#eddie's slutty white henley | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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Warnings: Language, smut, NSFW goodness, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, & Steve comes in his pants.

A/N: Well, this wouldn’t leave me alone, the dash was horny for Steve too, and my mind spiraled. *Eddie Munson voice* @pastel-pillows & @dr-aculaaa — this is for you! ;-)

You couldn’t stop the way your legs began to shake, calves tense, thighs jiggling from the jostle you accompanied yourself with, toes of your sneakers dipped into the green carpeting and digging in, only to bounce seconds later. You swear you can hear your heartbeat rushing in your ears, bursting the drums, echoing your sinful sentiments, a choir of nasty little devils whispering encouragement into your ears, their sharp teeth sucking at your lobe. It all started with watching Steve rearrange his trunk this morning before you rode with him to work at the store. He’d pulled out his nail slayed weapon, twirling it like it weighed nothing and he did it for a living. You went doe eyed, becoming dizzy and dumb.

Robin had rolled her eyes, following shortly behind for her own ride. “So glad I’m not straight.” She was forever onto you.

And the duration towards Family Video wasn’t any better. With the ping pong weather of the Midwest, you’d all had your windows down and it kept blowing Steve’s unruly mane, resulting in crunching leather, twisting upon by his clenched fingers as they shifted to raise, his wrist tendons flexing beneath a rolled Henley, his digits pushing back the tendrils that had mounted his forehead. With a slow morning, it gave you three some time to unwrap new snacks to restock the front counter with. Only… that packing tape was always tough and you left the letter opener in the back (you could never find it, really), so Steve came to the rescue. He’d fetched his keys from the employee lockers, bringing them into the front with one announcement: the metal ring swinging along his defined pointer finger. With a freshly manicured nail bed and a calloused padding around the digit’s tip, you were all but salivating.

Praying made everything worse for your state, and you’d resigned to indulging in every waking fantasy as you watched Steve roll his sleeves up until they crested over his forearms and rested around his elbows, giving you VIP access to each and every tendon, vein, freckle, mole, and muscle that the limbs possessed, complete with his signature watch wrapped around his left wrist. Robin had backed away and busied herself further towards the front, not wanting to be smothered by your increasingly unstable pheromones. You thought that maybe asking Steve for help instead of watching him grit his pearly whites or lick his tongue out over that dark stubble beginning to work its way into his flesh, circling his mouth in the most luscious ways, all because the tape was being stubborn against his keys — wasn’t a smart choice. He had refused with a smile, leaning over the cardboard and giving you a direct eyeline down the collar of his shirt, curly chest hair peeking back at you. On your way around the counter after nearly collapsing, Robin had poked her finger into her mouth and mimicked a gag, rolling her eyes at your middle finger return.

And that leads you to your current continued predicament, the slutty saga trotting along. Steve makes a noise of eager mirth and that goofy grin of triumph washes over his features, his fingers tucking into the packaging and flipping the lids, curling.

Curling…

You choke on your own spit, a deep breath coming out choppy. You immediately warm with embarrassment and maneuver your way through the stale air towards the restrooms. You’re barely inside a stall before Steve comes in behind you, halfway in the doorway, hand tightened knuckle-white around the silver handle, little denim jeans strapped to his thick thigh that is raised slightly, his Nike sneaker toe pointed into the floor to hold his place. You watch his arm prop, his brows cinch in confusion.

“Honey? Everything alright?”

If you speak it’ll all vomit out in a pornographic moan, so you can merely shake your head. Steve immediately reacts and joins your proximity, nearly caging your airspace in, his cologne draping around you like a fucking winter coat. Your eyelids flutter closed, your body stepping back, then in. This is ridiculous. It’s not like you two haven’t fooled around before, on nights where the action was slow and the adrenaline ran high.

He always said you could talk to him, ask him for and about — anything. It’s a comical slow motion when his hand raises, veins defined and running alongside his creamy skin that will tan in the coming Spring, it never fails to. He seems to feed off of your look, patience his new virtue. You permit his thumbpad to stroke a shred of hair to tuck it behind your ear, causing your nipples to harden in your bra’s confines.

