Hey!! just wanted to start by saying I love your writing so much :)
just wanted to submit a request, and if you’re not comfortable with it, no worries at all. was wondering if you’d be interested in an Eddie Munson x fem!reader with a chronic illness. I have POTS, which causes dizziness, migraines, brain fog, and most notably, a very high heart rate with movement. I haven’t seen it in writing much, and was looking for like a comfort/angst smut fic with it or something similar included. doesn’t have to be crazy, just even if a small comfort and breathing break is needed!
thanks, sorry about the ramble, and again if youre not interested no worries!
⁀➷ The Long Haul // Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Summary: You didn’t expect Eddie Munson to notice you—let alone care. But when your chronic illness flares at the worst possible moment, he’s suddenly everywhere: loud, chaotic, and terrifyingly sincere. What starts as unexpected concern quickly turns into something deeper as Eddie refuses to back off, refuses to let you suffer alone.
Requested by: Thank you for the request! I hope my representation of POTS is correct. I'm sorry if I got any information wrong. I had to research it and went with symptoms that were on Google, so fingers crossed it's ok! much love <3 xx
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, reader has POTS, fainting, friends to lovers, caretaking/comfort, moaner!eddie, soft!dom eddie, praise kink, oral, gentle intimacy, aftercare
Words: 4.9k
my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link
You’d made it this far.
It wasn’t even noon yet, and you’d already survived a whole shift at the campus cde, your morning lecture, and now–if your heart wasn’t about to launch itself out of your ribcage–a surprise pop quick in Psych 204. All without anyone noticing how hard your body was betraying you today.
Your hands trembled faintly as you scribbled your answers. You were too aware of the way your pulse was racing, like a warning siren behind your ears. Like your blood had decided to run laps through your veins. There was a familiar weight pressing behind your eyes, the kind of pressure that made the fluorescent lights overhead feel ten times brighter than they were. If you could just finish this class, get somewhere quiet, maybe lie down…
“Jesus,” a voice groaned behind you, loud as ever.
You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—that unmistakable drawl, all gravel and swagger and unapologetic volume. You glanced at the edge of the desk and caught the tip of a beat-up boot sticking into the aisle. Great. Of course, Eddie Munson was in your psych class now.
You thought he’d dropped it. Skipped it. Got expelled from it—something chaotic to match his energy.
Apparently not.
He was muttering to himself about Freud and then laughing under his breath like he’d cracked the funniest joke in the world. Normally, you would’ve rolled your eyes. Maybe even smiled a little. But not today.
Today, your vision blurred just slightly, the edges of the room softening and shaking. A weird sweat had started at the base of your spine, sticky and cold. You could feel your legs tingle under your desk. Pinks and needles. The kind that came before you passed out.
Your pen slipped from your fingers.
Shit.
You leaned forward slowly, as if every inch counted, your hand blindly searching the floor. You didn't dare move too fast.
You knew your body like a well-worn enemy. Knew the exact sequence of steps that led from “not great” to “full-blown collapse.” You’d ridden that wave too many times before. There was a method now. A rhythm.
You’d hide it. You always did.
Except this time, when you sat up, the world tilted. Hard.
Your desk swam out of focus, your body pitching sideways. There was a dull thud, chair against tile, and then hands. Rough and warm and there, suddenly.
“Hey–whoa, hey, hey, sweetheart.” That voice again. Close this time. Closer than it should’ve been. “Hey, you good? You with me?”
Eddie. Your heart, already racing, kicked up another gear. Adrenaline mixed with panic. You tried to speak – ‘im ine, it’s fine, please don't make this worse, don't draw attention to me’-- but your mouth wasn't cooperating. And your legs? Gone. Just noodles. Your arms had gone cold.
And eddie munson, chaotic, loud-mouthed, metalhead freak Eddie Munson, was crouched on the floor in front of you, big hands hoveringlike he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you but really fucking wanted to.
Your professor was frozen by the whiteboard, chalk in half. The whole class was staring now. Perfect.
“Hey,” Eddie said again, gentler now. “Can you look at me?”
You blinked.
Good enough for him.
His dark eyes swept over your face, all frantic energy narrowed into razor-sharp focus. You realised, vaguely, that he’d grabbed your hand, one of his silver rings pressing cold against your clammy skin. His grip wasn't tight. Just grounding.
