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𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary You're having trouble sleeping and pot seems like the only solution. Good thing your dealer, Eddie Munson, knows of another method that he's willing to to teach you. You get more than you bargained for when he tells you what he gets off to every night - you. [8.8k]

warnings 18+ only smut, fem!reader, eddie teaches you how to masturbate, p in v sex, light praise kink, mutual pining/lusting, lots of kissing, dirty talk, weed ment, aftercare, they are not so secretly infatuated with one another, eddie is a soft dork but also dirty <3 r implied as dressing very femininely

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie kneels outside his trailer.

You stop at the lip of the grass and wonder what he's doing. His back is to you, covered by a band shirt familiar even from this angle and riddled with rips and moth holes. You're about to call out to him when he speaks.

"You're hot, huh, sweetheart?" Softer than you've ever heard him. "Why don't you go inside? Escape the heat, yeah?"

You approach slowly, footfall smothered by the lush green underfoot. He's scratching behind the ears of a tabby cat.

"It's so hot out! The sun's gonna cook you," he says, whisper-shouting.

Like the tabby can understand what he's saying it stands, stretches tall and then slinks off into the trailer. "Good girl," Eddie says, standing up.

"Are you collecting strays?" you ask lightly.

He turns to you, surprised but not scared. "Don't worry, you're still my favourite."

Good girl. His words ring loud between both ears. "I'm not a stray."

"Uh-huh. What's my shy girl want today?" You spin on your heel and Eddie starts laughing. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Come on, you'll like what I have!"

"You know I can't talk to you when you get like this," you tell him, pouting from over your shoulder.

He pushes a mess of black curls behind his ear and beckons you forward. "Come on," he says, sing-song. "Let daddy set you up."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, following Eddie into his house unhappily.

You hate when he gets in this mood, not because he's ever really made you uncomfortable, but because you like to be teased, and he knows it. Or he likes watching you squirm. Either way, it's dangerous territory.

"How much did you want?" he asks.

The cool inside of his trailer is a blessing. You hold your naked arms away from your skin and try to take a deep breath of cool air. "I have thirty dollars. So… however much that is."

"Babe, what the fuck do you want so much for?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at you incredulously.

You follow him into his room. "Do you not have it?" you ask, tracing posters you've seen upwards of ten times by now. Eddie's a good dealer – reliable, sweet, and prone to freebies without any pervy requests in place.

He once swapped you an eighth for a cheap charm bracelet. He wears it now, the silver delicate and entirely too sweet for his metalhead appearance. It looks good on him, anyhow.

He pulls open the usual lunchbox you hadn't noticed sitting on one of his amps and pulls out more pot than you've ever seen at one time. "Don't I?"

"Woah."

"Uh-huh. Ern't she preddy?" he asks in a drawing southern accent.

You hold out your hands and he lets you take it. When you open the zip lock bag, the smell isn't awful. The buds are thick with green fuzz, and your eyes water.

You pass it back to him. "How much can I have for thirty?"

"For you? Half."

"Don't do that, Eddie. Gimme what you'd give anyone else."

"But you're not anyone else, babe. You're my favourite customer."

"I'm gonna put you out of business," you say, lightly chiding. "Can I sit down?"

He hums and nods and you sit cross legged at the top of his bed. His bed sheets are pushed away and the space is cold. His pillow under your hand is colder.

Eddie doesn't bother weighing it. You roll your eyes at him but also feel amazingly happy, because it's a lot of pot for not a lot of money, because his favouritism speaks for what you hope might be a small crush. Still, when he passes you the new bag you feel guilty.

"Eddie, I can't take that. I know that's more than thirty."

His eyebrows jump. "I don't care. What's the point in doing this if I can't give pretty girls a little something extra?"

"I don't know. To make money?"

He holds out the bag. You don't take it. "Fine," he says, sighing.

"Thank you." You watch him fish three or four bigger buds out of the bag. He presents you with a much more reasonable amount, his hands stained with the smell. "Thank you," you say again.

"Yeah. Wanna stay and watch a movie?"

You've known Eddie since middle school. Classmates, not really friends, not not friends, though ever since you've started buying a small kinship has blossomed between you.

"What movie?"

"Whatever you want."

You nibble the inside of your lip. "You'll roll up for me?"

"Sure will."

So you end up on Eddie's couch with the tabby cat that isn't his purring heavily on your lap as he rolls a couple of joints for you. You won't smoke anything until tonight so Eddie drops them into your newly acquired ziplock bag with papers and the leftover bud.

He sniffs. "So, you're not sleeping?" he asks knowingly, straightening out with a groan and disappearing out of view into the kitchenette. You're a total overthinker. Pot helps you calm down.

"I'm sleeping."

"After toking up."

"There's…" You scratch the vibrating cat behind its ears, frowning to yourself. "Worse things to do."

"Better ones, though. Hey, do you want a drink?"

You say no and he brings you a glass of water anyways. His hands smell strongly of hand soap and faintly of weed as he passes it to you. You take it carefully, wary of disturbing your cuddle partner.

"Like what?" you ask.

"Cranking one out, for starters."

You wince, afraid to bring the lip of the glass to your mouth in case you choke on it. "Anything else?"

"Running?" Eddie suggests, sitting with you but leaving a more than comfortable gap between your legs.

"Not my thing," you murmur.

It's weird, but anything above murmuring feels like shouting in the calm of his home. The movie plays on the TV and the cat purs, Eddie spreads his legs out and slouches into the cushions, his face surrounded by dark hair. He smiles at you like he always does, amicable if slightly flirty.

"Maybe pot is your only option," he says mournfully. He pulls a lock of hair in front of his face and his eyebrows pinch together. "Make sure you brush your teeth after though. Or you'll get bad teeth."

"Bad teeth?"

"Smoking ruins your pearls."

You put down your glass of water and weave your fingers into the cat's rough fur. Eddie is really nice. Really really nice. And he probably likes you, so… what's the worst that could happen, by asking?

I'm only asking, you decide.

"Eddie," you say softly, disrupting a big tobacco rant that he'd started. "What- when you say cranking one out, that's-"

"You know." He holds his hand above his crotch and squeezes the air. You feel a terrible heat start to collect in your abdomen. "Five to one? Uh- Nulling the void?" He grasps for words at your lost expression. "Making soup?"

His voice goes high. You think he's as embarrassed as you are, and you're not gonna ask again. You giggle. "Oh, right."

He drops his hand heavy against the seat of his pants and leans back. "Crank one out and sleep like a log."

"That works for you?" you ask tentatively.

"Every night."

You sink down into the couch and hide your face in cat fur. Eddie starts asking about how your job is, a genuine, earnest interest that further cements your next decision. You clear your throat.

"Eddie, can I ask you something?" He grins and waves his hand. "When you," you wince, "'make soup', do you just- how do you…" You slink down so far you're almost falling off of the couch. "How do you make yourself-" You gesture to your pelvis and then screw your hand into a fist, self-conscious.

He blinks. "Finish?"

You look at the chain around his neck rather than his face. "Yeah."

"Are you asking me because you want to know how I do it, or because you don't know how to do it to yourself?"

You rub your cheek with your shoulder. "The second option."

"Shit," he mutters.

"Sorry, you don't have to- I just thought-"

Eddie sits up. He looks more serious than he had before but not any less patient, elbows braced on his knees and head propped up in his hand. He parts his fingers over his lips.

"You don't know how?" he asks.

"I must've missed that lesson in sex ed," you try to joke. It comes out awkward. Eddie laughs anyways, a huff of breath.

"Lucky you, I've sat through sex ed three times." He grins brilliantly, but his joking tone softens when he sees your hesitant expression. "If you wanna know, I'm happy to tell you."

"Are you sure?"

"We're friends, right? What are friends for?" You don't miss the sarcastic twist to his words or his ironic smile.

Friends like you and Eddie likely aren't meant to be giving one another lessons on masturbation. But really, he's the only person you know who you could ask and wouldn't feel totally looked down on. Eddie's nice to his core, but better – he doesn't judge.

You struggle to know what to ask.