“Steve…” And his breath hitches, because even underneath the sickly fluorescent lighting he can see your dilated pupils.

“Oh.” His own voice has gone rasp, scattered. But there’s a battering jealousy that gnaws at his abdomen, fanning its green flames into his esophagus. He could choke on the bile that someone else might have caused your pent up responses.

It’s like he knows what you’re going to say before you do, but he encourages, stroking ever so softly along your cheekbone now. “What do you need?”

You mewl and sway into him, chests brushing, lips parched when they peel apart. You can practically taste his cinnamon breath spray on your tongue. “Need to touch myself.” You settle for a more hands off approach, not wanting to push, especially at work and with your shared best-friend thirty feet away.

Steve, however, he surprises you. He purses his plush lips into a plop, sclera glazed over with honey hot arousal. “Yeah? You think I can watch you do it? It’s been so long since you’ve let me see you between your legs, baby.”

It didn’t matter anymore if you were thinking about someone else, because you’re going to be thinking of him now — only, just. He wants to make sure.

You’re almost warning him, but when your jaw drops and your tongue is present, his thumb glides along your skin and presses inside and over the wet muscle. Steve has never seen you react so strongly, your left hand reaching out and fisting into his shirt, bunching it and yanking him into the stall with you, kicking it shut, his back falling upon the cool, doodle littered metal. He hisses, a fuck being spat into the air. You’re trembling into your ragged breathing, vest rippling with the waves of your heaving breasts. You look at him from beneath your lashes, fluttering, sucking with purpose on his thumb.

His cock swells instantly, straining uncomfortably against the zipper of his light blue Levi’s. It hits him then, what you have wanted. Or rather, who. He feels a possessive pull that’s stronger than gravity, polluting every bit of air that enters his lungs. His arm wraps around your lower back and his forearm jostles a chill down your spine.

You make room and claw your vest off, letting the cheap polyester hit the tile floor, helping yourself to his arm around you, bending to having his palm splay along your tailbone, caressing, moving upwards seconds later. Your hand untangles from the now wrinkled fabric of his shirt and moves to your jeans, pushing and twisting, getting them to a place where they drift down your hips and pool around your knees. Your panties are next, so sticky and hot between your thighs that it strings from you to glistening fabric, Steve’s mouth watering.

“Dammit, honey. How long have you been like this for?”

You’re panting, whimpering, his light kneading in your tense muscles, finding him eventually cupping your neck with a heavy and large palm, fingers tickling your jugular. Your pulse is thumping sporadically beneath his touch, he notes with fascination.

“All day.” You reveal. “Because of you and these.” You say full out, tongue lolling out and licking another one of his fingers into your mouth — salty and all Steve.

Those carmel colored brows, they rise into a question. You nod once more. “Please?”

Steve dips in, drops his wrist to nudge the meat of your thighs further apart, and he swipes a finger through the soaked seam of you, collecting what he can, rubbing along the rim of muscle that keeps your beautiful inside from him — pushing it when you begin to shake and plead. Your whispering praises and thank yous, ready to worship at the temple of Steve Harrington. He adds a third finger to your mouth and thrusts, wiggling them along the wetness, marveling at how it pools in the creases where your lips meet your cheeks.

“Like that?” He draws out a gruff groan, tossed about by the electric force and your perfect lips closing around his fingers, sucking him like it’s his dick and the world is about to end.

You give him that look, and that familiar adrenaline finds its way to the surface and screams, taking you and Steve within its clutches. He’s smirking at your mumbling around him, a pathetic but purely diabolical sight. He’s so hard it hurts to move, knees bumping yours, and your body pliant and fucking yourself on his hand, your lips spread apart and scattering your cream across his palm each time you push back down against him, arching to help nudge his fingers into a deeper crook. You grip his wrist bone and tap, tracing those veins, and you finalize by digging your nails into his forearm. He retaliates and holds on the back of your tongue, making you sputter and choke, spit dribbling out and squishing around his knuckles.

