still under skull rock

Eddie acts as normal- if a bit quieter, gentler in his demeanor, like he’s opening the front door of his trailer for a world-renowned racehorse that’s run magnificently today and needs their rest. 

You slip off your shoes next to his boots and start towards the kitchen with a mild, blank expression (three sheets to the winds of overstimulation, as he once called this state of yours), until Eddie catches you by the back belt loop.

“Hold on a sec, sugar. You ain’t gettin’ in the kitchen all sun-drunk like you are- sit your rear end on that couch and pick up a book ‘r two.”

Eddie thrills when the joke of his thick-as-molasses country teasing earns him a dreamy, half-curve of smile before you obey. Tucking your feet up underneath yourself against the far corner of the couch and drawing a bookmarked library hardback into the comfort of your lap.

Eddie doesn’t think too much of it when you don’t talk for the next twenty minutes. 

He’s content to putter around in the kitchen, starting up a batch of Melvald’s finest boxed mac and cheese, chopping some veggies into sticks and arranging them in a bug-like fashion onto one large plate for you both to eat from (Who the hell said nutrition was for uncreative losers? No one in this house!)

The pasta is boiling and Eddie is standing in place, staring at the bubbling pot, rehearsing song lyrics in his head. 

The day has been so full of noise. He’s enjoying the quiet, too. 

There’s a low whirring from the overhead fan which is why he doesn’t hear you the first time, but when you say his name again- “Eddie-” he turns immediately, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, hey, sunshine. Food should be ready in five. Want me to get your other book from the van?”

You shake your head. Back and forth, slow, eyes trained on the tile flooring. “No. It’s… Can I have…?”

Your voice trails upwards like the question was asked in full but Eddie still doesn’t know what you want, guessing instead of asking, making a show of bringing the stick-bug-veggie plate into your sight.

“Hungry? His name’s Gerald. But don’t worry, he was made to be eaten. We can even say a prayer beforehand if it makes you feel better.”

There’s that quick, sweet smile again as your eyes lift from the plate back to his face, then somewhere past his ear as if it’s hard to look him in the eye while you talk. 

So softly it barely registers over the drone of the fan, your voice again. “Can I- can I have a hug?”

“Oh, shit.” The shock of the request makes Eddie fumble a bit, tilting Gerald at a dangerous angle until he has the good sense to replace the plate back to countertop. “Jesus. Of course you can. C’mere-”

Eddie was already opening his arms before his sentence was over, just as you were already stepping forwards into them. 

Your arms loop around his waist, while his engulf the entirety of your upper back. Warm palms spreading across your shoulders on either side. Your ear to his chest, his cheek to the crown of your head. 

It’s quiet again. Save for the fan. 

Eddie breathes deeply and feels you do the same. You smell like sunscreen and pine trees and somehow, inexplicably, like the wind around the lake itself.

You’ve always been magic like that. 

Eddie drops a kiss to your head. Rocks you ever so gently from side to side, feeling the rhythms of your heart and letting you guide the movement as you need. 

“Love you.” 

When he calls to say he’s stopping by your place on his way home from work? Surely it’s just a coincidence that you’re always fresh out of the shower when he arrives, wearing only a towel and asking him to rub lotion on your back because your hands can’t reach that far.

You know…normal friendly stuff.

And the whole time he goes along with it all, trying to shove down his guilt for being attracted to his sweet and unsuspecting best friend. He feels like a terrible person, filled with shame and self-loathing every time he touches himself while thinking about you (which happens a lot).

Things continue on like that until one night when you give him a lingering kiss goodbye, and as your sweet lips press against his, it finally dawns on him—is it possible something else is going on?

He's never been close with any other girls, so maybe he’s reading too much into things? Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on his part and you act like that with all of your friends? But at the same time, he’s been around you and some of your girlfriends on occasion, and he’s pretty sure you don’t give each other back rubs in your underwear.

Something just isn’t adding up.

Confused and conflicted, it all gets to be too much, so he vows to go cold turkey—no more time alone with you until he can figure things out and get his head on straight.

No more late night movies in his bed. No more tickling or massages or lotion applications. He’s going to avoid any and all situations where things with you might cross the line.

And to your dismay, his plan works. A little too well. He hardly ever comes around to see you anymore and you miss him. The loneliness is almost too much to bear.

So one day you call him up in desperate need of his assistance, hoping he’ll be willing to help you. He’s always said he would do anything for you.

You tell him that you got asked out by this really great guy who’s super handsome and you need Eddie’s opinion on the lingerie you bought for your upcoming date. It’s a bit more risqué than what you usually wear and you want to make sure it doesn’t look too trashy. You don’t want to give this totally-real-and-not-made-up guy the wrong impression, after all.

“As long as you don’t mind?” you purr into the phone while he grips onto his kitchen counter for strength. “All of my other friends are busy and, I mean, you’re practically one of the girls.”

And Eddie’s no fool. He knows it’s a bad idea to agree to your proposal. Being alone with you in that way sounds…dangerous. But at the same time, you need his help. You’re practically begging and he doesn’t want to let you down.

When he gets to your place a short while later, the lights are low and you answer the door in a silky robe that doesn’t leave much to his imagination.

“Thanks for getting here so fast, Eddie.” You smile. “You’re such a good friend, and I could really use your help.”

And he helps you—down on his knees with your soft thighs pressed on each side of his messy head, those trashy little panties pulled aside to let his thick tongue curl and dive through your dripping cunt.

With his plush lips wrapped around your needy clit, he finally hears you sigh his name out loud, the way he always imagined it would sound in his dreams. And when your legs start to shake and you cum for the first time on his tongue in a flood of sticky sweetness? It isn’t quite enough. He still comes back for more.

After all, what’s a best friend for?

🎶 maybe i’m delusional and the way you act is usual 🎶

hi…just emptying the drafts of some drabbles + imagines 🤍 sometimes i write these as little mini fics with a plan to flesh them out later as a full fic with dialogue and detail. there is a longer version of this in progress but i’ll probably never finish it ;)

his hands on your hips, your ass, your throat. his mouth on your neck, his tongue on your clit. you can almost feel the warm puffs of breath he’d huff down at you as he fucked you, splitting you open with his cock and leaving you empty-headed and spent.

the mental images alone are enough to send you reeling, and right as you’re about to pass the threshold into the white-hot, blinding pleasure of another orgasm, the persistent hum of your vibrator abruptly cuts off.

you could throw up. you could cry. you could exercise sound logic and just charge the damn thing, but instead of any of the above, you find yourself rummaging through your drawers for whatever clothes you can find. sweats and a band tee, a mismatched pair of socks. nothing else.

eddie’s behind the counter again when you pull the door open. the shrill chirp of the entrance sensors draws his eyes to you, and you’re unsurprised to find him smoking another cigarette, body huddled over the edge of the counter. his brows lift in surprise when he sees you.

“back already?” he asks, putting out his cig with a bit less haste than last time. “must’ve gone really well. or maybe really poorly?“

you don’t miss the way his eyes roam over your figure, lingering on your chest; you’re not wearing a bra, and the peaks of your nipples are visible beneath the thin fabric. your back straightens.

“it died.”

“oh,” eddie says. “did you… charge it?”

“no, i wanted to—i thought maybe i could try something else.” you chew at your lower lip, casting a glance at the wall of toys from which eddie had plucked your vibrating bullet the first time you’d come here. you turn back to eddie just in time to see something dark glimmer in his eyes. he nods.

“yeah, of course. think you’re ready for something more intense? c’mon.” he nods his head towards the toy section, his curls cascading over his shoulder. you follow him and watch as he surveys the wall of toys, the sheer volume of packages just as overwhelming as last time. eddie reaches out for a hot pink box, shiny lettering spelling out Boss Lady across the top. you grimace.

“what kind of name is that for a sex toy?” you quip, reaching for the package. eddie snatches it out of reach.

“ah-ah, sweetheart, don’t doubt the Boss Lady. she packs quite the punch.”

“really, now?” you ask, cocking a brow. “you know from experience?”

eddie just smiles, dimples in his cheeks. “if the name is just too unfathomable for you, we can find something else. but i recommend this—i think you’ll have lots of fun with her.”

“okay, fine. you pulled my leg.” you reach for the box again, and eddie lets you grab it this time, his gaze on you as you flip the package over and read through some of the metallic pink text adorning the back. the only rabbit vibrator you’ll ever need, it reads. powerful dual stimulation will keep you satisfied!

it occurs to you then, as you follow eddie to the register and dig in your pockets for some cash, that you should probably be embarrassed. here you are, a week after your first ever vibrator purchase, ready to fork over some hard-earned cash for a second one—one with a questionable name, no less. your cheeks warm as eddie regards you from the other side of the register, the heels of his hands pressed to the counter. there’s a knowing look on his face, his lips curled into the faintest hint of a smirk, that dark look from earlier still dancing in his eyes.

god, he probably thinks you’re a sex addict. he totally thinks you’re a sex addict.

“is it weird that i’m back so soon?” you ask, before you can think to filter yourself. eddie’s brows knit together in confusion.

“huh? no, no, not at all—we have plenty of regulars, you know.” he types something into the register, eyes still fixed on you. “i’d say it’s weirder that you’re here at two in the morning.”

you blink. “two?”

“two twenty-one, to be precise.” eddie nods at the clock on the wall, the hour, minute, and second hands made of three different flesh-toned penis cutouts. “but hey, i get it. your vibrator died.”

you clear your throat. “how much do i owe you?”

“well, i did promise a friends-of-the-shop discount last time.” eddie drums his fingers on the formica countertop, gaudy silver rings clinking against one another. “answer one question for me, and Boss Lady is yours for free.”

“i’m awful at trivia,” you confess.