The cat chooses this moment to wake and jump off of you, strutting out of the trailer's open door and back into the sunlight without so much as a grateful look back.

And now you're alone with him.

"How's your anatomy?" he asks. You shake your head slowly. "You know, grade wise? Are we passing? B? B-? C?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Munson."

"Do you know what's what?" he asks concisely.

You sit up and press your knees together, suddenly very aware of your 'anatomy'. "I think so."

He purses his lips for a few seconds before shrugging. "Alright. We can work with that." Eddie pushes his cheek into the couch and looks at your face unflinching as he says, "You know what your clit is?"

You cringe. Full body.

Eddie shrugs. "What? That's what it's called. You don't have to be embarrassed about it."

"I know what it is."

"And you can't make yourself-"

"No."

He doesn't miss your frustration. "Hey, hey, it's fine. Some people think that it's, like, a magic on-button, but it's not. There's a whole process."

"How do you know?" you ask genuinely.

His answering smile is wolfish. "I'm in a band, babe. Fucking a guitarist is like, a bucket list thing or some shit. Girls will tell you exactly what they want if you're willing to listen."

Something about his knowing look has your heart skipping a beat. Maybe two. He pushes his hand across the couch and you're not sure if it's on purpose or accident, only that he's leaning in, a small smile on his face.

"And I'm a damn good listener."

You meet his eyes and know what he's offering. He waits, ring heavy fingers splayed wide in the space between you. It's the sight of them – thick, long and adorned in string-wrought calluses – that tips you over the edge.

He's already pulling back with a reassuring smile on his face, lips parted to likely say something too nice when you interrupt him.

"Will you teach me?" you ask quietly.

A split-second of surprise is quickly overtaken by enthusiasm. "You're not high, are you?"

"No."

He gets up to close the door and starts for his room. You linger on the couch uselessly and he doubles back, hand on the wall. "Are you coming?"

The noise from the TV fades as you walk down the hall and into his room. Your socked foot nudges into a tower of books close to the door and you reach out to steady them. Eddie pulls the sheets back into place and flicks on the lamp. He pauses by the stereo before turning that on, too.

A song you don't recognise starts to play. Eddie climbs up onto his bed and stands there for a second, suddenly very tall. "You wanna take off your jacket?"

"It's a cardigan." You peel the thin white cotton off of your shoulders and shift from foot to foot, unsure of yourself.

Eddie settles on his knees, pulls off his rings. "It's pretty. Come here," he says, holding out his arms.

You slide onto the bed cautiously, naked calves rubbing against the sheets. You feel as though every sense has been dialled to eleven; you're thinking about every brush of fabric, every small sound that they make.

Eddie takes one of your hands and you sit with one leg crossed and the other hanging off the edge of the bed, surprised at his soft touch. He soothes your hand and brings it to his lap, eyes on your now-bared shoulders.

"You dress real pretty." He says it with his usual dramatics, though there's enough sincerity there to make you smile.

You look down at your delicate clothes thoughtfully. "You think so?"

"Mh-hm. It suits you," he says as he drums his thumbs against the back of your hand.

He pushes one palm up the length of your arm and pulls it towards him at the same time. You've never been touched like this before and you want it bad, shuffling towards him with a shameful speed. He takes it in stride, hand bumping up the hill of your shoulder. His index finger slides under the skinny strap of your top and tugs at it playfully.

"You look sweet. Really sweet," he says, his voice more hushed than before. His eyes drop to your thighs. "You'll have to take those off, though."

"My shirt too?" you ask weakly, eyebrows pinched up at the starts.

"Not if you don't want to." You hesitate. He takes your thigh into a big hand and gives you a small shake. "It's okay. Take your time. Or, if you changed your mind, that's totally cool."

"No, I haven't," you deny, voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. You kick your legs out in front of you one at a time and ease your shorts over the slopes of your thighs and calves, pushing them off of his bed with your feet.

“If you change your mind at any point-“

“I’ll tell you,” you say, nodding as you pull your knees together.

Eddie manoeuvres so he’s close, twisted toward you with his hand braced by your thigh. The cold metal of the charm bracelet you'd swapped him bites into your skin. If you leaned back and he leaned forward, he could kiss you. You think maybe he has the same idea as his eyes dart to your lips.

They linger.

He blinks and it’s gone.

“I’m gonna rub your leg,” he says quietly, “and when I get to the inside, I’m gonna touch you. Okay?”

As he says it, his hand moves onto your thigh. Down to your knee.

Slowly, so slowly, back up. His fingers caress the inside of your thigh. He pauses.

“‘Kay,” you whisper.

His fingers flex over your flesh as he draws in. Then, like a shock, his fingertips press to your underwear.

“I’m not surprised,” he says steadily, fingers brushing over your cunt, ghosting but never truly touching where you want him to.

“By what?”

“That you wear such cute panties.” He strokes the hem with the tip of his finger and you hold your breath as he slides it under the elastic, running the fabric over his digit gently. “S’exactly the kind of thing I pictured you wearing.”

“You’ve pictured them?”

He looks up from his teasing and your panties snap into place. You gasp on instinct and his eyes narrow, his lashes kissing in the corners. “Does that bother you?” he murmurs.

You shake your head. His lips quirk up, a smugness that makes your heart race ever faster.

"Do you do anything like this with yourself?" he asks.

"I'm never this nice."

"That's a crime," he says, and he laughs loud, momentarily shattering the distilled atmosphere that had settled over you both. "Thighs like these and you don't touch them?"

"Is that what you do?" you ask, insecure.

"No, but it's different. I don't need to get warmed up like you do."

"Warmed up?" you whisper. Having to ask these questions feels so embarrassing.

Eddie being so soft about it makes it easier. "Relaxed," he whispers in turn, laughing towards the end.

His thumb rubs the elastic of your underwear and drifts slowly inward until he's pushing over your folds. You gasp and it's slightly startled, sounding too close to panic for Eddie, who's hand flinches away.

"Didn't like that?" he asks.

You rush, "It's okay. Surprised."

One big hand holds your thigh, the other strokes your cunt. He's a little firmer now, pushing the breadth of his thumb over your panties until he touches something very sensitive. "Here?" He pushes up a little higher and your breath catches. He makes an almost inaudible cooing sound and flattens his hand, rubbing the length of your cunt without finesse. It feels good anyway. It surprises you how much you like it.

He pinches your panties.

"Ready to take them off?" he asks.

"Yeah."

You lift your hips and peel your underwear down, folding your legs to pull them off of your ankles. You clutch them in your hand, unsure.

Eddie sits back and pulls you towards him. You let him manhandle you with a small gasp, his hands pressing into the soft of your tummy. You can't see his face anymore.

"Alright," he murmurs, pulling your thigh over his lap and spreading you wide. His voice is loud in your ear because of his proximity, and you resist the temptation to turn your face to his.

"Let's just-" he works your underwear out of your hand and tosses them aside.

His hand lands on your knee and moves down fast.

You lean back heavily into his chest with your hands pulled to your sternum.

"Eddie," you say, "what do I do?"

He hums. "Touch yourself."

You seize up and he's quick to soothe, fingers closing around the crook of your elbow.

"Hey, I'm gonna show you. I'm gonna show you," he repeats. He pulls at the lip of your cunt and spreads you open, groaning softly. You wouldn't hear it if his lips weren't so close to your face. "How'd you have a cunt this sweet and never touch it? I mean, fuck."

His fingertips whisper past your pubic hair like he's going to say something more, but he only asks, "Hand?"

You put your hand into his, the back to his palm.

He sets it to your thigh. "Do what I did before, okay? Slowly…" He drags your hand up and down the length of your thigh.

Your heart is racing. Every time you crawl close to your cunt the burning longing to be touched, to touch yourself, and to have him touch you intensifies.

Eventually he pulls your hand to your clit. "You're so sensitive. Is it always this bad?" he asks sympathetically when you jump, tickled at the feelin.

"I haven't tried in a while."

