A @pullhisteeth - Tumblr Blog

depollute me. | e.m.

it was simple, you are sweetness, let's just sit a while. the not-so sadist!eddie i have always wanted to write. (i don't think you need to have read any of my sadist!eddie fics for this to make sense, this can absolutely stand on its own. but if you're familiar with the universe it'll be a really cozy fic because we know he's a lovesick idiot.) inspo from 'we'll never have sex' by leith ross but low key (high key) they do have sex. happy belated valentine's day, besties. this is not necessarily a valentine's day ficlet but, it's definitely all about love. tw: p in v sex, body worship, lots of praise, no kinks just people who really love each other gag. reader mentions some insecurity about weight gain, mentions of skipping meals but not due to this insecurity -- moreso just busy! this unfortunately will make you ache and yearn so sorry to all the real yearners out there. but also shout out to all the yearners. (and shout out to all the pear!)

He notices the way you don’t speak when the storm door creaks open, when your work bag gets abandoned on a kitchen chair with a thud. Coat haphazardly slung over one of the bare knobs on the hooks by the door. They'd been there since Eddie was a kid, Wayne screwed them in when he was little 'cause his dad was tired of tripping over his Pre-K backpack. You both had been making the effort to see each other more, but the winter had been particularly brutal. The garage is always extra busy come end of November through March but these past few months have gotten Eddie a fat overtime check every couple weeks. Snow, ice, and salt causing more accidents and worn tires than he'd seen in the last few years.

Right before Thanksgiving you'd gotten a promotion that you'd been waiting to get for a better half of two years. And that December had thrown you for a loop, January a worse one. If Ed wasn't at the garage then you were at the office, a tug of time in both of your hands. Each night spent together in quiet murmurs, in TV dinners, in meet ups at the Hideout after a set. And every time he saw you, you seemed a little less you.

“Hi baby,” he calls out from the bedroom, making his way down the hall to the kitchen.

“Hey, honey,” he hears from the door. He swallows, heart swelling with a knowing sadness. Not that you sound sad, he knows what your voice sounds like when you were sad. This was something more. Distant, despondent, downtrodden. When he gets to the entry way you're leaned over the counter, elbows on the linoleum, your head in your hands. Face covered by your cold fingers. He makes his way over, feeling bad to see you in your work slacks and patterned blouse while he's already cozied up in a pair of old sweats and a failed merch tee. Can you believe Gareth couldn't spelled 'Corroded'?

“There's my girl," he says to no one under his breath, he knows you hear is by the way your shoulders roll slightly. He reachs out to run a hand over your back, the satin of your shirt glowing a green-y yellow back at him in reflection of the oven light, "You just standing here in the dark?" You nod into your hands, he can feel the tension rolling off you in waves. At least at the bar you'd have a drink in you, or you'd have eaten lunch, or you'd have had some time to decompress. But tonight you came straight from work, a hunk of papers still left to review in the black leather satchel you bought from Mrs. Hollis down the street -- Forest Hills' very own Avon lady. "You okay?" he asks tentatively, ringed hand running in firm soothing circles between your shoulder blades. Selfishly, he just likes the way the fabric feels, he likes the way his calluses catch on the fibers.

You shrug, taking your face out of your hands and pressing up from the counter to full height, “It was just — whew!”

A yawn pours out of you before you can finish, hand reaching up to cover your mouth.

“Was just really long day.”

“I see that,” Ed smiles when he sees your face in front of his, hand reaching up to hold your cheek in his palm. He admires you for a minute, the mascara flakes on your cheeks, the darkness under your eyes. Still so beautiful after 'a really long day'. But you don't really feel there with him. "I was bummed I didn't hear from you at the shop today," he confesses, letting his fingers run behind your ear before making his way to the other end of the counter to grab the bottle of red he bought the night before, "I love when you call me on your lunch."