“trivia? jesus christ.” eddie barks a surprised laugh. “i’m not—it’s not trivia.”

narrowing your eyes, you shuffle up to the counter and nod. “okay, fine. ask away.”

eddie moves in closer, too, head dipping ever so slightly to allow him to peer down at you. it takes everything in you to keep your eyes from lingering over his frame and drinking in every inch of him: the bold lines of his tattoos, the burn-holes in the collar of his shirt, the faint kiss of freckles on the bridge of his nose. but while you attempt to reign in your wandering gaze, eddie doesn’t hold back. he takes his time looking you over. bites the plush, pink swell of his lower lip.

then: “what were you thinking about?”

“huh?”

“earlier, when you were touching yourself. before the vibrator died. what were you thinking about?”

“that’s your question?” you chew on the inside of your cheek. embarrassment roils in your stomach; he has to know that, while your body writhed in the center of your mattress, clit puffy and twitching, you’d been thinking of him.

eddie smirks. “you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.”

“no, it’s… it’s okay,” you murmur. your palms are clammy and you force your gaze to Boss Lady, waiting patiently on the counter for her chance to help you see god. “i was thinking about, um… you, actually.”

you’re still staring at the gaudy pink package on the counter, hands squeezed into fists at your side. you can feel the half-moon indents of your nails digging into your palms, and just as the silence stretches a bit too long for your comfort, eddie laughs.

it’s a wicked thing, a biting sound. all self-satisfaction and enthrallment. you dare to steal a glance at him, and he’s grinning like a maniac, his cheeks tinged the prettiest shade of red.

“can i tell you something?” he asks, stuffing a hand into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. his fingers glide over the cash register, clicking at a few buttons, and he slides the money into each respective slot before pushing the drawer closed with a satisfying click. “i’ve been jerking off to the thought of you, too.”

mouth going dry, you gawk at eddie like he’s got four heads; he simply beams at you like he didn’t just admit that he’s thought about you with his hand around his cock. he leans over the counter, one tattooed hand reaching towards you to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“you seem nervous,” he says.

“i’m—i don’t…” you trail off, cheeks positively flaming.

“tell you what,” eddie begins, retracting his hand. he moves back from the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. your eyes flicker over the whorls of ink that decorate his skin, biceps flexed just so; your cunt throbs. “you can go now, if you want. i won’t stop you, angel.”

“or,” he says, voice dipping low, husky, “you can lock that front door, and i can show you how much fun you can have with this ol’ thing.”

he reaches a hand out and taps the box for emphasis, and you’re struck by how at ease he seems. how comfortable he is with your mutual attraction and the opportunity to act on it. it lights a fire in you, one that engulfs every last trace of doubt.

you lock the front door, of course.

eddie’s mouthing at your cunt not long after, his head pushed between your legs where they’re hanging over the checkout counter. his lips are sinful, pursed around your clit and sucking, his tongue splitting through your folds and lapping up the heady wetness leaking from your pussy. he moans while he eats you out, like spreading you open and tasting you is enough to get him off, and the vibrations from every rumble in his chest send shockwaves of pleasure rocketing through you. short, whiny breaths fall from your lips, along with the occasional curse, or a wanton cry of eddie’s name. he’s fucking good at this. sloppy and shameless about it, dark eyes flitting up to look at you every now and then, pupils blown with lust as he lets his tongue explore every inch of your cunt.

you’re so worked up from the head alone that you hardly process a blur of movement beneath you, then the sudden buzz of your new vibrator turning on. through the haze of lust clouding your thoughts, you manage to recall the reason why you’re propped up on the counter like this, eddie’s head bracketed by your bare thighs.

“think you’re ready?” he asks, vibrator in hand. you peer downward to find him smirking at you; the lower half of his face shines with the combination of his spit and your slick.

you nod, hips twitching forward. “y-yeah, ‘m ready.”

“mm,” eddie hums, “good. because i’m dying to know what kind of noises you make when you come.”

his words make you dizzy. all you can do is nod, but when he stands up to full height again, your brows pull together in concern.

eddie must see the questions written all over your face: what happened? why did you stop?

“relax, sweetheart, i’ll get there,” he says with an airy laugh. “just need you to get this ready for me.”

he clicks at the toy again to shut off the vibrating function, lifting the pink silicone to your mouth. he taps it against your lips; once, twice. gently, but firmly. you don’t take long to part your lips around the toy, letting eddie slide it further into your mouth until the tip of it nudges the back of your throat, prompting you to gag and sputter around it.

“that’s a good girl,” eddie praises. saliva floods your tongue and you let it soak the toy in your mouth, tears stinging in your eyes as you fight back another gag. eddie’s voice rasping good girl makes you feel dizzy all over again, arousal twisting up tight in your belly - you’re not sure this is going to last very long.

once eddie decides the vibrator is sufficiently wet, he pulls it from your mouth with an obscene squelch and turns it on again. he watches you with those lust-filled eyes of his, attentive to your every moan and sigh as he presses the toy into your entrance. you’re so wet that it’s an easy glide through your folds, but when the very end of the toy nudges against the very end of you, you see stars. and if that weren’t enough, the pleasant buzz of the vibrator against your clit has you crying out, voice ragged.

“holy fuck,” you gasp, “eddie, that’s—“

“—not too much, is it?” eddie grins. he’s got one hand between your legs, pumping the toy in and out of your gushing cunt, and the other curled around the swell of your hip. his fingertips dig into the soft flesh and you keen, overwhelmed.

“it’s a lot,” you slur.

eddie moves his thumb to the power button and clicks it once. your hips jerk forward when the vibrator speeds up, a strangled moan ripping from your throat; you grab his forearm and dig your nails into it, not particularly worried about being too rough. you could make him bleed right now, and you wouldn’t have the clarity of mind to know it - you’re too lost in pleasure.

“you can handle it, can’t you?” eddie leans in closer, the warm, heavy scent of his cologne pervading your senses. his hand works relentlessly between your spread thighs, and you’re hurtling quickly towards that blinding, white-hot high you’d been craving all night.

and then eddie angles the toy a little bit differently. something in you catches fire, and you’re probably squeezing the life out of eddie’s arm now, but if it hurts, he doesn’t show it.

“yeah? feel good, angel?” eddie noses at your jawline, presses a kiss to your supple skin. you nod, feverish.

“g-gonna come,” you breathe. every thrust of the toy, every squelch of it inside your swollen cunt, makes you erupt into flames anew. “fuck!”

eddie chuckles, and he says something else in that same gravelly, taunting voice as before, but it goes unheard as your orgasm hits you all at once. your cunt pulses around the gaudy pink toy, your hips rocking against it as you gush, fluid spurting from your cunt and soaking eddie’s hand. he lets out a quiet laugh, watching with unbridled amusement as you ride out the last few moments of ecstasy.

eddie notices when you cross the line into overstimulation, clicks the vibrator off and rubs his hand down to your thigh. he pulls the toy from your cunt, shining with fluid. you wrinkle your nose.

“what’s that face for?” eddie asks, though he’s sporting that all-knowing smile again. “it’s your cum.”

“oh my god, shut up.”

“can’t believe you squirted.” eddie lets out another laugh and sets the vibrator back onto its packaging, then reaches down to grab your discarded sweats from the floor. “you’ll probably need these.”

“are you kicking me out? jesus christ.” you touch your palm to your chest, in true pearl-clutching fashion.

“no, i’m protecting your decency,” eddie corrects, sarcasm infecting his every word. “what if someone sees you like this, darling? what will we say?”

rolling your eyes, you stretch out your legs and hop down from the counter. you grin up at eddie, who’s grinning down at you.

You sit back against the cushions, taking a long drag, feeling the smoke curling down your throat, around your lungs. Don’t gotta be high to appreciate how pretty your boy is, all long arms and knees akimbo as he sits cross-legged to load the VCR.

“Gonna turn me to stone,” he says, feeling your eyes boring into the back of his skull. 

You stare at him harder, memorizing the slope of his nose, backlit by the TV static, the dark shape of his brow. “Hissss.”

The smoke pours from your nose with the noise. The TV pops to life, and Eddie turns away to walk on his knees towards you as you gasp- “Hey. How’d you do that?”

On the screen, a recorded version of the Times Square ball drop plays, just minutes before the event you’d all watched at Hank’s.

“I have my devious little ways,” Eddie says, slotting his knelt form between your legs, taking the joint while you’re distracted to place it on the coffee table ashtray. “Wanted to show you what I wish I coulda done, at midnight.”

He brings your hand up to kiss the back of it, your other going to his neck, thumb poking into the divots of his dimples as he grins. 

“You’re sweet.”

“Can be.” Eddie shrugs but looks very pleased with himself, and your praise, leaning his cheek into your hand.

The countdown on the tape hasn’t started yet but you can’t wait to kiss him, leaning forward as Eddie raises up a bit to meet you halfway. 

Your lips touch, soft and gentle, Eddie’s plush bottom one fitting perfectly between the crease of yours- you can feel your heartbeat quicken, and his, too, just under his jaw where your fingers rest. 

It hasn’t gotten old, yet, and you hope it never will. 

Kissing Eddie always feels just as exciting as the first time; you’ve spent enough of your life denying the simple act, and never knew how much you craved it until the access tap got turned on full blast.

“Gotta tell you something.” You’re lip to lip but pull back just enough to let your breath coast over his mouth, can feel his smile as his hands drop to your waist.

“Tell me anything. Two minutes to midnight, better get it off your chest.”

There are muted, euphoric screams from the crowd in New York as you swallow, feeling lightheaded but sure of your next words- so sure, in fact, that you look Eddie right in the face as you say it.

“I love you.”

Eddie blinks. A slow sweep of those stupidly long lashes, dark chocolate eyes that are crinkling at the edges, his hands tightening at the words, he’s shaking with emotion-

no, not emotion. Laughter.

Eddie is laughing at you, after you just said you love him. 

You know he isn’t intending to be cruel, and seeing Eddie laugh is making you crack a smile, because, okay, whatever, maybe the situation is a bit ridiculous, and he wasn’t expecting it, and you can share in the humor.

