#Cushion Starfish

[snototter]

A red cushion sea star (Oreaster reticulatus) in Rendezvous Bay, Saint John, Virgin Islands

by Alan Cressler

[marinememes]

Can you post your favorite starfish and facts about starfish.

My favorite sea star has gotta b the pin-cushion star. She ROUND.

As for facts, here’s what sea star’s “legs” look like

[little-creature-of-the-day]

little creature of the day: Live-bearing Seastar

they are soo little :]

image source

[aclowntiny]

Ateez When You Get Clingy (Gender Neutral Reader)

Hongjoong

♡ Pretends he doesn't like it at first...keyword there being pretends 👀 You respect his boundaries & don't whine & bother him while he works, but when he takes a break or when you're together in another setting sometimes you just want attention. If he's sitting & you climb into his lap he'll be all like "What?" Then immediately his arms slide around you, pulling you closer & into a more comfortable position for you both.

♡ If you tease him about it, he'll pretend to drop you. Same goes for this mischievous man if he gives you a piggyback...expect a few scares as he "loses his grip for a second" 😅 but he will NEVER drop or hurt you PERIOD. Looks so satisfied even if you playfully smack him.

♡ Probably not the biggest fan of having you hang onto him as he's trying to walk or do something, he likes to have his space & ability to do what he needs to do after all, but he doesn't mind if you're there at his side to watch or keep him company. If he's fixing something in the kitchen or working, for example, he won't want a backpack but having a shoulder to lean on or someone to talk to makes him really happy!

♡ Honestly, he actually loves it when he tries to leave & you pull him back in- he can't hide his smile at being the only one you want.

♡ If you tell him you want to be closer, his usual form of initiating if you're sitting on the couch is to wrap an arm around your shoulders & if he's sitting he'll have you on one leg, yours dangling down the side of the chair as Hongjoong holds you steady about the waist.

Seonghwa

♡ Can't help but laugh as he goes to stand up from where you sit together & you just yank him back down. "Oh? Well alright then~" You asked for it now. Instead of simply sitting back down, Seonghwa basically starfishes on top of you, giggling. "Is this what you wanted?" You two then collapse into a little giggle pile on the couch cushions.

♡ If you hold onto him from behind, he'll play with your hands, making them clap & sliding them up his chest, then saying your name with mock scandal & a little :o face. If you laugh, it'll encourage him to do more goofy stuff like making you pat yourself on the head for being such a good partner.

♡ Loves it when you get clingy while he's in the kitchen, then he'll lay his hands over yours & have you cook or even just give you tasks & then press kisses to your cheek as you help him. Starts claiming even the easiest things are two-person tasks just so he can pull you in close as he does them 🥺

♡ When you tell him you want attention verbally he'll turn right to you, giving you the most loving, intent gaze. "What kind of attention do you want?" He doesn't want to misunderstand you- sometimes you want to talk to him, other times you just want to sit with his arm around you as he talks to his friends, others you want him to scoop you up & carry you to the nearest cushioned surface & kiss you silly, & he can work with either & all 😌

♡ Seonghwa also enjoys the silly ways you entertain yourself on your own when you're feeling clingy, like the time you just slipped your entire arms up the loose sleeves of his sweater, turning both of your arms into two big noodles of comfortable fabric as he searched for your hands, smiling & shaking his head fondly as you waved your joined appendages up & down.

Yunho

♡ Lowkey loves it if you surprise him by sitting on his lap, but warning: he’ll wrap his arms around you & not let you go! Sitting in Yunho's lap is a full 👏🏻 time 👏🏻 commitment 👏🏻

♡ Also loves to, in literally any position he physically can, rest his chin atop your head. Gently, of course, just enough for him to feel your warmth & have you feeling his presence that much more. Especially if you’re on his lap, he’ll hold you around your middle & rest his head there so you’re as wrapped up in him as you can be 🥺

♡ If you follow him around or won’t let go of him, you just become Yunho’s plus one anywhere he goes, he sure as heck doesn’t mind. Shopping or getting a glass of water or taking a walk will be more exciting with you there. Pretty much anywhere can be graced with your presence. Unless it’s, like, going to the restroom or something then sorry hun 💁🏻‍♀️

♡ Instead of holding on behind him, Yunho enjoys having you up on his shoulders. If you're a fair bit shorter than him, expect at least one if not both of you to make lots of "the view up here" jokes too! It's just so much fun for him to hold you up & run around as fast as he can or even just walk slowly, running his hands up & down your legs as much as he can while he holds you steady.

♡ Both of you like to cling sometimes, especially to extend cuddling times, so it's basically like a game of leapfrog with you two alternating who tries to leave & who grabs their hand, pulling them back in with a vehement, but playful, "nooo!" & sometimes there's even a 'penalty' for whoever escapes first, but the penalty tends to be giving the other a kiss or a massage, so who really loses? Yunho so indulges your clingy agenda with all his little games & just the way he smiles at you when you ask for attention.

Yeosang

♡ Genuinely gets surprised & startled if you sneak up on him, embracing him suddenly, causing you to laugh & say “It’s me!” & apologize for making him jump even though he gets soft immediately afterwards.

♡ Decides to use your clinginess as a chance to train you at speedwalking for reasons unbeknownst to you both. You two get weirdly good at backpack-walking, like you’re going to enter a back-to-back equivalent of those three-leg races.

♡ Likes it when you sit next to him & rest your head on his shoulders, he gives the sweetest smile every time & steals his hand into his lap. Hope you weren’t using that, it’s Yeosang’s now 😌

♡ You: Stay with me 🥺 Him: Why, what'll happen otherwise, you'll explode? Acts all annoying but falls into your arms immediately with a wide smile & a giggle, his head going to the crook of your neck.

♡ Loves, loves, LOVES to hold you against him & sway you back & forth, so don't be surprised as you grab for him if he starts moving! Sometimes this tendency melts your embrace into an impromptu dance, others he just bear hugs you & leans this way & that, teasingly saying you'll never let each other go now.

San

♡ Smiles SO SO BIG whenever you initiate physical contact OMG. His big brown eyes turn into freaking CONSTELLATIONS at the sight of you in clingy mode.

♡ Adores back hugs, so if you surprise him with one he’ll get so soft for you. Probably leans down to kiss your hands first 🥺 shimmies gently with you too & leans his head back to lay on your shoulder & kiss your cheeks. Kiss his cheeks & neck back & he'll smile so wide!!!

♡ Absolutely willing to walk with you clung to his back like a little koala. Encourages it in fact. If you don’t do it, he will, practically holding you in place by your hands even if it means he basically is waddling down the hall.

♡ So the boyfriend who reassures you that you’re not annoying if you ever worry, in fact he’ll start inviting you everywhere to show you you’re welcome to go as many places with him as possible! “Can’t do it without my sidekick, right?”

♡ Verbally tell him you would like to cuddle & this man will practically pole-vault into bed with you to pull you against his chest. At that point it’s like his wish is your command, win-win for you both. Sometimes you’ll even find yourself laughing as you ask because San practically always wants cuddles, too.

Mingi

♡ "Mingi, come here," you whine. "What? What's going on?" He asks, still focused on the picture he's taking. "Come back." That's how it usually starts, him just focusing on something else while you want those lovely eyes of his on you.

♡ Once you get his attention, make grabby hands & he melts, probably telling you how adorable you are right then & there, no filter. No matter what, 99% of the time when you catch him & indicate you're feeling clingy he'll bounce right over to you with a big smile. May want you to repeat it, too.

♡ Wraps his arms over you, your back pressed to his chest, as his deep voice asks "What's the matter, babe?", warm breath tickling your ear. Then he leans in further, eyes fluttering shut as his cheek connects with yours.

♡ If you tell him anything along the lines of that you want cuddles or attention, well you’re going to get it & big time. He’ll grin as he reaches down, hooks his hands behind your thighs, & straight-up scoops you into his arms bridal-style. If you exclaim in surprise, he’ll just giggle & lean in for a kiss. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

♡ You think you might get clingy & follow him? Hun, he’s like a puppy, half the time he’s dong the same to you. “What are you doing, babe? Need me to come with you?” Please say yes it’s a serotonin & ego boost for him hehe. He’ll immediately take your hand or arm once you agree, sticking right by your side 😌

Wooyoung

♡ This man's response goes one of two ways: he either relaxes right into your touch, finding the perfect spot to get his hands on you, too, or he teases you to high heaven, leaning away with a mischievous "Oh, sorry, what was that? I didn't hear you." His eyes drift right toward you in a way that tells you he heard exactly what you said, though.

♡ He likes to hear you verbally confirm what you wanted if you suddenly hug him or grab his hands, & that gives him an excuse to tell you he wants to hold you/your hand too ☺️ "Why didn't you say so earlier? We could have been cuddling this whole time!"

♡ If you give up after his teasing, though, just pouting or brushing him off with a ‘whatever’, Wooyoung will practically leap onto you, attacking you with kisses all over & a hug, nuzzling his head into your neck! …so if you feel clingy maybe the best thing to do is play hard to get 👀

♡ If you won’t let go of him, clinging to his arm as he tries to walk, he’ll run, laughing as you try to keep up, before slowing down & trying out some funny walks to make you laugh, too. Tries seeing how high he can lift his feet that you can mirror, taking massive t-rex steps just because he can.

♡ Will then proceed to alternate who gets to he whose backpack lol. Will not go anywhere without you. May not go anywhere period in fact, he may just lie you down in bed & cuddle you forever actually 🤷🏻‍♀️

Jongho

♡ Usually asks "What?". Not unkindly, but just seeing what's up when you suddenly take hold of him. May ask what's wrong just to make sure you're ok, because he always wants to protect you & make sure you feel safe! If you tell him out loud that you want attention, he'll smile shyly & come sit or stand by your side, running a hand up your arm with an "Oh yeah?"

♡ If you're in bed or on the couch, somewhere you guys usually cuddle, when he feels your arms wind around him he simply places his arms & hands over yours, scooting you just a tad closer into him. He may be quiet, but he'll squeeze your hand every now & again. When you're standing, he also likes to stand behind you & just drape his arms over you.

♡ If he goes to get up & you cling to him, telling him to stay, sometimes he teases you, unhooking your hands from the warmth of his waist with a chuckle as he tells you he's just getting a drink or going to the restroom, something small like that & then he'll be back with you. When he returns to your line of sight, he'll start walking as slowly as he physically can just to watch your face when you catch it.

♡ Leans away if you start planting a ton of kisses on him, but any pouting you do doesn’t last long as he pulls your lips into his for a real kiss. What can he say, he just likes the real thing 🤷🏻‍♀️

♡ If you try the backpack maneuver on him, he’ll reach up from behind & pull you up all the way into a piggyback because that’s actually easier for him strong boi. & if you just want to go where he’s going that’s fine too, it doesn’t really bother him. He’ll probably just look a bit surprised that you’re following him, then keep about his business with more comments & jokes directed your way ☺️ If you follow him somewhere inconsequential, like into the kitchen or his room just to grab something, he'll pretend to be annoyed, but you know he just thinks it's funny & he always makes up for it the moment you lay back down, so no need to feel bad 😘

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Dad!Bangchan x F!Reader TW : children ; all fluffy though ; Word Count : 0.5k Request : nope A/N : getting back into the mindset of writing, I've been through a month long journey of bullshit and I'm craving some tooth rotting fluff right now, and here's some Channie!

“Ella…” Chan sighed, seeing the reflection of his daughter toddling through the door of his studio, her blanket dragging along behind her as she wobbled across the floor. “What are you doing up?” He questioned, his voice just above a whisper as he removed the headphones from his ears and placed them to the side of the desk, swiveling his chair around and extending his arms to pull his daughter onto his lap. 

“Storming outside… woke me up…” She mumbled, her soft voice still laced with the sleep that she had yet to fully awaken from. Chan hummed, finally noticing the sound of rain pattering against the window and the low rumble of thunder that he could feel shaking the floorboards if he paid enough attention to it. “Why you up?” She asked after a moment of silence, and he could only chuckle, glancing back at his screen to see that it was already 3 in the morning. 

“I guess I just lost track of time…” He mused, turning his hair back towards his screen to save the files he had been working on before turning off the laptop. “Whaddya think of a little snack and one episode of Bluey… And then we go back to bed? Huh?” He proposed the plan knowing well that his daughter would agree, and the swift nod of her head and bright smile that pushed up her puffy cheeks, although expected, still melted his heart. “No telling momma though, okay?” 

You woke up the next morning, your husband's side of the bed empty, just as it had been when you had gone to bed. He never failed to worry you with his lack of sleep, and you could already envision the sight of him snoring in his studio chair, his head hanging uncomfortably over the back of it which would undoubtedly cause him to complain of a neck ache the rest of the day. 

Trudging down the hallway, your eyes barely even open, you were greeted with the familiar tune of one of the intros to a show that your daughter would watch in the morning while you prepared breakfast. Upon further inspection, walking closer to the couch, you could see two bowls of melted ice cream set upon the coffee table, the rainbow sprinkles still clinging to the edge of the bowl. “Christopher…” You whispered, glancing down at your sleeping husband who was practically hanging off the edge of the couch while your daughter starfished across the cushions to take up most of the room. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of it, but it warmed your heart as well. It was moments like this that you’d snap a photo of in your mind and hold onto the memory of it forever. You cherished these moments, because although they weren’t fully your own, little things like this were a constant reminder to you of how lucky you were to not only have the little family that you did… But to have been able to have this family with Chan. 

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[eoieopda]

Hi Jade 🫶🏻 I have a drabble request if you’re still taking them: Jungkook gets home from tour and is just the clingiest, cutest, softest bf 🙏🏻

yo this idea has me weak 🥲 i hope you like this!

Judging by the clattering in your kitchen, your jet-lagged boyfriend had finally emerged from his seemingly endless slumber.

You’d been awake for four hours, and out of bed for three. It took longer than expected to carefully untangle yourself from the knot of his limbs, but he slept through your escape. And Bam’s excitement at having an awake parent to play with. And the unavoidable clang of pots and pans as you cooked a breakfast now finally in the hands of its intended recipient - at 2:00 in the afternoon.

You heard the floorboards creak as he shuffled out of the kitchen. His movements were incredibly slow as he padded up the hall to join you in the living room, like all the sleep he’d gotten hadn’t recharged his battery. Also audible was the faint crunch of newly toasted bread, which tugged the corner of your mouth into an involuntary smile.

Jungkook always needed a snack to hold him over until he brought his actual meal to a table. After all, he might waste away in the few moments it would take to make himself a place. You always joked that his stomach was a bottomless pit, but he maintained that he only ate this much when you were the one cooking. And when you scrunched your nose at his flattery, he’d kiss it until your cheeks turned into roses. Then he’d kiss those, too.