“I know, babe, I’m sorry,” you offer, your apology coming out flustered. He catches the defeated fall in your posture, chastising himself for saying anything. He pours himself a glass and then yours, two Joe Smooth collectible cups that Wayne won in a card game. It only seemed fitting for Ed to have them since was the one who smoked Camels. "I wanted to but, we were supposed to have a later afternoon meeting with a new client and then my boss wanted to take them out to lunch," you start, rambling and hurried like you're still on the clock, "But then they didn't know when the client's flight was landing and first is was eleven and I would've had to call a car, and then it was maybe noon and I had to hold the reservation and then we h--"

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he puts his hand up to shush you, voice light and soothing. His curls bounce when he shakes his head, "I'm not mad, doll. I just missed hearing from you."

“I didn't think you were mad at me, I was just trying to explain why I didn't call,” you explain. You don't say it mean, but it does take Eddie by surprise, his head pulling back when he takes your glass in his hand. "Before I give this Cabernet to you," his face inquisitive, "Did you go to lunch with that client?" "My boss did," you answer, this time your tone is clipped. "Are you hungry?" he asks with a hint of loving exasperation, putting the cups back on the counter, arms crossing in front of him. He purposefully tucks his hands under his biceps to push them forward. Those extra hours under countless hoods and carborators were definitely starting to show. He tilts his head when he looks at you, leaning back against the counter, "Is that why you're talking to me like that?" You look at him and he holds your gaze. His eyes don't harden, his voice still steady and soft. It's not an accusation, just a question. Are you hungry? Did you eat today? You let out a frustrated sigh and nod, "Yeah, I'll just...I'll make something, I'll figure it out..." You go to the fridge, your work heels still on and clicking on the plastic tile. He beats you to it, getting in front of you quickly enough to catch the glassy start of a cry in your eyes. "Hey," he says, both hands coming up now to take your cheeks in them. His brows pull together in concern, brown eyes searching for you in the reflection of your irises, "Hey, look, you don't have to make anything, sweetheart. I have food on the way, it's gonna be here in like, ten minutes." "What did you get?" "Chinese," he smiles, hoping to get a smile out of you back, "Remember a couple weeks ago when you were saying it had been so long since you had crab rangoon fr--" "From Lucky House, yeah," you finish his sentence, your lips in a tight smile. You're quiet for a moment, looking back at him. His shoulders sink when your lower lip pulls up into your top lip, quivering as your eye scrunch up with a spill of tears on your cheeks. "I'm sorry," you cry at him, "I'm being such a bitch. That's so nice; and I'm being so awful."

"Don't cry, you're not being a bitch," he half laughs, half assures. Eddie pulls you into him, one arm around your back the other on the back of your head while he tucks your wet face into his shoulder. "M'just so tired," you complain into his t-shirt, "I'm so tired." "I know you are," he soothes, leaning against the fridge while you relax your weight on him, "I know you are, baby. But that's okay, you can be tired here, you can be tired around me." "I know, I just," you lift your head up, albeit snottily, "I'm tired in my whole body. Like, everywhere. My insides are tired – my soul it's like, it's like rotten." He frowns but then considers your sentence, "That's a great lyric actually, you should write that one down for me." You laugh, it's muffled and wet, but it's enough for him. "Don't be stupid," you giggle, moving his hands to wipe your eyes. "I dunno, I failed senior year twice so it's kind of baked in," he shrugs, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "Come 'ere," he mumbles down your nose bridge to your lips, "Didn't even give me a kiss hello." "I forgot," you whisper before his lips meet yours, you can feel the remainder of your mascara drying in streaks on your cheeks. Eddie kisses with intention, his arms wrapping around your middle to keep you close but more importantly to keep you standing. It's not even a kiss for him, and you can feel it in the way he holds you. All the words you hadn't said in the past few weeks merging through the pathways on the cells of your lips. Neurons telling secrets to each other in the green yellow glow of the oven light. When he breaks away he looks at you, "I would love it if you took these heels off and put some pajamas on while I get the kitchen ready for the food." "You don't have to take care of me," you sigh, looking at him through eyelids that are heavy with sleep. "Girl," he tuts, grin pulling up his cheeks, "I love taking care of you."