"Oh, I see." Eddie encourages you to push your fingertip into the squishy bead, drawing slow circles. "Poor baby. Just desperate to have someone take care of you." His voice is so low, so ridiculously soft, you find yourself sinking into his hold. He squeezes the crook of your elbow with one hand, the other still guiding your ministrations. You bite your lip at the sensation that's begun, the tiny spark of pleasure.

"Here, let me-" He lifts your hand away from your clit and you whine involuntarily. "Shh, sweetheart, I'm only gonna give you something to work with."

You turn your head to him and watch as his mouth opens. He sucks the very tip of your finger between his lips, the heat of his tongue a momentary flash. When he pulls it back, your finger shines with his spit.

Your eyes are half-lidded, watching through the crush of your lashes as he presses it back to your clit. "How's that? S'that better?" he asks, crooning. His tone sports an underlying mockery, a light-hearted teasing that's slowly turning intense.

It is better. It's different. Your fingertip searches for purchase against the slick skin and struggles to find it, the wetness allowing for freer, faster movement.

You push a second finger against the first.

Eddie stops helping. You pause, confused.

"No, you got it, sweetheart. You keep going," he reassures, grabbing a hold of your thigh again. He teases the dough there, never cruel but maybe close, fat moulding under his fingers as he squeezes.

Your breathing builds with pleasure. Still, it's hot enough; there's no sign of an oncoming climax, no tightening coil in your tummy. You huff with exertion and frustration. "Eddie, it's not working."

"I'm not done." He sounds almost stern. Your stomach flips. "You have to think about what you want."

"What I want?"

"What turns you on."

You think of his hands and their rings. His happy trail.

His voice. Good girl.

You slam your eyes shut.

Eddie gives you another mean squeeze. "What do you think about, when you-"

You don't let him finish. "What do you think about?" you ask, too loud.

He stills. His nose pushes into your shoulder, his hair tickling your skin as he asks, "Are you sure you wanna know?"

Your breath catches. Your fingers stutter where they work into your clit and Eddie starts you right back up again. His lips brush your shoulder.

"Yes," you say, gasping as pleasure like little shocks of heat shoot to your core.

The hand at your elbow starts to rove, tickling your arm as he strokes downwards. "You first," he murmurs, teasing your wrist. You swear you can feel his smile against your shoulder.

You breathe in through your nose. "Uh, I think of- of somebody…" You try, but you just can't say it.

Eddie's fingers push down your crease. Stop right before your entrance. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah."

"Mmm…" He circles your entrance. "Now what does a pretty girl like you think of when she's touching herself?" You don't think he wants an answer. His middle finger brushes across the slick well and pushes in. You squirm and he holds you in place.

There's something very hard digging into your spine.

"Something sweet as you… Let me guess. Boy next door comes around to mow the lawn, you invite him in for a drink, one thing comes to another-" He pushes his finger in deeper. "And he's fucking you.

"That sound about right?"

You shake your head. His own perks up where it rests on your shoulder. "No? Huh."

Your circles have grown slow and staggered, distracted by his touch as he eases his ring finger in beside his middle. "Something more romantic? Wedding night, love of your life. Guy that's gonna treat you like a diamond. Way a girl like you deserves." He pushes in, stretches them out. You moan as he curls them, as his arm works back and forth. "Gives it to you gentle." His movements slow to match.

And sure, that sounds nice. But it's not what you think about.

"No," you manage to get out through shallow breaths.

"No? You don't want it gentle?"

"Not- not all the time."

"How about right now?"

"Please."

Slowly, slowly, the shape of Eddie's hard cock against your back starts to move in time with the thrusts of his hand. He pushes in deep, fingers searching emphatically for the sweet spot, the thing that's gonna make you-

"Fuck," you whimper.

His cock jumps. You feel it.

"You keep rubbing that pretty little clit of yours, sweetheart."

You do as he asks. You're desperate enough now that you imagine you'd do most anything he says, your climax a tangible, physical possibility. Your tummy feels heavy and aching with want, worse when he probes deeply and marks your sweet spot again. His lips press to your shoulder, soft enough that you worry you're imagining it.

"You see what I'm doing here? See what fingers I'm using?" he asks. You open your eyes reluctantly. His wrist turns. You watch his fingers sink into the gummy heat of your cunt. "Tight little hole's just pulling me in, fucking clinging to me, baby, she's greedy."

You gasp, a hiccup of scandalised sound.

"Want you to try, okay? You gonna do that for me?"

"Yeah, Eddie."

"Good girl." You moan, you don't mean to, but he's fucking into your quick and your finger pushes into your clit roughly. Eddie revels in it. "You like that? You like being called a good girl? I fucking knew it."

You frown and start to turn to him. He presses his cheek to your head so you can't, stuck looking down the length of the bed at your trembling legs.

"You looked so flustered, standing all sweet and quiet by the van out front with your thighs squeezed together. You think I didn't see that shit?"

You're limp against him, thighs spread wide as you work into your clit, chasing this new feeling. You can hardly breathe, every exhale a keening moan that has you shame-faced and weepy. You roll your hips to meet his fingers, his hand slapping against your cunt with a slick slap.

"You looked so sweet. Y'always do." He turns his lips to your ear and curls into you until your squealing. "Guess looks can be deceiving."

You're so close, so close. Tendrils of heat curl heavily at your core. "Eddie, I'm- I'm-"

"You wanna cum?"

"Yes," you pant.

He pulls his fingers from your cunt and you're so confused that you stop, your climax slipping away in seconds.

"Sorry, but you have to do it yourself. This is all pointless if you can't get there on your own," he says.

Your chest heaves. "That's mean. You're mean."

"I never claimed otherwise. Here, middle and marriage, babe." He guides your hand to your entrance. You push your fingers inside, your tongue between your lips in concentration. Your fingers aren't as thick as his, they don't feel quite the same, but Eddie pushes your thumb into your clit. "Move your wrist. Feel that? Feel how soft you are? How fucking warm you are?"

You're not nearly as good as he was but every clumsy touch feels electric. You push your thumb into sweeping circles and pant your frustration aloud, feeling close to tears.

"You wanna know what I think about, when I jerk off?" he asks unexpectedly.

You nod, your head moving back into his collar. He rubs the lengths of your arms leisurely, his lazy demeanour in total juxtaposition to your desperation.

"There's this girl that comes to see me," he starts, coloured by a smug amusement. "Sweet thing, soft-spoken, always wearing these pretty clothes looking like something straight out of the movies.

"I think about a lot of things. Her thighs-" One of his hands falls to your thigh in time, massaging, "fuck, just wanna bury my face in them and never come out. Pull down those cotton shorts she's so partial to with the dainty stitching and-" He laughs and his lips part over your shoulder. His teeth scratch up, up, up. "Make her fucking cry my name. Feel those thighs tense up around me."

You're so close your entire body shudders. You slow without meaning to, holding your breath in wait for Eddie to finish his story

He gives you one final push. "Always wondered if she sounds as pretty as she looks when she cums." He kisses the small graze he'd given you mere seconds ago and everything is blue-white with heat. "Gonna clue me in, sweetheart? Gonna cum for me?"

Your eyes close hard and you breathe out, an exhale ragged and weak and mewling. You don't moan so much as sob without tears, tensing up in Eddie's arms as bliss blooms. You pull your hand from your sopping cunt and feel your walls contract around nothing as you cum.

He pulls you close, throbbing cock pressing hard into your back. "Fuck," he hisses, hands placating where they lay.

You go lax, head tipping back as you suck in air that had felt elusive moments ago.

Eddie rubs your arms without saying anything. You cover his hands and try to summon up words.

"Just as pretty as you look," he murmurs.

He's so fuckng nice. So fucking nice, and what? He thinks about you when he jacks off? Since when?

You sit up and drop your chin to your chest, panting still.

"You okay?"

After a few seconds you smile and turn to him, intent on saying, Yes, thank you, and maybe something with more gratitude, something silly, just something. But you can't speak.

His face is close.

Eddie brings a hand to the slope of your rising shoulder, follows a line to the curve of your neck. You look to his eyes and find him staring at your lips unabashedly.