“I think you’re going to pass out,” he said, like he was reading instructions off the back of a cereal box. “Okay. Cool. You’re gonna sit back. Just lean against me. There you go.”
You didn’t have the strength to protest as he pulled you toward him, guiding your slumped body so you could lean against his chest. He was surprisingly solid. Warm. Smelled like leather, cigarette smoke, and the faintest hint of something sweet. His jean jacket scratched at your cheek, but you didn’t move.
He shifted again, grunting softly, and never thing you knew he was lifting your legs onto a chair he’d dragged over.
“Eddie–”, you managed, your voice weak.
“Nope,” he said. “Shut up. You’re not dying in Psych class. That’s the most embarrassing way to go.”
A weak huff of a laugh escaped you. God, no one had ever done this before.
Someone fetched the TA. There was a loss of noise. The offer of a nurse’s office, or someone calling an ambulance. But Eddie waved them all off like a knight in a Metallica tee.
“She just needs to lie down for a sec. Right?”
You nodded. Your head felt heavy, but the worst had passed.
By the time the class was dismissed early and the room had cleared out, Eddie hadn’t moved. You were still half-draped against him, his hand still curled loosely around your wrist to check your pulse.
You opened your eyes fully and stared up at him.
And fuck. He was kind of beautiful.
His curls were a mess, pulled half into a hair tie that was losing the battle. His mouth was set in a firm line, chewing the inside of his cheek like he was still working out a plan. He looked like a man ready to fight God and your blood pressure at the same time.
But it was his eyes, those big puppy dog, brown eyes that stared at you with such concern that had you speechless.
“You okay now?” he asked. His voice was softer than before. Still rough, but not harsh.
You nodded again, pushing yourself up slowly. “Yeah. I'm… I’ll be fine. I just… need to get to my dorm.”
“No way in hell I'm letting you go alone.”
You blinked.
“I’m serious,” he said, standing and offering you both hands like a rockstar on stage. “You think I’m gonna just let you wander off after your body straight up shut down in my arms? Not happening, sweetheart.”
You hesitated. Then took his hands. He pulled you up with surprising gentleness, like you were something delicate. His hands were big, rough palms, ring-heavy fingers, but careful.
The hallway was quiet. He didn’t let go.
On the walk to your dorm, Eddie stayed right beside you, one hand on your elbow like a bodyguard and the other gesturing wildly as he told some story to distract you.
“And I told O’Donnell that bat was a metaphor, but she was like, ‘No, Edward, it’s just a weapon.’ Like, excuse me? Have you seen the phallic symbolism–”
You let out a real laugh. He stopped mid-rant and looked at you, visibly pleased, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “There she is,” he grinned.
Your legs felt a little steadier. You hated how comforting he was. How easy it was to let him guide you. You’d worked so hard to keep people out of this part of your life. But Eddie? he was already cracking it open with nothing more than a hand on your arm and a dimple when he smiled.
You made it to your room, finally. Eddie hovered in the doorway, uncertain.
“You, uh… gonna be okay? Want me to stay?”
You stared at him. The absurd, messy kindness of him. And for the first time, you didn’t say no. “Maybe just for a minute.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie Munson had become a problem.
Not in the typical sense, not the kind of problem you could fix with space, or silence, or letting things fade like you normally did when people got too close. Because Eddie didn’t fade.
He stuck.
Lingered like smoke in your clothes. Since that afternoon in class, he’d appointed himself your unofficial handler. Not in a weird way. In a very Eddie way. Loud, a little reckless and overbearing in a way that wouldn’t annoy you if it didn’t also make you feel seen.
Everywhere you turned, he was there.
Your next class? He claimed the seat next to you, sliding into the chair like he’d always belonged there and pulling a crumpled notebook from his back pocket.
“What, you think I'm gonna not babysit the girl who nearly fainted into my lap?”
The cafeteria? He shoved a Gatorade across the table at you without a word, then launched into a story about a squirrel that stole his sandwich.
The library? “Studying is more effective with moral support, sweetheart. I read that in a book. Or maybe it was a D&D manual.”
He didn't ask questions. Not directly anyway. But you could feel them, hanging there and waiting.
You'd spent years crafting a version of yourself that looked effortless and independent.. You didn’t like needing people. You especially didn't like explaining why, sometimes without warning, your body betrayed you, as it had that day.
