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“What are you doing awake?” he mumbled, still rubbing at his eye.

The warm amber light from the fridge spilled streaks of gold across the side of your face and the oversized shirt hanging off your frame. While Eddie wore socks, your feet were bare, cold against the ceramic kitchen tiles.

“…Chocolate,” you answered after a few seconds.

The sleepy expression on Eddie’s face gave way to confusion as his brows knitted even tighter together.

“You? Eating chocolate?” He glanced at the calendar hanging beside the fridge. “I don’t wanna be that guy, but are you getting your period already?”

You stared at him blankly for a few seconds before huffing something under your breath and pulling out the ridiculously large chocolate bar he’d bought earlier that week. You dropped it onto the counter without much thought and reached for the milk bottle next.

“Are you keeping track or something?” you mumbled, pushing the refrigerator door shut with your hip.

“Kinda, yeah,” he breathed, slipping onto one of the kitchen stools.

“Why?”

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t wanna wake Wayne,” you replied softly, peeling back the green wrapper of the chocolate bar.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie chuckled, shaking his head as something soft settled into his eyes. “We have our own place.”

The piece of chocolate resting between your fingertips immediately halted mid-air as his words sank in.

“I keep forgetting we don’t live with Wayne anymore,” you mumbled after a moment, setting the broken piece back on the table so you could rub at your eye. “But why are you tracking my periods?”

Eddie let out a deep sigh and propped his chin on one hand while the fingers of the other drummed quietly against the table.

“Just in case,” he settled on after a moment.

He leaned across the tabletop and stole a piece of chocolate, immediately popping it into his mouth.

“In case of what?” you asked, frowning.

Dark brown eyes stared tiredly back at you as the words that had just left your mouth were briefly forgotten in favour of another piece of chocolate. His gaze lingered on your face for a few seconds longer than necessary as he tried to remember the last time he’d seen you eat chocolate willingly – without having him spent ten minutes trying to convince you to share a bar with him because he couldn’t possibly finish it by himself, only for you to eventually give in to the obvious manipulation.

Truthfully, he couldn’t remember.

Maybe it was because it was a little after three in the morning and his exhausted brain had decided to focus on all the wrong things.

“In case you wanna start trying,” he replied, sounding almost distracted. “Y’know, for kids.”

You stared at him for a few long seconds, your jaw stopping mid-chew as the chocolate slowly melted on your tongue and his words finally settled in.

“You want kids?” you asked hesitantly after forcing down the barely chewed mouthful.

Your gaze dropped to the table as you reached for another piece of chocolate, patiently waiting for his answer.

While the two of you had been together for quite some time now – five years and seven months, as Eddie had reminded you nearly a week ago – the topic of children had never really come up. Maybe in passing, maybe as an offhand joke here and there, but there’d never been a serious conversation about it.

“Yeah,” he admitted after a moment, scratching at the back of his head. Then he cleared his throat. “I do.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie’s eyes wandered across your face as though he hadn’t already memorised every detail. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and something impossibly soft settled in his expression at whatever thought had just crossed his mind. In the process, he completely missed the way your free hand reached for something beneath the table.

“Maybe two,” he added quietly, still looking at you. “I can already picture ‘em.”

His smile widened just a little, and his gaze lingered on your face for another moment before he let out a quiet laugh through his nose.

“My hair, your eyes,” he murmured. “God, they’d be cute.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you as you continued bringing pieces of chocolate to your mouth.

The moon spilled soft silvery-white streaks through the kitchen window, washing your face in its glow. A smudge of brown lingered at the corner of your mouth, and your hair was still tousled from the few hours of sleep you’d managed before the cravings woke you.

Something warm spread through Eddie’s chest at the sight.

“Think they’d get your smile too.”

Eddie, for all his joking and teasing, suddenly held a glimmer in his eyes you’d never seen before – the utter absence of fear when it came to the future.

You smiled at him then – the genuine, warm smile reserved for him and him alone. The one that never failed to make his stomach flip without his permission. The very smile he hoped his kids would inherit.

“They better have your hair,” you said softly after a moment. “It’s prettier than mine.”

“Yeah, it is,” he replied immediately, a grin already pulling at his lips.

“Asshole,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“But I’m your asshole.”

Your brows furrowed in slight confusion before a loud, belly-aching laugh escaped you.

“I don’t think that sounded as romantic as you were hoping for, babe.”

His hand came up to rub at the stubble along his jaw while his face twisted into an exaggerated wince. Meanwhile, you were having the time of your life, watching him with a knowing smile spread across your face.

“Hold on, now,” Eddie muttered. “It sounded way better in my head.”

“If you say so,” you chuckled, nudging the chocolate bar closer to him, seemingly satisfied with your sugar fix.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you after that, only the low hum of the fridge and the faint chirping of birds outside filled the kitchen.

Then, after a moment:

“What about you?” Eddie asked, leaning forward onto the table. “Do you want kids?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, your gaze drifted towards the window, catching the branches of the tree outside sway gently in the wind while your fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of your shirt.

A soft sigh escaped you before you finally looked back at him.

Carefully pushing your chair back so you wouldn’t piss off the neighbours downstairs, you stood and crossed the kitchen.

“I, uh…” you trailed off quietly, staring down at the tiled countertop as you discreetly reached for something.

Eddie’s stomach dropped at the uncertainty in your voice.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” he said quietly, turning his gaze towards the window.

It wasn’t okay, not really.

He’d been picturing it for a while now – you, the little house he’d always dreamed about, the high-pitched giggles echoing through hallways, tiny fingers pressing down the wrong guitar strings while he patiently taught them how to play.

But he’d get over it.

Even if he had to bury the dream somewhere deep enough that it wouldn’t hurt.

Soft footsteps crossed the kitchen as you made your way back to him. Youd hand settled on his shoulder and gently pulled him closer until his head rested comfortably against your stomach.

“I don’t like chocolate,” you said simply before leaning down to kiss his temple.

And it was true, you didn’t like chocolate. Anything more than a small piece usually left your stomach in knots and nausea creeping up your throat until you looked green for the rest of the day.

“Yeah, I know.”

“But, uh…” You swallowed hard before opening your hand. “I guess I don’t really get a say in what I eat anymore.”

“What?”

You were convinced you’d never heard him sound more confused.

His brows drew together, lips pursing as he finally looked away from the window and back at you.

“I wasn’t sure how to tell you,” you whispered, absentmindedly playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

It took him a second too long to notice what you were holding. But once he did, nothing got through to him anymore. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he stared at the object resting in your palm.

“What?”

A soft giggle escaped you at the sight of your boyfriend completely malfunctioning.

His dark brown doe eyes somehow widened even further as confusion seeped deeper into his veins. The unexpectedly emotional conversation you’d just had – and the fact that he was still half asleep at three in the morning – probably didn’t help much either.

Eddie’s mind had gone completely blank as he stared down at the stick in your hand, every single thing he’d ever learned during sex ed suddenly abandoning him.

Somehow, the furrow between his eyebrows only deepened as his gaze flickered between you, the object in your hand, and the chocolate bar forgotten on the table.

Then it slowly started to click: the way you’d been rolling around restlessly when the two of you had gone to bed earlier; the chocolate; the way you’d said you didn’t really have a say in what you ate anymore.

“No.”

Eddie finally dragged his gaze away from the green wrapper sitting on the table and back to your face.

Though the small smile still lingered on your lips, the glimmer in your eyes had begun to fade into something closer to nervous uncertainty.

“How?”

The stupid question and the utter confusion in his voice pulled a disbelieving laugh from you.

“What do you mean how, Eds?”

“I just– I mean–” He swallowed around the sudden dry lump in his throat. “Is this real?”

“As real as a heart attack,” you whispered.

Twitching fingers, bare of their usual silver rings, reached towards the white stick. Eddie hesitated for a split second before finally taking it from your hand. Moonlight spilled softly across his face as he turned the pregnancy test between his fingers.

“We’re… having a baby?” His voice sounded small and uncertain, like he didn’t quite dare believe it yet.

“That’s what the two lines mean, yeah,” you answered softly, gently combing your fingers through his curls. “But we should still confirm it with a doctor to be sure.”

His eyes remained fixed on the rest for several more seconds, as though he expected the result to change if he stared at it long enough. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to you – and suddenly, it felt like it was the first time he was really seeing you.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, barely audible while his eyes widened even further. “Holy fucking shit.”

A breathless laugh escaped you. “Yeah. That was pretty much my reaction, too.”

His gaze dropped briefly to your stomach, but nothing looked different. You were still you – standing barefoot in the kitchen at three in the morning, wearing an oversized shirt, still sporting a tiny smear of chocolate in the corner of your mouth, and still carrying sleep in your eyes.

And yet, somehow, everything had changed.

A shaky breath escaped him. “There’s… a baby in there?”

His hand lifted before stopping halfway, hovering awkwardly between the two of you – like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you anymore. Or if touching you would somehow make the moment too real.

When you gently took his wrist and pressed his palm against your stomach, Eddie nearly stopped breathing, snapping his eyes to yours and then back down again.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his thumb tracing slow circles against your stomach.

For a moment, all he could do was stare as a breathless laugh escaped him, equal parts disbelief and wonder.

Then, suddenly:

“Wayne’s gonna kill me.”

“What?”

Eddie finally looked up at you, wide-eyed.

“Wayne,” he repeated. “When he finds out he’s gonna be a grandfather.”

The sheer panic on his face pulled a snort out of you before you could stop it.

“He’s not gonna kill you, Eddie.”

“He absolutely is,” Eddie insisted. “Always said not to become a teen dad like my father.”

“You’re twenty-three, Eddie.”

“That’s not the point.”

His fingertips buzzed from touching your stomach as he wrapped an arm around your waist and leaned forwards until his forehead rested against your sternum.

“You know how he is,” he continued quietly, his words slightly muffled by the way he’d squished his face into you. “He’s gonna give me that look.”

“What look?” you asked, staring down at him while absentmindedly combing your fingers through his hair. “The disappointed one?”

“No.” Eddie frowned against your shirt. “The other one. The worse one.”

“Huh?”

“The proud one.”

“Come again?” You blinked.

“The proud one,” Eddie repeated, horror evident in his voice as he finally pulled back enough to look up at you. “Y’know, the one that makes me all uncomfortable because he gets even quieter and weird and starts looking at me like I actually did something right for once?”

You shot him an incredulous look before your lips parted and a laugh burst free.

“Are you serious?” you scoffed. “You’re scared Wayne’s gonna be proud of you?”

“Terrified,” he confirmed with a firm nod.

Your laughter slowly faded as you found yourself caught in the glimmer of those impossibly big brown eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” your murmured, though there wasn’t an ounce of bite behind the words. A smile tugged at your lips as you shook your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re going to be a father.”

For the first time since you’d handed him the test, the words seemed to truly register, and the grin slowly slipped from his face as his eyes dropped to your stomach again.

“Yeah,” he whispered, the word coming out softer this time – almost awestruck.

You leaned down and pressed a kiss against his forehead, your fingers brushing through his curls as you watched the realisation settle over him.

Then:

“What about Dio if it’s a boy?”

“Eddie.”

“Harris?” he continued, completely ignoring you. “Harris Munson sounds cool.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to recruit him into Iron Maiden before he’s even born.”

“I am trying to recruit him into Iron Maiden, babe,” Eddie shot back with a deadpan look. “It’s only fitting, considering I was named after their mascot.”

You stared at him, completely serious as you opened your mouth.

“You were born before they even hit puberty.”

“Don’t rain on my parade here, sweetheart.”

You stared at him with raised eyebrows, blinking slowly as a serious expression settled across your face.

“Keep suggesting stupid names and the baby get my last name instead.”

The horror on Eddie’s face was immediate.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Without hesitation, Eddie leaned forwards and pressed his face against your stomach, immediately launching into a stream of incoherent mumbling.

“Don’t start manipulating the baby into liking you more.”

“How–”

“I know you.”

Before Eddie could even attempt to defend himself, an exaggerated yawn escaped you, barely giving you enough time to cover your mouth.

“You tired?” he asked quietly, stealing a glance at the clock hanging above the fridge.

“Yeah,” you admitted, another yawn following close behind.

Eddie slowly pushed himself to his feet, refusing to let go of your waist. If anything, his arms only tightened around you as he pulled you against his chest. His lips found your temple with ease, pressing a lingering kiss there while his thumbs traced lazy circles against your sides.

“Let’s get you two to bed, hm?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is this how you’re gonna be for the next nine months?”

“Oh, sweetheart. Better get used to it,” Eddie chuckled as he finally loosened his hold and intertwined your fingers with his. “Imma be insufferable.”

He glanced over his shoulder and shot you a grin as he led you down the hallway, already making a mental note to clean up the chocolate wrapped and put everything away when he inevitably woke up again in a few hours.

“More than you already are?” you teased while closing the bedroom door behind you.

Eddie dropped onto the edge of the bed, his hand still wrapped around yours as he gently pulled you into his lap.

“More than I already am,” he confirmed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

His brown eyes glimmered beneath the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, his expression softening into something almost unbearably tender as he looked at you.

“I love you, you know that?”

“Love you too, Eds,” you whispered back. Your free hand came up to cradle his cheek, thumb brushing softly against his skin.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly, blinking up at you. “Enough to let me name him Harris?”

“I’ll leave the dad box blank if you keep this up.”

“Ritchie?” he continued, completely ignoring you, though the cheeky smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “No, wait. Cliff.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“C’mon, sweetheart.”  Eddie shook his head. “Jesus Christ Munson doesn’t sound very metal.”

You groaned and buried your face in the crook of his neck, punctuating your protest with a meaningless slap against his chest.

Eddie gently pulled back just enough to look at you, his brown eyes immediately finding your face as a victorious grin spread across his lips. His heart thumped heavily in his chest at the sight of your sleepy eyes and the smile tugging at your mouth.

He’s utterly, hopelessly gone.

He nodded to himself, as though confirming some private thought he’d just had.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, and the apartment had gone quiet again; no buzzing refrigerator, no chirping birds outside. Just the distant hum of the city and Eddie’s arms wrapped securely around you.

He loosened one arm and carefully let his hand drift to your stomach. His thumb traced absentminded circles against the fabric of your shirt, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Please,” you cut in immediately, already knowing where this was going. “Stop suggesting names.”

A laugh escaped him, followed by a shake of his head. “I wasn’t gonna.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Okay, yeah. Maybe I was.”

You narrowed your eyes, but were unable to stop the quiet chuckle slipped past your lips.

“Idiot.”

Eddie’s smile softened at the sound of your low laughter.

“Your idiot, though.”

Yeah, he was.

And somehow, in the span of a single night, he’d gone from being your idiot to the father of your child.

Your eyes felt heavy, like your eyelashes suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, and you instinctively snuggled further into Eddie’s chest.

He was warm, and safe, and soft beneath your cheeks as he pressed gentle kisses along your neck and pulled you with him while he shuffled further up the bed.

“C’mere, sleepyhead,” he whispered, tugging the duvet over both of you.

Your head sank deeper into the warmth of his chest, the steady beat of his heart echoed beneath your ear.