Half empty boxes litter the coffee table, noodles and rice scattered on the peeling varnish. He'll deal with it later, for now you were half asleep, or maybe full asleep, with your head on his lap. One hand flicks through channels on the TV to find a new movie to land on, the other massaging the shoulder not buried under his thigh. Despite your sleepiness, you're still holding so much tension he's afraid you'll break your teeth. You shift and yawn, turning to look up at him. "Did I fall asleep?" you ask. "A little bit," he says, tone quiet while he swipes a chili flake off your lower lip, "You weren't out for long." "Hm," you nod, sitting up, "I'm gonna pee, you want anything from the kitchen while I'm up?" "I'm okay, sweetheart," his eyes follow you while you stand, watching you stretch and the wince you make when you do, "Why don't you go pee and then meet me in the bedroom." Your face scrunches, "I don't really wanna go to bed yet." "No, no, I'm not saying to go to bed," he explains, meeting you to standing, "You got a lot of knots in your shoulders. I wanted to see if I could smooth some of them out for ya.""I mean, if you're offering," you shrug with a smile half way to the bathroom, "I won't say no to that."

Eddie cleans up while you relieve yourself, hurrying the boxes closed and bringing them to the fridge all at once. Sort of proud of himself that nothing made it to the floor, he sets aside two fortune cookies on the side table by the couch. A little end of the night surprise before you both tuck in to sleep. He hopes your fortune is better than his, you could use it.

When he meets you in the bedroom he looks at you fondly, used to seeing you in here in your worn in pajamas now. It had been a few months since either of you had participated in anything kinky. No rules, no restraints, no monikers. In fact, it had even been a few weeks since you had, what Eddie would call, 'full length sex'. Managing quickies every now and again that left him just wanting more of you.

In your busy life overhaul you'd lost track of time, missed meals, ordered take out, and despite that you'd been convinced you put on weight. Even if you had, Ed hadn't noticed, still his girl wrapped up in his sheets in the morning. But you'd been less likely to undress, less likely to want the lights on. He wants the lights on, he wants to see all of you.

"Just relax," he encourages softly, running a hand over your soft cotton shoulder, "You wanna take this off?"

"Not really," you step into him so his hand falls on the back of your arm, "Can you just do it over my shirt?"

"You can't hide from me forever, doll," he teases, "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"I know but," you huff, looking in the mirror perched on his dresser, "I just feel like I look different."

He looks in the mirror with you, "I think you look perfect, babe. I'm not seeing what you're seeing."

"Yeah, yeah," you roll your eyes, catching yourself before experiencing a moment of more vulnerability, "You just wanna see my tits."

"And you'd be right," he laughs while you pull your shirt over your head. He doesn't touch, or even look, but he does fold your t-shirt when you toss it on the bed, "Get comfy."

When you lay on your stomach he lets himself stare, the curve of your waist down to your hips, the flare to your rib cage up to your shoulders. Every part of you had always felt made for him, even from the beginning. Made for him like he wished for it, not made for him like he owned it. Blessed with it, offered it; you. What a gift.

He pulls a hair tie from the top of the dresser to pull his hair back, stripping his own shirt to keep from getting any oil on it. Perks of having a lot of weird sex, plenty of lube around for a back massage.

He warms it up in his hands first, pressing his finger tips up your spine to add slip to your skin. He hears you let out a breath, your body sinks down further onto the comforter with every glide of his hands.

"Is that nice?" he asks, he only half knows what it's doing and he's pretty sure you can tell.

"Yeah," you say into the covers, "It's really nice, babe."

Babe. God, you're so cute and you don't even know it sometimes. He keeps his focus up by your shoulder blades and your mid-back at first, thumbs digging deep into the tissue to push away any tightness in the muscles. He's gentle at the back of your neck, fore finger and thumb working on either side to glide over your traps all the way up to the base of your skull.

"Hmm," you hum, turning your head to the side, "You're gettin' good at this, Ed." "You think so?" he asks, starting now from your mid back down to your low back. You let out a low groan, face immediately pressing back to the pillow. "Mmhmm," you hardly reply, "Wow." If you were tense up top, it was worse down here. The muscles were fighting back, every push down or out had more resistance than the last. Eddie gently tugs your pajama pants down to get to the base of your back right before your butt, straddling your thighs to get right to your sacrum. By this time you've flattened significantly into the mattress, your body more languid than he's seen it in weeks. "You gotta stretch more," he mumbles, letting his hands slide gently up and down your back, over the back of your arms, "Are your hips tight?" "Probably," your voice coated in a dreamy haziness, "Sometimes I'm just tight all over."

