𝔫 𝔦 𝔤 𝔥 𝔱

He knows it's effecting you, too. Can see the way your shoulders deflate while you sit in the passenger seat, the backs of your thighs sticking to the leather beneath you.

The iced coffee he'd got you this morning sweats in the cup holder, ice nearly gone before you're even halfway done drinking it. He'd gotten it for you in hopes of keeping the peace today.

All you had to do was get groceries and do a couple loads of laundry at the laundromat. Errands that Tommy often finds enjoyment out of doing with you most days. A Sunday afternoon ritual he'd come to love.

But when it's hot like this? You're both irritable and quick to anger. All it takes is one thing to go wrong and you're snapping at each other, frustration building with the temperature.

And to no one's surprise, you start bickering first thing.

While you carry the bag of detergent and quarters, Tommy carries the basket of clothes down from you shared apartment. He puts it in the back seat of his truck at a weird angle, and you try to warn him, but your warning only serves to provoke him.

"Has nothing to do with the angle, it's this stupid fucking basket."

You roll your eyes, angrily shoving a pair of jeans back into place. "Sure, yeah. It's definitely the basket that's been the same size and shape for the last two years. Makes sense."

His jaw ticks, and the thought crosses his mind to take you over his knee. His bratty girl and her smart ass mouth.

But he keeps quiet.

You accidentally drop the bag of quarters in the laundromat, and Tommy spends five minutes of his life chasing them around on a floor that probably hasn't been properly mopped in months.

When you see the irritation plain as day on his face you say, "I didn't mean to drop them. Don't get mad."

"I'm not mad," he argues. "Never said I was."

"Yeah, well. You look mad."

"I'm not."

"Then why do you look it?"

"Can we just put the quarters in the fucking machine?"

You scoff. "You curse at me like that again and we're gonna have a fucking problem."

It's so stupid, such a silly argument, that it makes Tommy laugh.

Your brows furrow in disbelief at first but then you laugh, too. And it lightens the mood, if only for a while.

The two of you sit in the air conditioning of the laundromat until your clothes are folded and neatly put back in the basket, no further damage made to the easy energy you've created.

But the moment you're back outside in the grueling heat, the tension returns.

The two of you are discussing what sounds good for dinner this week on the way to the grocery store when he says, "We've gotta pick up cake mix, too. You still gonna make one for Mike's birthday so I can bring it in to him Wednesday?"

"Wednesday?" Your nose scrunches in that cute, frustrated way he loves. "You told me it was Friday. I was going to go to that bakery in San Marcos to get that pistachio frosting he said he likes—"

"Can't you do that tomorrow?"

"No, tomorrow is Sarah's recital."

"Okay, so Tuesday then."

"And get home at nine and be up until midnight making a damn cake?"

Tommy sighs. "So skip the pistachio frosting. What's wrong with vanilla?"

"It's his fiftieth birthday, Tommy. You should've warned me ahead of time—"

"I did. Twice, matter of fact."

"You told me it was on Friday."

"No I didn't. Why would I say that?"

"I don't know, you tell me!"

His jaw feathers as he clenches his teeth. He hates arguing with you at all, and it's even worse when it's arguments like this.

It feels like you're fighting against each other instead of with each other. Like you're on opposing sides and not two people in love working together to solve a problem.

He makes the decision right then and there, stopping in the middle of the road and pulling into a random driveway to turn the truck around.

"What are you doing?"

"Turning around."

"Oh my god," you huff. "No shit. Where are we going? Tommy, we need groceries. We're out of milk and eggs and the cake—!"

"The store's not closin' anytime soon. And I'm not doin' this today. S'too fuckin' hot out. So just sit there and let me drive," he says. And for good measure adds, "Please."

You fold your arms over your chest, bratty little thing that you are.

But it's okay, Tommy doesn't mind. He knows it's not you, it's the heat. It's the sweat on your skin and the humidity that sticks like glue and the uncomfortable weight of it all.

There's a boat launch a short fifteen minute drive away. Joel and Tommy used to rent boats there to go fishing all the time. They hadn't been back in a while, a couple of years at least.

But today's the perfect day.

When he pulls into the dirt lot just outside the small, wood cabin office building, Tommy unbuckles and climbs out of his truck. He levels you with a stare and says, "Don't move."

"Wasn't gonna," you argue. "Just gonna sit here and let you drive, Tommy. Just like you wanted."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he hisses, shaking his head.

Inside the cabin is blessedly air conditioned. It's a small, one room building with cluttered paperwork on a desk and a cash register that looks like it's from the eighties. An old woman sits behind it with a pair of floral framed reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose and a book in her hand titled The Dirty Cowboy.

It makes Tommy chuckle softly to himself. Reminds him of all those filthy books you read on your phone before bed. "You guys got any rentals available for today?"

The woman looks up at him over her worn paperback. "Got a pontoon, a center cabin and a bowrider left. An' no extra poles, so I hope you've got your own. What d'ya want?"

"Let's go with the center cabin."

"You got cash?"

"Sure do." Tommy pulls his wallet from his pocket and hands over the cash once she reads off a total. He waits patiently as she prints out a few pages on what he assumes is the slowest printer still in use and sets it in front of him with a fuzzy red pen.

"Gotta sign the waiver and take a life jacket for each passenger," she says. "There's some extras around back."

Tommy does what he needs to. Dates and signs and leaves a copy of his ID. When she hands him the keys, he leaves the cabin with a newfound relief.

He finds you with your feet on the dash and every AC vent in the car turned towards you, scrolling on your phone with a crease between your brows. Tommy pulls the door open and says, "C'mon."

That snarky little tone still resides in your voice when you ask, "What are we doing?"

"Goin' out on the lake," he answers, unbuckling your seatbelt and tugging you out of the truck. He tosses his cellphone onto the floor at your feet. "Let's go."

"Tommy, I don't want—!"

"Baby." He closes his eyes and takes a slow, steadying breath. The heat is already getting to him again, the sun unbearably hot at his back. "I'm gonna need you to just trust me. Leave your phone, ya won't need it."

That scowl still remains, but you no longer argue. You let him take your hand in his and lock the truck behind you.

Tommy leads you around the back of the cabin and plucks two life jackets from the racks before starting down the familiar path to the lake. It's not a long walk, but it feels that way. Sweat trickles down his spine and his breath feels hollow.

He finds the boat tied to the end of one of the docks and doesn't give you time to argue some more before he begins to untie the rope. Tommy tosses the frayed jute cord into the front of the boat, climbs in, and holds out his hand for you to take. "C'mon."

"We have stuff that needs to get done today, Tommy," you tell him, hand on your hip. The sunshine reflects off of your hair and he thinks you look so fucking pretty like that it almost makes the hellish temperature worth it.

"Our errands aren't goin' anywhere."

"We still need to get groceries—"

"The store will be open late."

"—and put away laundry—"

"Baby."

"—and I promised Sarah I'd—"

"Baby, get in the damn boat."

"It's just so hot and I need to—!"

"You think I don't know what you need?"

The question silences you, and your eyes soften just slightly. "That's not what I'm trying to say, I—"

Tommy takes your hands in his, pulling you forward. "C'mon."

You let him pull you begrudgingly onto the deck, mumbling those smart ass remarks under your breath all the while.

Tommy just laughs. Puts the key in the ignition switch and settles into the seat behind the wheel in the cabin. It roars to life, propellers spinning beneath the water. He pats his thigh twice and says, "Get over here, brat."

"I'm not a brat," you argue, coming up to his side and sitting in his lap right where he likes you. Even when you say it, your mouth turns up at the corners.

"Mhm, sure," Tommy teases, voice thick with sarcasm. He squeezes the hand throttle behind the wheel and the boat surges forward through the water.

And the wind—god. It might be the most soothing thing he's ever felt in his entire fucking life. It cools the sweat that sticks to his skin, lifting the collar of his shirt and reaching beneath the fabric.

Tommy sees you visibly relax at the sensation and knows he made the right choice, bringing you here today.

Silence settles between you as he drives further and further away from the dock. The sun still shines painfully bright in the clear blue sky, but with the chill of the water spray it feels far less daunting.

He turns the radio on and the soft, bluesy ballad of a Santana song plays through the open space. The lake is surprisingly empty for a day like today, but Tommy finds himself grateful for it.

He slows the boat to a stop a handful of miles out, until he can no longer see the shore or the docks or any other boats. He stands to his feet, pulling you up with him, and says, "Take off your clothes."

You shake your head, but when you speak there's ease in it for the first time since you'd left the apartment this afternoon. "I don't really want to swim today," you confess.

But Tommy's not having it. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside, toeing off his boots next. "Wasn't askin', sweetheart."

With a sigh, you say, "I'll admit it, the boat is nice. It's cooler out here and I don't feel like I'm dying in the heat anymore, but I don't want to get in the water. I'll just…I'll watch you. How's that?"

Tommy undoes his belt buckle with a clink and shoves his jeans down his thighs, leaving his boxers. He wears one of those big, toothy grins as he explains, "You can either get undressed or you can get in fully clothed. Your choice."

"I said—!"

He shrugs. "Suit yourself."

And without another word, Tommy squeezes you in an embrace and hauls you overboard with him.

The water is cold. Not just cool, but borderline freezing. It feels so refreshing that he lets out a low groan when he breaches the surface, letting out a breath that's been stuck in his lungs for what feels like hours.

You come up for air half a second after he does, wiping water from your face. Droplets cling to your eyelashes and all Tommy can do is smile wide.

Because he thinks you're the most beautiful woman to ever live, and he will never take for granted that even on the hottest day of the year, you still choose him to do laundry with.

"You're the worst," you say, but there's no salt to your words. There's a smile on your face and laughter on the tip of your tongue instead. The tension that's been building all day dissipates, washed away by the cold water.

Tommy nods and takes your face in his hands. "Mhm," he says. "You're right. I am the worst. Tell me more."

"You get this awful attitude when it gets hot out. You know that?"

It makes him laugh hard enough that his shoulders shake. "We got that in common, sweet girl."

"Nuh-uh. Not me. I'm an angel, actually."

He leans forward, grin still on his wet lips when he presses them to yours. "Yeah you are," he mutters. "My bratty, angel girl." He kisses you again, this time at the corner of your mouth. And then he kisses your cheek, your temple, the tip of your nose, , the tickling hairs of his mustache making you giggle.

