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aliceblisss · 2 years

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wild child, i want you.

part two | series masterlist

premise: coming back to hawkins for your summer vacation from college is the last thing you want to do, but you find yourself back in your hometown and it all goes to shit in a matter of weeks. thinking your summer is already a bummer, getting high with the town outcast doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, blowjob (eddie’s first one, he’s a lil virgin in this sorry y’all), drug use, cheesy flirting, past crush unmentioned but there, tiny bit of praise kink, i made eddie’s van cooler than it actually is, reader is a lil self absorbed but it’s ok, mentions of past bullying, class difference, and shit family dynamics.

etc: i may write a part two for this, may turn it into a little mini series depending on the love i get on it. but um this boy is the cutest little virgin and no one can convince me otherwise ok thnx. title from the song wild child by wasp aka a song on this verysexy playlist!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“Shit! Fuck!”

The sounds of aggravation that erupts from your throat are anything but ladylike. The moon shining down just right in the sky to show the hunk of mud that’s now stuck on the top of your red pumps. Pumps that cost too much to be covered in dirt and grime, and yet here they were. Ruined.

All because you had stormed off from the party taking place in the backyard of your long term boyfriend—who was now your ex because fuck him, and fuck this washed up town.

You knew agreeing to come back for the summer would be absolutely detrimental to your psyche. Missing out on what would have been the summer of your life alongside college friends, a new city, on boats, planes; anywhere better than Hawkins!

But being the amazing, doting girlfriend you were, you had been easily convinced by the promise of gifts, booze, and a hell of a summer.

Two weeks in and you were miserable, had ruined Louis Vuitton’s, barely tipsy off of cheap beer, and now newly single.

“Fuck this place!” You scream to yourself, louder than you should have in a not–disturbing–the–peace way, a dog barking in the distance. You needed to catch the first bus out of this dump of a town as soon as possible.

“I completely agree,” comes a voice to the side of you. If the pumping of anger and spite wasn’t making your heart boom in your ear drums right now, or the distraction of materialistic items didn’t have you fuming: you were sure you might have seen them, whoever they are. Or at least smelled them. The heavy scent of weed lingers in the air and you can only assume it’s the weed guy your ex-boyfriend had been talking about.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight, let alone some stoned out stranger whose opinion you didn’t ask for, or could fake care about.

Turning in their direction you plan on telling them as much, plan on giving them your best bitchy scowl. But when your eyes adjust, actually see who it is; take in the long hair, the mix of jean and leather, the rings that gleam in the moonlight. Your expression changes from annoyance to amusement, your rude rebuttal long forgotten.

“Munson?”

“In the flesh,” his smile is still as boyish as you remember. At least from what you can remember. You graduated two years ago, he didn’t. Either year, so you've heard.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances. You had a handful of classes with him, even got partnered up with him for one biology project that neither of you truly put the effort into. But you flashed your pretty smile and batted your eyes and got the both of you passing grades—thank god for creepy male teachers.

You and Munson, Eddie, were so far off of the spectrum of being in each other’s realms. The class difference not being the only thing setting you two on two different sides of the universe, let alone Hawkins and your group of friends. The many taunts from your boyfriend and his friends coming back to your mind, and the weird snarkiness Eddie would always fight back with. Unbothered by the stupidity of high school taunts.

“Graduate yet?” You give him a playful smile, lean up against the car behind you to attempt and scrape off the mud on your shoe with your thumb nail.

“No.” He crosses his hands over his chest, “but still keeping up with expectations.” You’re barely listening to him, frowning down at the dirt now caked under your perfectly polished nails, fuck.

You huff out a breath, pull your head back to look up at the night sky. Try to do those breathing exercises you see your mother do when a bird shits on her BMW. “You here for the party?” You both know you’re joking. Know that most, if not all, the rich kids here had once—or still do—rag on him.

“My services got the invite.” He clarifies, “not me, personally, for obvious reasons.” He mumbles that last part and it makes you chuckle under your breath.

“Still the weed guy, huh?” Pulling your head upright again, you look over at him. His response being holding his hands in the air in an ‘obviously’ type motion. Nothing has changed with him, and maybe that’s just what happens when you stay in this dead end town. But something also tells you that Eddie isn’t the type to just change. What you see is what you get, unapologetically.

Must be nice to be that carefree. You could use some carefree in your life; that booming sound of your heart in your ear still pumping with materialistic and asshole boyfriend frustration.

A smile spreads across your lips as an idea pops into your head. As you make the decision to get that carefree feeling in the most synthetic way possible, while also sticking it to the aforementioned asshole in the backyard.

“How much were they going to pay you?”

“For the-”

“Yes, the weed, Munson. How much.” You roll your eyes, that old high school queen bee tone coming back. Making even your own self wince, but who knows when—or if—the smell of weed had already wafted off of Eddie and traveled to the backyard and the two of you were soon to be joined by the rest of the party.

Fuck them.

“Thirty.”

Reaching into your bra, the low cut material of your dress having the perfect swoop to showcase just enough to keep the mystery, but add to the intrigue—helping to house your money snuggly in the cup of your bra; you pull out the folded cash your father had handed to you on your way out of the door.

“I have fifty here.” You hold it out between your forefinger and middle, “it’s yours but we have to leave right now.”

He looks a little surprised, his eyes flash from your chest to the money in your hand.

“You have a car don’t you?” You look around the dead street, try to remember what hunk of junk you may have seen him driving around when you were in school.