He pulls you into him. You close your eyes.

Eddie Munson tastes like lots of things as he kisses you.

Cigarettes, unavoidable. Under that, sugar. Something sweet but heavy as bourbon vanilla. Your lips part and close in tandem with his, slow and hungry. Your heart races and your fingers are still wet as you twist in his arms and take his face into your hands.

You climb up onto your knees and Eddie doesn't know what to do with you.

He smiles so hard he has to pull away. Not smirking, smiling, a cheek-aching, too-happy smile that softens everything in your chest.

You rub a shaking thumb over his cheek. You don't know if it's because of the post-orgasm rush of hormones or because he just kissed you and now he's smiling like he might do it again.

He does. He kisses you and grabs your waist. His fingers mess with the hem of your shirt and he breaks the kiss short to say, "Take it off?"

You sit back on your knees, feel the mess of wet between your legs spread as you grab at the edge of your shirt and pull it up. Eddie helps though he doesn't need to, and just like that you're shirtless.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening," he says, voice weak in what you suspect is one of his dramatics.

He slides his hands up your sides and stops just below your breasts. His thumbs grace the undersides and his brow puckers. "Fuck," he mouths appreciatively.

You flush head to toe. "Yours, too?" you ask gently.

Eddie reaches back to pull off his shirt. His hair's in total disarray and he runs his hands through it, biceps flexing with the movement, torso taut. The black ink of his tattoos move with him and your eyes eat up every single one.

He catches your eyes where they linger on the volley of bats. "You like that one?"

"I've always liked that one."

He grins and it's honey thick, hands at the small of your back and tugging. You spread your knees wide on impulse and find yourself flush to his chest, his arms locking you into place as he dives in for another kiss. Again you're surprised at how deeply he kisses you, how it ebbs and flows from slow to fast like he's both savouring and gorging himself on your closeness.

You've never been kissed like this. You're weightless. You feel every contiguity between you, the hot and wet of his mouth, the crook of his elbow against the nape of your neck, your nipples peaked against his chest and the length of his dick pushing up into your aching cunt.

"Fucking pretty," he says, pulling back just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth, your chin. He kisses your jaw over and over and over, lips pulling into crescents and then the same word. Pretty.

His mouth opens wide at your throat, teeth scratching lightly as it closes. He sucks your skin between his lips and rolls it, hand spreading wide and palm flat at your shoulder blade. Steadying. .

"That's cute," he says when he pulls away, lips shining.

"What?" you ask, hand drifting up. You poke at the quick-forming contusion.

He nudges it aside with his face as he moves in to further mark up your neck. "You're so fucking pretty," he says, each word separated by a nipping kiss.

His hands are everywhere.

Everything is warm and you can't breathe. You plant your hands at his shoulders and push away from him, and he stops you from falling flat on your back, levelling you with a worried glance.

"Is it too much?" he asks.

"No, I'm just hot. Really hot." You take a big breath and wipe your face with the back of both hands.

"That's true," he says, leaning back against the wall. His hands fall to your thighs. "Are you okay?"

You drop your hands abruptly and can't believe the fondness you're feeling. "You're pretty, too," you tell him. Honest if very shy; meek, entirely sincere. "I'm okay. I want…"

"You want?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I have this fantasy," you begin.

Eddie widens your legs to move from under them. It doesn't surprise you when he comes to lie on your chest, holding his weight off of you with an arm at the side of your ribs. His hair falls and hides the room from view. All you can see is his face, and it's beautiful.

"Tell me about it."

"It's- okay. It's…" You drift off as he dips down to kiss your collar, only chaste pecks but enough to distract you. "It's kind of like this."

"Yeah?" His breath warms your chest. More ditzy kisses.

"I get here and you're coming out of the shower-"

"Tasteful."

"With a towel low on your hips," you add pointedly. It's useless, his sarcasm has pinned you spot on. "And you- you touch me."

Eddie kitten licks the skin he's just nibbled and looks up. "Like this?"

"Like this."

"And after that," his hand moves between you to the zipper of his jeans, the sound of metal clicking metal ringing through the room, "what do I do?"

"You push me down into the bed, and-" You feel the fabric of his jeans rub your thighs as he pulls them down. "You…"

"What do I do, sweetheart?"

"You push my legs up and you fuck me," you confess.

He scrambles back towards his nightstand, a hand on your ankle that says, I'm not going far. "How do I fuck you? Am I rough?"

"Not at first."

There, in his hands, the red plastic of a condom wrapper, bright as a maraschino cherry. He holds it up and you nod.

"Not at first," he murmurs, ripping open the condom, hissing as he pulls it over his weeping cock. It's big – not too thick, but big, surrounded by a thatch of dark curls trimmed neat. "But eventually?"

He rolls it on tight and then there's nothing but this admission of your guiltiest fantasy. You spread your legs without thinking and he pulls you towards him, thumb collecting slick where it's pooled and pushing it up towards your entrance. What's left on his fingers he smears over the length of his shaft. You watch him rub at the head and sigh.

"Eventually," you agree.

His cock rubs up against you as he leans down and pinches your chin between his fingers, lips parted from a sharp gasp and opening further. "Can I fuck you? Is that what you want?"

You nod voraciously.

He gives you a very firm kiss at the highest point of your cheek. "In words."

"Yes, you can fuck me. That's what I want," you say without hesitation.

"You tell me if I do something you don't like," he says, lining up.

"I will," you say earnestly.

Eddie pushes your leg up towards your tummy and holds it there. "Good girl," he praises, and pushes in.

You're already worked open by his hand, your own hand and your climax, and still it's a snug fit. You cross your arm over your chest with your lips bitten hard to stop from making what you anticipate to be a very great and mortifying sound. He takes it slow, real slow, towering over you with his brows furrowed just slightly and his back arching. Every move he makes is accompanied by a careful thrust of his hips. He's rhythm in motion.

"Fuck," he mutters, more than once. He's halfway when you feel that stretch, your pulpy walls accommodating him with little complaint and a lot of pleasure.

You drop your head back against the bed sheets and hug yourself.

Eddie reaches for your hand where its cracking your breast absentmindedly and squeezes your fingers. "How's that?" he asks. "How's that feel?"

You close your eyes. "S'good, Eddie." You lay out your own roll of expletives as he pushes in ever deeper. "You're really- oh," you gasp, "really deep."

"You should see it, babe, pretty pussy gripping my every fucking inch." He leans down and his cock fills another inch of you. Your fingers ache with how hard he's squeezing them, and you look up to find his eyes on yours. "I'm gonna fill you up, okay? You gonna be a good girl for me and take it?"

You blink and your lashes feel heavy with tears. "Yeah. I can take it. I can take it."

"I know," he says, hovering over you, close enough to hug if you wanted to.

He grabs your side and his thumb pushes into the soft swell of your breast, his grip tightening as he fits those last inches of his cock inside you. You rub your cheek against his bedsheets, your head fuzzy from being so full. He takes your bared neck as an opportunity and ducks into the juncture of it and his face fits there like it was made to, his nose bobbing against the column of your throat as he starts to fuck into you. His hips roll, a mess of his sticky pubes kissing your clit.

This close you can smell him, the heavy scents of pot and smoke, the sweet nutty smell of oil clinging to his hair. Sweat, as you imagine you smell of too, and sex. The room is filled with it, the smells and the sounds of his thighs thudding into yours.

"Eddie- Eddie," you whimper, muffled by the sheets beneath you.

He pushes in deep and rubs his nose into your skin emphatically. "What's wrong, hm? What's got you all wound up?"

You wrap your arms around his back. You're not sure if you're allowed to but you're hardly thinking ahead – you can't. Every thrust, every movement he makes is at the forefront of your mind, commanding all of your attention. The tickling of his hair against the side of your face. The skipping of the chains of his necklace where it teases your neck.

"Babe?" he asks, pulling back to turn your head. He stills inside you.

You protest, loud and completely unlike yourself. "Eddie, don't stop. Please don't." Your hands push into his shoulder blades. He ruts in at your request, thumb rubbing your cheek. "Feels so good," you say. You trip over your praise, voice breaking.