"M'sorry I've been mean today," you say with sorrowful eyes.

Tommy wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you close, delighting in the way your soft, warm skin glides easily against his underwater. "I'm sorry too, baby. S'alright. Just the heat."

You nod in agreement and reach behind his head to pull the elastic band from his hair. "Yeah, I know," you say. "But I'm still sorry. And I love you."

"Even though I'm the worst?"

With a laugh, you shake your head and pull away from him, swimming towards the back end of the boat.

Tommy watches, floating on his back with his arms outstretched, as you pull yourself up over the hull and onto the deck.

You peel your top off, wring the water out of it, and lay it over the leather seat at the front of the boat. Your jean shorts are next, and then your sandals, leaving you in nothing but your sports bra and a flimsy pair of blue panties.

The fabric clings to your wet skin so closely that Tommy can almost see right through them, to that pretty pussy that lies beneath. It makes him feel hot in an entirely different way.

"Don't stop on my account," he urges, a playful tone in his voice. "If I knew takin' you to the lake would get me a free striptease we would'a been here hours ago."

You scoff and say, "Shut up."

But Tommy sees it; the way your pulse picks up, the way your thighs press together, the way you consider it, just for a fleeting second.

But you leave the last two articles of clothing on before jumping right back into the water.

Tommy's not sure how long you stay out in the lake. You do back flips under the water and splash each other and kiss with slippery mouths.

He takes to doing cannonballs off the side of the boat and your laughter echoes across the water's surface. An Aerosmith song comes on the radio and you both sing along so loudly that he forgets all about the heat and the frustration and your bickering.

By the time you decide you're finished, the muscles in his legs are tired and the tips of his fingers are pruned.

Tommy helps you back into the boat and drops down onto the leather bench near the front of the deck. He spreads his legs wide and drapes his arms over the edge, head tilted back just slightly. Water drips off his skin, sliding down his neck and the broad expanse of his shoulders. "C'mere," he orders.

There's no argument to be had, not this time. You simply walk over to him, leaving little wet footprints in your wake, and stand between his spread knees.

"You feelin' better?"

With a nod, you admit, "Yeah, a little."

"Just a little?" Tommy playfully clicks his tongue. "Now, that just ain't gonna work."

You narrow your pretty eyes at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"Why don't you g'head an' take off your clothes, baby," he says. And when you begin to protest he adds, "Need to get dry before we head back, don't we?"

You see right through him, shaking your head. But you do as he instructs, struggling for only a second before tugging the wet fabric of your bra up and over your head.

Tommy just watches, leaning back, enjoying the sweetest view of his bratty girl listening so well. He's not shy in his assessment, eyes roaming greedily over the swells of your breasts and the hardened peaks of your nipples.

And when you peel your panties down your legs, Tommy's cock stirs beneath his boxers. You ring the water out of them and lay them out to dry.

"I oughta get dry, too," he says. "Wanna give your old man a hand?"

He watches it happen in real time, that shift in you. Watches what begins as suggestive amusement turn into want. Your pupils flare and your lips part just so.

You drop to your knees slowly, each breath a manual inhale. And then you slide your hands up his calves, still dripping with water. They move over the bend of his knee and through the coarse hair that litters his thighs. And when you finally reach the waistband of his boxers, your fingers curl around the edge to tug them off.

Tommy lifts his hips, and that's the only assistance he allows himself to give. His cock hangs heavy and hard between you, resting against the softness of his belly.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and he hears the silent question before you ask it.

"G'head, baby. Give me a little kiss." He thinks that sweet smile you give him in response is real cute. And it's even cuter when you take his cock in your hand and lean forward to lick a long, wet stripe up the underside of him.

The muscles in his thighs flex at the sensation, at the sight of you. Naked and pretty and on your knees for him, with all that worship in your eyes that always makes him feel weak.

Your tongue laves over every hardened inch of him, following the path of each vein, swirling around the tip and coating him in a different sort of wet. Your spit is warm and slippery, providing the perfect amount of ease when you take him into your waiting mouth.

Tommy's head falls back even further as you swallow him down. He groans low, fingers curling tight around the edge of the boat to try and fight off his urge to touch you. To hold your pretty face in his hands and rest his fingers against the side of your throat to feel himself inside it.

But he wants it to be you. All you.

So Tommy just lets you suck his cock, lets you enjoy it the way you want to. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth and you whimper around him, the sound ratcheting his pleasure even higher.

"Yeah," he muses. "That's it. So fuckin' pretty with my cock in your mouth, baby. Look at ya. Fuckin' droolin' on it."

You look up at him through your lashes, and smile around his length. Tommy thinks he could fall off the edge right then and there, just seeing how happy you are to taste him, how pleased you look with him in your mouth.

But he resists, pulling his hips back just slightly to say, "S'enough, now. Get on up here."

You do as he says, wiping the spit from your mouth with the back of your hand. When you climb into his lap, knees on either side of his wide thighs, Tommy stops you just before you're fully seated.

"Hang on now, greedy girl," he says. "Lemme see her."

Carefully, you place your hands on the edge of his knees and arch your spine, giving him the most beautiful view.

Tommy can't resist touching you. Not this time, not when you look like this. He gently squeezes your breasts in his hands, smoothing away the water droplets that still sit on top of your soft skin.

His thumbs ghost across your nipples before he glides his palms down your torso, over the dip of your navel, and then finally—blessedly—between your legs.

"Oh, baby," he sighs. Tommy gathers his saliva at the front of his mouth and brings his hand to his lips. "No wonder why you're only feelin' a little bit better." He spits on his fingers before bringing them to your clit, already pulsing the moment he touches you.

You moan when he begins to stroke gently at your pussy, spreading his spit and your slick. His fingers move slowly, just feeling you without true intent, gliding through your arousal.

When he slides his hand a little lower and begins to circle your entrance with the pad of his middle finger, your hips begin to move. Trying desperately to pull him inside, muscles clenching around nothing.

Tommy just grins. Chuckles low when you start to whine, nails digging into the skin of his thighs. "You want it?"

You nod comes feverish and instantaneous. "Please," you moan. "I need it."

He thinks you sound so pretty, begging like that. He moves his fingers back up to your clit, stroking with just enough pressure that you gasp in relief.

But as soon as he gives, he takes away.

Tommy removes his touch completely, stretching his arms back over the boat's edge, resting casual and cocky the way he always is. "Go 'head, baby. Take what ya need."

You don't waste a second, scooting up his lap. You take his cock in your hand and line it up with your entrance before sinking down on him fully.

The sensation of it nearly knocks him on his ass; the tight, wet grip of your cunt around him. His fingers flex against the leather seat, and you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

It starts easy. A gentle rocking of your hips, his cock pressing in deep, the swollen head flush against the tip of your cervix.

But each movement grows more and more desperate, your sounds echoing across the lake. "Such a cute little thing," he says, eyes dark and lids hooded. "Takin' it so good. You feel me in there, baby? Stretchin' you real wide?"

"Mmhm," is all you can manage right away, breath coming fast, chest heaving with each ragged inhale. "Feels so…god—feels so good, Tommy. So big."

You start getting real whimpery, slick dripping down his cock, wet sounds coming from between your legs.

Right about now is when Tommy will normally take over, thrusting up into you, giving you the roughness you always seek.

But he stays still today. Let's you roll your hips over his, fucking yourself on his thick length until you're begging him. "Please, Tommy—touch me."

He cruelly clicks his tongue. "Had the energy to give me all that attitude this morning, didn't ya? Still got stuff to do today, sweet girl. Gotta tire you out before we head back."

A sweetest sounding groan leaves your mouth. "But—please!"

Tommy's real weak when it comes to you. The temptation to give in is there, building inside his chest, right beside the warmth of impending release. "Nuh-uh," he says. "You wanna cum? You're gonna work for it this time. Not gonna have all that sass by the time you're done. Gotta sweat it out, little girl."

You're still moving, still grinding yourself down on his cock, pace ragged and out of rhythm now. "Tommy please, I can't—!"

"Yeah you can," he encourages, taking one a low, condescending tone. "Got full faith in ya. C'mon baby, you're almost there. She's squeezin' me."

He can feel the tension in your thighs and the way your fingers dig into the hard muscles at his shoulders. "Will you at least—" you stop, a moan tearing its way through your chest. "—kiss me. Please, just a kiss. Need to feel you, to taste you."

The request is so spoken so softly, so sweetly, that it send a shock of delight down his spine. And Tommy—God. He can do nothing to resist it. "'Course I can give you a kiss, sweet girl," he says.

Tommy leans in, and the moment he touches his lips to yours he can feel the velvety walls of your cunt clench around him.

He kisses you deep, tongue slipping into your mouth, licking and sliding against yours. You moan his name and it sounds so fucking pretty that his fingers find your clit on instinct.

He strokes it in small, tight circles. And only a few seconds later, you're falling off the edge. Thighs shaking, whimpering into his mouth, riding him as hard as your strength will allow.

"So fuckin' pretty," he whispers. "Such a good girl for me when you're all full, huh? Oughta make you work for it more often."

"Feels so good—hmm."

"You're my good girl, baby. Ain't that right?"

"Yes, yes. I'm your good girl, I'm—oh, god—"

"Uh-huh. That's right. Mine. My baby."

His.

Tommy follows you off the precipice, his release rushing up to greet him, that tight coil around his spine pulling taught just to snap.

A low groan rumbles through his chest as he fills you with his release, so much of it that it spills out of you and drips onto the thatch of dark hair between his legs.

You roll your hips a few more times, until you're spent and aching, before collapsing on top of him entirely.

Your shoulders drop and your muscles go slack, head falling into the crook of his neck.

Tommy laughs and finally touches you, arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close, fingertips stroking lazily over the relaxed curve of your spine. "You're alright," he says. "I've got ya."

He's not sure how much time passes. Tommy just holds you for as long as you need, cock still twitching inside you, the mixture of your release and his dripping down the inside of his thighs. He lets you catch your breath, and doesn't move until you do.

When you finally ease yourself off of him and stand to your feet, you do so on shaky legs. The heat has dried your shorts and top now, and you pull them back on while Tommy does the same with his jeans.

Once you're dressed he asks, "You ready to head back?"