"Hm," he smirks to himself, holding back the innuendo. He brings his hands back down, pressing into the meat of your hips where your cheeks round out, thumbs rolling into the muscle.

"Ow," you complain, "That doesn't feel great."

"Yeah, your hips probably just need a stretch," Eddie nods, "I get it, I'm always in weird positions at the shop, you know how my back gets. You wanna flip over so I can help a little?"

He moves and you flip over, fabric from your pajama pants getting caught on the comforter. You shimmy them off, tossing them haphazardly off the bed.

"They just feel in the way of what you're trying to do," you explain. He laughs, shifting himself to sit between your knees.

"Whatever you say," he says through a breath, lifting one of your legs up by the knee. His eyes settle for a second on the red and pink strawberry pattern on your panties, cotton and bright; new-ish. You snagged them in a pack at Melvald's after an unfortunate bleed through incident where Eddie got to show off his skills on getting blood out of clothes again. He likes that they're just a little too small, your cheeks filling out the polyblend just right.

Your knee goes forward toward your collar bone but your face says it all, this stretch hurts.

"Too far?" he asks, tattooed hand sliding to the outside of your knee to guide your leg inward.

"It's a good hurt," you answer, resting your forearm over your face to block out the light.

"Well that's not helpful," he chuckles through a grin, "Not when you like getting hurt. I mean is it too far to the side? Am I hurting you?"

Your nose scrunches again when you feel the side of your hip and your lower back tug at each ease of him pressing on your knee, "No it's good, it doesn't hurt like that. It's a nice stretch, I -- yeah, I definitely needed this."

He knows. Dynamic or not, he's been intuitive to your needs for so long that they feel second nature to his own, "Glad to hear it."

Your knee goes outward now and he moves up to reach the back of your thigh, rolling the joint in slow circles. Ed's not totally sure if this is what he's supposed to do but it feels good for him, so it should feel good for you. He's slow with the other leg, watching the twitches in your lips to let him know if this is helping, if your hips feel less tense or more, if your brain is still going, going, going.

"Show me that face," he says quietly, tapping your forearm.

You peek out from behind the limb, smiling, the sparkle coming back to your eyes. Shyly, you peer up at him, "Hi."

"Hey," he replies, becoming equally bashful, "Nice to see you again."

"Good to see you, too," you joke back. He puts both of your legs down, letting his hands skim over the skin of your thighs and resting on the front of your hips.

"How was that?” he asks, “How you feeling?” “Good,” you nod, “Loose.” “Loose,” he repeats, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek, “You’re funny.” He feels you adjust on the mattress, hips shifting to meet up with his. Eddie presses another kiss to your cheek before coming back to center, nose brushing yours, “Look, that’s…that’s not what the point of this was, doll. That’s not why I did this, you know that.” “I know,” your hand reaches up to push back the curtain of his dark waves, your gentle touch making his heart race. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hard, but he definitely didn’t have sex in mind when you walked in the door. “Can you kiss me again, though? Like you did in the kitchen?” you ask it so sweetly that he can’t imagine saying no. Without a response he leans in, fingers threading over your ear while his thumb rests on your cheek. Your lips respond to his with the same depth that he offers you, humming with satisfaction when he breaks away. “Can I have another one?” you ask in a whisper, eyes closed. “Yeah,” he replies, voice low and heady now, “Gimme a sec.” Eddie gets up to turn off the big light, leaving the side table lamp on. He dims it slightly to set the mood, feeling proud of himself for learning how to install the new wiring to get them working. “It’s okay?” he asks. “You can leave it on,” you smile back at him, the golden light catching on the back of his hair like a halo. His heart thumps, he loves that he can leave it on. You stretch out on the mattress as he makes his way back to his spot between your thighs, sweatpants forgotten on the way back to bed. His desire apparent in his boxer briefs as he presses himself against you, chest to chest. Eddie gives you another kiss, and another, each one more needy and desperate than the last. “I love kissing you,” he mumbles against your lips, pushing up on his hands to look down at you with a regulating breath, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, jesus.” You watch him while he looks you over, like he can’t believe he gets to have you like this or have you at all. For you, it had felt like months since you felt pretty, even with Ed telling you every time he saw you – but tonight it felt true. Tonight it felt like he massaged all of the bad mood out of your bones, all the running thoughts out of your skin. He scoots up a little further, your eyes drifting down to his hands when he pulls you by the hips closer to him. You raise yourself up to meet his touch, trying to coerce one of his hands between your thighs. He obliges, ringed hand splaying out over your strawberry cotton covered pubis, thumb pressing over your panties to rub in slow circles over your hood. He watches your eyes flutter closed, your body fully relax.