He starts up again, whispering, "Do you want me to hold your leg up, pretty girl?" and, "Taking me so well- taking it so fucking well," and, worse, "Fuck, sweetheart, just like that," when you tigthen around him.

You weave your fingers into the messy crush of black curls surrounding his face, careful not to tug as you covet the back of his head and nape of his neck, scratching his scalp lightly with one hand as the other strokes his side.

Your moans become a half-sobbing sort of mess, quiet and desperate, drawn out of you with every tap of his cock into your soft spot. When he finds it he can't not search for it, rutting into it over and over until you can't produce anything but an unintelligible stream of babble and happy sighs.

He laps lazily at your neck, the stretch of skin dampened and stinging from love bites. He thrusts in hard and hits something sweet that has you clinging to him.

"You smell good," he says into your skin.

Your hips ache with pleasure. "I must taste pretty good," you say. What, with how he's willing to nibble on you like this.

He squeezes your neck and narrows his eyes at you playfully. "I intend to find out." He moves down until your lips are a hair's width from touching. "Bet you taste as sweet as everything else."

You lift your chin and kiss him, dedicating your affections to his top lip. He groans into your mouth, hips moving slow and thrusts shallow when suddenly they're not. His cock drags out slowly and slams in deep, his pelvis hitting into yours.

You keen into the kiss, gentle and at odds with his fucking. His fingers find your ear and his thumb follows down the shell until he's pinching your earlobe, a split-second touch that melts you into putty. He pulls away from the kiss and inhales loudly, his fingers under your ear and pushing your face to the side so that he can wade in from a new angle.

You curl your fingers around his wrist and let yourself be kissed and fucked and touched. Anything he wants to do, he can do.

Eddie breaks the kiss.

"What did I taste like?" you ask breathlessly.

He traces an invisible teardrop down your cheek with the back of his pinky finger. "Oh, sweetheart," he says quietly, lowering his lips to the shell of your ear. "That's not where I meant."

Another hard thrust. You gasp at the dull aching spreading through your tummy and Eddie softens slightly, not so deep but just as fast, faster, his cheek to your cheek as he works you open. His rugged panting in your ear is everything you need. You force your hand between your body and Eddie's and search for the wet mess of your clit, chasing quick circles into the swollen bump.

Eddie realises what's happening and his fucking turns desperate. "You gonna cum again? Shit- keep touching, I'll get you there, fucking promise you." He's hardly pulling out an inch before he's rutting back in, kicking up the speed until all you can feel is pleasure again.

Eddie slows down as you cum, moaning as you tighten around him. He pushes away from you to kneel between your legs again, eyes locking onto your cunt obstinately, his panting loud as he drags his cock in and out.

"Insane," he mumbles, hands coasting down your legs until he's grasping the fat of your thighs and pulling you back onto his cock. "You're insane."

As if proving it, his hands rove the hills and troughs of your torso, your skin clammy underhand, his hips moving mindlessly. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand and blink back into focus.

"Are you close?" you ask him, whispering.

You're lucky he can hear you with the music he's playing and the sounds of your slick hole being stretched. Eddie tucks a lock of sweat-dark hair behind his ear and his eyes pause in their reverential searching to meet yours.

He peels your hand off of your mouth and holds it.

"Fucking teetering, babe. Been close ever since I felt you wrapped around my fingers." He pulls your hand and you take it as a cue to try and sit up. Eddie helps you into his lap, your thighs straddling his thighs, slipping down his length until you're stuffed to bursting.

You hide your face in his shoulder and he rubs your back. "You're okay," he says sympathetically, "I got you. You just sit pretty, there's a good girl."

You wrap your arms around his neck and try your best to bounce on his cock as he thrust up into you, a steady pace that turns sloppy. You rake your hands through his curls and kiss at the curve of his neck down to the slope of his shoulder, dizzied and cock-drunk, totally fucked out. You hum into your kisses with every prodding of his mushroom tip against your deepest spot, rambling nonsense at him in a way you hope is making a difference.

"Fucking me so good," you mumble, equal parts tearful and euphoric, lips wet and spreading a shine like frost in the sun over his lean shoulder. "So good, Eddie. Thought about this too much."

"Yeah?" he asks, sounding like a different person. Voice rough as hewn stone and hands bruising where they grip you, his heavy sack slapping into you with every sluggish rock of his hips. "Good as you pictured? M'I fucking you like you wanted?"

"Better," you say sincerely.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he says, and he's close, you know he is.

You roll your pelvis in circles and try your hardest, aflame as you plead, "Cum for me, please? Please, Eddie, wanna feel it."

Despite your shy intonation Eddie goes rigid. He fucks in with one final thrust that sends shocks deep to your core and spreading out, cutting your happy little gasp short as he pulls your head tight to his neck. His hips twitch underneath you and he's making sounds that are going to haunt you, whiney, begging moans over your head.

Eddie's tight hold on you slowly loosens. You're breathing fast, finally out of motion. Your thighs burn where they're spread over his lap and you squirm unintentionally.

He pulls your neck back from his shoulder and looks over your face, concern lining the soft set of his eyes. He cups your cheek in question.

"I'm okay," you say softly. "I'm more than okay. That was amazing."

"It was amazing," he agrees, caught off guard.

"Yeah."

You shift backwards and the two of you wince at the sensitivity. You ease your legs open and Eddie pulls out, pumping the sticky shaft once. His eyes flutter closed.

You move off of his lap and turn to the side so you can stretch out your aching legs. Eddie follows suit, collapsing off of his knees and onto his back, the pillow behind him keeping him propped up.

You watch him ease the condom off of his cock curiously, White cum has smeared and drips down the length of him, his pubes tangled by a mixture of your slick and his.

He spots you watching and smiles. "What, sweetness? What are you thinking about?"

"I made you cum."

His eyebrows jump but quickly smooth. "I think I went blind, for a second."

You giggle at his hyperbole and he pulls you down against his chest, your side pressing into his navel. Your cheek to the space shy of his heart.

His hand comes to rest on your forehead.

"Do you really think about me?" you ask, knowing the answer.

"Every night."

You close your eyes and hide your smile in his skin. He chuckles and wraps you up in one arm, his hand a firm pressure as he massage the dipped plane of your back.

Nestling your cheek into his chest, you say, "I think about it, too. All the time."

"Uh-huh. Maybe we can make some more of those racy thoughts a reality. What was that one about me coming out of the shower?"

You like this casual conversation and decide to try and make him laugh, stretching your words out low. "Well, you're coming out of the shower, and your towel slips open-" There, his bumping laughter at your over the top salaciousness.

"That's awful. Most cliche, overdone, cheap porno concept ever," he chastens.

"I never said I was creative."

"What happens after that?"

"The towel gets swept away by a sudden gust of wind, so I have to cover you. With my body."

He bursts. There's no other word to describe it, his back arches with the force of his laughter and he holds his fist to his mouth, shaking and giggling like an idiot.

"Where's the wind coming from?" he questions incredulously.

"I don't know! The window?"

"Oh my god," he says. He hooks his hand under your arm and pulls you up his chest, dotting a fond kiss to your forehead as you near. "And after that?"

"Well, I told you that part."

"Right, we hook up, but after that."

You clench your fists, insecure. "After?"

He brings the hand that isn't loving the length of your back to your face, stroking the skin under your chin with the backs of his index and middle finger, the flat of his fingernails sliding gently in a soothing back and forth.

"I guess it's kind of like this," you answer eventually.

"Does fantasy Eddie get another kiss, too? Or does he- do they stop, afterwards?"

"It's a fantasy. The kisses never stop," you tell him. Adrenaline must linger in your veins; you can barely speak.

His expression becomes impassive, and a lull in the conversation blossoms. He searches your face for something and you don't know what, but he must find it, because he dips down and kisses you chaste on the lips.

Your hands are back to tentative as they explore his neck. Your fingertips grace the curves of his throat and then sink behind, into the dampened mess of his hair.

He stays chaste, dainty kisses, pulling back to dot them against your lips over and over.