But Eddie didn’t give up. And when the crash hit again, you couldn’t hide it.
It started subtly, like it always did.
You’d had a long day. Two lectures, one shift on your feet behind the register at the care, barely a break to eat. You’d ignored the signs: dry mouth, tremors, that deep pull behind your knees like gravity was trying to flatten you. Told yourself to push through.
You were good at pushing through.
Except tonight, sitting on the couch in your dorm, you felt the room start to slide sideways.
You stood, intending to grab water or salt or something, but your knees buckled. You barely caught yourself on the edge of your desk. Your chest heaved once, twice.
“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay, I’m fine. Just–just sit. Sit down.”
You stumbled to the floor, half-crawling to your bed.
And then knocking. A very specific kink of knocking.
Three beats. A pause. Two more.
“Hey! Are you alive in there?” Eddie called.
You tried to call back, tried to make your voice work, but the blood had rushed from your head too fast. Everything felt far away.
The door creaked open.
“Sorry– I know I should’ve waited for you to say something, but I got this weird guy thing, and–”
He froze.
“Shit.”
The heavy booted footsteps. And then Eddie, in your space, swearing under his breath as he dropped to the floor beside you, already pulling the throw pillow off your bed to shove under your legs.
“Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”
You shook your head. “M’okay. Just a crash.”
“You’re not okay,” he insisted, but his voice had calmed now as if he were trying to control his panic. “Tell me what you need, sweets?”
You blinked heavily. “No, salt, water, cold rag, maybe. Just need to wait it out.”
He didn't ask questions or freak out; he just moved across your room, gathering objects as he went.
One minute later, he was kneeling in front of you with a half-empty Gatorade, a handful of pretzels from the vending machine, and a look that any other time would have melted you into the floor.
You sipped slowly, aware of how closely he was watching you. He sat on the floor beside you, legs stretched out long, one of his knees bumping yours.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he admitted.
You managed a whisper of a smile. “You're here a lot for someone who claims not to care about other people.”
He snoted, “Angel, I don’t do subtle. If I didn't care, I wouldn't be on your dorm floor feeding you pretzels.”
You looked down at your lap. The warmth in your chest had nothing to do with the heat creeping up your spine.
“Why?” you asked.
He tilted his head. “Why do I care?”
“Why are you doing this? No one else ever… It’s exhausting, you know? Explaining.”
Eddie sat forward, elbows on his knees. His haze was heavy but kind.
“You don't have to explain,” he said. “Not unless you want to. But.. I want to understand. I want to know how to help. What to look for. How to not make it worse.”
Your breath caught.
“Don't give me that look,” he said, softer now. “You think I haven't been doing research since Psychoclass? I practically live in the library now. I know what POTS is. I mean, it’s fucked, but like… makes a hell of a lot more sense now. Why do you vanish sometimes? Why you always look like you’re fighting through a storm even when you’re smiling.”
You swallowed hard.
“I’m used to handling it alone,” you said quietly.
“I know.”
There was a long silence. The kind that pulled something taut between you. Then Eddie nudged you gently. “Get on the bed.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You're half-dead on your dorm floor. Let me be a good Samaritan or a weird little goblin or whatever you wanna call me, and help you into bed.”
You shook your head, but you didn't fight him when he helped you up. He tucked your blanket around you. Brought your favourite hoodie from the desk chair.
Then, instead of leaving, he kicked off his boots and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t you have better things to be doing?” you asked, hoping he didn't.
He glanced down at you with a cheeky grin. “Nah. I'm gonna sit here until I'm sure you're okay. Or until you tell me to leave. Which, by the way, I won't take personally. But you should know I make an excellent heater.”
You sighed, “You're annoying.”
“You love it.”
You didn't argue. You just scooted to his side. “You can stay. Just don't hit the blanket.”
His grin was blinding. And just like that, Eddie Munson was in your bed. Not in a sexy way. Not yet. But warn, and solid.
You let your head fall onto his shoulder. He went still just for a second.
The one arm came around your back, and he said very quietly: “You don't have to do this alone anymore.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You should’ve said no. You knew better. You’d felt it all morning, the warning signs.
The heat pricking at your skin despite the breeze, the shakiness in your hands when you tried to pour cereal, the way your heart wouldn’t slow down no matter how still you sat. You’d doubled your salt intake and chugged a Gatorade. Told yourself it was just a bad day. That you could still go.