“Is the money for the ride or the weed?”

“Both.”

Eddie hums, “seems a bit low.” He crosses his arms, scratches his cheek. Starting up a slow pace as he speaks, “I mean I am risking getting caught with a distinguished lady such as yourself. From what I hear you’re still with your Princeton lover. Don’t know if I need him thinking I’ve stolen you away.”

You think he’s half serious for a second. The look of quarry on his face, but then you see his smile. See that boyish amusement again, it makes the corners of your lips tick up in amusement; contagious. Something you remember from bombing biology together. As much as you wanted to dislike him, ignore him, or push the assignment completely onto him, he had distracted you with weird facts about his band you were not interested in—and the other random nonsense that would slip out always made you roll your eyes and hide the contagiousness of his smile that spread across your face.

But you find yourself holding onto the knowledge that he knew about you and your ex. Don’t know why it’s the only retaining thing your mind seems to keep flashing on, it didn’t matter to you who still talked about you in Hawkins. Especially when you were certain it was out of pure jealousy for you getting out and them not.

You can’t see Eddie contributing in gossip, though. Maybe that’s why you’re holding onto the knowledge that he knows, remembers. Still hates the asshole. Much like you do.

“We broke up.” You state, make clear with a wide smile that you’re more than happy about it. His lips tug up more, stops in his tracks and leans back on his heels a little as he stares at you. The two of you sharing some silent moment before you laugh, “are you going to be my kidnapper or what, Munson?”

He smirks, grabs the money still between your fingers. Nods his head back to the van at the end of the driveway—that only makes sense is his, because of course it is.

“America's Most Wanted here I come!” He hollers a little too loudly, making you laugh.

“Sorry about the mess.” Eddie maneuvers around you, picks up some of the random garbage and clothes strewn at your feet and throws them in the front.

You’re sat on the small couch he has in the back of his van. The velvet from the cushions softer than you expect it to be on the back of your bare legs. Expecting it to feel grimy at the very least, and maybe that’s not fair of you to expect—or think.

You’re surprised at how unfazed you feel about the random things contributing to the mess back here. Finding yourself actually smiling at the makeshift lights he has hung up, how they cast a red glow and illuminate the posters he has tapped with that thick grey tape you know is going to rip off the paint if he was to ever remove it.

The atmosphere oddly calming, compared to what you are used to.

He pulls out a tape from the glove compartment and slips it into the stereo, a heavy metal track playing low through the speakers, the bass deep enough to rock the van.

You’re parked behind his trailer.

When he had pulled up to it and pulled around the back you were once again reminded just how different your lives really were. Had found yourself scrunching up your nose at the drab looking mobile home. Regretting it the minute Eddie caught you and gave a pressed lipped grin, “can’t build mansions this far out. Grounds too mushy.” He joked, but it only made you feel worse.

Why, you have no idea. It wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon and he was born without one. Neither was a bad thing. He seemed more than happy with his life—knowing what you did about him, that carefree way about him—than you did with your own, it would seem.

The cushions bounce from the way he plops down beside you. Pulling a metal lunchbox out of nowhere and placing it in his lap, “who knew the Princess of Hawkins, knew how to be bad.”

You make a face, “people don’t really call me that do they?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh how clueless the other half live.”

“I can still take back the money, you know.”

“Ooh, not twenty of it, at least.” He clicks his tongue, opens the metal box. The waft of weed stronger, making your nose burn. “Gotta keep that half for risking my life, it’s only fair.”

“You are the chattiest drug dealer I’ve ever met.”

“You meet a lot of them, do ya?” You can see countless baggies of whatever he’s pushing to the side, a lighter, more random junk, and then he’s pulling out a small bag of weed. “You really are bad, Princess,” he smiles.

You have to look away from him, have to hide the cheesy smile that moves across your own face—because it’s annoyingly warm in here, and you are here to escape and get high not become best buds with him. “Just roll it, Munson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This wasn’t your first time smoking. You had dabbled in weed at parties since your sophomore year. Had taken part with it at the handful of college parties you had been to. You were used to the light feeling, the cravings, the giggles. Or so you thought.

Maybe you just hadn’t been smoking the right stuff. Maybe it had been the liquor you had always paired with it, the buzz you thought you felt from what you smoked actually from the malt and not the shit weed.

Because you’ve never felt this good before. Not from weed. Liquor. Even around your friends.

You felt so good right now.

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much, can’t remember when you had dropped yourself onto the floor of Eddie’s van. Your heels kicked off and feet propped up on the cushions of the sofa—right next to Munson.

He’s not as spread out as you though, maybe a little more lax. His back slouched lower on the sofa, legs spread further apart. Jacket gone, black sleeves rolled up.

Has he always had that tattoo? Just how many rings does one guy need? Your heavy lids ache as you hyperfocus in on the bracelet on his wrist, the tattoo on his arm. Each one of his rings that don’t even budge as his fingers flex, as he uses the small pocket knife he had pulled out from his back pocket; grabbing your discarded heels to scrape the mud from them.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you giggle. “My dad will just buy me another pair.”

A smile spreads, “but you were so upset about them. Even I winced when I saw the mud pile you stepped in, nightmarish.”

He laughs along with you as you completely lose it, “how shitty is it that that is a nightmare to me? Ruined Louis Vuitton‘s.”

Eddie shakes his head, holds up the shoes. Now cleaner than before, way too clean for him to have just used the pocket knife. The bottle of water between his legs spotted upon further inspection, where did that come from?