Before long, your eyes drifted shut. And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, sleep found you again.

When you woke up again, faint streaks of pale yellow filtered through the curtains, spilling the early morning sunshine across a half-empty bed.

It took a few tries to blink the sleep from your eyes, and a few more seconds for the static in your legs to finally disappear. Though the exhaustion from the night before had eased, the lazy haze of an early Saturday morning still lingered stubbornly, with no sign of leaving anytime soon.

The red numbers on Eddie’s bedside alarm clock told you it was a little before nine – which only made his absence all the more remarkable.

The soft click of the bedroom door opening was nearly drowned by the low hum of the kitchen radio playing whatever illegal station Eddie had managed to find that morning. Your footsteps were just as quiet as you padded down the hallway and into the kitchen.

And there he was, in all his glory.

Dark curls tied into a low-effort bun. Soft red-and-black flannel pants hanging low on his hips. His tattooed back on full display, highlighted by the streaks of sunshine pouring through the kitchen window.

The tiled countertop was a complete mess once you got close enough to see it properly – spilled flour, broken eggshells he’d yet to throw away, batter dripping down the side of the ceramic bowl he’d gifted you two Valentine’s Days ago.

The very bowl that had made you sigh wistfully whenever you’d walked past it in the store, sporting the most ridiculous price tag a bowl could possibly have.

You wound your arms him, instinctively burying yourself in the warmth of his neck. Your nose nudged through the messy curls that had escaped his bun as you breathed him in.

For a moment, you simply stood there.

One hand drifted from his waist to his chest, tracing over warm skin and familiar curves – feeling the dip of his waist and the softness of his stomach beneath your fingertips.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled the second he felt your arms around him, carefully setting the spatula down on the counter. “I was supposed to wake you up with breakfast in bed.”

“That’s reserved for special occasions only,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“Finding out you’re carrying my baby kinda qualifies, sweetheart,” he chuckled.

Eddie wiggled free from your hold just enough to turn around, and his hands immediately found your face. Calloused fingers softly squished your cheeks as he angled your head towards him and stole a quick, gentle kiss.

His brown eyes softened almost instantly at the sight of your sleepy blinking and the faint traces of sleep still lingering in the corners of your eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing softly across your cheeks.

“Morning,” you replied quietly, trailing your hand up and down his back.

Eddie’s nose twitched as he let go of your cheeks and turned back to the stove. The pancake had been mere seconds away from burning, but he managed to save it before he could set the kitchen on fire less than ten hours after receiving the news.

“So, I was thinking,” he started quietly, flipping the pancake before giving the batter another stir.

“It’s too early for baby names, Eds,” you sighed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder blade.

Eddie chuckled under his breath, sliding the spatula beneath the pancake before transferring it to the growing stack he’d set aside.

“Not baby names, I swear,” he laughed, bringing his free hand to the one splayed across his stomach, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “I was thinking about going to Indianapolis later today.”

“A little early to start shopping,” you mumbled against his skin, pressing your cheek against the familiar inked bat on his right shoulder.

“Not for the baby,” he replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Thought maybe I’d buy you something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie.”

“Why not?” He glanced over his shoulder at you. “You gave me a gift.”

“Oh my God. You were serious about being insufferable, huh?”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie grinned, turning back to the stove. “I’ve barely even gotten started.”

You merely rolled your eyes – even though he couldn’t see it – and loosened your arms from around his waist in favour of reaching for the refrigerator handle.

Last night, there had only been yesterday’s leftovers neatly stored away in a glass container, a few vegetables, and a half-empty carton of milk.

Pretty normal for the end of the week, considering the two of you always did your grocery shopping late Sunday evening when the supermarket wasn’t nearly as busy.

Now the fridge was packed, with far more than what the two of you usually bought during your weekly trip.

“You got groceries?”

“Woke up at seven,” Eddie answered distractedly, his attention fixed on not burning another pancake. “Wanted to surprise you.”

You blinked at the shelves overflowing with food.

“Consider this my present.”

Reaching inside, you grabbed the freshly bought carton of orange juice.

“Nope.” Eddie chuckled and shot you a knowing look over his shoulder. “Nice try, babe.”

“Ugh, I hate you.”

“I love you to the moon and back,” he replied with a grin as he turned off the stove. “Now, what do you want on your pancakes?”

You had barely pushed the refrigerator door shut when Eddie’s hands found you.

Well, your stomach.

He hadn’t even looked up when he asked the question.

“Eddie,” you deadpanned.

“Chocolate chips?” he asked your belly, pushing the fabric of your – his – shirt and absentmindedly drawing soft circles against your skin.

The suggestion made you scrunch your nose.

“God, no. Can’t stand chocolate.”

Eddie finally looked up at you, a soft furrow already setting between his eyebrows. “Yesterday you were all over it.”

“Exactly. Yesterday.”

Shaking your head, you gently tried to remove his hands from your stomach. Eddie didn’t surrender without a fight, his lips immediately pulling into a dorky pout as he attempted to keep at least one hand where it was. Eventually, you won – barely.

Reaching up, you opened one of the cupboards while Eddie grabbed the plate stacked high with pancakes.

He tossed the kitchen towel over his shoulder and made his way towards the table, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Eddie gently set the plate down on the table before pulling out two chairs.

When he turned around again, ready to grab some plates and cutlery, he was met with warm streaks of sunshine spilling across your frame. The pale yellow of the early morning had given way to something warmer and deeper, something that made the strands of your hair look even softer than they already were and painted your skin in a kind of glimmering Saturday-morning carefreeness.

His brown eyes wandered over you, memorising every detail as though you might disappear if he looked away for too long.

But you didn’t; instead, you poured orange juice into your favourite mug.

“You want some?” you asked absentmindedly, already reaching for another mug before he’d even answered. “I think I want bananas on my pancakes.”

When Eddie didn’t respond, you glanced over your shoulder. You were immediately met with wide brown eyes swimming in affection and a calloused hand covering the lower half of his face.

“You okay?” you asked softly, the words barely rose above a whisper.

“Appreciating the view,” he mumbled into his hand.

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts,” you murmured as you turned back around and poured orange juice into the second mug. “Before you know it, I’m gonna be all round and cranky.”

Eddie’s grin only widened. “Can’t wait.”

You only rolled your eyes in response.

And you were right.

It hadn’t taken long for you to become round and cranky.

Unfortunately, it had absolutely nothing to do with the pregnancy; not even a full month had passed since you’d told Eddie.

It had far more to do with the mid spring temperatures than anything else. The heat left you feeling bloated, and no matter what you chose to wear, everything felt too warm, too heavy, too fucking much. And the fact that Eddie had seemingly developed a compulsive need to keep at least one hand on your stomach whenever possible certainly didn’t help. Thin layers of sweat gathered beneath his touch, only adding to your irritation.

Actually, irritation might’ve been putting it lightly.

In the three and a half weeks since then, you’d finally managed to confirm the pregnancy with an ultrasound – which you were fairly certain Eddie had stolen and tucked into his wallet despite your repeated insistence that it belonged in a scrapbook – and the two of you had already started brainstorming ways to break the news to Wayne.

Actually, it wasn’t entirely fair to give Eddie any credit.

You had been brainstorming; Eddie had been busy with… other things.

In the span of three weeks and a half, he’d somehow managed to start looking for a storage unit so he could begin clearing out the second bedroom that had been functioning as a glorified utility room for the last three months since you’d moved in.

He’d bought not one, but two piggy banks – one for a college fund and another for general spoiling purposes, as he’d put it. Both felt entirely unnecessary considering the baby was currently the size of a freaking grape, but Eddie refused to hear a word against it.

The general spoiling purposes piggy bank already contained more money than the college fund. Eddie claimed this was because babies needed toys. You were fairly certain he was already planning on buying them a guitar.

And, of course, there was the ever-growing list of baby names he’d been scribbling down whenever inspiration struck. Inspiration, unfortunately, seemed to strike most often while listening to heavy metal.

He’d tried to pitch Ritchie again.

When you’d said no – again – and pointed out that you had no intention of naming your firstborn after his former weed dealer, he’d very gently informed you that the man’s name had actually been Rick, and that he’d meant Ritchie Blackmore.

Which had somehow led to him suggesting the absolute monstrosity that was Blackmore Munson.

You know, typical Eddie nonsense – constantly saying ridiculous things just to make your eyes roll so hard they nearly disappeared into the back of your head, pulling laughter out of you, even when you tried your best not to let him see how amused you really were.

Unfortunately, the baby names weren’t the most irritating habit he’d picked up – that honour actually belonged to his hands.

More specifically, his inability to keep them off your stomach.

Watching TV? Hands on your stomach. Waiting in line at the grocery store? Hands on your stomach. Half-asleep in bed? Somehow still hands on your stomach.

Under normal circumstances, you probably would’ve found it sweet, endearing even.

Today, however, his palm felt approximately one thousand degrees too warm.

The apartment windows stood wide open in a desperate attempt to create some sort of breeze – it wasn’t working. Not even remotely.

The air hung thick and heavy around you as you sprawled across the couch in one of Eddie’s shirts and nothing but a pair of panties underneath, fanning yourself with whatever magazine had happened to be lying closest.

Which only made it all the more unfortunate because Eddie had chosen today to become even more affectionate than he’d been all week.

Sweat gathered at the back of your neck, making the baby hairs at your nape stick unpleasantly to your skin while the television droned quietly in the background.

And Eddie’s hand had found its way back to your stomach, resting firmly on the covered skin.

You lasted approximately seven minutes before finally speaking.

“Eddie.”

“Hm?”

“You’re touching me again.”

“I know,” he chuckled softly, looking down at his hand while his thumb brushed absentminded circles against the fabric. “Still can’t believe it.”

“It’s ninety degrees,” you sighed, trying to remove his hand.

To no avail.

“Why are you touching me?”

Eddie’s expression immediately twisted into confusion. “Because that’s where the baby is.”

“The baby is the size of a grape.”

“A very important grape,” he replied. “A grape we made.”

You stared at him for a few more seconds before your eyes fluttered shut and a deep sigh escaped you.

Counting to five didn’t help – neither did counting to ten.

His goddamn hand was still there when you opened your eyes again.

“Okay,” you muttered. “New rule.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

“Any time you want to touch me, you have to pay.”

“What?”

The offence that immediately crossed his face would’ve been funny if you weren’t currently melting.

“First payment,” you pointed a finger at him while making yet another attempt to pry his hand off your stomach. “Ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” His eyes narrowed.

“Not from the grocery store.” Your eyes narrowed right back, finger still pointing at him. “From that expensive place downtown.”

“Oh, c’mon, babe.”

“I’m taking it out of that stupid spoiling piggy bank if you don’t stat moving.”

“No! You can’t do that,” he gasped, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s baby money!”

“But the baby isn’t here yet, so it’s my money until further notice.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Who’s carrying it?” you asked, a deadpan expression firmly set on your face. “Ice cream, Munson. Now.”

“That’s extortion.”

“Say that again and I’ll marry you just to get a divorce,” you replied dryly. “And your hand is still there.”

Eddie glanced down. Sure enough, his hand remained firmly planted on your stomach.

“I won’t sign the divorce papers,” he muttered as he reluctantly pushed himself off the couch.

You narrowed your eyes.

Unfortunately, removing his hand from your stomach appeared to be physically impossible. The second you’d pushed yourself off the couch, his palm found its way right back.

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he followed you down the hallway.

“I swear to God, I’ll cut your hands off.”

“I will find other ways to touch my little grape.”

Fortunately, you’d managed to escape his touch when he disappeared into the bathroom before the two of you left the apartment. Unfortunately, he’d spent the entire drive to the ice cream parlour with one hand resting on his new favourite place.

Despite the excruciating heat, the little shop wasn’t nearly as crowded as you’d expected – which, in all honesty, improved your mood considerably. The last thing you needed was a goddamn crowd of screaming children and being forced to take one of the tables outside instead of hiding in the blessed air-conditioning.

“I’m serious, Eds,” you murmured when he finally parked the van a few feet down the street. “Stop touching me. All of Hawkins is gonna know before we even get the chance to tell Wayne.”

Eddie frowned as he switched off the engine.

“Oh, God,” he mumbled as his eyes widened. “Wayne.”

“Yeah,” you murmured dryly. “Wayne.”

Silence settled over the van. For once, Eddie’s hand actually left your stomach.

“We still haven’t figured out how we’re gonna tell him.”

The rest of Saturday had been spent brainstorming in hushed conversations, first at the ice cream parlous and later at a CVS in the next town over, just to make sure you wouldn’t run into anyone you knew.

After what felt like hours of wandering aimlessly through aisles and picking up things only to put them right back down again – nothing ever felt quite right – the two of you had finally managed to narrow it down to an armful of cheap, crappy gifts to give Wayne alongside the news.

Plus two bags full of Chinese takeout, just to be safe.

Whereas the day had begun with radiant warmth, the mid spring sun now lingered with a gentle, honeyed glow as the afternoon stretched on.

By evening, the brightness had softened, and the sky had begun to fade from a brilliant blue into softer shades of pink and purple. Thankfully, a cooler breeze had arrived quietly carrying the scent of grass and dry earth through Forest Hills while the oppressive heat melted into something far more bearable.

Which, for some reason, made Eddie believe it was perfectly acceptable for his hand to find its way back to your stomach.

That was before you shoved both bags of takeout into his arms, forcing him to let go of you once again.

While the worst of the heat had finally faded, the thin layer of sweat lingering at the nape of your neck stubbornly refused to go anywhere; the nerves of telling Wayne settling in probably weren’t helping either.

Because before either of you knew it, you were standing in front of the aluminium door of Wayne’s trailer.

After a few frantic, clumsy knocks against the metal surface, the door finally swung open.

Wayne blinked at the sight before him with suspicion slowly settling in his eyes.

Two bags overflowing with Chinese takeout dangling from Eddie’s hands – twice as much as the three of you usually ordered – and a silver-and-black gift bag hanging from yours.

The two of you simply stared back at him, which only made his eyes narrow.

“Somebody die?”

“What the hell?” Eddie frowned. “No.”

“Then why are you standing there lookin’ like that?”

“We don’t look like anything.”

“You do,” Wayne replied, pointing towards the gift bag. “What’s that?”

“A birthday present.”

“A Father’s Day present.”

You immediately shot Eddie a look, lips pursing together in a silent warning you hoped Wayne hadn’t noticed.

He absolutely had.

Wayne’s gaze drifted between the two of you before settling on the gift bag once again. Then the takeout, and then Eddie.

“Eddie. My birthday is in November.”

“Who said anything about your birthday?” he mumbled, shaking his head while trying – and failing miserably – to stop the twitching developing beneath his right eye like it always did whenever he lied to his uncle. “Are you gonna let us in or what?”

Wayne just sighed and pulled the door open wider.

You immediately headed for the kitchen, setting the gift bag on the counter before reaching into the cupboard for the familiar mismatched plates.

Meanwhile, Eddie made a very obvious effort to avoid looking directly at his uncle.

“Eddie,” Wayne tried again, the frown on his face only deepening.