“You sure?” he asks again, “I’m fine with just making you feel good, sweetheart. I want to.” “I’m sure,” you nod up at him, breaths quickening while your body acclimates to the touch. His movements slow enough that pin pricks of excitement spark between your legs and through your belly to your limbs, “It’s been forever since we had time, y’know? To like, to do it like this.” “Yeah,” he replies, tugging your underwear down, “I miss you.” You frown back up at him, he wishes you wouldn’t, “I miss you, too.” Ed lets his fingers tease, his hair tickling your chest while his lips dip down to your neck. You feel the tip of his tongue trace lines and hearts over your skin, his mouth opening to leave kisses down to your collar bone. Your legs open up further to invite him to explore you more, his fingertips sliding down to your entrance with practiced ease. Already slick, he slides his middle finger down to dip past your walls, but they give him a resistance he wasn’t expecting. “You’re in your head,” he murmurs, you turn to look at him at the call out, “What’s on your mind?” “Nothing,” you shrug, “I dunno. I’m trying.” He gives you a sympathetic smile, “It’s okay if you don’t want to.” “Ed, I want to,” you remind him, “I just told you I want to.” He considers it, and he knows you’re not lying, but he doesn’t want you to think he just wants to have sex and then call it a night. It had felt like after every quickie you’d both just call it a night. Even your last couple of scenes had felt wrapped up too quick by the end: some aftercare, a few kisses, and then going to bed. He feared that maybe things were getting boring; or worse; you both has just gotten too disconnected. “Lay back, hm?” he suggests, maneuvering over you. He presses one last kiss to your forehead, “Just turn your brain off for me.” “Yeah, just turn it off?” you tease back, “Is there a button I should look for?”

“I know a few,” he winks with a confident smirk, “Now shut up. Let me work.”

Neither of you speak while he starts, the romantic flare of his actions permeating the room. Not assuming a dominant role by any means, but letting you know that he’ll be the one guiding you though whatever happens tonight. Whatever it is, you’re not complaining, arching up slightly into his hands while they start a slow caress over your chest. Rough hands expanding and smoothing over your breasts, down to your soft stomach. His lips huff warm breath in the crease of your neck, moving upwards slowly to your ear so you can hear him. He doesn’t make much noise, just his steady breathing, words ghosting in the air coming from his mouth – wraiths of ‘baby’, ‘perfect’, ‘pretty’, ‘gorgeous’. Barely audible, indiscernible from the hums of his throat. You let him explore you, eyes closed now, but you can see the glow of the light coming in from the side table behind your eyelids. They open and your body reacts, pushing his hand further down while you feel yourself get wetter with every skim of his lips on your skin. “Shh, shh,” he whispers – still so quiet, you might even be dreaming, “Don’t think. Just me.” You nod, eye closing again while you let yourself get consumed by the sound of his breath. Feeling his hand glide over your hip, over your thigh before hooking under your knee to spread your legs slightly. His fingers casually run slowly over your lips, down the length of your opening – not pressing down, just gentle back and forth strokes over you. You huff a breath, brows furrowing, eyes opening half way to look at him. His nose presses into your cheek, nuzzling you while he keeps at his slow pace. He didn’t want to work you up, just touch you, feel you. Appreciate you the way you need it. No expectations, no thoughts. Just him, just Eddie.