“Yeah, gag on it. Fuck, you’re about to cum already, do you feel it?”

And you do come, seconds later, licking and biting at Steve’s fingers, squeezing his arm and practically humping his hand until it subsides. Your head is spinning when you touch back to planet earth, Steve shaking and folding in on you, his sticky fingers falling from your pussy, the softest noise coming out of his throat and barreling past his lips.

“Holy shit…” you look right at his crotch in time to see the denim darken with his load.

He finds your neck and kisses, returning cute and shyly, his own hand leaving your mouth, pruned and sated.

“I can’t believe I just got off in my pants. Christ, honey. You’re fucking ridiculous today.”

Steve-speak. All dopey and cheesy, uncaring that he busted like a horny teenager. But you didn’t care either, so he didn’t feel the need to be ashamed.

Whilst he helps you readjust your clothing, a shrill voice sounds from the other side of the room.

“You better wash your hands,” Robin yells.

You’re sheepish, wincing, but Steve… he winks at you and slides his still—wet fingers into his mouth, making a nice show of cleaning them, looking proud once he finishes, responding with a vocal, “They’re clean, doofus.” And he leans in towards you, an afterthought, your noses brushing, as he whispers lowly, “Just gotta run home and change my pants now.”

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eusuntgratie · 2 years

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I’m shocked that no one has written a fic to this. Eddie purposely putting on his tightest white sweater to show off his body to buck at the dinner scene right in front of bucks girlfriend cause he wants to get a reaction from buck. Why has no one done the slutty Eddie fic? Can you do it?

I can indeed, nonnie 😘 I did get feelings all over this because I can’t help it. We’re hand waving canon a bit here; Eddie’s already in therapy so he’s well enough to be a little slutty without that being catastrophic for both of them. Hope you like it!

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Buck has to make himself pause on the doorstep, to wait, to knock like a friend coming over for dinner instead of letting himself in like someone who used to half live here. He takes a second to gather himself before raising his hand to knock. Tells himself it will be fine. Eddie invited them over, and while it’s no secret that he’s not Taylor’s biggest fan, it has to mean something, right? That tonight’s dinner is some kind of olive branch?

Eddie swings open the door and smiles, and something is just a little off, just a hair to the right of his actual smile. He files that away, makes a mental note to get him alone and make sure he’s okay, but his train of thought is derailed when he notices what Eddie’s wearing. Buck’s pretty sure he’s seen the full spectrum of his wardrobe, but this shirt is definitely new. Eddie’s wearing a white henley that’s clinging to his arms and his chest and is it really that fucking see-through or is he just losing his mind? He drags his gaze up from the vicinity of his chest to find Eddie smirking at him.

“Hey, man,” he says, eyes passing over him. “Come on in. Taylor.” He nods at her in greeting and she gives him one of her fake news smiles. Eddie says he needs ten minutes, but won’t let Buck come help, so he joins Chris in the living room, and catches up on everything he’s missed in the last week while Taylor perches awkwardly on the couch. It’s jarring to see her here, in the Diaz house. He keeps forgetting she’s there as he laughs with Chris, getting the full update about school and trying to subtly ask about Eddie. Chris keeps glancing at her, and Buck’s starting to realize he’s not going to get much of anything out of his boys while Taylor is here.

Eddie leans into the doorway to tell them dinner’s ready and Buck’s brain blue screens. He’s beautiful. Of course Eddie is beautiful, Buck knows that, but he’s just- it’s arresting. He looks tired still, but lighter. He’s back in therapy, by choice this time, and Buck knows he’s still struggling but he just looks- lighter. He looks more him than maybe he ever has with the new haircut that’s been slowly driving Buck crazy. The neckline of his thin white shirt keeps drawing Buck’s eye to his collarbones, the notch at the base of his neck. Buck shakes his head to clear it and beams back at Eddie.