“What?” His voice cracked, hand scratching at the back of his neck. “We can’t surprise you with dinner now?”

“Not when you’re bringing twice as much food as usual and a gift bag like you’re trying to distract me from the fact you crashed my truck.”

“I didn’t–”

“Tell me what’s in the goddamn gift bag.”

Eddie immediately tugged at the collar of his shirt as though it had suddenly become too tight and shot you a nervous glance.

“You tell him.”

“Eddie, it’s your uncle,” you murmured, carrying the stack of plates and cutlery towards the table.

“Exactly,” he muttered back.

Wayne’s eyes flickered between the to of you for a few more seconds before he let out a long, tired sigh.

“Jesus Christ,” Wayne muttered under his breath as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

“I already told her that wasn’t a good–”

“Eddie,” you hissed as you passed Wayne one of the plates. “I will kill you.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, immediately shrinking back into his chair.

He quickly busied himself with opening the plastic containers of food before shooting his uncle a glance that lasted less than a second before clearing his throat.

“Do you, uh… wanna know before or after dinner?”

Wayne stared at him. “Are you being stupid on purpose?”

“What? No,” he frowned and shook his head. “I’m not being stupid.”

“Right, my mistake,” the older man grunted as he took the cutlery from your hands. “I always forget you actually are stupid.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Eddie immediately threw his hands into the air before looking at you for support. “Are you gonna help me out here?”

“No,” you snickered as you pulled out your own chair. “I actually agree with him.”

“Unbelievable.”

No one said anything after that for a moment.

The otherwise quiet trailer was filled with nothing but the soft crinkling of plastic takeout containers and the occasional clink of serving spoons against porcelain plates.

A bead of sweat trailed unpleasantly down Eddie’s temple as he stood up to turn on the kitchen radio, apparently deciding that even static was preferable to the silence hanging over the room.

He hadn’t even bothered searching for his favourite station.

Wayne pushed another bite of food into his mouth, eyes fixed firmly on his nephew as he silently counted down the seconds until the boy finally cracked.

It didn’t take long – he hadn’t even reached five.

“Okay, fine!” Eddie suddenly blurted, pushing himself back out of his chair.

He grabbed the gift bag from the counter and marched back towards the table.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Says you,” Wayne deadpanned without missing a beat. “Not me. The guy with the actual bypass.”

Across the table, you brought another egg roll to your lips as your gaze flickered between the two men before finally settling on Wayne.

He nudged his still full plate towards the centre of the table, just enough to make room for the gift bag in front of him. One weathered hand tipped the bag towards himself while the other reached inside.

Back when you’d been wandering the aisles of CVS, it had seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea to buy him the tacky I ❤︎⁠ My Grandpa mug to add to his ever-growing collection.

Now, however, as his icy blue eyes fixed on the stupid thing without so much as a flicker of emotion crossing his face, it suddenly felt ridiculous. Too simple, and too fucking obvious.

“What?”

“Hey, that was my reaction too! Heh…” Eddie’s nervous laugh died almost as quickly as it had appeared, and he immediately tugged at the collar of his shirt again.

Wayne’s brain seemed to finally remember that blinking was, in fact, necessary for the health of his eyeballs, although his gaze remained firmly fixed on the mug.

“There’s, uh…” Eddie leaned across the table, reaching for the mug.

“Don’t you dare touch my goddamn mug, boy.”

The small trailer had gone quiet once again. The silence that settled over the table was so thick it nearly drowned out the soft hum of the kitchen radio as the two of you waited for Wayne to catch up.

His eyes flickered between the mug and the ultrasound tucked inside it.

Then, finally–

“You’re giving me a baby?”

“Technically,” Eddie immediately jumped in, “she’s giving me a baby.”

Wayne shot him a look. “I’m not talking to you. Mind your business.”

“You know what? Fair.”

Snickering quietly, you brushed your hands together beneath the table, trying to rid your fingers of the lingering grease from the egg roll.

It took another few seconds to finish chewing and swallow before you finally managed to find your voice.

“Surprise,” you murmured softly, unable to come up with anything better.

Blue eyes wandered across your face, searching for any sign that you might be joking. When he couldn’t find one, his gaze dropped back to the mug in his hands and finally settled on the ultrasound picture tucked inside.

Which had, in turn, confirmed your suspicions that Eddie had stolen the original after he’d mysteriously produced it from his wallet at the copy machine.

Wayne’s thumb brushed softly over the blurry black-and-grey image that, to an untrained eye, didn’t really look like much of anything.

“Are you serious?”

His gaze flickered between you and Eddie, going back and forth, over and over again. Until it finally settled on his nephew and lingered there far longer than Eddie would’ve liked.

“As a heart attack,” he replied.

“Please stop making heart attack jokes,” you murmured, a small furrow settling between your eyebrows.

Eddie dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand, his attention already fixed back on his uncle.

And there it was – the dreaded look.

“God, no,” Eddie groaned, immediately slapping a hand over his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

Wayne blinked. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he sighed, peeking through the gaps between his fingers. “You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The proud thing.”

Wayne stared at him. “The proud thing?” he repeated slowly.

“That’s what I said.”

A look of genuine disbelief crossed Wayne’s face.

“Boy, what the hell are you talking about?”

You merely snickered and reached into one of the paper bags, stealing another egg roll while the two men continued staring at each other across the table.

Eddie, who continued hiding behind his ringed hand, had started bouncing his leg beneath the table the longer Wayne kept looking at him.

When you’d placed a hand on his thigh in an attempt to calm him down, his own had immediately found its way back to your stomach, his thumb automatically started tracing absentminded circles against the fabric of your shirt.

So much for personal space.

“You know,” Wayne started, finally tearing his eyes away from the ultrasound, “for someone who claims he hates attention, you’ve spent the last ten minutes making this entirely about yourself.”

“Well, I mean…” Eddie began, finally lowering his hand to the table. “It is kinda ‘bout me.”

“No, it ain’t,” Wayne replied immediately. His gaze drifted back to the ultrasound picture in his hand. “She’s doin’ all the work.”

Eddie stared at him for a moment before slowly narrowing his eyes. A single finger rose to point accusingly across the table.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I’m stealing money outta your wallet for the piggy banks for being mean to me.”

Wayne blinked, angling his head like it would somehow make him understand. “The what?”

You immediately groaned. “Please,” you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Don’t get him started.”

“Started on what?”

“The piggy banks.”

“Piggy banks?”

Eddie immediately sat up straighter in his chair – which instantly filled you with a mixture of dread and annoyance. The exact opposite reaction you’d been hoping for tonight.

“Okay, so–”

In between bites of rapidly cooling Chinese takeout, Eddie launched into a twenty-minute explanation about the importance of both piggy banks, passionately arguing why each one was absolutely necessary.

Neither you nor Wayne were convinced.

Well – Wayne was kinda convinced about the college fund.

That was before he’d learned the spoiling piggy already contained twice as much money.

“Boy, you’ve lost your damn mind.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Because it’s true.”

The rest of the evening slipped by in soft laughter, half-finished cartons of takeout, and increasingly terrible dad jokes that Eddie insisted were important to start practicing.

Neither of you had the energy to stop him.

If you’d thought the late spring heatwave that had swept through Hawkins was unbearable, you definitely hadn’t mentally prepared yourself for summer quietly arriving.

Before you’d even realised it, the oppressive heat had given way to longer evenings, open windows, even more sweat, and the constant chirping of cicadas outside the apartment.

And somewhere along the way, the baby had stopped being the size of grapes and apples and had started looking suspiciously like an actual baby.

Which, according to Eddie, was both the coolest and most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed in all his twenty-three– soon to be twenty-four – years of existence.

More importantly, it meant your stomach had officially started to round out.

Not enough that nothing fit anymore, but enough to make your collection of tank tops unbearably tight, which forced you to wear Eddie’s instead – which didn’t help much, considering he had a strict affinity for anything black.

That was, whenever he wasn’t actively begging you to stay in only your bra until you eventually gave in.

Pale yellow streaks of sunlight spilled through the window on one of the rare Friday mornings Eddie wasn’t needed at work, spreading across the thin blanket draped over your legs – lower than it had been when you’d gone to bed the night before.

The gentle circles being drawn on your stomach slowly pulled you from your restful sleep until you blinked lazily at the curly-haired man lying beside you.

“Morning,” you whispered, your voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Morning, mama,” Eddie whispered back, flickering his eyes up to yours.

The sunlight lightened his dark brown eyes into a beautiful shade of burnt orange, pulling you in and drowning you in the softest sea of caramel.

“What time is it?”

“A little over seven,” he answered, still drawing gentle circles on your skin while his eyes remained fixed on yours.

“Why are you awake?”

A small smile tugged at his lips at the sight of you lazily rubbing at one of your eyes while your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off you for too long,” he whispered, pulling a disbelieving chuckle from you. “You’re a goddess, you know that?”

Although you’d rolled your eyes at him, the smile creeping onto your lips and the glimmer in your eyes when you finally looked back at him betrayed you.

He leaned down to press a lingering kiss against your forehead before reluctantly pushing himself out of bed.

“Come back,” you whined.

“Getting the camera,” he replied over his shoulder as he made his way towards the dresser. “Don’t move.”

Eddie pushed his bangs away from his eyes as he stepped back towards the bed, camera already in hand.

“Eds, I look disgusting,” you groaned.

“Hey now,” he muttered from behind the viewfinder as he shifted around in search of a better angle. “You’re talking about the mother of my child. Don’t be mean.”

You only groaned louder and turned your face away.

Which, unfortunately, made an excited nose escape Eddie when the movement brought your stomach further into the sunlight.

“There it is,” he whispered.

It had become one of his favourite things to do lately – almost rivalling his obsession with keeping a hand on your stomach.

Taking pictures – of you, the bump, the blurry ultrasound photos taped to the fridge, tiny baby clothes splayed over the couch. He’d somehow turned it into a weekly ritual – sometimes even a daily one.

The sale on disposable cameras at CVS last week certainly hadn’t helped.

“Are you done?” you asked softly, finally turning back to look at him. “I wanna cuddle.”

“Just one more, sweetheart,” he murmured as he stepped closer.

The wooden bedframe creaked beneath his weight as his knees sank into the mattress. He shuffled forward until he was close enough to rest his free hand against your bump.

The heavy silver rings adorning his fingers sparkled beneath the warm morning light, pretty and almost ethereal in a way that made him hope the camera would somehow be able to capture it.

After the familiar click echoed through the bedroom, he finally set the camera aside on the nightstand and immediately sank back into the mattress. His hand remained splayed across your stomach as he tucked himself against your side, nose brushing softly along your throat.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he whispered, pressing a trail of soft kisses against your neck.

“So I’ve noticed,” you chuckled, threading your fingers through his curls.

A content hum rumbled in his chest at the feeling. “Can you blame me?”

Eddie continued pressing soft kisses along your neck, his nose brushing against your skin as he trailed up and down.

“You’re the epitome of eternal radiance and grace, sweetheart.”

“If you’re trying to turn me on,” you sighed contentedly, tilting your head to give him better access when his mouth found the spot just beneath your ear, “it’s definitely working.”

“Good to know,” he chuckled against your skin.

Planting one last kiss against your jaw, he pushed himself up with one hand braced beside your head. His messy bed hair cascaded around your face as his eyes slowly wandered across your features.

“But, as much as I’d love to eat you out first thing in the morning,” he started, a grin already tugging at the corners of his lips, “we can’t.”

“Ugh,” you groaned immediately.

“Gotta get ready for the ultrasound, babe.”

“You’re such a party pooper.”

It took everything in Eddie’s willpower not to give in to the pout that immediately settled on your lips.

His breath fanned softly across your face as he chuckled before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. Then, with considerable reluctance, he pushed himself off the bed.

“Just so you know,” you murmured, throwing an arm over your eyes, “I’m holding this over your head all weekend.”

“Lighten up, mama,” he grinned over his shoulder as he headed towards the bedroom door. “We’re about to find out if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Despite yourself, a small tugged at your lips.

Damn him. He knew exactly how to win an argument.

While you’d spent another ten minutes lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, the apartment had gradually filled with the clinking of kitchen appliances as Eddie busied himself making breakfast – something he’d started doing more often lately despite your repeated insistence that you were more than capable of making your own PB&J.

Every single time, he’d shoot you a glare and mutter something along the lines of you’re already doing enough baking in there, or some other stupid thing.

Only when the heavenly scent of scrambled eggs drifted down the hallway and into the bedroom did you finally decide to drag yourself out of bed.

Thankfully, the morning had decided to give you a brief break from the relentless summer heat – and, by extension, a break from feeling sticky and irritable every waking moment. Soft grey clouds hung over Hawkins, blanketing the town beneath a cool overcast sky.

Low murmuring spilled from the television as you stepped into the kitchen. Eddie stood by the stove, scraping the bottom of the pan while only half-paying attention to whatever the local weatherman was rambling for the upcoming weekend.

“Do we have any jam?”

“Uh…” Eddie pondered out loud as he turned off the stove. “I don’t think so. But we’ve got jelly?”

“Ugh, no,” you said, shaking your head with clear disdain as you sat down at the table. “I want scrambled eggs with jam, not jelly.”

Eddie leaned against the tiled counter and blinked at you in silence.

Then he slowly licked his lips, tossed the kitchen towel over his shoulder, and turned around to grab the plates without saying a word.

“I can hear your judgment from here, y’know,” you murmured as you took the plates from him once he’d made it to the table.

“My head is empty,” he replied. “I’m literally incapable of thinking.”

“And were exactly was that incapability when we were discussing names yesterday?”

Ready to fire back a smart remark, Eddie opened his mouth – only to immediately close it again.

“No comment.”

“Mhmm.”

By the time the two of you had cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, Eddie had started to feel the familiar buzz of excitement building beneath his skin, and he’d been able to stop bouncing on his heels the entire time you’d been getting ready.

In fact, you were fairly certain that if it hadn’t been for the stairs leading down from the apartment and the short walk to the van, he’d still be pacing around like a child on a sugar rush.

The anticipation had started as a small flutter in the pit of his stomach before tightening into a knot. Then it spread – across his chest, and down his arms, all the way to his fingertips. Until it was impossible for him to sit still. Impossible to focus on anything for more than five seconds. Every time he tried, his mind immediately wandered back to the appointment waiting for him–

For the two of you.

By now, you barely even noticed when his hand found its way to your stomach. It had become second nature; as natural as reaching for your hand or tucking you against his side. And judging by the absentminded circles his thumb continued to trace through the fabric of your shirt as the two of you made your way towards the van, Eddie didn’t seem to notice it anymore either.

The drive to the clinic had been filled with nervous rambling on Eddie’s end and the occasional attempt on yours to convince him that no, the baby was not going to magically change sex between not and the appointment.

Not that he listened.

By the time the two of you stepped through the sliding glass door, his excitement had somehow only doubled.

The waiting room wasn’t particularly crowded, much to your relief. A few magazine had been scattered across the coffee table in the middle of the room while the soft hum of an air conditioner fought against the summer heat outside.

