There Is No Slut Shaming In This House, Only Slut Encouragement

There is no slut shaming in this house, only slut encouragement

Zio & Sons + Clé Tile

i can’t decide who’s more of a “hand over mouth as i pound you in the back seat of my car so no one knows i’m fucking the loud mouth cheerleader” is that more eddie or steve 🤔

gotta be eddie dude, steve's more of a "kiss you to shut you up" type, but allow me to elaborate on the first for a moment (and by a moment I mean nearly over 1.5k words)

(warnings: smut obv, blood mention, drug use mention, hair pulling, overstimulation, crying during sex/dacryphilia, breath play, extremely vague/not serious breeding kink)

[part 2 here]

"Shh, shh," he soothed, though you could hear the wide grin curling his lips, "don't want anyone to hear, now do we?"

Honestly, though, this was your attempt to stay quiet— digging your teeth into your lip so hard you tasted metallic, gripping the faded leather seats until your nails nearly tore through them. It wasn't your fault that it felt so good, that the weed had made your head all spinny and your insides all tingly and that his dick was slamming right into that spot that made your toes curl. No, that was all his fault; he gave you the joint and he promised it would 'awaken your senses', even if maybe neither of you anticipated exactly which senses it would awaken.

"Don't want anyone shining a light in here, right?" he continued, even though you could barely keep track of what he was talking about. "Don't want them seeing you on your hands and knees getting fucked and screaming like it's the best thing you've ever had, hm?"

"F-fuck, Eddie," you winced, gasping loudly when he tugged on your cheerleader-uniform-mandated ponytail. You breathed through your teeth, wishing you had the strength to tell him not to be so rough, not to fuck you like this... like a whore. But god, this is exactly what you wanted from him, if you were being honest, even if you hated yourself just a bit for liking it so much— for needing it. He dug his fingers into the hair at your scalp, surely ruining your half an hour of styling efforts from earlier tonight, and pushed your head back down against the seats; god, he was really rubbing it in, huh? You almost thought he'd be grateful, that he'd be delicate and careful with you because, well, the opportunity to fuck a cheerleader does not come by for a guy like him. But no, he was putting you in your place, and you were biting your lip to keep from begging him for more.

His free hand held your hips and suddenly his pace changed-- from hasty and rushed to slow but hard, slamming into you and knocking you forward with a loud groan. He did it again, and again, and you cried out louder with each thrust right into the deepest parts of you. "Oh, sweetie," he cooed condescendingly, "are you having trouble keeping quiet? I'll help you, babe— m'gonna shut you up, don't worry—"

He spoke so roughly that he sounded furious, leaning down over you to press his lips up to your ear, and suddenly the hand in your hair slipped around and covered your mouth. He gave you another one, so deep your eyes rolled back in your head, and you finally let it all out— it was muffled behind his hand, anyway, and it felt good to moan as loud as you wanted without it being actually as loud as it would be otherwise.

You weren't quite sure what to think: he was fucking you rather disrespectfully, but the intensity of it, the way he groaned deeply into your ear and mumbled little praises under his breath, the way he held your waist tighter and tighter— you could almost call it passionate, if you didn't know any better. Sure, not exactly sweet, but it could be worse.

Well, actually, it couldn't be better. It was perfect. It was Eddie fucking Munson, and you couldn't quite wrap your head around that yet, but you didn't need to because it felt goddamn perfect.

"Good girl, fuck, goooood fuckin' girl," he hissed into your ear. "Oh, you're still so loud, even with my hand on your mouth— need some more help, babe?"

He squeezed your nose shut with his thumb and the side of his finger, and suddenly you had no air at all; you didn't even care, you didn't need air anymore, you just needed this. It made the numbness that much better, made your eyes well with tears and your throat burn but you wanted more more more— you wanted everything.

"Ohh, fuck, are you coming?" he laughed proudly, fucking you faster right as it hit you. You hadn't even noticed until he said it, but, yep, you were clenching inside and your back was arching deeper and you felt the tears keep flowing over his hand. "Oh my god, that's good— you're so fuckin' tight, Jesus..."

It just kept getting bigger and bigger, it kept twisting in your core and you weren't sure how much more you could take. He let go of your nose and you took a deep breath in, hearing the most deranged noise break out of your throat and peter out in your mouth with his hand keeping it inside. You were crying out his name, at least you were trying to, but it was all just incomprehensible sobs muffled under that thick, clammy hand with the gaudy silver rings that you could taste on your lips.

