XD

Heyy, hope you're having a great day!

I just watched 'Animals' mv by maroon5 and was in my dark!Steve feels so...may I please request a serial killer dark!Steve stalking the reader, killing others & hiding it in his basement and seducing reader by acting like a nice golden boy 🙈👉👈

Thanks🖤

Title: Judge, Jury

Pairing: Serial Killer!Steve x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Everything he’s done, he’s done for you.

Warnings: descriptions of violence (non-graphic), dubcon, stalking, mentions of past sexual assault/rape and trauma, mentions of past child-abuse, manipulation, dubcon, unprotected sex, overstimulation, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dead dove: do not eat for the love of god—

A/N: WHEW!!! so firstly, i loved this request, and i’m so sorry it took me so long to crank it out! this one’s clocking in at just under 9k words, so i hope it was worth the wait! i got OBSESSED with the idea of yandere!Steve trying to right all the wrongs in reader’s life, and, well… this is what came of it. PLEASE let me know if i’ve missed any warnings or tags! This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! MINORS, DNI!!! 😘

🩸

“Shhh. Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” his voice is a whisper, barely audible underneath the clanging of the pipes, and the muffled whimpers making it through the gag. “You’re not asking anything new, you know.” he says, his eyes sad, almost sympathetic as he regards the middle aged woman cowering before him.

Her hands are tied to one of the rusty pipes behind her, and when she continues to whine, he grabs her face. “I said quiet.” she silences herself with a sniffle. “Thank you.” he leans away, resting his hands on his knees as he squats down. “You’re asking why you, right?” the knife in his hand moves easily between his fingers as he plays with it idly. “Why you’re here, what you did.” he cocks his head. “But you know what you did, don’t you Marilyn?”

Her eyes widen at the sound of her own name, and her struggles renew themselves. Steve presses the blade against her cheek, hard enough for blood to well along the blade. “You know what you did.” he looses the gag, knowing the moment he does the pleas will start. Steve doesn’t mind that so much—after all, he’s the one sending them to meet the God of their choice, he doesn’t mind acting as the priest to their confessor.

“P-please, I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about,” she blubbers, and it makes the anger swell rapidly in his chest. He nicks her other cheek with the knife.

“Don’t lie to me, Marilyn.” he spits her name like a curse. “I know you remember.” He tilts her face up with the flat of the blade, wanting to see the recognition bloom in her eyes when he speaks your name. And it does. “You remember now?”

“I d-don’t, I d-d-didn’t—” she blubbers, and Steve knows by the guilty look on her face that she did, and she does. “P-please, Steve—”

“Oh, you remember me now, Mar?” he asks. “You remember how you took her from me?” he growls. “How you treated her?” he’s holding her throat now. “Foster home to foster home,” he growls, his grip tightening until she’s sputtering. “And every time she came home to you, the fucking men you never watched close enough? They got to her.” the curses slip from his lips unbidden, and Steve squeezes—and then regains control, releasing her. Marilyn coughs, and looks up at him fearfully.

“Please.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll jog your memory some more, we’ll remember it all together.”

🩸

The first time he sees you, he doesn’t really believe you’re the same girl he used to pick flowers for. You’ve grown up so much since he’s last seen you, and he knows you don’t recognize him either. He was so small then, so skinny and fragile, he knows you won’t reconcile that memory with the man who’s just happened to be at the coffee shop at exactly the same time as you for the past three weeks.

Or at least, that’s what he thinks.

“Steve?” your voice is tentative, questioning. His heart is pounding—you hadn’t noticed him before, your eyes glossing over him as though he was just part of the scenery. He’d been intending to come up to you soon, to re-introduce himself, but it seems like the wires have finally untangled, and you see the boy he used to be in the face of the man he is. “Steve, is that… is that you?”

He flicks his eyes up to yours, widening them in faux surprise. He says your name softly, slowly, like he’s drawing it up from the depths of his memories. You can’t know he’s been saying it every single day since you left, and thought of you just as often. “I can’t believe it’s you.” he says, allowing a small smile to grace his lips.

“I just moved back for work,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just, well I saw you, and I couldn’t believe it was you.” you gesture at him. “You’re huge!” you say, and he laughs. He doesn’t tell you that he had to get big, that he had to get strong—so he could find you. So he could protect you.

So he could hurt everyone who hurt you—and that was quite an extensive list.

“I couldn’t let Buck keep calling me punk forever,” he says, and pats the seat next to him. “Do you have a minute?” he asks, knowing that you do. It’s Tuesday—you always get a late start on Tuesdays.

“Totally.” the collar of your t-shirt slips down a little as you move to sit, and Steve sees the shiny flesh of your scar poking out from underneath it. He forces his face to remain neutral, but he can’t stop his fists from clenching angrily at the memory of it. You see his eyes dip, and your own follow their path, your hand coming up to lightly touch the skin before adjusting your shirt. “Still have it,” you joked, though your voice was strained, just a little.

Steve remembers that scar—and the man who gave it to you. His eyes go dark for a moment at the memory. I should have made her scream longer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s okay. Not like you weren’t there, right?” you shrug, as though unaffected—but Steve knows you. Knows you better than you know yourself—knows you won’t use a curling iron anymore, not after that. He hears the ice clink in your glass as you lift it to your lips, and his eyes follow the delicate movement of your throat as you swallow. “But enough about all that. How are you? I…wow.” you gesture at him again, that sweet smile back on your face.

He loves that smile.

“Well, I went into the service, but you already know that.” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in a show of nervousness. “That toughened me up pretty quick.” It was only when he came back to find you gone, and Marilyn’s next foster-paycheck already set up in your room that he regretted ever signing up. “And now I do security work.” your eyes light up with interest.

“Wow. Like a bodyguard? That’s really cool, Steve.” you punch his arm lightly, the way you used to when he was six inches shorter than you, and ten pounds lighter, like the years hadn’t separated you at all. “I told you you’d have a cool job one day.” your mirth sparks his own, and he laughs with you.