“We all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined. Shoes, guitars, people.” He shrugs, “not shitty at all. But this clean job might be.” He chews on his lower lip.

You maneuver yourself so you’re not flashing him from the bottom of your dress, as you move your legs from the couch to sit up. Grabbing the red pumps from him to do your best look over, ignoring the burn your eyes give when you widen them.

“Munson, I think you’re in the wrong career.” You tease, smiling up at him. You’re sat in front of his open legs, have the perfect view of that boyish grin.

“Shoe shiner?” He acts bashful, swings his hand around batting the air. “I’m not that good.”

“Think once you graduate you gotta start your own business, ‘Eddie’s Spit n Shine.’” You joke, the both of you doubling over in laughter. Munson holding onto his stomach as he slaps a hand over his knee.

Once your giggles have died down and you can hold yourself up straight, you watch him. Watch the way his cheeks are redder, watch the way he moves some hair out of his face. His previous words of “but you were so upset about them” and “we all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined”. If this had been anyone else, one of your friends, your boyfriend, they would of been just as grumbly about the heels as you. Would have told you to trash them and offer to take you to the strip mall the next day to help you spend more of your fathers money; no big deal.

They wouldn’t have offered to fix them. To do something as simple as what Eddie had done.

And yeah, they were just shoes, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. But something fuzzy was settling in your chest, something in your stomach fluttering like it very much was a big deal.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask without thinking. Set your shoes down beside the couch, lay yourself back on the cool floor of the van.

“What?” He chuckles lowly with a hint of confusion. Just as surprised as you are at the question.

“Why are you being so nice to me, Munson.” You chew the corner of your cheek, look up at him. “Not like we were friends, ever, in school. And I remember plenty of times where my friends weren’t the nicest.”

“The rich kids not being nice to anyone who doesn’t drive a Mercedes? Shocking.” He jokes, makes you laugh.

“I’m serious.” You tap his knee that’s peeking out of one of the rips in his jeans with the tip of your finger. “Why are you being so nice?”

His face grows serious, but there’s still a hint of a soft smile there as he leans over to dig in the metal lunchbox again. Pulls out the spliff he rolled earlier alongside the one the two of you already smoked. You watch as his fingers run along it, “your friends may have not been the nicest, especially that lover boy of yours.” He gives you a playful roll of the eyes at the mention, that ache in your cheeks continuing. “But, you were always nice to me.”

“I never stopped them though. From being cruel.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, grabs the lighter resting beside your feet. “You made up for it by helping me not fail biology, for once.”

Your face contorts as you laugh, “put my tits on the line for that grade.”

Eddie chokes out a howl, stops what he’s doing to double over again. “Never been more happy for the power of tits.”

Your throat hurts from how hard you’re laughing. Holding your hand up in front of him in a high-five invite, “to tits!”

“To tits!” He slaps his palm against yours as he holds up the blunt in the other one in a show of salute.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Or felt this good. This happy. This playful. This whatever-the-hell-that fluttering feeling was in your stomach. You don’t know where Munson got his stash but damn was it good.

And damn was he cute.

Wait—what?

You quickly avert your eyes from him. Look up at the roof of the van, try to focus on the posters and scattered glow in the dark stars up there. You did not find Eddie Munson cute. You were just severely high right now, and still reeling off of your incredibly fresh break up. That’s all.

You hear the flick of the lighter beside you, hear him take a long puff. Fill his lungs, hold and blow it out, before you see him hold it out for you. Taking it silently, not looking at him—you probably shouldn’t have anymore, not with how you are thinking right now. But you didn’t feel like going back to your parents house. Calling it a night right now didn’t feel right, and it’s not like Eddie was rushing you out of the van.

So you press the blunt to your lips and decide to stop thinking. Just smoke. Listen to the beat of the metal still coming from the speakers.

“Lover boy must have done something tremendously fucked, huh?” He gives you a somber smile when you turn and pass the smoke to him.

“Munson, are you trying to gossip right now? Like we are two catty friends?”

He chuckles, inhales. “Us friends?” He makes a face, smoke rolling out of his mouth. “That’s obscene.”

“Nightmarish.”

“Grotesque.” He puts a hand to his heart, “what would the moms at the country club say?”

You laugh. “I don’t think either of my parents own a gun, so you're safe there. And my mother barely notices me,” you confess. Regret it when you look over at him and see the sympathy on his expression. “Please don’t.” You groan, take your turn to smoke, holding it between your thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t?”

“Give me that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you feel bad for me.” The laugh you let out this time is anything but humorous. There’s no joy. Just a salted down wound that you don’t let anyone see—so you don’t know why you’re talking about it right now—that burns the back of your throat. “I have everything.” You mumble, “perfect life. Perfect future ahead of me, money, the car, the friends, the boyfriend. No one should feel bad for me.”

You’re staring up at the roof again as you hold out your hand to give the blunt back without looking at him. Without acknowledging your own words with anything more than woeful self pitying. Eddie wasn’t interested in hearing about a rich girls problems and you had no interest sharing them. Anymore.

A silence settles between the two of you, it’s awkward and filled with the silently passing of the smoke between you; puffs of air, breaths in. Your heart is beating in your ears again. Except this time it’s something close to embarrassment and not anger.

“It wasn’t pity.” He breaks the silence when your fingers brush against each other when it’s his turn to hit. Your eyes finally finding their way back over to him, “how could someone not notice you?” There’s a twitch in his lips.