You nod soundlessly, an ease on your face. Tommy sits behind the wheel of the boat and flips the ignition switch, and this time he doesn't even have to ask for you. You just come to him without a word, sitting in his lap and resting your head on his shoulder.

Tommy kisses your temple with a syrupy smile. "Feelin' better?"

The answer this time is paired with a soft, sleepy sigh. "Much better. Thank you."

His heart swells. And even though the heat persists, warming him back up already, Tommy feels himself relax fully for the first time all day.

"Ain't gotta thank me, baby," he says. "M'always gonna make you feel better."

"I-"

"Shut the fuck up," you snap immediately, trying desperately to keep pressure on way too many wounds at once while Dustin is scavenging for anything to bind them with. Your brows are drawn together in concentration, and despite the blood and demo-bat viscera splattering your face, you look damningly cute.

Spots dance across his vision, blurring you. Fucking rude. If he's going to die after all of this, you should be the last thing he sees. He should get to keep looking at you, the way he's always been.

Over his shoulder in the cafeteria, where you'd sit right at his back on the next table over, flipping your hair obnoxiously often, half in his face, just to piss him off.

Through the shelves at the record store, where you'd purposefully scrunch your nose or raise your brows whenever you shelved the new arrivals. Few things got your stamp of approval, but one of his recs once made it to the in-store record player while you were on shift. You'd denied it to hell and back, but he was thrilled you'd actually listened to him. And his music.

At the hideout, when you came to pick up your dad from the crowd of five drunks watching Corroded Coffin play, and actually stayed till they finished their set. You looked like you were both intrigued and angry about it, and Eddie couldn't help but lean right into your face off the stage, delivering lyrics straight to you. He'd never seen your cheeks this red before. He felt a little drunk off it, with the music and the lights and you sticking out your tongue at him before retreating to the bar. He'd wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt, but you'd dragged your dad out of there the second they were done playing.

Wasted time. Wasted opportunities. This is it.

He tries again: "I think I-"

"Will you STOP!" There's desperation in your tone. He only notices your hands are shaking when he covers them with his own, unsteadily, weakly.

Adorable as your efforts are, they're not gonna change a thing, and he really really needs to get this out now while he still has some focus left. "I'm-"

"You are NOT dying, Eddie Munson. Not today. Not on my watch. Absolutely fucking not. So just shut up and-"

"I love you."

That stuns you to silence. Finally. Good. Your mouth works like you're chewing on a reply, but nothing comes out. Can't exactly give a dying man the brush-off, he knows, but he's not expecting anything. He just needed to tell you. To see your face while he does. His chuckle is laced with blood.

He squeezes your hands, once, and the spots in his vision take over. Vaguely, he hears Dustin in the distance, and feels a bit sorry he won't get to say goodbye. But as last words go, a love confession is pretty epic, if he says so himself.

He wants to hear your reply. He wants to ruffle Dustin's hair and push his Hellfire kids around. He wants to play on a big stage with his band and he wants to hug his uncle again.

The future slips away in the dark. It may be a shit ending, but at least it's a heroic one.

Between the sun and the reflecting white of everything in the room, Eddie's eyes burn. There's something stuck in his arm. And in his nose. Everything itches and scratches and hurts. If this is Vecna's idea of hell, the bastard needs some pointers. The torture aspect is on point, but the aesthetic could use some work.

His throat is too dry to even cough, but as he slowly blinks, two dark shapes in the too-bright room take form. One of them, still in a chair by his side, is his uncle, and Eddie can feel his eyes tear up at the sight. The other one moves, a flash coming from the window sill, and he only recognizes your face when it's right in front of him.

You look worried and desperate and strung out and tired. "Hi," seems like the best way to approach this. His dopey smile doesn't seem to chase your tension away, though. It seems to make you furious.

"You fucking dumbass idiot asshole!" you whisper-scream, evidently trying not to wake up Wayne before you could get your tirade off your chest. "What the fuck were you thinking? Oh, what nice day to die? What a cool way to leave all of my friends fucking mourning? What a great fucking storybook-ending to say that and then-"

Well. Good to know it did have the desired effect, then.

"Sorry if I killed the vibe, b- OUCH." his voice rasps out an almost-scream when your fingers claw into his arm. Through the blur of pained tears in his eyes, he only barely realizes the tears in your own.

"Oh? Does that hurt? Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Asshole."

And then you kiss him. And he thinks, alright, if this is hell, maybe he can live with it. It's over far too soon, not much more than a peck, and you ease up your grip and pull his covers back straight and check on his IV and seem altogether very much too busy to acknowledge his even dopier smile now.

You hadn’t called anyone ahead of time to tell them you’d be back home for the upcoming twelve weeks – not even Eddie – simply because you didn’t have the energy to make family plans and empty promises of catching up with old classmates you didn’t like just yet.

Tilting your head to the side far enough for it to crack loudly, you flicked the turn signal when the weather-tattered Forest Hills Trailer Park sign came into view. You exhaled softly as you slowed down enough to turn right, the crunching gravel and uneven ground beneath the tires rocking the car from side to side until you finally pulled up in front of the Munson trailer.

You turned off the engine and sank further into your seat as the last four hours of driving without stopping finally caught up to you. For a moment, you simply stared at the wooden porch, already dreading the aching trembles that would settle into your legs the second you got out of the car.

Eddie’s van sat parked beside the trailer, confirming he was home and that your surprise wouldn’t be ruined by him spotting your car.

You pulled the key from the ignition and pushed the door open before flicking through the abnormal amount of keys on your keychain until you found the copy he’d given you years ago – perks of being best friends for almost two decades.

Not bothering to grab your bag from the passenger seat – you’d probably make Eddie do it later – you pushed the car door shut with your hip and headed up the steps leading to the front door.

Eddie blew out the earthy smoke of his joint as he glanced at the kitchen clock with furrowed eyebrows when he heard the muffled noise of clinking keys followed by the soft click of the lock.

Wayne had left for work less than an hour ago. There was absolutely no reason for him to be coming back already.

You lazily pushed the door open as a tired sigh escaped your lips before crossing the threshold.

The joint between Eddie’s fingers nearly slipped from his grasp when he dragged his gaze away from the clock and towards the door, finding you instead of Wayne.

For a second, he genuinely wondered if the weed was making him imagine you.

His big brown eyes widened ever so slightly while his eyebrows disappeared behind the frizzy bangs that had escaped the messy bun he’d thrown his hair into hours ago.

“Fuck off,” he mumbled after a solid thirty seconds of staring at you like he’d just witnessed some kind of miracle. “What the hell?”

The cursed welcome-home greeting – so uniquely Eddie – made the corners of your mouth curl upwards as you kicked off your shoes.

“Surprise,” you murmured tiredly as you stepped over to the kitchen table, snatched the joint from his fingers, and dropped into the chair beside him.

The trailer hadn’t changed a bit since you’d last stepped foot inside nearly five months ago. The wallpaper was still ugly and yellowed from years of cigarette smoke, and the AC still made that annoying rumble as it struggled to cool down the place.

“The fuck do you mean surprise?” he asked, blinking a few times as he tried to process the fact you were sitting in his kitchen and not a whole state away.

“The meaning of surprise hasn’t changed as far as I know, Eddie.”

He leaned back in his chair like the extra distance was necessary for it all to sink in.

Then, slowly, the disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips turned into full-blown maniacal laughter as he shoved back his chair and practically launched himself at you.

“Holy shit, you are home!” he exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around you so fast you nearly choked on your drag.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” you replied between coughs, forcing yourself to ignore how the weight of those words spread warmth along your chest.

“I’m ordering pizza to celebrate,” he mumbled against your hair before finally loosening his grip.

He was already halfway to the kitchen when you furrowed your eyebrows and took another drag of the joint.

“Do you even have money?”

Eddie grabbed the yellowed menu from the fridge and clicked his tongue as he shot you a look.

“For your information,” he deadpanned, pointing the menu at you, “I have been saving up money to come visit you.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“You?” you scoffed out. “Saving money?”

“I can be a responsible adult,” he replied, sounding personally offended.

“Sure you can, buddy.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as he sat back in his chair and pushed the menu towards you.

“Pick what you want.”

“The fuck are you giving me this for?” you asked, immediately sliding it back across the table. “You know my order.”

Eddie looked at you for a moment longer than necessary before his gaze dropped to the joint resting in the ashtray. He picked it up, lit it, and took a long drag.

“You don’t wanna try something a little more socially acceptable?” he asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Margherita, maybe? Like a normal person?”

A groan escaped you as you sank lower into your chair.

“I’m not even home for ten fucking minutes, and you’re already torturing me.”

“You’re the one torturing me with those taste buds.”

That pulled a tired chuckle from your lips before a yawn overtook it instead. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you covered your mouth with the palm of your hand.

Eddie’s grin softened at that. His gaze drifted over your face, lingering on the faint bags beneath your eyes and the slow blinks that had far more to do with four hours of non-stop driving than the joint you’d stolen from him moments earlier.

Without a word, he stood up and disappeared down the short hallway towards his room.

You’d learned a long time ago to let Eddie do whatever weird thing he was about to do instead of wasting your breath asking questions.

A minute later, he reappeared carrying a clean towel and a chance of clothes. Holding them out to you with one hand, he brough the joint back to his lips with the other.

“Knowing you,” he started before slowly exhaling a stream of smoke, “you left all your shit in the car for me to deal with.”

Your gaze dropped to his ring-covered hand before lifting back to his face as a smile tugged at your lips.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, echoing your words from earlier. “I love you too.”

You hesitated for a beat, something about the earnestness in his voice catching you off guard. Before you could dwell on it, you blinked once, then again, and reached for the clothes and towel in his hand.

“You better not mess up my order, Edward,” you muttered as you headed towards the bathroom.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

Thankfully, Eddie had not, in fact, messed up your order.

The heart-attack-inducing pizza topped with double pepperoni, white mushrooms, extra red onions, and a generous drizzle of pesto – much to Eddie’s eternal horror, despite this having been your order for years – was absolute heaven after months of suffering through one-star college-town pizza.

The TV hummed quietly from the living room, forgotten somewhere between slices of pizza and the overwhelming exhaustion that came with four uninterrupted hours on the road. At some point, the two of you’d migrated to Eddie’s bedroom instead, trading the uncomfortable kitchen chairs for the familiar comfort of his unmade bed and cluttered floor.