God, was it ever gonna stop? This feeling, this light show on the back of your eyes, this whole-body spasm that danced under your skin— was it gonna let you go back down to Earth any time soon? Or was this just your new normal, was this just some other state of existence that Eddie had knocked you face-first into, with no plan to rescue you?

It was too much, it was far too much, but you could already see yourself tomorrow morning, staring at the phone, trying to decide how long to wait until coming back for more.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged you, "scream for me, just like that— nobody's gonna hear you, promise."

He couldn't promise that, but he didn't need to. He could fuck you in front of whoever he wanted if it was always gonna be like this; he could fuck you in front of your grandmother and you wouldn't stop him— you were whipped. Like, whipped whipped. Like, 'pearls and heels making a roast dinner if he asks me to' whipped. Like, 'we are so doing this again' whipped.

You heard him gasp, a sound almost like a wince or a cry, almost like it hurt— and you could relate to that right now, certainly. "Fuck!" he grunted. "M'close, I'm so close, babe..."

You were way too proud of that; it wasn't much of an accomplishment or anything, you heard that guys come pretty easy and in your experience so far it was mostly true. But you felt good, you liked knowing he was going to come because of you, you liked hearing that composure falter for even just a second— and, if nothing else, you were looking forward to taking a fucking breather, because you needed it.

"God, no fuckin' way I'm pulling out," he laughed thinly, "s'too good, babe— I'm gonna come inside, you ready, honey?"

You nodded, as best you could, and heard his own moans get higher in pitch slowly until they stopped all at once and you felt it, warmth filling you and just slightly soothing the ache inside you. He gave you a few shallow thrusts, sudden and seemingly involuntarily like a twitch, and dropped his hand from your mouth with a sigh. You gasped, hearing the hint of a moan on each of your breaths even though it was over now; he pulled out and fell back on the seats dramatically, resting his hand on his forehead like a maiden in an old-timey movie about to faint. You couldn't help but giggle, impressed that he could keep up his theatrics at a time like this.

"Oh, shit," he whimpered, "you really took it all out of me. Literally. Jesus. Y-you're on the pill, though, right? Cause I can buy you something—"

"S'fine," you croaked, clearing your throat when you heard how broken your voice sounded. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

"'Don't worry about it,' she says," he narrated while he raised an eyebrow, "yeah, that's not ominous at all— nine months later you're knockin' on my trailer door with your curly-headed new mini-me and a whole lot of questions—"

"Shut up," you laughed, rolling your eyes. You adjusted your panties to hopefully catch some of the mess before you left a puddle on the seats, then pulled your uniform skirt back down and finally leaned back with a long sigh. The radio was on— you forgot about that— and you heard Black Sabbath mixing in with the sounds of Eddie's belt jingling while he got himself back into his jeans.

"Our babies would be cute, though," he grinned.

"Okay, actually shut up," you frowned, smacking him on the thigh. "I should go— the team's probably wondering where I am—"

"Oh, no no no," he chided, "you're not getting away that easy."

He yanked you down quickly and wrapped his arms around you.

"You owe me at least three minutes of cuddling," he demanded.

"Eddie, I—"

He grabbed your head and pulled it down into his chest, stroking your thoroughly-mussed hair. "Shh, shh," he interrupted you, "get comfy, I'm not letting you leave for a while— feel free to fall asleep, whatever, it'll be cute."

"This is so not how I thought this was gonna go tonight," you grumbled.

"What, you thought we'd smoke up and call it a night?" he wondered. "So did I, but you were givin' me those eyes—"

"No, I mean— what?!" you squawked. "Eyes?! I was not giving you eyes."

"Uh, yes you were, missy!" he insisted. "You were all, Eddie, make love to me, I need you," he imitated a smoky-sensual voice.

"That's what you call 'making love'?" you snorted. "I'd hate to see you fucking. Gonna put a girl in the ICU."

"Oh, babe," he grinned, looking down at you, and you looked up at him from his shoulder expectantly, "I'm just getting started."

(part 2)

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

hate when men have big beautiful brown eyes like a baby cow . shut the fuck up