Eddie’s leg had immediately started bouncing the moment he’d sat down, and it hadn’t stopped since.

“You’re making me nervous,” you murmured as you nudged his knee with yours.

“I’m making you nervous?” he scoffed. “You’re the one growing a whole person.”

You opened your mouth to reply, only for a nurse to appear in the doorway. Your name had barely left her lips before he was already standing.

“Subtle,” you muttered under your breath as you pushed yourself out of the chair.

“I am being subtle.”

“You stood up before she finished saying my last name.”

“Remind me to change that.”

“Change what?”

“Your last name.”

The nurse’s lips twitched as she guided the two of you down the hallway. A few turns later, she pushed open one of the examination room doors and motioned for you to head inside.

The room itself wasn’t particularly remarkable – pale walls, a sink in the corner surrounded by a few cabinets, the ultrasound machine standing beside the examination table.

Eddie’s eyes immediately fixed on the machine, and you were fairly certain he hadn’t blinked in at least thirty seconds.

“Alright,” the nurse smiled as she glanced over your chart. “If you could just hop up on the table for me.”

While she finished getting everything ready, Eddie hovered nearby like an overly excited golden retriever.

By the time the nurse had adjusted the machine and finished typing a few things into the computer, Eddie had managed to bounce his leg enough times to shake the entire chair.

“There we go,” she smiled as she pulled away from the keyboard. “The doctor will be right in.”

As soon as the door clicked softly shut behind her, silence settled over the room.

Well, mostly silence – because the second the door closed, Eddie started fidgeting again.

Ever the gentleman – or annoyance, depending on who you asked – he’d insisted on carrying your bag. Said bag still hung from one of his shoulders, and his hand had somehow found its way inside.

“Please don’t tell me–”

“That I brought the camera?” Eddie finished for you, pulling the yellow disposable camera from the bag. “C’mon, mama. You know me better than that.”

“Eddie,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “The clinic gives us pictures.”

“Yeah,” he replied and looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “of the baby.”

Dark brown eyes dropped to the disposable camera turning slowly between his fingers, lingering there for a few seconds before he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I wanna remember you too.”

The way he looked at you when he finally lifted his gaze made your stomach feel funny, in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the baby.

It reminded you of the nearly days of your relationship. Back when you were stupid teenagers with too much time on your hands and far too many feelings you didn’t quite know what to do with; back when the future felt impossibly far away.

“I’m carrying your child,” you pointed a finger at him, a pout already forming on your lips. “You’re legally not allowed to make me cry.”

Eddie’s face immediately fell at the sight of your trembling finger pointed in his direction.

“No, no, no,” he panicked, nearly dropping the stupid camera as he hurried to his feet and crossed the small distance between you. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“Now I feel bad,” you admitted quietly, finally letting your hand fall back into your lap. “I just keep complaining about it, and I’ve barely taken any pictures of you.”

Eddie didn’t let you wallow in your guilt for long, and immediately wrapped his arms around you, gently pulling your face against his chest.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It really is,” he murmured against the top of your head, pressing soft kisses between his words. “We still have, what? Twenty-three more weeks to take pictures before they’re here?”

You shifted awkwardly on the examination table so you could free one arm from his embrace and slide your fingers through his curls. Eddie continued pressing gentle kisses against your hairline while one hand moved slowly up and down your back in that familiar way that somehow always managed to calm you faster than anything else.

“But–”

“No buts,” he interrupted softly, tightening his arms around you. “I won’t hear it.”

He pulled back just enough for his eyes to wander across your face, searching for any sign that you were about to argue with him. Finding none, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice soft but firm as he gave you an accompanying squeeze. “Or I’ll start taking pictures of you crying.”

“Then we’ll both be crying,” you scowled. “Because I will slap you.”

“A family that cries together, stays together.”

“I hate you.”

“And I’m obsessed with you,” he grinned.

The soft knock against the door cut through the room before either of you could say anything else.

The doctor stepped inside a second later, greeting the two of you before rolling over to the machine beside the examination table. While she glanced over your chart and exchanged a few routine questions, Eddie had somehow managed to grab your hand again.

Not that you minded; at this point, it would’ve been more surprising if he wasn’t touching you in.

“Alrighty,” the doctor smiled after a moment. “Let’s take a look at this little one, hm?”

The cold gel immediately pulled a flinch from you.

“Oh, that’s awful.”

She laughed softly as she moved the transducer across your stomach.

For a few moments, neither of you really understood what you were looking at. The screen filled with blurry shades of black, white, and grey.

Then the doctor pointed. “There’s the head.”

“What?” Eddie immediately leaned forward, squinting his eyes like an old man without his glasses.

“The round part.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows pulled together as he kept staring at the blurry screen. “Oh.”

The second one sounded different, softer, like something had finally clicked. His hand tightened around yours, not enough to hurt but enough for you to notice.

“That’s our baby,” he whispered.

The awe in his voice made something warm settle in your chest.

The doctor continued pointing things out – tiny hands, tiny feet, the steady flutter of a heartbeat. Every time she pointed something out, Eddie’s eyes widened a little more. You, on the other hand, had gone completely still.

Your head had gradually lulled to the side as your eyes remained fixed on the screen, and the corners of your lips had softened into the smallest smile. One that seemed completely unaware of itself.

For a moment, Eddie found himself looking away from the screen, and for just a second, he let his gaze drift across your face.

The wonder in your eyes. The sunlight filtering through the blinds behind you. The way your fingers instinctively tightened around his whenever the baby moved. Something warm squeezed around his heart.

And then he remembered – the camera.

Eddie carefully reached for the forgotten camera beside you without taking his eyes off you, while you continued staring at the screen, occasionally nodding along as the doctor continued talking.

His fingers tightened around the hard plastic, though he didn’t bring it to his eye just yet. He wanted to memorise the moment fist. Then, when your smile widened at whatever the doctor had just explained – too lost in thought for him to pay attention himself – he finally lifted the camera.

If the click had been subtle enough beneath the steady heartbeat filling the room, the flash certainly wasn’t, and you immediately snapped your head towards him.

“Eddie.” The warning in your voice would’ve been far more effective if your eyes weren’t still suspiciously shiny. “Why are you taking pictures? We’re looking at our baby.”

“I know.” His eyes softened as they flickered between you and the screen. “Wanted to take your first picture together.”

Something warm settled in your chest.

“Would you like to know?” the doctor asked softly.

“What?” Eddie’s grip on your hand immediately tightened, as though he was suddenly terrified he’d missed something important.

The doctor’s smile widened. “The gender.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips; the man had spent the entire morning vibrating with excitement. But now? Now that the moment had finally arrived, he looked seconds away from puking up breakfast and passing out.

Noticing he wasn’t capable to say anything, you gently squeezed Eddie’s hand and gave the doctor a small nod.

The transducer moved slightly from side to side while she studied the screen for a moment.

“Congratulations,” her eyes flickered between the two of you. “Looks like you’re having a girl.”

Silence – complete, utterly deafening silence.

Eddie’s brain seemed to short-circuit entirely while his gaze remained fixed on the blurry screen, wide and unmoving.

“Oh no.”

Your face fell. “What?”

“Oh no,” Eddie repeated, sounding just as small and distracted as before. “This is bad.”

“Eddie?”

“You’re gonna have to duel her for my attention,” he whispered.

The doctor snorted, visible relief taking over her face while yours twisted in annoyance.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie.” You smacked him on the arm. “You can’t just scare me like that.”

“I’m being serious,” he murmured, finally blinking. “You are absolutely gonna have to fight her for my attention.”

“She’s not even born yet.”

“I know. And it’s only gonna get worse from now on.”

Eddie had demanded – more like begged, although he liked to think otherwise – the doctor print multiple copies of the ultrasound pictures because, in his words, the copy machine at CVS sucks, and he wanted to give better-quality photos to his dad.

He had completely ignored when you’d hissed his name and told him to stop embarrassing you.

Second-hand embarrassment and excited squeals aside, the trip to the hardware store had started pleasantly enough.

That was until Eddie spotted the paint samples and immediately reached for the brightest shade his eyes landed on.

“Pink,” he announced firmly.

“Absolutely not.” You looked up from the collection of green swatches in your hand. “We are not painting the nursery pink.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’ll look like a bubblegum factory exploded,” you explained, lips pursed and nose scrunched.

“That’s the point, sweetheart.”

“Okay, mister non-conformity.”

He huffed dramatically and somehow managed to pick up an even brighter shade – the kind that had a name that made absolutely no sense and physically hurt to look at.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve spent the last ten years telling everyone that black and demons are personality traits, and now you’re suddenly campaigning for… Ballet Slipper walls.”

“Because I’m having a daughter,” he immediately shot back, shrugging like it made perfect sense. “And daughters like pink.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Society says you do.”

“Remind me,” you sighed and arched an eyebrow at him, “since when do you listen to society?”

Eddie’s mouth immediately snapped shut, eyes narrowing before he eventually drifted back to the offensive shades of pink and picked another ridiculous shade. Sugar Baby, or whatever the hell it was.

“Green isn’t even a baby colour,” he muttered under his breath as he inspected the shade.

“It absolutely is,” you replied, holding up one of the darker paint samples. “Are you gonna tell me that dragon scales green wouldn’t be a pretty good colour for her nursery?”

The deep furrow that had settled between his eyebrows immediately disappeared the second he heard the word dragon.

And suddenly, Eddie found himself at a complete loss for words.

You’d never seen him reach for something so fast – not even that one time you’d accidentally discovered the R-rated metal magazine hidden beneath his bed.

“Gimme that damn thing,” he murmured quietly, snatching the paint sample from your hand. His eyes immediately fixed on the dark shade. “Dragon scales green?”

“Mhmm.”

“For out little dragon?”

“For the fierce little girl who’ll duel me to death for your attention.”

It took exactly three glances between you and the paint swatch for him to make up his mind.

“Okay.”

You blinked slowly as you watched him put back the pink swatches.

“That’s all it took?”

“Sweetheart,” he said, already making his way towards the paint counter, “you should’ve let with the dragon.”

A grin tugged at your lips as you followed after him, shaking your head at his stupidity.

“Five minutes ago you said green wasn’t a baby colour.”

“Five minutes ago I hadn’t heard the vision.”

“The vision?”

“Besides,” he continued, pointing at the paint sample in his hand, “green is metal as hell.”

“Since when?”

“Since Mother Earth is green, and you’re the mother of my child.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The two of you stared at each other, a silent blinking competition starting without either of you knowing.

Then his face twisted. “Okay, that sounded way cooler in my head.”

series tag list? just ask!

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One day you show up unannounced at Family Video. The bell above the door rings as you walk in and you giggle when you see Steve’s hair pop up from between the shelves.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” He’s striding over to you, completely abandoning the stack of tapes he’s supposed to be shelving.

“I just wanted a hug,” you say, your voice small like you’re a little nervous about it.

Steve chuckles, not in a teasing way but like he genuinely can’t believe you came all this way just for that – just for him.

“C’mere then,” he says as he snakes his arms around you. He squeezes you tight and you return his grasp, clutching at his green work vest.

The two of you stay like that, in the middle of the store, for a while.

At one point you hear Robin come out from the break room and mumble ‘Jesus Christ…’ as she averts her eyes from the sickening sight of the two of you swaying to some imaginary music.

When you finally part, you go to walk out the door but Steve’s hand holds on to yours not letting you leave just yet.

“Wait,” he says. Then he says something that he’s heard you ask many, many times, but never said himself – until now, “can I have a kiss?”

You think to yourself if you are half as cute as Steve is when you ask, it’s no wonder he’s down bad for you. Those big brown eyes plead with you, his supple lips pouting as he patiently waits for your answer.

You don’t say anything, just step back into his space, snake your hands around his waist, underneath his vest, and ever so slowly kiss him.

Steve lets you take the lead for once as your tongue swipes at his lips. He opens up for you just for a moment, your tongues softly brushing against each other in a way that feels just about socially acceptable to do in the middle of Steve’s workplace. (Luckily it’s a Tuesday afternoon and the only person there to witness the moment is Robin, much to her dismay.)

He rests his forehead on yours when you’re finished.

“Anything else?” You whisper.

“I can think of a few things but I think we’ll have to save them for later.”

“Hmm.” You nod as a few more things spring to mind for you. “Well, you can always write them down, you know, so you don’t forget.”

“Oh, there’s no way I’ll forget.”

As you exit the store, Steve stays staring at the empty space in front of him as if he can see the imprints of your shoes in the carpet.

“Man, you got it bad, my friend,” Robin comments.

“So bad,” Steve sighs.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Additionally, I would probably also just make grabby hands at Steve constantly to get him to cuddle me…….. need that rn :((((

Thank God you’re all the way out instead of back at camp where your middle school-age campers are tucked away, sleeping in their cabins on the hill.

At Camp Woodwick, the last night of their month-long summer session always ends on the Fourth of July. Which is tonight. And on the last night, the counselors don’t have a curfew, so the whole lot of you can pitch tents down by the lake and watch the fireworks show. 

It was fun for awhile, but after a handful of lackluster campfire stories and couple burnt marshmallows, Steve announced he was going to bed. The guys complained, begging him to light some fireworks with them, but he said he was going to turn in anyway. 

Right after his eyes caught yours. 

You excused yourself shortly after him, not even really sure why. And as you changed into your sleep shorts and a t-shirt, and settled into your sleeping bag, you blamed your sour mood on the heat and the bugs.

Assuring yourself that it had nothing to do with the fact that you and Steve Harrington have been at each other’s throats for weeks.

Tonight is is counselor’s night out! It’s supposed to be a fun end-of-the-summer bash for all the adults who were paid a few grand to babysit. It’s the night everyone looks forward to the most. 

You should be having fun—being young. Whatever that means. 

At some point between the whole saving-the-world-and-barely-escaping-with-your-life-thing, you became somewhat of a stranger to that idea. Your life had been, for lack of a better term, flipped upside down. 

Steve groans again. Hot embers flare to life in your core, stirred up by the sound of his thready voice. So low and breathless. 

He has to shut up. What is he thinking, jerking off like this with people nearby?

Granted, your tents are the furthest away from everyone else’s, and no one has really gone to bed yet. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. But between the sticky humid air clinging to your skin, and the sharp whistles from exploding fireworks, when Steve moans softly again you finally just…snap. 

Ripping the blankets off yourself, you rustle around your tent for your flashlight, grumbling and muttering in the dark.

God, you have to do everything yourself, don’t you? 

You wince as your tent opens with a loud zip that punctuates the darkness surrounding you. Peeking over your shoulder, you can see the smoke from the campfire in the distance, curling up towards the stars. A few of your fellow counselors are still lounging around the fire, but most of them are small shadows dotting the lake’s edge. 

Steve pitched his orange tent under a tree. 

Stupid. 

Doesn’t he know that the roots will mess the tent stakes up? You’re surprised he could even get them in the ground. Honestly, it will probably fall down on him tonight. 

You hope it does. 

His tent is dark and quiet, but you march over anyway, flashlight raised so the beam falls straight on him when you turn it on. 