Somewhere between yawns, giggles, and marijuana smoke, the simmering heat of Eddie’s body had slowly found its way towards your side of the bed while you relished in the comfort and familiarity of his old mattress.

You were in the middle of telling him about something stupid and annoying that had happened at college a few weeks ago when he reached up and gently smoothed a loose strand of hair away from your temple. His hand drifted lower until it found the ends of your hair, absentmindedly curling a strand around his finger like he always did. You shook your head as you tried to remember where you’d left off before the story abandoned you altogether.

Before you could come up with anything that remotely resembled a coherent thought, Eddie let go of your hair and allowed the strand to fall softly back against the pillow.

“You tired?” he mumbled after a while.

Propping his head up on the palm of his hand, he looked down at you.

“Kinda,” you admitted with a slow blink.

The warm glow of the nightstand lamp spilled through the room, painting amber streaks and dramatic shadows across the little things that made the space so uniquely Eddie. The guitar leaning against the wall. The cluttered dresser. The faded band posters that somehow still managed to hang on despite years of being held together by tape and stubbornness.

Its reflection danced in his eyes, though there was something else swimming beneath it – something you couldn’t quite place.

“It’s pretty late,” he said, flicking his gaze towards the red numbers of the alarm clock. “We can just sleep if you want.”

“Nah.” You shuffled closer onto your side and tucked your arm beneath the pillow. “Wanna talk. Missed this.”

For a moment, something softened in his expression.

As soon as it appeared, it was gone again.

“Of course you did,” he replied with a grin. “It’s impossible not to miss me.”

You rolled your eyes, absentmindedly fidgeting with the comforter beneath your fingers before another yawn escaped you.

“That’s it. Let’s get you some sleep,” Eddie mumbled as he pushed himself upright.

He tugged the comforter free from where it had become tangled under the two of you before giving it a quick shake and draping it back over your bodies. The bed creaked and groaned beneath his weight as he settled back against the mattress, fluffing his pillow before getting comfortable.

Then, without thinking anything of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer until you were practically sprawled across his chest.

You ignored the small sigh that slipped from your lips when your cheek settled against the inked demon head stretched across his chest.

“You comfy?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Can you do that thing with my arm?”

A crooked grin tugged at Eddie’s lips as he looked down at you. “You’re spoiled, you know that?”

There was no bite to the words as his fingers found your forearm, lazily tracing soft spirals against your skin.

You hummed contentedly. “And whose fault is that, hm?”

Eddie knew damn well whose fault it was – his fingers always found their way into your hair whenever you were close enough, his wallet somehow opened a little easier whenever you tagged along to the arcade, and every piece of good news was shared with you before he’d even thought about telling Wayne.

Something tugged softly at his chest.

He ignored and chuckled under his breath instead.  

“What if I wanna be spoiled for once?”

“Then I’ll spoil you rotten,” you replied without hesitation.

Eddie fell quiet. His gaze lingered on the wall opposite of the bed while his finger continued tracing lazy circles along your arm.

Then, ever so quietly:

“Can you scratch my head?”

Sometime in the last few minutes, your eyes had drifted shut in the quiet stillness of the room. you blinked them open slowly, trying to adjust to the warm glow of the bedside lamp.

“Yeah, of course,” you mumbled, the corners of your mouth curling upwards. “C’mere, big boy.”

Eddie’s fingers stilled against your skin before he uncurled his arm around your frame.

You pushed yourself a little higher against the headboard and stretched out your arm for him. Eddie immediately shuffled closer and carefully rested the side of his head against your bicep.

“There he is,” you teased quietly, threading your finger through his hair.

He smelled like the cheap sandalwood and pine shampoo Wayne always bought from the dollar store, lingering traces marijuana smoke, and something else entirely – something that was uniquely Eddie. His curls were frizzy and probably held more knots than he’d ever willingly admit to, but you didn’t comment on any of it. You simply worked your hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp as quiet, content sighs slipped past his lips.

“Hm,” he hummed, practically melting beneath your touch. “Yeah, you’re definitely gonna have to spoil me more often.”

A low chuckle escaped you as you brought your free hand up to his curls, carefully teasing apart a few stubborn knots before they could snag.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Blinking slowly, he tilted his head just enough to find your gaze already fixed on him.

For a moment, Eddie was certain he’d never seen you look at anyone the way you were looking at him.

“Your future boyfriend’s gonna have a hard time competing with me if you keep looking at me like that.”

The words left Eddie’s mouth before his brain had the chance to catch them. An uncomfortable buzz immediately settled beneath his skin.

Your hand stilled for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for him to notice.

Silence settled between you. The space separating your bodies was practically nonexistent, yet somehow it suddenly felt heavier than it had moments ago – not awkward, just… different.

Then, slowly, the smile that had slipped from your face returned, spreading a familiar warmth through his chest.

“There’s no competition, Eds.”

Your fingers resumed their gentle scratching, as though you hadn’t just ripped off a bandage neither of you had been brave enough to touch for years.

Eddie felt his pulse stumble. “What?”

“In fact,” you continued, completely ignoring the disbelief in his voice, “there never has been.”

He broke his gaze away from yours and furrowed his eyebrows as he swallowed.

“Stop…” he trailed off, trying to lean away before immediately giving up. “Don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”

You opened your mouth before closing it again. For a moment, you simply stared at him, his words hitting you like a punch to the chest.

“Of course I mean it,” you whispered.

You let go of his hair and dragged a hand through your own before flicking your gaze towards the yellowed stains on the ceiling.

“I always carry extra cetirizine whenever we hang out, just in case we run into a cat,” you continued quietly. “And I know the real story behind the scar on your chin even though you’ve never told me.”

Eddie’s frown deepened while his entire body went still beside you.

“I know you skipped an entire week of school when Cliff Burton died but told everyone it was because it was the anniversary of your mom’s death,” you continued. “You say you hate broccoli, but you always eat it when I make it.”

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

“I was prepared to stay best friends forever and be miserable about it,” you admitted quietly. “I figured that was better than losing you.”

The room fell silent. Eddie stared at you. Not moving, not speaking – just staring.

His eyes darted across your face as if searching for the punchline. For the moment you’d laugh and tell him you were kidding. For the moment he’d wake up, for anything that made more sense than this.

But there wasn’t one – there was only you.

The faint bags beneath your eyes, your nervous smile, your shaking hands tangled in his curls.

The look in your eyes he’d been trying not to think about since you’d told him there was no competition.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he whispered.

Your breath caught. “Eddie–”

“I’ve been in love with you for fucking years.”

The words sounded almost pained as they left him – like he’d been holding them back for far too long.

For a second neither of you moved again. Then Eddie surged forward before he could lose his nerve.

One hand found your jaw, while the other buried itself in the comforter.

And then his lips were on yours.

They felt like silk, and his breath was warm against your skin as he let our a ragged exhale, spreading heat from your cheeks all the way down to your chest.

Your eyes drifted shut as you pulled him closer, unable to stop what he’d started.

A shiver ran down your spine as your senses became overwhelmed by everything Eddie – the shirt he’d loaned you hanging from your frame, the earthy scent of his shampoo, the familiar weight of his hand against his cheek, the nervous drumming of his fingers beneath it.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes slowly opened and found yours. They lingered on your face as though he was trying to memorize every detail while desperately attempting to get the fireworks in his chest under control.

“Fuck Springfield,” he mumbled after a few seconds, apparently incapable of surviving a vulnerable moment without cracking a joke. “I’m kidnapping you.”

A laugh escaped you. “Kidnapping isn’t very boyfriend material, Eddie.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” the words sounded almost disbelieving coming from him. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good,” you replied with a grin. “Because you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Obviously,” he scoffed. “Do you know how hard it is to kidnap a college student?”

You barked out another laugh, the ugly kind that made your stomach hurt and was reserved for him alone – and pulled him closer again, threading your fingers back through his curls. The frizzy strands felt soft against your fingers as you resumed scratching his scalp.

Eddie couldn’t seem to stop looking at you. Like he needed the constant visual confirmation that you were still there, still real. His gaze carried a quiet sort of electricity now, something warm and disbelieving all at once.

Slowly, he tilted his head forwards until his forehead rested against yours, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek.

Then he leaned in and kissed you again. He pulled you into his chest and rolled the both of you until his back laid flush against the mattress.

A sound that was half groan, half disbelieving laugh escaped him against your lips. His fingers tightened slightly against your cheek as he kissed you slowly, almost teasing at first, though there was something else underneath it now; something desperate, and that had been waiting for too long.

You hooked a finger around one of his curls and gave it a gentle tug when a quiet sigh slipped from his lips. All the frustration had been building between the two of you for years slowly found its way into the kiss.

Neither one of you seemed willing to be the first to pull away. But when you finally did, both of you were breathing a little harder than before.

Eddie’s eyes looked darker beneath the amber glow of the bedside lamp, his lips slightly swollen from kissing you. For a moment, he simply stared like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

“Please tell me you want this,” his words came out rough and breathless, his chest rose and fell unevenly beneath you as his eyes searched your face.

A soft, disbelieving scoff escaped you while you glanced away for a second before looking back at him – back at the man you’d spent years trying not to fall in love with.

“I’ve wanted this for years,” you whispered.

Eddie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let your words settle between you while his eyes continued searching your face. The longer he looked, the more ridiculous he felt. The faint shadows beneath your eyes. Your messy hair. The unmistakable affection swimming in your gaze that, apparently, had been there all along. How the fuck had he missed it for all these years?

“Good,” he said after a moment. A mischievous grin was already spreading across his face before the word had fully left his mouth. “Because I really wanna eat you out.”

A loud, undignified snort escaped you. Your head tilted back as laughter burst from your chest.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie,” you wheezed.

“What?”

He tried to sound defensive, as though laughing at the words that had just left his mouth was the most offensive thing you’d ever done in all the years he’d known you. But the act lasted all of three seconds when his lips pulled into a pursed smile before giving way to a chuckle at your disbelieving expression.

“Just being honest here, sweetheart,” he replied quietly. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your waist. “Since we’re confessing and all that.”

You were still trying to catch your breath from the kiss while his ridiculous words continued echoing in your ears.

You brushed a stray curl away from his eyes and made a mental note to trim his bangs the next chance you got.