Laying on the couch with your legs stretched out across the cushions, your head rested on a plush, velveteen pillow. The heels of your hands were anchored against your chest as you propped up this week’s novel. You had to peek over the top of it to see Jungkook appear in the doorway.

Bleary eyes squinted against sunlight as he looked for you. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up over his hair, but you knew without looking that it was sticking up in every possible direction - which always confounded you due to how deeply he slept. Immovable, powered off completely. His shoulders still carried the weight of his exhaustion; and his cheeks puffed out as he attempted to chew what you assumed was - at minimum - half his slice of toast.

Of all the versions of him, this one was a hard-fought favorite of yours: the silly, sleepy, soft Jungkook. The one that stirred the butterflies in your stomach just by existing, too out-of-it to notice the effect he had on you.

He groaned as he bent over to put his plate on the coffee table. You expected him to take his usual spot at the end of the couch and pull your legs over his lap like he always did. This time, he deviated from the pattern. Not waiting long enough for you to set your book down, he wiggled his head between its bottom and your chest, and then let the weight of his body slump down on top of yours.

You giggled as he slid his hands underneath you and wrapped you up in his arms. With his chest pressed against yours, you could feel his deep, contented sigh as it left him. No longer accessible, you closed your book with an unseen smile and tossed it gently to the rug below. You couldn’t see how it landed, but you hoped it was graceful.

“You left,” He mumbled sadly with his face tucked under your chin. He breathed slowly through his nose; every warm exhale tickled the bare skin of your neck.

Your now-free hands settled into a familiar routine. One rested on his back; the muscles of which, you noted, had become much more defined since he left for tour ten weeks earlier. The other hand pulled back his hood in order to thread fingers through his soft - albeit messy - tresses. Fingernails scratching gently over his scalp, you chuckled, “You had your leg draped over me, pressing into my bladder. When I came back from the bathroom, you were spread out over the mattress like a sleep-deprived starfish.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” He cooed, squeezing you tighter. “The second-worst part about leaving is having to sleep alone. I forget how to share, and then you have to deal with the consequences.”

“Second worst?”

“The only thing worse than going to sleep without you is being awake without you,” he explained it casually, as if it wouldn’t make your heart do somersaults.

But it did, because this soft, sleepy man was yours - he was home - and he said things like that just as easily as breathing.

[solarmorrigan]

🧡 kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling

Hi there! I'm sorry this took a bit to get out, but thank you for the prompt!

🧡 kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling

Prompt from this post

-

Eddie doesn’t have the energy or brain capacity to give enough fucks to do much more than toe his shoes off at the door and jam his jacket onto their overburdened coat rack before stumping into the living room and flopping down to sprawl in the armchair with a groan.

“Long day?”

Lifting his head, Eddie looks over to find Steve stretched out on the couch, covered by the throw that Wayne had given them when they’d moved into this dinky little apartment, his glasses shoved up on top of his head, a book that Eddie had recommended to him still held open in one hand.

While Eddie had had to work, it had been Steve’s day off, and it looks like he’s made the most of it. He’s unfairly inviting, warm and soft and laid out like that – unfair, because he’s all the way across the living room.

“Long, long day,” Eddie agrees, letting his head drop back with a groan. “Why are you so far away?”

“I’m, like, five feet from you, Eddie,” Steve snorts.

“Too faaaar,” Eddie whines, raising one hand to grope at the air in Steve’s direction, grinning a little when he hears Steve laugh.

“It’s not my fault you picked the chair over the couch when you came in,” Steve says, and Eddie groans again.

He’s just considering gathering his strength to make one last stand and stumble over to the couch when he hears the flap of paper and the rustle of fabric against fabric and the shuffle of feet, and then–

“Move your legs, or I’m going to crush them.”

Eddie opens his eyes to see Steve standing over him, one knee poised on the edge of the chair and eyebrows raised expectantly. Slowly, Eddie drops one leg off the side of the cushion, making a space for Steve, who shakes his head but somehow manages to crunch himself up into the vacancy created in a way Eddie swears that someone as big as Steve shouldn’t be able to do.

He’s brought he blanket with him, and as soon as he’s got his ass and both feet planted on the chair, he unfurls it and drapes it over the both of them, trying to cover as many of Eddie’s starfished limbs as possible. Then he snuggles a little further into Eddie’s space, leaning up against his chest and resting his cheek against Eddie’s shoulder.

“Better?” he asks, and Eddie can feel his breath tickle the side of his neck.

It’s a stupid way to sit when the sofa really is just a few feet away. Eddie could get off his ass and they could both stretch out on the couch, and then the arm of Steve’s glasses wouldn’t be digging into Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie won’t end up sore from sitting all splayed out for so long, and Steve’s back won’t cramp up from being scrunched into such an awkward position.

Instead, Eddie brings a hand up and fits it under Steve’s chin, lifting his head so he can duck down and press his lips to Steve’s in a slow, soft kiss. He drops his other arm from the back of the chair and wraps it around Steve’s shoulders, cuddling him closer as he settles back into his sprawl.

“Better,” Eddie says.

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @steddielovemonth Day 19 prompt: Love is helping them unwind after a rough day (@lihhelsing) and Love is the comfort of quiet moments (@tboygareth) Rating: G | wc: 718 | no cw Tags: established relationship, fluff, teacher!steve, rockstar!eddie

Steve knew when he started teaching that his job wasn’t always going to be easy. That for every breakthrough lesson he taught where every one of his students understood and had fun learning, there would be just as many days where he left as frustrated as the kids because the material just wasn’t clicking. 

Today was one of those days. 

No one was more excited when the dismissal bell rang than Steve. Usually, he’d stick around, grade a few papers, or mingle in the teacher’s lounge but today he packed up his bag just as fast as his kids and bolted to his car. 

All he wanted to do was get home, unwind, and have a nice night with Eddie. Maybe make dinner and finally watch the movie Eddie rented a few days ago for them to watch before he got called in for a rewrite session at the studio. 

Steve makes it no more than ten steps into the house before his sock-covered foot collides with something hard. At first, he thinks it’s their senior dog Joe — it wouldn’t be the first time he’s tripped over him — but as Steve tumbles to the floor, he realizes he’s tripped over Eddie. 

His ass breaks the fall, colliding with the cold tile with a force that’s certain to leave a bruise — one Eddie is no doubt going to poke and prod at because he’s a gremlin, but that’s a problem for later. Right now, he needs to figure out why his boyfriend is currently sprawled out on the floor in the middle of their foyer. 

“Rough day?”

Eddie’s response comes in the form of a groan, seemingly too tired to respond with his words. He kicks his legs out farther, starfishing on the floor before scrunching his eyes so tight Steve wants to knead the doughy flesh on his forehead. 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “me too.” 

“Floor time,” Eddie mumbles, patting the spot next to him. 

The time it’s Steve who responds non-verbally, grumbling incoherent words as he lowers himself gently to the hard floor. He’s careful with his head, tucking one arm under to act as a cushion. The cold shocks him for all of two seconds before he feels himself sinking into the tile. The weight of today’s shitty day disappears as his body finally relaxes and the world fades into the background. 

Steve doesn’t do this as often as Eddie does, but it’s nice. Really nice. They don’t listen to music or talk about their day. They don’t kiss or touch beyond an occasional hand squeeze. They simply lie there with their eyes closed and listen to the sound of their heartbeats.

He had joked once that what they were doing was a form of meditation, but Eddie had scoffed at that — not wanting to participate in the “latest conformist trend” that is yoga, so they call it floor time instead.

As Steve lays there, enjoying the feeling of the cold tile on his tense muscles, he can’t help but break the no-touching rule and reaches his hand out in search of Eddie’s. He finds it immediately, taking his ink-stained hands into his own. His fingers curl around Eddie’s ring-clad ones and he gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“I love you,” he whispers, soft enough that Eddie might not hear him. 

But he does. 

Eddie always does. 

“No talking during floor time,” Eddie quietly reprimands, before squeezing Steve’s hand back in return. A moment passes before, Eddie tilts his head to the side and opens one eye to look at Steve. “Love you too, baby.” 

In a little while they’ll peel themselves off the floor and head into the kitchen to cook dinner. Steve will playfully swat Eddie’s hand away from the simmering pot of sauce and he’ll give him those big puppy dog eyes until he caves and lets him get a taste. And then they’ll sit across from each other at their small dining room table playing footsie while they each vent about the shitty days they’ve had before retiring to the bedroom where they’ll take turns taking each other apart. 

But for now, it’s floor time. 

[lovebugism]

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that the customer is always right is giving me life right now, I think about it all the time. Thanks for putting so much care into it, it’s beautiful.

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | code red

summary: on a rainy saturday morning, eddie learns how to make you feel good. an unexpected visit from the redhead on cherry lane throws a wrench into your plans. (15k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: experienced!reader, idiots in love, newly established relationship, domestic bliss, max mayfield <;3 TW probable typos, swearing, very brief mentions of familial arguing, b*lly h*rgrove, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (f!receiving), eddie munch-son comes in his pants... again 18+ only!!

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Eddie looks pretty when he sleeps.

Well, he’s pretty all the time. Just a little extra now.

He’s at peace, totally lax in his slumber and in the quietude he’s found at your side. Pink mouth agape and billowing soft snores, long lashes fluttered shut and brushing the apples of his cheek, curly hair in a wild halo on his head and fanning across your pillow. This is the first time you’ve seen the loudmouth boy so still and so at ease in it.

Maybe that’s why he seems to look more perfect than usual now — because he’s different than you’ve ever seen him before. Calm. Quiet. 

He’s found this unfamiliar serenity in your bed, in your home, and beside your body. It’s beautiful in the way nature is beautiful. In the way it just exists and inspires such beauty despite itself. Like the moon or the ocean, Eddie is so pretty in his peacefulness, with no earthly idea of how heavenly he is.

You must look horrendous in comparison.

And not just because you’re next to the eighth wonder of the world.

You tend to sleep like it’s the first and the last time you ever will. You’re wild in your slumber, not a moon but a beast, and forced to wear it all the next morning. Your mussed hair, puffy eyes, and rounded cheeks testify to the barbaric nature of your beauty rest. Your mornings, more often than not, are usually battles with the unrecognizable monster you wake with.

So, to save yourself from the inevitable embarrassment, you opt to get an early start on your day.

You try to slip soundlessly out of bed, but every movement feels aggressive in the quiet. Your blankets shuffle too loudly, your floors creak with every step, and your door squeaks more violently than you’ve ever heard it. Despite your gentleness, it’s all too audible when you’re still swaddled in the solitude of an early morning. 

The strident sound of metal door hinges makes you wince. You look over your shoulder, expecting to see the sleeping boy beginning to rouse. You’re relieved to find him as still as ever. Still wrapped up in the blankets and clutching the pillow in a death grip, Eddie’s face is shoved contently into the cushion. Lips pouted. Snores muffled. Hair untamed.

The ocean. The moon.

You wonder how often he shares a bed. If he ever has before. 

He spent the majority of the night taking up most of the mattress. The only time his limbs weren’t totally starfished was when he was curled up and stealing the blankets. You didn’t mind, though. You found it quite endearing, actually. Especially when Eddie would wake at some random point in the night and cover you back up again, ushering you back into his side.

“Sorry,” he’d mumbled, slurred and still groggy with sleep.

“’S okay,” you’d whisper in response.

Because it was.

You’d happily suffer the cold and barely an inch of space on any bed if it meant Eddie was beside you to pull you back into him again.

Your assurances went unheard, however, because he was already slipping back into his slumber. When he was deep asleep once more, Eddie would turn to his other side and forget you were there. He’d take the blankets and the cuddles with him while you curled into his back in attempts to chase them both.

And, rather strangely, it was the best night’s sleep you think you’ve ever had.

That’s probably why it’s easier for you to get out of bed now, despite all the things calling you back to it. Stormy weather, warm blankets, and a beautiful boy wrapped up in it all. Your body longs to dress up in it and him, but you don’t allow yourself the privilege. 

You can’t.

The last boy to stay over that wasn’t Steve was Jason Carver. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed douchebag woke up before you the following morning — the six o’clock wake time likely engraved into the gym rat’s psyche. And you, having put far too much work into your appearance than he was worth and having slept in all of it, didn’t look your best. 

Your makeup was smudged, your hair was a mess, and your eyes and cheeks were swollen with sleep. 

To Jason, you were a different person entirely. 

A beast. A monster.

“It’s nothing,” he’d shrugged when you asked him why he looked like he just saw a ghost. “You just… You look different.”

Not yet recovered from the Hargrove heartache, you had little patience for assholes disturbing your peace. You squint your tired eyes at him in return. “If a girl’s never let you stay over before, you can just say that, Carver.”

That shut him up real quick.

You think you could probably take that kind of assholery from a lot of people. It’s not like you haven’t before, but it’d be different coming from Eddie — from the only boy who’s made you feel worthy of actual affection. Not just the bogus kind that disappears when the sex is over.

To save both of you from any potential suffering, you slink quietly out of your room and tiptoe down the hallway. You wash your face and brush your teeth with the faucet on low. You try your best to tame your wild hair and sleep-ridden features without making too much noise.

It wouldn’t matter how quiet you were, though. You could’ve been completely and utterly silent; Eddie still would’ve known you were gone.

He noticed your absence the second you got out of bed. 

It was like you left an iceberg of emptiness in the place of your warmth. 

He heard the creak of your short trek down the hallway, the soft click of the bathroom door latching, and then the low hiss of the faucet when you turned on the sink. All of your nearly inaudible noises reminded him that he wasn’t alone — that, for the first time in his life, he was sharing a bed with someone who wasn’t just a friend.

It’s a little uncanny, living a life he never thought he would have. The freak from Forest Hills Trailer Park is sleeping in a pretty girl’s bed. A pretty girl who cooked him dinner the night before and gave him mind-blowing head right after, providing him an orgasm from which he swears his legs still tingle. 

It’s something straight out of his dreams. Something that only could’ve existed in his head before now. Before you. It’s almost too good to be true.

More than feeling underserving of it, Eddie’s got no idea what to do with it. 

What do you do for a girl who’s too perfect for everything? 

There’s nothing he could do for you, nothing he could give to you, that would come close to matching how he feels about you. Having all these feelings but not the means to describe them is frustrating. Suffocating.

He just wants to be able to tell you that he doesn’t want any of this to be about him, that he doesn’t want to be like all the assholes you’ve known before. You’re not a toy to him, not some pliable thing without feelings that’s only fun until it isn’t. 

He wants whatever parts of you you’re willing to give him — grateful for a piece of your heart, enraptured for the whole of it. Eddie just wants these too big feelings to be mutual, those innocent and otherwise.