And fuck are your eyes burning from how high you are right now or because that was teeth rottingly sweet, and your chest is feeling fuzzy again—and Eddie Munson has some pretty eyes. Fuck.

“With the hair alone,” he waves his hand around emphasizing the top of your head. “Kind of hard to miss ya.” That boyish smile coming back when you start to laugh and lean up to swat him.

“I want my money back, Munson!”

“You’ve already smoked the weed!”

“Pain and suffering!”

“Mine or yours?” He jokes and he’s putting out the rest of the blunt to hold his hands out in surrender, as you lean up on your knees to playfully swat at the side of his arm.

“And here I thought we were actually having a moment.” You scowl at him, “you can take the high school out of the boy but not the—wait—you can’t even do that.”

His jaw drops, looking fake wounded if the big grin on his face is any indication of its falsehood. “The Princess of Hawkins has some bite.”

“I’m not the Princess of Hawkins!” You roll your eyes, “I’m just me–”

“Perfect,” Eddie finishes, adds. His lips come together, he swallows. “Perfect–you.”

You make a face at him. Another childish playful insult on the tip of your tongue but swallowed down, your throat feeling drier than ever as he stares down at you with a type of fondness that has your mind thinking—and feeling—way too many things right now.

And it feels like the moment slows, time stops. You take in everything, really take it in. You on your knees in front of his open legs, your palms on the cut out parts of his jeans that showcase his knees. The fuzziness in your chest turning into something else, something racing and filled with heat. Something that should surely not be there—all from what? Meaningless flirting? Eddie jesting with you?

Weed was definitely not a good idea. You should of just went home. Should ask him to take you home right now before your haze filled mind has you thinking of doing something else you definitely shouldn’t do.

Like move forward. Your knees dragging across the floor until the tops of them are pressed to the bottom of the couch. Until there’s no space left between you and Eddie’s thighs flush against the sides of your arms, his groin inches from your face. Your palms now higher up on his thigh.

You can feel how tense he is right now. Watched his expression go from softness to rigid with nerves. And maybe you are the only one who’s been feeling something tonight. Maybe he can handle his weed better than you. Or is simply not interested in you whatsoever. All his mindless flirting just that: mindless.

But you can’t help but want to test the waters. To see if any of those things are actually true.

Leaning up, your palms digging into the meat of his thigh as you do, your eyes moving from his to his lips and back up. A hint he seems to get when he meets you halfway and your lips are being pressed together in a gentle kiss.

It’s slow at first, curious, new to the both of you. Sloppy, and you can feel Eddie’s hand twitch at his side until he loses whatever fight in his head that has him holding back, and then it’s at your cheek and his thumb is digging into your chin the deeper the kiss gets. The more the two of you learn each other’s mouths. Which way to turn your head, that slow timid way his tongue pokes at your lips and then finds its way into your mouth; the quietest of noises coming from his throat when his tongue rubs against yours.

A noise that makes your stomach flutter. Makes an ache start between your legs.

Have you ever been kissed like this? Have you ever felt like the other person was learning you from the inside out? Memorizing how your lips moved, felt, tasted. The way your own deep rooted noise slips out and vibrates against his lips when his other hand comes to the other side of your head and pulls you so close to him as he leans further down into you. The top of your cleavage rubbing against the material of his shirt, tickled by his hair.

When the two of you finally pull apart, your eyes feel heavier than ever. Feel like all your energy went into that kiss and you feel buzzed. Like you’re on cloud nine. Like you’ve never felt better, as the two of you pant. Try to catch your breaths.

Feeling Eddie’s thumb nail running along your bottom lip you look up to his eyes, see they’re on your lips. His brows pulled together.

“Munson.” You don’t mean for it to sound like a whine. It’s not. You’re not whining right now, you’re just…feeling things and really high and maybe you can’t remember anyone you’ve been with ever touching you like this. And he’s barely touching you.

You may not have thought it to be a whine, but Eddie does. The look in his eyes as they finally meet yours has you floored. Has you seeing a want in a pair of eyes you don’t think you’ve seen before—know you haven’t; needy, nervous because of that need.

And when your palm moves of its own accord higher up and over until you feel a bulge in his tight jeans, the intake of breath he does. The slight droop of his eyes. All the decision you need to act on whatever these feelings are.

There’s disappointment in his eyes when you pull away from him, just enough to have his hands drop from your face and yours finding the top of his pants to open them up and fumble with the zipper.

“Whoa,” a nervous chuckle, then his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop you. “Whoa,” he says again. His breath still heavy. “What–should we–you,” he stammers.

It’s a bit cute, but it also has your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Shit. Have you completely misread this? Maybe he just wanted to kiss. You were fine with just kissing, if it was going to be like that everytime. But there’s an ache, a want, to hear that noise again. The one he had made in the back of his throat. To see the impressive bulge that your fingertips had touched.

“Do you,” you pull your hands back, take them from his hold and chew on your lip, “not want to do this? More..” you trail off. You can’t imagine what you were coming off as right now. Have you ever been rejected? Tonight was clearly the night of firsts for you.

“I,” Munson shakes his head, and your stomach sinks. Face falls. But then he’s shaking his head more aggressively, “no, that’s not,” he sighs. Takes a breath to ground himself, his hands coming to hold the tops of your shoulders. His expression serious, “Yes. I want to do this. I just…I’ve–never thought this would be happening and that I would be admitting to it in a situation, let alone this one–“

And then it clicks.

“Munson.” A slow smile snakes its way across your lips, “are you a virgin?”