Reaching for the back of his head, you gently pulled him closer. A soft sigh escaped you when your lips met once again.

Something in Eddie seemed to snap the moment you kissed him back. Slowly, he rolled the two of you over until your back met the mattress again, bracing himself with one arm while the other remained firmly around your waist. The bed creaked beneath the shift in weight as he settled between your legs.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbled when he finally pulled back for air.

His thumb continued brushing softly against your cheek as he shook his head in disbelief, as though he didn’t quite trust himself with the affection spilling from his mouth.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he admitted quietly, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. “But you’re tired, and–”

“I want this, Eds,” you whispered, and slid your hand from the back of his head to his cheek, cradling his face gently.

Eddie’s gaze finally lifted from your lips to your eyes.

“Are you sure?” the question came out softer than before. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped you – sometimes he could be so ridiculously stubborn.

“How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?” You stole a quick kiss before he had the chance to answer. “I want this.”

Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped once and for all when he leaned in again, his lips finding yours like he needed your kiss to breathe.

His fingers twitched against your cheek before they slowly trailed down to the hem of your shirt. A warm breath escaped him when his fingers skimmed over the skin of your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The gentle grip you had on his cheek faltered for a brief moment as he started tracing soft circles beneath your shirt, like he was trying to memorize every inch he could reach.

You parted your lips when you let go of his face entirely and brought your fingers back into his curls. Eddie stilled, and his thumb pressed a little harder into your hip when he felt you give his hair a tentative tug. A shiver ran through him at the touch, and he slowed the kiss just enough to catch his breath before he finally – almost hesitantly – pulled away.

“Can I…” the words died on his tongue as he swallowed hard and opened his eyes.

His fingers drifted back to the hem of your shirt, giving the fabric a small, uncertain tug. It took your brain a split second to catch up before you gave him a shaky nod. Eddie swallowed again and nodded back – though it seemed like he was doing it more for himself than for you.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright until he was kneeling between your legs. His hand slipped beneath the fabric and gently lifted your shirt over your head.

Heat instantly rushed to his cheeks, tainting his milky skin a bright pink, as you pulled your arms free from the sleeves, but he didn’t let his gaze wander. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on yours, still searching for even the smallest hint of hesitation.

Eddie’s heart pounded wildly in his ears as he finally dared to let his eyes trace the delicate curves of your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts. With shaking hands, he gently caressed your sides as he marveled at how you reacted to his touch. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his fingertips, your nipples hardening in the cool air.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured reverently, barely above a whisper.

His fingertips danced along your sternum, circling each breast with agonizing slowness. You arched into his touch, a soft gasp escaping your parted lips when he dipped his head and pressed feather-light kisses along the valley of your cleavage. Your fingers pulled at his hair, urging him closer.

Eddie cups your breast almost hesitantly, brushing his thumb over the sensitive peak. At the same time, he captured the other nipple between his lips, and flicked it teasingly with his tongue. Emboldened by the sharp gasps spilling from your mouth, your body arching off the bed and into his chest, he sucked harder and grazed the hard peaks with his teeth. He moaned against your skin, lavishing you with devoted attention as he switched between them, alternating between licks and nibbles until they glistened with his spit.

Your hips roll restlessly beneath him, seeking friction. He let go of your breasts and trailed open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into your navel – the little shit shot you a little grin when he did so, always one for the dramatics. Lower he went, until he finally reached the waistband of the boxers hugging your hips. Slowly, almost torturously, he inched the fabric downwards, exposing more than he’d ever seen of you.

His breath hitched as something urgent and hot coiled in his core. Eddie curled his hands around your thighs, softly pushing them further apart until his gaze found your slick folds. The heady scent of your arousal filled his nostrils, making his cock throb almost painfully under his boxers.

“Gonna make you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled almost absentmindedly, and trailed one finger through your wet slit. “Fuck, can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

Eddie then locked his eyes with yours as he lowered his head, holding your gaze. His plush lips grazed your clit, pulling a sharp exhale from you both. He lapped softly at your pussy, savouring the way you tasted and ingraining it into his tongue. You pressed him closer, nails scraping sharply against his scalp and fingers tugging harshly at the curly strands, desperate for more. The silent plea you gave him was more than enough, and he sealed his mouth over your slit and thrusted his tongue inside, fucking you steadily as he all but slurped at your essence.

“I– Fuck,” you breathed out as Eddie trailed a thick lick back to your clit, and softly pushed a finger into your pussy. “Y-yes, just like that.”

A groan escaped him when you fluttered around him, drawing him in deeper. He pumped his digit lazily, curling it to stroke that secret spot like he’d done it times and times before, making stars burst behind your eyelids. His tongue swirled mercilessly around your throbbing clit, lashing and flicking it with practiced precision.

He couldn’t remember when he’d closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, he found you with your head thrown back, your lips parted in a small circle as your chest heaved up and down. He added another finger, stretching you open deliciously slow as you writhed mindlessly underneath him.

Your legs trembled around his face, your feet accidentally brushing against him when your toes curled until suddenly, he withdrew completely, denying your release.

“No, no, no,” you whine out, your eyebrows pulled into a tight furrow. “Fucking hell, you’re such a fucking di–”

Eddie silenced you with a filthy kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You returned the heated kiss fervently, licking into his mouth and letting your slick tongues intertwine.

Pulling away again, Eddie gazed down at you with molten brown eyes, a grin spreading across his kiss-swollen lips.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured, ignoring the curses falling from your mouth.

Like he needed to make his point, he dove back between your thighs, and latched his lips onto your clit like a man starved. He suckled forcefully, flicking the swollen nub with rapid strokes of his tongue.

“Eds–” you whine, desperate to finally get the release he’d taken away from you moments ago. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

Just as the wave of ecstasy had found its way back to you, Eddie drove two fingers into your clenching slit, pumping vigorously as he kept sucking. Your juices gushed on his chin, back bowed clean off the bed as wave after wave of mind-melting bliss crashed over you until you collapsed bonelessly against the mattress.

Eddie watched raptly as you came undone, a broken groan slipping from his lips, completely transfixed by the picture in front of him – hair splayed wildly, skin gleaming with a sheen layer of sweat, mouth agape in ecstasy as a broken moan slipped from your lips. Pride surged through him knowing that he did that, that he unravelled you so thoroughly like he’d had wanted to do for so long.

He gave you a moment to come down, and placed a tender kiss on your inner thigh before crawling up your body. He settled between your limp legs, nestling his aching shaft against your slick entrance. Capturing your lips once more, he kissed you deeply, conveying without words every feeling he had ever pushed down over the years. You looped your arms around his neck, and pulled him impossibly closer as you ground up against him, frantic with need.

“Can’t believe you’re all mine,” he mumbled against your lips.

He reached between you, and tugged his boxers down just enough for his cock to slip out and gave himself a desperate tug, then another, and guided himself to your dripping opening. You felt hot and tight around his swollen tip as he prodded insistently at your slit until finally sinking into your slick pussy. A breathy encouragement of his name escaped you as he sank himself deeper into you, groans spilling from his own lips at the feeling of being fully sheathed within your walls.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grunted sharply as you locked your legs behind him, and pulled him impossibly deeper until he was buried to the hilt. “You’re so… I don’t think I’ll last long, sweetheart. Fuck.”

Eddie hissed sharply when he felt your nails dig into his shoulder, and pressed his clammy forehead against yours as he took a moment to let you adjust – although he probably needed the moment more than you did.

Electricity zinged up his spine at the delicious pressure engulfing his aching cock, and he set a deep, driving rhythm as he rocked into you with purpose. Each slow, yet powerful thrust punched the breath from your lungs, his heavy balls slapping at your ass as he drew broken moans from your sweet lips. Eddie’s hand roamed greedily, squeezing and kneading every supple curve of your body as you met him stroke for stroke, clinging on for dear life as the knot deep in your stomach wounded tighter and tighter.

His ears twitched with every hitch in your breath, every shiver that ran down your spine, every time your nails dug a little deeper into his milky skin, like he desperately needed to memorise every little detail of how you reacted to him.

“Where do you want me, baby?” he pushed himself off of you just enough for his gaze to find your closed eyes, furrowed brows and mouth lulling open.

“Fuck, Ed-Eddie,” you moaned out as he gave you another hard thrust. “In– mhm! Inside, p-please.”

“Jesus,” his hips faltered when your words reached him, but he picked up the pace again just as quickly. Every roll of his lips was deliberate, insistent on drawing out every breathless whimper and broken moan you had to offer. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“P-please, Eddie,” you breathed out, and opened your eyes, blinking a few times until his face came back into focus. “I want it, please.”

Eddie gave you three last hard thrusts before his hips halted, pulsing hot seed directly into your spasming core. You followed right after, clamping down on his spurting cock as you shattered around him. He collapsed on top of you, burying his face in your neck as he tried – and failed – to catch his breath. The two of you had become a tangled mess of limbs and heavy, ragged breathing.

“I don’t– Jesus,” he breathed out after a moment, the words muffled and low. “I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard.”

His breath steadied after a few more seconds, although his heart still pounded loudly in his ears as he pushed himself up just enough for his eyes to find your face. His gaze softened immediately at the sight in front of him – you licking your dry lips as you blinked lazily up at him.

But then he immediately groaned and cringed at himself.

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled as he fell forwards again, nearly suffocating you.

You hummed softly in confusion as you let go of his shoulder and dove your fingers back into his messy locks. You pull a low, satisfied sigh from him as your nails scraped gently against his scalp.

“Can’t believe I came before you.”

A low chuckle escaped you before you could stop it. Shaking your head, you whispered something that sounded an awful lot like idiot under your breath.

“I couldn’t care less, Eds,” you managed to say after you’d finally gotten your laughter under control. “It’s not gonna make me love you any less.”

Eddie stilled above you, like your words had hit him square in the chest. His breath caught, and his fingers twitched against the sheets beneath you. For a moment, he kept his face hidden into the crook of your neck.

But the tension melted from his shoulders as quickly as it had appeared. He leaned back just enough for his lips to find yours again, slow and careful.

“I fucking love you too,” he mumbled against your lips.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes glimmered beneath the low amber light of the bedside lamp, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“Yeah?” you asked with a bashful smile before something else crept into your gaze. “Even my dubious pizza order?”

Eddie snorted. “Yeah, even your dubious pizza order.”