You yank on his tent’s zipper. It gives easily. A muffled curse comes from inside, and you click on the flashlight to reveal Steve lying on his side, bare chest rising and falling as he squints into the bright beam.

“God, you never could stay quiet, could you?” You say, bullying your way through the tent flap and zipping it back up behind you. 

Steve scrambles to throw his sleeping bag over himself, but it does practically nothing to hide his raging boner underneath. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He snaps, glaring up at you. 

Despite yourself, your eyes catch on a delicious bicep, and his muscled shoulder in the shine of your flashlight. That chest hair has taunted you all summer long. It’s been torturous pretending you didn’t know what it felt like against your bare breasts, against your back...

You clear your throat. “I just thought I’d let you know the whole camp can hear you jerking off.”

“What? I’m not—Jesus.” His big hand drags down his face, even as he pulls the sleeping bag up higher. “Get out.”

Whoops, there you go again, getting distracted by his hands. 

Maybe you should close your eyes, or turn around—something—because looking at him stretched out in the dark like this is making you think wicked things.

Your lips twist in a mocking smirk, and you gesture down to the sleeping bag. “Oh, c’mon, Steve. Why are you so embarrassed? It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.” 

Lots of times, actually. 

Through the years, you’d been there for everything—watched him get captured, tortured, and sacrificed for others. But after it was all over, and the dust settled, you fell into each other a different way. 

Because it wasn’t the days plagued with Demogorgons, evil Russians, or even Vecna that were the worst.

It was the days that followed.

The hollow darkness you experienced as the world kept moving on, oblivious to the memories that plagued you both. You had to learn how to live normally again, and something about that was both relieving and excruciatingly lonely at the same time.

The nightmares had a way of sticking to you like blood you couldn’t get off no matter how many times you scrubbed yourself raw in the shower. 

It was in those shaky, sweaty, middle-of-the-night fever dreams that you and Steve found solace in each other. Because when it all became a bit too much, you could dig your nails into someone else’s skin, feel a slick, hot mouth against yours—ground yourself in something intrinsically human just to prove that after everything, you still are.

But all that came to a screeching halt last summer. 

“Okay,” Steve sighs, shifting a little and squinting up at you. “Let’s say that I was. You wanted to come over and…cockblock me? From myself? And turn that thing off unless you want everyone to see two silhouettes in here.”

You click the flashlight off immediately, plunging you both into darkness. 

Maybe you should rescind your previous statement. Because now, without being able to see him, his proximity is somehow affecting you even more. 

You can hear his soft breaths, smell the lake water on his skin. And underneath it all, the familiar sounds and scents of him that opens a gaping hole of nostalgia in the pit of your stomach. 

You try to laugh, but it comes out cold. “You think I give a fuck if you’re rubbing one out, Harrington? No. I came over here because you’re fucking whimpering and moaning—”

“—I was not whimpering.” 

“—and you’re incapable of keeping quiet—yes, you were, and I was getting sick of hearing it. So, either do it quieter, or find someone to cover your fucking mouth.”

As you were talking, your vision adjusted to the darkness. Which is a very bad thing, because now you can see him again. Specifically the outline of his mussed hair as he lifts his chin to meet your gaze. 

“You offering?”

Your breath catches.

You should say no. You should tell him to go fuck himself—literally— and leave right now. He can let the whole camp hear him for all you care. 

But instead, you hesitate. 

Now, Steve is smart. Smarter than he gives himself credit for, that’s for sure. And there are certain patterns he’s picked up on with you over the years. Like, when you pause like that, the answer is almost always a yes. 

Which is why the second you go quiet, and the distant laughter of the other counselors fills the space between you, he’s already batting the sleeping bag off his lap. 

“I knew it,” he says. The fabric slips off him just as a firework bursts overhead, and your eyes drag over his body. The lean, tan muscle from all his time outside this summer, down to his long, hard cock jerking against his happy trail. “You’re so busy acting like you hate me, wanting to play this game where we bitch at each other all summer, and now you’re making up excuses to come into my tent—”

“Oh, trust me,” you scoff, tearing your eyes away to meet his again. “It’s not an excuse.”

“No?” he says softly, leaning back on one arm and gesturing at his body with the other. “Then, prove it.”

“Fine, but I’m only staying to keep you quiet,” you warn him, pinning him with a harsh look. 

“Sure. Whatever,” Steve rasps, watching as you drop to your knees beside him. 

Your fingers curl into his sleeping bag beside his shoulder, but you’re careful not to touch him. 

He wishes you would. 

You gesture impatiently at him, your hand a shadowy blur in the dark. “Go ahead and get it over with. I’m not sitting here all night. God.”

Steve rushes to obey, and when wraps his hand around his cock again, the rush is so intense it’s almost painful. The way you’re sitting there just watching him is making his head feel fuzzy, and his dick swell.

And look at you—pretending to not be affected in the slightest watching the flushed head poke out of his fist over and over as he jerks off in front of you. God, you turn him on so fucking much. 

Steve heaves a stuttering breath, and his head drops back onto the ground as the pleasure pools in his gut. He thinks he’s doing a good job being quiet. But he can’t smother the moan that escapes him the second your warm hand brushes his shoulder.

“Steve,” you hiss, warning lacing your voice. 

“Shut me up, then. Goddamn.” He groans, his cock twitching in his palm. “What are you even here for? I could do this myself—” At that moment, your hand finds his chest and, well, your fingers might as well be a defibrillator. His hips jerk, mouth dropping open in pleasure. “—oh, fuck yeah.”

Your touch is heaven. His eyelids threaten to shut as your fingers brush through his chest hair, over his ribs— so sure, and steady, soothing and warm. Like his flesh and bone is a map you know by heart. 

He’s panting, desperate not to make a sound and give you a reason to take your hand away while your palm trails lower.

He raises his chin to catch a glimpse of your profile as the fireworks crack in the sky, raining down in bright fizzling pops that he feels in his chest. 

Honestly, he should’ve known this is how the summer would end with you. 

He’s known it, and yet, he’s run from it. 

Because the last time he had you…God, he’s been such an idiot. 

Last summer, when you came home from college for break, he’d been sitting on your doorstep. A silent understanding passed between you two, and then you’d grabbed his hand and taken him up to your room.

Afterwards, you were laying under him, sweaty and warm, eyes glowing with…with something that made his heart tug painfully. And suddenly, it all got to be too much. 

He’d been craving you all semester. As if you were a long drag from a cigarette. And that gnawing ache didn’t surface with anyone else. Only you. 

His chest swelled up tight, and the bridge of his nose started to burn, and he realized… he was scared. 

Terrified, actually. 

Because what if the both of you reaching out for each other was nothing but a trained response, like Pavlov’s dogs or some shit? What if you had built this trauma bond…thing? He wasn’t entirely sure what that even meant, but he knew that no one could know him so intrinsically, so deeply, so invasively and still want him anyway. 

So, Steve proceeded to do the stupidest thing possible by dropping a kiss to your forehead, pulling his clothes back on, and walking out the door. 

He told himself it was for the best. Months after, even though he thought of you constantly, and still woke up slicked in sweat, hands flying to his wounds in the dark, he never called you. 

But when you showed up at Camp Woodwick, looking to earn some cash over the summer, same as him, all the walls he’d built up between him and his past came crashing down. 

So, he pushed you away. For weeks. It was worse than he thought it would be, though. Because when he pushed, you pushed back harder. 

His head swims with the knowledge that after a whole year without you, you’re here. You’re the same. Familiar. The smell of your hair, down to the soft breaths escaping to ur lips. 

He’s still hard as a rock, but his hand isn’t cutting it. Not when what he really wants is right here in front of him.

Steve curses under his breath. “You wanna help me out, sweetheart? Give me that mouth?”

“W-what?” You snort. “You can hardly be quiet with your own hand, Harrington. You think you’re going to survive that?”

“Please? Just lick it. Just the tip.”

“Stop begging. Also, be qu—“

“Right. Right, I’ll be quiet,” Steve grumbles. “Just—if you’re gonna fucking march in here and tell me to do it faster, then the least you could do is help me out.” Another firework squeals, then pops, showering you in gold as you blink down at him.

Boisterous laughs drift over the water, and your eyes flick up instinctively to meet the tent wall before your bottom lip disappears between your teeth. His stomach flips in anticipation. He knows that look. 

“C’mon,” he urges, fighting back a smirk. “You know how I like it, baby.”

Shit. 

Steve knows that pet name has always been your weakness. You’re not sure exactly why. Maybe it’s because it reminded you that on the outside, you were just friends. But in bed…you were his.

You shouldn’t fall for a cheap trick like that. Look at him, biting the corner of his mouth like he’s trying not to smirk. Cocky bastard. 

But, even so, you make the mistake of glancing down his body.

His hand slips away in a silent invitation, revealing his heavy cock jutting out from his soft tummy and you lose the war.

Rocks dig into your knees under the tent floor but you hardly pay them any mind, your clit already throbbing in anticipation of touching him. 

“Fine. But only because it’s faster.” You say.

Your hand curls around him, reveling in the hot, velvety feel of him in your palm. A sound slips from his throat, sudden and unbidden. 

You jerk your head up, and he can’t see your face clearly in the dark, but he knows your body language. The message is solidified when you bring your other hand up to rake through the hair on his chest, digging into his pec in warning. 

Steve’s hand lands on yours, and the warmth seeping through his fingers doesn’t just make your pussy clench, it also makes your nose burn. 

You turn your attention back to stroking him, ignoring the tightness in your lungs. Ignoring the way you’re practically holding hands across his chest.

“God, you’ve been kind of a bitch to me all summer,” Steve grunts, thrusting up into your touch. “You know that?”

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you. “Steve, you can’t call me a bitch at the same time you’re fucking my hand. Either we’re fighting or we’re fucking. Pick one. Jesus.”

“I don’t know.” His head falls back against the ground with a heavy thud. “We’re pretty good at both, apparently. God, your hand feel so g—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hiss.

“Sorry! Sorry.”

Another firework shrieks into the sky, exploding in a loud pop, and showering you both in a flash of red. It lights up Steve’s body, illuminating the scars along his side. Long jagged things, carved deep under his ribs.

You can’t help but remember the panic that seized you when the Demobats descended on him. You’ll never forget the sickening horror that coursed through your body when you looked over to see him pale and shaking, dripping in blood. 

You swallow hard. Then, as if pulled by some invisible string, you lower your head and brush your mouth against his skin. His core muscles flex at the soft glide of your tongue on his belly, but he tenses as your lips trace his scar line.

“Don’t—” he rasps. Suddenly, his hand flies down and tugs your chin away. 

“What?” You whisper against his skin, a little teasing. But when you flick your eyes up to his, he looks away, raking a hand through his hair. Your hand slows around his cock and you frown. A thread of anxiety coils in your gut. 

“What?” you repeat. “I was there, too, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He lets out a short laugh, but the warmth is gone from his voice. “I just—really don’t want to be reminded of that right now.”

You pull back, hands falling away from him instantly. 

Another bottle rocket screams, punctuating the heavy beat of silence that follows. Steve notices the shift in you, the way your body locks up in hesitation. 

Sighing heavily, he raises his palms to his face and digs them into his eyes. 

“Sorry, I’m—that was fucked up. I’m sorry.”

You sit back on your heels, suddenly unsure, and your eyes drop to the ground. 

He combs through his hair again roughly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I was just…there’s a kid here that reminds me of a little Eddie, and the scars—”

You smile softly. “Reed, right? I’ve been thinking the same thing all summer.”

“Every time I see those scars, I think about the bats, and then I think about losing Eddie, and then with you here—” He gestures towards you and he trails off. 

You don’t need him to finish the thought, though. You can see it in the way his chest heaves, and the slight crack in his voice. 

With a sigh, you settle down onto the ground beside him. He shuffles wordlessly, giving you room to lay on the other half of his sleeping bag. 

“It’s okay, Steve. This is how it always was for us. Just—two people trying to get through it, you know? To feel something again.” 

“Oh yeah? Is that all were?” His voice is deeper now. Huskier. It makes a lump build in your throat. “Was that all it was for you?”

You watch the light show fall across the tent ceiling together, muted little orbs glowing through the fabric. 

“No,” you say softly. “But everything hits me at once sometimes, too, you know. And when that happens...fuck, I just need you. And that feeling…” The words fizzle out and fall like the embers in the sky, and your hand reaches up to clutch at your chest—like it would be easier just to rip out your heart and show him.

Steve hesitates, swallowing hard. “It’s not…bad, right? That feeling?” 

“No, Steve. It’s not bad.” 

A quiet moment passes, then he blows out a breath. “At college, they have these therapists. Robin dragged me to a session once, so I went.” You turn your head to look at him, but he keeps his eyes above. “I was scared, like, what if they didn’t believe me, you know? And, well, I’m not sure if Dr. Treya really believes me, but that doesn’t seem to matter much. She treats it all like it’s true, anyway.”

There’s a loud squeal of a bottle rocket, then laughter somewhere in the distance. 

“I’m sorry we fought the last few weeks,” you whisper. “I was angry. But mostly just hurt. By last summer.”

Steve sits up a little at that, his strong arm bracing his torso as he looks down at you. “And you had every right to be,” he says. “I was a coward for leaving like I did. I got scared, I think. But, I’m getting better. At least, Robin says I am.”

You chuckle. “I’m sure she’s right.”

“But I am sorry, too. For that, and for…just for everything.”

You gaze up at him, and the urge to cup his face and bring his lips down to yours grips you by the spine. But Steve lays back down next to you before you can say anything. 

“I’m proud of you for going to see a counselor,” you say into the dark after a long moment. “Does it help?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “But I wish there was something I could do, too, you know? Other than just talk about it.” 

He takes the world upon his shoulders, this boy.

He deserves to know that, at the end of the day, someone has him. Someone wants him. Not just for what he can give, but for who he is. He’s been pushing you away because you had that for him, and he didn’t know how to accept it. Until recently. 

You see that now. 

His bare arm is so warm against yours. You follow it down with your fingers until you find his hand, threading your fingers through his. 

“Steve, you’ve already done so much. For everyone.”

His hand practically swallows yours. Long fingers, with blunt tips. They just remind you of all the ways he’s used them to pull orgasms from your body, one after the other.

All he does is give, give, give. Even when you give him hell all summer, fuck, he gives that right back. 

Your hair whispers against the sleeping bag as you turn to look at him. His brown eyes meet yours, and his soft exhale ghosts across your cheek.

You search his face for permission, because he already knows what you’re asking. When his expression softens, just enough, you don’t hesitate. Hooking your leg around his waist, you roll on top of him and sit up. 

“Let me take care of you,” you say.

He sucks in a breath at the sight of you rising above him, his hand coming to land hot and heavy on your thigh. 

Scooting backwards, you lower your mouth to his torso. He hisses, his other hand flying to tangle in your hair. His cock has softened slightly against his hip, but you can fix that with your mouth in no time. 

His chest heaves with a shaky breath. “Wait, no. No, baby.” 

You suck a soft love bite on his hip before raising your eyes to his. “You don’t want it anymore?”