His leg bounces, teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

“Just to be clear I mean sex, you’ve never had sex?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve done..other stuff, right?”

Silence for a beat and then he’s shaking his head. You try and fail to hide the surprise on your face, “I should take this as a compliment. Your utter shock.” You can see the blush that is growing up his neck and over his already red cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile falters for a second, “I just thought with that kiss, you had done something before.” You can’t help but look down at his parted lips, yours still tingling from them. “It was..”

“Perfect.”

That word again. Hits you the same way it had before. Has the both of you staring at each other’s mouths until you’re kissing again. This time faster, harder, the passion seeping from the want and morphing into something that now has you completely on fire. Engulfed by Eddie. Your fingers are in his hair. His hands cradling your face like it’s so fucking fragile.

“Can I taste you?” You’re panting against his mouth, running your hands down his chest back to the top of his pants that are still undone. Open enough that you can push your hand in them and move your fingertips against the top of his shaft. That same noise he did earlier coming out as a puff against your parted mouth.

He nods, “yes.” It sounds so soft and filled with need. He presses one more kiss to your lips before he’s slowly pushing himself back, giving you room and helping you maneuver his pants and boxers down his thighs. Just enough to spring his cock free.

It’s bigger than you imagined it would be—never imagined it to be. But, fuck. How has he not done anything when he kisses like that? When he’s so funny, cute, and nice, and his cock is so thick.

Your jaw aches just staring at it. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as you wrap a hand around the base of him, have to hold back the sound you want to make from the sound he makes; a shallow breath let out, just below a whimper. His hips already jerking involuntarily up, precum at his tip.

“Are you sure? You’re not like…just super high–“

“I am super high, Munson.” You smile sweetly and it makes him do the same. A low laugh covered up by you leaning in to press your lips to his, “and yes, I’m sure. Incredibly.” You hope your own look of want for him comes across clearly, not only in your words but with the way your hand starts to move on his shaft, and the way you run your tongue along his bottom lip.

A breathy, “fuck, oh-kay” slipping out from him.

It’s all the consent you need, the push to have you leaning down to run the flat of your tongue across his leaking tip. The hiss of pleasure he lets out only a prelude to the whimpers and gasps he makes when you let your tongue explore along his length, pumping and sucking with your mouth along a thick vein that runs up the side of his cock. Your thumb rubbing a slow circle behind the head of it, making his hips buck and legs tense around you.

And when you finally put him in your mouth, finally swallow down the already there taste of him on your tongue—you both let out a moan. Can feel the top half of him shift like his head has fallen back, an image of his beautifully parted mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut in pleasure has you moaning against him again; your body on fire, your pussy aching.

You match the pumps of your hand with the drag of your mouth up and down his dick. Swirl your tongue around the head and suck when you reach it. Let yourself go as far as your gag reflex will let you until you’re gagging around him and Eddie is cursing and digging his nails into the cushion of the couch.

You completely expect to feel his hand on your head, to be pushing or pulling your hair to guide you. Even fucking up into your mouth. When you’ve done this for other guys they were nothing less than over aggressive about it. So when it doesn’t happen part of you thinks he’s not enjoying it; a thought that’s quickly debunked by the grunts and shaky breaths coming from above you.

And when you steal a glance to the side you can see how red his knuckles look from the death grip he has the cushion in. How his fingers twitch and hand runs along his thigh, acting as if he wants to touch you but not daring to. You steal another glance up at him, “oh, ohmygod” tumbling from his lips when your eyes meet; he looks so desperate right now. So flushed and pretty.

You pull your mouth from him, let your lips press the tiniest of kisses to the tip that makes his hips gyrate, chasing your mouth. “You can touch me, Munson.”

“Where?” He asks shakily.

“Wherever you want.” You reach for his hand and press it to your cheek, “here, so you can feel yourself inside of me.” He whimpers, you smile. “Or here,” you run his hand down your neck, raise your brows to note that area being an option before you descend further. Until you reach the top of your cleavage, “to tits.” You say playfully and it has a deep chuckle scrunching his eyes. “Okay?”

He hums, nods. “Okay.”

And then your mouth is on him again, his tantalizing noises back and making your thighs press closer together. Making you encourage the small thrusts of his hips up into your mouth. Drool slipping down your chin when your own whimper is dredged up from the back of your throat when you feel the pad of his thumb run along your hard nipple; before his palm squeezes and massages your boob in a way that makes you move your body further into his.

The pleasure you’re giving him being handed back to you with the same energy of want and need, and it has you shellshocked. Has your body working overtime with heat, arousal, and wanting to please him. Wanting to hear more of those groans. To feel the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his “holy shit, that feels so good” when your throat spasms around him.

If you knew sucking Eddie Munson’s dick was this fun you would of done it years ago.

Why hadn’t you seen him before this night? Why did it take weed and giggles and flirting that turned you on more than you want to admit—to really see him. And why did the thought of not being able to look away from him again, to go back to not seeing him, something that was inevitable: make fear take root in your chest?

His hand has moved to hover over your head, his rings adding more pressure to the back of your skull than his actual fingers do. “You’re so perfect,” he whimpers. Pushes his hips up into your mouth, pulling your lips further down his throbbing shaft. “Perfect.” He repeats, your stomach flutters and flops and you preen around him. His breaths get deeper, hips moving more frequently, fingers flexing in your hair. He’s close, so so close.