“You don’t have to say it back,” you start, but Eddie shakes his head, unable to wipe the grin from his face but clearly trying to bring himself back down.

“Okay.” He nods, playing at serious. “Sure. Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Then he’s leaning in again, tilting his chin up for another kiss, and you start to feel the situation’s a bit off, moving back with a frown.

“I’m not- I thought you’d be, y’know, a bit more enthused about this.” Your hands drop to the inside of Eddie’s arms, tracing over his puppetmaster tattoo, feeling like your own strings are being yanked around. “I mean. What with my whole… lack of commitment. Thing.”

“Oh, I am enthused,” Eddie counters, still with that same, dopey smile that’s starting to get under your skin because it means he knows something you don’t. “I guess it’s just a little funny, hearing it for a second time.”

“What?” You gape at the boy halfway in your lap, brows shoving together, heated confusion churning through your body. “I- what the fuck. That’s the first time I’ve said anything like that to you.”

“Nah,” Eddie says, a bit gentler this time, his thumbs working underneath the hem of your shirt to seek out bare skin. “Christmas night. Wayne’s place. The old man was out with his drinking buddies, you and me broke into his whiskey, and you said it right before goin’ to sleep.”

There’s a hazy, booze-blanketed memory that resurfaces for you now, rippling like the surface of a pond. A soft quilt being tucked around your form, a kiss to the top of your head, some drunken, murmured words to Eddie before he left your room for the night. 

It hurts, that the memory isn’t even fully there for you. 

As embarrassing as it is, not being the one to remember, you don’t retreat into yourself or try to edge around the topic like you would’ve in the past. It only serves to make this moment more real.

“Eddie.” You lift both your hands to the side of Eddie’s face, holding him there and still between your hands, looking earnestly no matter how much it scares you to feel, this much- “Even though I meant it then, I was drunk. But I’m not now- had a single hit, I’m pretty much sober. And I mean it.”

You can see the waves of emotion cascade over Eddie as he processes this, like someone tossed a rock past the surface that dislodged some long-buried something.

“Say it again,” he pleads, voice just above a whisper, eyes still locked with yours. 

“I love you.”

“Holy shit.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to be open-mouthed, to gasp, clutching at your sides like if he let go you might float up into nothingness, eyes shimmering over with fresh tears. “You really mean it?”

“Yes,” you breathe a laugh into the word, stroking your thumbs over the apples of each of his flushed cheeks. “I really mean it. Have for awhile, just haven’t had the guts to saymmph-”

His mouth is on yours, noses bumping in his eagerness, hand cupping the back of your head to pull you in deeper- you think if he could swallow you whole, right now, he would. 

Not like you’re far behind on that sentiment; you’re pulling Eddie in just as much, an audible wet noise as your tongues slip in and out of each other’s mouths, your ankles fitting to cross at the small of Eddie’s back as he practically consumes you with this kiss that feels endless.

Your brain is catching up to your body, arms over Eddie’s shoulders now, but still pulling back a fraction to rest the tip of your nose on his, pulling in a shaky breath- “And you don’t- like I said, earlier, you don’t have to say it b-”

“Oh, shut up.” With exasperation, Eddie dips forward to lap into your mouth again, letting his teeth sink into the plush of your bottom lip before kissing it better- “Been wanting to say it back for months. Strongest thing I felt in years, you make me so…”

Eddie’s chest stutters against yours, and when he pulls back to look at you again, there’s a tear that escapes his left eye, splashes onto your knuckle just below as he finishes, “...happy. And insane. And in love. I love you.”

There’s a sudden, lurching feeling that happens so often, that can spiral quick into self-loathing if you’re not quick to course correct- guilt starts to simmer at the fact that you’ve made Eddie wait so long.

It’s taken you years just to say these three little words, and if you were different, changed, somehow, you’d be a better fit, that Eddie deserves better-

“Hey.” His voice cuts through to the core of your swirling thoughts, eyes flitting over your changing expressions like he’s reading an open book. “It’s okay. Whatever you’re thinking- it’s probably the opposite. Gotta think happy thoughts when I tell you I love you- it’s conditioning, or some shit.”

This gets you to crack a smile, but it’s not enough to completely quell your worry. “I’m sorry. I really am. I know you don’t like when I apologize for being myself, or whatever, but-”

Eddie moves with impressive speed and precision, a hand at your back to cushion the blow as he flips you flat against the couch. A startled uumphf is knocked from your mouth again, until Eddie kisses the noise away, form stretched over yours with delicious weight.

“Sounds like you already know the answer,” he says, low and slow at your ear, bringing his hand up to palm over your breast. 

Your chest pushes up into the touch automatically, and Eddie tsks, half devil and half angel hovering an inch from your face, unspooled black curls taking up most of the frame. “Say it again.”

With your ankles still snugly wrapped, you pull Eddie’s pelvis low enough to rock against yours, feeling the stiff shape of his cock brushing through the layers at your heated core, watching as the pleasure twists his features and settles into a simmer. 

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love-”

“Fuck. Fuck.” 

He’s mindlessly rutting now, cock kicking at the words, arms caged around your head as you squeeze at his shoulders, urging him quicker, closer-

It’s not an apology, but you want the feeling of amends to be imbued into every movement. A tender stroke to the back of Eddie’s head, a kiss pressed into the hollow of his throat, invitations laid bare- all to say, I’m yours. No one else can have me like this. Just you. 

It’s not absolution, but you feel the intensity of Eddie’s emotions as you murmur the words on repeat. I love you I love you I love you becomes the gospel you both revere; there are cheers tinny and far away on the screen as Eddie slips your underwear to the side, seeking your warm, wet muscle with two fingers.

He fits like he always has- perfect. Not just like he was made for you, but like you’d both put in the work to make it so. 

Eddie licks the sweat from your clavicle and works you up on his fingers before shoving his briefs down, lining himself up, and sliding home.

Your back arches again, fully off the back of the couch, into Eddie’s strong, waiting arms- “I’ve got you,” he rasps, pushing in until you feel the head of his cock nudging deep. “I love you. Love you.”

Two hours ago in Times Square, the midnight of a new year dawns. 

You and your boy christen it with the sacredness of two people, in admittance of love, for the first time.

___

Another month of being in love quietly passes.

You’re sat on the couch with a dogeared paperback in your lap, while Eddie is on the floor in front of you, guitar strings humming. 

His back- pressed against the flat of your legs- is vibrating with musical tone as he runs through an acoustic version of Corroded’s set list for a gig this weekend.

You read the same line for a seventh time then give up, voicing aloud to the back of Eddie’s head- “I was thinking we should get a bigger bed.”

His fingers stay plucking on the strings but he interrupts his own mumbled flow of lyrics to hum, thoughtful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your mattress is too small, and mine is hardly better at fitting us both.” 

Eddie’s hand climbs the frets. “Can’t see why I’d want to shell out for that expense when I actually like how it feels to be inside your skin.”

You laugh, sock feet wiggling under the seat of his jeans. “Shut up, you know I like it too. But- I’m actually serious. I’ll pay for my half, and you-”

Eddie turns over his shoulder to look at you quick enough to breach whiplash territory. “Your- your half?”

“...yes?” You weren’t expecting this topic to be met with such surprise. In your own mind, this is simply the next step, the thing that just makes good sense to do. 

The book flutters as you toss it to the coffee table, freeing up your hands to lay out the logistics as you speak. “We’re already spending the majority of our nights in each other’s beds, right? Our closets are basically meshed. So are our dressers. Mind as well make the switch, and a comfier one, at that. Your room, my room, doesn’t matter to me- we should combine and conquer. Fix up whatever’s left into a spare.”

Eddie’s eyes are flicking between yours like he’s trying to read your mind again. He attempts to swallow his shock when it’s clear that’s making you cagey. “Ohh-kay. Wow. Yeah, that’s- that makes sense. Uh. What if someone comes over and- y’know- uses their eyes to see?”

This is the part of the scenario you’ve given less thought to. Bizarre, for someone with no less than four separate planners. 

Maybe you just don’t care who sees. Not anymore. 

But that’s a statement that feels like a landslide so instead you shrug, playing it very cool and very safe- “We can explain away just about anything on the basis of you being a Freak, capital F.”

Eddie’s grin is a slow, crawling thing that’s all teeth by the end. “How very economical of you.”

He doesn’t see the throw pillow coming; it whaps against the back of his head and you speak over his indignant squawk. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up- all the way to the mattress store. Should make yourself useful and take us tomorrow.”

Eddie rests the neck of his guitar against the coffee table and pushes up from the floor to settle into the cushion at your side, still grinning. “I ain’t laughing.”

“No,” you agree, reaching out for his face, settling your grip around his chin and feeling the divots of his dimples at either side as you squeeze, playfully. “Somehow this is worse.”

It’s nearly time for your Thursday night ritual- getting stoned, watching Perry Mason reruns on mute, and making up the voices for the onscreen characters. Eddie is the best at it, but he’ll pout if you don’t contribute, too. 

You clamber into his lap and his arms encircle you, his chin fitting to the top of your head. Affection comes easier these days and you’re reveling in it, this new space that affords you some bravery and a lot of touch. 

“Could go for ice cream, after the boring store.” Eddie’s voice buzzes comfort through your skull. “We’re gonna be dog tired after jumping on all those mattresses.”

Your cheek is pressed to Eddie’s chest, and the warmth of him leaks through. As it often does. Into everything. 

The brassy orchestral swell of Perry Mason’s theme song lifts from the speakers. Your eyes shutter closed, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine it. 

The day you’ll have tomorrow, the jokes and teasing and the happiness shared; the long drive and the open road and Eddie at your side. Sunshine and a brand new mattress and the sweetness of cold sugar melting into your tongue. 

___

Nothing changes. Everything changes. 