He blows warm air against your skin, his lower lip barely brushing the skin before skipping over it to give the other side of your neck some attention. Your whine is soft and he grins at the feeling of your heat pushing against his gentle fingers. Your movements are as slow as his, not too much pressure. Despite this being so far from a scene, you still know better than to chase your own pleasure. He takes a moment to slowly remove his boxers, still finding ways to keep his hands and lips on you while he travels down your body. Pressing open mouthed kisses over your chest, plush pink lips slipping over your nipples without landing. He shifts down to your ribs, to the dip in your waist, to your hips, looking up at you from your thighs. “You deserve to feel this good, baby,” he murmurs, his middle finger pressing in again with much less resistance than before. You let out a quiet gasp, one he’s been wanting to hear for a while. “There she is,” he coos, pulsing in and out slowly while his ring finger joins with his middle. Eddie loved taking his time, watching your head fall back, your legs raise and spread for him, your hands up by your head; completely opened up, completely vulnerable. If he finally gets to take his time he wants to make it worth it, he wants you to feel how bad he’s been wanting you. But God is it difficult to take his time when evidence of his desire is so hard he can barely see straight. His hair surrounds your face again, fingers slipping out of you and returning back to rubbing slow circles over your clit to keep you stimulated, “You want me?” “Yeah,” you huff, leaning your head up to kiss him, “So bad.” “So bad,” he repeats back between kisses,skin to skin when you wrap your fingers in his curls to keep his head in place. A shiver runs down his spine when you tug just enough to pull his face closer; breathing into each other's mouths for oxygen. “All of it?” he mumbles, kissing down your jaw, “All’a me?”

“All’a you,” you breathe back, head pressing back into the pillow while he sucks a mark into your neck. He hums, sitting up between your legs, pulling you down by your hips to meet him. Carefully he presses your legs back and open, easier to manipulate now that he’s stretched your hips out. Moving forward on his knees he guides himself from just under your clit to your entrance, soaking his tip in the process. He grits his teeth, trying to bite back the groan at just the feel of you already starting to suck him in.

He thrusts slightly, feeling you open up for him; your little whimpers making him run his hand over his face to keep him focused. Once he’s pushed in a little more, he looks at you to gauge how you’re feeling, watching while your eyes bliss out below him. Jesus Christ, he thinks, Jesus H. Christ. With one final tentative thrust he pushes himself in to the hilt, pressing your thighs back so that your knees can get closer to your shoulder. “Fuck,” he strains when he bottoms out, voice cracking, “H-holy shit.” Your brows pull together when he leans over you, a slow roll of his hips pushing a yelp out of your mouth. “Yeah?” he asks, brown eyes rounding in the awe of how you look below him, how you look when he makes love to you. To be honest, he’d been fantasizing about this more than just about anything else these days. Palm gliding over his cock in the shower with this exact face in mind; more than how you look over his lap, how you look on your knees. He’d give all that up to make you look like this every night. “Yeah, sweetheart? That feels good, huh?” he asks, a gentle lilt to his tone. “S-so good, fuck,” you let out in a huff, “God, juss like that.” “Am I hittin’ one of those buttons?” he asks with a breathy giggle. You giggle back, hand making its way back to his face, thumb dragging over the stubble on his chin. “You’re hittin’ all my buttons, Munson,” you kiss him so eagerly he loses his breath. His hips pick up speed just enough to make little moans punch out of you at every thrust. He grunts, reaching down to push your hips up so that your knees come up over his shoulders. “Oh my fucking god,” you squeak out through gritted teeth. At this angle, every inch him fills you up; enough to make your eyes roll, “God, don’ stop, don’t stop.” Eddie loves being this deep, feeling like there’s no space for him to end or for you to begin. He groans when your arms wrap up and around his shoulders; nails pressing in on pale skin yet to be covered in ink. He groans, face falling against your cheek while one of his arms gives out holding him up over you. Lost in the pleasure of how you pull him in; snug and warm around his length. He keeps his pace steady and controlled, hot puffs of breath against your face while your hips roll with his rhythm. “Jesus, doll, I’m –” he nearly wines, ducking into your neck, “You feel so good, fuck.” “Hmm,” you smirk, turning your head to encourage him to look at you. Forehead to forehead now, your lips ghost over each other, each thrust sending you both closer to the edge. Ed reaches to the side to lace fingers with his free hand, the other occupied keeping him up by his forearm that’s also on its way to giving up. “You’re so perfect,” he whispers. “You think so?” you ask back between breaths. “I think so,” he nods, pulling your skin with his. “Hey,” you call for his attention, seeing his eyes flick up to meet yours, “I love you.” He whimpers, hips slowing to firm languid strokes, “F-fuck, babe.” You giggle again at his reaction, nails digging into his shoulder when the firmness turns slightly harder, “Oh shit.”