“What about you?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Well, you know I still paint,” you said, lifting up your hands. He could still see the paint staining the cuticles of your nails and the pads of your fingers. “But I’ve got a day-job at the Met, so not too shabby.” you reply, dusting off your shoulder jokingly as you giggle. “Sometimes they even let me see the art before it goes out to the exhibits.”

“And you said my job was cool.” his chest feels full to bursting, and he’s so happy he almost doesn’t remember how hollow he’s been without you. “I can’t believe it’s been eight years.” he wants to touch your hand, wants to feel your soft, warm skin under his palm, but he knows it’s too soon. It isn’t for him—he’s been thinking about this day for eight years—but it is for you. His hand twitches with the effort of not touching you, and you smile at him obliviously.

“Ditto. It feels like just last week I watched you get on that bus.” your coffee is long cold by now, but Steve can see you’re not thinking about that, you’re thinking about him, and it’s perfect because that’s all he wants. He grins at you, and makes a show of digging his wallet out of his jeans, holding up a finger. He opens it, and slides out the faded polaroid he’s kept there all these years. You gasp. “No way. You do not still have that.”

“Oh, I still have it.” he hands it to you, and watches your eyes get just a little glossy as your fingers trace the image gingerly. He’s seen the picture so many times, he doesn’t have to look at it to see it perfectly in his mind’s eye.

It’s you and Steve, in a cheesy photo booth at Coney Island, your cheeks blown out like a goldfish, and your eyes crossed as you make bunny ears behind Steve’s head. He hadn’t been ready for the picture, and the flash had caught him staring adoringly at you, his lips slightly parted. It was the same day he’d left—you’d dragged him on that long subway ride down to the beach, saying he needed good memories to take with him.

It’s his favorite picture.

You hand it back, your voice thick with the tears he knows you won’t shed. “I can’t believe you kept that.” you wipe at your eyes, before laughing. “That’s a shit picture of me.”

“It’s the best picture of you.”

You look as though you’re going to say something else, when your eyes stray to the clock behind his head. “Crap. I gotta go, I shouldn’t have stayed this long,” you lament, slapping your palm to your forehead. Steve wants you to stay, wants to spend all day with you like this, but he knows he can’t, not yet.  He’s been patient so long—he can wait just a little longer. He watches you dig your phone out of your pocket. “Give me your number so we can hang out again?” you ask, and he nods, tapping it in and saving it. You call his phone, waiting for it to ring and then ending it. “There, now you have mine too.”

You smile as you get up from the table, and Steve’s chest aches. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“It’ll be just like old times,” you say, waving at him as you head for the door.  It won’t be, though.

He won’t let it.

🩸

Steve loves the choked gasp of fear they always give when they wake to find themselves not at home. It’s always the same—people are so predictable, he knows that now. Paul peers up at him with the same terror that Marilyn did a month ago, and Steve relishes it.

He deserves to be afraid.

“I’m sorry you had to wake up like this,” Steve replies nonchalantly, because he really isn’t. “But I’m afraid this really couldn’t wait any longer. It’s already been years, so I figured it was time for you to pay the piper.” Paul was easy to track down, not like Marilyn, who moved three states over to continue her foster-mother racket. He’s stayed in exactly the same place, like he was just waiting for Steve to find him.

He says something, but it’s muffled by the gag. “Speak up.” Steve replies, tugging it down.

“What the fuck do you want?” he asks hoarsely, and Steve grins.

“That’s a good question, Paul. I want you to think.” he says, watching as the older man flinches uncomfortably as hot steam rattles the pipe he’s bound to. “I want you to think about what you did ten years ago.” his eyes widen, panicked.

“I didn’t do anything! I’m a good man, a good father—” Steve brings his heel down roughly on Paul’s knee, pressing hard until he hears a satisfying crack. Paul screams, his cries dying down to whimpers as Steve kneels in front of him. He’s brought props this time, purchased especially for Paul. He watches Paul’s eyes widen impossibly more and his chin begin to tremble as he removes the curling iron from its place on the table. “What—”

“Good men don’t do what you did, Paul.” he twirls the curling wand between his fingers. “Good men don’t do that to little girls.” he reaches behind Paul to plug in the iron, and then places it in his lap. “Good men don’t force themselves on teenage girls in the bathrooms of their own homes, Paul.”

“She wanted it—” Steve knows he’ll regret his lapse in control later, but he can’t stop his fist from connecting with Paul’s jaw, and he wonders how many bones he’ll break before he gets to the real punishment.

“She still has that scar.” Steve snarls, his hand tangling in Paul’s greasy hair as he forces him to look up at him. “Still fucking has it. Because you wouldn’t even let her unplug the goddamn thing.” Paul shifts uncomfortably, trying to dislodge the heating iron in his lap, but if Steve is good at anything it’s knots, and his struggles prove fruitless. Steam rises from his clothes, and then the smell of burnt cloth begins to permeate the room.

“Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything—” his pleas devolve into screams as Steve stands up, dusting his knees off. “PLEASE!” Steve ignores him as he heads for the stairs.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Let’s see if you’re more honest then.”

🩸

“Steve!” your voice soothing to his soul, like cool water on a hot day. He turns, schooling his expression into one of surprise. He turns, a smile already on his face. Seeing you in your work clothes makes his throat a little dry. You still looked like the young woman he remembered when you were wearing your casual clothes; shorts, a t-shirt—but in your form fitting pencil skirt, your blouse with just one button undone, and your hair swept into a knot on your head… It was making him think unsavory thoughts.

Like whether you would cry if he ripped the buttons on your blouse to palm the perfect tits he knew were underneath. Whether you’ll scream his name or sob it—he wants you to scream it. “You told me you worked at the museum, so I figured I should come take a look.” he replies with a bashful smile.

“Checking in on me, eh? Think I need a security detail?” you joke, and he nods.