“No—shit, of course I want it, but—” He snorts, but his hand finds yours and he tries to pull you up. “If we’re going to do this, I want to do it for real. Not to distract each other. Not like we used to. Can…can you do that?”

You nod once. Then again. “Yes. Yes, of course, Steve. I wasn’t—I was just—” your heart slams into your throat. “I still love you.”

A slow, sweet smile spreads across Steve’s face. Your cheeks flush, and you try to squirm away, but Steve squeezes your thigh, urging you to find his eyes again. And when you do, you see that familiar heat is back. 

“Good,” he says. “Now we can get down to the real question of what the fuck do you think you’re doing barging into my tent when I’m masturbating, you little brat?”

Heat licks up your spine, and you bite back a grin. “I told you! You were being loud.”

“Yeah, sure, now tell me the real reason.”

“That is the real reason!”

“Don’t lie to me.” 

You open your mouth to argue, but his hands clamp down on your hips before you can, and in one smooth motion, he flips you so you’re on your back. Your heart slams against your ribs as he pulls you down under him, his chest rising and falling against yours. 

“Just admit it,” he says, a cocky grin twisting his lips right over yours. “You wanted me to lick that pretty pussy for you, didn’t you?”

Your panties dampen instantly, pulsing in anticipation of feeling his mouth on you after so long. 

You might have been at each other’s throats for weeks, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t like it. You saw it in his eyes by the campfire and by every rough two-hand touch football game. Every time your face went red and you mouthed off at him he’d just smile and lift his eyebrows as if to say, ‘is that all you got?’ Maybe crook two fingers at you with a cocky tilt of his head, urging you to ‘give me more.’ 

Well, you could definitely give him more. 

“I don’t know, Harrington,” you sigh, tilt your head against the tent floor in mock confusion. “I hardly remember what getting head from you is like.”

His grin turns wicked. Then suddenly, he’s moving—greedy hands tugging at your shorts. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, voice dripping in that mocking tone that always makes you wet. “I thought maybe you’d want me to do that thing my tongue that always—” A whimper escapes your throat and he breaks off mid-sentence with an openmouthed laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He crawls down your body, taking your shorts and underwear with him, and you gasp when something hard and hot brushes your thigh. Glad to see he’s sporting that erection again. You feel a fleeting disappointment at the fact you haven’t gotten to suck him off yet, but it’s probably better this way, to be honest. 

It’s literally impossible to make Steve Harrington be quiet while getting a blowjob—

Without warning, he plunges two fingers deep into your slick channel. Your breath stutters, hips bucking into his palm on instinct. He groans out loud, but you’re too blissed out by the stretch that you can’t even get onto him for it. 

Lungs seizing, heart pounding, you squirm on the slippery fabric of his sleeping bag, trying to get even closer. Your nipples harden against your T-shirt, begging for his touch. For more of him.

You peek down your body just in time to see his head disappear between your thighs, and then his mouth is on you. God, his tongue is so warm and wet against your clit, and his skillful fingers stroke you just right. In and out, then curling into the spongey spot inside that has your mouth dropping open. 

“Missed those sounds you make,” he says, voice muffled against your pussy. 

Shit. 

You hadn’t even realized you were making noise. You dig your knee into his side in retaliation and he chuckles, squirming away before diving in again.

He licks messy, broad strokes, tasting you on purpose, getting you all over his tongue. When you grind up into his face he grabs you by the hips and moves with you, following your every wriggle and writhe. 

Yep, his mouth still makes the world feel dull, reducing your hearing to the whoosh of your heartbeat in your ears as everything else just fades away into mind numbing bliss—

“Shut up,” Steve says, pulls back from you with a wicked grin. His face is covered in your arousal, glinting in the firework light, and the sight makes you clench around his fingers. “Seriously, shut up if you don’t want them to hear you.” 

“Wha—Steve!” You whine, canting your hips up into his mouth again as he lowers himself back down to you. “H-help.”

He shrugs. “I’m not the one who gives a shit if they hear.”

The vibrations of his voice against your clit rips a moan from your throat, unbidden, and your lips cinch together. Your hand flies to your hip, finding his fingers there. You try to pull his hand up but he shakes off your touch, holding onto your waist and puling you roughly against his tongue. 

You whine in protest, and go to pull on his hand again, but that’s a mistake. 

He brings his palm down to your inner thigh with a sharp smack that has your back arching off the ground, your eyes narrowing in warning. 

“Cover your own mouth, sweetheart, fuck,” he chuckles, giving your clit a soothing series of licks. “I’m busy.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper, but it quickly turns into a needy whine when he sucks the swollen nub into his mouth. 

Steve continues to stretch you out on his fingers, murmuring dirty things into your pussy as he does. How sweet you taste. How tightly you’re squeezing his fingers. But you barely hear any of it. 

You’re so wet—both from his mouth and your arousal—that your inner thighs slick together when you try to squeeze them. He yanks your legs apart again, and you’re powerless to stop him because the pads of his fingers are dragging out tendrils of pleasure from your spine you haven’t felt in a year. 

Thankfully, the fireworks seem to be reaching a peak outside— loud bangs and pops going off every few seconds help drown out the sounds of your needy pussy and blissed-out sighs. Because frankly, you don’t have the brain power to think about anything except how desperately you need him inside you. 

You whimper again accidentally. “Steve—” 

“Okay, baby,” he replies instantly, knowing what you need by the tone in your voice alone. His fingers slip out and he rises up over you, your knees falling open eagerly as he lines himself up.

When he notches the tip of his cock at your entrance, your cunt greedily sucks him in. He gasps, hips bucking forward instinctively, and neither one of you are able to stop the mixed groans that ensue from finally, finally being connected like this again after so long. 

Big hands scramble for a hold on your waist, blunt nails pinching your skin as he drags himself back, then forth, slamming up into you with a depth that makes you sob.

“Still fuckin’ made for me,” he groans. “Goddamnit.”

You’re panting, arms wrapped around his shoulders, biting the skin of your forearm to keep from moaning as his hips roll slow and deliberate. 

“Good girl,” he praises, and you shudder, feeling the ache grow sharper. “Staying so quiet, look at you. You can’t ask me to be silent when you come around me, okay? Fuck—that’s like being tortured all over again.”

You shoot him a withering look even as you writhe underneath him. “That’s not funny.”

He laughs, and his silhouette shifts over you, his cock driving deeper and hitting that spot inside you that makes you see sparks that aren’t there. “Sorry, sweetheart. I just—oh yeah, grind that clit into me. That’s it.”

 Your hands rake through his hair, desperately trying to hold onto something. But the force behind his thrusts causes you to pull on the strands, and, well, that was a mistake. 

His teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder in order to stay somewhat quiet, and oh—fuck. How could you have forgotten what pulling his hair does to him? Stars burst behind your eyes as the fireworks crackle overhead, and the tension between your hips coils tighter. 

“Fuck—Steve,” you gush. “Please.”

“What do you need?” He rasps against your throat, sucking and biting. “I’m all yours.”

Little tremors course though your legs as your orgasm builds, the swollen head of his cock nudging those spots deep inside that ache for him. 

Only him.

“You need me to kiss you?” he says, breath hot in your ear. “Need me to shut you up?”

You nod frantically. 

“Go on, ask me for it.”

You whimper, too far gone to play the game anymore. “Kiss me, Stevie. Please, please—” 

“Fuck,” Steve groans at the nickname he hasn’t heard in so long, and instantly lowers his mouth to yours. 

The first brush of his lips against yours makes you want to cry. 

“Missed you, baby,” he says, then kisses you deeper, his tongue dipping into your mouth and swirling with yours. “So much. Missed kissing you. Missed talking with you.” He hesitates, pulling back slightly before planting one soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Missed loving you. But I guess I never really stopped, did I?”

Your eyes connect for one heartbreaking, devestatingly sweet second before you pull him back down, pouring your love for him into the gentle, yet desperate stroke of your tongue against his. 

Feeling you kiss him like that snaps something deep inside him. 

Your inner muscles clamps down around him as his thrusts turn messy and hard, and his hands run over your shoulders, your breasts, your hips, pulling your body back down to meet his every thrust. 

The pleasure builds to an insurmountable level as he rips your shirt up to capture your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and making you want to scream. 

You flatten your palm over your lips, whimpering through the gaps in your fingers over and over, squeezing your eyes shut as Steve pushes you higher and higher until finally—you’re falling. 

Your teeth bite into your fingers hard to muffle your moans as your pussy clenches down like a vice on Steve’s cock rhythmically, your orgasm rushing through you. 

He lets out a choked sound above you, and with the way his chest falls in a sequence of familiar pants, you know he’s close. Through the pleasured haze, your other hand flies to cover his mouth just in time for his orgasm to hit. 

“Mmhmm, mhhhmm.” Steve whines loudly, as his body tenses, and his cock twitches inside you. And you have no choice but to shove your fingers inside his lips, forcing him to suck on them as he reaches his peak. His eyes roll back as he bullies his cock against your cervix, painting your walls with his come, even as his tongue strokes your knuckles tenderly and reverently.

It takes awhile for the both of you to come back down to earth, but eventually, you let your fingers fall from his mouth and he laughs breathlessly, dipping to give you one last slow kiss before slipping out of you. 

He fumbles around for his T-shirt in the darkness and then cleans you up with care, which makes your heart twist. Once he’s done, he settles on his side, and pulls you into him, your back pressed to his chest. You burrow into him, his arm settling around you, and it’s amazing how quickly your lashes start to fall, wrapped up in this familiar comfort. 

“So…truce?” Steve whispers into the crook of your shoulder. You laugh softly.

Even under a hazardously leaning tent, and a sky littered with mini explosions, the world seems a little less dark right now. The past, a little less heavy. 

Maybe it’s because neither of you are running away from it, anymore. But rather, facing it. Together.

And because you know, without a shadow of a doubt, Steve Harrington’s heartbeat will always be in your future.

“Truce.”

a/n: the tent definitely collapses on top of them five minutes later, by the way. also, my idea originally was not nearly as angsty, but don’t you just love it when characters highjack your story? god, the fics always turn out so much better that way.

Everytime you talked directly to him, everytime you smiled at him from your desk—God, everytime you as much as looked at him. It was all it would take for his heart to nearly break through his ribcage and crawl straight to you.

"Careful, Smallvile." With a small chuckle when he almost walked straight into a wall because you waved him goodbye on your way out of the office.

"Nice work, Kent." On a random morning after the fresh realising of yet another of his interviews with Superman. Though he didn't miss the slight narrow of your eyes, a layer of suspicion lying beneath the look of approval.

"Are you blushing, Kansas?" With a grin threatening to split your face in half when you witnessed his cheeks turn to a deep shade of maroon after complimenting the color of his new tie.

Every small interaction, every word that rolled off the tip of your tongue when you were near him screamed FLIRT. It was like an instinct. And of course everyone else could notice it except for the dumbass you were interested in.

You had to physically restrain yourself not to walk over that giant dork, take both of his shoulders and shake until he got some sense into that pretty head of his. One particular afternoon, your fingers almost snapped the pen you were holding while you huffed an exasperated: "That's it, I'm asking him out."

Lois had to yank you back to your chair by your elbow, rolling her eyes. "No you're not. He'll come to it eventually. Just give him some time... Alright, extra time."

It wasn't until a random monday in the Daily Planet's break room.

The smell of freshly made coffee hanged in the early morning air, golden rays of sunlight seeping through the windows. Of course the only two people to arrive at the office at this hour would be farm boy and unhealthily-worakaholic-driven-by-caffeine-and-despair girl.

You smile at Clark. He smiles back, then proceeds to accidently pour some of the coffee in his mug—the one that had a poorly printed but cute drawing of Baby Yoda and read Yoda Best Journalist—, barely missing his own slacks. You smile harder.

"So... do tell me, Smallvile," You tease, like it was so usual to happen whenever you were near him. Anything to get that flustered expression on his face. "How was your weekend?"

"Uh, you know..." He starts, shrugging. "Just some writing research, a Star Wars marathon... the usual."

God, he was such a nerd. Cute.

It took you a few seconds to notice the slightly hesitant expression on his face, like he was waiting for you to say something. You figure he had asked you about your weekend too. You must've been smiling too dumbly at him to hear it.

"Oh, don't ask me about it." You exhale deeply. "I mean, if there's anything worse than getting stood up on a date by a guy that spells tangerine wrong, please, enlighten me. Maybe that'll make me pity myself less."

You try to make yourself look busy—and less miserable—by reaching to a mug on a high shelf. Too high of a shelf. You struggle to wrap your fingers around the ceramic, stretching your arm as high as you can.

You smell him first. Mint toothpaste and caffeine and something else you couldn't quite put your mind on. Then came the slight press of his chest against your back—still respectful, but able to rise goosebumps on your skin nonetheless.

He grabs the mug you had been struggling to reach like it was nothing. Just another day living inside his ridiculously giantic 6'5 frame.

"What an idiot."

Your head snaps up in surprise. Partly because it takes you an embarrassing amount of time to remember what he was even talking about, but also because of the tone in his voice. One that you had never heard coming from him before. Clark was always so gentle and has never been anything but polite to you or anyone else you know. But now... now his grip on the mug has his knuckles turning white and his jaw was closed so tight you were surprised you didn't hear his teeth shatter.

"He has no clue what he's missing." Clark continues through gritted teeth. "Like there aren't hundreds of guys out there who would give anything for the chance to go on a date with you—Gosh, I would like to take you out on date, you know, sometime. If you were ever interested in that, of course..."

You chuckle, though it came humorless and sharp. Clark couldn't be that dense. He had to be playing with you. It had to be some joke—because there was no way he wasn't doing it on purpose.

"Sure, Kent." You reply sharply, then turn around to leave, not bothering to take the coffee he had thoughtfully already poured for you.

Because how dare he say shit like that. How dare him look at you and say there were hundreds of men that would like to go out with you when the only reason you had even agreed to go out with that moron—only to get stood up by said moron—was to at least make an effort to get Clark fucking Kent out of your head. How dare him say he was one of those men when he still couldn't even bring himself to ask you to—

You turn around, very slowly. It was enough to still catch the frown on his face and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Wait a minute..." You point a finger at him like it was some accusation. "Did you just ask me out?"

"Uh, I—" His eyes widen, darting between the finger you have pointed at his chest then back to your face, like he doesn't know what could be the wrong answer. "I guess so."

It sounds more like a question than anything.

"And you were just gonna let me walk away like that?"

Clark scratches the back of his neck. "... I guess so."

"Jesus Christ, Kent," You half-sigh, half-chuckle, a simile already tugging at the corner of your lips as realization creeps in. "You really are adorable."

He barely had time to recompose from his confused state before you grabbed him by the back of his neck, pulled him down to place a loud kiss on his cheek and told him you were free on friday night.

"Oh my God, Clark, just... stop talking. I think I literally have wine in my nose right now."

Clark smiles so wide it makes his cheeks hurt. A very frequent occurrence for almost the whole night.

He could say the same for you, too. Actually, more than one time, you had to straight up cut him off mid sentence and beg for him to stop talking because you couldn't stop laughing.