Somehow, you find yourself existing in a grey area, when previously all that you’ve known and held dear has been black and white. 

Eddie is still the same Eddie. Loving and attentive, goofy and sweet. 

He still hides his physical affection when you’re with friends but sneaks in touches beneath tables and between times when no one’s looking. 

The fucking is different. 

It’s the same rhythm, the same knowledge of each other’s bodies, but with new intention. New purpose. 

Now, there’s a ragged and intense loop of I love yous saturating your mind and mouth during every act of intimacy. It used to feel easy; leaving the feelings at the door, going to work without ruminating on what might be waiting for you at home.

Now, you’re lucky to get three consecutive minutes of not thinking about Eddie during your shifts at the bookshop. Memories of the previous night’s activities will surface at the most inconvenient times, making you physically hot under the collar, the ghost of his touch like a lingering brand.

Eddie occupies your mind. He fills all the empty spaces, and for the first time, there’s no fear mixed in with the thoughts. Keeping him close in memory feels less like a warning sign and more like a security blanket. 

It feels so good to feel it all- the wanting, the longing, the arousal- without the sharp edges of Rules to hold you back. 

You’ve been having one of those days, today- all shift long you’ve been burning and buzzing with the need. 

You beat Eddie home by a few minutes and the moment you’re inside the apartment everything on you begs to be parted. Your work bag hits the floor with a thud, followed by your tennis shoes, your jacket that gets tossed without care towards the couch. 

It’s practically a mess. You allow yourself the luxury. 

By the time Eddie walks in you’ve just managed to pull off your jeans, where you stand in the middle of the carpet amongst the wreck of undressing. 

Eddie barely has time to raise his eyebrows and set his guitar case next to your work bag before he’s being walked backwards, pushed against the wood of the front door by your hands. 

He’s fresh from rehearsals, smelling like sweet sweat and hormonal electricity as your hands roam the ribbed contours between his leather jacket and t-shirt. There’s black pencil liner smudged around his eyes and it’s all driving you fucking crazy. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, but does nothing to stop you from burying your nose behind his ear and inhaling deeply. “Been wound up without me?”

“Something like that.” You want to bite him, hard, but settle for kissing your way towards his adam’s apple and grazing your teeth against the shape of it. 

Eddie shudders, clinging to your low back, pulling you in closer. You wish he’d unzip his skin and let you in- really, it’s the least he could do to satiate your craving. 

The fuck me right here in this hallway line is about to be crossed so you detach yourself from Eddie even though the space instantly hurts, and turn for the first room on the left.

The new king bed sits comfortably under the window, with just enough floor space for a dresser and bookshelf. You slip your undies free as Eddie rounds the corner, scrambling to catch up, watching you with a slightly dazed expression. 

“Ovulation.” You shrug off his unvoiced question as to the nature of your desire, because deniability comes easy, and so do excuses. 

And then you remember you’re trying to be better about this, about letting him in. So as Eddie shrugs his coat off and pulls his shirt over his head you take a few steps backwards, letting your thighs hit the back of the mattress, adding-

“And you. It's mostly you. I’m really into you.”

Eddie temporarily gets his head stuck in the hole of his shirt but rips it free with a full-bodied shake, hair frizzing in every direction as he grins (leers) at you.

“Well, shit, baby, what a coincidence.” He doffs an invisible cap and bows deeply, with faux grandiosity. “Seems we’ve got the same idea.”

Jesus, what a fucking dork. You’re about to explode without his touch. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The sarcasm can’t mask the adoration in your tone. Your knees part, and Eddie’s eyes drop to the space between your legs. Got him. “I’m in love with you and you can laugh it up later- fuck me like you mean it, now.”

There’s a flush already settling across the apples of his cheeks as Eddie sinks to his knees, reaching for yours. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

He eats you out with fervor, with the hunger of a starving man- like maybe he, too, has been aching for this all day. Using the memories of you like sucking candy until he can come home to taste the real thing, straight from the source. 

Eddie fucks you with his tongue and fingers and doesn’t stop until you’re heaving with a second orgasm; he crawls up the length of your body and flattens you to the quilttop with kisses.

You draw him into yourself, words that mean nothing and everything on a shuddering loop- I need you, need you, so much- until the tides turn into a chorus of nothing but I love you I love you love you…!

Eddie answers. Sinks inside of you and kisses the words into your mouth. You have me, baby. All of me. Promise. I love you. I’ll give you anything. 

He fucks into you from behind, front molded to the curve of your back as you’re tipped on your side. There’s a tickle of his lashes at your jaw, his chin resting on your shoulder where it’s hooked- he wants to watch his cock disappear and reappear, coated in your slick. 

Eddie’s left arm spans your chest, holding you steady as his hips smack forwards in a hypnotic thrusting pattern. His right wrist presses firmly against that soft spot just below your tummy, while the middle fingers of his hand are working fast, wet circles over your clit. 

You’re making noises you’ve never heard yourself make before- weepy, fucked-out moans that crawl unbidden from your throat, punctuated by a sharp gasp every time Eddie’s hips snap forwards. 

He kisses behind your ear, murmuring something about how pretty you sound and drawing back just enough to watch your expressions. His half-lidded eyes are drinking in every minute twitch and feeling that passes over your face.

You can’t help but react authentically. There’s a small part of you that wants a shoulder to burrow into, or a pillow to cover your face- make this a step removed, less intimate, some breathing space-

but if seeing the look he’s fucking onto your face is some sort of reward for Eddie, you figure he’s more than earned it by now. The shape of your face is etched plain with the pleasure and euphoria that’s being built up in your body. 

From him. For him. 

It’s a practice in vulnerability. An opportunity to stretch your comfort zone, to move that goal post just a bit further. 

Your brows pinch together, eyes slamming shut when Eddie angles the head of his cock to stroke perfectly against the spot that makes everything tighten and swell. His hips falter as he watches the pleasure course through you, and then he’s talking you through your fifth orgasm of the night with desperate, throaty encouragement-

That’s it sweetheart- fuck, yes. Fuck. Feels so good, you’re doin’ so good- fuck me. Tha’s it. I’ve got you, I’ve got you- ‘m right here. I love you. Love you. 

And in the aftermath, more tenderness awaits. 

Instead of making a guilt-ridden retreat to your own room and cleaning up amidst crashing hormones, you get to share the small bathroom space with Eddie. You pee while he brushes his teeth at the sink, spluttering on a mouthful of toothpaste when your foot pokes into his side teasingly. 

You grab the water glasses, he grabs the snacks. The routine is a familiar pattern that soothes- Eddie likes you tucked under his left arm and against the headboard so he can eat out of your hand, and feed you with the other.

You stopped worrying about bed crumbs a long time ago. Nothing a quick wash won’t fix, and you’re loath to break the post-sex tradition of eating in comfort. 

There’s no need for complications before sleeping, anymore. Not when Eddie is such a warm and solid comfort beneath the shared sheets. 

In the morning, sunrise filters softly through the east-facing window. It’s a rare joint day off for the both of you, and Eddie is taking his time waking up.

He holds you in his arms, petting up and down your sides in long, sweeping strokes, absently running his lips across your forehead. His husky voice vibrates through the top of your skull as he lists out options for the day. 

“Could go bother Stevie Boy at work. Or to the theaters- there’s nothing good on, I already checked, but we like the bad ones sometimes. Nice big screen to throw popcorn at.”

You’re not sure why this moment, of all the moments, prompts a realization so sudden and true it makes you sit up. It’s just the way of things, sometimes. 

Maybe it’s the way Eddie is touching you- unguarded and for no purpose other than to feel the slide of your skin against his. Maybe it’s the casualness with which he suggests plans- something that used to be so difficult for your system to adjust to. 

“Oh my god.”

Eddie was already curious when you sat up out of his arms and now his brows raise, looking up at you from where his dark hair is splayed across the pillow. “What?”

“You’re, like, my-” the word gets snagged. You clear your throat. “-boyfriend.”

The dawning starts to touch every part of your mind. It’s like the sun is rising on every memory, every source of affection with stunning clarity. 

All your planning and compulsive carefulness that has been falling to the wayside recently has brought you here, to an epiphany about two years late. 

Eddie sits up, too. Hand slipping to steady over your hip. “I mean. Not really. I’m just some guy you sleep with who lives in your apartment.”

He’s teasing, but there’s a cautious tone to his words. A tone that makes you think he’s trying to be careful for your benefit. 

“No, Eddie- like, actually. Think about it.” You blink at the wall behind Eddie’s shoulder where an Iron Maiden poster hangs next to an ecology identification sheet. “We split the rent. We eat together, we live together, we share the same bed every night- oh my god.”

Boyfriend swims into your consciousness and floats about. 

How could you not have seen it before?

Eddie had gone still with the flow of your words but now he squeezes at your hip, still using that low tone as if you’ll spook with anything else- “Hey. It’s okay, sweetheart. We can call it whatever you want. Okay? I don’t care, seriously.”

You’re still staring at the posters on the wall. Trying to make it all make sense. 

Eddie must be itching under the silence because he asks, after a few moments- “What are you thinking?”

“I… I’m thinking I need a second.”

You get up and Eddie’s hand slides from your side and you can’t look at his face or it’ll break you into a million pieces so you beeline to the bathroom without looking back.

The door shuts behind you. The tiles are gleaming, freshly mopped, so you ease yourself to sit against the wall opposite the sink and stare vacantly.

A memory surfaces. 

June in Vegas, years ago, air thick with humidity even at midnight.

A diner, the sugar-sweet taste of syrup and waffles. The ink drying on the fake marriage license between you and Eddie on the formica. 

Wedding Waffle Special! 

It was only funny because you were such good friends, two people who’d never really get married- only for the night. Only for the gag of getting free food. 

Eddie has asked you, then, after forking a whole waffle and taking a drunken bite- What’s so bad about being real-married?