“Of course. The pretty ones always do.” your eyes widen a bit at the compliment, and he watches you bite your lip the way you do when you’re embarrassed. “I was thinking maybe we could do some catching up when you got off?”

“Oh totally! I’m actually done here in like thirty minutes or so, if you don’t mind waiting…?” he watches you glance back at the info-desk worriedly, as though you’ll be penalized for leaving your post.

“Of course.” He’s so excited to see you, the time passes without him even feeling it. “Dinner?” Steve asks when he meets you back in the main lobby at closing time. “You must be hungry.”

“Starving, honestly.” you admit, holding your belly. “I didn’t get a lunch break today and I’m pretty sure my stomach has turned itself inside out.” Steve grins. “What about you?”

“Famished.” Most of the restaurants near the museum are fancy, with at least an hour wait for a table, something he already knows. “Why don’t we just hang out at my place? We could order takeout.” he suggests, knowing you still feel safe enough with him to go. The thought makes his chest clench, because it’s all he wants, all he’s ever wanted. Because he’s the only person you’re ever really safe with, the only one who can protect you.

“Okay, why not. Where d’you stay nowadays? I’m assuming you’re not staying in the ass end of Ridgeway anymore.” you say, laughing. It’s a joke, but it’s also a way of gathering information. He knows you want to know if he’s living close to the old neighborhood still, so you can steel yourself against the memories. Steve wishes he could take that pain from you—but it’s the one thing he can’t save you from.

So he just punishes the people that gave you the memories instead.

“No, no,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I’m in Bed-Stuy now.” he makes a show of checking his watch for the time. “There’s a good Thai place, and if we call now, it should be ready by the time we get there.” you grin at him, disbelief written plainly on your features. You can’t believe he still remembers your favorites.

“God, how do you still know me so well?” you ask, jiggling his arm playfully with your elbow as the both of you head for the train station.

“I never forgot you.” he says, watching your face contort as you try to reign in the surprise. He knows you don’t want to remember, but that you can’t forget either.

“I didn’t forget you, Steve.” you say softly, grabbing his hand. “You were the one who showed me I could… that I could leave.” he wants to shout that you should have waited for him, should have trusted that he would come back for you, that he was going to—but he doesn’t. He swallows the anger and the betrayal because he knows it isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stayed in that hellhole, not without him there to protect you.

You’re back now, and that’s what’s important. He squeezes your hand reassuringly. “I know you didn’t.”

The train is crowded, which he doesn’t mind, because it forces you to stand close to him, letting him inhale the scent of your skin, which is different and still oh-so-familiar. He’s reminded of all the train rides he’s taken with you prior to this moment, how they led him, inexorably to the now, where he’s standing in front of you, so close to finally having you the way he needs. The way he deserves.

They way you both deserve.

He was right, the food is ready by the time you arrive, and he insists on carrying it, ignoring your protests. His heart pounds as he leads you up the stairs. You’re trailing behind him, looking up at the large brownstone with no small amount of awe.

“You… rent?” you ask tentatively, and he shakes his head.

“One good thing about the army, I at least got paid enough not to have to worry about housing when I got back.” he knows you’re too sensitive, too fragile to know just what he did while he was gone—all the blood on his hands—but he’d do it again, and gladly. Because he needed to do it, needed to learn how to take a man apart with his hands so he could do it to protect you. He doesn’t mind, because it’s for you. So that you can be safe.

You kick your shoes off in the entryway, and Steve heads for the kitchen, putting the food down. You poke your head into the kitchen. “Bathroom?”

“Down the hall, it’s the second…no, third door on your right.” Steve replies. It’s like a dream—you’re finally here, in his home. You’re finally back where you belong, and he’s…happy. For the first time in a long time. He’s known the pleasure of the hunt, the satisfaction of doing the right thing, but he hasn’t been happy. Not like this.

“Thanks. Smells amazing!” you reply when you return. You’ve opened up your blouse to reveal the tank top underneath, and he quickly admires the ripe, round curve of your breasts through it. God, he wants to touch—he won’t, he knows better, he can wait, he’s nothing if not patient—but he wants to. “Can I help with anything?”

“You can sit right there,” Steve replies, pointing to the seat across from his. “And you can watch me work.” he winks at you, and you laugh. I’ll never get tired of that sound. You curl and uncurl a lock of your hair around your finger. Steve dishes out the food, laying out the appetizers between you so you can share. “How’s work at the museum?”

“Good! I mean, it’s pretty boring, but good. I gave a couple of tours today, so that was fun, but the best part is honestly getting home to paint.” you reply. You sound like you’re admitting something, and there’s a flash of guilt in your eyes. Steve’s not sure why you feel it—you’re an artist, not a tour guide. You shrug, clacking your chopsticks together. “At least I make enough to live, you know. Inside the city.”

Steve is content to just… let you talk. He prods when it’s necessary, but you’re fine on your own. He’s already followed you back to your Alphabet City studio, sat on the fire escape while you slept and changed and painted.

He even knows what your face looks like when you cum.

In fact, that’s what he’s thinking about as you tell him about college. When he asks if you want some wine, he’s thinking about the way your toes curl and you keen like you’re crying. You bite your lip—the same as you do when you’re soaking that stupid plastic cock, a poor imitation if he’s ever seen one—and then nod.

“Why the hell not?”

He goes for the glasses, making sure to fill both of them up equally. You don’t know he can’t get drunk, you don’t know what they did to him to make him so big and strong for you, but that’s okay. You’ll feel safer if he drinks too, he knows that. So he does, pouring himself a refill every time he offers you one.

“And—hic—what about you?” you ask, covering your mouth cutely as you hiccough. “I’ve been rambling forever. Did you… did you like the army?” you ask, cocking your head sweetly at him from across the dinner table. Your eyes stray to the dog tags at his neck, and he pulls them out for you to see.

“It was hell at first,” he says, leaning in as though he’s making an admission of his own. “And… honestly, I’m surprised they even let me in. Maybe somebody saw how bad I wanted to protect the people I cared about.” he looks pointedly at you. You look away bashfully, but he knows his point is made.