He hears the bathroom door creeaak slowly open after a few minutes more. It’s followed by the soft padding of your feet down the hall. He can tell you’re trying to be quiet. 

Because he loves you, he pretends to be asleep when you come back to the bedroom. He buries his smile into the pillow when you slither into bed with the softest touches a human being can muster. All because you don’t want to wake him.

The boy humors you for a few moments before acting like he’s waking up all over again. He groans to himself, writhing as he tenses his tired limbs.

You wince. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” you whisper.

With his eyes still closed, Eddie shakes his wild head against the pillow. 

He squeezes them shut while he stretches, turning onto his arched back and curling his arms above his head. The cutest, muffled whine sounds from the back of his throat while he tries to make use of his stiff limbs. The noise resembles that of a yawning puppy making a sound much larger than itself. You can’t help but smile.

“Morning,” you greet, grinning at the newly woken boy. You prop yourself on your elbow and lean a few inches over to press a chaste kiss to the apple of his warmed cheek.

Eddie smiles a tired, crooked smile in return.

With the sleep finally cleared from his eyes, he can see you much better. Now, freshened up, you look less like a casualty of the early morning. You’re glowing, smelling of vanilla and flower petals, beaming at him without the added weight of exhaustion. No one should look so pretty at this hour. 

Or any hour, really.

“Yes, it is…” he lilts, a tad bit gruff with sleep.

Your cheeks speckle with hot embers. 

Despite the very visceral reactions each of his compliments give you, you squint at him in return. “Are you always this charming so early in the morning?”

“When there’s a pretty girl in bed next to me, yeah.”

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask him, opting out of what would otherwise be ten minutes of meaningless banter.

“Better than I have in a long time,” Eddie answers without thinking. He says it with full sincerity but forgets to forgo the teasing inflection in his voice. It makes you roll your eyes, figuring he still must be mocking you. 

He quickly adds: “And I’m not just saying that because you’re the pretty girl in bed next to me, alright? I promise.”

“Good,” you hum with a tightlipped smile. “‘Cause I slept pretty good, too... You’re like a personal space heater, you know?”

It makes sense, really, for such a spitfire to radiate such warmth. And you, lacking enough blankets to stay sufficiently cozy throughout the night, took to Eddie like honey on toast. He was a weighted blanket, a heating pad, and a teddy bear rolled into one. 

You think he might be the most comfortable person you’ve ever slept with — in the most literal sense, of course. But you’ll keep that to yourself, lest you break Robin Buckley’s heart.

“Is that why you kept putting your cold feet on me all night?” he jokes.

Your cheeks blot with heat all over again. Your face scrunches softly, partly in embarrassment but mostly in apology. “Sorry…” your murmur.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs. His assurance comes swiftly, a brisk slap in the face to your simmering worry that you might’ve made him uncomfortable in some way. Eddie often forgets how quick you are to take the blame for something. Or to find a too literal meaning in one of his dumb jokes. 

He makes a mental note to work on that. He can’t have his best girl thinking she’s less than perfect because he never learned to think before he speaks.

“I’m just glad I could be of service, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t regret sleeping over?” you wonder like a meek child, voice tiny and gaze swimming with timidity — expecting rejection.

“No,” he answers assuredly and with the curt shake of his head. His lips jut softly out as he turns his gaze to the ceiling. He seems to think to himself for a moment before turning his umber irises back to you again, nose scrunched. “I don’t think I could regret anything with you, honestly.”

You know there are a lot of things you could do in this moment.

You could squeal like a teenage girl and run around your tiny apartment. With the burst of energy his affection gives you, you think you could take a lap around the block in five seconds flat. 

You could also smack a kiss to his lips if you wanted. You could kiss him and keep on kissing him until both of you are blue in the face.

Or you could pretend you’re not all that affected by his words. You could play it cool, joke around like this foreign fluttering feeling in your belly is one you’ve felt before.

It’s too easy to choose the latter.

“Wow,” you lilt with wide eyes, dragging out the vowel for effect. “The charm really charged up overnight, huh?”

“You caught me at a good time,” he quips.

“I’m honestly a little impressed.”

“Well, be prepared to be fucking baffled, sweetheart, ‘cause I’m not getting out of this bed all day,” he threatens, brown eyes twinkling and pink lips curling. 

He rises from the mattress to lean over you. His slender figure cages yours in the same way his words do. Both are equally as warm and all-consuming.

The offer is bold and not really an offer at all. He could easily blame it on the weather if he needed to. He could bluff and say it was because of the pounding rain outside — not because being away from you for too long hurts like burning lungs screeching for air. 

If you take angst with his self-invite, there are a million lies he could come up with on the spot. But he knows you won’t. You’re too kind for your own good, and you love on him more than he deserves.

So, it really shouldn’t surprise him when you smile and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. Eddie has to fight back a shiver that crawls up his spine when your fingers curl into his untamed hair.

“Good,” you hum again, mouth parting to welcome his own shortly after.

He kisses you like he was made to do it. Your lips interlock, break apart, then press together again in an even rhythm. It’s like nodding your head to your favorite song — Eddie doesn’t have to think about doing it, he just does it.

It makes you wonder when he stopped overthinking each of his movements with you. His confidence bloomed like a flower, too gradual for you to catch. You only know that he’s blossomed wholly now. He’s at ease and finally comfortable with you. That’s all you ever wanted in the first place.

Your lips separate with an audible click when Eddie pulls away from you.

“Should I brush my teeth?” he wonders with furrowed brows, made self-conscious by the minty freshness on your tongue.

He’s sort of looking for guidance here. Really, his question is, do couples care about morning breath, or do they love each other too much to think about it? 

“I feel like I probably have crazy morning breath.”

“It’s not too bad,” you shake your head and fight the urge to tell him you’ve tasted far worse than stupid morning breath. You don’t want your slutty humor to sour the mood.

“No?”

“No. I promise. It’s fine.”

Eddie’s face scrunches for a moment as he thinks to himself. He tries to gauge whether or not you’re bluffing — if you really do mean it or if you like him too much to tell him that truth. 

But maybe that’s what couples do. Maybe they don’t care about morning breath. Maybe they just love the other person enough to brush their teeth anyway.

He shakes his head. “I’ll be right back—”

“Eddie, don’t!” you plead, borderline whining when he threatens to slip out of your grip. You tighten your arms around his shoulders but don’t fight when he keeps inching away.

“I’ll be right back!”

Your mewls of displeasure are muffled when he reaches the bathroom.

Eddie stays gone for no longer than five minutes. He uses the toothbrush you bought for him to freshen up his mouth. He brushes them a tad bit aggressively in his haste. And when he gargles your spearmint mouthwash, he nearly chokes on it because he’s scrambling like a madman to get back to you. 

He knows he’s got no real reason to rush other than his promise of being right back. Truth be told, he just hates depriving himself of you longer than he has to.

Despite having hurried, Eddie finds you all covered up and facing the opposite way of the door when he returns. “Did you survive?” he jokes as he walks back into your bedroom.

“No,” you answer into the pillow.

He laughs softly to himself when he crawls back into your bed, bounding over you and to the opposite side of the mattress. The blankets are still crumpled up in his shape. It’s all too easy to slip back in beside you — especially when you slither closer to him almost immediately.

“Poor thing,” Eddie coos at the sight of your playfully pouted lips. He ducks down to press a kiss to them. 

The action comes so suddenly it makes your eyes go wide. You pull the blankets up to your chin. “What was that for?” you ask in a shy, warm murmur.

Eddie shrugs. 

He doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t know why he’s just kissed you or why he’s ever wanted to before. Sometimes it just feels right to. 

“You just looked like you needed to be kissed,” he concludes.

Your grin widens. “I do.”

“I knew it.”

“Desperately so,” you affirm, only partly joking. “More than I need to breathe, in fact.”

“Ooh,” Eddie hums in return. “Guess I should keep kissing you then, huh?”

“Never ever stop kissing me, Eddie Munson.”

The confirmation of your yearning is all he really needs. Your playful but still wholehearted affirmation bats away his lingering insecurities. You want him like he wants you. The validation lets him melt emphatically into you like pancake syrup or marshmallow fluff. 

Something sickly sweet and twice as sticky.

Your kisses are just the same. They’re languid and made of velvet. As they deepen, you begin to suck on the soft plush of his bottom lip. Your expert tongue swipes against his mostly unskilled one. It’s slow and easy and relaxed — like you’ve already been kissing him for an eternity with a willingness to kiss him for an eternity more.

“See?” Eddie teases, partly muffled against your mouth until he can pull far enough away to smile at you with his freshly brushed teeth. “Isn’t this better?”

“I thought I said to keep kissing me,” you answer, wrenching the collar of his shirt in your fists to pull him back down again.

“Yes, ma’am,” he jokes back. Thankfully, your mouth is already on his by the time his words settle over him. It wasn’t supposed to be sexual — but now, lying over you and between your legs, it feels sexual. 

You don’t see the flash of shock on his features — not the wide eyes or the raised brows — but you do feel him tense. It’s like a rock is suddenly lying on top of you. You couldn’t make fun of him even if you wanted to, though. You’re exponentially wetter at his words.

Your innocent kisses become passionate. They’re wide, quicker, needier. 

Weighed down by the heaviness of the moment, you don’t think twice when your hand trails down his chest. 

Your touch is soft like rain. Your fingers drip drip drip down his torso and stomach, heading for the hem of his pajama pants. You hardly realize you’re doing it until Eddie’s hand wraps around your wrist. 

He’s not pulling you away. He’s not even urging your closer. He’s just reminding you that you don’t have to.

“Sorry,” you mutter against his mouth anyway.

“Don’t be,” he assures, shaking his head as he pulls back from you. The edges of his fluffy curls tickle your jaw. “It’s my turn now, right?”

“Your… turn?” you echo.

“I mean... I gotta return the favor now. Right?”

He’s talking about the night before. About the head-rolling orgasm and the haze he’s been in ever since. It’s the only way he can ask to eat you out without stuttering over himself like an idiot. The only other time he’s been able to talk about it was that evening on the phone with you — when he held the plastic telephone in one hand and his cock in the other.

“Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier,” he confessed, so close to his orgasm he could taste it. “I’m thinking about how I coulda taken you on that bench... Get on my knees for you… Shove my head between your legs…”

The longing to taste you hasn’t yet left him.

He knows he might’ve had the opportunity forever ago if he wasn’t such a loser. But now, all he can do is make some lame excuse that sounds a lot less enthusiastic than he feels. He figures it might be better than getting on his knees and outright begging to put his mouth on you, though.

“Eddie…” you mutter in a delicate whisper.

He lifts your wrist from between your bodies and lays it on the pillow beside your head. The move feels strangely dominant. It strikes a feeling of overwhelming desire within you. You know you’d do just about anything he wanted in that moment. 

If he wants to make you feel good, that’s great. If he wants to use you to make himself feel good, that’s okay too. You don’t really care what he wants to do with you — to you.  But you do want to know if he truly wants to do them.

“What’s that look for?” he asks at your bemused expression.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Eddie nods.

He’s memorized the whole spiel already. Don’t do it if you feel like you have to, you always tell him. I’m fine just making you feel good if that’s all you wanna do. Or if you don’t wanna do anything at all. It’s all okay, I promise.

“Just because I did it for you doesn’t mean you have to—”

“I know,” he repeats, a bit more desperate than before. He drops his face down to nudge his nose against the bridge of yours, then rises again shortly after. “That was just my way of asking…”

“To eat me out?” you press.

Eddie nods.

“Well… You coulda just said.”

“Yeah,” the boy scoffs. “Because ‘good morning, can I perform cunnilingus on you’ is so romantic.”

You laugh. It does sound quite strange, but you only meant that most guys aren’t usually polite enough to ask. The few that care to return the favor at all just assume you want it without question.

Most times, you do.

But still, an invitation would be nice.

“Well, I would’ve said yes,” you manage through your giggles. “Just so you know.”

Eddie’s nose scrunches. “Really?”

“Totally. I mean, my legs would’ve been wide open immediately—”

It takes him a moment too long to realize you’re just messing with him. You’re serious, sort of, but still teasing. He huffs in annoyance and nods just to humor you. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Like— ‘Oh, my god, where did my underwear go?’”

“Shut up,” Eddie grouses despite his own laughter. He presses another kiss to your mouth, partly to end your harmless taunting but also because he thinks you’re so damn cute.

He didn’t think the girl people call the town slut would turn out to be such a dork. He almost can’t believe there was ever a time when you intimidated him — when he would walk on eggshells around you out of fear of losing cool points with you. You’re a bigger idiot than he is a lot of the time.

You try to kiss him back, but it’s hard when you’re smiling so wide.

“I’m kidding, but I’m serious,” you confess after he’s pulled away again. Your eyes sparkle as they flit between both of his cinnamon-tinted ones. “You have… no idea what you do to me, Eddie Munson.”

He figures that’s at least half true.

As easy as it is for him to you read most times, he finds it incredibly difficult to gauge what’s going on inside your head. He’s still confused (and a little concerned) at how he got you in the first place. He has no idea why you ever wanted to be his friend, let alone anything more than that.

But, on the other hand, he knows how he feels about you. It’s all pounding hearts and aching chests and swirling stomachs. You might be afflicted by the same sort of love bug he is.

“I don’t know,” he singsongs. “I think I might have an idea.”

“I can show you better than I can tell you,” you offer with his wrist already in hand.

Eddie props himself on one arm while his other journeys down the length of your body. He’s forced to mourn the feeling of your warm skin when your oversized t-shirt from the night before shields him from you. His grief is fleeting and quickly fulfilled when you guide his fingers through the hem of your underwear.

You’re far warmer beneath the cotton fabric. Wetter too. The pads of his fingertips slide over the thatch of trimmed hair at your pubic bone before settling over the softness of your lips. They feel like velvet compared to the silk they keep hidden.

His finger dips between them, just below the button of your clit, and it makes both of you moan. You, from a brief ripple of pleasure, and Eddie, from the notion that you’re this wet only for him.

“If you ever needed proof of how much I want you, here it is,” you tease, all breathy and with a pretty smile.

Eddie’s too overwhelmed by the feel of you to respond. Overcome with the want to touch you all over, all he can do is duck down for another kiss. It’s abrupt and a bit jejune — noses knocking together before your lips can meet properly. 

Eddie feels you smile against his mouth and exhale a laugh through your nose. He’s too clouded with lust to care that you’re finding humor in him. Too affected by his adoration for you to feel humiliated.

Several moments pass like that one. With his lips caressing yours the same way his hand caresses your cunt. He seems to be more focused on feeling you than rushing you towards an orgasm.

He spends ample time tracing the edges of your pussy. He circles the swelling button of your clit before dipping down to feel your hole clench around nothing as it threatens to suck his fingers inside. He’s only memorizing you — committing every inch of your cunt to memory — lest it be the last time he ever gets to touch you.