The question added a sharp edge to your liquored soft-stupor. You’d given him a real answer- Because then everyone would know. 

Eddie had looked crestfallen. Like a piece of his heart got chipped off. 

You’d tried to add some lightness, with all the clumsiness that drink afforded. You’d tried to assure, It’s not ‘cuz of you, it’s me, I can’t-

But Eddie had recovered quickly. Shoved a giant piece of chocolate chip waffle towards your face and declared a Waffle War, and the moment was churned over and forgotten.

Until now. Until you’re back in your body, tiles cold beneath you, twisting the bracelet you’ve worn every day since Christmas around and around your left wrist.

The silver charm with the letter E hasn’t tarnished at all. Even after all the times you’ve fitted your thumb over the letter to press the grooves into your skin.

Maybe, some part of you has always known. And this is just the breaking-open part of a bigger story.

It’s been about ten minutes or so since your thoughts have been tumbling in the bathroom and you wonder if Eddie is silently panicking on the other side of the wall.

Then again- he’s used to your rhythms. Your moods. While Eddie is very much a verbal processor, you often need some space and quiet to sort through your own interiority. 

Eddie has been more than patient with this. With you. 

The thought of him is motivating enough to send you into action, using the sink’s edge to pull yourself to standing and walking back into the room.

Eddie’s lying back again, lush forest of curls still fanned against his pillow; the bedside drawer is half-open and there’s a cigarette being fidgeted between his fingers.

He doesn’t smoke indoors anymore, and has evidently been waiting for you to return- you’ve always enjoyed the ritual of hanging out under the apartment building’s awning with him. Bundling yourself up in his winter coat and watching as he exhales hazy clouds that lift into the air and disperse, somewhere unseen.

The two of you have formed into each other’s lives so gradually but so completely that it would now be agony to separate. 

You sit on the mattress to the right of Eddie’s hip. He smiles, close-lipped but still with the wink of dimples on either side. 

“I do my best thinking in the bathroom, too. Most of my campaigns were built on that porcelain throne.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be disgusting when I’m trying to say something.” Your irritation isn’t real and Eddie knows it, grinning with all his teeth when you reach out to spin a lock of his hair through your fingers.

Your voice is quiet but firm. “You’ve been my boyfriend this whole time, and you haven’t cared that I didn’t let you tell anyone?”

Eddie fiddles more with the cigarette, considering this. Watching you with those bittersweet cocoa eyes. Melting when your finger brushes against his neck.

“I mean- I’ve cared. But I care about you more. The mostest, if you will.”

He shrugs, but you’re not ready to brush past this. Words feel so heavy- how do you sum up a culmination of years of wanting? Of years dedicated to senseless Rules?

So you don’t say anything. Instead, you lean down to press your lips to his.

The feeling of his cupid’s bow, the plush pout beneath- the novelty still hasn’t worn off.

You can’t believe you’ve denied this and other simple pleasures for so long. Maybe it was always meant to be this easy, this peaceful.

When you pull back there are tears beginning to shimmer in your eyes, and Eddie has the beginnings of a concerned frown so you laugh through the sadness- 

“God. You must be seriously obsessed with me to put up with all this shit. Rules and everything.”

Eddie laughs, too, relieved you aren’t overly upset, tossing the cigarette back to the drawer so he can pull you into himself again. “That’s putting it lightly, sweetheart. I’d lick the bottom of your shoe for breakfast every day if you’d let me.”

“Gross.” You sniffle against the soft cotton of his sleep shirt. Cheek squished to the flat of his breastbone, the steady thwump-thwump of his heart in your ear. “Thanks for staying with me even after I acted insane.”

Eddie grows quiet at your words, even as his hands continue in their wandering path against your back. He doesn’t take the easy set-up of a joke like you thought he might.

Instead, he kisses your forehead. “Y’know, you got this idea somewhere along the way that you’re this, like, totally unlovable person.”

Your turn to grow still and quiet. Eddie kisses at your brow this time, and speaks again- meaningfully soft-

“You may be neurotic, and- uh. Unique in your way of thinking. But you were never hard to love.”

___

As the end of spring approaches, so does the annual Munson Farms Harvest and Hoopla (titled, once again, by Robin). It started with just you and Eddie, traveling the few hours east and staying the weekend to help Wayne with the excess of his farm-grown goods.

In its fifth year, Harvest and Hoopla involves just about everyone you and Eddie know. It’s a tradition that now spreads over a three-day weekend and ends Sunday evening with a big outdoor BBQ.

Your cousin Max and her best friend Jane will take the train to the Byers’ place, while the Sinclairs and Hendersons are caravaning together. Which means Nancy, Robin, and Steve will hitch a ride with you and Eddie.

Everything hinges on this coming Friday. 

At the beginning of the week, you’re sick with excitement. Eddie lugs storage containers from the basement under your instruction, and helps where he can to organize for everyone’s arrival. 

There’s cleaning that needs to be done, and novelty t-shirts to spray paint with the homemade MFHH logo, and packing and sorting and endless over-the-phone coordination. 

On Wednesday evening, Eddie calls it. He plies you into relaxation mode with a freshly-rolled joint and Breakfast Club on VHS, under strict orders to Chill the fuck out. 

He’s good at knowing what you need. When to use a soft touch, or a firm hand. 

You’re good at knowing his needs, too. 

Bender’s mouthing off to Claire onscreen and your mouth is wandering- up the side of Eddie’s neck, under his jaw, the squirm of his thigh pinned beneath your hand. 

It always feels good to touch Eddie but even better when you’re both high. His droopy, red-rimmed eyes watching your every move; his fingers slipping beneath your shirt, seeking skin; the soft, whining pants from his lips to yours. 

You sink your teeth into the stretch of his shoulder, clamping hard and long enough for a deep bruise. Eddie’s sweat is sweet against your tongue as he groans. 

“Wanna mark you up.” You’re licking over the indents of your own teeth, following the line of his muscle down, down, until you’re slipping from his lap to kneel at the carpet. 

Eddie’s gripping your elbows, watching as if in a trance- a flush has settled at his cheeks. Temples dewed with sweat. When you mouth over the hard line of his clothed cock he hisses sharply, air through his teeth and a curse to follow- “Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

You continue like he hasn’t spoken at all, fitting a hand over the trembling plane of his stomach to hold the edge of his shirt up; there’s a perfect dark trail of hair disappearing behind the line of his sweats. 

Saliva begins to pool before you swallow to speak. “Gonna make you mine. Make everyone know it.”

Eddie makes a noise that’s half whimper, half shout, strangled with pleasure as your teeth find a home again in the plush fat of his abdomen. You make your way across the lower band of his stomach with meticulous pressure, just the right amount to leave behind marks meant for lasting.

“I want to start telling people.” You rest the apple of your cheek at the inner thigh of Eddie’s jeans, eyes flicking up briefly to gauge his reaction to this declaration- he was already a wreck. 

Chest stuttering, nails digging into the skin of your elbows. Jaw dropped loose enough to part his lips. Cock leaking pre into the fabric under your right palm. 

Eddie exhales, disrupting the curls that have stuck to his neck with the perspiration. Sucks in air, then asks with desperate hope- “Really?”

You work the bridge of your hand along the length of his dick, which throbs in response. “Really. Should wear your shorts to the river this weekend. Let everyone see the way you let me mark you up like a whore-”

“Holy fucking shit-” Eddie’s stomach jolts under your hand, and so does his cock. 

It’s your words alone that have him coming, nearly untouched, hunching forward and pulling you into himself as the orgasm curls his spine and races through his limbs.

He chants a mixture of your name and more fucks, and when the last of his cum is thoroughly wrung out into the wet fabric of his jeans you move-tilt upwards to kiss him. 

Your tongue slots against the grooves and contours of his mouth, all that leftover pleasure still simmering in every pore and atom, hand held at the back of his neck to keep him in place. His hair is silky from the oatmeal and coconut shampoo you’ve been buying special for him.

Mine. It’s another word that brands, on a cosmic level. 

___

It’s one thing to talk about a new way of living. It’s another entirely to actually live it. 

By Thursday morning, your excitement for the trip and the truth being loosed has been completely taken over by anxiety. 

It feels like a sickness. Like your happiness and fear are two pieces of duct tape slapped together, sticky and messy and impossible to separate. 

To combat the chaotic interior of your mind, the anxiety often manifests in habitual cleaning. You can’t explain why- it just feels good to distract yourself with. 

When you’re working up a sweat against the fridge shelves or kneeling to bleach the baseboards, it’s hard to remember what had been plaguing you in the first place. The physical exertion is a craving while the ensuing pain is penance. 

It’s Thursday and you’ve pulled out all the stops- scrubbing the countertops until they gleam, using a toothbrush against the grout in the bathroom, spending an hour on your hands and knees at one last attempt to lift the mysterious discolored stain in the corner of the living area carpet. 

It’s not working. None of it’s working. 

You’re elbow deep in a sink full of hot water, hands bare and gloveless, sloughing off the light layer of grime from each of the removable oven burners in turn as the others soak. 

The kitchen smells like bleach and lemon antiseptic. There’s a frantic energy that buzzes below the surface of your skin, zipping and snapping about with no relief.

Your hands are rough and cracked and the tiny cuts are the only things that make you feel, that tether you to reality- those flecked-sharp bits of pain that cut through the fog of anxiousness are more than welcome. 

Becca, in her spare time between work and higher education, has been inviting you over for weekly tea chats. Becca- with all her kindness and half of a psych degree- opens heavy textbooks and manuals across the surface of her coffee table and stresses every time that her opinion is not meant to be taken as an actual medical diagnosis, nor is it meant to ‘fix’ something that isn’t broken.

She’s very easy to talk to, and she’s going to make a great therapist someday. Becca’s been a treasure trove of information, especially in the ways of understanding yourself; she’s talked about coping mechanisms, intrusive thoughts, obsessions and compulsions- all these things you’ve been experiencing but have had no equivalent words to match until now. 