“Is that why you went?” you ask a small smirk on your face as you waggle a finger at him. “Really?”

“I saw… I saw some horrible things while I was away.” Steve replies—and this, at least, is true. He volunteered for the experiments, volunteered for the missions, and he’s seen the worst in people. There are monsters, but the worst ones, he’s found, look just like everyone else. They smile, they go to work, they pay their taxes. “You have no idea.”

And then they go home and do unspeakable things.

The best thing he ever did was go into the army—because they gave him the power to fight them.

“I think you’re really brave, Steve.” you say after a moment, and he sighs, shaking his head. “No, you are.”

“More wine?” he asks, knowing your head has to be positively buzzing after the entire bottle. You shake your head, sighing.

“I probably shouldn’t. I’ve already had too much, and I still have to take the train,” you lament mournfully. Steve stops the slow grin from spreading across his face. “And I have to work tomorrow.” he makes a show of checking his watch, eyes widening.

“It’s already pretty late,” he says, shaking his head. “You could just stay here, I have a washer. I promise, no one will know the difference.” he winks at you, and you laugh. “Besides, I haven’t given you the tour yet.” you’re too drunk to question why he isn’t slurring, why his movements are so steady and sure as he clears the table. “I wouldn’t feel right letting you take the train all the way uptown by yourself.”

“I guess… I guess I could stay. It’s not like anyone’s waiting on me.” you shrug. “Lead the way.” Steve knows you won’t make it through even half of the house before you’re too drowsy to continue. He’s counting on it.

“Follow me.” you make it through the first floor easily, but by the time he’s leading you upstairs, your movements are sluggish, and even sloppier than before. You almost knock into the bannister, but Steve catches you. “Maybe we can do this another time, when we haven’t had a whole bottle of wine,” he chuckles, and you grin at him sheepishly.

“Usually I have a higher tolerance,” you mutter, leaning on him heavily. “Ugh, sorry.” he shakes his head at you, clucking his tongue.

“Don’t be. Let me get you a shirt to sleep in.” the thought of you wearing his clothes is enough to make his cock strain against his pants. “Let’s get you into bed.” he leads you not toward the guest bedroom, but his own, something he’s surprised you notice when he settles you on the edge of the bed.

“Steve, s’this your room? I don’t wanna put you out of your bed,” you whine, and he chuckles. You won’t.

“Shh, doll. I don’t have sheets on the other bed. This is fine.”

He tosses you an old t-shirt, and heads into the bathroom while you change. It’s only the illusion of privacy, but he watches with rapt attention through a crack in the door as you strip off your work clothes with clumsy fingers. He’s going to map every inch of your creamy skin with his fingers and tongue, going to know your body better than you know it.

So fuckin’ perfect.

🩸

It’s easier to stage the body than Steve thought it would be—Paul’s wife left him years before, and the sad little apartment he rents above the bodega on their old street is as good a place as any. Paul can’t just go missing, not like Marilyn. He’s an example, a gift.

And he has to make sure you see it.

He deposits Paul on the bathroom floor, dropping his body like a sack of grain. He leaves through the fire escape, and waits. That’s the hardest part, waiting. Steve is patient, he knows how to wait, but that doesn’t ease the agony, not until he flicks on the news almost a month later, grinning as his handiwork is finally recognized.

“The victim is an elderly man, Paul Mazzano, fifty eight, who was pronounced dead at the scene. Here, I have detective Ford to share some details.” The newscaster points the microphone towards a disgruntled looking cop with a handlebar mustache. Behind him, Steve watches people parade in and out of the apartment building, as onlookers murmur just off-frame.

“Uh, yes. Well. Neighbors reported a, um, a smell. And when the landlord investigated, he found Mr. Mazzano in the bathroom.” Steve knows they won’t describe the scene, not really. They won’t say that they found him draped over the sink, a hot curling iron pressed to his chest. “We have several leads on a suspect, but as of right now no one’s been taken into custody.”

They have no leads, of course, but he knows they can’t say that. He turns off the television, almost giddy. He doesn’t have to wait much longer for you to hear the news yourself, and when you call him, sniffling, he’s ready.

“S-Steve? I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know who else to call.” The two of you had been spending a fair amount of time together, and he’s pleased the fruits of his labor have paid off—it’s him you’ve called, not one of your other friends.

Him.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” he asks, knowing full well you’re not. He hears you take a deep breath.

“Somebody killed Paul.” your voice shakes as you speak. “And God, I don’t… I can’t… I don’t want to be alone. Can I come over?”

“Of course. Do you want me to pick you up?” he asks, and you sniffle.

“N-no. It’s alright, I’ll take the train.”

You only knock once before he’s at the door, tugging you into his arms as you sob. For a moment, Steve worries that you’re actually grieving as he helps you into the house. You’re still clinging to him when he seats both of you on the couch.

“It’s okay to be upset,” he says gently, stroking circles on your back as you cry. You look up at him with red-rimmed, watery eyes, and shake your head.

“I’m not sad,” you reply, roughly wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m…I’m angry. I’m angry someone got there first. Jesus, isn’t that fucked up?” you laugh tonelessly as even more tears threaten to fall, welling up as you look up at him. “I wish it had been me.” Steve’s never felt closer to you than in this moment.

“It’s not fucked up.” he never would have let you, doesn’t want you to live with the blood on your hands the way he does, but it makes something hungry unfurl in him to hear you say it. “He’s a piece of shit who deserved to die for what he did to you, and it’s not fucked up to want justice.”

“You know what’s fucked up?” you hiccup. “I never told anybody. I never said a goddamn thing. I should have. And I never did.” you’re sobbing again, and Steve holds you tightly, pulling you into his lap. You curl against him, pressing your face into his chest as you cry yourself dry. You’re so small and vulnerable in his arms, Steve almost wishes he could bring Paul back and do it all over again, just for making you suffer.