You wonder if he knows where to go from here, what to do next.

You decide it might be better to guide him anyway. For his sake and for yours.

“Should I take them off?” you ask.

Eddie nods. The tip of his nose glides against yours, and the ends of his hair brush the sides of your face. He parts from you and sits back on his haunches. When your hands reach for your underwear, his dart out to stop you. 

“Wait,” he protests, your wrists in his grip. “Let me do it.”

You trap your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile and rest your hands obediently on your stomach as Eddie’s fingers curl around the hem of your panties. His touch is much colder compared to your warmed skin. It makes you wonder if he’s nervous.

When he tugs your panties down, you lift your hips to aid him. He pulls the fabric up your thighs and over your legs, then balls the cotton in his fist to chuck them rather dramatically over his shoulder. You hear it land somewhere on the floor behind him. It makes you giggle. 

He’s too distracted to hear you, though.

You watch him watch you. His chocolate eyes are wide as they blink down at you like they’ve never seen you before. His palms absentmindedly caress the very backs of your thighs, keeping you nice and spread for him so he can gape at your glistening pussy without issue.

You figure this must be what virgins do — stare in absolute wonder at the first vagina they ever see. You certainly gawked at Steve Harrington’s inhumanely large cock the night he took your virginity. 

It was a lifetime ago now, but you still remember how the leather of his backseat stuck to your sweaty skin and how his car rocked with each of his languid thrusts.

It’s sort of what Eddie’s doing now, making mental notes of everything so he’ll never forget them. And as proud as it makes you feel, you can’t help but writhe in self-consciousness below him. 

“I hate when you do that…” you half-whine within your half-joke.

Eddie feels your thighs tense and drift closed. He lets you half-heartedly shield yourself, but the attempt is futile. You can’t quite shut your legs from where he sits between them. He rubs soothingly along the outsides of your knees.

“Do what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“Look at me like that…”

It doesn’t lessen his confusion. 

He hadn’t seen anything wrong with what he was doing before. You were his girlfriend, after all — surely he was allowed to look at you every now and then. 

Eddie figures he can’t be blamed for it anyway. Looking at you was like looking at the moon or the ocean. It only felt right to awe at your beauty, even if it is one he’s already amply admired.

But it’s different, still.

The moon didn’t rise for him. Oceans didn’t touch horizons for him. But your cunt, made of the finest silk and looking just the same, glistened all for him. Just for him.

“I’m not allowed to look at you?” he laughs.

“No one’s ever, like… stopped and looked at me before,” you confess, still wriggling like you can’t quite get comfortable. You’ll never get used to being ogled at like a piece of fine ancient art when, at best, you feel like some mundane painting that might suffice in a motel lobby. “It’s weird…”

“Well, it’s not my fault you’re so pretty.”

“Shut up,” you laugh but wholeheartedly accept the kiss he threatens you with anyway.

It’s a simple peck. A sweet one. An easy one. Not too deep, but passionate still.

Eddie forces himself to pull back again. He loses his usually playful disposition and grows quite boyishly serious. “Not to be, like, super lame or whatever, but you’re probably gonna have to tell me what to do and stuff because I’ve never—”

“It’s okay,” you interject, still as gentle as ever. You know he hates having to remind you, and himself, that he isn’t well-versed in the means of pleasuring you. No one likes asking for guidance, especially not when it comes to the intricacies of sexual pleasures. 

But, as Hawkins’ resident expert on the matter, you know no one gets good at a thing like this without asking for help every now and then.

“I’ll help you, Eds,” you promise in a seductive lilt and with a mischievous grin.

Your hands rise to his flushed cheeks to pull him down for another kiss. This one is much more ardent than his peck had been.

Eddie takes the lead. Not so much with ease, but without any push from you.

Your lips separate with a wet smack, only for his rosy ones to migrate down your jaw. His mouth trails down your neck, tongue darting out to lick you there. His smile curls against your skin when it makes you shiver. 

He moves further downward, copying what you had done the night before. The kisses feel a lot less effective when pressed over your shirt. He kisses the fabric at your sternum where the faded face of Debbie Harry is printed. 

You hold back your laughter when he huffs in frustration.

“Can we— Can I just take this off?” he wonders, impatient and annoyed with the thing, already tugging at its hem.

Your giggle escapes without warning.

Eddie lets you tug the shirt up and over your body without asking to do it for you. You let the fabric fall from your outstretched arm onto the floor beside your bed.

For the first time, you’re totally bare before him.

He’s seen bits and pieces of you, of course. Enough to know what you look like. Enough to think of you when he jerks off in the shower. Eddie’s seen enough of your body to fall in love with it — but to experience its glory in its entirety is much, much different.

“You’re doing it again…” you complain playfully. You feign displeasure when really you just hate feeling like a piece of glass.

“Shh…” Eddie shushes you. His glazed-over eyes don’t stop glossing over your naked body. “Let me look at you…”

You let him.

And he just looks at you. For several agonizing moments, all he does is look at you.

He commits every inch of you to memory. The rise and fall of your breasts with each of your anticipatory breaths. The pudge of your belly that pairs so nicely with the plush of your hips. The way his hands fit perfectly hugging your sides.

He caresses you up and down — from your ribcage to your stomach to your hips. He settles on your thighs and finds himself squeezing you there again, though he isn’t totally sure why. He just doesn’t know what else to do with such a beautiful thing other than to hold tightly onto it.

Eddie leans down again to press a kiss to your newly bare skin, right between your breasts, and you’re not sure why you’re moaning, but you are. There’s something quite tender in the intimacy you’ve been deprived of for so long.

His lips trickle down down down your body like gentle drops of summer rain. He moves with the ease of someone who’s done this before. He’s forgotten to be nervous.

When he gets to your stomach, he leaves another kiss just below your belly button. His heavy breaths fan over your cunt when he ignores it completely and instead decides to pay tender attention to the insides of your thighs. His arms curl around them. It feels like he’s embracing them.

You watch him, a little amused with the whole thing — with this unsure boy between your legs. You don’t even realize you’re smiling. 

One hand snakes into the curls at the crown of his hand, and the other sits contently over his knuckles along your thigh.

“Just kiss my pussy like you’re kissing me now,” you guide gently. The moan he exhales fans against your skin. “Whenever you’re ready, okay? There’s no rush. You’re already doing great, Eds.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he mutters into your inner thigh.

“I can’t compliment you?”

“No, I’m talking about— about your… pussy.”

“What’s wrong with saying pussy?” you giggle.

“What’s wrong with it?” Eddie echoes with wide, inquisitive eyes. His swollen mouth curls into a grin as he laughs alongside you. “It’s gonna make me fucking explode without you even touching me — that’s what’s wrong with it.”

“That’s… really hot, actually,” you admit rather candidly.

Something about Eddie finding his own sort of pleasure in pleasuring you makes you somehow needier for him.

He shakes his head, feeling like he’s being teased again. “Shut up…”

“I mean it,” you assure, then decide to joke. “But I guess I can get, like, anatomical or whatever if it’ll make you feel better.”

Now he knows you’re teasing.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you and turns his attention back to the warmed skin of your inner thigh. “Jesus Christ…” he grouses to himself just before pressing his lips there. He doesn’t know how to be anything but tender with you. Even when you are being a dumbass.

“Oh, Edward— please touch my vagina,” you joke with all the makings of a pornstar plucked from the Victorian age.

“I hate you so much,” the boy laughs despite his delicate kisses on your body.

“Your tongue feels so good on my labia minora—”

Eddie separates from you, then, meeting your playful smile with a much more cynical grin. “Stop talking,” he directs with raised brows and wide eyes, looking like a parent slowly losing patience with an unruly child. “Unless you want me to shut you up myself.”

He doesn’t mean anything by the half-hearted threat. It wasn’t even supported to be dirty — he just sort of said it because he was tired of being the butt of the joke. It’s rare for him to be on the receiving end of any teasing because, most times, he’s too busy dishing it. 

But you go quiet almost immediately. Your smile ebbs as your eyes go big and glassy. Eddie can’t help but feel like he’s just done something horribly wrong. 

His grin fades and a childlike gape of horror floods his features. “Hey, I was just— I was just kidding. I didn’t mean it like… I’m just an idiot, okay? I’m sorry.” 

You don’t mean to laugh, but you do. 

He’s apologizing like he’s just done something irreversible, something awful he’ll never be able to take back. All he really did, though, was turn you on so desperately you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“It’s okay, Eds. It’s okay,” you assure through a burst of horribly suppressed giggles. “I liked it. It just— It surprised me. That’s all.”

“You liked me telling you to shut up?” Eddie wonders with furrowed brows. He’s not judging you, exactly, just confused and a little relieved.

“Not exactly. I just… I like when you’re assertive. You know, dominant?”

“Right,” he nods, but you can tell he still doesn’t quite get it. 

You figure you’ll have ample opportunity to bring his gentle dominance to light. Just not this time. You think if you explained to him now, how he can have his mouth on your pussy and still have all the power, his brain might implode on itself.

“Just kiss me, Eds,” you guide, direct but still soft.

He shifts on the mattress. You can feel him getting ready to rise and lean over you again. Your hand in his hair tightens to stop him.

“Not there,” you hint.

Your smile is kind, yet playful. Sarcastic, yet sensual. Every one of your expressions is so complex. There are a million beautiful and conflicting labyrinthine flitters to your features he could point out to you.

Meanwhile, his face only goes lax with the realization. Dumbfounded and, well, just dumb.

“Oh…”

“Don’t overthink it,” you instruct quickly when you see him retreating to the shell of his mind. “I know it’s hard to, but… I’m gonna like anything you do, okay? I promise.”

Of course, your assurance quells perhaps his biggest problem — the oh shit, what if nothing I do feels good because I don’t know what I’m doing problem. But when he’s finally face-to-face with your glittering cunt, wetter than it had been just moments ago, he’s got no idea where to start.

He wants to touch you all over. He wants to dive in deep with his tongue and make you unravel entirely underneath him. He’s almost sure, though, that no guy’s ever got anywhere from being overzealous. Or worse, overconfident.

So he just kisses you. Like you asked. He presses his lips to the button of your clit in a peck he would otherwise insist upon your mouth.

The pleasure is fleeting. Negligible, at best. It’s a brief flash of distant lightning from your cunt to your spine. Your hips cant towards his mouth anyway, desperate for more of what he’s teasing you with.

Eddie’s eyes flutter open again. He licks his lips and tastes traces of you on them. His half-hard cock stiffens between his body and your mattress, trapped in the most delicious feeling.

“Good?” he asks you.

He knows he hasn’t done much. He just wants to make sure you’re okay with this — with him — or even that you’re just okayat all. He doesn’t want to do anything before he knows you’re comfortable.

You nod. “Good,” you echo, already breathless.

“Can I… Can I do more?”

“You can do whatever you want, Eds.”

And while that isn’t the most helpful in terms of guiding him, it gives him the go-ahead to touch you all over. That’s all he really wanted in the first place.

At a loss of where to start, Eddie begins to mirror what he’s seen in the movies — the rated XXX kind. He licks a flat stripe up the length of your cunt, from its opening to its apex. The irregular pattern of his tongue is much rougher compared to your smooth silk. 

For a guy who has no idea what he’s doing, you seem to like it well enough. You exhale a low moan through an agape mouth, bucking your hips in a desperate attempt to follow his touch.

“You like that?” Eddie wonders. Just to be sure.

Your keen fades to a soft laugh. “Are you gonna ask if I like everything you do before you do it?”

“I just, you know… wanna make sure…”

Make sure I’m doing okay, he thinks to himself. Make sure it feels good for you and that I’m not making a total fool of myself.

“Here’s some advice,” you start, rising on your elbows to see him better. “If a girl’s moaning, that means she likes it. You can totally tell when they’re fake, I promise. Checking in every once in a while is good, but really the best time to ask is when she stops moaning, okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, features gaping with wonderment. You think if you gave him a pen and paper right now, he’d start taking notes. “Okay.”

“Visual cues are always the best in terms of, you know, making sure someone’s into what you’re doing.”

“Visual… Cues…?” Eddie echoes slowly. Like a total idiot.

“Yeah. Like, if you can feel her getting wetter or if her legs are shaking… Things like that.”

The boy nods to himself. “Right…”

“I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, okay? Or if I want you to do more of something,” you assure. Your fingers scratch gently at the back of his head to seal your promise. “I’m here to help you, yeah? I’m like your… personal sex trainer. I’m gonna turn you into a professional, Eds.”

Instead of telling you that he doesn’t care much about being a professional anything — that he doesn’t need to learn how to make every girl feel good as long as he’s making you feel good — he just scoffs and gets to work again.

Eddie licks at your pussy with languid strokes, focusing mainly on your clit because it makes you moan the loudest for him. He full-on makes out with your cunt like he would your mouth, just like you asked.

It’s passionate and a little sloppy. He uses his tongue to spread you open as though he were prying into your mouth. He sucks your clit between his lips as though he were nipping at the plush cushion of your bottom one. It’s easier that way, to think of eating you out as expressing a sort of tenderness.

Making you feel good is just a bonus.

According to your pithy list, you seem to be enjoying yourself. Getting wetter? Check. Legs shaking? Check. You’re moaning quite a lot, too — breathy, deep, and satiny ones that make him groan against you. 

Both of you are too far gone to notice Eddie’s hips grinding into the mattress. His neglected cock finds a distant relief with every half-hearted pass against the cotton.

Every delicate choice Eddie makes with your pussy is so easily felt.

He was nervous at first. If that fact weren’t already obvious to you, you would’ve known by the unsure kisses to your clit. He was trying to gauge your reaction, figure out what you liked most. Then, when he got more comfortable, so did his mouth. His kisses grew more confident, more languid, more unaware of himself.

Suddenly, and perhaps with the fleeting thought to heighten your pleasure by doing something different, Eddie starts doing more with his tongue. He becomes less confident, less languid, less himself.

He traces a sharp A along your pussy, quickly followed by a rounded B. You clock it immediately because you’ve felt it so many times before. And though it still feels quite nice, you find yourself laughing.

When Eddie feels you softly trembling, his chest swells with pride. He thinks you must be quivering with pleasure. A second later, he realizes you’re laughing. 

His swollen mouth smacks when he pulls away from your pussy, lips glistening with your slick. He gapes at you with horrified honey eyes. “What?” he slurs, slightly drunk on the taste of you.

“Are you doing the ABCs?” you ask him, still giggling.

Eddie falters at having been caught so quickly. “…No.”

“That’s the oldest trick in the book, Munson. Every guy does it. I can tell you’re doing the ABC thing, babe.”

“I, uh… I read it in a magazine,” he confesses with his cheeks glowing red.