And if you thought the noises he was making before were beautiful, the whine he lets out when he says, “I’m going to come, can I–oh fuck–can I do it in your mouth?” Makes your eyes roll back, your head nodding in approval and then you can feel him leaning back; a loud moan coming from his mouth, his fingers gripping the hair on top of your head as he comes against your tongue. The searing heat from it like a salve to the ache in your throat.

You swallow him down. Let your tongue lap at the droplets left on his tip as you suck him into your mouth one last time before he’s letting out a hiss of over sensitivity.

He tastes just as lovely as he looks right now. Completely flushed, eyes red and heavy. One corner of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What?”

“Your hair,” his fingers rub at the back of your skull gently. “I’m sorry if I pulled too hard,” the softness of his words has your chest feeling heavy. Those feelings back, your arousal under shadowed.

“No,” you shake your head. Pull his hand from the back of your head, don’t know why, but you let your lips skate across his rings as you kiss his fingers. “It was perfect.”

His mouth pulls into that boyish grin, for the millionth time tonight. “It was.”

Maybe your summer won’t be so boring after all.

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aliceblisss · 2 years

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friendly reminder:

if you like a fic you can also reblog it 🤗

simply pressing “like” doesn’t spread our content around the way reblogging does.

also, leaving feedback, either in a comment, the tags, or even in the inbox of the author who wrote it is also greatly appreciated and even welcomed. 🖤

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aliceblisss · 2 years

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Bitches take one glance at a mans hands and imagine them wrapped around their throat.

It’s me, I’m bitches.

#im bitches

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aliceblisss · 2 years

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he’s gentle when he wants to be.

eddie munson x fem!reader

synopsis: you’ve never been pleasured properly before, and your boyfriend wants to change that.

warnings: 18+ please, canon divergent, eddie & reader are both 18+, smoking a joint, eddie munson eats pussy like it’s his last meal, fingering, making out, first times, grinding, soft dom eddie, slight overstimulation, this is so dirty god please repent me, hair pulling, “princess” “baby” and “sweetheart”, pussydrunk eddie, eddie gets ahead of himself, implied blowjob

anyways :D i definitely got self indulgent here oops. reblogs and feedback are always appreciated! <3 - jj

Eddie Munson is unlike any of the other guys you’ve been with.

He’s charismatic, intimidating, protective, and above all, he loves that you’re his and he’s yours.

You would’ve never matched yourself with a tatted-up metalhead who likes to play Dungeons and Dragons for fun, but Eddie is nothing short of perfect for you. You look forward to lazy nights alone with him, laying in his bed and watching him smoke, telling him all about your day and listening to cassettes together.

Eddie is more than just a grungy, norms-defying rocker, he’s sugary sweet with a heart of gold just for you. He’s got a soft spot, a sparkle in his eyes if you will. Eddie has been smitten with you ever since you sold him a pack of Marlboros at the convenience store.

Tonight is like most nights, as you lay on your belly, flipping through one of your boyfriend’s rock ‘n roll magazines. You enjoy looking at the pictures, but you don’t really read it much as Eddie sits on the edge of the bed and lights his joint.

“Anything interesting in there?” He says through a cloud of smoke.

You turn the magazine his way and point to a picture. “Not really, but this guy kinda reminds me of you.”

“Van Halen?” He chuckles. “Lucky me.”

A smile tugs at the side of your lips as you continue flipping through the pages. You’re comfortable and content, just basking in Eddie’s presence, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t peek up to ogle at him every couple of minutes.

It makes you bite your lip, the way he holds the joint between his teeth and how one of his ring-adorned hands is resting on his thigh. You’re probably staring for longer than you intended to, and you’re squeezing your thighs together a bit.

“Come here,” he pats his lap in a gesture. “I’m lonely, princess.”

You’re only about six inches away from him on the bed, but he definitely noticed your prolonged staring. Eddie is like that, he knows when you want him, when you’re thinking about him.

“But I’m reading…” you sigh playfully.

He gives you that look, because he knows you’re just playing games with him. You revel in getting him riled up. It’s fun seeing his nose scrunch and his eyebrows raise when you give him a little bit of attitude.

Eddie snatches the magazine out from in front of you. “Not reading anymore, are you baby?”

You get exactly what you want, and you feel stupidly excited as you scoot over to straddle his lap. He’s all eager now, one of his hands immediately beginning to roam the curvature of your body.

“You smell good,” you breathe in his musky scent as you play with the ends of his hair. “Like, better than usual.”

“Way to flatter a guy,” he chides. “I did shower fairly recently, I made sure I was thorough.”

A giggle vibrates through you. Eddie is boyish in a way that is both charming and endearing. You’ll never get sick of it, his constant need to joke around with you and touch you. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, holding his joint between two fingers.

Your hands travel up his shoulders as he leaves more kisses all the way up your jaw. His hand digs into your hip and presses you into him, you can feel him through the cotton panties under your skirt.

“Eddie,” you hum, feeling tranquilized by his hot mouth on your delicate skin. “Can you kiss me?”

You have a near iron-grip on his curls, so you use it to get him to look at you.

“Of course you can have a kiss,” he smooths his hand down your back. “Whatever you want, princess.”

You both lean into each other, your hands nestled in Eddie’s hair as your lips melt into his. His lips are already swollen from kissing your neck, and you’re doing nothing to help that by the way you bite a little at his bottom lip. The kiss is messy, his nose bumping into yours as you moan quietly into his mouth.

