dropping to yours, his hips pulling back before snapping forward again, setting a steady rhythm that has you gasping with every thrust. 

He fucks you like that for a few minutes, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. You’re already teetering on the edge, but then he slows, his movements becoming shallow and teasing.

“You ready for more?” he asks, his voice strained, and you nod frantically, beyond words.

He reaches for the lube, popping the cap open with his thumb and drizzling it over the dildo, coating it thoroughly. The sight of him still buried inside you, preparing to add more makes your pulse speed up a drumbeat in your ears, a heady mix of anticipation and nerves coiling in your belly.

Leon pulls back slightly, giving himself room to work, and then he’s pressing the tip of the dildo against your entrance, right alongside his cock. The pressure is intense, and you gasp your body instinctively tensing. “It's okay, relax,” he breathes, and the word is a reassuring caress.

“Ah..ohh! fuck—” The toy fills you in a way that’s different than him, you force yourself to breathe and he pushes the dildo in slowly, the stretch burning, almost too much. 

Your mouth falls open on a soundless scream as he works it deeper, both of them filling and overwhelming you, bordering on unbearable. He pauses when your hands fly to his wrists gripping him, knuckles white, you're unsure if you were trying to stop him or have something to hold.

“Easy it's alright keep your eyes on me,” he reminds you softly. “There we go.” His mouth finds your knuckles and kisses them. “You tell me when I can move.”

“More,” you whimper, eyes glassy. “More, I can—”

He gives you more, a slow stretch that builds to exquisite pleasure, it dredges a keening noise from somewhere deep within you when the toy finally bottoms out, your cunt kissing the flared base. His cock and the dildo together make you feel impossibly full, nerves firing like a constellation blinking on one star at a time.

“Oh god. oh fuck, Leon—” Your voice cracks and he groans, his hips jerking involuntarily. He shifts you higher on the bed with ridiculous ease, nudging your knees up, opening you wide, and the dildo stays in place.

“Holy shit,” Leon mutters, almost to himself, his breath shaking. “Look at you… Stuffed full.” He drags the toy out an inch, pushes it back with a twist, your eyes roll. “So fuckin’ pretty.” His voice drops. 

You’re trembling outright now, there are tears in your eyes, spilling over down your cheeks, Leon’s thumb is there immediately, catching the first one before it can fall to your ear, before leaning in to press his mouth to yours. The kiss is languid, his tongues coaxing, and when he pulls back, he’s wearing that soft look that you love.

Once he has wiped your tears away, his cock is slotting in beside the toy with a pressure that pulls a sob from your throat. 

“Ah—ahh—Le…Leon—” Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave half-moons.

“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing your top lip, then the bottom. “You’re doing so good, Baby. Taking both for me—mmh.”

You feel so full and he groans and pushes in another inch, pausing so you can really feel him. You flex around him and watch his eyes flutter and his jaw lock, his control slipping.

He holds the base of the toy resting between your thighs, drawing it out, before Leon’s hips roll forward, as the toy retreats and then again, and again. Each alternating thrust builds a pattern, pulse for pulse, depth for depth, until your mind loses sense of which fills you first. The sounds slip together, the wet slick, the smack of skin, the whisper of sheets gathering under your fingers.

The sensation of being so full turns your brain to white noise. “There we go,” he murmurs, each thrust punctuated with a kiss, the corner of your mouth, your cheekbone, your brow. 

“Look how wet you are, baby. Makin' a mess all over me just from being stuffed full. You love it, don’t you?” He says filth in the gentlest tone, and somehow it makes the words dirtier.

You nod wildly, every muscle loose and tight at once. “Yes—yes—Jesus, Leon, don’t stop—”

“Not gonna,” he promises, and then his control slips, the careful pace he had built quickens, the pleasure becomes almost overwhelming. He braces a hand at the small of your back, tilting your hips upward and the angle of him beside the toy makes you cry out, a whine that he swallows with his mouth. 

“There,” he hisses into the kiss, “That's the spot, huh?” He fucks you through it, a little rougher now, a steady thrust that sends the headboard tapping the wall in time.

“Ah—ah—ah—” The moans tumble out of you without permission, a string of helpless cries. You’re a mess, tears drying down your cheek, replaced by fresh ones. He catches them patiently, thumb sweeping, never missing a beat with his hips. 

“Too much—” you gasp, not wanting to stop, but being so overwhelmed the words can’t help but slip out.