And when Eddie showed up at your door, all breathless excitement and wild curls and “you’re still coming, right?”, you couldn't bring yourself to say no.
Because he looked at you like you mattered, your presence was likely something he wanted, not just tolerated. And for once, you didn't want to let the illness in.
So you went to the Corroded Coffin concern. And now?
Now you were onthe verge of collapsing in the middle of the damn gymnasium.
The lights were strobing. The bass was thumping. Your ears were ringing. Sweat soaked your shirt. The sound of the crowd became too much, white noise and static pressing against your skull. Your legs had already buckled once. You were sitting now, half-sprawled against the bleachers, but even gravity felt optional.
Your vision blurred. Your chest seized. You didn’t know where Eddie was.
Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic–
“Hey–”
His voice cut through the noise like a knife. Suddenly, he was kneeling in front of you, curls damp with sweat, eyes wide with something dangerously close to fear.
“Oh fuck. Of fuck. What happened?”
You opened your mouth, tried to answer, but no words came out. Your heart was pounding too fast to speak. You felt your fingers curl against the floor, legs twitching as your body went rigid.
“Jesus H Christ, sweetheart,” he half hollered. “Okay. Okay, you’re okay. I'm gonna get you out of here.”
The word sweetheart hit you like a bolt of lightning, but you were too far gone to respond.
Eddie stood and scooped you up in one fluid motion, arms around your back, your legs dangling uselessly against his side. He didn't care who saw. Didn't pause to explain. He just moved, storming out of the gym like a man on a mission, whispering under his breath.
“I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
He didn't set you down until you were outside, behind the building, where the air was cooler and the silence finally hit. He sank to the pavement, settling you in his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, cradling your head against his chest.
You could hear his heartbeat. Strong and fast.
“Breathe with me,” he encouraged, rubbing your back. “Just breathe.”
You clutched at his jacket, eyes wide, muscles trembling. You weren’t crying, but you wanted to. You wanted to scream. Because of this flare-up, this embarrassment, this is why you didn't go to the place. This is why you said no.
“Im so–fucking–stupid,” you choked out between raggedbreaths.
Eddie pulled back slightly, just enough to cup your face.
“Hey, no, don't do that.”
“You told me I should stay home if I felt like this–”
“I asked if you were okay,” he corrected, voice hoarse. “I should’ve known. You didn't have to pretend. You don't ever have to pretend with me.”
You looked away, cheeks burning for a new reason. He was silent for a long moment.
Then, quieter: “You don't get it, do you?”
Your gaze flicked back to him. His thumb brushed the edge of your cheekbone.
“I see you, angel. Not just the parts you show everyone. All of it. The way you hide how dizzy you are. The way you smile when you’re clearly in pain. The way you try so hard not to be a burden, like you expect people to leave when it gets hard.”
You blinked, throat tight.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
You didn’t speak. Couldn.t
Eddie leaned forward until your forehead touched. His breath was warm against your lips.
“You don't have to do this alone,” he promised. “You never did. You just didnt have anyone who gave a shit. But I do.”
He stayed like that, his hands cradling your face, his thumb catching a stray tear you didn't realise had fallen.
And that was the moment you broke.
You collapsed into him. Fully. Arms wrapping around his neck, body trembling, letting yourself be held.
Eddie's arms tightened around you, not letting go.
Later, back in your dorm, Eddie was the one who helped you out of your sweat-soaked clothes. Not in a sexual way, not yet anyway.
He laid you down, brought you water, elevated your legs with a stack of books and sat at your side and whispered things you couldn’t remember, just soft sounds and comfort.
You were exhausted, vulnerable in a way that scared you.
But Eddie? Eddie looked at you differently, like he was scared that if he closed his eyes, you might disappear. Something had changed, and there was no way you wanted to go back.
Hours later, your body was still buzzing from the crash. And Eddie had stayed.
You’d fallen asleep with your legs lazily draped over his lap, your cheek pressed against the soft stretch of his worn-out t-shirt. When you woke, disoriented and sore and wrung-out, he was still there. Fingers idly brushing your knee, eyes locked on you.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he spoke softly. “You back with me?”
You nodded, voice dry. “Yeah. just heavy.”