“Well, now he can’t hurt anyone else.” Steve replies firmly. “He’s gone.” you lay there, sniffling against his chest until your breathing evens. “You can stay here today. I don’t think you should be alone,” he says, and you chuckle.

“Alone’s my middle name,” you joke, wiping at your runny nose and puffy eyes. “God, I bet I look awful.” You’re trying to lighten the mood, to distract from the real, heavy feelings he knows you’re shouldering. He wishes again that he could take this from you, that he could hold it for you the way he holds the weight of the justice he knows no one other than him can dispense.

“You look beautiful. Like you always do.” Steve replies, making sure to let his hand linger on your thigh. You’re vulnerable right now, easy to manipulate. He doesn’t feel bad about it, no—you need him, you just don’t know how much.  You mumble in response, shaking your head.

“I look like I got stung in the face by a bee. Probably several.” you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, and before he can preach patience to himself again, he grabs it, his eyes hard. Your breath hitches at the contact.

“You don’t know how perfect you are,” he says tightly, like he’s trying to force you to understand it. “How good.” you’re practically straddling his lap now, your expression anxious and unsure.

“Good people don’t celebrate someone’s death,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Then don’t be good.” Steve replies, and your eyes flash up to his. Your lip trembles. “Good people watched him hurt you. Good people ignored you, let you slip through the cracks.” he brings a hand to your cheek, and your eyes widen a little at the gesture. “Don’t be good.” he repeats it as he brushes a thumb across your bottom lip. Your tongue follows the motion, and you pull back suddenly, as if he’d struck you instead.

He’s worried he’s gone too far as you scramble off of his lap, your pulse thundering. You glance up at him with worried eyes, and he sees it for just an instant—desire. “Sorry, I just, um—bathroom.” you say lamely, shuffling awkwardly out of the living room and leaving him alone. You’re alone and adrift with only Steve to anchor you, and he knows you’re fighting hard against letting him be more than a friend. But you’d come to him for comfort when the news broke about Paul, you let him hold your hand—you’d slept in his bed.

You just need another push in the right direction.

Steve waits patiently for you to return, and when you do, your eyes are still red and puffy, but your face is clean and dry. “Sorry for barging in on you like this,” you say, scuffing your foot against the floor. “Shitty way to spend your day, listening to me blubber about the past.”

“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here,” he replies, dismissing you with a wave. You’ve always been overly concerned with others to the point of neglecting yourself, and Steve just wants you to feel as valued as you make everyone else feel. “Did you call out of work today?” he asks, feigning curiosity. You won’t be going, not in the state you’re in, but Steve knows it’s easier to convince than to command.

“N-no, not yet.” you reply sheepishly, rubbing your puffy eyes as you sit back down next to him, careful to put an extra few inches of space between you. Steve closes it by widening his legs, scooting closer under the guise of being interested in what you have to say. “I wasn’t… I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t, right? It would be stupid to call out because some guy who was shitty to me died.”

Steve feels the rage flare up inside him at your callous dismissal of your own trauma. He knows it’s what you’ve learned to do, to shrink yourself, to minimize. He won’t allow it. “Shitty to you? He raped you.” Steve knows you avoid using that word like the plague, and you reel back violently as he says it. Tears gather again in your already wet eyes, and your lip trembles. He clenches his fists against his thigh and sinks his teeth into his lip. “And I couldn’t do anything.”

He remembers what it was like to just… watch as all of the people in your life failed you over and over. Ignoring the signs, ignoring the bruises, ignoring everything, pretending it wasn’t happening. Steve remembers you climbing up his fire escape, still shaking, the burn mark fresh on your flesh.

He’s never forgotten it.

“It’s not your fault.” you place a tentative hand on his shoulder, and then rest your head against him instead. Steve’s heart is threatening to pound out of his chest. “We… we were just kids, you know?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.” he apologizes, shaking his head. “I just can’t… I can’t stand you being upset that he’s dead. Feeling bad that… you don’t feel bad.” he looks down at you, his gaze softening. “You’re too sweet for your own good.”

“Guess that means I should call out, then, huh?” you ask, and Steve chuckles.

“Yeah, I think so.” he knows you’re hurting now, that the scab on the wound of your childhood is open and bleeding. He hates that he had to do it, to make you see that he was your safety, your security, but you’re here now, so he knows it’s worked. “You hungry?” he asks, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Why do you always take such good care of me, Steve?” you look up at him, doe eyed. “It’s… it’s like you never left.”

“Somebody’s got to, doll.” he drags his hand affectionately down your arm, reveling in the feel of your skin under his palm. “Somebody’s got to.”

He makes sure you call your boss to let him know you won’t be coming in, frowning at you sternly when you promise to make the hours up. You shouldn’t even be working at the museum, Steve thinks scathingly. It’s your work that should be gracing the walls. He watches you stow your phone before stretching across the couch, the hemline on your little shorts riding up to expose more of your smooth skin.

Steve’s so close to having you, so close to finally crossing the line between friends and more than friends, and he’s acutely aware of it as you recline next to him. “Maybe it’s dumb,” you say, looking up from the television to fix him with a nervous smile. “But I… I feel better being here.” you sound like you’re admitting something to him, like you’re confessing. “I always felt… safe with you. Even when we were little.”

Steve chuckles. “Even when you had to fight my bullies for me?” he asks, remembering trying to defend the two of you with nothing more than his skinny arms, his will, and a trash-can lid. You laugh too.

“Looks like you can beat up your own bullies now, though.” you patted his leg. “I don’t think you need me anymore.”

You have no idea, sweetheart. “Why wouldn’t I need you?” he asks, watching your eyes widen at his bluntness. You gape at him embarrassedly.

“I, well, I just meant—”

“I always needed you.” your whole body tenses at his words. The legs you’d platonically thrown over his own twitch as he places a heavy hand on your knee. “Even when I wasn’t here, I needed you.”

“Steve…”

“I thought about you every day over there, you know?” he says softly, focusing intently on the patterns his fingers are drawing on your skin. Neither of you are paying attention to the soft droning of the television anymore.