Becca and her deep river of empathy. Her quick but knowing smiles whenever you bring up Eddie, which leads you to suspect she probably knows more about it than you’d care to give thought to.

You wish desperately that she could join in the group trip- it would be so nice to have someone who understands your eccentricities like her- but Becca's already left for her own spring break vacation with her family. 

Having the clinical explanation for your symptoms is helpful, sure, but no amount of intellect applied can take away the roiling nausea from the anxious-dial currently turned up to ten. 

As much as you can say the words I am having an obsessive-compulsive episode due to the stress of change and truly believe them, there’s nothing to be done but try and ride the wave the best you know how. 

There’s a lump of hard ginger candy in the pocket of your cheek, all the square edges worn smooth and small in the last thirty minutes. One of the few things that has historically helped the chronic nausea that comes with constant intensive worry. 

The last of it gets crunched between your molars and you swallow down the crystals, indulging in a bit of fantasy by imagining they’re going to heal you completely. The silent-freeze style of panic attack is being kept at bay but just barely as you drain the sink and begin rinsing the metal spirals under a stream of fresh tap water. 

The front door creaks open then shuts with a bang. There’s a scuffle of Eddie’s sneakers against the mat, and he’s whistling as he rounds the corner. “Okey doke, big cooler from scary basement acquired. We’re gonna have the snack space to sustain an army on this road trip. What time is Rob s’posed to show?”

“Twenty minutes. Will you check the milk?”

Robin doesn’t even drink milk. 

Robin is coming in less than half an hour to spend the night and help with the pre-dawn packing checklist tomorrow before pretty much everyone in the world you hold dear will be all in one place and Robin doesn’t even drink milk and still, you’re thinking about it, the lone carton in the fridge that may or may not have spoiled since breakfast an hour ago. 

“Sure,” Eddie says, and it doesn’t even sound like he’s humoring you. Which somehow feels worse. 

The sound of the plastic fridge seal peels and breaks, then there’s the twist of a cap, two quick inhales, and Eddie says mildly- “Smells like milk to me.”

The fridge closes again. If you were You from six months ago, you’d be shouldering past Eddie to throw the milk away yourself. Tip it right down the drain with mania disguised as a joke about how Eddie’s nose must be off. 

Trust is a great thing to have. It’s been fought for and hard-won on both sides and it means you don’t turn tail and run when Eddie comes behind you at the sink to drop his chin to your shoulder. 

“How come you’re not wearin’ any gloves? I got you those sexy pink ones from the five and dime for a reason.”

You wish you could laugh. The tap is cool over your fingers as you work the grime out from beneath your individual nail beds, head tilting to lean against Eddie’s in silent apology. “Dunno. I forgot.”

Eddie’s sigh coasts warm over the right side of your neck. “Trouble. How ‘bout you wash up.”

The warmth of his body fit to yours leaves along with him as you wash your hands, wincing slightly at the sting of soap on fresh wounds. There’s a nail brush nearby and you use it brusquely against the underside of your nails; your movements are harsh with autopiloted instinct as you stare through the east-facing window towards the blacktop parking lot. 

Robin’s car will be pulling into that empty spot, soon. 

Eddie is back with hands soft against your hips as he turns you away from the sink, towards himself, holding out a dishtowel for your wet hands.

You dry them. Eddie takes the towel and places his palms up between your bodies, waiting patiently. You oblige, slipping your palms against the calloused flats of his own and letting your fingertips trail on the insides of his wrists. 

Eddie lets go of your right hand to reach into his back jeans pocket and surfaces with a tube of lotion (must’ve snagged it from the bathroom, sneaky), of which he uncaps to set a cool stripe across the arch of your left knuckles. 

He starts working in the moisturizer with the warmth and pressure of his own hands, thumbs running parallel down the fine bones in the back of your hand, then sliding to the meat of your palm muscle. Then along the lines of each finger, individually, pulling with just the right amount of careful strength.

The lotion heats to the same temperature of your skin and so do Eddie’s rings. He’s using the good stuff on you- unscented, the special brand he saves for tattoo aftercare, which is probably why it doesn’t hurt your nicks. 

It’s not until he’s moved on to your other hand that Eddie speaks. “We don’t have to do this today. You don’t have to do this today, I mean.”

His thumb coasts up the side ridge of your pinky, then back down. Kneading and filling the silence with touch. 

You’re thinking. You’re thinking about the conversation you and Eddie had earlier this week about who will be the first to know- which person, out of everyone in your friend group, can be trusted with this bombshell of news and information. 

And you both agreed. It has to be Robin. 

Not only does she have a passion for gossip, she’s also the safest bet when it comes to passing along the message through the group in a meaningful way. Robin is where you and Eddie began- it’s her you have to thank for the introduction in the first place. 

Robin who was so thrilled when the roommate situation ended up working out. Robin who cheered you on from the sidelines, who hasn’t held back any part of herself since you met her on the first day of freshman campus classes a lifetime ago. 

Robin who has been your best friend. Robin who has surely felt the growing distance every time you’ve declined plans to hang in the last few months, too sick with secret to face her.

She’s got the most to lose. The one who stands the most to be hurt by this lie you’ve started and maintained, tended to like a fucked up garden all these years. 

Eddie pulls you from the spiral of thoughts again, brow furrowing as he finds another section of your skin split across the knuckle. “We’ve already been doing a sick job on the whole ‘clandestine dalliance’ thing. What’s a few more months? Who cares if-”

“I care.”

Your interruption comes out more wobbly than intended but the truth of it solidifies as soon as you speak the words aloud. A ragged breath is sucked through your lungs and the rest of it leaves in a rush, a flood of shaky insistence as you stare at the constant movement of Eddie’s fingers instead of his face. 

“I care. I want- I really want to start telling people. Our people.”

Your gaze climbs, braver now, taking in the ripped sides of Eddie’s cropped tanktop, the stretched-out collar hanging loosely around the base of his neck. He looks so handsome, in a way that almost hurts to behold. Sweat has dampened the baby hairs at his forehead and temples and sticks to his skin in whorls, entire constellations in miniature. 

And the bruises. The scraped-up skin nipped into the column of his throat, the faint line of your teeth still visible from last night’s activities, brutal and delicate- he’s wearing them proudly today. 

This boy is yours. Not in the way of ownership or control, but rather belonging. Him to you, you to him. 

You want to make your claims and intentions clear. You want to be able to kiss your boy, your lovely boy, in public. In front of friends and family and god and anyone else who cares to look. 

You want to hold Eddie’s hand at a party and not have to separate yourself from him for the whole night because this way of living has been so lonely, and so sad.

And you know, too, that this weighs on Eddie just as heavy. And that he’s been carrying the emotional weight of this for much longer than you, even if he’s never once made you feel badly for it.

Eddie’s eyes flick to yours when the pause in your speech stretches. 

Being looked at by him, especially this close and intensely, has always felt like stepping into a sunbeam. 

As if you’ve been traversing a cool, dark forest, and suddenly- light. Warmth beyond measure. Golden-brown pools of color so rich they beg you to stay awhile. 

“It’s important to me.” You’re whispering, as if the moment might be disturbed and scatter to the wind with any other volume. “It’s important to you, I know, but it’s important to me, too. We belong together and I want- I need- people to know.”

“Whatever you need,” Eddie answers, adopting your same tone. Still massaging against the muscles of your hand like he’s trying to move the stuck feelings from your body. A smile curling at the corner of his mouth, the outline of a dimple betraying the relaxed demeanor he’s trying to keep up for you. “Whatever you wanna do, baby. I’ll back you a thousand percent. A million.”

You know it’s true. You feel the honesty in a place that rings deep. 

Eddie lifts both your hands and meets them halfway to press a kiss to the tender skin of your wrists, one each. Lips soft and pillowed against the thudding of your heart pulse. 

There’s a childish part of you that kicks out in tantrum, that wants to whine Quit being so nice to me! and maybe shove Eddie, just a little, like you’re in middle school stunted with a puppy crush.

But you don’t. You let the feeling of Eddie’s lips on your skin sink in and then you’re pulling Eddie towards you, burying your face in the spot of his neck that smells the most like home, humming a pleased note as his arms wrap and squeeze just how you like. 

“A million percent is a lot,” you murmur. 

Eddie snorts a laugh. The curve of his smile presses against the crown of your head as he replies- “Yeah, well. As previously established. Obsession of one said Freak will get you into the millions, every time.”

___

Robin arrives, and for a few hours, it’s just like old times.

She’s been busy at the record store an hour from here, with her and Steve’s new managerial statuses meaning less time to hang out or attend apartment parties. The last time you saw each other was over a month ago, and just in passing- your joy for the unfiltered togetherness cannot be understated.

Robin sits at the breakfast bar to help pack the cooler for tomorrow’s road trip, taking it upon herself to make Steve’s lunch (“He’s so picky and so spoiled,” she’d complained, even while lovingly cutting the crusts off a dry turkey sandwich). 

Between the three of you there’s months worth of local gossip and you spend hours catching up, laughing at each other, feeling the rising pitch of stories and voices like a happy storm. 

And even though you’re so glad Robin is here, real and in front of you instead of just a voice down the phone line, the secret starts permeating into everything. 

As it has before. As it will continue to do. 

It feels like a balloon is slowly swelling behind your breastbone, threatening to suffocate the air from your lungs until you’re choking on the surface words. Until you take the needle of truth to the looming, rounded edge of hiding and it all pops in one go. 

You’ve been putting it off and putting it off. Unable to find the exact right time, the perfect pause in conversation; a few times, you’ve widened your eyes at Eddie over the back of Robin’s turned head, a panicked indicator- Help! What the fuck am I doing?!

Each time, Eddie has given you a wink. A quick, subtle response. For the heat of your mind, a cool balm- It’s okay, honey. On your terms.