“Can’t wait!”

He nearly trips over the coffee table when Eddie turns around. His jeans are tight, and Buck can’t quite keep himself from staring at his ass as he trails into the kitchen to grab the last plate of food.

Dinner is…nice. He’s so happy to be here with his boys, ribbing Eddie with Chris and complimenting Eddie on his cooking.

“I can’t believe you learned to cook, man. This is so good. I’m coming over every day I’m off, m’kay?”

Eddie laughs and flashes him a warm smile.

“Sure, Buck.”

Taylor makes an odd noise and Buck turns to look at her. He keeps forgetting she’s here. She looks so out of place in this house. She’s pushing her food around on her plate, hair and makeup perfectly done, sitting on the very edge of her chair, like she’s hoping for a work emergency to give her an excuse to bolt. When her phone rings twenty minutes later, she’s snapping it up and apologizing and heading out the door before it even stops.

“I’ll call an Uber, okay? I’m so sorry, Eddie! Thank you for dinner!” she calls back to them.

Eddie looks at her full plate and then right at Buck and smiles at him. Like he knows she doesn’t just not fit here, but that despite all his efforts she doesn’t quite fit with him either.

“You like your food,” Eddie says, sounding cocky.

Buck smiles around a mouthful of bread and veggies.

“It’s so good, Eddie, holy shit. I mean- sorry, Chris.” They both laugh, and Eddie smiles at him like he’s thinking something he won’t say out loud yet.

Buck helps Eddie clear the table after they eat. He’s got an honest to god plate of decorated cupcakes ready, and Buck thinks his heart might melt into the floor. He stops Eddie with a hand on his arm when he moves to carry the plate out. “Hey. Are you okay? I mean, really. When we got here you looked kinda - off.”

Eddie smiles at him, the real one that reaches his eyes, and leans into Buck’s space just enough for him to notice.

“Yeah, Buck. I’m good now.”

Buck was excited for the cupcakes, but finds himself hardly able to eat when he’s faced with Eddie in that goddamn shirt, licking icing off the side of his hand. He wants to trail his tongue over the little triangle of Eddie’s chest revealed by his shirt where the top button is undone. He wants to undo the rest, strip him out of his clothes, drive him crazy with his mouth. Show him how good he can make him feel.

Buck tries to focus on Chris, but his eyes and his mind won’t stop wandering back to Eddie. After they clean up and Buck plays a couple rounds of Chris’s new game with him, he helps Eddie finish the dishes.

“You want me to stay tonight?”

Eddie knows what’s behind that question. Are you still having nightmares? I want to be here for you. Help you. Be with both of you.

He smiles and leans against the counter, and Buck can’t quite keep his gaze from trailing down the length of his body before he drags it back up.

“No,” he says, sounding final, and Buck feels his chest tighten, worried that Eddie will shove him back out, that they’ll move backwards in this weird dance they’ve been doing for way too long. “Not tonight. Go home, Buck.”

Buck stutters out an, “uh, okay” and tries to keep the hurt off his face.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

Eddie’s expression is so soft and warm, Buck feels like he had to have missed something. “Break up with her.”

“What?”

“You aren’t happy, Buck. You don’t love her. She has to know that you don’t. You deserve to be happy. And uh- maybe… maybe I do too.”

“Eddie.”

He just smiles. “Go on, tell Chris goodnight. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Eddie.”

He bites his lip.

“You cooked for me.”

“You think I did it for her?”

“Then why did you invite her here?”

“To show you what you won’t look at. To make sure I was right.”

Buck means to bite it back, but “you wear that shirt for me, too?” slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Eddie looks down at the ground by his feet, then looks up at Buck.

“Maybe. You like it? It’s new.”

“I do,” Buck breathes, frozen where he’s standing.

“Go home, Buck. We’ll talk later. Yeah?”

“Yeah, I- yeah. Thanks, Eddie.”

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#buddie #buddie fic #grace writes #eddie's slutty white henley

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