He unlaces fingers to guide your face back to his, “I love you, too.” He holds your cheek while his hips speed up again, chasing your rapidly approaching orgasm as he feels you start to clench over him. Like his previous praise you can hear it like a dream, murmurs of I love you, I love you, I love you over and over again whispered against your skin, through your lips, into your hair. Each phrase falling on you, like a piece of glitter that will never come off, that you’ll find on the back of your knee in three weeks, that’ll get stuck in the carpet for the next twenty years.

When you come it crashes over him, your eyes glassy when you drag your nails down his back.

"That's it, sweetheart," he mumbles against your ear, "Come for me, come just for me." He feels you gush in waves over his cock, soaking his pelvis from the position he has you in. He can’t help but start pistoning into you when you’re this wet, this open. He snarls and grunts, keeping your forehead against his with his eyes closed. You shake and pulse in the after shocks, enough to make him twitch with each sensitive pull on the head of his shaft. The unpredictable squeezes make it better; but in so many ways it feels like he knows the pattern. He knows you.

With a final few thrusts he quickly pulls out to spill over you, coating your thighs and stomach in a week of held back need.

“Hold on,” he sighs, leaning down to kiss you, “I’ll clean you up, just – whew – just give me a sec.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you smirk through another heaving exhale.

“I…Babe, it feels like I don’t have bones,” he laughs into the comforter, slowly moving off of you and back onto the bed. With a harsh inhale through his nose and a shake of his shoulders he hypes himself enough to go to the bathroom. He returns soon after with another glass of cabernet and a warm wet wash cloth.

“Here,” he hands it off to you while he starts the gentle process of getting you washed up.

You sip delicately while he works, savoring each soft kiss he places on you after each swipe. His curls dance over your thighs, hips, ribs, and breasts while he makes his way back up to your cheek, pulling you in again to capture your lips in his.

“You feeling a little better?” he asks, “More relaxed?”

You nod at him, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Eddie’s head tilts, “It’s not a thank you thing.”

“But I want you to know that I appreciate it,” you assure, slowly making your way off the bed, balancing the wine in your hand.

“I’m glad,” he reaches for his sweats on the ground, snapping the band low on his hips, “You deserve it.”

He knows you like to hear that, watching you put your own pajamas back on while you smile to yourself. So bashful, his favorite girl.

“Maybe we could stay up and watch a movie or something,” he offers, “Cuddle up and like, have some ice cream. I don’t wanna just go to bed after all that.” “I would like that,” you pull a face, not sad, but an affectionate frown, “You’re so sweet.” “I am,” he nods to himself with his hands on his hips, “Damn, I really am sweet.”

When you both make it back out to the living room he lays out the three crochet blankets on the couch (one stolen from Wayne two weeks ago that Ed is sure he will be sniffing around for soon). You scoop the ice cream and squeeze extra chocolate sauce on his the way he likes it, but you keep the smaller spoon. As you place both bowls on the coffee table he hands you the fortune cookie he put aside, rustling in the plastic. “I forgot,” he says, “Here.” You open yours up, sitting on the blankets while he leans on the arm of the couch. You can hear his crunch open at the same time as yours. You both fish for the fortunes, passing them to each other: Eddie was a firm believer that someone had to give you your fortune for it to come true. “What does yours say?” he asks. “Ooh! The one you love is closer than you think,” you read with a shimmy, “Lucky numbers: 1, 14, 56, 99.” “I wonder who that could be,” he teases flatly, opening his fortune, “Oh, come on.” “What’s it say?” you laugh. “Some would say you love Chinese food.”

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

A