"Eddie," you say softly, "what are you doing?"

"It feels like kissing," he says, tone a mirror of your own.

You huff a laugh against his lips and kiss back.

Later, after more kisses than you could ever count and an hour dozing on his chest whilst his hand rubbed circles into your tired back, you get dressed into your clothes that he likes so much and slip your goodie bag into the belly of your strappy purse.

"Don't go over the top with it, alright?" he says, watching the green bud dissappear.

Jeans back in place and still bare-chested, Eddie sits on the end of his bed and scratches the back of his neck. You give him a grateful smile. "No, I won't. I actually think I might sleep really well tonight without it."

He smirks. "I bet you will."

Eddie walks with you to the front porch. You'd linger if you didn't have to go, and you're pretty sure he'd let you. There's a fraction of awkward silence.

"See you later," you say, walking sideways down one step, another.

Eddie catches your hand. It takes you a second to realise what he's done: forced your crumpled thirty dollars back into your hand. Your heart misses a beat and you feel your stomach plumet – you hadn't fucked him for the free pot.

"Eddie-"

"My girl can't pay for her own supply. That's not happening."

You take one step up. "Your girl?"

He has the good graces to look nervous. "If you wanna be."

You don't know how to answer. He looks pretty like this in the last dregs of sunshine, big brown eyes waiting patiently for you to say something, hand clutching his elbow. It doesn't feel entirely real.

You step on tip toes and work your hands behind his neck to kiss his cheek before rubbing your forehead against his chin. "I'll come by tomorrow?" you ask hopefully. He relaxes under your weight.

"Any time you want. I'll take you some place nice, if you're up for it."

You set back on your heels and pull away. "You don't need to go all fancy on me, Munson." You're happy to get stoned and eat burgers on the couch.

He looks you up and down, eyes catching on the flanks of your thighs before he takes in your face. His smile is almost dorky when he says, "No I- I think I do. I'll see you tomorrow, pretty girl."

You nod with an aching smile and are a little ways away when he smugly calls, "Sleep well!"

After the lesson he just gave you, you're sure you will.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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#holy fuck #holy fucking shit #eddie munson x y/n

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mk-tozier · 2 years

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Pray For The Night

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.8k] prompts: "this is a one time thing" and a request for some "angsty, heart aching smut." Found family feels, more friends to lovers, soft smut, lovers in denial.

It started the way it always did.

With the crackle of static, a frantic voice from a walkie talkie, the threat of something dangerous, the risk of someone being hurt.

People were woken from bed, shaken from sleep, friends climbing through friends windows, cars idling on the sidewalk, brake lights burning the night air red.

There would be the dull thump of a bat against the trunk, hands helping feet slide down drain pipes, hushed whispers, people dressed in pyjamas trousers and jackets, bare feet shoved into sneakers, too many people in the backseat, silent drives to cracks in the world that held nightmares come to life.

And when it was over, you’d all climb back into the same cars, Steve’s BMW, the wheelers family car that had had its keys stolen too many times.

You’d sit up front with Steve, kids that were too young to be doing this curled in the back, pyjama shorts dirty, knees scraped, heads on shoulders, eyes falling shut.

When everyone was returned safe to their beds, you’d sit in the car with Steve, air crackling, skin buzzing. He’d take you back to his, question silent, answer unspoken and the first time it happened, he’d lifted you onto his kitchen counter, the early morning hardly breaking through the clouds outside and you’d curled your hands into the collar of his shirt, bringing your mouth to his and telling him:

“This is a one time thing.”

It wasn’t.

It happened every time danger hit, a ritual that started with that fucking walkie talkie, ripped from sleep, night ending in Steve’s bed.

The first time was fast, frenzied, panicked. It was a little clumsy and messy, clothes torn off, backs slammed against walls and words whispered a little filthy into each other’s skin ‘cause you both ached with the need to feel something other than fear.

So you let your best friend push you down into his bedsheets, watching as he tugged his shirt over his head, descending on you with lips so urgent that you would’ve thought he’d waited a lifetime to finally kiss you.

You’d fallen asleep on top of him, head on his chest, limbs tangled, hair a mess and skin slick. And when the morning finally came, the world was still standing and you’d fucked your best friend but nothing had really changed.

Steve still made you coffee when you finally woke up, bare body only covered by one of his too big sweaters and he pressed a kiss to your cheek before he left for work.

You didn’t talk about it, neither of you needed to. It was fine.

But then the world kept threatening to fall apart and you’d spent too many nights watching him swing his baseball bat at creatures that just couldn’t stay in their own fucking world.

You spent late hours patching each other up, both taking turns to sit on the kitchen sink and tap to the other's knee, a silent order to make them move closer. Careful hands on split skin, water running pink with blood, plasters that were made for paper cuts pasted over wounds that needed so much more than a kiss and a cotton swab.

It kept happening.

Dirty clothes, stained with ash and grime and blood, stripped in the hallway, shoved into laundry baskets and hands wandered, hugs turning into something more because oh my god, you were both still alive.

And on the nights that your friends tumbled home with you both, a crowd of kids and teens falling into the empty Harrington home, you set your shoulders and tried not to think about how the only thing that made you feel better now was your best friend's mouth on the inside of your thigh.

Maybe it was the way he’d taken to kissing you, slow and deep, like Steve somehow now knew that’s what you liked. Lips lazy against yours, mouth a little messy, pulling back only enough to tell you how pretty you were, how good you felt, how much he needed you.

Maybe it was the noises he made when the adrenaline from the night made you impatient, maybe it was the way you put a hand on his chest to shove him back onto the mattress, hair already misbehaving from your greedy fingers.

You liked the way he looked at you when you did that, jaw slack, eyes hooded, mouth all pink and plush from your lips, your teeth, your tongue. Maybe it was the way he said your name when you took the hard length of him into your mouth. The once frantic scrabble to shed each other of clothes slowly turning into something that stretched out across the night, hands and mouths desperate to find out what made the other moan the loudest.

And when the sun came back up and the town was still standing, you both went on as normal, going to work, driving the kids around Hawkins and pretending that you didn’t know what the other looked like when they came.

The last time, the last time was different.

You’d gotten hurt. Not seriously, not the life threatening kind of hurt that every one of you worried about each time you trailed back out to another new gate, El at the front, hands raised, ready to close it.

Things had gone wrong, people got split up and some of you had been dragged through, feet first, the familiar damp smell of The Upside Down assaulting your senses.

You’d heard Steve yell your name, voice wrecked, Robin holding him back. You hadn’t been trapped for long, Eddie and Nancy pulled in after you, Max yanked in soon after, Lucas’ hand in hers until the very last second.

You fought off bats, some other kind of animal that The Upside Down had taken and turned, a bird-like thing with hardly any feathers left, a too big beak, sharp and perfect for slicing.

The three of you had pushed Max to the ground, watched her shuffle hurriedly underneath a slab of rock as the creatures descended and you had nothing but tree branches to defend yourselves with, getting the upper hand for only seconds before another wave of them came.

It allowed you all to fight your way back out, the gate stubborn and trying to sew itself shut, keeping the rest of your friends out and trapping you all in. They were frenzied on the other side, El bleeding from her nose and ears, slumped against Mike with the exertion of it all.

Steve had grabbed you immediately, arms tight around you, a hand in your hair, both of you crashing to your knees together because it was three o’clock in the morning and this wasn’t supposed to still be happening, was it?

The boy panicked at the red that soaked your shirt, your skin, tiny paper cut sized slices scattered on your cheeks and arms, one at the corner of your lip, blood smeared at your chin.

It took you taking his face in your hands to soothe Steve, fingers splayed over his cheeks, thumbs running soft at the skin under his eyes, voice hushed and just for him. You ignored the way your friends stared, you ignored the knowing looks, the whispers of ‘this isn’t new, is it?’

And when everyone was dropped off home, bodies sore, voices cracking, Steve sped across town, red lights be damned, one hand on the wheel and the other curled around your thigh.