Like a few minutes ago when he somehow got comfortable enough to start telling you about the one time he got his head stuck on a gap between his fence because some idiot middle school classmate made him fully believe in a "if your head fits somewhere, the the rest of your body does, too" discourse. He learned that, even if it could be true, of course he was too big for that.

Clark was midway through detailed commentary about Ma Kent's poor attempts to free him from the universe teaching him a lesson when you, mid-laugh, desperately gestured for him to stop. Though not before you could prevent the sound that escaped through your fit of laughter, similar to a snort. Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth with your hand, though Clark had already heard it. He thought it was adorable.

He hadn't expected your first date to be like this. He expected having to bring up awkward topics just to prevent you from falling in uncomfortable silence—he had even googled random facts to mention when you eventually had nothing else to talk about.

He didn't expect the way you felt so comfortable around him. The way your eyes glimmered in interest for every word that came out of his mouth. The way you didn't hold back your laughter, not once—you couldn't even if you tried to. Freedom suited you.

Clark wondered if that would be the closest he would ever experience to being drunk. The sound of your laughter, the look on your face while you laughed. The way your head tilted backwards, cheeks flushed and puffed by the lift of your lips, the crinkles that formed by the corner of your eyes—like you had grown your own personal glow that hanged around your body like a halo. And, above all, the fact that he was the reason for that. That was enough to make him lightheaded. Dizzy, even.

I love you.

It was so vivid, his voice sounding so loud and sure inside his own head that it was almost as if he had heard himself actually say it out loud.

Clark chokes on his water. Not the easily and manageable kind of coughing, the kind where there's splashes across the table and uncontrollable coughing. The kind where there's tears gathering in his eyes and he can't tell whether it's because of his struggle to breathe or the force of realization hitting him.

I love you?! What the hay, dude? Calm down.

He had felt it once before. That day back in the Daily Planet's break room where he had to gather every ounce of self-assurance in his body to mumble out the words to ask you out. When you just stared back at him like he had just made some joke, then turned around to leave and he swore he heard something crack inside his chest. But it still didn't get even close to the strength of it now.

"Oh my God, Clark, are you okay?"

And the look of concern in your face only makes it worse. It's much worse. So much that he feels his palms sweat and a sharp ting of fear creep up his spine.

When Clark finally gathers the strenght to compose himself, straightening his back—which you had been tapping uncontrollably in failed attempts of helping him spit out whatever had been stuck in his air passage—and taking a deep breath, he looks so panicked it only took one look at his expression—and the reassurance that he was just fine—for you to burst out laughing again.

And when you do, he doesn't say anything—he just laughs with you. He doesn't tell you that the reason to the absolute shock in his eyes is because he just realized that yes—he might just be falling in love with you. And if not that, than it was safe to say that he was at least halfway through it.

"You just committed the worst of crimes." You manage to say through the big smile forming on your face.

Clark's chest rumbles against your back with a low grumble, the sound vibrating right through you. The end credits to How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days rolls in the tv across your living room.

"You just slept through my favorite movie."

Clark huffs out a quiet laugh, still half-asleep. He shifts behind you and the arm around your waist instinctively pulls you closer to him. "Hm—I'm sorry, baby. Was tired. We can watch it again if you want."

The large hand wrapped protectively around your breast shifts, and you're already grinning because you can perfectly picture the blush creeping onto Clark's face when he realizes where his hands wandered in his sleep. You've been waiting for this moment for the past thirty minutes.

But maybe you had made the wrong judgement. Because Clark's hand doesn't leave your breast. In fact, it scoots closer, squeezes it. You shiver. He smiles against your neck.

You're still trying to compose yourself, your mouth slightly open in surprise, when a slight and unpretentious shift of his hips makes you freeze. You gasp. Out loud.

Clark's entire body stiffens. He clears his throat. Pulls his arms away from you.

Because the bulge you just felt nudging against your ass through the fabric of your shorts was the outline of Clark's cock. Right there. Pressing against you and half-hard.

Clark slowly starts to expand the gap between your bodies, to the point not a single part of him is touching you anymore, and it makes your stomach sink in disappointment. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be." You retort. A little too fast.

"No, I—I really am." Clark continues, and you swear you hear his voice break. "I swear I wasn't thinking of anything."

You shift, turning around to face him—only to find a frightened look on his face. Clark swallows so hard it's visible. His mouth opens and then closes again while trying to come up with the right words to an apology you don't need.

"It's just that—I just woke up and—"

Sometimes he thinks so much you swear it makes your head ache. So you grab him by the collar of his shirt and smash your lips against his.

You can tell the kiss takes him off guard. There's a long beat before Clark's lips hesitantly start to move against yours, but when you lift one leg and hook it around his hip, pulling him closer—his entire body relaxes against you, as if he physically needed the reassurance that you wanted him.

Everything after that becomes a blur.

His hands are everywhere—they roam your waist, the whole expanse of your back, then back down to grip your hip—eventually, they land on your ass, and you melt into the kiss, practically moaning against his mouth.

Suddenly, you're on top of him. Your legs spread against both sides of his hips to straddle his lap. He starts to gather more confidence, his fingers digging deeply into the flesh of your ass.

Suddenly, he's pulling your shirt over your head. You're not wearing a bra.

Suddenly, Clark's eyes lock to your chest and the look that forms on his face is as if he has seen God himself.

"God, they're perfect." He breathes, then spares you a quick, nervous glance, wordlessly asking for permission. You nod, and he dives right in.

Clark's mouth ataches to every expanse of skin between and around your breasts, his hands kneading the flesh his lips are too occupied to give the proper attention. When he finally wraps his lips around one nipple, a stretched groan forming from deep in his throat. Clark's tongue swirls around the hardened bud, and you're not sure, but you swear you see his eyes roll to the back of his head.

His hand dips lower, finds the hem of your loose shorts, pulls it to the side along with your panties. His middle finger gathers the wetness pooling there, and you shudder. Clark moans.

"You're perfect, baby. You're so perfect for me."

Soon he's shirtless too. All warm skin and broad shoulders and impossibly hard chest. Your shorts and panties follow, as well as his sweatpants. You have no clue where your clothes land after you blindly toss them aside. As soon as they're out of the way, you practically jump back into his lap.

Your hands roam every inch of skin they can reach, from the back of his neck to around his chest, then grabbing his biceps—and when that becomes not enough, you pull away from him just enough to drag the waistband of his boxers down his legs. He gets the hint, kicking them aside.

You gather up strength to look down from his piercing, burning hot gaze, eyes trailing down to his chest, to his abdomen, then—

"Alright, there's no way that monstruosity is gonna fit inside me."

Your eyes are threaten to bulge out of your skull at the full sight of him, not a single layer of fabric to mask the length of his shaft. It's big. Standing high and proud against his lower abdomen, thick head already glistening with pre-cum.

The rise and fall of his chest when he exhales a shaky breath is what pulls you out of your trance. You look up at Clark to find his eyebrows furrowed, blue eyes staring up at you with hesitation and self-doubt pooling inside.

"Clark, baby, it was a joke." But then you add, because you can't ignore the sweat gathering in your palms and the icy sensation pooling in your stomach: "I mean, kind of."

Clark's shoulders shake a little, and you genuinely can't tell if he's suppressing a laugh or if it's purely out of nervousness. Well, that would make it two of you.

"Just..." You start again, then reach between your bodies. Clark hisses through his teeth when your fingers wrap around the base of his cock to allign himself to your entrance. "Be gentle."

Clark looks up at you like you just asked him if the sky could be blue. But there's also something else there. Something in his eyes that tells you he would do anything if only you asked him. Something that tells you he was willing to pull out his own heart from his chest and hand it to you.

"Of course I will, love." He replies, simply. "Always."

You take a long, deep breath. Then slowly start to sink down his shaft, lips parting in a silent gasp when the tip sinks inside.

It's your fault, really. Your fault for being way too greedy and impatient to have him inside you before even letting him properly prep you. Though you suppose he shares the same eagerness, because something tells you he wouldn't be letting you do that if he wasn't in a such desperate state himself.

You realease a little squeal while lowering yourself, his girth spreading you open. Clark soothes throught every inch, fingers drawing circles on the small of your back so softly they just barely graze your skin. Air is knocked of your lungs when the stretch starts to become too much, too deep, too—

Clark's finger taps the skin of your back, motioning for you to stop. You didn't even realize your eyes were closed before you have to peak one open to check the man currently laying beneath you.

"Breathe, baby. Don't rush." His voice is soft, but there's a hint of sterness to it that tells you it's more a command than anything else, like he's scolding you for trying to take more than you can handle."We'll take our time, okay?"

You nod, making sure to breathe in and out through your mouth. A slight string of relief courses through your body when air reaches your lungs again, and it allowd your muscles to relax a little. You resume your movements, walls spreading to accommodate the size of him.

"You don't have to go all the—"

But you're already there, taking all of him inside you in one last sink of your hips, thighs now fully able to rest against his.

"Clark, oh my God—"

You feel full. So impossibly filled to the brim you're sure you never experienced anything like this before. Your chest rises and falls quickly as you fight to get air into your lungs, a choked whine building in your throat.

"I know, baby, I know." Clark moans, and his expression contorts into something between blinding pleasure and slight pain. "Feels too good."

After a few moments of petrified bliss, you start to move. Slowly first. Just a slow, tentative roll of your hips, testing the waters and still trying to get used to the feeling of having him buried so insanely deep inside you. The delicious stretch of his shaft in your cunt when you move is enough to make you whimper, hands coming up to clutch his chest.

The words of praise rolling off Clark's tongue is what gets you going, thighs trembling with the effort of holding your own weight when you start to move up and down his cock. He mumbles how you look so pretty like this. How you're doing so well for him. You barely feel concious enough it, but it's surely there. Hands dragging up and down your sides, caressing you, coaxing you to pick up your own pace. Not once rushing your movements.

But then his hips buckle into you, a hesitant, barely there movement—like it's purely involuntary. The high pitched sound that escapes your lips when he reaches that spot inside you—a spot no one, not even your past lovers, not even yourself, has ever been able to reach—is enough to reassure him to do it again.

And again.

And again.

Your head falls back, mouth hanging open. A babbling, incoherent string of thankyouthankyouthankyou's tumble from your lips and your cheeks heat with embarrassment. You don't know what you're thanking. God, you're not sure you still know your own name. You think you might be drooling a little.

"Oh my God, Clark, I think I'm already—"

"That's okay, baby." Clark breathes out. "Look at me."

You feel him lightly tap the side of your face, and you think it's because it's been a few seconds and you still didn't respond him. You can't tell anymore. But somehow, you bring yourself to slowly open your eyes.

"There she is. There's my girl. Thought I lost you for a second."

You don't slow your hips, the rolls of your hips now bordering on wildness while you chase the sensation of a pool of heat gathering inside your belly. Clark holds your gaze, and you notice his lips are curving into a small, but surely smug smile. That bastard.

But then he speaks again, and his voice is so soft you wonder if you imagined the cockiness in his expression only a few seconds ago.

"It's okay. Let go for me."

You start to lose senses. Your vision turns white and your legs threaten to fail you, but Clark's right there to catch you. He grips your waist and steadies the rythm of your hips, slowly rocking you back and forth on his cock—but it's the look on his face that does it for you.

He's focused, eyebrows knitting together and bottom lip catching between his teeth. Like he isn't doing it for himself. Like he's too busy trying to make you feel good. Too concentrated in the task of bringing you to the edge to even bring himself to think about his own pleasure yet.

You blindly lurch yourself forward to what—you were still about find out—would only be your first orgasm of the night.

Drink night with you, Jimmy and Lois was always a terrible idea.

Only a few drinks in, and Jimmy already seemed he was in dare with himself to gather the number to every girl in the pub, and everytime Clark dared to spare a glance at Lois, she'd have that look in her face that said she was only a few drinks away from throwing up.

Let's not even get started about you, though. It was the first time Clark ever witnessed your drunk self. Fine, you got a little tipsy after one or two glasses of wine in your first date, but he realized that wine drunk was nothing compared to 5-shots-of-vodka-and-3-rounds-of-sex-on-the-beaches drunk.

Clark came to that realization somewhere between the many of your very enthusiastic performances on the pub's karaoke. Probably during the Juno by Sabrina Carpenter one—which you made sure to direct every lyric to the mortified, 6'5 foot tall man sitting absolutely dumfounded while you unashamedly pointed at him through some specific lines.

Clark didn't even want to picture how he looked in that moment. Probably like a live tomato, if the burning in his cheeks had been any indication. But he couldn't say the implication of you what you were singing to didn't make his stomach churn with... excitement. He would make sure to bring it up as soon as you were in your right state of mind again.

When it finally was time for him to take you home, Lois had to forcefully pull away the microphone clutched in your hand, yelling a humored "have fun with that one" to Clark.

It was a comical scene. The way he dramatically hoisted you up in his arms—he didn't trust your own feet in that moment—and turned to carry you out of the pub, all while you still screamed the lyrics to Total Eclipse of the Heart.

You're still humming the tune of it now, while he carried you safely up the stairs to your apartment, your heels hanging from his fingers by their straps.

"Alright, hold on tight, trouble." Clark says when he finally reaches your door, then waits until you have your arms securely wrapped around his neck to switch your weight to one arm while the other fumbles in his pocket.

"Wow—you're like, really strong, Clark." You muse, slurring slightly. Clark smiles softly at the impressed expression on your face. "Did anyone ever tell you that?"

He chuckles. If you found that impressive, he could only imagine if you found out he could stop a whole train with his bare hands. Though you wouldn't. Not yet.

"Hey, I tought I had lost that!" You point at the keys Clark's using to unlock your door, looking genuinely confused. The incredible fast pace in which you could change subjects while drunk was alarming.

You clearly had already forgotten the particular part of the night where you anxiously pulled Clark's arm and confesed "Clark, I lost my keys!", to which he responded with an amused "I have your keys, sweetheart". You just shrugged him off, then ran back to Lois' side to sing along to whatever pop hit she was already blaring on the microphone.

A few minutes later, when Clark had already made sure you got your teeth brushed, changed you into an oversized shirt and tucked you under a warm blanket, he can't help but sigh contentedly to the sight of you snuggling against his shoulder. Your lips refused to stop rambling, slurring something about the size of his hands, which you're holding up against your own palms.

In that simple moment, with your face half buried between the crook of his neck and the soft sound of your voice vibrating against his skin, Clark's chest is suddenly filled with so much love he feels pressure wrapping like a tight fist around his heart, almost forcing the words out of his mouth.

Shut up, idiot. He thinks to himself. She's not even going to remember it tomorrow.

"I mean, what did they feed you in that farm? That can't be a normal size for anyone." Clark manages to hear you say above his internal monologue, but he's only half paying attention.

"Is that so, sweatheart?"

"Of course! Even your... well, I'm not saying the word, but you know what I'm talking about. Clark, that's huge. Which is not bad at all—actually, it's very convenient. Now that I'm thinking about it, I think it's great, now that I'm getting used to it."

You suddenly sit up straight on the bed, turning to face him with a serious expression on your face.