“You scared the shit outta me earlier.” he leaned down adn kissed your forehead until you were melting further into his touch. “Next time, if you feel even a little off, you tell me. Got it?”
You smiled weakly up at him, “You sound like a boyfriend.”
He stilled as your breath caught.
Then– “Maybe I want to be.”
Your chest ached, but not in a bad way. In the way that something new was cracking open. You shifted slowly, curling into his side, your lips ghosting over his clean-shaven jaw.
“You already act like one, Munson.”
His hand found your waist. Big and warm, even his silver rings felt warm against your skin.
“You sure this is okay?” he asked, showing his signs of vulnerability. Voice rough with need but laced with restraint.
“I want you,” you admitted with a sharp breath. “Please, Eddie. Don’t go.”
That was all it took. Eddie Munson kissed you like he meant it. Like this kiss was all he needed in the world.
His mouth was warm and eager, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened for him, and then the way he moaned into it had your thighs clenching together. That noise was desperate and needy, and it explained all his feelings for you.
You whimpered back. He kissed you harder.
His hand slid under your shirt, thumb stroking slow circles just beneath your ribs. He moved like he wanted to memorise and learn everything about your body, not rushing. Your body was still tired, still weak, but the heat between your legs was intense.
He pulled back, breathing hard as his soft curls fell into his face.
“We don’t have to–”
“I want to, Eddie,” you said again. “Just… slow.”
“Sweetheart,” he rasped, eyes dark with arousal. “You think I’d ever be anything but gentle with you?”
He lifted your shirt slowly, eyes following every inch of exposed skin. His lips followed next, trailing kisses from your ribs to your navel, pausing to mouth over your sensitive hips. He worshipped you like it was the only thing he’d ever learned how to do.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, angel,” he groaned against your skin. “You have no idea.”
He helped you out of your clothes, checking in with every shift. “Okay, if I take this off?” he asked, and when you nodded, he’d kiss that spot too.
When you were bare beneath him, Eddie just looked at you. His gaze raked over your body with something more than lust, something tender and possessive in the most loving way.
“Lie back for me, sweetheart,” he carefully helped you back. “Gonna take care of you.”
He settled between your thighs like it was home and kissed the inside of your knee, then higher. Inch by inch until you were squirming.
And when his mouth finally met your pussy? You gasped loudly.
Eddie moaned at the taste of you, like he was the one being pleasured.
“Oh, fuck–fuck–you taste so good, angel,” he praised, tongue licking a slow stripe up your slit. “I could live here. Honest to god, I could fucking die right here.”
His mouth was hot and filthy. Skilled as his tongue circled your clit, his fingers spreading your labia giving him the perfect access to that special spot. His lips sealed around it, sucking it with an obsene slurp until your back is arching and hips pressing harder against his face.
You weren’t sure what was turning you on more, his devilish tongue that licked and flicked in all the right ways. Or his sweet little moans and whimpers, breathy praises between every lick.
“You’re doing so well, sweet girl. Fuck–youre so wet for me.”
You moaned his name, and he whined, a full-body shudder like he couldn't take hearing it.
When he slid two thick fingers inside you, slow and crooked just right, you nearly cried. The stretch was perfect. He worked you open with that same steady rhythm, curling deep until you were clenching around him, mouth falling open, and your fingers gripped painfully into his hair.
“Eddie–I'm close–”
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he panted. “Come for me. Wanna feel you around my fingers.”
You shuddered with a cry, your hips bucking harder now. Eddie moaned again, louder, like your orgasm alone got him off.
He kissed your inner thigh as you came down, whispering soft thingslike, thats it, good girl, fuck youre so perfect.
You reached for him with trembling hands, stroking over his handsome cheeks.
“Need you.”
He didn't make you say it again.
Eddie stripped out of his clothes with fumbling hands, leaving you breathless at the sight of him. Tattoos and scars. He was lean and strong, and you just wanted to lick every part of him.
He settled between your spread legs, forearms bracing on either side of your head.
“You sure?” he asked again.
You cupped his face. “Please. Want you inside me.”
He kissed you then, deep, messy and needy as he slid into you slowly.
And holy shit, the feeling was overwhelming for both of you. A full, open-mouthed moan punched out of him. “Fuck–fuck, baby–you feel like heaven, I swear to God–”
He bottomed out with a grunt, resting his forehead against yours.