“Shh,” he croons, a filthy purr in your ear. “I know.” Every time the dildo sinks in, Leon draws out slowly, a wave of pleasure that rolls through your belly. Then his hips snap forward again harder, the impact vibrating through your body. Your hands shake, grip sliding from the sheets to the headboard to his shoulder, and he laughs affectionately.

your arms hook around his neck and you pull him down, he shudders, the next thrust harder and more savage, almost tapping against your cervix. He recovers pressing a kiss to your jaw in apology even as he drives in again. His hand slips under your ass to hold you open, thumb pressing at your clit, making you clench around him, as you see stars behind your eyes. 

“There you go—” He nuzzles your cheek. The climax builds like a storm front, heat skittering up your spine, electricity coiling low each thrust. He whispers encouragement in your ear. “I’ve got you, come on,” 

“Ohh...ngh—ah! Please, Leon—” It’s a frantic chant as you get closer and closer to the edge of your climax, and then It crashes over you so hard you go silent for a moment, mouth open, air in your longs gone, then sound returns. A broken sob of pleasure as your whole-body clamps down around him and the toy at once. 

You squeeze so tight around him that he swears, his hips stuttering, and he rides you through it, thumb on your clit easing from circles to soothing strokes as your climax ripples and pulses in waves. “That’s it,” he murmurs, pressing lazy warm kisses all over your face. “So fuckin’ good, baby.”

"Nnnghh…" you moan, a soft puff of air into his shoulder, overstimulated as he continues to thrust shallowly, almost impossible for him to pull out as your cunt clenches tightly around him.

“Jesus.” He shifts his angle, slightly deeper, and your mouth falls open soundless, eyes rolling closed. He doesn’t hold back, despite how overstimulated you are, his hips slamming into you, the base of the toy nudging your clit with every thrust, his own control snapping. “Fuck, I’m gonna—” He cuts off the end of the sentence against your jaw, placing kisses and biting along the soft skin, rutting desperately to his own release.

You come again fast, your knees locking up around his ribs involuntarily, your nails dragging hot stripes down his back, and it’s the end of him. His breath stumbles, his thrusts go deeper and then he’s groaning, a drawn out and rough sound against your throat as he spills inside of you with a shudder, pressed so deep that it feels like you’re going to melt around him.

His heartbeat is thudding against your ribs where his chest fits to yours. Leon lays there chest to chest as he kisses your cheek and laughs softly, still out of breath. “Christ.”

“Jesus,” you wheeze back, and he kisses your mouth laughing softly, soothing you down gently from your high, with soft strokes over your hips and soothing little murmurs against your lips.

He presses his lips to your damp temple, before he finally pulls out both his cock and the toy slowly, watching your face for any discomfort. You sag into the mattress boneless arms falling above your head as you stretch out across the matress, sweaty and satisfied. He reaches for a towel, and cleans you with that same sweet thoroughness, kissing the inside of your knee. 

When he stretches out beside you, he cups your face in one large hand, thumb brushing once more under your eye. You can’t stop smiling and he can’t help but touch you. He kisses you soft, and you inhale through your nose, breathing him in, the heat finally fading.

He pulls you into his chest, his heartbeat is a slow thump against your ear, as your head rises with his every slow inhale. The apartment is quiet now, your breathing evens, his mouth finds your hair and he murmurs, “Next time, we should try the wand, too.”

“I-I don't think I will survive...,” you look up at him through your lashes and murmur against his throat, smile audible.

He laughs his arm tightening around you, as he kisses your temple.

✦┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

Day 20 is done, hope you enjoyed!

happy early thanksgiving, hope you like being stuffed like a turkey dinner lol (Leon is such a freak and i love him for it).

okay, but on a more serious note, I don't mean to vent buuuut. I wasn’t really feeling great today, almost didn’t get this one out. i’ve been pushing myself a bit too hard lately (I've literally been writing non stop, staying up way too late writing when I have work in the morning, plus my chronic illness flaring up), so i’m a little drained. but honestly, all your sweet feedback and comments keep me going.

At the end of the day, i’m just doing this for fun! writing these fics make me happy, and seeing you all enjoy them makes it even better. I hope I can continue to make stuff for you guys to enjoy.

Thanks for reading, it means the world!

໒꒰ ྀིっ˕ -｡ ྀི꒱১ ♡

…𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖞 ✦✧✦  𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖞...

✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦

 This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

  ₍ᐢ .  ̫ . ᐢ₎