“You… you did?”

“Every day.” he repeats, his blue eyes resting heavily on yours. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “I told you I was coming back for you.” a choked sound leaves your throat, and you try to withdraw your legs, but Steve holds them there, his eyes on yours.

“I… I didn’t…” you drag your hands down your face. “I didn’t think you really would.” you admit, hugging yourself as you look away. Anger makes him see red for a moment, and he snarls.

“I promised.”

“Steve, I was seventeen. I didn’t… no one had ever kept a promise to me before. And I didn’t—fuck, this is hard. I didn’t think I was worth keeping. I didn’t want you to come back for me because you deserved more than to come back to… this.” you gesture at yourself. “I’m all fucked up, Steve.” you give him a watery smile.

“I wanted to come back to you.” he doesn’t remember pulling you into his lap, but you’re there, your breath puffing across his cheeks as he cups your face. “All I fuckin’ wanted was to come back to you.”

Your mouth is softer than he thought it would be, your lips more yielding; Steve is positively drowning in you—and he doesn’t want to come up for air. He drinks the tentative sigh you release into his mouth, his hands traveling feverishly up and down your sides. You pull away, gasping.

“Steve, Steve w-we should stop—” he’s not listening, leaving a trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to your temple as he strokes your trembling thighs. “I—oh—!” his fingers skirt underneath the loose hem of your t-shirt, stroking the skin of your belly. The scent of you is addictive—he can smell the laundry detergent on your clothes, the lotion on your skin, but underneath it, his enhanced senses can pick up your true scent.

He runs his nose along your throat. “Smell so fuckin’ sweet, doll.” he can’t resist the urge to run his tongue along the same path, and your little hands fist in his shirt, tugging on it. “Still want me to stop?” he attaches his lips to your pulse point, his teeth worrying the flesh. Steve sits back to admire his handiwork, the purple and yellow bruise blooms like a flower on your skin.

“I…no,” you admit in a small voice, and that’s all it takes for him to drag your mouth back down to his. It feels like he’s dreaming—he’s dreamed this before, after all, so many times—but this is real, you’re really here and God he’s not fucking letting you go. He groans against your mouth at the first tentative grind of your hips.

“Waited so long,” he pants against your mouth, one hand finding it’s way to your back to undo your bra as the other steadies you on his lap. You’re mewling as he finds your nipple with his calloused fingers, twisting it. “Always loved you, you know that sweetheart?” Steve’s already hard, his cock throbbing  as he thinks of all the ways he finally gets to have you.

All his.

It’s a heady thought that makes him sink his teeth into the soft, supple skin at your collarbone, and you whine for him. It’s so delicious that he has to do it again. “Ow! That hurts, Steve!” you whimper, and he chuckles against your throat.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Got carried away.” it’s too much for now, he knows that, but eventually, Steve knows you’ll let him mark every inch of you. You’ll beg him for it. “God, just want you so bad.” he grips your hips harder, guiding you over the bulge in his pants. You moan softly at the pressure, and he looks up at you through his lashes. Your lips are parted, your eyes lidded. “Feel good?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. You deserve to feel good.” his thumb finds the button on your shorts. “I want you to feel better, sweetheart. You’ll let me, right?” he asks, his thumbs drawing heavy circles on her hips. He can’t stop—indulgence after indulgence; you’re hell on his self-control. It’s strange, now that he has you, the desire is almost worse, because now he has to keep you, he can’t go back to watching. Can’t.

You look a little unsure, so Steve helps you along, slipping your t-shirt up to take your nipple into his mouth. You let out a strangled moan, and nod. “Y-yes, Steve.” the words have barely left your mouth when he pushes your back down to the cushions, pulling hungrily at your shorts. He remembers the sounds you made when he watched you, and he hopes you’ll make them now.

Maybe even better ones.

He exhales a sharp breath at the sight of the white lacy—racy—scrap of fabric adorning your hips, his nostrils flaring. All the times he’s dreamed of this moment, wished for it, he never pictured you wearing white. It’s fucking perfect. It’s in that moment that Steve knows he’s going to ruin you. Ruin you for anyone other than him. He tears frantically at the lace, and the elastic snaps against your skin. “I’ll get you a new one,” he says hurriedly before attaching his mouth to your drenched folds.

Heaven.

He knows he’s not going to see it—maybe ever—but this is as close as he’s likely to get. You whimper and shake above him, your hips undulating against his face as he laps at your core. Your thighs are trembling, soft sounds falling from your lips as he circles your clit with his tongue. He’s relentless, his fingers circling the tight, clenching entrance of your cunt longingly. Steve knows you didn’t wait for him—but you’re so tight and soft inside that he can almost pretend you did.

“Dreamed about this,” he murmurs against your thigh as he thrusts a thick finger into you. You hiss, your hips bucking.

“Y-you did?”

He curls his finger inside your pussy and a loud, broken moan tears from your throat. “Every fucking night.” Steve adds a second finger to the first, scissoring you slowly open. “They tried to bring women in for us, but fuck all I could think about was you.” a wet gush answers his words, and Steve’s other hand finds it’s way back up to your breasts, testing their weight and marveling at their softness. “How I was gonna ask you to be my girl when I got home, how I was gonna take care of you.” You’re bucking and moaning, and Steve steadies your hip with his hand, looking up at your face from between your thighs. “How I was gonna save you.”

He licks his lips. “But you didn’t need me to save you, did you?”

“Steve, Steve please, fuck, oh—“

“Not like you need me now.” Steve stretches you around his fingers, laving his tongue against your clit with a long, wet lick, and then you’re coming apart. You soak his chin and the couch cushions beneath you, that wail that he knows so well escapes your throat as you shudder against him. He stares at you in awe,  drunk on the taste of you as he watches you shaking from the pleasure he’s given you. “Say it. Say you need me.” your eyes are bleary and wet from your orgasm when they meet his, and his hands tighten on your hips. “Say it.”