“I know,” you hum softly. “It’s okay. It still felt good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I told you I would tell you, so I’m telling you,” you remind with a gentle smile. “Do you still want help?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, more sure now.

“If you want to use your tongue, you can put it where you’d normally put your fin— oh—” Your attempt to guide him ends in a tiny, broken moan when Eddie dives in quicker than you expect him to.

You thought he might take a second to hesitate, to ask if you were still sure like he always does. But, for perhaps the first time with you, he doesn’t think twice. He slips his eager tongue into the satin of you with an obviously unpracticed motion, and you whine pathetically underneath him.

It’s not how easily his tongue slithers into you. 

It’s not how he explores the walls of your cunt like undiscovered territory. 

It’s not even how the tip of his nose nudges your clit in a manner that can only be described as merciless.

What really gets you is the thought that he’s only ever done this with you — that you’re the only girl he’s ever tasted, that your pussy is the first to grace his tongue. The proud, borderline possessive feeling is nearly as gratifying as his mouth.

You can barely talk through Eddie’s attempts to swallow you whole. Every time his nose bumps your clit when he flicks his tongue just so, an electric shock shoots down your spine. You’re slowly forgetting how words work. 

You try to coach him through it anyway.

“Most girls… They, uh— They like when you switch between your tongue and your… your mouth. But I, um… I like this for a while— fuck, Eds.” You throw your head back when he audibly slurps at your drooling pussy. His own moan is muffled against you as your hand tightens in his hair.

It takes a moment or three to catch your breath again.

“But when I get close, like… right before I’m about to come, I usually like when guys— oh— when they suck on my clit—”

And even though you’re not exactly talking dirty to him, your words make Eddie groan against you anyway. The heavy grunt is hummed into your cunt — low and rumbling like thunder that travels the length of your body in the same resounding way.

Eating pussy was easier than Eddie thought it might be.

It had its little intricacies, of course, but it wasn’t too hard once he got the hang of it. Your tip on visual cues helped him more than you realize. It really was all in the optics. 

You clenched around his tongue every time his nose accidentally bumped your clit, so he started to do it more intentionally. When he focused on your sensitive button and pulsating cunt at the same time, your pussy dripped more honey on his tongue. You moaned louder for him too, begged for him outright.

“Eddie, please,” you whined. “Right there, Eddie.” 

“Oh, your tongue feels so good, Eds.”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.”

But just because it was easy didn’t mean it was effortless.

His tongue gets quickly tired from such fervent use. His jaw aches from the constant open-shut motion of the joint. His neck grows sore and stiff from its constant tilted position.

It makes it harder for him to touch you how he wants to — harder to make you feel as good as he needs to. So when your vocal moans turn into quieter whimpers, he parts from your pussy with a loud smack and gives his mouth a break. 

You whine at the loss of him, immediately cold without his mouth covering you. 

You’re crying out again the second he replaces his tongue with his thumb. He presses the pad of it to your clit — not rough, exactly, just eager and firm. 

To be touched so ardently in a place so delicate feels like you’ve been dipped in scalding hot water. And, being that you’re more sensitive there than most tend to be, your body reacts accordingly to the suddenness of his touch. Your hips buck upward, legs closing on instinct. 

Eddie’s in the line of fire for all of it.

“Shit, Eds,” you grimace when your knee smacks his jaw. You rise on one arm and use the other to caress his cheek. Your thumb rubs at the skin there in a futile attempt to soothe the ache. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” the boy answers with an immediate shake of his head. With his eyes still glassy and his tongue still tasting of you, he only wants to put his mouth on you again. Despite the distant throbbing in his jaw, he grins. “Didn’t even feel it.”

He had, of course. The dull feeling is ebbing. Slowly. 

But it’s still okay.

Eddie turns his attention back to your pussy. His arms curl around your thighs again. Now that he’s not busy devouring you, he can see how wet you’ve gotten. 

Honey leaks relentlessly from your pussy. He feels almost undeserving of the amount you give him. It darkens the sheets beneath you and clings to your skin like silk. 

It’s lewd and sinful. Beautiful, still.

“Shit, babe,” Eddie sighs to himself. “You’re fucking— You’re dripping.”

You know you are. You can feel it. It trails slowly from your pulsating cunt to your ass and wets the sheets below you. You’re a little embarrassed, to have made such a mess without even orgasming.

He swears he sees you wince. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t apologize,” Eddie directs with a practiced swiftness. “It’s hot. It’s... really fucking hot, okay? I mean, it’s like… Your pussy’s fucking drooling for me.”

You’re moaning at the vulgarity of his words before he ever puts his mouth on you.

It doesn’t take long for the pleasure to crescendo again. The distant orgasm looms nearer and nearer, like a storm cloud rolling in. You barely have time to realize you’re succumbing to the heavenly feeling before it’s already there.

“I’m about to come, Eds,” you manage to warn, half-slurring and already seeing stars.

Eddie answers with another low moan into your pussy.

He remembers what you told him, slides his mouth from your velvet walls and migrates to your clit. His mouth engulfs the sensitive button. He sucks it between his lips, flicking his tongue along the very peak of it.

And you? You were already long now. Now you feel like you might as well be in outer fucking space.

“Oh my god, Eddie,” you whine pathetically, trapped in the dense haze of immense pleasure. 

You feel all of it and none of it, all at once. Your hips buck forward and backward, trying to chase the feeling and run away from it, too. You don’t realize it, but you’re all but grinding against Eddie’s mouth. 

He can’t do a single damn thing but revel in it.

A distant part of his consciousness registers that his hips are rolling against your mattress. The thought is too far away to make him stop, though. 

What was he supposed to do, anyway — when a pretty girl was making even prettier sounds for him, begging for him to keep making her feel good? It made him so hard it hurt.

Eddie grinds his stiff cock into your bed and tries to relieve the overwhelming pressure you and your lewd noises burden him with. He moans against you without thinking. 

You figure he must be torturing you, using the vibrations as a weapon to make your orgasm that much more forceful. Really though, Eddie’s just coming in his pants for the second time since being with you.

His cock spurts several unforgiving loads into the cotton of his underwear. He buries his pitiful moans and whimpers into your pussy, hips still rocking through his high.

You come right along with him.

Your back arches, unintentionally pushing your cunt further into his mouth. “Fuck, Eddie—” you cry, high and fragile, as you drip more honey for him. Your mouth falls agape in a silent moan that leaves in another feeble whine a moment later.

And Eddie, never having been a man who knows his limits, has no idea when to stop.

He doesn’t particularly want to. He thinks he could probably eat your pussy forever, though the lingering ache in his jaw and neck begs to differ. The way you say his name when you come for him — over and over and over again — would make the pain worth it.

“Eddie—” you gasp for the hundredth or millionth time when his tongue swipes across your clit again. Your hips twitch at the sensitivity. You’re forced to pull him away by his hair. 

You begin to laugh to yourself as your high slowly subsides. The breathy giggle that falls from your lips sounds delirious, almost, as your fuzzy brain comes down from the clouds again.

Eddie, just as incoherent as you, presses sloppy kisses to the insides of your thigh. His heavy eyes flutter open to find you smiling tiredly at the ceiling. “Good?” he wonders through labored breaths.

It’s a “Was that good for you?” as much as a “Are you back now?”

You trap your smile between your teeth as you nod.

Tilting your ear to your shoulder, you peer down the expanse of your body to where the wild-headed boy lies between your legs. His flushed cheek rests along your inner thigh. Your fingers dance through his curls.

“I might just make a professional out of you yet, Eddie Munson.”

A grin tugs slow at the edges of his swollen mouth.

He rises so he’s leaning over you again and doesn’t waste a second to start kissing you — the same way he’d been kissing your cunt moments ago. His rosy lips are still slick with you. You can taste the briny tang of your honey upon them.

Before you have time to acknowledge any of it, though, something sticky presses into your stomach. You blame yourself for it almost immediately. It wouldn’t have been the first time you’ve stained someone’s pants. A second later, you realize it couldn’t have been you. So it must have been Eddie.

The crotch of his pants is wet because he came in them. 

“Eds,” you murmur into his kiss.

“Hm?” he hums and pulls back with furrowed brows.

“Did you… um…” you trail off, trying to find the best way to ask your question without sounding like you’re making fun of him. 

You’ve noticed he tends to get a little self-conscious about these things — conversations that remind him that he’s mature but not at all experienced. You often approach the topic with caution. Likely the same way he does with you and subjects on promiscuity.

Eddie’s face twists further in confusion. It makes you wonder if he even noticed.

The flash of realization on his face is evident. As soon as his come cools and leaves the fabric of his underwear sticking to his skin, his eyes go wide and he jerks away from you. “Shit. Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s fine,” you assure him quickly, chasing him as he sits up again. Your legs curl beneath you as Eddie’s hang over the mattress.

“No, it’s not,” he scoffs out a laugh. “It’s lame.”

You reach for his face and take his cheeks in your gentle hands to make him look at you. You meet his sheepish gaze with a softer smile. “It’s sexy,” you correct. “This isn’t even the first time you’ve done it. It’s not a big deal to me. You know that.”

“Yeah, it was lame then, too.”

Your smile widens as you shake your head at him. 

It wouldn’t matter if you provided him an itemized list of everything he did that you found attractive — sexually or otherwise — he still wouldn’t believe you. He’d just laugh and say you were joking, probably find a way to make fun of you for it like he always does.

“You have a crush on me?” he’d tease. “That’s so gross…”

Rather than press the issue, you leave a chaste peck on his mouth.

“I’m gonna shower,” you say, still holding him. “Then we can go get breakfast or something.”

The smug smirk he gives you isn’t surprising. 

“Ooh,” he hums. “A shower, huh? Sounds fun.”

“Alone.”

“Why?” he wonders with a pout.

“Because we’re adults and not a couple of teenagers. We’ve got better things to do than fuck like rabbits all day.”

You’re serious, for the most part. Even a slut’s got to have her own boundaries. You didn’t get the title by having sex every chance you could — not exactly, anyway. The art was in the chase. You get your prey clouded by lust until it’s all they can do not to fuck you. That’s when you strike.

It’s why you weren’t just a slut. You were the slut.

But still, there was more to your rejection, a deeper meaning to it you keep to your chest like playing cards out of pure embarrassment.

You don’t think you could keep your hands to yourself — not with Eddie’s bare body pressing against yours after bringing you to an orgasm that had you seeing stars with nothing but his mouth. 

And you want so desperately to take things slow, to make all of his firsts special. You want to wait, but he makes it so damn hard.

“I’m gonna go shower,” you repeat and place a barely-there kiss to his lips before you go. You pluck your shirt from the floor and throw it haphazardly over your naked frame. “There’s some tissues on the dresser if you wanna clean up!” you shout from the hallway right before Eddie hears the bathroom door click shut.

You’re gone for twenty minutes. 

The shower was far quicker than the more drawn-out ones you’re privy to, especially when you’ve got a pretty boy over. You don’t see the point in doing the whole routine now, anyway. Eddie had already seen you naked — tasted you, no less. It doesn’t make sense to care about stubbly legs and frizzy hair now.

When you return to the bedroom for fresh clothes, you find the boy lying in the center of your bed. He’s got Bowie on his belly and your basket of cassettes at his side. He slouches against the headboard and flips through them like index cards, occasionally humming to himself when he finds one he particularly likes.

There’s something really special about the sight before you. This beautiful boy with wild hair has made himself comfortable in your bedroom — amid all your pretty decorations and with your less-than-affectionate cat. 

Eddie’s at home in your home. Like he’s always been there. Like he’ll never leave.

“I don’t know if you wanna shower or not, but I might have some t-shirts you can change into,” you tell him absentmindedly as you search through your drawers for something to wear. You rifle through the folded clothes with one hand, using the other to hold your towel to your chest. 

You’re looking for something pretty but casual — something fitting for a day at home that’ll still make Eddie compliment you.

“But I don’t know if I have sweatpants…” you caution. “Or boxers.”

Eddie shrugs. “It’s okay. I brought some extra clothes.”

He slips out of bed and tucks Bowie neatly back into the mattress. When he emerges from beneath the covers, you find he’s already changed. He’s still in the same shirt, but he’s wearing different underwear. They’re as baggy and thin as the ones he made a mess in, just a new shade of plaid.

“Oh,” you hum, smirking. “That is very presumptuous of you, sir.”

You hold the tank top and shorts you’d picked to your chest as Eddie walks the short distance to meet you. He rolls his eyes at your insinuation. “Not like that. I’m just… an idiot. And I don’t know how to pack… Also, I was nervous.

“Nervous?” you echo.

“Yeah,” he confesses, shifting his weight on his feet. Nervous, still. He grins to cover it. “First time spending the night alone with a pretty girl… I think that’s something pretty normal to be nervous about.”

You get it. You do. It’s not like you didn’t spend the entirety of your afternoon agonizing over all this the day before. You just hate that Eddie was nervous, too. That you hadn’t made him feel better.

“You don’t have to be nervous around me, Eddie,” you promise.

“You don’t make me nervous. I make me nervous,” he corrects. 

Your brows pinch together in confusion.

He explains. “‘Cause I wanna, like… Impress you and everything…”

You smile. Then nod. “You do.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Every day,” you answer like it’s obvious. “You always give me something new to like.”

Eddie hopes his face isn’t as red-hot as it feels. 

“What was it today then, huh?” he wonders with a teasing lilt as he takes one step closer to you. His chest rubs against the hands holding your clothes and towel. His fingers settle along your waist. “Or is it too early in the day to ask?”

“Your tongue,” you answer honestly, but with a seductive undertone — just to make him melt.

It works.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You finish getting ready in the bathroom. 

The tank top you chose is simple and white ribbed — an easy four-quarters at the thrift store. The neck of it comes up too high to reveal much of your cleavage, but it clings to you like it was made to do it. 

Your shorts are much of the same. Cheap. A little boring. They’re floral patterned and frilled at the bottoms. If you pull the top of them to your belly button, the edges of your ass threaten to poke out.

You’re feeding Bowie in the kitchen when Eddie returns from the bedroom. He’s dressed for the day in his usual attire — the thrifted concert merch and baggy jean duo. The all-black outfit matches the stormy weather outside. It’s quite the opposite of your brighter garb, though.

You don’t realize he’s there until he’s pressing himself against you, effectively pinning you against the counter. His arms wrap around your waist, embracing you almost, as he tucks his face into your shoulder.

“You look pretty,” he mumbles into your skin.

You giggle as you fork cat food into Bowie’s bowl. “You’re so cuddly today.”

Eddie grins against your neck. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Of course not! I just had to chase you all night because you refused to snuggle.”

Your use of the word snuggle makes him scoff. He parts from you and leans his hip against the counter beside you. “Sorry for the worst sleeper known to man. Sue me.”