Eddie pulls away with a smile, and you tuck his hair behind his ear. “Is it okay if I touch you, sweetheart?” He plays with the hem of your skirt. “Or not yet?”

That question makes your stomach drop sometimes, like you’re on a rollercoaster. You always want him to touch you, it just makes you nervous. You’ve held off doing things with Eddie, partially because you’re not the most experienced, and partially because you want to pace yourself.

“Yeah,” you gulp. “Just… don’t take them off yet.”

He places a sweet kiss on your cheek. “That’s fine,” he holds his joint in front of you. “Could you hold this for me?”

It’s funny, Eddie handing you the joint. “Got it,” you try to hold it just like he does.

Eddie has two free hands now, one lifting up your pleated skirt to get a better view as the other one teases the inside of your thigh. You can tell his eyes are dead-set on the wet patch that has formed on the front of your pink cotton panties. He can barely control himself, your arousal saturating the garment and your puffy, weeping pussy begging for attention.

“Oh, baby,” he coos. “Fucking soaked because of me, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” you tug on his t-shirt, fighting the urge to grind against him. “Please.”

His warm hand cups your heat, and your breath catches in your throat. “Behave, sweetheart.”

The slight friction of his hand against you drives you crazy, and you can’t help but move against his hand just a little.

“Feel good?” He asks, moving the heel of his palm harder against you to go with your movements.

“Uh-huh,” you don’t need to tell him it feels good, because of course it does. You know he can see it in the way your mouth is falling open and your eyes are rolling back.

Eddie takes his hand away, leaving you feeling punished and deserted. But as fast as he takes his hand away, the pad of his thumb is back on your panty-covered core.

“I can’t believe you’re already this wet,” he muses, thumb pressing into the wet spot on your panties. “Did you get worked up from just staring at me?”

You whimper helplessly at his words, and you can feel all your blood rushing to your center. His teasing and feather-light fingers are making you even more desperate for a release.

“I need more,” you grind yourself against the tent in his jeans. “This isn’t enough, Eddie.”

“Greedy,” his eyes meet yours, giving you a devilish look.

Eddie’s pillowy lips part, and you hold the joint up to them as he moves your panties over to the side, his knuckles gliding through your folds. You can feel the chill of his rings against your slick heat, his fingers playing with the wetness as he softly exhales smoke against your neck.

You push your chest against him when his thick index finger breaches your entrance. It always felt so nice, the way he probed inside you searching for that little spongy spot that made you jump. His thumb strokes languid circles around your clit, making your belly contract over and over again.

“Baby…” he mouths against your neck. “Talk to me, tell me how it feels.”

Your mouth hangs open as you ride out the waves crashing through your core, now two of Eddie’s fingers plunging into you. You’re on the brink, dizzy and needy, but you can’t quite get there. Eddie makes you cum like this all the time, fingering you under the covers, teasing your bud while he cuddles you, but now you just want more.

“Eddie — it’s not working,” you cry out.

Everything comes to a pause, and you can feel hot tears welling up in your eyes. You never want to disappoint Eddie.

“Sweetheart, hey,” one of his hands reaches up to cup your face. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Your heart pangs in your chest when you notice the worried look on his face. You’re so used to him smiling, laughing, being at ease.

“Did I hurt you? What’s wrong, baby?” He grazes his thumb over your cheekbone.

You feel so pathetic, as you clutch his half-smoked joint in one hand and his hair in the other, fighting the urge to sob. You just want him, and you need to find the right way to tell him that.

“I’m fine, I’m not hurt,” you press your forehead against his. “Just frustrated.”

His eyebrows shoot upwards. “Oh?”

“Eddie,” you grumble. “It’s fine… I just don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But what if there’s a way to make it better?”

You try to ignore the throbbing in your core, or the way you can feel his clothed dick against you, but you just can’t.

“How?” You squint. “I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Eddie looks down between you. “Maybe my jeans, but nothing else. I promise.”

He searches for a reaction, and when he hears you giggle, he feels relieved instantly.

“I have an idea we can try out,” he continues. “Maybe my fingers just weren’t enough.”

You cock your head to the side. “And what exactly is this brilliant idea?”

Eddie’s hands massage up and down your thighs, summoning the wetness back to your center. “I was thinking I’d use my mouth instead.”

You’re screaming on the inside. No one has ever done that to you before. The previous guys you’ve been with had all been more about getting to the point, no foreplay at all. You have no idea what it’s like to be eaten out.

“Are you sure?” Nervousness laces your voice. “You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”

Eddie gives you a knowing look. “Has no one ever done that to you before?”

You nod.

“That’s okay, I’ll make you feel good, princess,” his eyes turn pitch-black with lust. “All you have to do is lay back and relax for me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. You trust Eddie, you love Eddie, and the thought of this new experience with him is making your thoughts run in circles.

“Sounds easy enough,” you respond shyly, hoping that he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating. You want this with him, you need this with him.

Eddie flips you onto your back, the quick movement making you a little dizzy. He takes the joint from your hand and waltzes over to his desk, stubbing it out in the ashtray and turning up his Def Leppard cassette.

“Wouldn’t want the neighbors to hear you screaming my name, would you, sweetheart?” He turns the volume dial nearly all the way up.

You gulp, belly full of butterflies as you shake your head. Eddie is intimidating like this, in an attractive way. He’s in his element, eyes alight with hunger for you as he drags your panties down your thighs, and you wince at the way they cling to the slick at your center.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says it like he’s thinking out loud. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

He stuffs your panties in his back pocket, and you have a feeling you’re not getting them back. You try to cover your face with your arms, but Eddie peels them away, making you look at him.