“Tell me if it's too much,” he whispered against your lips. “I’ll stop. I’ll pull out. Whatever you need.”
“Don't stop,” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Feels so good.”
He moved in slow, careful thrusts, letting you feel every inch. His breath hitched every time you clenched around him.
“So tight,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”
Your fingers delved into his hair, pulling him closer, letting his weight settle on you. It wasn’t just sex, it was something more—a breakdown of every wall you've ever built.
And Eddie? Eddie was losing his mind over it.
“Can't–can't believe I get to do this,” he panted against your neck before taking a soft bite to the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “Get to be the one touching you like this. Taking care of you. Loving you–”
You gasped as he froze.
Then his hips continued to move slowly. “I meant it. I have for a while.”
Everything was happening at once, it was so overwhelming and so perfect that you couldn’t help but fall apart with the words, “I love you.”
Eddie didn’t slow down, even after your orgasm, he really fucked you with so much passion. He held your face as you came again, kissed you as your body pulled around him.
When he followed, it was with a gravelly cry, “Angel–fuck–im cumming, im cumming–”, as he burised his face in your neck and trembled through it.
He stated inside you afterwards, both of you panting, clinging to each other like the world might end if you let go.
Aftercare was a blur of soft touches and whispered words of love. He cleaned you up delicately, made you drink water, then tucked you into his chest, his hand splayed protectively over your stomach.
“You’re everything,” he whispered into your hair. “Everything, baby.”
You finally believed it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
SIX MONTHS LATER
You woke to the sound of the kettle boiling. Not your alarm or the frantic beep of a med timer. Just the soft whistle of water and the low hum of a man quietly singing along to Iron Maiden from the next room.
You blinked your eyes open slowly. The bedroom was flooded with morning light, filtered through the sheet black curtains Eddie insisted on because they were “metal, but also, like sexy goth vibes.”
Your body ached, but gently, like a warming—a low battery alert rather than a full system shutdown.
And Eddie seemed to know already. You could feel it in the quiet. The way he hadn't nudged you awake. The way the bedroom door had been left cracked, not fully shit, just in case you needed him.
You didn't have to ask. He always knew.
A minute later, the door creaked open.
There he was: sleepy curls falling into his face, a giant Hellfire t-shirt barely hanging off his shoulder, a mug in each hand.
“Hey, angel,” he said softly. “Figured it might be a down day.”
You smiled. “Kinda feeling it.”
“Figured,” he said again, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing you your mug. “Salted tea, caffeine free. I crushed the electrolyte tabs myself this time. Feel free to be impressed.”
You sipped. “Genuinely, that's the hottest thing you've ever said to me.”
Eddie grinned, but his eyes still searched your face.
“Are you dizzy?”
“A little.”
“Nausea?”
“Not bad. Just heavy.”
He nodded, setting his mug down before crawling into bed beside you. He pulled you into his lap with practised ease, wrapping both arms around your waist and settling his chin on your shoulder.
You leaned back into him, letting yourself melt against his chest.
“I can stay in today. Cancel D&D. We can watch that dumb baking show where everything explodes.”
You tilted your head. “Isn’t that the one you said gives you anxiety?”
“Yeah, but watching British people politely cry about cakes is somehow less stressful than letting you be here alone like this.”
You twisted slightly to face him. “You've already done enough, Eds. I’ll be okay.”
He frowned. “It's not about enough, it's about showing up, every time.”
You stared at him for a long moment. Six months ago, that would've scared you. The way he really meant it. The way he didn't blink when it got hard, when your symptoms flared, when you cried in a CVS aisle because your knees gave out.
But now? Now it just made you want to curl into his arms and never leave.
“You love me or something?” you teased, voice light.
Eddie rolled his eyes. “No, I just keep hand-making Gatoragepopsicles and researching compression socks for my health.”
You laughed. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. Then another, this one slower.
You feel these fingers trace gentle patterns over your thighs, drawing idle shapes, not rushing.
“You want cuddles today?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or… y’know. Cuddles.”
Your body still felt heavy, but your heart surged with excitement.
“I want you,” you whispered. “Slow, lazy, just us.”
He smiled, and that morning, tangled in his arms, your mug half empty and your legs across his lap, you both shared pleasure and love like it was meant to be.