You slide the calico her food and set the fork down with it as you turn to face the boy. You instantly notice he looks different from before but can’t quite gauge why. More of his face is visible than usual — the edges of his rosy cheeks and the pale points of his jaw.

It takes you several embarrassing moments to realize his hair is tied up.

He’s done a rather haphazard job of it. Several strands have been left out of the knot at the back of his head. It’s not entirely pulled through the tie either, so it’s in this vaguely shaped messy bun. You figure it was more to get his curls out of his face than anything remotely stylistic.

“…What?” he murmurs at your silent stare, head jutting slightly backward. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Sorry,” you apologize and shake your head out of its stupor. Your squeezed-shut eyes open again and twinkle when you smile. “It’s just… Your hair…”

Eddie hadn’t expected you to notice. He does it so often he forgets how different it makes him look. 

Long curly hair was totally metal, but it was annoying. He usually keeps a hair tie in his bedroom for when it’s particularly bothersome. Being that he was without one now, he thought the pale pink scrunchie on your dresser would do the trick.

His pale hand instinctually darts to his head. He scratches at his hair, loosening the already slacked strands. “Yeah, I, uh… I used one of your hair ties,” he admits, embarrassed but unsure why. “I hope that’s… okay?”

“Of course, it’s okay,” you tell him, laughing. “I’ve just never seen you with your hair pulled back. It’s cute.”

It takes everything in him not to crumble when your hand rises to his face and combs through his hair. Your gentle fingers tuck a few ornery strands behind his ear, then rest on his jaw.

You’ve got a vague hint of a smile on your lips, one of wonderment almost, like you can’t believe he’s real. You look at him like he’s some beautiful thing you can’t believe managed to get more beautiful.

He loves it so much that he hates it. He needs it so much that he can’t help but shy away from it.

“Well, I’m nothing if not adorable,” he jests with a sheepish grin and tilts his reddened cheek towards his shoulder.

“Damn right…”

Eddie’s too slow in his shyness to meet you halfway like he typically would. It leaves you doing most of the work — standing taller to reach his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck to press more wholly against him. You smack a single kiss to his mouth and pull back to admire him with a smile.

His hands settle on your waist, at the very apex of your hips, where they always seem to gravitate. He kisses you this time in a longer, languid, more drawn-out thing. The constant locking and separating pattern of your lips persists through the sounds of rolling thunder and a cat lapping rather dramatically at her food.

Even as someone knocks at your door with several sharp raps, you’re less than enthusiastic to part from him.

Eddie separates from you when he realizes you aren’t planning to. “Do you wanna get that?” he asks, figuring you must not have heard it over the rain or the feeling of him.

“No. It’s probably nothing. They’ll leave,” you assure him quickly, desperate to feel him again.

Eddie, similarly longing, only nods. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he leans down to kiss you again.

The knocking returns. Louder now. A female voice accompanies it. “I don’t know if you’re asleep in there or something, but it’s fucking pouring out here! So if you could let me in, that’d be great!”

You part from Eddie suddenly, a tad bit aggressively, and without thinking twice.

It’s like a switch has been flipped within you, from indifference to immediate concern. You hear Eddie start a question — a trailed of “who’s…?” — but you’re out of the kitchen before he can finish it. You’re at the front door in a few quick strides, swinging it open before you realize you’re doing it. 

It’s like muscle memory, almost. To come when you hear that voice calling.

Seeing Max Mayfield on your doorstep isn’t the most surprising thing in the world. It’s pretty expected, actually, but seeing her now — in the pouring rain, with nothing but her skateboard? You’d be a little impressed if you weren’t so shocked.

“What are you doing here?” you ask her, practically screeching, as she shoves past you and into your apartment. Her soaking wet Converse stomp into the living room. You can almost hear the subtle squelch of the damp soles.

“If I stayed on Cherry Lane for one more second, I was gonna go insane,” she spits as she toes off her sneakers.

“Did you… Did you skateboard all the way here?”

“Well, it’s not like I have a car, so…” she answers without really answering, flashing you an equally sardonic smile.

Amber strands hang from her two braids and cling to her freckled forehead. She tugs off the yellow raincoat that didn’t seem to do much of anything. Her t-shirt and jeans are drenched in splotches and sticking to her skin.

“It’s pouring outside, Max! That’s dangerous!”

“I didn’t die, so I’d say it’s fine.”

You sigh to yourself — a deep exhale that deflates your chest.

Max Mayfield is a spitfire. Everyone knows that. Sarcasm is quite literally her love language. When she’s mean to you, it’s because she likes you. She only gets really snappy like this on occasion.

Derision becomes her shield. Being hurtful is the only way she knows to keep people at arm’s length. So, when something’s really wrong, and she’s at your front door in the pouring rain, it’s easier for her to be closefisted than actually ask for help.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs.

You send her a knowing look. A no one skateboards halfway across town in the rain for nothing kind of look.

“It’s just my brother,” she caves in a huff. “It’s always my brother. I don’t even know why you bother asking at this point.”

Your fists clench at your sides. “What’d he do now?” 

“It’s my stepdad, mostly. They just… fight. Like, all the time— a lot more than they used to, and you know how bad they used to,” Max explains, halfway rambling, as she paces with socked feet along your living room carpet. She gesticulates wildly as she continues. “I don’t even know what they’re arguing over now. I’m not even sure they know, but my mom refuses to do anything about it, and I’m pretty sure Billy would kill me if I tried to, so…”

The girl trails off with a shrug and stops pacing to face you again. The nails on her left hand pick at the skin of the pointer finger on her right. 

Your concerned gaze makes her cower.

“I just can’t stand the yelling, and my walkman only turns up so loud, you know?”

“Color?” you ask her.

To Eddie, who’s hearing all this from the kitchen, it sounds quite vague. Almost purposefully vague. He’s got no idea what it’s supposed to mean, but Max answers so suddenly it’s clear to him that both of you know.

“Before I left? Orange. But... if Billy didn’t leave before I did… red,” the girl agonizes with ocean eyes wide in apprehension. “Like, bright red. Fucking blood red— whatever the darkest shade of red is, it’s that one.”

Eddie decides to make himself known then. He leans against the doorway that connects the kitchen and the living room. “Crimson?” he offers, then corrects himself. “Or, no, maybe scarlet… I don’t know the difference between them, actually.”

Max falls eerily silent. Her head darts over her shoulder at the sound of the familiar voice. She’s less surprised to find someone else in the apartment than she is to know that, out of anyone in the world it could have been, it’s Eddie fucking Munson.

She turns back to you, pale face and auburn brows contorted in confusion. She jerks her thumb in the boy’s direction. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“He stayed the night,” you shrug.

“You let Lucas’ weird new friend spend the night?”

“Wow, Red,” Eddie laughs behind her. “I thought we’d be on a first-name basis by now.”

You shift your weight on your feet and try to swallow down any lingering nerves. You know you shouldn’t be this concerned about losing cool points to a fourteen-year-old, but Max is different. Max is cool. Way cooler than you are.

“Well, we’re dating, so…”

“You’re dating Lucas’ weird new friend now?” she gapes.

“His name is Eddie, Maxine,” you argue, full-naming her because you know how much she hates it. You walk past the girl dripping all over your carpet and head towards the hallway for a towel and fresh clothes. “And he’s standing right there, so you could be a little nicer.”

“Yeah, I’m sensitive, Maxine,” Eddie teases. He brings a hand to his chest to feign offense as he inches toward her. “Wait to talk shit about me when I’m out of earshot, yeah?”

Max squints at him. “Well, this is my safe space, Lucas’ weird new friend, so don’t hog it, alright?”

“Funny you say that because I’m pretty sure only one of us was invited here,” Eddie retorts.

You emerge from the hallway then with a towel and spare clothes. 

“And none of you pay rent, which makes it even funnier,” you quip to quell the petty banter and hand Max the fresh linens. “Here. Get changed. Take a shower if you want. Me and Eddie were about to get breakfast.”

The redhead falters at the act of kindness. She still isn’t quite used to it — the way you help her without thinking twice. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and she knows it won’t be the last. But still, it’s hard to accept.

“Thanks,” she wavers and tries her best to smile. It looks more like a wince than anything else.

She slinks off down the hall. You hear Bowie’s paws hit the floor in a muffled thud as she hops off the counter to follow her.

Eddie waits until he hears the bathroom door click shut to turn to you, more serious than he had been before. “Um, so… What was that, exactly?”

“It’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “She just stops by sometimes when her brother is bothering her.”

He nods though he’s still sort of confused. He crosses his arms over his chest and furrows his brows. “And the colors…?”

“It’s easier for her to describe the fights by what color they felt like. Blue is the sad fights, green is the stupid fights, orange is right before they get bad, and red is when they do get bad,”  you explain, then huff. “Black is… the worst one. They’re the fights you don’t come back from.”

You’ve only seen one code black before. That night at Steve’s — that one was black. The night progressed, and it only got darker. It became a shade that swallowed all the colors surrounding it — a black hole.

Black is the kind of fights that change you. The fights that stick with you forever. The fights you can’t forgive and can’t forget.

“Oh. Shit,” Eddie mutters to himself. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, eyes flitting between you and the empty hallway. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He wants to comfort you — the both of you — but he’s got no idea how. “Should I… Should I, like, go?”

You want to tell him no. 

You want to tell him that you need him there, that you don’t want him to be far away again, that he might actually help. But you know Max. She puts up a wall with you, and you’ve known her for years. There’s no way she’ll talk to you with Lucas’ weird new friend around.

“If you wanna go get breakfast or something, that’d be really cool,” you answer sheepishly, scrunched face like you’re scared you might hurt his feelings. You inch closer to him, arms wrapped around yourself, as you explain. “I wanna get her to talk and everything, and… she might not if you’re around… ‘M sorry.”

Your shy gaze is met with a grin. He shrugs. “Hey. It’s okay. I can take my van and get us something to eat. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Like Max, you try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Eds.”

You kiss him before he leaves. A brief peck to his cheek that doesn’t even mean anything. Your lips brush his lower jaw so softly that he barely feels it, but it takes him by surprise anyway. Not because you’re kissing him, exactly, but because it’s so strangely domestic.

Eddie’s pretty sure no one’s kissed him goodbye since he was five. 

It’s the little things — those mundane, innocent, and slightly stupid things — that he never missed because he’d gone without them for so long. But you’re reminding him now what it means to be cared for, telling him in your way that he’ll never have to be without them again.

His fingertips are buzzing when he leaves your apartment. 

He’s certain he’ll get struck by lightning before he gets back.

Eddie stays gone for thirty minutes, and you spend that entire time trying to get Max to talk. It’s a more difficult feat than you initially thought. She’s got a sarcastic remark for each of your questions.

“It’s not just nothing, Max!”

“It’s no different than code green!” she argues, sitting below you on the couch in one of your oversized tees. “I just don’t wanna listen to them argue. It’s not like I’m… scared. Or whatever.”

“It’s okay if you are scared, though. You know that, right?”

“Well, I just said I’m not, so…”

One stern look from you, and she breaks.

“I’m always scared, okay?” she bursts. “Even when they’re just talking, I’m fucking terrified because I’m waiting for everything to blow up again. And I— I fucking hate living like that, so I left. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The only thing you know to do is ask her if she wants to get Hopper involved. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s talked to her stepdad, least of all Billy.

Her answer is a balanced and very nuanced — “Fuck no.”

She’s only comforted by your offer to let her spend a few nights at your place and an invitation to your yearly spring break trip to Lake Lemon — only on the condition that her mom is alright with it. 

You know it’ll bite you in the ass eventually. The vacation was just supposed to be you, Robin, and Steve, after all. You figure they’ll understand why you inevitably had to invite Max and all her high school friends when you tell them your hands were tied. Besides, Steve Harrington was the best babysitter around. He could watch over a few teenagers for a weekend.

When Eddie returns, he comes with a paper sack of biscuits and a “Honey, I’m home!”

Bowie is the only one not rolling her eyes at the cliche announcement.

“I didn’t know what you guys wanted, so I just got, like… everything,” the boy explains while the two of you dig ravenously into the bag.

You’re a lot less glum than when he left. Especially Max. She’s smiling now — cracking jokes about Eddie’s wet hair and how it makes him look more like a poodle than usual— in between feeding Bowie spare sandwich crumbs. 

She even thanks him, a week and monotoned expression of gratitude, more spurred on by a look from you than anything else.

“Thanks, Lucas’ weird new friend…”

He’ll take it. He’s just happy the storm’s clearing up.

“No problem, Red. Glad I could be of service.”

He means it in the most literal sense.

Eddie’s happy to have helped in some way, even if it doesn’t feel like much. You and this strange redheaded girl are getting full on food he bought specifically for the both of you, and something about that thought is very distinctly warming. You laugh over two dollar sausage-egg-and-cheese biscuits, talking so loudly it makes it almost impossible for him to get a word in edgewise, but he doesn’t even care.

The clumsy boy who can never seem to do anything right is just happy that he’s finally done some good.

It is a bit weird, though — having to share you. He watches you give all your attention to Max, and a childlike sort of misplaced jealousy simmers within him.

Like usual, you’re totally selfless. You let Max choose the movie and the food you eat with it later that evening. Instead of the typical Star Wars trilogy Eddie often picks, you end up watching Karate Kid. He’s forced to go without his usual hot-sauce-chocolate-syrup-popcorn concoction because Max insists on making nachos.

They’re good. They’re great, even. But Eddie’s too busy sulking to enjoy them because you’re sharing a blanket with Max instead of him. You sit on the couch together while he’s banished to the recliner across the room. 

Bowie’s good enough company, but she’s certainly no replacement for you.

Eddie doesn’t get you to himself until the movie’s over.

You make a semi-comfortable bed for Max on the couch, complete with all the spare pillows and blankets you could find. You tuck her in like a parent would their child — just to hear her laugh as she swats you away — then make Bowie promise to watch over her for the night. You don’t come to bed until you’ve checked on them both five separate times.

Eddie makes no complaint when you finally settle in next to him. 

There is no half-joke or sarcastic quip waiting for you — just a warm arm he wraps intently around your middle to pull you closer to his chest.

Because he gets it, why you dropped everything to help Max. He would’ve done the same for Dustin. He has done the same for Dustin. And with the way you so effortlessly take care of him every other day of the week, Eddie can’t blame you for doing the same for someone else. 

He’d be an idiot to be angry at how kind you are.

He’s just grateful to have you now — grateful to have you at all — even if it is only to sleep.

The both of you have just finally dozed on when your phone starts to ring. The repeated chime sounds so much louder in the quiet. It’s suffocating, almost, in the darkness of your bedroom.

Eddie stirs first. He finds himself on the other side of your bed, turned away from you entirely, and with the covers to himself. 