“Good.” A grin spread across your face. “Because I could really use another slice after all of this.”

He stared at you for a long moment, blinking in disbelief.

“We just confessed our undying love, and you’re thinking about pizza?”

“Don’t pretend like you couldn’t go for another slice too,” you chuckled.

Eddie hissed lowly as you accidentally clenched around him, and softly pulled out his softening cock out of you. He shook his head, though the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth ruined any attempt at looking annoyed. He pulled his boxers up his hips and, without another word, pushed himself off the bed and disappeared down the hallway.

Not even ten seconds later, you heard the fridge open and close, followed by the soft sound of footsteps making their way back towards the bedroom. Eddie appeared in the doorway with the pizza box in one hand and two cans of beer balanced in the other. He dropped both at the foot of the bed before helping you sit up, trying his best – and failing – not to stare at your chest.

“You hate eating in bed,” you pointed out as he pulled his eyes away from your naked frame, and flicked open the pizza box.

“But I don’t hate you,” he mumbled in return, passing you a slice.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

A soft smile slowly spread across your face as you took the slice from his hand.

“I don’t hate you either.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you let out a scoff.

“I am a girl, you know.”

“Yeah, Eddie, she -.” Dustin gets cut off by Eddie’s laugh and booming response.

“Yeah, but not like that.”

Trying to come up with a retort is a failed effort as the bell rings, signifying the end of the lunch period. Dustin and Jeff give you sympathetic glances as everyone gathers their things to get to their next periods. Luckily, you wouldn’t see Eddie until the last period of the day, which would give you time to cool off.

But when Eddie strolls into Mrs. O’Donnell’s class casually, as if he didn’t offend you in multiple ways, you feel your rage still going strong. So what if you typically wore T-shirts and jeans with sneakers? So what if makeup wasn’t usually your thing or you hung out with guys most of the time? It didn’t mean you weren’t a girl and that you didn’t want to be treated as such. Eddie was oblivious to the fact that that had hurt you enough as it was, never mind the fact that it hurt doubly because you were in love with him. The guy you had been harboring the biggest crush on for years didn’t even see you as someone who would go to prom, let alone want to go with him as his date.

The eraser of a pencil jabs you from behind and you roll your eyes. You know he’s not going to give up, but you choose to ignore him anyway.

“Pssst.”

The temptation to put your hand behind your back and flip him off is strong, but you manage to restrain yourself and take a deep breath to keep your composure. But he wouldn’t be Eddie if he wasn’t a persistent, annoying man child at times.

His shoe knocks against the bottom of your seat and you spin around to face him, eyes blazing.

“What?” you ask through gritted teeth. How this man is even now unable to tell something is wrong is beyond you.

“Did you get the answer to number four?” he asks.

“No,” you tell him before turning back around. That wasn’t true, of course. You’d finished that number a while ago and were now on question number nine. Glancing back up to number four, you decide Eddie can figure out the date of The Boston Tea Party on his own.

Eddie finally figures out that something is up when you bolt out of the classroom once the bell rings, not waiting for him to walk out with you.

“Wait!” he calls as you exit to the hallway, but you keep going, pushing your way to the school’s exit. “What the hell,” he mumbles to himself as he does his best to follow.

Eddie is still stuck in the sea of students when you finally get to the parking lot. Eddie was supposed to drive you home, but you were damned if you were going to be stuck in the van with him. Your eyes scan the people walking to their cars and your eyes fall on a familiar redhead.

“Vickie!” you call as you jog up to her.

She turns around and smiles as she sees you approach.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“Do you think you could give me a ride home today?” you ask.

Vickie frowns and she looks behind you, presumably for Eddie.

“Yeah sure,” she says. “But what about-.”

“He’s pissing me off today,” you interrupt her.

“Boys,” Vickie says with a knowing sigh and a sympathetic nod.

“Tell me about it.”

“Well,” Vickie says. “If you want to avoid him, we should go. He just came out of the building.”

Without looking behind you, you follow her over to her car and climb inside. You peek over as you’re buckling your seatbelt and lock eyes with Eddie. He looks confused and you selfishly feel a little happy about that. Let him figure out what’s wrong.

Eddie stares as he watches Vickie’s car leave the parking lot, you in the passenger’s seat. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t the one to drive you home.

“Hey, Eddie,” Dustin says, coming up behind him. No response, Eddie just stares ahead. “What’s going on?”

“Did I do something?” Eddie asks, rounding on the freshman.

“What do you mean?”

“I just…” Eddie trails off and turns back around to where Vickie’s car had exited the student lot. “Why is she ignoring me? I always drive her home.”

It clicks together in Dustin’s brain, and he lets out a sigh.

“Dude.”

Eddie turns back to Dustin, putting his hands on his hips. He raises his eyebrows in question.

“You basically said she’s not a girl,” Dustin says.

“What?” Eddie shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Dustin groans and rubs his hands over his face. “Yes, you did.”

“No,” Eddie reiterates. “I said she wasn’t like those girls who go to prom.”

“Seriously?” Dustin asks. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”

“Listen, Henderson,” Eddie says, leaning in towards him. “You better get to the point and start making sense.”

“Okay,” Dustin says with a sigh. “How would you feel if,” he pauses, thinking of someone he could use as an example, “Nancy. How would you feel if Nancy wanted to go out on a date but said you weren’t that kind of guy?”

Eddie’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

“I don’t want to date Nancy.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin whines. “Just say you did! Say, you have a crush on Nancy, yes? With me so far? Okay, so say she was looking for someone to go on a date with and you’re right there. But she says you’re not the kind of guy who dates.”

“That would suck,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I’d be offended.”

“So, that’s basically what you said at lunch today.”

“No,” Eddie says, but he sounds less sure now.

“Yes,” Dustin argues.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s how it came out.”

“Well, shit,” Eddie says. He runs his hands over the top of his head and squeezes his eyes closed. “What do I do now?”

“Apologizing would be a good start,” Dustin says.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, nodding his head. “Yeah, okay.” He claps Dustin on the shoulder before digging his keys out of his pocket. He climbs in the van and pulls it out of the parking lot, tires squealing as he does so.

“Ugh, what the fuck do I do?” Eddie asks himself as he drives. “Flowers? No, she doesn’t like flowers. Shit, what do girls like?”

The brakes squeal as he pulls up to a red light and Eddie tightens his fingers against the steering wheel. He stares down at his hands and the idea hits him.

At home, you’ve changed into your most comfortable pair of sweatpants and hoodie. You’ve prepared your favorite snack and are about to settle in on the couch and watch a chick flick – which the guys would totally make fun of you for. If they thought of you as a girl at all, you think bitterly. Settling a blanket on your lap and reaching for the remote, you’re interrupted by the doorbell. You groan at the piercing ring and pull yourself up off the couch.

Yanking the door open, Eddie stands on the other side, out of breath and clutching a shopping bag.

“Um, hi,” you say, though it sounds more like a question.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You are a girl. You’re my favorite girl,” Eddie says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you before.”

You nod at him, not trusting your voice.

“I got you something,” he says, opening the bag.

“Eddie,” you sigh. “I don’t want you to buy my forgiveness.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not trying to. This is something I’ve been meaning to get you anyway. And it felt like the right time. To show you that I think of you as the best kind of girl there is.”

He reaches out and offers you a small black box. You look at it skeptically before taking it out of his hand. Eddie watches you with careful eyes as you open the box and pull out the small silver piece of jewelry. It’s a slimmer, women’s version of the cross ring with the skulls that he wears.

“You’ve always said that you like it,” Eddie offers with a shrug. “And you know I was going to give you mine, but your hands are too small. And I guess that jewelry is kind of seen as a girly thing, but I wear a ton of it. So, fuck what people think is for guys and girls. We can have the same ring. We can like the same things. But I can still be a guy and you be a girl. Or did I make that sound really stupid?”

“No, Eddie,” you say, never taking your eyes off the ring in your hand. “It didn’t sound stupid at all.”

“Good,” he says through a relieved breath. He tentatively reaches forward and takes the ring from you. Your head snaps up to look at him in question, but you feel him gently slide the ring into place on your finger. The feeling of his hands so warm on yours and the stark contrast of the cold ring gives you goosebumps. Or maybe that was just the fact that Eddie was slipping a ring on your finger.

“Thank you,” you say. “I love it.”

“Are we okay?” Eddie asks quietly, looking at you from underneath his eyelashes.

“Yes.” As if you could ever say no to that face.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, reaching out and holding your ringed hand in his own.

“Yes, Eddie,” you say. “I’m sure.”

“Good.” Eddie grins, an infectious sight at any time, but even more so at this moment. “Because I want to ask you something and I don’t want you to think it’s part of the apology.”

“Eddie,” you say with a sigh, already knowing what he’s going to say. “You hate prom.”

“How would I know for real?” he asks with a shrug. “I’ve never been.”

“You hate dressing up,” you tell him.

“It’s only for a few hours,” he says. “Besides, it would be worth it to see you all dressed up.”

You duck your head shyly, hoping to avoid Eddie seeing the heat that’s come to your cheeks.

“You really think I’d look good in a fancy dress and heels?” you ask.

The chatter of the bar was low, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and the easy laughter of old friends. It was a relaxed evening, the perfect way to celebrate your first wedding anniversary with Ben.

His solid arm was draped over the back of your chair, and you felt completely grounded. Across the table, Frankie was carefully navigating a bottle into the mouth of his newborn daughter, Lila, while his wife, Alice, finally took a sip of her much-deserved drink. Will sat beside them, a relaxed grin on his face as he watched the chaotic rhythm of parents with a newborn.

"So, man," Benny said, leaning forward a bit and nudging Frankie’s shoulder. "How are you guys actually holding up? Sleeping in increments of twenty minutes?"

"More like ten," Frankie laughed, though his eyes were incredibly soft as he looked down at his baby. "But we’re surviving. Alice is doing all the heavy lifting, honestly."

"Don't listen to him, he's basically on Ella duty full time. That's the real work." Alice countered with a smile, leaning her head on Frankie’s shoulder for a brief second.

Will chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. "And how is Ella taking it? Has she gotten over the toddler jealousy yet, or is she still trying to return her sister to the hospital?"