"You know what? Clark, take off your clothes. I need to prove a point."

Clark raises his eyebrows almost all the way up to his hairline. "Sweetheart, I'm not having sex with you right now."

"What? Why?" You let your hands fall exasperatedly against your sides, like you actually believed he'd agree with that. It takes everything in him not to laugh the way your bottom lip juts out in a disappointed pout.

"Because you're drunk." Clark states, like it's oh so obvious. "Almost passed out, actually,"

You roll your eyes dramatically. "Alright, now you're being ridiculous. I'm not that drunk."

He sighs, then holds out both hands in front of your face. "Babe, how many fingers am I holding up?"

The tone in his voice makes you think regardless if you get the right answer or not, he's still not going back in his decision. You make an effort nonetheless, eyebrows furrowing and closing one eye in an attempt to see clearly through the blurry haze your vision has become.

"Huh... twelve?"

It's half past 6pm on a friday, and you're still hunched in the edge of your seat at the Daily Planet, staring at your computer like you're trying to burn the words on the screen into your eyelids.

Except for you and Clark, there's not a single soul still left in the office—though you suspect the only reason he's still there is to keep an eye on you. Quick, nervous glances are sent towards you every once in a while, but he knows better than to try convincing you to stop for the day.

You've been stuck in this specific article for pretty much the whole day, and it's just getting on your nerves. Not only that, but the questionable amount of coffee you've ingested in the past six hours might be affecting your cognitive thinking, because you refuse to leave until you've got it figured out.

It was one of your biggest flaws, for sure. The way you could completely shut off your brain for the rest world when it decided to hyperfixate on a specific task.

You're only half aware of the fact that the last time you granted yourself the privilege of giving your legs a stretch was at least three hours ago, and that the grumble caused by your empty stomach can probably be heard from across the room.

You vaguely remember two or three snacks being carefully placed on your desk throughout the afternoon, only halting the frenetic typing to send Clark quick 'thank you' smile. But you were quick to throw the packages inside your drawer as soon as he wasn't looking, too focused to allow yourself to have a lunch break.

It's only when you find yourself staring dumbfounded at the screen after realizing you just mispelled the word vacation, that you start to think maybe you really needed to give your neurons a rest.

Alright, time for a break.

You rise from your seat, groaning as you stretch your arms above your head. You grumble when the light coming from the lamp on the ceiling suddenly feels a little too bright, and your skin prickles in a strange, funny way. The tingle rises to the back of your head, and white spots starm forming behind your eyelids.

Uh oh.

Everything goes blank.

It was a quick black out, really. It couldn't have passed more than 2 minutes by the time you're slowly gathering conciousness again. Though you supposed that was enough time for you to wake up sitting up on the floor, gentle hands adjusting your position so your back pressed against the wall.

Clark is crouching in front of you, soft hands resting against both sides of your face. You think you see his lips form the shape of your name, but it still doesn't quite reach your ears.

"Oh, hello. Good morning." You joke as soon as the ringing in your ears starts softening and becomes much more bearable.

Clark blinks once. Twice. Then drops his hands from your face and lowers his head between them, elbows resting on his knees. His shoulders shake with a deep, trembling breath.

You give him a moment to calm himself before looking back up to you. When he does, you notice his fingers not so subtly rub his eyes.

"Clark, are you crying?"

"For fuck's sake—you scared me." You barely have time to register the fact it might the first and only time you ever hear Clark swear. He's already talking again. "You're so incredibly stubborn, and so incredibly oblivious to your own basic needs that your body needs to reach the point of exhaustion for you to give it some rest."

Your mind spirals with the fast speed in which the words spill from his mouth. You stare at him, jaw slacking. Usually, you're always the one talking his ears off, not the other way around.

You don't think you've ever seen Clark speak so much in the span of a few seconds. Your brain fails to register some words, some of them blurring together into incoherent ramble.

"And it just makes me so frustrated—so incredibly frustrated because I care for you and I love you so much I don't even know what to do with myself."

And when he says it—it's so sudden and sure and honest that it makes you confused for a few seconds.

"Clark? What—"

"That's enough for today." He interrupts, already rising to his feet and reaching across your desk to turn off your computer. You don't think he realizes what he just said to you.

Clark starts gathering your things, picking random utensils that are messily scattered across your table. You call his name again, but he doesn't turn, still too busy tossing your belongings inside your bag.

"I'm taking you home, and I don't want to hear you complain about—"

"Clark."

He turns at you then, head snapping towards the urgency in your tone. You're still a little confused and sitting on the ground like a grounded child, but now you finally have his attention.

"I love you too."

It knocks all the air of your lungs then, almost like a physical blow—the way Clark smiles at you. It's the brightest, widest grin you've ever witnessed him . For a moment, it seems he forgets the reason he was even arguing with you. Clark's beaming at you, dimples and all.

Your head still feels a little dizzy and your legs are jelly, but you smile back, heart swelling with so much love you're afraid it won't fit inside your chest—but you're so blindly, sickening in love with this man you can't bring yourself to have a care in the world.

All it took for Clark Kent to finally say he loved you was some low blood pressure and your questionable built neuronal system.

He sat up, pointing an accusing finger at you. "You're supposed to be on my side. Lois can hold her own just fine."

You only shrugged, a corner of your mouth kicked up in a soft smirk. While, yes, Jimmy was oftentimes dramatic as hell, you enjoyed it. It made sitting at your desk for nearly twelve hours a day entertaining. Well...that and the fact that you sat across from one of the most attractive men you'd ever laid eyes on.

Thick raven hair usually mussed from running around Metropolis, warm blue eyes, muscles for days, and astonishing manners that would make your grandmother swoon...yeah, he was a rarity among his species. And yet, he didn't even recognize his own beauty. There had been times that you would witness new, bold interns attempting to make passes at him and he would only blush and mutter nonsense until they walked away, confused.

You had been admiring Clark Kent for three years now, subjected to be in close proximity and do nothing but make up fake scenarios in your head that would probably never come true. It didn't help your crush that he would bring you coffee every morning and a shy smile with it. Oh brother. You were in deep.

"You should call him up and tell him to get his tight ass over here," Jimmy said to you, breaking you from your reverie.

"Hmm?"

Jimmy tossed a wadded paper ball and you narrowly dodged it. "I said," he gave you a pointed look, "that you should tell your boyfriend to hurry up."

The laugh that tore from your throat was loud and completely unintentional. The room fell silent, fingers clacking at computers halted and eyes voices quieted. You clamped a hand over your mouth. "I'm so sorry," you muffled, embarrassed at your boisterous display.

Thankfully everyone went back to their business, a few of your coworkers grousing about how they weren't paid enough or wished they had taken that other job. Jimmy and Lois were the only ones watching you now, all amused smiles and twinkling eyes. You glared at them. "What?"

"You don't know?" Lois inquired, a hint of laughter in her tone. What was so funny?"

"What don't I know?" you demanded softly.

Jimmy began, "That Clark has like the biggest, fattest cru—"

"So sorry I'm late," interrupted a baritone voice from across the room. You were quick to look towards the sound and the man it belonged to. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you tamped down the smile that pulled at your lips.

Clark wore his usual slacks and white-button up, jacket draped over one large forearm and a cup-holder of coffee in his hand. In his other hand was a—your stomach dropped. Flowers. For some lucky girl, you supposed.

He rushed towards the three of you, panting softly. "I had another interview with Superman this morning," he explained, handing his caffeinated goods to Jimmy and Lois, "and I think this next story is going to be very insightful. He's a funny guy." Clark smiled crookedly and it made the circuits in your brain malfunction.

He then stopped in front of you, giving you your cup. "Your hair looks pretty today," he complimented softly, a soft tinge of pink on his cheeks.

He turned away to go to his desk, no doubt, before stopping and looking back at you. "Umm, these are for you." He softly laid the small bouquet of roses next to your computer. "The street vendor badgered me to purchase them and he told me that there must be some special wom—umm, well I looked at them and they reminded me of that one shirt you wore last week, you know the sweater, and...yeah. I thought you'd like them? Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl, right?"

You nodded absently, unable to take your eyes off of the ruby-red petals. Clark cleared his throat awkwardly and swept away to his own corner.

It took you five minutes of rifling through your thoughts, computing what in the hell just happened, when you finally came to your senses. Everyone was minding their own business now and you were sitting there like an idiot. Had Clark truly brought these for you? They reminded him of your sweater? He remembered your sweater?

Clark is always nice to me, you reminded yourself. He was nice to everyone. Just because he brought you a gift today didn't mean he wasn't going to bring Lois one tomorrow or Jimmy something the next day. That was the kind of person Clark Kent was. The epitome of human kindness.

"Psst," you started. When did Jimmy sidle up to you?

He subtly nodded to Clark who was reviewing his hand-written notes, one long-fingered hand buried in his hair. Then, in a low enough voice for only you to hear, Jimmy said, "He thinks you hate the flowers."

You furrowed your brow. You had said thank you, didn't you? "I didn't say anything?"

"If you call you sitting there looking flabbergasted and Clark twiddling his thumbs nervously, then yes, you did say something."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. He probably did feel like an idiot then, giving a sweet gesture to his coworker who didn't even have the brain capacity to thank him.

You shooed Jimmy back to his space, growing peeved at his delighted expression. You were going to set him up with a dozen clingy girls this weekend.

Rallying your courage, you called out to Clark who abruptly turned up from his papers. He looked...hopeful?

"Thank you for the roses," you offered a smile, "they are, indeed, similar in color to my sweater."

He chuckled softly, the visible tightness ebbing from his broad shoulders. Seriously, who had shoulders like those? "You're welcome, I double checked that they were free of any thorns."

"That was very thoughtful of you." Very, very thoughtful.

You held eyes for a moment, the space between you charged with an intoxicating tension. Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, when Perry appeared, calling Clark to meet with him for a moment. Whatever had been building between you both shattered at the disturbance.

As they walked towards Perry's office, you couldn't help but admire Clark's confident stride. Despite being freakishly tall and built like a damn tank, he was agile on his feet, aware of his space. With your ogling, you were able to watch the shifting of his back muscles. How much weight could he press, you wondered? Probably three or four times your own. You shivered in delight.

Throughout the next hour, your attention wandered back to the roses and you would stroke the soft petals or bring it to your nose to inhale the sweet scent. In your romanticizing and goo-goo eyeing, it must have slipped your mind that you were allergic to them. It wasn't until you registered the unnatural wateriness of your eyes and uncomfortable itch in your throat that you realized something was off.

You rummaged through your purse, intent on finding Benadryl or something you kept on hand for seasonal allergies. Alas, you found nothing but an old receipt from the grocery store and takeout menu for the newest Thai restaurant that opened up across from your apartment. Shit.

"Hey Lois, do you have any—achoo! Any Bendryl?"

Lois sent you an apologetic glance. "I don't but there might be some in the break room?"

You took her advice and went searching through the medicine cabinets in there and found the pink carton. "Yes!" you opened it up and gaped. Some jackass had used it all and put the empty box back.

You considered going on your break early to pick some up but decided against it, seeing as you lost a bet to Jimmy who, in turn, wanted you to pay for his lunch. Screw Jimmy and his unhealthy obsession with Taco Bell.

You ambled back to your desk to find that Clark was back from his impromptu meeting. You dabbed at your eyes with a crumpled tissue, hoping he wouldn't see how miserable you were feeling. It would only make you feel worse having him know that the flowers he gave you triggered your allergies.

You discreetly sniffled into your elbow but weren't so fortunate in remaining unknown because Clark looked up, once again, from his work, a look of concern creasing his forehead. "You alright?"

"Mhm," you avoided catching his eyes, knowing he would be able to see the tears at your waterline. And if he did, you would just tell him that you saw a sad animal video.

To your relief, he didn't say anything, instead opting to study you as if you were a puzzle he was curious in putting together. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

Then, "She's allergic to your flowers."

You shot a glare at Lois who still had her back turned to you both, editing the words on her screen. How was she able to intrude on a personal conversation while putting together a story? It baffled you.

Clark's gaze volleyed between your face and the flowers next to your hand. "I can put it away if that would help." He reached out to take them but you stopped him with your hand on his. He pulled back immediately, as if burned.

You shook your head, sneezing again into your sleeve. Man, this was depressing. But you liked—wanted—the roses. "No, no. I'm fine. My immune system is just being a baby."

He watched you pityingly. "Can I at least get you something to help? Tea or medicine? Anything?"

A big hug from you...or maybe a kiss? you thought, but said, instead, "I'm fine, really. But thank you." You said the last part quickly, not wanting to seem ungrateful. Again.

Clark looked uneasy for the next few minutes before he shot out of his chair, causing you to jump. He staggered out of his area, which surprised you because he was usually more coordinated, and excused himself to the bathroom. You blinked and went back to work, wiping your eyes and nose periodically.

When he came back, a few minutes later, he was carrying a plastic bag. He took out the content and you couldn't believe your eyes.

"Don't tell me you just bought me medicine..."

He shrugged indifferently, as if he hadn't gone out of his way to go to the nearest drugstore, which was a couple of blocks away, only to buy you Benadryl. Some deep, untouched corner of your heart wrenched at his thought and consideration.

"I'm the idiot who brought you flowers, not knowing it would make you sick." He explained, handing you a pill.

You frowned softly. Of course. You should have realized. Apparently, when you had liked someone as much as you liked Clark, all rational thoughts went out the window. Any decent person would do what he did. Right?

You took the pill with a large swallow of water from a cup Clark provided. "It'll take some time to kick in," you clarified as he watched you intently.

He only nodded. "I—" he shook his head.

"You want to apologize for nearly killing me?" you took a gander at teasingly.

Clark's eyes pulled wide, his cheeks flaming a bright red. "No! Never! If I had known you were—"

"Clark," you laughed softly, "I'm only pulling your leg."

A whoosh of air fell from his lips. "You shouldn't do that. I'm already beating myself up enough as it is."

"Why?"

A pregnant pause and then, "Because I-I like you."

Every thought fled from your mind. Of all the things you thought he would say, that wasn't one. Maybe, 'I don't like any of my friends being sick' or 'Perry would hate having to get someone to replace you'. And yet he just admitted that he liked you. "Like a friend?" you inquired softly, everyone else in the room disappearing. Now, it was only you and Clark, the only two people in the Daily Planet, in Metropolis, in the world.

He smiled, that dimple pulling at the corner of his mouth. "More than a friend."

You thought you would have panicked at this point. Locked yourself in the copy room for a good few hours to nitpick at this conversation. Instead, you felt light. Happy.

"I like you too. More than a friend." You found yourself saying back, returning his grin.

Who knew how much time passed as you watched each other? It wasn't until someone prodded your shoulder and Jimmy's voice said, "Time for lunch. On you."

You rolled your eyes, picked up your purse and logged out of your computer. Clark held out a hand and you took it, feeling a sense of completion as your fingers intertwined. Lois and Jimmy looked anything but surprised.

And, as all four of you walked out of the building, Jimmy declared, in that self-important tone of his, "I told you Clark had the biggest, fattest crush on you."