It felt like a lifeline, his touch on you. It felt like the only thing that was keeping you together, an electrical current that restarted your heart, ‘cause you didn’t know how much longer you could lie on your back, staring at a red sky and wonder what was going to try to kill you next.

You didn’t even get out of the car before you were reaching for each other, desperate to feel, the car parked in the empty drive, the town in darkness, neighbours asleep and blissfully unaware of what happened underneath them.

And despite the urgency you’d felt to touch the boy, to hold him, the kiss was slow, gentle and soft in a way that made your chest hurt, like you were both taking the time to commit every single touch and taste to memory.

You’d thought you had.

Steve tasted like summer and the night. Campfire smoke and the way the air turned after it rained, sweet like peaches, like fresh lemonade and raspberry ice cream.

Sometimes there was the metallic lingering of blood, split lips and bruised skin, antiseptic and toothpaste kisses after a shower to wash away the night.

He brought a hand to your neck, gentle but keeping you there, nose pressed to your cheek, lips sliding easy over yours, both of you so well practised in the art of making each other sigh.

You whispered his name, needy. But he pulled back and swept a thumb over your cheekbone, still stained red and he tilted his head towards the house, standing in darkness, empty as always.

Maybe it was because you’d had each other so many times now, maybe it was because you knew that the last time was never going to be the last time. Maybe, it was because you knew you had all night, you had a whole lifetime for each other, this summer and the next, this night and tomorrow and next week too.

Maybe that’s why you let him lead you to the bathroom and not his bed, another familiar space and you didn’t say anything when Steve tapped the counter top, a soft but commanding ‘up,’ leaving his lips as he pulled the almost empty first aid kit from beneath the sink.

You did as he told you, brows knitting together when you moved, skin pulled tight from all the tiny cuts, dried blood making you itch. You let him clean you up, hands ever so gentle, lips finding yours every time you hissed into discomfort and he kissed the pain away, soothed your noises with murmured promises of getting you to make different ones for him soon.

The light behind the vanity mirror was soft, almost too dull from hardly being used and it lit the room in a faint glow. It made Steve’s skin look more tanned than it was, his eyes a caramel honey. It made the whole world look prettier than the reality of it.

But the tap trickled, your bare foot slid against Steve’s leg and he caged you into the counter with strong arms and more cotton balls and disinfectant spray, wiping away the blood until either of you were sure you’d actually been hurt. Sometimes it felt like a bad dream, a nightmare that you used to wake up from, skin damp, sheets twisted and your mom at the end of your bed, promising you it would all be okay.

It was you that led Steve into his room, lights off, bed still unmade from when he’d left it, back when his clock had flashed red, Dustin’s voice buzzing faintly from underneath a discarded sweater, hands already curled under his pillow to find his car keys.

You moved into each other with practised ease, faces barely lit from the light of the moon, a crack in the curtains bathing you both in silver and you hated the way your chest suddenly felt tight, as if something was psychically hurting inside of you from not being close enough.

Steve kissed you back, lips soft and probing, never able to say no. His hands were on your waist, shirt lifted, palms wide and warm on your ribs and then you were pushing up in your toes, kiss deepening, hands in his hair to tug him down to you and he let your name slip out with a moan, a deep, rumbling sound that you loved so much.

But then he was pulling back, lips glossy, eyes screwed shut and his forehead pressed to yours. He whispered your name, a sigh, a prayer, a warning.

“Babe, you’re hurt.” Steve said it as if it was his fault. “Let’s get you to bed, c’mon.”

The sudden bubble of tears that crawled up your throat panicked you, it took you by surprise, the sharp, hot prick of damp at the corner of your eyes. When you pulled in a breath, it stuttered and hitched at your throat and oh my god, you felt desperate, you felt wild.

“No,” you shook your head, disagreeing with the boy, ‘cause sure you had cuts and lacerations over your skin but right now nothing hurt more than the idea of your best friend rejecting your kisses. “Steve, please, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Jesus, you got dragged by your fucking ankles into another dimension, sweetheart, please, just let me look after you-”

He started to pull away, hands slipping from your waist and into your own, fingers intertwined and gesturing to the bed where all he planned to do was let you rest and sleep.

But that ugly panic was crawling back up your throat and you wondered if Steve could hear the way your heart was thundering against your ribs, if the idea of not being close to each other made his bones rattle the way yours did.

“Steve,” his name came out in a sob then, a soft burst from your chest, lash line watery, bottom lip trembling and when he looked back at you, he felt like someone had sucker punched him in the throat. “I need you, okay? Please, I don’t know what else to say, just please-”

He tumbled back to you then, knees bending slightly so he could crowd down into you, hand tilting at your chin, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that made more tears roll down your cheeks. His fingertips smoothed them away, brow furrowed, kissing you with everything he had ‘cause he understood, he knew what you meant, he knew the fucking ache that came with standing at the edge of a crack in the world and wondering if you were both gonna come back out of it.

He mumbled your name into your mouth, pressed it into you with a kiss, licked past the seam of your lips when you gasped, sighed, relief pouring from you.

You were both long past slamming doors and throwing each other into them, messy rooms with scattered belongings, loose change and old books falling off of dressers and desks, bodies sat on top of them, hands reaching under skirts to hastily pull down underwear.

Time slowed for you both now, the night outside coming to a halt, the world pressing pause to give you this, what you both so desperately needed. The moon was your only witness but even it seemed to always disappear behind a cloud, granting you both the darkness you needed in order to pour out your fucking soul to your best friend.

You were begging him, soft and quiet, hushed whispers that had Steve absolutely reeling, hard as a rock in the jeans he’d yanked on, hands touching you everywhere at once. He loved all the ways you said his name, a needy moan, a quiet sigh, a gasp, a curse. But he never thought you’d ever sounded as pretty when you let your head fall back for him, throat exposed and eyes clenched shut. Begging.

“Steve, please.”

That sound made him check himself, a deep breath, inhale, exhale, eyes closed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat ‘cause holy fuck, he wanted to turn you inside out.

So he counted to three, took another deep breath and counted to five, because he wanted you as much as you wanted him, a quiet need for each other that burned over days, weeks, sometimes months. However long it took for the world to fall apart again.

But now he was set alight, your hands grabbing at him, tugging him down to your level, mouth searching, a quiet moan when he kissed you, feet clumsy and tripping over the boyish mess of his bedroom carpet.

A book bag, never used, old textbooks from a school he’d long graduated from, a shirt, one boot, an extra baseball bat - sans nails.

You led each other to bed, one pushing, one pulling, both always following the other without questions and you could both map out the other's body with your eyes closed, hands trailing up sides, taking shirts with impatient hands.

Bare skin on bare skin brought some relief, a lazy sigh, a gasp of gratitude as you pulled each other closer, warmth and softness blooming over your chests. You knew you were ready for him even then, wet and slick between your thighs, legs rubbing together impatiently as he crowded you back into his bed, hovering over you with one hand pressed into the pillow you lay on.

The other grabbed at the hem of the shorts you were wearing, a pretty lilac colour, tiny clouds dotted over them ‘cause you hadn’t changed out of your pyjamas when Steve’s car had rolled around the corner of your street, headlights off and Eddie in the front.

You lifted your hips up to help him trail the soft material down your legs, a squeak escaping your lips and your foot kicking out to send them into the abyss of Steve’s bedroom.

Wide hands, warm and rough with callouses and scars, ran up the length of you, trailing soft over shins, a squeeze at your knee, gripping a little harder, a little more possessive over your thighs.

You knew what was coming, you knew him so well, you loved that you did and fuck, you held your breath anyway, anticipation making you giddy, chest burning.

A tap, high on your thigh, quick and almost sharp all while Steve licked into your mouth - kiss growing messier, dirtier - before he nipped at your lip, pulled back and murmured, “open, sweet thing.”

It should’ve made you burn with embarrassment, it should’ve had you questioning your entire friendship, but you didn’t hesitate to do as the boy asked, never had, never would.

It always made you think back to that first time, the “only time”. You’d stripped each other without as much as a second thought, the adrenaline and years of wondering and wanting making it too easy to stand in front of each other, leaning lazy against Steve’s bedroom wall as he dragged your underwear down your legs.