"We had a rough first few weeks," Alice admitted, turning to look at you. "A lot of tantrums. But today she actually tried to share her favourite dinosaur toy with her, so I think we’re turning a corner." She paused, her gaze dropping to the snoozing bundle in Frankie's arms before she looked back up at you with a warm smile. "Do you want to hold her?"

"Yeah," you said softly, your heart doing a sudden, unexpected flip. "I'd love to."

Frankie expertly transferred the tiny bundle into your arms. As Lila settled against your chest, her tiny fingers twitched against your shirt, and something shifted inside you. The lingering fears you’d carried for years about starting a family - the anxiety about Benny’s unpredictable job and the sheer responsibility of it - just melted away.

Benny smiled, his expression softening into something deeply tender as he watched you look down at the tiny being in your arms. When you looked up, your eyes met his. A silent, heavy conversation flowed between you in that single look. I'm ready... your eyes said. Me too... his promised.

"So," Frankie piped up, entirely missing the loaded silence between you two. "Have you two thought about having a family yet? Or are you still basking in the honeymoon phase?"

Benny caught your eye again, his thumb lightly tracing a circle on your bare shoulder. "It’s definitely something we've talked about," he replied smoothly. "But we haven't been married all that long. We don't want to rush into anything, you know? Just enjoying each other."

"Yeah," you added, keeping your voice steady even as your heart raced. "But I have to admit... little Lila here is making me incredibly broody."

Benny’s grip on your shoulder tightened just a fraction, a quiet, burning promise of what was to come later.

The bedroom was already stifling by the time you made it upstairs, the tension that had been building all evening finally snapping. The air was thick with the heavy, frantic sounds of your joined breathing and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Benny had you completely pinned beneath him, his broad, sweat-slick chest against sticking to yours as he drove into you with a relentless passion that was driving you absolutely wild.

He wasn't holding back. Every deep, powerful thrust was delivered with expert precision... He knew exactly how to tear the breath from your lungs. His length hit your sweet spot over and over, a continuous, devastating friction that had your hips arching off the mattress as you desperately chased your peak. You were utterly consumed by him as your fingers dug into the defined muscles of his back, as he continued to fuck you dumb. 

He pushed you over the edge with a military-like efficiency, a loud, breathless cry ripping from your throat as your body gripped him tightly. But Benny didn't stop. He kept going, his rhythm unbroken, riding the waves of your release with a low, gravelly growl that made you clench. 

Before you could even catch your breath, he leaned down and took a tight, aching nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sucking. The sheer sensation of it - the direct line of electricity from his mouth to between your thighs - shocked your system, instantly bringing you right back to the precipice of another world-shattering orgasm. 

"Benny," you choked out, your head tossing back against the pillow. "Benny, I'm close. I'm so fucking close."

He looked up, his face flushed, and his eyes completely blown out with lust. "Come for me," he commanded, his voice a rough, commanding whisper against your skin. "Squeeze me, baby. Come right now."

You obeyed, your body tightening, squeezing him hard as a second wave of pleasure crashes over you. Yet, true to form, Benny kept going. You’ve always admired his stamina, the quiet endurance he brought back from his military days, translating into fierce and tireless devotion in bed. He continued to drive into you, his jaw clenched and his forehead slick with sweat.

Finally, the shift happened. His breath hitched, his movements becoming less controlled. He'd brought you right to the edge, and you could feel the tremor in his muscles… he was right there with you.

He paused for a fraction of a second, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his voice strained to the absolute limit. "Where, baby? Where do you want it? I'm gonna come."

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place and looked directly into his eyes. "Inside," you breathed out.

Benny’s heart swelled. The raw vulnerability on his face was staggering. "Are you sure?" he rasped, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and intense hope. "Are you sure, sweetheart?"

You nodded rapidly, tears of sheer emotion pricking the corners of your eyes, practically begging him now. "Yes. Please, Benny. Come inside me. Put a baby in me."

That was his absolute breaking point. Benny groaned, a deep, primal sound from the back of his throat, and drove into you one last time as he came hard. The sheer force of his release, combined with the profound intimacy of the moment, dragged you right over the cliff with him. Your body shaking with a third, DNA-altering orgasm.

Minutes passed in a haze of heavy breathing and tangled limbs. The air was stifling, the silence returning softly to the room. Benny hadn't moved; he stayed collapsed against you, his head resting on your chest, tracing slow, winding circles on your hip as your heart rates slowly began to come down.

Slowly, he shifted, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at you. He reached up, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your damp forehead. His eyes were incredibly soft, filled with awe.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, needing to hear it in the quiet calm of the aftermath.

You looked up at him, feeling the solid, grounding weight of the man you’d loved for years, and a soft, peaceful smile spread across your face. You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down for a tender kiss.

You’d never been more sure of anything in your life.

The first month, the test was a stark negative. 

You stared at it on the bathroom counter, but you smiled, shaking your head. It's fine, you thought, tossing it into the bin. It's only our first month. These things take time.

But then the first month turned into three. Three turned into six.

A cruel, exhausting sequence of months began to blur together. Every single cycle ended the exact same way: sitting on the closed toilet seat, staring at that single line and your heart breaking a little bit more each time. The optimism was entirely gone, replaced by a suffocating weight of failure. You started wondering if there was something wrong with you. Every negative test felt like a personal failure, a quiet grief you tried to hide behind a brave face so you wouldn't burden Benny.

What you didn’t know was that the exact same fear was consuming him.

Late one night, after a long, gruelling day of clients and training, Benny sat at the far end of the bar with Frankie. The drinks between them were half-empty, the silence heavy. He ran a rough hand over his face, his broad shoulders slumped in a way Frankie rarely ever saw.

"I don't know what to do, Fish," Benny muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he stared into his beer. "It’s been almost a year. We've been trying for almost a year, and... nothing. Nothing is happening."

Frankie sighed softly, setting his own drink down. "Man, it takes time. You can't beat yourself up over the timeline. Alice and I-"

"No, you don't get it," Benny interrupted, looking up, his eyes laced with a raw, uncharacteristic panic. "Every time she goes into that bathroom and comes out with that look on her face... it kills me. And I’m terrified, Frankie. I’m terrified that it's me. All the shit I did in the military, the stress, the injuries... what if I'm the reason she can't have this? What if I'm broken?"

Frankie reached out, gripping Benny's forearm tightly. "Hey. Look at me. Don't go down that rabbit hole, Ben. You don't know that. You two just need to breathe."

But breathing was getting harder. A few days later, the weight finally became too much. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall, when Benny walked in. He took one look at your slumped posture and knew.

"Ben," you whispered, your voice trembling as the tears finally spilt over. "I don't think I want to do this anymore. It’s just... It's too hard. The disappointment every month, the hoping and then the soul-crushing disappointment... It’s destroying me. I can’t keep doing it."

Benny didn't hesitate. He immediately dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your shaking hands in his large ones. He pressed his forehead against your hands and took a deep breath. "Okay," he said softly, looking up at you. "Okay, sweetheart. We stop. We take a break. No tracking, no pressure, no expectations. Just you and me."

"Just you and me." You repeated. 

True to his word, Benny pulled you completely out of your routine the very next weekend. He drove you into town, determined to clear the grey cloud that had been hanging over you.

He took you shopping, patiently walking into every store with you. When you caught yourself eyeing a cute playsuit you’d been itching to buy, he grabbed it off the rack himself, along with a pair of boots you'd been admiring. 

"You're getting it," he stated with that quiet, commanding tone that left no room for argument. When you changed into it in the dressing room, you actually felt a surge of genuine confidence. You looked good. You felt lighter.

Afterwards, he took you to a quiet, sunlit café for lunch. For the first time in months, the ghost of infertility was no longer haunting you. You relaxed completely, leaning back as you passionately talked about the new fantasy book you were reading. Benny listened intently, a soft smile playing on his lips, before sharing updates about his own life… how his training schedule was going, a funny story about Will from earlier in the week. It was easy. 

Uncomplicated…

Then, the second the front door of your house clicked shut behind you later that day, the easygoing energy shifted into pure heat.

Benny didn't give you a chance to even drop your bags. He caught you by the waist and pushed you firmly against the wall, his mouth crashing onto yours. It was a hard, possessive kiss, full of a hunger that had been caged for too long. You groaned into his mouth, your hands frantically tearing at his shirt as he ripped at your clothes. The desperation between you both was entirely different. This was just two people who needed that raw, primal connection. 

Before you could fully process the loss of your clothes, Benny dropped heavily to his knees. Grabbing your leg, he threw it expertly over his broad shoulder and buried his head between your thighs.

He ate you out like a man starved, his tongue tracing your clit with a fierce intensity. The sudden, overwhelming friction after a day of building shattered your control; you came embarrassingly fast, your fingers clutching tightly at his hair as your hips rode his face.

Benny didn't let you linger in the afterglow. He stood up, scooping you up into his massive arms, and carried you over to the couch, where he sat down heavily, and you immediately straddled his lap.

There was little to no break between him sitting down and you lowering yourself onto his length. It was incredible… the absolute best sex you’d had in months. Free from the clinical pressure of 'trying,' it was pure, unadulterated pleasure. His length hit you perfectly with every upward thrust, and you rode him with a wild abandon until another release crashed over you, your forehead dropping against his shoulder as you sobbed out his name.

Before you could slide off him, Benny gripped your hips, flipping you easily until you were on your hands and knees in front of him. He gripped your waist from behind, his knuckles digging into your skin, and drove back into you. You felt yourself barreling toward a climax within seconds. His length hitting you so deeply and perfectly that in no time at all, you came with a loud cry. Your muscles clenching so tightly around him that that was all it took to pull Benny right along with you. He groaned loudly, driving deep one last time as he released inside you.

Eventually, you both collapsed together on the couch, tangled in a messy pile of limbs and sweat-sheened skin. Basking in post-sex bliss, Benny pulled you tightly against his chest, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice thick and sleepy.

You curled into his warmth, a deep, true sense of peace washing over you for the first time in a year. "I love you too, Ben."

Two weeks later...

It was 5:00 AM. Benny had already slipped out of bed and gone to work early. You hadn't been able to get back to sleep, so on a random whim, you decided to do a test.

You weren't expecting anything. The break had done wonders for your mental health, and you had completely stopped symptom-spotting. You peed into a cup, dipped the stick, brought it back into the dark bedroom, and tossed it onto the nightstand. You hopped back under the covers and picked up your book, turning on the dim reading light and fully intending to read a chapter and go back to sleep.