You’re not even sure what the fucking terms are, anymore. 

You’re used to rules and structure and building solid walls around the tenderest parts of yourself and while it’s been easier, recently, to shift that thinking under Eddie’s care- it feels so much more daunting to do it again. Regardless of how much you love Robin, or how truly safe you feel with her.

Eddie senses your discomfort and offers up a freshly-rolled joint to the group, and soon you’re all lazing about in the living room as it gets hazier with each puff and pass. 

Robin brought the new Sinead O’Connor album as a surprise and the record spins as the talking gets louder, slipping quickly into the bright hilarity that only a good sativa blend can bring.

The A-side clicks off and no one notices, especially not you, leaning into Robin with a giggle fit so intense you’re practically in her lap. Neither of you can even remember what was so funny in the first place but it all just feels so good, so good to be able to find silliness and hear Robin’s laughter again. 

Eventually Eddie stands from his corner chair with a loud clap of his hands and declares with a grin, “I’m sick of you two giggle monsters- how ‘bout you scurry down the corner to pick up some snacks? Make yourselves useful.”

After much more giggling, and a lazy middle finger thrown Eddie’s way (courtesy of Robin), the two of you move with jellied limbs to shove feet into sneakers and arms into coats.

Eddie follows you both to the entryway, procuring a crumpled ten dollar bill from his jeans pocket to tuck it with a flourish into the pocket of your denim jacket. He winks again- “Don’t spend it on drugs, kids-” then reaches for your collar to smooth it out.

Robin laughs again, her hand already on the front doorknob. You nearly lean in for a kiss out of habit but stop yourself halfway, an aborted movement that’s clumsy with weed, covering the strangeness by reaching for Eddie’s own stretched collar to repeat the movement. 

As you follow in Robin’s path out the door, you take one last glance at Eddie, who smiles big and gives you a dorky two thumbs up. 

You hope with a deep ardency that this will be the last time you ever have to deny him a thing.

___

The walk to PJ’s Corner Store is only a few blocks but the two of you make a meal of it all the same. 

In the soft light of the low sun, the neighborhood is alight with pre-suppertime ritual. 

Kids on spring break holler to one another from across the street, zipping from sidewalks to empty curbs on bikes and rollerskates. There are neighbors that nod to you from their porches, smoking cigarettes or watering their flower pots. 

The air is sweet and cool as Robin loops her arm through yours, bumping against your shoulder happily as you fall into step. She’s recounting her latest disaster in the dating world- a story that is sprawling and somehow involves two NDAs- and your laughter is shaking her frame, too. 

A shuddering of souls that reminds you of your college years, sneaking off campus to get drunk as skunks and coming back to dance under the moonlight on the quad grass.

Robin’s hair is longer than when you last saw her, done in messy, looped braids that swing and shift from each of her shoulders in animated speech. The familiar rasp-squeak of her excited voice, the way her hands lift to outline the shape of her words- it all feels like home. 

One block from the corner there’s a copse of trees that create a miniature forest, too overgrown for a proper park but lovely to look at all the same. Robin drags you both to a halt and faces the greenery, still talking, bright eyes the color of a clear morning sky dancing around the treeline. 

You rest your head against her shoulder, still connected by the elbows. The sound of her voice vibrates through your mind, and somewhere near the end of her story you find the courage to ask- 

“So are you seeing anyone now?”

She giggles. Squeezes at your hand in solidarity. 

“No. I’ve been getting myself into too much trouble recently- Steve says it’s ‘cuz I haven’t found ‘The One’ yet and I’ll feel differently when I do but oh, my god, what the hell does a permanent burnout bachelor like him know about true love?”

Robin breathes a deep sigh that you feel, too, then says in a voice that betrays her utter fondness- 

“We have got to find him a nice person to settle down with. I’m tired of his long white jock socks and one night stands being everywhere when I get home. Steve’s the type of guy who needs someone to love. Not that I find that so terribly unrelatable- but, y’know what I mean about his needs. He’s a guy destined for sweet, sweet monogamy.”

Something in her words makes your stomach twist in recognition. A familiarity, a longing long-buried that begins to unwind itself in hopeful tendrils.

Before you can speak Robin starts laughing again, a memory that has her bending forwards with the force of it even as you tug on her arm, begging to be let in on the joke- “What? What is it?”

“Oh my god-” Robin straightens again as she struggles to breathe around her fit of giggling. “Speaking of. Someone really went to town on Munson. Did you see his neck? Looks like he got strangled by a goddamn creature of the deep!”

Robin must interpret your sudden silence as revulsion because she drops your arm in favor of taking both your shoulders, eyes wide- “Oh, jesus, please tell me you didn’t have to listen to the deeds being done. Eugh! I can’t believe you’ve lived with such thin walls this whole time. It must be-”

You can’t hear the rest of that sentence because the noise in your own ears is like a tidal wave, a rush and roar of drowning until you break the surface, still frozen in place but with a sharp gasp for air, voice barely above a whisper but saying it anyways-

“It was me. I did it.”

The humor in Robin’s countenance falters, sputters out as she lets her hands fall. She blinks, confused- “Huh? What do you mean?”

In this moment, you find you were wrong about the shape of your secret. It doesn’t pop in one swift, clean motion; instead, the pierce of your words leave the rest to hiss and leak out.

The truth is messy. It jolts from you like a car with a shitty transmission. 

It makes you cry, tears beginning to stream as your voice warbles with the last bit of bravery you can summon.

“It was me. I did that, to Eddie, because he- me and him, we’re- I’m in love with him. Have been, for a long time, and we’ve been- I’m so, so sorry, for keeping this from you- for lying about it- this whole time-”

And then Robin is hugging you. Pulling you in tight, squeezing around your ribs like she’s trying to excise the sadness and fear. 

Her voice in your ear, so bright with happiness that it takes some of the panic away- “Hey, hey, please don’t cry! I’m not mad, like, at all! It’s okay. It’s totally cool. I kinda knew already, so it’s not such a shock-”

“You knew?” is all you think to say, tears wetting the sleeve of her t-shirt.

“Well, yeah-” Robin pulls back, face alight with grinning as she points to your bracelet. “You weren’t exactly subtle about it, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You manage a small laugh through your tears. The relief washes over you in waves. You did it! You told her!

“And I didn’t know the whole time,” Robin clarifies, still holding you kindly by the shoulders like she’s worried you’ll tip over without the support. “I just… had my suspicions. And maybe placed a running bet with Steve like… two years ago.”

“Oh my god.” Your hands slip over Robin’s elbows as she makes a yikes expression, cringing when you ask- “Does Steve know, too?”

“Of course not. He’s none too observant, bless his little hairsprayed heart.” Robin’s rubbing circles against your shoulders with her thumbs, trying to soothe the ache of release. “And it’s not like I was trying to convince him of anything- he totally doesn’t believe the two of you are hooking up, like, at all, and I figured it was easy money.”

“You’re sick.”

“So are you. I’m willing to split the profits.” Robin grins when you do the same back at her, and then she’s giving you a little shake, teeth practically gritted in excitement- “Holy shit. This is better than I could’ve imagined- I didn’t know you were in boyfriend territory!”

Somehow, this word doesn’t sound so scary when Robin says it. Boyfriend feels comfortable, and almost too simplistic for the feelings you’ve got for Eddie.

“What’s he like?” Robin asks, looping her arm in yours once again, starting to trail up the sidewalk with renewed energy. “Y’know, when he’s not, like, performing for a group of us.”

This is what you’ve missed out on, the thing that you’ve been wishing for. The sharing, the friendship outside of your relationship- it feels so good to tell Robin all about what sort of person Eddie is. What he means to you, how he’s cared for you in the past few years.

The blacktop of PJ’s parking lot is in sight as you’re bookending the conversation. “-and he’s just really, really kind. Much more patient than I deserve, most days. And I’m super, sickeningly in love with him and I’m so glad you’re the first person I’ve told.”

Robin is fighting her own tears by the time her sneakers crunch against the lot. She pauses to hold you at arm’s length again, and tells you in a serious tone- “I’m honored. Truly. And I want you to know your secret is safe with me, and that I’m pretty sure not even Soviet torture methods could break through. I won’t even tell Steve, if you don’t want.”

“Thanks, Robin.” You mean it. “But- I actually want to start telling people. You were just first on my list.”

Her face crumples, the corners of her lips downturned like she’s pushing away the urge to cry. Instead, she hugs you again, with a force that means safety.

“Oh, shit.” Robin swears as she pulls away, eyebrows shooting up- “You’re gonna have to tell Mr. Munson before you show up to the farm and start sharing the same bedroom.”

A mild horror washes over you at the thought, but then is easily brushed away with a dismissive wave of your hand. "That's Eddie’s problem now. What else are boyfriends for?”

Robin squeals her delight, hands gripping yours as she pulls you towards the front doors of the corner store. There’s a twinkle in her eye that suggests a whole new world of mischief has just been opened for her. 

“Exactly right!”

Epilogue

The sun is setting on the third night of the Munson Farms Harvest and Hoopla, and fireflies are beginning to blink to life against the dusky landscape. 

Wayne’s property is only six hours east of the city but the air itself feels otherworldly. Lush, cleaner, with no smog or traffic-fueled smells having touched the greenery of this place. 

The rocking porch bench creaks steadily under your weight as you tip back and forth, wood-slatted porch solid beneath the soles of your sneakers. 

Ceremony calls for a barbeque on the final night at the farm, an enjoyment of all the hard work and another successful harvest. Steve and Nancy are muttering over the grill’s propane tank a few yards away while Robin and the kids are spread around the front lawn, entertaining themselves in various groupings before supper starts up.

The screen door to the house creak-bangs. A moment later Eddie settles into the seat beside you with two cold beers in hand. 