“I-I need you, Steve,” you don’t sound sure, but that’s alright—he’s got you now, and he has time to make sure you know exactly what you need. The words make him groan, tearing at the button on his jeans as he eagerly frees his cock. He’s taking advantage of your grief, he knows it and he’s planned it that way, but you’re moaning and writhing underneath him just like he’s always wanted, so it’s more than worth it.

He’s not like the others, he’s not going to leave you, not now, not ever. Steve rips his shirt over his head, a growl escaping him at the sight of the slick mess at the apex of your thighs. Your scent is bearing down on him with the intensity of a speeding semi, and he has to have you, he can’t stop, not even if you wanted him to. He settles over you, caging your head in with his arms as he stares down into your eyes. Steve drags his lips across your own as the head of his cock slides wetly through the folds of your cunt.

“Ste-eve,” you whine, panting against his mouth. “Fuck, I need, I need—”

“I know, baby.” he sheathes himself inside of you in one glorious thrust, the wet noise of his entry ringing in his ears. He groans loudly, watching as your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. You’re so hot and wet and tight, he can’t not move. He knows he should give you time to adjust, time to get used to the sheer size of him, but his hips are pushing against you before he can grab for the reigns of his self control. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re squeezin’ me so good,” he pants, pulling out until your cunt is sucking hungrily at the head of his cock before slamming all the way back in.

Every time he bottoms out inside you, a hoarse sob falls from your lips, and he presses his forehead to yours, breath puffing across your sweaty face. “Look at me.” your eyes flick open, and he growls as they meet his. “Good girl.” he knows he worked you open with his fingers, but you’re still squeezing him so fucking tight, wetness seeping out of you and soaking his thighs with every thrust. “My good girl.”

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he lays into you. Your words have failed you, though Steve occasionally hears a please or even better, his own name among your pleasure addled babble. He rocks his hips into yours, peppering your face with lusty kisses.

“God, Steve, please, gonna cum, fuck!” you’re crying again, tears leaking down your hot cheeks. He licks their salty trails and groans, burying his face against your throat. “Fuck, fuck, fu-uck—”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me.” your thighs dig into his sides as a keening cry leaves you, your back bowing up off of the couch cushions and pressing the softness of your breasts into his chest. You’re squeezing him so tight he almost can’t move, his cock trapped by the velvety wet walls of your cunt. He presses your thigh to your chest, opening you up deeper even as the aftershocks of cumming again roll through your body.

“Steve, Steve, Steve—” his name is on your lips like a prayer, and as his cock bottoms out inside you, he gasps.

“Taking me so good, sweetheart,” he leans back, mesmerized by the sight of your slick, puffy folds being spread open by the thick length of his cock. “Fuck, like this sweet pussy was made to fit my cock.” Steve knows he’s going to cum soon, and just the thought of finally filling you up is almost enough to make him bust as soon as it surfaces. He reaches between your bodies, his rough fingers rolling your clit between them.

“Ah! Fuck! Steve, Steve I can’t,” you’re sobbing hysterically, shaking your head and dragging your fingers down the sweaty, muscular planes of his chest. “I can’t again!” the sloppy, wet noise of your cunt is like music to him, and he groans. He knows you can, though, knows you can take it, knows you can give him one more before he lets himself follow you into sweet, blissful oblivion.

His touch is relentless. “Shh, pretty girl. One more. One more time, you can do it. It’s okay.” he’s not even really paying attention to the assurances that leave his lips as his head lolls back. God, he’d kill a million men just to do this.

Just to have you.

You scream as you cum again, and Steve feels his balls constrict as he falls over the edge immediately after. The slick evidence of your pleasure coats his cock and his thighs, and Steve holds you still as he empties himself into your pussy. He doesn’t release his hold on your hips until his cock stops jerking inside you, finally spent. You’re boneless as he pulls away from you, one leg tossed over the back of the couch, toes twitching. The sight of his cum dribbling down from the puffy, abused hole of your cunt makes his cock throb with the desire to repeat the activity.

Steve admires his handiwork, the bite marks littering your shoulders and throat, your messy hair, and the dazed, dreamy look in your eyes as you float slowly back to yourself. He kisses you again, and you wrap weak, trembling arms around his shoulders. He’s content to lay there with you reveling in the feel of your heartbeat under his ear. He’s reluctant to let you up when you wiggle impatiently underneath him, but he does, allowing you to scamper to the bathroom.

When you return, Steve sweeps you into his arms, carrying you up to the bedroom, where he deposits you, giggling, onto the silken sheets. “I’m not going to ask where you learned that,” you say, cuddling into his chest when he lays down beside you. His fingers trace shapes on your hips and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s me who should be asking that question,” he replies, grinning at you. His eyes flash as thoughts from earlier return to plague him. Not her first. He wasn’t angry about it then, but thinking of anyone seeing you the way he’s just seen you… it makes him want to rectify the situation as best he can. He can’t fault you, of course, it’s not your fault, but… “There aren’t any boyfriends I’ve got to worry about looking for me, right?” he jokes, though he knows there’s not anyone who could give him trouble, not really.

You scoff. “Please. The last relationship I had was like three years ago.” you wave off his concerns, and place a tentative kiss on the corner of his mouth. Steve returns it eagerly, but when he pulls away, there’s a darkness in his eyes that he can tell makes you nervous.

“Got a name for me, sweetheart?”

The end.

---

I'm here for the fluffy thought cause I'm drained too🥺❤️

Cuddling on the couch with Nanami. Just quietly talking about whatever comes to mind. He's laying on his back your laying on him between his legs. Tv playing quietly in the back🥺. He's lightly rubbing your back and eventually you just fall asleep on him while he's talking but instead of moving you. He just continues to rub your back and watch TV while you rest and take a nap🥺

I want nothing more then to do this with him 😭

The moment you walk in that door. With that tired/sad look on your face he knows just want to do. I feel like Kento cleans up behind himself and would always have the place smelling good.