You don’t seem to mind too much, too sleepy to care. You’re on your belly, face smushed into the pillow, with one leg hiked. Your sleep shirt has risen up your spine to reveal the black cotton panties you wear underneath. 

You groan at the intrusion on your slumber.

“Who is it?” Eddie groans, slurred with sleep.

“Robin,” you grumble as you flip to your other side.

He doesn’t ask how you know that.

Your heavy eyelids flutter shut, totally against your will, forcing you to reach blindly for the ringing phone. When your fingers finally wrap around the plastic, you bring it to your ear. The curled wire is cool against your chin.

“What?” you slur into the receiver.

“Well, it’s good to hear your voice, too,” Robin quips on the other line. She sounds too chipper for so late into the night.

“Why are you calling me? It’s almost midnight.”

“I’ve been waiting to call you forever, but Keith wouldn’t quit hogging the phone!” She sounds like she’s shouting that last bit over at the man himself. She turns to the phone again, quieter this time. “I don’t even know who he was calling. It’s not like he has any friends.”

Your brows furrow. “You’re still at work?”

“Yep. Inventory. Graveyard shift. We’re getting overtime, but it’s totally not worth it.”

“So you called ‘cause you were bored?”

“No,” she insists in a scoff. “Well, I am, but I thought I should tell you that Billy came by before closing.”

That wakes you up immediately.

The name in itself is an adrenaline rush. 

Suddenly, you’re wide awake and your heart’s beating like you’ve just run a marathon.

“He what?”

“Yeah. I mean, he was just asking for Max — said she ran away or something. He’s probably making the rounds looking for her, but… He asked about you…”

“What do you mean?” you ask and try not to sound too panicked.

“I don’t know if he thought she was with you or if you might’ve been in the back— I don’t know,” Robin rambles, voice distant like she’s multitasking between talking and working. “He wanted to know where you were.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you were out of the country.”

Despite your alarm, her answer makes you laugh. Robin was always good at that. Making jokes to distract people from their problems was her specialty. It takes you a moment to realize she isn’t laughing with you, though, and you wonder if it was a joke at all.

“Wait, seriously?”

“I didn’t know what else to say!” she defends half-heartedly. “I was just scared he might’ve come by your place.”

“Well, he hasn’t… Not that I know of.”

The thought of Billy Hargrove often looms over you. He was like your own personal storm cloud. Even with the real storm long gone, you hear thunder roll over your head and rumble down your spine.

“Maybe he just gave up,” Robin lilts optimistically.

You know Billy doesn’t know how to, though. For him, it’s win or die trying.

“Maybe…” you waver anyway. “Is Steve there?”

“Yeah— say ‘hi’ Steve!” After a second or more of silence, you hear the boy himself groan a distant and obviously exhausted greeting in return. Robin’s voice follows. “Sorry. He’s grumpy.”

“Why?” you laugh.

“He sorta told Billy off when he came by. Keith got pissed,” she summarizes, the mocks her manager’s monotoned drawl. “‘You’re not allowed to talk to customers that way, Harrington. Even if they are raging douchebags.’”

You smile to yourself. There’s something warming about Steve defending you even when you’re not around to see it. He’s sticking to his word without needing to be rewarded for it.

“Tell him I think he’s very brave,” you joke.

“She wants you to know that she thinks you’re very brave, Stevie,” Robin tells him.

Steve grumbles a faraway thanks.

“Are you guys working tomorrow?

“Yep,” Robin answers, popping the p. Her words are dripping with venom. “Morning shift. Nine o’clock sharp.”

“Maybe I can come by then,” you offer.

“Get your personal P.I to keep tabs on Billy in the meantime. You know, just in case.”

“You say that like he’s a serial killer.”

“You never know! He could be our very own Ted Bundy.”

“—Also, Hopper is not my personal P.I.,” you laugh when her words finally dawn on you.

“He totally is, but… whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes with a distant smile on your face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rob.”

“Sweet dreams… Since I’m not getting any tonight, apparently,” she speaks too sweetly into the receiver. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

“Love you most!”

You sit the phone back on the hook. It takes a few tries because you’re still sort of sleepy and less than coordinated. The quiet room fills with the rattled sounds of your repeated failures. You succeed on the fourth try.

You turn back around and find Eddie awake, too. His curls are wild — umber strands dancing in a halo on his head and on the pillow. His eyes are a darker chocolate from sleep, honeyed and heavy. 

His brows pinch together. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” you answer, more focused on getting comfortable again. “It’s just… girl troubles.”

“You people are full of that these days,” Eddie scoffs through his exhaustion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone’s having girl troubles,” he elaborates. “Robin, Dustin, Mike, Lucas. Probably Steve, too, because he’s Steve.”

“Lucas?” you echo, distantly concerned because his girl troubles aren’t just girl troubles — they’re Max troubles. “What’s going on with Lucas?”

Eddie sighs and shakes his head against the pillow. “I don’t know. Something with Max, I guess. He won’t talk about it.”

“How do you know Max?” you change the subject with a soft smile. “Where’d the nickname come from?”

“I don’t really know her. She just hung around with Lucas a lot. For a while, I think I really was his weird new friend to her. Like, after the first couple days of school, those kids were practically glued to me, you know?” he explains with a reminiscent grin. “I think they just liked having someone older too… I don’t know… Protect them, I guess?”

“That’s sweet,” you gush — tired and in love.

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah. I’m a real hero, sweetheart.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m… I’m not a hero,” he rejects quietly, with a quieter smile. “In D&D, you know, maybe. But in real life? I’m a total coward.”

You shift closer to him until you’re sharing the same pillow. When you settle again, your noses are nearly brushing and your breaths are intermingling. You lift your hand from the blankets and rest it on his cheek, smoothing your thumb over the apple of it.

“Well, it takes a lot of bravery to admit to cowardice,” you counter in a lilt.

“I guess so…”

“And I think if it really came down to it, and you really had to fight for something, you could do it,” you tell him with a sparkle in your drowsy gaze. Your eyes flit between the both of his deep outer space ones. “Even if you were scared.”

You believe it, even if he can’t. You know Eddie could be brave in the face of something frightening, as much as you know that you couldn’t be. It’s why you’ve still got this black and ponderous storm cloud hanging over you. Since you can’t do it — be brave — you hope Eddie could be that for you instead.

“You’ve got a lot of faith in me, sweetheart,” Eddie quips and tries to swallow down the emotion swelling in his chest like so many rays of sunshine.

“Yeah, Eddie Spaghetti,” you nod in the place of any joke you could’ve responded with. “I do.”

[peachsayshi]

💙

ˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni

the snow falls; blanketing everything around you in a sheet of white. you're watching them through the open window, a cup of hot coffee resting between the palms of your hands.

satoru is crouching on his legs, his arms wide open as he looks at his toddler in the distance.

she's postured like a starfish thanks to her thick puffer and wolly scarf. her head is covered in a furry cap with little bear ears sticking out, resting just above her big, beady eyes. you can make out the tip of her red nose, rosy rosy cheeks and blushed lips.

you giggle watching her waddle towards her father. the distance a challenge for her itty bitty legs.

satoru awkwardly moves forward so he can meet her halfway.

"you're almost there, my little snow angel" he coos. "come to daddy"

the reassurance makes her a bit too excited that she falls on her next step, the flurries of snow cushioning her as she drops to her hands and knees.

she looks up at her father, who animates a slightly shocked expression. only a couple of steps away now and with great determination (just like her father), you watch as your daughter pushes herself back up to close the gap of space.

satoru bundles her into his arms, and she almost disappears into the lengths of his limbs. he peppers her fat cheek with kisses, the snowflakes catching onto his feathery hair.

"that's my girl," he proudly announces, turning his attention to gaze at you through the open window. he flashes you a perfect, pearly white grin; his daughter mirroring the same expression and showing off her own partially gummy smile.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: hi there! slowly slowly writing things and this was a quick little thing that i wrote at work during lunch! i promise i’m still working on all the ask headcanons and the long fics i’ve been teasing, i’m just incredibly slow lately. let me know what you think!

word count: 1.7k

tw: none, just straight up domestic fluff

summary: andrei comes home late and finds his favorite sight on the couch

Andrei pushes the front door open quietly, making sure to catch it behind him so it closes with a soft snicking noise and not a slam like it usually does. The front hall of the house is dark, a little spooky, and he toes off his sneakers to leave them by the shoe rack. A few pairs of child-sized sneakers and rain boots are scattered by the front door and he laughs under his breath at the sight. The grass was damp and a few puddles were forming by the walkway when he drove up, so he figures it must have been raining in Raleigh today.

And a rain day usually means all five kids get their energy out by stomping in puddles and getting as muddy as possible.

He leaves his duffle bag and carry-on suitcase by the door, not wanting to risk waking anyone up by bringing them upstairs. Although, he checks his watch, it’s after 2 in the morning, so you and the kids really should be in a deep sleep. He hadn’t expected to get home so late, but bad weather and then minor mechanical issues had delayed the flight from Nashville. He had texted you when the plane landed, but you hadn’t replied so Andrei figured you were asleep.

Andrei’s stomach growls and he detours into the kitchen before heading up to bed. A little post-midnight snack won’t hurt, besides he’ll probably wake you with the noise his stomach is making if he tried to get in bed now.

When he cuts through the living room, the sight on the couch stops him in his tracks. You’re planted in the middle of the oversized piece of furniture, eyes shut, mouth hanging slightly open as you snore softly with your head propped back against the couch. The kids are sprawled around you - Evie with her feet in your lap, head resting on the arm of the couch, a pair of Barbie dolls are resting next to her seated like they were watching TV too. Alina propped up against your side, curled into a little ball with her blanket clutched tightly to her chest. Kira sprawled over your lap and Evie’s legs, like a little starfish with one arm wedged in between the couch cushions and one leg dangling off the edge, foot pointed to the floor. The boys - 18-month-old Dimitri and five-month-old Maks - are curled up on your lap, Maks’s head resting on your shoulder and cradled in place by your arms and Dimitri’s little hand splayed over your breast, thumb lodged firmly in his mouth.

Andrei stays where he is, looking at you and the kids for a while, heart expanding with love. His fingers twitch for his phone, wanting to take a photo, but he resists and just soaks in the moment.

Your hair is falling over your face and Andrei leans in to gently move the pieces off your forehead. You wrinkle your face up at the touch and Andrei winces, thinking he’s woken you up, but you just sigh softly and your face relaxes back into sleep. Dimitri whines against your chest and your arm reflexively tightens around his back, keeping him close to you.

Andrei loosens his tie and takes off his jacket, padding quietly into the kitchen for a quick snack, while he debates the pros and cons of leaving you to sleep the rest of the night on the couch or to wake you up and move you to the bedroom. On one hand, your neck and back will be killing you in the morning. On the other hand, waking you up runs the risk of waking up the kids. Luckily, the decision is made for him in the next few minutes when Maks starts to fuss and you wake up groggily, blinking against the dim light in the kitchen.

“Solnyshka,” Andrei murmurs quietly, not wanting to startle you, but also wanting to make sure you know he’s here.

“Andrei?” Your voice is sleep scratchy and you adjust the boys in your arms, Maks really starting to wake up for his feeding. Dimitri squirms in his sleep and you hope, in the back of your sleep fogged mind, that he doesn’t wake up because if he does, he’s going to want to latch onto your other breast and a tandem feed is not something you’re up to right now.

“Mhm,” Andrei comes around the back of the couch and lifts Dimitri into his arms, cuddling the toddler close in the hopes of lulling him back to sleep. “Just got in a few minutes ago.” Dimitri buries his face into Andrei’s neck, one little hand closing tightly around the loosened tie hanging from Andrei’s neck.

“Kids wanted to wait up for you,” you mumble, eyes half shut as you pull down the neck of your oversized and extremely stretched out shirt, popping your nipple in Maks’s mouth before he can start screaming. The fussy baby quiets instantly, chubby little hand resting on the swell of your breast and eyes closing as he sucks. You wince at the sensation, never used to it even after five babies, and relax back against the couch cushions. Evie’s foot twitches in your lap and you stroke the top of it with your free hand. “Told them you’d see them in the morning, but you know these Svechnikov babies. Stubborn like their papa.”

Andrei scoffs at your teasing tone. “Stubborn like their mama, you mean,” he sways on his feet, keeping Dimitri asleep. He’s got one arm bracing the toddler under his bottom and he’s confident the boy isn’t going anywhere because he takes his other hand and rests it on the crown of your head, rubbing his thumb gently over your scalp. You lean into his touch, humming happily. “I will take them upstairs, yes?”

“Aw, leave them,” you mumble, wrinkling your nose as a tiny baby fingernail scratches your skin. “They were so excited to stay up and see you. Not that a single one of them made it past the first intermission. I figured staying up late on a Friday won’t hurt them.” You giggle a little, Andrei’s fingers starting to thread through your hair and massage your scalp. “‘M glad you’re home.”

“Was only a short trip,” Andrei replies quietly, resting his cheek against the top of Dimitri’s head and inhaling the soft smell of baby shampoo.

“Felt long,” you yawn, patting Maks’s diapered bottom with one hand and pulling the blanket up over Kira’s chest from where it slipped from all her wiggling around. “Missed you.”

Maks unlatches from your breast, drops of stray milk landing on his little face. You wipe them away with the sleeve of your shirt and shift him onto your shoulder so you can burp him. Andrei takes a few steps into the kitchen - you miss the warm, heavy weight of his hand on your head immediately - and retrieves a kitchen towel to drape over your shoulder. He tucks it under Maks’s chin just before the baby spits up all over you and the couch.

“Oh, ugh,” you groan quietly. “Gross, Maksy.”

Andrei chuckles and drops a kiss to the top of your head. “Take him upstairs and go to bed. I will clean up,” he says, gently using his free hand to lift Alina’s head off of your side. Your second oldest doesn’t even make a sound, she’s dead to the world and a bomb going off next to her head wouldn’t wake her up. You hold Maks to your chest, a warm, sleepy bundle, and move Evie and Kira’s feet off your lap. It’s a practiced dance and you pull off the manoeuvre with ease, even though you hold your breath until you’re standing and both girls are still asleep. Andrei gently guides Alina’s head onto the cushion, cradling her head with one huge palm until she’s settled and holding her blanket to her face, fast asleep.

You yawn again and hold out your free hand for Dimitri. You would argue with Andrei that he’s tired too and that you can clean up the couch, but before you even open your mouth, he shoots you a stern look that has you keeping quiet. “Let me take number four too,” you say instead. “He’ll stay asleep now, I think.”

Andrei transfers Dimitri to your arms and the toddler is limp and heavy with sleep. He brushes the palm of his hand over the back of Dimitri’s head and presses a soft kiss to the blonde hair. “Spokoynoy nochi, Dimka,” he mumbles before nudging your cheek with his fingers. “Go, sleep,” he orders gently, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I will clean.”