Every kiss after that felt like a what if.

Your knees fell apart for him, a kiss to your neck as a reward, a pretty bruise bitten and sucked there as a thank you and you were too loud, too breathy when Steve slid two fingers through your folds, gathering up all the wet there, thumb on your clit and making you hum.

You felt alive again, body electric underneath his, and when he pulled back just enough to nudge his nose to yours, watching you fall apart from under his lashes, you knew he felt the same way.

He was swearing when he slid his fingers inside you, cursing at the way you arched your back off of his bed at the feel of him, a tear slipping from your eye and rolling a little pathetically down your cheek because the need you felt for the boy was overwhelming.

Steve made you come almost too quick, tight around his fingers as he worked you up and over, your hands wrapped around his wrist, your lips parted, eyes clenched shut and falling apart.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he praised, voice soft and dirty, low and murmuring just for you. “Look at you, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart.”

You were a mess, words stumbling, touch desperate and you tried to sit up, tried to bring your hands to the button of Steve’s jeans, eyes on the way he was straining against the denim but he shook his head, capturing your face between his thumb and fingers for another kiss, long and drawn out, tasting like the night.

Leftover summer air, cedar, wheat fields, car rides with the windows rolled down, the fizz from a bottle of cola.

He pushed you back down, moving to kneel between your legs, hands demanding as the hooked behind your knees and pulled you into him, crowding you and smiling way too pretty as he pushed his fingers back into you, crooking them just fucking right.

“Want another one, babe, fuck, please?” Steve sounded desperate now, a little wilder, eyes turning glassy like yours and he couldn’t stop staring at the way your hips lifted for him, needy and rocking against his hand. “Give me another baby, you can do that for me, can’t you?”

It was almost too much. Almost.

You came again, chest heaving, skin burning, moans swallowed by Steve’s kisses, licked away and tasting like sin. He whispered your name like it was unholy, pushing his jeans down his legs and letting you push at him.

You were on his lap before the denim hit the floor, your hands in his hair, mouth on his neck and when you pulled back to watch him, he was sucking two fingers past his lips, groaning at the taste of you, eyes fluttering shut and god, it was obscene, it was intense, it was almost too fucking much and it wasn’t enough.

“I need you,” you told him, voice all choked up because you couldn’t control it anymore, the desperation you held with you at all times, the need for him, the want for your best friend. “Please Steve, I just-”

You were murmuring, barely managing full sentences and Steve hushed you, hands soothing over your cheeks, thumbs swiping at the tears that gathered in the corner of your lashes and he swept your hair back from your damp forehead.

“I know, shhh,” more kisses, short, sweet and sticky against your neck, your shoulders, your bare chest. “I know babe, I got you, c’mon.”

Tender hands helped you climb onto his lap, skin on skin, the night air seeping in through the slightly open window and you both felt warm to the touch. Your fingers splayed over his shoulders and the muscles there rippled and tensed when you sat down on him, Steve’s legs stretched out and his back pressed into the pile of pillows at his headboard.

He was still close enough to kiss and you did so as you took the length of him in your hand, fisting him and giving him a few hard pumps. You loved the way you made him groan, head thrown back, pulse jumping in his neck as he tried not to come for you so soon.

When he settled, face still flushed and eyes glazed over, you sat up on your knees, his hands on your waist to help guide you back down and onto him.

That. That feeling? That was it.

It made everything better, it felt like coming home, it felt like being put back together, it felt like being found in the dark, led back into the light and fuck.

It’s why you prayed for the night, ‘cause it was so much easier to press your lips to Steve’s when it was dark. It was so much easier to pretend then, that it didn’t mean anything more than it had to. That this was a one time thing even after the seventeenth time he’d taken you to his bed.

You let the night swallow you both. It took your moans and your noises, whimpers and the soft, snuffled sounds as you tried not to cry. It took you whole, quiet and dark, pulling you into it like a soft blanket. It made the shadows glitter, it made the next day easier to survive and it pushed you closer into Steve.

A hand on the small of your back, palm pressed flat, fingers splayed over the curve of your ass, guiding the way you rolled your hips, achingly slow. Another hand, cupping your chin, a wholly delicate touch, thumb tapping at your bottom lip, telling you to open for him.

You did as he asked, you always did. It felt better when you did.

When you pulled back, panting hard, gasping for breath, you didn’t know you were crying until Steve swept the tears away with his thumb, the pad of it under your lash line and his brows were knitted together, own eyes turning glassy.

But you still rocked over him, bottom lip trembling at the intensity of it all, desperate seeking out that high you knew he was gonna give you, the one he always gave you and you tried to grind a little faster, hips shifting up and down quicker.

“Baby,” Steve’s voice was tight, jaw slack but his eyes were worried and he kissed away another tear from your cheek as he tried to slow you down, trying to get you to tell him the reason for your tears.

You were sure he already knew, you were so sure he could see it in the way you gazed at him, doe eyed, fucked out, relentlessly greedy for him. You felt it from him too, in the way you knew you’d wake up tomorrow with pretty, lavender marks on your chest, the boy in question glued to your side, arms wrapped around you tight ‘cause he couldn’t fucking bare to let you go.

‘Cause the night was gone and the sun was shining through the crack in the window and neither of you knew if and when this would happen again.

It was only a one time thing, remember?

But you shook your head, refusing to slow down, refusing to stop and your breath hitched when Steve relented, pulling you closer still as he sat up, wrapping your legs around his waist and he pushed up into you, meeting the way you rolled your hips over him, thrust for thrust.

“Gonna come for me?” He asked, breath harsh, voice wrecked and you wanted to sob with it all, you didn’t want it to end, and somehow it felt like the last time, it felt like the first time and you were falling apart. “Come for me, sweetheart, come with me, yeah?”

You nodded, hands framing his face, fingers delving into soft, messy hair and you pushed your lips to his in a way that had him groaning. You felt Steve twitch inside of you, grip turning a little tighter and it pulled the breath from you.

His hand dropped between your both, thumb on your clit, and you rocked over him in a slow, deep, steady pace. It was a little dirty, a hot grind of skin on skin and you were coming for a third time, clenching around Steve, both of your eyes slamming shut as he tumbled over after you, hands grabbing at each other as if you were the only thing keeping that kept you both on this earth.

Maybe you were.

There were golden stripes painted across your skin, Steve’s cheekbone, the line on his jaw. The sun cut through the gap in the curtain, lit the boy up in bronze and you could just see the start of the morning through the window, sky cotton candy pink, clouds peach and tangerine.

You were both panting, skin damp, stray hairs curled against foreheads and you could hear the faint sounds of bird song, the clock telling you both it was five o’clock in the morning, another new day and god, you were both still breathing.

Steve made to move, to slip out of you and grab a warm cloth from the bathroom, the same routine as always. But it was different this time, wasn’t it? You could see the sun in his eyes, caramel and honey, the freckles that summer had given him, across the bridge of his nose, the high point of his cheeks and you watched the way his lashes fluttered, as he caught you staring.

You made a soft noise of protest when he moved under you, hands flying to his face to stop him and you wondered what it would be like to kiss your best friend in the daylight, when you could see the way his mouth parted for you, tip of his tongue pressed to his bottom lip, eyes heavy, body lazy, leaning into you like he was supposed to.

So you did, breath still shaky and you could see the dust motes float through the air, caught in the sun beams, prettier than the ash that fell around you the night before. You caught Steve’s lips in a kiss that was sweeter than it should’ve been, especially considering you were still naked in his lap and he was still buried inside you.

It felt a little backwards, it felt a little like a first kiss. Steve hummed at it, hands reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear, kiss soft, lips pliant under yours as he let you take control and you pressed a little closer. Noses nudging, cheeks warm, pink skies, warm sun, messy room, Steve, Steve, Steve and god. God, this day felt so much better than the last.

#YELLING #OH MY FUCKING GOD #IM GONNA SOB #LOOSING MY MIND #THIS WAS SO GOOD????

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