If there is any clutter he would clean it up to try and help de-stress the environment around you. But first he would slowly undress you, pressing soft kisses on your body.

Then he grabs one of his shirts, sprays some of his body spray on it. Then brings it to you, and will carry you back to the sofa. Before bringing you a blanket, for warmth and comfort.

Then if you’re hungry, Kento knows all your comfort foods. So he makes you some food, then would join you in cuddles.

Kento is the type to match his breathing to you’s. Since he calms him down. As you breath in and your chest expands he breaths out. Now he does it without even thinking about it.

It’s the feeling of having his body synced with your’s would be so comforting to him. And if he can play with your hair he would. I know you and I have curls, so I’m just imaging him undoing the locks so carefully, making your hair poofier.

His body is so warm, and his heart beat soothing. It’s hard not to fall asleep on him.

Late Bloomer (Alpha!Geralt x Omega!Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON/DUB-CON, LOSS OF VIRGINITY 

➥ banner by @maysdigitalarts​ | dividers by @firefly-graphics

Summary: Geralt of Rivia saves you from more than just a werewolf attack.

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Please, Take me anywhere but Home

A Touch Too Far

Summary: Alpha Steve has had enough of his two omegas playing games with him. Now he’s going to show them who’s really in charge. AKA you learn why its a bad idea to listen to omega Bucky. 

Pairing: Alpha Steve x Omega Reader x Omega Bucky

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Omegaverse dynamics, mean/dom Steve, smut, 18+, edging, overstimulation, bratty omega Bucky. Subby 6'5" Bucky. Steve’s taller 👀.

a/n: Sinday drabble #2

Steve is always eager to come home after a long day of work. While you each have jobs, you’re an upcoming writer and Bucky teaches self-defense to omegas and betas, Steve is the main provider for the household but it’s the two of you that make it a home.

You turned his brownstone into the epitome of warmth and comfort, your nests in the living room and bedroom, something always cooking in the kitchen, music playing throughout the first floor, it’s always a little messy and chaotic and he loves every aspect of it. 

Providing for you two makes the long, tedious hours worth it. it’s not usual for either you or Bucky waiting for him while the other one gets dinner ready. Although last week he had to ban Bucky from answering the door since he doesn’t like to wear clothes inside the house and Steve was tired of him flashing the neighbors. He’s still dealing with the fallout from that, it’s amazing how pouty a 6’5” omega can be.

Steve knew it was getting closer to your upcoming heats but he had one final merger that required his presence and so he reluctantly left the two of you alone in your nest. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy on you but he promised he would hurry home. And he pointed out when you both begged him to stay that unlike other omegas at least you had each other. He knows you can use each other to take the edge off until he’s finished work. So neither of you are suffering without him.

But you brats made him suffer all fucking day.

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THE MAN ON THE TRAIN┊TOJI FUSHIGURO

… After weeks of watching the man on the train out of the corner of your eye, you notice that one day he sits across from you and that’s when you realize you’re not the only one who’s been watching him. It seems that he also has an interest in you.

⊹ pairing. toji fushiguru x fem!reader

⊹ tags. smut (18+ only), exhibicionism, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation kink, begging, petnames/praising (sweetheart, pretty girl, good girl), spanking (once), mean!toji, tiny bit of voice kink, spit play, a little bit of ass play, squirting, oral (f > m), age gap (late 20s, early 30s), reader’s pov. | wc. 3.8k

It was around five o'clock in the afternoon when it happened.

I knew without checking the time on my wrist, I didn’t have to, the sky was so orange bathing all of Shibuya that it was clear what time it was.

I pretended to ignore it for a couple of seconds. Heavy seconds that turned into what felt like a finite minute, I tried to disguise it by looking out the window, the clouds seemed to be rolling over some buildings as we left the city behind and my neck was starting to tense up because of the way I was turning it so much towards the glass, very interested in the peculiar color of the clouds.

I knew without even hesitating. It was just the two of us in the carriage, so there was no way he was looking at anyone else but me.

The aisle checker peers between the cars with slow but steady steps looking from one side to the other, making sure that everything is correct, that no one has forgotten any belongings or that some unwanted stowaway hasn’t snuck in. As he passes us, he leans forward a little and I do the same.

The man on the train gives him a sort of smile, the scar splitting one corner of his mouth quivers and he proceeds to say something that my limited Japanese cannot decipher all the while I try to ignore the sudden warmth that hearing him speak for the first time brings to life inside me. The other man just nods and answers him in a raspy voice and then continues on his way.

I’m sure when the gentleman is far enough away that he can’t hear us or even remember our names he looks back at me.

I shuffle on the seat, tossing aside non-existent lint from my pants.

“You’re not from around here.” I stop dead in my tracks and raise my gaze only to confirm that he’s really talking to me.

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୨♡୧

Title: Alpha

Pairing: Alpha! Prince!Lloyd Hansen x Omega!Reader

Kink Prompt: Alpha 

Word Count: 1,987

Summary: You try to keep your designation from the crown prince.

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, A/B/O, Mating/Heat Cycles, Regency AU, Public Sex, Smut, Darkfic, AU: Dark, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Minors DNI!

A/N: entry number seven, super late, i’m sorry!! i hope you all enjoy. divider by @firefly-graphics​

The goblet crashes against the wall, its contents staining the tapestry deep crimson. You flinch at the sound of it, though you keep your hands folded primly behind you and your eyes trained on the smooth stone floor. You know better than to allow your curiosity free reign, especially here. 

“Is this all you have to offer?” The prince’s sneer is evident in his tone. “Barren, withered stock?” Through your lowered lashes, you see the duke flinch, his fingers tightening around his daughter’s hand. “Your daughter is ten years my senior, Lord Thayne,” he drawls. “And she is a Beta.” Prince Lloyd spits the word out venomously. And though his vitriol is not directed at you, you feel yourself shrink anyway, your fingers tangling nervously in the coarse cotton weave of your plain skirts.

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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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