Emotion clogs your throat. It’s only been two days since Andrei was last home, but you’ve missed him so much. Everything seems easier when he’s home. Five kids on your own is hard, even though you love them more than life itself. They’re all just so full of energy, it’s hard to manage sometimes.

“Go on, solnyshka,” Andrei encourages you. “I will be up soon.”

You nod tiredly, hoisting Dimitri a little higher on your hip before making your way upstairs.

Andrei cleans the spit up off the couch, tucks blankets around the girls, and leaves a light on in the kitchen so they won’t be in the pitch dark if they wake up before the sun is up. He leaves his phone plugged in and set to the baby monitor app that can also be checked from your phone, just in case, and heads upstairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes.

Maks is in his bassinet in the master bedroom, wearing his little sleep suit. His arms are up above his head, hands in little fists, as he lets out soft baby snores. Andrei can’t help but smile at the little noises. He’s certainly your son.

When he looks over at the bed, you’re fast asleep too, wrapped in a c-shape around Dimitri. The toddler is curled up against your chest, holding onto your shirt. One of your arms is draped loosely over him, a hand cradled against the back of his head.

He showers and changes quickly, crawling under the covers next to you. You hum when you feel Andrei’s chest press up against your back, his arm wrapping heavily around your waist. “Welcome home,” you mumble.

Andrei buries his face in your neck, kissing his favorite spot behind your ear. You sigh and relax into his embrace, snuggling as close to him and his warmth as possible. His hand slides over your stomach, fingers coming to rest just inside the waistband of your sleep shorts, curling against your hipbone.

He doesn’t let go of you for the rest of the night.

[fuckstories]

she got that doraemon pussy. can't even walk right with it so fat. i got that gogo the furry alien pussy. we got different types of pussy. one's for sledging

he got two little bingo balls down there. she's got two fat caterpillars that make u fuck with me. it's probably like rubbing yourself on a pine cone

he's got a tiny, wee willy wonky. i've got a fat whoopee cushion and whenever i sit down a fart comes out. hers is...

she's got an absolute unit... dumptrucks. and his is like... he's got one little finger that i can feel everything through. so you have to ride it like this... "whoopsy... naughty..."

Mine is shaped like a pontoon.. hers is like the queen elizabeth II and I can barely pull out. she just comes snorting up the shore. mine's very calming though, isn't it? It's like a wooden log moving over flat water. my koala bear can't survive those waves

she's got the powertools pussy. mower, snowblower, pusher, trimmer. she can put almost anything in there. i've got a sponge. anything sharp will ruin my sponge, so be careful what you do with that thing. slow down will ya

she's got the holy grail pussy. mine's got a skull-shaped entrance. if you go too deep it's like being squeezed. and when i shake my hips, his dick goes all different directions like a starfish with cancer

he's got a little ittle baby fish. i got the whale turd of love. everytime, his little penis is like bzz bzz up and down. mine's like, kkkKKHHEEEEUUURrrr!

he's got the dumbo pussy. no wait, mine is the dumbo. because i'm a fuckin elephant. she's got an asshole... yes, where the poop comes from. ours is like a reverse teletubbie. only shit comes out of ours. she's got an actual ass, a big stankin butt... and mine's an asshole.

oh! she farted again, sorry that was her

-

she's got the windmill pussy.

[roxygen22]

Chart (+1)

Summary: Bonus chapter to "Chart" as requested by @croatianprincess. Timothée decompresses after you (female reader) are home from the hospital.

C/W: Mention of injury, car accident, pregnancy

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Timothée lovingly gazed down at the bundle in his arms, bouncing and swaying. He hummed softly a French lullaby his father had sang to him.

Father.

He was a father now. The realization cycled through his brain every few minutes. It left him breathless. Speechless. Awed by the immensity of the emotions roiling inside. Love. Worry. Pride. All he could do in these moments was stare at his daughter and take in her tiny features. Timothée was mesmerized. She already looked so much like you.

His thoughts were interrupted when she started to squirm and fuss. "Shh, baby girl. Daddy's here. Let's try to let Mommy sleep a little longer." He looked over at your hospital bed where you slept, splayed out like a starfish now that you could finally sleep on your back again.

Flashback

About eight months ago, Timothée brought you home from the same hospital. Despite the state of your car, you (and the baby you just found out about) were relatively unscathed. That didn't make Timothée fuss over you any less, though. He parked his car in the driveway of your home and ran around to your side to open your door. Your leg still hurt when you put all your weight on it, so helped you hobble inside.

Once you were seated on the couch, Timothée pilfered nearly every pillow from the guest bedroom and brought them to you. He fluffed them before placing them behind and around you so you could comfortably recline and prop up your injured leg.

"Comfy?" he asked.

"I feel like I am sitting on a cloud."

"Good, that was the goal." He kissed you on the forehead then went to the garage. You wondered what he was up to, but you were too tired to ask. He came back in a moment with the bucket you use to wash the car.

"Umm," he gestured sheepishly with the bucket before setting it beside you. "Just in case you...you know, feel sick at some point."

You gave him a puzzled look before it registered what your husband was talking about. "Oh yeah...I'm pregnant!" It was the first time you had actually said it out loud since Timothée told you the news at the hospital.

"How do you feel?" he inquired as he sat on the edge of the couch cushion beside you. He took your hand in his and absent-mindedly rubbed your knuckles with his thumb.

"To be honest, except for the soreness, I don't feel any different. I think it would have been a while longer before I figured it out for myself."

"I'm sorry you had to find out that way," he muttered.

You chuckled. "I think *you* telling *me* instead of the other way around makes for an interesting story."

Timothée smiled briefly before his lip started trembling. Your hand went to his cheek, your thumb first tugging at his lip then catching the first of the fountain of tears that fell from his eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?"

He leaned into your touch and covered your hand with his. "[Y/N], I...I was so scared when I got that call from the hospital. I knew they said you were stable, but when I saw you unconscious, I-" His voice broke and he started to sob. The adrenaline had worn off and he was crashing hard. You pulled him down to you and cradled his head on your chest.

"...and th-then they said you were p-pregnant," Timothée continued, his speech stilted by his quick breaths. You ran your fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him. "I've never been s-so happy and so afraid at one time. What if you didn't wake up? What if the baby-" He couldn't finish before he started to spiral once again. He buried his face in your shoulder and fisted his hands in your shirt.

In an effort to ground him, you pulled one of his hands to your belly. "Timothée, I am fine. WE are fine." You felt him nod into your shoulder, but he still maintained his grip on your shirt with his other hand like he was afraid you would float away. You continued to play with his hair for a few minutes until his breathing evened out.

"I love you so much, [Y/N]," he mumbled into your neck. "And this baby already. The thought of losing either of you was just too much to bear."

"I am here, my love. I'm not planning on going anywhere."

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Masterlist

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[dagger-wren]

Sleeping with Bradley Bradshaw-

You like space in bed? Forgot it once this man is sleeping in your bed. He's tall and broad, he can't help taking up most of it.

Starfish, of course he does

Cold before, forgot about the extra blankets, you now have your own heater in Bradley form.

Hot before, you're just gonna have to deal with it because no way is this man sleeping not curled up around you.

If you are really too hot, don't bother with covers, duvet or blankets.

But you have to sleep with something covering you? use Bradley as a blanket, just drape him over you. Problem solved.

Be prepared to wake up with light marks, sometimes in the form of a hand prints. You know when you have an amazing nap and you end up with the cushion print on your face? That's what you get with Bradley - just all over, where ever he was holding you.

This man will hold you as close as possible, he would be under your skin if he could.

Like to sleep on your stomach, half of your body will have to be over Bradley.

Side sleeper, you are now a cocooned little spoon or his big spoon, he loves being held too.

Lay on your back, be sure he will have his face buried in your neck with an arm and leg drape over you.

You move in your sleep, he moves with you.

Although he clings to you, thankfully he doesn't snore. Only after a few beers and he ends up on his back but turn him on his side and he'll stop.

Good luck turning him though, boy is he a heavy sleeper. You've seen him sleep through thunderstorms, gale force winds, and even alarms.

That being said if you whisper his name or move out of bed, he's awake, adorably dazed and confused for a few seconds.

He can't sleep well without you, if he has to be away from you, he'll definitely have a sweater or t-shirt that smells like you to sleep with.

[onboardsorasora]

De aged Daniel is just like his older self wanting to eat things that he shouldn’t

I think it was the p1 podcast where Daniel said he falls asleep to true crime podcasts or something like that, so de aged Daniel needs max to tell him a story until he falls asleep. And Max either tells him a story of Daniel’s Red Bull years or Monza 2021

this one was fun to write

De-Aged Daniel | De-Aged Daniel Pt2 | De-Aged Daniel Pt3 | De-Aged Daniel Pt 4 | De- Aged Daniel Pt 5

Max watched fondly as Little Daniel climbed onto the bed in the guest room, his new red Ferrari pjs were vibrant even in the low light. Charles had come through with all sorts of branded merch and Daniel was in heaven while Max was in hell. It was alright though, Max knew he had loads of time to make a Red Bull fan out of him yet.

Little Daniel threw himself onto the bed, starfishing atop the blankets before giggling and scurrying away from Max’s tickling fingers. 

“Did you brush your teeth?” Max asked, Little Daniel bore his teeth at him, a miniature version of a face Daniel made all the time. Max couldn’t hold back his own grin.

“All clean! See!” Little Daniel confirmed.

“Do you want a plushie?” Max looked over to the pile of plushies that his nephews favored that he unearthed from storage. Little Daniel looked at the offerings and pouted, his eyes turned sad.

“Where Maxy? Want Maxy.” Daniel bit his finger and looked up at Max beneath his lashes. 

“I’m right here.” Max pointed to himself and Little Daniel’s face grew upset.

“Want Maxy.” he folded his arms to his chest and Max rolled his eyes and sighed.

“I’ll get Maxy.” He left the room to grab the cushion he’d tried to hide while Little Daniel was brushing his teeth. The cushion that marketing had given him as a gag gift and he’d kept hidden away until Little Daniel saw it and fell in love.

He looked at the silver sequins and brushed them all in an upwards direction to see his own face staring back at him. He couldn’t lie, he felt a little happy that Daniel had wanted his likeness to make him feel safe while he slept. Daniel in every version was his favourite person, he hoped the inverse was true. 

He walked back into the guest room brandishing the cushion, melting at how Little Daniel’s face quite literally cracked open with joy and Max felt that warmth in his chest that people always talk about. Something something his heart outside of his body.

Little Daniel hugged the pillow close, uncaring about the sequins then looked up at Max with his wide adorable honey eyes.

“Can you read me a story?” Daniel nibbled the corner of the cushion. “Pweese. Mummy always does.”

“Of course, what kind of story?” Max sat on the edge of the bed, Little Daniel scootched over then looked pointedly at the adult sized space beside him. Max shook his head fondly at how demanding Daniel was for affection in every form, and leaned against the head of the bed. 

“A racing story!” Little Daniel cuddled up to Max’s side under his arm.

“Of course.” Max tickled Little Daniel’s side and the boy giggled loudly. “Ahmm.” Max looked to the ceiling for a moment.

“Ok, I’ll tell you the story about how a honey badger won a race.”

“What's dat?” Little Daniel looked up at him with curious eyes. Max ran a hand through his hair.

“It's a lovely animal that isn’t scared of anything. It's cute and cuddly but then it's fast and protective.”

“Like you?” Max felt that cute aggression again, warring with the puddle he wanted to melt into. 

“Like you!” Max announced, enjoying Little Daniel’s shock.

“What aminal is Maxy?” Little Daniel fingered a few of the sequins.

“I’m a lion.”

“Lions go rawr!” Little Daniel offered sagely.

“Lewis is a panther, I think.” Max said.

“What sounds do they make?”

“I think they go rawr too.”

“What aminal is Shaarrllll?”

Max thought for a second. “I dunno, maybe a mouse.” He tickled Little Daniel and he shrieked a laugh. 

They eventually settled and Max started telling Little Daniel the story about how the Honey Badger won the race. He kept his voice soft and even and ran his hand steadily through the little boy’s hair.

“And then the panther and the lion crashed just as the honey badger drove past them to cross the finish line.” Max looked down to see Little Daniel’s face slack with sleep, tucked into Max’s waist. With a fond smile, he tucked Little Daniel into the sheets, making sure the pillows he placed to line the edge of the bed were still secure. He left the bedroom, pulling the door almost closed leaving just enough space to let in the light from the hallway.

[ddejavvu]

hotch coming home to find pregnant reader and jack asleep and both of them starfishing and taking up the whole bedand him waking reader and whispering gently " and where am i going to sleep " and her answering " jacks bed" and falling right back to bed just for him to take the small corner and her waking up and pulling him up in to whereshe layed and cuddling up

"Sweetheart," Aaron's large hand rested on your shoulder, jostling you slightly as you slept, "Scoot over."

"I'm pregnant," You lazily mumbled, "You scoot over."

'i'm not even-" Aaron frowned from his place beside the bed, shaking his head slightly with a chuckle, "I'm not even laying down. I can't, you guys are taking up too much room."

He once again scanned the bed for any available room, but Jack was sprawled out over your side, his head on your chest while his hand laid protectively on your belly, and your arms were thrown out in a starfish position, taking up the entire mattress. There was nowhere for him to sleep.

"We're comfy," You groaned, "'M not moving."

"Well where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Jack's bed." You kept your eyes shut, waving lazily in the direction of your son's bedroom.

Aaron snorted at the mental image of him trying to curl up in his son's toddler bed, the covers barely draped over his torso as his feet pressed against the board. He bit his lip, gently sliding your foot a few inches over on the mattress, freeing up a vaguely-human-sized space for him to sleep.

He carefully crawled onto the bed, curling himself this way and that, tighter and tighter, until he was able to rest on the small corner of the mattress he'd claimed. You didn't seem to mind, either, that his head came to rest on your thigh, pillowed by the soft flesh.

He fell asleep embarrassingly fast, cushioned by your thigh, his nose up against the heated skin, and didn't wake at all when you shifted. You hazily blinked in the dim room, peering downwards to see that Aaron was curled up on your thigh, clearly uncomfortable with how little space he had.

"You stubborn piece of-" You grumbled, raising your arm (subsequently freeing up half of the mattress) and tugging at his underarms, "Aaron, come up here."

He blindly followed your orders, hazy from sleep and lazy after a long day at work. He settled at your side, once again curling into you while you laid on your back.

His hand came to rest unconsciously over his son's much smaller one, the two of them holding onto your baby just as familiarly as they held onto you, their faces both tucked into your neck as they snoozed.