Five minutes later, though, you decided to glance at it... Just to check before throwing it away.

Your breath caught in your throat.

There, under the dim light of the reading lamp, was a line. It was faint - so incredibly faint - but it was undeniably there.

Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. Your hands began to shake so badly that you almost dropped the small test. 

No. No, it’s an evaporation line. It’s a fluke. 

You hadn't kept your pot of pee, so you practically stumbled back into the bathroom, your chest heaving as you managed to squeeze out just enough to do a second test you had hidden in the back of the cupboard.

You waited, staring at it this time, your knees weak.

Positive. Another faint, beautiful line.

An hour later, you were still sitting on the bathroom floor in complete shock. The sun was just beginning to peek through the blinds. To completely eliminate the denial, you tore open a third test… an expensive digital one you’d saved for this exact eventuality. 

When the little hourglass stopped blinking and the word PREGNANT appeared in stark, digital letters along with 2-3 weeks, the dam finally broke. You covered your mouth, a sob tearing from your throat, tears streaming down your face.

You were pregnant. 

You were finally pregnant.

By the time Ben was due back from his early shift, you had managed to compose yourself. You sat at the kitchen table sipping some tea, a small, neatly wrapped gift box in front of you.

The front door opened, and Benny walked in, looking tired but instantly smiling when he saw you. He kicked off his boots and walked over, but stopped dead when he noticed the box and the intense, burning look in your eyes. He eyed the package suspiciously.

"What's this?" he asked, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "It's not my birthday."

"Just open it," you practically sang, your voice cracking slightly as you peeked at him from over the rim of your mug. 

Benny stepped closer, sitting in the chair opposite you. His large, calloused fingers carefully tore away the paper and lifted the lid of the box.

He froze.

The digital test lay inside, the words PREGNANT 2-3 weeks glaring up at him. For a long, terrifying second, Benny didn't breathe. Then, a massive, chest-heaving sob tore from the ex-soldier.

He didn't care about anything else. He lunged out of his chair, pulling you up by your waist and burying his face into your neck. He sobbed openly, his massive frame shaking violently as you wrapped your arms around him, sobbing right along with him. The year of silent agony, the secret fears that he was broken, the grief of watching you hurt… it all washed away in a flood of happy tears.

"Thank you," he choked out, his voice completely wrecked as he cupped your face, kissing your cheeks, your nose, your lips. "Thank you, sweetheart. God, I'm so happy. I'm so excited. I love you so much."

The kisses became frantic, fueled by a sudden, overwhelming surge of pure relief and intense joy. Things turned hot, fast. Benny’s hands moved down, aggressively pulling off your shorts and panties in one swift motion. He gripped your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, setting you down onto the edge of the kitchen counter.

There was no foreplay. You didn't need it; you were already slick, completely undone by the sheer weight of the moment.

Benny unbuckled his pants, sheathed himself deep inside you with one powerful stroke, and let out a sigh against your mouth. He began to fuck you slowly and deeply. Every thrust was a celebration, a declaration of love and the new life you had created together.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto his broad shoulders for dear life as he hit your sweet spot with slow, agonising perfection. "Benny," you gasped, your eyes locked onto his. "I'm close... Please."

Hearing that made him grow even harder inside you. His pace quickened just a fraction, his jaw clenching as he chased your peak. You held onto him as tight as you could, your shattering with pure, unadulterated bliss. The tight, pulsing squeeze of your release dragged Benny right over the edge, and he threw his head back in a deep, roaring groan as he came hard inside you, anchoring you both to the counter.

Slowly, the frantic breathing faded. Benny leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily. You looked into each other's eyes, faces flushed, smiles slowly breaking through the exhaustion.

Both of you were so incredibly ready for this next adventure.

9 months later…

The hospital room was a blur of harsh fluorescent lights, the steady beep of the monitor, and the overwhelming weight of exhaustion. Labour had become a gruelling, hours-long test of endurance... Stretching well into the early morning. 

Through the long months of waiting, you had both resisted the temptation to find out what you were having, wanting the ultimate surprise at the finish line. 

Now, that moment was finally here.

You were spent, your breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as another contraction began to build. Panic tried to claw its way into your chest, but Benny was right there. He shifted closer, his massive frame an anchor beside you. His large, steady hands gripped yours, his knuckles white but his hold completely unyielding.

"Look at me, sweetheart," Benny commanded softly, his voice a low, grounding rumble right against your ear. "Right here. Focus on me."

You opened your heavy eyes, locking onto his intense, soulful gaze. The sheer, fierce devotion in his expression kept you from slipping.

"The doctor says it's time to push again, baby," he whispered, his thumb wiping a damp lock of hair away from your forehead. "You've got this. I know you're tired, but we are so close to meeting our baby. Pull from me. Take everything you need."

As the contraction hit its peak, the nurse gave the cue, and you braced yourself, curling forward to push with every single ounce of strength you had left. A breathless, pained cry tore from your throat.

"That's it, that's it, exactly like that," Benny urged, his hand supporting the back of your neck, his face right next to yours so you could feel the heat of his breath. "Keep it going, sweetheart. You're doing it."

You collapsed back against the pillows when the wave receded, sobbing as you tried to catch your breath. "I can't, Ben," you choked out, your voice entirely wrecked. "I'm too tired. I can't do it anymore."

"Yes, you can," he corrected instantly, his tone fierce with a protective, absolute certainty that left no room for doubt. He leaned down, pressing his forehead directly against yours. "Look at how far we've come to get here. Think about that morning in the kitchen. They are right there, baby. One more big push. Just give me one more."

His words poured a sudden, miraculous second wind straight into your veins. When the next contraction surged, you didn't hesitate. You gripped his hands with a desperate, crushing strength and gave everything you had left in your soul, pushing through the absolute limit of your endurance.

"The head is out! One more push!" the doctor called out.

"Go on, baby," Benny gasped, his own eyes bright with sudden tears as he watched. "Bring them home."

With one final, exhausting effort, the pressure suddenly gave way, and the entire room was instantly filled with a sharp, loud, healthy cry.

The doctor smiled, lifting the baby up. "It's a girl! You have a daughter!"

Benny went completely rigid, a look of pure, unadulterated shock washing over his face before melting into an expression of profound awe. 

A daughter. 

The relief was instantaneous and overwhelming as the medical team quickly placed her small, slippery, warm weight directly onto your bare chest. She was perfect. A beautiful, tiny miracle with a cap of dark hair and Benny’s intense eyes, her little fingers already twitching against your skin.

Benny completely broke down. He pressed his forehead against your damp hair and wept openly. He reached down, his large, calloused hand looking absolutely huge against her tiny body as he gently stroked back.

"You did it, sweetheart," Benny whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. He kissed your temple, his tears mixing with the sweat on your skin. "A girl. We have a little girl. She's here, baby... God, she's perfect"

2 weeks later…

The ambient chatter of the bar was the same warm, low hum it had always been. The clink of glasses and the easy laughter of old friends, but tonight, the energy was entirely celebratory.

Sitting next to Benny, you felt a profound sense of peace. His solid arm was draped protectively over the back of your chair, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your bare shoulder. Beneath the shelter of a soft muslin cloth draped over your chest, your newborn daughter, Senna, was tucked securely against you, nursing quietly. You looked down at her, completely captivated by the rhythmic, tiny sounds she made, your hand gently cupping her warm head.

Across the table, Frankie and Alice sat together, while little Lila - now a bouncing toddler - was happily colouring on a napkin. Their older daughter, Ella, was currently perched contentedly on Will’s lap, giggling as he drew little cartoon dinosaurs on the edge of the coaster for her. Will sat with a proud grin on his face, balancing the little girl easily while keeping an eye on you and Ben as you cooed over your newborn. 

"So, man," Frankie said, leaning forward and echoing the exact words Benny had spoken a year prior, a knowing smirk on his face. "How are you guys actually holding up? Sleeping in increments of twenty minutes?"

Benny chuckled. "More like ten," he countered, looping his arm tighter around you and kissing the crown of your head. "But I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s doing all the heavy lifting. I'm just the tactical support."

"Don't listen to him, he's a natural," you chimed in with a bright smile and a wink, looking up from Senna for a brief second. "He handles every single winding and diaper change like it's a high-stakes mission."

Will laughed, pausing his drawing to raise his beer in a toast while Ella tried to grab his coaster. "Hey, the man knows how to guard a perimeter. A blowout is just a surprise ambush."

After a few more minutes, Senna unlatched with a soft, milk-drunk sigh, her tiny eyes closed as she drifted off into a deep sleep, her lips in a puckered O shape. You quietly adjusted your clothes and threw the muslin cloth over your shoulder, shifting her up onto your shoulder to burp her.

Alice looked across the table, her eyes softening completely at the sight of the sleepy bundle. "Oh, look at her," she murmured. "Ben, do you want to give her to Frankie for a minute? Let him remember what they feel like when they actually stay still."

"Yeah," Benny said, chuckling softly, leaning over to carefully take Senna from your shoulder and expertly transferring her into Frankie’s large and eager hands.

As Frankie settled the baby against his chest, a sudden, loaded silence fell over him. He stared down at her tiny fingers curling against his plaid shirt, his expression turning incredibly soft, completely in awe of the brand-new life in his arms.

Alice watched her husband, a knowing smile breaking across her face. She nudged his elbow gently. "Oh, no. I know that look, Frankie."

Frankie swallowed hard, not taking his eyes off Senna as a sudden wave of broodiness hit him. He looked up at Alice, a hesitant, pleading grin tugging at his lips. "I mean... look at her, Al. She's perfect. It makes you think... maybe just one more? A little brother or sister for Lila and Ella?"

Alice gasped, letting out a bright laugh as she shook her head, though her eyes were filled with love. "You are unbelievable. Don't let your mother hear you say that… She’ll be doing everything she can to make it happen.” 

Benny caught your eye from beside him, his hand finding yours under the wood and squeezing your fingers tightly. A silent, beautiful conversation flowed between you in that single look. A year ago, you had been the ones looking on with longing and fear. Tonight, you were basking in the complete, hard-won reality of that dream.

You leaned into Benny's side, both of you completely in love with the beautiful adventure you had created.

Alice was pregnant two months later...