You take his offering, clinking the neck of yours to the neck of his, and when Eddie lays his arm across the back of the bench you scoot in closer to his side. Humming a pleased note when his hand cups the breadth of your shoulder and begins to rub circles into the muscles there. 

He’s wearing another of his black cutoff tanktops tonight- the last piece of clean clothing thanks to his lawless packing. Whenever he shifts you can see the beginnings of a farmer’s tan, the clear delineation of colors between marble-white and toasted Wonder bread. 

Eddie should count himself very lucky he’s had you to fuss over his sunscreen usage every morning, otherwise his skin would be closer to that of an Indiana Cherry. 

Eddie is watching the cluster of boys at the treeline with faint amusement; there are shouts and cheers, a tourney in miniature as Mike and Lucas bat at each other with walnut sticks that have been stripped of their leaves to make for better swords. 

There’s a whole new spray of freckles against the underside of Eddie’s jaw. A spot that begs for kissing.

You clear your throat of the need to feel his skin under your lips and settle on a question, instead. “How’s Wayne?” 

The days here have been so full, so deliriously busy and happy and brimming with people and work that you and Eddie have been hitting the same sheets sated but exhausted at the end of each night, no time for pillow talk. 

And while you’ve missed the usual quiet intimacies, you’ve been finding him in your dreams. Waking up early just to cuddle against his sleepy form while he holds you, soaking in the precious few minutes before suiting up for the orchards again. 

Eddie takes a long pull of his beer. He finds a tense spot in your neck with his thumb and presses into it, firm but careful. “Wayne’s good. Happy to have company. He doesn’t get out much, ‘sides seeing his fishing or drinking buddies. Nothin’ like a little chaos to shake it up.”

“And… what was it like? To tell him about us, I mean.” Your thumbnail fits to the edge of the beer label, peeling as your heart patters in wait. 

Eddie snorts, shifts with the memory, pulling you in closer to his side with the movement. “Wayne said he knew the whole time, which is a goddamn lie. No way that old man was wise to it. Prob’ly said it just to tick me off.”

You give Eddie a sideways glance and realize he’s nearly blushing. The fondness buried just below the surface of his words unveiling the younger boy he becomes when stepping foot onto his uncle’s farm; a return to his roots. 

There’s an ease to his nature here that isn’t always apparent in your shared city-living. A looser, more lithe energy that beckons his tongue to slip back into countryside accents and adages. 

“Jesus,” you say, unable to help the trembling laugh that escapes, even as Eddie turns to raise his brow in question. “Wow. I thought it was surely only me that was gonna spin out over telling everyone. Turns out it’s you, too.”

Eddie splutters, indignant, rolling his eyes before snapping at you playfully with his teeth like an oversized puppy- “Hey! I’m not spinning out. I’m totally cool as a cucumber knowing my old man knows I’m warming your bed. Totally, totally cool-”

“Gross,” you chide, poking an elbow into his ribs that he can’t dodge. 

Eddie sneaks a kiss behind your ear while your face is turned towards his and withdraws, casual again- “And I’m pretty sure Red claimed the same, so you’re not one to talk.”

Your turn for an eye roll, a scoff, remembering Max’s triumphant grin among the clamor of enthusiastic teenagers at the news of their DM’s newest partnership. She’d slipped to your side once the noise had died down and gave you a fierce, unexpected hug, then whispered- “I called it.”

“She didn’t call shit.” You’re just as indignant, slipping both your legs over the seat of Eddie’s closest knee. “And neither did Wayne, or Robin- we’ve been so great at hiding it.”

It’s sarcasm, and Eddie reads your tone like a favorite book. His thumb rests at the hidden nape of your neck as he nods- “Right. ‘S what I said.”

Your arm slips around his middle, fingertips steady at the mouth of your beer while the crown of your head budges up to the side of his jaw. A long, dreamy sigh leaves your lungs, then a concession- “Maybe we were more transparent than we knew. Maybe we were never supposed to hide this.” 

Eddie responds by kissing the top of your head, and swiping goosebumps across the back of your neck. “Yeah. And y’know, having it out in the open might be more trouble than it’s worth. Wayne’s gonna be a pain in the ass about us getting hitched. Havin’ his grandbabies. We’ll have to fend him off with a sword.”

“Yeah right.” You lift your head from the comfort of Eddie’s to take another long sip of your beer, squinting sideways at your boy. “You know you’re not allowed to have swords after what happened to my wall last year. And besides. I can handle it.”

Eddie smiles at you, gives you a look like you’re the only reason he’s upright and breathing. 

There’s no need for Rules anymore. No more walls around the softest parts of your mind- walls that were structured to hold you together but were actually breaking you apart.

You’re sitting on the porch of the house where you first told Eddie you loved him, and though you don’t remember it, you’re sure you’ve made up for it a thousand times over. A pattern you want to repeat and repeat until the meter swings so far in the other direction that Eddie will never again have to guess at what’s in your head. 

The feeling is enormous. You don’t shy from it.

“I love you,” you murmur. Simple and honest. 

Eddie’s smile is sideways, heavy with the weight of it. He demures, looks down and then up at you through those long, deerlike lashes- “Love? Little ol’ me?”

You lean in and press your lips to his. It’s a soft, quiet kiss, one that you hope is worth a couple thousand words. 

There’s a far-off shout of Get a room! from your cousin, a tittering giggle from Jane, some of the boys catching on and whooping in teasing bursts, a brief reprieve from their all-consuming play.

You throw a middle finger in the vague direction of Max and Eddie is grinning so wide you can feel the neat row of his teeth between your lips before you pull back just to see the pink tinge at the apples of his cheeks. 

He meets you halfway for another kiss. 

For a blissful moment, it’s just the sound of the cicadas, you, and Eddie- and everything feels just right. 

Oh my god luluuuuuuuuuuuuu 😭 What a perfect conclusion for these two—it had everything that made their story so compelling from the start.

It was sweet and silly, but still heartfelt and just…ohhhhhhhhh. This is true of all your reader-inserts but this one in particular is such a joy to read and to see being loved exactly the way they deserve.

😭😭😭😭😭

The exact moment I knew I was done for 😵

HE PLANNED AHEAD HE KNEW HE WOULD NEED A DO-OVER LULU HOW DARE U

I have to go walk into traffic real q I’ll be back

I shed a real, literal tear over this visual, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer Tippi Esquire, Attorney at Paw.

Bless r’s heart, the last to know 🥲

HE’S UNDER ARREST FOR THE CRIME OF BEING TOO PERFECT AND YOU ARE HIS ACCOMPLICE!!! 😭😭😭

You roll your hips, feeling every inch of his throbbing member press against your walls.

Eddie should not feel this good. You think to yourself. 

But the guy shows up on your doorstep, all rattled and out of breath. He had stormed up your apartment steps and pounded on your door like he was trying to break it down. And before you could inquire about what the hell was going on, his hands reached for your face. 

He did this from time to time. You had done it to him more times than you could count. 

You fucked each other when neither of you wanted to think. It was nothing serious. Friends with a mutual understanding. Sometimes you just needed to fuck, and you both agreed that finding partners was too much of a hassle. 

You were busy with work and school, he was too busy being a menace to society. 

Both equally stressful things, of course.

But today must have been bad. He usually would lay it all out for you before getting down to business, but he could not get his pants off quick enough. 

Your hand mounts firmly on his chest as you draw your hips upward, finally slamming down onto him with equal precision. 

“Do you wanna,” You start to speak but his hips start meeting yours and your brain blanks. What were you even trying to say again?

For the first time since you laid eyes on him today, he smiles. 

“Do I wanna what?” He asks, breathlessly. “Do you wanna talk about-” You suck in a sharp breath, forcing all your weight on him so his cock is fully sheathed inside you for a second. “Talk about it? W-what’s going on?”

He reaches up to fondle your bare chest before propping himself up more on your headboard. He shakes his head, his sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead. 

“Just a bad day.” You shift on his pelvis, giving him only a bit of friction. “Anything I have to worry about?”

He presses a small kiss to the swell of your breasts. You think it’s sweet and tender at first, but then he begins extending his tongue out of his mouth and flicking your taut nipple with it. “Wasn’t the agreement ages ago that it's no talking about the shitty stuff while I’m stuffed inside you?” You throw your head back, the view of him playing with your tits a bit too much. “Yes, but I’m just worried about you.”

His hands move from your hips and slowly begin traveling upward to your waist. He locks his arms around you before throwing you down onto the mess of the bed. You lie on your back, eyes wide and confused.

His dick is still stuffed snugly in your dripping cunt, but this time the curve of it is pressing inside you differently. Hitting that delicious area that Eddie usually toys with his fingers. 

“Worried about me, hm?” He hums, sitting back slightly on his calves. He looks between the two of you, still connected, and dribbles just a bit of spit. 

The sight alone makes you clench. You cannot even verbalize when he’s looking like that above you. 

He smirks before slowly drawing himself out of you, “I appreciate the concern, sweetheart, I really do. But please, just let me drown my sorrows in this perfect pussy of yours.”

You jerk a nod, letting him unhurriedly thrust himself in and out of you. The feeling is maddening. You want him to speed up so bad, but he looks so spent above you that you say nothing. Just some broken moans in between each thrust and hushed whispers of his name. 

He drops down on top of you, his elbows pressing into the mattress next to your shoulders. His face is wedged into your neck as he continues his prodding at your pussy. You push your fingers through his disheveled curls, grabbing onto him by the roots of his hair.

His motion never speeds up, if anything it just becomes more powerful. As he nears his end, you can feel his dick twitching against your g-spot. You know you are close, too. You push your hand between your bodies, but before you could even get near your clit, his hand is over your mound and rubbing fast circles against that sensitive spot. 

When you clench around him, he’s chanting your name and stilling his movements completely. You feel him seeping out of you almost immediately, but especially when he retreats from your cunt. 

He exhales, his hot breath fanning across your throat, “Did I say how much I needed that?”