“Nervous?” He asks, his guitar-calloused hands rubbing the insides of your thighs.

“A little bit,” you try to stay focused on Eddie, and not the fact that you’re half-naked on his bed. “I’m more excited I think.”

Eddie lays down between your spread legs, his eyes looking up at you as he leaves tender, teasing kisses on the delicate skin that leads to your heat. You can’t stop the gasp that escapes you, feeling the slight sharpness of his teeth against your inner thigh makes your hands clench into fists.

He bunches up your skirt at your waist, keeping it out of his way as he gets a real good look at how beautiful your pussy is. He glides two of his thick fingers between your glistening folds, and he looks like someone stranded in the desert who has finally reached an oasis.

“Oh god…” you move your hips against his touch, begging for friction. “Eddie, come on.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” His hot breath fans over your core. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

You nod frantically, your nails digging into the comforter as you anticipate his next move.

“I need words, sweetheart,” he says sternly.

Your throat feels like it’s closing a little bit. Verbal responses are something you’re struggling with at the moment, with Eddie’s head between your thighs.

“Yes, please — I’m ready,” you stutter out. “I promise, I’m sure.”

You sound pathetic, but you only get a moment to think about it, because Eddie’s warm tongue is already licking a stripe down your center.

You’ve never felt anything like this before, electricity shooting down your spine and your thighs locking around Eddie’s head as he devours you like you’re his last meal. You can hear the wet, obscene squelching noises that your body makes as his lips suck on you and he laps up everything your cunt is willing to give him.

Your moans fill the room, Eddie’s too, drowning out the music. He stares up at you with those big doe eyes as his nose repeatedly nudges your clit. You want to keep him there, his tongue flicking at a particularly sensitive spot that’s driving you wild. He looks sweet like this too, settled between your legs, loving the way you taste.

Fuck, you should let him do this more often.

You don’t know exactly when your fingers thread through his hair, keeping him in place, but they do. You move against his mouth like it’s second nature, and you can feel your orgasm in the pit of your stomach.

Eddie can’t help but admire the scene in front of him, your tits bouncing as you thrust against his mouth. You look so fucked-out and needy. He’s been rutting his hips against the mattress since he started eating you out, unable to ignore the painful tent in his pants for any longer. He can feel himself right on the edge as you pull on his hair, and he moans against you.

You feel lightheaded, like all the blood in your body has rushed to your center. Your eyes are rolling back and your toes are curling in your socks as Eddie moans against your sopping cunt and sucks your bud. You’re whining and nearly crying and the whole trailer park can probably hear you screaming Eddie’s name by now.

“Look at me,” Eddie’s grip on your hip tightens. “I want you to look at me when I make you cum.”

He’s giving you everything he has, and you’re thinking he could probably go at it for hours. Eddie is like starved animal, groaning and grunting when he tastes you. He barely comes up for air, maybe he needed this just as much as you did.

Your release hits you suddenly, Eddie’s tongue hitting that little spot you like. The knot unravels and it feels like forever. You look at him like he asked, your eyes almost unable to stay open. Your legs are shaking and your stomach is clenching. Eddie licks up everything your orgasm gives him.

It feels like floating, you’re still coming down off the high when Eddie’s face meets yours.

“Did you like it, sweetheart?” He asks, lips and chin glistening.

You can’t answer that, you’re breathless and your brain feels like jell-o, so you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. You can taste yourself, you can taste him. He tastes like weed and cigarettes and that cheap beer he drinks.

Eddie’s weight on top of you makes you want him again, it makes you try to forget about the over-sensitivity between your legs. You feel like a puddle of mush and you just want to stay with him forever. You love Eddie like that.

He kisses your neck, just soft and sweet, and his hair tickles you while he does it. Your hand curiously travels down his abdomen and to his groin, where you’re expecting him to be ridiculously hard.

“Eddie?” Your voice comes out a little hoarse.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He hums against your skin.

“Nothing… it’s just,” you wonder if you should really bring it up. “Why aren’t you hard?”

A blush spreads from his face all the way under his old Iron Maiden tee. His neck is a pale red and his skin is hot when you touch his cheek.

“Already finished,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

The thought of Eddie cumming in his jeans has your head spinning. You might pass out, actually. That’s why he was moaning and whining into your cunt… the recent memories are already being replayed in your head. Never in a million years did you think you’d meet a guy who would get so turned on by bringing you pleasure.

“Don’t be sorry about it,” you cradle his face in your hands. “That’s so hot, Eddie.”

His eyes go wide, and he smiles like he’s just won the goddamn lottery. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” your mouth is watering, you want to make him feel as good as he made you feel.

One of your hands travels back down to the fly of his jeans, but he shakes his head.

“Baby,” his hand covers yours. “Not now, I’m a mess.”

You pout at him, upset you’re not currently feeling the weight of him on your tongue.

“Nobody can say no to that pretty face, huh?” He sighs. “How about round two in the shower?”

“Sounds good to me.”

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aliceblisss · 2 years

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Imagining Eddie Munson with cheerleader reader fucking her while she’s still in her uniform.

“Since you like to spell shit out when you’re cheerleading why don’t you try spelling something with your hips on my cock?”

THIS WHITE BOY OF THE MONTH HAS ME IN SHAMBLES

#ab talks fandoms #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #why can’t he be real #pls god #eddie my love

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aliceblisss · 2 years

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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.

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